I have a horrible confession to make: I am a total hopeless romantic. I pretend not to be. I am all “oh, yeah, we can keep this casual. No big deal” and “Who needs flowers? They just die.” I make really gross comments and references regarding “money shots” and formicophilia. But those who really know me will tell you when it comes to being unimpressed by romance, I am so full of shit my eyes are brown. In the back of my insatiable, crazy-girl brain, I want to see fireworks. I want my own soundtrack to play when I kiss someone. I want some Hollywood crap that doesn’t really exist but that I was spoonfed as a little girl watching The Little Mermaid 1000 times thinking at some point in my life I would have perky breasts snuggled in my sea-shell top, a fishtail and a man with sprayed-on abs and a sock-sized lump in his briefs who can’t live without me.
In short, I want that kind of crazy, over-the-moon type of love reserved for Hollywood endings and teenagers. Unfortunately, I am not in film and I graduated high school a while back. And, while I have been in love before, in good, healthy relationships, the only time I ever felt that can’t-eat, can’t-sleep feeling was when I was an actual teenager, and it was anything but healthy.
We met when we were 15 in English class where we bonded over a heated debate about the morals of Holden Caulfield. (Angry nerds make me hot.) We got together and fell pretty mad. We had some intense, sloppy high-school sex—you know how in high school you never question whether the sex you’re having is good, because, well you’re just so excited to be having it! Like (vegan!) pizza when you’re drunk. We were stupid for each-other for a couple of years before it all went down, and we lost our minds.
A few antics to illustrate our insanity: I punched him in the face when I found out he cheated on me at summer camp. He chased my car down the road barefoot and dove in the (open) driver’s side window to land on my lap in a shoeless, shirtless, pile of sobbing 16-year-old emo boyness. I acted like a crazy person. He showed up at a dance in his varsity sports uniform and freaked out when he saw me dancing (innocently! ish…) with some other dude. I acted like a crazy person, again. My life was like the Notebook. It was great. Sort of.
We stopped sleeping and eating. Parents got involved. I believe I mentioned once before that he tried to run me over with his car due to a tantrum I was throwing on its hood—ask my mother, who was watching the fiasco from the front porch while screaming at us both. It was straight up white-trash-you-ain’t-my-baby’s-daddy-Lifetime-TV.
Eventually we went off to college a few hours apart and that was that. Sort of. Maybe we had a few late night trysts over the years, whenever we happened to be in the same area code. Whatevs, I’ve always been a big fan of recycling.
This rant has a point. These types of immature antics were the result of a couple of kids not emotionally equipped to deal with the heavy feelings (and hormones) they were dealt. We were given an unfair, ill-fated hand. While I have been in healthy, loving relationships since my crazy teen star-struck days, none of them have come with the same feeling of urgency. While part of me thinks this is a good, sane thing, another part—the bat-shit crazy hopeless romantic—wants to feel that yearning, burning, ooey-gooey love stuff again. Hopefully I would know how to handle it this time.
Recently I had this conversation with the aforementioned ex, ‘cause we’re still tight like that. He posed the question: “Do we only get one do-it-or-die, stupidly in-love moment in life? Is it like a phone call from jail, and we’ve already spent ours?”
As a bat-shit crazy hopeless romantic, I sure as hell hope not. What about you? Any other crazy romantics out there who want to be so in love they would plant all 110 pounds of themselves behind someone’s beat up Saturn to try and stop them from leaving? Or am I just totally nuts? What’s the craziest thing you have ever done for love? Please tell me!
The Lusty Vegan is a lifestyle and sex column focusing on living and loving as a twenty-something year old vegan. More rants from Zoe Eisenberg can be found at www.sexytofu.com.