It Gets Old
2007-08-23, 2:40 p.m.
Some days, I get tired of having to fly my freak flag high, whether I want to or not.
Which is to say: I am tired of being the only female-
Digression: I can't say "woman," because I am not one. I am a girl who is technically way past the age of girldom who refuses to use a certain phrase popularized by Britney to describe that stage. I have seen the term "wirl" used, but that isn't terribly great either. Women are so clearly "wants/has kids, wants/has husband, loves cooking and cleaning and domesticity" in my brain, whether that is correct or not, that I cannot call myself as such.
-around my age, who is not happily joining in conversations about the following topics when around other women of this age:
Obviously I don't have a whole lot to say in conversations about these things (and I'd really rather not listen to talk about home remodeling at all!). So mostly I am just sitting/standing there, feeling embarrassed, left out, and a failure to my gender because these things are not my be-all, end-all of existence.
No bloody wonder I either hang out with people a lot younger or older than me, because there sure as hell don't seem to be too many people around my age who want to talk about, well...much of anything else but those things. My friends obviously don't fall into this category, but work, relatives, and sometimes the Internet are areas where this goes on repeatedly.
I know it's the natural evolution of life. That's What Women Do. I know that I am bucking the trend by not doing and loving all of the above, and that's the price I have to pay for following my own goofy little star.
But...as Gary Coleman would say, "It gets old." It gets old to not fit in. It gets old trying to think of anything to say when one of those conversations erupts around me. When I think of something, ANYTHING, to contribute, I am at least 50% afraid to say it because we all know that someone without a husband and/or children has no clue as to anything about those topics at all. It gets old feeling like I have a ginormous "YOU FAIL AT GENDER!" sign blinking above my head.
Trying to like most of those things on my own is like forcing myself to like coffee. No matter how many times I try it, even if it's crack-u-lated, I still think it tastes like poison.
(Of course, I say this during a period of time where I have been extremely fucking annoyed with regards to cooking because we have a vegan on our shift this quarter and trying to find food he will eat is bloody difficult, and I am not looking forward to having to bring in the vegan dessert I made, because I suspect at best it's edible... so cooking is on my On Notice list this week. As is veganism.)
Some days, I swear I would drink the Kool-Aid, get the Stepford chip, whatever, just so I could get myself converted into a Real Woman. (Clearly, converting myself just isn't gonna go.) It's not that I even want to want most of those things...but not wanting them at all just seems so damned awkward when it comes to vagina-owner interactions. Some days, I just want to fit in and not have to be the lone weirdo/gender traitor in the building.