On: Lurve

Last night I was speaking with an "old friend," who had called me from Helsinki. I was conveying to him my self-diagnosed love disabilities (= extreme ineptitude in category: "the game"). It went something like this, "I dunno *name*. I mean, I'm successful, ambitious. I have great tits, am a pervert, articulate, independent. I like to toe cuddle, and I put everything out there." He told me that we become attached because we place our dreams in the hands of others and expect them to take care of them. Then we had phone sex.

Once I read a book (maybe an article) written on how to get a man to "pop the question." This is, apparently, a real ambition among my vagina-bearing sisters. It suggested that a woman wait until their man-mate has experienced a death - preferably dog or dad - to suggest that they get married. He's "emotionally vulnerable" then, and he's more likely to be interested in introducing some stability into his life when he's crying uncontrollably and feeling emotionally barren. Is this the game that people are expected to play?

I've been thinking about the rules of lurve a lot lately. The rules are alive and kicking. Cosmo preaches them from their check-out line pulpits. Love snobs - like myself - shrug them off as archaic and loved by the same vacuous idiots who follow nazi marriage rituals (such as the above mentioned). But no, there's something deeper to the rules: something that most people find comfort in. Religion is the opiate of the masses, right?

The rules totally befuddle me. And the taurean brat in me refuses to play by rules. I'm a grown-up, and I've made the decision to be emotionally reckless, to love fully and without reservation, to be an emotional glutton. Somehow, my set of rules gets me nowhere with lurve interests. Well, that's not fair. It takes a really hunk of a man to deal with me, and most people aren't - when the chips are down - interested in eye contact, communication, making all their sex dreams come true, and being with a woman whose dreams are bigger than they are.

I guess I'm just some fanciful girl who's chasing after a huge cocked, intelligent, well-read, tit loving unicorn or something. *sigh*