What a week, yo. Birthday fricking month. Too much (just enough?) every-thing. Booze, highly caloric food, I love yous, and ONE woops-ex-boyfriend-forgot-my-birthday. Damn, man. I need a vacation. JUST TO DIGEST IT ALL.

(Maybe my nasal congestion is actually emotional congestion destined for on the couch, red-nosed, tissues in hand, I might die sickness.)

Sooooo anywaaaaay, like any normal person, I am on the train from DENVER to IOWA. This is where real people go to veg… and digest… and unpack… and deal with their HELLO-LIFE’S-A-SHIT-SHOW lives. Oh and where my family lives. And yes, I was corn-fed. No, not potato-fed. That’s Idaho.

P.S. This woman on the train is yelling INTO her phone about her no-good-awful-messed-up-day… damn… put a muzzle on it, lady. We’re all riding the California Zephyr… obviously we’re all having a crappy day.

So end pity-party, begin an exploration into ROMANCE. What is it? What behaviors? Acts of kindness? Expressions? Lack of expressions? Bold moves? Subtle gestures?

I have this girlfriend from Boston who used to squeeze the living shit out of her boyfriend of four years to propose to her… like all the time. Apparently there was a little cultural difference between the South and the Northeast in term of appropriate timing for the event. She finally had enough—after moving states to be with him, twice—and she told him (I’m paraphrasing) Listen, buckoooo, marry me, or we’re done. So he bought the biggest goddamn ring he could afford and asked. Candles, rose-petals, mood lighting, THE WORKS. And she said yes, of course. But there is this TONE when she tells the story and it screams HE WAS LATE. Zero romance in this scenario. Sorry fella. You missed the (timing) mark.

I think of this again, with the presentation of an average birthday card. “Hope it‘s the best year yet. I love you.” NO ROMANCE.  Or a one-on-one date to the same restaurant, manifested in the same way as every other Friday night. NO ROMANCE. Flowers when you’ve been naughty? Nope. What about service? I’ll carry that for you, dear, loses its shock and awe pretty damn quickly. IT BECOMES EXPECTED. I love you’s? Maybe penetrates the first dozen times? Maybe a few more when they’re expressed uniquely? But too often they turn into Luv ya’s like lickity-split. If not in actuality, in tenor or in meaning.

So what does it take for something to be romantic?

I’ve thought a lot about this over the weekend—a weekend where I dosed out and absorbed romance like Tic-Tacs. Romance is an unexpected gift at an unexpected time…

I surprised my sister for her 30^th birthday this weekend. She sobbed, lost steadiness in her knees, glowed with love and appreciation for days. THAT was romantic.

One of my best friends confessed that he has had feelings for me for years, but that he loved me so much, he’d rather never pursue his feelings than sacrifice our friendship and my presence in his life. THAT is romantic.

I searched for weeks for a bottle of Templeton Rye for James Dean (JUST BECAUSE…). It’s harder to come by than a natural blond in China. But I found one in Oskaloosa, Iowa, and gave it to him on an insignificant Tuesday. THAT was romantic.

James Dean told me that he considers it a privilege to help me rediscover my value as a partner, as a woman, as a girlfriend. He asked me to give him a list of things I am afraid of, of things I don’t want to become, and we would “work together” on making sure they never come to fruition. Because we we’re a team. Because he wants to be my partner. Siggghhh… THAT is romantic.

My powerhouse of a friend, @doniree, left me a note under my door when I was curled up sobbing over M, “I love u, ~D.” THAT was romantic.

There is something romantic about ANTICIPATING another person’s needs/wants/desires and providing it BEFORE they ask. There is something romantic about being mindful, thoughtful, proactive. About risking your contentedness, your pride, about using your intuition and your social intelligence to PUT SOMEONE ELSE FIRST. There is something romantic about spontaneous, unprovoked self-sacrifice.

Romance is an unexpected gift at an unexpected time…