How A Woman Works.

Michelangelo once said "A man paints with his brains, not with his hands." I have the privilege and the burden of being a woman who paints with my heart.
The vacation I was so frivolously offered by Mr. X never came to thruition, and I'm probably better for it. Deep down I don't think we were meant to be more than friends, if we're even meant to be that, as circumstances currently are. It's hard to make someone understand why you're upset when their brain does not function with the sensitivity and capacity as your own. I think men are simple in their brain functions. I don't mean that they are simple headed, though some are. I believe that emotionally their skills of reasoning are completely different than that of women. Mr. X is convinced that the reason I am upset is because I was offered time with him, which I was, twice during this fiasco, and I was denied both opportunities. So, in his eyes, I am throwing a bitchfit because I didn't get to see him, although he had pretty valid reasons for not being able to come out. Makes me sound like a total bitch, doesn't it?
But I'm not a bitch. Well, at least not according to me. Some of my ex boyfriends might disagree with me. In this situation I changed my entire schedule, that of all of my employees, and two other salons in order to get that time off at a moment's notice. I had to plead with my director of operations about what a great opportunity the workshop was in order for her to agree to it. It was days of work to be able to get the time, as well as a lot of inconvenience of others for me to go, only for it to fall through. And even that I understood. His father was ill, and family comes first. I of all people understand that.
I was confused. All of a sudden this close friend, part of my heart, someone I talked to for hours every night, who comforted me, and didn't judge me, had put out an offer that confused me. It changed the properties of our friendship, I was in unchartered territory, and it scared me. In my teens and twenties, I would've just covered it up, ignored it, or dreamed about happy endings. I'm not that girl any more. In my thirties, if something scares me, I go to the source. I went to him with my confusion, and was put off. He was too busy talking to a girl that he has no interest in. It stung. When he finally spared a few moments to chat with me, my issues were acknowledged, and then ignored. It was cruel. I may as well have told him that I had gotten a splinter while filing my nails. It seemed like an everyday inconvenience as opposed to an amazing, funny, intelligent and caring friend saying that she was confused with feelings.
So, I got incredibly frustrated, made sure he knew it, and then we didn't talk for days. I ended up contacting him for something that I needed advice with, and we tried to talk about our friendship at that point, at which he finally acknowledged that he may have wanted to see how things would be with me, too. Then the offer for him to come out here for a few days during this now impromptu vacation was made. I told him what my plans were, including getting away to the coast for a couple of days, even if it was on my own. I was planning on going during the weekdays, for solitude, and for financial convenience. He told me that if he was to come out it would be Thursday-Sunday most likely. I asked him to let me know, because, again, my plans now revolved around him. Needless to say, he didn't come out, and I did not get to go to the coast, by myself or otherwise. Rather than speaking with his family as soon as possible in order to give me the consideration of an early answer so that I could plan this week I had off with no plans (thanks to him), he waited to tell me until it was too late for me to get a booking at the place I was interested in going by myself.
And this is why I'm aggravated. In so much of this situation he influenced my time and energy, and not for the best, and then made it sound like I'm just whiny because he's not here. He can stay in New York and shit in his pants for all I care. Friends don't treat each other like this. It's not only the waste of time that gets me, but the self righteous slap in the face, not acknowledging that he has done anything thoughtless and that I am just a bawling child that doesn't get to play with her toy.
If he can't understand this, as it has been explained to him several times, he never will, and I'm sick of spending time with men that make me feel stupid and shitty because it is convenient for them.
During my time off, I have been able to do a lot of things I normally don't get to do because of my hectic schedule. Today I went to the Seattle Art Museum. When there, in the Ancient Greek exhibit, I noticed a small replica of one of the sculptured women that make the columns that held up the biggest buildings in Greek antiquity. Beautiful women bore the weight of the world in those days. And today, in this time of single parent households, women working full time, as well as making a home and building a family, or fretting against bills, family ills, and infertility, it seems we still hold the weight of the world. This crap from men that can't pull their head out of their ass to acknowledge how blessed they are to have such amazing women in their lives is just another burden that we no longer need. At this point in my life, I want men in my life that don't need to be persuaded to acknowledge that I'm a good person, and that I'm a catch. I don't want men around me that point out things they feel are negative about me, like being a vegetarian, or a feminist, or that I stand up for myself when hurt or upset. I don't want someone that will only deal with things in their manner, not acknowledging that the way I deal is just as important to our equation. I want someone that will fight for me, even if it is fighting with me. Someone with balls and initiative, that can ask me out and pursue a future, yet who will respect me, my feminity, my strength, and my heart.
 Mr. X, I wish you luck in your journey to find a woman. It might help if you truly listen to what they are saying first.

How Did Carrie Do It?

In Sex And The City, week after week we watched as Carrie Bradshaw hung her love life out on the public clothesline in New York. This is fine and dandy until you think of the logistics of that. In one episode they showed Alexandr Petrovsky quoting one of her articles, and, of course, the peeing politician mentioned that his people had issues with his personal life being displayed, but there's not much mention of anyone else she dated reading them at the time she was dealing with them. How does one write publically about the juicy stuff in one's life without having the writing of it influence the outcome? It almost seems like Mr. Big was completely oblivious to the articles, or just didn't care enough to read them, otherwise how would he not have split with her neurotic drama from early on? I mean, c'mon! Carrie is already a bit irritating! Having her write all of your intimate details for New York to fawn over, why deal with it? I ponder these things, hoping that I am a bit more endearing, and that the men in my life will continue to put up with me, even if I write about them.
A few weeks ago, when I tested a theory I had of my ability to write well while becoming intoxicated, which I failed miserably, I introduced Mr. X.
And now I sit, staring at the screen, not knowing where to go from here. Whatever thoughts and feelings I put down may be taken wrong by a few parties concerned. In my quest for a healthy way of dealing with relationships and honesty with myself, I have decided to forge the breach, if only I could figure out how.
Mr. X is one of my closest, dearest friends. He is a man that I met years ago on one of the dating sites I was on, one that was based on being of the same culture. We got along well from the start, but lived across the country from each other. Neither of us was willing to consider moving, a dealbreaker we figured out early on. As we respected each other, and got along so well, we kept in touch as friends. When I was last in New York, we had the chance to meet in person, and had a great, although fast and furious time at the MoMA. The outing left me knowing that he was an absolutely amazing single Greek man. I had found the Holy Grail. As Greek women are bound to do, I decided to try and match him up with one of my best friends, Persephone.
Persie is an amazing artist, adorable, and absolutely willing to move. She also has an impetuous desire for fun and adventure, and does not have the best judgement when she's drunk. Persie and Mr. X get along really well, though there is a comfort level that he and I have obtained that they haven't quite come to yet. It also turns out that I'm not that great of a matchmaker. Persie and Mr. X are not a match primarily for logistical reasons. Mr. X is needing his bride to be previously unmarried, while Persie has been divorced. Though it seems like an unusual requirement in this day and age, the reason for it, I assure you, is a good one. At this point, though, I fear that Persie has developed strong feelings for him. I can't blame her, he's amazing. Who wouldn't? And he, being the definition of extraordinary, completely cares for her heart, and her soul, just as he does for mine, and anyone lucky enough to come into contact with him.
Being one of my closest friends, he's been privy to the rollercoaster that is my dating life. He knows my blunders and my men troubles. And he's sat there, with a strong shoulder, not judging, but nudging me to do the right things.
Knowing about my recent breakups and hardships, Mr. X recently invited me to join him on a trip for a painting workshop, an interest we both are passionate about. Ever the gentleman, he offered to take care of me, just so that we both could get away and have a good time together. And no matter how I try and write about it, and make a point of how great a friend he is, it becomes clear that this gesture of friendship really touched my heart, differently than anyone has. It's not that he offered to help pay. While most women thrive on the thought that men value them enough to pay for them, I have a hard time with it. I don't want to be bought. This way there is no doubt why I value someone.
Something about the invitation from Mr. X brought tears to my eyes. I'm a spunky, independent, brassy, strong woman. Most guys I date either want to make me vulnerable, or need someone to take care of them. Mr. X, on the other hand, wanted to share an experience he is passionate about with me, and was willing to go to long lengths to do so. He wanted to take care of me to keep me strong, not to make me weak. And this is where writing publically scares me, because I have to admit that the one grand gesture of friendship has sparked feelings that I have been fighting for a long time. I've had to recognize that in my realm of friends, there has been a true, honest, loving man that I have been pushing away for fear of leaving the nest and building a life of my own. And now I'm in an awkward place, between my friendship, and these fledgeling feelings that I hope subside somehow. Mr. X has his world that he is living in, and is trying to find a match in that world, and I am confused, alone, and probably just in a weird spot, trying not to read anything into a very generous offer of kindness.
There is a possibility that I may be able to see him in person again the week after next, if the stars align, the muffins rise, Lindsay Lohan stays sober, whatever. If that happens, I'm sure that everything will be as normal, and our friendship will override whatever awkward emotions this whole thing has brought to light. Because if things remain confusing, then I have to figure out how the hell I'm supposed to talk to Persephone about all of this, when I haven't even been able to tell her about the initial invitation in the first place.

Fresh Blood

With my track record for continuously re-dating the same shmoes, wasting years in a vicious cycle of redoing relationships that are going nowhere, I decided that I needed to go on the hunt for some fresh meat. I've stated before that I'm not a big believer in dating websites. I really am not, but in this situation, where I desperately needed some new blood, I decided to give the little faces in boxes a go again.
I reactivated one of my old accounts, and perused the menu of available options. There were a few fishy looking old guys, a couple of meaty beefcakes, some indigestibly geeky brainmuffins, and countless boring, bland, tasteless bread baskets with no butter in sight. I managed to find two appetizing items that looked like something I might want to sink my teeth into. One of them had a sweet sincere smile, dark good looks, and a simple honest profile, like a plate of my favorite seasoned vegetables (saying a lot, coming from a vegetarian). The other looked like a decadent, rich, creamy, chocolatey dessert. Something that I probably shouldn't be considering because it would inevitably end up on my hips and ass, and would probably be difficult to get rid of when I rue the decision for ever biting into it in the first place.
Deep down, I really do want a healthy relationship with a good person, so I contacted option number one, and within about a week, we went out. He is adorable, just as beautiful as his pictures showed, with an extremely sweet smile, deep brown eyes, and a quirky little scar on his forehead. He showed up a few minutes late, but was extremely apologetic, and explained why. When the server came, he ordered an appetizer, though we were initially only out for drinks. To my surprise, I found out that he is a vegetarian as well. This occurrence baffled me. The only male vegetarians I knew were either granolas, gay, or obnoxious. An attractive, down to earth, male vegetarian seemed about as common as finding big foot riding on a unicorn by a kettle of gold. But I found one. We shared two appetizers and split a dessert - which he more than happily persuaded me to select. We shared some fun stories about ourselves, and overall had a great time. We walked out to the parking lot together, and parted ways to our own vehicles. One of the better dates I've had in a long time, though I wasn't sure how much chemistry we have towards a relationship, I am most definitely up to seeing him again to figure it out.
And then there are my inner cravings. They can be too much to bear at times. I contacted option number two. Almost three weeks later, we were able to meet in person. I drove 45 minutes to meet him in Tacoma, because he lives near Olympia. I had found some fun date ideas to do out there and decided to use one of them. I was coming straight from work, and was famished. I let him know that I would need to eat something, so to plan on catching some food out there. Once out there, I got word from him that he was running late. A few text messages and an hour later, he showed up. I had patiently sat, sipping my beer, waiting to order until he got there. That's when he told me that one of his friends had barbecued, and that he grabbed some chicken on his way over. So he watched me eat. While he watched me eat my dinner, he mentioned that his friend was having a party that evening, and invited me to it. He also mentioned that another friend was DJing at a nearby club, and invited me there. He wasn't obnoxious about it, never suggesting we immediately leave what were doing to do these other options, but moreso that we could do that as well. When I had eaten enough under his watchful eyes, it was time for the bill. I wasn't planning on letting him pay for me, because I'm a pretty big believer in going dutch on blind/singles site dates. Since he didn't eat anything, I felt weird about making a point of splitting the bill, so I just paid for the whole thing. He seemed fine with this, and then stated that he had the tip, for which he under tipped the server by quite a bit. We then left the bar for the arcade that I wanted to go to. I hadn't told him where we were headed, expecting any male to have the same reaction that I would if someone surprisingly took me to an arcade on a date: I would immediately adore them. We walked around, and he made a bee line to the bathroom (his third john visit of the hour, plus one trip to his vehicle to make sure that he paid for parking). It was a bit of a red flag, though I wasn't sure why. I got some quarters, and we played a few games, and he patronized my efforts, though he definitely wasn't as excited to play Pac Man, old school Mario Bros, and Frogger as I was.  We did actually have some fun in the arcade - it wasn't horrible, but obviously it wasn't the greatest date I've ever been on, either. I can't fault him as of yet because some of the icky stuff can be circumstantial. He did buy my beer at the arcade, and possibly would have figured something about the bill at the bar if it wasn't such an awkward situation - part of which was due to his inconsideration. I think the thing that stands out the most was one tiny little instance at the arcade. I could tell he found me attractive while we were sipping bears and talking at the bar, but I was surprised while walking through the arcade, I turned around to say something to him and caught him looking at me so salaciously that it felt like he should have had my consent or something before looking at me that way. He eye raped me.
When I was ready to head home, he walked me to my car - the first man to do that on a first date with me in a long while, and then he kissed me. Even after the lukewarm aspects of the date, his kiss was really nice. I may consider a second date with him because we did have chemistry, and I want to see if some of the snafus were just that: snafus.
It's always at this point that I want to find a good sized stick, and smack myself over the head with it repeatedly. I think that chemistry is making me stupid. I'm not more interested in option number two, obviously, though I may be more attracted to him, even if option number one is more beautiful, kind, sincere, and thoughtful. I may need to readjust my appetite just a little bit. If anyone knows of healthy options menu of men for me to select from, please send it my way!

Dancing With Ourselves.

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.

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...

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.

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.