Calm down! Despite what this title may imply I'm not getting all mushy on you guys. That will NEVER happen. Unless there's like a radioactive End Of Days storm and my flesh melts off into a melty pile of mush. SIDE NOTE: Metaphors in love no longer apply to me -- I'm all literal. Bleeding heart and years of heartbreak and…OKAY, FINE. I got the love bug. Let's all vomit together.

Or rather, let's rejoice. I'm happy -- in love. With love. In love with love. During love. There you go -- I'm one of those, but still cool. Don't worry, I'm not going strawberry picking or heading down an aisle (again) anytime soon. And definitely not a Vegas aisle. But I've rediscovered love and it's totally fucking cool. Even if it doesn't last. I needed to feel this -- again. I needed to feel. I got a feeling -- that tonight's gonna be a good night -- I'm not singing. Okay, I'm singing a little bit.

Who would've thought that the queen of ice (Wait. Ice melts…let's say queen of bricks or solid mass) -- would turn into mush. I'm like cereal. You could eat me right now. Or not. Because I'm like soggy (cement flavored) cereal. Eww.

What more to say? There's always MORE to say. I'm a girl. Let's talk:

The thing is I like a boy and he seems to like me and he's very sweet, as in he makes me breakfast (and dinner -- because I'm a lazy ass) and he buys me roses made out of chocolate -- even if they are from the 99 cent store. But he's still a total badass -- he snowboards and operates camera equipment and he can fix things and change tires.

After a bad bout with metrosexual men who lack primal fundamental man skills this is a total fucking awesome discovery. A man who owns tools. Allow me to repeat for dramatic effect: A MAN WHO OWNS TOOLS!


I just can't take men who don't know how to operate screwdrivers, jumper cables or drills, seriously. I'm old school like that --

AnYwAy, it's been awhile since I fell down the rabbit hole. He'll probably break my heart in a month or so, but -- WHO CARES. Love is an awesome experience and sometimes we miss out on experiences because of negative experiences in the past which have tarnished and twisted our POV's. I've been out of commission for an unreasonable amount of time but I'm wiser now and not looking for some fraudulent concept of forever anymore. Not that I ever was, but still I had the L.O.V.E. all misconstrued or at least misunderstood.

So what constitutes this new notion slash interpretation of love? Aside from that we can tolerate each other for long periods of time without getting annoyed or fending off thoughts of murder. Well… he reminds me of my first boyfriend, the good parts of my ex-husband…and winter (as in snowfall -- the first snowfall of the year). It feels real. SIDE NOTE: I was totally drunk when my brain conjured that description. But if I were to answer the question in a sober, generic, unpoetic, girly magazine quiz kinda way: he makes me laugh, we have awesome sex, we work well as a team and it's natural. He accepts my cellulite, stretch marks, my face without makeup and most of my flaws. They even turn him on.

Our association is effortless and I'm completely comfortable around him. Extreme Example: The other day I discovered a pimple on my butt cheek, like right in the center of the fleshy part. So when I emerged from the shower, I was like, "How close are we? Because I have a zit on my ass that I can't reach." He didn't even flinch. He was right on it. Now that's love. And pretty freaken gross. I guess love does conquer all afterall.

MUSH ALERT: After maintaining single status for so long, it's awesome to finally have someone to watch a movie with, eat dinner, go to Ralphs or the 99 cent store. Falling asleep together. Intertwining and then rolling away to pass out in the same space. Talking, listening and learning together. Alter Ego intervention: Wow! You actually wrote that.

The thing is -- I've been married. I've been divorced. I've mistaken lust for love and I've fallen in love for the wrong reasons. So according to my updated opinion, love is not a high-carat diamond ring, a series of conditions, prerequisites or a checklist. Love is not a bank account, a prenuptial agreement or choosing the person whose father happens to be a tycoon or CEO of whatever corporation which will guarantee you are financially set up till death do you part. Love is not a bunch of photo albums filled with fake smiles against different backdrops. Love is not a wedding (if you don't believe me ask Kim Kardashian). Though if any of those factors factor in - particularly the wealthy father-in-law -- SCORE!

Love -- my friends, is simple. It's a mutual act of clear unobliterated communication. Make no unrealistic promises, tell no lies. Love is giving, it's sharing, it's understanding, it's not judging. Love is giving a shit about someone other than yourself. Love is selfless. Geez, I should've just quoted 1 Corinthians chapter 13, verse four to eight. Who am I becoming? My evil dominatrix twin is unimpressed. Screw her!

So I'm renewed. A convert. An ally of Cupid and Eros. I wouldn't go as far as to say I'm a cheerleader or full-time advocate because I'm still a cynic at heart and I've read way too much to be naive about love and love's love of tragedy (Oedipus Complex, Romeo & Juliet, Lancelot and Guinevere etc.). But I'm not bitter either. Based on this new wave of passion, I so should've been born French. Sigh. Everything in the world is suddenly amazing. Aside from war and politics and all of this confusion with Wall Street and how it fucked up world finance. Anywayz…

I'm going to go fantasize now. Till next time lovers.

Lola Berlin.