“A woman without a man is like a fish without a bicycle.” - Gloria Steinem
It is, I suppose, for obvious sensible reasons that Richard Bach said, “The secret of finding someone to love is first finding someone to like." Duh. It’s that easy, huh? All I have to do is hook up with a likeable human of the opposite reproductive system and life will be an odds-on chance. Wow. How totally convenient.
So I had an interesting chat with my gay bestfriend last night who is based in the States. He peppered me with stories about his new found love and I was the uber happy friend not until he reminded me that I was loveless and that I will surely be envious when Valentine's Day arrives. Darn! So much for being friends with this bitch. (I still love you S, I swear but I just have to rant about Valentine's Day et. al thanks to you!)
Agnostic, I am not, but Cupid’s Day always rouses the misanthropist in me. Perhaps membership to the no-boyfriend for years now club has devoid me of fantasy and left me with nihilism of romance. It’s either that or I’m fixated in Freud’s phallic stage or undergoing an intimacy versus isolation psychosocial crisis. Then again, I may just be your average erstwhile romanticist turned pragmatist.
You have to admit, ever since Eros used his power of attraction to harmonize all chaos and discord with his arrows of desire, existence has never bid farewell to complexities. I bet Valentine’s Day was fabricated for the sole purpose of tormenting people to desperation. Unattached people particularly.
The rate at which people badger me about not being hitched significantly rises on red-letter days. It’s pathetic. Not to say, bordering on dementia and utter hilarity. Like it’s my culpability that no man has had enough cojones to invite a goddess like me out. I am not to blame if I’m surrounded by eunuchs, right? Right.
So maybe I’m too much of a she-god to be asked out effortlessly. My credentials do have an intimidating ring to them. Char! I have a job that feeds me well and quite a number of great friends to boost. I may not have a diploma but according to pals, I surely have an adequately stocked lump between my ears.
See? Decent people turn up hard enough as it is. How do I expect to stumble upon a guy who deserves me? Ha! There’s the dilemma! I guess my vapid love life is my fault after all. Hehehe.
By now, I presume you think I’m writing from a nut house. Let me assure you, I am not. I just have much faith in rationalization as the best defense mechanism. Secondly, I’d rather believe I am to blame for my state than admit that matters are beyond my sway. More like favoring superiority complex over inferiority.
Which, I presume, is the reason why I am not with any guy right now. After all, I have been told that men are inherently egotistical and thus despise others’ pre-eminence (especially that of women). Guess that leaves me with one option: drop the whole poised and self-assured air, act puerile and naïve, and go through my days as a numbskull. That will have all the guys running for me. How come? Guess why the average girl would rather be beautiful than intelligent. The answer? Because the average guy sees better than he can think.
Except who would want such an insubstantial guy? Why would I opt to be with someone who only feels significant because I am fragile? I would never lower my greatness just so some man can feel assured. That would mean settling for someone short of my yardstick. And the moment one settles for something lesser than one deserves, one gets even lesser. Evidently, I’m inclined towards men who will cherish my knack to be on top of things (my life mainly, among other things).
And if Cupid can’t find and target such a fellow for me, then his deityness and existence (if he does exist) is pointless. I might as well plot to eradicate his likeness and myth while I can. Such bitterness, eh? Well, if not for his darn hearts and arrows, I wouldn’t be caught dead in another Valentine’s Day! It’s such a formidable task to feel normal when everyone else is thinking of reservations, humming maudlin love songs, and looking lovey-dovey. Blech.
Still, I cannot discount the odds that this is the universe’s way of teaching me a lesson or two. For all I know, it may just be a drill on patience or probably, uhm, humility. Perhaps the reason Cupid’s arrows aren’t working for me is a blessing in disguise. I probably don’t need a man right now given that I have enough headaches as it is. Or it just isn’t the right time. Then again, maybe impeccable women like me are meant to be spinsters.
The Constitution does not mandate a 26-year-old gal to be in a romantic relationship. So, why make me feel like a low-life-mucus-eating-parasite upon hearing that I have no quixotic rendezvous on Valentine’s Day? It is asinine enough that people find my romantically challenged life worth discussing but treating me like some sort of pathological social deviant based on my relationships, or lack thereof, is sheer madness! The poor fella must either live a very sorry existence or is brain-damaged (if there’s any brain at all). Getting a life is advised.
Don’t get me wrong. I am not a sociopath and absolutely not a man-hater. On the contrary, I am fond of men and find them quite an interesting species. I have eyes on a few. Some have eyes on me. However, they are variedly attached, married, heterosexually averse, or afflicted with the Oedipal complex.
I likewise do not have the intent of living as a recluse. I believe Coupledom, even with its often-needless ballyhoo, has its perks. And I do think of love once in a while. Okaaaaay… so maybe more than once! But I do not permit myself to wallow in such thoughts. If I did, I will never be able to get things done. Too much mulling is brain-unfriendly.
As much as I do not harbor nauseatingly mawkish thoughts, I know deep within the recesses of my mind exists that former dreamer and fairytale lover. She’s still there somewhere, just waiting for a little stimulation. Hence, as virago as I may seem, I haven’t renounced love and its great possibilities (ewwww). I’m not likely to quit my job though and take off in pursuit of “The One” that romantic myth makes me believe is around the bend. However, if you’re a guy who can make my heart beat faster than a table of food game can, then lemme know you’re alive. I might have time to spare to look you up.
For the meantime, allow me to revel in the liberty and self-rule that being single offers. Just because I travel unaccompanied doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy the sights. Being alone doesn’t quite equate to being lonely.
As for Cupid, I suppose he has his alibis. So what options have I but give him another deadline. Besides, it’s not my loss if I remain solo. It’s the males’ deprivation and eventually, humankind’s. Haha!
S, this is all your doing!
It is, I suppose, for obvious sensible reasons that Richard Bach said, “The secret of finding someone to love is first finding someone to like." Duh. It’s that easy, huh? All I have to do is hook up with a likeable human of the opposite reproductive system and life will be an odds-on chance. Wow. How totally convenient.
So I had an interesting chat with my gay bestfriend last night who is based in the States. He peppered me with stories about his new found love and I was the uber happy friend not until he reminded me that I was loveless and that I will surely be envious when Valentine's Day arrives. Darn! So much for being friends with this bitch. (I still love you S, I swear but I just have to rant about Valentine's Day et. al thanks to you!)
Agnostic, I am not, but Cupid’s Day always rouses the misanthropist in me. Perhaps membership to the no-boyfriend for years now club has devoid me of fantasy and left me with nihilism of romance. It’s either that or I’m fixated in Freud’s phallic stage or undergoing an intimacy versus isolation psychosocial crisis. Then again, I may just be your average erstwhile romanticist turned pragmatist.
You have to admit, ever since Eros used his power of attraction to harmonize all chaos and discord with his arrows of desire, existence has never bid farewell to complexities. I bet Valentine’s Day was fabricated for the sole purpose of tormenting people to desperation. Unattached people particularly.
The rate at which people badger me about not being hitched significantly rises on red-letter days. It’s pathetic. Not to say, bordering on dementia and utter hilarity. Like it’s my culpability that no man has had enough cojones to invite a goddess like me out. I am not to blame if I’m surrounded by eunuchs, right? Right.
So maybe I’m too much of a she-god to be asked out effortlessly. My credentials do have an intimidating ring to them. Char! I have a job that feeds me well and quite a number of great friends to boost. I may not have a diploma but according to pals, I surely have an adequately stocked lump between my ears.
See? Decent people turn up hard enough as it is. How do I expect to stumble upon a guy who deserves me? Ha! There’s the dilemma! I guess my vapid love life is my fault after all. Hehehe.
By now, I presume you think I’m writing from a nut house. Let me assure you, I am not. I just have much faith in rationalization as the best defense mechanism. Secondly, I’d rather believe I am to blame for my state than admit that matters are beyond my sway. More like favoring superiority complex over inferiority.
Which, I presume, is the reason why I am not with any guy right now. After all, I have been told that men are inherently egotistical and thus despise others’ pre-eminence (especially that of women). Guess that leaves me with one option: drop the whole poised and self-assured air, act puerile and naïve, and go through my days as a numbskull. That will have all the guys running for me. How come? Guess why the average girl would rather be beautiful than intelligent. The answer? Because the average guy sees better than he can think.
Except who would want such an insubstantial guy? Why would I opt to be with someone who only feels significant because I am fragile? I would never lower my greatness just so some man can feel assured. That would mean settling for someone short of my yardstick. And the moment one settles for something lesser than one deserves, one gets even lesser. Evidently, I’m inclined towards men who will cherish my knack to be on top of things (my life mainly, among other things).
And if Cupid can’t find and target such a fellow for me, then his deityness and existence (if he does exist) is pointless. I might as well plot to eradicate his likeness and myth while I can. Such bitterness, eh? Well, if not for his darn hearts and arrows, I wouldn’t be caught dead in another Valentine’s Day! It’s such a formidable task to feel normal when everyone else is thinking of reservations, humming maudlin love songs, and looking lovey-dovey. Blech.
Still, I cannot discount the odds that this is the universe’s way of teaching me a lesson or two. For all I know, it may just be a drill on patience or probably, uhm, humility. Perhaps the reason Cupid’s arrows aren’t working for me is a blessing in disguise. I probably don’t need a man right now given that I have enough headaches as it is. Or it just isn’t the right time. Then again, maybe impeccable women like me are meant to be spinsters.
The Constitution does not mandate a 26-year-old gal to be in a romantic relationship. So, why make me feel like a low-life-mucus-eating-parasite upon hearing that I have no quixotic rendezvous on Valentine’s Day? It is asinine enough that people find my romantically challenged life worth discussing but treating me like some sort of pathological social deviant based on my relationships, or lack thereof, is sheer madness! The poor fella must either live a very sorry existence or is brain-damaged (if there’s any brain at all). Getting a life is advised.
Don’t get me wrong. I am not a sociopath and absolutely not a man-hater. On the contrary, I am fond of men and find them quite an interesting species. I have eyes on a few. Some have eyes on me. However, they are variedly attached, married, heterosexually averse, or afflicted with the Oedipal complex.
I likewise do not have the intent of living as a recluse. I believe Coupledom, even with its often-needless ballyhoo, has its perks. And I do think of love once in a while. Okaaaaay… so maybe more than once! But I do not permit myself to wallow in such thoughts. If I did, I will never be able to get things done. Too much mulling is brain-unfriendly.
As much as I do not harbor nauseatingly mawkish thoughts, I know deep within the recesses of my mind exists that former dreamer and fairytale lover. She’s still there somewhere, just waiting for a little stimulation. Hence, as virago as I may seem, I haven’t renounced love and its great possibilities (ewwww). I’m not likely to quit my job though and take off in pursuit of “The One” that romantic myth makes me believe is around the bend. However, if you’re a guy who can make my heart beat faster than a table of food game can, then lemme know you’re alive. I might have time to spare to look you up.
For the meantime, allow me to revel in the liberty and self-rule that being single offers. Just because I travel unaccompanied doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy the sights. Being alone doesn’t quite equate to being lonely.
As for Cupid, I suppose he has his alibis. So what options have I but give him another deadline. Besides, it’s not my loss if I remain solo. It’s the males’ deprivation and eventually, humankind’s. Haha!
S, this is all your doing!
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