First, excuse me…
I’ve had too much Skinny Girl Sangria.
I didn’t think it would get me all loopy like this because it’s “Skinny Girl!” but yeah, so.. I’m once again, the intoxicated writer tonight.
(Gosh, that Sangria tastes might fine to me)
So…. I’m going to write this before I pass out, hopefully not on my face.
For the last two–no–four hours I’ve been watching these “romantic comedy/dramas” on Sundance On Demand.
And let me tell you, I’m a sophisticated consumer of fiction. Especially stories of love. Like, I can find the nook and cranny of love in the slightest story of love. I can get it. Oh man can I get it.
These movies that I’m watching are like foreign films to us Americans.
Like… This guy who was on the verge of jumping to his death is talked down from the ledge by this woman. They talked all that night. Became boyfriend and girlfriend. And now… He’s cheating on her with someone else. Someone who’s making him all giddy inside. Like, she saved his life so he can spend happily ever after with some other chick!
Can I do that?
Can I write that?
I can’t write that!!!
Do I even want to write that????
Love not wrapped in a pretty package. Dirty, complicated, imperfect love. She’s not all soft and ready for the sexy, stalking billionaire or even better vampire. For me–he’ll always have to be sexy though. I gotta tell you, I can’t write about an unsexy guy–on the pages or in life. People, my men have always been sexy and will continue to be sexy. But gosh, they are so imperfect. Like who are these guys in fiction????? I know the guy who’s in this film! The guy I’ll save from ending it, and I’ll be all in love with him and then WHACK! he breaks my heart.
I know THAT guy!!!!!!!!!
And let me tell you this… Don’t thank BEAUTY will stop him from hacking at your heart with his machete. Nope. That’s what I’m saying ladies… A man can give a damn about how you look. We don’t think that though. But it’s true. Has to fall deeper in love with you than your beauty.
It’s the Skinny Girl talking… maybe… I’m sorry….
You know we Americans call the truth “bitter.”
Like, your down on men, down on love is “bitter.”
But I’m not bitter. That’s just the tragedy of love.
I know the fairytale exists. That’s what fiction’s all about–the fairytale.
But wonder, if next year, after I complete the Misty Black trilogy and I delve into the “tragic” love… If i choose. If I can…
How would that work out for me????
Gosh–he JUST told the woman in this movie that I’m watching after he proposed to her earlier in the film and she didn’t think his proposal was credible that “you’re right, I’m not in love with you…we both met at a time when we both needed something in our lives…”
That is actual dialog in this film!!!!
Can we handle that???
Oh, yeah and I’m working on book 6 too. Don’t worry, I won’t burden you with that tragic love. But.. Dang..
I just realized that the chick in this film is the same one from the film I tried to watch before I turned this one on. The one I turned off before turning this one on was too TRAGIC. Like, the neighbors were screwing while the kids where watching one of those creepy kids programs like the Wiggles. And the little girl walks in on them in a gorilla mask. Only to find a few scenes later that the guy is married and they’re not married to each other. And the chick who was screwing the neighbor is going to finally meet and have a connection with a guy who decides to leave his girlfriend after she tells him she wants to have his babies…
LOL!!!!! (hysterically at this madness!)
That’s some TRAGEDY right??????
I’m going to turn these movies off and go to bed. Heck! I don’t even want to watch them anymore!
They’re depressing me more than Seattle’s weather!
Oh and let me tell you this… The head “floating” is real. It’s truth. I’ve felt the float once in my life. He asked me for something. He came near me. I gave it to him. And when he was that close my head floated to the lights in the ceiling. So when I’m writing about the head float, I’m not just making that up. It happens. That’s not tragic, I guess. And the days following the initial head floating were bliss… And when it came to him, my senses were heightened. Like I became familiar with the scent of the palm of his hands and the scent of his breath–like peaches. That love was like the perfect novel. One you would LOVE to read. And it didn’t end in tragedy 🙂 It ended by making more of the person I am today.
So yeah… I guess, true love isn’t tragic.
Only unrealized love.