The Co-Dependency Bitch

I feel as if the general tone of anything that can come from me today is either going to be angry or sarcastic. The line is thin and faint, and I'm criss crossing it to diversify my emotional state.

Last night I had one of those very lovely telephone conversations where you end up wishing that you could turn your phone cord into a noose and use it to hang yourself. It was awkward, and weird and it was a 80%-20% blame split with Noel enjoying the larger portion of the blame.

I went to Munich on Monday and Noel and I were forced to endure our first long term non-communicato stretch....3 days. God, I've become a co-dependent freak of nature who would rather talk to a boy on the phone that watch Veronica Mars episodes. And I know what that means in my world, it means I've gone stark raving, ape shit mad and I need to be stopped by the single police and return to my normal station in life...singledom. Unfortunately, I entered the "twosome" dark side a long time ago. At the time, I was okay with the selling of my soul to the "twosome" God in exchange for the other half of my twosome being a normal, non-assholish man. I got what I asked for....ish. Yes, he is normal, and yes he is no asshole, but there must be something about that cursed Y chromosome that causes the male brain to work at what I'm now calling "idiot" capacity. I did take 20% of the blame, but there's a whole 80% that had nothing to do with my neurosis.

This story goes a little something like this. I had bronchitis (see below), a bitch of a plague that had me bed ridden and closeted in my room like the creepy old skeleton man from Tales From The Crypt. I smelled like Vicks vapor rub, looked like Oprah without make-up and mumbled, fumbled and garbled all my sentences like Lindsay Lohan on her third run to the local 7-Eleven for another bottle of cheap Rum. I was great company though. Half-lucid, semi-conscious people are always cool to hang with....they never realize half the shit that's going on anyway. Throughout my plague Noel called me regularly to check on how well my lungs were holding up under the strain of multiple layers of over-active mucus (I know, good times). Our final goodbye (yes, it felt that dramatic) was sweet, even if it was over MSN. There were exchanges of quasi "I'll Miss You" type things (direct Noel quote: "I'll try to keep it together without you for the next 72 hours") that seemed very adorable, sincere and genuine.....until I got back from Munich and had the phone conversation from hell. As the queen of sarcasm, I find I need to hear a person's voice to gage if there is any facetiousness to their remarks. MSN is my downfall. During the infamous phone call I realized that those sweet words of goodbye might not have been quite as sincere as I believed while I was in the MSN world.

I called Noel on Thursday (after I spent mucho time thinking about him) and the vibe was weird. I asked, because I couldn't help myself, how things went "on the missing front", where he replied "by missing, do you mean missing you?" and I thought "DUH!?" but simply replied "yeah." What happened next was one of those pauses you never want to hear when asking somebody a question that has an answer you are emotionally tied to. He paused, and I broke right in and said "forget I even asked". His reply? To throw in a "kinda". KINDA!?!?!? I mean this beats Jay's response of "okay" when I finally told him I liked him. God, I am a slave to the retarded responses of men who have no idea how to articulate themselves one way or another. He KINDA missed me whereas I was thinking about whether we'd ever see Munich together. Fucking co-dependent emotional bullshit.

I asked, in a round about way, whether he missed me because I couldn't stop myself from wanting to hear what I thought was coming....something along the lines of "Of course, I missed you." That's what was eluded to before I left, that was what was implied in our last conversation and I just assumed that he had missed me as much as I had missed him. It suddenly hit me that everything from Sunday night was said in jest, to be cute rather than real. He never recovered from that "kinda" and neither did I. It was strange and awkward from that moment on and by not rising above that one word and making things even more awkward I take 20% of the blame. As you've read above....I happily give him the remaining 80%.

I realized in that moment I need to be the girl I was 2 months ago...detached, skeptical and single. I don't need this kind of male induced headache in the middle of an almost quarter life crisis. I decided that an emotional step back was necessary, both to reassess how I feel about this time in my life, this person in my life, and also to give Noel an opportunity to see what life is like without me. Talking to him everyday, being so utterly available because I suck at playing "the game" has made a guy who appreciated my presence start taking it for granted. I don't need this because co-dependency is the death nail to individualism, and I am the biggest proponent of the individual. Noel isn't going to be the reason I forget that I come first because my emotions want to include him in my "MY" time.

I find this need to possess and be possessed destructive. My mind needs a rest, and by rest I mean it needs to be re-focused on the things that matter most....me and my life.

There's no rest for the ill

No matter what anybody says bronchitis is not your friend!

Let that be a lesson to all you kids who go outside without hats, and gloves and touch sickly people in an effort to be nice. Yeah, you know what's nice, being in bed with your good old friend bronchitis...who, remember, isn't your friend at all!

Going to Munich in less than 48 hours, I'm hoping bronchitis dies before then.

[Insert wild coughing]

My Heart Goes Pitter-Patter for V-Day Cinnamon Candy Hearts

Valentine's Day. The consumer driven blah holiday fed by blubbering Hallmark marketing campaigns, overly rouge window displays in every flower shop of every city and sappy, black and white "forever" diamond commercials. Truth is, most men try to redeem themselves for 364 days of shitty behavior with 1 day of chocolate and flowers. And women, suckers that they are, get taken in like the overly emotional creatures that they are. Granted, some men, those who aren't quite so crappy in the boyfriend/husband/significant other department, use this day to further their "good partner" cause. Now, who can find fault with that? Well, it seems to me that February 14th shouldn't be the only day a man should go out of his way for his partner. V-Day was conceived by some upstart marketing guru and now is "the day" for generous displays of affection. I wonder, quite relevantly, what is so hard about making February 13th just as sappy as February 14th? They are both days of the month, both seemingly enjoy a day/night cycle, both have weather patterns (snow in Toronto, rain in London), and they both require you to wake up, work and then go to sleep. Similar in all the ways that count right? So, why can't I get flowers on the 13th and the 14th?

The case against V-Day is simple....it is not the only day that matters. You want to be a great boyfriend? Be one on April 17th, May 5th, June 21st, July 8th, August 28th, September 12th, October 2nd, November 30th, December 4th, and January 16th. That is a random sample of days throughout the year, just as random as February 14th. This gives you a once-a-month opportunity to expect flowers, chocolate, maybe even a diamond, instead of selling yourself short for one day, one February 14th, every year. Once a year, or once a month? I know what my choice would be. If I could push it I might even argue for twice a month, but considering the fact that the male population can barely get it together for major holidays, let alone V-Day, I make my case simple. Once a month. Set your sights higher than him walking into a Pharmacy to buy some ridiculous card in the shape of the heart simply because he couldn't miss the huge display. Yes, chocolates are good, maybe he should buy you some truffles on a random day, when he doesn't have to, when nobody is watching, when nobody is reminding him, when, well, he just wants to.

I have never celebrated V-Day. I was either single, dating an asshole, or simply irritated by the idea that only one day of the year was allocated to be generous with ones love. This year, yes, I am far happier with who is in my life on V-Day. Noel is a sweetheart, a nice guy who means a little more to me than a corny holiday, but who gets my candy hearts all the same. And maybe it's him who has made me start thinking about what the other side of V-Day looks like, the side where the corniness is lost and true and honest expressions of love are found.

My lovely roommate, Lena, received a bouquet of flowers from her boyfriend back in Canada. He's a nice guy who obviously knows the caliber of girlfriend he has (she's a pretty awesome girl) and did something incredibly sweet, and from what I gathered, totally unlike him. He is neither mushy, nor sappy, and this gesture, one completely mushy and sappy, stands out to me as the quintessential non-V-Day, V-Day expression of love. He's the exception to the rule because his desire to show his love was facilitated by V-Day not dictated by it. Therefore, he gave to give, and V-Day was just as good an opportunity as February 13th, except I'm sure he understood what opening that box would be like for her, what it would mean to her. And I understand that. Her smile, her giddiness, the happiness just radiating from her was enough to redeem this holiday for me. Perhaps, behind all the corny pinkness of it all, there are people who receive genuine happiness from being remembered by those they love. And yes, in that moment I felt Lena deserved that happiness, not only because she's a great person, but because, just maybe, February 14th was her day. It was her time to get the unexpected, to hope a little for that something wonderful, to find herself falling back in love with the man in her life. Even though this holiday is created by the spinning minds of those that make a giant monetary profit from it, they do not get to enjoy the best part. I've realized the best part of February 14th is not the gifts you receive as a result of shrewd marketing, but that smile of happiness, those tears of joy, that feeling of love. I say if a day of cliche madness makes people feel good, then who am I to bitch about it?

Thanks to that same roommate I have a box of cinnamon candy hearts, that I've already managed to get halfway through, and seeing as they are my favorite candy and that they only come around for the 14th of February I found my own reason to like V-Day. Cinnamon candy hearts. Thank you Lent for making Lena unable to eat these sugary sweets, thank you to her mom for not knowing Lena gave up sugar for Lent when she got her that candy, thanks to me, for being at the right place at the right time, and finally thank you, V-Day, for being the catalyst for the production of the greatest candy concoction in the world....cinnamon, candy hearts. Mmmm. I love me some V-Day.

Compelling Feminism

I heard a word today and it has been lingering in my mind ever since. Compelling. Definition: driving or forcing, holding attention, attracting strong interest and attention. Doesn't it sound like one of those words that you want somebody to use to describe you? She was compelling. Her argument was compelling. Her aura was compelling. I mean, I kind of want to be compelling. And sometimes, when I try hard enough, when I grit my teeth and focus, I can sort of be compelling....to no avail.

But I realized, after a long series of ridiculous facebook message arguments with a douchebag who added me last year and who messaged me first, that even when you are compelling, even when your arguments are compelling, there are people too idiotic to appreciate it. What is the point of being a driving force when you're driving into a dumb, deaf, brick wall? That wall being one bad representative of the male gender.

I always find it relatively amusing when men need to assert their masculinity by beating down on women, physically or psychologically. It's both sad and pathetic. Now, because I'm an intelligent woman, who certainly doesn't need the admiration or validation of a man, I see right through their "little woman", pat-me-on-the-head attitude. I wonder, isn't it the men who are not threatened by the intelligence of a woman that are the most masculine? This old school macho ideology that in order to be a man you must be above a woman is not only utterly lame (in laymans terms), but totally indicative of male insecurity. Why do you need to penis swagger in order to feel like you are something? That something, ironically, being a person whose self esteem is tied to the intellectual progress of women. Sad, isn't it? They've had a 3,000 year head start and they still have issues. Get over it.

I will sum up the idiotic beauty of this "man's" facebook messages below:

1) He never, and I do mean never, admits he's wrong, or that I could possibly be right. To do so would somehow mean his balls have shrunk and my uterus has grown. We wouldn't want that, now would we?

2) He attacks. Ah, the old school male tactic of irrational, unnecessary war because diplomacy is, well, too rational (see: Bush, also hope: Hillary). Women, well, we talk and sometimes we also listen. Imagine that.

3) The flip of the tables. Rather than focus on the dumb comments he makes, he would rather dissect the patient and logical comments I make. Can one sided arguments actually be considered arguments?

4) Always resorts to the "You're so emotional" comment. Nothing else has to be said about that.

It was rather like misogynistic, verbal art. In the course of this dialogue (oh, and I'm being generous by calling it that) I learned that the world hasn't changed much even as the first viable female candidate runs for President of the United States. And this guy is American to boot. Isn't he learning anything about the progress, the determination, the sheer struggle of the female gender while he is witness to one of the greatest female achievements of our lifetime? We didn't burn bras for nothing, you know. While I make a compelling case to him about what women represent, what we stand for, what we symbolize, he can only stroke his own ego and that Y chromosome that created it. However cliche and transparent his position, I took offense to it. It shouldn't matter in the grand scheme of it all, but somehow it irked me. He irked me. And then I realized that it was men like him that made the seemingly out of reach idea of women like me a reality.

Maybe all women need to be reminded, on occasion, that the struggle is not over. That you might still be seen as "emotional" or inferior. However, to be seen that way is only indicative of the growing fear of some men over the continuous, and powerful progress we are making. His messages reek of desperate fear. He will not evaluate or consider any arguments I make about anything, because he already feels I've lost due to my gender. Little does he know in about 20 years when my daughter and his son are sitting side by side in a classroom, my little girl is going to show his son what it means to be the product of an intelligent, progressive, educated and informed woman. Because of that.....the movement will live on.

Recovering Survivalist

I've always wondered if the things that happen in life are to test ones ability to survive. Can you get knocked down, brush yourself off and get up...just to do it all over again? There are some who have the distinct luck to never know what it feels like to hit the ground. Others, well, they make getting up and surviving an art form. But is there a threshold? How much can the human spirit take before it doesn't have another knee to bruise, another eye to blacken, another hurt to heal?

Yesterday I had a moment of truth. I realized that my thick skin, this surface that I believed to no longer be permeable by the words of others, wasn't as strong as I believed it to be. Here is the dilemna. I am a figment of what people expect of me. I am, by virtue of some image cultivated in the minds of others, easy going and emotionally strong. I am unhurtable because I am together. I have a forgiving nature, and I am easy going, and can stand, take, handle everything that is pitched my way. I have a thick skin, which means you can say anything to me without worrying if it'll hurt because, well, I'm me, and things just roll off my back. Only, they don't.

I am the queen of the recover. Falling is a practiced skill, and I have no choice but to get up. What would the people around me think if I didn't? To lay there and maybe feel the hurt for a second, to allow myself a moment of weakness long enough to rest, maybe even recuperate doesn't fit with my image. I can take it, right? I always could, but I have a feeling I always won't. I don't feel like giving out any more free passes. I have earned my ability to bounce back, but that doesn't mean that I can't expect not to fall anymore.

My journey from the girl I was, the one who got up in pain and couldn't imagine staying upright longer than a few months, has been futile. She's still in there, wondering how come I have never come through for her. She wonders why I can't seem to fulfill my promise to make sure she never gets hurt again. I failed her and I wonder if I even deserve the chance to make it up to her. I put more faith in the actions of others than I ever had confidence in my reactions to them. I did it all wrong. While I practiced how best to rebound, which ways to recover the fastest, how to make it okay to be knocked down on behalf of others, I lost the part of myself that thought she deserved more.

The fear of being left behind, of being rejected because you are unable to fulfill others needs by justying their hurtful behavior is nothing short of ridiculous. So what if I don't forgive somebody for being cruel? Is my allegiance to them, or to myself? So what if I call somebody on the mean things they've said to me? Am I a bitch because I refuse to be a punching bag? Does it really matter if I'm not as easy going, if I don't make it simple and fun for others to be around me all the time? I am a person with layers, a history, experiences, scabs, and memories. Why am I not allowed to be an accumulation of all that? Why am I simply a reflection of what others need me to be? Maybe, today, I'm much more than that because I'm finally willing to give myself the chances that I've always afforded others. Today is about getting up, brushing myself off....for the last time.