Shallow Assholes!

Alrighty, I never thought of myself as a psycho-feminist. A feminist, yes--supportive of the idea that women should have choices, freedoms, and equal rights. But not a man-hating, "a woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle," super-angry hardcore whining feminist. But today I'm not so sure. I have the notion at this particular moment that heterosexual men (maybe not all, but certainly most) are shallow pieces of shit! I am very, very angry. I'm sick of bad experiences and feeling like shit, of basing my self-worth on what some loser guy thinks of me, and of getting my hopes up that MAYBE there are actually some good ones out there and MAYBE I've finally, truly actually found one. One who likes me in spite of my wierdness and non-model perfect looks. And then he goes and proves himself to be just as much of a dickhead as the string of bums I've been attracted to as of late.

Fuck. I really liked this guy. I really thought that maybe something was finally out there for me. To be honest, I feel bad even bitching like this, since two of my friends have just gone through hellish breakups that don't even compare to my little disappointing crush...and I don't dare even try to diminish their hurt or the seriousness of their experiences. But I was thinking that maybe in spite of the stupidity of those two pricks, I had drawn the lucky lottery number, I had stumbled on the Lost City of Decent Guys. No such luck.

I am not the first to have these feelings or to ask these questions. The stupidity of men is a topic that has been well-documented throughout human history, in the arts, sciences, and many a chick-flick. I won't solve the mystery, and I'm not trying to. But in spite of my uber-negative mentality, I've always had a secret reserve of hope where men are concerned. I've carried around a faint but absolute confidence in the idea that I'd find one for me. That there's nothing wrong with me and I have every right to be proud of who I am--looks, intelligence, passions, all of it. My sadness and frustration comes from the fact that with every bad experience, every broken heart or dashed hope, a little bit of that confidence is chipped away, and my reserve of hope gets a little smaller. How many shitty guys can it all withstand? When will I run out of faith and turn into a shriveled old maid with five cats and a fucking seperate room for all the scarves I've knitted?

I know their the real losers, but I feel like the one who's lost.
-pg