Much of the TGW crowd is partnered up, and, I imagine, complete in some read-the-Sunday-Times-over-breakfast way. I live next door to two married couples and it is true: their grass is greener.
Yet for the tiny sliver of uncoupled Whatsiters – what will become of us? Will we find love? And how – how, will we find it? When we’re not turning to our friends, neighbors, or psychics for guidance, we turn to movies to show us the way.
Is that the stupidest thing ever?
I say this as someone whose childhood is well documented on film – I grew up in Kansas and there was this tornado and suddenly, I saw life in color. Imagine what it felt like to wake up and realize it was all a dream; that life is black, white and grey and the brick roads are muted hues of brown and not yellow at all.
As an adult (through the powers of movie math, I am only 35 today), I have come to see love through both a Technicolor and a black-and-white lens: movie-love belongs to the Technicolor world. There is kissing and conflicts resolve. It bears little resemblance to black-and-white life. No boyfriend has ever held his boom-box high overhead pouring his heart and Peter Gabriel out into the night. I did not go to prom in a dress I made with the most popular boy from school. I have not had sex with my best guy friend after the tearful realization that I’m gonna be 40 someday (though that could always happen).
What has hit me most recently in the face is this: in behaving like my movie idols behave on screen, in emulating Katharine Hepburn, Rosalind Russell, and Barbara Stanwyck, I may be repelling the very people I’m trying to attract. This enlightenment happened other day, when a dude I work with said, “No wonder you’re single.” “Uh…what?” said I, the only single person in the building. “‘Splain that.” “The brassy is fantastic here at the office. Necessary, even. But if you ever wanna get a man, you’re gonna have to brush your bangs back, put on a dress, and keep your mouth shut.” He said that, I have to believe, from the best place in his heart, with no malice at all. And when he said it, I wanted to die. Because I suspect he’s right.
How do I know he’s right? From another movie: “Broadcast News.” Holly Hunter’s Jane Craig works twice as hard as the boys and ends up successful – but solo – in the tacked-on ending. Couldn’t Brooks just have ended the movie with her in the cab, sad but resolved as she left William Hurt (“The devil”) at the airport? Did Brooks have to hammer us with that gazebo scene, where it’s clear her two male buddies are married and childrened and all she has is a bad perm a pretty parasol?
And while I am sitting here telling you that I think my co-worker is on the money, reader, I have this weekend gone and done just the opposite. There has been a boy stuck in my craw for over a year and I had this realization: what if I die and he never knows how much I love him? I had always imagined him coming to me, very cinematically of course – I walk through the door and the entire philharmonic is in my living room serenading me as he stands there in a tux with flowers and a big smile – I have actually imagined this very scene (or at least seen it in a movie). But these dreams are in my head, and unless he’s telepathic, not in his. What if he thinks I’m not interested? What if he’s afraid to tell me he loves me – in general and/or because he doesn’t know where I stand?
So – I am covering my face as I tell you this – I called him. And told him this: that I loved him. That I was over the moon for him. It gets worse; I didn’t actually speak to him. He wasn’t home so I left this incredibly long stuttering message on his answering machine. I realized half way through I couldn’t erase it because he has an actual machine – one that uses a cassette – to answer his phone. So I kept on going. And told him – contrary to all I’ve been told by a co-worker – that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with him. I was Lloyd Dobler, without the boom box.
How did it work when I applied movie logic to real life? Dunno. I haven’t heard back from him. In the movie version, he’d race over to my house and there would be kissing and sweeping off the feet. Here in real life, it’s been a day and so far, I’m still living the Jane Craig life. Maybe his machine ate the message. Maybe he doesn’t feet the same way. Maybe only boys can get away with such shenanigans and my co-worker is right and I shoulda kept my mouth shut.
But I couldn’t. I am in the throes of Technicolor. I am a bad driver and could go splat tomorrow and you never know when the next tornado’s gonna hit. I don’t know what’s next, and I don’t what the sequel to us will bring, but I felt giddy getting those feelings off my chest, out into the air, into the ether and over the rainbow.
Wow — good for you, making that call. I hope he responds in an interested way.
wow . . . hmmm . . . ever see Swingers?
Wow — this is so exciting! The lengths people will go for a bit of Whatsit grist (I can’t wait to read Dave’s post about where he has been for the last two weeks). I’m crossing my fingers and toes for you!
Oh, Dorothy, I am right there with you. It is so strange to realize that the entire personality you’ve built up and are proud of–that brassy, take-no-prisoners woman who in films is forced by some man she reluctantly adores to sit and listen to his feelings, made to realize she loves him too–is a sort of role-reversal that real life seems unable to tolerate. One thing I come to realize more and more is that women are the ones who are expected to do all the emotional labor of life, while men make the dramatic decisions. Men are the ones who get these beautiful gifts of excruciatingly self-exposing phone calls, and women are the ones who remain at the whim of male feeling.
I wonder if it’s always been that way, maybe. I wonder why the Katharine Hepburns of the real world can be admired from afar but never actually embraced. Is it that male viewers (and filmmakers, for that matter) can only tolerate the existence of a real female subjectivity on celluloid? It’s clear to anyone that the brassy dame of the silver screen has a beautiful heart beating with wild desire, but the brassy dame of the office is just a ball-buster who will micromanage your life.
I was recently in the opposite position, not of leaving a love-message, but of communicating a lot of hurt to someone who’d left me very coldly, and I realized I’d never had the guts to say any of that before to any of the men who’d left me the same way. And the email I sent was really dramatic and full of pathos, and was really hard to write. On one hand, I know I’ve never done it before because I’ve thought, “He doesn’t deserve my expression of feeling,” but I wonder if I really haven’t done it because I’ve known that, as a woman, my expressions of feelings are already grotesque to men. Plenty of my friends said to let it be, he doesn’t deserve your attention, etc., but all I could think was that denying myself the right to express feelings outside the rigid boundaries of nice-girl communication was leading me down a very dangerous path to becoming bitter and pent-up.
All I can say is, whether he contacts you or not, whether he is shitty about it or not, you did something very brave and difficult that was good for your emotional health. I think we should start a little revolution of women Actually Expressing Feelings!! I’m sick of being shamed into silence about what makes me love or hurt, and waiting all the time for the men in my life to give me permission to talk about those things.
Absolutely, good for you for making the call! You expressed something you had to express.
As for how he responds, well, if you were somewhat aware of maybe a possible attraction to and/or by someone, thought he’s good looking and interesting, were hoping maybe something might develop, but hadn’t necessarily put too much thought into it, and came home to find a message like yours from him, how do you think you would respond? It might be a little awkward, right? You might need a little time to process it all and get back to him. You might have been thrilled about a phone call from him, but hoping it might have been something more along the lines of “Do you want to go see this movie? I thought of you when I read about it.” The possible, even likely, inequity between your expressed ardor for him and his actual feelings for you might make him feel uncomfortable.
Again, I think you did a great thing. You put yourself out there, and that’s brave as hell. That said, give him a few days without contact. If he doesn’t call you back, email him on Wednesday, bringing it down a few notches. Express that perhaps your first move was a little too strong (maybe plead booze?), but that you hope it doesn’t put him off entirely. Don’t take it all back, but tone it down. Say you’ve got a big crush on him. Ask him if he’d like to talk about it, whether on the phone or in person.
The dreams that you dare to dream really do come true, Dorothy, but they usually take a little while to develop. Maybe you wanted to take a giant leap and land at the gates of the Emerald City. Maybe instead you took your first step on the Yellow Brick Road. Good luck!
i love movie posts; as a parent i’ll have to keep this stuff in mind for what kind of images and expectations are already getting imprinted into their minds.
a practical question-do you know what kind of movies the fella in question prefers? it’s a key question, is it not? your idealized fantasy was pretty specific but knowing what his might be could go a long way toward a match.
#4-i’ll offer a slight cinematic corrective to “women are the ones who are expected to do all of the emotional labor of life, while men make the dramatic decisions.” after all, look at the cusack character, the guy leaving the phone message in swingers, or even albert brooks, they were the ones who were putting themselves out there, weren’t they?
don’t even get me started on ducky…
# 5-(maybe plead booze?) is my favorite gw parenthetical aside of the year!
that is a category in the whatsies, isn’t it?
tim, can we look forward to an entire post of your history with such special pleading?
dorothy, this is not aimed at you but is kinda funny:
6: That’s exactly my point. In movies, men do that shit, but in real life, it’s women who do the emotional labor and excruciating confessions.
I don’t think it’s fair to generalize on this one Ms. Bear. I’ve done some pretty silly things in my day.
Also, I think this conversation would be served well by bringing in some non-hetero voices. Or did I just do that?
Ms Gale,
You have guts with a capitol G! We all hope it works out well for you, but if it doesn’t… either he’s not the right guy for you, or it’s not the right time (sometimes timing is everything). In regards to the idiot co-worker- although it can be difficult, wait for the guy who loves you as you are.
Oh my Lord, I am still covering my face over being so damn naked — but Rogan, I assure you, I didn’t go to any of these lengths as grist for the TGW mill.
White Bear — sister, you are my sister. It’s funny — I added that last bit about how maybe only in movies boys can be emotionally vulnerable — yet I do think that is maybe the entire point of the post — that most romantic movies involve catharsis for the male characters — Lloyd Dobler, Woody Allen — it’s hard to think of a movie where the woman has made the confession and won in the end (though I’m sure it’s there). Even on the ever-progressive television landscape — you do see women characters bleeding emotion (Meredith Grey’s big “pick me” speech in “Grey’s” [Thank you Trixie!]) and yet — the decision to be together is still up to McDreamy.
Interesting Kate Hepburn never married in real life.
Wager, I’m gonna call you from now on before I pick up the phone to call…. ANYONE.
I hope you’re right Marleyfan. Though my coworker was saying that no man will love me as I am — which reminds me of the Tomato scene in “Tootsie.” “Are you saying no one will date me?” I should say to him?
Wager, I’m gonna call you from now on before I pick up the phone to call…. ANYONE.
The lines are always open!
Tell him-
I’m a BeefSteak tomato
I make the best Salsa known to man.
I’m better than any canned tomato, I’m Fresh (but not on the first date)
If I were a tomato, they only Heinz would use me.
One word: (BW’s) GAZPACHO
Your coworker probably spells it with an e
Hell, not all men even like tomato, but alot do, you just gotta find a tomato connoisseur!
tim, can we look forward to an entire post of your history with such special pleading?
Whatsit readers may remember the re-telling of one of my huge dating mis-steps. I did plead a few things, but booze wasn’t one of them (I’d only had one drink). It turned out okay in the end, but I did have to dial it down a bit.
one of my huge dating mis-steps
That looks more like it’s the story of the guy you were dating making a huge mis-step?
It’s Jen’s re-telling of my mis-step. She’s the author; I’m the guy. Here’s how it ends.
wow that was an assload of comments to your wedding post.
Dorothy, Your bravery will pay off whether with this man or (with fear of sounding new agey) you may have just open up doors you hadn’t known existed by divulging what it is you want from this life. I believe taking action such as you did excites change. You made a decision and you acted on it. Even if he isn’t interested I truly believe you are one step closer.
I am now a firm believer that women need to stop waiting for the guy and need to start askin’ guys out. Take the reigns. In the past I often waited to see who liked me and it left me feeling doubtful that I would ever find true love.
I did something similar 6 months ago and asked a guy I worked with and had admired out. The idea hit me like a fever. All my doubts such as the fact that we were from different worlds and he was 9 years younger (I am 41) went out the door. Luckily booze fueled my bravery and I texted him…(reenactment)
ME: Hi. This is Julie. Do you have a girlfriend?
HIM: No.
ME: Good.
Pause. No response.
ME: Am I being out of line to tell you that I kinda have the biggest crush on you?
Pause. Nervous. heartbeats. Shame. Cussing. 30 minutes later…
HIM: Well, I’m flattered. I think you are one of the most beautiful women I have ever met.
ME: Game on.
I can’t express the amount of relief and gratitude I had for him taking it to that level.
6 months later (now) we are looking for a house together, talking of our future with hopes it might include a baby.
I hope this doesn’t come across as gloating but more of proof that those movie moments do exist but you can’t sit back chomp on popcorn and expect Jake to light the candles on your birthday cake.
You should feel proud.
by the way i didn’t mean to make my post seem so hetero with the guy/girl thing.
so to clarify…
women ask that women out
guy ask that guy out…
you know what? now that I think about it. maybe this is solely a hetero problem since the other examples don’t logically apply.
hepburn was married but is better known for her decades long adultery with spencer tracy.
12. Gale, of course I know you didn’t do it for the Whatsit grist. But sometimes, to give myself a little extra courage, I’ll tell myself something like, “Best case, it goes better than expected. Worst case, I will have a hell of a story to tell.” Our most miserable/lonely/vulnerable/naked moments are still social currency when we are drunk… or blogging.
Don’t give your rotten coworker a second thought. The world is full of Neanderthals, and you would never be happy if you settled for one.
To answer your titular question, I do believe the movies have fucked us! Relationships are all but doomed to fail under the weight of Hollywood’s unrealistic expectations.
Here is reality, plain and simple: Monogamy is a fairy tail. With the exceptions of those with little or no libido, and excepting those with little or no curiosity, every person in a committed relationship will ALWAYS pursue sex outside of the relationship. If you value monogamy, then value your partner’s stash of porn, because that fantasy life is helping to hold your ‘thing’ together.
Hollywood fucks us because it sets up marriage to be way too important. Loving partnerships are amazing, but people change, and if couples don’t change in the same direction, then the last thing the couple needs is a social contrivance to make them feel like miserable failures. The institution of marriage is an affront to the legitimacy of the millions of other creative partnerships that people could form in marriage’s absence.
“Monogamy is a fairy tail” is my favorite. I will put it on an of sWells’ lists.
It’s Jen’s re-telling of my mis-step
Oh — oops! Missed looking at the author line.
</noob>
24. Oops! And it is also a ‘fairy tale.’
I need to recoup!.
“Monogamy is fairy tail” would be a funny bumper sticker for Peter Pan.
I don’t think you’re a bad driver, Dorothy. You’re probably an amazing driver, but you’re on the wrong road. The good news is, over the rainbow there is gravity. Which may bring you back to earth, where all of us have engaged in a horrible dance to get what we want. We humiliate ourselves; we conveniently ignore steadfast personal boundaries; we slip and fall down. And when we look up, we see the road’s no longer yellow. And little people aren’t singing us our praises. And there is no wizard; well there is, but he’s a moron – much like the one in the movie, only worse because he’s cocky and who makes horrible decisions according to his gut. The gut is another word for our lower selves. The part of our brains where the reptile in us is afraid another bigger reptile is going to swoop down, pick us up and deliver us to the little baby reptiles that are going to eat us. We call it instinct.
Except we aren’t reptiles. We’ve been burdened with something higher than instinct, which is the most confounding, easily persuadable, at times useless hunk of junk: ta-dah, the brain. Mind. What have you. It tells us to build structures so the reptiles can’t invade us; it tells us that pursuing our dreams is fruitless. It tells us, I’m not good enough. It tells us, I hate myself. It tells us, I have to change in order to fit in. It tells us not to be who we are.
And who we are is good people who are at times stupid, ugly, moronic, self-loathing who put up this tremendous front so that no one will see us. Is it the good qualities or bad qualities in each other which draw us together? The fairy tale. Is meeting the person of your dreams real? Or is it a lot like the movie where at every turn something’s trying to swoop down and kill you. Perhaps we find what’s missing in us in them. Couples can come together based on a checklist of plusses and minuses – a commonsense approach – a bad idea. But what if the inexplicable dance of couplehood isn’t so inexplicable at all?
It’s the reptile in us knowing what we need to survive. And yes, love, whimsy are necessary to humans for survival. So I would imagine, Dorothy, that your whimsy and love are missing from your friend. They may exist in some other part of his life — but maybe they’re not so accessible as they are to you. It could also be that your whimsy and lightness needs a touch of gray, which he perhaps brings to the table as well as whatever nice things you make up about him.
There is tragedy over the rainbow, Dorothy. A woman died. An angry sister with a grudge was burned alive. And the only way home was a pipe dream. Literally.
So what’s next for you, girl with bangs, the yellow brick road in Oz, or the tar thing that cars drive on that takes pictures of you when you run a redlight? I suppose there’s pain on whatever yellow brick road you skip on, just as there is probably pain on whatever tar road he drives on. I hope the two roads cross soon and become a pretty way that lead you safely home.
I hope the two roads cross soon and become a pretty way that lead you safely home.
— is that when I’ll be on the right road, Monkey-man (if that’s your stage of evolution)? Interesting that you say I am not on the right road in your first sentence — yet I am not sure what road you are suggesting.
I will say that for me to be so upfront and oddly uncomplicated with my feelings feels like the right road — for me at least — which is all I can control. To desire someone for who they are — grey and all — without wanting them how I see them — is new. Freeing. Light. Somewhere over whatever is in the sky. Y’know. It is a soaring. Of the soul.
Whether the man with eyes so blue that blue didn’t even know what blue was before these eyes — whether he will choose to take my open hand and my open heart — is up to him. I have splayed my heart open, peeled open the layers of fat and muscle — and offered it up. I hope Mr. Gray (not Mr Grey’s) calls me back. Or shows up. Or decides to walk down whatever road may lay ahead — together. I hope it leads us both to a place we call home.
Jesus. Maybe I should leave this on his answering machine — a machine I have that I seem to be having a full-on relationship with. I call it when I know he won’t be home, just to hear his voice. That voice is my “Tracy’s face.”