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Love, Actually
Last night I finished watching Love, Actually, and, well, actually, it made me think. About love.
The idealized love of Hollywood has no appeal to me, because they rarely deal with the trauma of rejection, perserverance is rewarded with getting the girl (no matter how hideous the guy's personality is) or in the case of the girl, realizing the hot male isn't so hot and then she falls for the nice guy (much better, but it's always the girl who realizes the normal, nice person is far more suitable), nobody looks hideous the morning after sex, nobody has bad traits that aren't "endearing" in some manner, and love somehow manages to always conquer all (including having little to no knowledge of the other person's likes or dislikes...or even their language).
Really, Hollywood's depiction of love is so skewed and artificial (and pretty and seductive - really, most women love the idea of a Hugh Grant or a Brad Pitt being hopeless in the romance department, because it balances things out) that it leads one to wonder how on earth the writers' or directors' marriages or relationships could possibly survive if that's their view of how love should be.
(Oddly enough, this was not the rant I intended to write.)
Real love is far different (and oddly enough, the movie did depict several instances that I felt better sufficed as an explanation of true love - Emma Thompson's conflict and strength and willingness to fight in the face of her husband bordering on cheating on her, Liam's devotion to his son, the guy who loves his best friend and knows that no matter how he feels about the best friend's new wife, he has to get over it.
All of those are examples of getting more past the initial desperation and thrill of new love and getting on to lasting love, the kind that involves deeper emotions - emotions like actually liking someone else.
And that would be why I don't date often. I hate the initial front of having someone want me to be something far more exciting than I am (or far less exciting...really, I can't wait for the day when there's a happy balance), or the front he presents in order to impress me. With my friends I've made over the past several years through the internet, it's not been about them being something ideal and spectacular. It's about them having been themselves. And meeting them in person, I've had the confirmation of instant connection, of knowing that my instincts were right and these are people I genuinely get. Instant compatibility if you will. The comfort of no fronts. (Is this a geek thing? I've often wondered.)
Lack of artifice speaks volumes, in friendships and romance. Maybe it's silly of me to not just get over it for the dating scene, since the dating scene in and of itself is artificial (and in order to find someone you have to get past the artificial to the real), but I've gotten used to hitting it off with males and females straight out of the gate. Yeah, there's the perspective of "Why would I want to date someone I wouldn't marry?" that I tend to subscribe to, but there's a reason for it. I work with the idea of, if I can't marry them, at least we'll be friends. And you see the circle that I find myself in.
And to add to the trauma of dating, I often mentally go past all the romance crap and think of the practical. What happens if I date someone and we fall for each other...and he's a neat freak? Can he handle being the Oscar to my Felix? (Or the Felix to my Oscar. Really, I need to clarify someday which one is which.) Can he handle my NASCAR/Superman obsession? Can I handle his Pamela Anderson/college basketball obsession? Will he hate my music? Will I hate his movie likes? Will we be able to put up with each others' weird crap?
I swear, I'm never marrying. I'm going to find a male friend who doesn't want to marry either, we'll occassionally have sex solely so we can have a few kids (hey, I want the kids), and all will be kosher.
*sigh*
Now I'm fighting the urge to go on a Hugh Grant movie marathon and lust after his ass while alternately trying to figure out how anyone thinks that Hugh Grant doesn't get laid, and often. Or maybe James Spader. I could stand to see Secretary again (and again and again). Really, give me the quirky and peculiar and my fantasies of them, and I'll leave romance alone.
Last night I finished watching Love, Actually, and, well, actually, it made me think. About love.
The idealized love of Hollywood has no appeal to me, because they rarely deal with the trauma of rejection, perserverance is rewarded with getting the girl (no matter how hideous the guy's personality is) or in the case of the girl, realizing the hot male isn't so hot and then she falls for the nice guy (much better, but it's always the girl who realizes the normal, nice person is far more suitable), nobody looks hideous the morning after sex, nobody has bad traits that aren't "endearing" in some manner, and love somehow manages to always conquer all (including having little to no knowledge of the other person's likes or dislikes...or even their language).
Really, Hollywood's depiction of love is so skewed and artificial (and pretty and seductive - really, most women love the idea of a Hugh Grant or a Brad Pitt being hopeless in the romance department, because it balances things out) that it leads one to wonder how on earth the writers' or directors' marriages or relationships could possibly survive if that's their view of how love should be.
(Oddly enough, this was not the rant I intended to write.)
Real love is far different (and oddly enough, the movie did depict several instances that I felt better sufficed as an explanation of true love - Emma Thompson's conflict and strength and willingness to fight in the face of her husband bordering on cheating on her, Liam's devotion to his son, the guy who loves his best friend and knows that no matter how he feels about the best friend's new wife, he has to get over it.
All of those are examples of getting more past the initial desperation and thrill of new love and getting on to lasting love, the kind that involves deeper emotions - emotions like actually liking someone else.
And that would be why I don't date often. I hate the initial front of having someone want me to be something far more exciting than I am (or far less exciting...really, I can't wait for the day when there's a happy balance), or the front he presents in order to impress me. With my friends I've made over the past several years through the internet, it's not been about them being something ideal and spectacular. It's about them having been themselves. And meeting them in person, I've had the confirmation of instant connection, of knowing that my instincts were right and these are people I genuinely get. Instant compatibility if you will. The comfort of no fronts. (Is this a geek thing? I've often wondered.)
Lack of artifice speaks volumes, in friendships and romance. Maybe it's silly of me to not just get over it for the dating scene, since the dating scene in and of itself is artificial (and in order to find someone you have to get past the artificial to the real), but I've gotten used to hitting it off with males and females straight out of the gate. Yeah, there's the perspective of "Why would I want to date someone I wouldn't marry?" that I tend to subscribe to, but there's a reason for it. I work with the idea of, if I can't marry them, at least we'll be friends. And you see the circle that I find myself in.
And to add to the trauma of dating, I often mentally go past all the romance crap and think of the practical. What happens if I date someone and we fall for each other...and he's a neat freak? Can he handle being the Oscar to my Felix? (Or the Felix to my Oscar. Really, I need to clarify someday which one is which.) Can he handle my NASCAR/Superman obsession? Can I handle his Pamela Anderson/college basketball obsession? Will he hate my music? Will I hate his movie likes? Will we be able to put up with each others' weird crap?
I swear, I'm never marrying. I'm going to find a male friend who doesn't want to marry either, we'll occassionally have sex solely so we can have a few kids (hey, I want the kids), and all will be kosher.
*sigh*
Now I'm fighting the urge to go on a Hugh Grant movie marathon and lust after his ass while alternately trying to figure out how anyone thinks that Hugh Grant doesn't get laid, and often. Or maybe James Spader. I could stand to see Secretary again (and again and again). Really, give me the quirky and peculiar and my fantasies of them, and I'll leave romance alone.
