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Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Tuesday, And I'm Feeling OkayJ and I met on a public transit bus on the way home from school one afternoon in 1998. He sat down beside me and started talking to me, just like that. Our friendship developed mostly during the morning rides to school after that day. Though I was mostly intimidated, vaguely creeped out, and always sat away from him at the front of the bus, he'd get up from his seat in the back and settle down beside me. One particularly cold and windy morning, he gave me his hat as we got off the bus and walked to the school. Since we broke up in 04-05 I've had a faint, but recurring fantasy of one day sitting on a bus and having him get on and sit down beside me to talk, just like he used to. Every now and then I wish for someone else to get on, another prince charming to sit with me, but then I think to myself that the bus is a venue that J has forever claimed in my life, and that no one else could ever sit on that bus in my heart like he does. It's been just about three years since The Badness started. To everyone else, on this here blog, he's been nothing but "J" for all that time. To this day, the only person I can comfortably say his full name to is my counsellor. And even then, the comfort is slight at best. My heart takes a quick breath the second right before it comes out. I wonder sometimes if she notices my hesitation and thinks that it might mean something. Not that it doesn't mean anything because, of course it means something. Thinking back, those few months of turmoil that we went through really did change the rest of my life. I told Em pretty much the full story one evening in December, and I could hardly believe what was coming out of my mouth. When I was done all I could do was shake my head, sigh a little and say, "It's funny, those things that will affect you forever. You just never know it'll turn out that way at the time." I can see now that I was too young. Too young to know exactly what it was that I was doing, too young to know what real responsibility was, too young to know how to love someone (particularly him), and how to be loved in return. In the years since, I know that I've grown and changed an incredible amount, but there's always been the nagging feeling that I wasn't fully "over it", that I wasn't dealing with the after-effects of said Badness well-enough. It still loomed over me and I felt like I would forever be stuck under this shadow of I'm-a-terrible-person. At a few points, I thought I was over It. Turned out that it was just repression. When I saw J at a conference last term, I reacted to it so terribly that I knew I had to go back to counselling. I saw him once not too long ago while I was waiting at a bus stop and I literally ...froze. For a few minutes, all I could do was stand perfectly still and stare ahead across the street as he approached on the sidewalk. I'm pretty sure I stopped breathing for a minute. I think he may have said hello as he passed my statue-like body, but I didn't hear him because everything, even the air on which his words would have been carried, seemed completely immobile. My life had gotten to a point where it was just a waiting game; I just wanted it all to go away and had no idea what to do about it, so I just stood there and waited for it to pass. This morning was the first time in three years that I did not react in some negative way to seeing him. And believe it or not, it was on a bus. Apparently he's on the same bus route as me, just like in high school. I got on this morning and completely breezed right by him as I found a seat in the back. I didn't even notice him until he got up and walked out the back door at his stop. I was stunned. I couldn't believe that it was I who didn't see him (granted, he might have not seen me either, unless he was ignoring me). In the past, I'd practically be able to sense his presence in the same vicinity as me. Now, this probably doesn't mean that I'm any more "over it" than I was a month ago, but I'd like to think that it means something. That there must have been another element of closure that I didn't have a few months ago, that maybe the counselling helped and has led to increased self-awareness, that maybe I'm actually ...better. Because it's not like I'm numb to It - I still have loads of emotion about the whole situation, but the difference is that I remember it. I don't feel it anymore. It's been over three years since. And though I can't necessarily tell when It will completely end, it's Tuesday, and I'm feeling okay.
3:47 pm
Sunday, January 27, 2008
Bathtub BluesI'm totally yearning for a nice, long soak in a clawfoot bathtub right now. Mr. David promised me one once, but we all know what happens when good-looking asshats make promises: nothing. Tonight is one of those nights where I want to listen to nothing but jazz, have candles lit all around me, sit soaking in a bathtub until the bubbles go away, and stay warm all night in comfy pjs, blankies in front of the tv, or in someone's arms. Sunday's a good day for that kind of stuff. I've got the jazz on, and the candles are right here, but it's really too bad I don't have a bathtub in this little apartment, nor do I have anyone to snuggle with, and this place is absolutely freezing cold. Le sigh. No wonder I feel like I'm missing something.
8:29 pm
Friday, January 25, 2008
The Teeniest, Tiniest, Little Pinprick Of SpaceMy life? It's great. I've got my health, my friends and family, I enjoy my education, I don't really have to worry about money, I'm involved with a myriad of activities, yada yada, the list goes on. My life? It's pretty charmed. Take, for example, my most recent Wednesday. I got up at a good hour and went to work. I had a good day with my co-worker; we chatted, snacked, gossiped, drank tea, checked our email seventeen million times and did some schoolwork (yes, nothing really 'work' related). She drove me home in the afternoon and I did not have to freeze my toes off walking to and from the bus stop. I listened to the radio and chopped garlic and onion and mushrooms and broccoli and drained chickpeas in preparation for a nice curry while on the phone with my best friend. I had a phone date with dear Emma from England. I went to class and learned about the role of the local elite in tourism, sex tourism (ick), and the cruise industry. I came home to a nice curry dinner, prepped by me and cooked by my lovely roommate. We ate homemade apple pie and played word games. I went to a voice lesson. I went to the gym. I went kayaking. I came home, and though my wet hair had frozen into little sticks of ice during the walk, I was feeling warm and fuzzy all over. A lot of my days are like this: completely filled from one minute to the next, but I don't feel "busy", per se. I have things to do, but I'm not bogged down and feel like I'm lacking in time. I've got tons of time, but I'm choosing to fill it up with various activities that range from work to school to theatre to exercise to singing. They keep me happy. I don't feel busy, just fulfilled. So why is it that I can have one fully fabulous day after another, and still, at the end of the night when I'm lying in bed trying to fall asleep (like right now), I feel like I'm missing something?
12:14 am
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
Making Friends With SaladThe Globe and Mail featured a headline today that read, "Care about the environment? Eat less meat" - something that I've been turning over and over in my head for a long time now, moreso within the last year. I don't eat a lot of meat on a regular basis anyway; I used to cook a lot for an ex-boyfriend and it actually got to a point where he complained that I was feeding him too much salad and not enough meat. I hardly ever cook with it and I find that I only eat it when I dine out or am at home where my family doesn't recognize vegetarianism as an actual way of life. Remember My Big Fat Greek Wedding? "Ian is a vegetarian. He doesn't eat meat." "He no eat meat?" "Yes, he doesn't eat meat." "It's okay, I'll cook lamb." Yeah, my mum's like that. So it's been hard for me to actually become vegetarian - I suggested it at home once and my mother immediately told me that my babies wouldn't be healthy if I were to stop eating meat, and by goodness, she will not have her daughter raising unhealthy babies (and I was definitely sixteen or seventeen at this point). I tried to explain what I had learned in school, that science says animals are pumped full of hormones and that these extra chemicals are actually bad for the human body, but my mother wouldn't have it. I didn't even bother with the humanity says explanation. When I was in India, I learned a lot about living a peaceful, non-violent lifestyle. About treating everything with respect, including our food. Kitchens were considered sacred places that could not be contaminated; the people in the ashrams often blessed and purified their food before they ate it; and besides, who gave humans the right to kill other living creatures for their own appetites' sake? I'm not an animal lover, nor am I an animal-welfare/rights activist by any means, but I really don't like factory farming and the intensely cruel, inhumane conditions in which animals are raised. I do generally avoid conflict and am a pro-peace type of gal, so naturally, a non-violent lifestlye (which includes the way food is brought to my table) appeals to me. It's not quite like that Simpson's episode where I go to a petting zoo and see a cute lamb who pops into my head during dinner and laments the fact that they thought I loved them, loovvved them. But I do admit to thinking about the animal from which my cut of meat was taken sometimes and it does make me feel a little ill, if not a lot guilty. I don't exactly plan on becoming vegetarian and cutting meat out entirely, I just want to cut down. Besides, if I were to really think about the conditions in which my food was grown, harvested and sold, I couldn't just become vegetarian, I'd have to go full-out vegan at the very least. If I cut out meat for the reason that I'm against factory-farming, then I'd naturally have to get rid of anything that is produced in factory-farm conditions, and this includes pretty much all animal products. Goodbye butter and cheese and yogurt and ice-cream? So, okay, maybe I can deal with an animal-products-free diet, but fruits and vegetables are constantly grown with fertilizers, pesticides and other chemicals that are considered toxic to not only the human body, but the environment as a whole. So how do I reconcile a non-violent, non-cruel, very humane, animal-free diet with the fact that my tomatoes and oranges were probably picked by an illegal Mexican immigrant who works on a farm for something a little more than slaves' wages? How can I eat bananas from South America that are sprayed with pesticides that cause the male farmhands to be infertile? So I'll buy organic, try not to eat anything with an ingredients list more than two lines long on the packaging (seriously, what is all that crap doing in my food?), and one day I'm going to have my own garden where I'll grow as much of my food as possible. Again with The Simpsons reference: maybe one day I'll become one of those level-five vegans who don't eat anything that casts a shadow. My life has decidedly taken an environmental focus; my roommate has greatly influenced and encouraged my interests in science, geography, the world; I went to the Career Fair looking only to speak with environmental agencies and employers; we recycle and compost at our apartment like it's our job; I took an environmental economics course in Spain and now I'm auditing an environmental studies course on water. So it seems natural that I'd make the move towards a more earth-friendly way of life. In addition to all my other reasons, I've learned that it takes less energy, fewer resources to produce non-meat foods than it does meat. I'm all for saving a little, conserving a little, and using a little less. We're starting to make our own hummus, join vegetarian associations, and explore other alternatives like oragnic quinoa. And heck, if the head of the IPCC, "the top man at the world's most important agency dealing with climate change (the planet's biggest problem)" is telling all of us to cut down on our meat consumption just a little bit, that it'll actually help with energy reduction and controlling climate change, I think I should listen, even if I didn't already have a long list of my own reasons. Now who wants to come over for salad and gazpacho?
12:59 pm
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
Damn My Expensive Good TasteOH. MY. GOD.   Shopping trip to Fluevog, anyone? Too bad the total cost of these two pairs is waaay more than I currently have in my bank account. Sigh.
12:57 pm
Sunday, January 20, 2008
Filler Up!I have discovered that if I want to push these posts about Mr. David further and further down the page until they disappear, I am going to have to write more. So! Let's talk about something then, shall we? I'm relaxing tonight after a nice weekend. The weekend was, in fact, so nice that I'm not looking forward to this week at all. Nik and I went out for dessert and a free screening of Across The Universe (I can't believe I waited this long to see it! and OMG, it's AMAZING!) on Friday night after nixing a night out on the dance floor. On Saturday, my mum worked around MY schedule in order to celebrate HER birthday (I'm a spoiled brat). My family comes up to see me in the Loo, bringing groceries and mail with them. Then we go shopping and I get a new jacket. We have a nice birthday dinner, during which I gave my mum her gift (a nice, fuzzily-soft purple sweater and three pairs of fun socks) and she gave us (me, brother, and his girlfriend) lucky red pockets (filled with money). SHE gave US money on HER birthday! Oh, mother. Today was my first meeting with my new cast and first read through of our script! Wilde's The Importance of Being Earnest (henceforth referred to as TIOBE) is fabulous. I can't wait to put this thing on stage! I did some shopping (foodies and a shirt) and came home to have a lovely dinner of lentil soup, roasted root vegetables, baked chicken, and organic quinoa. Dessert was homemade apple pie. Actually, everything was homemade. I swear, there's no other students who eat like Nik and I. I'm auditing two courses this term. "World Water Environment and Development Issues" and "Tourists, Tourism, and the Globe". I like learning and staying intellectually stimulated without the pressures of assignments and grades. The only class I'm registered in is a Distance Education course (taught online) about Asian Spiritual Disciplines. I get to read about secret Mongolia, figure out the most confusing 'religion' I've ever come across (Taoism/Daoism), and formally learn about things that I've been observing for years. It feels nice to like school. I'm currently sitting with my laptop keeping my thighs and hands warm while my feet are resting right in front of a space heater. The weather has been freeeeezing over here this past week and my little apartment is in a very old house with very beautiful, but very old, heating vents (I share a vent with the bathroom, if you can imagine it). I dared to go without my gloves (see: I forgot them when I was rushing out of the house) during a campus tour I was giving Saturday morning and when I got home, the skin on my knuckles was dry, cracked and blistery-red. Despite the fact that I slather my entire body in baby oil after I shower, and keep my hands and lips continuously coated in a layer of moisturizing goo, winter makes my skin look like a bleeding Sahara. Rehearsals are keeping me super busy through the month of January. For the next two weeks, I'm in rehearsals four times a week (it's supposed to be five, but I can't be in two places at the same time on Thursday nights). I'm on stage in a week and a half! I've had bronchitis for three weeks now. It all started with a scratchy throat at the end of December and by the first week of January I was seemingly coughing up a lung in the mornings. But I tend to be like my father sometimes and don't like to admit when I'm sick. So I leave it and try to take care of it myself and wait for it to go away. Except, this is bronchitis we're talking about here, and when I left it to go away on its own, IT DIDN'T. It festered and turned nastier by the day until I was coughing out my innards (I never knew they were bright green!) and the girls at work were so sick of listening to me that they took me to the doctor in the middle of a shift. Apparently, I was quite, quite ill. He put me on 1000 mgs of drugs per day for a week and a half. Those ten days of being heavily medicated are over, but I'm still coughing in the mornings. My poor, poor bronchial tubes. I can't bear to think that they're still infected - I need those to live! You know what I like? When people say "Ciao, bella" to me. It makes my knees all melty.
11:55 pm
Friday, January 18, 2008
Three Things: Technology, Health, And TheatreI've been decidely absent lately because there's a lot going on that I haven't told you about, and the thought of sitting down and typing it all out from the very beginning seems daunting. So of course, I resort to focussing on the boy-drama that somehow manages to infiltrate my life all the time. I guess I'll start with something that's been going on since...spring of 2007? My MacBook. Did you know that I managed to complete an entire semester of school without it? By the way, school without a computer may be difficult, but it's not impossible. Things started going funny when I was in Spain, but I couldn't take care of it until I was settled back in the country, so I took it into a Mac shop for repairs in August. I was convinced something was wrong with it, so when the tech guy told me to just buy more RAM, I didn't believe him. I went about searching for cheap RAM anyhow, until one morning during the first week of school when my precious, precious laptop decided to go into (what I now know as) "kernel panic". It looked like the thing was being possessed - the screen went black, it whirred madly as white text scrolled from the top saying things like BAD and FAIL. I freaked out, called a local computer store and brought it in within a half hour. They told me a couple days later that my hard drive was dying and that it needed to be replaced ASAP. A dead hard drive? I thought I just needed more RAM? Anyway, Apple wouldn't believe my claims that these guys were right because they're not "certified Apple technicians" and since the first Apple guy said nothing was wrong, then indeed, nothing was wrong. In order for my wish to have my hard drive replaced by Apple under warranty, I'd have to get a second Apple opinion. Too bad the Apple opinion would cost $65. Deciding that $65 was far too much to pay for a diagnostic, I spent hours and hours on the phone with customer service at Apple to no avail. My lappy sat, half-dead, on my desk for about two months. It was nearly the third week of November when I finally found a student-friendly (i.e.: cheap) tech-shop with an Apple technician in residence. He agreed, my hard drive was indeed dying and the first Apple guy was an idiot. A month and $170 later, my hard drive had been replaced, (most) of my data had been backed-up and restored. But the story doesn't end there. My luck with my lappy has been rife with complications - the tech guy spelled my name wrong when installing the new hard drive, he didn't save all my data (see: lost photos (CRIES) and music all out of whack), and then my battery malfunctions and dies too. So right now, JANUARY 2008, after FOUR MONTHS of computer-less agony, my laptop is still in the shop. I get to pick it up today - hoepfully, it's in working order and I don't have to throw it against the wall (because I've come close in the past). From now on, I'm doing it old-school and burning everything to CD. In medical news, cancer sucks. Someone I worked with passed away in October, my paternal-grandmother got diagnosed with it in November, someone else I knew passed away in December, and I have an appointment on Monday that'll tell me whether or not I have some form of it too. It's not as bad as it sounds, really, and I'm okay. I've gotten abnormal results back from a couple tests I've had done in relation to my lady parts, which resulted in me getting a colposcopy and biopsy in December. My roommate went to the hospital with me and I was so very grateful. My follow-up appointment is Monday. They assured me at the hospital that it was a fairly routine procedure, that this does not mean "pre-cancerous" in any way, and that they're just "nipping it in the bud" if it is something bad. I'm trying to curb my skepticism and believe them. Either way, it's out of my hands. What's done is done and there really isn't anything I can do about it. I haven't spent much time thinking about it because there's no point in that right now. I just get to find out in a couple days and decide how I feel about the results then. I do hope however, that they *did* nip it in the bud, that I'm okay, and that I'll be able to have children when I'm older. In other dramatical, but of the theatrical variety, news, I'm on stage in less than two weeks! This has been my first production with a community theatre group since high school and I'm super excited about it. It's just a little comedic one-act, but I'm looking forward to being on stage again and performing after a year and a half of being stage starved. The play is a comedy, and though I'm used to being in dramas, I've had a lot of fun with it. Hopefully the audience will too. My experience with the Vagina Monologues in the past has served me well; I get to talk about orgasms again. Don't say I didn't warn you! Ooh, ALSO: I've been auditioning like mad since I moved back here; I did well during my first one and was considered for a role, but my class schedule prevented me from attending rehearsals, so that was a no go. I got a call-back for a musical audition and though nothing came from it, that satisfies me for now. I got a part in a short-short and filming it was a great learning experience. I auditioned with the community group again and got a part in the play I'm in now. Last week and this past week, I auditioned for a mainstage production. What I'm involved with now is a one-act festival; the shows are comprised of three one-act plays, a few sketches, and we only have four runs. A mainstage is a PLAY-play. A full-length show with Acts, not just Scenes, and eight runs as opposed to four in a bigger theatre. This year, the theatre is putting on Wilde's "The Importance of Being Earnest". My audition went well (at least, I thought it did) and as of an hour ago, I'm officially playing Gwendolen Fairfax (i.e.: THE LEADING LADY)!! I'm so excited I could scream, but I'm at work right now, so I haven't been able to tell anyone except write it out on here ol' bloggy. Let it be known though, that I'M SO EXCITED I COULD SCREAM. I haven't been involved with a mainstage in YEARS - and to think, I've still got it! They like me, they really like me! Ahhhhhhh!!
2:11 pm
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
Out Of The Shallow End*inhale* His name is David. I don't feel nice when I refer to him as Mr. GQ-Asshole, even though he doesn't deserve any niceties from me right now, or ever. I was going to solemnly swear that I will try my best not to write about him here anymore, but I've changed my mind. I know it might be better for my mental and emotional health, and especially because he knows that I have a blog which is easily Google-able. But as I found during my last counselling session, what happened with him really did a number on me. So allow me a little while longer. David. I admit that I want to see you again. To see you and smile like I did whenever I opened the door and you were standing there, looking fabulous like you always do, like the twenty-seven year old I thought you were, but weren't. I want to see what outfit you've just put together, to smell your cologne, to feel the light tickle of your beard against my lips and cheek. Did you know I've never liked facial hair, that I've never been attracted to it at all until I met you? I've been trying to let it go, really, I have. Admittedly, there are certain things holding me back, like my stupidly sticky emotional ties to everything and everyone. So while you may think I'm crazy to still be this attached to you, this is something I go through with a lot of people, not just you. I don't like losing things. I'm not saying that you're not special and unique (I'm sure you have a lot of talents beyond good fashion sense), because you did give me things that no one really has been able to in the past. In that sense, I thought you were pretty special, worthy of not only my time, but of my thoughts. Do you know what I did? I went home and brought back my nice dresses and heels so that I'd have fancier things to wear to all those fancy dinners we were planning. I spent over $400 on new clothes, nice ones, to better match your wardrobe. I brought an iron back after the holidays. I NEVER iron. I considered getting clothes tailored and dry cleaned. I started blow-drying my hair and doing my make-up all the time. I don't even own a hair-dryer. The saddest part is that I didn't do all of this for me. I did it all for you. I have never been so wrapped up in things that are so superficial. Emma, who knew you too, said that you were "just an outfit" and I don't think she was saying it just to make me feel better about everything either. Do you remember the day you wore three different outfits in the span of twelve hours? One to drive me to work, one to pick me up, and another one when we went out that evening. Conversation that night flowed better than it ever had, or ever would have again. I knew something was off too; it was pretty clear that we didn't have instant, amazing chemistry. We didn't have a lot in common. You fell asleep during The Darjeeling Limited. But I'm the type to think that opposites can be amazing together. I would have introduced you to my indie music, I would have taken you to grungy dives for ethnic food (I couldn't believe that you had never had sushi!), made you eat with your hands, taught you about loose leaf tea; I wanted to take you outside your comfort zone and open you up. And you could have taken me to more fancy restaurants and ordered me nice wine and champagne, you could have talked to me about fashion designers, taught me how to speak to your Oma in Slovak, and shown me more Cary Grant movies. We could have gone shopping together. And cooked meals together. And had wine by your fireplace. And maybe one day, I would have gotten used to your horrible, horrible snoring and actually sleep through the night. The truth is that I could never read you. I never knew what it was that you were thinking and what you wanted. Ultimately, I guess you didn't want me. And that's okay, I guess, but it was the sudden, unceremonious way in which you did it that bothers me to this day. It wasn't a fairy tale ending, and there I was, thinking that you were totally Prince Charming. You know how the Princes always have a white steed? You actually have a white car. The symbolism was almost too much. Like Prince Charmings do, you opened up to me a world that was previously unaccessible. Like you, I've always wanted a glamorous lifestyle, the kind you see on Sex and the City; the fancy clothes and cocktail parties, being driven around in a fancy car, and being wined and dined. Maybe it's superficial and shallow, but it's something that I've discovered that I want. I want to be done with student life. I want to be treated like a Lady. I want doors opened for me, to have my coat taken, to be treated to meals and drinks and anything. Now that I got the teensiest little taste of it, I'm craving it more than ever. And really, I'm typically not high-maintenance at all. But now I do my eye make-up every morning before work, and I wear my nice red coat with my nice long gloves. I have a $70 pair of shiny black pants, and a $90 see-through shirt. I never used to buy brand name stuff. I'm still my down-to-earth self on the inside, I've just cleaned up a little on the outside. I wish you were around to notice. But I still have a $7 sweater in my closet, and hand me downs, and my room is really cluttered and dusty. My hair is everywhere. The thing with me is that I'm different, in and of myself; there's a lot to me. Layers, like onions. Em also said that I was too good for you, which (with as little hubris as possible) is also true. It's not like I was "too good for you" in that mean way; we're just different. Unlike you, though I like to look good and own nice things, that's not all I'm about. I'm deep and complicated and emotional. The last four years of my life have been unbelievably tumultuous and I'm still working through some stuff. I go to counselling. I believe that there's a certain depth to me and I eventually wanted you to dive into it. I never knew anything about you except for the fact that growing up as a single child made sharing hard for you, that you used to have Lego battles by yourself. I always felt that maybe there was something more to you, something deeper that I might be able to unearth. I'm a chameleon, easily adaptable and comfortable in any situation. I can go to a punk rock concert and love being in the mosh pit, I can be at an upscale restaurant and then the ballet or opera, I can be a crunchy-granola-hippy student with my socks and Birkenstock sandals riding my bike to campus with a packed lunch in my backpack, I can wear stiletto heels to a club and dance. You stood awkwardly against the bar when it was hip-hop night. You've never eaten any interesting foods. You were a man (boy?) who was only good for half the lifestyle I want. I want a man who owns a pair of sweatpants. I want someone who knows weird music. I want someone who isn't 100% all the time. I want someone who can get dirty. Someone I can go camping with. Who doesn't change their clothes three times a day. I want someone who will laugh when I respond with, "Thanks, I grew it myself," to the comment, "You have really soft skin." I guess I want everything. The classy and the grungy. And though you may have been Mr. GQ, dashing and wonderful to me for a short period of time, you weren't Everything. *exhale*
7:34 pm
Sunday, January 06, 2008
WallowingWhat a shit way to start out the new year - Happy 2008 to me, whoo, let's get dumped! Indulge me and my self-deprecation for a while, will you? I do hesitate to say that I was "dumped", per se, but I'm not sure how else to say it. He wanted to stop seeing me, I guess. I told my girlfriends to give me twenty-fours hours and I'd be fine. No more wallowing. What works wonders in that department is running a computer camp for children - being with eight kids in a small room for four hours straight really leaves no room for self-pity. What doesn't work is drinking. Alcohol is a depressant and it works very well, did you know? While vaguely under the influence last night, I actually called Mr. GQ-Asshole. Three times. Clearly, I wasn't as sober as I thought, at least not sober enough to keep my wits and scruples about me. Or maybe, just maybe, I was actually that desperate to see him again. He didn't pick up, which was probably for the best. Unfortunately, he was polite enough to call me back this morning when he saw that he had missed my call last night. I'm not exactly over it. As much as I'd like to just write it off as one of another of my many: Mistakes, Poor Judges of Character, and He's Just an Effing Assholes, I feel as though I can't claim those sorts of things any more. Shouldn't I be able to tell by now? Shouldn't I be better at picking the better ones? Shouldn't I also be better at dealing with rejection? Why is it that my roommate can meet someone completely randomly at a bar a month before she goes home to England, sleep with him the second time they meet, and fall head over heels in love? Granted, this guy is so wonderful I could swear that he's a fictional character who just walked off the set of a romantic film. She couldn't stop talking about him and I wanted to marry him, for goodness' sake, he sounded so great. So what harm was there when one of his best friends was interested in me? If he's so wonderful, then surely his best friend would be of the same material? Not so, my poor, naive little heart, not so. After a few weeks of me being with his best friend, and not sleeping with him the second time we met, I'm now mopey and pathetic, the exact opposite of being happily in love. I acted like I wasn't invested, but inside, I was, even just a little bit. I even have a post in draft form about him and me blogging about a boy, or even thinking about blogging about a boy is a fairly big step, especially so early on. I was invested enough for it to hurt like heck when he told me. I wanted to scream and punch and kick and break things. But seriously, what the hell? I met his parents, his oma, he bought me a Christmas gift, then I met his cousins and then his entire extended family, aunts, uncles and all. What. the. hell? This whole episode just triggered the spilling of that big ol' can of worms - why does this keep happening to me, why aren't I good enough, what's with me that people think they can treat me like this, what is it about ME? Typical post-dumpage grieving and self-doubting. But seriously, why is it that I have to go through year after year of shite, and guy after guy, and still, I've got no one? See this post, from TWO YEARS AGO when I was dealing with a freakishly similar and just as crappy situation. Crueler still is watching someone else find exactly what it is that I want while I struggle through it all. I know it's immature, but really, I can't help but say it: It's not fair. PS: Since when was two and a half weeks a long time to wait before sleeping with someone? Since WHEN? I pretty much hate today's standards for everything. It's totally time I pick up and move to another continent. "I used to wanna change the world. Now I just wanna leave the room with a little dignity." I only sort of know where this line comes from, but it seems perfectly fitting to me right now.
10:16 pm
Wednesday, January 02, 2008
Reason #Million Why I Should Just Go Ahead And Be An Ascetic Already The reason I haven't been around much is that, well, I haven't been around much. I haven't slept at my apartment for nearly a week now. I've been too wrapped up in dinners and drinks, new people and all things Slovak. As infatuated as I was with my new lifestyle (see: riding around in a nice car, fancy clothes and champagne on a regular basis), the horse-drawn coach had to turn back to a pumpkin at some point. And for me, that moment was tonight, just as I had stepped out of the shower, clean and excited to get ready for another night out. The phone rang, he said "Listen..." and that was that. Too bad there's no Prince searching the town for me, and instead just a giant idiot out drinking with his friends down the road. At the very least, he sort of nipped it in the bud. I would have felt more like a fool if my make-up was already done. Love is like a fire, but whether it is going to warm your heart or burn down your house, you can never tell.
- Joan CrawfordAnd she couldn't be more correct. I've been weary of boys and relationships, nevermind love, for some time now, so I can't understand why it is that someone has decided that I still need lessons on why I should be bitter and cynical for all eternity, because really, I have enough of that stuff to last me a lifetime and a half. STOP BURNING DOWN MY HOUSE. PLEASE. I can only rebuild so many goddamn times. Remember Amichai and the architects? THEY'RE TIRED. GIVE THEM A BREAK. Remember this happy moment from not even three weeks ago? I was just about to introduce Mr. GQ to you all too, but at this exact moment, I'm not sure if 'GQ' or 'Hugest Asshole on the Planet' is a more accurate description. Sure, he was/is a damn fine specimen to look at and always looked like he just walked off the cover of a magazine, and I never really got over that pocket square, but when someone springs it on you that he wants to stop seeing you because of "school" there's no way that I can think anything but "bullshit" and completely lose all respect for them. Alright, so I'll miss being treated like an absolute princess, but this'll teach me to fall for someone who's got a nice car (with leather interior and seat warmers!), loads of nice clothes and money. I had a suspicion he was shallow when I met him, but my skepticism was blinded by the complementary shirt/tie/pocket square combo. Plus, the blazer was nice too. And his jeans always fit him in the best way and god, the linen shirt from last night, not to mention the cologne... Anyway, I've had my bout of doors being opened, coats being taken, $200 dinners, and arm candy. I suppose it's time now to find someone more down to earth. The romantic in me will never get over it though... It's a shame too, that I loved his family and that they loved me back. I wonder how he'll explain it to them. Will they be proud of him for focussing on school more, or just lament the fact that he let go of someone so much better than him? Gah, the bitter and cynical me is back already. She jumps in quick when my ego and esteem take a hit. So I'll try to stop wondering why he bothered with the Christmas gift, the meeting the family and extended relatives, why he showed up to pick me up from work with a pack of Halls when I mentioned my throat hurt, and all the sweetness and treating me to everything (I cringe at the thought of how much he spent on me these past weeks - though, now knowing what an immature jerk he is, I can't really feel sorry for him). My bad for dating someone who was twenty-one and thinking that he could actually have the maturity and emotional capacity to match someone right for me (nevermind just someone my age) - kudos for at least trying to play the part well, but I guess the act was too tiring. I mean, he hardly even got to know me and he made a run for it; he hadn't even begun to chip away at my baggage and I can't imagine how awkward it would have been if we were to actually start having deep conversations about me and my checkered past. It's alright. This shall henceforth be referred to as The Holiday Interlude. I met him just as exams were finishing and now it's over just as school is about to start. The timing is pretty much perfect, except for the fact that I'm not really in school next term and I've got loads of free time on my hands. Time to get back to living my life the way I used to. What gets me though (other than how awfully upset I was) is how I didn't know, how I couldn't tell he/it would be like this, how I actually had the hope that maybe, just maybe, he could be more and deeper and perfect for me in addition to being his amazingly good-looking self. That we might actually amount to something. Much to my dismay, the evidence is getting stronger and stronger; maybe there isn't anyone perfect for me after all. Man, whoever dares to date me next sure has his work cut out for him. Good luck to you, bud, whoever you are. Personally, my advice to you is: Don't even bother. Spare yourself the frustration. After this little episode, the walls are going back up, and man, are they ever fortified. Silver linings: I sure am glad my waxing appointment was scheduled for tomorrow and no earlier. I think the fates were working with me on that one. I cancelled that as soon as my voice was stable enough to speak to someone other than my girlfriends. I've also now had a meal at the most expensive restaurant in the region, for free. I hate thinking that this is something I'm leaving 'the relationship' with, but it's not like he taught me anything, other than: 1. Don't trust the good-looking ones, and 2. Sometimes, Arm Candy is just that, sweet, temporary, and probably bad for your teeth.
11:51 pm
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