The Spinster

I'm finding that the longer I'm on Tinder the more I feel it's an absolute waste of time.

Which shouldn't be my perspective at all. 

The Vegan, The Comedian, Ireland, The Aussie. All came to be because of the wonderful world of Tinder.

But you see they all seem to be so altogether predictable. 

The gentlemen. 

Or boys, rather. 

It has become monotonous instead of stimulating and I find I no longer look forward to reading my messages anymore. 

They're either gonna be crude or it's gonna turn out they live out of state.

Whine. Whine.

Boo Fucking Hoo.

Men are pigs. 

What news is this?

Well the news is that in spite of our social niceties in assuming it's perfectly acceptable for a woman to be single, it's mostly horseshit. 

The world still expects us to find a proper husband as though I were living in Downton Abbey. 

It's less obvious. 

And most people aren't honest enough to say it outright but there is an unspoken understanding that if you have a uterus it is your job to find someone to marry. 

And the potential suitors are often less than desirable. 

The thing I find so curious is that often I feel it bugs others that I'm single more than it bothers me. 

"Oh, I'm sure you'll find someone."

"He's out there, you just haven't met him yet."

"They met climbing, see, there's hope for you yet."

But is all that encouragement for my benefit or theirs?

So they can feel reassured that I'll stop breaking social convention and settle down already in the box reserved for every woman: WIFE.

I've been indulging in season after season of Downton Abbey this past week. 

And the greatest responsibility each of the daughters face is finding a husband. 

And it made me laugh because 100 years later that's still what's on everyone's minds. 

I ran into a girlfriend I hadn't spoken to in ages and do you know what she asked me?

She asked if I was still with my ex and if I was seeing anyone new. 

That's it. 

Nothing about my work. 

Nothing about my interests, my Youtube, my cat. 

She didn't inquire about my family or my friends. 

She wanted to know my relationship status. 

Because just like the world of Facebook that's all anybody cares about. 

And it's beyond infuriating. 

I love men. 

I love love. 

But there is more to me than my relationship status. 

And even if I did have a boyfriend or a husband is that really all anybody wants to hear about?

Because I actually have a lot more to say. 

About a lot of things. 

Which is why I'm so grateful for this blog. 

I can damn well say what I want. 

And if I'm not interested in tying myself to any of the bores I've managed to date as of late, then you'll have to forgive me. 

I'd rather not settle for anything less than extraordinary. 

Beautifully Alone

When I was little I could never go to sleep if I fought with my parents. 

If I tried I always ended up tip toeing down the hall to whisper into their room, "I'm sorry."

I've always wanted conflict resolved. 

And I've always wanted to make up with the people I love. 

But I'm not a little girl anymore. 

I've changed. 

I had a falling out with someone I would have considered to be one of my best friends and instead of feeling sad, I have felt relieved. 

We'd had arguments before. 

We've known each other for years, that's bound to happen. 

Especially when it's someone you've slept with. 

Past lovers know all of your buttons. 

The good and the bad. 

But each time I thought that might be the end of it, the thought of not being in each other's lives was too sad for me to bear. 

I'd always end up apologizing and saying I was wrong, regardless of what had happened. 

Because I wanted things to go back to the way they were. 

And that's just it. 

They haven't been the way they were since I can remember. 

Letting go is easy for some but it paralyzes me. 

I can never seem to do it. 

Do you know he is the only man I've ever loved that I dumped. 

And I still somehow seemed incapable of walking away. 

Isn't it peculiar. 

I never want to believe a thing is over. 

Changed, sure. 

But finished?

Tis unthinkable. 

The fight had us last week, though it had been stirring for weeks, months even. 

I had become so angry and I didn't understand why. 

Resentful. 

Annoyed. 

I've never married but I felt as though I was experiencing what so many married couples must right before divorce. 

That imperceptible transition into sheer disgust with someone you once adored as thoroughly as life itself. 

But whatever love was left seemed put on, feigned, as though we were players in a show. 

For whom, I'm uncertain, though I think we each did it more for ourselves than the other. 

Because nothing in our interactions was ever about putting the others needs first anymore. 

So the fight climaxed. 

And he had his say. 

And I said mine. 

I told him the truth. 

That he was the only person in my life who made me feel ugly. 

That he had for three years. 

And that I would always feel ugly as long as he was in my life. 

And in writing it reads like such melodrama. 

The histrionic actress exaggerates for effect. 

But it's sadly the plain truth. 

No one has made me feel more insecure, more undeserving and unworthy than the man who never told me anything loving. 

I suppose 36 months was my threshold. 

I also always resented feeling like we remained friends solely because of my efforts. 

That if I'd never invited him to the symphony, if I'd never apologized after one of our quarrels I would just never hear from him again. 

I cannot bear that responsibility anymore. 

After I wrote what I did, I saw that he was starting to type a reply. 

But he never sent it. 

And I was surprised that I was glad. 

I didn't want to make up. 

I wanted to be severed. 

I wanted to feel beautiful. 

Alone. 

But beautiful. 

It was the most balanced I'd felt in ages. 

And I hoped, with every fiber of my buried romantic heart, that love would find its way back into my life, however unexpectedly. 

And I would believe again. 

In hope. 

In love. 

In a man who would make me feel beautiful just from the way he looked at me. 

I have forgotten what that feels like.   

Happy Birthday, ResaStar

My birthday was a few days ago. 

And it was unlike any I've ever had. 

It made me feel old. 

Ever since I can remember I've always had a big birthday party with all my friends. 

I think one year I even had something like 30 friends come over. 

This year I saw two friends. 

One of which most people still think of as my "ex boyfriend" so I don't know if he even counts. 

Everyone else was busy. 

I understand being busy. 

I understand being exhausted. 

We all have a lot going on. 

I get it. 

But I thought even if it was a small gathering I'd still have cocktails with some of my friends. 

Sort of a Sex & the City drinks & dish fest. 

But no one showed up. 

My best friend had the day off & we got to spend the afternoon together before her performance that night, which was lovely. 

My parents met me for dinner, last minute, because thankfully my parents are always there for me. 

And Sheldon said I could come over & play Mariokart. 

He even downloaded the new tracks & everything. 

And it was actually a very charming day. 

But it was so peculiar to me that all of my close girlfriends couldn't meet me for a drink. 

And I think that's what made me feel so old.

Because when you're a kid, your friends are your world. 

Birthday parties are written on the calendar weeks in advance & your party outfit, all planned, down to the matching hair ribbon. 

But when you're an adult you hardly have time to see your friends. 

You'll text occasionally & like each other's Selfies but you rarely spend time together. 

And the only way you even know what's going on in anyone's lives is by reading their status updates. 

"Did your brother call you?" My Dad asked at dinner. 

I laughed & said no. 

"Did he text?"

"No, Dad."

"He didn't wish you a Happy Birthday?" Dad asked concerned. 

"He wrote on your Facebook wall," Mom chimed in. 

And that's how it goes. 

People don't call each other anymore. 

People rarely make plans to spend time together & even if they do it's common to cancel at the last minute. 

I do it too. 

It's how grown ups are. 

And honestly. 

It all made me feel really lonely. 

I went to the rock gym alone to Boulder on my birthday. 

And as I sat on the mat I looked down at my hands, covered in chalk. 

I couldn't believe that of all the things I could do on my birthday one of the things I wanted to do was climb. 

I used to just be so frightened by it. 

And now it made me feel strong. 

And I'm not saying I had a miserable birthday because no one loved me enough to make me a priority. 

But the point is that this was the first birthday where I felt truly AGED. 

I felt some young part of myself flicker out, almost imperceptibly.  

And I didn't know if that was necessarily a bad thing. 

But it felt something akin to growing pains. 

It was the same part of me that wasn't sure if I wanted to get married anymore. 

That pure hope that sprinkled my youth was faint & more scarce now. 

Pragmatism & reason had traded places with it.

And I guess that's all just part of growing up. 

But that's fine. 

Because people change & they drift apart. 

And I don't need to have 30 friends come to my birthday party anymore. 

Because having one friend take the time to meet me and stand in front of the giant Christmas tree downtown just because I love it and just be there, with me, is enough. 

The world can Follow me or comment on my photos and judge me without me knowing. 

But the rare handful of people who are really in my life, who hug me to remind me I'm not alone......

They're the greatest gifts a birthday girl could wish for. 

And I am grateful. 

Follow Me. To the Moon. And Back Again.

I logged onto my Youtube account and read the number like a flashing neon sign.

"97 Subscribers."

I was at 101 Subscribers which felt like some sort of huge accomplishment, like hitting 100 legitimized me or something. 

Which is absolutely ridiculous but it's how I felt. 

And I didn't know when exactly it happened but I'd lost 4 Subscribers. 

Now a normal reaction would have been, 'Who Cares.'

But it hurt my feelings. 

It felt like the popular girl at school didn't want to come to my birthday party. 

Sad panda. 

Followers and Subscribers are fickle creatures. 

My followers on Instagram go up and down nearly every day. 

And because my numbers are so low I notice when there's one more or four less there. 

I notice everything. 

But it really bothered me how much it bothered me. 

I actually thought, My audience isn't liking my videos. 

And from as subjective a point of view as I can have about my own art, my videos are arguably better than they've been since I started making them. 

The editing is getting tighter, the content is getting more focused. 

I'm more comfortable in front of the camera. 

So why would people not want to follow or subscribe anymore?

My first experience with this rejection was when Ireland unsubscribed and unfollowed me on Youtube & Instagram. 

It had the same effect as Sheldon un friending me on Facebook. 

Slap in my shocked pale face. 

What ever did I do??

Social media rejection is embarrassingly painful to me. 

My brain understands I shouldn't give a fuck. 

But my emotions run around waving their gloved hands in the air crying, Why don't they like me? I want to be adored! I want to be seen!

Do you know the real reason I was upset about Ireland?

I mean, the whole truth and nothing but the truth reason?

It wasn't that he secretly had another girlfriend and I was the sexy little side dish. 

It wasn't that he wanted us "to take a break" & "not speak to each other for awhile." 

I was upset that he wasn't a Subscriber anymore and he wasn't going to be watching my videos. 

On one of our dates he'd said casually, "I've seen all your videos."

And my heart paused long enough to let in a breath of love because that made me FEEL loved. 

And feeling like he was no longer my "fan" broke my diva heart. 

That's how ragingly narcissistic and histrionic I am. 

I don't want true love. 

I want FANS.  

How screwed up am I?

I heard an interview with Katharine Hepburn once and she said she never wanted to be a great actress, she wanted to be famous. 

And she was both. 

Ireland told me I might be histrionic and I had to google what the hell he was talking about. 

So. 

What if I am?

Just a little. 

Every actress is. 

It's why we crave the attention of the world. 

Life is my audience. 

And everyone's a critic. 

And I can't please everyone. 

So shortly after my heart formed a bruise around the rejection of my unknown unsubscribers, I got an email notification that some other Youtuber had commented on my video. 

And I instantly felt better. 

Embarrassed at how much better I felt. 

Why was I so fucking needy for validation from people I didn't even care about?

I don't know. 

But I am. 

And I'm a hopeless optimist which is why I think I'll actually hear from Ireland again someday and he'll Subscribe to my videos again. 

Sheldon is my Facebook friend again. 

So I guess that means anything is possible. 

And whatever happens, you know I'll notice. 

Because it all matters way too much. 

Even though none of it changes who I am. 

Hair freshly pin curled, nails freshly painted, Peggy Lee crooning on the radio. 

I am happy. 

I am what I am. 

And you, dear world, can take me or leave me. 

Or take me.