On Princes and Oatmeal: What A Girl Wants.

What do girls look for in the boys we date?
This is a looming question, ever-present and yet perpetually unanswered. It seems to confuse every male in my life, and no matter how much they grow, their wisdom on this issue never seems to expand. However, this is what we do know. Society has given men a prototype by which to gauge their success when it comes to women. The closer you are to attaining this name, the better off you are. Once you have been given this honorary title, you are golden. This measurement tool has also been given to women, to rate their own proficiency and taste when it comes to choosing a man. We compare our dates, boyfriends and crushes to this single prototype, this one invincible, flawless phenomenon.
His name is Prince Charming.

Yes, readers, you know this guy. This is what the typical girl wants in her life. This is the face of happiness and perfection. As a girl, having this man in your life is something of an accomplishment. To say, "I have found my Prince Charming" is to say "I will never have another problem! Be gone, fools and players of the past! Let me enjoy my new-found bliss!"

The Prince Charming in your life will be exactly what he is cracked up to be. He will shower you with love and attention, make you feel beautiful, and kiss your hand, sending tingles down your spine. He will adore every little bit of you, inside and out. He will get to know your little intricacies and flaws, and he will love them. Without hesitation, he will be at your side to slay dragons, creepos, or the big spider you found on the bathroom floor. He will profess his love eloquently, on one knee, with a bunch of flowers from his castle garden. He will make you swoon and sigh, and eventually, you will have to admit that he is, undoubtedly, perfect.

Over the last two weeks, I have made a very interesting and revealing discovery: I do not want Prince Charming.
Prince Charming is certainly handsome. He's brave and strong, and has a way with words. But his eloquence and charm are just the problem. This is not what I want to find when I legitimately begin the search for the Love of My Life.
The guy I want is a little more like Mowgli, from The Jungle Book. Upon seeing the most beautiful girl he's ever seen, Mowgli forgets the entire world around him, and, as I like to say, he turns into oatmeal.

The guy I want to find is not exceptionally brave! He's not stunningly handsome, and he doesn't necessarily have a high tenor Broadway singing voice.
I want a guy who will kill a spider for me, but I fully expect him to run away when the fire-breathing dragon starts roaming the town. I don't want him to profess his love on one knee, with a perfect bouquet of freshly cut roses, without a single stutter. I want the boy who takes my hand and says, "I just, I just feel so....you're just so...I mean, you know? It's like, you just....I love you!" I want him to stutter and grin and feel silly!

I don't want my guy to serenade me under the balcony at midnight. I want him to strum a guitar with his feet up on the arm of the couch, miss a note and laugh at himself, embarrassed that he displayed imperfections in front of me. I want the guy who will grin like an idiot when I walk in the door. I want the guy who is out of commission and needs 5 minutes to regain consciousness after a peck on the cheek from me. When he picks me up for a date, I don't want him to say, "My Darling, you look positively ravishing...forgive my astounding ignorance, but is that stunning dress fuchsia or magenta?" I want him to say, ".........duh...uh, WOAH."

I want a boy who will turn into oatmeal when he's around me, losing all solid concept of time, space and matter!

Prince Charming is a great guy, to be sure. He's perfect. Perfect, handsome, and boring. The guy I want is not like him. He's a little more awkward, and a little less fantastic.
I am a Princess who does not want to find A Prince. No, what I want is to find MY Prince. He's not like Prince Charming, and he's certainly not perfect.
That is precisely what I will be watching for.

Youthful Nostalgia, By Brother8.

This is a song that Eric wrote while he was home sick. As he wrote it, he was undoubtedly staring out the window, with silent tears streaming down his freckled cheeks. It is to be sung to the tune of Frere Jaques.

I hate winter, I hate winter.
Where's the sun? Where's the sun?
I wear a heavy coat, I wear a heavy coat.
I'm ready for fun. I'm ready for fun!

Poignantly stated, dear brother. I myself entirely loathe the winter, and also find it tremendously more difficult to have fun when it's freezing outside. The arrival of the sunshine brings many more happy memories, and many more opportunities to have the time of my life. As I consider the coming years, and the maturity that they will require from me, I realize even more that I have to make the opportunities I do have really count. I have some big plans to do so. This summer will be the best yet, if only to make up for time lost and wasted in the knee-deep snow.

Favorite Things, Part B

6. My Girlfriends. Right now, I think I could be happy if I never talked to another boy, ever again. This doesn't stem solely from my hatred for the current reading assignment in Adult Roles, but from the drama which occurs on all fronts of my life. People say that GIRLS are dramatic?! Our lives would be peaceful without the MEN, thankyouverymuch! Sometimes there is nothing better than talking with my girls.
7. When I do one little thing wrong, and one person starts ripping on me, but then EVERY other person involved sticks up for me and starts ripping on THEM. Dude, seriously...I love my friends!
8. MoTab. Yeah, I'm serious! The Mormon Tabernacle Choir. I love it, for many varying reasons. I love the stereotypes surrounding them, their outfits, and their hairstyles. I love the music and the spirit surrounding it. I love the abbreviation MoTab, as it is yet another testament to the predominantly Mormon culture in which I live.
9. Mormon abbreviations and acronyms. Oh my goodness, we shorten everything here! MoTab, MoMo, LDS, BYU, BYC, EQP, DL, ZL, YW, YM, BSA, DI, GA, FHE. I could tell you thousands of others, if I had a lifetime to waste. But that's what it's all about, right? Why waste time saying entire words when everyone understands by the first letter? When I moved to UT, I vowed that I would never submit to this wacky trend. Well, call me a MoMo, but I'm a DoG and I read my BofM while I listen to MoTab and I have FHE on Mondays!
So, in the words of my FAVORITE MoMo, "Stick that straw in your juice box and suck it!"
10. My Dad. My father recently recieved a "Heroes in Parenting" award. I'm not surprised, not the tiniest little bit. I love you, Daddy.

Diamonds and Weddings and Love...Oh My!

I'm taking a class for college credit in which we learn very little and accomplish very little. The class is "Adult Roles," and it takes care of a financial literacy credit and a few general ed hours.
On my first day in the new semester, we started a unit on marriage, and I was assigned to read "Finding the Love of Your Life," a book written by the founder of eHarmony.com. My teacher says that most of the females in her class particularly enjoy this unit, and really eat up anything that has to do with love and weddings.
I must be the exception....because I don't like it.
I resent having to read this book. I am 16 years old! I don't want to find the love of my life right now! Eventually, yes, but NOW?! I don't even know if I have wisdom teeth yet! I can barely keep my room clean, and you want me to find the LOVE of my LIFE?! I lack the maturity to have the healthiest of friendships, let alone relationships. I am a child! The idea of growing up and being on my own scares the zits off my adolescent face....how am I supposed to deal with growing up and devoting my life to another person?!
Don't get me wrong. I am capable of loving another person. I have the ability to love someone and want the best for them and want nothing as badly as I want their happiness. I know what it means to say "I Love You," and I know how to navigate the tip of that iceberg. But it's just that - the very tip. I'm willing to venture that I know more than most teenagers know about love, but I lack the maturity and self assurance to apply in person what I know in theory. I still have WAY too much to learn. I still have to grow up. I am absolutely not ready to begin searching for the love of my life. You want me to read a book about this?! And learn from it?! No!!

Another reason that I so despise this assignment is that it is mostly pointless. I am not going to read a book, fill out a worksheet, and suddenly know that much more about love. I'm going to learn how to love by loving. Loving my friends, family, and those around me that I see every day. I'm going to learn, through experience and prayer, what the love of my life should look like. I'm going to learn and work to become the love of someone else's life. Isn't that the essential other half to that process of "finding the love of my life?" I need to focus on those things. I don't need to read about love from a man who created an online dating service, and rely on that knowledge to actually teach me things.

Another problem. In the same lesson, we spent a substantial ammount of time talking about engagement rings. We learned about different cuts and weights and sizes, insurance policies and prices. This is infuriating! WHAT do diamond rings have to do with marriage?!?! The first engagement rings were blades of grass, and what was the divorce rate THEN?! Now, we spend hundreds of dollars and many hours on selecting the perfect, beautiful ring for our loved one, and for what?! Is it bragging rights? Is it a sign of true love when you can't lift the deadweight ring on your left hand? NO! Diamonds have nothing to do with true love. Yes, they are a lovely tradition and they are pretty, and when I find that Love of My Life, I would most likely request a moderately nice engagement ring. But if it didn't work out, the relationship wouldn't fail! Heck...if he had to carve my ring out of balsa wood, it wouldn't change the fact that it was real love.

Maybe I'll be that lady who lives alone with 7 cats. You and the Love of Your Life can come visit me in my solitary bitterness.

180 Pounds of Pure Scandanavian Viking Superhero!

I know what you're thinking.
"...Pure Scandanav...what the...who is this girl?!" I know that you roll your eyes in annoyed apprehension of my girlish giggling and chatter. Even now, you try to determine where in the world this title came from, and to whom it was assigned. No, dear readers, this blue-eyed Demigod is not someone I actually know, and in fact, I can't remember his real name. "180 pounds of pure Scandinavian Viking superhero" was the title given to a competitor in the Winter X-Games, which I found myself watching on TV today. The alternate title of this post is "5 of My Favorite Things," but I want to immediately establish that Scandanavian superheroes are not on the list. However, first on the list is:

1. Those hilarious one-liners that pop out at you when you're not really paying attention. You really think I was actively watching the X-Games? Heck no. I was spacing completely, and I tuned in JUST in time to hear the announcer declare some snowboarder "180 pounds of pure Scandinavian Viking superhero." As I watched American Idol yesterday, a Revlon commercial came on that informed me that using Revlon's lipstick would give me "Explosively Sexy Lips." Haaaaahahahahahaha!! Explosively?! Quite the adverb, Revlon. Love it. Also, my physics teacher woke me up in first period today by announcing, "EVERYONE in this room is attracted to you!" Of course he ruined it - "...gravitationally speaking, I mean." I went back to sleep after that, but it WAS funny!
2. Barbeque Sauce. I'm serious. I love it. Close up there with A1 and Ranch, it is an indispensible condiment. And I love it.
3. Redvines. I'll just put this out there right now. I don't care what you think, I don't care how much I still have to learn and grow, and I don't care how much my values and opinions may change. I will NEVER love a mortal man as much as I love Redvines. EVER. I seriously doubt they could be any more delicious.
4. Sitting down for the first time in four hours. One of my coworkers trudged into the boss's office after a long stretch at the register. As he sat down, he let out the biggest sigh of relief, and said, "That.....was AMAZING." He's totally right. It's the best thing ever.
5. Those moments that are just...funny. I sat in AP American History today, listening passively to a lecture, and I heard, behind me and just to the left, a soft but very distinct snore. From directly behind me there came a muffled snicker, and behind me to the right was a bigger one. Back and forth, the giggles grew, until they spread to me and those on my right and left sides. The offending sleepyhead jerked awake to the sound of 10 people laughing quietly, snorted rather loudly and said "Huhmmgmwhat..?" The teacher never strayed from her passionate lecture. She had no idea.

Mind you, these are only five of my long list of things that make me smile. More to come, dear readers, more to come.

Boy8's First Jam Sesh

I have a mini-passion in my life, and it makes me very happy.
When I drive anywhere, especially to work, I crank up the radio as loud as I can stand it, and I ROCK OUT. This means shaking my hair out and flipping my head everywhere, bouncing in my seat, occasionally singing along.
This little quirk of mine has given me many funny stories to tell, and even got me out of doing dishes at work once. I pulled up to the stop light across the street on my way in to work, and my shift leader saw me dancing as rambunctiously as I could manage with a seat belt on. Because it entertained him so profoundly, he deemed my Jam Session an "Epic Win," and informed me that I had immunity from all dishes responsibilities. See Dani Grin.
Tonight, we drove up to Grandma's house for her 74th birthday party, and on the way home, I broke out my earphones. Eric was sitting next to me in the back of the minivan and, not feeling inclined to listen to "I'm A Little Teapot" (Girl3's cassette choice), he asked me if he could listen to my music. I plugged him in, but informed him that I wouldn't let him listen if he didn't dance with me.
We cranked "Are You Gonna Be My Girl" by Jet, and I taught him how to dance like a wild animal. At first he was embarrassed, and when I told him what to do, he went, "....no! Heck no!" But as the car ride went on, he got more excited, and by the time we reached home, we had the whole song choreographed. I kept checking with him, saying, "this is fun, huh?!" and his reply is still making me laugh.
"Yeah!" he puffed, in between bounces on the minivan bench. "But it's so stupid!"

Ha, ha, ha! This was the first time I've spent bonding with my little brother in a really long time. I don't know why I find it so liberating to dance like a maniac in my car (or in my bathroom while I get ready, or in the back room at work when anybody could be watching, or cleaning my room), but it just makes me extremely happy, and it was so fun to have Eric participate in the madness with me.

Eric is totally right. It's silly. I look completely ridiculous. But really...that means absolutely nothing to me.
I will continue jammin' in my car (and bathroom and bedroom and kitchen and walk-in pizza freezer) until my joints turn to dust and I'm being carried around in an urn.
Smiling,
Girl 16.

In Which My Father May Loose His Tongue, Which Has Heretofore Been Bitten.

If you live in Utah, you are undoubtedly aware of a phenomenon which occurs about six to eight times during the school year. I don't know when it began, and I don't know why. All I know is that whenever there's a school dance, people go absolutely bananas. When you ask someone to a dance, it is considered quite unorthodox to simply call them on the phone and ask them. It's imperative that you spend a minimum of $10, and ask them in a way that rhymes and makes it difficult to find out who the asker was. I won't spend a lot of time on this, because every blogger in Utah has at least one post that deals cynically with the traditions and customs of High School dances. I will say that I don't mind it, and I actually think it's fun and exciting, even if it requires a little more work. My dad does not share my opinion. He posted not very long ago a rant about the topic, in which he praised his own capacity for tolerance. He counts himself magnanimous because he hasn't said anything to me about it, and blogging about it doesn't count (apparently). He has indeed raised the biting of his tongue to an artform.
My Friday night afforded an opportunity for my dear father to raise his eyebrows in pleased surprise at the situation. I was asked to the upcoming Valentine's Dance. The asker was a boy I know from work, whom I am quite thrilled to be accompanying. We got together after work to have a movie night with my friends on Friday. When I dropped him off at his house, we chatted for a few minutes before he looked me in the eye said, "Because I'm so terrible at these things, I'm just gonna come right out and say it...Dani, will you please go to Valentine's with me?" Of course I beamed and replied that I would love to, he gave me a big hug and we were back to chatting about Horton Hears a Who and how we both can recite random movie lines accurately.
He spent no money, very little time, and less stress than asking to a dance usually causes. Some would count this lazy and rude, but I loved it! It was organic and sweet, and it also means that I don't need to answer in a way that will cause me stress.
My dad has declared that he will never, ever approve of the boys I date. But does Sam's refusal to conform to the asking standards of the rest of Utah have a positive effect? Is he an exception to that rule because he swam against the current and asked me in person? Either way, I'm excited. Valentine's Day is going to rock.

So Much More Than Pathos.

I had to grow up a little bit more today.
While I stood at the register at work today, whining inwardly at my lowly position, a man who looked about 45 came into the store. He looked just like everybody else for a minute, but as it came to be his turn at my register, I noticed he was different. This man leaned heavily on a cane and shook as he walked. He was bent over, at least at a 90 degree angle, and I could see that he was fiddling with his glasses. I thought that he just had trouble putting them on, but as I continued to watch him and prompt him that it was his turn, the smile was forced off of my face. The glasses that he was struggling with included only one scratched and mangled lens. The man was focusing not on putting his glasses ON, but putting them TOGETHER, slowly and carefully guiding them into the right position. He nudged and pulled the single lens into the left side of the frames, which consisted of thin metal for the top half and crudely knotted fishing line for the bottom. From the way he knew exactly what he was doing, I could see that it had been this way for a long time. When he finally got them on, he looked up at me, and when he saw my face, he smiled half-heartedly and said, "One is better than none, I guess." As he stepped closer, I noted more about him. He smelled heavily of smoke. His voice cracked and knotted, like he had been screaming a long time and was reluctant even to speak. I could barely see his left eye through the scratches on his one lens.
This man took about 10 minutes to decide what to order. He ended up with two of the cheapest pizzas on the menu, which he paid for with food stamps. He saved every penny he possibly could, and when he made any decision, it was drawn-out and deliberate. He handled his wallet and very little money with a certain care and delicacy that I have only seen in children. To children, money is an enormous phenomenon, and they interact with it as such. If you watch, you'll see that a preschooler is fascinated by the whole transaction process - he'll pick out his items very carefully, make doubly sure that he has enough money with him, and he'll carefully consider his decision to the best of his fun-size ability. That is exactly the way this man acted with his money. He counted out his bills twice and put them gently into my hand, watching them, not me, as I stored them away.
Something else struck me about this man. The entire time, he showered me and my coworkers with thanks. He called me Miss and said Thank You after every small interaction we had. He made sure to thank us on his way out, and never once let his happy attitude falter. He looked me in the eyes, and when he had a question, he seriously listened to and contemplated the answer. Talking with and serving this little man nearly broke my heart. I wanted to hug him, I wanted to buy his dinner, I wanted to do ANYTHING I could for him. Instead, I marvelled at the way he acted and spoke, and I felt a great love for him that I've never felt for a stranger, and never ever for a customer over age 6.

The very next person to walk up to my register was different. Her black hair was beautifully cut and her nails were long and perfectly manicured. She plopped her Gucci handbag down on the counter, obviously annoyed with the delay caused by the man ahead of her, and glanced down at me without so much as a twitch of her lips before saying, "Umm, I think I'll get...." She proceeded to name 2 or 3 expensive pizzas. While I rang them up, she perused the add-on orders below the counter, and carelessly tossed a tub or two of cookie dough onto the top, deciding, "I think I'll get one of these....and one of these." When I told her what her total was, she simply handed me a credit card without even internalizing it, and waited until I was finished. To her, I was The Labor. She never smiled at me, and mumbled Thanks under her breath as she turned to go.
The direct, sharp contrast between these two people was shocking. It scared me and it enlightened me, interacting with them one right after the other. I was so surprised at how unaware the were of each other. She, with her leather purse and crimson fingers, had no idea about the pain that he had probably experienced. He, with his dingy clothes and crumpled cash, had no insight into the world in which she lived. He simply could not have any idea.
I wanted to yell. I wanted to cry. I wanted to open up the eyes of the world and let them see what I had just seen. How appropriate that we have been discussing Social Darwinism in my history class! I've always stood in the negation whenever the argument arises, but I've been more in the middle, trying to see both sides of the debate. Today, the decision was made for me. There is no better argument for the support of mercy and love and compassion than the image of a crooked little man putting together half a pair of glasses.
Not everyone is powerful and secure. Not everyone knows what they're going to eat next week. When you need new glasses, you go and get some. It may cramp your budget for a day, but it's a very worthwhile exchange. If he had the means to buy new glasses, this man would have done so. He could not, and he accepted that he could not. His glasses were awful, but that is his life. He could not stand without a cane, but that's how it goes. Did he want to take home more than he bought? Probably. Was he more hungry than the size of his purchase indicated? Probably! Could he do anything more? Absolutely not.
I have grown up a little bit more today.

Are we human...or are we dancer?

It's been 2 weeks. 2 weeks of freedom, laughter and bliss. I made 2 amazing friends, sustained a headache from dancing all night for 2 nights (sooo worth it), and read more than half of The Awakening. I slept in every day. Monday seemed so far away.
And now, it's Sunday night. Monday is tomorrow, and I am making a futile attempt at the homework that I ignored for 2 weeks. My school bag is still crammed with my clothes and pajamas from a sleepover, and I can't focus on anything scholastic, unless you count my regret at not having seen Yes Man OR gone shopping over the holiday.

I am SO looking forward to the coming year. These two weeks have given me so much, specifically really good, true friends, which is something that has been missing in my life for a long time. I found them in two people whom I had no idea I would be friends with. They are judged and even disliked by some people, but I have found nothing to dislike as yet. I feel a sense of freedom and immense gratitude that has come from my friendship with these two. Mostly, I just feel comfortable with them, and I found that I don't actually care what others think of me anymore, or of my friends. What a discovery! I've smiled more in these two weeks than I have for a long time, mostly thanks to these two.
(Note: The title of this post is a tribute to them, because sometimes I actually just don't know. We dance. A lot.)

I've decided that, even though tomorrow will thrust me back into routine, I'm going to get through it, a lot easier than I did last semester. And when weekends roll around, I'll have so much more to look forward to. For now, at least, I know that I can rest, smile and be thankful for everything I have. What an awesome Christmas break.

It's Like A Car Accident...

...It's horrible, but I can't look away!

I'm pretty sure that E.T. is the creepiest movie Hollywood ever thought up. Boy5 is obsessed with the show, and watches it about 3 times a week. I haven't watched the whole thing yet, but every time I catch a glimpse of a scene, I get the heeby-jeebies. This movie used to fascinate me when I was little, so the creepiness hasn't blossomed from some childhood trauma associated with the Extra-Terrestrial. It's only recently that I've started to freak out about it.
As yet, I have no explanation. It's just awful. It's weird. It freaks me out.

And I sit here, watching E.T. die and Elliot slowly flicker in and out of conciousness with him.
Isn't humanity funny?

Thrills! Spills! Scandal! Snore.

I'm trying to read a book written by a woman who died in 1904.

Apparently, it was extra-controversial and scandalous...in 1904. It caused women to weep and men to grow weak in the knees...in 1904. Mothers shielded the eyes of their young ones from the pages of this devilish work...in 1904. It provided an insight into the scandal and adventure in the lives of upper-class women...1n 1904!
I could try to make this as full of explanation as I possibly could, but the facts are these:
The Awakening bores me. It is a boring piece of great literature. Kate Chopin was a brilliant woman and revolutionary author...who died in 1904!

I had no problem reading Macbeth, which is in fact set in 11th-century Scotland, and was written by William Shakespeare, who died in 1616. I take comfort in this, because I know my problem does not stem from the book being too "outdated" or its author being "too old" (meaning dead for 105 years). This means that I'm not TOO uncultured. It's not as if I'm rolling my eyes and saying, "This is gay. Lets go light something on fire, Beevis." I'm really trying! It's just that I can't grasp the excitement embedded in people who "stroll" and "sip" things, and "go on visits" and have "dear friends." I can't find pleasure in reading about a perfect 18-century woman who has only one flaw, and that is that she insists on talking about her ever-evasive "condition," the symtoms of which are invisible and unapparent to everyone around her! Honestly, I can't bring myself to care if Mrs. Pontellier is uncomfortable in a society of Creoles, despite her having married a Creole. Creole sounds like something fruity and delicious, if you ask me, and that makes my mouth water, which distracts me. How am I expected to read a book which draws my attention AWAY from it?! It's repellent, I tell you! This book is only 100 pages long! Why am I having such a hard time being interested in this?!

In every english class I've ever been in, with every book we've ever read, I've always been the one to practically sprint into the classroom, full of praise and wonderment at the current reading assignment. I leaped into class with To Kill A Mockingbird in my hand, yelling at everyone that would listen to me. "OH MY GOODNESS! DID YOU READ LAST NIGHT? Atticus Finch is my HEEEERO! He's all this super-cool laid back lawyer whose all like, You won't get away with this, I'll use my brain power and break you down have a nice day, and then this dog comes in and its all going crazy and Atticus grabs his shotgun and he's all BLAMO!! and the dog is gone and the kids are all like, duuude, and the sherrif's all, Ol' One Shot done it again...WOW this book is INCREDIBLE!"
When we held class discussions, my hand was in the air and my eyes here sparkling, pretty much constantly.
I give 104% on analysis essays, I adore my english teacher, and I plan to name my future pets (or anything else which requires naming, excluding children) after my favorite literary characters (Atticus Finch, John and Elizabeth Proctor, and Lennie Small). I am in love with literature. So what is this bizarre change in what has always been a perfect love?
It's never been the plot that I love so much as the underlying meanings and ironies and the different dimensions of characters. That's the stuff a book is made of - the plot is only a framework.
When I got the assignment to read The Awakening, I was promised some seriously beautiful, dense stuff. My teacher, who is a hero to me, sang praises to this book in class (She's like that. It surprised no one). My father, also a hero and an english Ph.D., promised me a rich supply of character dimension and themes similar to those in Their Eyes Were Watching God. WHERE ARE THESE THINGS HIDING?! I am seeing NO dimension, ZERO emotion, and TOTALLY skewed and irrelevant bits of information about 4 people! Mr. Pontellier wears eyeglasses. Mrs. Pontellier got a sunburn. The boys enjoyed croquet. Don't forget the umbrella, Darling. The man lived in the third house. As opposed to a dirty, muggy dungeon with a wrongly accused Frenchman and first mate of the Pharaon who later becomes a count and self-made ledgend, which would be much more exciting. Hmm...someone should do something with that. Oh WAIT! Alexandre Dumas wrote an incredible book with that very idea, and HE died in 1870! Nobody in The Count of Monte Cristo strolled or sipped things.
I'll read The Awakening. I'll get through it, even if it takes pretending I died in 1904. Literature is one of my great loves...am I wrong not to love it all the time?