Saturday, June 11, 2005
A Bushism seemed appropriate here.
For some reason, people always seem to take me for the exact opposite of what I am.
A few examples:
1) My independence is usually perceived as stubborness and snobbery. But really, I'm not independent because I want to be. If I could, I would just crawl into the arms of someone who could take care of everything for me (although I might be suspicious of their motives at this point). But I can't. I am my own cheering section. I have only myself in my corner. So I have really no choice but to be independent. It's not as though I want to push people away -- they're pretty good at leaving all on their own.
2) People usually think that because I am young, I must be:
a) stupid, foolish, or just plain clueless
b) superficial and really into makeup and buying many pairs of high-heeled shoes.
c) utterly inexperienced. Completely unfamiliar with things like love, sex, pain, and
d) unable to take care of myself
e) completely without any backstory. A blank slate, in other words. This one bugs me a lot.
3) My desire to help people is usually interpreted as an attempt to gain favour, manipulate others, show people up, or generally shake up existing systems.
4) My appearance is often misinterpreted as indicating that I want to be hollered at from a car window in the middle of the afternoon.
5) My genuine desire to get to know people and to hear their stories is usually perceived as nosiness, impertinence, mockery, or just attempts to make shallow conversation.
6) My sincerity is usually viewed as sarcasm.
This has really been bugging me lately. For the record: I am an honest person. I will not try to cheat you, I will not lie to you, and unless you double-cross me, I will never manipulate you. I do have a story and I do have a life, and yes, I want to tell you about it, and yes I bloody well want to hear yours as well.
Sometimes I feel like my life is just chock-full of people who don't know me and don't want to ever really know me. They're perfectly content to just sit back and bask in their misinterpretations. It really fucking bugs me.
End of rant.
Open-mike last night was actually really great. The people were all nice -- mostly actors, poets, writers, and musicians -- and I got to hear Cris tell a funny story about her son when he was little, and to hear Jack read from a novel he's been working on. There were some damn good musicians there too. I'm hoping to do a duet with the Bro on the next open-mike night, which is two weeks from now. That is if I've decided that I don't suck too badly. Singing in front of actual people is just one of the many things I'd hoped to do before I die. And you never know when you'll get hit by a bus.
Work was totally fucking insane today. We were understaffed by three people, and I was racing around all day. Despite the chaos, the day actually went really slowly - especially because I had to stay and count the float after closing. Fun fun fun. Actually, the math part gets easier every time.
In other news, I miss the Boy. I guess that's not news. It's just the feeling that has somehow become my reality.
I'm also surprised that I'm not more desperate for sex. Usually after a couple of months without it, I'm ready to do something very, very, very stupid to get some. Now I feel like it would be a very good bonus to life. But I feel like it's a long shot. I am crap at being single, especially when I'm not in the habit of going out a lot. Actually, I do go out. And I do meet guys. But they never express any interest in me, and I usually assume they're either gay or taken. I think I might actually be more into girls at the moment, but I have no idea in hell how to start there. I should have accepted S.'s invitation to go to a club most appropriately called Lick tonight. It's supposedly the only 'queer' bar in town run entirely by women. But I am exhausted from my mere 6 hours of sleep last night and my insane day today. I don't think I'd be very much fun anyway. And I'm hungry. Ridiculous. But I'd infinitely rather go when I'm feeling ON than go when I'm sleepy and worn-out. Girls are harder to impress than guys, after all.
I think that S. and B. probably suspect the whole bi thing. But I haven't told them yet. Somehow telling straight people is easier than telling gay people. I always fear that they'll just assume I'm trying to be trendy, or that I'm actually gay underneath it all. Those are two more misconceptions about me. Hell, I haven't even told them about breaking up with the Boy. That's really lame, because I've known S. since we were five years old and she deserves to know what's going on in my life. But there just hasn't been a good moment to tell her. I'll give her both pieces of info when I see her next. Really, if I want to hook up with a girl, the best people to ask about it are the only lesbian women my age who I know really well and totally trust.
Anyway, sometime I will give that club a try. It sounds cool and I could probably use a bit of carefree fun.
Carrie thinks I've lost weight. She came up to me today at work and asked me in a rather confidential tone if I was still eating, or if it was just stress. I assured her I was eating. God knows I've spent enough time worrying about other people's eating patterns to know to reassure her right away. Plus, I know she cares and I don't want her to worry. But I like myself this size. There's something mysteriously seductive about being able to feel my ribs. I guess that's a bit sick, but oh well. It's not as though I've been dieting or anything dumb like that.
Alright, this is too fucking long.
Enough for the time being.