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Posted: May 18th, 2007 at 1:53am By: Anita Revel
You know how it is ... Daddy wants you to marry for affluence, but as the Queen of the Fairies you want to marry for love. And why shouldn't you? After all, this is what the Welsh goddess of flowers did!
Also known as the Queen of May for the flowers that bloom in her honor, Cordelia defied her sea-god father's wishes and married the man of her choice. In doing so, she sent a very clear message that despite her florid and joyful energies, every girly goddess has the power to stand firm on issues that matter.
Of course, Cordelia had one advantage over all the single goddess gals out there. She had a couple of men to choose from!
Personally, in a world where single chicks shop online for our groceries, music and Wild Divine software, I can't help but wonder if Cordelia were a single goddess without a hope on the horizon, would Daddy have been happy had she found love on the Internet?
I mean, why not just skip the whole Daddy-wants-me-to-marry-him-but-I-want-to-marry-someone-else debacle by starting a relationship where everyone starts on a level playing field? Why not pass Go and head directly to where a rising number of relationships start up anyway — in an Internet chat room?
Imagine your shopping list: "I'll have a brainiac Adonis with exceptional sporting abilities, please. Oh, and already rich. Actually, may as well make him older too — as I'm approaching my late 30s, I need to fast-track a Plan B to look after me in my early retirement."
My friend Sally (name changed to protect the shamefaced) could write a book on the Internet dating scene. She was so desperate to get the whole relationship experience, from gushy first lust to painful last gasp, that she submitted herself to a six-month period of intensive cyber-dating.
With the keen gusto of an over-enthusiastic novice, she wrote a polished and professional profile for the classifieds. It looked unwittingly like a job application:
"Ten years experience in managing domestic logistics, able to forward-plan events with inbuilt contingency plans, excels in team building in accordance with Occupational Safety and Health principles and Equal Opportunity legislation."
But then again, it was eerily apt — the whole process was like a series of high-stress interviews anyway.
For Sally, the anticipation of getting home and booting up her love connection was irresistible. Gym sessions, brunches and Sunday shopping were all forgotten in the pursuit to hear the moans of her love-line warming up — the bbrrr-iii-ooo-eee-grrrrrrrr of her Internet connection was music to the ears as she kicked off her shoes and settled in for an evening of chock-a-block emotional rush.
The adrenaline brought on by an androgynous "You've Got Mail" alert was addictive. It drove her to circle more and more possibilities in the want ads. Anything that looked halfway decent was sent a resume with a template letter of application:
"Dear Sir, I read your profile with interest, and believe I have the skill-set required to meet your key selection criteria."
Computer dating meant now she could eat Spaghetti Napolitana with one hand while tapping out urgent love notes with the other. As fast as she could send them out, in came the replies.
Most of them were sweet, heart-stirring, flattering and flirtatious, validating her worthiness as a human being. Some were just photos of penises in various states of arousal. Most were horifik ecksamples of wi sum men dint have a gurlfreind.
But they all got a go, in accordance with Equal Opportunity legislation. Every single cyber dude was interviewed by email, then by phone, and if agreeable to both parties, a third-stage interview was conducted at a mutual meeting point.
Each time the cyber-dude turned out to be a reality-dud, my friend would become more and more dejected.
"Sow seeds," I'd suggest. "If Cordelia can marry the man of her choice, plant a flower-garden to invite her energy in."
Six months and a thousand failed applications later, my friend is starting to come around to my way of thinking.
"Plant a garden," she muses over a Sunday brunch. "What kind of credentials do I need for that?"
— — —
— — —
Anita Ryan-Revel is the author of "The Goddess Guide to Chakra Vitality," aimed at helping you connect with your beautiful, sassy, intuitive, lovable, sacred and authentic self. She has incorporated her journey into hundreds of articles, countless websites and numerous books, many of which can be found at her website, Goddess.com.au You can read more of her columns here. © copyright 2007 by Anita Ryan-Revel.
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You know how it is ... Daddy wants you to marry for affluence, but as the Queen of the Fairies you want to marry for love. And why shouldn't you? After all, this is what the Welsh goddess of flowers did!
Also known as the Queen of May for the flowers that bloom in her honor, Cordelia defied her sea-god father's wishes and married the man of her choice. In doing so, she sent a very clear message that despite her florid and joyful energies, every girly goddess has the power to stand firm on issues that matter.
Of course, Cordelia had one advantage over all the single goddess gals out there. She had a couple of men to choose from!
Personally, in a world where single chicks shop online for our groceries, music and Wild Divine software, I can't help but wonder if Cordelia were a single goddess without a hope on the horizon, would Daddy have been happy had she found love on the Internet?
I mean, why not just skip the whole Daddy-wants-me-to-marry-him-but-I-want-to-marry-someone-else debacle by starting a relationship where everyone starts on a level playing field? Why not pass Go and head directly to where a rising number of relationships start up anyway — in an Internet chat room?
Imagine your shopping list: "I'll have a brainiac Adonis with exceptional sporting abilities, please. Oh, and already rich. Actually, may as well make him older too — as I'm approaching my late 30s, I need to fast-track a Plan B to look after me in my early retirement."
My friend Sally (name changed to protect the shamefaced) could write a book on the Internet dating scene. She was so desperate to get the whole relationship experience, from gushy first lust to painful last gasp, that she submitted herself to a six-month period of intensive cyber-dating.
With the keen gusto of an over-enthusiastic novice, she wrote a polished and professional profile for the classifieds. It looked unwittingly like a job application:
"Ten years experience in managing domestic logistics, able to forward-plan events with inbuilt contingency plans, excels in team building in accordance with Occupational Safety and Health principles and Equal Opportunity legislation."
But then again, it was eerily apt — the whole process was like a series of high-stress interviews anyway.
For Sally, the anticipation of getting home and booting up her love connection was irresistible. Gym sessions, brunches and Sunday shopping were all forgotten in the pursuit to hear the moans of her love-line warming up — the bbrrr-iii-ooo-eee-grrrrrrrr of her Internet connection was music to the ears as she kicked off her shoes and settled in for an evening of chock-a-block emotional rush.
The adrenaline brought on by an androgynous "You've Got Mail" alert was addictive. It drove her to circle more and more possibilities in the want ads. Anything that looked halfway decent was sent a resume with a template letter of application:
"Dear Sir, I read your profile with interest, and believe I have the skill-set required to meet your key selection criteria."
Computer dating meant now she could eat Spaghetti Napolitana with one hand while tapping out urgent love notes with the other. As fast as she could send them out, in came the replies.
Most of them were sweet, heart-stirring, flattering and flirtatious, validating her worthiness as a human being. Some were just photos of penises in various states of arousal. Most were horifik ecksamples of wi sum men dint have a gurlfreind.
But they all got a go, in accordance with Equal Opportunity legislation. Every single cyber dude was interviewed by email, then by phone, and if agreeable to both parties, a third-stage interview was conducted at a mutual meeting point.
Each time the cyber-dude turned out to be a reality-dud, my friend would become more and more dejected.
"Sow seeds," I'd suggest. "If Cordelia can marry the man of her choice, plant a flower-garden to invite her energy in."
Six months and a thousand failed applications later, my friend is starting to come around to my way of thinking.
"Plant a garden," she muses over a Sunday brunch. "What kind of credentials do I need for that?"
— — —
— — —
Anita Ryan-Revel is the author of "The Goddess Guide to Chakra Vitality," aimed at helping you connect with your beautiful, sassy, intuitive, lovable, sacred and authentic self. She has incorporated her journey into hundreds of articles, countless websites and numerous books, many of which can be found at her website, Goddess.com.au You can read more of her columns here. © copyright 2007 by Anita Ryan-Revel.
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