Life Was A Beach; Now It's A Bitch

Vacations are lovely. I just got back from Bethany Beach, DE and if it weren't for the fact that my car died in the Wawa parking lot, I'd still be all zoned out and relaxed.

The beach is a funny place. I used to go a lot when I was a wee'un and I loved getting buried in the sand and body-surfing. I got to eat ice cream and pancakes and play skeeball. As I got older, the beach started to have new possibilities. Namely, boys.

Now, I don't know about all of you, but I have seen lots of movies and read books where people go to the beach and magical lovely things happen. You know: boy meets girl, sparks happen, boy and girl begin tentative relationship, uh-oh! plot device to drive the couple apart, whew! it was all a misunderstanding. Kisses on the beach, fade, and done. This would be the point where I tell you that that has never happened to me.

So, regardless of my previous beachy experiences, as I drove into the first in a line of Delaware beach towns, I got all twitchy. Ooooo, the possibilities! Maybe this trip would be THE trip. Maybe I'll have the magical moment. Picture it: waves crashing, my hair perfectly tousled by the salt breeze, my cheeks nicely rosy from the sun. He is tall and bronzed and sensitive yet manly. I am the girl he has been waiting for. He cups my face in his strong hands, gazes into my eyes, and...well, you've seen the movie.

I'm sure you've figured out that this did not happen. I spent a very nice and relaxing couple of days with my parents. I read some beach-type books, ate some good food and had ice cream for lunch one day. I got a bit of a tan and managed to destress. Which was almost ruined by the fact that my car died as I was leaving Wawa earlier with my cibatta melt and iced tea. Waiting for the AAA tow truck for over an hour is a buzz kill. Much thanks goes out to my neighbor for coming out and 1) giving me a jump, and 2) hanging out with me when my car died again and giving me a ride home.

Wanted? Maybe, maybe not.

"Kill one, and maybe save 1000. That's what we believe, and that's why we do it."

If you don't live under a rock, or have a severe allergy to all forms of media, you probably recognize that line. Only, they don't say "maybe" in the previews - probably because when you add the "maybe" there is more moral gray area. It's from the movie Wanted, and it's the guiding principle of the Fraternity of Assassins. I saw the movie last night and it got me thinking about some things. Oh, and this isn't a review, but there may be spoilers. You've been warned.

Very short synopsis ahead. Wesley is a loser - an anxiety-ridden, cuckolded account manager at some nameless corporation. One night at the store, he encounters Fox (Angelina, looking luscious yet somewhat expressionless), and mayhem ensues. Skipping right along, Wesley learns he has these gifts that, if trained, can make him a very effective assassin. Training montage, small bits of plot, lovingly filmed violence, bendy bullet trajectories, fin.

What got me thinking was this: This poor, sad sack was aching for a new, more meaningful existence. It didn't matter that said existence could only be achieved through many training montages and intricately carved bullets. I'll admit that I've had the odd fantasy or two about being pushed out of my life into another. This other life may be scary and throw me for a loop, but I'd rally and embrace my shiny new meaning. Then I think about what I'd have to leave behind and I wonder if being swept away is really what I want.

See, in these fantasies, I'm either an entirely different person or only one aspect of my life changes. This allows me to indulge in the idea of being some sort of world-saver superhero type without leaving my friends and family behind. While I am an independent creature, I do enjoy the occasional bout of human interaction. I find I have the same kind of problem when I'm fantasizing about, well, sex. I've been known to be attracted to the odd celebrity/personality/musician now and again. Once I discover that said celeb isn't available, I stop thinking about anything. For some reason, I can't simply erase my competition. I have to come up with some bizarre and convoluted reason why the fantasy object is single. If kids are involved, well you can just forget it then.

At the end of the movie, Wesley asks us, "What the fuck have you done with your life?" I think I can say, with all honesty, I'm OK with not having killed people, or fallen into a gorge, or made out with Angelina Jolie. OK, that last part is probably a bit of a lie. Who doesn't want to make out with Angelina? Also, I would love to be able to curve the path of my bullet, but I don't want to get banned from my shooting range attempting it.

Stupid Girl Shit

I've been telling my friends that I'm not obsessing over my lack of a response from my not-date date last week. You probably know what's coming next...yeah, I'm lying about that a little bit.

I figure there are three possibilities. One, he thought it was funny/clever/cute/whatever, but didn't think a reply was necessary. Two, he did not find it funny/clever/cute/whatever, and is sparing my feelings by NOT replying. Three, he never checks his email and my clever little thing is languishing away in the inbox.

Are you ready to ask me why it matters so much? More importantly, do you want to ask what my clever little thing was? Because I like this boy. For a minute, after the meet-up, I thought that I had overestimated my virtual attraction, and that I didn't want him the way I thought I did. Um, I was wrong. I want to see him again. I want the wild monkey sex (eventually). I want to know if he realized I thought it was a date, or if he just assumed that his general awesomeness attracted yet another moth.

Here comes the oh-so typical girl reaction: Did he realize it was a date (to me)? Why would he say we could do "this" again if he didn't think I was an okay person? Why wouldn't he acknowledge my tiny effort to maintain contact? Why aren't I asking him these questions? As I've stated before, when you ask questions, you get answers. I don't know if I'm prepared for the answers I may get.

Of course, having a boring job and an overactive imagination, I have come up with a few ideas. Here's how it goes:

Him: Sorry I took so long to reply to your email. I'm really lax about checking it unless I am expecting something. Your clever thing was clever.

Me: Oh, don't worry about it. I've gone days without checking my mail. (Well, maybe I wouldn't say that. It's a lie and I don't like to lie, even if it furthers my purposes.) Thanks, I was inspired.

Him: I was thinking about seeing [insert movie here] this weekend. Do you want to go?

Me: Definitely. No one else I know is interested in going. I was about ready to see it alone. (Not a lie - I often go to movies alone.)

Him: Excellent. I'll met you at this place, at this time.

A relatively mild fantasy, I'll grant you, but that's really all I'm allowing myself to hope for. I do have far dirtier and involved scenarios, but those are for another post.

Stupid Fantasy of the Day

Miracle of miracles! A comment on my "And Then What Happened?" post! Three words: "Is this me?" Commenter name: "his name here".

The feather mallet resumes its work.

"If you greatly desire something, have the guts to stake everything on obtaining it."