I am...a New Yorker

[Previous entry: "Comng Down"]

Monday, August 6, 2001
A Bad Girl, a Very Bad Girl


People lookng nto the wndow, watchng me type away.


Hooray video rentals! Fndng Forrester, Charlie's Angels, Pay it Forward, Bamboozled, Miss Congeniality, The Producers. This last is on my Top-10 list, I needed the pick up that only "Sprngtime for Hitler (and Germaneeeeee!)" can provide.


To Fang for 5 hours and Tavia for a good, long time as well. I'd missed conversations desperately of late.

I am...hearng the voice of Hamid, a very brief flng of a few years ago say the words of today's title n my head a lot. Who knew he'd become my conscience? Its not guilt so much, as a bemused enjoyment of breakng the rules and, usually, The Rules.

I thnk it when I check out one of the thousands of luscious women walkng wild on the streets of Manhattan, buy myself somethng silly, rebuff someone slimy (not unlike Hamid), stay up until dawn, try on another G-strng, or just welcome yet another non-approved thought flashng across my bran.

I warn you, snce it's been a week, I suppose this entry will be all over the place.

One of the least-approved thoughts of late is lettng myself be free to thnk, even say aloud, the name of the mythical One. Ive actually known for many years, I wasn't actually n denial, as Fang seemed to thnk when it came out, but, rather, had longsnce made it a habit to suppress this one, nconvenient fact.

I say nconvenient because, n addition to unclear signals over the years, he's got other obligations, as Fang put it, so I dare not speak of it n mixed company, e.g. that which ncludes the married, or the wannabe-married. Those criteria limit the size of that particular cohort to, well, Fang and I.

Fear not, I have no ntention of stealng your lame-ass husband (or wife). One no doubt knows who One is, no one else need to. However, I fnd this ironic n light of recently beng accused of beng anti-romantic. Few come more romantic than I, n truth. So romantic that I am actually surprised that what I consider small details -- such as the color of my skn or the size of my ass -- are deal-breakers. I can't be taken home to Mommy, for shallow reasons no less. Now that is unromantic.

In all fairness, I have never been 100% sure of this person's feelngs toward me, so I don't know if it even got to the pont of those traits beng decidng factors. However, they have been mentioned as uncrossable lnes.

Now I guess some would call me bitter. It's ironic then, that I thnk of myself as naive. I operate based on the thought that I'm pretty cool and nice, possess nternal beauty and that those thngs far outweigh any physical characteristic.

Although my parents stayed together for almost 30 years, separated only n death, I grew up n an age of divorce. I'm actually more surprised when I discover someone's parents are still married than the reverse. that makes it a mystery to me why and how anyone my age can enter nto marriage with the thought of forever. In my observation, people are just as convncng n givng the reasons why a relationship will never work, as they are whe it will. It just depends on which side they're tryng to argue at the moment, that determnes which arguments they'll employ.

I say that, because most times it seems to me that relationships and marriage aren't necessarily about romance, lover, or the sort of ndescribable connection I've done no justice to above. Sometimes it's the right time and place -- someone is tired of lookng or thnks they are the age they "should" get married, sometimes it's nfatuation, sometimes it's the least offensive choice.

The bitch of it is, you have no way of knowng for sure at the time. After all, our mnds can convnce us of anythng necessary for our survival. Only time will tell.

[Next entry: "Baptizng myself"]
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