Alpha.
I used to feel bad for Buddy Holly Danger Cat, because Otis, our old dog, basically wanted to eat him. It was a tough household to live in, trying to keep them separated all the time. It hadn’t always been like this. As a puppy, Otis got beaten up by a different cat, and so had a certain respect (Read: fear) of Buddy Holly for much of his life. But then something changed. I don’t know what happened. Otis got ahold of this website or something, because two years down the road, he was lunging and barking at our cat like he was A-number one alpha king. And Buddy Holly stopped standing his ground, and just ran like hell under the nearest piece of furniture. This led me to think: Ah, there are no absolutes in the pet-world: Where once I felt sorry for Otis, who cowered while the cat guarded a doorway, casually sharpening his claws, my sympathy now lay with Buddy Holly, who seemed to lose one life like those old Warner Brothers cartoons every time the dog rushed him.
Last night, I was watching “Aqua Teen Hunger Force” with a friend, and I think I said, “Aww,” or something when this constantly trod-upon character, Meatwad, got tortured yet again, by Shake. “Don’t feel sorry for Meatwad!” said my friend. “He would be just as mean if he were smarter!”
All of this, plus things I’ve been observing lately as I’ve stuck my big toe tentatively back into that rooty-tooty fresh ‘n fruity world of, yes, dating, just makes me wonder about the whole confidence-thing. I’m convinced that feeling confident is the only thing that matters as far as how satisfied you end up in life, in the end. All right, so there we go, let’s close the whole book on the matter, right? On this blog and on every doubt we’ve ever had, too. Because that’s it and that’s all.
What I’m wondering about lately, though, is how the hell confidence is doled out in the scheme of things, and by what cackling demon. How come I’ve (semi- pseudo-) dated some people who just dazzle me at the outset with their amazing self-confidence and eerie charm, only to later be dropped to the freaking ground when I realize that it’s all bullshit bravado and there ain’t no there, there? How come the people with zero substance seem to be the most proud of themselves? And then of course, how many people have I known who are just fabulously witty and kind and smart and physically attractive, but are convinced they’re losers? And the worst part of it is the self-fulfilling prophecy part. You become who you think you are. Not to say that you can’t change it, but really – only you can change it. I don’t know how. Go ask my dog.
I used to feel bad for Buddy Holly Danger Cat, because Otis, our old dog, basically wanted to eat him. It was a tough household to live in, trying to keep them separated all the time. It hadn’t always been like this. As a puppy, Otis got beaten up by a different cat, and so had a certain respect (Read: fear) of Buddy Holly for much of his life. But then something changed. I don’t know what happened. Otis got ahold of this website or something, because two years down the road, he was lunging and barking at our cat like he was A-number one alpha king. And Buddy Holly stopped standing his ground, and just ran like hell under the nearest piece of furniture. This led me to think: Ah, there are no absolutes in the pet-world: Where once I felt sorry for Otis, who cowered while the cat guarded a doorway, casually sharpening his claws, my sympathy now lay with Buddy Holly, who seemed to lose one life like those old Warner Brothers cartoons every time the dog rushed him.
Last night, I was watching “Aqua Teen Hunger Force” with a friend, and I think I said, “Aww,” or something when this constantly trod-upon character, Meatwad, got tortured yet again, by Shake. “Don’t feel sorry for Meatwad!” said my friend. “He would be just as mean if he were smarter!”
All of this, plus things I’ve been observing lately as I’ve stuck my big toe tentatively back into that rooty-tooty fresh ‘n fruity world of, yes, dating, just makes me wonder about the whole confidence-thing. I’m convinced that feeling confident is the only thing that matters as far as how satisfied you end up in life, in the end. All right, so there we go, let’s close the whole book on the matter, right? On this blog and on every doubt we’ve ever had, too. Because that’s it and that’s all.
What I’m wondering about lately, though, is how the hell confidence is doled out in the scheme of things, and by what cackling demon. How come I’ve (semi- pseudo-) dated some people who just dazzle me at the outset with their amazing self-confidence and eerie charm, only to later be dropped to the freaking ground when I realize that it’s all bullshit bravado and there ain’t no there, there? How come the people with zero substance seem to be the most proud of themselves? And then of course, how many people have I known who are just fabulously witty and kind and smart and physically attractive, but are convinced they’re losers? And the worst part of it is the self-fulfilling prophecy part. You become who you think you are. Not to say that you can’t change it, but really – only you can change it. I don’t know how. Go ask my dog.
posted by Alice at 1:28 PM
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