Filed under: Daily Specials | Tags: coping, humor, language, laughter, life, random, thoughts
Tonight’s drink: Crane Lake Petit Sirah.
I’ve found, much to my dismay, that my sense of humor doesn’t translate universally, or even locally for that matter. I am easily amused, and I take delight in subtleties. While I don’t consider myself cruel or twisted, I can’t help but laugh when I see people fall, flip in mid-air, or get whacked unexpectedly. I take delight in America’s Funniest Home Videos, Reno 911, and Seinfeld, but I also get a kick out of smart humor like that of the Daily Show, the Simpsons, and Sex in the City (for those of you that scoffed, Plato said that “philosophy begins in wonder”- so does every main point of SITC. ).
As I sit here on a Friday night enjoying wine and Target’s Monster Mix, I feel the urge to share two things that never fail to crack me up to the end.
The first one is a video that my dad sent to me (we have the same sense of humor). I think I’ve seen this thing a million times, and for some reason, it never gets old: click here.
The second is a radio clip from the Mark and Brian radio program that I just happened upon on the way to Indio. Generally, I’m not into these two, because they talk a lot about butts and whatever. But (ha ha) this particular clip put me into tears, and still does: click here.
My ex was really troubled by my sense of humor – he always said that he wouldn’t trust me to take him to the hospital if anything happened to him, because I’d be laughing so hard. Part of the problem is that I’m a nervous laugher. I laugh when I’m uncomfortable or when I just don’t know what to say. It was a real issue when that same ex and I were having what ended up being our last discussion while I was moving out of his apartment. It was bad.
But your laughter is supposed to do that, right? It’s not only meant for the occasional good comedian or the guy you just saw trip while walking into Starbucks. It’s meant to help you get through the crappy times. That’s why it’s the best medicine, and the easiest pick-me-up around.
On NPR the other day, a linguist was on the program talking about his book on international swear words. He said that swear words are stored in a separate part of the brain – in a more carnal, animalistic part of your brain, where your nerves reach back to for the sole purpose of forceful exclamation. This is why people who can’t otherwise put together cohesive sentences, etc. are able to swear instead. Swearing is akin to sex and hunger – it’s a corporal response to working your way through life’s stubbed toes and jerkfaces. I bet laughter is the same thing, only less offensive.
Then again, some guys like it when you talk dirty.
Filed under: Daily Specials | Tags: changes, future, life, random, school, thoughts, writing
This morning’s drink: water.
My professor called me this weekend and told me that she wanted me to be co-editor of our school’s newspaper. Obviously I’m ecstatic. If we didn’t have such a small paper, I’m sure I wouldn’t be as much on the short list, but she told me that, despite my rough edges, she sees me doing great things, so maybe I’m wrong.
This is one of many abrupt and unexpected things to happen this month, and I’m glad to see February winding down. Good or bad news, quick changes mean quick adjustments, and my adaptability is proving a little sluggish with a 24 hour schedule such as this one.
For now, my editorial status is pro-tem, until the current editors graduate in June. But I have a lot of ideas and some hopefully good insights into how to make our paper something that students – maybe even people – actually want to read. I promise I’ll post links once I’ve had the reigns for a little while.
Things have changed a lot since I started this blog in October, and apparently they have only just begun. Stay tuned for what I hope will be some madness, jubilation, and some just plain crazy shite.
Apparently, I’m subconsciously targeting the broadcast department, too.
Filed under: Daily Specials | Tags: age, California, labels, life, random, thoughts, women
This Morning’s Drink: SLO Roasted Peruvian.
Jenn and I had a discussion a month or so ago about the advantages and disadvantages of dating younger men (she blogged about it here). One of the reasons why we could intelligently paste together this argument is due to the fact that we are actually old enough to be older women in a substantial dating scenario (i.e., we’re not talking seniors versus sophomores in high school). I, myself, will be 27 in just over two months, and the proximity to 30, and the speed at which I am getting there, is a little unnerving. Aside from that point, I came to realize yesterday that five years ago – in what Jenn and I considered to be “younger” years – I had just moved to San Diego. While I was born in the Central Valley and I spent my formative years in Northern California, I can honestly say that I’ve “grown up” here in SD.
I would never try to assert that I’m a San Diego native, a term that actual natives hold proudly in high esteem. Nor would I want to. I will always feel lucky that my childhood was filled with pastures, Round-Ups, crawdad fishing, and Apricot Fiestas. But at the age of 22 I don’t think I ever referred to myself as a woman – the inference just seemed ridiculous. Especially in light of the fact that I was still going to school, working at a coffee shop, and buying clothes from the Junior’s section. Even though all but one of those things are still the same (I have a grown-up job now, I suppose), I feel like a lot of other things have changed since then. So much so that I could actually think of myself as a woman. And I’m starting to.
I’m so much more sure of myself now, for starters, and I find that I bend to pressure less and less. I’m comfortable in my own skin, I don’t worry about my dress as much, and I’ve given less and less merit to overt decoration, for better or worse. I don’t apologize as much, and I worry less, too. I need fewer things to survive, and I appreciate my family more. They’re crazy, but so am I.
Even still, I worry a little about the gilding effect San Diego has had on the life of a girl who was regularly described as “earthy” in the past. In the beginning, I tried to hold on to that part of me, but I found that, with everything else, I had to let it go in order to grow into myself. I don’t think it’s too obnoxious, thanks to some of the wonderful people and experiences I’ve met with down here, and bars like the Red Fox Room where you couldn’t be pretentious if you tried. A healthy perspective on surrealities like Del Mar, Pacific Beach, and North Park have helped me to stay centered in Mission Hills, too. It’s easy to get caught up in the classifications, though – San Diego has a variety of pigeonholes to choose from.
I can’t help but wonder how I’ll see my 26-year old self in five years. Will I be able to call myself a woman then? Will I be stomping on the pedal of a new convertible, or a sensible sedan? Should I be prepared to cycle back from a quarter-life crisis to a mid-life one? Or will life simply pan out, and maybe even make sense a little.
All I know is that, once again, my time for self-indulgence is up, and I need to get in the shower. Maybe the smart thing is to hold on tight to whatever youth I have left. I’m growing older, but so are the people around me – so maybe that’s my consolation.
That, and the fact that it isn’t all up to me.
Filed under: Daily Specials | Tags: confidence, dreams, jazz, lessons, life, music, random, singing, thoughts, voice
Last night’s drink: Contortionist, again. It’s becoming my new favorite.
For those of you that don’t know, I’ve been an aspiring vocalist for the past twenty or so years, with varying levels of confidence and commitment. I’ve sung in choirs, bands, jams, and, of course, had a cameo or two at more karaoke joints than I can count. But this last May, on my 26th birthday, I made a promise to myself to either fish or cut bait on this longtime dream. So I bought myself a keyboard and started writing and playing more guitar, and last night I had my first lesson with a personal voice coach.
Her name is Eleonor England, and already I think she is amazing. When I wrote my mom about the experience last night, I described the environment I walked into to:
“…she has this cute little cottage just outside of North Park with pale yellow walls and the old-style arched doorways separating the rooms. Out front, she has a little front porch consumed with houseplants and climbing vines, and indoors is hard wooden floors, an old dark-oak piano, tons of bookshelves, pictures, old bottles and little antiques..”
Granted, it was dark, but even if my memory doesn’t serve me correctly, this place, and her presence, created the feeling of warmth and organic flow – very similar to my apartment in Redding.
She sat at her piano and asked me to stand behind her so that she could see my reflection in a mirror propped against the wall. In that position, we started with vocal warm-ups, and just from hearing my voice, she could tell that my lower back was tense, and my knees were locked tight – she told me I was very self-aware of how I held my body, which is true. As a tall girl, you are always told to stand straight, and carry yourself with good strong posture. Plus, my crazy 1st stepmom used to always tell me to suck in my gut, so that when I got pregnant one day, it wouldn’t hang out. But that’s another story. That’s a lot of other stories, actually.
Anyways, Ellie talked me through some relaxation exercises that made my legs tingle and my breath sink into my stomach. When I spoke again, it was in a tone that reminded me of cocoa butter – something essentially soft and warm. When she reacted with praise, I was instantly, yet subconsciously, self-aware again. My body sucked itself back into stick-straight tension, and my voice followed suit.
People who are close to me have commented on the fact that I have multiple voices – one voice for ordering food, one voice for work, one voice for friends, one voice for family, one for flirting, one for talking about dreams, one for academic discourse… a different voice for every situation. What I realized last night is that these voices correlate with my level of self-consciousness. The more relaxed and confident I am, the richer and lower my voice becomes. The tighter and more unsure I am, the higher it goes.
Happily, Ellie felt my relaxed voice was a perfect fit for jazz instruction, which is what I intend to pursue. So this weekend I will practice breathing through my capless knees while sinking in mud, smiling with the inside of my mouth, and giving myself permission to breathe above on the crescendo and below on the descent… in za.
That, and studying for my journalism midterm.
Filed under: Daily Specials | Tags: deja vu, dreams, life, psychics, random, reporting, school, thoughts, writing
Last night’s drink: Diet Pepsi.
When I was waiting tables at the Jade Garden in Redding, I had a 60-something regular customer who ordered combination noodle soup, and was sort of obsessed with me. Coincidentally, he was also obsessed with astrology, and he took my birthdate, time of birth, and location of birth, and put together – what else – my astrological birth chart. He returned to the restaurant all excited, and talked me up about how my chart was very unique, because of the balance of the planets being shaped like a bowl… yadda yadda yadda.. and that I had psychic tendencies.
Now, part of me thought that, were he right, I would’ve seen all this coming. “You’re not psychic.. you’re just very intuitive,” he continued. Since my intuition was telling me that this guy was trying in some wierd way to get me into bed… I decided that he needed to find a new regular waitress.
The truth is, though, that what he said stuck with me a little – if for no other reason than my extreme bouts of deja vu. My deja vu isn’t such that I think I’ve done something before, but that I know I’ve dreamed about it before. I will have these vivid dreams about doing really benign things – like highlighting the elements of Faulty Emotional Appeal falacies in a a textbook while concurrently listening to George Noory talk to a caller about the mythical creatures he saw eating from his birdfeeder. Then, two-ish years later, I’ll be doing exactly what I’ve dreamed about. It’ll hit me, and I’ll stop for a second and think, “Woah… happened again,” but since the moment only lasts for 10 seconds or so, life goes on.
I don’t take these dreams and subsequent materializations as evidence that I’m psychic, but more that I’m in tune with whatever plan is laid out for me. It isn’t really destiny, just more of a “right” path. I find that when I’m doing what feels really right to me – like going back to school now – these deja vu moments occur more frequently. So far, I’ve had one for each class. I think they are just little affirmations that I’m going the right way. And for someone with a tragically poor sense of direction such as myself, it’s a welcome wierd-out.
Over five years ago, I opted to shirk the path of journalism for a higher purpose, which is how I finally decided to pursue non-governmental organizations in search of a greater good. While my affirmations were there during my time at UCSD, I think the path was right, but in a way that the greek gods, or whomever, were looking down and saying, “You’re getting warmer… warmer.” As I sat in class last night and watched behind the scenes documentaries of reporters at major events over the last decade, I could practically hear those same bodies screaming from above, “You’re hot – you’re white hot!”
This is so what I’m meant to do that it’s almost intimidating. This is finally where I’ll have connections with my professors, and soak up knowledge like a sponge. I know that every step I took to get here was necessary, and the next two years are sort of like my final exam for the prophetic dreams I’ve had. Now is the time to make it all real.
Don’t ask me about 2012, though.
Filed under: Daily Specials | Tags: clothing, fashion, image, life, random, shopping, thoughts, weight, women
Last night’s drink: CBTL Lavendar Mint Tea with vanilla powder. Laundry perfection.
I’m the kind of person that turns the tv on solely for the purpose of having noise in the background. I’ll turn it to a benign channel where there aren’t explosions or car commercials banging in the background, and just let my little set mumble to itself behind me. Part of me imagines that this is some sort of hearkening back to the womb, where the baby supposedly can hear the people outside talking. I don’t know how anyone every confirmed this fact, but non-descript, indirect conversation certainly helps to calm me down, so I’ll bite.
Some of my favorite channels for accomplishing this goal are the shop-from home channels, like QVC, the Home Shopping Network (HSN), or ShopNBC, though that last one can get a little too animated at times. Yesterday morning, however, I flipped on the tv to make coffee and when I returned, I saw myself faced with a mini-fashion show that I couldn’t divert my eyes from. In a bad way. These women were wearing dyed-to-match stretch jeans, stretch denim jackets, and cotton v-neck shirts in lime green, hot pink, and lavender – all of it BeDazzled.
My first reaction was a subdued shudder, but then I just moved on to coffee and checking email. Still, in the background, I could hear the designer, Diane Gilman, playing up her jeans, and her belt, and her shirts, etc. etc. All the while touting that the clothes were available in L, XL, XXL, and XXXL. She also continued to talk about how these clothes could help you look good in jeans again, and that the monochromatic look was similar to those found in boutiques in the high end malls of Las Vegas. I could no longer ignore the extravagance behind me. I had to change the channel.
As I turned around, the price for these clothes flashed onto the screen. $60+ for the jeans, $60+ for the jackets, $30+ for the shirts “…in 1X, 2X, and 3X,” she kept saying. Suddenly, I was just mad. This woman was basically extorting money from plus-sized women who were too uncomfortable to leave the house to shop. It’s as if she were saying: I know you’re a big girl, sitting at home. Buy my clothes and be fabulous instead. And don’t be cheap about it.
The combination of ripping off and humiliating women, especially vulnerable women, infuriates me. People will say that women with a few extra pounds basically have themselves to blame, but so far I’ve only heard that from men and naturally skinny women. My weight fluctuates throughout the year, and I find that I can control it sometimes. Other times, however, it’s like my hand has taken on a life of its own, and cannot stop shoving chocolate flavored anythings into my mouth. Call it what you will, but gaining weight isn’t a punishable offense – it’s just a part of life. The nice thing is that, when you’re ready for it to go away, you can make it. I think some women hold on to their weight at a certain point, though, because it’s a part of who you are.
When Jenn left and my ex and I fell out, I was in a bad place. I stopped eating, drank a lot, and smoked even more. As a result, I lost a lot of weight (consult your doctor before starting that diet). I’d be lying if I said that being thin wasn’t a sort of consolation for everything else that was happening, but I couldn’t get past the fact that my thighs looked like little, frail sticks. I hated it, because it didn’t feel like me. When I looked down, I saw someone else’s legs.
After a little holiday fluctuation, I’m starting to feel like myself again. My legs have more jiggle, but it sort of feels like home. Of course, the junk in the trunk is a little excessive, but that’s just par for the course. I was more than ready for this jelly.
Not every woman feels this way about their weight, though – for some, it’s a burden, or an emotional struggle. As a frequent slave to emotion, I get this. There is a point when my jelly starts to piss me off, or bring me down – when it breaches the comfort zone and starts to expand its territory. I grew up active and semi-athletic, so I know how my body responds to diet and exercise, and can use those tools. Not every girl grew up with those experiences, or with families who were supportive and loving, or with bodies that process calories and fat in a predictable way. If these women are influenced by society, which many of us are, the effects on your emotions and self-esteem can be compounding, and destructive.
For these women, then, to be at home, listening to a “designer” talk about the clothes that are good for their bodies, stylish in Vegas, and perfect for spring, all the while modeling outfits that mimic a cabaret color scheme – and then charging them three to four times what they are actually worth, it makes me want to wag my finger and give her a good, grandma-style, “Shame on you.” I don’t care if you look like Twiggy - a monochromatic, sparkling, key-lime colored outfit is not slimming.
I’m a far cry from the Fashion Police, and I respect people with their own style, so if monochromatic hypercolors and coordinating rhinestones are your thing, I’m not digging on you. What I am digging on is the presentation of clothing as a “solution” to your body type. In order for there to be a solution, there has to be a problem – and I take issue with salespeople telling the world that clothing sizes equates to a problem.
I won’t complain about vanity sizing, though. I love being pleasantly surprised.
Filed under: Daily Specials | Tags: debate, life, men, random, relationships, sex, thoughts, women
Last night’s drink: Coffee.
I’ve been writing up a storm, lately, with school and some mild freelancing – both of which I am excited and grateful to be doing. Of course, it also means that my mind is on overdrive, which is why last night, when I received a comment from “Jack” on my Spatulesque post, I ended up writing a response that was long enough to be a post in and of itself.
As such, I’ve decided to dedicate this post to Jack, and Roissy, and “The Elements of Argument,” which is the textbook from my composition class last month. So, without further ado…
Jack said:
“Um, I saw your post on Roissy’s blog. It is unbelievable that you think men shouldn’t ask women about their sexual history. Women, like you, who are opposed to that are usually promiscuous and deceitful. I would have no problem being honest with a girl about myself, and you should have no problem being that way with a man. In this day and age of AIDS and other STD’s, both partners should be able to know the other’s previous activities to protect themselves accordingly. It has nothing to do with insecurity or not liking sex. But a man has a right to know if the girl he is dating is a slut, or if she is a respectable girl. He can better make a decision about their future accordingly. And by the way, there are ways to figure out if a girl is being honest, as well.
So I came to your blog and you appear to be a thoughtful and attractive girl who can write pretty well. I just thinkyour opinion on asking sexual history is ridiculous, and that both women and men should make a habit of doing that. There are already too many STD’s around.”
My response is as follows:
Hi, Jack.
Thanks for the comment, the compliments, and the implicit flash judgement. However, I think you misread what I wrote. Just to recap:
“It seems to me that if a guy is obsessed with the notches of a girl, they are either:
a) a pervert;
b) insecure about themselves and/or their own sexual prowess;
c) considering sex a recreational sport, and trying to figure out if it’s safe to play without protective gear; or
d) don’t or can’t enjoy sex, and want to show they are above it by putting down the other people that do.
There’s nothing worse than a guy who wants to talk about your sexual history. Not only is it pathetic, intrusive, and the ultimate buzzkill, but it’s completely irrelevant.
If you’re just casually fucking a girl, then that’s on you to take the responsibility for that risk. If you want a relationship, and you can’t trust her to take care of her sexual health and abstain from sleeping around with other men, the issues you need to deal with are in the present, not in her past.”
http://roissy.wordpress.com/2008/01/28/it-counts/
–
First of all, I’m not saying that men shouldn’t ask women about their sexual history – I’m giving my opinion that it is a misguided question. Your comment above says that you ask that question to find out if a woman is:
a) promiscuous; b) deceitful; c) a carrier of STDs; d) a respectable girl (as opposed to a slut); e) worthy of a committed relationship (that is what you mean by future here, correct?)
Asking a woman about the number of guys she’s slept with doesn’t really answer any of those questions. Let me go through this specifically:
a) Promiscuity is defined as having sex indiscriminately. If a woman has sex with one guy without any regard for who he is or what he looks like, she is technically being promiscuous. So, unless you are going to sit there and drill her about every detail of that one guy, simply knowing the number isn’t going to give you a hint about her promiscuity. A woman can have sex with a bunch of guys she has meticulously picked out, and not be promiscuous by definition. If you meant to say “slut” here, then I’d be curious to hear 1) your definition of a slut, 2) why you wouldn’t want to date one, and 3) why you didn’t know she was a slut before you started dating her.
b) Deceit has to do with honesty, I’ve never seen a person’s level of honesty measured in past sexual partners. A person’s honesty is evident in every part of their lives, and can more easily and more accurately be determined through your experiences with their behavior rather than the number of people they’ve gone to bed with before you. A woman who’s only slept with one man is, by virtue, no less deceitful than a woman who’s slept with ten. If you want to ask a woman if she’s ever cheated on a man, I think that’s a relevant question, and will probably help you find your answer more accurately and efficiently.
c) STDs: Of all of the arguments for asking about her history, this is the least compelling. It only takes one partner for a person to contract STDs, so the number of people you sleep with has no bearing on whether or not you’ve put yourself at risk for contracting disease. What -does- matter is how a person takes care of their sexual health. Do they always use protection during sex? Do they get regular checkups? Have they recently been tested? Do they talk to their partners about their habits as well? These activities are more important, and more telling, as to a person’s proclivity to STDs than simply asking the numbers of partners they’ve had. I -highly- recommend you use these questions instead.
d) Respectability is a complex and subjective characteristic that typically involves a combination of personal traits, not just one. However, if number of partners is a dealbreaker for you, that’s your call. My question here, though, is a simple one: what is the number of partners that moves a girl from respectable to not? 2? 5? 10? 20? 50? If you have settled on a number, I’d be interested to know how you arrived at it. I’m willing to bet that most guys who ask this question don’t just have a number in their head and pass or fail a girl based on her answer – I’m willing to bet they’re factoring in a lot of other things, too, in which case, this question becomes cursory, not vital.
e) Committed relationships involve so much more than sex. If you hinge your ability to commit to a woman based on her sexual history, then I defer to my original answer for why that might be.
Any other takers?
Filed under: Daily Specials | Tags: dating, friends, life, love, men, random, relationships, thoughts, women
Last Night’s Drink: 7&7.
Anyone over the age of 24 should remember the “This is your brain on drugs” public service announcement with the frying pan and the egg. The insinuation is that your brain is a soft delicate mass that is irreversibly affected with drug use and, since you assumedly value your brain and wouldn’t harm it, you should value a drug-free lifestyle.
People are also irreversibly affected by the relationships they allow into their lives – arguably, at a level that is more damaging than recreational drug use. Dating and loving people inevitably leads to a string of broken hearts, baggage, and damaged goods, all of which permanently affect your brain at an emotional level.
Before you started dating, it was new and exciting. You just did it here and there, sometimes with your friends. But the more you did it, the more important it seemed to become. Suddenly, it wasn’t enough that you were dating – you wanted something more hardcore: a relationship. Once the relationships started, it was too late to go back to simply dating. Now, if you dated, you laced it with relationship cues, recognition of red flags, and hypercritical observation. It wasn’t just a good time anymore – it was part of your life.
Once you’re in a relationship, your subconscious knows that stopping will kill you, because the withdrawls will be so intense. Suddenly, you’re schizophrenic and paranoid about the slightest things – what did he mean when he asked, “how can you eat that?” – does he think I’m a fat slob? Or Why did that girl at the store smile at him – is he mouthing suggestive comments to ladies at Nordstrom while I’m not looking? You don’t know who or what to believe anymore, and your logic and composure have long since flown out the window. The egg is officially frying.
If the core of your relationship is good, though, your significant other will take you by the hand and lead you away from the superficial high of a new relationship, and into a methodonish sort of come-down of companionship. Here, you can exercise the roots of all your dating and relationship evils, and put the past behind you. You become healthier and happier. You become yourself again.
Your dating friends will say you’ve changed, but if they truly love you, they will stand by you and wish you well on your new-found happiness. Relapse is highly likely, until you find the companionship that truly supports you.
And that, like a new leaf, or a fried egg, flips you over.
Filed under: Daily Specials | Tags: confidence, life, observations, poise, random, relationships, thoughts, women
Last Night’s Drink: Sideshow Contortionist
There is an aspect of beauty and self-image that is missing from the usual mantras of diet, exercise, and confidence: that aspect is poise.
It seems like many people view poise as a stuffy, archaic idea that your grandma used to harp on you about, or a natural byproduct of confidence. However, poise is a complex attribute all its own that combines a person’s physical, intellectual, and emotional states into an intangible, yet noticeable, exuberance. It’s that thing about someone that people are drawn to, but can’t quite describe.
Poise gives an air of confidence, whether or not you actually have it. Just like you can plaster on a fake smile and look effortlessly cool, you can pull on a suit of composure and look as if you’ve got the world by a string. As such, confidence isn’t a requirement for poise; rather, confidence will often follow it. Just like smiling when you’re down will help to bring you up, faking it helps to bring it to fruition.
Poise isn’t about being thin, beautiful, smart, gifted, or anything else that popular media desires - it’s about carrying yourself in a way that shows you are in this world, and that it’s a good thing. However, one of the key factors in poise is class, so that you aren’t being self-righteous about the space you are taking up. Rather, you’re considerate, but substantial. You are not invisible, but your modesty doesn’t apologize for who you are.
The one prerequisite to poise is self-acceptance, because before you present yourself, you have to know what you’re presenting. Everyone has things about themselves that they don’t like, but the key to gaining acceptance of these things is to understand why you don’t like them. Is it because it’s a bad habit that keeps you from feeling your best? Is it because it’s sending a message to others that doesn’t accurately reflect who you are? The most important thing about this first step is to ensure that it’s really you that doesn’t approve of that part of you. If you base your opinion of yourself on popular media and stereotypes, you’ll find that self-acceptance is a moving target. Public opinion is more fickle than a Mac-ophile. However, if this is one of the qualities you enjoy about yourself, then rock on.
Obviously, poise is a balance that you have to strike between good posture, positive attitude, and a self respect. It attracts people’s attention in the same way as overt sexuality and obnoxious behavior, but it maintains your mystery and dignity. No matter what you do and how you bend, someone’s going to criticize you. May as well be ready to justify your actions to yourself, and to keep your back straight as you pass them by.
F*&# ‘em if they can’t take a joke.
Filed under: Daily Specials | Tags: advertising, expectations, gifts, life, men, random, relationships, thoughts, Valentine's Day, women
Tonight’s Drink: Puerto Viejo Malbec.
With the help of popular advertising and a current canoodler, one of my rarely seen qualities is raising its head out of its ugly little hole, and peering toward the horizon of two weeks from yesterday: the little part of me that always wishes for jewlery for Valentine’s Day.
I don’t want anything crazy – it doesn’t have to be Oscar jewelry or Tiffany’s, or Tiffany’s, or Tiffany’s - it doesn’t have to have mind-blowing sentimentality or be an analogy for my current relationship. I just want to have something small and solid that I can reach up and feel every once in a while. I just want something that doesn’t go bad.
The thing about jewelry is that it get a bad rap. A girl that wants jewelry is instantly branded a money hungry bimbo, with superficial and material taste. Even though I love to look at expensive jewelry, the truth is that I would likely never wear it. Jewelry’s endearing quality to me is that it’s the result of wanting to exceed expectations. The guy who is really excited to give jewelry is that guy that knows you’re expecting Russell Stover chocolates from Rite-Aid – the small heart box. When he’s ready to show initiative to go above and beyond, he’ll play the jewelry card. Unless someone really cares about something, they will rarely exceed use of 90% of their faculties to complete it. Just like a guy will give 110% to win a high school football game, he’ll give equally as much to stomp the competition for your affection. Otherwise, Valentine’s Day shopping gets lumped in with a beer run – if you’re lucky.
Sufficed to say, I know I’m not getting jewelry this year – probably not next year, either. I can easily reason this out with my little green monster by justifying that we’ve only been dating for three months. It doesn’t keep me from scowling at the DeBeer’s commercials, though. Love and infatuation are marketing tools for Valentine’s Day, but for whom? It really smacks a woman around mentally, but she’s not the one expected to make the purchase here. Maybe a handful of men see those commercials and connect the dots with their own lives, but for some reason I find that a little hard to believe.
Basically, women are expected to pressure their men into buying them things, but women aren’t subjected to the same strategy for their men. Is that because women are essentially expected to give it up, and that’s their gift? Or is it that women already have a fabulous intuition for gift-giving for males, so advertisers don’t want to waste the dollars? I think I’ll go with the first option.
In any case, I’m ratcheting down my expectations day by day, so that by the time the day actually arrives, I’ll be ok with going to the “Anti-Valentine’s Day Party” at the coffee shop on 5th & Laurel. Actually, no… I won’t go that far. But, they do have half-off flights… and a nice wine buzz would take the edge off of another giftless Valentine.
But before then, Groundhog’s Day.
