othergirl syndrome

i'm a whiney, simpering waif when i'm stressed (mind you, that's the only time i'll EVER be waifish).
excuse that last trainwreck of a post. i think i have romanticized my dark, morose youth due to the fact that, while i was pitiful, i was at least prolific. i wrote like a fiend. it's easy to slip into old patterns when you feel overwhelmed.
i think it's because of my othergirl fascination.
i've always found myself transfixed by the portrayals of decidedly un-erica types. girls on film who bore some scant resemblance to me, physically or emotionally, who i watched with uneasy pleasure, feeling less alone.
first it was angela chase. we were both bookish sensitive girls who tried to stand out by dying our hair flaming red. we both had the tendency to adopt boys like stray kittens with the dim hope that we'd make them gentle, less feral. i had a few jordan catalanos, i have to admit. we'd both slam our doors and cry while listening to the cure. we were both trying to figure out who in the hell we were.
next, it was lelaina pierce. maybe it was just because i wanted to be winona ryder & had a devastating crush on ethan hawke. the whole unrequited love thing spoke to me in volumes and i always thought i'd find a beautiful, poetic, brilliant boy who didn't love me back. he would then realize just how spectacular my wit was and would come running back to me. cue U2 song.
next up, lucy. "stealing beauty"- just wanted to spend my summer in italy, writing, falling in love. maybe it was liv tyler's pout that got me. or the soundtrack. a fleeting infatuation... maybe i just longed for purity, innocence... her effortless charm...
the next one is typical- carrie bradshaw. cute quirky writer who always fell for the wrong men. funny, to now realize one of her boyfriends is my current screencrush. justin theroux. ah, tall, dark, thin, & tortured. just my type. ALWAYS my type. i just didn't have the insane shoe obsession- or the great apartment, come to think of it...
finally, and most recently, clementine krucynski. ah, clem. beautiful, fucked up clem. i'm obsessed with "eternal sunshine of the spotless mind." appallingly so, lamentably so. i cry like a baby every time i watch it and quote it haphazardly, without thinking. maybe it's because i secretly wish i was kate winslet, maybe it's because i'm hopeless romantic realist- part of me is transfixed by the perils of unrequited love, yet i always seem to believe things should work out. i find myself embarassed for clem, for her rampant drinking and "you know me- i'm impulsive"ness, yet love her nevertheless.
i bear little resemblance to all these women, yet find some odd comfort in relating to them.
maybe it's a sick twist on my long-abandoned theater life. i long to crawl into someone else's skin... and revel in the moments when i think someone else might have unwittingly crawled into mine.