Sunday, April 30, 2006

Mother Knows Best

My mother once told me when I was a teenager that she’d know when I had sex. I wasn’t brave (or naïve) enough to ask how do you know I haven’t already? because I knew #1 it was obvious I hadn’t and #2 I really didn’t want to be having the conversation at all.

However, I was curious as to how she’d know so I could start thinking of ways to hide it if it ever happened.

“I’ll just know,” she said and looked at me in such a way that I knew she would know. No matter what I did or said to try to hide it, she’d know. And though I was aware that it wouldn’t be because I walked differently, I always believed my mother had a sixth sense. She was never wrong when she told a pregnant woman what sex the baby was and she always knew before the phone call came that there was a death in the family. I just figured my sex life was something else her otherworldly senses would pick up.

It never occurred to me that she knew and would continue know every detail of my life until the moment I moved out of her house and started my adult life. She was never intrusive or demanding, but she was protective. Overly so and I was not one to keep secrets from her. I didn’t have any to keep anyway. That would have been a first.

It also didn’t occur to me that if I did ever get a boyfriend and started sleeping with him, my behavior in general would change.

These thoughts were too rational for me to form because at the time my mother was a light I circled like a moth. Her word was not only law, it was wise and loving and right and all I aspired to follow.

She has partially admitted to helping form my fears of men but she still can’t figure out why. The only answer I come up with is she had a dutiful daughter who took everything she ever had to say to heart. Many daughters rebel against their mothers and the restrictions put on them in their youth, but not me. I shadowed my mother and her thought process well into my teenage years, when I should have been experimenting and pushing boundaries. Everyone’s boundaries, especially my own.

Needless to say it’s an action I still have trouble addressing.

If only I could remove the fear. The ridiculous, unfounded fear.

Saturday, April 29, 2006

Tuesday, April 25, 2006

The Quiet Southern One

The second most romantic moment of my life was yet another missed opportunity. I was with a guy I liked, in a place I loved, and I was so nervous I couldn't even turn my body to face him. Seriously? I'm 14 years old when it comes to this stuff. Why can't I grow a set? Maybe this is one of the reasons I was able to give my number to Vincenzio and practically ask Dennis out too. I suppose I have my moments?

Anyway, we were in London, I was 19, he was shy and of course soft-spoken and best of all adorable! Uh, he had the cutest baby face. We became friends and started hanging out, but never officially called the times we went out together ‘dates’. Neither of us actually said out loud that we liked the other, which is why I guess we were both too scared to make a move. Two shies don’t make a right huh? Wow, that was terrible.

One night we sat side by side on a bench near the Marble Arch. The headlights of the cars shone through the little area where we sat like stage lights, and I felt a little like I was floating. Though absolutely petrified at the same time of course. I wanted to kiss him so badly and even more to have him kiss me, but neither of us was brave enough. We went home unmolested much to my chagrin.

When it was time to return to the states, him to the South me to the North, I went by his flat to say goodbye. He wasn’t home but his weird roommate was and allowed me in to write a note. (At this point I didn’t care if his roommate read it because I most likely wouldn’t see him again. Little did I know I’d end up sharing two more classes with him but that’s beside the point.) It took me a good couple hours to work up the courage to go, but I finally did. Maybe it was because I knew I might not see him ever again either. My intention in going to his apartment was to tell him that he should have been braver. I’m still surprised I did it. Instead I wrote it in a note. Yeah, there goes my brave status.

What I received back was a note from him while I was out. It said, you could have been braver too!

He’s right. I could have been. But it doesn’t change the fact we both missed out on a fun romance abroad because we were too afraid!

Such is my life!

Sunday, April 23, 2006

Humor Me, I'll Humor You

In order to prove that I do indeed have a sense of humor, I will relate the details of the handful of ‘dates’ I have actually been on. The official ones anyway. There may have been a handful of non-official ones where I found myself alone with a male I liked, and who may or may not have liked me, but nothing was ever said to confirm a ‘date’ status, nor did anything happen to render it a ‘date’. It also does not include the handful of school dances I somehow found myself attending.

Anthony

Date #1- I was sixteen. It was in another country and was chaperoned, as was the custom there. There are a number of reasons why I might have said yes. Anthony was my cousin’s friend, it was chaperoned by my cousin, my parents were twelve time zones away, and it would have been nothing less than rude if I had declined. Plus he was cute and soft-spoken.

He took me to a nice restaurant for dinner, a different one for dessert and then to a bar after we made a quick stop at his house, perhaps to show me he was from a good family or at least a wealthy one. The fact that I was from America surely played into his need to impress me in that manner. Little did he know that if he had brought me to a mud hut I still would have been impressed. I was in a foreign country, everything was amazing to me.

He was an absolute gentleman and I did enjoy myself despite feeling awkward most of the time. I flew home a week later and never saw or heard from him again.

Bryce

Three years later I went on date #2. I met Bryce in one of my freshman classes in college. He was shy, soft-spoken of course, and tall. I liked him immediately. First semester of sophomore year we ran into one another at the mall of all places. We exchanged quick hellos and smiles and went on with our respective friends. Something in that exchange gave him the courage to ask me out. Over email that is, and I accepted.

He brought me to a diner on campus which was fine with me. I’ve never held the expectation that a guy has to bring me to a fancy, expensive restaurant. I think that has more to do with thinking they will expect things from me after the fancy, expensive food is paid for, but I digress. Throughout the meal he kept mentioning money. The subject in general is not one I love to talk about now, but then it just made me uncomfortable. At first it made me respect him deeply, knowing that he was basically putting himself through school by working two jobs, but he didn’t leave it at that. Everything somehow came back to how much money he and his mom didn’t have, so when he began to tell me about his childhood and how a bully actually pissed on him, the panic alarms went off and I began to look for the closest exit.

I kept waiting for him to ask a question or two about me and my life/classes/interests/maybe even money situation? but none were ever presented. Wasn’t he supposed to want to get to know me? I felt so bad for him on so many levels, but there was no way I take on the load he was obviously carrying around with him.

When the check came (total amount about twelve dollars) I offered to pay my half. I wasn’t sure how payment of the check was going to go before we even sat down (this was only the second date I’d ever been on, I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to pay half or not). I had decided early on that I was going to at least offer, and after all I had heard I even thought he might be relieved.

I was wrong. He looked at me like I had insulted his mother.

We got to the bus stop where he waited and he asked if I’d like to come over to watch a movie, one of the few things we talked about other than money and being pissed on that we both had in common, and I offered a rain check. I gave him a hug and a peck on the cheek and said my goodbye.

He either got the message or his insecurity prevented him from ever following up because I never heard from him again.

Ron

Another few years passed and a friend of a friend who I had met a semester earlier asked me out. Through my friend that is. She emailed me and told me he was interested and wanted to take me out. Ron was a mellow, extremely intelligent guy who I liked, but was in no way attracted to. At times his intelligence intimidated me, not because he was egotistical with it, but because he was the exact opposite, understated and well spoken. I get tongue tied at the drop of a hat and felt that if I ever got into a real conversation with him about anything I’d look like an asshole.

I tried to give my friend many large hints about not really wanting to go out with him, none of which she heeded. I’m not really sure why other than she didn’t want to look like the bad guy in telling him I wasn’t interested.

So one day he called. After a few moments of small talk he asked if I’d like to have dinner and then see a play on campus. I accepted because I’m a big coward and didn’t want to hurt his feelings.

I somehow got out of the dinner part by making up a lie that may have been believable had I delivered it without stuttering or acting so odd on the phone. (I reiterate from an earlier post, I am the worst liar.) He picked me up, we went to the show, I barely looked him in the eye, he drove me back to my apartment and I literally jumped out of the car and ran to the front door yelling,“Call me!”

Needless to say I didn’t answer the phone for a week. I’m embarrassed for myself. Trust me.

Vincenzio

Another year or so passed, no surprise, before I was asked out again. This time though, the circumstances were a little different. I met him at a party if you will, and thought that he was the hottest guy there. It had been a long time since I felt that way about anyone and it gave me a courage I didn’t know I possessed. I ended up giving him my number at the end of the night, and I actually picked up when he called a few days later. There’s a first for everything, no?

Vincenzio was another mellow kind of guy (sensing a pattern here?) who brought me to an Italian restaurant, presumably one his family frequented as they all knew him and he them when we entered. What I remember about this dinner conversation is that it consisted once again of money. What is it with guys and money? I realize there are plenty of societal expectations of men to make/have a lot of money but come on! He actually wasn’t overbearing about it, but he seemed to want to make sure that I knew he had not gone to college but that he worked in construction and made a lot of money.

I will not lie. The more I learned about him, the more I jokingly suspected him of being in the Mafia. Maybe that's being the racist stereotypical joke teller I eventually condemned him for, but there it is. I do not claim to be perfect.

He asked me out for a second date and I accepted because overall I still had a decent time. Date #2 was a movie, the before and after of which I learned more about his not going to college and opting to go into construction because once he put in his time he was going to become an independent contractor. One that makes a lot of money by the way. That’s great and all, and I was truly happy for him and his ambition as it was more than mine at the time, but I kind of wanted to talk about something else. Anything else. Then when we lapsed into a little bit of an awkward silence when I didn’t know what else to say, he told a couple jokes. The only thing I remember about them was that they were racist in that ‘yeah it’s racist but in that stereotypical true fashion which makes it ok to joke about’ way. I wasn’t horrifyingly offended, but it didn’t place him in a particularly good light.

Vincenzio is the guy that Jean gave me such a hard time about when I told her he made me uncomfortable. What with her on my back, it’s no surprise then when after our third date, I called it quits. I can only imagine his confusion when I called him up one day and told him that I couldn’t see him anymore because I was in a bad place. However, aside from sounding so utterly cliché and non-original it was absolutely true. He was a nice guy, but not one I wanted to spill my heart out to about the fact that everything in my life seemed to be falling apart.

He called me what must have been a year later and caught me completely off guard. I had friends over and told him I couldn’t really talk. He asked if he could call again and I said sure, but rushed him off the phone. He never called again. I don’t know why he called but I found out a little while later that he had gotten married. Maybe he was calling to tell me?

Dennis

Dennis was yet another soft-spoken, mellow guy in the short line of guys who have ever approached me, or according to some, who I have ever allowed to approach me. We worked for the same company for a couple months before our work paths actually crossed. I noticed him one day in the elevator (which is in itself something as I generally don’t see anything or anyone on my way into work) and thought he was adorable! Bushy brown eyebrows and a narrow sloped nose. He’s someone I could go out with I thought. Weird.

Anyway, our paths crossed over email and after the initial work issue, we somehow started a personal conversation. It seemed we had a few things in common, one of which was travel, and I started liking him more. After a weeks worth of getting to know one another emails I had had enough. In the middle of one of my many gushing emails I wrote ”We'll have to trade stories over drinks sometime.” To that he responded ”We definitely should get together for drinks one night after work or something and exchange stories! That would be really fun! Just let me know when is good for you, and I am game!”

This is hilarious because a) I totally asked him out and b) I can’t really drink. Alcohol causes a reaction in my body that makes it hard to breathe. Thus another reason I think I am the way I am. I have no vice to blow my inhibitions away!!

Anyway, I went out with him three times, all of which were nice with elements of fun. The last time was one of the most romantic moments of my life, and I passed on it. Unbelievable! We were on the west side near the boat basin, walking along the water and chatting. I noticed his hand swinging close to mine and like the phobic I am stuck mine in my pocket to avoid the awkwardness should he want to grab it. By that point I was already drifting away, not having the spark with him I so hoped would emerge.

We stopped by a tiny pier that jutted out into the river. The air was warm and the sky was a gorgeous array of pinks and violets. It was total movie scene, one I’ve always wanted to experience and I should have wanted to kiss him. Hell, I should have done it anyway. But I didn’t want to and I kind of hated myself for it. I didn’t want to lead him on only to give him a pink slip an hour later. In my own defense he should have leaned in…if only so that we could both experience a lovely moment (despite my not wanting to kiss him. If he had kissed me I wouldn’t have objected). But he didn’t.

Maybe I didn’t give him enough credit and he actually read some of my signals.

Of course, the fact that he tried to kiss me before I got on the subway home shot that theory to hell. The fact that he came at me open mouthed while mine was closed was not a pleasant encounter, for either of us I imagine.

And so that wraps up the official ‘dates’ I’ve ever experienced. Reads like a poorly written high school novel…only by today standards there’d be a whole lot of sex and drugs mixed into the story. But such is the life of a G-rated girl huh? (Which by the way, is not necessarily indicative of her mind.)

Wednesday, April 19, 2006

Drama Queen Vee

Warning: there is nothing less attractive than a young woman wallowing in self-pity. If you must avert your eyes, do so now. I promise no beauty in the following post.

Apparently I want to be with someone more than I am willing to admit. Yes, yes, I’ve been droning on about wanting to be in love and to be with a man (remember I started this thing for the purpose of working, or writing rather, this particular situation out) but for the most part I like my life. I don’t mind being single. Or do I?

It seems that when I have a little time to myself, I start to think about how nice it would be to share that quiet moment with someone and I realize isolating myself with a fear I can’t seem to overcome isn’t the best way to go.

Or perhaps it’s when I get a ‘save the date’ magnet from a family friend 4 years younger than me. I used to make him play house in the cardboard box his mother’s freezer came in. He always obliged too. I was more interested in the construction of the house than actually playing house, a little girl game I’m not sure I ever really knew how to play, which may be why he was always willing. Cutting out windows and drawing tables and chairs on the inner walls was way more fun than pretending to cook or wait for the dog to bring the newspaper.

I knew it was coming because my mother called a month ago to let me know they set the date. My first reaction was to say I couldn’t go. Since I left for college eleven years ago I’ve only seen him a handful of times and I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t be crushed if I didn’t show. Though my absence would be noticed among all our family friends, it would be harder to appear than not and have to come up with an excuse. (I am a terrible, terrible liar. Even thinking about lying makes me feel guilty.) It is purely selfish as I should be able to not think about myself for 5 minutes and be happy for him, but it’s difficult to swallow. Not that he’s getting married, that part is great and I am happy for him, but I know that all our other family friends, years younger than me, will be there with their other halves or will be talking about their own relationships and the time left before they hit the aisle.

It’s pretty much a show stopper when my answer to, “so what about you? Seeing anyone?” is “no. Still single.” No one seems to have any conversation skills beyond that, at least at weddings when everyone is thinking about all the young ones who should be on the road to marriage.

I know I should be bigger than that and just go for the sake of a) seeing everyone because I would love to see all of them and b) it’s a happy occasion and so not about me. But when I opened that envelope my shoulders fell slightly. I mean, it definitely helps that my job isn’t going well at the moment and it’s really starting to affect my mood. The whole ‘not being with someone’ is just another depressing note my head is singing on top of the ‘my job is going nowhere’ note. They harmonize quite well I might add, rocking me slowly into a depression.

For the love of god this is so self-indulgent I can’t stand it!
I just need a break in this cycle. Anything. A new job, an interesting man, the courage to pick up and move across country, a vacation, or any of my hobbies producing results other than keeping me sane. Because at the moment, they’re failing.

The other day though, I did come across another blog authored by a female virgin in her mid 20s. She has a great sense of humor about it, which most of the time I do too (I promise this blog is only written in when I feel angsty and self-analytical/indulgent as proven by this entire post) and it made me feel a little better. Not because she’s a virgin, but because I identified with some of her reasons. The whole putting up walls and liking guys until they show interest and then running. I know I’m not the only one who does that (nor the only virgin in her 20s), but it was nice to have confirmation of sorts, anonymous as it might be. Though she is very open about it and I think is using her real name. So anonymous for me anyway. The main difference is she dates. I need to learn from her.

I will probably go to the wedding even though I really don't want to go. Who knows? Maybe by then I'll have someone to talk about. How's that for proof of the cynical optomist inside me?

Sunday, April 16, 2006

The Best Friend Story

After I graduated I moved to the city with Jean, my best friend from college. Despite still feeling regret about it, in retrospect I think it may have been just as good as it was bad for me. It was a living nightmare yes, but I learned a lot about myself. Things I never would have learned had I moved in with a stranger or at the very least a friend who treated me better.

I could probably write a book about my relationship with her, the treachery/support, encouragement/jealousy and all the other intricate dualities of female friendship, so this entry will probably be long. Just a warning. I will try to keep it to details about how it relates to my inexperienced status but if I digress, I apologize.

We met the first day of our freshman year. She lived a few doors down on my floor and we discovered we had a lot in common. She made me laugh almost immediately, and though that’s not a hard thing to achieve she won me over with it. From that point on we were inseparable. We had so much fun and encouraged each other in everything we tried. After all my broken high school friendships it was wonderful to have a female friend who wasn’t manipulating for reasons unknown to me.

Until that’s exactly what happened.

We had a small circle of friends that we did everything with and that was ok with me because I always had a good time. It wasn’t until years later that I realized it wasn’t a good thing that I had surrounded myself with only one group of people. The leader if you will of our little group was Jean. She had a mothering quality about her that drew us all in for whatever reason. Maybe it was nice to have a friend care where you were the other night, or a friend who rounds everyone up to go to a party or a movie, or a friend who is a mediator of sorts because she knows everything about everyone. Being the closest one to her, I think I slipped into a kind of child mode where I let her run things because she wanted to and I didn’t mind. Or rather, because I didn’t know any better.

Being agreeable and of a mellow nature became my downfall once I realized she was taking advantage of it. We had never had a fight until our senior year and that’s when I began making excuses for her. She was becoming more protective and selfish at the same time, or perhaps becoming more selfish and disguising it as being protective. If plans changed, or I wasn’t where I supposed to be- namely with her, she became angry and accusatory while trying to tell me she was only looking out for me. After graduation this became the wedge that eventually drove me away, all the while cutting a hole in my heart because I am also of an ultra-sensitive nature. I didn’t want to believe she, who I trusted and would do anything for, could be so cruel.

She came from a broken home, with parents who constantly played her against the other. I met both her parents and actually liked them both, but divorce can be a nasty thing. They were civil to each other, but manipulative which is how I’m guessing she learned it. Knowing this, I attributed all her wrongs against me to it. She wanted full control over me because I accepted her for who she was and more importantly I always did what she wanted. In college there was no discrepancy because I wanted what she wanted. When we moved to the city closer to my family and away from all the mutual friends we had, the problems really began.

We managed to find a tiny apartment we could afford and lived practically on top of one another for a year. It was basically another year of college, only less privacy. We used to talk about my issues with men, none of which she understood looking back on it, but she listened and tried to be encouraging. When things started to sour between us, she used this against me. I went out on a date with a guy I met at a party and when I got home I told her he had made me uncomfortable with his constant talk of money and slightly racist jokes. He was a nice guy (off color joke to fill the silence aside) just not for me. She immediately criticized me and made me feel horrible about the whole situation. Aside from trying to deal with the professional side of my life, which she also criticized in the name of ‘I just want the best for you and I don’t think you’re living up to your potential’, I knew going on other dates would only bring more criticism when I didn’t fall in love with each guy.

I began hanging out with family on weekends, occasionally old high school friends, in order to try to figure things out and just plain get away from her. She did not make new friends easily and hated the fact that I was more outgoing. What really bothered her though, was the fact that I got along so well with my family and continued to turn to them for support. She gave me many silent treatments for leaving her alone and when we did finally talk she made me once again feel like a horrible human being for having done what I did. I spent a lot of time apologizing for who I was, yet another regret I would be weighed down by if I hadn’t learned from it.

And up until this point I still forgave her and excused her behavior based on the fact that she wasn’t that outgoing and didn’t have family nearby. I just continued to try to find the best in her and to convince myself she didn’t really mean the things she said. I still joke about the fact that if I was a lesbian and had been sleeping with her, at least I would have gotten some sexual satisfaction out of this abusive relationship. It’s also ironic that I always said, even since my high school days, that I would never let a man do to me what she was doing to me with her eyes closed. It’s almost embarrassing.

Then something happened which woke me to the fact that she was no longer my friend. She was just a negative influence in my life who was angry about the fact that I no longer catered to her every whim. My father became severely ill, and when I missed helping her with apartment issues she called me selfish. I realized at that moment who the selfish one was and that our friendship really did come down to what I could do for her. I felt utterly helpless and fell into a depression. Standing up for myself was obviously something with which I had no experience.

I didn’t even have enough strength to tell her I didn’t want to live with her anymore. Our lease was up but I knew it would crush her completely if I left her at this point. So I moved to a new apartment and lived with her again though this time we had another roommate, something I thought might take some of the focus off me. I suppose it helped a little, but I spent much of the rest of that year trying to avoid her. We still did things together, just not often, and when she continued to criticize me for random things I began to almost hate her. As much hate as one can muster when they’re swimming in depression.

Thankfully I still had other friends who cared enough about to me to try to help. My best friend K from high school and I had grown closer since graduating from college and I had made some new friends, neither of which sat well with Jean. It was K that finally told me I had changed. I knew it, but I wanted to believe I was hiding it well.

Even throughout all of this, every once in a while thoughts of having a boyfriend entered my mind, and pretty much added to my depression because I knew I’d never find someone in the state I was in. Oh Jean had boyfriends I forgot to mention, throughout our entire friendship, but that was ok. I often played third wheel. I can only imagine the hell it would have been if things had been reversed. One of her boyfriends even liked me first but ended up with her. Not that I’m judging because he became a friend of mine, but he was a mama’s boy and for a while the two of them worked well together. His neediness irritated me sometimes and I wasn’t even the one who had to tend to it. Needless to say it never would have worked had I said yes to him when he asked. Though in not even giving it a chance, I denied myself yet another helpful experience.

Two more events occurred which finally gave me the strength to begin the long, long trek to moving on. We met our mutual friend Kathy's best friend M, who eventually became a good friend. As weird as life is, it turned out that Kathy was exactly like Jean, oppressive and mean when she tried to do anything for herself. M and I had many other things in common, but that one thing was huge and ended up bonding us for life. We began to form a friendship without Kathy or Jean knowing because we knew if we didn’t hide it, the two of them would try to ruin it. M once said Kathy actually told her she was no longer allowed to talk to me or Jean because we were herfriends. I thought I had it bad, but Kathy was blatantly mean while Jean was just manipulative as hell.

Like all things meant to be secret we were found out. And just as we suspected Jean and Kathy were furious and insanely jealous though both retaliated in different ways. Kathy just began yelling at M for everything and anything. Jean gave me more silent treatment until the phone bill arrived. She started an argument about who had to pay what long distance charges because she never knew when I called M. It was absurd. That’s when I finally broke down and bought a cell phone. Isn’t that sad? I bought it for no other reason than to be able to make a phone call and not have to explain why later.

Then I was assaulted. Nothing life threatening or even that horrible mind you, but I was still grabbed by a strange man in the street and I was humiliated, infuriated and shaken up by it. When Jean found out about it through our roommate who was awake when I got home, she was more concerned with the fact that I was on the phone than with the fact that I was grabbed. Apparently someone had tried to call her and I didn't click over to pick up. This was revealed to me through an email, not even a phone call. That marked the death of any slight hope I had of keeping our friendship alive. From that moment on it was dead.

Because of that decision I was finally able to come out of my depression. Not worrying about Jean, what she was thinking, what she wanted from me or how she was feeling freed me to start living my own life. It was wonderful. I called M and all my other friends as often as I wanted, but I was still too scared to bring up moving out or actually going out. So I still did a lot of locking myself in my room. When Jean brought up moving out I took the coward’s way out and just agreed, not calling her on any of the shit she gave me when I brought up the mere idea of going our separate ways long ago. I was just so happy to be free of this jail sentence.

It took me another year to heal from the damage she had done. The damage I had done myself. My self-confidence was through the floor, I felt scared of everything, I couldn’t figure out why I still felt badly about some things that seemingly had no relation to my friendship with Jean. It wasn’t until I realized that I hadn’t forgive myself for letting her do all she did, letting her take my confidence, letting her run my life, that I was finally able to really move on. As totally new-age and psycho-therapist sounding as that is, it’s the truth.

So now I struggle with the issue of not letting that ever happen to me again especially with a man and knowing that I most likely would not be attracted to a man who could be that controlling and manipulative. But I wasn’t in love with Jean. What if my guard falls when I fall in love with a man? (I know comparing friendship to love is not really a good way to measure, but it’s all I’ve got. And anyway I’m pretty sure friendship is a big component of love.) If I am honest I will admit there were signs of Jean’s control issues early on and if I had been braver I would have put and end to things sooner. In that respect I guess I should thank her for making me realize the strength I’ve always had and that I can read people better when I’m not blinding myself to what I don’t want to see.

On the other other hand, though I have forgiven her I will never forget the hell she put me through, nor the fact that she used my weaknesses against me when I trusted her with the knowledge. If somewhere down the road I come to realize my friendship with her has added to my men/sex issues I will have to find it in my heart to forgive her, and myself, all over again.

Saturday, April 15, 2006

Four Year Theory

My life seems to happen in increments of four years, give or take. Grammar school- first through forth, middle school- fifth through eighth, high school, college, first career related job out of college lasted almost three years, second career related job rounded out three years last month and I am desperately seeking a new job.

As I get older I wonder if I inherently need a change after a certain amount of time passes. This does not bode well for a lasting relationship if it is something unchangeable in me. However, the friends I have now are ones I cherish and have had for longer than the four-year phase, so I must believe this theory does not apply to people.

In the midst of these four-year phases, there is another pattern I’ve come to recognize. I come to a point where I realize I’m not happy because something is missing, that something I know is love, but I completely justify it by saying things like I can’t start anything now because I’m not where I want to be in life.

In high school it was, I won’t stay with him anyway because I’m going to college.
In college it was, I'm too busy with work and who knows where I’ll end up when I get a job anyway. I’d probably have to break it off anyway.
After graduation, my roommate/best friend is controlling my life, I’m not sure about my job, I don’t know what I’m doing with my life, so I can’t be with anyone, I’m too messed up.
After I quit that job (and friend) and got a new one on the right career path, I just have to get to the next level and I’ll be happy. I’ll be able to save money, figure out where I want to plant myself and then I can start a relationship.

I never thought I was a particularly good liar, but I certainly am to myself. These are all clearly excuses, which I am totally aware of, so why can’t I push it aside? How is it possible that something as intangible as fear can be so physically debilitating?

On the other hand, after each four-ish year phase ends I seem to come out a little stronger, a little more sure of myself or at least, more comfortable with the fact that life happens whether or not you think you’re at the controls. Which may or may not be a good thing as it tends to enable my lack of ‘go-getting’ in certain aspects of my life. I keep waiting for things to happen to me, instead of making them happen.

Though is it not true that you can’t make love happen?

Is it foolish to still hope that at the end of this current four-year phase I may actually be able change?

Sunday, April 09, 2006

Unapproachable, High Standards Seeks Same

Men don’t approach me that often. The ones that do are either extremely drunk or way too aggressive. I suppose this only makes sense as I don’t go out to be social that often. I’m not a huge fan of the bar scene. I have plenty of outings with friends, but that doesn’t really lend a hand to meeting new people. Someone who doesn’t know me well would probably think I was lying. I am making this assumption not out of ego, but based on the fact that when I say something similar when the subject comes up and I can’t squirm out of it, the look of disbelief crosses their faces.
You’re kidding they say. You must have guys hanging all over you! I don’t believe it. I bet you have a string of broken hearts behind you.
How do you respond to that?

I’m not trying to say that I’m this drop dead gorgeous woman who no one but drunks and aggressive guys will approach. I guess I’m just trying to say it’s not insecurity about the way I look that keeps me a virgin. I’m just not sure which of my other insecurities I can attribute it to.

My close friends and of course my mother tell me it’s all in my body language. Apparently I wear a sign that says don’t bother in the way I hold myself. I am not always aware of this but it doesn’t surprise me. I guess it all goes back to the fear. That’s where everything about this seems to end up.

It’s taken me a while to get here, but I’d say I’m pretty comfortable with who I am and what goes on in my life. I am an independent, self-sufficient woman. I’m not swimming in money, but I’m not swimming in debt either. I need to be making more in order to save anything, but it’s fine. I’ll get there eventually. Of course there are things I would change and I’m still plagued with feelings of ‘what the hell is going on’ now and then, but for the most part I’m ok. Outside of the whole men and sex thing that is. And I think that’s a pretty big deal because I feel like I struggled with it for a long time. The whole, quarter life crisis deal if you will. Though realistically I guess I could say I’m not out of the woods yet.

I had crushes on many different boys in high school. It is the last time I can remember really being attracted to anyone. My mother always told me don’t bother getting serious because you’re going to go to college and forget about him anyway. And they only want one thing. Only one or two of them liked me back, and not at the same time I liked them. Most of my crushes were short lived when either a) they didn’t respond to my probably imperceivable signals or b) they started to respond and it scared me. I also wasn’t really allowed to date and never broke any house rules. I was and still am not one to make waves.

There was one boy I really liked. He was tall, smart and cute. I had a real crush on him but when my so-called friend told me she like him too, I totally backed off. She was aggressive and could be really mean and I didn’t want to deal with that. In retrospect I know she was jealous though I never gave her any cause to be. I was a loyal friend, I encouraged her talent and I never said a bad word when she treated me like shit. Later I found out he liked me too, but also backed off because of our friend. He knew she liked him and was aware enough (as a high school male) to know it would have caused a nightmare for all of us. My biggest regret from high school is denying myself that relationship. I always think things would be different for me now if I had just gone for it. After high school ended I stopped talking to my so-called friend anyway because I finally realized how abusive she was. He and I however, remained friends. But that is as far as it goes. There is of course, more to that story but it's for another time.

Am I being naïve in thinking that one day I will meet a man who I feel a spark with and who keeps me interested? Who will wipe away the self-doubt I have about getting involved with another person and all their issues when I have so many of my own? Or am I hiding behind high standards?

Sunday, April 02, 2006

Walking Contradiction

It’s kind of ironic that when the subject of sex comes up and I can’t find a way to subtly wriggle out of it, no one believes me when I admit I am inexperienced. That’s the extent of my admittance though, never do I say virgin cause man is that embarrassing. And I don’t usually embarrass easily.

The positive side that comes from never talking about my love life is that it gives me an element of mystery, based on the fact that most people assume I have sex. Only a few close female friends know the truth and they don’t care. Well, my best friend likes to tell me once in a while that if I don’t get over myself I’m going to die a virgin. I know she’s right, but it’s still not a great motivator. Basically, I am waiting for one of two things to happen. One, my fear of being alone and never experiencing love will overcome my fear of sex/men and it will push me to change. Two, I will meet a man who will make me forget my fears or at least make them not matter.

So here’s the thing. One, I only know what it’s like to be alone and I suppose since I don’t have anything to compare it to, it’s not that bad. I mean, I do want to be with someone but being alone isn’t life threatening. My best friend in college was the kind of girl who absolutely fell apart if she didn’t have a man in her life. (Needless to say she is no longer a friend of mine. Not because of the 'man thing' so much as the 'she tried to run my life and got angry when I stopped letting her' thing. But I digress, it's a story for another day.) I suppose my extreme independence is yet another factor in my dilemma. Two, I have faith that it could happen, but I don’t date so I’ve got no cause to believe it will happen to me.

Have I mentioned yet that I am a walking contradiction?

I want to fall in love, but I sabotage any ways to let it happen. I know I need to open up and date people, but I talk myself out of bothering because I don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings by being judgmental, i.e. knowing within the first 5 minutes if I want to spend the rest of the evening getting to know them. Horrible right? I know. Way to even give the guy a chance. It makes me feel bad so I avoid the whole situation altogether. But aside from that, I am extremely awkward and uncomfortable when alone with a guy, even if not on a date. All the time I’m thinking, what if he likes me and I don’t like him? He’s only going to want to have sex with me anyway. Weird I know! Considering I’ve never been abused, I’ve never had a bad sexual experience, I’ve never even had a man treat me badly! (Aside from the assholes on the street who grab at me and make lewd noises.) WTF is my problem?

Some days I like to blame mom. I love her with all my heart and she made me the independent woman I am today, but I can’t help but think all her man trashing somehow had a negative effect on me. What makes the situation ever stranger is my father is an amazing man and they are still married today, going on 40 years. I suppose I am looking for a man like my father. Patient, gentle, kind…and foreign. Now here comes my sweeping generalization. I agree with mom that American guys do only want one thing. At least pretty soon after dating a girl for a bit, if not immediately. Maybe it’s only because she drilled it into my head growing up, but what can I say? At this point it’s a deep seeded suspicion that I know only one man needs to disprove to me to make it go away. Well, at least subside.

Anyway, I’m sure both my parents were virgins when they got married, so sex was never an issue in the same way it is for me. How my mom got on the ‘men only want one thing’ mantra is beyond me. Though…she did have 13 marriage proposals by the time she was 20. However knowing how she is, her boyfriends probably lived by her rules- her way or the highway. She did and did not do whatever she wanted and if the guy ever crossed the line she kicked him to the curb. I’m so not like that.

But I’ll be damned if I’m going to wait ‘til my wedding night.

Saturday, April 01, 2006

An Introduction

Here's the little something you should know about me that explains the title I have chosen for my blog. I am almost 30 years old and I am a virgin. This statement, as the focus of this blog but only revealing of a very small part of my character, will probably lead you to think one of following 5 things:
1. I'm lying.
2. I'm not lying and am probably just ugly or something.
3. I'm a closeted lesbian.
4. I'm a religious fanatic that doesn't believe in premarital sex.
5. So what?

Though I would love it if the most common one was 5, I'm not that naive. I'd like to not be a virgin but I need a little help. (That's not an open invitation however.)*
So, my responses are:
1. I'm not.
2. I've actually been lucky enough to have friends, family and strangers alike throughout my life compliment me on my physical appearence.
3. I'm not.**
4. I'm really not.
*Yes that parenthetical statement could be my problem right there.
**Will blog the story of how I know this for sure later.

So you're asking, what's your problem then? Why are you still a virgin?
Honey, if I knew the answer to that I wouldn't have started this blog. I have my theories, my suspicions and my relativities, but no concrete answers.

I came across almost40yearoldvirgin's blog and did not stop reading until I had consumed the entire thing. He talks about its theraputic value and it inspired me to make an attempt. I also want to show the inner world of a female virgin in comparison to his of a male if only to poke holes in his generalizations (which I do not deny he has every right to make). Everyone knows therapy is not cheap and since I am inclined to believe my sorry corporate benefits won't cover sessions about why I am not and have never been sexually active, this will have to suffice. 40yearoldvirgin is called names for his anonymous honesty but he is also encouraged by other bloggers. As there is no name in the book anonymous people could call me that I haven't already called myself, I suppose I'm just looking for a kind of outlet and maybe some advice? My plan is not to make this a pity-party but to work out my fears, get over them and attempt to find a loving, intimate relationship with someone. Because really, isn't that what life is about?