Master, Master e-mailed me early this morning telling me that he had secured tickets to a sporting event on Sunday. Even mentioned NOT to tell son.
In fact, just to be clear, here is his e-mail verbatim:
I think i may have secured <insert event name> Tickets for Sunday. I will let you know later. Don’t tell <insert son’s name>!
Now, I took this to mean that Master, Master secured tickets for us (and to keep it a secret from son so as not to make him jealous). However, I was mistaken…
[Conversation in kitchen upon Master, Master's return home from work this evening]
Master: I got two tickets for this Sunday’s event!
Contessa: I know, I got your e-mail, and I’m so excited to go!
Master: Ummm, I was thinking son and I would go…
Contessa: You’re kidding, right? Your e-mail said NOT to tell son.
Master: I wanted to surprise him. I didn’t think you’d WANT to go…
Contessa : So, you weren’t even planning on taking me? *crushed*
Master : Well, don’t get MAD AT ME!… YOU and son can go together. *huff, puff*
Contessa: Just forget it. Take son.
Master : I’ll purchase a third ticket so we can ALL go…
Movies and TV are good at making you want. making you dream of bigger things. putting notions into your head that such things are possible. Take love for instance. It’s been romanticized– and made bigger than life– in movies since before i was born. it makes us believe in extraordinary, fairytale love. in soulmate love. my one-and-only love.
We begin to imagine that such a love is possible. we begin to think in terms of “he/she is out there.” and, worse yet, for those of us with significant others, we may just examine our own loves and begin to think, “what’s wrong with my mate… where did i go wrong?”
I used to be a believer. Hell, not only was I a believer, I actually had convinced myself that I was living the “love that movies are made of.” Seemingly, we had it all– two wonderful kids (boy and girl)– 4 bedroom home in the suburbs, the Lexus and the Audi, well paying careers, an active sex life. BLISS from the word GO. so serenely happy. and then he goes and cheats with some 29-year-old soulmate from the office.
A second soulmate? a new THE ONE? this time it’s a “for real” extraordinary love– first try having been a terrible mistake. that first time, being me. the wife. the one that was living the “love movies are made of” life. remember me?
And this is why i begin to hate love stories. and why the term soulmate leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. and why i want to puke when I watch Grey’s Anatomy and they define Derek and Meredith’s love as EXTRAORDINARY.
And you know what? While it may seem that I’m blaming my husband for my disbelief, that I’m mad at him for making me a non-believer, it’s more like I’m mad at myself. for buying into the myth. for convincing myself that i had the movie love. for believing the fairytale…
I hung in the shadows of your life,
A prominent, deserving Mona Lisa,
Yearning to be displayed– front and center.
Stripped from the walls of your heart,
Relegated to a corner in the garage,
A discarded, garish Velvet Elvis,
Paper sign tacked to frame– ”make best offer.” ~Contessa Confessa
You ride me into the late light like your good horse
and, because it reminds you of how they once
described women in Victorian romances, you say,
“I’m having my way with you.” What a thing
for a woman to say to a man, I think to myself,
looking up at your white cheeks gone rosy
with the thrust of me, as if you were both Iseult
the Fair and Iseult of the White Hands at once,
and I feel the pleasure of your pleasure
and the pleasure of my own, and realize
we may all yet rise into the good light of love
from a position of helplessness, that this
may be the thing all lovers wish for: you
having your way with me having my way with you.
Sad. Super sad. Wishing I would have waited for it to come to DVD. Better to have watched at home on the couch wrapped in a blankie, sipping a cup of tea.
BTW, sisters can be such bitches… no?
This movie was:
(-) infidelity– although the premarital library sex is pretty freakin’ hot!
(+) puking– one soldier shown puking up blood; another soldier (different scene) shown puking over a railing while on the beach.
Contessa says: save your $8.50; but definitely rent the DVD.
I might write about how my best friend– at the age of 40– decided to have breast implant surgery. And then ponder what that says, if anything, about aging/self-image.
I might write about how disappointed I’ve been in some of the major choices I’ve made in my life– specifically regarding my marriage and my career.
I might write about how I’m still deeply wounded from my husband’s affair– despite the fact that it happened quite a few years ago.
I might write about what a paranoid freak I am; and how I often have the same reoccurring dream– the one where I open my car door while speeding down the freeway, reach down to touch the ground, and my arm gets ripped off.
I might write about how I feel I was never really loved.
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Master, Master, YouTube, about me, hate, life, love, relationships | Tagged: hate, Hit the Road Jack, loser, love, marriage, Master, Ray Charles, relationships, YouTube | 
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Posted by Contessa Confessa
Sad. Super sad. Wishing I would have waited for it to come to DVD. Better to have watched at home on the couch wrapped in a blankie, sipping a cup of tea. 
