So on to another point.
The few people who know me really well know that I half-joke about a sort of rule I have. A rule that says that if you are a female friend of mine who enters into a new long-term relationship, I will not talk to you for roughly three weeks while you get all the euphoria out of your system. Not a personal slight against you, but for the longest time I would respond by either taking an AVGN-style diarrhea dump all over your parade, or being rapidly driven to tears, so it would be better for all involved if I just stayed out of it until I could handle it a bit better.
This is coming up again as one friend of mine, who also had the double whammy of being someone I was interested in at one point, just found a boyfriend, and the majority of her Facebook status updates are talking about how much she loves him and how he's the greatest guy alive and all that. I'm not as bothered by it as I used to be, partially because I've gotten older, wiser, and generally more apathetic towards life than I used to be, and also because unlike before, I've actually gone on a few dates with a few different women and no longer believe that I'm doomed to be alone for the rest of my life.
In any case, amidst the painful remembrances that triggered the post I would have been making now had I not been distracted by happier things was a truth that I hadn't thought of until now, and when I remembered it, it hit me like a Terry Funk left hand.
The worst offender about the new-relationship euphoria was not any woman I know. It was me. I offended enough that, had I been like this now and for as long as I had been, I'd have dropped myself as a friend. I dropped other girls as friends for far less.
I also know -why- I was such an offender. It wasn't really my first relationship (though I was pretty offensive for a while then as well), but it was by far the best at the time. One I was serious about. What it amounted to was basically finally having a genuine love, or at least genuine largest crush ever, actually requited. This was me just shy of twenty-one, and my experiences before that were ... well, few and mostly crap with maybe one or two bright spots. Beyond that, a semi-little-known fact about me is that for the longest time, my only ambition in life was to be married. I see nothing wrong whatsoever with being a house-husband, and in some cases (like being there to raise my children) would actually prefer it.
The short version is that the relationship was the Biggest Deal Ever to me. Back then I had no real brain-to-blog filter, so naturally I gushed and gushed and gushed. Pretty much the entirety of the four months we were together, and plenty before that since we were close long before we were official.
So why then, did I become someone who grew to despise that very thing in other female friends? Well, it's obvious to say that the rather ... spectacular way the relationship ended had a lot to do with it. Or the other things that happened as a result, which deprived me of almost the entirety of my support network. Or her semi-effortlessly moving on while I was still stuck. Or the fact that it reminded me painfully of what in many ways is still the best times of my life, with a woman who still has yet to really be replaced after almost seven years and in some ways will never be replaced, and led me to torture myself in anguish over what could have been? Fact is, I could sit here and come up with a lot of reasons for it, and they'd all be understandable.
It doesn't mean that it's not dumb of me despise it.
The girl who just found a boyfriend? I know why -she's- gushing. She's been just about as unlucky in love as I have been, and our last relationships ended on similar notes, and just a couple of months before she hooked up with this guy ... even a couple of -days- before she was, she too was lamenting her lot in life and depressed over the possibility that she was going to be alone forever. Another friend who gushed? It was her first boyfriend, and she too was worried about being alone. Another still found someone with so much common ground that she didn't think it was possible, and now they're happily married after a very long engagement. Yet another had been working to overcome some very hefty body and esteem issues and saw her boy as proof positive she had risen above what she once was.
The point is, they all had reasons to be euphoric, and none of them were to rub things in my face.
Does it still bug me? Even though I myself am now approaching a point where I may have cause to be euphoric myself? Yes, a little. I suspect it always will up until things finally come full circle and I can close the book on that chapter of my life, content that I have ceased to be a character in that story. Until the good things from the past are not the best, but are simply among the best.
I just know that before I condemn someone for being too happy about it, I should remember that they're happy for a reason, and that seven years ago, I was in their shoes, so I should only condemn them as I would condemn myself.
Then again, considering how hard I condemn myself sometimes, I ought to let world off a little easier.