Tag Archives: partners

“Read it and weep. I always do.”


Ah, Romancing the Stone, one of my all time favourite cheesy romantic movies, both for the Danny DeVito chase scene, and for the author’s retort to her friend, who accuses her of being a hopeless romantic.
“No,” she says, “not hopeless. A hopeful romantic.”
Yep, I know how that goes. That whole hopeful romantic thing.
Wishing things would mystically turn out, whether romantic things or other life scenarios, hoping for magic instead of dipping my head into the gritty realities of life.
But often, looking about, I see stories that make me weep when I read them, my own or someone else’s.
Sometimes, my life feels a bit like the movie. Somehow I end up on the wrong bus, heading into the jungle instead of where I should be going, being followed by sinister agents, or covered with mud. I place my faith where I shouldn’t, adventure where I would more wisely leave things to the authorities.
In my travels, unlike in the movies, I can see others around me who have much more difficult lives, less romance, adventures I wouldn’t choose, and I marvel at their strength when I feel like I struggle with the small challenges I experience.
I wish for a movie happy ending for everyone, one where the music swells and everyone ends up in the arms of their lovers or being cuddled by their wise parents and grandparents or winning the race or hearing their music or art being praised. It’s that Pollyanna/romantic part of me.
I hope she never leaves.
But sometimes she could use a hug.

.

20140403-221636.jpg

The sweet sweet challenge of finding that perfect partner



I know, I’ve written about this before. Why is it that of this lineup, Weird Al is the one who appeals to me most? Obviously I have an unusual requirement list, but chiefly among those is a fine sense of the ridiculous, even in oneself.
Oh, Weird Al, where ARE you, man? Come sing a parody song in my ear and I’m yours….

And thanks, Dangerous Minds, for this post.

Kissing, kissing, kissing!


ImageOh how I love the kiss.

For me, it’s a non-negotiable. The man I spend my time with has got to know how to kiss, or it’s over before it starts. I love kissing, I love the way it makes my body screee up into a level of high pitch, the way the thrill starts from the bottom of my spine and drags its fingers right up into the base of my head.

I love the gentle kiss, the touching of lips. One of my boyfriends in university won me by sweeping a kiss past me so quickly I felt nothing but a whisper of longing.

I love the deeper kiss, the one that speaks of lust and longing and the promise of delights to come.

I love the sneaky kiss, the one on my neck while I’m cooking, the one when I least expect it, the one outside on a cold day when lips are cold and mouths are warm.Image

Once, when I was lonely, I used to fantasize about stopping at a red light and seizing some hapless fellow waiting to cross the street and kissing him, just to feel that touch. Fortunately, I didn’t do this, and thus remain un-incarcerated…

It’s caused me no end of trouble, this kissing thing. Usually, when I date someone, if they seem interesting, I kiss them. It’s part of my assessment. If they are able to respond well, I might stick around. If they, like my poor ex, react in a totally startled way (he backed up into the wall and knocked a bunch of pots into a noisy clangle, god love him, but then he was young then and inexperienced and I probably frightened him), I might reassess. If they grab me and immediately go for the breast, I know they are more focused on getting than giving.

It’s a wonderful thing, kissing, when practised well. It’s worth learning to do properly, without sliming your co-kisser or trying to eat her face (men seem to like this. I don’t know why. Something to do with pheromones or something.)

A truly wonderful kiss adapts to the wants and desires of the participants, moving quicker or slower, shallower or deeper as the moments pass. 

It’s Valentine’s week. Pucker up, people. 

Image

Love and snowflakes


Recently I heard someone talking about snowflakes and how they aren’t really unique all the time, how there are several of the same pattern that fall, that especially the snowflakes that fall at a certain temperature tend to be exactly the same (as much as anything made of meltable substances can be).

I’m sitting here in the middle of a snowstorm of pretty identical looking snowflakes and thinking about love and affection and all that.

One of my sons told me that after my divorce I should give up on romantic relationships since I’d failed the first one. That was something like 6 years ago and the words still ring in my ears, along with “don’t make a decision by not making a decision” and “beer before wine and everything’s fine”. Or is that, “wine before beer and everything’s clear”?

I can never remember.

Suffice to say I’ve had beer and wine both ways, make lots of bad decisions by sleeping through them, and still try at relationships despite my obvious problems with maintaining them.

If I believed in the soulmate thought I’d have bought an African Grey Parrot and stopped trying by now.

(I may still. I still dream of training one to nag my kids from beyond my grave.)

But instead of thinking soulmate, I’m thinking snowflake. If several of them look like each other, I should be able to find someone who “looks” like me. Someone who can blow around with me and fall down with me and melt together with me.

I’ve always loved the cheesy line from Romancing the Stone, where the writer denies that she is a hopeless romantic. She says she’s a hopeful romantic. I suppose, for all my cynicism, I still have a little beating pink heart.