can chemistry grow outside of a petri dish?

Okay, chemistry, biology, call it what you want. This redhead’s drawing a line in the sand. To the point where I never want to say “quite Frankly” again, lest I have to say Frank.

I realize posting about a TV show other than LOST makes me part of the deranged camp, but I need to go here, for all those single women on the hunt. Listen up.

I’m furious with the Bachelorette right now. Not the TV show, the girl. Off the cuff… Ali Fedotowsky, you’ve missed it. Ditching Craig Robinson (lawyer, funny man, cool guy, straight up niceass piece of celery) in the name of “not feeling the romance” sucks. I hope his breath smelled. I hope you rubbed up next to him and somehow saw/ felt/ knew that he had nothing but a roll of quarters. ‘Cause lady, that would be your only excuse. THAT is the man you want to grow old with.

Not the anxious Woody Allen type (Frank Neuschaefer) who’s got excuses, who’s unsure, who will, I promise, cause you anxiety. Not the “you’ll trample his traditional heart” pushover (sorry sweet southern beau Ty Brown.) Romance grows. Passion comes. Lady, you’re being shallow. Craig Robinson ain’t your chiseled specimen. He’s a man, and you should’ve given that shit a chance to work its way in.

craig robinson

And I guess that’s the soap box I’m taking. Passion, sex, that feeling, that “holy shit I want him more than any other guy in the room” thing can build; it can come later. I don’t buy into the whole, “if it’s not there in the beginning, it’ll never be there” thing. What do I believe in? Finding someone you can say anything to, no anxiety, no drama or tension, just putting yourself out there, the way you would in front of your family, a best friend, a sibling. Because I hate to break it to you, but that’s a lot of what marriage feels like: like you’re siblings. There. I said it. That’s exactly what marriage feels like. Except occasionally there’s incest.

When he sees, when you see, the worst of each other, the embarrassing moments, the ugly, absurd, crass, worst foot forward, too proud to beg, drunken sloppy karaoke nightmare of a life moments, and you’re still willing and ready to go there, that’s when you leap. The way you do for family.

Ali, of the men left standing, I can almost guess where you’ll land: alone. On your own two feet, but alone. You’ll choose no one. You’ll pine for Frank, the anxiety riddled dude, ignoring the fact that the excitement you felt with/for him was playing on your own anxiety, was keeping you from what’s normal, what’s right, what’s not as sexy, but what’s right for you in the long run. You won’t be able to choose anyone because the real “get” was right in front of you, and you ignored the shit out of him. Craig Robinson was, most likely is, where it’s at. Just sayin.’