Yes, yes, Valentines day is a crappy Hallmark holiday. But I’m such a fan of love that I can’t resist acknowledging February 14 a wee bit. Plus it’s technically the anniversary of when Brend and I started “dating”, and by dating I mean the NZ equivalent, which isn’t really dating so much.
I’ve been a big fan of Hugh MacLeod’s work for a long time. His art, paired with a sentence or two tend to express exactly how I feel, just more concisely than I am able to express. I always feel the need to elaborate on why I feel a certain way. But this time I won’t, just know that these works express how I feel (or have felt, I don’t think that my current reationship has killed me).
The following is an e-mail from the past, composed on Saturday, September 20, 2008, and sent via FutureMe.org
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You’ll only get this email if you kept paying for your domain name. I hope you did. That would mean that you’ve made something of it and are making money. Hopefully it means your famous on the internet and you’ve done some travelling. Hopefully you no longer have to work in an office full of idiots.
What happened with the boy? Did you get married or did you call it quits. I hope you found happiness and got married. If you’re still with him and you’re not married WTF ARE YOU DOING?!?!
Just incase you don’t remember. You wrote this in bed on a Sunday morning. The boy’s in the other room. You should be getting up to have a shower, go grocery shopping and have a driving lesson. Your new blog isn’t quite set up yet. Rimu is loading some stuff for you this weekend so you can get started and move from the free blog you’ve got now.
If you haven’t fulfilled any of your plans take this as a major kick up the ass and get to it :D.
I have quite a few friends. People I know I can rely on when I need something, or want to share something. People that I would gladly go out of my way for.
But then there is a smaller group. The people I talk to at least every few days. The ones that get excited over the same things as me. The ones that will send me 20 emails in a day just to talk about cleaning their room, or eating cake.
You guys make me so happy.
You make being an adult fun.
I never need your approval to do anything, because you’ll support me even if my ideas are emotional and irrational.
Excerpts from Christina Hendricks: A Letter to Men, published in Esquire May 2010
“We love your body. If we’re in love with you, we love your body. Your potbelly, everything. Even if you’re insecure about something, we love your body. You feel like you’re not this or that? We love your body. We embrace everything. Because it’s you.
Speaking of your body, you don’t understand the power of your own smell. Any woman who is currently with a man is with him partly because she loves the way he smells. And if we haven’t smelled you for a day or two and then we suddenly are within inches of you, we swoon. We get light-headed. It’s intoxicating. It’s heady.
We remember forever what you say about the bodies of other women. When you mention in passing that a certain woman is attractive — could be someone in the office, a woman on the street, a celebrity, any woman in the world, really — your comment goes into a steel box and it stays there forever. We will file the comment under “Women He Finds Attractive.” It’s not about whether or not we approve of the comment. It’s about learning what you think is sexy and how we might be able to convey it. It’s about keeping our man by knowing what he likes.
We also remember everything you say about our bodies, be it good or bad. Doesn’t matter if it’s a compliment. Could be just a comment. Those things you say are stored away in the steel box, and we remember these things verbatim. We remember what you were wearing and the street corner you were standing on when you said it.”
“Remember what we like. When I first started dating my husband, I had this weird fascination with the circus and clowns and old carnival things and sideshow freaks and all that. About a month after we started dating, he bought me this amazing black-and-white photo book on the circus in the 1930s, and I started sobbing. Which freaked him out. I thought, Oh, my God, I mentioned this three or four weeks ago and talked about it briefly, but he was really listening to me. And he actually went out and researched and found this thing for me. It was amazing.”
“About ogling: The men who look, they really look. It doesn’t insult us. It doesn’t faze us, really. It’s just — well, it’s a little infantile. Which is ironic, isn’t it? The men who constantly stare at our breasts are never the men we’re attracted to.
There are better words than beautiful. Radiant, for instance. It’s an underused word. It’s a very special word. “You are radiant.” Also, enchanting, smoldering, intoxicating, charming, fetching.
Marriage changes very little. The only things that will get a married man laid that won’t get a single man laid are adultery and whores. Intelligence and humor (and your smell) are what get you laid. That’s what got you laid when you were single. That’s what gets you laid when you’re married. Everything still works in marriage: especially intelligence and humor. Because the sexiest thing is to know you.”