When a man loves a woman, can a woman still love herself?

I have recently began watering my love life. Not vigorously, perhaps as much as you would water a cactus. I've had quite a bit of criticism for it though, well not straight out criticism. God forbid I get offended. My motives have been questioned though.
This guy I find cute, let's name him Dante, has questioned my motives.

Do I like him (a little) because I'm lonely? For a while I thought maybe that was it. However, I've had several advances while I've been feeling like this, and I did not take the bait. Women, you do not need a man just because you are lonely. If you're lonely, all you need is some wine, your girlfriends, or if you're alone, some tickling the skittle. I only want men when I like them.

Okay, so do I think I like him (a little) because I'm having a premature mid-life crisis and feel like I need to bang out my life (literally)? Maybe! I admit I am having a premature mid-life crisis, but that has to do more with drinking at 1pm, dancing where there's no business dancing, telling rude people off, being nice to people who deserve it, and eating what I want, when I want. Not sex. No. That's... not my comfort zone, even though I'm all for breaking out of the comfort zone. It's a complex situation.

Actually no, it's quite simple. I'm not ready for intimacy. I'm ready for jokes and what-not.

Returning to the point at hand, and to the title of this post, "when a man loves a woman, can a woman still love herself?"
At what point are you beginning to please a man to make yourself happier? Is it when you make an excuse for why you are drinking at 1pm, instead of just because you want to. Is it when you pretend you haven't seen a movie just so he can tell you about it?
What's the line?
When do you stop loving yourself, in order to make him like you more?

picspicspicspicspics

I'm lacking all my best pictures right now, so here's some to... yeah.
I'm off to search for some stunning pictures now. Cheerio.

You're my water for chocolate

I just finished a book that was assigned to my English class called Like Water for Chocolate by Laura Esquivel. It's quite a short book, separated into 12 chapters, each named after a month of the year, and beginning with a recipe.

I like the book a lot. It made me sad. No, no it didn't. It made me think, and wish.
I want to fall in love like Tita. I want to glance at Pedro and exhange something completely otherwordly in that look. I want to feel the energy, fire, skin, sweat, sweetness, bitterness and everything else that comes with that love. That'll be it. One look, and I'll know, he'll know that this is the best we can ever get. That this is for us. Nothing else would matter, it would all be sorted out eventually but this is what you have to do, this is what you're both meant to do.

Love is too complicated nowadays. There are so many things that factor into it. We can't just choose love, crude and raw and bare. Neither could Rosaura, because she was not Tita and she didn't have a Pedro. Even if we don't mean to, we think about how the other person looks or portrays him/herself in society. We think about their wealth, if they can provide for us, though that's more 1950's than now (with exceptions). We think about what others will say. We think about where everything will lead to, how things will turn out, how soon is too soon, and all other kinds of ridiculous things.

I really, truly just want to be swept away. I want my fire.

However, that only happens in books where there is no limit or rules to love, lust, death, life, words, food, looks, places, dimensions and anything else you can imagine.
So for now, I'll be content with what I can have. I have to go pick up my own wood, and make my own fire to which I can draw someone, like a firefly to a flame. Or vice versa. Then we can sit around it, listening to soft music and saying nothing. Smoking, thinking, reading, painting, living, hallucinating, messing up and finally falling asleep.

Happy Friday.