123Valerie Strikes Again

Unprecedented Self-Indulgence.

Wednesday, April 01, 2009

At the Core

Apple core, Baltimore, who's your friend?

My Mom used to say that rhyme all the time in a sing-song voice, but she never could accurately explain what it meant.

"It's, you know, just something we said as kids. Like on the playground."

"Yeah, but was it, like, a game? Did you skip or hopscotch to it? Did you say when someone was eating an apple? It's so random--would you just spit it out Tourette's style whenever you felt like it?"

"I guess so," she said. "It doesn't really mean anything"

I don't like things that don't have meaning. In my world everything has meaning. Of course, I'm also kind of hyper-sensitive. Well, I guess you can't be "kind of" hypersensitive, so, yes, I am hyper-sensitive.

This is what my apple cores look like because I have superior paring knife skillz.

For instance, Old High School Boyfriend Chad commented that I changed the part in my hair after I sent him a recent picture of the "new" blonde I took on. (It's much more "blonde" than the strawberry blonde I recently tried to pass off as blonde. Apologies for the ruse. Pictures soon.)

And instead of letting it go, I says to myself, "Self, boys don't notice stuff like that unless …"

But then I jerked my wandering heart back and gave myself a stern talking to because I am NOT going to go there. I've spent the better part of a decade pining away for him when he's rebuffed me at every opportunity since I moved away from him when I was 17 and we broke up by default.

But because I can't ever let it go, I think at the core of his stand-offishness is insecurity. Maybe wishy-washy is a better phrase to describe him because he's always glad to see me, and he calls and e-mails me unprovoked. But then, when we get an opportunity to rekindle things--nothing. Zip.

I learned my lesson with him after the first time I made a move--he just wasn't, well, comfortable. So, when we're together, we sit there with the sexual tension looming between us.

He told me once during our teenage courtship that he was scared of me. Not, like, oh-my-God-she's-going-to-kill-me, but he said I was "just so much" followed by, "I mean, I like it, but … I don't know what to do with it."

Of course, what 17-year-old boy does know what to do with a sexually charged girl, but it was deeper than that. Still, I didn't even ask him to elaborate because I knew what he meant. It's been suggested that I can come on a little strong at times.

I guess it's the curse of all superior women--it takes a very strong man (or, ya know, other woman for the lesbian set) to match you. Even at a young age, I realized that I didn't quite act like the other girls--a bit more brazen, a bit more independent, just a bit more.

(Incidentally, Valerie means "strong." Go figure.)

I know it's 2009 but it's been my experience that a lot of men are still put off by an intelligent, capable, sexually-aware woman. I mean, not that Old High School Boyfriend Chad would want me to "know my role" or anything, but I do think that he's spent the bulk of his relationships with mousy little girls and just doesn't know what to do with me.

For those of you playing at home, I am decidedly NOT a mousy little girl. (Thought I am littler now thanks to my trainer, Patty, but I don't think I could be mousy if I tried … Wait, I'm going to try and be mousy right quick.)

[scrunches up nose and in the tiniest voice says "Whatever you want to do. I have no opinion."]

Blach. That was gross. Nope. Mousy is not happening.

And I'm trying to resign myself to the fact that a relationship with High School Boyfriend Chad probably isn't ever happening, either. That's tough for me to admit, but them's the facts. It's one thing for a 17-year-old boy to be afraid of me; it's a whole other story for a 30-year-old man to be intimidated.

I guess asking him to buck up would be about as successful as if he asked me buck down. Well, a leopard can't change her spots, but she can change her dreams.

My friend Allison is having superior success with manifesting financial abundance, so I'm going to take a cue from her. I'm imagining what it's like to be in love with a strong, secure, sexy, caring, considerate, independent, kind, goal-oriented, intelligent, funny, honest, supportive guy who doesn't snore and thinks I'm the cat's pajamas. Oooh, this is fun!

In the Comments section, tell me who YOU think is the cat's pajamas. My answer is all of you, natch. And also Ray Lamontagne. I bet he wouldn't be put off by me.

Labels: , , , ,


  • At 4:52 PM , Anonymous camikaos said...

    speaking of phrases that don't mean anything... that cat's pajamas has always bothered me.

    I mean really... who puts pajamas on their cat?!!!


  • At 12:16 AM , Blogger Woodrow said...

    I think coconut cream pie is the cat's pajamas. And you.

  • At 9:47 AM , Blogger country roads said...

    I'd be the bees' knees, but I snore sometimes..... ;-)

  • At 4:45 PM , Anonymous Anonymous said...

    val i love you. thank you. i needed your words today :)



Post a Comment

Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom]

Links to this post:

Create a Link

<< Home