Love is Not a Picnic Lunch

Helllllllllllllllooooooooooooooooo...

So, I wrote some essays for This Island Earth, and this was my last-minute addition. It is a compilation of two old blogs as well as some new thoughts. I had very different intentions when I started typing, but this is what I had in the end. :) The spacing is weird--sorry.

Pudge and Chip. Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy. Ross and Rachel. Noah and Allie. Edward and Bella...

I remember when I first fell in love with a fictional love story. I was in tenth grade, and yes, (cough, cough) I was a cheerleader. We had a sleepover at one of the girl’s houses, and we watched Shag. The movie is set in the 1950s, when a group of four girls goes on a road trip to Myrtle Beach. The story follows their frenzied final week together before venturing off to college and marriage. Pudge, nick-named for her continuous battle with extra poundage, meets Chip, a quirky, cute local, and they become fast friends. By the end of their four-day stay, Pudge is madly in love and hoping for Chip to feel the same. Chip tries to play it cool, but he can’t help that he too has been hit by Cupid’s arrow. The viewer thinks that this perfect couple has missed their golden opportunity, but alas, they are thankfully reunited just in time to win the dance competition for which they had been practicing all week. By the closing credits, we know that his military career will have him only a few miles away from her college. And, yes, for those of you naysayers out there, they will most likely live happily ever after.

Phew. I was worried. Weren’t you?

Yes, I was fifteen, but loved that movie so much I watched it (along with the rest of the squad) for the second time the following morning. I connected with the story because these characters, although not entirely realistic, were real in a way that I liked. They had flaws, and they were not only interested in sex, as so many other love stories seemed to portray. The girl’s name was Pudge, for goodness sakes. They were cute and quirky, and admittedly, I am sure I imagined that I would someday find my very own Chip who would love me for who I was, despite a continuous battle with extra poundage.

Love stories and I have had a tumultuous relationship over the years. So often I try to be the voice of reason, chiming in to explain the inherent falsehoods within each predictable plot, but maybe it has all been a conspiracy, a cover-up to hide the tragic truth. I have all too often fallen for fiction, despite my awareness of its audacity. I have been that girl who claps at a happen ending, and I’ve cried when fate unfairly ripped two lovebirds apart. I have gushed over cheesy lines, and I have hoped for a storybook ending more than once in my own story, foolishly imagining (even if unconsciously) that love was magical, just like in the movies.

Newsflash: Pudge wasn’t fat. Chip wasn’t real.

I am not speaking to you as some jaded, single woman, desperately trying to demolish all of your hope in the power of love simply because I have not been so fortunate. In my vast and glorious wisdom, I have simply stumbled upon a very important question that begs to be answered. Has fiction, whether in the movies or in books, ruined our perception of love? Let me tell it to you straight. We can chat anytime you want, but for now, my podium must be this page.

Do you know what is dangerous? Giving your heart away.

Recently, I have been noticing how many high school students (and middle school and college and post-college…) carelessly get involved in romantic relationships without ever thinking about the lasting consequences. I watch as couples become so dependent on each other that they cease to exist as individuals. People who are too young to drive are having sex, and people who hardly know who they are begin to define themselves by another person. REAL love is hard, and it takes a great deal of selflessness, yet people get involved in relationships thinking that everything will be peachy, that it is all about that special feeling you get inside your gut, and that this person, whoever he or she may be, can do no wrong. I watch as people walk through the halls attached to each other, regardless of whether or not they are happy. I watch as people jump from relationship to relationship seemingly unable to walk alone. Why? Who told us to do this? Who said that foolishly throwing our hearts at anyone who might catch them is a good idea?

When you define your life by someone else, you begin to disappear. What happens if this relationship doesn’t work out? What happens if this person doesn’t turn out to be who you thought? Your world might crumble. When you build your life upon an unstable foundation, it is very easy to crash and burn. I have news for you; almost all high school relationships will not last, so why do you make decisions and give your heart away over and over again? Why do you live like you are married far before you are ready? Why do you not realize that your heart is fragile, that physical intimacy has far-lasting consequences on all levels, and that a boyfriend or girlfriend will NEVER satisfy all your desires. Regardless of what Tom Cruise once said, no person can truly complete you. And, there is no such thing as love from the word “hello.”

I am not trying to be a downer by any means. I love that God created us as relational beings, but I also believe that He had a perfect formula in mind, and every time we forget His way, we set ourselves up for a great deal of pain. And, I am not saying that high school students can’t do relationships intelligently, but sadly, more often than not, it just isn’t the case. We are selfish by nature; we want to please ourselves right now. It takes a lot of maturity, self-discipline, and trust to understand that NOW is not always the right time.

Love is not a feeling. Love is unconditional. Love is selfless. Love is a sacrifice. Love is more than the moment. Love is not about you. Love is a choice. Love is a verb. Love is not making out in the hallway. (And it never will be, so if you are one of those couples, please cease making the rest of us vomit.) Love is a commitment. Love takes time. Love is not always easy, or happy, or understandable. Love is not talking on the phone for hours. Love is not getting flowers. Love is not poetry. Love is not a song, a dance, or a conversation. Love is not a picnic lunch or a perfect evening out on the town. Love is important. Love is painful. Love is a risk. Love is trust. Love is exciting but not in the way you might guess. Love is from God because God is love. And, oh yeah, love never fails.

Love is rarely found in the movies, but I am shocked as to how many people (maybe I am speaking more to girls here) go searching for it there. The REAL thing--love, that is--is so much better than the movies, but it isn’t so easy. Yet, I wonder how many of us spend our time hoping for the surface type of love that we clap for in the movies. We keep waiting for the beautiful guy to come in and miraculously fall in love with our charm. We keep waiting for him to say the right thing, as if he were working from a script. We wait for the flowers, the duet in the bar, the feeling to be just right, the good girl to win…always. We wait for fiction to become reality. Even if we don’t admit it, we do.

In the meantime, as we are growing up and trying to figure out who we are, we play a game of catch with our hearts. We make decisions that have lasting consequences and then blame someone else when we have to deal with the burdens of our own decisions. We get trapped when we think we are gaining freedom. When I was fifteen, I wanted to be Pudge. I didn’t know who she was, really, but I knew that she ended up with Chip. It took me a long time to realize that true love is rarely written in the movies; reality doesn’t seem to sell as many tickets. We are made to love. ‘Tis true. But, maybe our definition of what love is shouldn’t come from Hollywood. It is a dangerous place to invest your dreams.

The storybook ending rarely comes true. Neither does the beginning.
Sex has consequences. HUGE consequences. (And I am not talking about babies or STDs alone.)
Guys’ eyes are rarely that blue.
Sometimes, there is no knight in shining armor who even cares.
Edward and Bella aren’t real.
Be careful what you do with your heart as you search for what is.

April 23, 2006

I have great stories to write, but I am so tired. Writing is such work to me, and I feel the stress of it pile on top of my already-burdened shoulders before I even begin typing. Why is that? Why does it have to be so hard for me to do?

Tonight, after spending most of the day at school working on the literary magazine, I went up north to that lovely theater (I forget its name) to watch a movie. That's the short of it. Here's the long.

For some reason, today really took a toll on me. I was proofreading essays for most of the day, and my eyes ached as well as my neck and back when all was said and done. I got home around 5:30, and I had about an hour and a half before Dan and Carly were supposed to come. I ate dinner, fast-food AGAIN, and waited for their arrival by speeding through some DVR'd television. I have this giant jar of sourdough pretzels that I bought at Wal-Mart. They aren't really that good, to be honest. They are dry, but I eat them when I am grading or bored, and it gives me something to do. Well, tonight, right as Dan arrived, I decided that I was going to try dipping them in peanut butter to see if it was a good combo. I grabbed the peanut butter out of my cabinet, took the giant jug of pretzels, and we headed up to Carmel.

When I stuck the pretzel in the peanut butter, I noticed that the texture was a little off. It was a bit more like clay than the normal gooey peanut-buttery goodness I have come to love. Nevertheless, I stupidly persevered. When the pretzel hit my mouth, an explosion of rank went off in my mouth like nothing I have ever tasted. Literally, I didn't know what to do. I was eating toxic waste, and I felt like my mouth was twisting over itself. As I choked and whined with a mouth full of half-chewed pretzel, Carly and Dan laughed hysterically at my convulsions. Dan rolled down the window, so that I could spit out the food, but the weight of it was so dense, seemingly doubling with every second, making it nearly impossible for me to successfully spit it out of the car. I tried. Most of the chunks landed between my shoulder and the door; I removed them by hand. I am sure this gesture has resulted in numerous animal deaths since 7pm as they have unknowingly crawled across Meridian, excited to find some tasty nuggets along their way, only to be surprised by the metallic slices of wool and cardboard all wrapped up in a sulfuric bow hiding themselves as chewed pretzel and peanut-butter.

Dan gave me gum. I drank some bitter lemonade. I looked at the date on the peanut butter jar.

Sell by April 23, 2006.

Whoops.

(PS. There is more to this story because I really want to talk about the movie we saw, but I am super tired, and if I write more, I am afraid I will just ramble incoherently. Well, more so than normal.)

Spring Breakin' It

Soooooooo, I was thinking about all that has to happen over this Spring Break in order for it to be deemed a productive and successful week. Here goes nothing...

1. Clean my apartment. (Clean bedroom? Check.)
2. Do my laundry. (I put it into bags to take to the laundromat today. There are nine of them.)
3. Clean my car.
4. Go through mail/pay bills/fill out forms for the bank.
5. Reserve two vans for the trip. Calculate mileage and cost.
6. Do my part for the completion of TIE--which means having everything finished as far as art files, IDEA poetry, the Our Story essays, and pics of the school.
7. Grade: IDEA writing prompts, IDEA novel projects, 9CP papers, 9CP writing prompts, 11CP novel papers.

Finishing this would be a miracle, but miracles happen everyday, right?

Rollin' Back Prices

I was told I should write something.

I have been writing for This Island Earth, so I didn't want to unveil those golden tickets before May. Hmph.

Here is a little tidbit.

Tonight, I went to Borders and Wal-Mart. Now, you must understand that I basically slept for three days straight and felt too weak to walk from one room to the other, so the desire to go to the store made me feel alive. But, once I got to Wal-Mart, I had an insatiable desire to buy everything I saw.

I almost walked out of the store with:

A hula hoop.
A game called "In a Pickle" (or something like that).
A new bedspread.
One of those giant circle things that you use to blow giant bubbles.
A Frappuccino.
Some new shampoo.
Step Up: 2
PS. I Love You.
Uncle Buck.
and a "Team Edward" purse.

(That last one was a joke, but the rest were for real.)

Instead, I walked out with a giant plastic jar of pretzel bites, some kleenex, and two boxes of envelopes for the walk-a-thon.

Self-restraint, eh?

I thought so.

PS. Borders has changed its hours of operation to try to "make it over this economic hump" as the salesperson told me. They are opening an hour later and closing an hour earlier. For some reason, that made me really sad.

Happy V-Day!

Tonight, in honor of Valentine's Day (and completely different than last week when we saw a cheesy chick-flick), Aubs, Carly, Anya, and I went to the movies to watch a cheesy chick-flick. When we got to the theater, it was PACKED. (Isn't going to the movies kind of a lame date for Valentine's? These were not all single women in line, I promise you.) Anyway, it was like we were standing in line for the Millennium Force. We decided to test our luck and stand in the credit card machine line, since it seemed much shorter. Boy, were we wrong. Who knew that pushing the little buttons on the computer screen could take people so much time? So, after eight hours of waiting, (slight exaggeration...slight) we are two away from the front of the line. At this point, Anya had already volunteered to buy all four tickets at once, and there was one couple in front of us.

It was a madhouse in the place, yes, but what I am about to tell you is not an exaggeration.

A young girl walks up past us and looks to be standing in line for the credit card machine. Anya cheerfully says, "This is the front of the line; it starts back there." (Christmas Story, anyone?) The girl whips her face toward Anya (She is standing behind Aubry; Carly and I are behind them.) and says with an attitude, "I know. (Imagine the head swivel.) I am using the credit card machine. Thank you."

Understandable, right? She thought the huge mass of people was one line, rather than two. The attitude was completely unnecessary, but it seemed to ooze out of her eyes naturally. Aubry thought it would be a good idea to explain the situation.

Aubry chimes in with a VERY polite tone, "There are two lines. This is the credit card machine line, and the other line is next to us." From the looks of the back of her head, I assume that Anya put a smile on her face at this point that had a slight tinge of "See? I told you" to it. I can imagine that there was a bit of smugness in her smirk. But, really, they were just trying to make sure everything was fair. No harm intended.

Girl: "If you look at me like that again, I will rip your f'in teeth out."

Aubry almost wet her pants. I started laughing hysterically.

Seriously? You wanna fight? Over the movie theater line? Winner gets the Mega-Bucket of popcorn.

February 14th is coming...

What shall I do to honor the day of love this week?

Hmmm...

Maybe I will write an ode.
Maybe I will kiss a toad.
Maybe I will dance a jig.
Maybe I will buy a wig.
Maybe I will eat some candy.
Maybe I will find Jim Dandy.
Maybe I will moan and whine.
Maybe I will waste some time.
Maybe I will give a speech.
Maybe I will grill a peach.
Maybe I will throw a kiss.
Maybe I will pick up sticks.
Maybe I will hold a hand.
Maybe I will join a band.
Maybe I will never know
until I learn to let love go.



(Spontaneous poem production. You read it first.)

I am currently sitting in the "business office" at the Hilton Garden Inn at Riverside. Long Island is lovely, really. There is this weird juxtaposition of being right by the ocean and the bay and pretty close to Manhattan. I don't know. Each house has a personality, and there is still a good deal of farmland.

I have been here since Thursday for Nana's funeral.

That was a shock.

I can't really describe the gammut of emotions that I have felt over the past two weeks. A lot has happened in a very short amount of time, and it is hard for me to comprehend. The reality of Nana's death hasn't truly sunk in yet. I have said my goodbyes, but the day-to-day reality of it hasn't even begun, I don't think, especially for my mom.

It is so strange. Over the past five years, as Nana has slowly shed the skin of her younger, more elegant self, I have reached the excesses of my patience, and I have tasted true anger, pity, sorrow, and helplessness. This was not easy, but it became my life. She became my life to some degree. And, a week and a half ago (is that all?), when she fell, I am not sure I could have been more angry at the world. I feel ashamed now for that, but that will pass. Oops. I digressed. Considering all of the complications, her death was actually quite simple. She drifted off to eternal rest quite peacefully with my mom by her side. Her struggle only lasted a few hours.

All this weekend, I have heard stories from my extensive extended family about the "Aunt Lee" they knew. She was full of life and elegance and grace and style and glamour. I didn't want to spoil their vision. Toward the end, it was hard for her to get out of her robe each day, and I guess God knew that her struggle need not last any longer. We didn't have to see her lose her mind entirely, and we got to eat at Bonefish two nights in a row, where she got decked out, fur coat and all. I got to cook Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners for her, and she had the chance to see Andrew dance one last time. Three weeks ago, she saw her sister and her entire family at a wedding, and although it was tough, I believe that was even a greater gift for them.

She was special.

Each part of this weekend, the viewing, the funeral service, the meals together, the flowers, the kind words...everything was so special. Everything had a beauty to it that I could not deny. I cried fewer tears than my family, and for the most part, I smiled knowing that Nana is enjoying heaven, knowing that Nana enjoyed life.