A long time ago, back when I used to write, someone kept stealing my work. (I say *used* to write because I did... really write, that is- not the charming yet naïve and simple self portraits I yammer on about now) Perhaps *stealing* is a bit harsh. His words would be different but the style, tone, and structure would match perfectly. He told me I should be flattered- imitation was the most sincere type of flattery. He admitted that, yes- maybe he was influenced by what I had written but deep down it was completely his own.
Few things in life PISS me off as much as plagiarism. In *any* medium. (Just thinking about it turned me so red, Stan had to take me to the break room and feed me French fries for a half an hour to calm me down)
Anyways. I meandered over to his myspace profile today and had a look around. There was something that he wrote... it bothered me and I’m not quite sure *why*. Ok- here’s the deal. He wrote a sweet, sappy letter to his future wife- who he’s never met. (That in itself just screamed I’m single and hating it, but who am I to judge?) It just sort of pissed me off because of how... *generic* it was.
Typical and mundane.
Vague.
Dispassionately passionate.
It’s tricky talking about love. Talking about love is like dancing about architecture. (insert hypocrisy here) He’s not good at it. After paragraphs of tedious unspecified declarations, he suddenly switched modes and got very specific. I’ve selected an excerpt to show you what I mean:
You do that often, you'll call me at work to tell me you love me. Or to tell me of something wonderful that has happened to you and I was the first person you thought of. I love the little things about you. The way your eyes light up when something has you fired up, the way you pout or bat your eyes innocently at me to destroy my resolve. I love how you cry at 'chick-flicks' and then proceed to smack me for laughing. I laugh not because I think you're being stupid, I laugh because it amazes me that despite your deep reserve of strength, you can still be that emotional. I love the 'only for ****' look...so full of love and adoration. I only hope mine reflects that same gaze. I love you for your zaniness, your craziness and not afraid to put yourself on the line for my benefit and the way you keep me on my toes, rolling your eyes at my antics, and how you're always ready to forgive.
That, my friends- is a fantasy. There is nothing worse for a woman than to try and live up to some man’s fantasy. Trust me. Why does this bother me so much? Can you tell me? I’d look deeper into it, but the truth is- I don’t want to know why. It would hurt too much for me which is silly because I got over these things a long time ago. Maybe I’m just afraid of having to go through the same things over again with someone new. God, that would suck.
In the spirit of plagiarism, I’ve decided to talk to my future ‘other’ too. But not like I know him or anything... rather, I’d like to give him some advice (Because- with me, he’s probably going to need it...
Dear Dude,
-Kill all the spiders. In fact, I don’t even need to know that they’re there.
-Really truly *listen* to me. Sometimes it’ll make sense in the end.
-Sit on the same side of the table as me. I really like that.
-We’re *equals* remember? If I deserve it- YELL at me (call me on my bullshit). If I deserve it- love me. Make me respect you.
-If there’s something you absolutely need- tell me.
-The *fastest* way to get me in the sack is to cook for me. Just saying.
-Make me understand why you love the things you love.
And the most important thing:
-I fuck up a lot. Forgive me and love me anyways.
So Dude- That’s all I have for right now. Those are the kinda/mostly/sorta important ones anyways. I fully intend to do all these things for you too... except for the spiders thing. I really freakin’ hate spiders.
THE END
(Kinda, thinking about more things to add to the list...)
Kell!
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