"I've been dating since I was 15. I'm exhausted. Where is he?!"
— Charlotte York, Sex and the City
Do I really feel this way? Absolutely. Do I let it control my life? Absolutely not.
I just wasn't put on this earth to marry a suitable man and shoot babies haphazardly (or planned, for that matter) from my loins.
When I was five, I played house, but strangely, there was never a pretend husband...just me and my baby...my freaky, little Cabbage Patch Kid.
At seven, I put on fake glasses, sat at the table and typed on an old electric typewriter as a "secretary." Do you know what my nameplate said? Ms. Jones, or something of that nature. Never Miss and certainly not Mrs. I was quite distinguished and very important.
By eight or nine, I had turned my parents house into a full fledged, operating hotel aptly named, "The Laraott." So, I might have ripped off the name from another popular chain after having the coolest dinner ever there one evening with my parents, aunt and uncle. Good 'ole Uncle Pete used to always come back from business trips with tiny soaps and mini shampoos to add to my collection and place in guest rooms, encouraging my then dreams of hotel mogul-ton.
See, now I've always been this way — a name in lights, make a difference, bust through walls, can-do, empowered, adventurous, career oriented, see where it takes me, I will succeed, dammit, even if I have to claw, scratch and shovel dog shit into metal cans along the way to do it, kind of a woman. And, here I am, hundreds of miles from home, in business school, making it happen. So, why the hell am I up at 2 in morning crying over some stupid, mediocre, not good enough for me guy?
This is total bullshit.
However, here's the answer: I'm EX-HAUST-ED...and I can't help it.
It's funny how the majority of business school students have this same voracious appetite for success. Whether it's an outward or internal power struggle to be the best, it exists. However, along with toughness, we're also taught the importance of human relations. Sometimes you want to rip your colleague's face off, but at the same time you have this overwhelming desire to be friends with them and see them succeed as well. My internal Type A personality was already delightfully clouded with the need to connect with people before any of these teachings came into play. I'm a crazed, competitive bitch with a soft spot. I'm tough, somewhat harsh and I expect a lot, but I care deeply for my people and they know it. And, from what we're being taught, this is the formula for a good leader.
I mean, what can I say? I want it all. I want success, but I also want that amazing connection with somebody.
Perhaps marriage is not at the top of my list, but it's on there. At this rate, though, could it become the seemingly not so difficult and secondary dream that slipped through my fingers?
I'll admit, the last couple years of my life have waxed and waned in preposterously huge waves, but there's one area of my life that has stayed on an even keel of absolutely and now becoming an embarrassingly gigantic pile of monkey shit...Oh dating, why are you such a dick? I hate you so, but at the very least, you're the one consistent thing in my life even if it is a consistent suck situation.
The amount of dating horror stories on this blog scares the living hell out of me. Well, first it makes me laugh, then the laugher turns into pity tears and I reach for the Ben and Jerry's, Shiraz and my credit card to buy clothing items online that make my ass look amazing. None of that is actually true, but I am starting to wonder what the hell is going on.
I've analyzed myself on numerous occasions thinking, maybe it's just me. But, after a year and a half of reflection in singletonville, with brief bouts of dating mishaps, I realized that some of it is me, but a lot of it is the fact that I attract some of the most bizarre situations combined with the most selfish little bastards on the planet.
I came into this newest relationship playing fair. My skeletons and issues had faded to nearly nothing after the length of time I had spent alone. My life was fresh, I was ready and he seemed worth my time for once. Then, of course, after an uncharacteristically short period of having my guard up, I laid everything out on the table as requested and I was criticized about things I didn't even know I possessed. All his skeletons and insecurities that he's struggling internally to overcome became my fault. It's like he just wanted to cut me down a notch for fun or to make himself feel better about his pathetic little self before he went along on his not so merry way.
Apparently a sophomoric sense of humor is overrated in that man's world, as if it wasn't blantantely apparent that it existed from day one. However, the fact that I was rejected because of my personality doesn't make me want to "change my ways," put on an apron, get knocked up, stand around barefoot in the kitchen and say bland, demure things like, "Oh honey, you're such a silly goose!" It makes me want to sing a shrilly, loud chorus of "Fuck, shit, dickbag, whore face, butthole, Barbara Streisand!" from the rooftop while firebombing everything in sight. If you hate the way I am, how about I kick it up a notch? It's a damn shame you don't like awesome, buddy.
I overlook things about people almost to the point where it's toxic, because I know the person I want to be is somebody who accepts others for who they are. Red flags blaze and I say, lets give them the benefit of the doubt. Maybe I'm stupid, but I'm simply practicing what I preach.
I stopped trying to be a perfect person a long time ago. I am who I am, no bullshit, no apologies and I love who I am, but I've failed to find any male that appreciates, admires or even acknowledges that fact. Perhaps it's an undesirable trait in a woman, but I could care less. I'm never letting go of it.
So, I was happy before he came along and I will continue to be happy and perhaps even happier now that he's gone and I've had the time to analyze all the things physically and mentally I hated about him, but had the integrity, compassion, balls and sense of humor to accept. All positive character traits he will NEVER possess. The rest of this semester should be interesting since I'll have the delight of seeing him twice a week for the remaining four weeks.
Well, another one bites the dust, kids. Surprise, surprise. Now, who dares to be the next victim to enter my torture chamber of love? Like I said before, this dungeon master is exhausted, so I think it's time for another and hopefully short hiatus from all the whipping and bamboo shoots under the fingernails.