What I Did for Love
So I consider myself one of the luckiest women alive, because somehow I managed to find one of those incredibly unique men who is kind, loving, loyal, intelligent, funny, laid back, and who puts up with me willingly and happily. Oh, and he’s hot. Like real hot. Good work, Murin.
Fear not, this whole blog is not going to be a sickeningly delirious post about how much I love my fiancee and how lucky I am to have found him and blah blah blah chick lit novel I can’t believe he’s mine what did I do to deserve this. No, I deserve him. Oh, I freaking deserve him. Because when I look back on everything I went through to get him? I can’t believe I lasted this long without becoming a nun or a cat lady, or worst of all, a contestant on The Bachelor.
So for a moment, let’s travel back in time to my younger (stupider), more innocent (stupider) days, where I was willing to give 98 percent of men a chance to be my Prince Charming, and I believed that every time a guy had slept with me, he obviously must love me and would never be able to live without me. Yes, I did all of the standard insane things one does when their adrenaline and emotions and libido are all racing to an unforeseen finish line. I called too much, texted too much, stalked MySpace (yup, I said it), and IMed with my friends late into the night, cutting and pasting every IM chat I’d had with him, analyzing and
When I was in college, I wore the same kind of deodorant that my crush wore because I wanted to smell him all day. It was Old Spice. What I smelled like for love.
Also in college, I was so determined to make an ex-boyfriend jealous that I somehow finagled myself a solo in a presentation for the whole theater department which involved performing a striptease down to my underwear and seducing a guy. What I did for love. Or revenge?
There was yet another college boy who I was sure was the love of my life. One summer night while we were both home with our parents, we each drove halfway towards each other and met at midnight on the Palisades Parkway, just to say hello. Actually, that one is kind of awesome. Except that he happened to be my boyfriend’s best friend. #whatididforlove #oops
One night, while I was out of town doing a show, I had a one night stand with someone I was working with. I knew he was leaving the next day, so when it came time to go back to my hotel room, I purposely left my bra in HIS hotel room so I could go back the next day and see him one more time before he left. When I knocked on the door, he told me he had already packed his suitcases and he didn’t find a bra anywhere. I mean, dude, I know it was there. He still owes me a bra. What I lost for “love.”
When I was 24, I somehow convinced myself that the guy I was meant to be with was a 20 year old who illegally owned a gun, grew weed in his closet, and kept all of his cash in his underwear drawer because he didn’t have a bank account. But he was so sweet. What I could have gotten arrested for for love.
Within one year, I flew to three different states to visit three different guys and then never saw them again. What I paid for love.
I moved to Long Island to live with a guy I had only been dating for five months, and started working as a nanny. I was away from my wonderful apartment that I shared with my best friend in the world, away from my favorite city in the world, and away from where all of the auditions were held on a daily basis. Which meant I gave up a little corner of my own dream of being on Broadway, because it was just easier to stay home and cook him dinner. And for the first time in my life, I actually had to think about my answer when he asked me, “So how long are you going to do this acting thing for?” What I sacrificed for love.
I got married and divorced. What I really truly believed in for love.
And the worst offense of all? I, Patricia Marie Elizabeth Murin, lifelong New York Giants fan, rooted for goddamn New England Patriots. What I am still ashamed for for love.
For all of you singles out there, it took me way longer than I hope it takes you to learn what it means to really know yourself, and to respect yourself when it comes to dating and mating and love. Because if someone really loves you? They won’t care if you own a sweatshirt with the logo of their crappy football team on it. And if you really, truly love someone? You’ll never even consider buying one.
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