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31 August 2005

Ending the Search for Mr. Right

The title is interesting to me for two reasons. The first being that this is the exact title of a book sitting on my desk in front of me. The second being that someone would attach their name to a book with this title and claim ownership. I'm not sure which is worse - the fact that the book is on my desk, or that the book with this notorious title was actually written. Either or, the realities of it freak me out.

And for the record, before this discourse is even began, I am stating my case in that (1) this is NOT an admission of guilt beyond reconciliation terms, (2) you have to understand that the WOOHOO years, were, for all intense purposes and in total hindsight, quite funny. The kind of moments when you look back and go "wow. Did that seriously happen?" And then you look in the mirror and you have a tattoo of the event, forever emblazon on your skin. I have three. Three tattoos. I have a truckload. A truckload of WOOHOO stories.

I'm not going to give you all the gory details, because the few details I gave the two girls that know (or nearly know) everything about me, just kind of ended up, you know, staring at me with their mouths gaping open. I think Curious Jane was glad she was drinking. I think Kiki wanted to drink. I think I should have been drinking in the recap because I know for sure that I was drinking during the formation of the story that was to be told five years later. I never thought it was that bad. But perhaps it's along the same adage of "Just because you have checks in your check book does not mean that you have money in your account". Perhaps I was a bit off base with my degree of what I thought "wasn't that bad". From the looks on their face, I would say that there was no 'perhaps' anything to do with it.

So let's talk about that book. "Ending the Search for Mr. Right". Excuse me for a moment. {{{BARF}}}. *As she wipes her mouth and proceeds to explain why this retarded piece of literature is amoungst her things*. Nothing like a little bit of throw-up in your mouth to start a good story, eh?

My aunt, God love her, is a wonderful lady. She's more than a bit strange, but she's a good lady. She's lived an unhappy existence for a long time, but has somehow come through it (or around it, or beside it, or maybe it's just within arms length). Regardless of the finer details, she's here. About 8 years ago she came to visit out west. I refer to this visit as "When Auntie went retarded for a summer". She turned 60, decided she needed to spice things up, packed up her car and tented across the country. I met her about 4 hrs south of where I lived. As we began the first hour of our trip, she decided she needed to let me know that she hoped that I slept with more than one man before I got married. She informed me that she wished she had of, and didn't want me to fall into the same trap. In hindsight, I think she looks back on this little tidbit and thinks "ah shit", because really, it opened a can of worms that I don't think anyone was prepared for. I think I was 21 at the time and still a fresh virgin. I was shiny white in those days. Actually, I continued on in shiny white fashion until I was 23 (previous to 21, I would have blinded you). Once I hit 23, I became more of an "eggshell" or "taupe". Yeah yeah, it's true, at 25 I turned into sexy red with some lace and leather straps. Regardless of the years in between and my new, freshly single look of less than two months old, my aunt decides to drop off this book. She was so excited. And I need you to know this above anything else. I love my aunt with all my heart and she just wants me to know that she loves me the same way. I may poke and tease and make fun (because really, it is quite funny!), but it's not to disparage what she means to me. I think she's a cool chick. In fact, she has six hens that she knows by name and that lay eggs just for her. Anyways, regardless, she wants good things for me. Apparently Ending the Search for Mr. Right (did you say Right Now?? Oops, sorry, WOOHOO sneaking in) is part of that desire. I tried to read it (in complete secrecy, because I deserved to be mocked if I was reading that in public). I did try. I think I made it to chapter 2.. maybe 2 and a half. But it's just not for me. You can't end a search that you haven't really started. Atleast not consciously. And I'm not looking for Ms. Right either - regardless of any confessions I may or may not have attested too (!).

A thousand years ago (back in the shiny white days) I would have argued with you about what I knew to be true about God. I would have debated and quoted and stood upon my soap box with my bible firmly in hand, more than willing and able to tell you what I knew about you being wrong. I would have. I had the knowledge. I did it. The reality of a soap box is that it isn't much further above the crowds of everyday people. When I fell off of it... well, let's just say, it may as well have been Everest. Too bad that the view's so clear from the sewer - the only place to look is up.

So I won't wear white on my wedding day for all the reasons set forth. I won't point out what you're doing because I can't. I can't see out of my own gutter to get even a glimpse at yours. I may ask you about decorating tips, but that's about all. But through it all, I'm thankful. I think for the first time there's a reality to it - to me. I have a faith in a Hand that is bigger than my own simply because I have been led towards myself in a way that I never thought possible -even back in the shiny white days. Let's just say that I'm really glad there's colour in me.

So tonight I am letting go of things - searches that involve Mr. Rights, pasts that still make me laugh at the thought of them, and all those silly notions that I have to have all the right answers at all the perfect moments. Sometimes you just have to lie down and look up.

Life on the nubin ball is pretty good.

"Forsake not an old friend; for the new is not comparable to him: a new friend is as new wine; when it is old, thou shalt drink it with pleasure" Ecclesiastes


Suz said...

Ms. Dare. This IS PMS Week, but that entry STILL made me cry. I want you to know that I understand falling off of Everest-because I did it. Praise God that there's life after falling off Everest, and that the life you lead on the ground (or in the sewer!) is so much more filled with love, because at last you understand what Love and Grace really mean.

You have a gift. Please continue.

Suz said...

"I won't point out what you're doing because I can't. I can't see out of my own gutter to get even a glimpse at yours. I may ask you about decorating tips, but that's about all."

I loved this part, because that's exactly how I feel too. You're able to deal with other people's junk so much better, knowing you have plenty of your own.

Curious Jane said...

There's the woman I know and LOVE!

You'd better write a frigging book. If you don't, I will strangle you.