Wednesday, February 16, 2005

Cleansing process

So I'm going through the cleansing process of removing Mr Most Recently from my world, and it feels suprisingly good. I am thankful that the period during which we were seeing each other was very short, so there isn't all that much stuff, but he no longer has his own ring tone, and all his saved messages are gone (it took me months, once, to get rid of the saved messages. maybe I am growing up after all).
I must say that it helps to have Mr New to focus on. I don't consider him a rebound because I wasn't in a "relationship", and he, thus far, is so much more suitable to my personality. I'm really excited about our date tonight. I still have the insecurity that he will decide he doesn't like me after all and I will be cast out, alone again, which wouldn't be so bad, but for some reason, it is a grivious sin to be single.
Why is it a grevious sin to be single? I imagine that if I were not followed around by a constant chorus of "you'll find someone" and "there's someone for everyone" or my favorite, from my mom, bless her, "look how long it took me to find Mr. Right?" (Um, Momi, I love you, but by the time you were my age, you had been married twice and had two kids. I hardly call that being alone, although both of your husbands were assholes who didn't deserve you) Not that I have been alone my whole life. In the ten years since I graduated, (there was only 1 boyfriend in High School, he lasted a month) seven of those were spent in the company of a man.
However, if you read Cosmo, (I have to admit, when they promise steamy sex secrets bound to please my man, I have to buy it evn if I don't have a man) At my age, I should be chief editor at my own magazine, with a different date with a different man every night. They should all be sending me flowers and diamonds. There should be lots of hot steamy sex in the supply closet. And I should be wearing Prada shoes.
Perhaps that is my problem. I don't wear Prada. My shoes are too sensible. I need some three inch spikey sandles (red of course) (ow! just the thought of wearing those all day sends my sciatica into overdrive!) and they must cost at least $400. Then the men will come knocking down my door the way my mom says they should be.
In truth, what I really want is one man to be a good partner in all ways. To go camping, and ask me how my day was. To accept my knitting and eat my chocolates. Tell me I'm pretty sometimes. Flattery, after all, will get you everywhere. Flowers are nice sometimes, but not essential. Diamonds sparkle, but I have plenty of jewelry. I would be afraid to wear shoes that cost more than my car payment. I am hard on shoes, they only last a month or two. Hot steamy sex is good though, just not in the supply closet.
There are those who would tell me that I am not adventurous for not wanting to do it in a closet, but come on, it would be cramped, (I do not want to go around with paperclips in my hair and a pencil shaped bruise on my ass) someone might walk in (no, that is NOT half the fun), and I would get fired. I need my job so I can save for $400 shoes. So men will knock down my door...
Wait a minute again. My mom has changed her tune. She says, it's not the shoes, it's because I am too nice. I am the kind of girl(apparently) that you take home to mom.
Blah. The first boy who ever kissed me (I was 15) told me I was "wholesome. Like milk". Now, I may be a little naieve at times, but I know that boys don't like wholesome girls. They don't want milk, they want whisky. That was an insult. I tried to think of ways to overcome that label all through High School, but it just didn't happen. I have learned to embrace who I am by knitting and baking apple pies. shoosh. I bake a damn fine apple pie, and when I learn to make my own pie crust, I will be unstoppable. I almost caught one with my apple pies, but he stopped calling. then he turned out to be a coke head.
The funny thing is, according to my mom, I'm the kind of girl you marry. I have never been the kind of girl who gets married. My family has a long history of divorce. And if the men I have dated thus far (bless them) are any indication, most of them would have left me eventually to go chase some skirt. Well, probably not "D". Am I afraid of that long term commitment?? Hell yes. Would I consider it with the right guy? I guess I will cross that bridge when I get to it. I have to find a guy first that doesn't stop calling, doesn't put other women on his to do list, and doesn't drive me nuts.
Why do I keep harping on this subject? Because I don't know how to stop. I think it's an addicition. I am rather impressed with my use of the seguay in this post. I have been concerned that my conversations are discombobulated lately. It must just be true that I turn into a tard around men. (please let Mr New see beyond my social retardation!!!)

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