I was really going to write my v-blog while my nephew took his nap, but then instead I remembered that on Real World this week, Heather finds out that Dustin was involved with porn and they’re kind of my favorite couple since New Orleans, so I had to figure out if everything was okay. I sit here and worry about people being in my relationship and yet I have no qualms about watching someone’s relationship unfold on national television.
So, here I am, watching…and feeling bad for Dustin (even though he should have told her) who actually did homosexual porn (I think he admitted that, but maybe he just let webcams follow him around naked) and I’m like, “aw man, Heather, take him back, console him, he was young, he didn’t know better” because throughout the show we’ve learned that his mom is drug-induced, did jail time, and has a bad case of bi-polar disorder and convinces herself that the medicine dulls her. So this kid, like Mikey said, has been living a double life, and he has no one he can talk to because his family doesn’t even know that at eighteen he made a socially “bad” decision to get out of his hometown and away from life’s curve balls.
I feel like I see where she would be angry because she could have an STD and most people (other than jealous people, I suppose) want to know who, and how many people the person they love has slept with. Because as much as we use catch-phrases like “keep the past in the past” or we listen to the Backstreet Boys with their lyrics, “I don’t care where you’re from, or what you did…” from “As Long as You Love Me,” do we really actually mean that you could have done anything in your past and we’ll still love you?
Funny thing about this blog, is it has spanned several hours of me thinking about it, and on my way home I was driving behind an outback, station wagon, and staring off into space when I noticed the license plate. (I, at a stoplight, illegally typed myself a phone post-it note so I could remember it for the blog, but yay for me, I remembered it anyway). It said, “Europe72.” Now you can’t honestly tell me that this woman wasn’t stuck in her past. And when you ask her about her fondest memories, do you think she’s going to talk about Europe in 72 or why her station wagon has that as a license plate?
I just feel like if I met a guy, and I told him, “I don’t care what happened in your past, I love you just the same,” it’s a lie. Because what makes a person if not all of what they’ve been through? Why is a racist, racist? Did something traumatic happen to them in their past? Did their bigot parents raise them that way? Do they have really old parents who were around during the civil rights movement and haven’t changed their views and so their child is left in ignorance as well? Did they grow up in a town only filled with their own race? These are questions we have to ask ourselves about people we just meet and the reasons why they act the way they are.
My best friend Sars, for instance, has moved around her entire life. Plane rides are like an excuse to get your head in the clouds, and people watch (for ridiculous photos: sarahdionphotography.com) in airports for her. She loves the thrill of packing her belongings and jet-setting off with her new fiance through severe winter terrain, wearing only the clothes on her back (and a few pairs of underwear) and his love on her arms. She isn’t scarred of bomb-threats at college since there were often threats of them at her local mall in the Phillipines and on Sunday’s she used to buy handfuls of McDonald’s and hand them out to children who were begging in the street. These are things she’s used too. So when she told me that she’s dropping out of school, moving to NZ, and never looking back for love…I was unhappy because this is my best friend across the world, but I wasn’t shocked or surprised. This is Sarah, this is what she knows. While I on the other hand, I had to date someone for 3.5 years before I could step foot in his country for longer than two weeks. I was terrified of leaving the home I’ve lived in all my life, and my family who is like a small cult-ish clan of togetherness.
Other strange things I do because of my past: Meeting grandma’s makes me cry and I want to know their entire history because I don’t have grandparents that I can ask these questions of. I also write ridiculous dead-grandmother poetry at least once every few months. I’m a home-body. Now that I know I can travel, I’m better at leaving home and trolloping into the Great Expanse, but before my six months in Australia, you wouldn’t have caught me dead away from my home base.
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Tonight when I walked with my mother, in her cute motherly capri’s, we joked about women we know who have, “gone off the slut deep-end.” This is judgmental, I already know, but there’s a point to my story. Recently, a girl she knew was in a relationship with a married man. The girl had no clue, and later discovers that this man took her virginity two days after he married his now-wife who is pregnant with his child. So, she finds out, big drama, much like Cheaters on television. Then, she meets another guy a few months later. This man progresses to send her naked photos before ever taking her on a real-I-pay-for-that-plate-of-food date, and their first “date” they have sex three times. I’m not judging her because she’s a super sweet girl, but it’s safe to say she had sex with the new guy because of her crooked and broken-hearted past. She was mistreated, she’s looking for love in the small corners of an apartment, with a guy who claims to have “a great movie collection” and produces pictures of his penal region on cue.
I think this story (and my harsh judgment of her based on my Catholic-upbringing) really high-lights how people think. I think it’s unfair to say you don’t care about people’s pasts, because, how can you love the complete person without knowing all they’ve grown through, and what they learned from it, and how they coped and if they came out stronger, or different, or if they are still stuck in that rivet like a hoarder.
Just a note: I usually say harsh “slut” comments in a joking manner. I talk about my own family that way occasionally and even myself. It’s not meant to be a hurting term by any means, even though it probably hurts a few people. And it’s unfair for me to label you a slut without knowing your past, but us women do that kind of thing all the time. (Which doesn’t make it okay, I’m just trying desperately not to come off like a horrible human being).
Why is it that us Lady-VaGaGa-carriers can’t all be on team-vagina and support one another, and support that some days other girls look hotter than we do in our sweat-pants and greasy, baby-powder-smothered hair? I guess that goes back to survival instinct, but just a few times it would be nice if women stuck up for each other rather than tore each other down for dressing a certain way, or liking sex, or having sex on a first date. (Hypocritical of me? maybe. Do I still wish it were true? yes).
So, that’s my rant for today.
The next person who tells me they don’t care about their significant other’s past is lying to themselves, and to the person they love. Because anyone you love, you want to know every gory detail of their past (even if it means they swan-dove into the slut-deep-end and treaded water for years).