Coded Messages

(image courtesy of: http://www.fantasticfiction.co.uk)

While I made my rounds on the weekend party circuit, my friend (and loyal PCP reader) Mandy and I firsthand witnessed could-be hookups and girl code hand-in-hand. The scenario always is the same. Girl meets boy. Boy meets girl. Boy shameless hits on girl. Girl reciprocates. Boy seems clueless to girl's obvious signs of interest.

It occurred to me that everyone knows guy code (all too much, if you ask me), but girl code seems to be this hidden secret that no one speaks of or flaunts around. Maybe it's because as females, we're a bit more inept to subtlety. Maybe it's because as females, we don't care if there's a code or not. Maybe it's because we all have moments where we're bitches and break the code anyway so if we pretend there isn't one, then we're never in the wrong.

It feels a bit Men Are From Mars, Women Are From Venus (gag), but I stumbled upon The Girl Code by Diane Farr during my online search for 'girl code' terminology. As a twenty-something, post-college girl, I (and my friends) have had a fair share of flirting, dating, hooking up, breaking up and all that fun stuff. It may seem a bit Sex and The City but somehow the common thread in each relationships' bumps, endings or false starts concludes with, "He just doesn't get it!" Boys, take note. Open your eyes. We really aren't that complicated. We promise!

-M

In the words of Carrie Bradshaw...

(photo courtesy of: ourweddingplus.com & Google images)

“Maybe all men are a drug. Sometimes they bring you down and sometimes, like now, they get you so high.” - Sex and The City

In honor of Valentines Day (our culture's consumerist and flower-filled holiday that I now detest despite the fact that I have a so-called valentine), I have given great thought to relationships and what they mean to us, the twenty-somethings of the early 2000's. In my parents time, about half a century ago, dating had a standard definition. My dad would drive, pick up my mom (in a town about 35 minutes away from his!), without complaint. They would go out to dinner, have some sort of conversation (about what, I do not know since they're basically polar opposites), see a movie, window shop, enjoy each other's company, have a goodnight kiss and part ways.

In my decade (yes, decade) of "dating," I can count the number of standard dates I've had that fit the above description on one hand - no exaggeration. I've had four serious relationships. One from ages 15-18. One from 18-19. One from 19-21. One from 21-present day (23, for the record). Please don't take note of the overlap, it's not my fault. Anyway, I found myself in all these serious relationships craving dates. Old fashioned, quality time together. Instead, I found myself as an undergraduate student in college in Amherst, Massachuestts during a time where hooking up (with a fuzzy definiton of what 'hooking up' even is - but you can take a sociology class for that) was dating. No guy (or excuse me, boy), takes a girl out for pizza and a nice artsy independent flick, pays, and then goes home -- separately. Dating in this time comes with all of these backhanded assumptions of what's to happen after the movie, after the martinis and after the walk back to your dorm, apartment, house, whatever. Whatever happened to romance? Somewhere Cupid is weeping in a corner over not just my love life, but all of our love lives.

Another thing about my generation and relationships? We have ADD. Literally. Love and sex are drugs and more potent than any grade narcotic. We're told in fourth grade to 'Say no to drugs.' I don't know about you, but no one ever warned me about love. We float from partner to partner, crush to crush, in hopes of feeling butterflies and passion at every moment. The instant that feeling of hope, the sense of, "oh my gosh, this could be the one" leaves, so do we. Mentally, physically, psychologically. However you choose to leave, we do. We're like love junkies, going from one high to the next. And that high is so addictive, there's nothing like it. When your stomach flip flops when you steal a glance across a table or at an event. When you gasp (even silently) when you see the name of your chosen pop up on your caller id or text message. When you look at photos of the two of you and think that there it is. Your future right there. But we're flighty as a generation. The moment that things get tough, we run. Fast. We leave quickly and commit quickly. We move in together out of convenience without thinking of consequence. I hate to say it but my mother has always been right about her disapproval of how we, as a generation, lead our love lives. Irrationality is the way, and regret is inevitable.

I encourage all of you, Pop Culture Paradox readers, think hard this Valentines Day about the committments you've made while you munch away on those tasty candy hearts (I always only pick out the white ones and eat them. Delicious.). Be careful who you choose as your valentine and what it could all mean.

-M

'We wanted a white Christmas, so it was a good thing that Mom's husband was a raging cokehead'

I missed Gossip Girl so during my time away, and rightly so, looked forward to last night's episode. Overall, sadly enough, it was a miss. The only moment that my jaw hit the ground, was when S said the titled line. Even then, it wasn't such an oh-my-gosh moment (to be honest, the story that my friend was telling me was -- more on that later). Yawnfest, I feel as though my Monday night was wasted. I need some drama in my life, CW writers, take note. Maybe next week?

Now, with the boring episode of Gossip Girl in my background, one of my best friends shared an appalling/sadly hilarious story of a date that she had while I was in New Orleans. After a bad breakup, she decided to use the internet to find the potential love of her life (or at least of the week, maybe month, or maybe dinner). After pouring over profiles, we found one that seemed to fit -- handsomely gorgeous - his photo looked like he belonged in an Abercrombie advertisement -- and that, is a very very very good thing. It's a shame then, that upon five minutes of meeting her, he said she was stupid for dating her ex-boyfriend for various reasons, and said the f-word, many many times (and no, not the f-word that, although four letters and cannot be said on television, I say and find acceptable. i mean the f-word that's even worse). It goes without saying that his behavior continued to decline throughout the date, as he proved himself to be a classist, elitist, ignorant idiot. Second date. I don't think so.

Which all leads me to my rant. Who do some of these men think they are? What happened to trying to impress a woman on a first date? This man's idea of impressing included a flashy car and expensive steakhouse dinner, when, I think impressing holds more along the lines of holding car doors open, enlightening conversation, a good joke here and there that has PG-13 language. I dont understand how men were raised to think that impressing means anything otherwise. Nothing in our society (I think) says that the way to a woman's heart is through foul language and flat-out rudeness. Am I wrong? Are men being told otherwise? How did this happen? My head hurts from trying to wrap my head around it all. I can honestly say that if this is how men in America are, more and moreso, I have no hope. Bring on the single life, because singledom is, for sure, better than a bigot.

-M

The night dessert was held hostage...

"Take my number!"
*Blank stare*
"Here, take my number. Friends only. Friends only. Take it. Miss call me, now," he insisted, coming up close behind where I was seated.
"401blahblahblahblah"
"Ummm," I was so surprised I didn't even know how to deal with the situation.

In my current life as a journalist (and I use the term lightly) in K., I often come across the oddest things (Crime stories on illegal dairy rings? I rest my case)...this was just another one of those times.
I was reviewing a trendy new Arabic fusion restaurant that just opened up here...the experience was going well for the most part...good food, massive quantities, dessert included (woohoo), attentive service...we were seated outside, there was a lovely breeze (which would occasionally send the paper napkins flying from one patron's lap onto another one's face...oh well...) but we had an amazing view of the marina and I had excellent company :)
We had tucked into as much as food as we could manage to eat without exploding and were waiting on dessert when...

"Here, take my phone, put your number in," our waiter said, placing his phone on the edge of our table.
HUH?
"Umm, could you please bring out the dessert? And then we will see," I said, trying desperately to divert his attention from getting my number to just getting my dessert.
"Give me your number," he said, slowly walking away, not even bothering to complete the most basic of the 'hitting-on-a-woman' ritual: getting her number.
"UMMMMMMMMMM!!" (I know I know, but he didn't exactly inspire me to be particularly eloquent)
So, I just sat there, willing for the phone to disappear (maybe if I just stared hard at the leftovers on my plate, it would just go away?)

What is it about two single women that makes it okay for them to be hit on by random skeezy guys. Our waiter had been perfectly polite before this, no sketchiness…that I detected anyway…and then suddenly he felt the need to exchange numbers? (Gotta give it to him though, it was a ballsy move, I guess)…still, why can’t women just walk around, chill out, relax and just BE without being hit on for no reason. It is not like we did ANYTHING to invite the attention either… we were dressed fairly conservatively (not that that should have anything to do with it….I should be able to wear whatever the hell I want, but that’s a whole different post/rant!)…we were not particularly giggly or flirty…sure, we were being polite and courteous to the staff, smiling, saying thank you etc…could that somehow have been twisted into some kind of “OMG! SHE WANTS ME” message in this guy’s head?
Whatever it was…it definitely left me with a bad taste in the mouth…and while the experience overall had been fairly decent, this incredibly uncomfortable experience has me wanting to stay away from the resto, if only to avoid the sketchball waiter.

Needless to say, he did NOT get my number or a tip.