Monday, July 2, 2012

The Urban Legend of Summer Romance

For all 3 of you who noticed that  I was gone, I am happy to inform you that I have at last returned from my adventures in the Southeastern United States. So you can have a happy, updated blog once again! Yippee!

It is traditional every summer that I must make pilgrimage to the land of my ancestors: The South. And while I am there, I must do exactly that. Visit my ancestors. Or in other words, family.

Yes, I am one of those super lame young adults that thinks instead of going to Cancun and drinking and being a slut in a bikini with other young people, "vacation" is penning yourself up in a house with a large portion of your extended family for a week and never going anywhere or doing anything. Super fun. Ok, so I did a bit more than that, although I did spend a fair portion of the past two weeks sitting around on my butt. However, everything I did, including the butt sitting, I did with my family. Which is fine usually, but I hate to say that it sometimes kind of ruins the whole experience. I mean, as fun as it is to jump of cliffs and do rope swings and other fun things about a dozen times over with no one but your string bean brother joining in, I'd kind of like to do it with other people, yknow, having fun as a big group, and not just be watched/ignored. But my family will have none of this "fun" nonsense. Other notable family vacation experiences included being all fitness-y and working out EVEN ON VACATION (I am so amazing), the super educational trip to a lighthouse (not), and "sneaking"into bars (aka just walking right in through the front door) to watch my mother and her friend do karaoke, and then watching a young, very intoxicated 26 year old man hit on my mother while sitting right next to her. Yup, nothing like being passed over by a guy around your age for your mom. That's always good for your self esteem.

Anyway, I've had a lot of this traditional paying homage to my family thing going for the past two weeks. Which in the end,  I really don't mind. I'd much rather have an uneventful vacation than none at all. But you know what is funny about that is that my desire to have a boyfriend always reaches it's peak during this ritualistic time every summer.  I can only imagine why. I just always seem to find my head off in some weirdly romantic daydream when I go on family vacations.

I guess I should just come right out and admit that I am pretty much a gigantic hypocrite sometimes. Most of the time. Whatever. I never get out of bed on Saturday morning to go the farmers market and I have yet to actually vote. Hey, I am a busy person ok? (...See? More lies) I am a hypocrite about a rather concerning amount of things, and among these things also happens to be men and all that romance crap.

I think romance is a load of shit. I think wanting a boyfriend is stupid. I think needing a guy to validate who you are is lame. I think everyone in the world who has not been in a relationship with the same person for more than 2 years is foolish and doesn't understand how love works. I gag when people talk about giving or receiving flowers or chocolates or anything along similar lines. Quotes about love? I might throw up. Love poems?? You may need to take me to the E.R. Romance movies are similarly painful. I just don't like romance or any of that relationship shit. Or I should say "relationshit.*" I won't have any of it.

And yet...

I can't help wanting some of that. I can't help it when I go on vacation to daydream about some guy being super impressed with my ability to jump off rocks or how good I am at boogie boarding (hey, it happened when I was 12! I unfortunately screwed that exchange up and when he asked how I caught so many waves like the badass I was, I just shrugged and ignored him. So young and foolish!) I want to meet some amazingly hot man who likes Community, Kurt Vonnegut, and sarcasm as much as I do. I want to ride off into the sunset on the back of some bad boy's jet ski, clutching his lean yet still slightly muscular physique! I want some guy to bury me in the sand and then gaze down upon my squinty, sunburned face and disgusting hair, brushing the sand out of my mouth as I tell him I am going to have to ruin the sand castle he constructed on my belly because I gotta get up and go pee in the ocean. And he will be impressed. Because a girl who isn't afraid to pee in the outdoors is a hot girl indeed.

I try to validate my desire for a degree of romance by telling myself I only want romance if it is unique, well thought out romance, constructed specifically for the individual in a creative way. None of this boxed "flowers and chocolate" bullshit. Any bum can think up that. It's meaningless, essentially. But I still know deep in my heart I am violating my own rules. Even though I despise the idea of relying on someone to validate me... I want a guy to tell me I'm pretty! And not a creepy weird one I don't know, either. I want the legendary solid relationship built on a foundation of friendship and mutual respect, dammit! And I want to spoon and other shit like cuddling, even though I CRINGE at the word "cuddle" and it makes me want to puke and I hate people who say they like cuddling or that they are a "cuddler" and they sit on a couch with you and declare that they are going to cuddle and I start freaking out on the inside because I don't like people touching me and it makes me uncomfortable just thinking about giving people hugs even though a lot of the time I am kind of a little bit sad on the inside because I never get to hug people and sometimes I wish for more hugs even though I don't like it and AUUUGH. SO MUCH INNER CONFLICT. (Let's just call it spooning, ok?)

So as you can see, I am in quite a pickle with myself sometimes. I don't know what it is about myself that makes me want things that I know are stupid. I know, quite assuredly, that I would not be truly happy in about 99% of any relationships I could potentially have in my life. That is why I choose not to have them. I know that when people think they love you right away, they don't know what they mean by that. I know that the kinds of guys who like to be all sentimental and tell you about all their meaningful feelings will end up being giant pussies that you have to take care of, and I know I am not the kind of girl to put up with that. Then again, I also know that french fries are not good for you, but I order them every time I have the opportunity to anyway. Because life is just dumb that way.

I can't help but wonder if it was all those depressing (for me) rom-coms that I have watched like the well behaved middle class female I am that have conditioned me to believe that if I am totally cynical and sarcastic and deny all men that the most amazing and perfect man will come along and turn me into a happy person, after some romantic persuasion and a big misunderstanding that we eventually manage to work through. And he will do amazing and perfect things and have the perfect balance of being cool and awesome but not an asshole and very thoughtful in a non-annoying way. Dammit, rom-coms, that doesn't happen! Why must they lie to us so?? I guess the problem there is that if I still want it, I am not cynical and sarcastic enough to deserve some amazing man. This is why I must try even harder still to become totally jaded. So I can not want an amazing man and then get one.

...There may be a flaw to that plan.

Fortunately for me, whenever I am on vacation I am so glued to my family it scares all the potential summer romance candidates off really well. So I have yet to ever experience the conundrum that is a summer fling... The mythical summer romance of great love that instantly appears when you meet someone and then disappears the moment you return home. The legendary romantic-fling-beast that sometimes tourists and rednecks snap fuzzy photographs of something that looks like one and send it in The Enquirer. Or Cosmo. Whichever. Perhaps one day. Then again, I know it is a bad idea, because we all know (or at least I do) that life doesn't really work out that way. No matter how good the fries taste, they'll still always go straight to your thighs. So I guess I have to thank my family for being so utterly unexciting and my mother for deflecting all the creepy drunk guys I could potentially fall prey to (don't make me laugh) onto herself. I am sure she does it on purpose.

As for me, now that I am back in the real world I am off my daydream high and only have moderately stupid daydreams of maybe meeting someone nice and playing Mario Kart (wii version only) and drinking beer with them until they declare that I am "pretty cool" and would I like to stay the night, because after all I shouldn't be driving because that is like, my fourth beer, isn't it? That is a good enough dream for me. I think one day that might just be attainable. Until then, I'll just keep giving off the vibe that I hate all men everywhere all the time, as that is what I am so clearly doing. Ahem. Or maybe I'll just sit here on my butt and try to pretend to be cool. Or whatever.

*Unfortunately, I don't think I am the first to coin this term. Aw dammit, I thought I was going to be really clever for once!

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