The one where I get TMI on your asses.

Strap in, sports fans, because I’m fixing to bellyache and whine. Ohhhh, how I’m going to whine. It’s going to be the kind of whining that borders on subsonic at times, the kind of whine that only dogs and dolphins can hear at certain times. It’s that whine that comes up from your feet and gets trapped somewhere in your stomach for a bit, then finally migrates up into your throat but it won’t shake loose.

What has me in such a state of bellywhining?

I’m a little over being told I should be happy with what I have.

I know that’s vague, but I generally take a long-ass time to get to a point, so bear with me. (Start drinking now, it’ll make it easier.) I’m a wee bit tired of the “life’s lessons” speeches and “well, your family loves you and your friends love you”. I’ve damn well had it with what is the emotional equivalent of “you have such a pretty face!” To say that I’m exhausted…oh, honey. “Exhausted” doesn’t even begin to cover how goddamned worn out I am with so many things.

I’m just having one of those days (weeks/months/years) where I’m tired of the ball never being in my court, shall we say. I’m tired of being the third wheel. I’m tired of being the sidekick. I’m tired of being the comic relief. I’m tired of being the counselor and advisor. I am fucking hell-ass tired of feeling left out and awkward.

I AM TIRED OF BEING A SINGLE 36-YEAR-OLD VIRGIN.

There. Much better.

Part of me wishes that I could tell you I’m a weergin because of Jesus or some other religious/moral obligation only because on paper (and in my head) it probably seems better than just “I am apparently incapable of getting any tail whatsoever”. But I can only tell you that...yeah, I am apparently incapable of getting any tail whatsoever. Not to say it’s something I obsess over 24/7. I don’t spring out of bed in the morning and salute myself in the mirror with, “Hello, fat virgin! Boy, aren’t you going to be terribly virginal today!” Where it tends to become a hairshirt for me is in the arena of “girl talk”, both IRL and online. It’s hard to explain the feeling beyond “disappointed”. I can’t participate. I can’t commiserate at all when it comes to sexuality, intimacy, or relationships. And I struggle enough with my womanhood in that logically, I know that it’s right for me to be the individual I am, dress the way I feel comfortable, behave the way I behave, believe in what I believe. However, when I’m left out of yet another conversation, when I’m the third wheel or fifth wheel or whatever wheel in a social situation, when I feel like I can’t even write fiction or screenplays involving love or relationships anymore because I know nothing about it...it’s those moments where I wish I could fuck all of my beliefs and ideals and hop on that diet/WLS bandwagon and put on makeup and style my hair and concern myself with dressing fashionably and in a feminine style and be “the right kind”, a more “appropriate” woman.

I know it’s completely half-assed and nonsensical. I know there are plenty of women my size or bigger with personalities and beliefs almost identical to mine who have found mates. Fuck, there are downright awful human beings who have loving, adoring partners. Logic would dictate that I should have some luck. I tried EHarmony, which was a big old bust. I couldn’t even get past the matching stage as they kept sending me matches that were completely inappropriate (that is, completely NOT MATCHING ME). When I say I don’t want kids and I’m not religious, and want to be with someone who doesn’t want kids and isn’t religious...I’m not kidding. They’re two things that I’m really not going to change my mind about. I have an account at Match.com but haven’t brought myself to pony up the $100-plus because all I can think is “that’s another $100 towards yet another epic failure”; spending $100 to go through allegedly-matching profiles that state the preferred body type is slender and athletic. And let’s say I’m able to launch myself past that particular hurdle. How do I explain (well, besides on a very public blog—WHOOPS) that I’ve never been in a relationship, have no experience whatsoever with physical intimacy, and not have someone walk away thinking about how much there must be wrong with me? Being almost compulsively honest about myself (hence this post—WHOOPS), I would feel compelled to explain that I haven’t kissed anyone in close to 13 years and the closest I got to sleeping with someone was because the guy wanted to slap one more notch on his belt before getting married. I’ve had people sincerely suggest to me that I should go to a bar and there’d be no way I’d be rejected by the end of the night. First of all, the statement screams “hey, there’s bound to be SOME guy so drunk and desperate that he’d fuck you, fat ass”. And I’d like to think that I’m worth a bit more than a drunk fuck by a guy that wouldn’t normally come near me. Call me an asshole romantic, but I really don’t relish the idea of being nudie for the first time in front of someone else (who isn’t a medical professional) while that someone else is pretty much a stranger and shitfaced to boot.

Unfortunately, sporting the brain that I do, the voice inside screams, “you are not good enough and you need to get a grip on that. When you do try (at anything, really), you fail. And you usually fail in a spectacular fashion. Just accept you are not good enough and move on. Get over it. It’s a life lesson. There isn’t an ass for every saddle, there isn’t someone for everyone, and certainly not you. You are old, you are ugly, and you are pathetic.” At the present time, I’m finding it difficult to summon up evidence to in order to contradict that voice. I used to be able to get angry and tell the voice to go blow. Now...wow, do I cry a lot. I never used to be a big crier. I was borderline stoic for many years. Present day, however, there’s no telling what will set me off or when it’s going to happen. I’ve had many a train ride home that has been a life-or-death struggle with my tear ducts. I can even make something like having a poorly-hidden cry on public transportation a further gateway into my almost-daily downward spirals because I’ve never once been asked by someone if I was okay. Granted, *I* would probably ignore a fat chick in a hoodie having a weep on my train car, but in my idiot brain, it’s one more piece of evidence that I’m a waste of space.

I don’t know why I feel compelled to share this with the general public. Then again, I did a one-woman comedy piece where I talked freely about the times I contemplated suicide. My father was more bothered by my saying “motherfucker” a lot during it. I think I’m trying to find some sort of peace that has been eluding me for quite a long time. Some people would try therapy or yoga or latch hook. Instead, I vomit up what’s bouncing around my synapses onto a public blog for your...entertainment? Well, perhaps not this particular entry. As I look at my past entries, it seems that I try to close with some sort of “helpful hint” or whatnot, and if I had any kind of advice on this particular day, it would be if your friends or loved ones come to you holding their beating hearts out and just repeating “WHY”, fight the urge to trot out the so-called “helpful” clichés we’re been told will somehow make it all better. Just listen. If a phrase like “it’s a life lesson” or “there’s someone for everyone” threatens to fly past your lips, replace it with “let’s go to the zoo” or “it’s raining on my furniture”. Sometimes, it’s okay not to rattle off a platitude. Sometimes, going to the zoo sounds like the greatest idea in the world. Read more on this article...