Sometimes we forget what's really important, especially when our relationships demand most of our attention and become our single microcosm.
Last Thursday was the end of whatever it was with Clarence. Part of it just seems to have rushed by without making much sense, but I'm not going to question my intuition to move on. I've found that moving on is rarely the wrong decision.
There were a bunch of friends over at Leonardo's (my best guy friend who until today I have not named.) We drank, played a little poker, played some Smash, and most everyone went into Leonardo's room to smoke. Clarence and I stayed in the living room, looking at our writing on his computer and talking about relationships.
We carry opposite definitions of love.
"It's loving someone unconditionally, even if they don't love you the same way. It's doing whatever they need for them."
"I don't really think so. I think love is when two people are complete, see each other's completeness, and want to share their lives. I don't think people in love are doormats."
I'm sure I offended him, essentially calling him a doormat within his last serious relationship. But I'm the honest type, and I aim to have real relationships with people instead of shallow relationships that have zero confrontation. I don't believe we're supposed to agree on everything with our friends. But this, doesn't this nail the lid onto the coffin? How can two people ever love each other, even eventually, if their definitions of love are polar opposites?
I explained to him some of my poems, and he told me I'm brilliant.
He told me that our sleeping together was the greatest expression of love that exists.
In retrospect, this is insanely dramatic. Especially for the altogether lack of seriousness on my part, lack of commitment on his part, and how we don't even have each other's numbers. Why was all this brought up? Why must it be brought up every time we see each other? It has occurred to me that I'm beyond tired of having the same conversation with the same conclusion to agree to disagree.
So 4am rolls around, and I don't want to walk home. As always. He says it's okay for me to stay with him. However, this time, I made the mistake.
THE MISTAKE
THE MISTAKE
THE MISTAKE
Meaning: told him I feel comfortable with him.
GOD FORBID I say something nice to him. Right? No one likes that.
GOD FORBID I feel comfortable with someone I see practically every weekend and have slept with multiple times and shared a dozen conversations with.
"Uh, you know we can't date. Right?"
Cue same conversation we have every time I sleep over there. It's a little more than blatantly obvious at this point that I don't want a relationship. Sometimes, he annoys me. Sometimes, I just like being alone. Sometimes, I'm happy we were absolutely nothing but something at the same time for approximately a month and a half and didn't feel pressure to text each other all the time.
I was happy the way it was. He felt guilty. I understand why he felt guilty, but he didn't understand me. I'm sure he still thinks I'm wanting to tie him down or ring hungry or something. But quite simply, I got frustrated in the middle of our second argument about the non-us of the night because he didn't even try. I was sick of being misunderstood. I was sick of him making everything into a blatant rebellion against God. I was sick of the drama.
Straw that broke the camel's back? That we weren't allowed to spend "one-on-one" time together anymore. That we couldn't call ourselves friends. That he put a pillow between us and refused to kiss me goodnight.
Rarely, do I ever leave a warm bed. Rarely, do I run when I'm supposed to.
I put my clothes on and he turned over, asking, "Wait, what's up...?" like he didn't know. How self-centered do you have to be to not know when an honest person is angry?
I walked out his door, walked out the apartment door, and cried the whole walk home at 5am. I know part of me was crying out of relief. Crying because I was so damn proud of myself. Crying because I wished so badly that he would go after me, acting like he even gave a fuck. Who doesn't get sad when they're proven right?
Ironically, I think one of the greatest human desires is to be proven wrong, to find exceptions, to find the one contrary to the stereotype.
Too bad I'm great at finding stereotypes.
The next night, I had a crazy stupid amount of fun with my friends. I realized that what's important foremost in my young life is simple happiness. It would be lovely if a relationship, or non-relationship, brought me that joy. But sometimes it doesn't.
I'd rather be simply happy than complexly "okay."
Wednesday, October 26, 2011
Monday, October 17, 2011
Recently Learned Life Lessons/Feminist Rant
I had an interesting (aka boring as hell) weekend of physical suffering and serious contemplation. Here are some of my findings... maybe they're not new to you, but they're new to me, or I forgot about them.
If you want to make any person happy, make them good cookies.
If you want to make boys happy, make them anything remotely edible.
That said, I think people should experiment with cooking more. Even if it turns out crappy, it was a good effort and you will get to know your personal tastes better.
Turning a bad situation into humor makes the situation seem much more solvable. Laugh at the other person (not in front of them, obviously), imagine the scene with squirrels reenacting it, something.
Men are attention whores. Regardless of how hard you're trying to do the "right thing," you will inevitably be wrong in the eyes of jealous guy and he will not be able to hide his displeasure from you. A la, Thursday night. Went over to the guys' place to hang out with my guy friend. I (mistakenly or not) feel that I don't spend enough time with just him - that there's always someone else there, whether it be Clarence or other friends. I don't mean to monopolize his time by any means, but there's a reason we're close and I want to stay close. I could tell Clarence was a tiny bit jealous, but I'm not going to ditch my friend for him every time! I know guys aren't as conscious of this as women are, but I don't want to be randomly confronted one day being told I'm a terrible friend. But the point: men pout. Though it shouldn't be, it's hilarious.
It's entirely possible to sleep in the same bed with someone of the opposite sex. Thursday night and Friday night, I ended up sleeping with "just friends" and no harm was done. Purpose: to sleep. Mission: accomplished. It's all about attitude... if you're thinking about the person you wish you were sharing a bed with, you shouldn't do a single thing with the person who's actually snoring next to you.
You must know yourself to share your life with someone else. For once, I'm on the other side of the glass here. I know what I want. He doesn't. I feel distant from him, but thankfully we're not already in a relationship and grasping at bits of pieces we DO feel comfortable sharing. We're both being a little selfish. I've been too hurt to put myself out there and be brave, and he just doesn't know what he wants yet. In the sage advice of one of his roommates, "What you should do with him? Nothing."
Nothing is right. When in doubt, stay put. Don't say anything. You can't say anything stupid if you don't say anything.
Sidenote:
Part of the whole "no sex to be religiously pure and close to God" thing that drove me so nuts was unconsciously I didn't agree with him. Consciously, I know I want to have sex with him. The duh. But on a deeper level, I remembered something we had discussed in my art history class.
Artemesia Gentileschi was a female artist who worked in her father's workshop in the late 1600s/early 1700s. She was very talented and one of the first women of her period to really be recognized as a painter on her own. She was raped as a teenager by a fellow artist while left alone in the workshop. Her rapist was tried and convicted, and paid fines and went to prison for... dishonoring her father and decreasing the marriage value of his child. It was only important that she was raped because her marriage value decreased significantly. Was it important that the man hurt her? Was it important that that event changed her life dramatically and influenced her artwork? Not to anyone but Artemesia.
What was the purpose of her purity? Her purity was simply a signifier of her monetary value at the time of her wedding. I'm often accused of reading the Bible with a perspective of way too much historical context (since the Bible somehow gets to be omitted from the same intellectual scrutiny as every other piece of art, poetry, and literature from the time). But... weren't Hebrew marriages initially conducted in the same manner? That daughters were sold, or went to their husbands with "dowries"? Is everyone seriously acting like the middle ages and onward were unique in their economic approach to marriage?
To me, "purity" is of the mind, and only the mind. And maybe water, purified without germs. But a woman's body is pure from the beginning until the end, regardless of her lovers, if all were met with earnest and good intent. A woman can be impure if she takes advantage of men and hurts men. In my perspective, some of the fathers in the Old Testament were no better than pimps to their female children. Who sells off pre-pubescent girls to have sex with old(er) men today? Pimps in Thailand. There, that's my real world application of the Bible, fitting for today.
I'm not accusing Clarence of being a woman-hating, misogynistic asshole. I was just racking my brain for the longest time, wondering why this idea of purity creeped me out so much. I know that I am pure. Anyone that knows me, knows that I don't enter a single relationship with anyone on the basis of "just thinking he's hot" or "just wanting to see what I can get out of him in bed." That's not me. And for some reason, his saying he wanted to be pure was almost an accusation of me. I know that is WAY too much of an assumption to get mad and confront him. But I was wondering how his desire for purity felt so, completely, wrong. It seems like he is putting a value on himself... which was so defined in the Bible by misogynistic assholes who wished to suppress women.
I guess being a man, he can be okay with that.
If you want to make any person happy, make them good cookies.
If you want to make boys happy, make them anything remotely edible.
That said, I think people should experiment with cooking more. Even if it turns out crappy, it was a good effort and you will get to know your personal tastes better.
Turning a bad situation into humor makes the situation seem much more solvable. Laugh at the other person (not in front of them, obviously), imagine the scene with squirrels reenacting it, something.
Men are attention whores. Regardless of how hard you're trying to do the "right thing," you will inevitably be wrong in the eyes of jealous guy and he will not be able to hide his displeasure from you. A la, Thursday night. Went over to the guys' place to hang out with my guy friend. I (mistakenly or not) feel that I don't spend enough time with just him - that there's always someone else there, whether it be Clarence or other friends. I don't mean to monopolize his time by any means, but there's a reason we're close and I want to stay close. I could tell Clarence was a tiny bit jealous, but I'm not going to ditch my friend for him every time! I know guys aren't as conscious of this as women are, but I don't want to be randomly confronted one day being told I'm a terrible friend. But the point: men pout. Though it shouldn't be, it's hilarious.
It's entirely possible to sleep in the same bed with someone of the opposite sex. Thursday night and Friday night, I ended up sleeping with "just friends" and no harm was done. Purpose: to sleep. Mission: accomplished. It's all about attitude... if you're thinking about the person you wish you were sharing a bed with, you shouldn't do a single thing with the person who's actually snoring next to you.
You must know yourself to share your life with someone else. For once, I'm on the other side of the glass here. I know what I want. He doesn't. I feel distant from him, but thankfully we're not already in a relationship and grasping at bits of pieces we DO feel comfortable sharing. We're both being a little selfish. I've been too hurt to put myself out there and be brave, and he just doesn't know what he wants yet. In the sage advice of one of his roommates, "What you should do with him? Nothing."
Nothing is right. When in doubt, stay put. Don't say anything. You can't say anything stupid if you don't say anything.
Sidenote:
Part of the whole "no sex to be religiously pure and close to God" thing that drove me so nuts was unconsciously I didn't agree with him. Consciously, I know I want to have sex with him. The duh. But on a deeper level, I remembered something we had discussed in my art history class.
Artemesia Gentileschi was a female artist who worked in her father's workshop in the late 1600s/early 1700s. She was very talented and one of the first women of her period to really be recognized as a painter on her own. She was raped as a teenager by a fellow artist while left alone in the workshop. Her rapist was tried and convicted, and paid fines and went to prison for... dishonoring her father and decreasing the marriage value of his child. It was only important that she was raped because her marriage value decreased significantly. Was it important that the man hurt her? Was it important that that event changed her life dramatically and influenced her artwork? Not to anyone but Artemesia.
What was the purpose of her purity? Her purity was simply a signifier of her monetary value at the time of her wedding. I'm often accused of reading the Bible with a perspective of way too much historical context (since the Bible somehow gets to be omitted from the same intellectual scrutiny as every other piece of art, poetry, and literature from the time). But... weren't Hebrew marriages initially conducted in the same manner? That daughters were sold, or went to their husbands with "dowries"? Is everyone seriously acting like the middle ages and onward were unique in their economic approach to marriage?
To me, "purity" is of the mind, and only the mind. And maybe water, purified without germs. But a woman's body is pure from the beginning until the end, regardless of her lovers, if all were met with earnest and good intent. A woman can be impure if she takes advantage of men and hurts men. In my perspective, some of the fathers in the Old Testament were no better than pimps to their female children. Who sells off pre-pubescent girls to have sex with old(er) men today? Pimps in Thailand. There, that's my real world application of the Bible, fitting for today.
I'm not accusing Clarence of being a woman-hating, misogynistic asshole. I was just racking my brain for the longest time, wondering why this idea of purity creeped me out so much. I know that I am pure. Anyone that knows me, knows that I don't enter a single relationship with anyone on the basis of "just thinking he's hot" or "just wanting to see what I can get out of him in bed." That's not me. And for some reason, his saying he wanted to be pure was almost an accusation of me. I know that is WAY too much of an assumption to get mad and confront him. But I was wondering how his desire for purity felt so, completely, wrong. It seems like he is putting a value on himself... which was so defined in the Bible by misogynistic assholes who wished to suppress women.
I guess being a man, he can be okay with that.
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
Un-pretty, Too
I was thinking of writing this post whilst eating a bunch of vanilla pudding with chocolate chips in it... how fitting. To be clear, this isn't a pity party, nor is it a blog tooting my own horn. I am simply fascinated/bothered by how my self-image can change daily while I look essentially the same every day.
My mother once asked me, "Do you not want to be pretty?"
I have the problem of picking out one issue about myself, and stressing about it and giving it so much attention that it perpetuates the problem. I have bad skin, and it makes me feel so ugly. I wish more than anything in the world that I could wake up in the morning and not feel like I need makeup. I know that stressing over it and over-trying to get rid of it only makes it worse. I think that the stressing over it makes me even more un-pretty. My hair looks great because I pay zero attention to it. Ironic.
My mom knows that the problem is completely within. Part of the reason I appear so calm the majority of the time is that I deal with any stress self-destructively. I have had so many situations that I absolutely cannot fix and have no power to fix, and the obvious (stupid) solution is to try and "fix" something that isn't that wrong. How's that for unattractive?
I've been on the other facet of my mother's question as well, though. Nothing is worse than thinking someone likes you, and then realizing he only thinks your hot, and isn't listening to you.
I have friends who aren't attractive but are extremely smart and end up in happy relationships. All of my super-gorgeous friends may have boyfriends, but they aren't the most talkative or deep relationships. Then there's us, the "attractive, intelligent ones". That's how I feel most of my friends fit. Few of my best girlfriends have boyfriends. We're stuck in the middle, being real people. We're not models, but we're smart. But we're not anti-social savants who can reject everything worldly, either.
Every time I'm told I'm beautiful, I want to be ugly and disappear and be left alone. Every time I look in the mirror, I wish I was more beautiful.
Am I scared that my personality will be lost if I become that girl who is perfectly fit and doesn't have to wear a bit of makeup to look photo-ready? Am I just angry that I don't deal with my problems in a constructive way? Or do I blame it on "media and society" for giving me unrealistic expectations - that I should be everything, that I need to possess it all to be loved? Am I worried that my husband won't love me anymore if I look good now - and that later in life that he'll talk about me, "well she has a really great personality!"?
I wonder if I'm the only ridiculous person in the world who wants to turn a switch on and off with my moods. When I feel ugly, I don't want anyone to look at me. I don't want to see the guy I like. When I look good, I want to be around other people, but then instantly regret it when I think to myself, "but I'm not pretty without makeup." How is it so easy for other people? Why can't I just be the perfect woman?
Just another one of the many reasons I don't know if I am ready for a relationship. Who wants to be with a perfectionist? NO ONE. WE ARE PAINS IN THE ASS.
I know my perspective is very myopic at this point, but this is one of the things that most confuses me. That I am so confident about my personality, yet want to hide in a hole because I feel ugly.
It is completely true though, that no one can make you feel beautiful but yourself.
Step 1: stop acting like everything is okay when it's not, even if my friends have heard a thousand times that my roommate makes me feel terrible and I cry all the time because of her.
Step 2: express myself positively, go running, go swim, something productive versus destructive.
Step 3: stop looking at myself.
Step 4: personality and looks should always compliment each other, not overbear on each other or overwhelm one way or the other.
Step 5: buy a burka if this doesn't work.
... We shall see. I might start keeping track of how I feel a little more diligently. And don't give me crap "but you're so pretty!" comments because it's bull to me. No offense. The goal is that one day it won't be, but right now I should only listen to myself.
My mother once asked me, "Do you not want to be pretty?"
I have the problem of picking out one issue about myself, and stressing about it and giving it so much attention that it perpetuates the problem. I have bad skin, and it makes me feel so ugly. I wish more than anything in the world that I could wake up in the morning and not feel like I need makeup. I know that stressing over it and over-trying to get rid of it only makes it worse. I think that the stressing over it makes me even more un-pretty. My hair looks great because I pay zero attention to it. Ironic.
My mom knows that the problem is completely within. Part of the reason I appear so calm the majority of the time is that I deal with any stress self-destructively. I have had so many situations that I absolutely cannot fix and have no power to fix, and the obvious (stupid) solution is to try and "fix" something that isn't that wrong. How's that for unattractive?
I've been on the other facet of my mother's question as well, though. Nothing is worse than thinking someone likes you, and then realizing he only thinks your hot, and isn't listening to you.
I have friends who aren't attractive but are extremely smart and end up in happy relationships. All of my super-gorgeous friends may have boyfriends, but they aren't the most talkative or deep relationships. Then there's us, the "attractive, intelligent ones". That's how I feel most of my friends fit. Few of my best girlfriends have boyfriends. We're stuck in the middle, being real people. We're not models, but we're smart. But we're not anti-social savants who can reject everything worldly, either.
Every time I'm told I'm beautiful, I want to be ugly and disappear and be left alone. Every time I look in the mirror, I wish I was more beautiful.
Am I scared that my personality will be lost if I become that girl who is perfectly fit and doesn't have to wear a bit of makeup to look photo-ready? Am I just angry that I don't deal with my problems in a constructive way? Or do I blame it on "media and society" for giving me unrealistic expectations - that I should be everything, that I need to possess it all to be loved? Am I worried that my husband won't love me anymore if I look good now - and that later in life that he'll talk about me, "well she has a really great personality!"?
I wonder if I'm the only ridiculous person in the world who wants to turn a switch on and off with my moods. When I feel ugly, I don't want anyone to look at me. I don't want to see the guy I like. When I look good, I want to be around other people, but then instantly regret it when I think to myself, "but I'm not pretty without makeup." How is it so easy for other people? Why can't I just be the perfect woman?
Just another one of the many reasons I don't know if I am ready for a relationship. Who wants to be with a perfectionist? NO ONE. WE ARE PAINS IN THE ASS.
I know my perspective is very myopic at this point, but this is one of the things that most confuses me. That I am so confident about my personality, yet want to hide in a hole because I feel ugly.
It is completely true though, that no one can make you feel beautiful but yourself.
Step 1: stop acting like everything is okay when it's not, even if my friends have heard a thousand times that my roommate makes me feel terrible and I cry all the time because of her.
Step 2: express myself positively, go running, go swim, something productive versus destructive.
Step 3: stop looking at myself.
Step 4: personality and looks should always compliment each other, not overbear on each other or overwhelm one way or the other.
Step 5: buy a burka if this doesn't work.
... We shall see. I might start keeping track of how I feel a little more diligently. And don't give me crap "but you're so pretty!" comments because it's bull to me. No offense. The goal is that one day it won't be, but right now I should only listen to myself.
Monday, October 10, 2011
Consistency Avoids Me Like the Plague (Consistently)
Of course, a series of (un?)fortunate events led me back into his bed. And a few beers. And whipped cream vodka. (Vodka, vodka, vodka). Just when I thought I was the ridiculous one! And somehow this is more confusing than before. I wouldn't say that I am confused because I know exactly what I want. I think Clarence is more than a little confused. Blamin' the charm I got.
Confrontation #1: The Duck Sound
First of all, let me say that my Friday morning mood was not based solely upon The Duck Sound. There were The Noisy Ass Bitches A Floor Above who were doing a workout video or Zumba video at nine in the morning when most people are sleeping or doing something which does not by any means require the sound of stomping added to it. There was also Da Freakout, when I turned over to the couch next to mine and saw and brown-headed figure with a blanket covering it, assuming it was Beatrice, who had occupied that space before I passed out to the sounds of National Geographic (doesn't that make it seem less drunk-ass college student?). Nope, I definitely woke up, started to talk to Beatrice, and then was answered with a man voice, which scared what little living daylight I had out of me. "Blaghhahahhhh!" was probably about how I responded.
I was already sufficiently annoyed at myself for sleeping over at the boys' apartment anyways, since I was still somewhat furious with Clarence and not wanting to humiliate myself further - obviously a goal I should give up. The night before I had talked to my friend for a long time and he said he told Clarence to not go to the party I was at. All his work for nothing, since I ended up the apartment anyways. That combined with a hangover and Noisy Ass Bitches and Da Freakout, I was not in a state where anyone running into me would find it pleasant.
Plop plop plop plop plop plop plop
So annoying, what the fuck is that?
Of course, the last person I wanted to see, with his broken ankle, plopping across the wood floor sounding like a duck and pissing me off. Always making oatmeal. I acted like I was asleep. Must. Exit. As soon as possible. Cannot. Confront. Thankfully, a text from my beloved Kathy needing her aid in getting Eustice's car from the towing company (things are ten times better concerning that, by the way). No more excuse to lay like a slug, not being able to sleep anyways.
Shoes on. Where's my wallet? There it is. Whataburger cup. So. Thirsty. Sip sip sip.
As I stood there the beast came back out from the cave and hobbled over... sadly asking if I was leaving? What did it look like I was doing in my dress from the night before and mascara all over my eyes? Getting the fuck out! And saying he hoped I would have a good morning? Oh please.
Awkwardly, I kind of leaped out the door. Like a wuss. Then proceeded to wait for the elevator for about ten minutes, banging my head against the side of it out of impatience/frustration/hungoverness/annoyance.
Not the end of the story.
Confrontation #2: Drunken Conversation About Our Non-Existent Relationship
Since we tend to have back-to-back raging parties with water polo, I was drunk again Friday night. Good drunk. I-don't-need-a-man drunk. Of course, at approximately midnight the spell wore off and Cinderella was stuck in the same room as Prince Charming. I avoided him, stayed with my best friends, talked to some of the other guys, introduced people, ranted in Spanish at someone. He was... talking to my best friends when I was doing something else, playing pong, getting introduced to the people I was not introducing to anyone. Awkward!
I don't remember how we started talking. But of course we did. Leave it to us ridiculous two to sit on someone's bedroom floor and attempt to talk out our not-problems since we aren't together. Wrap your head around that one. He was telling me how I deserve so much better. And I was telling him that I'm happy with how things were at that exact moment, and that's what I deserve.
Were you trying to get rid of me in a sneaky way, or do you really think that?
Somehow, we ended up locked in and trying to talk through things more. And he was kissing me? What? The? Fuck?
Only the lethal combination of drunkenness and horniness would lead me to give my key to my best friends, explain to them how to get home, and leave with the cripple only vaguely remembering the way back to the boys' apartment from where I was. I am an extremely slow walker when in competition with someone a couple inches taller than me and in possession of crutches. In retrospect, we probably looked hilarious, with me speed-walking after a really drunk cripple who was freakishly fast on crutches. And then we sat in the dirt and talked. And he didn't listen.
Finally got back. I can't remember if I got mad at him for not listening to me first, and then we had sex - or if we had sex, and then I got mad at him for not listening to me after we started talking again. The turn-on-your-side "you're not listening to me!" then silent treatment always works. Hopefully he's accepted that I'm a little bit of a curve ball mixed with over-sincerity. He acts like he gets lied to a lot.
That, I don't do.
Random sidenote: the kid sleeps in the weirdest way, with one leg totally over mine, like I'm going to run away or something. Probably not gonna happen, as long as you make me breakfast and I get to re-imagine you hopping on one leg to the kitchen with nothing on to make it. Laughed like a little child at that one.
With the morning came either the most bullshitted conversation of all time or just simply the weirdest.
"We can't have sex anymore. I don't want to sleep with anyone else until she's my wife. That's how it's supposed to be. Please try to help me with this. I don't really want to do this, but I know it's the right thing."
Um hell no. And I don't agree that that's how it's supposed to be. And I won't help you. And I don't think you should do anything contrary to what you want to do, especially if it's not harming anyone else. My words were probably a little more eloquently expressed (with some pouty faces mixed in). We talked for a long time about my past relationship. And he found out my age. Gasp. And told me I act about 25. Which is true.
that I am so confident
and he's fascinated to hear my cynical side because I seem so innocent
I'm not innocent
but he feels like I am
but I'm not
that we didn't have sex that was meaningless
I told him I had sex because I liked him
and he talked about that girl who I thought he'd never bring up
but I didn't tell him that I already knew
and she got feelings because they hooked up
he feels guilty
I told him I am nowhere near in love with him
because it's way too early to tell
he said he loves pillow talk
what straight guy uses the term "pillow talk?"
- one with sisters.
blah blah blah why are you talking to me
if it seems like you want nothing to do with me 90% of the time
"Your chariot, m'lady."
He drove me home, and it got awkward when I was getting out. I went side kiss. He went real kiss. It was somewhere awkward and in between, where we belong. Consistently inconsistent.
It just really bothers me that he told me I deserve something better. What a douche move. Leaving me wondering if he really thinks so, or just wants me gone. I can be gone. For the amount of honest conversation we had, I could almost think he really believes what he's saying. I almost think he really believes he can not have sex with anyone until he's married. Newsflash: if you want to marry someone, or get engaged, you sure as hell want to fuck them.
But my heart knows better than to think he's looking out for me, I'm so cynical. Isn't that fascinating?
Confrontation #1: The Duck Sound
First of all, let me say that my Friday morning mood was not based solely upon The Duck Sound. There were The Noisy Ass Bitches A Floor Above who were doing a workout video or Zumba video at nine in the morning when most people are sleeping or doing something which does not by any means require the sound of stomping added to it. There was also Da Freakout, when I turned over to the couch next to mine and saw and brown-headed figure with a blanket covering it, assuming it was Beatrice, who had occupied that space before I passed out to the sounds of National Geographic (doesn't that make it seem less drunk-ass college student?). Nope, I definitely woke up, started to talk to Beatrice, and then was answered with a man voice, which scared what little living daylight I had out of me. "Blaghhahahhhh!" was probably about how I responded.
I was already sufficiently annoyed at myself for sleeping over at the boys' apartment anyways, since I was still somewhat furious with Clarence and not wanting to humiliate myself further - obviously a goal I should give up. The night before I had talked to my friend for a long time and he said he told Clarence to not go to the party I was at. All his work for nothing, since I ended up the apartment anyways. That combined with a hangover and Noisy Ass Bitches and Da Freakout, I was not in a state where anyone running into me would find it pleasant.
Plop plop plop plop plop plop plop
So annoying, what the fuck is that?
Of course, the last person I wanted to see, with his broken ankle, plopping across the wood floor sounding like a duck and pissing me off. Always making oatmeal. I acted like I was asleep. Must. Exit. As soon as possible. Cannot. Confront. Thankfully, a text from my beloved Kathy needing her aid in getting Eustice's car from the towing company (things are ten times better concerning that, by the way). No more excuse to lay like a slug, not being able to sleep anyways.
Shoes on. Where's my wallet? There it is. Whataburger cup. So. Thirsty. Sip sip sip.
As I stood there the beast came back out from the cave and hobbled over... sadly asking if I was leaving? What did it look like I was doing in my dress from the night before and mascara all over my eyes? Getting the fuck out! And saying he hoped I would have a good morning? Oh please.
Awkwardly, I kind of leaped out the door. Like a wuss. Then proceeded to wait for the elevator for about ten minutes, banging my head against the side of it out of impatience/frustration/hungoverness/annoyance.
Not the end of the story.
Confrontation #2: Drunken Conversation About Our Non-Existent Relationship
Since we tend to have back-to-back raging parties with water polo, I was drunk again Friday night. Good drunk. I-don't-need-a-man drunk. Of course, at approximately midnight the spell wore off and Cinderella was stuck in the same room as Prince Charming. I avoided him, stayed with my best friends, talked to some of the other guys, introduced people, ranted in Spanish at someone. He was... talking to my best friends when I was doing something else, playing pong, getting introduced to the people I was not introducing to anyone. Awkward!
I don't remember how we started talking. But of course we did. Leave it to us ridiculous two to sit on someone's bedroom floor and attempt to talk out our not-problems since we aren't together. Wrap your head around that one. He was telling me how I deserve so much better. And I was telling him that I'm happy with how things were at that exact moment, and that's what I deserve.
Were you trying to get rid of me in a sneaky way, or do you really think that?
Somehow, we ended up locked in and trying to talk through things more. And he was kissing me? What? The? Fuck?
Only the lethal combination of drunkenness and horniness would lead me to give my key to my best friends, explain to them how to get home, and leave with the cripple only vaguely remembering the way back to the boys' apartment from where I was. I am an extremely slow walker when in competition with someone a couple inches taller than me and in possession of crutches. In retrospect, we probably looked hilarious, with me speed-walking after a really drunk cripple who was freakishly fast on crutches. And then we sat in the dirt and talked. And he didn't listen.
Finally got back. I can't remember if I got mad at him for not listening to me first, and then we had sex - or if we had sex, and then I got mad at him for not listening to me after we started talking again. The turn-on-your-side "you're not listening to me!" then silent treatment always works. Hopefully he's accepted that I'm a little bit of a curve ball mixed with over-sincerity. He acts like he gets lied to a lot.
That, I don't do.
Random sidenote: the kid sleeps in the weirdest way, with one leg totally over mine, like I'm going to run away or something. Probably not gonna happen, as long as you make me breakfast and I get to re-imagine you hopping on one leg to the kitchen with nothing on to make it. Laughed like a little child at that one.
With the morning came either the most bullshitted conversation of all time or just simply the weirdest.
"We can't have sex anymore. I don't want to sleep with anyone else until she's my wife. That's how it's supposed to be. Please try to help me with this. I don't really want to do this, but I know it's the right thing."
Um hell no. And I don't agree that that's how it's supposed to be. And I won't help you. And I don't think you should do anything contrary to what you want to do, especially if it's not harming anyone else. My words were probably a little more eloquently expressed (with some pouty faces mixed in). We talked for a long time about my past relationship. And he found out my age. Gasp. And told me I act about 25. Which is true.
that I am so confident
and he's fascinated to hear my cynical side because I seem so innocent
I'm not innocent
but he feels like I am
but I'm not
that we didn't have sex that was meaningless
I told him I had sex because I liked him
and he talked about that girl who I thought he'd never bring up
but I didn't tell him that I already knew
and she got feelings because they hooked up
he feels guilty
I told him I am nowhere near in love with him
because it's way too early to tell
he said he loves pillow talk
what straight guy uses the term "pillow talk?"
- one with sisters.
blah blah blah why are you talking to me
if it seems like you want nothing to do with me 90% of the time
"Your chariot, m'lady."
He drove me home, and it got awkward when I was getting out. I went side kiss. He went real kiss. It was somewhere awkward and in between, where we belong. Consistently inconsistent.
It just really bothers me that he told me I deserve something better. What a douche move. Leaving me wondering if he really thinks so, or just wants me gone. I can be gone. For the amount of honest conversation we had, I could almost think he really believes what he's saying. I almost think he really believes he can not have sex with anyone until he's married. Newsflash: if you want to marry someone, or get engaged, you sure as hell want to fuck them.
But my heart knows better than to think he's looking out for me, I'm so cynical. Isn't that fascinating?
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
More About Prudence
Short, bitching story.
I got up at 7am to go to my geology lab. She got up at 7am to go pick up her boyfriend (since he has no car) and bring him back so she could make him breakfast.
UH. WHADDAFUCK.
I got up at 7am to go to my geology lab. She got up at 7am to go pick up her boyfriend (since he has no car) and bring him back so she could make him breakfast.
UH. WHADDAFUCK.
Nothing is Permanent
... cue emotional wormhole.
As much as I'd love to believe that there is a Truth, love is forever, and the people I trust will always be there for me, I'm way too cynical. Hopefully this doesn't mean I'll never find the emotional content I'm craving right now, but my future appears kind of dismal at the moment.
My 15 minute bus route after art history today left me pissed off (some girl was super rude to me - where are manners nowadays, byatch??) and contemplating what I truly know and don't know. I know nothing, it seems. I couldn't find the specific quote I was looking for, but I remember it being something like this:
"the truth is simply your perspective of how things occurred"
So applicable to my life... and such a great explanation for my constant state of befuddlement. But I feel there must be some kink in our evolution. Why were we given perspective if it only complicates things? Why are we aware of different perspectives than our own? Are we shooting ourselves in the foot by chronologically ordering our truths in order to make a decision? From my pea brain:
Once upon a time, I slept with a guy who didn't make me breakfast. He also didn't seem to care about what I said. Later in once-upon-a-time, I slept with a different guy who I knew cared about me and told me how great it was to want to sleep with me and want to talk to me afterwards (how gracefully put.) He also made sure I was fed in the morning. SO. Once-upon-a-last-week, I slept with Clarence and we talked and talked and he made me breakfast and kissed me goodbye like we'd been doing that same-old same-old for years. He must care about me!
Falso. So I find out now that he's had this "thing" (because we're in the 21st century and can no longer define our relationships with people apparently) with some girl from College Station. She's obsessed with him. And what guy is really going to turn down someone who's obsessed with him?
feeling ridiculous right about now
It's not that I expected anything absolutely breathtakingly romantic to come out of this. But one of my (many) fatal flaws is that I never sleep with someone who I couldn't see myself with. I'm erroneously programmed. Real people can emotionally detach before they sleep with someone, and I'm the idiot who can't do it unless I'm attached somehow. Trying to think about what I would say to him is exhausting.
"So... you asked me to sleep with you... yet you already have someone pining after you like a puppy... and you weren't drunk... and you told me you liked me... yet you still haven't communicated with me in two weeks... and I find out from your roommate's not-girlfriend-but-kind-of that some lady friend existed in your life before me and after me... and that's not supposed to bother me a teeeeensy bit?"
I promise I'm not lying when I have the patience of a saint and don't get mad easily, or stay mad for long. I'm not mad anymore, I'm just... humiliated. I feel so stupid because I knew nothing. I hate not knowing. But what do I do now? Confrontation? (nope, too chicken.) Acting like nothing is wrong? (nope, I'd do the thing I do where my eyes get really wide and it's obvious I'm as comfortable as when the doctor is sitting there with her hand up my---- .) Humor? ("ha ha! YA fooled me!" - nope.) So sadly my conclusion last night was altogether avoidance of the subject.
That one works for most normal people at least. But what about the truth of the matter?
I like the truth, when it's from my perspective.
Funny addendum:
Thinking about the last person that I truly liked, and hurt me - to the extent that I totally changed my behavior.
We were laying in bed, and he told me,
"You know at first, I thought you were really stupid."
Surprisingly, that one didn't last.
That just made me laugh really hard.
I see him every day at practice, and now I feel like I'm going to laugh at him -
You have to be REALLY dense to think I'm stupid.
As much as I'd love to believe that there is a Truth, love is forever, and the people I trust will always be there for me, I'm way too cynical. Hopefully this doesn't mean I'll never find the emotional content I'm craving right now, but my future appears kind of dismal at the moment.
My 15 minute bus route after art history today left me pissed off (some girl was super rude to me - where are manners nowadays, byatch??) and contemplating what I truly know and don't know. I know nothing, it seems. I couldn't find the specific quote I was looking for, but I remember it being something like this:
"the truth is simply your perspective of how things occurred"
So applicable to my life... and such a great explanation for my constant state of befuddlement. But I feel there must be some kink in our evolution. Why were we given perspective if it only complicates things? Why are we aware of different perspectives than our own? Are we shooting ourselves in the foot by chronologically ordering our truths in order to make a decision? From my pea brain:
Once upon a time, I slept with a guy who didn't make me breakfast. He also didn't seem to care about what I said. Later in once-upon-a-time, I slept with a different guy who I knew cared about me and told me how great it was to want to sleep with me and want to talk to me afterwards (how gracefully put.) He also made sure I was fed in the morning. SO. Once-upon-a-last-week, I slept with Clarence and we talked and talked and he made me breakfast and kissed me goodbye like we'd been doing that same-old same-old for years. He must care about me!
Falso. So I find out now that he's had this "thing" (because we're in the 21st century and can no longer define our relationships with people apparently) with some girl from College Station. She's obsessed with him. And what guy is really going to turn down someone who's obsessed with him?
feeling ridiculous right about now
It's not that I expected anything absolutely breathtakingly romantic to come out of this. But one of my (many) fatal flaws is that I never sleep with someone who I couldn't see myself with. I'm erroneously programmed. Real people can emotionally detach before they sleep with someone, and I'm the idiot who can't do it unless I'm attached somehow. Trying to think about what I would say to him is exhausting.
"So... you asked me to sleep with you... yet you already have someone pining after you like a puppy... and you weren't drunk... and you told me you liked me... yet you still haven't communicated with me in two weeks... and I find out from your roommate's not-girlfriend-but-kind-of that some lady friend existed in your life before me and after me... and that's not supposed to bother me a teeeeensy bit?"
I promise I'm not lying when I have the patience of a saint and don't get mad easily, or stay mad for long. I'm not mad anymore, I'm just... humiliated. I feel so stupid because I knew nothing. I hate not knowing. But what do I do now? Confrontation? (nope, too chicken.) Acting like nothing is wrong? (nope, I'd do the thing I do where my eyes get really wide and it's obvious I'm as comfortable as when the doctor is sitting there with her hand up my---- .) Humor? ("ha ha! YA fooled me!" - nope.) So sadly my conclusion last night was altogether avoidance of the subject.
That one works for most normal people at least. But what about the truth of the matter?
I like the truth, when it's from my perspective.
Funny addendum:
Thinking about the last person that I truly liked, and hurt me - to the extent that I totally changed my behavior.
We were laying in bed, and he told me,
"You know at first, I thought you were really stupid."
Surprisingly, that one didn't last.
That just made me laugh really hard.
I see him every day at practice, and now I feel like I'm going to laugh at him -
You have to be REALLY dense to think I'm stupid.
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