What I am about to write—or rather, admit to—is going to shock the world.  Yes, the world.  It is THAT big!!  Hell, I’m still having trouble admitting it to myself.  I figure actually writing it out is my way of forcing the issue into some place other than my head.  I obviously can’t actually say it out loud and you’ll understand why when I get to it.  *If* I get to it….

You see, I’m still convinced I’m not that girl.  My family is still convinced I’m not that girl.  MY FAMILY.  And I consider myself pretty close to a few of them.  Even they don’t know this about me.  So I may not be that girl, but I am that good at hiding who I am.  Apparently. 

See?  All this rambling (two paragraphs worth!) and I still haven’t admitted anything.

.

.

.

It’s so hard to write!

.

.

.

.

.

.

I have feelings.   *GULP*

.

.

.

There’s more…

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

I’m tired of being single.  DON’T JUDGE ME!!!

OK, so now that I am ashamed beyond comprehension and will never be able to look at you in the eyes now that you’ve read this, I should probably explain myself:

I was the girl that wanted the career and the education.  I didn’t want the family.  There’s really no sad, sob story about it.  I just wanted the power and independence that came with being a self-sufficient, educated, career woman.  There’s a reason I was literally obsessed with Xena throughout my “teeny bopper” years.  (These were the days before Justin Beiber and glittery-baseball-playing-vampires).

Considering my desire for female dominance independence, you’d think I’d be happy where I am.  I have a career (granted I want a new one more than anything!), I’m completing my MBA, and I purchased a home on my own.  So really, I have it all: the job, education, and independence.  Yet, I can’t say that I’m actually happy. 

Don’t misunderstand, I’m definitely not unhappy.  I’m quite content, in fact.  But shouldn’t life involve more than simple content? I feel like I’m missing something.  I can tell myself that the first novel I actually finish will finally complete me, but if I’m actually honest with myself—a shocker—I know that I would be in this exact same spot once again. 

I want a little excitement in my life.  I want to be allowed to have feelings.  I would like somebody that I can spend time with, rely on, and give to.  I really do.  But somehow I’ve managed to outgrow—or undergrow, depending upon how you look at it—all my friends and peers.  Or most of them, at least.  For a lot of people the simple solution is to meet more people.  But I’m somewhat of an introvert.  I’ve never learned how to go out of my way making friends.  Strangers make me uncomfortable.  Unless I’m drunk, and then you’ll have trouble getting me to shut up and stop touching you…heh.  I fail at small talk and become awkward around people I’m not 110% comfortable with already. 

But I think I know how I got here.  In my late teens/early twenties, I accepted the objective attention I got from men simply because I had never learned there was a difference between using me and actually caring about me.  Since I had spent so much time concentrating on my scholastic education in high school, I never got the relationship education that most girls get.  I didn’t date in high school.  At all.  So I had to learn it a little late in life.  Add in a couple set-backs that come from learning these important lessons in adulthood, and you wind up where I am now: only capable of being single.  Or being used for casual sex.  Apparently I’m not relationship material?

At this point, I’m so tired of all the numbness that I find myself thinking about picking up my entire life and moving it elsewhere.  It would certainly bring back some excitement.  It would also prevent people from assuming I’m the same person I was as recent as 2 or 3 years ago.  I could actually be the person I am, rather than the person others expect me to be. 

It’s funny…the ultimate sign of my independence, my house, is now the one thing tying me down.  I’m stuck.  A little lonely too.  So there.  I’ve said it.  I want a sugar-daddy so I can stay home with my birdies.  Can you pretend you didn’t just read this now?  Thanks.

And so to end this with something light, I should add my life is still pretty damn awesome!  I've been to several countries (I don't feel like counting, but somewhere around 10...?), I've deployed, I take part in awesome military missions *cough cough*, I've been skydiving, I ballroom dance...I mean, I've done it all!  Perhaps I've been allotted my limit of excitement per lifetime?  Or everything else just pales in comparison. 

I am, however, very thankful for my Habibi.  I love him. Although I'm pretty sure he's only using me for neck rubs.

There’s definitely a battle happening between all the women in the world.  The two competing groups identify themselves as either “curvy” or “thin”.  You can decide who belongs where.  Thin girls insult the curvy girls and curvy girls insult the thin girls.  But here’s the fun part: When thin girls insult the curvy girls, it’s obvious and the whole world is offended.  But when curvy girls insult thin girls, it’s done under names like “body acceptance,” “healthy,” and a description of “real women,” and no one says a word! 

An example recently posted by a friend on Facebook: Why do magazines call women who are malnourished and practically deformed because of it "beach fab"? A healthy woman wouldn't have her bones sticking out everywhere but have muscle and curves! Sorry but if your breasts disappear because of your diet and you look like a 12 yr old boy, you aren't "Beach Fab".

Her message is clearly great.  To the curvy girl!  But calling thin girls malnourished, deformed, and resembling a 12-year-old boy is extremely rude and offensive.  I know her intentions were good and she definitely didn’t mean it in that way, but it was mean nonetheless. 

I don’t understand why it’s acceptable to insult thin girls in this way.  Is it because they have received more acceptance in society?  Is it because they are generally considered more beautiful?  Personally, I think it’s a way for curvy women to feel better about themselves.  They have been inundated with magazines, TV shows, and celebrities all telling them they aren’t beautiful unless they are thin.  So what do they do?  They start insulting the thin girls just so they can feel like they are more beautiful.  They call themselves “real women”  while making thin women feel as if they are not good enough to even be called a woman.

What the hell is a real woman, exactly?  In my general definition, it’s an adult person with two X chromosomes!  (I said general!)  That woman you’re calling a 12-year-old boy just might be struggling to gain weight.  Perhaps she’s ill.  Or maybe, just maybe, she’s one of those lucky few born with a naturally thin figure.  Just because YOUR bones don’t stick out, doesn’t mean hers weren’t MEANT to.   Just because you’re not thin, doesn’t mean she didn’t work hard to be thin and is still 100% healthy.  Just because you have large breasts doesn't mean hers don't still look amazing small.

Women come in all shapes and sizes; it’s true!  What this means is that a weight that’s perfectly healthy for one woman can be very unhealthy for another.  As long as a woman is healthy and accepting of her body, I don’t see a reason for any insults to be thrown in either direction.  If you want to shout out curvy girl power, go for it!  But let’s do it in a positive way that doesn’t insult the thin girls.  It’s OK to be thin in the same way it’s OK to be curvy. We're all beautiful in our own way.

I know. I know.  It's been forever.  And this is only going to be a quick update.  I have another lengthier blog in progress, however.  You're welcome.

Anyway.

Since I have officially entered into the new phase of my life (3 months ago), I have been cleaning up remnants of the old phase.  Included in that was the deleting/hiding of blogs written during that period.  That includes the fun, happy ones.  It is all gone.  Unless you're on my protected list, and then you can still read it.  I don't need anything left over from the past couple of years.  I'm a different person with different goals.  All new!  Finally.

And to give an example of how serious I am:  Everyone at work now comments on how positive I am, and how they wished they had a better attitude like me.    I mean, that is some serious stuff.  Before my major life change, they all said the exact opposite. 

I'm officially too happy for my own good. 

It really is a very unpleasant feeling to discover someone automatically thinks the worst of you--no questions asked.  It's particularly unpleasant when it's someone you have spent a long time giving the benefit of the doubt to.

I did everything I could to show this person that she had misjudged me.  If you know me at all, you will know that I only go out of my way to be nice to people I care about.  I went out of my way for this girl.  I did everything imaginable to show her how wrong she was about me.  Even though she behaved as if she liked me, I will admit I still questioned her sincerity as my friend.  But being who I am, I chose to give her the benefit of the doubt.  I chose to believe she wasn't being dishonest and mean when I wasn't around.  That was up until she gave me concrete evidence (by directly telling me, no less) that she did not deserve that benefit.  Unfortunately, she is just one of many.

It is absolutely infuriating to be so misunderstood time-and-time again.  Especially when I have not given a reason to be thought of so horribly.  I can't even correct these misunderstandings because the people I'm surrounded by are too juvenile to keep it private and calm.  If I make one critical comment or correct one mistake, I get insulted and shunned. 

So I tell the truth.  I call people out on their bullshit.  I stand up for myself and others (even if they don't deserve it).  But apparently that's wrong.  It is also wrong to try and calmly explain myself.  Apparently. 

I really don't think seeking out an apology for a wrong-doing is a bad thing.  But I have learned that some people have a major character flaw in which they are incapable of accepting responsibility for their wrong-doings.  They don't know how to admit they're wrong and apologize.  Somehow that makes me the bad guy.  I'm still figuring out how that conclusion is reached myself...

But one thing this experience has made me realize is how utterly lucky I am.  I was lucky in school with my liberal education.  I had teachers who encouraged me to think for myself, to stand up for what's right, to question the world around me, and to seek out an understanding of the various perceptions around me.  They taught me how to find answers, and would not accept anything less than an assertion of my own individuality.  They gave me the confidence to go against the grain, and to know that I do not deserve to be walked over or disrespected because I choose my own path.

It really saddens me to have to admit that not everyone is lucky.  Not everyone is taught to see the world with their own unique and individual flavor.  Some people will accept any meaning of a poem, even if it doesn't connect with them personally.  Some people will hear others say a phrase like "I could care less," and repeat it for a lifetime without bothering to question what they are actually saying.  Because if they did question, they would discover the phrase is wrong and makes little sense. 

I have no problem admitting to my faults and apologizing when I am wrong.  As much as I would like to deny it, I know I'm not always right.  I will make mistakes.  But just because someone doesn't like what I've said, doesn't necessarily mean that I'm automatically wrong.  The way I see it, you have two options when faced with a critical comment: a) call the person a bitch/asshole, or b) consider why you're so offended by the statement and do something about it.  Either way, the commenter is not necessarily the one with the problem.

Honestly, I can't imagine how awful it would be to go through life always assuming the worst in people, always seeking the approval of others, making snap judgments, forgetting that there are multiple points of view to be had, and never truly questioning anything.

So despite all the nasty things people have been saying and thinking of me lately, I know that I am truly a lucky person.  And even though they think I'm the one being shunned, it's actually me choosing not to associate with that much negativity.  I refuse to be sucked into the high school drama.  I seek my own path. 

(The correct term is "I couldN'T care less," in case you didn't know.)

“I don’t care about you anymore,” Ryan said matter-of-factly.  “I don’t know how else to say it.  Sometimes people just stop caring.”  He shrugged and looked down at his hands.  Melissa was trying not to cry, but the obvious betrayal swimming in her eyes was too hard to look at.  He was the one hurting her, but he didn’t want to witness the damage.

Melissa blinked back the betrayal.  “OK then,” she said slowly standing up. 

Ryan looked up at her again.  “I’m sorry,” he muttered.

She nodded as a tear finally slipped from her eye and slowly fell to her chin.  It dangled from her skin, threatening to fall, and Ryan pretended he couldn’t see it.  “I wish I believed that,” she replied, wiping the wetness from her face.  “But for what it’s worth: I loved you.  And I would have waited for you.”  Turning away from him, she quickly left Ryan alone in the bookstore.

He watched after her, knowing with stoic certainty that he would never see her again.   A flash of sunlight enveloping her form was the last memory he would have of the girl he used to love.  It seemed appropriate somehow because he would have only held her back.  She didn’t need him, and he was confident she had walked into a better world without him.  She may not know it, but he knew it.

The glass door that had closed behind her still held her image when he noticed she had left her hot chocolate behind.  The pink stain of her strawberry chapstick on the rim was the only indication that she had drunk any.  He took one last sip of his own coffee and reached for her cup.  His fingers grazed the paper before he retracted his arm.  The waitress could throw it away, he decided as he threw his own cup into the trashcan.  It wasn’t his to deal with.