Post by Nephriel B. R. de laFronde on Oct 25, 2009 13:18:52 GMT -8
Having been raised as the student of Eris and the great bimbo, Aphrodite (no offense, thea mitera, though you are rather slovenly), I have always been interested in the idea of love… but at the same time have come to question its very many faces. I often find myself in positions where I have to listen to many of my fellow creatures of the night lament about love.
For example, the other day I was speaking to a woman (who shall remain unnamed because I don’t wish to lose my fortune in a court battle) and she told me that, her ex-boyfriend was the love of herlife… err, existence. I asked her why that was because as always, I’m rather nosey and cynical and she, very audaciously, told me it was “love at first sight”. Of course, we have to keep in mind that their relationship wasn’t very long and it ended disastrously. And so, being an inquisitive mind-dweller, I decided to launch an investigative report (not really, it’s more of a rant if anything) on why “love at first sight” is only an over-romanticized fairy-tale.
Now, darling, I’m not picking at you when I say this but the whole “love at first sight” shindig doesn’t really exist. Logically, anyways. While it is true that a few number of people (such as yours truly) carry an air of appeal; an aura, so-to-speak, and said aura is capable of attracting a great many, it's rarely love that those great many are feeling. Woe. Maybe it’s because my views on love and lust go just a bit deeper than the surface waters. Maybe because it’s more than just black and white… more like black and white and grey and ivory and eggshell and ebony and ash and manila and cream and…etc, etc. But the kind of love that we all pine for is whole and eternal.. and not to mention, very rare. That being said, to love someone the way “love at first sight” suggests would mean that Party A loves Party B wholly. Personality and all. I daresay, how is it possible to figure out someone’s personality from first glance? Goodness, might nifty power that. “Oy, that ho is a bossy bitch! Never gonna invite her to Bingo Night!” It’s just rather… impossible, really. I mean, we are immortal but even we have our limits, yes?
Damn that Shakespeare and his over-romancing ideals; should’ve killed him while I had the chance. We (okay, not really me… more like you) read and hear so many timeless tales about love and tragic characters that fall in love and die together and it’s all written so beautifully, that we begin to wish ourselves in that situation; oh, the romance! Oh, the heart-wrenching beauty of star-crossed lovers! Oh the… sham? I mean if we think about it in a rational, logical point-of-view, do we really want to end up on a platform with a stake through the heart because our lover thought we were poisoned and decided they would die because… you get the idea. And thanks to technology and the Dark Arts, we can revive our loved ones in less-attractive, zombiefied versions that are more likeable anyways; what with the inability to argue and all. So, we don’t have sacrifice ourselves. Phew.
But seriously, love is a lot more than just sugar-coated sugar balls with liquid sugar dipping sauce. It’s impossible to have the effort that goes behind a love-centred relationship squeezed into a three-week fling. And expect the same the outcome? Hah! When pigs fly. Let’s juxtapose. Humans work away their entire lives, slaving over careers and jobs. And I would imagine, it sucks. All up until the ripe age of 60 (results may vary), where they hit a lovely little break called “retirement”, where they no longer have to put up with their annoying-boss-with-combover or office-guy-with-noisy-stapler. Then can relax and spend their hard-earned cash. Love, in a way, is the same thing. You fight and you work and you make up. Lather, rinse, repeat. It’s very give-and-take, 50-50. There are a lot of sacrifices and crying and other overall annoying stuff. And then when both parties have matured enough, they can relax and enjoy themselves; not only because they’ve growing attached but because they know the other person. They know what to do; they know what not to do. Love is retirement, essentially. And retirement doesn’t happen within a span of three weeks.
So, really and this is going to sound oh-so-bitchy but bear with me; it wasn’t love. Gasp, shock. I know, right? It was infatuation, a sneaky little feeling that often blinds us into thinking it is love. The bitch. Then again, this means you can really get over it and move on. You haven’t just lost the love of your life and as the saying goes, “There are plenty of fish in the sea.” Moping around and sobbing is hardly attractive and by golly, it makes men turn tail. So freshen up that make-up and put on your fanciest dress, woman, for there is a sea of bachelors out there simplydying pining to sweep you off your feet!
For example, the other day I was speaking to a woman (who shall remain unnamed because I don’t wish to lose my fortune in a court battle) and she told me that, her ex-boyfriend was the love of her
Now, darling, I’m not picking at you when I say this but the whole “love at first sight” shindig doesn’t really exist. Logically, anyways. While it is true that a few number of people (such as yours truly) carry an air of appeal; an aura, so-to-speak, and said aura is capable of attracting a great many, it's rarely love that those great many are feeling. Woe. Maybe it’s because my views on love and lust go just a bit deeper than the surface waters. Maybe because it’s more than just black and white… more like black and white and grey and ivory and eggshell and ebony and ash and manila and cream and…etc, etc. But the kind of love that we all pine for is whole and eternal.. and not to mention, very rare. That being said, to love someone the way “love at first sight” suggests would mean that Party A loves Party B wholly. Personality and all. I daresay, how is it possible to figure out someone’s personality from first glance? Goodness, might nifty power that. “Oy, that ho is a bossy bitch! Never gonna invite her to Bingo Night!” It’s just rather… impossible, really. I mean, we are immortal but even we have our limits, yes?
Damn that Shakespeare and his over-romancing ideals; should’ve killed him while I had the chance. We (okay, not really me… more like you) read and hear so many timeless tales about love and tragic characters that fall in love and die together and it’s all written so beautifully, that we begin to wish ourselves in that situation; oh, the romance! Oh, the heart-wrenching beauty of star-crossed lovers! Oh the… sham? I mean if we think about it in a rational, logical point-of-view, do we really want to end up on a platform with a stake through the heart because our lover thought we were poisoned and decided they would die because… you get the idea. And thanks to technology and the Dark Arts, we can revive our loved ones in less-attractive, zombiefied versions that are more likeable anyways; what with the inability to argue and all. So, we don’t have sacrifice ourselves. Phew.
But seriously, love is a lot more than just sugar-coated sugar balls with liquid sugar dipping sauce. It’s impossible to have the effort that goes behind a love-centred relationship squeezed into a three-week fling. And expect the same the outcome? Hah! When pigs fly. Let’s juxtapose. Humans work away their entire lives, slaving over careers and jobs. And I would imagine, it sucks. All up until the ripe age of 60 (results may vary), where they hit a lovely little break called “retirement”, where they no longer have to put up with their annoying-boss-with-combover or office-guy-with-noisy-stapler. Then can relax and spend their hard-earned cash. Love, in a way, is the same thing. You fight and you work and you make up. Lather, rinse, repeat. It’s very give-and-take, 50-50. There are a lot of sacrifices and crying and other overall annoying stuff. And then when both parties have matured enough, they can relax and enjoy themselves; not only because they’ve growing attached but because they know the other person. They know what to do; they know what not to do. Love is retirement, essentially. And retirement doesn’t happen within a span of three weeks.
So, really and this is going to sound oh-so-bitchy but bear with me; it wasn’t love. Gasp, shock. I know, right? It was infatuation, a sneaky little feeling that often blinds us into thinking it is love. The bitch. Then again, this means you can really get over it and move on. You haven’t just lost the love of your life and as the saying goes, “There are plenty of fish in the sea.” Moping around and sobbing is hardly attractive and by golly, it makes men turn tail. So freshen up that make-up and put on your fanciest dress, woman, for there is a sea of bachelors out there simply
