Why do I do this to myself? Stupid dogs.

So I’m blue, I’m feeling very lonely and I come home, lay on the floor to nap and turn the TV on since my internet is being funky. And there it is. “Must Love Dogs.” Why do I torture myself with this film? Okay, John Cusack is not enough of an excuse to keep watching this film. It’s not a great rom-com but I simply can’t help myself. Is it because I keep hoping John isn’t going to be won over by her perfect hair and unwrinkled face? Is it because the dogs are so fricking cute? Is it because I’m sick and twisted and just like to torture myself? Maybe all of the above.

Watching this fluff in between dozings, I realize that part of the draw is what draws all of us to rom-com’s. The happy ending. I want someone to pine over me and call me “a unique constellation of attributes.” I want someone to be sitting pensive, thinking about me and missing me. Because I’ve certainly spent enough time pining and pensive-ing over someone. That situation, obviously, was much more about my wanting someone than that person actually wanting me. He’s just such a lovely man and so kind and terrific to me that I couldn’t help but lose a significant part of my heart to him. Underneath it all, I think I knew it couldn’t/wouldn’t/wasn’t meant to be anything other than the very treasured friendship that it is (or was?) but I just wanted to feel that way again about someone. That warm, fuzzy, breathless, can’t-wait-to-see-him way. And I wanted someone who was happy to see me, whether it was breathless or not. So I let my rom-com ideals carry me away when it probably wasn’t there. And rather than ask him months ago when I really first felt these feelings, I didn’t because I didn’t want to lose the possibility that he’d be crazy about me. Because that’s how it works in rom-com world. Damn those stupid films.

Even as I sit at Kaldi, using their free internet, I am caught up in the idea that some cute guy is going to be taken by how charming and unique I am, sitting here, cowboy hat and vintage shirt, typing furiously away at something which must be quite clever and interesting because that’s what a woman like me would be doing. I certainly don’t look like the skinny, Hollywood, boho wannabes that hang out here. Maybe that’s the problem.

And that’s probably why drunken stupid chick got to me so much this week. I’m not 22. I can’t get away with “oops, forgot to put on underwear” because that reads like Alzheimer’s when you’re not 22, not cute, sexy, funny. Flashing my breasts only makes men laugh, politely, of course, but laugh nonetheless, other than pervert guy who took uninvited advances on the aforementioned mammaries. My attempts at feminization and flirtiness have only resulted in twisted ankles from my high heels and frustration at trying to get my hair to do something cute. And I don’t even want to get into the big mistake that buying thigh-highs is 100 degree temperature is when you don’t have size 4 thighs.

I guess I’m also still struggling to find out who I am as a single person. So much of my identity was tied into him that, even after a year, I am uncertain about the person staring back at me from my mirror. I keep trying on personas, hoping one will stick, one will make me go, oh, wow, that’s who I am.

The thing that gets me through the day is that directing makes me feel that way. I am confident, fearless and creative when I’m wearing those shoes. I guess I have to find a way to translate that into every day life and embrace that person.

I don’t know if that will result in John Cusack’s clone coming into my life and sweeping me off my feet. I don’t know if that means I’ll just deal with being alone in a better way. I don’t know what it means at all other than maybe I’ll be more comfortable with the soul of me instead of trying to figure out how to be the soul for someone else. I guess that’s the lesson in all of this. But I’m a little tired of lessons right now and would just like a pair of warm, strong arms wrapped around me while we watch something other than “Must Love Dogs.” “Kill Bill” works for me.