It's far from a secret that I'm a huge fan of alliteration, folks. Now that identifying the obvious is out of the way, let's get down to some proverbial "business."
I'm guessing that the majority of my readership already knows that my birthday is (yes, feel free to gasp at how awesome this really isn't) election day: The Ever-Aggrandized Glorious 4th Day of November, Two-Thousand-Eight.
Has this caused me to pay more attention to politics than I usually would? Maybe. Alright, no - but I am willing to poke fun at my occasional trips into the land of self-importance. Truth be told, I'm just a struggling 20-something staring down a car-finance (Let's say a Bentley rather than a Honda) sized student loan debt while spending MORE money attempting to get yet ANOTHER degree. No, no - not stupid, just passionate. Point being - as our presidential candidates this year - I'm "just like you!" Except... I really am just like you... broke but not impoverished, determined but but susceptible to distractions, and overwhelmed but hard-working (assuming lazy people don't read my blog, which is repellent yet wishful thinking on my part.) As I approach the great quarter-century mark of my existence, I have been pondering many things to the point of exhaustion. Those of you who have known me for years are now rolling your eyes and stating "And that's different from any other time, how?"
Hush, now - we must not look to the past! Haven't you learned a thing from Caribou Barbie? Yes, that last statement was entirely gratuitous and purely for my own amusement.
What I've been wondering is, where are my people? Not my "people" as in say, my emissaries - whom I still haven't been able to allocate despite great efforts, mind you. I mean my "people" as in, those who were born in the early eighties - ya know, the other assholes who give equal blog space to politics and Sex and the City episodes that flesh out their fears of being single and approaching thirty. Where are those of us who in one day can bemoan yet another friends wedding invitation as well as socialized health care all in a matter of a few hours?
The answer I've come up with is simply this: We're wearing red and white striped shirts against a two-page spread of people hanging out at a carnival. If you're looking up, over and behind you right now - what I mean to say is: we're hard to find. But WHY are we so hard to find - those 20-somethings that should have every reason to pay equal attention to politics as well as the commonly erratic nature of our quarter life-crises? It's an epidemic dripped slowly into the water by several forms of media - and I have officially coined this epidemic "Polignorance."
Now, because I already fear someone stealing the terminology from me as is - I will not go on at length about my theories surrounding the word. Suffice to say that my participation in National Novel Writing Month (Nanowrimo) this year will hopefully provide a very funny, yet very informed and well thought-out take on why politics in the United States (EVEN after this year's diverse contest) still fails to grab my age group by the respective reproductive organs. So, hopefully some day you'll find me on Bill Maher's panel or soaking up a segment of Olberman's "Countdown" - but trust me, that's not because of my liberal bias - it's purely because if Glenn Beck were to ask me onto his show, I wouldn't be able to fight the urge to request that he replay over and over again the clip in which he refers to himself as "white trash." I mean, we just wouldn't get anything covered in that interview.
Lacking a clever transition, here's the little "meta-moment" of this blog.
Human chemistry. It's a beautiful thing, isn't it? That wonderful feeling that so often is difficult to equate to much of anything. Some try to hard to make it work - experimenting day in and day out with different methods, straining profusely to find the right quantity of this to mix with that. Some labor over this seemingly endless experiment - taking years to convince themselves that coming close to the perfect chemical solution is the best they'll ever get. Some people are alright with settling for mediocrity - for respected diligence over effortless quality. I have frowned at such efforts for as long as I've witnessed them, and I swore to myself that I would rather live alone than have to labor for love.
I am fully aware that even the most intensely loving relationships involve some elbow grease and a decent amount of compromise - but all too often, people mistake the necessity for personal diversity in a relationship as surrendering your license to be loved, respected, and admired by the other on a daily basis instead of when it's convenient for them. Extenuating circumstances are simply not enough to give up the prospect of spending your time with someone who makes you happy without testing several formulas in order to do so. Those things at stake in a split: Mortgages, children, that awesome hoodie you're certain she'll keep if you dump her - grandiose to miniscule - with the right amount of effort and 100% heart, all are manageable. With so little time we have in life, there is no excuse for second-guessing or for working hard at emotions that we know can come so easily.
So what do you do when you're almost positive you've found that chemistry? How do you handle the idea that you just might be falling in love? Of course the usual answer is: Shout it from the fuckin' rooftops! Tell everyone! Tell him/her! Write sappy poems and stick them under their windshield wiper! Send them flowers, make them a mix tape - shit, the list goes on. But what if there exists more than one factor which steals away your freedom of expression? Like a thick pane of glass between two people - there they sit, tapping occasionally, pressing their hands against the cold, transparent, but solid wall - at least one, maybe both hoping that soon someone might gather enough strength to smash it to pieces. So what works? How do you reconcile that cheesy butterfly feeling every time he touches you? How do you pass off the blushing, or losing yourself in listening to him speak? How in the HELL do you escape the goddamned Disney movie you find yourself living in?
Self-promotion is ineffective - if you're genuine then it should be absolutely clear what you have to offer. Simply making a blind move to alter the circumstances (that is, without consulting the other person first) could cause long-term discomfort if the ultimate end is not achieved via the means. So, if making the case and making the move are both out of the question - all you have left is honesty, and patience - oddly enough, two of the greatest components of any healthy relationship.
And there's the one-two punch: your author is falling in love - and she's willing to wait it out. And even if it all turns out to be futile or a farce, if it's sooner rather than later - it's worth it. Ask me why, and that's an entirely different blog that would threaten to waste just as much of your time, if not more. :)
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