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Frances

February 2001

I refuse to begin by talking about Valentine's Day, but far be it for me to ruin someone else's favorite holiday so I'll get to it eventually...

I went home again. I know the critics will say it can't be done, but I beg to differ. I went home for a month after a four-month vacation from life and I found myself standing in the same spot one year later with a whole new perspective. I spent New Year's in a dress that frankly was nothing more than some glitter and rubber bands with a feather boa wrapped around my neck dancing with absolutely everyone. Or so I thought. I found out the next day that I wasn't dancing, I was simply showing everyone my underwear because of how short my dress was. And to top it off I got some of the male members of the party slightly upset by flirting with them and then running off and dancing with their girlfriends or ex-girlfriend or objects of lust. Is it really my fault? Well, everyone seems to find it amusing so I get away with it. But of course there's always someone who can't take a joke. There had to be one friend of mine who had to whine that I wouldn't go upstairs with him and then question my sexuality behind my back. I love him to death but I wouldn't have stopped loving him had he asked me to my face. When people say things like that behind your back you tend to get the feeling that it's just their way of making themselves feel much less rejected. But either way it made me answer a question I'd never had to before.

So I said that I could fall in love with anyone at all. It's true. There's a man at home that I was in love with a year ago and I had convinced myself that I hated him. But, when I came home, I realized that no matter how hard I tried if he was near me I couldn't bring myself to hate him. There are women that I would lay down and die to have. I guess when it comes down to it I just want to fall in love like everyone else, maybe I'm just not as picky as some people.

(So in case you didn't catch the flow of the article...this is when Valentine's Day enters the picture)

This whole conversation led into one about who the woman I would marry would be and who the man I would marry would be. My friend and I came to two conclusions:

1) The person that I marry will be the first person to absolutely floor me. Someone who doesn't take my shit. The first person that I can't be strong and assertive to, someone I can't boss around and someone that I just love even more for it.

2) Being in love means finding someone who feels like home. In the words of my friend, "The first time I heard her voice I just felt like I was home."

Then enters my conundrum. Last year my heart was broken on Valentine's Day and so instead of try to be all smiley and drool over the flowers that everyone was carrying, I opted to sport a tattoo on my right breast of a heart with a spear through it (cute right? charming even....like I said I'm not always a ball of sunshine). But then I come back for Christmas to find this boy who left me feeling like a huge part of me had died at this time last year, and he looks at me and I melt. I realize that I can say it a thousand times but I could never hate him. He sounds like home to me. I walked into his house and remembered why I spent everyday for almost two years there...because I never wanted to leave. I didn't want to sleep because it meant that I had to leave him and wake up without him. I figured I'd snuggle and see what his reaction was. Well, it caught me off guard. I put my head on his chest and he was never much into the snuggling thing so I figured he'd just let me sit there. But he put his arms around me and played with my hair and it's hard to explain but he felt older and I just felt safe and didn't want to get up to go home. (enter again my issues with a 12:30 curfew at age eighteen)

I guess in the end I'm just confused as hell. But whatever the case I guarantee that the big V-Day will be just another session of me eating ice cream watching Bed of Roses. Maybe I'll go big and buy my roommate flowers. Maybe I'll spend the day secretly wearing bright pink underwear to celebrate the holiday and giggling because no one else has any idea.

Thanks for listening again,

Frances

Bageltheif@aol.com


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