Love for sale

My love can, indeed, be bought.
JP picked it out because it looked like a Scrabble board. "Mon coeur pour toi toujours" = My heart for you always.

Since our talk last Monday, he has really tried to make me happy. He calls. We went out Friday night. On Saturday, we got brunch in the Village even though he felt sick and the smell of food made him nauseous. Then he got me this lovely necklace at a street fair. We didn't watch TV all weekend. He even accompanied Suki and me to see the Superheroes exhibit at the Met. And he hates museums.

It was a good weekend. Follow through...

Nerve wracking

So when is it acceptable to meet the parents? Because I'm not sure I'm so good at this girlfriend thing. Tongue-tied, slightly sweaty, trying to be clever and charming without looking like as though I'm trying too hard... it was all very difficult.

I adore JP, but I adore him even more after seeing the way that he interacts with his family. They all seem very close. No wonder he wants to move back out to the Midwest. I wonder if we'll make it...

At times I look at him and think it might be nice to fall in love with him. And then there are times when I realize how different we are. I wonder what his parents thought of me. Not so much about my performance in the role of JP's girlfriend, but more in terms of someone who might be in his life for a while longer. I'm sure he wouldn't tell me the truth if they didn't think we'd last. And I suppose we wouldn't last very long if they didn't approve.

But Suk likes him, and that's a good thing bc Suki hasn't liked anyone I've dated since MF, and that was years ago. And she's a good judge of character.

Follow through...

Six Irish car bombs will make a man say crazy things

He: I love you.

She: I think you're drunk. Follow through...

The Power of Two

This edition of My Life as a Themed E-mail is brought to you by the writers of Sex and the City and the power of the number two.

When you're young, your whole life is about the pursuit of fun. Then, you grow up and learn to be cautious. You could break a bone or a heart. You look before you leap and sometimes you don't leap at all because there's not always someone there to catch you. And in life, there's no safety net.

So at the beginning of January, I decided I could no longer remain a complete waste of space and made good on mom's bribe to move to NYC. (She offered to pay my rent for up to two months while I looked for work, which is why I didn't move back to LA.) I started looking for apartments and came up for TWO days to look at TWO apartments. The first one was a really nice three bedroom but I didn't like the location that much and the girls who lived there were nice enough, but I wasn't sold on it. I went to look at apartment number TWO on the lower east side and loved it, a kitschy little TWO bedroom on Norfolk at Houston with a girl R that I hit it off with. My room is teeny tiny but I don't care, it's cozy and cheap and I like the exposed brick wall in the kitchen/ living room/ dining room. Sold! Thanks to Suki, I gave her money for the credit check and got the ball rolling right away with the application. Suki told me I am a lucky bitch. It's true. I am. I constantly leap without checking for a safety net, but Suki is my safety net so I don't really have to worry about being responsible and stuff like that.

I will never be the woman with the perfect hair, who can wear white and not spill on it.

Which is just fine with me. In fact, I am more than happy to announce that I will be wearing whatever obnoxiously vibrant color I please to work, since I will start my new job working at a fashion media company this week! Last week I came up to interview with TWO companies, and I knew right away that this was the right job for me. It's my dream job, no joke. I am doing international sales and distribution of fashion television programming and stock footage, and my job will require that I travel to Cannes TWO times a year. I will not have to dress "business casual" and I will have a 15 minute commute to work, door to door. They refused me a signing bonus but they did agree to get me a new laptop. Let's hope I don't drop it in champagne like my first Blackberry.

There are 1.3 million single men in New York, 1.8 million single women, and of these more than 3 million people, about 12 think they're having enough sex.

I am not one of those 12, sadly. But that's ok. I will settle for a free meal or drinks on a fairly regular basis. The more frequent, the better! I have now been in NYC for TWO days and I have TWO dates lined up for this week. When I moved in on Saturday, my friend invited me out and I hit it off with his coworker J, who told me I'm beautiful and bought me a pink rose from the flower guy towards the end of the night. Awww, how sweet. I am having dinner with him on Monday night at Dennis Foy in Tribeca. I actually don't have much practice with this whole "dating" gig. Usually, I just drink too much and end up hooking up with a guy I just met, and that deal may or may not include breakfast. Or it is a friend-turned-more-than-friend. This will be one of TWO times in my life that a boy has offered to take me to dinner before trying to get in my pants and not vice versa.

Date number TWO is a blast from the past: H found out I moved to NYC and wants to grab drinks before I start work on Wednesday, so I am meeting up with him on Tuesday night. This should be interesting since he hasn't made any effort to talk to me since he booty called me in DC over Thanksgiving. None. Zilch.

If this is how easy it is to get a date in NY, I will not be as hungry as I feared. And I might become one of those 12 people.

Maybe mistakes are what make our fate... without them what would shape our lives? Maybe if we had never veered off course we wouldn't fall in love, have babies, or be who we are. After all, things change, so do cities, people come into your life and they go. But it's comforting to know that the ones you love are always in your heart... and if you're very lucky, a plane ride away.

I may be reckless and making mistakes left and right, but it keeps things interesting. I would say I veered off course when I went into commodities instead of sticking with media straight out of school, but it was a good experience. I didn't plan on going to grad school, but it was a great chance to travel and meet some amazing people. I guess I haven't really veered off course, though, since I don't really think I had a course to begin with.

Can't wait to see you guys when you visit NYC. It's only a plane ride (or car drive or bus ride) away. Follow through...

Sometimes I get lonely, too

There's blood in my mouth 'cause I've been biting my tongue all week
I keep on talkin' trash but I never say anything
And the talkin' leads to touchin'
And the touchin' leads to sex
And then there is no mystery left

And it's bad news
Baby I'm bad news
I'm just bad news, bad news, bad news

I know I'm alone if I'm with or without you
But just bein' around you offers me another form of relief
When the loneliness leads to bad dreams
And the bad dreams lead me to callin' you
And I call you and say "C'MERE!"

And it's bad news
Baby I'm bad news
I'm just bad news, bad news, bad news

And it's bad news
Baby it's bad news
It's just bad news, bad news, bad news

'Cause you're just damage control for a walking corpse like me... like you

'Cause we'll all be
Portions for foxes
Yeah we'll all be
Portions for foxes

There's a pretty young thing in front of you
And she's real pretty and she's real into you
And then she's sleepin' inside of you
And the talkin' leads to touchin'
Then touchin' leads to sex
And then there is no mystery left

And it's bad news
I don't blame you
I do the same thing
I get lonely too

And you're bad news
My friends tell me to leave you
That you're bad news, bad news, bad news

That you're bad news
Baby you're bad news
And you're bad news
Baby you're bad news
And you're bad news
I don't care I like you
And you're bad news
I don't care I like you
I like you

This Rilo Kiley song "Portions for Foxes" is an honest song. I dig that. It's a song about filling our loneliness with meaningless sex, quite simply. The mystery of the human form is unveiled in a desperate attempt to satiate a certain hunger, but when that mystery disappears, there is little left to be desired and we're empty all over again. We fill ourselves, if only for a little while, with these fleeting carnal pleasures despite knowing better. And somehow we find ourselves trapped in loveless non-relationships we keep falling back into... The music video (click on the title of this post) is a clever play on the fox bit and the emptiness bit, featuring taxidermists stuffing animals, making them appear to be alive when all they are are empty shells stuffed with fluff. Follow through...

Heart vomit

If a man isn't good enough to be a boyfriend but not quite hot enough to be a fling, you're better off alone.

All three of my best friends from college are in committed, loving relationships that will likely lead to marriage sometime in the foreseeable future. Me, on the other hand? It's been so long since I've had a steady boyfriend that I'm afraid I don't remember how. Frankly, while I am bursting from the seams with joy for their happiness, somewhere in the chaos that is my brain/heart/soul, I feel nervousness welling up like a great fountain of... vomit. Again, I must stress that I don't resent the girls for finding men worthy of their attentions, but rather, I'm starting to feel hopelessly behind and what's worse, it's actually making me a little anxious despite the courageous fight I'm putting up, hence the nausea.

I don't see myself settling down with anyone soon. I know I'd like to... if God would just help us cross paths, I'd be delighted. But for now, my main criteria for a meaningful, long-term relationship is that he be mobile. I want to live and work in different countries and cities for the next few years, so if it's going to work, he must have the ability to up and leave, a desire to see the world, and a taste for adventure. Apparently, that's a lot to ask because while a lot of people claim to possess those characteristics, most people lack the follow-through. *Sigh*

So for the last couple of months I've been overcome with nostalgia for past loves and past lives, but at the same time I refuse to believe that there is nothing worthwhile to be had at this moment in my life. My mother went to see a fortuneteller who assured her that I'd get married, but that I wouldn't meet "the one" until 2009. I guess that gives me a carte blanche for two full years to have fun and make mistakes, right? So one might hope. I have come to the conclusion that most men aren't worth your time. The ones who do want to have a relationship have to exhibit more desirable characteristics than men you simply want to keep around for a short while. As for the men you'll keep around for just a short while, they might as well be scorching hot and nice to look at because you sure ain't in it for the conversation.

I'm delirious. Haven't slept properly for two weeks, pretty much. Disregard everything I just said. Follow through...

Paradise lost

"The only paradise is paradise lost." --Marcel Proust

Echoed by the ever-so-wise Janet Jackson, "On and on you seem to go, and you don't know what you've got till it's gone." Unfortunately, if we buy into this theory without reserve, we're all screwed because it suggests that there is no hope of ever being truly happy or fulfilled, at least not to the blissful degree of paradise.

I like to think that paradise exists prior to the moment when its loss is recognized. I want to believe that I could be perfectly happy, perfectly fulfilled at any given moment in time, albeit on a small and perhaps ephemeral scale. So I suppose it's simply a question of definition. Can paradise be confined to a moment in time?

According to Proust, the nature of paradise is one that is inherently temporary. In that sense, I agree with the quote. I believe in small paradises. Our lives are in constant flux and there is never a moment where not a single aspect of our lives could not be better. But on a smaller scale, if we take our love lives, for instance, I believe we are able to experience perfect happiness and fulfillment for short periods of time. But unlike Proust, I think it is possible to recognize paradise at the time of its experience, however fleeting. I refuse to believe that paradise can only exist in hindsight... that would be too depressing for me to bear! Why go on living if the only moments of true happiness exist perpetually in the past?

Some people are, in my opinion, more inclined to agree with Proust. Until they have been stripped of that which they did not realize was paradise, they were looking for paradise elsewhere. I'm gonna go out on a limb here and suggest that men are more inclined to fall into this category than are women in relationships. I don't really feel like I have any real justification for that statement... but I think men are more inclined to experience the regret of paradise lost because they simply didn't recognize how good they actually had it at the time.

When women are dumped by men we care about and we are not in the wrong (meaning we did not lie, cheat, or act crazy otherwise), our feelings run a certain course. First, surprise. Second, sadness/ hurt. Third, anger/ ill-will. Finally, apathy/ indifference. The second stage tends to last the longest and can overlap to some degree with the third stage. But I'd like to focus on the transitions from sadness to anger to indifference. After the initial pain of heartbreak, after exploring every possible what-could-I-have-done-differently, it may be concluded that he is simply an asshole (may is the operative word here, because not all breakups have to be anyone's fault). Especially if it's because he met another girl. The hurt subsides a bit as the anger sets in because you're spending less time thinking about how horrid you feel and more time thinking about what a whore the other girl is (and other such unfounded, vile thoughts) and how much you wish they would both disappear from the face of the earth. You think of all of the nice things you did for him and realize how unappreciative he was and hope that with every new girl he meets, he looks back at you and comes to see the error of his ways. That in you, he sees his paradise lost. And then, at some point, you start to hate yourself for even wasting so much of your time thinking about him or any of your precious tears crying over him, and you begin to just not care. Time passes, and you care less and less. The memory is preserved and sometimes it is hard to remember all the bad things, but you've finally healed.

Paradise may be temporary, but that doesn't mean we should stop seeking it. The moment in which it is had is a glorious one, especially if you are fortunate enough to recognize it before it has passed. But even after its passing, the remembrance of paradise can be heartwarming. We needn't be concerned about the impending loss of paradise because more often than not, it's a given. The true joy is in savoring each morsel of paradise before it turns to shit.

Follow through...

Pie chart theory

I recently had a conversation with a friend of mine about how the most beautiful people tend to be the craziest girlfriends or the biggest asshole boyfriends. I mean, let's be honest: all girls have a little bit of crazy in them, and all guys are at least part-asshole. But we all know that there are (unspoken & poorly delineated) limits to how crazy you can be or how big a jerk you can be within the confines of social acceptability. And sure enough, the premium placed on aesthetically pleasing outward appearance has led to the amplification of craziness and jerk-iness in ridiculously good-looking people. I'm not talking about moderately good-looking folks here. I'm talking about the turn-your-head-to-look-three-times-in-awe-slash-lust-as-you-walk-down-the-street folks. I'm of the opinion that they become more crazy over time because they get away with increasingly crazy behavior with each successive relationship that would otherwise not be tolerated if it were exhibited by less good-looking people.

But God giveth not with both hands. My roomies and I have formulated a Pie Chart Theory for simple (if superficial) categorization of people into neat little boxes (and by "neat" we mean "expandable"). Let's suppose that every person can be broken down into three basic components: looks, brains, and personality. (Yes, we could make this more complicated but for the sake of brevity, let's limit this to three components). Let's also suppose that everyone has a pie chart. We've all met people whose pie charts are askew. Let's examine some exaggerated examples. Note: We, the Pie Chart Goddesses, (a) use gender interchangeably in the following examples and (b) are grossly skeptical that a true 0% or 100% could actually exist, so these figures are for illustrative purposes only.

Type A: 100% looks, 0% brains, 0% personality. Really, really ridiculously good-looking with shit for brains and no personality to speak of. It's not that he's a bad guy. And he sure is purdy to look at. It's just that he's really kind of... dumb. And he's not a whole heck of a lot of fun to hang out with one-on-one because he simply doesn't have anything interesting to say. Sometimes he forgets he told you a story already, and when you remind him, it's a little awkward because it's not that you mind hearing a good story twice; it's because you mind hearing his story any more times than you have to.

Type B: 50% looks, 50% brains, 0% personality. The good-looking nerd with zero social skills. She gets excited when she talks about how she was able to manipulate the genes of overweight lab rats but she is so abrasive and annoying that despite whatever interest that particular topic might hold for you, you are overwhelmed by a wave of nausea followed by an intense desire to punch her in the nose. You consider making out with her, but only on the condition that she does not speak.

Type C: 50% looks, 0% brains, 50% personality. He's really hot and you can't stop laughing when you're around him because he always has the best stories to tell. It's a shame this is the sixth year he's been a senior college. It's not just that he is a complete idiot, it's that he's not THAT bright and he lacks motivation... it's that he realizes he could leave school and be an MTV VJ because everyone likes to look at him and listen to him talk.

Type D: 0% looks, 50% brains, 50% personality. She's sharp, she's clever, she's witty, she's sweet. But she is NOT cute. At. All. You read her profile on your internet dating website and pretty much fell in love. You see her pic, and she looks awesome. You meet her in person and you think to yourself, "Oh, geez. She looks nothing like her picture. Her picture was way hotter." You wait for your friend's exit call, make up an excuse about a car accident or something, and bail out, never to call the poor girl again. It's the sad, painful truth. Don't lie, Shallow Hal.

Type E: 0% looks, 100% brains, 0% personality. He's not attractive. He's socially awkward and eccentric and maybe even a little bit creepy or inappropriate, but it's only because he's such a friggin' genius that his oversized brain does not leave enough room for the proper processing of data for petty social interactions and this foreign concept of so-called normalcy.

Type F: 0% looks, 0% brains, 100% personality. She's not terribly cute and she's a bit of a ditz, but she is one of the funniest ditzes you know; she is a loyal friend; and while she can't seem to concentrate in any of her classes, she's got a wicked wit. Oftentimes confused with Type D, the only difference here is that Type Fs aren't as booksmart as Type Ds. At a party, when booksmarts don't exactly come into the forefront of conversation, Type Ds and Fs may not be readily discernible from one another. They typically play the role of wingwoman or cockblocker, depending on the signals from the friend in need.

Type G: 1/3 looks, 1/3 brains, 1/3 personality. Can be both a blessing and a curse. If your pie is a small one... well... you could end up being average or worse. If your pie is larger, however, maybe you're just extremely well-balanced. Mmm...

This pie chart concept becomes more complicated when you try to compare one person's pie chart to another. In order to compare, you would have to allot a certain number of points to each candidate because, clearly, a deaf blind mute would probably exhibit less personality, looks, and brains to the common outsider vs say someone you believed to be extremely good-looking, smart, and witty, though in equal parts. Same breakdown in pie chart persona, but entirely different in terms of level of competition. So let's be frank: some people just got a bigger pie. Take , for instance. Let's say said person is allotted a total pie point count of 1000. Let's suppose that someone less impressive only has 600 points. And that someone totally unimpressive only gets 300 points. Each person's pie points are divvied up according to his gifts. So a moderately good-looking person who has shit for brains might have 300 points, all in looks, whereas a ridiculously good-looking person with shit for brains might have 600 points, all in looks. And a ridiculously good-looking person who is moderately intelligent might have 900 points, 600 in looks and 300 in brains.

So goes the Pie Chart Theory.

Questions, class? Follow through...

Acapulco

It was a good trip. I've been to Cancun and Puerto Vallarta, and Acapulco was still different. You can see either the bay or the ocean from anywhere you go in Acapulco, so it's easy to dine on the waterfront. I tried red snapper cooked about six different ways, and thoroughly enjoyed the best huevos rancheros I've ever had. Snorkeling was a little disappointing, but I got my ocean swimming in when I swam out to the barge. Sunned in the shallow water in the adults only pool. Birds' Island and the lagoon tour were perfect, alligator, turtles, little boy with bracelets for sale, and all... it's too bad I got bamboozled by the seedy Mexican dude who wanted me to ride his horse. Mud mask facials and coconut drinks. Hammocks and a secluded beach. Cliffdivers and ceviche. Scrabble squabbles and relaxation. Palm trees and freshly fallen mangos. Follow through...

Wanted: the quiet life

I was lying in bed chatting with Natalia online and watching the USC/ Texas game in my underwear when Megan comes barging into my room smelling strongly of liquor and cigarettes, demanding that I get dressed and accompany her back to the bar. She'd been at Q's since 3, tailgating before the game started at 5, but I really didn't feel like getting up and putting clothes on to go watch the game in a crowded bar full of drunk football fans. Not that I have anything against drunk football fans; I'm just tired and I want to lay in bed in my underwear and eat peanut butter straight from the jar. Is that so wrong?

Megan left disappointed. I refused to get up even after excruciating naked tickle torture (I feel so violated) and a couple of very painful smacks on the butt. So I returned to my conversation with Natalia and it went something like this:

Me: I don't want to go out. I just want to stay at home and have someone to play Scrabble with.
Natalia: I couldn't get my fitted sheets on my bed by myself and I really wanted a boyfriend there to help me.
Me: I totally know how you feel.

Yes, yes, yes... women need to be independent and needn't feel incomplete in the absence of male companionship. I know. But geeeeez. Sometimes I can't reach the top shelf and sometimes I want to spend a quiet night in bed reading a book or playing a rousing (haha... a-rousing... I'm so cool) game of Scrabble or cuddle with something other than my pillow when I watch sappy DVDs. I firmly believe that it's important for a woman in a relationship to have her own life separate from that of her boyfriend's, like having a group of friends who are not his friends, like having her own place/ space, and having some occupation whether it's a job or school or hobby that doesn't include him. I'm all about the together time, but I feel like there's got to be some girls' nights and boys' nights.

(Aside: this is a really really good game. I've been trying to type while watching, so it's taken me like an hour to get this far in the entry. Evenly matched, well played by both sides. And Vince Young was aMAZing. Much like his buttocks.)

I've been watching a lot of Sex and the City lately. It's the season where Carrie has the short hair and Miranda first has her baby. Carrie's all cynical and sad and is losing faith in love. There are these publishing ladies that want to compile some of her columns into a book and they ask her what the overall tone of the book would be: is there hope or should we all hang ourselves now? And the answer at the end of the episode was that tribute should be paid to the eternal optimists, our Charlottes. The ones who believe in love no matter what, even when that faith is tested time and time again. To some extent, there's a little bit of Charlotte in all of us, I think. No matter how jaded I think I've become; no matter how jaded my friends and I become, even as we throw our hands up in frustration and worry that we'll die alone and be discovered three days later after our cats have eaten our faces off, still, hope lives on. Follow through...

On the verge

Of giving up. I had a disheartening chat with an ex-turned-confidante today. I'm thisclose to throwing up my hands and giving up in the game of love. We were talking about reciprocity in relationships. It never seems to be even. One person always seems to dig the other person more. Sometimes it works out. When you meet your match, the one who can challenge you but still stay on the same level as you, that's it. Game over. But more often than not, one person is the chaser and the other simply concedes.

All of that is kind of a given. That isn't what depresses me. What depresses me is that during the course of our conversation, it became more and more apparent to me that the average guy suffers from a constant case of grass-is-greener syndrome when it comes to women. Particularly, the meticulous, borderline-anal, diligent nerdy types I find myself inexplixably attracted to time and time again, those guys are the worst because they can't shake that nagging feeling that there's something better out there, whether it's a better woman or a better job or a better lifestyle. I think women are more accepting of flaws. They don't expect their men to be absolutely perfect. Of course, there are the deal-breakers like furry backs or nervous ticks or chronic unemployment, but I think women are more forgiving when a man doesn't meet every item on her wishlist, and less inclined to stray if they've found a man they love.

The average man, however, can see better than he can think. So even when he's in a committed relationship, if he meets a girl that he thinks has the potential to meet more of his wishlist criteria, he becomes curious. He doesn't always stray, but he wonders if the cool girl he ran into at those parties is really as cool as she seemed the first few times he met her. If he pursues her, he's bound to discover that she, too, falls short of his fantasy. Most of the men I know have an ideal woman in mind. And whether they are cognizant of it or not, they chase this nonexistent figment of their imaginations, often leaving behind them a massacred trail of broken hearts. The hardworking, responsible types I tend to fall for are the types of guys who are annoyed by my flightiness and lack of planning and eagerness to cut corners in non-relationship-related arenas like school (I hardly ever attended class in college and cranked out 20 page papers in one night) or work. It bugs them that their mate may not be as dedicated as they are *gasp* to their work. They want the "good girl" type who is polite and proper but cute and fun, who works hard in school and after school trying to climb up that corporate ladder, who has had maybe one or two boyfriends but is not necessarily prude, the type you might run into at church or at the corner coffeeshop reading the latest bestseller. I'm not saying all guys dig that type of girl. I'm saying the ones I like always do.

Enter me: loves to party, dance, drink, and socialize. I work hard for the things/ people that I love. I am passionate, mostly about my loved ones. I'm the type of girl who flits about aimlessly, but when I fall, I fall like a wrecking ball at a demolition site: hard, fast, and a little dangerously. Except at a demolition site, someone's taking precautions to make sure no one gets hurt. There is no such caution exercised when I fall.

I'm not the perfect girl my nerdy boys have been chasing in their dreams. But I think they're being too closed-minded. Maybe I'm just what they need. I can be the kite, head in the clouds and a little unpredictable, and they can be my anchor, ground me, give me something stable to hold on to and come back to. I can't help falling for these guys who have an entirely different girl in mind as "the One." Wake up, fellas. The perfect woman is not some fish you have yet to meet in this vast sea of dating possibilities. She doesn't exist. At some point, you're going to find a fish who might not be as brilliant as you'd like, whose scales might not be quite as shiny as some of the other fish-chicks, who, God forbid, may not come from the best fish family in your neck of the sea, but who loves you unconditionally, despite all your shortcomings. You may not get to check everything off on your wishlist, but don't think of it as settling for something less than you deserve.

Life is not a movie. You can fall in desperately, hopelessly, perfectly, can't-live-without-you kind of love with a person who doesn't fit into some pre-conceived mold. Maybe there's a better mold out there for you that you just don't know about yet. Maybe I'm partly to blame since I can't seem to stop being attracted to the meticulous, borderline-anal, diligent nerdy types. Maybe I'm being hypocritical. If I liked a different type of guy, maybe he'd be more inclined to like me back. It's masochistic, really, going for a guy you know probably won't like you back as much as you like him. But don't let me give up, guys. Love me for who I am, dammit. Look no further. Follow through...

Maybe I'm crazy

I spent Thanksgiving, not with family, but with a special friend of mine. Thanksgiving break for me began on Tuesday morning. I was completely and totally unproductive at work because I was far too excited to care much about being productive. By the time I actually went to the airport to pick up my guest, I was pretty much worthless the rest of the day.

I made lasagna from scratch for the first time ever. It was a little bit undersauced, but I think it was acceptable as a first attempt from someone who didn't even have a recipe for it. I was surprised to discover C's complete and utter lack of BBQ skills. Isn't it like an unwritten rule that men are supposed to know how to grill, even if they can't cook to save their lives? I really wanted to see Pride and Prejudice and he humoured me. After the movie, he shocked me: Caveman C actually enjoyed the movie. He calls me Mrs. Darcy sometimes. I can only assume that it suggests he is incandescently happy. When I asked him what animal he felt best represented him, he said he's most like a beaver: industrious, hardworking, always trying to build that dam(n) only to have it swept away with one little leak. C asked me why I dated Frenchy. I didn't know it had bothered him so much. I didn't think he cared. He thinks the cartoon character that best represents me is Garfield: clever but always looking for a way to cut corners. He also didn't say he thought I was a fatso cat who likes to eat all the time, but I think that's pretty accurate, too. We played a lot of Scrabble, and we even took a blanket outside and played Scrabble in the park. What a granny thing to do, huh? I don't like watching the Discovery Health Channel; I find it "soporific," which was the vocabulary word of the week.

We still talk on the phone nightly, and when I go out, I feel this strange nonchalance about meeting men. We're not together, and I suppose if I met someone who absolutely blew me away, I'd be open to going on a date, but I've really been ducking some guys I met before who want to hang out, and I would rather go home and talk to C. I have hung out with guy friends and actually felt a little guilty about our closeness, as if I were doing something wrong, though I know I didn't. It's weird. Yet I don't feel a need to give us a title. I like the way we are right now, but I know I'd be hurt if I found out he was seeing someone else or dating around. But 3000 miles is long ways apart.

Maybe I am not the one you had in mind
Maybe I'm not the one that you thought was your type
Maybe I'm not the one that you've been dreaming of
Maybe I'm not the one you thought would bring you love

But maybe I'm just what you need
And maybe I

You tell me I think too much
You say that I dream too much
And tell me I feel too much
Yeah maybe I do

You say that I say too much
You tell me I believe too much
And maybe I hope too much
Maybe you do too

I don't need to be the one to change your life
I don't need to be the one you call your wife
And I don't need to be the one that you run to
And I don't need to be everything to you

But maybe I'm just what you need
And maybe I

You tell me I think too much
You say that I dream too much
And tell me I feel too much
Yeah maybe I do

You say that I say too much
You tell me I believe too much
And maybe I hope too much
Maybe you do too Follow through...

Perfect

C called me today. He just got back from Fiji and called me on his way home from the airport. I miss him. He likes to think we're perfect for each other because we are polar opposites. He said that to me today. Perfect. Us?!? We're like... poster children for how relationships should not work. Distance and absence make fools of us because the memories become blurred and we tend to want to fill in the gaps, and more often than not we fill them with shiny, happy memories as we've blocked the bad ones out already. I think we are weird together. And apart. I don't know that I'll ever see him again. He's not yet done with med school and who knows where he'll end up for his residency. What strikes me is the noticeable change he's undergone over the past year. I feel that he has become notably different. Perhaps he is simply the longest lasting of my many ex hangups and I am just imagining things to justify holding on; I don't know. But I like to think that people can change, that boys mature into men, and that eventually, we all receive the kind of love we deserve... Follow through...

Old flame

Is it possible to love a man you once knew, long after you knew him? There is a man I have not been able to let go of. I never loved him, at least not to my knowledge. In fact, more often than not, I loathed and adored him all at once. I thought to myself that I could do better, that I deserved better, but now I question, not the fact that I deserve better (as that is set in stone), but whether or not he can be better. Is it just false hope? Or are we capable of changing significantly within the span of a few short years to merit second, third, and even fourth chances?

I like to think that there is hope, though I'm leery and scared and skeptical and not entirely convinced. Such is the fate of the hopeless (and subsequently, helpless) romantic. Follow through...

Love like

I was going through some old entries and remembered a spoken word artist who goes by the name Shihan the Poet. This is one of the poems I really liked, but I've gotta tell you, it's so much more powerful when you hear it spoken by the artist himself. I want a Love Like the one he describes.

Love Like by Shihan

I want a love like me, thinking of you, thinking of me,
thinking of you type love
or, me telling my friends more than I've ever admitted to
myself about how I feel about you type love
or, hating how jealous you are, but loving how much you
want me all to your self type love,
or seeing how your first name just sounds so good next to my last name,
and s**t, I wanted to see how far I could get without
calling you, and I barely made it out of my garage.
See, I want a love that makes me wait until she falls
asleep then wonder if she dreaming about us being in love
type love,
or who loves the other more,
or what she's doing at this exact moment,
or slow dancing in the middle of our apartment to the music of our hearts, closing my eyes and imagining how a love so good could just hurt so much when she's not there.
S**t, I love not knowing where this love is headed type love.
And check this, I want to place those little post-it notes
all around the house so she never forgets how much I love her type love then not have enough ink in my pen to write
all there is to love about her type love.
Hope that I make her feel as good as she makes me feel, like believing that her being in my life makes me a better person type love or I want her to distract me form whatever I'm doing type love
and I want to deal with my friends making fun of me the
way I made fun of them when they went through the same kind of love type love.
Only difference is this is one of those real love type loves.
and just like in high school, I want to spend hours on the phone with her not saying anything,
then fall asleep then wake up with HER right next to me,
and smell her all up in my covers type love
I want to try to counting the ways I love her, and then
lose count in the middle just so that I have to start all
over again type love
I want to celebrate one of those month anniversaries even
though they ain't really anniversaries, but doin' it just
cause it makes her happy type love.
And I want to break down the time we spend together into seconds just so it sounds like we spend more time together type love
And check this, I want fall in love with the melody the
phone plays when her number is dialed into it type loves
and then talk to her until I lose my breathe, she leaves me breathless, but with the expanding of my lungs I inhale all of her back into me
I want a love that makes me need to change my cell phone calling plan to something that allows me to talk to her longer
because, in all honesty, I want to avoid one of them high cell phone bill type loves.
I want a love that makes me regret how small my hands are
I mean the lines on my palms don't give me enough time to love her as long as I'd like to type loves,
and I want a love that makes me st-st-st-st-stutter just thinking
about how strong this love is type love.
I want a love that makes me want to cut off all my hair
Well, maybe not all of the hair
maybe just cut the split ends and trim my mustache, but
it will still be a symbol of how strong my love is for her.
And check this, I kinda feel comfortable now, so I can tell y'all this I even be fantasizing about walking out on a green light just dying to get hit by a car just so I could lose my memory
get transported to some third world country just to get treated then somehow meet up again with you so that I could fall in love with you in a different language to see if it still feels the same
I want a love that's as unexplainable as she is, and I'm married, so she is going to be the one that I share this love with. Follow through...

Platonically challenged

Miranda: I don't have Steve. There is no having of the Steve. We're good friends.
Samantha: No, we're good friends, but I don't put my dick in you.

Men and women are platonically challenged. In any so-called platonic relationship in which one or both parties have even the slightest desire to hook up with eachother in the near or distant future, the stage is set for battle. Obviously, it's not socially acceptable to go and hook up with every single one of your friends. Friends are supposed to be platonic, meaning the love upon which that relationship is founded is not based on lust or carnal needs. That's not to say that lust and carnal needs never come into play in these friendships, I'm just clarifying for definition's sake. I believe that no relationship with a member of the opposite sex is innately platonic. I think we force ourselves to make or keep them that way out of fear. Fear of rejection, fear of pain, fear of humilation, or fear of ostracization by either the party involved or even by onlookers, who are more than likely friends to you both. Remove the actual possibility of any hookup from the relationship and voila! You've got platonic. But until then, it's not really platonic becasue you're holding on for the company, for the comfort, for the just in case.

But here's an important point: just because you find someone attractive does not mean you want to hook up with them, even if you've toyed with the idea. And while the removal of any possibility of ever hooking up is helpful (for instance, the guy is one of your best friends' exes or perhaps your coworker), it's not the only deterrent. Why? Because oftentimes our brains and consciences intercept desire and remold it until it becomes innocuous, relegated to a faint but unaffecting feeling of sexual tension that will never develop beyond that. Follow through...

Love yourself

It's tough, but necessary. Before being able to give fully to another person, you must love yourself.

Carrie: Later that day I got to thinking about relationships. There are those that open you up to something new and exotic, those that are old and familiar, those that bring up lots of questions, those that bring you somewhere unexpected, those that bring you far from where you started, and those that bring you back. But the most exciting, challenging and significant relationship of all is the one you have with yourself. And if you can find someone to love the you you love, well, that's just fabulous.

I think too often, we seek some sort of completion of self in another person. Does that strike anyone else as oxymoronic? But we are, I believe, at our best when we are happy with who we are and where we are in life. That is when we have the most to offer to others. Our own happiness, though, should never be dependent on anyone or anything else. How you get to be happy, I couldn't tell you, but I do know you gotta love yourself first.

Sacrificing for relationships, by the way, is bullshit. Sacrifice, by definition, is giving without any intent of receiving. If all you ever do is sacrifice for love, you're in a fucked up relationship. The way I see it, everything in a relationship ought to be reciprocol. If you give, the other person better be giving something back, too. I'm not saying it's gotta be an eye for an eye kind of thing, just that in the larger scheme of the relationship, there should be some kind of balance. Otherwise, you're not respecting yourself and you're settling for less than you deserve. Don't bend over backwards for someone who does not want to bend at all. Understand, though, that the other person may not bend the same way that you do. If they are trying, great. The effort is what counts, first. As long as the will is there, the rest will follow. If you value yourself, you will find it easier and easier not to waste your time with relationships that are not worth it. This goes for romance and friendship alike. I guess what I'm trying to say is make sure you've got your own shit straight, that you are comfortable in your own skin, before you go off on some quest to save someone from himself. Don't try to be someone else's crutch if you're having trouble standing strong on your own. You are your own best friend, and your own worst enemy, and probably your harshest critic, too. Once you learn self-love, the love you have to give to others will be less flawed and more fulfilling. Follow through...

Easy words

Where is this love? I can't see it, I can't touch it. I can't feel it. I can hear it. I can hear some words, but I can't do anything with your easy words. Closer.

Is it really that easy to say, "I love you?" I mean, I understand that actions speak more loudly than words, but I don't think it's all that easy to utter those three words to someone. In my experience, it has been perhaps more difficult for me to say those words than it has been to live them. It isn't that I don't think I've ever been in love, (in fact, to the contrary, I think I've been in love many times) it's that I am paralyzed by fear. I have always been scared out of my wits at the possibility that the person to whom I would like to say "I love you" would not reciprocate, and one of my greatest fears in life, being unloved, would be confirmed.

Age does not protect you from love. But love, to some extent, protects you from age. Anais Nin.

I don't think love is some static, constant thing. I would define love as the complete giving of all that one has to offer at any particular point in one's life. For instance, when I was 17 I was convinced I had fallen in love with a boy I met at a church conference in Tennessee. Every fiber of my being trembled with longing for this boy; I couldn't stop thinking of him; I wanted only to make him happy. When I was 19, I looked back at that time in my life and laughed at myself. How silly I was. But now, I look back and I consider each time I was in love legitimate. Puppy love, shmuppy love. At that point in time, given my emotional maturity, I offered my purest and most precious gift of self. If I were to offer another man that now, it'd be a lot more meaningful because I've grown since then, and my capacity to love has expanded. I look forward to the day when I reach full capacity! Cheers to all the heartbreak, the growth, and the love in the many years to come. When I am 82 and in love, I hope I feel just as fulfilled as when I was 17 and in love, 19 and in love, and so on and so forth. Follow through...

Be my Valentine

Most of my girlfriends think I'm crazy, but I love Valentine's Day. It is my favorite holiday. Yes, even when I'm single. Why? I think it's because I like the idea of dedicating a day to the celebration of love and romance. I don't care if it's been adulterated by this absurd need to give expensive gifts (I mean, really, it's not like this is the only commericalized holiday we celebrate, puh-leeze). When February rolls around, inevitably, my thoughts wander to matchmaking, ex-boyfriends, and chocolate. For the past two years on Xanga, I prefaced each entry with love quotes. I think I'll mix it up a little this year. Some images, some quotes, some lyrics. I am also a self-proclaimed Valentine's Day consultant. Boys and girls: if you are having trouble thinking up things to do for your hunny, have no fear, Miss M is here! You know how in The Wedding Planner, JLo's character says "Those who can't wed, plan?" That's like me on V-day. Since I can't do anything for a non-existent boyfriend, I help plan out other people's V-days. And I send my single friends Valentine's day gifts because even those without boyfriends should know that someone loves them. (Side note: Most boys I know are amazingly devoid of creative juices when it comes to romance. I will write more on planning the perfect V-day in a later entry. Feel free to leave questions or comments if there are things you would like for me to address. Need ideas? Short on cash? What is your excuse for being a sucky and utterly uncreative bf? Or gf, for that matter?)

All too often, I think we forget that love is more than the burning desire in your loins when you see that special someone. There are so many different forms, and I don't see any reason why the other types of love are any less deserving of celebration. Familial love: how often do you tell your parents and siblings that you love them, and show it? Best friend love: whether your best friends are in relationships or not, they should be reminded that no matter what a silly man might think of them, they are wonderful and beautiful and loved. Heavenly love: I don't thank God enough for his unfailing love. The problem is, when you know you can count on something, you tend to abuse it, consciously or otherwise. Admit it. We're all guilty! Follow through...

Catchin' feelings

I am at a stage in my life where I feel like I should be single and having fun. 22 doesn't last forever, and I'm determined to make the most of it. But I'm selfish and immature. I want all the affection and attention that comes along with being in a committed, stable relationship, but I abhor the thought of being tied down or losing any of my freedom. I want to have someone to cuddle with at night who will kiss me on the forehead and tell me I'm beautiful. And mean it. But I want to be able to hang out with the guys from work and get wasted with them and not feel guilty about it. I want to be held, prized, adored... and I don't want to fall too hard. Bah. What I'm trying to say is that I want all the good stuff and I don't want to get hurt. Because if a relationship is as perfect as I want it to be, then I get very attached to that person. I don't know why I do it. I go in thinking it's all fun and games and then *boom* I'm catchin' feelings. I need to breathe. Think. Be alone. It's a dangerous game, this relationship thing. I'm not sure I want anything to do with it...

I am an avid believer in freedom in relationships. We got into this thing thinking we wouldn't get too serious; that we'd just hang out and have fun since we always seemed to do that anyways. Ever since I've been back in LA from Thanksgiving in DC, we've been inseparable. Like... to the point where it's just gross. We wake up in the morning, get ready together, go to work together, have lunch together, leave work together, eat dinner together, hang out together, then go to bed together. And I'm starting to panic, I told myself I wouldn't fall for him. There are too many things about him that I don't like, and I never ever want to go into something thinking I can change it. I don't want a man to have to change for me. The other day, he said to me jokingly, "Someday you're going to need a real man." I laughed, but his words rang true to some extent. I don't want a real man right now, though. I am addicted to his boyishness, his goofiness, and his overall charm. And he's smooth and sexy when he wants to be. Somehow, he's worldly and immature at once. And at this point in my life, I don't need a real man. I just want to be with S because it's fun. Right now, he's perfect for me. The only problem is me. I can't just be content with how perfect things are right now. I have to wonder what it will be like to get hurt when this is all over. Because I'm growing more and more fond of him with each passing day, and it's scaring me senseless. I'm not ready to be hurt again... so do I just stop it now? I am so pissed at myself for feeling so lonely tonight, just because I'm not hanging out with him. Follow through...