A Romantic Comedy Waiting to Happen

One of the troubles of living in such a homogeneous community is that 23 becomes the new 29. In other words: Provo thinks I'm old. Nearing my expiration date. The dating version of menopausal. Destined to become a cat lady - especially given my obvious lack of extended relationship experience.

This became slightly more apparent to me the other night when some friends of mine were discussing a new roommate who NCMO'd for several hours a few nights ago. NCMOing (or Non Committal Making Out for those of you not well versed in Provoese) is kind of a fad among the rebellious set. It's the kind of thing people wear as a badge of honor. It's also the kind of thing I wouldn't ever consider doing. This, my friends concluded, was because of my aforementioned lack of extended dating experience. "You play it too safe," they say. "Your life is like. . . a romantic comedy just waiting to happen."

Well, that might be true from a certain point of view. I am about to move to a new city on my own and start a new job. That seems to fit. I'm thinking about getting a cat. That works. I'm not unattractive most of the time, but I am enough of the time that there could be some Sandra-Bullock like moments mixed in with the Meg Ryan like ones. It's not a bad set up if I say so myself.

But it does frustrate me when we have conversations about our futures and the conclusion is "oh, we're sure you'll find someone someday, but imagining you with that person is WEIRD."

Excuse me?

What is so strange about the idea of my being in some kind of relationship?! Why is that so awkward? I kind of want to glare at these naysayers and remind them that had the timing or situation been right I could have been married three times over now, thank you very much. My apparent lack of opportunity has not always been as pronounced as it is at the moment with my (almost) utter lack of social life. My pronounced practicality in dealing with relationships does not entirely reflect the girly dreams that I most definitely have, even if I do not choose to gush about them to the world.

So. To those people in my life who find the idea of my having a relationship so utterly repulsive: you can go have your NCMO's or whatever else it is that you do on weekends while I stay home alone watching Road to Avonlea re-runs. I may not have much to encourage dreams in the reality of my life right now, but I'm not about to quit now. I'm not exactly ancient.

Why I think Twilight is a piece of crap, OR The blog post in which an ingnorant person analyzes love

Most of that title is for effect. I'll explain:

In the last year or so, Stephanie Meyer's book Twilight has taken the girly world over. Ask nearly anyone about it and they'll do a string of things immediately. First; they'll profess undying love for a vampire. Second; they'll say that they don't normally read vampire books but this one is different. Third; they'll demand that you read the book, and (maybe fourth), proceed to give away almost the entire plot. So here's my analysis.

I read the first two and about half of the third in the series. Plot wise, the books are fairly interesting. I'm not usually one for popular teen fiction but a few of my friends told me I had to read them, so I picked them up. I actually enjoyed most of the first one. Granted, the book isn't very well written in some respects. It could use a serious edit. By the 800th description of how beautiful the hero was I wanted to chuck something heavy at the heroine, but other than a few quibbles it wasn't so bad. I didn't regret buying it. It was a nice distraction in the pre-Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows mindset I had.

Then I read New Moon (the second book in the series) and part of Eclipse (the third) and realized that nothing had really happened. The interesting part about the first book for me was that the main character (Bella) seemed to have taken a risk. But after the initial risk in the first book, none of the characters seemed to change. It was pointless. The author stopped taking chances. It was so predictable and safe. The book could have gone down a route similar to Tuck Everlasting for instance, only it would have been (or could have been) even more significant because the age of the heroine has been upped about eight years. Rather than have a ten year old decide it isn't worth it to live forever, you have an immature eighteen year old consider for about half a second what the consequences of immortality as a vampire would be. Every time she considers it she throws the thought aside because she is so in love. Only I didn't believe it. Aside from the semi-interesting plot line, I never bought the story after a while. Edward was too good. I don't care how bloody beautiful he is or how noble he is, I'd be annoyed out of my mind by him if I really knew him. Seriously? He plays the piano. He wrote her a lullaby. He half stalks her. He is so darn over protective it's absurd. He never sweats. He has a nice car. Snore. I don't want a guy that perfect. It'd be obnoxious.

Going back to the love they supposedly have for each other, I buy their love about as much as I buy the love of Romeo and Juliet. Not at all. I'm sorry. It's just a little too surface for me. Whenever they see each other there will be some mad, gasping, clinging make out session. Maybe I'm just feeling particularly 'anti-touch' at the moment because I have three engaged roommates, but whatever Edward's and Bella's relationship is, it isn't one of love. It has no substance. Nothing to really fall back on outside of that fire they have during the books. If love is glue, then they've got a lot of glue but no paper to glue together.

And you know what? I don't think love is, or should be passionate all the time. What is a book like this teaching girls about the nature of love? I've heard girls say that Edward ruined other men for them. Ugh. How disgusting and superficial. This book would, if read in a certain way, teach girls that the Beatles were right when they said 'all you need is love'.

So here's what I think about love. You can all feel free to mock me if I ever turn into the person I despise one day, but from careful self analysis and in thinking about the relationships I've observed (fictional and otherwise), I know what kind of love I'm looking for.

You know the first day you realize the seasons have changed? When you wake up one morning and see that the leaves on the trees have turned red, or you have that first snowstorm? The first day you hear birds again or the day you pull out your shorts? That's the image I have in mind. I don't think romance has to be irrational and stupid. I think love is more like Darcy puts it in Pride and Prejudice-it comes on you slowly until one day you realize it, but you're already in the middle of it. It isn't like a movie with an orchestra-it's the day you realize that spring is back. It isn't that it hasn't been coming, it's that you finally register that it's back. You see the signs coming until the day you see it for what it is. It isn't new or unfamiliar because we've all been there before. We've all loved before. I think people expect love to be something grand or unfamiliar but it isn't. There's joy in it, of course-but there is also a comfortable kind of peace. I don't want fireworks. I want the crisp air of a fall morning. Something that feels so comfortable it's like curling up on a couch in your favorite pair of sweats.