Wednesday, March 9, 2011

"for me it ain't real... it's fool's gold..."

I guess I can look back at all of the mistakesexperiences I've had, and understand that if there's any reason why I had them, it's so I could utilize them later in life to tell you stories.

Once upon a time, I was in this relationship. It wasn't a real relationship, and I wasn't really aware of this, sadly. (Looking back, I realize that I can no longer give myself points for cognizance. Though I knew it was an atypical thing, I think I sincerely thought we were in some kind of atypical relationship.) The man that I was being fucked bydating was not a great catch. I mean, he was a wonderful catch if you wanted to clean up behind an overgrown man and make him sandwiches, and accompany him on cliche, non-inventive, awkward trips to visit family members you shouldn't be meeting, and if you wanted to watch him fall asleep sitting straight up in bed with SportsCenter on before your pussy had barely had a chance to lubricate itself enough to be moist-like.

Essentially, if you wanted a mental vegetable with a big dick that looked good, he was your man.* (Because he clearly wasn't mine.)

I spent most of my time frustrated and being stood up. I can remember how livid I was, sitting in the parking lot of a Carrabba's, not on my side of town, waiting on him, crying my mascara off, unable to go back home because I'd lied to my parents and told them I was going to see a movie. Sitting, crying in a parking lot. (That wouldn't be the last time I'd cry in a parking lot over a no-good man, go figure.) Stuck like chuck, driving around town trying to kill time, angry that I'd been stood up, but still hoping that he would text me back at the last minute, giving me any bullshit excuse as to why he chose not to answerdidn't see my texts, knowing that the second he did, I'd go running to the same house he was always in. Knowing I would do it, and praying to God all the while that he wouldn't text me; that I'd learn and take my ass home. (How's that for double consciousness?)

Fully inside the memory of the foolishness of him, the foolishness and youth of me, and the ludicrous absurdity of our not-so-clandestine fuckingpairing, I also can remember that Fall, when our "relationship" became long-distance, because I'd gone back to school out of town. I can remember sitting in class, doodling to myself, Mrs. Malorie ________, and writing thoughtpoems about him, and daydreaming about what it would be like to be married to him, and to bear his child.not like it would be any virgin territory for him since he already had two.

*record screeches* Excuse me say what?

Yes, I daydreamt about being married to the mental vegetable with the big dick. Of course, being all of (insert age here), I was sure that I loved him.... even though I didn't like him that much. I honestly didn't know him enough to like him. I didn't know enough of him to like him. He had no commanding presence, except the lucky genetic stroke of good looks and height. Pretty much all of his aura was comprised of what others thought of him. All of his swagger came from the women who pretty much put their pussies on display in front of him. (A lot of these women were married or involved, mind you.) In private, he was particularly insecure... or rather he played the "modesty" game** because he knew women just love a man who isn't actually aware of how amazing he is. (*vomit*)

Now, I say all this to do what? To tell you another funny story from my vault of stories that you probably don't even believe happened to me? (I know, they can be that ridiculous sometimes.) Just to have something to write?

Well, yes and no.

I was listening to Amy Winehouse this evening, listening to a song I'd heard before. I knew I'd liked the song, as I liked damn near every song on this particular deluxe album. But for whatever reason, tonight it resonated within me.

The song is called "Fool's Gold," and it is the story of me. Well, the me I'm leaving behind. The girl who won't be happy 'til she looks down and sees her engagement ring. I was that girl, without even realizing it. Without having a family who bred me to be "the marrying type" (whatever the fuck that means), and without even having the security of having grown up and been into dating/relationships (they weren't into me like I was into them), I was still that girl. The one who would be able to go back to school and daydream about a mental vegetable with a big dick simply because she's seen a dress [and] she has the flowers planned.

Well, for me, that's no longer real. It is indeed, fool's gold. I want to love someone past the boundaries that even I'm comfortable with, and have them love me in return, and I want us to be happy. I don't want everything to be perfect. I don't want either one of us to be mental vegetables. I don't want us to have sex because we feel like that's what we're supposed to do. I want us to like each other quite a bit and be able to recognize it. I don't want us to be perfect, and I want us to love one another for our innate imperfection. Sadly, though I'm pretty sure I've done this, I can't look back and say that anyone else has really done this with me. I have danced in the facade of this with a few people, but at the end of the day, where are they and where am I? I am inside my feelings, and they are pretending like they never had any.

I don't want any more fucking fool's gold. I want the real thing.

Listen to the song. It gives me chills. And, hold on to the gold you find. Make sure it's real. Life is too short to waste time.

*--to be fair, for him to have been a mental vegetable, he was nice. Until we got in a verbal disagreement while he was watching a boring Christmas special and told me I was disrespecting Jesus. Oh yeah, I forgot about that. Never mind. He was an asshole.
**--you know, when you tell a guy he's attractive and he's like "oh no, there are better looking people than me..." Learn how to say thank you and shut the fuck up with the "oh no, not me" shit. Nothing is more unattractive than someone that doesn't know their own worth. Or doesn't value what they have.

No comments:

Unless otherwise indicated, all words here are property of Miss Malorie Registered & Protected