Sarab (1000milesaway) wrote,

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Break My Heart, I'll Break Your Nose.

Mononucleosis be damned!

It's 3:30 and I already feel like dropping dead.

The cruel irony is that, when you do the math, it is most likely that Andrew Brown was the one who infected me.

It's horrible enough that he spied up my personal info, used me and left me so he could go fuck his friend, but on top of it all, he had to give me mono. This is where I would love to see him get beaten up by a transvestite. It would only be right, and it would be funny as hell to see him put in his place.

Or, in a karmically just world, the girl he left me for will give him herpes. And I'll find a hot chiro student who is, on every level, an intellectual equal, and understands my sick sense of humor. And everybody wins. Except Andrew. Although he might luck out and end up on a Valtrex commercial, which would seem glamorous until everybody in the world knows him as Herpes Boy, and nobody wants to date him anymore. *snicker*

I actually did meet a cute chiro student at Borders last night. He was very positive and encouraging about me wanting to go into chiropractic, and he gave me his card and told me to call if I had questions or anything. Perhaps, I can come up with some intelligent thing to pick his brain about. Or maybe I could just be a dirty and ask him, preferably with a British accent, if he'll kindly let me palpate his greater trochanter.

Le sigh. It would be so nice if I could find an intelligent guy who is actually attainable. Sometimes it's all in my head, or other times, the guy's actually taken or uninterested--but I feel like genuinely smart guys are always so far out of my league. What I really, really need is an intellectual equal, somebody who just gets me. I'm sick of men who regard me as an exotic species of insect, and discard me when they're done pinning me down and dissecting me. I get asked so many stupid questions and I'm spoken to in such a subtly patronizing tone. I hate having to explain myself to others; I just want to cut to the chase and connect. This is probably why Diana and I get along so well. We have very compatible personalities and similar upbringings, so we can just talk, no need to reiterate complete autobiographies, personal political manifestos or psychiatric histories.

I had a weird conversation with a customer the other night. He was telling me what pretty eyes I have, and said something to the effect of: "I bet you're a real heartbreaker with those eyes." I corrected him: "Actually, I'm always the one getting my heart broken, but we WON'T go there." Basically, the rest of the conversation just kept getting more and more scary: he essentially vocalized all of my suspicions about men in general. He even said at one point: "I can't date these Fairfield County women. They scare me. They're far too smart, smarter than I am, and I'm really, really afraid of that." Creepy, man. And finally, he said, "But you know, you shouldn't be surprised that men are such jerks. We're only men after all."

It was rather disheartening. These are potential boyfriends, folks. There's just something so wrong about expecting women to shrug off unacceptable behavior because their significant others are "only men, after all." You can excuse any kind of barbaric shit if you trace it back to biology: you know, women can't be promiscuous because, somewhere down the line, they watched the babies while men spread their seed and hunted mastadon.

Yeah, well the mastadon went extinct. So should stone-age stereotypes.

When I date somebody, I hold him to a human standard of decency, period. If he cheats, or says something abusive, or gets upset that I don't put out easily like other girls, I don't give him leeway just because he has a penis, just as a man shouldn't excuse jealousy or cattiness just because his girlfriend is female. I'd like to think I can hold men to my same personal standards, and that they'll hold me to their own personal code. Gender shouldn't have to be an issue.

And, really, why the fear of smart women? Are some guys really so insecure in themselves that they only date women who don't threaten their Queen Bee status? I personally can't comprehend that. There seems to be this popular myth of the New Enlightened Male, just because some men in progressive parts of the country are helping their wives cook dinner and go grocery shopping. But I feel like so many of the guys I meet are still stuck in the fifties. They want the blonde bimbo who will flatter them: "Gee, Skip, you sure are strong! I never could have taken the lid off the Ragu all by myself! Now why don't you go put your feet up and relax while I fetch you a cold beer and make you feel like you really are smart and funny!" More importantly, I think a lot of guys probably are scared of smart women because if you do something retarded, we'll call you on it.

This is where it all comes down to my greatest fear and the very cause of my recent bout of depression. I'm so afraid of being the Eternally Single chick, who knows nothing lasting and only connects through one-night stands. I'm afraid that the best I'll ever have is now dead and buried; though I have been in love before, it feels like I've been suffering in meaningless or unrequited relationships all of my life. Now, every relationship I enter takes a little bit more out of me. And everybody says to me, "The sun will shine again tomorrow, and the happy little fairies of love will sprinkle down upon you someday!" These people are usually married or very happily taken, giving the advice the same sentiment as a queen telling a beggar that someday, she'll find a unicorn that craps gold turds and all of her troubles will be over. It's not that easy. Especially not when you know your own worth, and you know that you're a diamond, and the rest of the world's hitting up the Wal-Mart sale on cubic zirconia.

I swear I'll be better when I'm dancing again. That's the one merit of going pro: you don't have TIME to worry about anything stupid, like the fact that everybody on your high school Shit List is getting married and you can't even maintain a relationship for a month.

'Til then, I just might have to buy myself a new cuddle toy, like the plushy Mononucleosis that I saw on How sad would that be?

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