as i said before, i'm grotesquely sentimental...

alright, it's official: i was born in the wrong time period and color saturation.

it's clear to me now that i was obviously supposed to live in a romantic, black & white film that they show on repeat on Turner Classic Movies.

Now just picture me in place of Julie Andrews (;
i like to think of myself as a stoic, proud, and emotionless robot, so indulging in romantic, old, war films is as close to love as i feel like i may ever get, and that's alright with me. because, honestly, rather than thinking of the depressing state in which love and romance seem to have fallen, i'd like to live with the romanticized notion that the man with whom i fall in love will be a James Garner, Carey Grant, or Jimmy Stewart-type, that each quarrel we fight will be costumed in billowing trench coats & fedoras, dreamily lit by a dimly glowing lamp post, our words nearly drowned out by the rain pouring dramatically in the background, barely covering the dull roar of the plane that threatens to carry one of us away, and all of it finally resolved by a kiss which will be accompanied by the amorous flow of beauty and passion that is released by the simple stroke of bow to violin string.

is that too much to ask?

affectionately yours,
mjl.