Disappointed

If I have initiated all of the contact in a week, does that mean someone doesn't want to see me?

If I am feeling disappointed because he said "let's touch base Sunday" and then he didn't, is that on me for not saying I am feeling insecure about having initiated all of our contact lately and that I want him to be the one to reach out?

Do I read too much online dating advice trying to figure out how to date like an actual adult? 

Anyway, I feel disappointed. I fear that my inauthentic lying garbage behavior has put me in this precarious position. He's been distant ever since that night when I lied to him about the aliens. (Sidebar on that - my friend said "Of course he believes in aliens. He's a comic book writer." and that realization made me enjoy that he believes in aliens.)

Miguel wants me to be safe, so Miguel said I should wait for him to come to me. So I guess I'm spending Halloween with Miguel and Marina and not with Chris...but on the bright side, I'll be with Miguel and Marina, and I am 100% confident they love me just the way I am, and Miguel is such a good friend that I have somehow moved beyond any need to lie to him!

Confusing garble. Gargle. Garble.

 Copied from my phone. I think I wept these words into the dictation.

When you are great you are SO great. That's the Justin I missed. The one that makes me feel appreciated and respected and beautiful and strong. I love that man. I'm always gonna miss him. But I'm not gonna miss the guy that has treated me with very little respect. It's OK, I understand. I didn't really respect myself. I fucked up. I made decisions for the wrong reasons. Yes, I came here for my sister my family and my business but I also came here on the hope that you and I were going to be something  real. It was a stupid move. It was not something I did for my self. But I'm owning it and moving forward. What more can I do? I hope to hell I see that great guy again someday.

OK so I lied. You're not going to see me I again because I'm moving or whatever. I honestly have no idea where my life will take me next and that's very exciting and I'm happy about it. I wanted something real with you, and I thought you wanted that too, but You have made it more than clear that you don't want or can't do that. In spite of trying to stop I have not stopped wanting something real with you, but you have made it clear that on your end it's not going to happen. So I need to move on. I do not have time for this and I need to do better for myself

And in a moment of drunkenness, yes, I confess, I missed you. I wanted to see you. I wanted the feeling that I used to get before I moved here when you were so wonderful and treated me like I was something really special. But it's not going to happen for whatever reason, I don't know. Maybe you don't want to, maybe you aren't ready, maybe it's just that I get so upset when you treat me disrespectfully. I do not know. What I do know is that I need to move on, I need to do better for myself. I can't wait around and I'm not going to.

OK so maybe you don't care, but you know I can't leave anything unspoken... The real reason you won't see me again is not quite that I'm leaving, it's that I need to let go of you. I left New York on my own, but I came to Ohio for you. I was really sold on this idea that you wanted to be with me and have that house with the garden and the porch and the chickens and I came here, closer to you, hoping for that life. Almost as soon as I arrived it became obvious you don't want to or can't have that with me. I'm okay with that, and I'm also okay admitting I messed up by changing my life for you instead of doing what's best for me. And yes I miss you, but it doesn't mean I'll fuck you in a car after being ignored and pushed away, it means I really miss you. I miss talking to you and feeling like you were on my team and appreciated me. I miss hearing about your day and your little domestic fantasies and being the person you called when you needed someone--that's the man I want to fuck in a car or the woods or an alley next to a bar or in a walk in refrigerator. There's a Justin who stares at me like I'm the last woman on earth and makes fun of of my fretting and seriousness and can melt me with a word. I will always miss that Justin, he is wonderful and amazing and made me feel like I could handle anything. That part of you is like a drug for me...nobody has ever made me feel so wanted. But I've got to stop hoping there's love there. I can't see you. 

Again? Not again...

I'm finally over him, and so he gets a name. I'm calling him Rocky because he's a boorish low-class Italian who moves toward a singular goal with little care or thought for anyone else and yet somehow remains a hero. It suits him.

Rocky and I are on relatively good terms. I mean, he no longer avoids and ignores me and I no longer want to make him cry so that's something. We've actually been laughing together a bit, and I don't think about him all the time. So my mind, my attention, has been free to wander.

Lo and behold it wandered to an electrician who I caught staring at me all the time on set. It wandered right to the deep, clear blue pools of his beautiful eyes and his pouty lips that make me want to kiss him until I can't breathe. And of course he has a girlfriend. Of course.

So how come he snuck this photo of me (and probably more) on set, sat on it for two weeks and then gave it to me?



Who puts that kind of thought into something when he has a girlfriend already?? And then he flirted with me all day in front of the other guys in his department. It was totally embarrassing. I was so nervous I could barely talk to him. Then he started texting me. It was flirty even after he mentioned he wasn't single.

And what IS it with me and unavailable dudes? This HAS to stop. And how come they all seem to think I'm perfect 'other woman' material? Is it a redhead thing? Do I dress too sexy? Am I not pretty enough to be arm candy for life? Is it my attitude? Am I too flirty or too brash? Too quick with a dirty joke? I don't wanna be the other woman, I wanna be the only woman!

More than that though, I wanna stop thinking about Him...the new one with no name. Except I know his name already...He's Danger.

I'm about to become a bad bad girl.

I've had it with being good. It gets me nowhere.

I'm working with No Name now and he and I are becoming better friends. It's helping me deal with the unrequited love thing since I get to talk to him about the ridiculous decisions he makes about women, I get to learn his work style and I get to see the lack of love in his eyes when he looks at me. It's tough cookies for me. I never had a chance. But I get a friend out of it. And that's no consolation prize; it's a bona fide win!

Anyway, I've been good for months and months, saying if someone isn't as good as him I don't want to bother but now, two tears in a bucket ... I'm ready to let it go. Frankly I need to get laid and I'm way past due to quit whining about how lonely I am for true love. Waah waah. So here we go. Enter Jezebel.

Maybe It's Not a Disease.

The drama with No Name continues. After work he sought me out to talk. We rode the Subway toward home together, with some of the boys from work in tow. They were all going out to party together but I had to work the next day on a commercial so I couldn't go. He told me he'd broken up with the girlfriend. I regret that I never did mention I had broken up with Columbia. He sat next to me and touched my hand a little and we talked a little about the script he's been working on. He told me about a job he has coming up, two months of work, and said he'd put me in for it.

I had an interview with the AD's on the job this week and I nailed it - I'm in. I'm going to see him for over two months straight. Every day.

I'm half nervous, half excited. There's a piece of me that believes he and I would be amazing together now that the timing is better, but there's also a big part that's concerned I'll wind up getting carried away and then disappointed. I was talking to Thinky Face last night about how getting romantically disappointed can really send you into a thick depression ... Lately it feels like things are even more precarious; instead of falling from a normal height and being able to pick yourself up it's more like you're falling off a roof. I mean, maybe it's not...but it seems like it hurts worse now when I sink into a depression.

What I really know is that I don't know anything. At one point I made a joke about him cheating on the girlfriend with me and he said no, he'd legitimately been on the outs with her every time he'd seen me. That's something. And I don't really know that he's been with other women in that time ... I have no reason to believe he does, it's really just a fear I have, thanks to the Producer shaking me violently into the reality of casual sex. I've assigned a lot of meaning to the things that happen with him without really knowing for sure what's going on. And I've been wrong to judge him based on fear and my own insecurity. I mean, I have to protect my feelings, sure ... but there's got to be a line I can ride between protecting myself and pushing people away.

Situations Like These

I'm working with No Name today. I love him the way Christians love Jesus. It's a disease.

In my pathetic-ness I asked the Magic 8 Ball on my phone if he and I would ever be together. It said, "Without a Doubt." Then I remembered I forgot to specify how. Then I remembered he cheats on his girlfriend with me (and most likely with other women) and I figured I probably didn't want him anyway in that case. Then I figured I don't really know anything about what he's like when he's not working or partying and shouldn't judge him. Then I figured my underdeveloped sense of self-worth would never allow me to accept him even if he DID want me, which he doesn't, at least not the parts of me that aren't erogenous zones.

Well I don't know, maybe he does. When he hires me he keeps me far away where we can't see each other, and when I do see him he greets me by wrapping his arms tight around me and crushing my body against him and smelling my hair all nonchalant. As if I don't notice. When I catch him looking at me--oh hell, why am I bothering?

He's not man enough to do something about the way he obviously feels even though he knows it's mutual. So I guess that he's not worthy of me--he doesn't even meet the most rudimentary criterion I have for a mate, which is wanting me more than anyone else. I wish knowing that were enough to make me let it go.

Well usually it is. But then we work together for a day or I see him at a party, and the hug with the hair-smelling squeezes the wind out of me. And it starts all over again.

Ugh. Stupid.

Vive le Résistance

Remember Him? That's with a capital H. The following is all true but a word of warning, it's the stuff of cheesy romance novels and daytime television.


I was with Him last night. It was a bad idea. I knew it at the time. It just sort of happened - one minute there was a whole group of people in His room and He and I were sitting there chatting and the next we were alone...talking about everything. Work, lives, friends, film, passion, reality. The tension built. He touched me. My arm first, then my hair. Then my lips. Then he tried to kiss me.

I resisted. I said no. I told Him I wasn't going to have sex with Him. He hugged me tight and said it would be okay, just to stay and sleep. As I drifted off, so warm and comfortable with Him, feeling sexy and wanted and alive and irresistible I thought of Columbia. I wished I felt this way with him, like I'm sitting on a rocket launch pad with someone I trust with my life. I thought it would be okay anyway, that we were past that and could just relax and sleep and then part ways... How naive we can be when we want things we can't have. I slept.

I woke up tangled up with Him in the blankets, His big hands all over me. I told Him I had to leave. He stopped me, pulled me close, rested my head on his chest. I told Him I like Him too much, that I need someone who will love me and take care of me and give me the appreciation I deserve. He said he can't even do that for himself. I told Him I have a boyfriend. He asked if my boyfriend was giving me what I need.

I swallowed the lump in my throat. I had to say no.

But I also had to follow up. I told Him I know He can't give me what I need either. I made my position abundantly clear and started lacing on my boots. He kept apologizing. He asked me softly if I was really going, to come back to Him and let Him hold me a minute. I shouldn't have but I did. He wrapped his arms around me and pressed his body against mine and then suddenly my mouth wouldn't shut up. I told Him how heartsick I felt over Him before. I told Him how I wished He could be the one for me. I told Him how I want to work for Him and learn from Him. How I just want to be His, any way I can.

Every time I told Him something new He'd wince and squeeze my hand or bury His face in my neck and inhale into my hair the way He does. Then I told Him about the electric shock every time I see Him. He lost it. He growled and kissed me hard. So hard. So passionate....with electricity and fireworks and plaintive need and blinding heat. The way Columbia never has. He is everything that Columbia is not, in good ways and in bad.

I kissed Him back. It felt so good to give in. Then He started tugging at my skirt. I said no. He forced me down, His hands still pawing at me. For a split second, terrified, I thought He might - but I whispered His name and I was free. I got back on my feet, determined to escape, unsure if I could say no another time.

I hurriedly gathered up my bag and my coat and dashed out, my mind racing and my heart heavy. I was proud I'd resisted as much as I had, but I knew I let it go too far. I know how close I got and how badly I wanted Him. If not for the heartache I'd suffer afterward I may just as well have let it happen. It was cheating. I didn't have sex but I cheated. It's not really the problem, only a symptom. I know what the problem is. I'm not satisfied. Things aren't right. I need to let Columbia go.

Kissing Hello

I don't know much about Columbia's life. He won't tell me much. I don't tell him that much either, but my talkative and narcissistic nature has leaked out plenty. He'd tell me if I asked, I'm sure, but I recently received some advice: don't ask a question if you aren't sure you want to hear the answer. For now I'm not sure. I know there's some girl in his past who never fully went away. (once again social networking ruins my ignorant bliss.) I'm not secure enough with our relationship to ask about it though.

I'm not sure I need to know either. There are other things bothering me. More pressing insecurities. He doesn't kiss me hello. He doesn't touch me in public. He might hold hands but only maybe. I have to ask for affection, and have to press hard for enough sex to meet my needs. His kisses are staccato, caring but rarely hungry. He is stressfully awkward in the same social situations I need to thrive. He can't make a decision about anything and criticizes my decisions unabashedly. If I ask him what or why or how about anything the answer is inevitably "It's unclear." It's as if he puts no thought into the world around him. A total lack of social awareness.

Am I just having trouble understanding someone who's a little different than me, or is this a fundamental compatibility issue? Am I asking too much or just not getting what I need?

Hiding in the Fortress of Solitude

I'm so afraid that I avoid him. I cling to him like glue when he's with me but when we're apart I don't call him, I don't send emails, I don't text. I only IM (our primary method of communication) in moments of weakness or excitation; otherwise I wait for him to come to me. It's pride. I fear making a fool of myself chasing rainbows.

So far he keeps coming back. More often than I expect. Stronger than I expect. Every time I steel myself for disappointment he surprises me by wanting to see me and humoring my silly ideas. He even let me take him out to meet my friends without complaint, despite the location being out of his comfort zone. He knows I'm scared, he recognizes it in my face and he holds me tight. I cried again, and when he asked why for the third time I told him I am terrified of getting hurt, barely grazing the surface of the matter. I wanted to pour everything out to him, but I just don't trust him enough yet. He kissed away my tears and told me not to be embarrassed for crying. He didn't lie and say he'd never hurt me, but he asked if he'd done anything to make me believe he would. Of course he hasn't--he is consistently patient and gentle. But when patient and gentle people hurt you it's worse because it isn't deliberate and it's never their fault. Who does that leave to blame?

Nightmarish scenarios pop into my head in which he tells me I'm nothing to him and he's just using me...but those are my words, not his. My rational mind interprets his soft kisses and caresses as the sweet things I actually want to hear. Still, I won't ever ask what he thinks of me because I'm afraid of what I'll hear. It's too soon to expect any kind of clarity on the subject anyway. I'm still trying to clarify my own feelings--clearly.

He likes my body, which is astonishing to me. He has this way of running his hands over my skin that makes me feel like he's building a force field to protect me from harm as, brick by brick, we dismantle my Fortress of Solitude. I kiss his hands because they make me feel safe, because they tear me down and build me up stronger. I cling harder to him. He wraps his arms around me. I feel safe. Wanted. Then suddenly the terror comes back and I am crippled by the thought of being left alone with no force field, my Fortress having been broken down by his tenderness.

And boy have there been some shipwrecks.

Never mind - Columbia is even (so even!) but he's certainly not boring.

He surprised me last weekend with a burst of affection I hadn't seen before. He stayed with me for three days. He talked about future times of staying together. He talked about coming to my races. He started running (!). He acted suspiciously like...I don't know...like a boyfriend?

I was not freaked out by this either, which is pretty significant since I'm basically terrified as hell of getting hurt again and resigned that he'll disappear the moment I allow myself to become attached. Instead of pulling away (although I wanted to) I cautiously let myself get taken up into the current and tried to let him show me the kind of relationship he sees for him and me.

He insists that we're like Eternal Sunshine: he's all boring and literal and I'm all exciting and abstract. The analogy sounded a little trite to me...I can only imagine swarms of hipster boys say that to their flighty, artistic girlfriends. But we do have a certain dissonance between us, kind of like the movie. Something about us as a couple doesn't make sense, something I can't quite put my finger on. And, like in the movie, being coupled with him feels good in spite of the dissonance. It feels warm in my tummy and lumpy in my throat.

Maybe I could get used to this.

Or maybe I'll get terribly hurt and want to pay someone to help me forget him.

I feel like this relationship is an out of body experience. But I don't think, after the sickening amounts of heartache I've been through in the last three years, that I could do it any other way without eliciting a fight or flight response.

So not sure.

So you know I don't like defining things, right? We've been over that? And I told you I'm finally starting to trust you. I'm still kind of terrified that you'll leave me after I make myself vulnerable in any way since, you know, that's kind of what men do to me usually. But you seem somehow different. Maybe it's wishful thinking, but I'm trying to stay positive. So I'm gonna just assume you are. Different, I mean.

So anyway, I don't want to define things because that leads to expectations and I'm trying to avoid any of those on either side. Because frankly I'm still talking to other people. And I'm sort of assuming you are too. In this way I won't get hurt whether you are or not. I'm not sleeping with anyone else; I kind of think that would be irresponsible and a little whorish. I feel like my emotions are clouded enough without bringing multiple suitors into the mix.

But the point is that I'm starting to trust you. I'm beginning to think maybe you and I have the makings of something good.

That is all.

Heavy

Like anything worth having, anything that comes with a great reward, my affection comes with a price.

I've written before about my intensity and how I think it scares people away. I wanna dive deeper. This is my diary after all, right? You're just a tourist. So why not go down that road? I'm scared of being judged sure... but in light of my current, undefined relationship with Columbia, this has been a major part of what's on my mind lately. And now that I've cried in front of him it's swimming in my brain faster than a hungry shark, and I need to write it out.

In my daily life I'm a strong and powerful person. I readily shoulder the emotional burden of other people's needs, I go to ridiculous lengths to get what I want, I steamroll my way along the long, hard road toward my career goal, I push my body to extremes, I force myself to make ends meet and I do it all with a huge smile on my face, meeting a nigh-constant onslaught of pessimism and adversity with a positive attitude, absorbing every bit of negativity that comes my way.

This intensity that I keep mentioning, it's not just my depression, or my bipolarness or whatever. It's a burning need to have everything taken from me: my power, my dignity, my pride, my sense of self. Those things have a lot of weight, and when they're taken from me the weight is lifted and for a brief period of time I'm free. I can breathe. I can let go of the negativity and untangle the emotional knots that build up underneath. And I can just....be....me. Just a pile of flesh and bones. Defenseless and vulnerable and hurt and scared.

I know it's a lot to take on; I carry it with me every day. I don't expect anyone to want to bear the weight of the challenging life I willingly choose, not to mention the emotional baggage I have been accumulating over twenty-three years. You'd have to be crazy to accept that crushing heaviness. I know. I know.

Does that mean it's crazy for me to hope that someone else will want me bad enough to take on that weight?


It's been really nice for a few weeks. I've enjoyed spending time with Columbia. He's done a good job of lifting the weight for a moment here and there. But now that I've cried in front of him the danger is coming. This is how it goes:

1) He now knows I am an emotional trainwreck.

2) If he accepts me in spite of this knowledge I will become overattached.

3) My attachment will scare him away.

4) Because I have become attached I will take it hard

5) I will become depressed.


The logical next step, then, is to bail before he does right? I know it's cliche. I know it's evasive. But this is survival... I need to avoid depression. It seems like it gets worse and worse each time and I just do not want it to come back. Columbia is nice. He's lovely. I enjoy his company and all but I'm not going to kid myself. He's a genius and next to him I'm just some flighty stupid girl who can't keep her mind on one thing at a time. He's a PhD student, and one day he'll graduate and move to Nowhere, USA for a job, far from New York and my career. And he's twenty-four. He's not ready to shoulder my burden, nor is he looking for a woman to love.

And let's face it. I'm a woman who either loves you or doesn't waste my time.

Bruised

That Comedy TV Show I Like Working On stopped calling me for additional days sometime before Christmas. I was never sure why. I stopped taking days during The Stunt Unit for that big fat movie, sure, but The Big Fish was still calling me when Stunt Unit was over. So I'd go. I'd work for Big Fish. I enjoyed being back at Comedy I Like. Then suddenly...CRASH. Nothing. I'd call Big Fish and he'd say he was booked. He acts dodgy now. He doesn't answer my texts. He still acts like he likes me, but I get no days. No love.

My real gripe here though is that there are people working for Comedy I Like, working for Big Fish, who are not as good as me. This may sound like elitism, but please know I am more than aware that I've only been on set for six months. I am more than humble. I try really hard to do a good job...the people I am talking about have worked no longer than me (in some cases less!) and are not as smart, not as knowledgeable, and not as quick to figure things out.

So what is it? What's the problem?

Is it my attitude? Am I too familiar? Is it my ambition? Am I overambitious? Is it my work ethic? Am I somehow not working hard enough? Did I miss my name on the walkie one too many times? Did I overstep a boundary?

For the love of all that is good, what did I do? What is it that makes Big Fish not want to hire me anymore?


And then there's Aunt J's Show. They've been nice about giving me a few days, and their key PA definitely noticed that I've come a long way since the last time I worked for him. But I still get the overwhelming feeling that Aunt J made him hire me (which is probably true) and that I will always have to prove that I'm not just another nepotism-milking must-hire (which is not true!).


On top of that, I have commercial work this week too. I know I shouldn't complain about any work right now, but I hate working as a PA for low budget non-union stuff. The commercial is paying very well, well enough to put up with it for three days, but still I hate it. I hate driving cube trucks, I hate doing pick-ups, I hate finding parking, and I hate when the producer tries to cut a corner by making me do ridiculous tasks and winds up spending double in the end anyway. AND they couldn't come through with petty cash for me so I'm out of my own pocket and stressing about money!


Friday night I got so upset that I cried to Columbia about it. He was so sweet, pretending that it wasn't a buzzkill for me to cry over my bruised ego and thin wallet the same day he went to a memorial for a deceased colleague. He's not much for verbal affection really, but he did a good job of comforting me.

Un Rendez-Vous à Propos

At the cafe where we met I wasn't exactly sure Columbia liked me. I'm still not wholly convinced, but I feel like that somehow makes it better. He's quiet, quieter than me even, which makes for conversations that are full of my inane prattle and punctuated by awkward silences. His thoughtful face is minimally expressive, which causes a little chill of terrible curiosity to run up and down my neck when I catch him looking at me. Every so often though I'd catch him with a look of such affection on his face that I know he enjoyed playing at being in love just as much as I did.

Though I think we're well-matched in intelligence, I find his advanced education intimidating; he's a PhD student at (guess!) Columbia University. I'm impressed that he can be so dedicated to studying just for its own sake. His passion is focused on just this one thing, where mine is divided up willy-nilly between my work, my dance, my running, my writing, my social life...

I may never see him again, and I know it. I'll be sad if I don't, but it was such a nice week that I can't possibly mind. After all, it certainly got my mind off Him, and he reminded me about something Aunt J said to me at New Year's Day brunch. She told me that it's easy to get wrapped up in your future, but the best way to be a successful PA is to work hard at the tasks assigned to you rather than to work hard at becoming an AD. Instead of worrying about the end goal it's far better to focus on where I am.

So again it comes up: focus on today. Enjoy the things I have right now. Stop worrying so much about the things I don't; they'll come in time. Columbia reminded me that it's the journey that teaches you, not the destination.

And he? He begins his semester on Tuesday. He anticipated preparing steadily for the next couple days and throwing himself into his studies for the duration. I'm quite sure that meant he probably doesn't have much, if any, time for a little out-of-work filmmaker begging him to alleviate her unemployment blues.

And I have my second half marathon coming up a week from today. And I'm booked to work on Aunt J's show on Tuesday and Wednesday. And I've no money, as in my bank account is at zero and I have no cash or checks to deposit. So there is plenty to keep me occupied this week, plenty of journey.

More in the same vein

See, it's not so much that I'm suicidal. I'm not. I don't have the desire to kill myself. I can't even fathom how to do it painlessly, and I'm too much of a wuss to do it otherwise. And also my survival instinct remains intact - I'm not purposefully putting myself in dangerous situations or anything.

It's more that I'm having trouble seeing a point. This all feels very futile to me. I don't really understand what my end goal is, except professionally. And then what? I've been working so long trying to be a PA, now here I am doing it and now what? Try to be an AD? Sure...but then what? Go for UPM, right? Great. But THEN what?

It feels very much like so many mice on so many wheels inside so many cages.

I guess the answer to "Then what?" is love, right? Sharing with other people, making other lives better, that kind of thing. But I have that. I have that with my family and with my friends, and it isn't really all that fulfilling to me. I mean, I like it don't get me wrong. But I want a companion. It's been a long time since I've had one and I miss it.

Him...He doesn't want that with me. Like He said, He can't promise me anything. And that's okay. I wish He did because He fits my requirements, but it's okay. It doesn't have to be Him. There are plenty of others out there. I think it bothers Him because He saw the emptiness inside me when I cried in his bed. He saw it all gush out of me: two years of aches and pains, side effects of the hard work I have done just to live normally and for myself. He knows I feel incomplete and hollow and all those lovely things, and I think He's sorry He can't help. I don't mean I want someone to fix me so much, I just mean I want someone to be the other piece of my puzzle. Someone to be nearby so it isn't so hard for me as I continue to rebuild myself from the inside out. Or maybe just to rub my sore shoulders once in a while, and pet my hair if I have to cry. But I never asked Him to be that person, nor did I expect Him to be.

The truth is that I don't really believe that anyone who fits my requirements would actually step up and volunteer. I don't think any of the puzzle pieces that fit...I don't think they want to fit with me. I find that frustrating. Especially when I see the kind of dumb hos they actually try to fit with.

But it makes sense. Dumb girls are too vapid to have dark and hollow voids. Dumb girls don't make boys go on adventures. Dumb girls make even regular boys seem smart. Dumb girls make wussy girly boys feel like manly men. Dumb girls let boys have an easy life and pretend that they're awesome...because next to a dumb girl, anyone is awesome.

Wow, that just made me really glad I'm still single, because by this logic I'm probably very awesome.

creep

"I can't promise you anything," he murmured to me between kisses.

"No one can promise anyone anything," I said into his neck through the haze of the long, crazy night.

My meaning didn't register with him. "I'm not a good guy..."

I buried my face in the pillow, struggling to remember what I had wanted to tell him all week. "I just don't want you to think I'm the type of girl who'd be here with just anybody...because it's not like that. I'M not like that."

"I know you're not. That's why I'm telling you I can't promise you anything." There was genuine urgency in his voice. He likes me...but he was more concerned for himself than for me. He's the kind of person who'd throw fists first and ask questions later if someone hurt a friend, and he can't hit himself really. But I guess at least I can say we're friends.

I turned away from him and rolled my eyes, glad he couldn't see my face as I glowered at the movie poster on the wall. "I didn't ASK you for anything. I can take care of myself." I noticed his words weren't stinging me the way they once might have. I'm getting used to this.

I just know that when he touches me, or even comes close, it's like an electric current separates my skin from my body. That's it. That's all I've got.

Well...that and tonight. What's wrong with that?

At least he's man enough to tell me...I think that helps a lot with my feelings. At least I know he respects me enough to tell me instead of clamming up until I put out and then dodging my phone calls later. But that's not really his style, the same way it isn't mine, and it's one of the reasons he's so attractive to me.

But it's the same old story. He's putting words into my mouth. He's assuming that, because I'm a woman, I want to club him on the head and claim him as my own. He's assuming I consider myself the least bit ready to be more than just a friend to anyone. Or that I think about him as more than what he is to me. He assumes I'm not using him the same way he's using me. They ALL do this. It's a form of narcissistic thoughtlessness that really pisses me off.

Don't assume that women are all the same, and don't think for one second that you know what's going on in my brain unless I tell you outright. And above all don't assume I can't take care of myself where men are concerned. I'm not as innocent as I like to look.

Hey, Jealousy

There's this girl who works on my job. She's nice, but more importantly she's pretty. I can't help but notice that she gets an overwhelming amount of "friendly" attention from the guys around, including my boss. I'm nice. But I'm just not as pretty, I guess, because I'm lucky if they talk to me at all.

I'm totally infatuated with this 22 year old boy, and I REALLY notice when it's he paying that attention and then totally passing me by. We kissed one night, drunk in his hotel room. He totally freaked out about my age. He thinks I'm old. That makes me feel old. That I'm totally infatuated with him makes me feel stupid. That he's not infatuated back makes me feel rejected.

I have a date tomorrow with a detective named Kevin. I don't know what he detects. I'm not feeling well. I hope I feel better so I can wow him with my awesomeness. I hope I don't spend the entire time thinking about the 22 year old boy. Or Thinky Face. I suspect I'll probably think of both fleetingly.

I hope Halloween comes quick so I can get on another job without that boy. I hope I find enough time to not be excluded from the dance troupe understudy thing anymore. I hope I can come to terms with the things that aren't right in my heart (and secretly also hope to lose another fifteen pounds) so that I can be the pretty girl one day. I hope my chance for that isn't slipping away. I'm turning 29 in 10 days...

kyle the girl
(on iPhone)

Without so much as a smile hovering in the moonlight.

At Queensboro Plaza, when the W train sat on the track for twenty minutes, I knew I would not have time to run in Central Park before the New York Road Runners clubhouse closed, so I went home with no real route planned. I just knew I had to get out on the road as soon as possible, so I could be safe indoors before it got too late. I ran upstairs, changed quickly, safety-pinned my keys to my shorts and was out the door in five minutes flat. The last vestiges of sunlight were barely visible, a royal blue glow crowning the treetops and brownstones.

2 miles. I had to run to a place that was 2 miles away. I thought of your apartment, exactly 2 miles from mine. I shook it out of my head, trying to shake you out of my head. It was gonna be a tough workout and I didn't need any open wounds bothering me.

I coasted down my street to 7th Avenue, well-lit and full of people. On a dark night like tonight you can't be too careful, I know all too well. The population was so thick, in fact, that I thought of nothing but dodging the baby strollers and trying not to trip over dog leashes. I dashed into the street from time to time to avoid crowds, leaping back to the sidewalk to avoid oncoming traffic. I purposely avoided your street, telling myself it was only because the traffic pattern was going the wrong way. Instead I ran up 13th street to the top of the slope, where more people crowded around the benches outside the park.

I ran my sprints toward Grand Army Plaza in minutes instead of meters, laddering up: 1:00, 1:30, 2:00. I took my pulse during the rests between to make sure my heart was okay. I turned myself around toward the bottom of the park and laddered back down: 2:00, 1:30, 1:00. The last minute-long sprint was a hard one. I pushed myself, opening my stride, ramping up my intensity, forcing my muscles to push my body faster and farther. I ended with a gutteral roar of victory, my body folding in two over the concrete, one arm resting on my thigh and the other wiping sweat off my forehead. Panting, grinning from the endorphins racing through my nervous system, I lifted myself upright and threw my head back to see the light glinting off a sign that says "12th St."

I cursed and took off running, the better to get away from any reminder of your pointed absence. The drawn-out silence. The ignored email. It happened again. I know it shouldn't matter to me but it does, it stings, and within three blocks I was sobbing and wheezing and trying to catch my breath. I wasn't crying over you really. I was crying because I believe that somehow it must be my fault, and I'm angry because I blame myself in the face of the flawed logic.

I don't know what I could have done to make you disappear again, but you're gone now and I can't ask. You left me standing there, staring up at an empty tree branch, questioning the meanings and motives of all the reassuring things you said to me...and trying to figure out how I am ever going to find my way through this bizarre and slightly hellish wonderland.

It's not about the boobs.

So I was chatting with my friend T.R. Slyder (go visit his awesome blog, Where Awesome Happens) and somehow the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue came up. Oh wait. Brooke Burke came up in conversation as a hot chick and I said I thought she is a little too cutesy for my taste. And he said she was like one of the only models in SI to ever drop his jaw or whatever. Anyway.

So I was looking at pictures of other SI swimsuit issue models to try and find an example of one *I* thought was hot in response to his contention about Burke, but suddenly I turned into a total blubbering mess of female hormones and I felt like crying. I wasn't sure why.

I told T.R., very honestly and openly that my feelings were bruised: "I hate that fuckin' magazine."

T.R., being the inquisitive fella he is, took the bait and prodded me, asking how I felt about it in relation to Playboy or Maxim. After some debate, it became apparent that my feelings of insecurity weren't about the objectification of women. I then naturally internalized the negativity and proceeded with the assumption that my negative feelings were about how I feel that I can never live up to the standard of 'beauty' the magazine promotes, but then...THEN....T.R. said, "sexy models don't affect people's perceptions about you any more than any other woman."

Without thinking, I retorted, "They do when I feel like I'm competing with them for someone's attention....I always had a hard time with that with my ex. I felt unloved when he'd look at that stuff. Like I wasn't good enough."

The thunder crashed, the lightning struck, and the lightbulb lit up over my head.

After some more discussing it became glaringly obvious to me that I have absolutely no reason to harbor any kind of resentment toward the sexy model magazines, that this was just one more thing I was mad at JH about. T.R. pointed out that if JH hadn't been neglectful I probably wouldn't have felt that way about him looking at the Swimsuit Issue.

Today when I was looking for the picture for this post I felt no kind of resentment at all.

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PS - T.R., I DEFY you to tell me that the cover picture posted here is not every bit as raunchy and blatantly provocative as the stuff in Maxim. I'm not saying it's bad or anything, just saying it's so.

I think I may have blown a gasket.

I had a chat on the Internet Instant Messaging Thingy that basically sums up a good third of the thoughts that have crossed through my brain in the last month:

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Kyle The Girl: So tell me about Mr. S--!

Photosynthesizer: I'm torn because I've known S-- for years so it's not like he's a new person but I'm getting kinda smooshy for him and he doesn't seem to be weird or anything but I also don't know if I want to be his gf or whatever

Kyle The Girl: Aw, I love smooshy.

Kyle The Girl: I wish boys got smooshy too.

Photosynthesizer: I didn't even want sex a week ago and now I'm obsessed

Photosynthesizer: I may have blown a gasket