The Girl Who Cried Love...

I mentioned this book before, and I want to share another little excerpt that I thought seemed quite fitting from Julie Klausner’s “I Don’t Care About Your Band”...

The chapter begins with a discussion about Kermit the Frog and Miss Piggy’s relationship dynamic…

“Miss Piggy was hugely feminine, boldly ambitious, and hilariously violent when she didn’t get her way, whether it was in work, love or life. And even though she was a pig puppet voiced by a man with a hand up her ass, she was the fiercest feminist I’d ever seen.

I took my cues from Piggy, chasing every would-be Kermit in my vicinity with porcine voracity and what I thought was feminine charm. I was aggressive. I’d find a crush and press my hoof to the gas pedal. I wasn’t the girl who couldn’t say no - I was the girl who wouldn’t hear it. But looking back, I realize Kermit was, for lack of a better term, just not that into her.

So much about Kermit the Frog is intrinsically lovable: his sense of humor, his loyalty to his friends, his charm and confidence in who he is, despite the challenges of being green. But at the same time, Kermit has a distinct indifference to the overtures of his would-be paramour that I came to expect from the boys who crossed my path from grade school on. I think watching Piggy chase Kermit gave me an odd sense of what men and women do, in real life, when they’re adults. I figured that if you – glamorous, hilarious, fabulous you – find a boy who’s funny and popular and charming and shy, and you want him, you just go and “Hi-Ya” yourself into his favor. Piggy and Kermit represented the quintessential romance to me. And I don’t know how healthy that was.

Watching The Muppet Movie recently gave me a feeling of deja vu, and not in the way you expect when you watch a movie you loved as a kid. As I watching Kermit haplessly biking down the street without a care in the world, about to be smushed between two steamrollers, I thought, “Oh my God. I know that guy. I’ve dated him.” Kermit, beloved frog of yore, suddenly, overwhelmingly, reminded my adult self of vintage-eyeglass-frame-wearing guys from Greenpoint or Silver Lake, who pedal along avenues in between band practice and drinks with friends, sans attachment oblivious to the impeding hazards of reality and adulthood. “Oh my God,” I thought. Kermit is one of those hipsters who seem like they’re afraid of me.

It all came together.

Remember how content Kermit was, just strumming his banjo on a tree trunk in the swamp? That’s the guy I’ve chased my whole life, killing myself trying to show him how fabulous I am. Remember how, on The Muppet Show, Kermit used to politely laugh at Miss Piggy’s earnest pleas for some kissy-kissy, or fend off her jealousy after flirting right in front of her with one of his pretty guest stars? Because she loved him, Piggy would always take whatever he felt like giving her.

Kermit never appreciated what he had in Piggy, because she was just one thing about his awesome life. He had the attitude women’s magazines try to sell to their audience: that significant others are only the frosting on the cake of life. But everybody knows that cake without frosting is just a muffin.

I wonder how many guys from my generation looked to Kermit as an example of the coolest guy in the room. How maybe they think it’s OK to defer the advances of the fabulous woman they know is going to be there no matter what, while they dreamily pursue creative endeavors and dabble with other contenders. And how maybe they figured that if you’re soft-spoken and shy, and you know how to play a musical instrument, girls will come in droves. That you don’t have to learn how to approach women or worry that she’ll do anything but fly into a jealous snit if you talk to other girls in front of her.

Sometimes I suspect that Kermithood may be the model for modern masculinity. If it is, it doesn’t match the matehood expectations of a generation of Miss Piggys who, at least eventually, want more. After all, since we were little, we were taught that the only point of chasing frogs is the hope that they turn into men when you kiss them.

Maybe Piggy would have been better off with Fozzie. Gonzo was a pervert and Rolf, another musician, would have been beholden to the demands of the road. And Piggy probably could’ve stood a chance to feel a bit dainty next to him, too, Fozzie being fuzzy and barrel-chested and all. There’s nothing like a spindly-legged, amphibious boy who weighs less than you do to make you feel like a real hog.”

Well maybe it’s me & my blind optimism to blame…
Maybe it’s you & your sick need to give love then take it away…
You’ll add my name to your long list of traitors who don’t understand…
And I’ll look back & regret how I ignored when they said, run as fast as you can…

I’ve been meaning to catch up with a real update for so long, but just haven’t had it in me… in the meantime while i procrastinate, some thoughts….

I tend to be a little intense sometimes… I’m using the word intense for lack of a better term… abrasive, overly persistent, in-your-face, oblivious to disinterest, “come on too strong”… all terms that could be put in to play when describing me and the way I act when I like someone…

One of my male friends has commented in the past that I tend to go from being a fun, level-headed, reasonable person to acting a complete fool when I get to be around someone I have an actual interest in… which doesn’t really do me much good because then the subject of my forceful interest decides that I’m an idiot… he may have thought i was pretty cool in the beginning, but the second I get that glimmer of attraction in my head, I become a completely different person… i become a neurotic, psychotic, overanalytical moron who finds every possible way to make myself unappealing in order to unintentionally sabotage any future romantic endeavours… I obsess, I overthink, I dissect… I become insecure, I try to mould myself to be the kind of woman I think he might like, I make comparisons to every woman he may or may not have ever acknowledged in his past… And ultimately i end up talking myself and him out of liking me… i try too hard… and sometimes, most times, its painfully obvious to everyone except me… and to be honest, it’s obvious to me too, but I try not to admit it, because I figure if I just try a little harder eventually I will wear him down… If I keep forcing my presence on him, maybe he will eventually fall madly in love with me because I have just worn him down into submission… Sounds like the ideal foundation for a relationship does it not? haha… oh well, I’m trying to change…

I’m trying to start the year anew by cleaning house, in a way… streamlining, ridding myself of the excess, the negative… whether it be by cutting out toxic friendships instead of letting myself be taken advantage of… or by removing this guy or that guy from my life because they only makes an effort based on their own convenience and because everytime i make an effort, or sit and wait for him to try harder, i end up getting more upset about a situation… I’m deleting phone numbers, so that every time i don’t get a response, I won’t be tempted to put myself out there again only to be upset or predictably surprised when I’m left waiting again… I’m erasing memories so that I can’t use things to search for deeper meanings or try to embellish sincerity to make myself feel better, to make it seem more valuable, when it was clearly only of value to one half of the parties involved… only me… i always seem to pick the ones i have to save from themselves….

I’m not going to be so nice anymore… I’m not going to talk to people who are only trying to use me and sabotage me… I’m not going to put myself in situations where i feel obliged to do things because I feel bad saying no… I used to be a bitch, and to be honest, I don’t need anymore friends… I have too many that don’t do enough for me as it is… that may sound shallow, but I do go out of my way for a lot of people who don’t even have a passing thought about me and not that i do nice things expecting reciprocation… but i guess i expect mutual respect… and unfortunately, many people don’t work like that… they see kindness as a weakness and instead of being appreciative, they see opportunities to take advantage… i never want to be that kind of person, but I also don’t want to be the schmuck who lets it happen and instead becomes weighted down by the huge amounts of animosity I would end up feeling for people I am meant to care about…

I’m not going to trust people… Because people aren’t trustworthy… Why should I trust some stranger on the internet with personal information about me and not expect divulging anything to somehow end up biting me in the ass in the end… Instead of being polite maybe I should be saying, “listen you fucking nut, if your day revolves around internet stalking and harassing someone you don’t even know, you’re clearly not stable… i don’t want to talk to you, i don’t want to call you, i don’t want to be your friend… i don’t want to feel like i have to be nice to you ..” but i feel bad… even with creepy randoms who hit on me online, i feel guilty for ignoring them and i feel uncomfortable with being hit on and actually take the time to try to “let them down gently”… what the fuck is wrong with me?!

People in real life, actual people that you know and develop relationships with aren’t trustworthy… Women especially, they want to know all the details of your life, so they can compare themselves to you and little by little break you down in their heads to build themselves up… its always an inner competition and aside from the close few that you know you can trust… pretty much everyone else will turn around and throw you under the bus if they need to… and it all just seems like so much work to me… Why bother working so hard to get to know people, to let down your guard and trust someone when there’s a pretty good chance it is insincere… its superficial and they will turn on you eventually anyway….

It all sounds so optimistic, doesn’t it? haha… i’m not sad about it by any means… i’m not writing this in a bad mood… I guess I’m just trying to be realistic… I’m too old to not protect myself… blind optimism is cute and acceptable when you’re young enough to use naivete as a viable excuse… but i’m too old to be that gullible without wondering that there must be something seriously wrong with me mentally… so instead, its time to change, to grow up… Does any of this make sense?

i had a good night tonight… i had fun… i felt good.. confident.. loved… despite a few hitches that i was bound to get over quickly… but all week, this time has been weighing on my mind… almost exactly two years to this hour tonight, my friend Adam passed away… i feel selfish for being as upset as i still am about this… i know that probably doesnt make sense… but grief is hard to understand… sometimes people feel as though they are undeserving of the emotion or as though they didnt earn the right to be upset about something… like they are being selfish by trying to make the grieving process about them… and its strange and doesnt make sense…

i think about Adam a lot… i dont know why… we were friends, but there were many other people that he was much closer with, people who knew him better, who spent more time with him, family who loved him, people who knew him longer than i did… but still, i miss him all the time… i think about him more often than i admit and i almost feel as though i don’t deserve to feel this lost about him… we had started hanging out more often before he passed away… he used to show up at my house randomly and give me three minutes to get outside, get in the car and go wherever it was that he had planned before he threatened to drive away… he never did leave me behind but it was funny to think that he would abandon me if i didnt hurry to go on some adventure that he would never reveal until i got in the car… and i remember his last night so well… i hadnt seen him in a few weeks and we were all out together… and he and i talked about life and what we were wishing to change… what we felt and what we wanted to see differently… and he was melancholy and i tried to find some optimism to shine on the rut of not knowing how to get out of the routine of going through the motions… the next morning he was gone…

i’ve had people pass away before… i understand that it happens… life is short, people come and go out of your life, people come and go out of this world… and sometimes its sooner than you anticipate… sometimes its inexplicable… sometimes you dont understand… sometimes you wish you could rewind even a couple hours and do something to change the outcome of potentially life altering events… but you cant… life is fleeting, life is short… and sometimes this helps put all the bullshit into perspective… and other times it just gives you something else to feel sorry about…

Its strange to think that im not young anymore… my parents and aunts and uncles always reflected on their youth and told me about how before you get to your high school reunion, people you know will have died… and you dont really think about it realistically, because theyre old and its to be expected… but its surreal to me to look in the mirror and see the beginnings of wrinkles… to think of people i know getting married and having babies and actually finding people they want to stick around after fucking… to see people with real careers and grown up jobs, living on their own and starting their lives… and feeling like im stuck in arrested development, living in my parents’ house surrounded by the same posters and boy band memorabilia ive had since i was 13… like im trying to postpone the inevitable because i cant even wear a pair of nylon stockings for more than an hour without getting a run in them and thats my measure of adulthood… only grown women can wear nylons more than once… and im certainly not a grown up yet… im still a girl… not a woman… im immature and can still try to play off being shy and timid and cute and having drama and whatever else you can get away with when you’re not a real grown up… before you get to the age where youre just too fucking old to be cute… where trying to act cute is just pathetic and irritating and makes people want to punch you… before getting to the age when people look at you like a moron for trying to use the petty bullshit that you may have gotten away with when you were still young enough to play it off… im past that point now… my decisions need to be my own.. my mistakes, my own… my endeavours realistic, with a point, a future, substance, i cant go chasing wayward dreams…i cant go doing what i feel like whenever i want to all the time… i need to grow up… and even though this seems unrelated, its all stuff that i come to think of when i think of Adam… maybe is because he wont have the opportunities to make any of this happen… he will forever be 23 years old… until eventually, we are so old and jaded and have lost so many friends to time that we wont think of him as much as we should, as much as he deserves…

I had someone in my life the night he died that spent hours on the phone with me helping me focus, helping me to put everything into perspective and to understand what loss feels like… we didnt know each other well at the time, but its something i will always remember because that night will forever be etched in my mind and having someone that i could potentially adore care enough to help rationalize a feeling i wasnt accustomed to, meant a lot to me… i wish that version of that man was still in my life and i wish i still felt the same heart swell of respect that i felt for him then… i feel like the only thing that hasnt changed is Adam…

His family made bracelets and since New Years Eve of 2008 i wore the bracelet religiously… i never took it off… and if i did and forgot to put it back on, i almost had an anxiety attack as though forgetting it meant i was going to let him down, like he deserved so much more… the bracelet eventually broke after a year and a half and i have it taped and stapled and i carry it with me in my purse everyday… i still think i see him all the time… see people that remind me of him… expect to hear his voice… run into him somewhere… think of him when i go places… i get notifications on facebook reminding me of people i have lost touch with and its always Adam… and everytime, it breaks my heart a little more…

Maybe none of this post made sense and maybe i dont deserve to write about it… maybe a long night, loneliness and alcohol had some influence on the inconsistency and incoherence of this post… either way, Adam Gourlay… its been two years, I’m sorry you’re not here… I love you and miss you very much… Goodnight..

Disclaimer: This is an excerpt from a book I am reading… I did NOT write it and I posted it because I think its accurate and I related to it… it is not geared at anyone I may or may not have dated… or maybe its dedicated to everyone i may or may not have dated and will probably date in the future… Enjoy!!

I just started reading the preface to a book i picked up yesterday… The title is “I Don’t Care About Your Band” and on the cover it reads “What I learned from Indie Rockers, Trust Funders, Pornographers, Felons, Faux Sensitive Hipsters and Other Guys I’ve Dated..”

Now here, I thought, someone beat me to writing my book! So figured I would give it a shot… the first couple pages had me put off because she made too many attempts at comical pop culture references that just didnt work, but then a few pages into the foreword, I really started to appreciate… i’m probably not supposed to transcribe a whole section, but here you go;

“There’s a whole generation of us who rode on the wings of feminism’s entitlement like it was a Pegasus with cornrows, knowing how smart we were and how we could be anything. The problem is that we ended up at the mercy of a generation of guys who dont qute seem to know what’s expected of them, whether its earning a double income or texting someone after she blows you. There are no more traditions or standards, and manners are like cleft chins or curly hair - they only run in some families.

It seems everybody is just confused.

I know grown women who flip out like teenyboppers once they sense a sea change in a guy who seemed to be in it for the long haul but got scared after some innocuous exchange, and now they feel responsible. (“I shouldn’t have sent that text with that dumb joke!”) There are ladies who hook up instead of date because those are the crumbs to feast on when they are starving. Women who feel awful because they knew a guy was bad news, but got involved anyway, they got attached, and now they feel terrible not just because biology kicked in- “I had an orgasm and I like him now!” - but because they feel bad for feeling bad. Like it wasn’t enough just to feel bad because he didn’t call you after his dick was inside you. Now, you have to feel bad because you’re not allowed to feel bad.

Because we can hook up just to hook up now. Because you knew what you were getting into. And you did anyway. But then everything changed.

And instead of being the way some guys are at that age, let’s say in their late thirties, and they’ve never been married, and there’s a ticking clock, but they don’t hear it because they’re like “My career!” or “Look at all these twenty-five-year-old girls who let me make out with them even though they didn’t when I was in high school!” - you don’t shut yourself off. You don’t stop trying to connect. You don’t close up like a clam, even when it gets hard to tell the difference between who you are and how you’re treated.

You keep trying, in the nature of optimism; in the nature of believing in humanity, like Carole King told our moms to do. And when you cry about things not working out, you’re crying not only because a guy you slept with now doesn’t seem to care you’re alive for some reason that’s beyond everything you’ve been told by teachers, parents, friends and everybody else who knows how awesome you are - but also, because you’re ashamed of yourself crying.

It’s part of the female disposition to take blame for failed things. We’re not as entitled as men, even fictional ones, like Will Hunting who only needed Robin Williams to scream “It’s not your fault!” to board the self-esteem bus after breaking down. Meanwhile, we get hurt, we’re ashamed right away.

You stop confiding in people when they ask why you’re upset, because you don’t want to enter a debate on a side you can’t defend. You feel like you were wrong for taking a chance on a guy you should’ve known couldn’t give you what you wanted, and in a way, you feel you deserved what you got.

But here’s the thing: You sanction that kind of behavior when you keep quiet. When you don’t tell you friends it happened because you’re ashamed of what you did that made him shy away. That it was because you slept with him too soon. Because you didn’t play hard to get. You didn’t follow the rules and you failed to act like a hooker who just shrugs and moves on to the next conquest, like those are the only two things a girl can do.

You blame your own fundamental attractiveness, figuring that somewhere in between him pursuing you and his losing interest, you did something that made him stop liking you. You called him too soon or too much. You made a dumb joke. You texted him too later after he texted you, and then he didn’t respond. Maybe he hated your taste in books he saw on your shelf. Maybe he cringed when you used that emoticon in your last email. Or maybe somehow he caught wind of your secret - that you were actually unlovable. Needy, ugly, fat, desperate, whatever it is you’re afraid of guys finding out you are or you think you are - even if it’s a person who just has the balls to remain ardently committed to the act of falling in love.

So you tell yourself that you’re practicing the art of connecting and disconnecting, in hopes that the latter will get easier the more it happens. That you’ll get more casual with practice. But you don’t.”

I think this might be interesting… until i get bored…. ;)