Ivy...the unqualified

I was ending off a rather classy night of getting trashed and grinding on strangers at The Apartment...by grabbing a classy meal consisting of a McDonald's snack wrap and small fry (because I am health conscious). 3 of my shamefully fun gf's and I were playing "never have I ever" over our 4,000 calorie meals and diet cokes, when we started talking about my blog.

Two skinny white guys at the table next to us overheard, and asked...pray tell, what qualifies you to do this? Well uh..."I've dated a lot. And I have a good sense of humor about it?" They were understandably unimpressed. Any great loves? Any lurid, forbidden romances? Any really crazy psycho boyfriends? No? How about waking up naked in alleys?

Oh uh...no, guys. I guess I haven't actually done anything special or significant in terms of relationships. I went home bummed and full of chicken strip and tortilla.  But after some mulling over, and talks with my tipsy friends I realized...what gives me the right to write is the fact that I am unextraordinary!

I've been dicked over in every way, by every possible kind of guy. In addition, I've dicked over every guy, in any possible way. I screw up so incredibly much, that my experience is applicable to everyone: Guys, not to brag, but I am the literary myth. I am the every woman (If this post starts to get academic and lofty, it's because I am baked and listening to the White Stripes).

In the most ancient form of literature, The Epic of Gilgamesh, Gilgamesh experiences a struggle of self discovery. Since this is such a universal struggle, Gilgamesh is considered the "every man"; that is, he experiences the same internal struggle which every man does.

There you go. Every woman. I am facing the absolute struggle of every woman; to find pure self love, and to reconcile that with love with someone else. Is it possible? Will it lead to any sort of personal growth? Can it be symbolized by different forms of water and depictions of serpents? (Any lit nerds out there? No? Shit.)

So there you go, boy in McDonald's. I have not lived The Notebook or American Psycho, but here you go:

I get booty called and hate it

I booty call people and love it

I cheated cause I was bored

I cheated cause I was scared

I was denied by someone I loved

I was denied by someone I lusted

I was hurt by someone I trusted

I hurt someone who trusted me

I've felt abandoned

I've felt fat/feel fat

And so on. And so forth. And so much self deprecation I can take before I ACTUALLY hate myself, and not just in the funny way. Well there you go. Ivy: Extraordinary at being unextraordinary. 

Making all the same mistakes twice or thrice,

Ivy