The Internet

Very, very often, the thought crosses my mind that I should shut down each and every account I have on any and all social networking sites and just... disappear. Not literally, obviously, but virtually. Did you ever notice that the root of many insecurities can be found on the internet? For instance, tonight I went onto facebook to do my nightly, before-bed check. What do I find? That my roommate and his boyfriend (whom I have yet to meet even though my roommate has met his boyfriend's friends and has been dating him for quite some time) went out with a group of people I know. Now, I know this sounds petty, but I can't help but feel a little... hurt.

This is compounded by the fact that this has been happening to me for about a year now. Groups of people I know and am friends with just seem to, I don't know, neglect to remember I exist. I think that's the worst part of it, really. The fact that it doesn't seem to be deliberate, but it's like I just don't exist. I am so sick of not existing it's unbelievable.

This may sound crazy, but I completely blame Los Angeles for this phenomenon. I can safely say that this rarely to never happened to me when I lived in New York. Ok, so, maybe it happened to me when I lived in Wisconsin, but I don't count much of what happened there to be par for the course.

This, of course, just makes me miss New York more and makes me look forward to the visit I have coming up even more. The friends I have there seem, dare I say it, eager to see me. They talk about it and plan for it. They plan things for us to do and ask me to save time for them. They check and recheck dates and take off of work. They claim me for their couches and seem to give a shit that I live and breathe, that I exist.

I know that part of this is my fault, that I deliberately came to Los Angeles and did NOT set down roots because I didn't know how long I would be here. I also know that, even as adults, it matters if you're cool or not, and I'm not. I'm the youngster that comes off as older than even the oldest. I can't help it. It hasn't been a problem in the past. In the past, my friends have even found it endearing, amusing. Here, though? Here, it is, of course, a detriment. And it makes me feel like a failure. Rather, I should say like more of one.

This is about the only time in my life that I have actively looked forward to aging. Someday, when my actual age catches up to my mental age, I think I might stand a chance at being intriguing to people again. And by people, in this case, I mean those that can't be bothered with me now. Someday, they may want to be bothered with me, to get drinks (ah, side note: I don't drink, another detriment, apparently), to visit. Even they may be bothered to make plans and drum up an iota of excitement. Perhaps, when that day comes, I may be able to muster the passive aggressiveness that otherwise seems to elude me. When that day comes, I think that I might choose to not bother with them.

If you can't appreciate me at my lamest, you sure as hell don't deserve me at my best. Bitches.