Self destruct

In our softball league, we pick a guy and girl mvp for each game and for each team. The girl and guy who are given the most votes by the end of the season are named league mvps. The standings are seriously skewed as some teams will give the mvp to not the girl who played the best, but the girl who made one flukey catch.

Today it was brought to my attention by my teammate and co-worker that if I got mvp this game, I could win the award or tie for it. Then she informed me that I was s.o.l because she was going to get it. I was tied with two other girls with 5 votes. My coworker had 3.

The game was against the strongest team in the league. And it was a great game--I hit a healthy and unprecented 3 for 4 with a handful of RBIs, helping keep it a tight game against the league leaders. And only one person tried stealing a base on their team; I gunned him down but he evaded the tag and was safe. The aforementioned coworker had a missed grounder glance off the side of her neck and sat out half the game. She milked the injury, chatting up all the guys on the other team who came over to ask her if she was okay, and regaling them with stories of other times she'd been hit by a ball.

And of course, she got mvp.

I feel I played my best game of the season, and she got mvp. And then she walked around like she deserved it. Did it totally piss me off? Yes.

Did I get all angry and drive like a cheetah on 'roids? Yes.

In her position, would I have acted the same? In some ways. I would have gone in and played again and enjoyed the attention. And if I got mvp I'd feel that was the easiest way to get one. It totally irritated the fuck out of me the way she was acting, yet I would have acted similarly (i.e. without the flirting).

Is it no wonder I have no girl friends? I can't stand them. Guys, to me, are straight up and real. Girls are flirty, conniving, back-stabbing weasels. And I count myself one of them.

So it's true: I don't like myself.

And that's bad. Lost_boy emailed me recently about the situation of two weekends ago. In a nutshell, while drunk and inadvertently stoned I was hit on by a Kiwi and found myself attracted to him. I put Tom through 3 days of hell till I saw the Kiwi again as myself and felt no attraction.

Here's an excerpt from his email:

Remember to ALWAYS look out for NUMERO UNO, you are the most important person you will ever meet. Until you are and if you are happy with yourself, you cannot be happy with anyone else. Sadly a great percentage of the western civilization understands this.

Once you achieve this oneness in and of yourself, you can and will glide accross the faces and half hidden hearts of throngs of potential suitors identifying with a precursory glance that they are far less than adequate for your most rudimentary needs.

So, follow your heart and analyze with your head later. You will lead a passionate life filled with various and exciting events that will combine to define who you are. Forgoing any opportunity to engage passion at any level for the sake of some one else's feelings will only lead to resentment for that person resulting in unhappiness and wonder at what "might have been."

Unto that, NEVER regret ANYTHING you have done. For to do so is to deny who you are. It is your sum of experiences and resulting thoughts that determine the profile of your personality. Even the most embarrassing, hideous or profoundly stupid things you have done are a part of you. As long as you have taken something positive from those experiences, learned of the mistakes and moved forward you have succeeded in navigating this treacherous strait we call LIFE.

And then there's Grandma Moses:

Life is what you make it. Always has been. Always will be.

Truer words were never said, which could lead me into my interpretation of what is fundamentally wrong with the Christian church. But I'll be brief: we are in charge of our own lives. It is up to each individual to decide whether he is happy or not. It is not up to a god.

I am not happy. So I'm not doing a very good job with my life. I'm making a bit of a mess of it, actually. I'm a shy, anti-social tomboy with a sex-fiend streak. I don't like people who remind me of me. And that's sad.