Saturday, April 14, 2007

Can you get your hands on the world's smallest violin and play me a little tune??

I've been psychoanalyzing myself in regards to my lovelife, past and non-existent present. Who am I attracted to, who is my type? Guys with problems, that's who. Sad-eyed pathetics who need something. I like to fix things. I pant. I salivate. I can smell a weak wreck of a mess 100 miles away. Men in movies I'm attracted to? Leonardo DiCaprio in Romeo and Juliet (but only in R&J), Brad Pitt as Tristan in Legends of the Fall, Johnny Depp in anything. Brooding rock stars. Dark eyed and brilliant (probably the brilliance shines brightest under the influence of illegal substances). I do travel to the far opposite as well. Colin Firth in anything; I have my bright-eyed American boy, Andy Roddick; Verile starlet-loving Derek Jeter, and fast, simple Dale Earnhardt, Jr. In my history of men all of them fall into the first category, save one. His name is Brandon. He was a college basketball player, a star. Beautiful and strong. There was a bit of drama as well, because he was black, and that made the grandparents none too happy. Every boyfriend I've had since I was 16 has either asked me to marry him, or suggested it in a joking manner. The only offer I ever considered (besides The Ex, of course) was from Brandon. If he were to show up on my doorstep tomorrow I'd throw myself at him, but that relationship ended very sadly, but that's another story for another time.
As for my current situation, it is devoid of romance. I know exactly four single men. One is my best friend's...well, I'm not sure what. But he jumps when she says jump, so he's out. Numero dos is the 19 year old that works for my step-father-in-law. He also does my yard work. 6'4", blond, former high school football player. I'll bet he's a great kisser, but again, he's 19 so he's out too. Third is my best male friend. I've known him for 15 years. I love him beyond words, but he is a republican...and he's gay. Since I am not now nor will I ever be a republican, and because I'm lacking a penis, I guess he's out too. Finally there is the 36 year old son of some family friends. He owns his own home and has an excellent job. He's tall and handsome, with nice blue eyes that crinkle at the corner when he smiles, gray flecks in his hair that drive me wild for some reason, and a sexy little scar on the right side of his face above his lip. He stares openly at me and tells me I'm fascinating. If I were to ask him out, I'm positive he'd say yes. But I think I'm just a novelty to him. Carefree for the most part, and as easygoing as he is uptight. I'm annoyed that he's so conservative. I don't think he is strong enough to let me rock his orderly little world. He's a perfectionist; I don't believe in perfection. Plus, I know his ex-wife. The pool of availability is very shallow here, and I am painfully impatient. I'm not good at being alone, that I've learned. Yes, yes, that sounds like a personal problem. Just another to add to my arsenal.

--a side note. You know who does love best onscreen? Baz Luhrman(I'm sure I just massacred the spelling of his name). Don't just take my word for it, watch his films. Strictly Ballroom, Romeo and Juliet, Moulin Rouge. You know who does love best in the real world? My children. Pure, simple, blind and overwhelming love. That you can take my word for.

Last night I smoked a cigarette inside the house(yes, fell off the wagon so to speak) which I never do. I made fancy macaroni and cheese, sundried tomato and parmesan, the new Kraft Bistro stuff. There are two windows over my kitchen sink that meet in a V. There is a little triangle shape of counter top behind the sink, in front of the windows. I crawled up there and sat with the window open, blowing my smoke into the cold rainy night like I was 17 and smoking out my bedroom window. There's a Jewel song I think, where she says, "I'd like to see the world from another angle", and I looked out over my kitchen. I was certainly looking at it from another angle. No one but my cat had ever seen that view before. The moment seemed important for some reason, and I genuinely wonder why.
I can be very vain. I get that from my father's side of the family. I can stare into the mirror for a very long time. I look very young, especially now that I'm as thin as I was my senior year in high school, when I was starving to be this tiny. Now tiny is just something I am. I don't leave the house without full make up, and I have an addiction to black eyeliner. The one time I did leave the house without it, my friend Joe told me, "You look very young tonight, like 12." Since his wife looks more like his little sister than the mother of his two children, I was insulted. But sometimes when I'm staring into that evil mirror, I look very old. My eyes have dark circles perma-etched beneath them. That's when you know it's not the years, but the miles travelled. To those who don't know me, my life until recently probably looked easy, simple. Just like cake. To the initiated, well, they know better. Trust me boys and girls, this little piece has gone several miles past her factory warranty. The good news? I bought the warranty extension. I've got all the miles in the world left to go.
PS...the macaroni was shit, don't buy it.

EDITING to add a really random thought....The kids were watching something the other day that involved a time machine and time travel. I got to thinking about that. Thousands of people travel through time every day when they hop a flight to where ever. Afterwards they asked to watch a Wiggles dvd, which made me think of Australia, which made me think of "that internet guy" (heh, lol) and how it was a totally different day halfway 'round the world. Isn't it strange to think that my today is someone else's yesterday, that their today is my tomorrow??