Do you believe in the term, that when it rains it pours?
I guess I can. Good things come in threes. You’ll never be younger than you are just now. They all make sense. But, it’s just my mind whooshing around thinking about all these different things that have come across my conscious.
I watch Girls on HBO, and honest to a higher power, that is what I find my life and my fellow 20 somethings to be like. It’s awkward. It’s too much alcohol, not enough good sense, and remembering each night and bringing it up to friends. I try my hardest to make good decisions, and in the recent past I have been looking out for myself, because for a while there I was letting the people around me dictate how I felt about myself.
I laugh hysterically on the phone when I hear horrible sexual experience of my friends, and I jot down horrible dating stories that I myself have faced. More recently, I have for some reason begun to re-attract men that have come in and out of my life in the past 6 years. Who are these men? Mostly friends. Guy friends that usually look at me like one of the guys. I played pool, or basketball, scrounged through thrift stores for vintage woolrich, or collected firewood for backyard bonfires. These boys have started to resurface wanting different things from me.
Is it because I finally really accepted and come to terms with the fact my soulmate, or even a truly dateable guy will not be found in this bumble cuss county in which I have been born and raised? Now, suddenly these boys that I know are stepping forward. Either with grand proposals or declarations, with propositions, or asking to “hang out”.
What!? Wait, hold on. Let me please straighten this out. You want to date me. You want me to be yours. You want to hold me when we fall asleep, and kiss me before I brush my teeth in the morning.
Okay. No. You do not know me. You have not taken the time to know who I am. Sure you knew me in college. You knew who I was when I was 18 and I wore jeans and my grandfather’s golf sweaters and I had those really horrible two toned glasses. For 5 years you coasted by with occasional texts, or phone calls, that you said annually happy birthday wishes on facebook. That one time we bar hopped and I won every game of pool I played. That time you leaned into kiss me and I playfully darted away asking you what you thought you were doing, because honestly I had no idea what you were trying to do. We are friends. Barely. You knew me at 18, 19, or 20. You knew a girl I was. Now that I am a young woman, now that have certain things that are staples, you seemingly and suddenly think that I am everything that you have ever wanted.
You don’t know me. You only see how I have grown since that time you kind of knew me. You don’t know who I am know. And honestly it doesn’t sound like you want to.
Why is it that my generation just wants to skip right to intimacy? Why do you want me to be yours? Why do you declare it at the local bar? Why have you never in the past year asked me out for tea, or asked me if I wanted to go down to the city, or maybe even just asked me about what I am doing with my life now, and what I want to do in a year?
You say I am the perfect woman, I am independent. You like how I hold my own at the bar, or the music I play at my parties. You like how I hug you, or how dark my hair is.
You have never seen me cry. You have never held my hand when we cross the street. You have never met my parents. Your leg has never brushed mine at a movie theater or under a table. You don’t ever talk to me on the phone when we fall asleep. Why should I be yours?
You have never heard my catty comments, or the way I refuse to let someone gip me in line. You haven’t sat with me to watch episode after episode of Arrested Development, or seen how neurotic I am in the kitchen.
These are things you may have heard about me, but good god don’t ever tell me you want to be with me if you’ve never once seen me comfortable in my own area or ever uncomfortable. If you’ve never met my friends, or never understood how I feel about sex, commitment and my body.
It makes me unbearably sad and angry when someone tells me they want to be with me, or sweep me off my feet.
You don’t know me. You know what you see about me. You know what you think you understand about me.
You know what you see, what you want to see. You know what I have allowed you to see as a casual friend. As someone I joke around with in public, or those couple times we hung out with mutual friends.
Don’t expect me to fall into your arms or bed because you tell me pretty words one night. Don’t make excuses why you haven’t asked me on a date. Don’t blame it on circumstance or time.
I am too polite to embarrass you. Instead, I tell you that I don’t want to ruin our friendship. Which is the truth. I tell you that I don’t think it would be a good idea to automatically jump into a relationship. Because it isn’t.
I don’t want to be with you, because you do not know me, and you certainly haven’t tried.
Be my friend, a constant feature in my life. Not a guest star that rolls in and expects everyone to know the plot. I don’t know the plot. I know who you are in the settings in which we have become friends. Much like the paper dolls I had as a kid, you got the doll, her clothing and the scene. School, the playground, in her house.
If I were a paper doll, you are seemingly fixed already to the scene. The bar, and our friend’s house. You always wear the same thing, and we only ever talk briefly, or maybe we’ve had a couple conversations that close down the bar, but never really hold any meaning.
Don’t treat me like a one dimensional person then profess your feelings to me. I am not the woman you have drawn up in your mind.
You don’t know me, and you certainly haven’t ever tried.