Sunday, December 26, 2004

All I Want For Festivus Is You

The holidays traditionally are a time of gathering, of catching up with those close to you on the intimate details of their lives. Inevitably, someone will raise questions (and perhaps an eyebrow or two) about recent goings on in the romance department. Being subjected to questioning, along with a friend and the guy she's been dating dancing around the edges of commitment, has lead me to question just what is involved in a romantic relationship. My careful analysis leads me to conclude it is a delicate juxtaposition of the sacred trinity of dating: the physical, the emotional, and timing.

The physical seems pretty straightforward. We all get lonely, crazy hot ideas sometimes, especially if the dating scene has been (more than) a little dry and suddenly, the nearest person seems like a really hot prospect. Of course, the physical becomes meaningful (supposedly) if you have

The emotional. This means that, first off, you are emotionally mature enough, personally, for a relationship. Ideally, both of you have realistic expectations, you genuinely like yourselves, you are willing and able to thing about your feelings independently, and you have checked your (emotional) baggage at the gate. You also experience emotional closeness as a couple - you discuss both the good and the bad openly and honestly. You can share ideas and all that jazz discussed in a previous post (see 'emotional cheating').

"Some people want diamond rings, some just want ev-er-y-thing, but everything means nothing if I don't got..."

Good timing. You need to meet the person at the right point in your life. If you're still torn up about your ex, if you're about to leave for a 6 month expedition into the jungles of central Africa, or if you've decided that you need to get the wild and crazy single days out of your system, then you can have the emotional and the physical potential, but it's just not going to work out. You both need to be at the right point in your life if you ever going to mesh past your bleary hungover dusky kiss good bye in the morning.

My contention is that if you have these three elements, this is a strong foundation for commitment. "But Marisa," you say in your little I-told-you-so voice, "what about religion? What about shared experiences? what about common interests, as to continue construct further shared experiences? what about the next 'Big One' - where will you be?"

Well, I would like to remind you that as a non-practicing... nothing, I tend to neglect religion as a factor in my love life. Maybe that's not fair or accurate, but that's how we roll here on Park Blvd. That's right, the roughest hood in the town.

And the earthquakes... we'll be ready.

I'll be ready.

I have a bottle of water in the car.

Tuesday, December 14, 2004

I Don't Want To Spoil The Party

Holiday party at work
Drunk dialing my ex
Waking up afraid of darkness
Waking up too hot
Awkward breakfast
Flight cancelled
Sitting in Burbank
Stand by to SFO
Shuttle from hell
Lounging around ass tired

What a weekend...

sorry, nothing contemplative. Stay tuned

Thursday, December 02, 2004

Everybody's Trying To Be My Baby

I went out to the BBC with a girly gang last night (a girly gang, not my girly gang, as I feel uncomfortable claiming ownership), which stands for the British Banker's Club. Firstly, it's a bar, not a club, and certainly not exclusive to bankers from the UK. I don't know who they think they are fooling. Secondly, despite not being a club to even the slightest degree, the bouncers think they are hot shit. They are shaking hands and schmoozing and hugging as if this place or these people coming into this place are cool. Let's clarify - this is the only bar with a DJ in Menlo Park. Cool is relative, people.

This did not restrain the bouncers from getting all high and mighty. They refused to accept my roomie's ID as real (which it is, by the way) and act rude and dismissive to the rest of us who are ALSO 21+. Eventually she called the Palo Alto police to verify her ID. The police show up and say, you know that we have to arrest you if this is fake. She responds, okay. Now at this point, it should become obvious that the ID isn't fake. Who with one iota of sense would call the police to verify a fake ID? Long story short, they decided that the ID was, in fact, real (duh) and he lets her in, free cover and a free drink. Thanks for being an asshole, how does your pride feel sliding down your esophagus?

Once we arrived inside, we had our drinks and started dancing. First a youngish man approaches our group and asks a question. I am unable to hear him, but the rest of the girls kind of ignore him and look uncomfortable. I ask him what he said, and he said he was wondering if we were from Stanford. After 2 minutes of chatting, it becomes clear that Stanford is the only connection we have, and he takes off.

Then, I am gettin down, minding my own business, when someone comes up and scare the hell out of me. Not intentionally, I don't think. We start chatting; we're both from "Berkeley" and everything I say or do, he responds "you're so cute!!" He cuts hair and wants to go outside to smoke.
Once outside he admits that he doesn't have any cigarettes, so he has to bum one off an old black man. He introduces me to his friends. He asks me to see my hand. I hold it out. "You're so cute!" Then he disappears. His friend compliments my shoes, and then starts hitting on me. Gay... or not gay? I return to the dance floor and begin dancing with my friends. A large hispanic man grabs my arm in an attempt to get me to dance with him. "I'm engaged," I tell him, hoping to get myself out of the situation. "Even better!" he replies. I smiled and shrugged apologetically. I decide to leave not long afterwards.

In conclusion... what the fuck?