2004-03-26 @ 12:15 a.m.
|Well, I've finally graduated from the tasteless Google referrals that have included such things as naked volleyball players and girls who shovel snow in the nude. I can now be found in CNN.com under Well-Hung Guys, you know, right after a web page for William Hung, the lifeless geekazoid from "American Idol" who has made a singing career out of Ricky Martin's song "She bangs, she bangs" with all the vigor of a person in the first stages of rigor mortis.
Is he real? Or is he just reanimated? He actually kind of reminds me of a relative who gets up to sing at a party, and you know they're bad, but you have to let them sing anyways, because you're related.
But being mentioned on CNN.Com. I am so proud.
I was also recently Googled for "Cute girl with crummy car". Yeah, that's right. That me. Cute girl with a crummy car. Yup, yup, yup. There's no denying that. I only wish now that we could combine the two and come up perhaps with "Cute girl with a well hung guy."
Hey, I was only speculating there.
At this point I'd settle for cute girl who has a freakin' date with a guy who is breathing.
But that's it!! No more settling!
Did I mention the breathing thing? Oh yeah, I did. And he also has to have some discernible human DNA. And he can't be Italian. And he has to have a car. And he has to worship at the feet of the wittykitty altar. Allright??
And I just hope he doesn't feel the need to fart the National Anthem everytime a baseball game starts or anything. I really look down at things like that. Even desperate women have to establish some kind of quality control.
I know, I know, my shrink is always telling me I have way too many restrictions on the people I want to meet. Some guy may have 58 really great qualities but then he'll be, say 1/4 Italian, and I will just have to send him packing. I'm sorry, but I watch "The Sopranos" and I know exactly what happens when Tony goes out for a ride.
I don't like flawed humans. I mean its ok that I'm flawed. I'm flawed enough for both of us. But you, my fine specimen, you have to be perfect. Absolutely perfect.
So are we seeing a pattern here...perhaps the reason ol' wittykitty is still a single kitty at age 46? Me looking for a perfect man. Someone with no flaws. As in someone on the No-Flaw aisle at Walmart.
I guess that was what my shrink was trying to get at this week. None of us are perfect. And we're all going to have to put up with each other's shit, no matter who we fall in love with, because that's just how it is, dammit.
My biggest fear in a relationship is that I have so many flaws, how could anyone possibly handle them all. Wouldn't the poor sap who made the choice to love me, be so busy juggling all my insecurities, rash decisions, anger streaks, indecisiveness, and general flakiness, be too tired for an actual "re-la-tion-ship".
This week in our group, my shrink gave us a kind of unusual homework assignment. He wants us to make up a list of what we think people WON'T like about us in potential relationships. Like what are the qualities that we feel are so totally repellent that any level headed individual would run screaming if they came within fifty feet of us.
Of course, because everyone in the group has low self esteem, it would probably take at least six months to get through our individual lists. The People don't/can't/won't like me because........
Crap, I could go on for years on that one. But actually when he gave the assignment, I blurted out the strangest comment. I said, "Oh, you mean my mother's list?"
I'm not sure my self-hatred list is really all that long. Most of the things I don't like about myself were not only hatched but totally nurtured in the mommy-monster oven. And that's about as close as the words nurture and mommy will ever get to each other in this website.
She always made me self conscious about my looks, about my weight, about my intelligence, about my creative abilities. And everything that I ever accomplished (and I have accomplished some stuff, despite my role as a welfare has-been here), took me three times longer, because I had to 1) not only generate the usual amount of effort to accomplish something, but also 2) push an additional 12 billion pounds of negative energy generated by my mother, just to crack the surface. It was very tiring.
I used to share my writing and artwork with my mother when I was younger, but I have stopped doing that, and since then my freedom to be creative has grown in leaps and bounds. I don't have to please her anymore (at least not on the surface), but it has been somewhat liberating to get out from under all this. It's sort of like pushing a boulder off your leg and being able to hike back to safety.
Unfortunately, it still does affect the way I deal with people and how I cope with relationships. I always feel like I'm just in friendships on a temporary pass. And whenever anything happens, like I haven't heard from Married Guy for several days now, as in unanswered e-mails, I get all panicky.
Not having any confidence is a terrible thing. You may know you're a terrific thAng at home or with your cat, but how do you take that to the streets? How do you present that in potential relationship situation? Like "Hi, I'm incredibly insecure, but I'm also incredibly wonderful if you just take a chance."
I still haven't figured that out yet.
Unfortunately I still continue to hide my insecurities with a snarky sense of humor. I figure if I make the joke first, the joke won't be on me. Ha, ha! But it also makes for a really lonely life. And if things get too serious with anyone, my joking mechanism goes into total overdrive.
My sense of humor was also always the only thing that ever got me noticed. There were probably a lot of other things, that I didn't realize, like I was nice looking. I was a good writer. I was a good musician. I could make publications sing with my clever graphic design. I just couldn't do that one basic thing. Conversation 101.No comprende. I just never believed anyone was interested in what I had to say. And I know it was directly related to how my mother raised me. She was extremely outgoing and always needed to be the center of attention. And I always let her. And as I got older I would tell her things, or try to tell her things, and she would never remember them.
Like even now. I have a very light schedule. I have a support group Monday afternoon. See my shrink and Married guy's kid for piano lessons on Tuesday. And my art classes on Wednesday. Can she remember this? No. She calls me every Tuesday morning wondering where I am. I've had the same Tuesday morning shrink appointment for about 5 years. But she'll call me later in the afternoon, "Oh, I was worried about you, where were you this morning?" Where I am every Tuesday at 10:45... with "A". Oh, I forgot.
She has done this my entire life. My stuff is not important, nor worth remembering, thus rendering me invisible.
So, if my standards for a love interest, seem impossibly high, its really just me standing here in a state of confusion. Do I have the confidence to go out and find someone who will love me despite my flaws or will I always believe that cock and bull story my mom told me about the fact that she is the only person who could ever love such a freakin' mess.
I guess time will tell and P.S. the well-hung part is not important.
Lyrics by Lennon/McCartney. All angst copyright by awittykitty