Movie Love

Is it possible that the only times I’ve ever really fallen in love was at the movies?  I can remember the first time it happened.  Drew Barrymore.  Even before Princess Leia in the gold bikini, it was Drew Barrymore in ET.  After all, she was much closer to my age.

As a 28-year-old man who still sleeps with a Pound Puppy who’s old enough to drink (creatively named “Puppy”), these are things that I’m starting to wonder about myself.  Not big things, like how I’m gonna pay bills on an actors salary, or where I see myself in 5 years, but little things.  Things like this.

I’m not just talking about thinking actresses are hot, there’s plenty of that to go around.  Watching two people fall in love on the silver screen makes you feel like you’re falling in love.  It gives some people hope that true love, fairytale romances, and happy endings really exist.  But what if I’m merely living vicariously through the fictional life of John Cusack?  What if Meg Ryan’s Sally is the one of a few women I’ll ever really fall for?

Someone said that once you find the person you belong with, the only other time you fall in love is at the movies.  But what about beforehand?  What if you don’t find each other?

My first high school girlfriend came along when I was a freshman.  My parents sat me down and attempted to explain to me the concept of puppy love, the idea that infatuation and love are not the same thing.  The problem is that my 13-year-old brain couldn’t tell the difference.

People say that when you find The One, it changes your life.  That it’s totally different from anything you’ve ever experienced.  So if that’s true, everything else is prologue.  I’m ok with that for the most part, because I’m gonna have one hell of a story to tell the grandkids, but it begs the question: How can you tell the difference?  I heard someone describe the way women look for the ‘perfect guy’ as the same thing as shopping for the little black dress:  You think you know what you’re looking for, but you don’t really know until you find it.

My idiotic 13-year-old self thought he was in love, and maybe he was.  My idiotic 25-year-old self could have been just as much in love as the 13-year-old was, but the truth is that neither of those guys are still with the women they thought they loved.  So what’s the difference?

She’s out there somewhere.  It’s a matter of faith, and I’m trying my best to be patient.  But if she turns out to be married to the wrong guy, or a nun or something, I can always pop in The Notebook and fall in love with Rachel McAdams…again.