Other Contenders: Saturday Night’s Alright For Fighting
I can now officially state that I am running in the Bitter Bitch Marathon, and coming in first place.
It has been a long, dark road outta hell, lemme tell you—the journey I have been on this past 15 months or so to really get to the root cause of why I am single. Because you can only blame the men for so long. The only common denominator in my singlehood is me. It’s a battle to be accountable and since November, I have been trying to swallow the bitter, BITTER pill that not only am I accountable, I am in fact creating the situation. Yes friends, I am CHOOSING to be single. I have been trying to come to grips with the fact that I have complete control over my situation despite having felt desperately helpless about it my whole life. Helpless and hopeless, that’s what it feels like. It still scares me and angers me and I regularly shake my fist at the sky in frequent bouts and fits of rage and anger at the injustice of it all. I am long past celebrating everyone else’s Happily-Ever-Afters and do not suffer advice on the matter gladly. If one more person tells me that I should try online dating or I just need to “be myself”, I am going to foist myself onto a stripper pole and make you stuff my string bikini with fivers.
I also have this crippling and embarrassing belief that no one will date me because I’m fat. I actually believe that if I was skinny, that the men would be flocking towards me. Which is why, three years ago, I made it my personal mission to get skinny. And when I did, you know what? Absolutely nothing changed. The joke was on me.
So if that wasn’t it, then what was? If men don’t really care how I look, then why am I still single?
And you know what, I still don’t have any answers to that. If I did, I wouldn’t be single. But I’m clearly not learning the lessons I am meant to and clearly still repeating patterns.
*sigh*
So last year, one of my New Year’s Resolutions was to create and foster more positive male friendships in my life. I was blessed with a flood of really good, decent and single guys my age who practically reversed the damage done by years of dating the slimy dregs of the male species. Yes, I continue to see prime examples of quality men in my work and be surrounded by them—each nice, decent, hard-working guy changing my view on men one at a time. I don’t seem to be attracting any of them, but I have been dealing with that too. I have been honest with my feelings and up-front with men and generally feeling pretty good about the progress I have been making.
Until Saturday night, that is.
I went out with one of said male friends and one of his married buddies completely shattered my spirit.
It was the first time in my life where I’ve actually met the ‘Smug Marrieds’ that Brigit Jones is always referring to: Married Guy A was talking to Married Guy B and I passed by and said “What are you guys talking about.” Married Guy B said: “How great it is being married.” I kept walking.
One of them in particular was very happy to pigeon-hole me and had all sorts of judgements about “the type of girl” I was. Two of them practically took pleasure in telling me that all the good guys are already married and that I am essentially shit out of luck. I am going to die old and alone. For someone whose biggest fear it is to die old and alone, to have two men tell me casually and maliciously over a pint of beer that I am going to die old and alone was devastating. I barely know how I managed to keep drinking. But I did. Married Guy B assumed I was only out looking for a one-night stand and then later labelled me as a Bitter Girl.
Oh, it was fun times.
The worst part is that a) that I put up with it and b) I think he might be right. I realized with HORROR that I am Bitter Girl. I have turned into something I have been fighting so hard against for years.
Let it be said that the guy was an asshole. I know this. He had his own ego issues and obviously his needs are not being met. He accused me of having an AGENDA if I stopped talking to a man in a bar once I found out he was married.
I was drunk, yes. But mostly I was hurt, insulted, offended and angry, but the night left me feeling vulnerable and worthless and really brought out the worst in me.
Other than the anger, I am also disappointed in myself. I took a kind of freakish pride in the fact that I still had faith in men and still believed in love despite all the drama.
It was a horrible night that highlighted how horrible I am feeling about myself, and how much bitterness I project towards men, married or otherwise. And I didn’t realize it until just now.
One thing I know for sure: I am officially on a serious HIATUS from men and from now on, my time is going to be better spent with the women who love me, trust me, accept me and see me for the fabulous Goddess/Diva/Howling Ladywolf that I am. I don’t mind being tested and having my opinions challenged, but it needs to come from a place of love and acceptance. This was coming from a place of small penis/large ego.
I don’t need to go out and spend my Saturday night feeling like shit, thanks gentlemen. Just because you're married, doesn’t mean you have to stop treating others around you with respect.
I’m mad as hell. And I’m bitter. And I am going to hang out here for a while instead of being in such a damn fine hurry to move out of it. My name is Karen and I am going to throw myself a Bitter Party. I am setting sail on the Bitter boat to battle the bitter seas... Bitter, Table for One. Well, you get the idea.
Song of the day: 'Bang on' the Breeders
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