Make me feel this way when we're old
I've noticed a trend lately in my life. It has come to my attention that over the past year or so, I've been attracting men who can best be described as Honey Badgers.
In the beginning, I'm attracted to their honest personality. They're the kind of person who will say what's on their mind, and it's refreshing. They might be cynical and slightly judgmental, but, truth be told, they say what I'm probably thinking anyway but would never verbalize, and it makes me laugh.
There comes a point, however, when their demeanor takes a turn, and they say something like this:
I don't care what other people think of me. I say what I want, and if people don't like it, screw them. They can quit hanging out with me if they don't like me.
I'm not lying, about four guys have expressed this exact sentiment to me over the past year or so. The first time I heard someone say it, I thought, "Wow. How cool. I wish I had that kind of confidence." By now, however, the novelty has worn off, and I realize the fine line between honesty and tact.
The last time a guy said this to me was a couple of weeks ago, and his face morphed into a Honey Badger's as he said, "... I don't care anymore. I don't give a shit..."
It was awesome.
So I've been thinking about it a lot lately, asking myself some questions like:
If they don't care what other people think, am I foolish to believe they care what I think?
How am I attracting these men when I actually do care deeply about what others think?
Did something happen to them that made them this way?
Were they born Honey Badgers?
I like psychoanalyzing people, and men with the Honey Badger Syndrome have proved to be the most intriguing. You know what my research in the field has found? Do you know what they all have in common?
Each had something traumatic happen to them- a heart-wrenching break-up with a girl they were madly in love with, the death of a close family member, abuse.
I'm no psychiatrist, but if I had to put two and two together, I'd say their not giving a shit was all a ruse. Instead of showing grief or sorrow, they decided to become apathetic in order to cope with something they couldn't control- abandonment, love lost, whether romantic or familial. Their "revenge" for what they could not change became not caring.
To prove this theory even further, it makes sense for me personally because I've always been one of those dumb girls who likes to take care of broken men. I've never understood how, but nurturing females will always find the wounded male, and vice versa. It's as if we have a magnetic pull that draws us to one other. It's a catastrophic recipe, but for a time, the Honey Badger finds someone to love him, to take his mind off his hurt. It doesn't take long, however, for him to become restless, to remind himself that he doesn't give a shit, and off he wanders to lick his wounds or find someone else to love him for a little while.
Whether my theory is correct or not, it's helped me deal with the fact that the Honey Badger can't be mine. I still give a shit for him, I hope the best for him (always), but it's easier to let him go.
Hopefully the next time one saunters across my path, I'll have the gumption to resist him all together, no matter how much watching him tear the head off of a cobra makes me (devilishly) laugh.
This is the second post in the series Single and Ready to Eat Pringles.
The arrival and departure of Valentine's Day has gotten me thinking about love which in turn has inspired me to begin a series on the subject that I will call Single and Ready to Eat Pringles*.
God forbid it ever happen, but if you were to climb into my brain for a day, you'd find that love is a popular subject there- falling in love, love lost, heartache, being single (in the South), the dating scene (in Knoxville... yikes.), being mildly boy crazy, falling for crazy boys, wondering if I'm supposed to say "men" instead of "boys" because they are men now, aren't they? That's a good question.
In my daydreams, I imagine being a legitimate writer on the subject. I have a lot of material, lots to laugh about, lots of experience in heartache, lots of wisdom gained. It's all too personal though and, despite the rising level of ridiculousness on social media sites, I think most of what happens between two people that love one another should be kept secret, sacred.
Then again, if and when I meet the man of my dreams, it might be fun to try and make someone want to throw up a little when they read my Facebook statuses. At least for a day or two!
Anyway, I don't know where this is heading, but I'd like to begin with some love-themed comics because, you know, I like comics.
*I really did come up with this title one day on my own, but a Google search proved I'm not the only one with a witty (/dumb) sense of humor.
God forbid it ever happen, but if you were to climb into my brain for a day, you'd find that love is a popular subject there- falling in love, love lost, heartache, being single (in the South), the dating scene (in Knoxville... yikes.), being mildly boy crazy, falling for crazy boys, wondering if I'm supposed to say "men" instead of "boys" because they are men now, aren't they? That's a good question.
In my daydreams, I imagine being a legitimate writer on the subject. I have a lot of material, lots to laugh about, lots of experience in heartache, lots of wisdom gained. It's all too personal though and, despite the rising level of ridiculousness on social media sites, I think most of what happens between two people that love one another should be kept secret, sacred.
Then again, if and when I meet the man of my dreams, it might be fun to try and make someone want to throw up a little when they read my Facebook statuses. At least for a day or two!
Anyway, I don't know where this is heading, but I'd like to begin with some love-themed comics because, you know, I like comics.
 |
| A different kind of love. Awww. |
*I really did come up with this title one day on my own, but a Google search proved I'm not the only one with a witty (/dumb) sense of humor.
I lost this one for a long time, and then it found me.
One
This past Sunday, I sat around a dining room table in a large West Knoxville home with three Chinese women and three Chinese children. The girl to my left is studying at the University of Tennessee. Her plate was full of every type of Thanksgiving cuisine you could imagine, and she tried each one.
The two women that sat on my right are visiting scholars at UT. Their plates were full of fruit, and they meticulously peeled grapes, placing the skins on a napkin. As they talked to me, courageously using their broken English, they had the brightest smiles on their faces.
After we finished eating, we went in to the den to join the other international students there, their spouses and children, and the handful of Americans. Lee, the facilitator of the gathering explained the first Thanksgiving and then asked if anyone wanted to share something for which they were thankful. One after one, people from across the world stood up and gave thanks for their families and for Americans who have shown them hospitality.
I'm thankful for my mother who has instilled in me the beauty and wonder of volunteering.
Two
Monday evening, I went on a walk with my best friend, up Glenwood, down Scott Avenue and back down Oklahoma. It was dark and chilly and we marveled at the homes all ready adorned in Christmas lights.
I'm thankful for Amelia, for being the most patient listener and the most gracious friend.
Three
It took me four hours to reach Nashville from Knoxville on Wednesday because of traffic and rain. When I pulled off the interstate, I called Amanda. She stayed on the phone with me, giving me step by step directions to her house.
"Are all of my friends there waiting for me?" I asked.
"Mark is here. Everyone else must be on their way," she replied.
I arrived to see ALL of their cars parked along the street. Hmmmm, I thought to myself.
The front door opened and out came Amanda. No one else was in the front room, but I heard whispering and then...
"SURPRISE!"
I was showered with Craisins-turned-confetti and a room full of dear friends.
In the midst of the solitude I've felt in Knoxville for quite some time, I'm thankful to have experienced a moment of sheer warmth, fuzziness, and laughter.
Four
Last night, my sisters and I baked in our parents' kitchen. My dad came home from work, delighted to see us all there together. It was dinnertime and instead of sitting, we opened a bottle of wine and stood and grazed and baked together while Christmas music played in the background.
I'm thankful that love can grow between messed up, crazy people.
This past Sunday, I sat around a dining room table in a large West Knoxville home with three Chinese women and three Chinese children. The girl to my left is studying at the University of Tennessee. Her plate was full of every type of Thanksgiving cuisine you could imagine, and she tried each one.
The two women that sat on my right are visiting scholars at UT. Their plates were full of fruit, and they meticulously peeled grapes, placing the skins on a napkin. As they talked to me, courageously using their broken English, they had the brightest smiles on their faces.
After we finished eating, we went in to the den to join the other international students there, their spouses and children, and the handful of Americans. Lee, the facilitator of the gathering explained the first Thanksgiving and then asked if anyone wanted to share something for which they were thankful. One after one, people from across the world stood up and gave thanks for their families and for Americans who have shown them hospitality.
I'm thankful for my mother who has instilled in me the beauty and wonder of volunteering.
Two
Monday evening, I went on a walk with my best friend, up Glenwood, down Scott Avenue and back down Oklahoma. It was dark and chilly and we marveled at the homes all ready adorned in Christmas lights.
I'm thankful for Amelia, for being the most patient listener and the most gracious friend.
Three
It took me four hours to reach Nashville from Knoxville on Wednesday because of traffic and rain. When I pulled off the interstate, I called Amanda. She stayed on the phone with me, giving me step by step directions to her house.
"Are all of my friends there waiting for me?" I asked.
"Mark is here. Everyone else must be on their way," she replied.
I arrived to see ALL of their cars parked along the street. Hmmmm, I thought to myself.
The front door opened and out came Amanda. No one else was in the front room, but I heard whispering and then...
"SURPRISE!"
I was showered with Craisins-turned-confetti and a room full of dear friends.
In the midst of the solitude I've felt in Knoxville for quite some time, I'm thankful to have experienced a moment of sheer warmth, fuzziness, and laughter.
Four
Last night, my sisters and I baked in our parents' kitchen. My dad came home from work, delighted to see us all there together. It was dinnertime and instead of sitting, we opened a bottle of wine and stood and grazed and baked together while Christmas music played in the background.
I'm thankful that love can grow between messed up, crazy people.
I don't like this because I spoon with Juicy. I love it because I spoon with Juicy, and I wish I could spoon with her til I'm old and gray. (sob)
By the way, I made a painting about spooning. I don't have an image on this computer, but you can see it here. It's called I Love You (Let's Spoon).
Fun fact: It is the ONLY painting I've sold during an art opening. I think it's because spooning is a universal love language. A lady bought it for her brother as a wedding gift.