Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Last night I watched The September Issue. Wow, so good, so enjoyable to watch, a true feast for the eyes. And while Anna Wintour was as cold as expected, what I was not prepared for was to fall in love with one Grace Coddington, Vogue's Creative Director. She is my hero, I want to live like she lives and see things through her elder eyes and be thoroughly, unabashedly enamored and lost within the vivid confines of the aesthetic world. Grace doesn't view fashion as throw away, or transparent, but rather as fantasy, as art - an escape perhaps. To describe her in simple words, doesn't really work. When you see the movie, I imagine you too will delightfully shudder beneath her spell of creativity, whimsy and sassy presence. She is a woman who knows what she likes, what she wants and whose high expectations are not ever apologized for. I want to possess so many of her qualities, in life and yes, you guessed it, in love. Will I make compromises? Surely. Will I cower, with wavering identity? No thanks, no more. Like Grace, I too "think I got left behind somewhere, because I'm still a romantic."
And then this morning, a package arrived from Adam. The newest chapter, presented in items and words, that will further populate the pages in my ever growing "Book of Adam." The timing this man has, with regards to my life events, is uncanny. How did he know that I needed words of encouragement specifically surrounding my desirability? How did he know that the generous donation he extended would be more appreciated than ever, since I lost my wallet and am still waiting, literally pinching pennies, until my replacement debit and credit cards arrive? Does he know that I have to use an expired passport as I.D . . . well, why wouldn't he? He knows this much for now:
"where on our planet have you been lately? I have my theories, but now is not the time for utilizing logic and applied science. Perhaps you have been busy interacting with a more metaphysical world lately - where dreams come true? I can kind of see that - maybe you have even been taken away for a spell?"
I think Adam might be optimistic here, thinking I am pleasantly drowning under the spell of the protagonist of my last post. Sadly, not so. Nevertheless, his tone, much like that of a horoscope, often allows me to interpret it so that his words fit, perfectly, even if my understanding strays from his intended sentences.
"Regardless," he continues, "know that I am thinking of you today. It's so much easier to be a pretty girl than a pretty boy, so take this money and go make yourself pretty. In some ways I think that it just might be really important to you to feel that way right about now . . ."
And yes, Adam, right about now, more than ever.
After having the excitement of new romance course through me in an entirely novel, non-judgemental, expectation-free way, I learned that I do have expectations and simple wishes and still like manners, a lot. And for once, I would so enjoy feeling desireable and not just because I can man the wheel for field trips and grocery store runs. To feel wanted, for me, is something I've never felt. I convinced myself that my ex liked me, not loved, but liked me well enough. It took him a year and a half, after our break up to give me a complement. He told me I smelled nice as we parted, and then finished with "but you always smell nice." Wish he'd mentioned that on a Tuesday in May, or in passing down the hallway. Just butterfly reciprocation, that's all I ask for with a new interest. Sigh.
While I can rest easy and assure myself that I did nothing wrong this time - I'm also telling myself that he just fell off the planet, same place Adam thought I had not been for a while. I know this because I'm here, he is not. And why? I wish I knew. Black holes, gravitational pulls, the Bermuda Triangle? Or perhaps that yep, he's just not that into moi. Hmm, what I do know, however, is that I like love. And to look at pretty things. I like palindromes and rice crackers too. I like coffee and company. I also know that this week I will wear lipstick everyday like a painted bird and fly North through my days without thinking of the painted (tattooed) man who continues to head South, and farther away from my own grace. I also know that I got left behind somewhere, because I'm still a romantic.