If You Belonged Here

The Dol: Storybook Heroes

I've become a romance novel junkie. I suspect I would have gone down that road sooner, had it not been for my snooty Spanish literature degree and my suspicion that romance novels, as a genre, must suck. Everyone makes fun of them, so they must suck, right? 

Apparently, one of my favorite books in the universe, Pride And Prejudice, is considered a romance. Ok, so yeah, it's sort of obvious if you've ever read it. But when I say romance novel, I guess I mean the bodice-ripping, sexually explicit type of thing. You know, where they use the word "manhood." And "throbbing." Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy barely kiss. We never get any descriptions of what wedded bliss really looked like in the Darcy household. Makes you wonder what Jane Austen could have done had she been allowed to write smut for the masses. Oh lord, that would have been quality smut.

So, I know a lot of the readers here got on the Twilight kick a while back. After I read that series, I got the bug. I wanted more romance. I wanted good romance, with great characters and an interesting story (in addition to all the throbbing manhoods). And some great sexual tension, too.

There's just something about a well-cast male lead that reminds you that You Are A Woman. All that testosterone banging around in the pages of a book, and when an author gets it right--just the right balance of guyness without being stupid--I find it hard to stop reading. 

I started compiling a list in my head the other day, of my favorite male leads. It went something like this:

Edward Cullen, of the Twilight series; the tough and tortured, yet adoring, vampire beau of Bella Swan.

Mr. Darcy, from Pride and Prejudice; a rich, stuck-up Brit who ultimately proves his worth to Elizabeth Bennet, by saving her obnoxious sister from the ruins of a poorly made marriage. I know, sounds boring, but it's really not. 

Nathaniel Bonner, of the Into the Wilderness series; set in late 1800s upstate New York (word to my peeps in the North Country), Nathaniel is a white man raised by Mohican Indians; he falls in love with a proper English spinster and they have all sorts of adventures in the backwoods.

Eric Northman, the cold and calculating, thousand-year-old Viking vampire from the Sookie Stackhouse books. Oh my gosh, Eric. I get a little overheated just thinking about him.

Lord Dain, the rabble-rousing, bull-in-the-china-shop protagonist from Lord of Scoundrels. What I love about author Loretta Chase is that not only does she get the romance part right, but she has no problem making you laugh while she does it. This book was so much fun. Lord and Lady Dain make fun of each other at every turn, and somehow it ends up being sexy. He tells her that her bonnet is idiotic, and I practically swoon.

Jamie Fraser, my favorite of them all. The red-headed Scottish warrior from the Outlander books. Jamie has it all: looks, courage, faithfulness, adoring love for his wife, unstoppable libido, and that accent, oh that accent. Who doesn't want to be called a wee lassie, and a bunch of stuff in Gaelic? I know I do. Seriously, the first book in this series has some scenes that I wouldn't recommend to the faint of heart. I think I was blushing and hyperventilating while I read them, even though no one else was in the room. I probably jumped my husband when he came home, too, but that's a post for a different blog.

What is it about my romance homeboys that has me so addicted? I'm obviously not the only one, either. Did you know that romance is the most popular genre in North America? According to wikipedia, they made up 55% of book sales in 2004. Despite that, romance as a genre doesn't have much of a reputation. Look how long it took me to get around to getting addicted. And I'm a prolific reader.

So what is that is so wrong with romance? Why are we supposed to be embarrassed that we're reading it, when we admit that we're reading it at all? 

What's so bad about the idea that a woman might be enthralled by a man? And vice versa? I guess I want my sultry little cake and I want to eat it, too. 

Aren't we supposed to embrace our sexuality? I mean, carefully and all, of course. We know about STD prevention and birth control. We are women of the world and we are careful. But lordy me, there is just something about a red-blooded man, a warrior, an all-powerful vampire that triggers something ancient in my female brain.

But there is a little more than that. While I've focused on the male lead, it doesn't work without at least a passable female lead, and really, better-than-passable makes the whole thing work. 

Bella Swan is probably my least favorite. She's kind of whiny and obnoxious. Now, on the other hand, take your Elizabeth Bennet, your Sookie Stackhouse, or your Claire Fraser, and you have a strong, self-aware woman. We're talking women who don't put up with anyone's b.s. Especially homeboy's b.s.

And homeboy and the heroine have to think the world of one another, that's the other thing.

There's something about the idea of being, in Polly's words, in mutual adoration. I totally allow for the possibility that happiness might be found in a solitary life, or the unmarried life. But for me, being married and in love with my husband have been incredibly good and fulfilling things. 

Maybe reading romance novels has somehow heightened my awareness of chemistry, and what it means to keep the chemistry alive in a relationship. Maybe I'm at a point in my marriage that I needed a reminder about that. Lucky me, Mr. Dol is my own storybook hero. He doesn't speak Scots or ride a steed (our three-legged rescue dog is as close we get to steeds around here), but we have the mutual adoration thing down pat.

That said, I'm going to keep reading the best romance I can find. Suggestions are welcome, comments are open.

Pandora: Love and Bollywood?

I’m a girl.  

I like boys.

Let me say that differently: I love boys.  

I love the way most of them smell.

I love the way they talk.

I love the way they smile.

I love how they try to outsmart other boys.

I love how they try so hard to impress you.

I love the way they hug.

I love how they kiss.

Oh, how I love boys....

But, do I want a boy?

Yes and no.

I might want one for awhile, but do I want the same one forever? 

I still have no idea...

You see, I have this issue:

I don’t do commitment.

I can’t stand clingy people and I can’t stand being held back.

I almost view relationships as an extra job and I don't really feel like I want to work at one.

Why do I have this issue?:

It's not that I've ever been hurt and I could have easily had a boyfriend in high school if I really wanted to.  It's just because I'm so darn indecisive and get bored easily.  How do I know that I won’t be this way when it comes to marriage?

Speaking of marriage, this is how my wedding is going to go down:

• Short ceremony where I will don bare feet.
  
• Crazy amounts of calla lilies and hydrangeas.  
  
• None of my bridesmaids dresses will look alike and they won’t be hideous.  
  
• My dress will be simple yet extremely flattering
  
• Imagine a reception with bollywood dancing. 
  

Lots and lots of dancing.  

You know the end scene of Slumdog Millionaire?
Yeah, that’ll be my wedding just without the slums and probably the million dollars.

• I will rock out when Electric Feel by MGMT is blared and hold my husband close as Green Eyes by Coldplay plays.  
  
• Then, for your entertainment, I’ll rap Atmosphere.
  
• Finally, unlimited champagne and a five tiered vanilla wedding cake.
  

See how easy that was for me to spell out?

It’s obvious that I’ve put some thought into it.....

The idea of loving someone forever still sounds wonderful, but I’m not sure that I have it in me.  I’ve never fallen in love.  I’m really afraid to.  There’s never been a moment where I’ve not been in control of my life.  People tell me that I need to let go when I think that I’ve found the right person.  Also, considering my lack of dating experience, I don’t think that I want to marry the first one that I fall in love with.  I fear that then I’ll be missing out on something.  I fear that maybe I’ll never get to do the things that I wanted to do.  Maybe I won’t be missing out, who knows.  

Seriously though, marriage is a big deal.  My parents have done it for 22 years and, as gross as I find it, they still express to each other how much they love each other.  Marriage is legally binding and seems like way too much of a contract for me to ever handle.  Like to even get out of it you have to sign more contracts.  

I want to experience love and a family, but do I really need marriage for that? 

One thing that I am certain of is that Polly Poppins is only a phone call away if I ever need relationship advice or a date.  

This blog was cross-posted at: http://iruinmenslives.blogspot.com/

Liminality

I was looking at our caterpillars this morning and noticing how gross they are. Really gross, people. I wasn't expecting that.

What I was expecting was for the caterpillars to be furry and cute from the time they arrived in the mail--we bought a butterfly growing kit--to the time they wended their way to the top of the jar to form cocoons. Then, I figured they wouldn't look particularly cute but, hey, price of beauty, people, price of beauty.

It's not like I didn't read the instructions and the FAQs. I'm all about RTFM (you know, Reading The Full Manual, or something like that). I read everything twice. I learned about frass, which is tiny greenish balls of caterpillar poop. You'd be surprised how much frass caterpillars actually excrete. Or maybe you wouldn't. 

Anyway.

The caterpillars seem to shed. Their outer body started off not-all-that-furry and they were kind of black and prickly but smooth, like the new silicone mascara wands instead of the older bristle wands. Whatever that black was, it kind of rolled or shucked back, like a latex stocking (not that I know) until bit by bit the furrier underneath was revealed and the stockings were left in a prickly ball in the corner. Mostly this happened when I wasn't looking. Except this one guy--and by guy I mean caterpillar--whose stocking seemed to be stuck at the bottom of him so that he was kind of, I don't know, bursting forth.

I'm not sure that provides an accurate picture of how disturbing the whole thing is, so you'll just have to take my word for it. Or picture Robin Williams wriggling free of the aforementioned prickly black latex stocking, because you wouldn't be too far off.

I'll pause while you shudder.

Now the general point is that liminality can be awkward. There's all this inbetween-ness where the old skin doesn't fit and the new skin isn't quite revealed and maybe isn't even ready. I mean, who knows exactly what's going on under that latex? And the whole thing is confusing, so confusing that maybe your mind gets a little muddled, a little not right, and you are typing a post and trying to remember a poem you wrote once called "in between days" and then it comes to you with a musical score and Robert Smith's voice and you realize you never wrote that poem because it's a song by The Cure. But maybe once you spent the better part of chemistry class writing the lyrics on the bottom of your Converse All*Stars.

That's one thing.

Another thing is that maybe you start to discover that most of life seems to be about being in between. Your whole life is a liminal experience. The exception is equilibrium. So maybe no wonder you spend a lot of your time feeling off balance and waiting for the next thing to happen. This is starting to seem the case to me.

Trust me when I say that I have spent the better part of my 34 years on this planet trying to achieve equilibrium. No one dislikes surprises and change, and especially change that comes by surprise, more than me. I like to plan. I like to contingency plan. I do not like to be caught with my latex stockings around my ankles.

And yet, it happens. Lots of times, it happens.

I wonder, which is the true creature: egg, larva, caterpillar, chrysalis, or butterfly and from what I can tell the answer is all of it and maybe a few things I didn't consider. The whole sum of the creature isn't about what it was, because it isn't anymore; or what it is going to be, because it isn't yet and may never be (bugs get stepped on and eaten); or even what it is at this moment, because that is just the sum of the last two and it's maybe changing so fast that it's both and neither of something.

No, the creature just is. Eating and frassing and shedding and spinning and just being because what else would it be doing? And then I found out that the butterflies that we are watching grow, they spin silk allright, and they use it to make it easier to get around and to protect themselves (hey, whatever helps them sleep at night), but they don't make cocoons. They really don't. I know you've read "The Very Hungry Caterpillar" and it says that they do but, seriously, not even a little.

They are cocoons. That icky latex skin, well, to be really unscientific and imprecise, at some point one of the layers hardens creating a protective shell for transformation and then the caterpillar, when it's a butterfly, breaks free of it's old skin (which I seriously hope I don't have to point out is not actual silicone or latex, people). So the caterpillar, more or less just stops being a caterpillar and gets to being a butterfly. He doesn't work really hard at it. It just happens after the fifth liminal stage.

And then it flies. Until it's dead. But that's not really part of today's lesson.