Scary Men and the Women Who Love Them (And Deep Love Thoughts)
First of all, some background that I swear is totally relevant:
When I don't sleep, I dream. No, really--my sleep schedule is fucked all too Hell since I started work, and I wake up at all hours of the night. That being the case, I am having (or I guess remembering, to be more accurate) the strangest, wildest dreams, which I usually miss out on because I sleep like a fucking log with narcolepsy most of the time. So...so this is kind of a new experience for me.
For example, lots of them about the Joker. Now, look: I am not a raving Joker fangirl, okay? I'm really not. I haven't even watched the Dark Knight in God knows how long, honest! Joker Dream the First went down like this: I was, for some reason, supposed to be repairing the Joker's long purple coat--it had a rip of some sort in the back seam?--and I apparently didn't fix it quite to his standards, because...well, I'm not gonna lie, he totally wailed on me. Joker Dream the Second involved us up to no good at the mall downtown, and me begging him not to lose his temper at a random mall person. He very, very vividly looked at me in that peculiarly-eye-rolling-lip-chewing sort of way, and it was all very clear that he'd take it out on me later. The latest one was the most quirky, but an interesting plot maybe--we were both in high school (personally, I love the idea of HighSchool!Joker), and he was standing outside one of the science classrooms. I remember being fascinated by his light purple and dark purple striped plants, like pajamas almost, and also coming to the conclusion that the administration must let him wear his face paint as a way of coping with...with something. Anyway, I became his accomplice, I guess, because next thing I know, he's planning to poison the school using chlorine gas from the pool and we're being chased all throughout.
And this brings me to my point, in a roundabout sort of way.
It's no secret that I have a thing for characters like the Joker, Sweeney Todd, The Phantom of the Opera, Dracula, etc. Antiheroes, villains, tragic heroes, all of them insanely intriguing. They're my vice; I don't drink, I don't do drugs, but GOD, give me a man with a warped mind and shitty fashion sense and I will eat it up at an alarming rate, and that's what scares me. It's not that I go out looking for a relationship with a guy like that, or even that I think I could change one of those twisted motherfuckers, because I know I can't--it's the knowledge, this self-awareness that I could see myself going there. I know that I have the ability to put up with alarming rates of bullshit and violence and gore and general crazy, and I would be one of those women on the news who gets sucked in by a charismatic whacko and spends my nights getting cut up by a freak with a knife obsession...
And liking it.
It's not...look, I'm not advocating abuse, or even saying that I want to be treated like that; I'm just saying that I can see myself as Mrs. Lovett, blissfully chopping people into little pieces and baking them into greasy pies while the sociopath upstairs screams and pulls his hair, except I'd be so damn sneaky and tell him that his wife was still alive and offer to help lovingly nurse her back to health, but one night, OOPS, she mysteriously dies of smother natural causes! OH DARN, LOOKIT THAT take me now, with your dirty, dirty razors.
...
THIS IS THE SHIT I AM TALKING ABOUT, DO YOU SEE THAT?
And this brings me to another point: Love is about permission. You don't believe me? Just think about it. To have a successful relationship, there needs to be trust, that's universally accepted as truth. However, there has to be more than just trusting someone with your emotions, your heart--it's also about trusting someone not to go out on you, to come home every day and fall asleep under the same roof, to grin and bear terrible dinners and your whacked-out family, to not backhand you into next year... And is there a higher form of trust than permission? No, I'm not talking about permission to go screw other people, because that's just BEGGING for trouble.
But permission to go hang out with his friends? Permission to cry at a silly movie? Permission to buy a pair of shoes 'just because' without grudging the money spent?
What about permission to tear me into tiny little pieces, because I trust you, because I love you, because I gave you permission? Because I want the scars you can give, because I decided that you could? And I don't just mean flesh and blood, even though that's a big part of it, for me at least.
Tell me your scar stories--who changed you?
PS: Sidenote of Random--had a really FUCKIN' AWESOME dream last night that I was at my high school for whatever reason (Dream Logic!) and zombies started attacking. I stood up with a hammer in my hand and said, "LISTEN UP--I've read the books, I know how this is going to go down! We are barring the windows, locking the doors, and rationing the food in the cafeteria. When that runs out, we can eat the science animals. You have to hit these things in the head to kill them, okay? Shoot them in the brain, it's the only way. Or," I said, brandishing my hammer with the claw-side up, "if you're using a hand-to-hand weapon, go for the points in the head it's easiest to reach the brain through: Eyes, ears, mouth, etc. GET YOUR SHIT TOGETHER, PUSSIES."
PPS: Yeah, really, I am that logical about zombies, and that in-depth in my dreams. Ask me sometime what the Joker smells like.
When I don't sleep, I dream. No, really--my sleep schedule is fucked all too Hell since I started work, and I wake up at all hours of the night. That being the case, I am having (or I guess remembering, to be more accurate) the strangest, wildest dreams, which I usually miss out on because I sleep like a fucking log with narcolepsy most of the time. So...so this is kind of a new experience for me.
For example, lots of them about the Joker. Now, look: I am not a raving Joker fangirl, okay? I'm really not. I haven't even watched the Dark Knight in God knows how long, honest! Joker Dream the First went down like this: I was, for some reason, supposed to be repairing the Joker's long purple coat--it had a rip of some sort in the back seam?--and I apparently didn't fix it quite to his standards, because...well, I'm not gonna lie, he totally wailed on me. Joker Dream the Second involved us up to no good at the mall downtown, and me begging him not to lose his temper at a random mall person. He very, very vividly looked at me in that peculiarly-eye-rolling-lip-chewing sort of way, and it was all very clear that he'd take it out on me later. The latest one was the most quirky, but an interesting plot maybe--we were both in high school (personally, I love the idea of HighSchool!Joker), and he was standing outside one of the science classrooms. I remember being fascinated by his light purple and dark purple striped plants, like pajamas almost, and also coming to the conclusion that the administration must let him wear his face paint as a way of coping with...with something. Anyway, I became his accomplice, I guess, because next thing I know, he's planning to poison the school using chlorine gas from the pool and we're being chased all throughout.
And this brings me to my point, in a roundabout sort of way.
It's no secret that I have a thing for characters like the Joker, Sweeney Todd, The Phantom of the Opera, Dracula, etc. Antiheroes, villains, tragic heroes, all of them insanely intriguing. They're my vice; I don't drink, I don't do drugs, but GOD, give me a man with a warped mind and shitty fashion sense and I will eat it up at an alarming rate, and that's what scares me. It's not that I go out looking for a relationship with a guy like that, or even that I think I could change one of those twisted motherfuckers, because I know I can't--it's the knowledge, this self-awareness that I could see myself going there. I know that I have the ability to put up with alarming rates of bullshit and violence and gore and general crazy, and I would be one of those women on the news who gets sucked in by a charismatic whacko and spends my nights getting cut up by a freak with a knife obsession...
And liking it.
It's not...look, I'm not advocating abuse, or even saying that I want to be treated like that; I'm just saying that I can see myself as Mrs. Lovett, blissfully chopping people into little pieces and baking them into greasy pies while the sociopath upstairs screams and pulls his hair, except I'd be so damn sneaky and tell him that his wife was still alive and offer to help lovingly nurse her back to health, but one night, OOPS, she mysteriously dies of smother natural causes! OH DARN, LOOKIT THAT take me now, with your dirty, dirty razors.
...
THIS IS THE SHIT I AM TALKING ABOUT, DO YOU SEE THAT?
And this brings me to another point: Love is about permission. You don't believe me? Just think about it. To have a successful relationship, there needs to be trust, that's universally accepted as truth. However, there has to be more than just trusting someone with your emotions, your heart--it's also about trusting someone not to go out on you, to come home every day and fall asleep under the same roof, to grin and bear terrible dinners and your whacked-out family, to not backhand you into next year... And is there a higher form of trust than permission? No, I'm not talking about permission to go screw other people, because that's just BEGGING for trouble.
But permission to go hang out with his friends? Permission to cry at a silly movie? Permission to buy a pair of shoes 'just because' without grudging the money spent?
What about permission to tear me into tiny little pieces, because I trust you, because I love you, because I gave you permission? Because I want the scars you can give, because I decided that you could? And I don't just mean flesh and blood, even though that's a big part of it, for me at least.
Tell me your scar stories--who changed you?
PS: Sidenote of Random--had a really FUCKIN' AWESOME dream last night that I was at my high school for whatever reason (Dream Logic!) and zombies started attacking. I stood up with a hammer in my hand and said, "LISTEN UP--I've read the books, I know how this is going to go down! We are barring the windows, locking the doors, and rationing the food in the cafeteria. When that runs out, we can eat the science animals. You have to hit these things in the head to kill them, okay? Shoot them in the brain, it's the only way. Or," I said, brandishing my hammer with the claw-side up, "if you're using a hand-to-hand weapon, go for the points in the head it's easiest to reach the brain through: Eyes, ears, mouth, etc. GET YOUR SHIT TOGETHER, PUSSIES."
PPS: Yeah, really, I am that logical about zombies, and that in-depth in my dreams. Ask me sometime what the Joker smells like.