Disney Princess

I make it a habit to not write about personal matters here, in public domain. But I feel the need to today. I went to a movie, Music and Lyrics, with my friend Abi last night.

To know how subversive this is, you must first know that it is my general rule to not patronize so called “Chick Flicks,” and haven’t done so in years. I find that they give young (and old) girls false hopes, dreams of romantic nights (and knights), and fantastical situations that could never take place in the “real world.”

Disney is one of the leaders helping to sell this image. They are like drug dealers…only they are supplying the world with a brand new crop of old maids who live alone reading romance novels with cats. The picture is drawn of some young, beautiful girl – ripe with innocence to the world and its inhabitants. Something goes terribly wrong, the plot thickens – enter in musical score that no one remembers – and in comes the prince/beast/beggar to save the damsel.

I don’t buy it.

For so long I have been single. Searching for the one man that doesn’t need me; rather, I search for the man that wants me. There is nothing sexy about desperation. There is nothing sexy about someone who simply can’t live without you…right? See, I think this where I had it all wrong.

I don’t want someone to feel nothing when I leave the room. I don’t want someone’s heart to not skip a beat when I come back in.

I want someone who wants (and needs) to spend time with me. Someone who is not apathetic to my existence.

I think “chick flicks” have it all right. Too long I have been subscribing to the way that guys want to love. Becoming a nonromantic (not saying that all guys are nonromantic…Lord knows this isn’t true). But I have come to find out that it’s just not me. I am a romantic.

I want you to live and breathe me. I want you to need me around…not all the time…let’s take this one step at a time, okay? Baby steps. Baby steps.

I want someone who is not afraid to make fun of himself. I can go ahead and tell you that you’re not perfect. And I can go ahead and burst your bubble that I won’t be either. I’m so far from that. I am not a Disney Princess with perfectly coiffed hair and a melodic voice. Okay, that’s a lie…I do have those things…but I don’t have a size 20 waist…and I don’t have a tail either…but hopefully you view that as a plus…

I laugh inappropriately, especially when I am nervous.
I detest public speaking with a vengeance.
Sometimes I snort when I laugh…but it’s quite rare.
I laugh constantly at my own jokes…and often, I am the only one laughing.
I have weird dietary concerns.
I am allergic to detergent.
I’m bad about calling people back.
I’m bad about calling people in general.
I don’t often say what I am really feeling.
I like designer things…and am somewhat materialistic.
I smell everything. All the time.
I’m loyal to a fault.
I always put on a happy face…no matter what.

I want you to show me the world…shining, shimmering, splendid. (Aladdin reference, anyone? Anyone?)

I want you to giddily explain to your friends that you’ve met the girl of your dreams and not care when they make fun of you…because you know deep down…they’re all just jealous.

But most of all, I want you to try. Try to win my affection. Don’t assume you have it. And don’t be settled on the fact that just because you do, it can’t be taken away.

I want you to make me laugh and make me cry. It’s okay. Without these emotions we really cease to truly exist.

I want you to hear a song on the radio and think to yourself how perfectly those lyrics pen the words that describe the way you feel at that exact moment.

I want you to dream about me at night. I want you to be afraid to say those three important words, but you do anyway.

I want you to not mind driving to where I live, because you know it will be worth it when you get here. I want you to come and see me when I am sick/depressed/stressed…and bring something over to make me smile.

I want you to reach for my hand and hold it tight. Hold it like you don’t want to let it go.

I want you to respect my need for space. I’m an only child…I had lots and lots of space…and time by myself growing up.

Forget apathy. Forget repressed emotions. Forget the should haves and the wanted tos.

Sweep me off my feet – I won’t settle for anything less…

So, ladies and gentlemen…here’s to passion. Here’s to mad love. Here’s to not giving up until you find it.