Delusions and Contraditions

I vaguely remember, in a college acting class, performing the overdone Carla monologue from Robert Patrick's classic play, Kennedy's Children: "I wanted to be a sex goddess..."

Guess it makes sense that I'd choose such a monologue, especially given the meaning of my name: a snare.

"...I wanted to be the unattainable luring love that drives men on..."

All the time in college, not being asked out, was taking a toll on my self-esteem. With each passing banquet that I wasn't invited to, I felt more and more unwanted. Then along came my Hollywood agent and the discovery that I could, in fact, manipulate men... at least some men (but rarely the ones I wanted).

As the character said in the monologue, I still wanted to be that poetic "angle of light" in the eyes of Jared or Glenn (if I couldn't have Doug)... but they all seemed to be unmoved.

They were unmoved, but that wasn't the case with all men. As time wore on, I discovered that physical attraction was not the only thing I had control over when it came to manipulating men. I learned a sensual tension that could even be sparked with the right clever words delivered in the right manner. As much as I loved (and still love) words, it delighted me to discover that there were men who found mental intrigue sexy. Unfortunately, I didn't learn this until after I was married.

I know I'm not nearly as physically attractive now as I used to be. I often feel invisible to the men who pass by me these days; however, there are still times when I feel that I have to pull back on some invisible force, some "lure" that is so deeply a part of me that it sneaks to the surface when I least expect it. That may be delusional.

This past week, I've been away on business--in a different environment, miles and miles away from home and family, and husband. I've met a lot of new people, most of them men, and I've felt some of their eyes wandering enough that my friend and I joked about getting t-shirts with bold letters across the chest that read: "These are not my eyes." It's been rather annoying, but the one thing that hasn't been annoying is the one gentleman, who has seemed rather intrigued with me, conversing with me on a deeper level and seeming to appreciate my mind and talent. Once again, I may be totally reading things into his interaction with me, but I must say the attention (even if it's purely in my imagination) has been nice. Like the Kennedy's Children monologue said, Marilyn Monroe claimed that she didn't want to be a sex goddesses--she wanted to be a human being. So often, I feel like all my husband really wants me for is for my body, and that is so empty to me.

At an after-party tonight, I had enough to drink to get a little loopy and let down my guard a bit more than I probably should have. You could say that I was a little flirty with this guy. It certainly wasn't blatant, and nothing "bad" happened, but I did find myself wishing that I weren't married, knowing that if I weren't I definitely would have upped the flirtation level and possibly even been open to a little fling. It's hard to be yearning so deeply for a mental connection that seems impossible with my mate. This fellow probably wouldn't be a Mr. Right either, but to me he served as a reminder that there might be men out there with whom I could have such a deeper connection, and that even if there are, I can't have them.

Sigh. Heavy sigh.

Don't Go Breakin' My Heart (part 3)

So, you may be thinking this is just going to be a Todd-bashing blog... Oh no, that would be shallow, and I don't do shallow. Pointing fingers in blame doesn't help us grow and discover why we do the things we do, especially when they're obviously destructive.

Like I said before, this blog is my cheap form of therapy. I have a friend who is a therapist and he tells me that if I ask the right questions, chances are I'll come up with the right answers. So, I want to explore plenty of questions here, and hopefully some of them will be the "right" questions. Perhaps someone who stumbles upon this blog will have a question. If you do, don't be shy. You may be able to help me discover the questions that will resolve some of my issues, or maybe you'll learn something yourself from the mistakes I'm going to try to openly share here.

Think about this: If Miss Understood believes she has landed with Mr. Wrong, how does that even matter if she doesn't know how to recognize (or wait for) Mr. Right? Good question. If there isn't a change in her, even if she were to move on, who's to say she wouldn't end up with Mr. Wrong II? Finger-pointers and blame-putters are usually inordinately prideful, and as you may have heard, that icky stuff usually leads to a fall. So, in the interest of by-passing that pitfall, I thought I'd start out by pointing a few more fingers at myself in a chapter within the "Don't Go Breaking My Heart" chapter entitled: "Watch out for the Loonies."

"Watch out for the Loonies" is a phrase I often use when sending my kids out onto the big bad streets. When I say that, I'm usually referring to dangerously bad drivers, disgruntled postal workers, and the neighborhood ax-murderer; however, in the context of this blog, I'm referring to guys who are likely to drive a girl's life off a high cliff into disaster. We know they're out there, and we know they're Toonces the Driving Cat wannabes, destined to crash... so who's fault is it if an intelligent girl hops in the passenger seat? The Loony is just being a Loony. That's what Loonies do. I say a girl needs to be mighty careful who she hops in a vehicle with, especially the fast-moving vehicle of life.

How was Bridget about "watching out for the loonies"? I thought I'd make a list of all the lunatic mistakes I've made with guys. Anyone who reads this will probably think it's a wonder that I'm still alive. Yep, I've been pretty stupid.

I hate to leave you hanging, but it's really late, and I'm getting really tired, so I'm afraid I'll have to leave this one a to-be-continued.