(no subject)
I’m trying to remember if I broke a mirror back in 2000. Because I’ve lived-for the most part-in RI for the past seven years, and damn if it doesn’t feel as if a curse is being lifted.
I remember prior to that, I used to think it was really remarkable that no one in my family that I knew or had a close relationship with was dead. That changed, in December 2000, when the one person I was arguably closest to in my family died. Two close family members have died since, and dozens more distant, too.
There’s your curse.
Not that it’s been anywhere near a priority in recent years, but I find that my dating history is incredibly unlucky, in a sitcom way (just like everything else in my life). Seriously. Like Michael Bluth bad. And not that it was a revolving door of fine honies last century, but I’m chalking all of those laughable misunderstandings, mixed signals, missed signals-and let’s not forget the appalling LACK of choices-up to life in RI.
Still. There’s your curse.
What sucks, of course, is that while I’m bitching about deceased family members and the nagging persistence of bachelorettehood, I know that I really can’t call myself cursed because I am truly blessed. Blessed with an incredible and inspirational mother, supportive relatives, loyal and fly friends, and an inner drive that can probably only be paralleled by, like, Olympic athletes or something. I’m also gonna go right ahead and say I’m blessed with talent, since it’s apparently what is dragging me out of this wretched, horrible place.
I bitch about RI and how miserable it makes me, but I have met a lot of awesome people and have had a lot of worthwhile experiences here. I think I learned a lot about myself as far as what I demand of myself and what my standards are. On the other hand, I’ve changed a lot, too. I am nowhere near as optimistic, personable, or eager to please as I was seven years ago. I know that RI and perhaps my college experience as a whole has beaten all of those traits right out of me. I’m hoping to regain my optimism and sociability. I don’t think I’ll ever be eager to please, anyone, though, because I’ve grown far too accustomed to being selfish to focus on someone else’s needs. Unless it’s Jaclyn’s.
The baby’s changed me, too. I think I’m a good 70% more likely to cry during an emotional event than I would have been a year ago, let alone seven (let’s keep in mind that my 2000 New Year’s resolution was to not cry, and I pulled it off…until December). And while I’m not eager to please anyone in exchange for approval or acceptance or simply their liking me, I’m a lot more capable of not thinking only of myself. Chilling with My Philly Kids all last month taught me that I’m able to take myself out of the spotlight and just hang out at the periphery. It doesn’t have to always be about me, and that’s fine. Maybe everyone else on earth mastered this skill forever ago, but it was a new thing for me and I’m proud of myself, so shut it.
And although I think my fundamental standards of physical attraction remain the same (short, dark, pretty), I do think my tastes in men are different. Like I am so off to White Male Train it’s not even FUNNY (but, no, it really is). I don’t think I have a specific type I’m looking for, I don’t think I’m even looking at all. I’m ashamed to admit how much of an improvement that is on seven years ago or even five years ago, when I was several shades of desperate. Thank God for all the highfalutin snobbery I’ve accumulated since then, which I now suspect was innate to begin with.
I think one of the main reasons I’m so thankful for my family is that we are a bunch of snobs, and boy do I appreciate it. I’m glad I learned from an early age what was acceptable for me and what was sub par. I think my RI experience was so miserable because it’s a MAJOR downgrade from everything I knew in the twentieth century. I grew up in New York for Christ’s sake, you know? And I went to a nationally lauded public school. I guess there’s nothing more frustrating than knowing how much better off you used to be.
But Lord knows I’ve been beating that dead horse for years, so I’ll just drop it, finally and forever.
I’m glad this mental prison sentence is over and look forward to walking down the street without a perpetual sneer on my face. Then again, considering where I’ll be living, I’m sure the facial distortions of disdain aren’t going anywhere. At least it’ll be warm outside.