At lunchtime today when I went to move my car for the umpteenth time this week (as per usual to avoid a parking ticket) it occurred to me that parking in an urban city with a large population is not dissimilar to dating in an urban city with a large population. You drive around in circles looking for that perfect spot--one that is close to your destination, big enough to fit your car and in a safe enough area. This is usually not quick. Often, the spots that fit the bulk of your criteria are taken and so you expand your search, checking less-ideal but still-satisfactory streets. When that doesn't work, maybe you attempt to slum it in a faraway alley somewhere.
Sometimes, it's all about timing. You can drive around for what feels like hours, that sinking feeling of hopelessness growing by the minute, only to drive by your office and have someone pull out of a spot right in front.
I believe that parking karma is a very real thing, so I'm betting it exists in dating too.
Friday, October 23, 2009
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
seriously
One night toward the end of my senior year of college, over cheap gin and tonics at the crappy bar next door to my apartment, I sat next to the older guy who had my attentions at that particular moment (and for all moments preceding--at least for the previous year) , nodding, laughing, enjoying everything he was saying...until he said this:
"God, Gabi, your life is so easy. I wish I could trade with you. All you have to do is go to class and your part-time job. Nobody takes you seriously but it doesn't matter because you're not doing anything serious."
I wish I could tell you that I threw my drink in his face, made some sort of brilliantly witty remark about his insufficient manhood (not that I had any idea) and stomped out amidst the applause of the other bar patrons, but if memory serves me correctly, I listened to him drone on and on for another half-hour, silently hating him--and myself for staying--before finally making an excuse and going to bed.
But later that night I lay awake in bed and fumed. How dare he? Sure, I didn't have a job I hated and bills that I was fully responsible for and my quarter-life crisis hadn't yet set in (that would follow later), but who the hell was he to call my life easy and worse--suggest that nobody takes me seriously? I had papers to write, good grades to attain and a fast-approaching future to worry about--all of which seemed plenty serious to me. I got over my crush in record time.
Now that I'm older and actually do have a job and bills and all of the worries he was so bent out of shape about that night, I can understand how college was an easier life in some ways. But the feeling of not being taken seriously--and the fury it still inspires in me--has not yet faded.
Because the thing is, when you are a twenty-something woman, the jerks of the world often don't take you seriously. They call you "honey" and "sweetie" and very slowly explain things to you that you already understand and do not need further underscored. Or, perhaps worse, they talk over you. They ask for someone "more senior" when you are the most senior person in the room. They see your breasts and your hair (it doesn't help if it happens to be blond) and your clothes and your shoes. And they may like what they see--or they may not, but it doesn't really matter because it's beside the point. They don't see you.
And so when someone recently dismissed me as a "little twenty-six-year-old girl" I found myself in a similar conundrum. I refrained from reminding him, as a child might, that I am actually twenty-seven years old and a woman, not a girl. Nor was I about to throw my drink in his face or say anything about anyone's manhood (still not that bold, and also I am fully aware that this is not, in fact, a romantic comedy starring Sarah Jessica Parker). Instead I smiled a tight-lipped-fuck-you-we're-done-with-this-conversation smile and walked away.
I could tell from his raised eyebrows and remarks to the other men nearby that he thought I was overreacting, but I didn't care--I thought he was a prick.
Seriously.
"God, Gabi, your life is so easy. I wish I could trade with you. All you have to do is go to class and your part-time job. Nobody takes you seriously but it doesn't matter because you're not doing anything serious."
I wish I could tell you that I threw my drink in his face, made some sort of brilliantly witty remark about his insufficient manhood (not that I had any idea) and stomped out amidst the applause of the other bar patrons, but if memory serves me correctly, I listened to him drone on and on for another half-hour, silently hating him--and myself for staying--before finally making an excuse and going to bed.
But later that night I lay awake in bed and fumed. How dare he? Sure, I didn't have a job I hated and bills that I was fully responsible for and my quarter-life crisis hadn't yet set in (that would follow later), but who the hell was he to call my life easy and worse--suggest that nobody takes me seriously? I had papers to write, good grades to attain and a fast-approaching future to worry about--all of which seemed plenty serious to me. I got over my crush in record time.
Now that I'm older and actually do have a job and bills and all of the worries he was so bent out of shape about that night, I can understand how college was an easier life in some ways. But the feeling of not being taken seriously--and the fury it still inspires in me--has not yet faded.
Because the thing is, when you are a twenty-something woman, the jerks of the world often don't take you seriously. They call you "honey" and "sweetie" and very slowly explain things to you that you already understand and do not need further underscored. Or, perhaps worse, they talk over you. They ask for someone "more senior" when you are the most senior person in the room. They see your breasts and your hair (it doesn't help if it happens to be blond) and your clothes and your shoes. And they may like what they see--or they may not, but it doesn't really matter because it's beside the point. They don't see you.
And so when someone recently dismissed me as a "little twenty-six-year-old girl" I found myself in a similar conundrum. I refrained from reminding him, as a child might, that I am actually twenty-seven years old and a woman, not a girl. Nor was I about to throw my drink in his face or say anything about anyone's manhood (still not that bold, and also I am fully aware that this is not, in fact, a romantic comedy starring Sarah Jessica Parker). Instead I smiled a tight-lipped-fuck-you-we're-done-with-this-conversation smile and walked away.
I could tell from his raised eyebrows and remarks to the other men nearby that he thought I was overreacting, but I didn't care--I thought he was a prick.
Seriously.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Kings
On Saturday Dana and I made a pitcher of some sort of lime-sake concoction (he called it "Indian Sangria") and got into a very intense game of 1-on-1 Kings (not to be confused with Kings Cup). I first played this game in my friend Dan's dorm room, sophomore year of college, and though the rules have evolved over the years, it's essentially the same game.
I want to document the rules now so that someday, when I'm old and gray and can't remember how to play my favorite drinking game, I'll have a point of reference.
To start, shuffle a deck of cards, with the jokers removed. Spread in a circle and gather friends with drinks around the cards. Take turns drawing cards and perform the corresponding actions as follows:
2's: 2 to you (Player of your choice drinks)
3's: 3 t0 me (Puller drinks)
4's: 4 to the floor (Everyone slaps 4 fingers on the table/ground. Last one to get their 4 fingers down drinks.)
5's 5 to the sky (Everyone puts 5 fingers in the air--last one to do so drinks.)
6's Chicks (Women drink.)
7's Dudes (Men drink.)
8's Finger on the nose (Everyone puts their finger on the tip of their noses. Last one to do so drinks.)
9's Bust a rhyme (In the following format: It's like the _______ without the _______, it's like the _______ without the ________. Example: "It's like the blog without the writer, it's like the flame without the lighter." It should be noted that I am extremely good at this one.)
10's Categories (Puller chooses a category (ie: dogs) and the players go around in a circle, naming items in said category. Player who can't think of anything drinks. My favorite one is "bad ways to break up with someone.")
Jacks: Never have I ever (Puller says something he or she has never done. If you have done it, you drink.)
Queens: Questions (Players speak in questions. The player who messes up drinks.)
Kings: Truth or Dare (Puller gets to choose a player and asks them "truth or dare?" Puller then dares the player or asks a question. On my 21st birthday I made my brother and parents play Kings with me and my mother dared my brother to call up his best friend and ask him to dress as twins the next day at school.)
Aces: Make up a rule (ie: no saying the word "like" for the remainder of the game, etc.)
This is my idea of a good time.
Love,
Gabi
I want to document the rules now so that someday, when I'm old and gray and can't remember how to play my favorite drinking game, I'll have a point of reference.
To start, shuffle a deck of cards, with the jokers removed. Spread in a circle and gather friends with drinks around the cards. Take turns drawing cards and perform the corresponding actions as follows:
2's: 2 to you (Player of your choice drinks)
3's: 3 t0 me (Puller drinks)
4's: 4 to the floor (Everyone slaps 4 fingers on the table/ground. Last one to get their 4 fingers down drinks.)
5's 5 to the sky (Everyone puts 5 fingers in the air--last one to do so drinks.)
6's Chicks (Women drink.)
7's Dudes (Men drink.)
8's Finger on the nose (Everyone puts their finger on the tip of their noses. Last one to do so drinks.)
9's Bust a rhyme (In the following format: It's like the _______ without the _______, it's like the _______ without the ________. Example: "It's like the blog without the writer, it's like the flame without the lighter." It should be noted that I am extremely good at this one.)
10's Categories (Puller chooses a category (ie: dogs) and the players go around in a circle, naming items in said category. Player who can't think of anything drinks. My favorite one is "bad ways to break up with someone.")
Jacks: Never have I ever (Puller says something he or she has never done. If you have done it, you drink.)
Queens: Questions (Players speak in questions. The player who messes up drinks.)
Kings: Truth or Dare (Puller gets to choose a player and asks them "truth or dare?" Puller then dares the player or asks a question. On my 21st birthday I made my brother and parents play Kings with me and my mother dared my brother to call up his best friend and ask him to dress as twins the next day at school.)
Aces: Make up a rule (ie: no saying the word "like" for the remainder of the game, etc.)
This is my idea of a good time.
Love,
Gabi
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