a movie about my life that didn't star me (they'd probably cast me as a hasbeen)

So, I'm using this space instead of my usual because I'm about to go all wordy and deep, and I'd like to avoid that one reader who--even after being told it's probably not appropriate for him to keep reading my blog--still insists on doing it.

And he'll probably find me here, too. And that comment is probably going to get me into trouble...

But this entry isn't going to be about anything to do with him.

It's actually about a movie.

Jon and I just got back from seeing 500 Days of Summer. We saw this instead of seeing Away We Go because I'm pregnant and could probably not have made it through a movie that started at 9:00 pm even if it was all for John Krasinski.

I may end up spoiling it for you, but it's not my intent. Nor am I setting out to review this film... It's more to confess some junk that this movie has evoked in me.

In the first minute of the movie, you discover that even though it's being tagged as somewhat of a romantic comedy, this flick will not end happily. Or at least, not for one of the characters.

Before any image appears on the screen, the watcher has some reading to do...

It's one of those typical disclaimers about how the story is fiction, and none of the characters resemble anyone in real life on purpose.

But then, there's an additional line which sets up the entire movie. It reads:

"Unless your name is Jenny Beckman. Bitch."

Who is Jenny Beckman? The audience is left to wonder...

I soon found out who she is.

She is me.

The general plot of this story is boy meets girl. The twist is that the boy believes in true love, fate, and happy endings. The girl believes in living for the day and having fun.

The boy- Tom- is played by Joseph Gordon-Levitt (who forever to me will be Josh Wilson's look-a-like) and is who you are supposed to be rooting for. He's a gretting card writer because he couldn't cut it as an architect (I didn't see the parallel either). He's a romantic. Brooding. Angst-filled. And only made more adorable because he's the victim.

Summer (Zooey Deschanel) is aggressive and adament about not wanting a relationship with Tom, so they are in a very intense one together that she pretends is just them being friends.

For 450 of the 500 days of Summer, Tom is on a roller coaster of highs and lows, agonizing over what the right thing to say or do might be to secure himself in Summer's life. And each day, it's enough for him just to be hanging by a thread.

And then she dumps him.

Summer's whole reasoning behind her ways was that decided that after her parents' divorce that no emotions were permanent. It was better to just enjoy people while the good feelings lasted. And so that was what she did with Tom.

And when it was over, she was done. And she expected him to be her friend.

As I sat in my seat, hating this girl for reducing this boy to weeks in his bathrobe with a bottle of Jack Daniels and countless Hostess Twinkies, I suddenly recognized her very clearly.

So much, it actually startled me.

Granted--Zooey Deschanel is prettier, and her character dressed better and had a way cooler apartment and sense of independence than I ever did... But still, I knew her.

Because I was her. And I did what she did.

When I was young--very young, like a child even... I dreamed of being beautiful. I wondered what it would be like to be the "love of someone's life." I always wondered if anyone would ever have retrospective montages of me in their mind and refer to me as "the one that got away."

I romanticized that idea because I wanted to matter. I wanted to leave an impact by these silly, imaginary standards. The idea of someone being alone in their 30s because I had ruined them for all other women somehow made me feel important. Special. Valuable.

And although these fantasies never became actual intentions, the reality of the damage I caused in many of my relationships is pretty much indisputable.

Ironically, a lot of times it was because I really didn't think that anyone could really care for me so deeply as to be wrecked if our relationship ended. I used and believed that excuse very often.

But I know that this justification doesn't detract from how much real pain I inflicted with my actions.

I can hardly even believe that that girl was me. I did some very horrible things.

To people who loved me.

Once I saw myself in Summer, it was hard for me to villainize her. So many times my heart changed on a dime. And there was always someone next in line to turn my attentions to as not to have to deal with my responsibility.

She had to have some redemption, right?

I know I did.

Hers she met while reading The Picture of Dorian Gray in a coffee shop. She married him just months later. And while she was explaining all of this to Tom, she illustrated to him how he'd been right about love the whole time. There is something bigger than us, directing the chances of meetings and chemistry. She thanked him for teaching her that there was something out there bigger than what she felt for him.

She found what he felt for her with someone else.

My redemption I met in a parking lot while moving into an apartment. He happened by and helped me carry up a box. I was in a casual relationship at the time with a boy who loved me very much. And I married Jon just months later.

Now, my ego isn't so big that I think there are boys from my past still pining away for me in darkened apartments where the refrigerator contents are ketchup and baking soda...

But I'm also not so obvlivious to know that I cruelly caused many a heartache in my past. Selfishly. Unfairly.

Not that I don't believe that Jon and I are meant to be. As he put it the other night--He's my lobster.

And I can't belive that I'm actually going to use this reference, but I have to.

I watch the Duggar's Bajillion Kids and Counting because theirs is an alternative lifestyle that fascinates me. Among one of their beliefs is that dating shouldn't transpire between individuals who aren't courting for marriage. The line that they each blindly (a word I see both positives and negatives to using, but see truth in both) repeat about the reasons for this is--When people date, they are giving little bits of their heart away. God wants us to save our whole heart for that one person we marry.

As cornball as this after-school-special-pick-up-line is... I am proof that it is completely true.

The romantic part of this movie made me swoon. Watching Tom hold hands with Summer for the first time... their first kiss... it all gave me butterflies. The newness of a relationship is a feeling by which this world goes around. Every love song is written about experiencing it or losing it. It's basically an industry.

I have had many of those times. With many, many boys.

But except for Jon, they all ended the same way.

With a lot of pain. Anger. Hurt. Bitterness.

And those feelings cloud the retrospective.

And the good memories? If I enjoy them, I feel guilty for indulging in the memories that aren't of my husband. I have given pieces of my heart to a whole lot of people, and I reserved just what was left for the one I will spend forever with.

How ideal to have only the memories of new love with just one person. The one who I will always be with, and the memories won't be clouded by the pain of the relationship's end. If only someone had planned it all that way from the very beginning...

Now, I know I'm not Jenny Beckman.

But she's out there somewhere. And I wonder if she has ever drawn the same conclusions that I have. I wonder if it took this movie to show her the hurt she caused.

I wonder how many there are of us.

And I totally am feeling grateful that I never dated and scorned any up-and-coming filmmakers.

That's definitely not the impact I want to leave on this world.