Homebody. There are social butterflies and then there are coyly cocooned caterpillars like me. Sometimes I suspect I have the soul of an 80 year old. I like to go out, but not like most of my fellow twenty-somethings like to go out. Bar hopping is not for me, I do not like being bumped and grin'ed in clubs where admission is more than 50 cents and I am completely without ideas as to where to go to find, you know, "him" - the boyfriend everyone seems to think I should have.
While I am rather challenged vertically, it's never endearing to me when I hear someone speaking around their toothpick munching, "Hey shawty, come ovah heah and let a bruh holla atcha fuh a min."
One well-meaning aunt said to go to the library. Well I like the library because it has a nice book collection and a sprawling selection of magazines, but the library is free. And I'm not tryin' to start nothing, but you can probably imagine what kind of free-lovin' individuals patronize their neighborhood library. The last time I was in there I was sitting alone, minding my business, daydreaming lookin' at the sky when flash! bam! alakaazam! here comes a guy with a wanderin' eye!
Now before you get all touchy about my possibly making fun of peoples' eyes, let me say that this one, while termed "lazy", was anything but. If his left eye were a cell phone, he'd have some serious roaming fees 'cause it sure was dialing in on my breast area.
Here I am in a LIBRARY with a couple of magazines and books spread out in front of me, with my pen and pad writing and he gon' talk about, "Whatchu doin'? Readin' and writin'?"
"Fool! What do it look like I'm doin'?" my eyebrows and pursed lips say. "Yeah" was all I could get out before I started laughing, and I didn't dare laugh because then I would smile and that would look like encouragement. In situations like these, where most girls might smile politely and play like Jack and Jill's little hill, I strengthen my resolve, still my upper lip, inhale and I become Everest, Mount Everest.
But some bruhs like a challenge, and the only way they are gonna learn to climb Everest is to come prepared... otherwise you gon' get bit by my frost.
Needless to say, I gathered my goods and rolled out. I won't even talk about how this joker gonna try to "walk a lady to her car so you can stay safe and pretty" in BROAD daylight.
Most of the women in my family urge me to get to church. "You can always find a good honest man in the church, chile. That's what you need, pretty, smart girl like you. That's where I found your -insert the name of the more COMMONLY known undeserving, self righteous jackass here-."
Say what?! Whoever said "Misery loves company" ain't nevuh lied, you heard?!
This has to be one of the oldest (read: MEDIEVAL) and craziest suggestions I've ever heard! Everybody knows better than this and it's a mystery to me how many people TO THIS DAY continue to follow this ill-fated advice. Familiar observations have shown me that if anything, when you go to church NEEDin' a man you are liable to come out of there needing salvation.
I'm not saying it's impossible to find your life-mate in church, I mean, I hope just like everybody else, but I have yet to see some amiable results is all I'm saying.
Those church boys will woo you with a little romance, they will champion your beauty and praise your intellect. They may even charm you with chivalry and regale you with their rectitude - just beware of the signs! You marry these suckas if you want to... I am trying too hard to figure out who I am to have some deacon wannabe try to subdue me with dictums of submission, servitude and silence.
I could go on about this, but we all probably know of someone who we don't really talk to anymore because sanctions have been brought against us.
Most of the people I know who are happily married either married someone from their youth or college. I am batting 0 and 2 people. Either I need to go back to school, lol, or keep hope alive...
I know, I know, I need to get out. But where really? I am not whining, I'm just trying to figure things out. I sometimes get this eerie feeling that I'm always in the wrong places at the wrong times... How much longer can the odds play against me?
Humph. Is it me, or is it scary that practically everytime I can remember playing Old Maid I recall that I always wound up staring at that ugly curmudgeonly bitch in the face?