Day 26: Over the Hump, Buddy

"Spring is in the Shirt." I am still wearing my parka, but I'm already mentally in spring. I figure if I delude myself strongly enough, I can start to believe that, despite it being only January, green trees and flowers and tank tops are right around the corner. It's working so far. The thing I love about neutral-colored clothing is its practicality. Everything is interchangeable. It's smart, sophisticated, and virtually hassle-free. The thing I love about color is that you can do whatever the hell you want with it--play it up, play it down, mix contrasting colors, stay within one color scheme--depending on what mood you're in. Take this shirt. You could virtually accessorize with anything. Black flip flops? Fine. Sexy, bright yellow heels? Awesome. Brown, black, gold, silver, jeans, trousers, skirt, doesn't matter. Just pick something and go with it. Here, our motto is: the crazier the better.

The next episode on our list deals mildly with the concept of a "fuck buddy." "What's that?" you ask. It's an acquaintance you keep around just for on-call sex when you're feeling low. The installment also talks about each of our dating patterns--if and why we tend to date the same sort of people over and over again.

In an effort to keep her morale afloat, Carrie makes a bootie call. Miranda dates an angerholic (just made that up) and realizes that she gravitates toward pessimistic, crabby men. Charlotte tries to brake her pattern of first, waiting to be asked out by a seemingly ideal man, and second, on their first date, projecting onto him all her fantasies of the perfect husband. She decides to ask out random guys and keep it casual. All's fine, until one of her dates finds her kissing another of her dates on the same night. She decides to go back to her old approach. Samantha's neighbors invite her, via a note under her door, to join their nightly sex-a-thons. She's thrilled, until she realizes they're both over fifty and overweight.

The fuck buddy is kind of a sensitive subject for me, gotta admit. A relationship gal to the core--meaning the concept of sex without strings attached is beyond my comprehension--I feel almost angry that I never got to have this experience. People I know had fuck buddies. Why not me? After watching this episode, I actually found myself fuming a bit. Why couldn't I have had, at some point, a friend I could rely on for sex but no drama? Why did I always just get the drama?

Then it hit me. Everyone I've known who had this type of pal thought the person (out of bed) was a total freak. However, since the sex was so good (or so easy), the "freak" part wasn't important. The theory was simple. Who cares if a girl's obsessed with wolves and gummy bears if she gives good head? What's the big deal if a guy is a nymphomaniacal singer, who raps about sleeping with 97 women, if he'll come running over to make love to you at the drop of a backwards hat? The point was to look beyond the bad stuff and just see the sex. I realized that was my problem. It wasn't that I was opposed to the concept of a fuck buddy. I just couldn't handle the thought of kissing someone who disgusted me.

Today, I met a friend for a walk around the park. She has been trying to land me a job as a cashier at her workplace. After submitting my resume and application and hearing nothing back, I found out today that the position went to a recent high school grad with experience working at Trader Joe's. When my friend asked her boss why he didn't call me, he asked, "Would she really be okay being a cashier?" Hmm. I thought putting my cumulative GPA on a resume was a good thing. Apparently, it can also say something about your inability to be happy (and therefore reliable long term) in crap jobs.

As I parked my car to meet with this friend, I realized I was tired and cranky. I was also possibly seriously depressed. I felt like an empty shell, a fragment of the busy, vibrant person I was only five months ago. I had almost canceled, fearing the prospect of having nothing interesting to say about my life and therefore just appearing dull, but I figured getting out of the house was a good thing. It didn't matter what happened. Hopefully, she wouldn't judge. As we talked, my mood lightened. I asked her about the details of her upcoming wedding. She asked me about the job search. I felt alive in a way I hadn't for days, maybe weeks. Maybe it was talking to a woman, a person who felt and thought in similar ways as I. Perhaps it was talking to someone at all besides Hank, or just getting out of my head for an hour. Whatever it was, it felt good.

On the way back home, I thought about what had been happening to me in the past few months and realized that it had gotten pretty bad. I seemed to be succumbing further and further to the feeling of hopelessness I'd been trying to avoid since the day I graduated, no longer seeing possibilities, just obstacles. Not only was I drowning in a sea of indecision about what to do with my future, I couldn't even find something to fill my days. I felt cut-off from society and unable to access my usual resiliency and determination--to pick myself up and attack the job search as I used to attack midterm papers--that I now desperately needed. Instead, when I talked, there was a lackluster in my voice, like someone who was far away. In conversations, I found myself asking the same questions minutes apart from each other. Exhausted by my mental chatter and the quietness of the house, I often wished I could disappear and be someone else for a few days. At least it would be interesting.

I got to thinking about craziness. It would be so easy for any of us to go insane. Just lock us up for three months without access to the outside world. I almost think that's all it would take.

I didn't realize all of this until today, until I imagined myself through my friend's eyes. I hadn't realized that I'd been trying, in fact, to be invisible. I just knew I was distancing myself--from my family, from Hank, and even from this blog--about what I felt, worried that it was old news, that everyone was tired (including me) of hearing about my fruitless days. No wonder Hank and I had been fighting.

I know I have to continue looking for work. I realize that bills don't stop, because you're feeling depressed, and that jobs don't land on your doorstep. I also realize that, of course, I have things very good, and it could be much, much worse. It's so hard--and so essential--to remember that. I just have to keep pushing forward, even on the days I don't feel like it. And somehow, knowing that--that I don't have to be happy about being in the third month of job searching or not having money, that I don't have to make myself feel chipper--makes the prospect of looking at Craig's List more manageable and actually makes me in a much better mood. So, off I go. Wish me luck. I could use some.

Hope you'll be back. I will.

Day 25: What's in a Game?

To justify spending $900 on this shawl, the event better be worth it. I can't imagine dropping that much cash on anything but a car (and a certain wheaten terrier that I'm still paying off). Maybe diamond studs. If you handed me the shall, I'd take it (it's gorgeous after all), but otherwise it's probably forever beyond my reach. (Law school's looking like a better option all the time.) The rest of the outfit, though, is really reasonable. If I remember right, the dress and owl necklace are both from Forever 21, the shoes are under $150, and the purse is from a vintage website and probably sits around $200. I'm obsessed with beaded purses. As far as evening bags go, I think they come in third in importance after black and gold satin or sequin clutches, respectively. What's so great about them? Two things. 1. They're colorful, so they go with everything. 2. They manage to be incredibly elegant and flirty at the same time. Go beads.

Games. That's today's topic. Do we have to play them in relationships in order to survive? After her friends put a moratorium on talking about Big, Carrie decides to see a shrink, who tells her she picks the wrong men. Not taking heed, Carrie picks up a fellow patient (Jon Bon Jovi, aka. Seth), who seems really nice (Hello? Fellow patient? This cannot be good.). She sleeps with him, convinced she's proving her therapist wrong. As they lay in bed together, she learns that Seth goes to therapy for an unfortunate reason: he looses complete interest in women after he gets them in bed. Samantha dates a sports-obsessed male (are there other kinds?) but leaves him when he chooses watching the game over watching her. Miranda, after seeing her neighbor staring out his window towards her, decides to play seductress. She later learns the guy was flirting with a dude who lives below her.

Lame. There's only one respectable word for this episode. I just want Big to come back. Immediately after watching, I flipped through the next few episodes. He doesn't surface again for three more. Even then, it's not in a good way. Damn.

Okay, so, do we really play games in relationships? If we define games as things we do or say that are aimed at getting a particular result and are not always in direct accordance to how we really feel, I'd say the answer is a resounding, "Yes." I think we always play games. I think it's part of life, the way we interact with the world and understand what happens in it. I'm reading "The Black Book" by Orphan Pamuk. It's magical. There's a line one of the philosophers speaks: "One day, when you're older, when you ask yourself if a man can ever be himself, you'll also ask yourself if you've ever understood this secret." In other words, do we play games even with ourselves? Do we change ourselves to become more acceptable to ourselves, much less to the world? Do we delude ourselves into thinking we're something we're not or try not to be something we are? If so, how can we ever not do some acting--and hence game-playing--within relationships of whatever kind?

Bear with me. The point is this: the Authentic Self may be elusive for everyone anyway, and I'm not sure we'd survive very long in the world if we were always our Authentic Selves. When we say something, it may be a product of what we've seen in a movie, or it may be what we are expected to say. Maybe we were taught to say it. It is very hard to tell from where our actions, feelings, and words stem. In this way, I think it's awfully hard to expect ourselves to be completely authentic in love. Love is a relationship with another person struggling to be (or not to be, ala Shakespeare) his or her Authentic Self. There are bound to be some complications.

Besides, all games aren't bad. How about when you tease the other person to make him or her laugh? Charlotte says games are necessary in all relationships. You play certain roles to get certain results--even with your mate, with whom you hopefully feel more comfortable than with anyone else. When a woman wears lingerie to bed, what's the intent? When a man takes out the trash, is that a product of his Authentic Self, or something he think he should do to be nice? Would it be better if he didn't? I don't think the game has to be dishonest. That's not game-playing; that's just dishonesty. When either person is purposefully withholding something to gain the affections of another, saying and doing things that are exactly opposite of what he or she wants to do or thinks is right (ie. ill-intended manipulation, like Samantha learning sports stats just get her boyfriend to sleep with her), that's not fun. That's just stupid. It's all going to come out anyway, and in the meantime, you're wasting everyone's time.

Oof. Maybe this episode wasn't that lame after all? Or maybe I need to not drink caffeine before I talk about philosophy.

I am going to try writing in the mornings--especially on days when I'm feeling lackluster. I figured out this morning at 7:20 when Hank left, that if I think about writing, I get out of bed. If I think about job searching, I have been known to lay there until 9:30. Not a good start to the day. So here's to early morning mental meanderings and (debatably) caffeine.

I hope you'll be back. I will.

Day 23: Beyond Black and White

This borders on Emo, but I think the patterns, the relaxed coat, and sexy necklace save it. I thought about adding a bright jacket, but that just seemed cliche. Then I decided to do as much with just black and white as fashionably possible. We're going to call this one "Black to Basics"--horrible, I know, but oh well.

I am not feeling much like writing today. Sometimes I feel such a surge of energy from thinking about relationship issues and questions about love that I can't wait to get back to this blog and spin out all my ideas. Today, I'm not feeling that. I just feel tired. Maybe it's because Hank and I have fought for two nights in a row, first about money, then about something really stupid. We've been getting home (him from school, me from Starbucks) around 7, when we're both hungry and tired. Who knew you could get tired sitting at a computer and doing errands and house stuff all day, every day? I'm here to tell you not only that you can, but it's not a good tired. It's a restless, defeated tired. I've pulled all-night study sessions, prepared for countless music recitals, and worked my ass off in a flower shop on Valentine's Day. Nothing compares to how tired you get from doing nothing.

That said, I am going to post, because I have to. But first, here's what's happening on the employment front. I have been spending more time on each job application/submission, often putting in two hours or more responding to one Craig's List ad. I've also been getting pickier, as I've said. A fearsome thought was born in me a few days ago. Say I get a job as a receptionist in a medical office, as a gas station attendant, or as a waitress (all worst case scenarios). Fine. It pays the bills. But then what? In six months, I will inevitably hate my job and want to move on and will have to go through all of this again. No, thanks! So, I am looking for positions in companies and industries I would actually enjoy working in for a while. That means either in a company with growth potential or in a creative industry that can give me tools I can take with me to go out on my own later. The other option is to get any old job and prepare to go back to school in a year, but that would mean figuring out what I want to study. Oofta.

Okay, enough of that. On to pleasanter things like SATC. This episode deals with the subject of evolution and raises the following questions: Are women evolving beyond needing men? Do we no longer need relationships? What about the phenomenon of the gay straight man? How does a relationship evolve, and how do we progress beyond past relationships? How do each of us evolve on our own? Last but not least is the question Carrie asks Big, "What is the ideal living situation for two people in a relationship?"

Those are a lot of questions. Thankfully for us all, I'm not going to talk about them all. First synopsis. Carrie tries leaving personal items at Big's, but he doesn't get the hint and returns them to her. She talks to him about it, telling him the reasons why a woman needs a hairdryer, tampons, etc. Though he's charmingly clueless, he says he prefers to keep things separate. Later, a distraught Carrie finds a picture of the two of them nestled in one of his drawers and realizes she has nothing to worry about. But for good measure, she leaves a thong. Samantha runs into the only man who ever broke her heart. Convinced she's over him, she decides to get revenge. She plans to flirt with him and leave him at the last minute, as he did to her. However, she falls for him again, and again he leaves her for another woman. Charlotte mistakes a straight friend for gay. After he pursues her, she realizes her mistake. They date, but she ends it, deciding that his feminine side may just be as developed as hers. Finally, Miranda discovers that she has a lazy ovary and that her chances for motherhood my slowly be disappearing. Desperate, she starts hormones and gives a old suitor a chance, only to find out he's a misogynist asshole. She stops the hormones and renews her faith in natural romance.

I love the question about how we each evolve from one relationship to the next, especially in light of what has been going on in my love life the past few days. Assuming we all have defining characteristics (good and bad) and carry these over from one relationship to the next, do we really individually evolve? If so, how?

Over the past few months, it has become clear to me that Hank's issue (maybe his only one) is jealousy. I will tell the tale of last night. Coming home from the coffee shop, I entered the house in a dress and tights. I rarely wear dresses. In fact, the only reason I was doing so, dear reader, is for a very feminine personal issue that makes it very uncomfortable to wear jeans. Maybe you get my drift. Our extremely boring and heated conversation went something like this. Hank said, "Nice tights." I said, "Thanks." He said, "Why did you get dressed up to go out?" I said, "None of your business, jerk." No, what I actually said was, "I didn't. I just got dressed." He said, "Those tights are kind of provocative, don't you think? Who are you impressing?" It deteriorated from there.

Two hours later, after me saying in the heat of battle that I would really enjoy my own place at that moment just to get away from him (advice: don't do this), he confessed to me that he had had the same fight in all of his past relationships. He knew it was his fault. He didn't trust women to not be flirting with other guys, and he got extremely jealous at the thought of men looking at me. In fact, he said, it was a big reason why his last girlfriend broke up with him. He also said that with me it was a lot less of an issue, because he trusted me. Even though his jealous feelings got the better of him sometimes, he knew it was stupid. It was more just a habit.

For some reason, this disclosure disarmed me and made me feel really compassionate for him. At least he was admitting his issue. Lord knows, I had my own. I got to thinking about my history. In every relationship I'd been in, I dramatized things to the point where the other person just got tired or angry. I analyzed every minutia of every facet of the relationship--what he said two weeks ago and what his actions meant--and often dragged the other person into analyzing it with me. I've also always been super defensive. I think it all comes down to a fear of abandonment, and I'm pretty sure both guys who broke up with me did so for a reason related to these issue.

There are many times when Hank wants to stop talking about something, but I won't let it go. There are many times he says something benign, and I take it really personally and attack him. I can fight really unfairly--like the wounded animal caught in the hunter's trap, lashing out at everything that comes to try save it. The thing that saves us, though, is that I trust him completely, as he trusts me. Eventually, in every fight, I realize that what I'm freaking out about is nothing, even if I'm going on and on about it. But I won't pretend I'm easy to live with in those moments, and Hank never talks about wishing he had his own place.

So, maybe we all have behavioral baggage--ways we've learned to deal with the world that we bring into each relationship. Maybe they have to do with our childhood or past relationships or even genetics. Maybe it doesn't matter where they come from. Probably, like Samantha with her ex, we're all doomed to repeat ourselves to some degree. But we evolve, too. After we see our default actions aren't getting us anywhere, we slowly shift our perspectives and see the new situation for what it is. Then, we conform to the reality. Like Mr. Big, we learn to trust again and try, timidly at first, later with more certainty, to follow our hearts instead of our old patterns and assumptions. Good luck to us all. It's a noble and worthwhile endeavor, for sure. And my answer to Carrie's question? Together, in good times and bad.

I hope you'll be back. I will.