Sunday, March 23, 2014

One day he'll come

Pity Party Weekend!

The universe conspired to turn these last two days into "Pity AnoMALIE" parties.

First, yesterday.
I KNEW I shouldn't have attended the stupid Sweet Sixteen. I WASN'T going to attend, I was actually going to be a fucking adult and go to a... I think it's a bar? Anyway, I was going to go to the bar around 7, however, when I returned home from church (yeah, I'm doing that again) I saw Mom was upset because Dad had left to the party without her.
Since my hair and makeup were already done... and my mom really wanted to go (and only needed to change into her dress... like fucking Cinderella, I tell you) but hates showing up to big parties on her own (see where I get it from?), I agreed to change into my handy dandy LBD and prevent any divorce papers from being filed.
Everything was going ok, up until I was left alone at the table with my pregnant cousin and her mother.
I was complimenting the cousin on her pregnant cuteness, and telling her how sincerely happy I was for her... and everything was fine... up until the fucking most hated words were uttered by them:
Awwww, thank you! You're so sweet! One day, your prince will come along the road for you, and you too will get to enjoy this happiness.

That was pretty much my reaction-- a long, angry pause.
I side-smirked and "Yeah"ed, no longer caring to speak.
Lito showed up with a couple of my guy cousins, so I excused myself and chilled outside of the ballroom until my mom decided to call it a night and took me out of my misery.

As if yesterday wasn't enough torture for me, today I headed over to a bridal shower in my old neighborhood.
Pity party part two.
Here, everyone is fucking pregnant, married, or engaged.
The girls that are my age are all sitting on the opposite side of the courtyard, at the same table. Of course, since they are ALL either engaged, married, or pregnant, I'm banished because... well, I'm none of the above.
I sat at the old lady table. The middle-aged lady table... where I listened to women discuss the cute behavior of their grandchildren... and was actually relieved when they began creeping each other's Facebook pages.
I was in my own world... looking up at the sky, taking deep breaths... enjoying the breeze. Then, of course, came the questions.
Am I married? Do I have kids? Where do I work? Do I study? Do I have a boyfriend? What do I do?
I'm single. Have been single. Will probably remain single. No children. Graduated with a biology degree I don't intend on ever putting to use because science makes me ill. I draw. I paint. I write. I travel. I lift heavy shit. I punch and kick. I really fucking love guacamole. I really fucking hate talking.
And, of course, the typical reaction was given to my responses:
Awww, pretty girl... soon enough, a man will come to your rescue.
I'd just take a swig of my coconut margarita and proceed to stare at the tip of the Stratosphere... imagining myself free-falling from the needle, face-planting on the concrete floor.

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