Isn't There A Kitten, Stuck Up A Tree Somewhere?

Well, slowly but surely my heart is healing, kiddos. I've gotten more of myself back in the past couple weeks than I would've expected, enough to get my serious flirt on a couple times.
But the other night, in a heart to heart conversation with a very dear friend, it occured to me that the same issues I've always had in the past when pursuing The Mens are still very present. This entry is about one of them that confuses me the most. It begins, as most thing should, with me listening to an Ani DiFranco song at the tender age of sixteen.

I am not a pretty girl.
That is not what I do.
I ain't no damsel in distress,
And I don't need to be rescued.
So put me down, punk.
Wouldn't you prefer a maiden fair?
Isn't there a kitten, stuck up a tree somewhere?


And that's when I realised, hepcats, the little lesson that would beat me in the face again and again. I am not any of those things. I have never been the kind of girl who can simply be rescued by anyone. And over and over again, I've realised that what I want, more than anything else, is a guy whose will is stronger than my own. Even back then, when I was young and full of horomones and totally confused, I knew that's what I wanted.

I remember that time of innocence, before losing my virginity, before smoking my first cigarette, before I even considered drinking or really cussing or much of anything about what love was like. Sure, I'd had a couple of boyfriends. I'd had crushes that didn't reciprocate. But I'd never had a heartbreak. I'd never really been hurt. My first real heartache was looming five years in my future and I was still young, confused and blissfully unaware. But I was not, even at that tender somewhat undamaged age, a fragile flower. And hearing this wasn't about a boy who'd hurt me. This was important because it was the first real glimpse of who I would become and, also, an all too subtle reference to how many boys and men I'd later meet would react to me.

Because most of the time, loves, most of the time... that's what boys do want. A maiden fair, someone delicate and doe-eyed that they can impress with their wit and wiles and sweep cleanly off their feet. Someone who looks up at them, clinging to their arm and you just know they see it: that guy's Inner Rock Star, A Knight In Shining Armor, A Big Brave Man to Save Them.

And I am just not that kinda girl. And while that fact has honestly hurt more men that've gotten involved with me, it's hurt me plenty. And it's what's been said to me so many times I can't count. And it's not just me. Any of my strong-willed, independent female friends could tell you the same story. And the critique comes in so many forms.

• Getting Bro'd off by prospective beaux who know good and damn well that you're interested in them, who for some reason or another just can't accept a girl who expresses herself "like a man." So they only way they can reasonably interact with her is to nullify her gender, to act is if she appreciates the world solely from a manly perspective and treat her like one of the guys, regardless of how many mixed signals that results in.  I am hugely feminine. I wear heels, know how to properly apply make up and own a nice, frilly and varied selection of lingere. But I also cuss, love punk rock, and don't suffer fools in silence. Many guys, especially the timid, so-called sensitive ones have attempted to flirt with me and use this technique at the same time, which mostly results in me being pissed off because the guy who tried to make out with me last night is the same guy stage whispering, "Damn! Did you see that girl who just walked in?! No WAY a girl like that is here alone."

• Being told by former siginificant others what a turn off your independence had always been. That's always such a backhanded blow, too. The refuge of a coward. Because they never mention it in a way that relates to anything else. Because it's usually something they don't say to your face until a screaming fight or ages after it would've been relevant in your relationship. It takes so many delightful forms, too! Being called a ballbuster, a cunt, a bitch, an ice princess, or even more politely, just plain difficult? In my opinion, it all boils down to that we scared them and make them feel like less of a man. And I gotta say. Being called emasculating hurts just as much as being told how hard it is to impress you by someone who then says they can't wait to "be fascinated by someone." As if being well-informed and in control of your life immediately removes you from that list of people. As if the goal of trying to be an actual, strong human being instead of some shrinking, soft-spoken violet nullifies any sense of mystery you could've cultivated. Guess what, guys? If a strong or difficult woman is talking to you, flirting with you, she's damn impressed. She's in control enough to approach you head on with both eyes open and still come back for more. I find that a thousand times more appealing, personally, when someone who actually knows what they want is still willing to chase me.
  
  
• Having to be the one to end an interlude or flirtation and then getting called any number of pejoratives for doing so. When you see something's not working but you're the only one willing to take some measure to rectify it, you end up being the bad guy, even if you're just trying to save the friendship and some heartache. This one goes for both genders. But I've definitely been told things as lovely and varied as that I am a heartless bitch who's scared of being hurt so I hide behind this cold facade and that I was just using someone for money, when in reality, they were unemployed, so I paid for my half and theirs most times. This one is especially hard when you were clear from the beginning that you weren't interested in anything beyond friendship.
  
  
• The guys who claim to respect your logic and rather rational sensibilities to attempt to play you, as if your sterling qualities of strength make it okay to simply want to use you or dawdle with other competitors, but still manage to find their way to you with startling regularity. Because you understand. Because you should be satisfied with these crumbs, since you get it. Since being logical means you aren't emotional, right? Yeah... These guys absolutely are the worst because they never quite make it clear what they're after, they never flat out say what they do or don't want.

For someone who is genuinely interested in love, these are rather trying things. Because in spite of some of my more unsavory misadventures, I am a romantic. I really would like to fall in love, with all the trimmings. But not in a storybook way... how boring must happily ever after be, if they can't even be bothered to tell you what happens? Even as a kid, I figured that must be why the story stops. And while I'm damn good at being someone's Number One Fan, I'm fully capable of doing so without having to be a mealy mouthed little wallflower. And I don't know if you've noticed, gentlemen, but there aren't a lot of kitten skeletons dangling from limbs. They can figure it out on their own. And so can I.

I know exactly what I want for the most part and I'm not afraid to pursue it. But it makes it really hard sometimes and you can get a little heartsore. After dude after dude who thinks you're scary or wants to just "hang out" without even telling you what the fuck that means, after getting told over and over again that you just don't make someone feel needed enough and even flat out that who you are and what you're like makes you less attractive... well. It's one hit after another and you start to feel a little bit like a booth at a carnival, where everyone gets a shot.

It makes it a little hard to remember what you're doing this for, that there is a point to the adventure and fucking up to find out who you are that goes a little deeper than just being able to tell hilarious stories on your blog. Because maybe it's about watching how you change and wanting to look back and see all the stupid crap you put yourself through and remember the good and not so good times. It's important to remember that if you're trying to work through all the issues that cause you to make stupid decisions,  you've gotta be doing it for yourself. You gotta know who you want to be, especially if that's different than who you are currently.

 And maybe that's why I have this blog. So I have something I look at and say, yes, I made these decisions. And I'm willing to hold my head up and approach people with that in mind. If that loses me points with a guy, because I'm willing to be the first one to initiate contact or that I live this completely absurd life, so be it. But right now, honestly, it's a little lonely. 'Cause the other side of that is that although I have no problem finding someone out there who's interested in a recurring role in my bedroom, I also haven't been asked on a date in about four years. And I'm not sure if it's my personality, my independence, modern romance or the guys I interact with that're to blame. Or none of the above. Because while I don't need to be rescued, I do believe love saves us all. And I'm the perfect person to be swept off her feet... because when I get swept, I stay swept and you'll always know exactly how much weight you're catching.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not ready to start something serious with anyone. But today, for the first time in a long time, I can see that I will be sometime not too far ahead. And I have to believe that can happen again. Like one of my heroes says, I could never give up on the possibility of falling for someone who'd make all those pies I took in the face worthwhile. And while what I write it makes it obvious that on the regular, I'm adding tallies to the Forever Alone score, I also think that this is sort of why, for a very certain type of guy, a guy who will not make me suffer the indignities of just hanging out, who will love me and laugh his ass off at all my stories, a guy who will be a stand up sort of adult, the same 'sort of' adult that I am; for this guy, who I'm praying is out there having his own adventures to share with me, this is exactly why I am Marriage Material. 'Cause if there's one thing all these stories prove, it's that I'm not afraid of being exactly who I am and I know how to adventure. It will be a partnership and that's something I want, more than I'd ever want to get saved by some asshole in a tin suit, because in my fairytale, we won't ever have to stop being rock stars to worry about who rescues who, we'll sweep each other off our feet and be able to hold tight all the way down, 'cause we'll be falling together.