Realism.

I was sharing a bottle of wine with a close friend a few nights ago and after sharing his philosophies on life I turned to him, slight buzz in the brain, and told him I was jealous of his thinking.

He simply smiled at me and said, "Realism.  It's the only way to get through this life of ours."  I remember thinking, that is just not something you hear very often.  You always hear glass half full or glass half empty.  Optimism or pessimism, but rarely do you hear of realism.

Why is it so hard for us to just be real?  Why do we either get clouded by the bad or awed by the good?  Is it so hard to face the truth that we always have to put a spin on it?  Should we be jealous of those who see "it" how "it" is?  Or should we pity them?

When we were kids imagination was a good thing; something we were awarded for, and encouraged to do.  As we get older, I feel we are still encouraging one another to not stay grounded but to let our imaginations take us away and make the harsh realities a little bit easier.  The problem we run into as adults, is eventually- whether we want it to or not- reality will force its way back in.

Back to The Prince and I.  That first night, after all those years.  Man, that first night was just as I had dreamed it.  We talked and we drank.  We flirted and accidentally touched, and every touch lingered.  He made me feel beautiful and when the last beer had been drunk, and we clumsily stood it seemed so natural to lean into him and press my lips on his.  And that kiss, it was like being pushed back into that moment- when our first kiss had broken all our rules.

We fell on the bed, and skin on skin felt like hot electricity.  I melted into him and it felt so right.  And when we finished I went to brush my teeth and as soon as I was back in the room he was kissing me again.  On and on it went.  That first perfect night.

Then the morning came.  Everything is always different in the morning.  I woke up alone, grabbing at the cold spot where I had last seen him.  The feeling you get waking up alone in a strange house, it makes your stomach knot up instantly.  You start questioning everything, and everything seems colder, and harsher then it did before.

He wouldn't look at me, wouldn't talk to me.  The moment I stepped out of that room I felt out of place, the one object that didn't quite belong.  I stayed longer then I should have.  Other then the fact that I had driven 4 hours to see him, I don't know what held me there.  I knew his interest had faded.  That the man next to me now was no where near the man I had met and fallen for all those years ago.

I was holding onto a dream.  Grasping at what was left.  But, reality caught up.  On the third day of my visit we were sitting in a Mexican restaurant at the bar and I was coaxing him to tell me some war stories.  Our conversations were so fake, so one dimensional at that point, I needed something real.  He could not give it to me, instead he told me stories of other girls and watched the TV while he spoke instead of looking at me.

Realism.  It's hard.  When I left he promised to call if he got his leave extended, I knew he wouldn't.  When he returned home the following week he started calling me again, texting me.  His voicemails and texts were sweet and flirty, as if we had never grown bored of each other, as if the imaginary world hadn't just been shattered.

He still texts and I still haven't answered.  My what ifs are gone now, because now I know.  I wonder if it would have been better to stay in that world of pretend or if knowing the truth somehow helped things.

All I know is- The Prince of my what ifs was comforting, and now he's gone.  Realism.  I hope it's not the only way to live this life of ours.  I hope to continuing seeing the good along with the bad, even if sometimes- it's just imaginary.

I fucking hate "The Rules" but I still live by them.

The "Rules."

Every man, woman, and definitely every single person knows what I'm referring to.  This is the notion of shutting up your heart, shoving your true self in the closet, and replacing it with the facade of fake interests, un-returned calls, and emotional poker faces.

As much as I would love to throw the old bullshit, "just be yourself," out there- when is the last time that worked?  Nobody wants to hear about your dying cat, your collection of belts, or your most recent fat flush incident on the first date.  The fact is, love is a way of accepting all those weird traits and hobbies we all seem to have hidden away next to our skinny jeans.

As much as I hate following the rules of this complicated game, I have to wonder if quitting would simply leave me with a glass of wine and solitaire...  If we want a partner, do we have to play the game?

Once upon a time, in the beautiful land of college, I met a prince.  Blue sparkling eyes, dazzling smile, and the perfect bod.  In true college fashion, I had scheduled two blind dates for the evening.  Hanging at the college bar where everyone knew me and I knew everyone, I found myself sitting alone and wondering what the hell happened.  Neither of my dates had shown.

Resigning myself to an evening of tequila shots and pool with my buddies I heard him behind me...

"We need to take a picture."  I turned to see this gorgeous man and gave him a Hornitos inspired smile.

"Do I know you?"  The game was played so effortlessly back then.  I turned back to my shot with a large cocky smile but he was no fool to this game and he grabbed my shot and quickly poured it into his mouth, watching my eyes widen with sudden attention.

"You do now.  Looks like you need another drink.  I'll make you a deal.  We take this picture, and I'll buy you another."  The Prince was used to getting nothing but smiles and as hard as I fought it I couldn't help but throw an arm around his waist and gesture to his camera. 

"How's it look?"  I had to bite my lip to pull my arm from his waist.

"Awesome!"  He gave a full smile and flagged the bartender down to get two more shots.  And so I sat with The Prince and felt the butterflies gather in my stomach as the evening passed in a quick, sweet blur of conversation and electric touches.

We were interrupted by the sound of smashing glass and loud cursing from the front of the bar.  The Prince realized it was his group involved and his buddy with the blood suddenly pouring out of his hand.  We were quickly swept outside, with the rest of the bar, and there was a whirlwind of people around us.  He grabbed my hand.

"Give me your phone," confused I dug my Nokia out of my purse and handed it to him.  He finished quickly and handed it back.  "We will see each other again."  His confidence was intoxicating and I simply nodded and let my friends drag me toward our nearby apartment.

That was the night I met The Prince. 

Only 12 hours after my fairytale encounter and reality came thundering in.  My roommate, Jules, gasped as she did her morning MySpace routine.  "Don't be mad."  I took a breath and nodded for her to keep going.  "I know you didn't want me cyber stalking, but I was curious."

"Jules," I felt the annoyance in my voice.  Ladies, let me just tell you now- NOTHING good ever comes from cyber stalking.  I leaned over her shoulder and stared at my handsome Prince, with his arms wrapped around... "his wife?"

"He could be separated," she cooed.  "Did he mention any of this?"

"No!"  I could feel the shots from last night bubbling up.  laidI don't think so...  We had a lot of shots."  I rubbed my forehead.  "Oh well,"  I laid back on the bed we used as a common area and let out a long breath.  "That's that."

She silently studied his pictures, "too cute to be true."

He called later that night, I didn't pick up.  His message confidently taunted that if I didn't want him calling I had the bartender from last night to blame.  Apparently one afternoon beer and one generous tip had my backbar buddy easily sliding over my digits.

And he kept calling... and texting... and emailing.  The Prince was not used to rejection and it suddenly made me his new alluring Princess.  Finally I answered, not bothering with hello.  "You have a wife?"

He was caught off guard and there was a long silence.  "Shit."

"Mmhm," I was the cocky one now.  "If you're going to cheat I would suggest using an alias.  Welcome to the world of social networking."

A second away from hanging up he stopped me with the most sincere, "Fuck, I'm sorry.  I should have explained."  I stayed silent, waiting to hear if the excuse would be good enough to let me toss aside my morals for a few days so I could see what those luscious lips tasted like.  "I'm separated."  His cockiness had faded and he almost sounded... sad.  "She cheated on me.  I'm in the army.  I was away for a pretty long time."

I felt the air gush out of my lungs.  We must have skipped all basic conversation last night and went right to the flirting, damn Hornitos!  "You're in the army?"  Was all I managed to muster.  I saw Jule's eyebrows flick up and I flashed her a "stop spying" look.

"Please give me a chance to explain.  Let me see you tonight."  It was incredible how even his voice sounded sexy.  I could feel myself giving in already.  I had to set limits before I saw him in person and let everything slide.

"Ok, but nothing can happen now."  I made my voice firm and hard.  "No kisses, definitely no sex."

And he agreed.  The even crazier part was that we spent the rest of the week, he also failed to mention that night that he lived across the country, getting to really know each other.  We watched movies, took walks, and the closest we ever came to sex was falling asleep-fully clothed- in each others arms.  It was one of the most romantic, inspiring weeks of my life and I had started secretly regretting my rules.

On the morning he had to leave he woke me up early.  The second I opened my eyes I felt the sadness pour over me.  How could you be so sad to see someone leave when you had only known them for a week?  I couldn't help myself.  Before he could say a word I kissed him.  It was the kind of kiss that I knew could only belong to a Prince.  It was long and soft and I savored every last minute of it.

He finally pulled away and I let his hand drop out of mine.  My voice was dry, "goodbye."

I looked at him and those deep blues stared back.  "We will see each other again," he whispered.  My heart jumped out of my chest for a moment and I trusted it.

He left and we talked almost every day for months.  He would tell me how difficult his separation was on every aspect of his life, and I would complain about how hard my finals were and somehow it flowed so perfectly.

But time went on.  And the every day calls turned to once a week, and then to once every few weeks, and soon it was only texts.  Eventually he faded, into the back of my mind.  Occasionally thinking, what if we do see each other again?  What if he's not married when he comes back?  What if, what if, what if.  He had turned into my Future Prince Charming, and it was strangely comforting.

And then last week, I did see him again.  My Prince was in California, and he was single, and he wanted to see me- after all these years.

And that's when I realized that "The Rules" are always there.  When you break the rules, and you let your guard down, and you rush into "being yourself" too quickly- well, your left with a glass of wine and solitaire.

The ending?  I'll tell you the not so happy ending of the Future Prince Charming and his Much Too Real Princess... next time.