I will now tell you about freelance, unconventional nunnery. It’s an idea that was birthed after witnessing too many boys gone bad. I was telling a co-worker about it and he pointed out that as an acronym, Freelance Unconventional Nun spells F.U.N. Ironic.
A couple weeks ago my friend Josh asked me what the Freelance, Unconventional Nun (FUN) was. I told him that it “basically means I’m bitter.” I don’t like this reality, but it’s true. The term was coined at the beginning of the year and has been a collaboration effort.
It started with a boy that shall remain nameless whom I was involved with for a few months when it ended quite bitterly. In the wake of this I got lost in the flood that is my string of “relationship-like experiences.” Thinking back over the last few years and contemplating the possibility of becoming a lesbian, I came to the realization that my only real option was to become a nun.
During our homemade happy hour I announced to Nicole that I was becoming a nun. She then presented me with the idea of being “unconventional” which allows me to avoid the vows of celibacy and poverty if I want to (it changes daily). Later that week I was telling Paula at work about my unconventional Nun-hood and how it was all on my own terms. She responded with “Oh, so you’re freelance.” So you see, while F.U.N. is my current identity the credit belongs to many.
I’ve had a string of what I like to call “relationship-like” experiences. All of whose identities will be protected even if I don’t want to. I’m a girl who likes boys, always have and I think I always will. I have a lot of friends who are girls who also like boys. So we find these boys…somewhere. Things are fun. Relationships build, and then things go awry. This seems to be the normal cycle of single men/women relationships.
I think I’ll start with myself (while trying to protect identities). There was a time in my life when I lived in what some would call a commune. Through our community came and went a man who caught my eye (let it be noted that I will now mash a few men into one). We spent a lot of time together, maybe too much. He displayed many of the characteristics of a gentleman that would be distracting to me, but we were living in this environment that was not conducive to normal romantic relationships. Over the course of many months unsaid feelings grew too strong. Finally the day came when (in usually an embarrassing manner) I divulged my feelings. Maybe I wrote a letter or brought it up during a long car ride so neither of us could escape. The result was often the same: In an effort to save the little bit of face I had left, I still never told the full truth. Usually I was in some sort of second place, but at least I was pretty and a great friend. Ouch. Let me tell you the problem with this story. The problem is that all these things that were happening went un-mentioned and un-validated. In the end everything was just left ambiguously hanging for us all to ignore. I moved and moved on.
So, now I live in Seattle. I’m surrounded by girls, which I reckon is pretty good. It can be more dramatic but with fewer love triangles. There will always be the ambiguous relationships that hang over our heads, slightly mess with our hearts and lead to a few tears. However, this year my friends and I have witnessed some situations that have left us all a little catatonic.
I will start with Laura’s story. She has given me permission to use names. His name was Chris Conners, at least that’s what he said. He was a good boy, led the church youth group, lived in a community of men and snowboarded (supposedly). He gave Laura great presents like backpacks and Chacos and a trip to New York which were all paid for with the money he stole from her and wicked web of lies he weaved over the course two months. I kid you not folks. Turns out upon further investigation he was a pathological liar.
Ok, and then there are more great stories, which, for their own good I will fabricate details so as to get across the ridiculousness of them without breaking trust or faces. Let’s see, there is the boy who can’t make up his mind so he keeps all the ladies around for “options”. There is the man who just decides that he wants to beat his wife and leave. There is the ex-lover stalking. How about “I don’t want to hold hands with you in public, but why don’t you spend the night.” There is the guys who awkwardly pauses after seeing someone’s facebook photo because her personality is apparently lost in the shadows. Should have had a better photographer. There is the emotional whore. There are the ones who like the “young ones,” and the ones who ignore her until he needs something.
It has been a long year for my friends and I. Its easy to joke about it, laughing is better than crying right? We have seen many situations play out before us, sometimes involving us; things that have left us wondering whether this love thing is real, whether we’ll ever find someone we can enjoy and be broken with and have the opportunity to forgive in the moment rather than the explosions and pain that are rooted to deep to ever rectify. Some of us are wondering if any of it is even worth it considering the divorce rate.
I’ve just painted a not so pretty picture of men but let me take a minute to clarify that women aren’t out of the clear either. I myself am one of the most emotional people I know. People like me read into things and often put too much weight on things. It often feels like we hurt ourselves in this sad, masochistic way, but who is responsible for the ambiguous interactions and words that leave us wondering what the hell that could have meant? And what happens when someone finally wakes up and decides that all the things we were trying so hard to ignore have affected us? What happens to those of us who find ourselves hurt by both jerks and great men alike because we were simply hoping for something good? My little bit of experience tells me that men often don’t think enough and women think too much. Women are taught to sit quietly and be pursued, to not speak up. For me, I usually don’t want to scare him off. I seem to forget that if he is scared off, then he probably wasn’t as strong as I deserve anyway. Either way, we don’t call men out when they are messing with our heads and hearts whether they are aware or not.
The Freelance Unconventional Nun is one part cynical, one part bitter, one part wounded. The first two sometimes are only there to camouflage the third. But there are moments that can still be F.U.N. …to be continued
