Beauty and Power

A very odd man, lets call him Rick, although I doubt I'll mention him again, contact me.  My CM profile doesn't really list any kinky interests, but it does mention liberal politics, and I claim expert status there.  He said "You're interested in liberal politics?  Me too! We should talk!"

His profile, however, made it very clear that I do not meet his requirements in weight or cupsize, so I said "thanks for the nice note, but I'm not your type."  But we started talking and he and I have friends in common.  We've been to some of the same events at the same time.  I probably worked with him on at least one occasion.  He is a professional union organizer and I am a rabble rouser in my free time.

So we have been talking on and off.  Several years ago, I tried to get a law changed, and he is helping me take it up again, actually assigning the union to work on the issue.  He has offered to look at a couple of things I'm writing.  So I'm like, this is all good.

And then he'll say something really flirty with me.  

But under it all, all I can hear is 'you're not hot enough for me.'  I thought we were just going to talk politics and activism.  But each time he tries to pull me into the kinky thing I get a little emotionally entangled. And he'll call me cute, and I wonder if he's being condescending or serious.  I know I should assume it is serious, but I'm so confused by the whole thing, because I just keep hearing "you're not hot enough for me," which he never said--I just inferred it.

I know chemistry is what it is, and one can't will oneself into changing it.  But I wish the solid leftie, the union organizer and environmental activist didn't specify a cup-size on his on-line profile.

So many of the men I know with J.D.s or Ph.D.s are married to women 10 years younger than them that majored in an MRS degree and then worked at Victoria's Secret or hosted at a restaurant, but they're really, really hot.  I didn't think lefty men were supposed to work that way.  But they do.

I get that looks is really important for men.  While I'm actually beautiful, I'm not conventionally attractive.  I suppose I'm an acquired taste. I truly believe that, for the right man, he would be so lucky to have me.  But the average man doesn't want me.  And I'm tried of average men telling me that!

The fact is, we're animals.  I hide it pretty well, but we're animals.  There is a weird, jumpy bug in my room, like the size of a cockroach, but jumping everywhere  Intellectually, I assume it isn't poisonous because I think I would have read about that in the guidebooks, but I scream like a little girl when it jumps across the floor!  "Oh my god!"  And a neighbor comes running, thinking that the roof has caved in.

Sexual attraction isn't politically correct.  A cousin has an Asian thing.  And I have to say, it worked out really well for him.  I was wary for a while because he'd only date incredibly hot, Asian women, then be frustrated when they were shallow, without acknowledging that his criteria was just as shallow as any of the women he got bored with.  But he found an incredibly hot, really beautiful, soulful, wise, smart woman that I love having as part of our family.  But she's incredibly hot (like modeling in fashion magazines hot, but quit doing it by the time she was 21 because it bored her).

Intellectually, I know I should cut off all contact with Rick.  And then part of me will say 'well, maybe he only put what he hopes for' on his profile; he is spending an awful lot of time flirting with me.  And he is helping me get this law changed.  But then I hear "but you're not hot enough for me."  And I just want to cry.

Beautiful = Lovable

I’m in Puerto Rico—going on the cruise I’d originally intended to do with MaxEarnest with Dotty next week.  My roommate here is this fabulous woman from Australia, whom I adore.  She and I are about the same size, but she’s 6 feet tall and men think she is gorgeous, which pisses her off.  “Don’t tell me I’m gorgeous—I have no control over that! Tell me I dress well! I’m thoughtful! Hardworking!  Compliment me on what I can control.”

I’m the opposite.  Tell me I’m beautiful.  Anything I can control, I’ve done my best to control.  I know I am smart. I know I work hard.  I think I’m pretty thoughtful.  Tell me I’m beautiful.  Tell me you could love me.

Criticism lives in my bones.  My whole life, I’ve been criticized for things I might have controlled, but didn’t and things over which I felt like I’ve had no control.

The biggest of these, of course, was my weight.  But it was far from the only issue.

I believe that, as a child, I was more masculine in my communication style than most girls.  I was competitive, wanting attention and wanting to be recognized for that.  I was quite generous, but I wanted acknowledgment for that too.

My mother got migraine headaches quite easily and while she never said ‘you gave me a headache’ I always saw that I had quarreled with her and then she got one.  They were debilitating; she was hospitalized several times for them.

My mother is also hyper-sensitive.  One time I was in the bathroom and I was constipated and she asked me something.  Later she was hurt by my tone of voice and really wanted to ‘process’ what happened, and I, of course, was mortified to explain what I was doing.

My father was often critical.  I remember one time when I was probably 10 or 11 and they had me babysit my brother.  We made popcorn and I burnt the popcorn.  I must have spent an hour scrubbing the pan, but I had forgotten that I left the lid on the balcony and my father was furious that the house smelled bad and that I’d forgotten the lid.  It wasn’t enough that I tried.  I wasn’t perfect.

And, of course, my weight was an undercurrent that I think exacerbated the sense that I was always doing something wrong that was just beyond my control.  Our society is cruel to fat girls in a way that undercuts everything else they could possibly do.  I’m not saying that I’m not a smart, kind, beautiful woman, because I am.  But there is this cruelty in our society that played into my perfectionism that I had to be perfect in everything I do.

MaxEarnest loved me.  Mostly he loved me just as I was, except he always wanted more of me when we were together.  Whereas I wanted to be together more often, but less hours in each day. He thought I was beautiful, but did he think that because he loved me? Who knows?  He loved me, ergo I am lovable.

He is very, very handsome.  Do I think that because I love him?  Still.  I think I will always love him.  It makes me sad to think about what I lost because I wanted more.  And it is hard not to think of it on the trip I had planned with him. 

I am trying to imbue the attitude of my Australian friend.  Because, fundamentally, I think it is her confidence and comfort with who she is that is so attractive to me.  And every guy she meets.

Major or Minor

It is weird.  Deep down, I'm blue.  But only when I stop the hustle and bustle and pay attention.  When I don't stop, I'm actually doing just fine.  And on this weird level, I don't think the surface is any less important than the deep down.My bones are sad.  My muscles and skin and fat all all the stuff on top are doing pretty OK.  It is like an old record player (now you can tell I'm really old!).  Right now, I seem to be doing great at 78 and OK at 45, but 33 is a sad, minor piece.

It's like this song.  Deep down, there's angst. You know it's there.  But when you listen to it, nothing really seems bad.  

Maybe I'm holding onto angst out of habit.  I learned how to see the world in a minor key, but more and more, I'm living in major.  But when I slow down, minor is what I think about, even if I'm not living in minor anymore.  

Or maybe I really am sad, and that sadness doesn't have time to be expressed because I'm numbing myself out with the bustle of technology that is hiding the lack of connection.

Or maybe both of those are true.

My One-Night-Stand of a life

Interesting piece in New York magazine, which I only heard about today from a friend.

It made me very sad.  And of course, in some ways, the writer and I couldn't be more opposite.  She is an impressive and accomplished woman, a few years older than me, who went to Harvard and has published nationally known books.  I went to mediocre state schools and have a good job, but not at all prestigious.  The people I graduated law school with don't look down on me to my face.  But I know I'm a tier down from them all.  And yet, I wouldn't trade my finances with her finances.  No way.  I own my house.  I max out my retirement each year and have since the Roth IRA was invented (although I did miss one year). I just switched to a fifteen year mortgage, and that's my only debt. I think I'm the only person at my job that when I go for my annual retirement counseling, the counselor says "well, you're fine for retirement, but if you're looking at wealth management...."  Which is really funny on my 70K a year salary.  I owe MaxEarnest money and won't pay him back until I get my tax refund, and I'm waiting on that to try and save a little bit of money for my Roth this year.  But my long-term financials are fine and  then I start to think, well, maybe I do want to look at creating wealth for my children or grandchildren.  I will inherit some money someday, and I've always known I wanted to put that aside for the kids or grand-kids   

And that's where my one-night stand of a life comes crashing down.  Wurtzel and I, well I can't say we're equally lonely because I don't know her life.  But I have a feeling that our dark-nights-of-the-soul may look pretty similar.

Wurtzel has never kissed a man when she wasn't completely smitten.  I don't trust being smitten.  I am smitten  by men who are hard to get.  I'm never good at playing hard-to-get; I love someone quickly and want to jump in with both feet.  The irony, of course, is that MaxEarnest was the least hard to get man that I truly loved, but he still lived on the other side of the fucking Atlantic.  And, deep down, we want different, not-mutually-compatible things.

I don't trust the men that make me feel like Bobby did or like John did.  I fall head over heels, very quickly, and then the rug gets pulled out from under me.  And so I try and date men like Tony who do seem sensible on paper.  I don't know what is the sensible thing to do.  I would be smart, if I only I knew the smart way to be smart.

Like Wurtzel, I don't want to die alone.  I don't want to get old alone.  Ideally, I don't want to have kids alone.  I never did heroine (like Wurtzel).  I've had a much more mediocre life, facing the fact that I'm not special.  I'm normal.  I fit in.  Which is what part of me always wanted, so maybe that's why I've never achieved anything extraordinary.  No agent is going to read my blog and offer me a book.  My cats love me.  My parents love me.  MaxEarnest loved me; still loves me even after I hurt him so badly.  Dotty loves me.  But Dotty is my best friend, and I know she has at least 4 women that view her that way.  

I've been cutting some people out of my life. In addition to Tony, I dropped one of the three women I considered a 'best friend,"  whom I've known since college.  She's been stuck for at least a decade, and I've been begging her to get help and she refuses and last month she screamed at me and hung up the phone.  I've decided that until she apologizes and gets help, I can't have her in my life.  I loaned her $3300 last summer and I doubt seriously that she'll pay me back any time soon.  And that's OK. I did tell her that I wouldn't loan her money like that again, that she had to start planning for the future, and living more like me and less like Wurtzel. I do think she'll pay me back, someday, if she can.  And if she can't, well, that isn't why we lost the friendship. I can miss a Roth contribution for another year.

If only my emotional life had the resilience of my finances.

Deeply sad

I'm deeply sad over MaxEarnest.  I think he is right.  I think he is wise.  I honestly think our lives don't fit together and I want someone who I can build a life with.  But it makes me deeply, deeply sad.

I'm trying to accept the sadness and not numb out to it.  I guess that's all I can do right now.  But it is hard to feel the hollowness reverberating in my bones and not just want to get cynical or get drunk.

I saw Tony at work today and that was odd in that I do not understand who he is at all.  I barely recognized him.  But I can picture MaxEarnest with my eyes closed.

Last night, I slept with his fleece.  I wish I could curl up in a cave and hibernate with him for a winter.

It sucks when the head and the heart are so divided.

Letting go? Moving on?

Well, MaxEarnest made it clear that we can't be together on an occasional basis.  And I'm so sad.

I sort of felt like that had to happen when I broke things off with Tony.

I think I hurt MaxEarnest by putting my CollarMe profile on-line without having talked to him first.  But I didn't really think (I suppose that's the problem).  It was a reaction to breaking up with Tony.  And, of course, I knew MaxEarnest and I would never actually have a full-time life together.  And I know I do want to be able to interweave my life with someone else's.  But fuck, I do still love MaxEarnest.

Part of me thinks it is for the best.  But part of me feels like I've torn out my heart.  I was very scared that I might meet someone else in a few months that I might want to see what would happen, and I didn't know how that would work and also protest MaxEarnest's heart.  But I thought I was being honest.  Maybe I wasn't clear.  I used to think I was pretty good at communicating.  But that, clearly was hubris.

I feel awful both because I feel like I hurt MaxEarnest again and because I feel like I've lost part of my heart.   I know he thinks I'm behaving, he wouldn't say badly, but his eyes said it.  I let him down.  He didn't say it, but his eyes did.  

I know he and I see the world so differently.  Part of it, of course, is that he's a guy and I'm a gal; he's a man and I'm a woman; he's European and I'm American.  He lives in the present and I plan for the future.

If I could wave a magic wand and change, I would.

But I suppose that is something else I should try and change--my desire to constantly try and change.

I guess, I'm so bifurcated, I thought I could get some of what I ache for from Tony and still have the good things of MaxEarnest.  But I suppose that just isn't who I am or who MaxEarnest is.

I don't know what is worse--feeling like I've hurt him or feeling like I've hurt me.  And yet, ultimately, part of me knows we didn't know how to make it work.  It would, as MaxEarnest said, be a dead end.  I don't know why--last week I thought he was OK with having some time together today, without any promise of a tomorrow.  But he is probably right.  

MaxEarnest gave me an orchid for my birthday and it still has four blossoms on it.  My head says that it is right to let him go (not that I have a choice) but my heart just screams no! Stop time! Come back! I love you! I don't want to do this life alone!  We love each other.  And that is not enough.

Sometimes it is hard to ring the bells that can still ring.  Somehow, my heart feels so cracked already, I just want to clutch it closed.