Hey World,
In light of the re-released version of Disney's Cinderella, I've found my mind turning more and more to matters of love. I know, it's a topic much discussed, analyzed, despised, agonized over, taken for granted, made light of, abused, forgotten, exalted, set on a pedestal, and generally a concept you're going to run into more than you'd probably like to. Nearly every book you've read, song you've heard, and movie you've watched has dealt with it. It's got so many different forms and meanings, can be expressed in so many different ways, it's hard to think there can be any one definition of it. Just looking it up in an online dictionary gives close to thirty explanations before we get to synonyms. Guess it's no wonder it's on our minds so much of the time.
So, what do I have to say of love? For the most part, I've tried to forget about it. At least that romantic part of it that nearly every woman seems to be on a constant, ever-vigilant expedition to find. Admit it...if you're female and of the human species the search for love takes up a lot of our thought processes. Probably about the same amount that sex takes up of men's. It's the high mountain women want to climb, the English Channel they want to swim, and the marathon they train for months to run. Even the women that seem all about their career can't deny that they've given love a thought a time or two. Maybe even a time or ten (hundred, thousand, million, gajillion). And why? Why would a perfectly logical woman do the most outrageous things for this greatest intangible of intangibles? Because of freaking Prince Charming.
Don't get me wrong, I love every Disney movie. I know the songs, can recite most of the scripts by memory, and if I could afford it would have every single one sitting in my movie library. Hell, I had a pink bedroom with a Beauty and the Beast canopy bedset when I was younger. Try to picture, from what little you know of me, one young Jade Rosen ever being girly enough to want a canopy bed. Let alone one that featured one of Disney's most popular franchises. Yeah, I don't know what I was thinking either. Except I do know. I was thinking of Prince Charming.
And when I was a little girl, that was a valid excuse. I grew up in a loving household, which meant a general degree of naivety was acceptable and even expected. I was supposed to think I'd grow up and find the man of my dreams (or he'd find me), get married, and live happily ever after. It was the basic foundation of nearly every childhood (at least in America, and above a certain economic status). That was my daily sustenance, the reason for my existence. It gave my mind a starting point for imagination and an ultimate goal to achieve. There was nothing, absolutely nothing, that could have dimmed my faith in this universal religion. The great god Cupid was the altar to which I sacrificed.
Until I hit puberty. It was not long into my path towards womanhood that I began to realize Prince Charming might not be quite all he's cracked up to be. I'd like to think that with the sudden shower of hormones and freakishly confusing, irritating, and disgusting things that were happening inside my body, I also gained a more elevated view of reality. In actuality, when the kids started pairing off and finding their first loves, I was suddenly on the outside looking in. I was forced to re-examine this idea of love as I knew it. And pretty soon, it became clear to me that there were several things which made my pre-menstruating version of love not only unfeasible, but also incredibly stupid.
I won't go into detail of all the things that made it wrong (we don't have all day), but there was one thing that stuck out really well. In all my time thinking of Prince Charming, I never actually gave the guy a name. Now, you might be thinking: what's a name got to do with anything? Well, I'll tell you. A name makes him real. With a name, I'd have to confront everything that makes up a man I'd want to marry. I'd have to admit that most dumb schmucks with names never were, and never would be, Prince Charming. They'd just be some dude who was probably equally as confused about this whole love thing, and would also have a volcano of testosterone erupting in them making them less than likely to ever think of love much beyond the pretty face in the short skirt they'd love to get into bed. At least that would be the goal through their twenties, and for many such ideas would continue some decades after that.
Now, don't start thinking I'm casting aspersions upon the male sex (although I am). Women have their own faults when it comes to not seeing the forest for the trees. There are numerous sayings to this effect: nice guys finish last; only looking for tall, dark, and handsome; women love a bad boy; and so on and so forth. And every woman wants to think that they're better than such superficialties, but we're not. I'm certainly not. So, I guess if women are looking for Prince Charming, men have every right to look for their own Princess. Although in most cases, they don't need her to be so much charming as have great flexibility and be down for almost anything in the bedroom. Being able to cook and also knowing to shut up during Sports Center would probably also be pretty beneficial.
So, what's my point? Um...well...what was my point again? Oh yeah, it's that love is not a Disney movie (duh). If you're like me, painfully plain, characteristically chubby, and outrageously outspoken, love is pretty hard to come by. There's no white horse for me and chivalry was long dead before I even got on the scene. If I'm lucky I'll find a nice guy who doesn't mind my quirks, finds me attractive enough to only glance at the really pretty girls, laughs at my cynical craziness, and is willing to go halves on a mortgage; and of course I'd do the same for him. If I'm not so lucky, I live alone, try to have a career as a writer, buy a little house with a couple of dogs, and get on with it.
Maybe that's why I try to think about romantic love as little as possible. It's never what you expect it to be and it was never promised. Perhaps that's depressing, or perhaps it's only true. Either way, I've alreay broken up with Prince Charming and decided Mr. Actual Man is a much better bet.
And yes, I'll still be buying Cinderella on Blu-Ray. ;-)
In light of the re-released version of Disney's Cinderella, I've found my mind turning more and more to matters of love. I know, it's a topic much discussed, analyzed, despised, agonized over, taken for granted, made light of, abused, forgotten, exalted, set on a pedestal, and generally a concept you're going to run into more than you'd probably like to. Nearly every book you've read, song you've heard, and movie you've watched has dealt with it. It's got so many different forms and meanings, can be expressed in so many different ways, it's hard to think there can be any one definition of it. Just looking it up in an online dictionary gives close to thirty explanations before we get to synonyms. Guess it's no wonder it's on our minds so much of the time.
So, what do I have to say of love? For the most part, I've tried to forget about it. At least that romantic part of it that nearly every woman seems to be on a constant, ever-vigilant expedition to find. Admit it...if you're female and of the human species the search for love takes up a lot of our thought processes. Probably about the same amount that sex takes up of men's. It's the high mountain women want to climb, the English Channel they want to swim, and the marathon they train for months to run. Even the women that seem all about their career can't deny that they've given love a thought a time or two. Maybe even a time or ten (hundred, thousand, million, gajillion). And why? Why would a perfectly logical woman do the most outrageous things for this greatest intangible of intangibles? Because of freaking Prince Charming.
Don't get me wrong, I love every Disney movie. I know the songs, can recite most of the scripts by memory, and if I could afford it would have every single one sitting in my movie library. Hell, I had a pink bedroom with a Beauty and the Beast canopy bedset when I was younger. Try to picture, from what little you know of me, one young Jade Rosen ever being girly enough to want a canopy bed. Let alone one that featured one of Disney's most popular franchises. Yeah, I don't know what I was thinking either. Except I do know. I was thinking of Prince Charming.
And when I was a little girl, that was a valid excuse. I grew up in a loving household, which meant a general degree of naivety was acceptable and even expected. I was supposed to think I'd grow up and find the man of my dreams (or he'd find me), get married, and live happily ever after. It was the basic foundation of nearly every childhood (at least in America, and above a certain economic status). That was my daily sustenance, the reason for my existence. It gave my mind a starting point for imagination and an ultimate goal to achieve. There was nothing, absolutely nothing, that could have dimmed my faith in this universal religion. The great god Cupid was the altar to which I sacrificed.
Until I hit puberty. It was not long into my path towards womanhood that I began to realize Prince Charming might not be quite all he's cracked up to be. I'd like to think that with the sudden shower of hormones and freakishly confusing, irritating, and disgusting things that were happening inside my body, I also gained a more elevated view of reality. In actuality, when the kids started pairing off and finding their first loves, I was suddenly on the outside looking in. I was forced to re-examine this idea of love as I knew it. And pretty soon, it became clear to me that there were several things which made my pre-menstruating version of love not only unfeasible, but also incredibly stupid.
I won't go into detail of all the things that made it wrong (we don't have all day), but there was one thing that stuck out really well. In all my time thinking of Prince Charming, I never actually gave the guy a name. Now, you might be thinking: what's a name got to do with anything? Well, I'll tell you. A name makes him real. With a name, I'd have to confront everything that makes up a man I'd want to marry. I'd have to admit that most dumb schmucks with names never were, and never would be, Prince Charming. They'd just be some dude who was probably equally as confused about this whole love thing, and would also have a volcano of testosterone erupting in them making them less than likely to ever think of love much beyond the pretty face in the short skirt they'd love to get into bed. At least that would be the goal through their twenties, and for many such ideas would continue some decades after that.
Now, don't start thinking I'm casting aspersions upon the male sex (although I am). Women have their own faults when it comes to not seeing the forest for the trees. There are numerous sayings to this effect: nice guys finish last; only looking for tall, dark, and handsome; women love a bad boy; and so on and so forth. And every woman wants to think that they're better than such superficialties, but we're not. I'm certainly not. So, I guess if women are looking for Prince Charming, men have every right to look for their own Princess. Although in most cases, they don't need her to be so much charming as have great flexibility and be down for almost anything in the bedroom. Being able to cook and also knowing to shut up during Sports Center would probably also be pretty beneficial.
So, what's my point? Um...well...what was my point again? Oh yeah, it's that love is not a Disney movie (duh). If you're like me, painfully plain, characteristically chubby, and outrageously outspoken, love is pretty hard to come by. There's no white horse for me and chivalry was long dead before I even got on the scene. If I'm lucky I'll find a nice guy who doesn't mind my quirks, finds me attractive enough to only glance at the really pretty girls, laughs at my cynical craziness, and is willing to go halves on a mortgage; and of course I'd do the same for him. If I'm not so lucky, I live alone, try to have a career as a writer, buy a little house with a couple of dogs, and get on with it.
Maybe that's why I try to think about romantic love as little as possible. It's never what you expect it to be and it was never promised. Perhaps that's depressing, or perhaps it's only true. Either way, I've alreay broken up with Prince Charming and decided Mr. Actual Man is a much better bet.
And yes, I'll still be buying Cinderella on Blu-Ray. ;-)
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