Angels and demons

"D" is finishing up his work travels and is on his way back to town. If you don't remember, he's the guy I've met twice and have a maybe-date with when he resettles to the area. (Maybe-date.... What movie is that from? Help me out, girls.) While part of me is excited, part of me is nervous, and part of me knows that with the little bit I know about him it's silly to be either one, a larger part of me is just hoping that I don't end up behind the glass case.

One of my gay boys, my mutual friend to D, assured me that I'm awesome and that things will work out the way they're supposed to. While this is totally reassuring (and while I know he's right about the latter part of his statement), it's not self-esteem that I lack. What I doubt is how D, or the next guy, will react to their impression of my awesomeness.

Most guys beam at me, tell me over and over again how great I am, not because I want them to, but just because it comes gushing from their lips. They expouse my sweetness, my hotness, and my (at the time bad) novel which they put behind a glass case with their special 19th century hard cover classics (which they then study in grad-level literature). They tell professors that I am their favorite contemporary author when questioned in class. They exclaim over my perfect curls, my perfect teeth, my perfect puffy lips, and my great butt. Butttttt, they don't want to date me.

Now, this probably has nothing to do with fibromyalgia. I've attributed it mostly to being a black girl who loves to date white guys and the knowledge that white guys may not always want to date me. I also attribute it to the fact that a majority of my love interests end up being gay, and to frustratingly being labeled the "nice girl" like Tenley on the last Bachelor. (Yes, I watch too much reality TV). "You're perfect," Jake professed to the runner up for the engagement ring, "but there's something missing." "Something" being the daring younger woman who was the professed mean girl of the house. Aside from Gia who opened up too late, I, contrary to popular opinion, did find Vienna to be the best match for Jake. From the couple seasons I've seen, Bachelors usually go for the ones they feel they should like instead of the ones they most want to be with, so I applaud Jake for his choice. But, despite my rooting for Vienna, I cry for Tenley because I know exactly how she feels, and the frustration of Jake feeling she was too "good" for him. It's hard to be considered perfect when you're the one who gets passed by. Tenley shakes her head at Jake's compliment, not wanting to be labeled as something so intangible. Perfect can be isolating, perfect can be frustrating. Perfect can put you behind a glass case.

I do wonder, however, if having fibromyalgia is going make me seem even more perfect (read unattainable) than I did before. Friends and family constantly applaud me on my industriousness and lightheartedness in the face of illness. "I don't know if I could be as strong as you," they say. They think they would be less angelic, and as we all know, angels don't consort with humans. "Tragic mulattas" are always described as angelic as well, as I am realizing in my study of the genre, and sweet and tough straight girls are always angels to the gay men who adore them. While I love being adored and I love the men who adore me, maybe D, as a straight, Asian man who I assume doesn't read 19th century classics, will see me as the human that I am and "open my pages." Sorry, couldn't resist. ;)