Sunday, February 7, 2010

A Lot Like Love

There was a time, nay, an altogether gilded age when it was just me and my precious dog Daphne, living the somewhat single gal's dream. Working in the big city by day, living in a cozy one-bed apartment by night. We had an adorable cherry red coffee maker, walk-in closet, and sometimes we both had Honey Nut Cheerios for dinner. On the sofa. In our underpants.

It was grand.

This was also around the time when the Ashton Kutcher classic A Lot Like Love was on TBS, FX, or some other equally fantastic repository channel for not even worth the senior citizen discount price when you were a new release movies that somehow magically turn into the greatest flicks you have ever seen once they hit the small screen. Daph and me, we loved this movie.

A guy and a girl meet when the guy is in that post-grad, on the cusp of greatness, yet painfully awkward to others in his self-confident exuberance phase of life and the girl was a bit angry, wearing sloppy black eyeliner and boots with safety pins. They have this frolic of a romp through New York City and then she leaves. He tries to stop her and she says, "Don't, you'll ruin it."

I think the movie has a time span of something like seven years. They meet each other in contrived ways which because of their growing friendship seem entirely natural and spontaneous. They have invested relationships with other people. She gets engaged. But really the everyday happenings in their individual lives are so secondary, and not just to the story surrounding the two main characters, but to the prevailing theme of the movie that no matter how many years have passed, when they do come together it's as if no time has passed at all.

I've had great friendships like that. Some became love stories, some continue on just as they are. One in particular I married.

There was a period when it seemed this movie was on every Friday and Saturday night, and being a bit of a housecat with a puppy to care for and willing to take any excuse to stay in and enjoy the sofa I bought with my very own money, I probably watched it the better of a dozen times. And then I moved in with my new fiance and it wasn't on anymore. Every once in a great blue moon I would catch the tail end or see that it would be on at some obscure time during the day, but those weekend night viewings came to an end and after a while I didn't even remember to miss it.

But it was on tonight. And with such perfect timing that I have to wonder - who's really in charge of television programming these days? Sugar cookies were out of the oven, husband had had his fill of baked goods and xbox gaming and was now passed out on the couch, blankie style. I made myself a cook's glass of wine and stretched out on the second favorite sofa of my life. My movie was on in all its glory and the memories of my apartment, girlishness, and a fuzzy-haired, puppy-breath version of my baby Daphne came flooding back. It made me want to relive days gone by, put on a bright green face mask and call my boyfriend from under my Rachel Ashwell Shabby Chic bedspread that marriage and compromise have since banished to storage.

Outside, the snow was glittery and still untouched and even the 27, almost 28 year old, married, and arguably full-blown headcase version of me had to agree...

...all was right with my world.

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