Cute title, right?
People deal with their exes in strange ways. Most villainize them, at least for awhile. That's definitely what I do. I talk to most of them now, except for one. I have a friend who hates her ex, but sleeps with him every time something doesn't work out with a guy she liked. At some point, I have to wonder when I begin seeing the relationship for what it was and stop seeing it with rose-colored glasses. Even now, years after relationships have ended, I remember the good. Predominantly, if not completely. My most recent breakup, and by far the most painful, still begs me to believe only the good memories.
Well, this isn't the best recipe for "getting over" or "moving on." It's a lot easier when I can hate my exes.
Some people--maybe even most--try to pretend their ex didn't mean as much as he/she did. Then, it's not a big deal when that person starts dating again or when that person wants to be friends. Of course, you still care what he or she is doing that night and who likes him or her.
It feels like no one ever really gets over anyone. There's not a person I know who doesn't want to trash their exes (or their ex's new flame). Even people who are friends with their exes feel this way.
As someone who jumps from relationship to relationship, I waited a long time to start dating anyone else this last time around. I thought the time would help clear my head. I thought by the time I was ready, I would believe in love and happily ever after again. It didn't work.
There's a reason why I usually wait a few weeks in between guys, and it's so I don't have a chance to get inside my head. Now, I'm so far inside my head that I don't know which way is up. I have no idea how to get out. I find myself losing sleep and feeling like crap. I wrote "FML" on my friend's Facebook Wall about 50 or 60 times.
The sad part is, I feel like I could really be happy if I could just stop being so self-involved for a few minutes. If I could put him before me. If I could be happy for the people I've loved and hope they're happy for me, too. If I could realize that I am doing the best I can, and hope that my life will continue to come together in the ways I want it to. Then, maybe, I would stop spontaneously bursting into tears (I've gotten good at hiding this occurence). And maybe I would sit back and smile at the good things.
Sunday, February 22, 2009
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
Romantic comedies are ruining our lives!
2.1.09
I like to blame everyone but myself for relationship issues, and I’ve come to the conclusion that romantic comedies are actually to blame. To be fair, I decided this way before a study was published in Edinburgh, saying that “rom-coms spoil your love life.”
The researchers claimed that romantic comedies spoiled love lives because the viewers communicated poorly with their partners (i.e., if you love someone, they should intrinsically know). And—big surprise—romantic comedies give us unrealistic expectations about love. Clearly, the researchers in Scotland did not know that Disney has been giving little girls unrealistic expectations for years. They also claim that romantic comedies cause people to believe in predestined love.
Well, this is just junk. I communicate very well, thank you, and I stopped believing in “The One” approximately when I stopped believing in the Easter Bunny. These were not caused by romantic comedies.
What was caused by romantic comedies—aside from furthering my ideas about unrealistic relationships—was my penchant for believing that the men in romantic comedies actually exist. They don’t. And men who seem like they do are usually womanizers (cue the Britney song, please).
I have been conditioned to believe that these amazing “moments” exist in life. The clock stops, your heart skips a beat, and “Wicked Game” starts playing in the background. I find myself continually watching for these moments—how he looks at me, the way he says certain words. And I love these moments in movies.
For example, I bawl my eyes out when James Marsden looks at Katherine Heigl at the end of “27 Dresses” during their wedding. This, to me, is the pinnacle of cinematic romance. Clearly they should be together in real life, because no one can fake emotion like that! Those words actually came out of my mouth.
Likewise, I do some pretty hardcore crying during “13 Going on 30” when Jennifer Garner finally figures out that she’s meant to be with Mark Ruffalo. Where are these moments in my life and in the lives of my friends? Last I checked, we were still trying to figure out what last night meant and what he meant when he said X and Y but not Z.
Needless to say, I am looking forward to the film of “He’s Just Not That Into You.” Like many women, that book has been my Bible since it came out. It changed the way I functioned in my relationships and has given me some guiding principles with which to live my life...just like the Bible.
I’m a little nervous, though, because I know deep-down that the director has filled it with these cliché moments of realization and uber-silly romantic gestures. HJNTIY has a lot of integrity, because it’s totally true. I don’t want to come away from it feeling like crap while the book inspired me.
In a conscious effort to heed my rom-com neurosis, I have tried to stick to watching Gossip Girl reruns instead of “Enchanted” or “Win A Date With Tad Hamilton”. However, I broke down last night and watched (for the fifth time) “Sex and the City: The Movie”. And, like always, I cried like a pathetic heap of emotional garbage when Big put the Manolo on Carrie’s foot. Clearly, men on one knee with Manolos are not in the future for any of us. It just isn’t in the cards, because men really just do not do things like that. Meanwhile, romantic comedies aren’t making living with that reality any easier.
I like to blame everyone but myself for relationship issues, and I’ve come to the conclusion that romantic comedies are actually to blame. To be fair, I decided this way before a study was published in Edinburgh, saying that “rom-coms spoil your love life.”
The researchers claimed that romantic comedies spoiled love lives because the viewers communicated poorly with their partners (i.e., if you love someone, they should intrinsically know). And—big surprise—romantic comedies give us unrealistic expectations about love. Clearly, the researchers in Scotland did not know that Disney has been giving little girls unrealistic expectations for years. They also claim that romantic comedies cause people to believe in predestined love.
Well, this is just junk. I communicate very well, thank you, and I stopped believing in “The One” approximately when I stopped believing in the Easter Bunny. These were not caused by romantic comedies.
What was caused by romantic comedies—aside from furthering my ideas about unrealistic relationships—was my penchant for believing that the men in romantic comedies actually exist. They don’t. And men who seem like they do are usually womanizers (cue the Britney song, please).
I have been conditioned to believe that these amazing “moments” exist in life. The clock stops, your heart skips a beat, and “Wicked Game” starts playing in the background. I find myself continually watching for these moments—how he looks at me, the way he says certain words. And I love these moments in movies.
For example, I bawl my eyes out when James Marsden looks at Katherine Heigl at the end of “27 Dresses” during their wedding. This, to me, is the pinnacle of cinematic romance. Clearly they should be together in real life, because no one can fake emotion like that! Those words actually came out of my mouth.
Likewise, I do some pretty hardcore crying during “13 Going on 30” when Jennifer Garner finally figures out that she’s meant to be with Mark Ruffalo. Where are these moments in my life and in the lives of my friends? Last I checked, we were still trying to figure out what last night meant and what he meant when he said X and Y but not Z.
Needless to say, I am looking forward to the film of “He’s Just Not That Into You.” Like many women, that book has been my Bible since it came out. It changed the way I functioned in my relationships and has given me some guiding principles with which to live my life...just like the Bible.
I’m a little nervous, though, because I know deep-down that the director has filled it with these cliché moments of realization and uber-silly romantic gestures. HJNTIY has a lot of integrity, because it’s totally true. I don’t want to come away from it feeling like crap while the book inspired me.
In a conscious effort to heed my rom-com neurosis, I have tried to stick to watching Gossip Girl reruns instead of “Enchanted” or “Win A Date With Tad Hamilton”. However, I broke down last night and watched (for the fifth time) “Sex and the City: The Movie”. And, like always, I cried like a pathetic heap of emotional garbage when Big put the Manolo on Carrie’s foot. Clearly, men on one knee with Manolos are not in the future for any of us. It just isn’t in the cards, because men really just do not do things like that. Meanwhile, romantic comedies aren’t making living with that reality any easier.
Religion 430...?
1.29.09
Because I am a masochist, I chose to take Christian Ethics this semester. I thought I got the religion bug out of my system last semester when I took three religion classes at once, but apparently not. I am in Kerns 02 every Wednesday from 3-6 p.m., sucking it up.
I found myself entirely out of my league after the first class. We discussed sources of Christian Ethics, few of which I ascribed to. Community, Bible, prayer... not so much my thing. I prefer to go it alone, I do not accept the Bible as a truth doctrine, and I do not believe in the power of prayer. This was a problem in last year’s religion classes also; it seemed I was speaking an entirely different language during some class periods.
Several of my friends have asked why I chose to take Christian Ethics instead of the UC section. I suppose the answer, besides being a masochist, would be that I believe I live in a culture saturated with the Judeo-Christian tradition. Even though I spent a good chunk of my life being antagonistic about it, I feel like it is my social responsibility to understand the people around me. Because I do not have any religious presuppositions, I can always learn something new without feeling like my own beliefs are threatened.
Though many times I end up with my jaw agape (a little play on words there: agape is also how you spell the Greek word for unconditional, godlike love) wondering how in the world people believe any of what they’re saying, I also find myself incredibly jealous of them. They have something to fall back on when reasons and explanations fail. I do not.
Part of my reasoning for taking Christian ethics and other religion classes at Capital is that I find faith incredibly inspirational, especially because I don’t possess it. It seems like magic. Ultimately, like magic, it proves unreal in my eyes. That doesn’t take away from its power, however. Faith is obviously a force that governs the lives of many people—people I would not have chose to know if it hadn’t been for my religion classes. I have learned a lot from them, most importantly that I cannot go around claiming they are completely deluded.
Another important lesson has been that not all of them are out to shove dogma down my throat. Most of them are—gasp—incredibly nice folks. Of course, I’ve had a few experiences where I’ve been told I was going to hell and that the person was going to pray for my soul, but those were not in the classroom.
Though at the end of last semester I was even more convinced that I believed the “right” thing, it seemed most people in the class felt that way. I’m not sure if this means we are all incredibly stubborn and wouldn’t change our beliefs for anything, or if it means we are comfortable enough in our beliefs to learn without needing to justify anything to ourselves.
Some of the most worthwhile classes I’ve taken at Capital have been ones like Christian Ethics and other religion classes I’ve taken. Seminary is still not in my future, nor is church-going or prayer-saying. However, having a better-rounded world outlook is completely attainable.
Because I am a masochist, I chose to take Christian Ethics this semester. I thought I got the religion bug out of my system last semester when I took three religion classes at once, but apparently not. I am in Kerns 02 every Wednesday from 3-6 p.m., sucking it up.
I found myself entirely out of my league after the first class. We discussed sources of Christian Ethics, few of which I ascribed to. Community, Bible, prayer... not so much my thing. I prefer to go it alone, I do not accept the Bible as a truth doctrine, and I do not believe in the power of prayer. This was a problem in last year’s religion classes also; it seemed I was speaking an entirely different language during some class periods.
Several of my friends have asked why I chose to take Christian Ethics instead of the UC section. I suppose the answer, besides being a masochist, would be that I believe I live in a culture saturated with the Judeo-Christian tradition. Even though I spent a good chunk of my life being antagonistic about it, I feel like it is my social responsibility to understand the people around me. Because I do not have any religious presuppositions, I can always learn something new without feeling like my own beliefs are threatened.
Though many times I end up with my jaw agape (a little play on words there: agape is also how you spell the Greek word for unconditional, godlike love) wondering how in the world people believe any of what they’re saying, I also find myself incredibly jealous of them. They have something to fall back on when reasons and explanations fail. I do not.
Part of my reasoning for taking Christian ethics and other religion classes at Capital is that I find faith incredibly inspirational, especially because I don’t possess it. It seems like magic. Ultimately, like magic, it proves unreal in my eyes. That doesn’t take away from its power, however. Faith is obviously a force that governs the lives of many people—people I would not have chose to know if it hadn’t been for my religion classes. I have learned a lot from them, most importantly that I cannot go around claiming they are completely deluded.
Another important lesson has been that not all of them are out to shove dogma down my throat. Most of them are—gasp—incredibly nice folks. Of course, I’ve had a few experiences where I’ve been told I was going to hell and that the person was going to pray for my soul, but those were not in the classroom.
Though at the end of last semester I was even more convinced that I believed the “right” thing, it seemed most people in the class felt that way. I’m not sure if this means we are all incredibly stubborn and wouldn’t change our beliefs for anything, or if it means we are comfortable enough in our beliefs to learn without needing to justify anything to ourselves.
Some of the most worthwhile classes I’ve taken at Capital have been ones like Christian Ethics and other religion classes I’ve taken. Seminary is still not in my future, nor is church-going or prayer-saying. However, having a better-rounded world outlook is completely attainable.
Figuring out how to live without having it "all figured out"
1.22.09
Lately, I have found myself thinking about what my life would have been like if I’d stayed with Dominic. Who would I be? How did our breakup change me?
After a few weeks of not speaking to him, I was running up a particularly long hill with Mr. Munch the Scottie, and stopped. “Munch,” I said, “I can apply to grad school anywhere. It doesn’t matter if there’s an army base there!” I was elated. I told my friend Mark this, and he said, “I can’t believe that wasn’t the first thing you thought of.”
Well, it wasn’t. The first thing I thought of was the fact that I would not be planning a wedding any longer. The second thing I thought of was how I had to get rid of a bunch of crap lurking around my house—pictures, jewelry, clothes. And then the thinking stopped and the mind-numbing level of activity began.
Eventually, though, I started thinking about our relationship again, and who I was in that relationship. I can’t count the times I’ve told a friend, “I don’t know how many times I can ride on this ridiculous merry-go-round of dating.” So many times I’ve thought I’d gotten it right, only to have failed miserably. Dominic and I had picked out a ring, a date, colors, hors d’ouevres. Even though I was the one to end it, doing away with those plans and the certainty they brought was painful.
Because I am a person who loves certainty and plans, probably more than anything else in the whole world, the past few weeks of preparing for the GRE has been a strange experience—no more wedding guest lists on Excel, it’s all about grad schools and their 10% acceptance rates.
As I help two of my oldest and closest friends plan their weddings, I feel like the friend who will end up with nine cats in a one-bedroom apartment. I console myself by believing I will be like Carrie Bradshaw, with designer shoes instead of cats, but everyone at the Chimes knows I’m not a real journalist like Carrie.
Needless to say, their weddings combined with my anxiety over grad school and my very uncertain future has made me think a lot about Dominic and the future I expected to live out. One day, as I was doing my daily freak-out about life, and pondering our breakup, I realized I wasn’t smiling. At all.
The feeling I was experiencing wasn’t one of regret or loss, but nausea at the thought of the life I almost had. It’s strange to know that the life that nauseates you now was almost the life you chose, willingly.
At times I wonder if I was a better person when I was with Dominic—more secure, less touchy, and less prone to anxiety. If those are prerequisites for being “better,” then the answer is probably yes. But if being a better person means being challenged on emotional and mental levels and being at peace with one’s decisions, then I am most certainly a better person today.
I understand, a little more after every breakup, that every relationship takes a piece of you. We yearn for that person simply so we’re complete, not because we actually want that person in our lives again. And as I do after every breakup, I wonder how to rebuild.
How do I level the ground and build another foundation more sturdy than the last? I feel like one of the three little pigs building house after house, but in my version of the story, there are lots of pigs. An absolute slew of hogs. And an entire block of houses, all in various states of disarray.
As I start over with someone new, I am relishing in the fact that for the first time, the guy I’m dating isn’t sitting back watching me do all the drilling and sawing—he is right there, helping me with the heavy lifting. I am finally learning to lay a foundation with stone instead of building from the ground up with sticks from the backyard. It’s all any of us can hope to do.
Lately, I have found myself thinking about what my life would have been like if I’d stayed with Dominic. Who would I be? How did our breakup change me?
After a few weeks of not speaking to him, I was running up a particularly long hill with Mr. Munch the Scottie, and stopped. “Munch,” I said, “I can apply to grad school anywhere. It doesn’t matter if there’s an army base there!” I was elated. I told my friend Mark this, and he said, “I can’t believe that wasn’t the first thing you thought of.”
Well, it wasn’t. The first thing I thought of was the fact that I would not be planning a wedding any longer. The second thing I thought of was how I had to get rid of a bunch of crap lurking around my house—pictures, jewelry, clothes. And then the thinking stopped and the mind-numbing level of activity began.
Eventually, though, I started thinking about our relationship again, and who I was in that relationship. I can’t count the times I’ve told a friend, “I don’t know how many times I can ride on this ridiculous merry-go-round of dating.” So many times I’ve thought I’d gotten it right, only to have failed miserably. Dominic and I had picked out a ring, a date, colors, hors d’ouevres. Even though I was the one to end it, doing away with those plans and the certainty they brought was painful.
Because I am a person who loves certainty and plans, probably more than anything else in the whole world, the past few weeks of preparing for the GRE has been a strange experience—no more wedding guest lists on Excel, it’s all about grad schools and their 10% acceptance rates.
As I help two of my oldest and closest friends plan their weddings, I feel like the friend who will end up with nine cats in a one-bedroom apartment. I console myself by believing I will be like Carrie Bradshaw, with designer shoes instead of cats, but everyone at the Chimes knows I’m not a real journalist like Carrie.
Needless to say, their weddings combined with my anxiety over grad school and my very uncertain future has made me think a lot about Dominic and the future I expected to live out. One day, as I was doing my daily freak-out about life, and pondering our breakup, I realized I wasn’t smiling. At all.
The feeling I was experiencing wasn’t one of regret or loss, but nausea at the thought of the life I almost had. It’s strange to know that the life that nauseates you now was almost the life you chose, willingly.
At times I wonder if I was a better person when I was with Dominic—more secure, less touchy, and less prone to anxiety. If those are prerequisites for being “better,” then the answer is probably yes. But if being a better person means being challenged on emotional and mental levels and being at peace with one’s decisions, then I am most certainly a better person today.
I understand, a little more after every breakup, that every relationship takes a piece of you. We yearn for that person simply so we’re complete, not because we actually want that person in our lives again. And as I do after every breakup, I wonder how to rebuild.
How do I level the ground and build another foundation more sturdy than the last? I feel like one of the three little pigs building house after house, but in my version of the story, there are lots of pigs. An absolute slew of hogs. And an entire block of houses, all in various states of disarray.
As I start over with someone new, I am relishing in the fact that for the first time, the guy I’m dating isn’t sitting back watching me do all the drilling and sawing—he is right there, helping me with the heavy lifting. I am finally learning to lay a foundation with stone instead of building from the ground up with sticks from the backyard. It’s all any of us can hope to do.
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