November 7, 2012 by Mandi Harris
First of all, I would like apologize. It’s been a couple of weeks since I updated this blog. I was out of town for a while, and then I started a new job. Well, the hectic stuff is over now (for a little while, at least), and I will get back to regular blogging. On to the love and romance…
I understand love and romance- when people are true partners, invested in each other, best friends completely in love. However, my spinsterish soul just isn’t looking for that type of lasting love right now. I am not interested in romance. I am interested in fauxmance, in those fake ideals presented to us by movies and novels. My love life consists of two things: bad dates and good daydreams. Consider this the follow-up to the ungoals I talked about last time: I’m not in any hurry to change my love life. I love my daydreams, my unrealistic and nonsensical fantasies. My family keeps encouraging me to be more realistic in my romantic pursuits, but honestly, I’d rather turn on some music and let my mind wander. Here are some of my favorite romantic fantasies:
(Spoiler alert: I usually kill off my fantasy lovers in tragically gruesome ways. Sometimes, I kill myself off through various 19th-century diseases. I usually cry harder over my own dignified, heart wrenching death than I do over my lovers’ deaths.)
- Aliens have invaded earth, and they are looking for a new queen. It turns out that I am the soul mate of the alien crown prince/democratically elected alien senator. (He has to be something democratically elected in order to soothe my mind that he’s a prince, but he has to be a prince because who wants an alien lover only to have him turn out to be a commoner or drone or whatever aliens call their non-royals?) After obvious cultural differences that lead to some serious sexual tension, my prince/democratically elected alien senator and I realize that we are in love, and I become his society’s version of Princess Di. This daydream usually ends when his oxygen converting breathing apparatus fails, and he suffocates.
- My love interest is a sexy, bearded, plaid-wearing carpenter who builds cabins in his spare time. I shouldn’t need to elaborate this one too much. He’s gruff. I’m whimsical and charming. We resist each other at first, but then fall massively in
lovelust. This usually ends when I get bored and make him have a scroll saw accident.
- Despite the fact that I have zero mountain climbing experience in real life, in my daydream I am a mountain rescue expert who spends most of her days rescuing hikers stranded in the Grand Canyon of Yellowstone. My lover is a wolf biologist who may in fact have a lupine secret…you know…he’s a werewolf. I don’t always have him be a werewolf. Sometimes, he’s just a regular dude who gets ripped apart by wolves when I decide I no longer want to fantasize about him.
- My lover is a medieval Irish prince who gets zapped here through a wormhole. Sometimes I make it so I get zapped back to his time. (Sidenote: I tend to dress in an old-fashioned manner a lot of the time, just in case I get sent back in time. If you believe in time travel and the possibility of accidentally falling through a wormhole, it’s just common sense to wear clothes that don’t scream “Witch from the future! Burn her! Burn her!”) OK, back to my medieval warrior. I mean, I know there will be issues. I’ll have to teach him about antibiotics and good oral hygiene and condoms (I imagine medieval syphilis was extremely potent). He’ll have to teach me how to speak his language and not do “future witch” things like read. This medieval fantasy usually ends when I tire of him and send him back through the wormhole, where he gets trapped half in his time and half in mine. Sadly, he ends up dismembered by time.
- I am in love with Assistant Director Walter Skinner from The X-Files. I never fantasize about Mulder or Scully. They belong to each other, and I’m no home-wrecker, not even a fictional one. Have you ever stopped to notice Skinner? I don’t remember when I first noticed there was a man beneath those Oxford button downs, but there is, and he’s a sexy one. I love that episode from season four in which he is shown wearing nothing but his tighty-whities. In this fantasy, I am a psychic who gets caught up in a case of paranormal murder. To keep me alive, Skinner takes me under his personal protection. Our age gap and my status as a federal witness cause him to resist our obvious sexual chemistry. Eventually, I wear him down, and we make sweet, sweet paranormal love. I never kill Skinner off, which might be a sign that he’s my true love. It’s really too bad that he’s fictional.