Peggy is a Whore

I tried to think of some kind of profound thought to bring up this Valentine's Day, but it all ended up sounding bitter. I thought Peggy and Viola would suffice tonight.

It's been awhile since I was "a Peggy." In fact, I think it dates back to my days in kindergarten back at Nieman Elementary School in Kansas. I was a clean slate - my heart had never been broken, and there was nothing but green grass and beautiful sunny horizons. My outlook on love was one of immense potential. I had my eye on several boys, but only one really reciprocated (though I tried my hand with most of them anyway). His name was Brian Pepperdine, and, according to my mom, after my first day of school I came out to the car declaring that I was in love. I'm sure at that time, my mom knew she would have her hands full.

I don't have many vivid V-day memories. In fact, there have been very few years when I have actually been part of a "we" on February 14th. Beside the year I got a rock put on my finger (only later to give it back), I think one of my favorite V-day memories was a few years back.

I was working at Winger's in Lehi. Not my favorite job, but it paid the bills. I was lamenting the fact that I had to work on Valentine's Day, unable to make the mighty trek to Logan to be with my "boyfriend." The restaurant was slow, so Brittany and I had plans to hang out and do a girl's night. She was texting me throughout the night keeping very careful tabs on how busy I was and when I would be off. It was a little obsessive, but I figured it was because we were going to meet up after. I left work and met her at Chili's, where she had a change of clothes for me (another strange occurrence). I went in the bathroom to change, and went back out to sit with her and there he was - my long distance fellow. She had been in negotiations with him all day getting him to come to my neck of the woods for a Valentine's dinner. I was excited and quite touched that she would go to such great lengths to arrange it.

Since that year, there haven't been many ups or downs (mainly because I haven't allowed myself to let anyone else in), just existing in a nice switzerland of neutrality. It's probably not the ideal, but it's my existence, and as John Mayer put it, "I'm perfectly lonely." I'll save "being Peggy" for another year.

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways...

Love is love. All, everything that I understand, I understand only because I love. Everything is, everything exists, only because I love. — Leo Tolstoy

It was February 14, 2003. I was not yet 20 years old. Still a teenager in the eyes of the world, and had just become, officially, engaged to be married. To a man (boy, really) that I had known for a whopping 3 months. I think my mom and dad thought I was crazy. Looking back on it now, I think I would have been crazy had I gone through with it. The rocky two months that followed were all I knew of being engaged. We were both young, very foolish, and lacking in life experience. His mother was convinced that I was a minion of Satan, sent to corrupt her first born. I've been asked if I thought I was in love - I don't think I was in love with SHAWN, I think I was in love with what he represented. I was in love with the idea of being in love. Gratefully, I never became a Bluemel (his last name), and moved on to greener pastures.

2 years later, still infatuated with the idea of being in love, I found myself leaving my cozy life in Logan to move back in with my parents, yet again, to pursue another potential fiance. This time I was sure it was for real. He wrote songs and sang them to me, he was an artist, he was sensitive, he had a game plan, he had experienced life. We had a great relationship devoid of any major fundamental flaws, or so I thought. So, when he proposed, I was startled at my inability to say "yes." Driving home, my eyes brimming with tears and my brain puzzling over each minute detail of the evening, I sought an answer for my cryptic behavior. Though we kept dating with the intent of an eventual marriage, I knew that I would likely be moving on again.

My perceptions of love have changed and evolved over the years. My life experience has shaped my views of what love really is, and what I expect out of a relationship. As a newly-engaged 19 year old, I was just perfectly giddy to be wearing a ring on my left hand. As a 25 year old, back on the market again, I realize there's more to life than being a Mrs. I'm quite a bit more picky in my "old age" than I was back then, and I don't hesitate to cut to the chase when things just aren't as they should be. Though I wouldn't mind having a Mr., or an alternative last name, I'm trying to find excitement in the chase.