Sometimes I think that marrieds have no realistic memory of what it is like to be single. I swear that many of them think we're dancing around a fire, naked, playing by our own rules, in a sexy love free for all, like a perverse Lord of the Spanish Flies or something.
In the last few months I've had a few occasions to spend time with my married cousins. I love them dearly, but sometimes I really feel like they would rather not deal with me. Even though we have a lot in common, I still feel like there is awkwardness in conversations. They find it amusing that I have dated the men that I have, and find my take on my relationships humorous, but they really don't remember how to give advice on dealing with different men. It more often becomes advice on what it takes to remain married. Which is great, except that I am not engaged to be married, or even dating one person in specific right now as I just broke up with the fighter. It's like trying to teach a duck's egg how to swim. You can talk until your face is blue, but that egg isn't going to learn a thing until it hatches, if it even does that much.
I know they mean well, but it baffles me sometimes how much they have forgotten how it is to be independent. To not have anyone to depend on for your finances other than yourself. To not have anyone to cry to about your fears of not having a family, or the stress of not always being able to pay bills on time. To feel lucky to be held for more than just a few minutes, rather than to know that you always have arms you can run to. The conversations that they take for granted, about where to take their next trip, planning what to make for dinner for two, laughing without saying anything, even doing a funny dance because it is okay for your loved one to see your stupid side, well, those are things that just don't really exist for the single girl. Not on a regular basis, anyway.
When I get those rare moments where I am in a relationship long enough to trust someone to that extent, I truly cherish them. That's why it is so difficult for me to let go. My ex, the one with all the kids, who broke my heart and sprained my hip, he's also the one whose arms I crawled into when my world was destroyed. He was also the last person who saw me let loose and dance like a gangster rapper when we were BBQing together on a hot summer day. He was the one who held me up close against him as we slept every night. He was the one nodding off on the couch, refusing to go to bed until I was done with what I was doing, so he could fall asleep holding me. Not only did I have to learn to be on my own again, amidst heartache and loneliness, but I also had to learn that it was all a lie. When we recently revisited the idea of hanging out, I realized how true it is that I am single, and always have been, even when I felt whole with him. Now that the shine is off, he doesn't want to hold me. He doesn't want to spend time with me. He doesn't care about my fears, nor my hopes. It wasn't that he ever cared for me. He just loved me at the time. Marrieds don't necessarily get that. It's not wanting to be independent, it's surviving the realization that you have to be.
Wednesday, April 10, 2013
Wednesday, April 3, 2013
I Have A Theory...
I have a theory that I am an even more fabulous writer after I have had a few drinks. As I am writing about dating and relationships, I think that my blog is the best place to test this theory, having such great subject matter. After every few sentences, I will take a hearty swig of either rum or mavrodaphne (a Greek dessert wine), and then continue to write. I will not double check spelling or grammar, as I think the beauty will be lost if it is corrected.
Disclaimer: I am well over drinking age, at home, and will not be driving. The only harm that will come from drinking and writing will probably be done to the poor people subject to reading this. For this I apologize ahead of time. And yes, I have already started.
I did it. I threw my pearls before swine again. I dealt with my ex (see prior entry for proof of my stupidiity), and am left here with my vagina in my hands. So to speak. It really just doesn't sound the same as when a guy says it, does it? Well, not that a guy would talk about his vagina, but you know what I mean.
NOTE: As I write this, I have been chatting with a dear friend, Mr. X - remember him, he'll play a part in future blog entries as the arch nemesis to the horrible men I date. Just after I wrote the above paragraph, he randomly wrote the following, not knowing what my blog entry is about: i wish i had a helpful vagina. not instead of a penis but a helpful vagina attached to a woman. I was in the midst of a swig of rum when I read that, and literally choked on it. I ended up heaving at the kitchen sink, and once I could breathe again, had to change my clothes from all of the rum all that I had coughed all over them, and came back to a living room that looked like a slaughterhouse. Daiquiri mix may taste nummy, but looks wretched sprayed across a couch, carpet, and computer screen.
My ex and I have pretty much come the conclusion that I pretty much came to weeks ago: we can't stand dealing with each other, at least not with his current situation and my expectations. My expectations seem to be the worst part of it. I ask for too much, it seems, by wanting to deal with someone who wants to spend time with me, wants to sleep next to me and aw fuck it blahblahblah wahwahwah. We broke up because we are broken. We can't stand compromising with each other,because I'm smart, and he's too stupid and stubborn to recognize it. I know that that probably sounds pigheaded and cocky, but I'm not the one with five kids from three different women and no degree or future career promotional prospects, am I?!? Noooooooooooo. I'm just the idiot that continues to deal with him.
Note to self: when contacting a celebrity ex that you ticked off and despise, in order to make yourself feel better, trying to start a conversation with "Do you still suck?" may not be the best way to do so.
In my conversation with Mr. X tonightm, he mentioned that it is the eve of his birthday, and that he is dreadingit. He feels that he is not where he should be, and his birthday is yet another marker of that. He yearns for a family of his own, and feels that he should have had one long ago. He takes issue that many others have been blessed with one, and that he is a bit of a Johnny Comelately.
I know this feeling, with all my heart. It tears me to pieces that I am single, alone, and that I have to make a place for myself in my sisters' families, as I have not found my partner in crime yet. But what I will not do is compare. I will not compare myself to others that have formed families of their own. I have blessings that they don't. Many of them are unhappy, and envious. Many are happy and content. Either way, it is no concern of mine. My journey is my own, and I intend to live it fully. Does it kill me that my irresponsible ex has so many kids while I have none? Yes it does, especially that he had another after we talked so thoroughly about having kids. Do I cry? Yes. But you know what? He hides in the bathroom every night, smoking pot for hours so that he can escape his life, where he is stuck in a shitty relationship with a vulture. I wouldn't trabe places with him, or any of his baby mommas in the workd.
So wgat now? Out of the four men I was arguining with, my fighter is out of the question, because he apparently DOES still suck. My Diego is still my Diego. He'll remain a good friend, but is unattainable, and I am more than okay wiht that, because I think we would kill each other if we were more. Man number three (would that make hin diarrhea?), my ex's coworker, has spent a couple of lunches with me, and makes me laugh, but is in no better a situation than my ex, and I obviously don't wnat to deal with that shit any more. Even my cop (have I mentioned him before? That yummy fine example of manhood is an entry to himself) is most likely moving to California. So now, I guess that the world is my shmorgasboard, and it's time for me to take this Greek asss, and introduce it to some new men. We'll see how that goes...
Disclaimer: I am well over drinking age, at home, and will not be driving. The only harm that will come from drinking and writing will probably be done to the poor people subject to reading this. For this I apologize ahead of time. And yes, I have already started.
I did it. I threw my pearls before swine again. I dealt with my ex (see prior entry for proof of my stupidiity), and am left here with my vagina in my hands. So to speak. It really just doesn't sound the same as when a guy says it, does it? Well, not that a guy would talk about his vagina, but you know what I mean.
NOTE: As I write this, I have been chatting with a dear friend, Mr. X - remember him, he'll play a part in future blog entries as the arch nemesis to the horrible men I date. Just after I wrote the above paragraph, he randomly wrote the following, not knowing what my blog entry is about: i wish i had a helpful vagina. not instead of a penis but a helpful vagina attached to a woman. I was in the midst of a swig of rum when I read that, and literally choked on it. I ended up heaving at the kitchen sink, and once I could breathe again, had to change my clothes from all of the rum all that I had coughed all over them, and came back to a living room that looked like a slaughterhouse. Daiquiri mix may taste nummy, but looks wretched sprayed across a couch, carpet, and computer screen.
My ex and I have pretty much come the conclusion that I pretty much came to weeks ago: we can't stand dealing with each other, at least not with his current situation and my expectations. My expectations seem to be the worst part of it. I ask for too much, it seems, by wanting to deal with someone who wants to spend time with me, wants to sleep next to me and aw fuck it blahblahblah wahwahwah. We broke up because we are broken. We can't stand compromising with each other,because I'm smart, and he's too stupid and stubborn to recognize it. I know that that probably sounds pigheaded and cocky, but I'm not the one with five kids from three different women and no degree or future career promotional prospects, am I?!? Noooooooooooo. I'm just the idiot that continues to deal with him.
Note to self: when contacting a celebrity ex that you ticked off and despise, in order to make yourself feel better, trying to start a conversation with "Do you still suck?" may not be the best way to do so.
In my conversation with Mr. X tonightm, he mentioned that it is the eve of his birthday, and that he is dreadingit. He feels that he is not where he should be, and his birthday is yet another marker of that. He yearns for a family of his own, and feels that he should have had one long ago. He takes issue that many others have been blessed with one, and that he is a bit of a Johnny Comelately.
I know this feeling, with all my heart. It tears me to pieces that I am single, alone, and that I have to make a place for myself in my sisters' families, as I have not found my partner in crime yet. But what I will not do is compare. I will not compare myself to others that have formed families of their own. I have blessings that they don't. Many of them are unhappy, and envious. Many are happy and content. Either way, it is no concern of mine. My journey is my own, and I intend to live it fully. Does it kill me that my irresponsible ex has so many kids while I have none? Yes it does, especially that he had another after we talked so thoroughly about having kids. Do I cry? Yes. But you know what? He hides in the bathroom every night, smoking pot for hours so that he can escape his life, where he is stuck in a shitty relationship with a vulture. I wouldn't trabe places with him, or any of his baby mommas in the workd.
So wgat now? Out of the four men I was arguining with, my fighter is out of the question, because he apparently DOES still suck. My Diego is still my Diego. He'll remain a good friend, but is unattainable, and I am more than okay wiht that, because I think we would kill each other if we were more. Man number three (would that make hin diarrhea?), my ex's coworker, has spent a couple of lunches with me, and makes me laugh, but is in no better a situation than my ex, and I obviously don't wnat to deal with that shit any more. Even my cop (have I mentioned him before? That yummy fine example of manhood is an entry to himself) is most likely moving to California. So now, I guess that the world is my shmorgasboard, and it's time for me to take this Greek asss, and introduce it to some new men. We'll see how that goes...
Monday, March 25, 2013
Baggage. Lots and Lots of Baggage.
The other morning I managed to get into two different arguments with different men, talk to a third about a fourth, my ex, and found out that according to him, I'm no longer available. And all of this was before 9:30 am, and all of it was due to baggage, not mine, but theirs.
Once you hit a certain age, it is highly unlikely that you will be someone's first love. You may be their most true love, but not generally first. Oftentimes, because of this, they are no longer a free soul, ready for anything. They come to you carrying baggage, whether it be emotional leftovers, career oriented, actual children, or all three.
Though my fighter and I are done dating, and he knows there is no opportunity to pursue a commitment with me, we have been able to maintain a semblance of a friendship, at least for the time being. We argue even more as friends than we did when dating. I take the blame for that. I am no longer trying to build a future with him, so I am more free to speak my mind, and stand up for it. I care about him, still, even after all the maltreatment, but I no longer care about what he thinks of me. He and I have been going round and round for days, about his opponent that I had dated. And it's not how you would think, either. We've been having ridiculously stupid arguments about which of us is more informed on what his former opponent has been doing lately. The opponent recently signed with the UFC after years of hard work in getting accepted back in. He also is currently doing his first film and he is publishing his first book from selections of his inspirational exercise blog. When my fighter brought up the UFC, I mentioned the other recent successes that his opponent has achieved, and then my fighter basically lost his shit. He's so jealous of the opponent's current success that he can spit. My fighter had his heyday years ago. He was HUGE. Over 54 million people tuned in to watch one of his fights just because it was him. He became a fighting champion overnight, and is still one of the biggest names in fighting, especially to anyone that watched PRIDE or K1. He's done some movies, and has had much success in Sumo and wrestling as well. There is no doubt that he is successful. But I know him well enough to know that he misses being the most successful person in the room, though he generally is. The fact that his opponent, who won their match in under 20 seconds, is now at such an exciting time, while my fighter's career is somewhat winding down chaps his hide, and hearing about it from me, who just recently ended things with him, and also dated the opponent during the time of their fight and his loss, doesn't help. We argued about this for days. He is not willing to acknowledge that his opponent is doing anything more than the UFC, because in some way that threatens his own success.
During an earlier argument, I said something that struck a chord in him. He used what I said verbatim as material for a video on his youtube channel, is arguing my point it, taking our intimate discourse public, and is also changing my name, so I don't even get credit for what I said. While I'm very flattered to be a muse for my "Diego", the actor and political activist that has become a trusted mentor, an ally and conspirator, and one of the few men that still makes my heart skip a beat, having my thoughts be used and prostituted out by my fighter is another story completely. And there you have what we were arguing about before I even woke up the other morning. And all because he can't accept that another (magically delicious!) man is getting the success he has worked so hard for.
The second argument I had was with my Diego, of all people. The strange thing is, though, that the basis of our issue is the same thing that I have issues with the other two on. They have families in less than perfect situations. Diego and I got into it because I haven't heard much from him for months, and he got frustrated with me when I asked if I somehow upset him. Things have been crazy for him at home, and, along with work, his life is about "have to"s rather than "want to"s. I'm not jealous of his significant other. I don't envy their home life. They have their issues, and I hope they get them figured out by either separating at some point, or staying together and working through them. Where the baggage comes in is that there is a child because of this relationship (or in the case of the other two men that I had dealings with the other morning, 2 children with man #3, and five children for my ex). The child is not the baggage in these situations. Their current relationships are the baggage, although with Diego, I believe it is a compilation of his career, his politics, and his home life. He is an amazing man who I adore and am captivated by, but we can both be bullheaded, though we talk through things well. We got our issue figured out on my way in to work, simply by listening to what each other had to say and taking a moment to care.
With the other two, I feel for them. Both men are stuck in relationships that are basically hell, for lack of a better word, simply because they have children that they love, and are scared of what will happen to their relationships with them if they break up with the mothers. Both men mentioned getting home from work at the end of their day, closing themselves off, either in the bathroom or going for walks, for HOURS. They sleep separately from the woman they are supposed to cherish, and hold a lot of resentment for their situations. Baggage. In my dealings with all four of these men (NOTE: the third man I have never dated, though we flirted with the idea. He has mentioned being interested to see where we could go if he is ever able to get out of his situation at home. He is also friends with my ex, and works with him. It makes for a precarious friendship), their home situations influence my life, though I have no children of my own, and have freedom to see who I want, I can't talk or see the men I currently want to because their situations aren't as open as my own. I find myself rebelling often due to their responsibilities. There are really good aspects to these men, especially in friendship, but the consequences of their choices or "accidents" need not be influencing my life to the extent it is.
I guess I should open up about where my resentment is stemming from. My ex (yes, the one with five kids) and I have started spending time with each other. Though I can't consider anything long term with him at this point as his youngest child, the one that was conceived not long after we broke up, will always be an issue for me. Not the child herself, as it is not her fault she was born, but the circumstances of her birth. But, in the meantime, after my recent break up and the treatment I received from my fighter, it has been extremely comforting to deal with someone who can make me laugh when I am having a tough day, by simply smiling at me when I am venting, making me acknowledge that there is humor to my situations. He never abused me and he always made me feel worthwhile, we just had our issues, and though they are major, I would still rather deal with him and the love he legitimately had for me any day over dealing with a celebrity that made me feel like I wasn't worth dogshit.
Once you hit a certain age, it is highly unlikely that you will be someone's first love. You may be their most true love, but not generally first. Oftentimes, because of this, they are no longer a free soul, ready for anything. They come to you carrying baggage, whether it be emotional leftovers, career oriented, actual children, or all three.
Though my fighter and I are done dating, and he knows there is no opportunity to pursue a commitment with me, we have been able to maintain a semblance of a friendship, at least for the time being. We argue even more as friends than we did when dating. I take the blame for that. I am no longer trying to build a future with him, so I am more free to speak my mind, and stand up for it. I care about him, still, even after all the maltreatment, but I no longer care about what he thinks of me. He and I have been going round and round for days, about his opponent that I had dated. And it's not how you would think, either. We've been having ridiculously stupid arguments about which of us is more informed on what his former opponent has been doing lately. The opponent recently signed with the UFC after years of hard work in getting accepted back in. He also is currently doing his first film and he is publishing his first book from selections of his inspirational exercise blog. When my fighter brought up the UFC, I mentioned the other recent successes that his opponent has achieved, and then my fighter basically lost his shit. He's so jealous of the opponent's current success that he can spit. My fighter had his heyday years ago. He was HUGE. Over 54 million people tuned in to watch one of his fights just because it was him. He became a fighting champion overnight, and is still one of the biggest names in fighting, especially to anyone that watched PRIDE or K1. He's done some movies, and has had much success in Sumo and wrestling as well. There is no doubt that he is successful. But I know him well enough to know that he misses being the most successful person in the room, though he generally is. The fact that his opponent, who won their match in under 20 seconds, is now at such an exciting time, while my fighter's career is somewhat winding down chaps his hide, and hearing about it from me, who just recently ended things with him, and also dated the opponent during the time of their fight and his loss, doesn't help. We argued about this for days. He is not willing to acknowledge that his opponent is doing anything more than the UFC, because in some way that threatens his own success.
During an earlier argument, I said something that struck a chord in him. He used what I said verbatim as material for a video on his youtube channel, is arguing my point it, taking our intimate discourse public, and is also changing my name, so I don't even get credit for what I said. While I'm very flattered to be a muse for my "Diego", the actor and political activist that has become a trusted mentor, an ally and conspirator, and one of the few men that still makes my heart skip a beat, having my thoughts be used and prostituted out by my fighter is another story completely. And there you have what we were arguing about before I even woke up the other morning. And all because he can't accept that another (magically delicious!) man is getting the success he has worked so hard for.
The second argument I had was with my Diego, of all people. The strange thing is, though, that the basis of our issue is the same thing that I have issues with the other two on. They have families in less than perfect situations. Diego and I got into it because I haven't heard much from him for months, and he got frustrated with me when I asked if I somehow upset him. Things have been crazy for him at home, and, along with work, his life is about "have to"s rather than "want to"s. I'm not jealous of his significant other. I don't envy their home life. They have their issues, and I hope they get them figured out by either separating at some point, or staying together and working through them. Where the baggage comes in is that there is a child because of this relationship (or in the case of the other two men that I had dealings with the other morning, 2 children with man #3, and five children for my ex). The child is not the baggage in these situations. Their current relationships are the baggage, although with Diego, I believe it is a compilation of his career, his politics, and his home life. He is an amazing man who I adore and am captivated by, but we can both be bullheaded, though we talk through things well. We got our issue figured out on my way in to work, simply by listening to what each other had to say and taking a moment to care.
With the other two, I feel for them. Both men are stuck in relationships that are basically hell, for lack of a better word, simply because they have children that they love, and are scared of what will happen to their relationships with them if they break up with the mothers. Both men mentioned getting home from work at the end of their day, closing themselves off, either in the bathroom or going for walks, for HOURS. They sleep separately from the woman they are supposed to cherish, and hold a lot of resentment for their situations. Baggage. In my dealings with all four of these men (NOTE: the third man I have never dated, though we flirted with the idea. He has mentioned being interested to see where we could go if he is ever able to get out of his situation at home. He is also friends with my ex, and works with him. It makes for a precarious friendship), their home situations influence my life, though I have no children of my own, and have freedom to see who I want, I can't talk or see the men I currently want to because their situations aren't as open as my own. I find myself rebelling often due to their responsibilities. There are really good aspects to these men, especially in friendship, but the consequences of their choices or "accidents" need not be influencing my life to the extent it is.
I guess I should open up about where my resentment is stemming from. My ex (yes, the one with five kids) and I have started spending time with each other. Though I can't consider anything long term with him at this point as his youngest child, the one that was conceived not long after we broke up, will always be an issue for me. Not the child herself, as it is not her fault she was born, but the circumstances of her birth. But, in the meantime, after my recent break up and the treatment I received from my fighter, it has been extremely comforting to deal with someone who can make me laugh when I am having a tough day, by simply smiling at me when I am venting, making me acknowledge that there is humor to my situations. He never abused me and he always made me feel worthwhile, we just had our issues, and though they are major, I would still rather deal with him and the love he legitimately had for me any day over dealing with a celebrity that made me feel like I wasn't worth dogshit.
Sunday, March 17, 2013
Edie and Andy
I don't want to live my life to end up being remembered in reference to someone else, especially if that person can't be bothered to care about me as well. I do have a fear, not of commitment, but of giving myself so fully to someone, and having the other person look down on everything I have to offer, and still demand more. Not because they see potential in me, but because they don't care for the world I have given them. They feel entitled. They want to get more out of me, or anyone they can get it from. I am not speaking of everyone, just of those that I know, that I have loved as friends and lovers.
I have been blessed, truly blessed, to have amazing people in my life that love and support me. I have also had the blessing of many lessons bestowed by a journey that, at times, I hated because it hurt so badly. I am at a crossroads now, as I feel that I give too much, and yet I don't want bad experiences to dim the beauty of trust, giving of yourself, and love.
I have been home sick today, watching Factory Girl, the film based on Edie Sedgwick and Andy Warhol. It has given me much food for thought today. Any time Edie is referenced, Andy Warhol inevitably comes up, but not so much the other way. They had been so important to each other, and Edie really benefitted from their all encompassing friendship, but she also wasn't able to grow in her own right because of it. In ways, it destroyed her.
The aspect of all of this that really pulls at my heart is that after she dies, it's almost a bother for him to have to acknowledge her. He is detached. She was an observation that he was lucky enough to make and benefit from. While she will be remembered as he defined her, he had moved on and didn't care to recognize the influence they had on each other as more than just an acknowledgement in a citation. I don't mean to demonize Mr. Warhol, as I think he was a genius. I do feel that his detachment from his subjects wasn't just an artistic decision, but also a personal way of dealing with people and things.
I bring this up in reference to my own feelings of love and abandonment. I had a similar platonic love affair for much of my life. I gave my heart and soul to a friend that I felt I couldn't live without. I dealt with his jealousy if I dated another man. If I spent my time comforting another friend, there was no end to the maltreatment or arguments I endured. I gave him money, groceries, rides, and other trinkets when he needed or asked for them, never asking for anything in return. I do not hold this against him, as I gave of my own free will. We had a purely platonic relationship for years. We had arguments and make ups, and people referenced us as being part of the other. We would eat from both our plates while not even noticing: he'd take my onions, I'd take his tomato, he'd slide me some veggies, and I'd slip him some of my salmon filet, all in the midst of conversations about movies, tv shows, sports, or whatever was trendy at the moment. When he was in the hospital, I stayed to take care of him, carrying him to the bathroom and back, helping to bathe and change him, keeping him company so he wasn't alone. He is the closest thing to a husband that I have had at this point in my life. Sadly so.
The one thing that was always made plain during our arguments, where he would say incredibly cruel things, holding ridiculous things against me for years, even hitting me with a car door during one of them, was that we were both in the friendship for different reasons. I was in it because I loved my friend. He was in it because he felt entitled to my friendship and all I had to offer. He didn't know how, nor did he care to love me, even as a friend, in return. It took me a long time to learn that not everyone cares in the same way, or even at all. That some people are detached, and do take advantage of those that care about them. My friend did that. I don't hold it against him, as I think that the only way he knows how to care is selfishly so. I don't want him in the same room with me, though. I've learned my lesson there. It took 20 years, but I learned.
After a lesson so thoroughly learned, I thought that I would be able to see another selfish man that is unable to care about anyone from a mile away. Not so. I realize now that I was making the same mistake with the fighter, who wrapped me around his finger, kept looking down on what I had to offer, though he greedily took all of it. He offered compliments when he saw fit, but increasingly told me where I needed to improve. I ate it up, feeling that he was investing in me, and the few compliments he would give were timed precisely when I needed them, and kept me going to him. I don't blame him for my actions in this, either. I am a grown woman, and I know better than to allow a man to tell me what my value is as a woman. Where I do blame him, as I do my friend, is that after the fact, it turns out that while I had put myself to be in a position to be defined in reference to them, they would barely have me be a footnote to them.
I am not a footnote, a citation, or even a sidenote. I am story, a mixed up, enchanting, charismatic, and endearing love story. If a man isn't ready to give in to me, I need to stop giving up to them, even in situations of friendship.
I have been blessed, truly blessed, to have amazing people in my life that love and support me. I have also had the blessing of many lessons bestowed by a journey that, at times, I hated because it hurt so badly. I am at a crossroads now, as I feel that I give too much, and yet I don't want bad experiences to dim the beauty of trust, giving of yourself, and love.
I have been home sick today, watching Factory Girl, the film based on Edie Sedgwick and Andy Warhol. It has given me much food for thought today. Any time Edie is referenced, Andy Warhol inevitably comes up, but not so much the other way. They had been so important to each other, and Edie really benefitted from their all encompassing friendship, but she also wasn't able to grow in her own right because of it. In ways, it destroyed her.
The aspect of all of this that really pulls at my heart is that after she dies, it's almost a bother for him to have to acknowledge her. He is detached. She was an observation that he was lucky enough to make and benefit from. While she will be remembered as he defined her, he had moved on and didn't care to recognize the influence they had on each other as more than just an acknowledgement in a citation. I don't mean to demonize Mr. Warhol, as I think he was a genius. I do feel that his detachment from his subjects wasn't just an artistic decision, but also a personal way of dealing with people and things.
I bring this up in reference to my own feelings of love and abandonment. I had a similar platonic love affair for much of my life. I gave my heart and soul to a friend that I felt I couldn't live without. I dealt with his jealousy if I dated another man. If I spent my time comforting another friend, there was no end to the maltreatment or arguments I endured. I gave him money, groceries, rides, and other trinkets when he needed or asked for them, never asking for anything in return. I do not hold this against him, as I gave of my own free will. We had a purely platonic relationship for years. We had arguments and make ups, and people referenced us as being part of the other. We would eat from both our plates while not even noticing: he'd take my onions, I'd take his tomato, he'd slide me some veggies, and I'd slip him some of my salmon filet, all in the midst of conversations about movies, tv shows, sports, or whatever was trendy at the moment. When he was in the hospital, I stayed to take care of him, carrying him to the bathroom and back, helping to bathe and change him, keeping him company so he wasn't alone. He is the closest thing to a husband that I have had at this point in my life. Sadly so.
The one thing that was always made plain during our arguments, where he would say incredibly cruel things, holding ridiculous things against me for years, even hitting me with a car door during one of them, was that we were both in the friendship for different reasons. I was in it because I loved my friend. He was in it because he felt entitled to my friendship and all I had to offer. He didn't know how, nor did he care to love me, even as a friend, in return. It took me a long time to learn that not everyone cares in the same way, or even at all. That some people are detached, and do take advantage of those that care about them. My friend did that. I don't hold it against him, as I think that the only way he knows how to care is selfishly so. I don't want him in the same room with me, though. I've learned my lesson there. It took 20 years, but I learned.
After a lesson so thoroughly learned, I thought that I would be able to see another selfish man that is unable to care about anyone from a mile away. Not so. I realize now that I was making the same mistake with the fighter, who wrapped me around his finger, kept looking down on what I had to offer, though he greedily took all of it. He offered compliments when he saw fit, but increasingly told me where I needed to improve. I ate it up, feeling that he was investing in me, and the few compliments he would give were timed precisely when I needed them, and kept me going to him. I don't blame him for my actions in this, either. I am a grown woman, and I know better than to allow a man to tell me what my value is as a woman. Where I do blame him, as I do my friend, is that after the fact, it turns out that while I had put myself to be in a position to be defined in reference to them, they would barely have me be a footnote to them.
I am not a footnote, a citation, or even a sidenote. I am story, a mixed up, enchanting, charismatic, and endearing love story. If a man isn't ready to give in to me, I need to stop giving up to them, even in situations of friendship.
Wednesday, March 6, 2013
Step Away From The Ring...
I didn't throw a punch. I held up no white flag. I never even shit in his yard. I just stepped away from the ridiculousness.
I don't know why it took me this long to remember who I am, what's important to me, and what I have found worth fighting for since I was old enough to have an opinion (read: the womb). I have always been a righteous babe, fighting for women's rights, for what I love about this country, about my culture, my faith, my family, and most importantly, what I love about myself. I am not a failure. I am a gorgeous, loving, generous, adorably imperfect, intelligent, sexy minx. I am fabulous AS IS. Anyone wanting to continuously point out my faults, not willing to shower me with unconditional love, and trying to change me to suit their wants and needs can step off.
How it took me a year to recognize how badly I was being manipulated, I have no idea. I guess I just didn't want to be alone anymore, and what was offered on the surface cleverly hid the torrents beneath. The thought of a life without having to work, the ability to travel to exotic places, the prestige of marrying a celebrity, and even the independence of the vast time alone I would have all seeped in to clog my sanity. It didn't hurt that I cared about the guy. What did hurt was him. I felt worthless more times than not. His focus on my body was humiliating, always asking what I had lost, and telling me I could do more if I just stopped eating much at all, and started going to the gym twice what I was. Fifty pounds in 10 weeks was what he expected. He also pounded into my head that his life expectancy was short, but would make a point of telling me he didn't trust me enough to tell me what the exact problem was. He even told me that I wasn't a woman yet, and that he was training me to be one properly. It was the point when he told me that he would never let me around his animals because they would never be cared for by someone as horrible as me, that I cried for days. I let him reason his way through why it is okay to force someone to eat meat, to lose weight, to move away from their home and family, and to hit them, before I took a step back and realized that he goes against EVERY SINGLE FUCKING THING I BELIEVE IN. The longer I stooped to be with him, the less I respected myself. Then it hit me. I'm much more valuable than anything he has to offer. He isn't worth it. No man is worth that.
I am a very lucky and blessed girl. I have been saying all this time that I just needed to see it through. I needed to let this relationship with the fighter come to whatever natural conclusion that it was due. And it did. I am very lucky to have come out of it unscathed and unbattered. He never got a chance to lay a hand on me in anger, and for that, I count my blessings. Now, as I block him from what I can, and find ways to save pertinent messages in case he decides that he would still like to deal with me - so that I have some defense, I realize that I have been reminded of one of the biggest dating lessons of all: the most important love affair you'll ever have is with yourself. Keep it true, and keep it healthy. If you're not able to love you, no one else will either.
I don't know why it took me this long to remember who I am, what's important to me, and what I have found worth fighting for since I was old enough to have an opinion (read: the womb). I have always been a righteous babe, fighting for women's rights, for what I love about this country, about my culture, my faith, my family, and most importantly, what I love about myself. I am not a failure. I am a gorgeous, loving, generous, adorably imperfect, intelligent, sexy minx. I am fabulous AS IS. Anyone wanting to continuously point out my faults, not willing to shower me with unconditional love, and trying to change me to suit their wants and needs can step off.
How it took me a year to recognize how badly I was being manipulated, I have no idea. I guess I just didn't want to be alone anymore, and what was offered on the surface cleverly hid the torrents beneath. The thought of a life without having to work, the ability to travel to exotic places, the prestige of marrying a celebrity, and even the independence of the vast time alone I would have all seeped in to clog my sanity. It didn't hurt that I cared about the guy. What did hurt was him. I felt worthless more times than not. His focus on my body was humiliating, always asking what I had lost, and telling me I could do more if I just stopped eating much at all, and started going to the gym twice what I was. Fifty pounds in 10 weeks was what he expected. He also pounded into my head that his life expectancy was short, but would make a point of telling me he didn't trust me enough to tell me what the exact problem was. He even told me that I wasn't a woman yet, and that he was training me to be one properly. It was the point when he told me that he would never let me around his animals because they would never be cared for by someone as horrible as me, that I cried for days. I let him reason his way through why it is okay to force someone to eat meat, to lose weight, to move away from their home and family, and to hit them, before I took a step back and realized that he goes against EVERY SINGLE FUCKING THING I BELIEVE IN. The longer I stooped to be with him, the less I respected myself. Then it hit me. I'm much more valuable than anything he has to offer. He isn't worth it. No man is worth that.
I am a very lucky and blessed girl. I have been saying all this time that I just needed to see it through. I needed to let this relationship with the fighter come to whatever natural conclusion that it was due. And it did. I am very lucky to have come out of it unscathed and unbattered. He never got a chance to lay a hand on me in anger, and for that, I count my blessings. Now, as I block him from what I can, and find ways to save pertinent messages in case he decides that he would still like to deal with me - so that I have some defense, I realize that I have been reminded of one of the biggest dating lessons of all: the most important love affair you'll ever have is with yourself. Keep it true, and keep it healthy. If you're not able to love you, no one else will either.
Thursday, February 28, 2013
I Would Rather Feel Worthwhile.
I mess up. All the time. I generally just pick myself up, laugh a bit, make the best of it, and move on. I'm not used to having to be responsible to someone else's ideals when I create small disasters. I'm not used to feeling less than fabulous because of someone's opinions on what I should've done.
I know we all make judgements all the time. It is our nature. We choose our friends and loved ones based on judgements of their actions towards us and others. I have stopped dating men before not because they were horrible to me (no, for some reason I kept those men around), but because of how they treated people in the service industry. These judgements are the way that we surround ourselves with people with the same values, and people we feel we can learn from. I recognize that, and believe that process is important to our well being.
When those judgements become a daily feeling of failure rather than a way of seeing if you're the right piece for that jigsaw puzzle, it takes on a whole new meaning. Lately I've been feeling as though I can do nothing right. It has been brought to my attention that I have a temper, so I have been trying to work on that. When in the midst of a text conversation that was extremely upsetting, I decided to stop responding, sleep on it, and then write back, lest my temper flare and I hear, once again, how I am more like a petulant child than a grown woman. I was then told that by not responding until the next day, that I was rubbing salt in the wounds. I really messed up with my new cats. I mistakenly thought that I had a few months to get them fixed before anything would happen. My female cat is now pregnant with inbred kittens. I am literally living with an abomination. But what can I do? My cats, while disturbing, are adorable. The kittens will be, too. They may end up being deaf, or have horrible depth perception and walk into walls and stuff, but they'll be super cute and lovable. Her pregnancy belly is beautiful. The harm has been done. I am making the best of the situation. I have been doing okay with the situation and consequences until I had to tell my fighter. His reactions have not been as kind, forgiving, or supportive as mine are to him when he loses yet another fight, or deals with his heatlh conditions. I know he believes he is helping me to learn to not make these mistakes again, but it makes me feel so worthless at times. I still feel like I am growing by learning from him, but when will he learn from me?
I have always wanted a man strong enough to deal with me, but that doesn't mean I want a man that makes me feel weak. Well, maybe in the knees, but that's a different story.
Until I figure this out, I've decided that I may still need to see what my other options are. Or at least have some fun.
I know we all make judgements all the time. It is our nature. We choose our friends and loved ones based on judgements of their actions towards us and others. I have stopped dating men before not because they were horrible to me (no, for some reason I kept those men around), but because of how they treated people in the service industry. These judgements are the way that we surround ourselves with people with the same values, and people we feel we can learn from. I recognize that, and believe that process is important to our well being.
When those judgements become a daily feeling of failure rather than a way of seeing if you're the right piece for that jigsaw puzzle, it takes on a whole new meaning. Lately I've been feeling as though I can do nothing right. It has been brought to my attention that I have a temper, so I have been trying to work on that. When in the midst of a text conversation that was extremely upsetting, I decided to stop responding, sleep on it, and then write back, lest my temper flare and I hear, once again, how I am more like a petulant child than a grown woman. I was then told that by not responding until the next day, that I was rubbing salt in the wounds. I really messed up with my new cats. I mistakenly thought that I had a few months to get them fixed before anything would happen. My female cat is now pregnant with inbred kittens. I am literally living with an abomination. But what can I do? My cats, while disturbing, are adorable. The kittens will be, too. They may end up being deaf, or have horrible depth perception and walk into walls and stuff, but they'll be super cute and lovable. Her pregnancy belly is beautiful. The harm has been done. I am making the best of the situation. I have been doing okay with the situation and consequences until I had to tell my fighter. His reactions have not been as kind, forgiving, or supportive as mine are to him when he loses yet another fight, or deals with his heatlh conditions. I know he believes he is helping me to learn to not make these mistakes again, but it makes me feel so worthless at times. I still feel like I am growing by learning from him, but when will he learn from me?
I have always wanted a man strong enough to deal with me, but that doesn't mean I want a man that makes me feel weak. Well, maybe in the knees, but that's a different story.
Until I figure this out, I've decided that I may still need to see what my other options are. Or at least have some fun.
Thursday, February 14, 2013
A Female Turning Into A Woman
This is the first Valentine's Day I have had off from work in, well, ever. It's so odd to not be spiteful or ambivalent today. Not saying I've converted to the other side, far from it, but I am in an unusually good mood today.
My fighter and I have been doing well, which, of course, has me weary. With Greeks, when things go too well, we start to worry, because we're not lucky, we're cynics. The conversations with my fighter and I have become intensive, while remaining humorous. Things have been just good enough. Not suffocating, very sweet, and not scary. And that's when I got into my car the other night, smiling, that the thoughts came in.
Think about what you hear about the domestic relationships of fighters. At least the situations that make the news. Go ahead. Think about it. Do you hear stories like Rocky and Adrian, or do you hear stories like Mike Tyson and Robin Givens? Obviously, this isn't the first time that I have taken these thoughts into consideration, I just never did it seriously before. In all the relationships that I have had with cops, bouncers, security guards, and fighters, it's always been a thought at the edge of my mind, but never really needed centerstage. So I keep these thoughts quiet, to myself.
Then in the midst of a conversation yesterday, my fighter brought up the elephant in the room. How would I react if he ever hit me. I sat there, stunned. Here he was putting my biggest fear of our relationship on the table. He made it real.
This is a topic I don't even want to acknowledge, let alone talk about, but then what am I learning? He brought up this horrible possibility while we were talking about what happens if we take this to another level. (He wasn't bringing it up as foreplay or anything. Stop that!) What he was trying to show me is that it is difficult to be in a longterm relationship. That it takes work. He was using the worst possible scenario in order to make me understand that when you are dealing with someone else on a permanent basis, that excuses like tempers and irreverance don't help anything. They make things worse. I know he has no intention of ever hitting me. He clarified that extremely well. It was just strange timing, to be doing my errands at the mall, surrounded by pink and red hearts, while I had just spent hours talking with my kinda sorta boyfriend about what happens if he were to ever hypothetically hit me.
So why am I in a good mood today? Because, this conversation doesn't bode an unhealthy hidden relationship. This was a healthy conversation on a taboo topic between adults. I can't overcome fears if I don't acknowledge and face them head on, and it's nice to not have to do that alone. So here, on this Valentine's Day, at home by myself, I am not lonely. I am receiving love from all directions, including from across the planet, a voice message that makes me feel more feminine and beautiful just by the sound of his voice.
It's Valentine's Day. If a little mushiness isn't okay today, when will it be?
My fighter and I have been doing well, which, of course, has me weary. With Greeks, when things go too well, we start to worry, because we're not lucky, we're cynics. The conversations with my fighter and I have become intensive, while remaining humorous. Things have been just good enough. Not suffocating, very sweet, and not scary. And that's when I got into my car the other night, smiling, that the thoughts came in.
Think about what you hear about the domestic relationships of fighters. At least the situations that make the news. Go ahead. Think about it. Do you hear stories like Rocky and Adrian, or do you hear stories like Mike Tyson and Robin Givens? Obviously, this isn't the first time that I have taken these thoughts into consideration, I just never did it seriously before. In all the relationships that I have had with cops, bouncers, security guards, and fighters, it's always been a thought at the edge of my mind, but never really needed centerstage. So I keep these thoughts quiet, to myself.
Then in the midst of a conversation yesterday, my fighter brought up the elephant in the room. How would I react if he ever hit me. I sat there, stunned. Here he was putting my biggest fear of our relationship on the table. He made it real.
This is a topic I don't even want to acknowledge, let alone talk about, but then what am I learning? He brought up this horrible possibility while we were talking about what happens if we take this to another level. (He wasn't bringing it up as foreplay or anything. Stop that!) What he was trying to show me is that it is difficult to be in a longterm relationship. That it takes work. He was using the worst possible scenario in order to make me understand that when you are dealing with someone else on a permanent basis, that excuses like tempers and irreverance don't help anything. They make things worse. I know he has no intention of ever hitting me. He clarified that extremely well. It was just strange timing, to be doing my errands at the mall, surrounded by pink and red hearts, while I had just spent hours talking with my kinda sorta boyfriend about what happens if he were to ever hypothetically hit me.
So why am I in a good mood today? Because, this conversation doesn't bode an unhealthy hidden relationship. This was a healthy conversation on a taboo topic between adults. I can't overcome fears if I don't acknowledge and face them head on, and it's nice to not have to do that alone. So here, on this Valentine's Day, at home by myself, I am not lonely. I am receiving love from all directions, including from across the planet, a voice message that makes me feel more feminine and beautiful just by the sound of his voice.
It's Valentine's Day. If a little mushiness isn't okay today, when will it be?
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