Holding out for a Hero

I just started reading "Wicked Lovely" by Melissa Marr. A story about "Faery intrigue, mortal love and the clash of ancient rules and modern expectations". And of course the girl has a friend who is a rogue, a man who lives on the outside of society but who is fiercely loyal and protective of her. A man, who although a player, is sweet and sensitive and so perceptively tuned in to her that he and only he can penetrate her inscrutability and help her with her tortured secret. This is the why we women adore these stories. It's why the Twilight series (in all it's maudlin longing) and probobly every romance novel ever written are so popular with women. Because we all want that man. We all want that sense of having rare and cherished access to a creature considered either dangerous or unattainable by all others. And the feeling that we get when such a creature shelters us in his arms. We want Heathcliff, we want Edward (well I don't), we want Rhett, Sawyer...we want to hear "Stay alive whatever the cost, I will find you!" or "I have crossed oceans of time to find you".

I was compelled to write this in the middle of my reading the first chapter because a deep sadness overcame me and I needed to explore why. I have been fortunate or unfortunate enough (depends who you ask) to have experienced this sort of grand romance. It's what's spoiled me for all others. It's why I know that Plenty of Fish or any other dating site isn't going to work for me. Because even now, with the wisdom of past experience, I'd still rather take all the bad that comes with this kind of good than settle for hum drum. And make no mistake about it, most men are hum drum to me. And I tried hum drum, even married hum drum once. His hum drum-ness didn't grow on me, it grew into contempt. I didn't just want to divorce him...I wanted to kill him.

Bonnie Tyler said it best

I need a hero, I'm holding out for a hero 'till the end of the night
He's gotta be strong and he's gotta be fast
And he's gotta be fresh from the fight
I need a hero, I'm holding out for a hero 'till the morning light
He's gotta be sure and it's gotta be soon
And he's gotta be larger than life

Sigh.

No Photos Please!

We think we're aware of what we look like. After all we see our reflections a myriad of times throughout every day. Right? Then why are photos always such a shock? For me at least. Oh, I get that the camera adds 10 pounds but does it add turkey waddle to your neck?? I ask you?

No wonder many indigenous tribes believe that the camera steals your soul. Because when your soul sees those pictures of you from that party, it packs it's bag and leaves! Don't you always (or often) feel beautiful when you know you've pulled it all together? We're all aware of our flaws and have learned to work with them. So we do our make up meticulously. We dress consciously. We LOOK in the mirror and are happy or at least satisfied with the outcome.

I attended a reunion dinner this past weekend. Old friends from high school. We were all in theater (or as we call it, Drama) together and have stayed in touch to some degree or other through the years. These people are perhaps the most important people in my life...children aside. I felt beautiful that night. And when everyone tells you that you look beautiful and you also feel beautiful, it really affects how you feel. I thought we all looked beautiful and that time has been generous to all of us. We had a fabulous evening. It was like no time at all had passed. Our spirits reveled in each other's company and we played and laughed all night...I went home at 4:30AM feeling like Cinderella. But you know how that ends.

The coach turns back into a pumpkin. Or in my case...the pictures get posted on Facebook. The horror!!!!! How much better would it be if one never had to be confronted with the "reality" of our human condition. Instead of now still basking in the glory of how beautiful everyone said I looked, I'm stuck in that well worn groove of hating that the photos don't match the story. I know we're supposed to evolve past that. But I'm just not zen enough...nor apparently is most of society given how many cosmetic procedures are done in this country alone. Sigh. All I can do is un-tag myself from the worst pictures posted and do damage control via Photoshop to the ones I have control over. And work on my plan to afford that extreme makeover.

(l to r) Chuck, Teru, Brad, Me, James, Betsy and Mr. Boyd (our drama teacher) in front

PS - Baby Steps Yoga is going well. Didn't practice it every day over the long weekend though. As for Baby Steps Dating. Ugh. Plenty of Fish? Not so much? To paraphrase Groucho Marx, I don't really want to date the people who want to date me.

Jesus died so we could date online

Ugh...more baby steps. Dating. It's times like these when you realize what all that diet and exercise was supposed to be for. So that when you're filling out your profile on that internet dating site you don't have to agonize over whether to put "average" or "A few extra pounds."

Due to urging from friends and my own daughter (who, I suspect is beginning to panic at the thought of me tottering into old age with no one to fetch my martinis but her), I decided to sign up on Plenty of Fish.com this past weekend. The name itself is a bit off putting what with all of it's connotations...but a few women I know are raving about it, so I went for it.

Right off the bat, I hooked a rather small Frenchman and a dozen bald guys...almost all of them with motorcycles. I'm thinking I may have accidentally checked the "bald" box OR bald guys dig the redheads with "a few extra pounds." Not that there's anything wrong with a nice bald/shaved head. Not at all. But some hair couldn't hurt! My daughter says I should edit my body type to read "average because "based on the rest of the fat ass country, you are." I can't figure out how to go back in and see which hair box I checked. Their help section is sorely lacking in help. I was advised to delete my profile and start all over. If I have to do that, it's not gonna happen.

Or I could just cut to the chase and hang out at the local biker bar...seems I'm quite in demand with the bald biker types. Too bad the little French guy is trying to live his life like JESUS (yes, he capitalized it)...I advised him that this will most likely end in crucifixion.