Spinster

I love Lorien’s new MacBook. iSight is so cool–doesn’t this look like I’m kissing a vagina that is floating in midair?

So, I got this email from boy today and it basically called into question our compatibility. If you think about it, what exactly is compatibility? Sometimes I think it’s sharing interests and viewpoints and having similar values; sometimes, I think it’s all about just accepting people for who they are, and rolling with whatever and whomever is sent your way.

With this guy, it was clear from the start that there were some pretty significant differences between us. My life has been fairly straightforward–I’ve gone from high school to college to grad school. I’ve done a little bit of traveling and I’ve lived in a couple of different cities, but I haven’t done anything too out of the ordinary. His life, on the other hand, has taken him to some pretty interesting places, both emotionally and geographically. I don’t want to talk too much about his childhood, in part cause I am a little fuzzy on the details, and in part because I think it might be too sensitive a subject for the internet. His military career, though, is fair game. He joined at the age of 18 and served for over 7 years. He’s seen Croatia and Afghanistan in combat, and has been to various other countries while on leave. He doesn’t have any education past high school, and I’d like to point out that this was never an issue with me. I firmly believe that having degrees is not an indicator of intelligence, though I think he sees things a bit differently.

One of the major differences between us is that he is physical and I am cerebral. He makes a very conscious effort to engage in rigorous physical activity and I… well, let’s just say that I am not exactly good friends with the inside of the gym. However, I make an effort to eat well, and I walk everywhere and take the stairs. I enjoy hiking and swimming; I just don’t go to the goddamn gym, nor do I plan on changing that anytime soon.

Here’s what I am–intelligent and irreverent and serious, a lot of the time. Somehow, I think that my seriousness got misinterpreted as sadness–before he left yesterday morning he said that he wanted me to be happy, and when I protested, saying that I didn’t see myself as a miserable person, he said (and I quote):
“Well, I guess you don’t see it.”

Excuse me?

How in the name of hell can someone who has known me for less than a month make such a strong call on what is apparently a fundamental aspect of my personality? Is it because i told him I have depression and anxiety? If so, I’m glad he didn’t meet me two or three years ago, when I was really in a shitty place. It may have taken me 25 years, but I am very, very aware of the fact that I am NEVER going to be happy-go-lucky. It’s not who I am, it’s not how I was raised. If you don’t like it, don’t be in my life. It’s as simple as that.

So, he wrote in his email that he was concerned about our compatibility, and mentioned in his email that he wanted to hear my thoughts and feelings on the situation, so I wrote him this response

How long have you been feeling that our differences equal an inherent
incompatibility so strong that it will end in resentment on both of
our parts? Obviously, we are two different people, but I am having a
hard time understanding when you decided that our differences are that
strong. However, you’ve made it pretty clear in the past couple of
weeks that I’m not “nice” (read “bland”?) enough for you, nor do I
have the right approach to spirituality and exercise. If you are
looking for a docile, demure, cheerleader-type girl who prays in
between marathons, that’s not who I am and I will not apologize for
it. Also, I’m pretty sure that from the night we met, I never even
tried to give you the impression that I was anything other than who I
am. Honestly, I want to date someone who likes me for who I am, even
though I have depression and I’m serious and despite the fact that I
don’t work out. You’re right—I’m not going to change. As for you, I
never thought you should change. I never thought that the things that
make you different from me were problematic.

I debated being less sarcastic, but how could I resist?

When I received his email, Alli and Kristen were over, and Lorien was home (I have a roommate again, thank God), and I’d like to say that I LOVE my friends. I love that they are so supportive of me. It makes all of this so much easier, knowing that they do like me for who I am, and can call bullshit on someone who isn’t willing to accept me.

Not to mention that we (see above plus Heather) spent the day shopping (those of you in Toronto, get thee to my new favorite thing. You can thank me tomorrow, and we’ll compare goodies) and eating gorging ourselves at Red Lobster.

So, thanks, ladies, for making my life that much better, and for reminding me that 1) we all make mistakes, and 2) there ain’t nothing wrong with me that a little shopping and seafood can’t fix.

Oh man. I just got the whole “I like you…but” speech. As in, “I like you, but I need some time and space. We’re so different. This is so much work, and I just don’t know if I have the energy for it right now.” Time and space, huh? Would that we all had the luxury to ask for that–”Yeah, master’s program? I think I just need a little space right now. I’m feeling a bit smothered by you–the papers and exams, they fly at me so fast and I just don’t think I can deal with them at the moment. Can we talk again in a couple of weeks?”

Ugh. I fucking hate this shit. Obviously. I am a little bit confused by how it all happened. As I’ve written, there was one day with no contact. Then yesterday when I got home, there was a message on my answering machine from him. When we were talking, he asked me what I was doing that evening:

Boy: What are you up to tonight?
Girl: Nothing. I’ll probably do some laundry. How about you?
Boy: Well, I was thinking of visiting you.
Girl: Ooh, really? If you do, though, you gotta know that it’s all about me tonight.
Boy: What does that mean?
Girl: That means, like, hella massages. [Yeah, I know. "Hella"? What the fuck?] You totally owe me!
Boy [getting a little pissy]: Uh, I don’t “owe” you anything. If I come see you, it’s cause I want to, not cause I feel obligated to.

Well, that little wrinkle had to be smoothed out, and then things were fine. Sort of. I told him a story about work yesterday, and how I tried to bribe one of my friends to get me a cookie with some high demand books, but she was having none of it. He said, “I would’ve totally gotten you a cookie, but I guess not everyone is as nice as me, including you.”

And here is where I go off on a little tangent/rant about the importance of being nice. First of all, if you’re looking for “nice,” you’re seriously barking up the wrong tree. I am nothing if not not “nice.” I don’t usually go out of my way to be mean, and I certainly don’t think I’m cruel, but I’m definitely not one of those people who you meet and go, “Oh, she is so nice.” Second of all, what a lame, bland adjective anyway. I’m not sure, and correct me if I’m wrong, but it would seem to me that only boring people are nice. People without opinions, without standards, without actual fucking experiences–those are nice people. I don’t WANT to be charming and smiley to everyone. Why? Cause that means that instead of repelling all of the fucktards that I repel, I would actually have to be chummy with them. Clearly, this is not something I am interested in. And third of all, GIRLS AREN’T NICE. News flash? Apparently. Here I was, thinking that everyone knew that already, but I guess not. None of my girlfriends are nice. They can be, sure, and they’re all very caring people, but I wouldn’t go out of my way to describe them as nice. Girls, women, whatever, are complex and emotional and intelligent and manipulative and caring and funny and about a billion other things. BUT WE’RE NOT NICE. So fucking get over it.

I didn’t exactly tell him all of that; what I did say is that I’m not nice, I’ve never really aspired to being nice, and there’s not a lot about that that’s gonna change any time soon. Anyway, I convinced him to come over, which he did. He brought a “cheer Tasha up” care package that included: M&Ms (I’m eating them for breakfast as I write this), Cadbury Fruit & Nut, Real Fruit gummies, chocolate milk, and a comic book. I went to the LCBO and bought wine, so we had wine and ate candy. We watched The Office. We went to bed. We woke up this morning. (There is some other stuff that happened in between the last two that I can’t write about on this blog.)

He was getting ready to leave, after we’d discussed some issues related to the thing I can’t write about, and before he did, he climbed back into bed with me, spooned me and said, “I like you.” I said, “I like you too. Is there a ‘but’ after that?” He said there was, and that’s when I got the space and time speech.

So, if any of you see me this weekend (with Kristen from the internet and Alli), I’ll be the really, really drunk girl who will be polling everyone, trying to find out what is wrong with me and why I can’t seem to keep a guy around for longer than a month.

Hope your Friday is better than mine.

Once again, class time provides a good opportunity to write out a blog post. This time, I’m sitting in Technical Services, which could be good or could be too basic. I mean, I sincerely hope I don’t end up “learning” how to affix labels to the spines of books. I hate the beginning of term class shuffle.

Anyway, I’m sure that no one but me cares about this. Moving on.

I don’t really have anything exciting to say or report. I signed up for a step aerobics class that meets tonight, but due to a laundry complication, I won’t be able to attend. However, I ate muesli with blueberries for breakfast, so I figure that pretty much counts as working out, particularly if I have sushi for dinner. When I mentioned this concept to Heather, she pointed out that by eating Fiber 1 for breakfast she’d practically run a marathon. Everyone knows that if two girls agree on something, it’s pretty much true, so having already done my exercise for the day (and be incapable of calling their girlfriends. That’s what I am, folks–a girlfriend, one who believes that a phone call, particularly a returning-you-call phone call, isn’t too much to ask. So, I guess my feeling is that there are some mixed messages being sent my way from this guy:
*According to him on Saturday, I am his number one priority
*Phone calls on Monday and Tuesday
*Avoidance on Monday of the question, “When will I see you again?”
*When pressed for an answer on Tuesday to above question, a “party” on Saturday night is produced and an invitation is extended (the word party is in quotation marks because it’s not exactly a raging kegger to which I was [half-heartedly?] invited)
*Yesterday’s email and phone call went unreturned
Confusing? You betcha.

Meanwhile, Aundra is all a-flutter over a new guy, which is cool and great for her. Unfortunately, when we spoke last night, I advised her–with maybe a touch of bitterness in my voice–to not expect the mutual enthusiasm to last. For that, I apologize–it wasn’t very cool for me to project my woes onto her. And yes, I am well aware, having been informed of it twice in the past few days, that I could’ve been the fifth main character on Seinfeld.

Over and out, kids.

So, I originally started this blog because it was required for a class, but I’d wanted to start one for a while before that. I had dreams delusions of grandeur of starting the Next Great Knitting Blog. I think that’s like writing the next great American novel–sounds easy, but when it comes down to it, it’s a hell of a lot of work. And clearly, I’m not the knitting genius I’d like to be. I removed myself from the GTA Knitblogs Ring so that I wouldn’t feel guilty about blogging about boys and school and pretty much everything except knitting. I will still show pictures of my projects but “Spinster” now refers primarily to my ability to not attract/keep around decent, cute, non-wimpy boys and not the fact that I have a spinning wheel.

Anyway. I am so fucking grumpy right now. What a goddamn dreary day–when I woke up for work at 6:15 it was pitch fucking black in my room, and I could hear the rain through my closed window. I almost didn’t believe that it was actually morning and awake time, but a quick look at two clocks took care of that. It turns out that I own the world’s most useless umbrella. Like, fuck you, umbrella, could you even TRY to keep my goddamn THIGHS dry? Cause as much as I love having clammy, wet jeans-clad thighs at 8 am, I actually hate that shit.

After sitting through a fairly boring meeting, I headed home. I WANTED to take a nap, talk to boy, and eat dinner. What I DID was call boy, not leave message, take nap, and wake up in a worse mood than before. What the hell? I emailed him a VERY witty email:

Hi!