Monday, August 3, 2009
Neat happy little endings all wrapped up in 300 pages or less? That would be nice. Except that's not how real life works.
Then there's the fact that if I were to realistically pick a parallel to a character in one of those novels, I'd be the fat, funny friend. Not because I choose to be the fat, funny friend--but because when you have girlfriends like mine: that look the way they do and act the way they act, I'm almost automatically delegated to that role. I don't see myself that way; even if everyone else around me does. Unlike bubblegum feel good novels though, being the fat, funny friend in reality is a way shittier job. At least in the fictional world, the fat, funny friend merely has to be the occasional comic relief and provide profound insights for the protagonist so that the story can move forward. In real life? The fat, funny friend has to put up with girlfriends that are constantly choosing to be in unhealthy relationships that result in broken hearts, empty bottles of wine and tequila and the degrading feeling of being passed over in a bar or club, almost every time we go out. So that last part is a little selfish, but it's no picnic dealing with emotionally draining break ups and fights, and carrying your girlfriends home when they're piss drunk--so don't you think that I deserve at least that last one?
Luckily for me, I have never felt any sort of inferiority complex over the lack of male attention (i.e. the attention lavished and practically flung at my girlfriends' faces) that I get. I know a lot of that is my fault though. I can't pinpoint exactly when it started, but I know that I walk around with an intimidating "Do Not Touch. I will fuck you up. Possibly FOREVER" stamped on my forehead whenever we go out. Except now, I'm realizing that maybe being so unapproachable kind of sucks in the bitter end for me. Every single one of my close girlfriends is in some kind of relationship right now--some are in healthy, functional, envy-inducing ones, while others are in complicated, mostly dysfunctional and headache-inducing ones. I think maybe this is the first time in my life ever, that I've had an inferiority complex over the complete deficiency in male attention. Maybe it's because I'm so unsure about my future and my completely unstable state of... well, state of being; but this is just icing on top of the cupcake. I not only regularly feel like I failed at life (see: lack of job, motivation, direction), now I feel like I'm failing at being lovable too. Basically, I don't feel like I'm doing anything right.
To be completely honest, I know that even if the guy of my dreams were to drop from the heavens into my lap-- I'd probably run the other direction. Why? Because I'm not willing to bring any of my insecurities into any type of relationship with me. I've got way too much emotional baggage and trust and abandonment issues already. I haven't felt this insecure since my freshman year of high school, and I don't want to bring that drama inducing state of mind into a legitimate adult relationship.
So why am I even thinking about something that seems so banal and trivial, when compared to all the other more important things that don't seem to be resulting in good news?
I'm okay with being alone. But being lonely is something else entirely. With all of my closest girlfriends attached to a male significant other, I can't help but feel like the sixteenth wheel all the time.
Is it okay if I'm sick of being the fat, funny friend?
I won't even ask to be the seriously flawed, glamorous protagonist.
I would must rather just be loved for myself, thanks.
My life is not a novel, or a TV sitcom (or even remotely interesting to blog about lately), so here's to trying to live like a true un-romantic, and embracing pragmatism.