Falling Without Recovery

Everyone and their mom is obsessed with falling in Love. The movies and TV shows and musical arrangements that fill the airwaves during daily drives to and from work are all full of Love stories that will either leave you curled up under your covers yearning to be touched in the best way or wanting to regurgitate the cold sweet and sour chicken you ate for lunch. The whole Love thing has become such an important force in the lives of pretty much everyone that it's even become like a big deal to tell someone that you love them in a way that's like "Yeah, I loved you before, but now I think I might want to only have sex with just you for the rest of my life." Funny how that happens, right? 

You could have asked high school Angela if she'd ever been in Love, and I can almost guarantee that she would have said yes in a heartbeat. I was stupid, though. I thought I was in Love with every guy who showed any kind of awareness of my existence or any guy who had moves on the astroturf field and do some kind of hair flip. But, let's face it, kids, that's just lust. And lust is Love's evil twin who only wants to give you herpes and a broken heart. 

I've grown up since then, and I'm not going to lie or do a fairy dance around the mushroom to avoid disclosing that I currently find myself caught between the sticky fingers of Love's iron fist. 

But I'm going to just say what no one else will say. Being in Love is shit. It's horrible. I wouldn't wish it upon anyone. 

Some mornings you open your eyes and life is rainbows and puppies and fuzzy kittens sleeping on cotton candy clouds. Suddenly you feel like nothing could possibly go wrong, and you're so happy and just want to go tell it on the mountain so everyone knows about how you have all these feelings for this one insignificantly significant individual. You finally understand the hype about Love. Well, you think you understand. After all, you're pretty much walking around in the same puff of smoke that follows you around after you leave a really good concert or have just had a totally real conversation with Josh Groban. 

Other days, you're lucky if you can get up out of bed. Your chest hurts and you miss this other person more than anything ever. It feels like you're going to actually die. I suppose you could say they're the drug 12 steps wouldn't be enough to kick, and you feel like you're going through the most painful of withdrawals. Every song is suddenly about them, and every movie stars you.  You remember the possibilities of dying of a broken heart and you're nearly positive that that's how you'll die. And, finally, the story of Romeo and Juliet makes complete sense. Maybe those two lovebirds weren't as hormonally irrational as you once thought. 

Then there are days when you absolutely hate everything about this person. You sit there and think to yourself, "Why this person? Why now? Why couldn't I be feeling all this for the cute guy who works at Subway?" You hate the way they laugh, the way they drive too fast, the way they only want you when they drink, the way they look when they think you're not watching, the way they do just about everything. It all sucks for being so damn cute and appealing like a 6-pack of bitch beer on a Friday night. You wish they'd just leave so you could just move the frig on. Like, please get out of my life now. I can't take this. You're killing me slowly. 

But there are still those days when you feel like you're in one of those corny Nicholas Sparks novels, and you're totally invincible to the rest of the world through the power of Love. You love the fact that they're around. You love every little moment you have with them, and you realize how beautiful life is while they're with you. You see them from across the room, and your heart stops and you can't imagine having a more beautiful view. They touch you, and everything feels perfect. They hold you, and you feel the safest you've ever felt. They kiss you, and you wonder if you'll ever find anything that feels more right. And that's not even explaining the feeling at it's best. That's just skidding across the surface. 

The thing about Love, though, is that despite all the aching chests and awkward first kisses and the feeling of "how will I ever move on from this moment?", it's still pretty amazing. And that, kids, is the shittiest part. 

You and Me and My Erotica

As of recently, having discovered where the real money is in writing, I've decided I'm going to pursue the great art of erotic paperbacks (yes, you know, the ones grocery stores stick in the corner by the magazines and coloring books). Despite my own lack of sexual allure, I've read enough Hancest (Hanson incest) fan fiction and I've spent like 4 years on Tumblr, so you know, I know about the sex. It really can't be that hard if you really think about it. I mean, Fifty Shades of Grey, which originally was written as Twilight fan fiction, got published and has sold like one bagillion copies. So, what I'm thinking is I have to get in on that sweetness because money.

So, you might be thinking that I am totally not the person to be writing such filth, and I definitely agree with you on that. Like, what do I know about romance or making the sex happen? I'm 20, perpetually single, and only attract guys who religiously watch Doctor Who. That's not enough credibility to make me a candidate for such a career, but seriously.

So, what's my game plan? Well, pretty much, I have a four-step plan for my success as an erotica novelist.



1. Read lots of bad erotica to get a grasp on plots and writing techniques. Plus, I really need to find out where all the hot Fabio-esque models are, so I can have the absolute best men on my covers. That's
probably the real key to making money off these pieces of literature. Just saying. The secrets are in the lush, blonde locks. 

2. Create a cool, sexy pen name because there is no way I'm putting my name on this trash (plus, my name just wouldn't look good on a book. That's why I need to get married soon and get a new last name. WHERE ARE MY SUITORS?). Once I have a cool, sexy pen name, the rest will come magically.

3. Write erotica. Yeah. Pretty much. And, honestly, I'd probably write all of them while listening to the only sexual song of my youth. Yes, I'm talking about "Digital Get Down" by NSYNC. Shhh. I know. I don't know why I was allowed to listen to that either.

4. Make so much money they actually have to bring it to my house in wheelbarrows and put it in those cloth sacks with big green dollar signs on them. I'll finally be able to afford to over-compensate for my lack of sexual allure with tons of money.

See? It's totally a great plan.

The sad thing about all this is that I would probably write some really fantastic erotica if I actually sat down and tried. So, maybe one day. Perhaps, sooner than anyone thinks.

But you may never know because of my sexy, cool pen name. Then again, I might give myself away with all the references to the steamy cage scene in LOST. But that might just be coincidental. You don't know my life!