Email me!

Wednesday, October 31, 2012

Recently, I watched, for the first time in years, "To Die For," the Nicole Kidman vehicle about a star-struck small town weather-bunny who seduces her teenage lover into killing her unfortunate husband when he attempts to stand in the way of her dreams of stardom. (I watched it again because I'm a huge fan of Joaquin Phoenix, btw, and had just seen his absolutely mind-blowing performance in "The Master." See it. Amazing. And if you don't like it, don't tell me since it'll just make me want to get you in a choke-hold and pile-drive some sense into you...though some of you are thinking about that in quite a different way than nature and the WWF intended it...)

If you haven't seen the film, it's a fun, campy experience and Nicole seems to really enjoy playing the wicked witch. I always forget what a good actress she can be. But afterwards, what really stayed with me, was the loneliness of her character's marriage...married to a man who doesn't understand the first thing about her. He's simply married the woman he's decided she is, the woman he wants her to be. And she, of course is uninterested in anyone but herself. No wonder it was easy for her to kill him: they were virtually strangers to each other.

In a roundabout way, the film reminded me of a certain doomed "relationship" I experienced in my third year of law school with a certain humanoid, when I was at my lowest ebb and was just happy to have someone, anyone who seemed to want to spend time with me. When I tell you we were mismatched...understatement of the century! Perfect example: I wanted to spend a weekend at Graceland--yes, Elvis' Graceland--so we planned to go, for what I thought would be a dirty weekend in the Dirty South...and then, at the last minute, he admitted he had invited his mother. Oh. His deeply religious, so religious as to have removed the radio from her car, that kind of religious mother. HAWT! Yes, you can imagine how much fun that weekend was, especially when my "boyfriend" kept waking up at 6am to "have breakfast with mom." Not to mention how jealous he was when his mother liked me. "She loved you, "he said furiously to me, "I'm her fucking son and she barely knows my name, but you she loves!" It's hard to be anything but heartbroken for that kind of pain.

 Now, looking back, I can only sigh...but at the time, I was so determined to make it work, dammit, to make sure that we'd get married, and that I was going to be an attorney, and he was going to be my scientist husband, with not one but two didn't matter that we irritated each other, that he hated my cats and my sense of humor, and my friends, or that I would have hated his friends except that he didn't have any, or that he loathed himself and was thus always suspicious of me for liking him...we were both what the other wanted in the aggregate, to prove ourselves to the world. It was in the reality that things between us didn't work.

A few months later, when the endless neediness and fights got too much, I dumped him over the phone. (Listen. I've never said I'm going for the Nobel Peace Prize here...sometimes you do what you gotta do, and then drink wine all night.) And life continued on. Now I realize that there were immediate red flags to that "relationship" that I was determined, absolutely determined, not to recognize. (Like the time, on my birthday, when another boy called to offer his congratulations, and the boyfriend furiously ran out of his own house and drove around the town all night in a jealous frenzy. Let's face it: if I hadn't dumped him over the phone, I'd probably be "steak ums" in his freezer right about now, waiting to be profiled on some true crime reality show.)

Anyway, watching that movie made me think 1) Damn, Nicole Kidman had a redonk fine figure and 2) Thank Jebus, that that's not my story anymore. I may date "interesting" boys...but at least I don't delude myself or expect them to be anything else than they are. That may seem like small potatoes to some of you, but I don't ever think it's unimportant to be able to date fun (if crazy) men who genuinely have (crazy) fun with me, as I am right now, not as they want me to be, to distract from their own fears and inadequacies. Ugh.

If any of you reading this, want to share your thoughts on your best/worst relationships, feel free to do so in the comments section...I'd love to hear from you! You can always email me  (Unless its to tell me how much you'd love to get me in a headlock. Unless you're Joaquin Phoenix, then please, by all means!)

No comments:

Post a Comment