When is it Right?

In light of the good-and-understanding-person critera: no body is perfect, relationships require compromise, and beauty is only skin deep; how do we ever really know when it's right?

After doing some very disappointing google searches for "am I in love" or "should I commit" or "is he the one" and turning up a horrific explosion of illiterate and predictable myspace quizzes created for hormonal preteens recovering from their first kiss tremors, I decided someone needed to put their foot down and look at this practically.

What really makes a relationship the right relationship? When is it safe to spill the L-word; to move in together; to start talking about children and stoping in front of jeweler windows to admire diamonds? Is there a criteria? And, given the different experiences people may or may not have, does it change from person to person? I got a little carried away and started asking around. "What are the 4 qualities of a perfect relationship?" Here's what I've uncovered:

guy # 1: 24, Paris, FR

laughs, the ability to compromise, variation, and peace

lady # 4: 60, HI, US

mutual love, respect, understanding, and shared interests

guy # 2: 27, Paris, FR

trust, understanding, discovery, and beautiful sex

lady # 2: 23, OR, US

commitment, stability, passion, and adventure

guy # 3: 25, HI, US

forgiveness, sex, humor, sympathy/apathy

lady # 3: 22, AK, US

communication, great sex, support, appreciation

lady # 1: 23, Dijon, FR

passion, compatibility, communication and ambition

Who woulda-thunk that with all the struggling and angst and worry that can be cultivated between two people that the desirable qualities of a relationship (at least in my small sample pool) are so simple and universal? Shared interests, communication and humor = Compatibility, passion = Sex, and variation, discovery, adventure and ambition all fall into a seated desire to avoid the monotonous = Innovation.

Is it safe to say that if we have these three we're doing it right? -And if we're missing one or all it's time to hit the road? Can two relationships be completely different and still good for unique reasons?

In a culture where we're taught to compromise and accept what's wrong, how do we know when it's right?

The French God of Health and Wellness Does Not Give His Blessing.

So... I'm having a problem. Since starting to take my oral contraceptives which I was once so very excited about starting, my boobs have grown voraciously to such an extent that they hurt terribly, and, even worse, my right one has staggeringly outgrown my left one. I HATE IT. I sent an explicit photo to most of my friends asking for advice. All conceded that the right one was definitely disproportionate and that I should see a doctor, -which I tried to do yesterday AND FAILED.

On my way to my appointment, literally, while walking to the office, I was suddenly assaulted by a pain in my pelvis. I was pretty sure I knew what it was, since I just recovered from one about a month ago, and ran to a near by health food store, (coincidentally the one and only in Dijon,) bought a jug of cranberry juice, and downed it en route. Evidently I was too late, because by the time I'd arrived I was so afflicted by the burning and insatiable need to pee it was all I could talk about with the doctor. I squirmed in my chair while announcing my sudden UTI and practically tore the prescription out of his hands and went running to the pharmacy.. unable to even MENTION my boob problems.

I sadly drank my medecin back at home while I mourned the fate of my ever growing boob. I really, reeeaally hope it chillaxes before too much longer. Also, what is up with the onslaught of urinary tract infections? I'd never had one before in my life and suddenly I've had two within the last three months. Obviously, the French god of health and wellness has it out for me.

Giving up the Ghost

When we have our hearts broken, or lay victim to unrequited love, do we ever really give up the day dreams? The shoulda-woulda-coulda's and the ghost of our feelings? Do we ever completely shake the glimmer of hope that they'll come back, years later and begging for forgiveness? When it comes to Handsome Parisian, I can say that I'm thoroughly erked that I wasn't able to ignite any embers of commitment in his heart. But after three months between us, what remains of him in my mind has waned to an image of his ENORMOUS dinner plate hands. Big hands make me absolutely weak in the knees, and, if nothing else, it's the ghost of those hands on my body that would lead me down the path of infidelity, if anything did.

Last night, I Skyped with TMI for the first time since he left. He was standing under a street lamp outside the vineyard and his face faded in and out of focus. I was surprised by how handsome he looked. Like new lovers usually do, we talked about nothing and smiled foolishly at one another for 45 minutes until his battery died. Before he went he assumed a serious face and said "I love you. Really, je t'aime." He says it sparingly and never just throws the words around; always adding my name at the end.

I was affected by his sincerity. Today, while working in the cafe and passing a lull on Facebook, Handsome Parisian prodded me flirtatiously about visiting. In a sudden act of righteousness that surprised even me, I told him I'd decided we should skip it. Something inside me finally gave way and I saw him in a different light: a devastatingly handsome jerk and probably the end of a relationship with a man who truly loves me. And so, just like that, I resolved to forget the hands and give up the ghost.

Kissing or Telling

Yesterday I surprised myself when, in a frisky frenzy and ironically amidst very fond thoughts for TMI, I messaged Handsome Parisian. And, like the worst kind of vixen, I announced that my boyfriend was out of town. I couldn't resist the thrill of the flirt and, assuming a position of non-commitance, asked if he might be traveling in Dijon's direction anytime soon. To my simultaneous horror and delight, he said he could probably figure out how to "swing something."

Then I had to take a startled pause. What the heck am I doing? Am I really deliberating planning to cheat on TMI? How is it that I can go around all day missing him and telling myself that I love him and in the same state of mind casually ask Handsome Parisian if he's up for casual sex?

Somehow I always hoped that love came with a handy dandy eraser of any desire for other people. YES I'm sympathetic, YES I desperately want to avoid hurting TMI, and yet, I can't shake the solid belief that it's not the cheat that does the hurting, it's the TELLING.

Casual sex with someone else wouldn't erase my feelings for TMI; it wouldn't dissuade me from being in a relationship with him. In fact, the only thing that would have any conceivable effect on our future or happiness together would be assaulting him with the terrible truth.

....

......

..

Right?

Seriously which is the crime here, the kissing, or the telling??

Cave Dreams and Jesus

Last night I dreamt I was Ayla from Clan of the Cavebear and having all sorts of hot pre-historic sex with a blonde, virile caveman. Then, without warning, he turned into a surfer dude and left me for a woman of modernity, driving away in a mini cooper all the while I protested that he would never find another girl who came from the time of mammoths.

Six days since TMI left for his three week internship, and I interpret this dream as the beginnings of some painful sex withdrawals. I know I mentioned an intention to be an honorable girlfriend but promiscuity seems to glitter through my veins regardless of where I firmly set my brain.

I'm spending my mornings pulling espressos and sugaring waffles, trying to pass time and keep myself safely distracted. Everyone who works in this cafe is insane. Firstly because they are all a rare breed of French Jesus-freaks; and secondly for a hoard of individual quirks and eccentricities. Alex, who I'm working with today, is staggeringly cross-eyed. He moves around the kitchen flawlessly, but just looking at him can induce a headache.

We're in a lull at the present moment and he's sitting across from me intently reading "La Bible, Le texte original avec les mots d'aujourd'hui." His computer next to him has the words "Jesus et Alex" rotating in 3D for his screensaver. Meanwhile, and unbeknownst to him, I sit mere feet away reliving sexy pre-historic blasphemy.