“Her heart did whisper that he had done it for her. But it was a hope shortly checked by other considerations, and she soon felt that even her vanity was insufficient, when required to depend on his affection for her— for a woman who had already refused him— as able to overcome a sentiment so natural as abhorrence against relationship with Wickham.”

– Jane Austen

Take me back to those times, to times when unintentional glances were the beginnings of an epic romance, where subtle concise vocabulary determined whether you were  admired or not. Now you think you’re in love when you are described as “hot”. Back in the day being romanced was not about just buying a dozen red roses as the local grocery store and a cheap Walgreens chocolate heart. It was about feeling wanted in a simple and sophisticated way. All romance is today is just a movie genre and an excuse for Hallmark’s existence.

Back in the time of Dukes and Duchesses, of detailed gowns and exuberant jewelery, of seven course meals and extravagant balls, everything just seemed more romantic. Electricity had yet to be invented, so dark rooms were lightened by candlelight as it shimmered off the room’s occupants’ flesh.  Today, in a time of guys and chicks, of mini skirts and tongue piercings, of half a dozen tequila shots and jam-packed nightclubs, things have changed. At sunset, the horndogs come out and our vision becomes impaired in dark rooms brightened by electric lights, blinding our eyes and our senses. With each others tongue down our throats, we have yet to realize the near extinction of romance.

 Lady Georgiana Cavendish, Duchess of Devonshire by Thomas Gainsborough

Lady Georgiana Cavendish, Duchess of Devonshire by Thomas Gainsborough

However, the seventeenth century carried with it mischievous lies and cruel affairs. Condemned to eternal unhappiness through fixed marriages, most found comfort in a different bed than their spouses’. Then again, is that really any different than today?

I’ll take the good with the bad.

Take me back,

Laura Marianne

“She’d stopped reading the kind of women’s magazine that talked about romance and knitting, and started reading the kind of women’s magazine that talked about orgasms, but apart from making a mental note to have one if ever the occasion presented itself she dismissed them as only romance and knitting in a new form.”

– Terry Pratchett, Good Omens, 1990


It’s self preservation. Everyone for themselves because it’s a dog eat dog world out there. Why put your heart out into the vulnerable world of love, if you know very well it’s just going to be ripped to pieces? It’s a suicide mission yet everyday people take the chance, they fall hoping someone will catch them. And I’ll tell ya, you’re one of the lucky ones if you don’t fall flat on your face.

Break my heart, baby, Ill love you for it.

Break my heart, baby, I'll love you for it.

We stick our hand in the dark hole, not knowing what’s in there, expecting the worst yet hoping for the best. Inevitably, our hand gets bitten off by the unknown. And the paradox is that with one hand gone, we stick the other right back in the dark hole again.

Why do we always hope for the best though? I mean once you learn that nothing good will come of it, why try again?

We say “never again” and “I learned from my mistakes”, but come Monday, and the pain of the weekend has washed away, those feelings wash away as well. We think, well it wasn’t that bad right? What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger?! Pah, whoever said that certainly was never in love.

Don’t we ever learn?

Laura Marianne

“Here’s my philosophy on dating. It’s important to have somebody that can make you laugh, somebody you can trust, somebody that, y’know, turns you on… And it’s really, really important that these three people don’t know each other.”

– Brooke Davis, One Tree Hill

Sex. What a broad fucking topic, right? What is it? When to do it? How to do it? Where to do it? Who to do it with? These are the fundamcondomental questions of life, people! Something that started as a primal instinct to reproduce became a vital pleasure in our lives. Then why does it always make them so complicated!?

I mean virgins… As a virgin, you’re either idolized or shunned. It’s like you’re a saint, so pure, so innocent, so naif. Or you’re a prude, so stuck up, so shy, such a tease. I mean when do you know when to give up “your most precious gift”? First chance? First love? First marriage?

And how the HELL do you know what you’re doing? What’s this? What’s that? Is this okay? Does that hurt? I don’t know what to tell you boys and girls, but sex is a science.

And anyway, what’s sex? Home plate? Third base? Short stop? It’s supposed to be hot, and sexy, and maybe even romantic, if you want, but for some reason you always end up doing the nasty in a park at 4 in the morning against a tree, with a bottle of Tequila in your hand, and all you’re left with the next morning is a hangover and a serious case of rug burn.

And then the mushy gushy emotional baggage that comes in two overweight duffel bags and an extra carry on. Now that is where everything gets really complicated. Between the self conscious slut who fucks guys to feel wanted, and the over confident player who fucks any moving female, there’s always someone who gets hurt. So just take a step back, and think about it, it’s not as big a deal as those cheesy soap operas make it out to be. The first time isn’t going to be romantic and beautiful. You’re not gonna want to write poetry about making love for the first time. It’s gonna be awkward, and messy, and scary. But after that, you just enjoy the ride, no pun intended.

Here’s my philosophy: In the wise words of Nike, Just Do It. Doesn’t matter if it sucks, or if it’s disgusting, the truth is, you’re gonna have some bad times, and you’re gonna have some good ones. So go out there kids and fuck!

I’ll leave you at that,

Laura Marianne

“Sex. Yes well Sex. What do you say about sex really. You like a guy… you do it with him… sometimes he calls, sometimes he doesn’t.”

– Anita Olesky, Never Been Kissed (1999)


I’m Laura and I’ll be your attendant during this crazy flight called life. I’ll attempt to decipher the hieroglyphics of love, follow the yellow brick road to happiness, and uncover the placebo for the common woes so many of us are diagnosed with. Aboard, you will receive complimentary criticism, with a side of sarcasm, and if you wish, for $5 more, you may purchase some sympathy (choice of red or white) to drown your sorrows. There are two exits at adolescence, two during marriage, and one at death. In case of emergency, look to yourself because no one else knows what the hell we’re doing here. If you have any answers, don’t hesitate on interpreting them your own way.


Give us a smile, love

Laura Marianne

“It is not the answer that enlightens, but the question.”

– Eugene Ionesco (1909 – 1994)