Right now I'm sitting in America's Cup on Cookman Avenue, ostensibly to work on my novel's rewrite. Trust me, I wanted to. But there are so many things on my mind that I'm not in any position to do that right now. And since writing a blog post helps clear my mind, I figured I'd do that instead.
Last weekend was the Mayor's Ball, the premier event of the year. Or so they told me before I purchased a ticket and attended. I won't say that it was an awful time. And I'm glad that I attended, if for nothing else but to say that I tried it out once. I'm not sure if I'll go again, though.
I had some friends who were there and had a good time hanging out with them. I sat at the last table in the back and couldn't hear one damn thing they said on stage. But that may have been a good thing, who knows. I was supposed to sit a lot closer to the stage, as a friend of mine told me prior to the event that I could sit at his table. But I guess it was an oversight, because when it came time for dinner, his table was surprisingly full. And there were a couple of people sitting there that I'm sure wouldn't have wanted to break bread with me. Sorry ... I may be a lot of things, but kiss-ass is not one of them. If I'm not too fond of you, trust me, you'll know it.
In any case, I won't say that he "chose" to not re-issue the invitation; I'll give him the benefit of the doubt and just say he forgot that he offered in the first place. But that's water under the bridge.
I saw the photos from the event, and it seems the mayor took photos with a majority of the tables. Funny, he never made it back to my table. I'm not complaining, because I really didn't want to be in any of those photos. I don't want anyone smiling in my face when they haven't even taken one minute to get to know me.
The best part of the night was the faux gambling and cigar smoking. I haven't smoked a cigar in a few years, and it was good to smoke one with a few friends. Laughing and joking with a few friends that night was the best part of the night.
I was joking prior to the ball that I was destined to meet my Prince Charming and that I was Cindefella. Albiet humorous, there was seriousness to my joking. Deep down, I was hoping that my prince would be at the ball and would sweep me off my feet. Stupid, huh?
That sort of thing doesn't happen in real life - only in fairytales and romantic chick flicks.
But sitting in the coffeehouse today, I saw the sweetest thing. Two elderly gentlemen were walking up Cookman Avenue holding hands. They must have been over 60 years old, I'd assume. But it was so good to see it. That's what I thought at first. Then I got a bit saddened. I wasn't sad because they were holding hands. I was sad because it is becoming a lot clearer to me that there is a strong possibility that I will never have a man with me, walking up the street and holding my hand so lovingly.
Perhaps it will never happen to me because romantically, I'm somewhat closed off. I don't mean to be, but sometimes it's part of my makeup. I grew up in a romance-less household, as my parents were only married in name. My mother was very miserable being married; I believe she only stayed married to my father because of her children.
I'd found out a long time ago that my mother wasn't intending to have any more children, and in her words, "I wasn't supposed to be born." She didn't mean it as harsh as it sounds, but her words still ring in my mind, sometimes horribly so. She would have been long gone if she wouldn't have had me and was stuck being in a marriage with no passion or romance.
Today that still breaks my heart. Because of that, I've been struggling so hard to make sure I found love and romance with a man. Unfortunately for me, I was so desperate to make sure it happened that I was willing to sacrifice my self-respect for the "loving" arms of men who weren't totally into me.
I'm getting a bit upset with myself, so I'm going to end this post right now and pick it up tomorrow. So stay tuned for part 2 ...
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