Loves Labor Lost...

It's never easy to pinpoint exactly when you've given your heart to someone. It seems as though a series of events coalese to form an attachment, or at the very least, a desire to perpetuate intimate interactions, be they of an emotional and/or physical nature. If one were to define love, undoubtedly a portion of that definition should be allocated to noting the fleeting nature of this feeling. Just as anger and joy fade with time, so too does love... chiefly, the amorous stage. Love can be determined by a mixture of somewhat oxymoronic sentiments coupled with actions that often defy reason. But when you're hit with it, you've never felt a worse sucker punch in your life... especially when those affections are left unrequited.

You've been waiting for it, so here it is... Time to get personal!

Many things can be said about me... especially in reference to my shortcomings. However, I feel much to my credit, that one thing I have done, still do, and hope never to abandon in the future, is my willingness to always give love a chance. For many who have endured the thorn-laden path that I have chosen to travel, it seems almost ludacris to believe that someone out there exists who has truly noble intentions... someone just as willing to be devoted to loving another person inspite of knowing that pain and possible ruin could be the end result. It is unwise to assume that someone who 'loves' you will not cause you agony... In fact, it can almost be expected to some extent. People are not infallable. Call me fatalistic as much as you like, but from my own personal experience, I feel that I'm more of a realist than anything else.

I wouldn't say that I go into relationships with the expectation for them to fail, but all too frequently, I wait with bated breath for the other shoe to drop. I've believed in false promises and made my own to others, so to me, it has become second nature to hope for the best, but expect the worst. In this sense, I suppose I have prematurely ended things with men that had potential for longevity (by consciously leaving or unconciously driving them away), heeding an innate need for self-preservation. Yet, relentlessly, I muster up whatever optimism remains in my soul to try again.

It isn't so much that I'm uncomfortable being alone, as it is just my preference to be involved with someone. I've been single for quite some time now, and I've enjoyed my new-found independence. However, I am one of those people who functions at maximum capacity when my love-life is squared away. Knowing that I have someone to come home to at night (figuratively speaking, as I'm in no way near preparedness for a more definitive form of commitment) tempers my moods and curbs what could be considered by some as 'loutish' behavior. It is my strong perogative to care for someone and to be cared for. Maybe this is a fervent femine will to monogamously nest, or I'm simply someone who finds solace in loving another person. Either way, I'm at the point in my life where I've begun to want to abandon (to an extent) my penchant for wild/raucous evenings, and the trysts that result from inebriation.

With less than a quarter of a year until my 23rd birthday, I can characterize my early 20s as a time of self-discovery, unfortunately marred by romantic tragedy. Academically and professionally, I've accomplished quite a number of accolades, but from a relationship stance, I've come to know little satisfaction. My last attempt at salvaging the sinking ship that was the 5 years spent with my ex left me a shadow of my former self. For me, it was all too long a stint of subjegation, humiliation, tyrrany, and delusion. I forced myself to put up with egregious offenses for a number of reasons... all while proclaiming that my 'love' for him would mend all error. That's the funny thing about love... Not only can it be used to mask shame and fear, but it can also turn you into a masochist over night. Had I not had my family there to support me, I'm not sure that I would have been able to leave him and the life I had planned on spending with him behind. So for those who care about me, I am grateful.

Returning home, I looked forward to healing. And for the most part, I'm whole again. I'm still trying to re-discover who I am... possibly not through the healthiest means, as weekend binge drinking only seems to impede my personal growth, but I'm determined to tenaciously attack the question of "Who am I?".

Clearly, I did not come out of my long-term relationship unscathed. Though I might not be quick to talk about the intracacies of what went on in my past, I'm not afraid to show my scars, and above all, I wear them with pride. I survived possibly the most harm I could have ever done to myself. Now, I'm cognizant that I have a bit of a penchant for self-loathing. I try my best to not let that inclination inform my choice as to whom I date and I try to surround myself with people who bolster, and not denigrate, my self-esteem. I'm on the mend, and doing much better than I have been in a while. Although, I still make mistakes...

What remains the same about me is that like a moth to a flame, I still dive with reckless abandon into relationships. Try as I might to ride off into the sunset, I always end up getting burned. My impulsivity, admirable in it's own right, also remains my Achille's heal. At the drop of a hat, I throw caution to the wind. Where others keep their cards close to their chest, I make no bones about displaying my hand for all to see. Oh how lucky the vagabond lover... what a joy to wear your heart on your sleeve! As enviable as carlessly drifting from one man to another sounds, that is one temptation I cannot fall victim to... as much as I'd like it to be so. Yes, I've gotten involved with men having ignoble intent... Such is today's world for the single girl. Cavalier though I may appear, I do lament some of the poor decisions I've made with this regard. Yet, I'm not one to belabor moot points, so I've moved on and learned my lesson. Using men hasn't helped me find myself. Therefore, that chapter of my life is closed.


From recent experience I've gained quite a bit of insight into the new 'me'. For starters, I'm as resiliant as a cockroach. I can get hurt a thousand times, but I'm still fearless about love... and most other things. As damning and frustrating as it can be when things don't work out, I've learned to handle rejection like an adult. I don't allow my moods to rule my behavior (most times) and I sure as hell don't let anyone treat me less than their equal. I still have to address the foolhearty way I enter into romance, but I will admit, there's something fun about it... Perhaps it is still a remnant of that teenage dream of 'happily ever after', but for my own sake, I should learn to be a better gambler. I've also learned to stop swearing off love. Just like I promise that each cigarette I smoke is my last, I just as unambitiously pledge never to fall in love again after getting burned, only to find that no sooner have I voiced my vow, than I'm already willing to get right back in the saddle.

Most of all, I've learned to stop blaming myself... and in so doing, I've learned to like myself a lot more. (For clarity, I still take responsibility for my actions, but in terms of failed relationships, I do not feel the need to place all the blame on my shoulders... If things don't work out, then they simply don't work out.) I have things to improve upon, but all human beings are works-in-progress. It is not entirely my fault that things haven't worked out for me with men in the past, but if I'm going to change, it will be to ameliorate issues that irk me. My interest in men will not dictate how I so choose to alter my life. Congradulations, you've just read my new manifesto.


So here I stand, a woman scorned as though I was ripped from the pages of Sylvia Plath's The Collossus. And there you sit, reading this vingnette into my soul. Writing like this is the reason people slam blogs in the first place. Please pardon my openness, and if I have bored you by being trite, then I apologize. If anything, this blog entry was meant to be cathartic, so dear reader, this time, it was more about me than it is about you. Regardless, the message I want to get out there is that it is never too late to turn your life around, no matter how backed into a corner you may feel. AND as much as it hurts to give your heart to someone only to have it crushed in return, it's much better than playing it safe...

If you're out there and you run into Mr. Right, tell him to give me a call. I think I'm going to stop looking for him and just maybe he'll find me.

Cheers!

Misogyny, Misandry, and Misanthropy... Did I Mis Anything?

Is philogyny dead? Unfortunately, from what I've noticed as of late, some gynophobic simpleton somewhere put the final nail in the coffin of female appreciation. I'm not going to lie... my opinion of pervasive misogyny is *slightly* skewed thanks to what seems to be a revolving door of woman-hating significant others that have come and gone in my life. In any case, allow me to dust off my soapbox for a few moments, stand atop it, and forcefully convey some of my recent frustrations.

Before I ascend the pulpit, if you are a like-minded individual who shares the sentiment that women are valuable and worthwhile creatures, though mercurial and enigmatic at times, but comparable to men in mental capacity, strength of character, and ability for self-growth then read no further. No need for me to preach to the choir. However, if you are of the subjectivity that a woman's domain is restricted to two parts of the domicile: kitchen and bedroom... Oh please, read on!

The answer to the question that just popped into your head is 'NO'. I am not some grudge-holding, ax-grinding, 'can't-find-a-date-on-a-Friday-night', owns more cats than she has friends, unattractive, overweight, pimply-faced, flannel and denim clad bulldyke. It can be said that I have lousy taste in men, but most assuredly, I enjoy my femininity to the core. Marilyn Monroe, Jane Russell, Greta Garbo, Jean Harlow, Katharine Hepburn and Jayne Mansfield are just a few of the women I grew up idolizing. These silver screen starlets of yester-year all embodied analogous traits: wit, humor, intelligence, cunning, sensuality, sass, vivaciousness, fearlessness, confidence, fortitude, gumption, aesthetic beauty, resilience, and most importantly, self-awareness.


An observation I've made recently doesn't so much stem from feelings of inequity, but more from a lack of acknowledgement and admiration for the above-listed traits when found in a woman. What was once considered sexy and enticing, now seems to be considered tedious and unfortunate. Perhaps if I kept different company, I would come to a more sunny assertion, but me thinks not. Admirable male qualities seem to remain more of a constant throughout history, whereas the pendulum swings from one extreme to another for what society deems appropriate and alluring about the feminine mystique.

For instance, let's examine female body type. (You knew I was gonna go there anyway.)
A woman's curves used to be celebrated and revered as assets. Today, there's a VERY thin line (no pun intended) for when a 'womanly' physique moves from voluptuous (good connotation) to portly (bad connotation). Here we go...

Ahh the notorious Betty Page. The pin-up girl that launched millions of cold showers across the globe. Her dark tresses, seductive and penetrating stare, and by all means buxom physique brought her both fame and infamy in her heyday. Undeniably, this sassy siren exuded femininity from her head to her toes.

Compare that to today's Playboy centerfold and youngest of Hugh Hefner's girlfriends, Kendra Wilkinson. With more filler in her bra than between her ears, not only is her beauty purely skin deep, but it's artificial to boot. RARELY if ever does God so grace a 22-inch waisted girl by strapping 32D's to her chest. So not only do we have outlandish expectations for thinness, but we choose to retain the glorification of 'a nice rack'... Interesting.


Think about this: It has been reported by many a writer that the Queen of Pulchritude herself, Miss Norma Jean Mortensen (perhaps you'll recognize her stage name, 'Marilyn Monroe') 'ballooned up to a size 12' - (the words of idiot reporters, not my own.) Yet would anyone have the unabashed audacity to call her fat? Certainly not during her day, but what about now? Would she still have men lusting over her? Or would she be overlooked entirely?

Last time I checked, muscle and brawn looks most appealing on a man. Sinuous thew and zero percent body fat isn't healthy for anyone, especially not for those who choose to bear children at some point in their lives. So if (painfully) 'thin is in', and left unaugmented, what really physically differentiates the sexes beside waist-down anatomy?

Let me run with that thought for a second... What about the blurring of gender heterogeneity all together? I once read that within the next 100 to 200 years, there will be no clear definition between sexes in terms of appearance. There seems to be a prevailing masculinization of femininity and a feminizatoin of masculinity in the present western world. The term 'metrosexual' has become an acceptable adjective to define a heterosexual 'pretty boy' male. Take a look at any Calvin Klein ad from the past decade... These chosen models often have an amorphous quality where they comprise both male/female traits, making it tough to decipher exactly what image is trying to be conveyed.

Okay, so back to my intended purpose: Pontificating about the need for an appreciation of femininity and all that it encompasses.

Here's where I might throw you for a loop. I'm not a feminist. *GASP* I don't believe that one sex is superior to the other... AND I certainly do not believe in homogeneity of gender roles. However, I do believe in egalitarianism to the extent that men and women do not have to share the same duties and accomplish the same exact tasks, but each should be given proper reward, gratitude, and compensation for what they accomplish... In this instance, my general view resembles more closely a 'traditional' framework. (For clarity, I'm referring to male/female romantic/familial interactions rather than professional/career-oriented realms... on that front, I remain liberal in my stance.)

Now I'm gonna dig into this topic and get my hands dirty: When did intelligence become a crime? It never has been for men, but when a woman in the top strata of aptitude should make a valid, provactive, but well-informed remark, why do heads turn in confusion? If that woman should be attractive even more fear is instilled into male-onlookers. Here's a personal example from a recent experience I had meeting two gentlemen at a bar (granted not the best ambiance to attract a winner, but still, ride this out with me):

Guy A approaches me, chats me up for a few seconds, clearly is interested in me and proceeds to invite Guy B over to join in the conversation. Guy B apparently sent Guy A over to do the wingman duty of investigating the rudimentary questions... ascertaining my bachelorettedom and then giving the go-ahead to proceed with game running. Both guys at this point are more than apparently interested in getting to know me UNTIL I drop the name of my college alma mater upon their questioning. "Oh, you must be smart..." - the last words I heard Guy A utter before he and his toady scampered off into the night, surely terrified that I had a head on my shoulders, with a mouth that's used for more than providing oral gratification.

I'm not stupid. In all fairness, I know not all men are like this, but I also know that for many, intelligence is more than simply intimidating... It's a turn-off. Is it really that wonderful to be with someone who is so beneath you that all they can do is sycophantically stroke your ego? Because strong-willed, erudite women are seen less of as a challenge and more of as a threat by the men they so desire, what are they to do but dumb themselves down for the sake of attaining the noble goal of emotional intamacy? Again, this isn't in all cases, and I applaud the men out there who abhor stupidity in the partners they seek, but is there anything they can say to their buddies who undervalue a smart woman? If you're reading this, please do!

Okay, so that tackles the first hurdle: IQ... Now onto the next obstacle... This one hits close to home...

When I get called 'a tough broad', I take it as a compliment. I don't back down from confrontation, and if someone is prepared to step into the ring with me, they better lace up their gloves and chomp down on their mouthpiece because nobody's leaving with just some minor bruises. Tenacity and spunk... that's what separates the men from the boys, right? How about the girls from the women? The aforementioned actresses during some point in their careers, portrayed women with attitudes. They weren't afraid to speak their minds, and though at times frustrating to their partners, they were all the more enticing because they offered a challenge. Are we really so lazy in this modern world that even the clashing of ideas/words seems to be too much of an unworthy mental sweat to break?

What I hope is that my view on men and their inappreciation of assertive, confident, and somewhat intimidating females is an anomoly restricted to maturing boys in their early 20s. Perhaps age allows men to appreciate a challenging woman more than youth would permit. If not, then I suppose my hope for humanity is lost.

At the risk of sounding trite, I make a few demands. This is my call to arms: Women of the world who stumble upon this entry, take heed and do not renounce your femininity, nor make it your crutch. Take pride in yourself. Do not forget to be appreciative of the men out there who are accepting and supportive of strong females. Live boldly, don't be afraid to make mistakes, and never sell yourself short to find a significant other. Above all, it is loathsome to be complacent, and even worse to be apathetic. Embrace the laudable traits of our gender and do your best to stray from the vices that perpetuate unbecoming female stereotypes. I'm just as much as sinner as any, and admittedly have abused the gender card at times and hypocritically ridiculed those who have had unegalitarian expectations of me. Yet, as can be learned from my favorite pop-icon, Cher, reinvention can mend former foibles and lead to personal triumph. Change is necessary and unavoidable. I'm up for a challenge... Hopefully, so are you.

Cheers.

Baby, Seasons Change but People Don't...

Finally, the summer has come to a close. After what seemed like an unending myriad of hot drunken nights, wicked hangovers, and obscene bar tabs, we can all move into the quiet serenity of my favorite (and most underrated) season... FALL! Now, I tend to get more often than not, a sort of sardonic response when I express my adoration for this season...

"Oh... You like Fall? So... Do you have a thing for death or something? I mean... like... all the leaves die and stuff... What's there to like?"

Well, you ignorant dolt, EVERYTHING'S to like. First off, the profound beauty of the glorious color scheme produced by the withering landscape cannot be replicated, or remotely touched, by any other season. Second... My allergies finally die down, so I can go outside without constantly trying to obfiscated the fluids oozing from my eyes, nose, etc. Third, nothing can compare to the enchanting Fall breeze... that perfect temperature and beguiling scent that hugs your body like the blanket you carried with you as a child for comfort and security. Lastly, and most importantly, comes the time to prepare for the best holiday known to man... HALLOWEEN!

And in this preparation for my favorite season/holiday, I reflect on what seems to go unattended to during more celebratory and jovial stretches of time that make up the calendar year...

Allow me to preface my thoughts with a bit of personal background knowledge:
Ever since I was a kid I've always had this predilection for all things macabre... horror movies, ghost stories, cemeteries, oddities... you get where I'm going with this. As I got older, my interest channeled into a more pedagogical quest and exploration of the psyche of aberration... the study of serial killers, medical anomolies, historical witch hunts, and analytical inquiry into cross-cultural representations of the demonic.

Clearly, I was your typical teenage girl. Don't get me wrong... I'm a girly-girl at heart... sugar, spice and all that jazz, but there's something about that unnerving sense of forebodingness... that potential for sinister darkness that is so compelling about this season. I've always felt that fear is the greatest emotion known to man simply because there's nothing quite as satisfying as being forced to fend for youself in a precarious situation, surviving it, and then having the relief of a return to normalcy once you've endured your struggle. This could be taken quite literally by placing yourself in dicey predicaments (which wisdom would proffer is not recommended) OR you could do it the preferable way... simulate that same feeling through the use of less hazardous means such as haunted houses, night time hayrides, or exploration of Weird NJ-type locales. Regardless of how you choose to achieve a sense of fear, there's something about the Fall that makes the wheels of your imagination turn to a darker side of things... Shadows become more ominous, evening sounds instill a feeling of inquietude... but all of this creepy business is relegated to the night. A Fall day can be the epitome of resplendence, but at times nothing can be more anxiety-provoking than a Fall night. It's the duality of this season that makes me ponder more than I normally would the idea of good and evil. Read along and let me know your thoughts...

Regardless of my religous views, which tend to depart from my Roman Catholic upbringing and border more along the lines of a well-informed Agnostic, I've always felt strongly that good and evil exist in this world... Not so much that there's a God or a Devil, but that the human condition is such that within all of us lies a constant battle between what could be considered morally right or wrong as dictated by societal standards. To some, this is a simple Freudian assertion. To others, it is considered more of an all-out war where temptation and virtue clash fueling the fire that burns in every story worth telling: conflict. My favorite literary description of this contention comes from Dostoyevsky in The Brothers Karamozov. Depending on your Russian translation, it goes something like this: "God and the Devil are at war and the battlefield is the human heart." -Dmitri Karamozov

(For a more contemporary slant on the same idea, Brand New's latest album is entitled "The Devil and God are Raging Inside Me" - an eloquent phrase and one hell of an amazing musical effort. )


In my personal opinion, no one can best the Russians in their description of evil. The Eastern Orthodox representation of the devil is one of the best I've ever come across. (Since I'm feeling a bit on the misandrist side of things right now, I'll refer to the devil as a male.) In their interpretation of the devil, a liminal creature is formed... He is neither this nor that... but in that ambiguity lies the potential for the most potent damage and destruction imaginable. Without being one extreme or another, he is difficult to describe and even harder to detect as pernicious. You can be lulled into complacancy because he appears to be friend and not foe. You can be decieved into perpetrating sin because his logic follows suit with your own unconscious desires. Really, what could be more menacing than the thought that you could have passed satan himself on your commute to work this morning unbeknownst to you? You could have held the door for him and never thought twice about it.

Let me spring for a pop-culture reference for a second... What was most frightening about Patrick Bateman in American Psycho?


He blended in completely with his yuppy pals and even upon admitting guilt for torturing and brutally murdering people, no one would have believed him because, well... he didn't look like a serial killer... He just didn't fit the part. Sure it's easy to convict a guy like Charles Manson



(who never actually murdered anyone himself) because he looked like, spoke like, and acted like a nutcase. But just think of how many people who have committed blood-curdling crimes that remain innocent because of our implacable justice system's 'beyond reasonable doubt' standard.*COUGH* OJ Simpson*COUGH*




Appearances are everything in this world and as someone with a cognitive psychology background, I can tell you for a fact that human perception is one of the most easily manipulated tools in a saditist's arsenal.

So what are we to do as simple, frail humans if A.) We're so inept at discerning evil and B.) so easily fall victim to vice? My recommendation is to indulge in a few cautionary tales during this bewitching season... Read up on the old Grimm's Fairy Tales, take in some of my favorite Russian novels... Sologub's Petty Demon is excellent, The Master and Margarita is possibly the greatest book I've read, and since The Brother's Karamozov is a bit of a chunky read - take an excerpt like the Grand Inquisitor for a spin. Also the history channel serves as a great wealth of ghastly knowledge this month... Salem Witch Trials, Lizzie Borden, Jack the Ripper... the list of haunting topics goes on... Re-assess how you feel about religion, life, death, good and evil... Fall is the perfect atmosphere for this sort of gritty introspection. Give it a try... Let me know what you come up with and if I should catch you at a bar one night, feel free to share your thoughts with me over some pumpkin spiced ale... as long as you're buying.

Cheers!