it has to be me.

i don't think anyone is capable of this much idiocy as anyone else, certainly not the guy who made the mistake of sitting with me for dinner for four hours and trying (in vain, i tell ya!) to get me to come back to his room with him.

he was by all means, ABSOLUTE PERFECTION!

ABSOLUTE PERFECTION for all the wrong reasons.

i read somewhere once that summer is not summer without flings and such flings in order to be succesful has to be enjoyed by both parties and promptly forgotten.

oh dear god in heave, i wanted to, sooo bad. did i mention he was ABSOLUTE PERFECTION?

the way he looked at me made me want to melt in a puddle of goo, GOO i tell ya, GOO. he had these intense blue eyes and everytime he looked at me i knew exactly what he was thinking: me in bed, naked, in a tangle of sheets and limbs with him.

it's heady you know, being desired, and it's not even the just the sexual connotation of being a sex object it's totally MORE than that. it's the feeling of being wanted, of being desirable, of being pursued. i'm being repetitive, and i'm not making too much sense and i can't seem to capture the right words in my brain and put it into "paper."



he was exotic. i know, i know, i hate that word. exotic. i've been called exotic so many times throughout my life that i've come to absolutely detest the word. but him, even his name is exotic: Marciano. brazilian, but he didn't look brazilian, at least not the typical brazilian i've come to know. he was blond, with the most intense blue eyes EVER. everytime he looked at me, he had that secret smile on his face and i know, i just KNOW that he's imagining wicked things in his mind.

being wicked is hot.

i alternated between being tempted by him to well, not. we talked for four hours last night, we had dinner together, then we went our separate ways only to run into each other again as i was coming back to my room from downstairs checking my email. that was another two hours of conversation right there. he would have been the most perfect fling, we were both staying in the same hotel through the weekend, we're both single, both unattached and both desirious of well, each other.

what's the problem then???

and this my friends is when idiocy enters: i couldn't. i effin couldn't.

why? oh no, not for the most noble of reasons, not because i knew i was going to feel bad about myself the next day . . . not even for that. i couldn't do it because the whole four hours we were talking the only thing that was going through my brain was i would rather be talking to someone else. that i am dying, because i couldn't talk to the one person i wanted to talk to. oh, see??? i AM an idiot.

what have i gone and done? WHAT??? i think i fell. oh shit. shitshitshitshitshitshitshitshit. i fell. i wasn't supposed to fall, at least not yet, or at the very least not with the person i fell for.

i mean, WHO DOES THAT?!?

honestly!

i can't do this. i can't fall for someone who's confused, for someone who's still inlove with another girl, and in fact the only thing preventing him for being with her is because he's scared that she may potentially hurt him again. i can't imagine being with someone who only has half a heart, because, i mean, he does. it's only half coz the other half is unsure. i'm a selfish bitch, i want all of it, i want the whole thing. and i don't think i'm ever going to be satisfied with only half, and that will be a bone of contention between us, i don't think i can live my life knowing/thinking/assuming i'm second best or that he settled. and OH HOLY CRAP! why am i even thinking/assuming he feels the same way???

seeeeeee, IDIOT!!!

i should have said YES to Marciano, a resounding YES, a screaming, orgasmic YESSSSSS.

except i didn't coz i'm an IDIOT (as if that needs to be established even more!), coz the whole time Marciano was talking, i was dying to check my email, i was itching to go back to my room and write something down, something funny that would be guaranteed to make him smile or something poignant that would make him think.

well, fuck.

actually, it should be, well i'm fucked.

LoVe~

It hurts to love someone and not be loved in return, but what is more painful is to love someone and never find the courage to let that person know how you feel.

May be God wants us to meet a few wrong people before meeting the right ones so that when we finally meet the right person, we will know to be grateful for that gift.

Love is when you take away the feeling, the passion, and the romance in a relationship and find out you still care for that person. A sad thing in life is when you meet someone who means a lot to you, only to find out in the end that it was never meant to be and you just have to let go.

The kind of friend is the kind you sit on a porch and swing with, never say a word, and then walk away feeling like it was the best conversation you've ever had.

It's true that we don't know what we've got until we lose it, but it's also true that we don't know what we've been missing until it arrives.

Giving someone all your love is never assurance that they'll love you back!

Don't expect love in return; just wait for it to grow in their heart but if it doesn't, be content it grew in yours. There are things you'd love to hear that you would never hear from the person whom you would like to hear them from, but don't be so deaf as not to hear it from the one who says it from his heart.

Never say good-bye if you still want to try-never give up if you still feel you can go on-never say you don't love a person anymore if you can't let go.

Love comes to those who still have hope although they've been disappointed-to those who still believe, although they've been betrayed, to those who still need to love, although they've been hurt before, and to those who have the courage and faith to build trust again.

It takes only a minute to get a crush on someone, an hour to like someone, and a day to love someone-but it takes a lifetime to forget someone.

Don't go for look's; they can decieve. Don't go for wealth; even that fades away. Go for someone who makes you smile because it takes only a smile to make a dark day seem bright.

There are moments in life when you miss someone so much that you just want to pick them from your dreams and hug them for real! Hope you dream of that special someone. Dream what you want to dream; be what you want to be, because you have only one life and one chance to do all the things you want to do.

Always put yourself in others shoes. If you feel that it hurts you, it probably hurts the person too.

Love begins with a smile, grows with a kiss, and ends with a tear.

The brightest future will always be based on a forgotten past, you can't go on well in life until you let go of your past failures and heartaches.

in the interest of full disclosure . . .

i was thinking about this earlier, kinda like "buyer beware" tyoe of thing . . . c'est moi.

1. i will at some point probably make you cry. whether in frustration, overwhelming anger, sadness, or love, know this, i will make you cry.

2. i've been called stubborn, pig-headed, mulish at times, definitely hardheaded and will most likely want things to go the way i want.

3. and when things DON'T go the way I want them to, i will make you suffer.

4. i don't share my bed. i've never been able to sleep in the same bed with someone of the opposite sex and actually have a good night's rest. at least without the help of some sleeping medication.

5. i grind my teeth.

6. my feet are perpetually cold.

7. i steal the covers.

8. i don't like air conditioning. in fact, i detest it, give me an open window in the summer time, a ceiling fan, and i'm good.

9. i will bring you home to meet my family, a half dozen aunts and uncles who aren't really my aunts and uncles, and then my mother will proceed to fatten you up with dishes you can't A. pronounce, B. differentiate (they all seem to have either red or brown sauce), C. digest, D. for the life of you understand why people would enjoy eating them.

10. my friends, God love them all, will probably dislike you from the very beginning until you prove to them you won't: A. hurt me (until i hurt you first), B. make me cry (until i make you cry first), C. cheat, D. lie, E. prove you're an all around perfect boy for me.

11. my sisters won't talk to you when you first meet them, they'll look at you, smile hesitantly and run away. you may think you're off the hook coz it's not like they interviewed you, BUT, i will still find them later on and badger them to find out what they truly think of you and based on that i will see how far i want to take "us."

12. when we fight (rest assured, we will), i will hang up on you and it is your duty to call me back. BUT, not immediately, BUT, not the next day. it has to be within the hour, but not any sooner than half an hour later. coz that's usually when i've made the rounds calling my friends, irritated and mad and they've listened to me and heard me vent and proceeded to tell me i'm an idiot.

13. you must always apologize. even if it's my fault. i'm not good at apologizing but when you open the door to apologizing, it usually comes out of me and i'm properly apologetic.

14. i will debate you from sun up to sun down, i will mock your stance on EVERYTHING if they differ from my beliefs.

15. i will constantly change my mind. about EVERYTHING.

16. i will feel blue, i will feel sad, i will want to cry and when i tell you that i feel blue, sad and want to cry and you want to know what you can do to help i will say nothing. because, it's the truth, there's nothing you can do. i'm a girl. shit happens.

17. said shit usually happens once a month, for the duration of the whole week. when there's nothing right you can do, when there's nothing right you can say and i will probably look at you and say i hate you.

18. i am posessive more than i am jealous. although i don't know the big difference between the two, i just know i'm one and not the other.

I AM ALL THAT AND A BAG OF CHIPS.

“I don't pretend to know what love is for everyone, but I can tell you what it is for me; love is knowing all about someone, and still wanting to be with them more than any other person, love is trusting them enough to tell them everything about yourself, including the things you might be ashamed of, love is feeling comfortable and safe with someone, but still getting weak knees when they walk into a room and smile at you.”

begin at the beginning

begin at the beginning . . .

since my old myspace was hacked into and deleted by the ever so lovely person who managed the feat, my blogs (all!!!) along with pictures and messages i've been tirelessly saving has gone to hades. so, it is without a doubt, the greatest pleasure of my life (heh) to announce the beginning of a new thread of randomness from moi. oooh, this should be fun.

RANDOM THOUGHTS I

spring has sprung!!! : finally! dammit! that wasn't such a bad winter we just had, one major snow storm, a few chilly days/weeks here and there but not quite as bad as last year. maybe it was me, maybe it was a lot of waiting on my part that contributed to the agonizing slowness of each day last year. maybe it was the constant hoping or maybe it was that S and i broke up therefore plunging me into (what seemed to be) an endless void of nothingness.

in fact, the more i think about it, said void of nothingness started in april culminated around fall and finally cleared up in december. yeah, one can say (at least one privy to the goings on in my life) that last year, even on the hottest day of august, it felt like winter in my life. so maybe, most likely, the reason why i welcome the arrival of spring this time around more ebulliently than last year is because, well, it feels like HOPE. yeah, i said it, i said HOPE.

i know, i know, for a while there i was the biggest detractor of hoping, i believe my words were, "hoping sucks, hoping hurts worse than anything else because hoping usually ends with disappointment and disappointment adds to the pain of hoping for nothing."

oh how i take my words back. there's so much i've learned about myself in this short amount of time since spring has sprung.

example A: the tulips my dad planted around the mailbox finally grew in. beautiful, beautiful colors of pinks and reds and in betweens. tulips make me smile, they just have that effect on me. all flowers do, actually, but tulips more so than any others. i think tulips are resilient, once planted in soil, trust that even though you experience the harshest of winters, come spring, tulips will still grow. it's very much like a woman's heart, i thought, resilient in a way that even though it's been hurt over and over again, more and more, be assured that when the time comes she'll find it in her to forgive and to love again.

example B: my sister calls me over the other day, all excited, talking about the bird that keeps flying into the glass window of our house. it was the same bird she called me at work for, laughing because it was dumb enough to fly into the same damn spot on the same damn window over and over and over again. once, kathleen said, that she counted how many times it flew into the glass and it was a little over 30 times. and then she muttered, "poor, dumb bird."

for a minute there i stared at the poor dumb bird go back and forth betweent he tree and the window and i was like, "HOLY CRAP! I'M THE POOR, DUMB BIRD!!!"

yeah, i'm the poor, dumb bird, alyssa is kathleen and the window is MR. FISH!!!

i stood there, spatula in one hand, jaw hanging open and i kept repeating to myself, "poor, dumb bird, i'm the poor, dumb bird, i'm the . . . "

was that how alyssa saw me? with a mixture of pity and disgust? how could it have been, that such an incredibly strong, independent, forward thinking individual have become such a lame, pathetic, fool waiting for crumbs of something . . . anything . . . from a person who is incapable of giving it because (i'm sure of this!) he, himself is an emotional invalid who . . . who . . . who doesn't have any feelings towards me to return which is why HE IS the glass window.

the glass window i've been trying to (in vain, i assure you) to break into for the last god knows how long. i keep thinking, maybe if i say the right thing, make the right gesture, then maybe, just maybe, he'll realize how much i like him and then he'll like me back. and then some. no such luck. i've ran out of excuses to give, i've ran out of reasonable reasons why he hasn't, why he didn't or why he couldn't. there's too many whys that led me to inevitably conclude: he's just not that me.

there, alyssa, i've said it and i didn't even read the book. i was going to get to your way of thinking. sooner or later. this is funny, we've talked about this before, from my big fat greek wedding. you just had to make it seem like i came up with it. duh.

for the first time today, in months, i left the journal at home. while my hand itched to put it in my bag so i could write in it something funny, something poignant, something cute, something that would make me seem endearing, hell, something that would make him go, "hmmm . . . now this is someone i maybe want to fall inlove with," i didn't. i left it in my bed. when i got home, i took one look at it and i put it away.

whatever funny, poignant, endearing, cute, falling inlove worthy thing that i may have to say, i realized today, has to be reserved for someone who will cherish it and say, "hmmm . . . now this is someone i DEFINITELY WANT TO fall inlove with."

and you know what? not only do i wish and want to find THAT person, i hope it too. i do. as for the promise of another beautiful tomorrow that spring has brought, well, i welcome it with open arms.

i am uber glad i saw my irish wench, she's the only one who'll ever understand what i went through. sometimes, the details of the day, of the circumstance, of the event is lost in the hazy fog of my memories. her job is to remember for me, recall exactly what happened, help me confront it and help me get over it, if not that, then help me put it out of my mind again. at least until next time of the month.

she understands better than anyone else, and only with her do i feel comfortable talking about the nitty gritty of it, instead of what seems to be now, a rehearsed story i tell people who ask. all she has to do is look at me, and i see in her eyes that i'm not alone, that she'll always be there, no matter what. and goodness, that gives me more strength than anything else.

it's that time of the month again. nope, not THAT time of the month, but THE time of the month in march. honest to god it just creeps up on me, i don't even realize it, and i honestly thought it wouldn't be as bad as it was before but apparently i'm wrong. it has been seven years and sometimes i forget it because i become so wrapped up in my life or whoever it is that's part of my life at the moment, sometimes at my unluckiest moment, it just doesn't let me forget.

it totally helped i was in boston, it made acting up so much easier, going a little life crazy not quite as difficult. i enjoyed myself and i won't defend my actions anymore to myself (now that sanity has prevailed again!) or to anyone else. frankly, i don't think i ever enjoyed my life as much as i did when i was in boston. it's a novel experience, just able to do whatever i wanted without someone constantly looking over my back, reminding me i'm not to act that way, i'm to behave, i'm to be a certain way. i felt like i was being myself, only in a different way, a more selfish way actually. i wasn't worried that so and so is not having fun, this person is not dancing enough, that person doesn't have a drink, or that person is bored. hell, i've gone out surrounded by people i've been friends with for years and never have i felt so alone, to the point of wanting to weep but instead i sit in a corner bored out of my skull, itching to go home, flip open a book and fall asleep. i took chances this week, chances i wouldn't have otherwise taken if it wasn't THAT time of the month, and i have NO regrets!

NONE WHATSOEVER!

i behaved like a single, 25 year old, i went out, put myself out there instead of staying locked up in my hotel reading another book about adventure and love and life, i figured, why not me too? instead of just reading it, why not live it! so i didn't find love, but i found life and it feels so freakin amazing! i met a ton of people i wouldn't have if i stayed the mature, responsible, grown up kirstin. there's connor who is 18 months old, who apparently loved coldstone's strawberry bananza as much as i do, since he sidled up next to me and demanded sip after sip of my drink. he had the most beautiful blue eyes, like blue pebbles in a lake, shimmering under the sun. then there's pat, lady at the hotel bar who loves white russian, her husband was at mass gen for heart failure, she had a son who liked to couch surf and she even surfed with him. twice, in mexico. then there's curtis and his friends, canadians living in bermuda, we have an ongoing bet (complete with a signed contract!) over who will win the NL Division title, Mets vs. Phillies. the consequences for the loser will prove pricey, but i'm keeping the faith that i'll be spending a few days vacation in Bora-Bora come September, coz the phillies WILL WIN come september! then there's Philip, the irishman with a verrrrry french name as well as last name, he looked like hugh grant, was a lousy dancer but good lord when that boy smiled . . . oh, and Mike, or Mik, after one too many magners decided to profess his undying love for me, he put my hand over his right chest and said, "feel me heart luv, feel how it beats for ye . . . " then i reminded him that his heart is on the left side of his chest and not the right, so he turns to Philip and says, "see that lad, me woman, ain't she smart?"

i enjoyed myself and i have NO freakin regrets. NONE. it's not being stubborn or being hard headed, it's just living life and taking chances. i'd prefer to be alone, being myself, than being surrounded by people who will suffocate me, who will make me conform to what they believe is normal/proper behavior when out. okay, so maybe my taking chances has something (A LOT!) to do with march being when jay died. so, the chances i take are fueled/emboldened by the fact that i'm thumbing my nose at the Fates, daring them almost to keep me from living life. kinda like, "HEY! THIS IS ME, LOOK AT ME! I'M TAKING CHANCES, I'M DOING THINGS I DON'T NORMALLY DO, I'M DOING THINGS SOMEONE SMART LIKE ME SHOULD KNOW NOT TO DO, WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO ABOUT IT???" i should know better. i should know the fates have nothing to do with jay being gone, he wasn't doing anything particularly dangerous, he didn't die because of an accident, he died because he chose to. he chose to take the gun and he chose the pull the trigger, so maybe in the end, the joke's on me. funny enough, at this moment, i don't particularly care, i'm laughing along. for now.

. . . and the pursuit ends

"Focus on yourself, your work, your life's ambition, and hold out for someone who adores you and doesn't have to be talked into treating you well. It's worth it. You're worth it."

i really should have known better, but it seems like my thick head prevails and i didn't learn anything based from previous experiences.

i lose myself so quickly with the idea of love, of being inlove, of finding someone who matches the ideals of the perfect man in my head that i lose sight of the fact that, well, it's all in my head! so i'm saying goodbye to you Mr. Fish, it was fun while it lasted, but the truth of the matter is, i need to cut you out of my life. permanently, for good, for always and forever.

i had fun thinking you were different than other guys, i had fun falling for the sensitive schtick you peddled, i had fun dreaming up different versions of us watching Shamu together, i had fun coming up with questions to ask you (because i actually wanted to get to know you!), i had fun thinking you and i will always be friends (if that!), i had fun telling my friends that this time around i'm smarter because i was actually starting to fall inlike with a guy who seemed genuine. the fact of the matter is this: you weren't any different from all the guys out there. a schtick is a schtick and you peddled it quite nicely as i fell for it hook, line and sinker! nowadays, i dream of Shamu whacking you in the face with it's tail. you never really asked me questions, a red flag that you weren't even interested in getting to know me. we will never be friends, not the kind of friendship i share with the people in my life, and honestly? i'm quite glad for it, M and B and NSB and hell, even LS keep me on my toes enough as it is! oh and one last thing, you weren't genuine at all, coz if you were then i would have gotten an explanation, any kind of explanation.

i am, unfortunately, a horrible judge of character after all. still.

hello, my name is K, and i'm a romantic.

it's true. i am. not a closet, not a romance bandwagon jumper, or even "it'svalentinesdaytimetoberomantic" kind of romantic, but a true blue (maybe red?) romantic. i am. in fact, i believed in fairy tales (the happy ending kind, with a prince & a princess!) until the ripe old age of 19, i lost that firmly held onto belief for a few years but i found it again. and surprise, surprise! it's like riding a bike, not at all hard to remember.

i knew even at an early age that i was different than most little girls, i mean, my father had to pay me to go outside and get some sun. i would have rather sit at home with a book, reading about beauty & the beast or rapunzel. on my fifth birthday, my aunt wanted to know what to get me for my birthday, and well, all the rage that year for favorite toy was a hula hoop and at the same time, i'd been wanting to know what kind of dresses cinderella wore to the ball (the non-disney version actually had her going to three balls). we didn't have the book but my father had been telling me the stories since i was three, so i chose the book. i saw the prince, i saw the dress, i even saw the pumpkin and her fairy godmother.

you know, i'm the only person i know who perks up when hearing cupid & psyche, i cried when they were separated, smiled when they were together again and sighed when i read the had a child whom they named bliss. i do know who heloise & abelard are, i like to think they are buried together, holding hands in a countryside cemetary somewhere in france. that tristan and isolde managed to have a half dozen kids, in an island off the coast of ireland, they lived in a modestly built castle, completely removed from all those who wish them harm.

i'm just that kind of girl.

like the writer of the article, i too believe in grand gestures. of jetting off to paris for croissant and moonlit strolls along the seine. tulips by my bedside on the first day of spring, the works. why not? a girl can dream, can't she?

reality intrudes though, and we're faced with the harshness that is life. paying bills, mortgages, credit card, working at staying inlove, because it is work. we don't live in simpler times anymore. it's the little things that do count. the tivo-ing of my fave show, the soft touches, the squeeze that says i love you more than anything else, the look that passes between two people that more than makes up for missing tulips on the first day of spring. sometimes that's all it takes.


i romances made of everyday gestures

- Ever hear the one about the guy who had peachy-pink peonies imported from Chile every February? Apparently, he wanted to guarantee his sweetheart a touch of spring each morning.

Then there's that story of the man who kept his wife's kindergarten picture in his wallet because they met on the first day of school and (even after 66 years together) that photo never failed to make him smile.

Oh, and let's not forget my personal favorite: This one involves a woman who thought her boyfriend was taking her for a weekend in East Hampton. Work was high-stress, and they were both pretty beat.

"You know what? I don't feel like driving," the man said casually. "Let's head for LaGuardia and catch a puddle jumper." But as they approached the airport, he announced a little change of plans. "You'll be needing this," he said, and put a passport in her hand. The very surprised woman and her boyfriend didn't go to the Hamptons that weekend. Instead, he jetted her off to Paris, and there, in the courtyard of the Louvre, he got down on one knee and proposed.

All three stories sound like urban boyfriend legends. But Peony Guy does exist --he colors my hair. And yes, Virginia, somewhere outside Tucson there lives a 71-year-old gentleman who is still madly in love with the girl who taught him to hopscotch. As for Mr. Ooh-La-La, I saw the engagement ring with my own two eyes and --so help me God --that diamond was bigger than my high school.

When I recount the tale of my friend's Parisian proposal to Johannes (a.k.a. the father of my child, the love of my life), there is a thoughtful pause. I know he must be doing what I did -- picturing the giddy hand-in-hand walk along the Seine, the caviar on toast points at dinner, Notre Dame glowing against a blanket of stars in the night sky. I sigh. He sighs: "Hey, do you remember the time I went out and bought the stuff that turned the water in your toilet that cool ocean blue color?"

"Yeah, honey," I said. "I remember."

I am a sensible woman. I keep Bactine in my medicine chest, an umbrella in my office, $200 in my sock drawer. I'd sooner remove my own spleen with a grapefruit spoon than buy a set of sheets that require ironing. I believe in practical shoes, low-maintenance hair, and whichever frozen peas happen to be on sale. I'm not entirely sure what a bodice is, but I can tell you that I don't want mine ripped.

Still, I can't help feeling that there's something to be said for moons and Junes and Ferris wheels. I believe in the power of marabou, the brothers Gershwin, bubble baths in claw-footed tubs surrounded by a bazillion twinkly white candles. I believe in strawberries coated in dark chocolate and raspberries floating in pink Champagne. I'm glad Victoria has a few secrets.

I think fireplaces should be lit, compliments should be paid, La Bohéme should be sung, legs should be shaved. I want Lassie to come home, I want Ali MacGraw to live, and I want Gene Kelly to dip Cyd Charisse straight into next Thursday. I'm not proud of this, but in the interest of full disclosure, here it is: I am deeply relieved when Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan finally kiss. My name is Lisa, and I am a romantic.

The truth is that I fell for someone who prefers a blue toilet bowl to, oh, I don't know, let's say "Wuthering Heights." Here is the worst --and by far the stupidest -- fight Johannes and I ever had:

J: What are you reading about?

L: Ida and Isidor Straus. They were an amazing couple! Instead of getting into the lifeboat, she decided to die with her husband on the Titanic. Of course, if Julia were grown, I'd do the same for you.

J: What do you mean?

L: What do you mean, what do I mean?

J: You're not getting in the lifeboat?

L: No, I love you too much to let you drown all by yourself.

J: But I won't be by myself -- I think they were playing poker and getting drunk.

L: So you're saying that you'd rather play poker with John Jacob Astor than cuddle with me?

J: That's not what I'd be doing, because if you're not getting your ass into that lifeboat, then I am. We are not leaving an empty seat.

L: Oh, you're getting into that boat over my dead body.

J: Where the hell is the Tylenol?

L: Try the bathroom ... you know, the place with the ocean blue toilet water.

J: You mean like the ocean you want both of us to sink to the bottom of?

Things kind of spiraled downward from there, and I still break into a cold sweat every time Celine Dion starts wailing about how her heart will go on.

So Johannes and I won't be taking a cruise together anytime soon. And no, those weren't his arms around me as I perched on a dune watching the sun come up over the Sea of Galilee; he wasn't the man who sent me a basket of French damson plums or the one who wanted all babies to have my nose. The slow dances are few and far between these days, and walks in the rain usually involve him running up ahead with the stroller.

But he did teach me how to fly a kite last summer, and we have been known to share steamed dumplings in a little East Village dive he discovered a few years back, and sometimes early in the morning I overhear him playing "tea party" with our daughter, and sometimes late at night I overhear him playing "Blackbird" with his guitar. He has genuine integrity, he has serious style, and he's pulled me through more than one bout of the stomach flu. Anybody can sprinkle rose petals across a big brass bed, but only a real man will hold your hair while you're throwing up.

Now, there are those who will say that references to intense nausea don't belong in a column about romance, but I'm thinking maybe it's time we broaden our definition of what constitutes romance. Ask yourself this: When the man you love realizes that half the screws are missing from the Ikea bookcase he's attempting to assemble for you, does he:

(a) Complain bitterly about herring and Volvos -- vowing to forsake all things Swedish for the rest of his natural days?

(b) Leave the shelving in a heap on the living room floor and question your need to read in the first place?

(c) Complete construction using a combination of rubber bands and Krazy Glue while suggesting you fill the thing with pamphlets rather than actual books?

If you answered (c), then, my friend, life is good -- because it means somebody out there loves you enough to try to get your bookcase together. That creative effort is the kind of everyday gesture on which great romances are built. I wouldn't be surprised to hear that while at the drugstore picking up the amulet of poison, Romeo also picked up a copy of "People" for Juliet. I like to imagine Abelard taping "Grey's Anatomy" for Heloise. I bet a day didn't go by that Mel Brooks wasn't funny for Anne Bancroft.

Don't get me wrong, I'll always want the chubby little cupids and coconut bonbons, but lately I find myself drawn to something richer, deeper, sweeter. Provided nobody decides to do a remake of "Titanic," with Johannes each day is Valentine's Day.