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?

BABY'S ON FIRE

I've been speaking to a friend, or I should say sister from another mister, today. I love her to bits. She really is like the sister I never had. Our personalities clash like the titans, but somehow our morals and ethics and all that fun stuff are equal. We know where we stand. She knows I like maths and art and fantasy and crap, and while she likes fashion and music and beauty, we are the same. The same pea from a different pod.

 Anyway, as I was saying... I was speaking with S (I'll name her S), and she had this thing, it was her thing, it was her thing that paralyzes her the same way that Josh does for me. Her thing was an abusive, mentally and physically, boyfriend. She has had a hard time accepting someone in her life, and despite the short time it has taken her to friend someone new, I don't judge her. I know how hard it has been for her and I really admire her. I love her for her ability to accept someone new after being through something so shit. I was there, I know it wasn't your typical "meh" attitude to your boyfriend or girlfriend. This was hard shit. Niet zo lekker.
 
I guess I'm avoiding the subject. 

I can't go through this whole business of dates, sex, not-sure-how-I/you-feel-about-you/me...stuff. I don't want to do that. I know how intimidating it is to hear from a girl straight off, no pretense whatsoever, "DUDE, I wanna fall in love, if you don't believe me... bugger off"

I hate to say this, but I'm goddamn lonely. I want to love, and I want to feel, kiss, and all this other stuff. But I know I can't skip steps 1, 2, 3 and 4 and go straight to the good stuff. But but but I hate the thoughts, you know when you're 16 and you're wondering if your crush likes you? I don't wanna do that. Fuck you. Do you like me? No? Cool. Yeah? Cool, let's bang. I'm joking, but that's pretty much how it goes with me. It will be bloody fucking hard to find someone who won't be intimidated by someone who wants to fall in love.

Man you know my past, what else did you expect?
Screw you all, I will lay the baggage out first time I meet you. If you feel like you can't or don't want to lift it then we are both wasting our time.

So that's my problem.

But I'm lonely. I want someone to love. Everyone is loving.

I'm glad my loss of love creating some relationships. I know it has. People told me it has. It makes me proud, but doesn't make me feel better.

A Man

He looked about with a suspicious eye. To the left, glaring at the old hag with her hunched back and her stained babushka. To the right where he saw nothing more than a wet long field of green grass, mown into a buzzcut like the buzzed head of buzzing military police. Bastards.

He took a staggering step to the right, correcting himself with an elegant swish of the hips, and bringing his flask to his lips. The grass was moist and cold and soft, and soon his thin legs could carry him no longer. He found himself on his arse on the ground, his knotty fingers knotting the grass around his knuckles. It was so cold his breath moved in a cloud of steam, and then stood hovering above him. Another gulp of vodka, of holy water, holy water to an atheist in the grass with the water seeping through his trousers.

A slimy thing made its way to his ring finger, and wrapped itself around it. This is the closest he had ever come to marriage. He picked up his hand, and with the other dipped his index finger in the holiest of waters. He tried to give some to the poor creature wrapped around his finger, but little did he know you can't tell which end is the crapper and which is the mouth. Kind of like him, you don't know which end spews the shit, really. So he tried both, there was a 50 percent chance he would get it right anyway.

He said whatever, and drank some more, lay on his back and stretched out his bony fingers. This thing lived underground, making tunnels with its head or its arse, no direction in life whatsoever. Sometimes it would come out when it rained, and let the cool rain splatter on and around it. Then it would go back underground into darkness and nothingness, waiting to be dug out by children wanting to fish. Maybe they could have children, his new wife and him.

The slimy thing fell off, sliming on his face and his preciously grown beard. A beard defines a man in Russia. If you have no beard you are a, how do you say? Homosexual. If he ever met one of those homosexuals he would curse them right out, tell them exactly who they are and how they are wrong. He'd put them underground. He stood up, staggering and cursing, wiping this slimy thing off his splendid beard. Splendidly, he staggered off somewhere where the worm never saw him again. This man, it thought, I wonder which end spews the shit, really.

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.