this entry is rejected, also
June 09, 2003, 12:14 am

I've been dealing with rejection a lot lately, and, quite frankly, I'm not handling it well.

The almost tangible boyfriend-type it seems will remain hypothetical. He told me that he likes me (in not so many words), but he hasn't called. This is not a Swingers situation in which he must wait six days. I called him. Over the weekend. Twice, actually, last weekend, and he didn't return the calls.

If I were of different stock or if I were a star in a horrifically unrealistic portrait of a desperate single woman in a bestselling novel, I would break down in tears and wonder why he doesn't love me. I would flail my arms around, watch stupid movies, moisturize my skin obsessively, and resolve to lose 50 pounds (which, don't get me wrong, I would love to do).

Instead, I opt to sleep all day, read a book about human cadavers, and then drive to Towson, where I play videogames that involve killing people and make up drinking games to go along with these aforementioned games. I do these things with my guy friends who have either a) known me for my entire life or b) resigned themselves that I'm not really a girl, so there's no implicit sexual tension or anything. I am free to drink four beers in 28 minutes because my little blue guy keeps getting killed on the Blood Gulch screen. I am also free to wear the same clothes the next day because they don't care that my hair isn't watched and my skin is breaking out and my underwear (while cute) is not a thong.

I also made some not-great friend choices this weekend, which involved not attending a graduation party of a good friend and not attending a bridal shower of a proxy-friend that I've known since high school to involve myself in these reindeer games. Sadly, my reason is silly: I just didn't want to go. Emotionally, I don't WANT to go to a fucking bridal shower with a bunch of skinny blonde girls (which all of my friends of that sect ARE, and they're all happily married and/or in relationships and don't understand my sense of humor, and I always feel like I'm some sort of museum act for them, the fat, funny, intelligent friend who will make a terrific aunt to their kids but will never find happiness on her own because she cares about her work too much and not enough about what she eats) where everyone oohs and aahs over a ton of shit that was registered for at Target. And I'm broke. Super broke. Like, negative $67 in my checking account and nothing in savings broke. So I couldn't spring for a gift and I was embarrassed.

Damn, this entry is maudlin.

Imagine the above as a rant, okay? And I'm spitting and my arms are flailing and I'm screaming and my face is beet-red...with me? Good.

Here's the part where I get very quiet and look at the floor.

"I'm jealous," I say quietly, as I casually inspect my toes, "I kind of want to feel like I belong as a part of that whole wedding world thing, but I know I'm nowhere ready for it and by the time I am, all these girls will be throwing baby showers instead. I don't want my friends' mothers whispering about me behind refreshment tables because I'm different; I don't want my friends feeling awkward that I'm throwing another party that they'll be too tired for."

I'm staring into space, smirking a half-smile, and putting my head down again.

"I don't think it's fair for me to not want to be a part of their happiness, though. It was wrong of me not to call them and tell them I wasn't coming. I'll send cards."

Another pause.

"I'm one of the guys. I'm a guy according to the Shore Boys and I'm a guy according to my Towson crew and I've always been this way, and I'll always be this way. It's just the way of the world."

Blinking.