let’s not mention everything i dabble in — or woe is me, just this once.

I’ve wanted to write about why I think I may just end up an old spinster. About how I get asked why I’m single and don’t provide an answer even though I have a hunch. About how people, guys, call me beautiful. About how I’m not even sure what that means exactly, how I don’t think they know what that means. About my quirks, shortcomings, imperfections.

But I haven’t let myself.

I think I’ll change this…now; that is, I’ll try to explain some of the things that I feel contribute to my single-dom. Just this once.  In my words. Not his.

Reason 1: Let’s start with the thing that held me back from writing this. I have this insatiable need to spread positivity. And happiness. And goodwill toward (wo)men. Okay, that last one may be stretching it. But really, probably not. I am a glass-half full kind of person. Actually, better said, I am a “that glass is half-full aaand it can actually be filled completely with some person responsibility, effort, and a little bit of happy.” …slightly annoying? Eh, I don’t think so. But others might. I have a tendency to appreciate life. Regardless of my personal struggles (and oh, are there struggles), I don’t let it affect how or what I put out into the world. So I refrain from things that are not-so-happy if you will…for the most part. It takes a certain type of person to not only appreciate this but to like it, love it, live it.


Reason number two:  I like jazz a la Miles or Coltrane and tweed jackets and philosophizing, writing and pondering the meaning of life over tea and sunshine and clouds. And I like talented rap/hip hop lyricists and hitting up the club scene and (slight) inebriation and a little bump and grind. Also, I like country music and cowboy boots and two-stepping and beer-drinking. Plus too, I like classic rock while riding and hard rock while driving, wearing black on black on black and jumping up and down to Spanish rock&rap. Let’s not forget I also like a lotta bit of Chente and a good shot of tequila and bailando pegaditos and listening to corridos & norteñas. let’s not mention writing amidst the music or discovering my feminism or photography. i am passionate about it all. Really, I am. All of it. And probably more. It’s a bit much for some.

#3: I am 25 with an MA in Psychology, fully licensed as a therapist in the state of Texas, am working toward my doctorate, have published, presented, and worked my ass off on my own desire and dedication to get to where I’m at. When guys asked “what I do,” I find it hard to explain that I am a doctoral student and therapist who holds about 4 to 5 part time jobs while still getting in 5-6 workouts a week, daily prayer even if all I have is a minute, and Sunday service. Mostly, I don’t know how to do that without sounding like a tool. I should take Nicki’s advice and never mention everything I dabble in..

Reason 4: I tend to overlook the above sometimes and solely focus on my imperfections (you know, the I’ve-worked-my-ass-off-do-too-much-yet-am-living-at-home-with-not-much-savings-and-lots-of-student-loan-debt shortcoming). Arrogance may not be attractive but neither is insecurity.

#five: speaking of insecurity…I’m insecure. Lacking a bit of confidence if you will. Part of this I’ve come to understand partly as a result of the following thought process: they say I’m beautiful. I don’t know if it’s that I don’t believe it because I assume they mean physically and (if I even attempt to comprehend that piece of info in the slightest) I wonder if it’s simply a means to an end, the end being a bed. Or if it’s because it’s a superficial statement; if they do, in fact, actually believe I’m beautiful, it’s based on shallow connection and limited information. They don’t know me. **I partially understand I’m being a bit stubborn with this given the whole “beauty is in the eye of the beholder” thing and the fact that I am truly flattered whenever someone actually says these words to me. And that physical attraction is part of connection. I get it. I think the actual partially is that I gotta up my self-confidence, the I-truly-am-a-badass level’s a tad low. I’m getting better at it.

not giving up

All in all, the real reason I think I’m single is because I think it, all of the above reasons, I may be a little hard to keep up with. Or understand. Mostly, I think it’s the understanding part. It’s hard to get me if you don’t know me. The above quirks and imperfections are me. I keep trying to reflect on how the idea of beautiful affects my happy yet I ignore the fact that I am biutiful. Also, I don’t want anyone to keep up with me; I want someone to compliment me. Someone who challenges me but humbles me, owning who they are without insecurity or assumption. The whole be-my-other-half-walk-along-side-me sappy crap romantic comedies feed you.

I believe in love and lust and sex and romance. I don’t want everything to add up to some perfect equation. I want mess and chaos. I want someone to go crazy out of his mind for me. I want to feel passion and heat and sweat and madness. I want valentines and cupids and all of that crap. — Streisand

I think, from now on, my answer to that quintessential question everyone keeps asking about, why I’m single, will be as follows:

I’m pretty effing amazing. In all seriousness, I kinda-sorta-really am. I just haven’t found the right person who gets it, appreciates it, and sees that I’m biutiful instead of, along with beautiful.

 p.s. I think the above applies to everyone. We all are kinda-sorta amazing, needing a compliment rather than this ideal we come up with in our heads. we all need a Sunday kind of love..


3 thoughts on “let’s not mention everything i dabble in — or woe is me, just this once.

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