A Way With Words

I am reading this book, Why We Love: The Nature and Chemistry of Romantic Love. It was written by Helen Fisher, who is an anthropologist and overall bad ass. The whole book is based on how she proved, with other scientists and using brain scans, that "When you fall in love, specific areas of the brain 'light up' with increased blood flow." She also argues that "romantic passion is hardwired into our brains by millions of years of evolution. It is not an emotion; it is a drive as powerful as hunger."

The books is not too technical, and I will spare you the details, but she makes some pretty compelling arguments on how chemicals of the brain play a role in romantic love, attachment, and lust, and the way these chemicals interact with each other influences our need for love.

What I find interesting is how she links love to an evolutionary necessity for the human race. She posits that love has been hardwired into our brains so we can effectively procreate and protect our young. She talks of why men seek certain women and women seek certain men; it is so we can copulate and produce healthy, strong babies.

Now for what this post is really about....

In one part of the book she states that most of our human flair (singing, complex language, wit, etc. Most of the things are superfluous for basic survival) came to be because humans needed to show off for a mate. Our ancestors needed to show how they were superior and more intelligent.

Basically, they needed to show they were the bee's knees. The cat's meow.

Fisher believes that language is a woo-ing tool: "But with words they could also woo. Men and women could tell clever stories, chant sexy tunes, and entice would-be lovers with insightful thoughts. With words, our forebears could flatter, tempt, and tease. As primitive human language gradually emerged, our forebears must have begun our endless human chat about, and with, 'him' and 'her'."

In another part she states that "women are more pragmatic and realistic when they love." Which means that women deliberate on a mate or commitment to a mate for a longer period of time than men. (Because....we spend nine months of our lives carrying a baby around and an average of four years caring for that baby. We have to be discriminating on that sort of thing.)

In this section she also explains that women are more eager to "choose tall, symmetrical [more attractive] men with chiseled cheekbones and rugged jaws [signs of high levels of testosterone], men who are likely to have sturdy genes."

So...not only does Helen Fisher prove how the brain lights up during love, she also proves that I, Chelsea Magruder, have a keen eye for a perfect mate.

Yes, you might have thought...Chelsea, you are expecting too much from a mate. Why would you ever think you would find a guy with chiseled cheekbones, a rugged jaws, insightful thoughts, a way with words and who is highly symmetrical?

Because, my friends, I am a pragmatic woman looking for a worthy mate. Obviously I am just not settling for a weakling with inferior genes. I am looking for a man to copulate, procreate and perpetuate with. This is serious business.

You might then say...Chelsea...this man does not exist! These are ridiculous standards and expectations!!!

To this I answer....Oh yeah?.....

My Love That Never Was

This is the epic story of Jablonski. Which is not his real name, just a name that came to be.

So...I went to school with this guy since we were in Kindergarten. That is thirteen years. Which is over half of my life. Which is a long time.

He was THE guy in my class since our wee days. You know, the one guy who is cocky, kind of a bully, all the girls think he is cute, jock, he always has girls interested, popular. THE guy.

Well, I remember in elementary school him and I were enemies. I can distinctly remember in third grade talking to my little girlfriends about him. They were talking about him as if he were a Greek god. Zeus in the flesh. I was like...but he is mean and a jerk. I said this because I was a tomboy. He would make fun of me and tell me I could not play football or kickball because I was a girl. Plus, he made fun of me because I was a goody goody and a nerd. So...my nine year old self thought this guy was a meanie head, not Zeus.

After this he appeared to lead the smear campaign against me for the rest of elementary school and into junior high school. He called me a bitch and he was the clever Jenny Craig inventor. He continued to be a meanie head and I continued to be my good little girl self. We just had this almost unspoken animosity for each other all those years. Never really talked except to exchange insults. He dated my best friends and treated them poorly. I was still not convinced he was Zeus.

High school came and he was still THE guy. He played all three sports. Dated popular girls. Drank beer. Smoked Pot. Had average grades. The smear campaign against me stopped. I still thought he was a meanie. I am sure he still thought of me as a goody goody nerd.

Then came senior year. I really cannot tell you what changed exactly. But something did. We sat near each other in English. We started talking more. He told me about hunting. I told him about books I was reading. I stopped thinking he was a meanie head. I started to think he was cute.

By the time December came, I had a big crush on him. I was pretty sure he liked me, too. So, in a brave move, I asked him to Winter Formal. He denied me. I was crushed. He went with a sophomore instead.

Well, he knew I was upset. He wrote me a letter asking why. He liked being my friend and did not want me to be mad at him. So, right before Christmas break I wrote him a letter back telling him how I was upset because I really wanted to go with him because I liked him and I thought he liked me, too.

This was a breakthrough. After that letter, we started driving around on the weekends. We started writing more letters to each other. We would call each other pretty frequently. He asked me to Prom (I almost died, I swear to Pikachu). He gave me Starburst wrappers (I collected them). He would wait for me by my locker. We would walk together between classes. We went to Prom together.

Despite all this togetherness, we were never officially together. We just were. And we never kissed. Just held hands.

Then I left for college. When I came back he would be there. We would hang out and talk. He did not go to college. He just stuck around. But we did start to lose touch with each other and by the end of my freshman year, I hardly talked to him at all. Yet, that summer we were at the same field party. He told me he really liked me and that he could see himself marrying me. I told him that I liked him, but he cannot just say something like that after not calling me or talking to me at all for months.

I still run into him from time to time. I did tonight actually. He calls me randomly, too. Checking up on me.

Here is the damn truth. I still have the biggest crush on this guy. Talking to him still makes me go weak in the knees. I get cotton mouth. I get butterflies. I NEVER do that. Even with strangers or on interviews. I am a confident, collected person. With him...not so much.

We have little common. I am a nerd, bookworm. He is a hunter, hands on guy.

But there is a connection. Physically: He has the best smile/smirk ever. And the bluest eyes I have ever seen. They make me melt. I still think of him playing basketball. There was nothing I loved more than watching him play. His body running up and down the court. Everything moving in harmony. It was such a turn on. I always wanted to explore those muscles I saw working so hard on the court, working together. Emotionally: He was a great listener. We never talked on and on. We were comfortable in silence with each other, which I loved. He was sweeter than he put off. He liked me because I was smart. He believed in me. He gave me confidence when I had little.

I know. I know. Chelsea, this is crazy talk. Just hear me out.

This is where the fake love comes in. Sometimes I just wonder if I build Jablonski up because we had this innocent love. We never kissed for crying out loud (although I wanted to, oh did I want to). It was perfect in its incomplete nature. I never dealt with any major issues with him. We have never even gone on a real date. I just think I built him up in my mind because he was the first guy to ever tell me I was smart and tell me I could get out of Norwich. I was eighteen when this happened. I had no concept of love. I did not even know myself. And, for all this good I remember, there is a lot of bad that happened, too. But I easily discard that because I want to remember him as that Perfect Guy. I look at my other relationships with guys over the years and stack them up against Jablonski. He always comes out the winner.

In summation, it was fake love.

And now I want that fake love back. That two-dimensional, flat love. I want to be that eighteen year old naive girl. I have been fucked over so much by three-dimensional guys. They never are what I need/want them to be. I know too much to think love is pure or innocent.

I kept all of his letters. I kept the corsage. I know it will not work out. But, damn it, I want it. I want him.

I guess, mostly, I wish love was simple like that. A dumb wish, because the complexities of life and love make it all more worth while and richer. But after having my heart broken really badly, that is what I want.

I want fake love. But that's all I want, and that's why I can't have it.