Yes, I'm back, bitches.
After an 8-month hiatus from this bitter machine, one would think I would have gained a new outlook on life, or at least a less snarky attitude, since I had no outlet for the snark. I was pretty sick of hearing myself complain and whine, and I figured that if I took a step back and whined less, perhaps there would be less to whine about.
No.
What happened instead is that there was NO outlet for any whining and thusly, I started developing all kinds of wrinkles around my lips, from pursing them together in a semi-permanent sour face. Clearly, I need somewhere to let off steam or I'm going to look like I suck lemons and possibly develop an ulcer. Or a brain tumor.
So here I am, back with a vengeance.
However, I have made a solemn vow to myself to at least spend as much time on being positive as I do on being negative. Call it an experiment in mental health, or my attempt to debunk The Secret-- whichever. I'm just going to call it Not Wanting to Live In Bittertown All The Time Anymore.
But that doesn't mean we can't visit there....
As I did today. Read on...
Two of my cousins became fiancees this week. TWO. One on each side of the family, so I am not spared the forthcoming silent judgment from either my father OR my mother. How do I know it's there if it's silent, you ask?
To this I answer, "How do we know there is oxygen?" Take my word for it. Consider me a scientist of all things Marie and Ross. It's there, okay? Even worse, it's going to be there from the rest of family, too. They already, as I'm sure I've explained in previous posts, think I'm a.) a lesbian; b.) crazy or c.) a crazy lesbian. Whatever the mysterious reason I remain as yet unmarried must be my fault (after all, there's nothing worse than being either crazy or a lesbian, and in certain factions of the family, either or both are major failings in character), so if there were any pity (which is SO much fun, too!), it's likely long gone.
So my plan for revenge is simple: when I marry Joseph Gordon-Levitt (who, being 12 years younger than me, a successful millionaire and a smoking hot lust object for more than one generation, will surely inspire envy and ire from all sectors), I can promise that, without a trace of guilt, I will not be inviting any of them. I don't like their taste in gifts, anyway. I've got all the Wal-Mart tchtockies I can use, thank you.
But none of this means I can't feel sorry for myself, of course.
Don't think I'm not. I am. Pretty earnestly. I'm trying to assauge this wretched feeling by telling myself that Cousin A is a 19 yr old Mormon girl, and her whole job in life is to GET MARRIED and HAVE YOUNGINS, lest she miss out on that Celestial Kingdom situation with her Forever Family (personally,if I thought I were going to be stuck with my nuclear family in Some Version of Heaven for eternity, I WOULD go be a lesbian. Gays aren't allowed in Mormon Heaven, see. I'll bet they're having one awesome party down there in Outer Darkness, though...). Cousin B is 36 and not the deepest tide pool on the beach, and the prospective hubs is of a military sort, which comes with its own set of issues.
It isn't working very well, though. See, I love Cousin A and Cousin B. Both of them love me, and we get along famously. All issues about (what I consider wackadoodle) religious beliefs and intellectual depth aside, they are BOTH wonderful people who have been nothing but kind to me, ever, and who deserve happiness. I could stand here and pick apart all of their flaws, but I really don't want to and don't have it in me to NOT wish them well. While it's certainly true both of them have some life circumstances that make finding a mate a fairly straightforward deal (god forbid I'd have married any one of the dudes I was dating in college....eeeghghg.), really, not the least of which IS being nice and kind and relatively, well.....I don't wanna say "simple", because this implies they would ride the short bus to school, but it's the only word that comes to mind. Simple. As in, not particularly complicated or conflicted. Which, for me, would be akin to asking me to suddenly sprout a third arm or something. I can't do it, never could, and likely, never will. I don't think any one of us is better than the other, mind you. (I certainly took that tack as a teenager, but I've grown out of being THAT pissy. Yes, I have. YES, I HAVE. Oh, shut up. ) We're just different in some key ways.
So if it's not some failing on either of our parts, what IS the problem? Why AM I not yet living in connubial bliss with my soulmate, while both of them plan big Barbie Dream Weddings?
The answer is....
....I don't know.
If I were comfortable with that answer, and didn't feel like a pariah AND a failure (two for the price of one! Fun!) every time someone in my life announces they're gettin' hitched, I wouldn't be blogging right now. If I were A-OK with being alone and steeped in unimaginable personal bliss, I'd be sitting here watching HBO and eating Ferrer Rochay right this SECOND.
Obviously, I'm not. I'm very angry, and bitter, and desperate. ( All of which makes men just TRIP over themselves trying to get to you, BTW.) And I wish I could stop feeling this way, if only to ensure that I send them a nice gift with sweet wishes for their wedding day, instead of a Marie Special (a cheapo Wal-Mart tchtockie masking passive-aggressive disdain/envy/bitterness and deeply ingrained tightfistedness).
But I don't know how. I've tried everything I can, including extensive therapy on the matter, and it doesn't. Ever. Work. It might be that untill *I* get a Happily-Ever-After of my own, I will just have to swallow it, make a dilligent effort to ignore the haters in my family, and have a friend help me pick out gifts to make sure that I'm behaving cordially and appropriately.
Which, not surprisingly, makes me even sadder than ever.
After an 8-month hiatus from this bitter machine, one would think I would have gained a new outlook on life, or at least a less snarky attitude, since I had no outlet for the snark. I was pretty sick of hearing myself complain and whine, and I figured that if I took a step back and whined less, perhaps there would be less to whine about.
No.
What happened instead is that there was NO outlet for any whining and thusly, I started developing all kinds of wrinkles around my lips, from pursing them together in a semi-permanent sour face. Clearly, I need somewhere to let off steam or I'm going to look like I suck lemons and possibly develop an ulcer. Or a brain tumor.
So here I am, back with a vengeance.
However, I have made a solemn vow to myself to at least spend as much time on being positive as I do on being negative. Call it an experiment in mental health, or my attempt to debunk The Secret-- whichever. I'm just going to call it Not Wanting to Live In Bittertown All The Time Anymore.
But that doesn't mean we can't visit there....
As I did today. Read on...
Two of my cousins became fiancees this week. TWO. One on each side of the family, so I am not spared the forthcoming silent judgment from either my father OR my mother. How do I know it's there if it's silent, you ask?
To this I answer, "How do we know there is oxygen?" Take my word for it. Consider me a scientist of all things Marie and Ross. It's there, okay? Even worse, it's going to be there from the rest of family, too. They already, as I'm sure I've explained in previous posts, think I'm a.) a lesbian; b.) crazy or c.) a crazy lesbian. Whatever the mysterious reason I remain as yet unmarried must be my fault (after all, there's nothing worse than being either crazy or a lesbian, and in certain factions of the family, either or both are major failings in character), so if there were any pity (which is SO much fun, too!), it's likely long gone.
So my plan for revenge is simple: when I marry Joseph Gordon-Levitt (who, being 12 years younger than me, a successful millionaire and a smoking hot lust object for more than one generation, will surely inspire envy and ire from all sectors), I can promise that, without a trace of guilt, I will not be inviting any of them. I don't like their taste in gifts, anyway. I've got all the Wal-Mart tchtockies I can use, thank you.
But none of this means I can't feel sorry for myself, of course.
Don't think I'm not. I am. Pretty earnestly. I'm trying to assauge this wretched feeling by telling myself that Cousin A is a 19 yr old Mormon girl, and her whole job in life is to GET MARRIED and HAVE YOUNGINS, lest she miss out on that Celestial Kingdom situation with her Forever Family (personally,if I thought I were going to be stuck with my nuclear family in Some Version of Heaven for eternity, I WOULD go be a lesbian. Gays aren't allowed in Mormon Heaven, see. I'll bet they're having one awesome party down there in Outer Darkness, though...). Cousin B is 36 and not the deepest tide pool on the beach, and the prospective hubs is of a military sort, which comes with its own set of issues.
It isn't working very well, though. See, I love Cousin A and Cousin B. Both of them love me, and we get along famously. All issues about (what I consider wackadoodle) religious beliefs and intellectual depth aside, they are BOTH wonderful people who have been nothing but kind to me, ever, and who deserve happiness. I could stand here and pick apart all of their flaws, but I really don't want to and don't have it in me to NOT wish them well. While it's certainly true both of them have some life circumstances that make finding a mate a fairly straightforward deal (god forbid I'd have married any one of the dudes I was dating in college....eeeghghg.), really, not the least of which IS being nice and kind and relatively, well.....I don't wanna say "simple", because this implies they would ride the short bus to school, but it's the only word that comes to mind. Simple. As in, not particularly complicated or conflicted. Which, for me, would be akin to asking me to suddenly sprout a third arm or something. I can't do it, never could, and likely, never will. I don't think any one of us is better than the other, mind you. (I certainly took that tack as a teenager, but I've grown out of being THAT pissy. Yes, I have. YES, I HAVE. Oh, shut up. ) We're just different in some key ways.
So if it's not some failing on either of our parts, what IS the problem? Why AM I not yet living in connubial bliss with my soulmate, while both of them plan big Barbie Dream Weddings?
The answer is....
....I don't know.
If I were comfortable with that answer, and didn't feel like a pariah AND a failure (two for the price of one! Fun!) every time someone in my life announces they're gettin' hitched, I wouldn't be blogging right now. If I were A-OK with being alone and steeped in unimaginable personal bliss, I'd be sitting here watching HBO and eating Ferrer Rochay right this SECOND.
Obviously, I'm not. I'm very angry, and bitter, and desperate. ( All of which makes men just TRIP over themselves trying to get to you, BTW.) And I wish I could stop feeling this way, if only to ensure that I send them a nice gift with sweet wishes for their wedding day, instead of a Marie Special (a cheapo Wal-Mart tchtockie masking passive-aggressive disdain/envy/bitterness and deeply ingrained tightfistedness).
But I don't know how. I've tried everything I can, including extensive therapy on the matter, and it doesn't. Ever. Work. It might be that untill *I* get a Happily-Ever-After of my own, I will just have to swallow it, make a dilligent effort to ignore the haters in my family, and have a friend help me pick out gifts to make sure that I'm behaving cordially and appropriately.
Which, not surprisingly, makes me even sadder than ever.
posted by Jessica @ 9:00 PM
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