Day 21: Changing It Up

Okay, here's the deal. We are going hiking for the day, and I have exactly twenty minutes to write this. Since I'm on such a tight schedule with getting this SATC project done, I have to post today. We won't get back in time tonight to do it then. Don't know if I said this before, but I am a perfectionist of the worst kind. I often sit and think about things--what I'll do, what to wear, what if _____--that it takes over my life. The actual act or event lasts for ten minutes, but so much thinking has gone into how to make it just perfect, that by the time it's over I'm exhausted. So, a blog in under twenty minutes scares the crap out of me. But here goes.

They often say that when you're getting dressed, accessorize completely and then give up one accessory before you walk out the door. It's a good adage for those of us who want to look put together but not like we're in costume or trying too hard. But I think this rule goes out the window when you're dressing for the beach. I mean, I could go on and on with this outfit--a cute hair tie, a hat, a beach umbrella, a sweater/jacket, more bracelets, a necklace, etc. Anything to make it more fun. Heck, it's a vacation, people! Since we're braking some "rules" here, we'll call this one, "My Way or the Beach." This ensemble also serves as a nice change from thoughts of winter and a pleasant antidote to January's staying power.

"The only things you can work with are hair and wardrobe, and even then, it's a constant battle." Samantha

"Physical violence is never the answer." Mr. Big

Our next episode deals with the idea of changing our partners and ourselves. Assuming we can never love everything about a person, how can we learn to, as the famous Irish (I think) saying goes, change what we can and accept the things we cannot change? Should we focus more on adjusting ourselves in order to jive better with our mates? Should we speak up? Should we move on?

Carrie and Big have been together for a while now (the second time), and they're starting to have some snags. Carrie notices that Big glances when pretty women walk by. He has also never stayed the night at her house. These things start to drive her crazy, but she refrains from telling him. After he tosses in his sleep one night and ends up pushing her off of the bed, she punches him in the eye. All the pent-up frustrations come out, and the two of them eventually come to an understanding. He will sleep over sometimes on one condition: that she stops eating oranges in his bed, dirtying his 1000-count sheets.

Samantha meets one of her exes at drag queen bingo. Actually, he's one of the drag queens. What's more, he's wearing a blond wig, going by the name Samantha, and his transformation started right after they dated. Samantha doesn't know if this kind of change is flattery or her worst nightmare. Charlotte dates her first uncircumcised man and finds that it's a huge turnoff for her. The man, having gotten this reaction from women his whole life, decides to finally have the procedure done at age 35 (ouch). Charlotte's elated until she finds out that he wants to "share" his penis rebirth with the world, one one-night-stand at a time. Miranda and Steve are doing well, except that their schedules are all off. Steve, a bartender, has energy at 2am, while Miranda gets up at 6am. They fight; they make-up; they decide that dealing with their differences is far superior to not being together.

I'm not going to talk about wanting to change things about our partners. I don't like the idea of wanting to change someone you love. I think that if you love a person and he/she loves you, the little changes (for example, not eating oranges in bed) will feel like compromises. Compromise is hard, but it's just part of the game of relationships. As far as the big changes go (for example, changing religions or getting off of drugs), it's really tricky--both morally and practically. I know couples who have changed their partners in fundamental ways for the better. Sometimes you need a little push from love to make you take your life in healthier directions. I understand that. But I don't think it's the norm nor should it be. It seems better to start to be with someone, because you like him for who he is. If your partner (or you) makes a big change, it should not really be one person changing another but the person wanting to change. If you're trying to change something big, I wonder if you're not just setting yourself (and your partner) up for disappointment. Well, there's my 25 cents-worth of psychology.

I'm going to talk more about Samantha's quote, because it's more fun. When she states that you can change a man's hair and clothes, but you can't change what's underneath them, Hank and I both looked at each other and smiled. Just then, he happened to be sporting two shirts, jeans, and shoes that I had bought for or with him AND a haircut (buzzed) that I had suggested due to his lack of hair in a particular spot of the back of his head (I am refraining from saying the dreaded b-word).

These changes were not conscious on my part. When I met Hank, I didn't think his clothes and hair were awful at all. As a matter of fact, I thought he was really hot. But as we cleaned out his closet before we moved, I noticed a trend of oversized college sweatshirts, socks and jeans with holes, tennis shoes, and ski coats. He said he'd been frustrated with his closet for a while and asked me to help him get rid of the unnecessary. So I did. What girl could resist that request? I must say (because it's true, and because he'll kill me if I don't) that he had some great quality clothing from his parent's formal wear store--a couple of suits and suit pants, a lot of blue dress shirts (and I do mean a lot), and a sport coat. We kept all of them and just bought some basic tees and button ups from Target, a couple pairs of dark wash jeans, a few non-blue dress shirts, and some nice leather shoes. Overall, it was quite painless. If Hank didn't like something I suggested, he made no mistake about telling me.

As far as the hair goes, he had always worn his hair buzzed in grade school. Then a girl told him he should grow it out, because it didn't look that good. Bitch. So he'd kept it long ever since. Every time someone brought up "hair," Hank would get self conscious and run to the bathroom. No, that's not true. But he usually would make some joke about himself. One day, in the hopes of restoring my guy's hair pride, I did some research about men with his predicament. The verdict was in: buzzed (as short as possible) was the way to go. I sent him the articles, the pictures (I figured who wouldn't want to look like Jason Bateman?), and the different possibilities. At first, he was wary. What if it looked crappy? But he did it, and it looks great. He says he always liked it buzzed better anyway.

These are changes neither of us cared about, but it was funny nonetheless. I guess if you're with someone for any amount of time, how can you not change? Look at me. I now listen to heavy metal music on occasion and tolerate it, something I thought was impossible before I met Hank. And I even know something about the football season this year.

They do say that most relationships deteriorate over small stuff. Whether or not he puts his own clothes away or does the dishes can end up being bigger than whether he wants kids. But in the end, maybe it's like Miranda and Steve. Part of the test (and fun) is figuring out how to work things out. Together. Despite the differences and despite the changes.

Hope you'll be back. I will.

Day 20: The Man vs. the Myth

I'm calling this one, "Street Cat,” because it radiates chicness. I love white jeans. Ironically, I don’t actually own a pair. I own white capris from a zillion years ago, but I reserve them for beach vacations, which I don’t often take. I have never quite worked up the courage to spend the money on a nice-fitting pair of white jeans for fear of them getting ruined quickly. It is some law of nature that the moment you invest in an expensive piece of anything, you better guard it with your life. If you don’t, it will no doubt end up with a tear, stain, frayed from the dog chewing it, or will suddenly disappear within three months. Guaranteed. I am convinced that the only reason my Louis Vuitton clutch has lasted six years of everyday use is that for the first four of those, I had no idea how valuable it was. Otherwise, I’m sure I would have dropped it down a storm drain. This year, I am resolved to buying white jeans. I will wear them all year round, paying no heed to the “no white after Labor Day” rule. I will spend ten minutes each laundry day making sure all the stains are addressed, but it will be worth it. Why? Cause they’re cool.

This is one of my favorite ensembles so far. As I was choosing it, the leather coat seemed an obvious partner to the tank and jeans. But then I had an “Aha!” moment. What if I stuck something else under the jacket to give it a little pizzazz? I love the result and wish I could lift the pictures from the page and put the clothes into my wardrobe for tomorrow. I'd wear the coat and button-up open, in order to show off the necklace. If it gets too warm, ditch the coat and roll up the sleeve of the shirt. Voila! Instant style with attitude. And of course, here is my $1,800 LV dream bag in another ensemble…Love that Louis.

So, today’s episode also happens to be one of my favorites. It strikes a personal chord. It's the first time Miranda meets Steve, and it reminds me of when I met Hank. It's also the first time we see Miranda respond emotionally to a man. Steve somehow breaks through all her barriers, convincing her that he’s not like other guys, and the result is a beautiful, tear-filled kiss in the rain and a promise to move forward together. (Sigh....)

This episode also happens to be one of Hank’s favorites for similar reasons. He loves Steve, and he says Miranda reminds him of how I was before we met—jaded, defensive, scared to believe in the great man who was suddenly in my life. Like Steve, Hank had to do a lot of convincing. When we talked about the episode last night, Hank asked what I was going to write about. He suggested talking about how awful my relationships were before him, and how everything was perfect once he came along. I reminded him that that wouldn’t be interesting for anyone to read but us. Instead, I’m going to write about “urban relationship myths,” a term Miranda coins before Steve comes into the picture.

First, a synopsis: Carrie and Big are peachy. He’s making all the romantic gestures of a man in love, proudly calling her his girlfriend and singing to her in a restaurant (fully sober and in front of about 50 people). Gotta love a man who sings. Carrie decides to “test” him (of course she does) by inviting him to dinner with the gang. He agrees, but backs out at the last minute, leaving her to meet her friends alone. Just when she’s about to tell her posse that Big isn't coming and that he's just the same old commitment phobe he's always been, he shows up. All good feelings and faiths are restored. Samantha, after meeting a charming old—very old, like 72 old—millionaire, tries the gold-digger approach to dating. After receiving loads of diamond jewelry and getting awfully close to doing the deed, she gets a peek at his sagging ass and bolts—keeping the jewelry of course. And Charlotte, who I think it’s now safe to say has the worst dating luck of the four, actually doesn’t date anyone this episode.

So, dating myths. The girls have a great time discussing what later became the topic of an entire movie called He's Just Not That Into You. For those of you who haven't seen it (I'm sure most of you have), the premise is that women create myths about romantic situations that give them false hope when faced with the real dating world. According to this theory, Disney movies about princes rescuing young ladies when all the world leaves them to die; the tale of the lonely woman who finally meets her dream man on a blind date; and finally, the story of the married man who leaves his wife for his mistress and lives happily after all belong to the "urban relationship myth" category.

While I think that there's something to this theory (Let's face it, most married men don't leave their wives for their mistresses, nor should they really), I also think there's a good case for romantic stories being true. I mean, every relationship has a romantic beginning, right? We all have to meet our partner somehow, and how can that story not be the stuff of romantic "myths"?

Take the show. Carrie meets Big through a series of chance encounters. First, she drops her purse, and he helps her pick up the contents. Then, they see each other at a party, then an art show, then a cafe and so on. Eventually they figure out that they're supposed to talk, then supposed to date, then maybe supposed to fall in love. Take it from me, if you accidentally run into anyone more than three times in NYC, it's practically meant to be. So that give credence to two"myths"--first, that you can meet your soulmate by chance, and second, that friendship can turn into love.

Then there's Miranda. What's more romantic than this: a cynical, career woman arrives at a pub for a dinner date with her friend, but the friend never shows up. The barman sees that she could use a mood booster, so he buys her a drink and begs her to stay and talk a bit. They hit it off. Later, they go home together, and she learns that not only is he amazing in bed, but he's also sensitive and caring and really, truly likes her to boot. A relationship is formed, and another urban myth is verified--the one that says a one night stand can turn into love.

Now, take real life. One of my former employers makes wedding cakes for a living. After over ten years in the business, this independent, sharp, thirty-year-old had seen her fair share of bad matches and crazy brides and had decided that all that lovey-dovey stuff was probably a bunch of crap. For over a year, I listened to her flaunt an I'm-way-above-falling-in-love attitude regarding men and romance. Maybe you can see where this is going. One day at work, she said she was going on a blind date that evening, arranged by her friends. It was probably going to be silly, and she had little hope. However, at least it would be interesting. She had never been set up before. The next day, she was glowing. It had gone really well; she liked him. Two months later, she had dropped ten pounds and said she was in love. Six months later, the woman who swore she would never have a wedding announced she was getting married. She was making her own cake. I kid you not.

Another friend, Jill, met her husband, Ron, on a summer fire-fighting crew. He was seeing someone else at the time but became so interested in Jill, that he immediately dropped his girlfriend. Since they lived in different states, Ron and Jill started a long-distance relationship. After two years, he secretly flew to the town where she went to school and proposed to her in the middle of one of her nursing classes (we're talking hundreds of people here, folks). I made their cake.

And then there's Hank and I. Like Miranda and Steve, we met in a bar and didn't know that what we had would turn into a relationship. Unlike them, we didn't meet by chance. We were set up. However, since we lived in different cities, the coincidence of us being at the same place on the only night we would have been able to meet was pretty weird. I, the fire-cracker who always said she would never date a younger man, fell for a guy three years younger than me. Hank, the science guy, who had accepted the fact that he would never find a woman he could talk to and was prepared to leave for med school completely alone, found the girl of his dreams and took her with him when he left. It happens, people.

So, are there really myths? Or is a myth a romantic story that just hasn't happened to you yet? That's for each person to decide. But even if you don't believe in tales of lovers meeting and connecting despite all worldly forces, it doesn't matter. That's the great thing about romantic stories: you don't have to believe in them for them to come true.

I hope you'll be back. I will.

Day 19: Dreaming, Eyes Wide Open

Now here is an outfit I would actually wear on a normal day. I'm calling it, "Dressing By Heart," because in the end personal style should emanate from your soul and should feel as natural as, well, singing in the shower. This is a soul outfit for me. As a matter of fact, I own a shirt much like this one, and similar jeans and jewelry. I have a bag that could substitute. The shoes--well they're still in daydream category. I'd probably just wear my black, pointy flats or black boots, even though the heels look amazing. I figure that until I a) live somewhere where other women wear heels with jeans, b) have a job that would allow me to wear jeans to the office, or c) have enough money to buy whatever shoes I want, I'll stick with flats for the simple reason that they're easier. But that's why I have this blog, right? To daydream.

Speaking of dreams.... Fairy tale weddings. Love at first sight. Someone to be with until the end. This is the stuff romantic stories are made of. It is also the subject of our next episode.

After two of Miranda's mutual friends announce their engagement after knowing each other only a few days, they proceed to plan the perfect wedding. The ladies--all but Charlotte, of course--nearly declare war on romance. Carrie wonders how two people can "know" so soon, when after months with Big, he has only just lent her his spare toothbrush. Miranda feels invisible, since the new groom had been staying in her apartment when he met his future wife. Miranda was hoping he would fall for her, not her friend. Samantha sleeps with a man she bedded 15 years ago. She comes to the conclusion that she has had sex with all of Manhattan and that she must now get married or move. Charlotte feels encouraged by the newly-engaged couple. When she meets a nice groomsman, she gets swept away by the idea of love at first sight--until the guy's father grabs her ass, and the guy defends him.

One moment sums up the entire episode. The four women are standing ready for the bouquet toss. The camera slows. The flowers glide through the air, headed straight for Carrie and the gang. Who's going to catch it? Charlotte? Carrie? Miranda? Samantha? Well, no one, as it turns out. The flowers fall on the floor in front of them. None of them go for the bouquet. Nobody wants it. It's a great moment. I laughed out loud. I wanted to jump for joy. To me, it signified that they have all realized in their own way that the fairy tale is a set-up.

I've been pretty clear about my cynicism (or at the very least healthy skepticism) about marriage (or at least weddings). It is likely impossible to have been engaged twice but never married and not feel like some part of it is just a sham. I still believe in love, of course. But I used to completely believe in every single bit of romantic fluff that crossed my path--including the fairy tale wedding and love at first sight. I still believe in the "'till the end" part. My skepticism only reaches so far. But the others? Naw. Attraction at first sight? Sure. Hope at first sight? Definitely. But not love.

And the perfect wedding? Not in the way we're taught to believe. A perfect wedding would happen on account of a couple's love together, as an expression of that love--not because of invitation designs and bridesmaids' dresses. The perfection is between the couple, and it doesn't matter if they get married on a beach, at City Hall, or in a dump yard. Before, I believed in the perfect wedding so much that I planned two before I was even sure I wanted to marry the men I was planning them with. Now, all I care about is loving the man.

Part of the wedding myth is that it brings a happily-ever-after ending. Yet, there really aren't endings in true romance. Each day sees the coming of each night, the beginning of a year sees the end of that year, but love's story doesn't end. It keeps retelling itself every day until the people part ways or die. And if a story has no ending, how can it have the perfect ending? When Carrie and Big leave the wedding, she decides that she's happy just going home with him at night and taking it day by day--even if the storybook finish isn't in sight and they're not on the big wedding bandwagon. It's as if she accepts that they're perfect for each other, and that's enough. Anyway, in the end, no one remembers the wedding. But they do remember the moments full of love. And that's what I'm here to believe in.

In an interview, the REAL Carrie, SJP, said that when you're young, grand gestures mean so much--what he got you for Valentine's Day, where he proposed. When you're older, you realize that the small gestures are what matter most. I can imagine this being true. Does he tuck your kids into bed at night? Does he field calls from your parents? Does he take out the trash? If he treats you like dirt in front of your friends, who cares what he got you for Christmas? If she says she'll love you forever but never lets you pick the movie, is that cool? Everyone has their deal-breakers, but the point is that love is a series of little moments of loving--and fighting. It isn't a fairy tale, with a tidy ending and no messes. But that doesn't mean it's not perfect. As Hank says, a perfect couple is where the two people are exactly what the other needs and wants, and they wouldn't change a thing.

For those curious readers, I am still job searching. After working in Montana and taking a month off from the depressing task of browsing Craig's List each and every day, I feel rusty. It is hard to get out of bed in the morning. If I didn't have Bela, I probably would have gone crazy by now. In a way, it's my own fault. I could be working at Panera or a coffee shop for minimum wage. At least I would be out of the house and not complaining. I could also be submitting resumes around the clock, never giving up, taking breaks only to eat and shit--like I was doing during the first few weeks of moving here. But I'm not. Instead I'm buying dog food, washing dishes, and writing. I'm lucky if I submit three or four resumes a day, and I'm getting picky. I'm looking for that illusive job that pays at least $10-13 per hour, provides health insurance and growth potential, and won't leave me wanting to kill myself at the end of the day (ie. no waitressing). It's not going well.

Maybe part of the problem is that I'm tired of jobs. I want a career. One day last month, I counted all of the jobs I've had. At 27 years old, I have held 22 jobs, most of which had very little opportunity for advancement--temp agencies, landscaping, customer service. Some did. I could probably be baking wedding cakes, teaching English, or managing an office right now. But I'm not.

So, in light of this, while I job hunt, I am also preparing to take the GRE. Who knows why. I don't know what I would study in grad school. I am hoping that six months from now, I will be able to make that decision. Until then, I may just have to waitress.

I hope you'll be back. I will.