::Shebytches::

Let me be the first to tell you that I am in the twelve step Hopeless Romantics Anonymous Program. (My only problem is that sometimes I have this incredible habit of back tracking between "Why am I so damn bitter?" and "God I love you! Bring on the Fairy Tale!") Let this testimony be my introduction to you as one sob sister to another. Grab your "Hello my name is:" nametag at the door, and be prepared to stand up with me as I say "My name is Tess, <insert your own group "Hi Tess!" here for support purposes. >and I am, alas, a bitter Hopeless Romantic."
If you notice, addicts always tell you what category they are in. As if their special "type" sets them apart from the other addicts, who in reality all have the same addiction, but don’t want to be compared to the others because then they’d be admitting that they are all essentially the same. Example: "I’m a social drinker. I only drink when I’m at a party, not when I’m alone" which always trails off to "… by myself… sobbing on the kitchen floor…cat cozied up to me while my mascara which was supposed to be waterproof streams down my cheeks GOD DAMN IT!!" as opposed to the cut and dry,"I’m an alcoholic."

So I suppose I’ve already subtly told you what type of a hopeless romantic I am. Bitter. Not that I don’t sit at home some nights listening to John Mayer, or Norah Jones, and wonder why I don’t chuck deep repression out the window and look for a guy who thinks "Your Body Is A Wonderland". Again, in the same turn I don’t blast the culturally known "Angry Chick Music" and think that the 12 apostles are Avril Lavigne , Michelle Branch, Shirley Manson, Lucy Woodward, Sarah McLachlan, Vanessa Carlton, Dido, The Donnas, Stevie Knicks, Sheryl Crow, and various other Lilith Fair Disciples. My only justification for my bitterness is that, number one and most important, I got screwed over, and number two, I’m pretty sure that I like being sarcastically analytic of every male on the planet and his omnipresent hidden agenda of head games, getting what he wants, and leaving me. Not that I’m totally objected to having a boyfriend, or even a "prospective" boy friend like person; it’s just a self-preservation measure of not letting someone fall for me, in hopes that I’ll in turn, not get hurt, yet delude myself into thinking that I’m in control of the situation.

I think my greatest mistake was letting my belief in love progress into three phases throughout my life. Call it the Education System of Sex, if you will. We start you out in your elementary education believing in fairy tales, as you mature to greater enlightenment we’ll introduce you to the high school ethics of the soul mate principle (one person for every person in the world for eternity), and since college is a time for self discovery and philosophically psychoanalytical illumination, let’s throw in fatalism (events are fixed in advance so that human beings are powerless to change them. Fate, destiny.) Once you get your diploma we’ll then separate you into three classifications, or specialization if you’d prefer. The first would be the Scarlet/Rhett (Gone with the Wind) Degree, which will send you out into the world trailing on the heels of a guy who loved you unimaginably but, for one reason or another, you were too blind to see it. The second would be the Heathcliff/Cathy (Wuthering Heights) Degree, which would give you the love of your life, make you hate him, then realize you love him, only to find that he now hates you, and let you both end up with people you hate and be haunted for the rest of your life by missed opportunities over and over again. The third, if you’re lucky to survive is the Old Cow/New Cow Theory Degree (Someone Like You – a must rent movie) which will make you love someone, lose them, and then realize that in all your self-pity and torment, you’ll end up with another guy who totally loves you and then the credits will role, the lights will come on, and you can leave the theatre feeling good about yourself once again.

Now, a word of caution: This program isn’t for just anyone. Just as there are different sortings of addicts, there are various addictions under the broad spectrum of the Hopeless Romantic title. We’re not cool enough to have a talking witches hat like Harry Potter (damn him! Ha ha ha) but we are experienced enough and not as far gone in our delusions to not realize the one temptation that is our weakness. Take me for instance; my obsession is for the badass guys who are so chalked up on testosterone that it just glistens off of them. This includes the lost boy (no relation to the 80’s vampire movie featuring Kiefer Sutherland, although it is another must rent) who needs a good girl to guide him, military guys of all shapes and sizes (the chinking of dog tags makes me weak in the knees I suppose, or it could be the romanticism of war ala "Pearl Harbor"), Country boys (not with mullets, tight jeans and huge belt buckles) of the "Sweet Home Alabama" persuasion who look good in plaid shirts, ball caps and khaki work boots that call you sugar, sweetheart, darlin’,and ma’am. And, of course, there are various other men who fall under my self-dubbed "Heroin of all Guys" category. I have realized it, and embrace it! Thus, we can’t guarantee that the gradual step down will work for everyone; and yet we understand that there are some who just need to quit cold turkey and surround themselves with anti-romance paraphernalia. This would include action movies with no underlying sexual tension, a ban on all country music (famously referred to as the music of pain), as well as male revues, dance clubs and other places of PDA (public displays of affection). If you must watch a sappy movie, please wait until the guy screws up, then stop the movie, accept that this was the end, call him a big dummy, and move on without a second thought as to what cheesy Harlequin romance novel line he’ll give the girl in the ending so that she’ll throw her arms around him and live happily ever after.

To conclude my personal story on how I’ve learned to deal with the shortcomings of my romantic lifestyle through this therapeutic assistance, let me reassure you that there is still time to find a guy that you can wrap around your little finger. Many addicts do recover, and go on to live happily normal and functional lives where they often breed "little romantics" that make this sometimes-vicious cycle continue. Although it is sometimes hard to put your heart out there on the line and discourage yourself from wishing for taffeta wedding dresses, dancing in the rain, knights on white horses, and fields of daisies and tulips, we shouldn’t curse the Scarlet O’Hara’s of the world. Before we make our heart so cold we could put it into a shaker and use it to chill our martinis, I hope that we all learn that maybe there isn’t anything wrong with being a Hopeless Romantic after all. (So long as we know our limitations and don’t end up "one lithium pill away from Girl, Interrupted." - A line I stole from Dawson’s Creek of all places) So with a glass of Boone’s Farm Strawberry Wine let us lift our glasses with a southern belle draw and end this meeting of the Hopeless Romantics Anonymous with the support group slogan "After all, tomorrow is another day!" <cue the Tara Theme song>

Biography
Stephanie Nadine Marie Jones (aka "Tess") is the founder of Sinful Soughts. (See our plug below) She grew up in Farmington West "by God!" Virginia, around the support and nurturing of her sometimes neurotic but loving close-knit family. Co-founder of the Evil Society, she also prides herself on being a Sarcastic Obsessive Analyst, Loser Speech award winner, Lyrical Girlfriend Substitute, and a Firm believer and user of lyrics, movie lines, and literary examples to win arguments and function in relationships without becoming an anti-social hermit. She divides her time between being a Movie Rental Girl and an English Major. For more information please check out her personal website located at Http://dear.to/stephanie