Singled Out: The Not-So Special Lesbian

I've come to the terms with the shocking fact that I am not as particularly unique a human being as I thought I extraordinarily was. While this unexpected news was at first tremendously disturbing to me, I have at last psychologically overcome this unmanageable upset. Well ok, my super sexy therapist made me do it. Supposedly for my own mental peace and serenity --it was a necessary evil.

So now, the thought of it does not trouble me as much anymore. I've thoroughly grasped the unimaginable reality that if I am able to do something outstanding - whether absurdly retarded or admirably commendable - then chances are someone else, somewhere else is doing it as well.

However, where my modest opinion of myself adamantly differs is when I am forced to believe that whatever not-so-unique thing I do is not absolutely special. It's not what I do but how I do it that has literally and figuratively made me "SPECIAL."

You can imagine my astonishment when I recently found out that some of my friends have actually impressively excelled at demonstrating even more special virtues than I - specifically in the desperate hours of the "my relationship is completely falling apart but I'd rather play the denial card and make a total fool of myself to pathetically try to save it" department.

And it all bubbled to the surface a few weeks ago when my lady friends and I convened one evening for a casual dinner at our habitual West Hollywood hangout.
I don't even know how our dinner suddenly morphed into an all-out confessional, but it did. And along with it came a complimentary desert that I never ordered in the first: a big fat slap on my face! These women were on a roll. The stories inexhaustibly kept pouring out of their mouths -- each more absurd and more insane than the next.

Admittedly upset at the fact that some of their tales were superseding in weighing my own exuberant "biggest loser" prowess on the scale of imbecility and idiocrasy, I was for sure convinced that some of them were making the shit up for the sake of sounding interesting - not so much! Apparently my friends can be as much psycho bitches (if not more) as I've proven I can, am and most likely will always be.

What made my "based on a true story" anecdote stand out was that I simply had never before heard of anyone go to the same despairing extent as I went through to re-spark the obviously fading flame from my then indifferent girlfriend. Let's just say that I was no longer standing on the edge of sanity but had irrecoverably crossed over to the other side, with both feet firmly stepping full force into deliria land.

For some odd reasons, after a few intense months dating said girlfriend - let's call her Tyler- she started to exude subtle behavioral signs of disinterest. The symptoms were quite mundanely basic: she wouldn't return my calls; would disappear for hours without an explanation and was not as readily available to spend time with me as in the commencement of our "she's THE one" story.

Granted, I chose to totally ignore the hints she was perceptibly throwing at me and conveniently elected to not see what the reality really was. And because I was unequivocally persuaded that it was impossible for anyone to stop loving me, I reasoned that Tyler had a blindness problem. Obviously, she needed help to see that, despite her belief, she was really into me.

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