beauty and the beast

I sort of hate being told I'm beautiful.

Now, before you scoff. (Or tell me I'm stuck-up. Or a brat. Or worse.) Hear me out. Can you think of any other complement in the history of the world that's more overused? It's cliche. It's easy. It doesn't take any thought at all. And it certainly doesn't take any observation on the behalf of the admirer. It's the dozen red roses of complements.

And yet, like a dozen red roses, most girls will swoon over receiving it.

Not me.

I'm sure some guys may really mean it when they say it, but I have a hard time not wanting to punch them in the face when they do. I almost get offended. Like does this guy really think I'm the kind of girl that will just fall all crazy in love just because he says I'm beautiful? Give me a break, buster. It's going to take a lot more than that.

It's going to take some thought on your part. You're going to have to notice something that no one else has. Or figure out what matters to me. Figure out the sort of complement I want to receive. Not the complement that comes easiest. And if it takes you a couple weeks, even a couple months to figure it out? Well, that's fine. I'd take a genuine, unique, well-thought-up complement once every 2 months over a "you're beautiful" every single day.

Now don't get me started on 'You have really great eyes' . . .

knowing > wondering

A couple hundred years ago, Benjamin Franklin shared with the world the secret of his success. Never leave that till tomorrow, he said, which you can do today. This is the man who discovered electricity. You think more people would listen to what he had to say. I don't know why we put things off, but if I had to guess, I'd say it has a lot to do with fear. Fear of failure, fear of rejection, sometimes the fear is just of making a decision, because what if you're wrong? What if you're making a mistake you can't undo? The early bird catches the worm. A stitch in time saves nine. He who hesitates is lost. We can't pretend we haven't been told. We've all heard the proverbs, heard the philosophers, heard our grandparents warning us about wasted time, heard the damn poets urging us to seize the day. Still sometimes we have to see for ourselves. We have to make our own mistakes. We have to learn our own lessons. We have to sweep today's possibility under tomorrow's rug until we can't anymore. Until we finally understand for ourselves what Benjamin Franklin really meant. That knowing is better than wondering, that waking is better than sleeping, and even the biggest failure, even the worst, beats the hell out of never trying.

- Grey's Anatomy

team big

So I just purchased my ticket for Sex and the City 2. I'll probably tell most people it's because opening night just so happens to fall on my friend Dana's birthday and who am I to stand in the way of her b-day wish to go see it with the gaggle of gals? But, honestly, the girlie girl in me (however small a percentage she makes up) can't wait to see it! Can't wait to be reunited with the foursome. Can't wait to see what's in store for Carrie and Big now that happily ever after has begun. Can't wait to see Aiden step back into the scene.

Aiden. Mr. Perfect. Mr. Available. Mr. Never-Quite-What-Carrie-Really-Wanted.

So seeing him again, even if just in the previews, makes me wonder all over again which one I wish Carrie would have ended up with. . . Well, at least for a split second. Who am I kidding? I loved Big. Loved him all along. Loved him every time he called Carrie 'kid'. Loved him when he couldn't commit. Loved him even when he went and married Natasha. And, boy, you better believe I loved him when he eventually chased Carrie down in Paris.

There's not much doubt that Aiden is pretty much perfect. That he would be the perfect boyfriend to Carrie. But is perfect annoying? Does perfect always (or even ever) equal perfect-for-you?

And then there's Big. He's pretty much a disaster when it comes to relationships and committing and feelings and everything that makes for a perfect boyfriend. He's Mr. Wrong. Mr. Can't Commit. Mr. Unreliable. Mr. Shithead-who-you-can't-help-but-fall-for for some reason. He couldn't be further from Mr. Perfect. But could he possibly be Mr. Perfect-for-Carrie?

Sure, I always adored Aiden. Adored him the way you adore your best guy friend. You think they deserve the most amazing girl in the world. As long as that's not you. But Big? I always had a thing for Big. Sure, Carrie was a fool because she did a lot of waiting around for him. She was a fool to have an affair with him. She was a fool to always come back to him after everything he put her through. She was a fool to believe he'd ever love her. Until he did. And she wasn't.

Hard to argue with that.

In fact, I'm getting my Team Big shirt made right now. . .