It appears that new happenings are finally afoot in my briefly stagnant life – well, at least one thing. After sleeping on a fold out couch in my father’s office for the last few months, I finally have a place to call my own…along with two other roommates. I now reside in nice large house in West Philly, an area known for it’s vegan artists, anarchist lesbians, and frighteningly high crime rate. My new bohemian neighborhood is in a period of transitional upswing, but I’ll be damned if I don’t turn on the TV every other morning to be greeted with a warm fuzzy story about a cop getting shot in the face just a few blocks away. At least it keeps things exciting, huh? Am I right or am I right?
As far as the same old, same old, I’m still desperately looking for a job that doesn’t make me suicidal, still taking classes in digital design, and yes, still dating D*. Can you believe that shit? I really can’t. In fact, I think I deserve a parade in observance of that little miracle, complete with Uncle Sam clowns on stilts and a line of elephants farting in sync to the tune of “Up Where We Belong”.
Last week, I was engaged in a conversation with my first female Philly friend and now roommate Brooke as we lounged in our new living room. She was telling me about a girl that I had met at a queer punk show, the same night I met D. She relayed how that very night, the girl in question broke up with her tranny girl/boyfriend and jumped into bed with another gal pal right away. I commented, “Well, I guess she’s one of those girls who always need to be in a relationship.”
Brooke quizzically looked over at me, opened her mouth, paused, closed it, grinned sheepishly, and quietly replied, “You mean like you?”
Her innocent accusation totally threw me off guard – I had never been one of those girls, ever. In fact, I made fun of those pathetic chicks, frustrated by their inability to rely on their own identity and security, and their fear of being alone for longer than 5 minutes. For the last few years, I wore my bachelorette label with pride, coming and going as I pleased, sleeping with whom I desired, and going out stag almost every night.
But as soon as I arrived in Philadelphia, everything changed. I wanted that relationship. As horrible as it sounds, I wanted to have someone keep tabs on me. So I dated. A lot. In fact, I must’ve gone out with almost 10 guys, and ended up in relationships with 3 of them – not at the same time of course, but almost one right after the other. When I met Brooke, I was dating N* and a few weeks later, when she returned home after a bust of a trip to Guatemala, I was getting over my bust of a relationship with N. The night Brooke and I went to that punk show, I was completely intending to lament over my recent lost love and drown my sorrows in lager. However, D was right across the bar and I jumped back into my newly found pattern.
I keep thinking, “This isn’t me! I don’t date. I don’t get into exclusive relationships. And I don’t let my happiness rely on being in one.” But here I am.
Trying to rationalize my current mindset isn’t an easy task, but when you’re unemployed, you don’t exactly have anything better to do. I think the reason I long for and have found myself in an intense relationship is because I need stability in some facet of my new life. I’m in an unfamiliar town, and looking for a job in a new industry. Everything is foreign and unpredictable. Having that one person in your life that is consistent helps make the transition a little easier. But it does make me wonder if things between D and I will change once I pick up my busy bee lifestyle again. Honestly, I think I’ve dug a hole so far into this relationship already that I don’t see myself wanting to get out, even if forced – and I’m shocked that it doesn’t seem to bother me. My inevitable new working life will eventually merge with the crazy quilt-like patchwork of the one I’ve already stitched together, along with the all people in it.
I explained this to Brooke, who nodded assuringly and said that I was making sense. I’m glad at least someone thinks so, because I still think I’m nuttier than a squirrel turd.
*Just because I’m not private doesn’t mean everyone else isn’t too.
