1. Stuff that I want.
2. Stuff that I like.
So, I had a wicked jones for a diet Dr. Pepper tonight.
***This is not the point. This is that thing I do where I talk about something mundane and then relate it to some deep part of my internal being and then blow everyone's mind (or, maybe just mine)
Anyway, I had a wicked jones for a diet Dr. Pepper tonight. I was eating some homemade shortbreads (be jealous!), and they were a little too short for the hot weather and I needed to wet my whistle with something other than expired milk. As I walked over to the Mac's, I thought the good Dr. might have a delicious blend 23 flavours that would do the job. I was really hoping one of those flavours was aspartame. Unfortunately, Mac's milk could not deliver. I knew I was asking too much; who am I to think that I should be able to get a calorie-free beverage in my preferred flavour at the only retail establishment open after 10 p.m. four nights a week? I'm currently drinking the full-sugar version, which is, as we speak, boring tiny holes in my teeth and then somehow depositing the excavation materials on my waistline.
The same thing happened when I tried to make hot artichoke dip a few months ago. Canned artichoke hearts? Hilarious notion! I had to settle for hot spinach dip. It was tasty, but not exactly what I was looking for.
Ok...so, what I'm getting at, is that this town just doesn't seem to deliver on exactly what I want. I can get what-I-want-adjacent, or two complementary halves of what I want...but never the genuine article, it seems. And I think you know what I'm talking about here. I've been pretty relationship-focused lately. Even when I let good ole rational brain in to say something cogent about trying to make friends and have a good time, underneath it all, I'm really hoping that every interaction I make is going to lead to something lasting (by this, I mean, more than a few weeks) and, let's face it...coital.
Alas, I recently came to the conclusion that this isn't going to happen. At least, not in the foreseeable future. All signs point to the apparent reality that I have entered a period in my life that I've lovingly monikered the ERA OF EFFED UP PLATONIC RELATIONSHIPS. A bird's eye view of my recent dealings with the opposite sex will show you this: it's LIKE we're dating...except we're definitely not dating. This is despite the fact that sometimes their self-described physical type looks an awful lot like me. This is despite the fact that sometimes their self-described personality type sounds an awful lot like me. And for a long time, this was really confusing to me. WHY would people more or less describe me, to my face, as the kind of person they really want to date, if they don't actually want to date me?
So, on the weekend, a friend of mine clarified it for me. I described one of these effed-up platonic situations, and he said, "Huh, so you're the incase of emergency, break glass girlfriend."
And then the lights turned on. And suddenly, I was enraged. I am the safety girlfriend. When all other options have been exhausted, they know I'll do a reasonable job as a pinch-hitter girlfriend. And that's why these dudes keep dangling carrots in front of me and then pulling them out of my reach just before I grab onto them.
On to the stuff I like. In particular, I mean stuff I like about me. I've been thinking a lot about that question my friend asked back when I couldn't cry (Problem solved, btw. This song did the trick. Bawled my face off).
I think it's an important question to be able to answer. So important that I was discussing it with a few members of my family. My mother disagrees. She thinks that people shouldn't be able to answer that question unless they want to admit they're full of themselves. In fact, her response was so visceral that she had to get up out of her chair, to illustrate that she hates people who haven't got a problem saying "I am SOOO great! I LIKE myself! I'm good at walking (she marched on the spot to illustrate this point), and I'm good at smiling, and I'm a good person!" And frankly, I think I wouldn't like them either. Because I'd be jealous of them.
But that's because I'm not very good at smiling. Observe. (In the interest of full disclosure, the drink beside me is mine. And it was tasty. The bottle of pills is not mine. That's cat medicine. I don't know how it tastes).
Seriously, though. I'm already full of myself. I have almost 100 pages of text broadcast through cyberspace devoted wholly to myself. Wouldn't it be great if that full-of-myself-ness had a positive spin to it?
So, instead of thinking of all the things I don't like about myself (like my smile, and my acne, and my fat ass, and...wait, right...that's what I'm NOT doing this time), I really should think about the things I like.
So, at first I thought I liked the fact that I'm 100% genuine. I do not know how to bullshit. But then I remembered how my 0% bullshit policy gets me into trouble A LOT. So, I scratched that idea. Then, I realized that the thing I like best about myself is the fact that I'm pretty effing resilient. I've had a lot of shitty life, and a particularly bad run the past few months, but I keep getting up and coming out swinging. I like a lot of other things too. I'm looking pretty curvy these days, and I have really nice eyes. And hair. And boobs.
(Please ignore the mess on my coffee table. And my shitty furniture)
Ok - back to that back-up relationship thing. Yeah, that makes me mad. And I'm realizing that I ought to like myself way too much to be THAT girl. So, while a small bit of me still burns a candle for some of these dudes, when and if whatever emergency arises and they decide they want to break that glass, I've gotta think long and hard about whether being behind that glass is EXACTLY WHAT I WANT.
And in the meantime, I'm going to have to resign myself to going without exactly what I want. I can compromise on my chilled cherry-flavoured cola beverages every once in awhile, but I'm pretty sure I don't want to compromise on this anymore.
So, good sirs, I am pleased to be friends with you. But there's no need to continue to lead me on. I'm going a different way.
Your blog effin rocks. 100 pages of cyber diary doesn't mean you are full of yourself t]to a fault, especially if you are good at it (which you are). There is art to it. Are artist's full of themselves? Most of them to some extent. But we wouldn't have art if they didn't want to share and express themselves. So kudos to you.
ReplyDeleteKudos on the 100% genuine. As for the "in case of emergency break glass" theory: very possible for dudes in general but does not apply to all...
g
PS Love the jalepeno eye antidote story.
Point of order: Mom hates people who have confidence because she lacks it. See also: you.
ReplyDeletePoint of order: You don't have to like your smile or your marching abilities when you could like your writing skills or your sharp wit, or your ability to stay alive in a virus and bacteria ridden universe.
Point of order: Dr. Pepper is not a cherry flavoured beverage. for legal purposes, it is "pepper" flavoured. Why would they make a cherry flavoured version if it were already cherry?! (Additional point of interest - I discovered cherry flavoured Crush in the grocery store the other day. It's like fizzy Grenadine! Huzzah!).
Okay. Forgive me for discussing your wellbeing behind your back with the lady, but last night I came to pretty much the same conclusion about you that your friend did.
Now, here's my perspective:
No. You don't want to be the girl behind the glass, but the fact that you are behind the glass suggests that you are the sort of person who would make a good long-term lady.
You know how there are some foods or styles of music that you're initially sort of confused by, but then it grows to become your favourite style of music or food? You are that style of music or food.
The caveat is that men are notoriously wimpy about making commitments, and a lack of bullshit confuses the hell out of them. So, when a dude finds something that is immediately palatable (I'm sticking with the food analogy) - like pizza, he's going to look at the artichoke heart salad (you) in his fridge and he's going to play it safe.
And ultimately, he'll have an unpleasant bathroom experience instead of an enduring relationship with a hearty salad.
I have no real solution for that situation.
But if I can extend the metaphor - you shouldn't be waiting for him to break the glass. You should be breaking it yourself.
And this brings things full circle to confidence. It's not enough to appear to be confident. You have to be confident.
Relationships are the kinds of things that happen when you've forgotten that you're lonely. You meet someone, you hang out with them as a friend, and then suddenly, they're making out with you, and nobody seems to really understand how they got from being desperately lonely to sucking face.
... I've tried to type out a denouement-y ending paragraph three or four times now, so instead of doing it properly, here's some poorly worded verbal diarrhoea:
The kind of confidence you need isn't in your ability to attract men or your own attractiveness, it's ... being confident in your you-ness. Sure of yourself, I suppose - and part of that is not second guessing yourself. And that might be a bit naive... but who cares?
Like I said, you have to forget that you want somebody to realize that they (or somebody else) wants you.
uuuugh... typey typey typey....