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Monday, August 21, 2006
Remember To Feel Real
Speak of the fucking devil. I write about the ass bastard who pretty much almost got me fired from my night job (Anyone else perplexed as to why a lawyer has to bartend her weekends and nights away to make monetary ends meet? I knew I should have gone into divorce law), express my comical take on the entire debacle, and what happens? He calls me Saturday night to tell me he's outside my apartment and that I should buzz him in.
Excuse me?
You're sitting outside my apartment building at three in the fucking morning and you think I'm going to let you into my apartment building so you can come on up to my apartment so we can "talk," all because you called to tell me to do so?
Psycho!
I've always wanted a stalker, but not the kind that calls to be invited up. I wanted the kind that lurks in the shadows and peers into my window while I'm changing. The kind that's presence is only known by a loud moan as he man butters up whatever location he is lurking in, all the while peering in at me doing nothing more than watching tv. I want a hands-off, non-communicative stalker who just psychotically admires from a distance and acquires an even closer man-to-hand relationship with me as only a catalyst to the love fest.
I don't want a stalker who calls to tell me he's downstairs. I don't want a stalker who actively wants to be a part of my life and can't seem to get the hint that I would probably kill him and then piss on his dead body before I let him anywhere near my domicile. I really don't want a stalker who is smitten with me.
I just want a lurker, unless he's extremely hot, in which case I'll be inviting him in for turkey sandwiches and facials *wink wink, nudge nudge*. This guy isn't extremely hot, thus, he needs to either be a lurker or just leave me alone altogether. And I know he's not a lurker because if he was in fact watching me at all times and following me around, he would know that I wasn't even in this great state of shit all weekend.
What's even more "speak of the devil"-ish, is that I pretty much outright stated my lack of desire to even put myself out there and date anymore, and this weekend my love life was the topic of choice.
"You don't give people a chance." "You need to be less stand-off ish." "Maybe you just want too much. You aren't perfect, why do you expect someone else to be?" "You need to let people get to know you before you launch into being the blunt and sarcastic person you are."
Blah blah blah. By the end of my first dinner in the land of the slow talking, everyone at the table sounded like the teacher from Charlie Brown. And, of course, everyone was rather shocked that I became slightly defensive towards the end of the weekend: "We're just trying to help, don't get all pissy."
Did I ask for help? Did you honestly think I had no clue that I wasn't the most friendly of people, and that being the same person around everyone-from people I've known my whole life, to the person I just met at the bar-didn't have its repercussions? If I wanted everyone I encountered to like me I'd be a fake bitch like most people tend to be. I would sit there and twirl my hair, play dumb, laugh at the stupid jokes, and stay completely silent, because outwitting, outsmarting, and pointing out the shortcomings of someone is fine if you have a dick but a major deal breaker if you have a vagina. If all I wanted out of my life was a Mrs. degree, then I would have forgone the years of graduate school I went through and am going through to insulate myself with a nice cushy career.
I don't need the people I love to point out my shortcomings as a reason for why I keep coming up just short of anything viable in the relationship setting. I know that it's me. I know that I am the problem, and maybe I'm just not ready to become my own solution yet because I still cling to this sick notion that who I really am isn't that bad and that someone will actually like me for me, and not some altered version of me I had to morph into to get a pretty ring on my left ring finger.
I'm not ready to let go of the minimal faith I have in the prowess of the stars, but I have to.
I've always been petrified of the possibility that my love life and marriage would become an overt expectation of the spectators of my life . That the whole moira would become just another hoop I have to jump through to get the approval and validation of my audience. That the only way I could continue with my divaricated existence with minimal meddling would eventually come down to competely tucking away the side of me I simply hide from my onlookers, just so I can meet the demands of marriage, and grandchildren, and the semblance of familial bliss.
It's always fantastic when one of your greatest fears materializes right in front of you, and you're pretty much shackled to it from that moment until death do you part.
kitty kat spoke at 9:46 AM
and
11 people united to combat the evil fucking care bear stare
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