How about stalking through the woods? That is creepy AND fun!
Anonymous
You’re creeping me out, I like it.
Those who can’t fall in love, make blueberry muffins.
I started making the batter for blueberry muffins around ten thirty tonight, and I was creaming butter and sifting flour (as well as destroying a perfectly clean kitchen while everyone else was asleep) I found myself humming a line from one of my favorite Dessa songs. The song itself is called “Seamstress” and the line goes something like this:
“To fix a bird, you buy a cage. You fix a man, oh, you fix a man, and he flies away.”
About a week ago, I quoted that line for the first time to a friend who was seeking advice in the romance department. So I think it’s becoming apparent that this quote means something to me. I’m not quite sure what yet, but I think I have the gist of it.
At work a few nights ago, I made a joke to one of my co-workers and said that my role as a woman was to either a) help a guy get over the demise of a long-term relationship (and then ultimately leave me behind) or b) push the guy back into a relationship with someone that wasn’t quite over for either of them. In complete fairness, my experience with men has been just what I described. I’ve merely been a means to some other end that doesn’t include me or lots of kissing ( involving me). But here’s the thing, I’m not upset by this realization.
So hey, falling in love, it’s been great. We’ve had our ups and downs, I’ve sworn I’d stop developing crushes on people who send me winky faces through texts. But I think there’s a certain kind of pleasure that comes along with wanting someone who clearly doesn’t want you in return.
I feel like I’ve said that a million times before.
For some reason, I find myself attracted to guys who have baggage. Not like, Luis Vuitton luggage (sadly) or even any other relatively expensive baggage. The worst kind of baggage-unfinished love. Don’t get me wrong, I have the utmost respect for people who can pick up the pieces of a shattered relationship and tape them back together in a way that rivals the original masterpiece. Those kinds of people are a beacon of light and hope for the ordinary people who really just want someone to cuddle with, because what they show us is that maybe, if we screen carefully enough, we might end up with a cuddle buddy who’ll be there in the morning.
That’s what’s keeping me going. I have a lot of problems with myself: I know I’m average looking (it doesn’t bother me anymore) and I know that there are more than a handful of people out there who are more qualified than I, know that I’m difficult and I get grumpy late at night. I get jealous of my best friend because she’s got a more rocking body than me and boys always want her. I’m jealous of my sister because she has the sex no one wants to have with me. I’m jealous of my brother because even though he smells weird, he’s had more girlfriends (and more kissing, cuddling and sex) than I’ve had teachers. But I’m not jealous of my parents. Wonder why? Because I can’t make myself jealous of them. I’m not jealous, I’m admiring. They fight like nothing I’ve ever seen, and twenty minutes later my dad is rubbing my mom’s feet and she’s helping him with workplace problems. They go to sleep together at night, and they post hearts and other gag-worthy things on each other’s facebook walls. They’ve been in love for twenty years. They’ll be in love for twenty, thirty or forty more.
When my blueberry muffins were done, I sat down on my couch with a cup of chamomile tea and cuddled with my dog (I know technically this should say “Cat” since those are the animals of choice for most single women) and I thought of all the reasons I should give up on finding love. The list looked something like this:
- Getting your heart broken sucks
- I look like a twelve year old and men don’t (legally) like twelve year olds
- Getting your heart broken sucks
- What if it doesn’t work out?
- What if you fall out of love?
- Does that mean I have to make myself loveable?
- Getting your heart broken sucks
- I’ll probably have to share my coffee if we wake up together
But then, in the spirit of fair play, I made another list. I’m sure you can imagine what this one is about, but in case you can’t, here’s what I came up with as reasons why I should continue looking for love:
- Having someone around who always wants to kiss you is rad
- Holding hands in public is totally adorable and you know it
- My grandmother will stop asking if I’m lesbian (not that there’s anything wrong with that!)
- I can stop buying my own sweatshirts to keep me warm
- Apparently being in love makes you look pretty and shit
- I could finally have sex (since I made that stupid rule in the first place)
- It’d be totally cool to be in love and stuff
I guess it isn’t really a matter of which list is greater, or which list has the best components. This is about me finding the inner strength to stop saying that love is bullshit, because it really isn’t. There will be someone out there who wants me. Along the way, I could give my heart, time and patience to someone (or many people) who don’t deserve it, or who don’t do with it what needs to be done. But I’m not going to give up, because giving up is for pansies and I refuse to be a pansy. And maybe if I’m lucky, I’ll find someone who doesn’t mind if I want to be a pansy every so often. And maybe if they’re lucky, I’ll share my coffee with them.
