Monthly Archives: January 2000

The Romantic Cynic

I know a girl that can fall in love faster than I can decide what I want on a pizza. Of course, then there are the people that have dated longer than it would take me to secure financing, scout a location, select a contractor, build a store front, obtain proper licensing, hire a staff, contract vendors and suppliers, promote a grand opening, have a grand opening, heat up the oven, decide what I want on my pizza, and bake it in my very own pizzeria. What is the deal with this? The last time I checked the whole premise behind dating is to search out the person you are going to marry. If you go on a date and you just know that they are not the one for you; why go on a second date? On the other hand, if they are good enough to have dated for the last decade; what’s the hold up? Get married, for crying out loud. The money you save in rent alone will make it worth your while!

There are pros and cons to everything. Living alone, or shall I say, without a significant other, is no exception. If I had to name the top three advantages and disadvantages they would be as follows:
1) You can eat cookies, crackers, or even sushi in bed no matter how crispy, flaky or crumbly and nobody says a word about it!
2) You can drink your beverage of choice right out of the container and pop it back into the fridge without a second thought.
3) You get to sleep in that big, old bed all by yourself.
1) It is ALWAYS your turn to take out the garbage.
2) When you feel bad you have to get out of bed and fix your own glass of ginger ale (not to mention go to the store and buy it).
3) You have to sleep in that big, old bed all by yourself.

You know how you watch a great movie where the guy gets the girl and everything ends up happily ever after, and you turn to your friend and say, “Nothing like this happens in real life.” Why is that, I wonder? Well, first of all when the main character jumps on a plane to go see a guy she hardly knows but knows she can hardly be without, her best friend is always in the terminal yelling, “Good luck! Call me!” The reason this never happens in real life is people are too caught up in lawsuits and responsibility to let their hair down and yell “Good luck! Call me!” Instead they are saying, “Have you considered the possible outcome of this course of action and weighed the pros and cons adequately as to insure prevention of possible harm to ego or emotion?” Well, I think it’s about time for a best friend to come to the plate and yell, “Good luck, damn it! If you’re not having too much fun to remember I exist, call me!” And if the world falls apart on the flight home, then buck up, move on, and have a good excuse to eat a gallon of Rocky Road. Because if you’re going to wind up miserable and alone in the end anyway, you might as well have a hell of a time getting there!

I may be a cynic, but I’m a romantic cynic. I may think that I am meant to be alone and that no one will ever want to love me forever, but on the off chance someone does, I just know he is going to totally sweep me off my feet. He doesn’t have to be a knight in shinning armor. After all, armor would be cumbersome and interfere with the actual sweeping portion of the story. He can ride a horse if he wants, but that isn’t necessary either. But it’s all or nothing. No wishy-washy, half commitment is acceptable. It will only take his smile to melt me. A tear on his cheek will break my heart in half. His success is my joy. His happiness is my goal. His contentment is my pleasure. Like I said, that sort of thing probably doesn’t exist, but wouldn’t it be cool if it did?

Before women are women they are little girls. Although they grow up and become sometimes totally different people, they still cling to the dreams of their childhood. When I was a child, all I ever wanted for Christmas was Love’s Baby Soft perfume. I dreamed of growing up and being like my parents. I could never picture a career or a face or a place or a time, I just knew that I was meant to be happy, and there was someone out there who was meant to share my happiness. At nine, it was a man who would bake cookies. At thirteen, it was a man that could kiss. And I mean REALLY kiss. At seventeen, it was a man who was rich, so I could just skip college, because who wants to study? At twenty-one, it was a man who was exciting. One who had lived life and knew what he wanted. One who possessed an element of danger and adventure. One who was sexually charged and full of confidence. At twenty-five, it was a man who thought I was wonderful, who couldn’t live without me. Now, my opinion has changed yet again. Although I’m starting to think I had it right at nine, that all I really need is a man who will bake cookies, what I long for is simple. I want a man who will love me even though I’m stubborn and impatient and demanding. I want a man that will love my kids as if they are his own. I want a man who wants to take care of me even though I don’t need him to, one who will wrap his arms around me and tell me that I’m safe, that as long as I’m in his arms, nothing can touch me. And if he’s really fabulous, he’ll surprise me with a bottle of Love’s Baby Soft. But what charm I have, fades quickly, and I have a hard time holding on to the dream. Although my fingers are slipping and it’s difficult to grasp the vision of this happiness, it is still with me. I refuse to totally let go. I think there really is someone out there for me. Of course, he’s probably locked up in a padded room somewhere, but hey, he’s breathing so there is still hope!