the road trip as relationship litmus test

 That is a terrible idea. This is probably why they're not married.

In a few weeks, M and I are embarking upon a week-long road trip from San Francisco to San Diego and back. We could fly to San Diego for $49 and lay on the beach for six days, but where's the fun in that? Plus, we haven't done a proper road trip yet, and we should. How one's patience fares after several days in a confined space with one's lover, critiquing each other's driving and succumbing to frequent pleas for a restroom is a good indication of the health of the relationship.

I have no doubts that I will still adore this man by the time we get to San Diego, but that does not mean there won't be moments during which I'll feel compelled to shout expletives and wonder how I could ever consider having children with someone who nearly drove us into the ocean. That happens on our regular weekend jaunts just across the Bay. A week-long journey to multiple destinations, necessitating map navigation, is a different breed of beast. I imagine we could find out all sorts of things about one another that we won't like very much. Or perhaps we'll be pleasantly surprised at how delightful we both are at the helm of our adventure wagon. 

Though, let's be honest, obviously I won't be driving. This is dangerous because it places me in the unfair position of constant passenger. No one wants to be the passenger for an entire road trip. Which means I might get a little cranky and M will probably get tired of driving. If that's not a recipe for resentment from both sides, I don't know what is. Let's just hope we don't have the "I can't believe you failed your driving test" conversation while on the open road, or I might just be the one who drives us into the ocean. 

I'm making this sound very bad. I'm sure it will be wonderful. Maybe even better than some of our other journeys together. Surely better than when we traveled back from London so hung over that I had to leave the security line twice to be sick. If our relationship is still beautifully in tact after making him hold my place in a winding queue of people who were very annoyed by my behavior (TWICE), perhaps we have a solid enough foundation to embark upon "the road trip." I guess we'll see.

smooth operator

I was just flipping through the new issue of POP when I came across a lovely interview with Sade. I have such a soft spot for her. Her music always reminds me of cruising around as a kid with my dad--also a big Sade fan. 

ANYWAY, one of the questions she's asked is, "What do you think has changed for women in terms of cultural visibility?"

"I think me and my peers grew up during a unique time of emancipation which followed oppression. It was a golden age, we were encouraged to be intelligent and individual. Now young girls are under great pressure to be physically perfect. We are bombarded with images of flawless women. Now beauty is everything and women hanker for an unattainable perfection since that are so often judged primarily by looks before their real qualities."

RIGHT ON. I love fashion and models and the whole deal, but it is truly an impossible standard for women to live up to. I know, I know, no one actually expects anyone to look like that in real life. Especially when the physical ideal is represented by a coltish, 16-year-old sex bomb. But on some level, I think we internalize it. And as a result, the longing to be as young, angular and glowing as possible can overshadow the value of cultivating real character. It's completely warped.

Perhaps worst of all, so much of what we see is inauthentic anyway. If we were going to displace the importance of intelligence and character with extraordinary beauty, perhaps it should be real. And god knows, in most cases, it's not. These gorgeous women who we aspire to be are so often augmented in every way possible, and on top of that, the photos are airbrushed within an inch of reality. So what exactly are we comparing ourselves to? Basically caricatures of human beings. 

I'm not speaking as if i'm above it. I'm very much misguided in my thought processes at times. Take Marissa Mayer, for example. She's the VP of Search Products and User Experience at Google. Lady is only in her mid-thirties. She is WILDLY successful. But I don't find her very interesting to look at. In other words, I don't envy her.  

I wish I could go back to the era when Sade grew up. Or better yet, that I could harness logic in those moments of pure insanity when I believe it's more important that I remain a size 2 than finally finishing my book.

the ability to compartmentalize and other masculine oddities

me: I really want to see The Runaways. It's about the first all-girl rock band.

bf: Is it in space? 

me: What? 

bf: Is the movie set in space? 

me: No, of course not. But they do make out. 

bf: If it's not at all about space, I don't think it's worth seeing in the theater. 

me: That's your logic?

bf: It could also be about the future. I would go see it if it's about the future. The future, or space. 

me: It's set on earth, in the past. 

bf: You're not selling it.

That was an actual conversation. With someone whose happiness I deeply care about. But he's coming to see that movie with me. I've sat through more episodes of Star Wars, Red Dwarf and Discovery Channel specials on the construction of things using robots than I'll ever be happy about. He owes me. 

Though I kind of owe him, too. (Which is why he's not regularly dragged to lady films) I'm the first to admit, I'm no peach sometimes. And in those moments when I'm being, we'll call it less-than-charming, a frequent thought that pops into my head is how lucky men are to be wired a bit differently. Sure, many of you have a propensity towards completely odd entertainment choices in my opinion, but the typical guy won't immediately dissolve into emotional regress because his friend is acting shitty or he saw pictures of his ex with her new man. (I said "typical." I know there are others of you that are bat-shit crazy. I've seen Jersey Shore.) What I wouldn't give to be able to tuck my feelings away until an appropriate time arises to deal with them. As in, not at 10am at the office. Or better yet, to recognize that some things aren't worth reacting to at all. That's a damn gift. One that I've been watching very closely to see if I can emulate any of this seemingly mature and controlled behavior.

But I can't wrap my head around it. You hear startling, potentially upsetting news right before going into a meeting, and you do not vomit or bail on said meeting. You put this nugget of information into a drawer in that very interesting brain of yours, where it neatly sits until you decide to open the drawer and investigate its contents. And until then, you've not thought about it, dealt with it, or assigned any kind of emotional weight to it? That can't be true. Something must be festering under the surface in the meantime, right? Yet, I've known guys to blow off dealing with some major events for ages. At least that's how it looks.

Is it that you're actually just maintaining a cool exterior? Is it the duck analogy--calm and collected above water and paddling like hell below? Of course I don't mean to imply that you're all members of one giant, unfeeling gender. It's just that this particular behavior is so foreign to me. I act how I feel, when I feel it. It's terribly inconvenient. So, if any of you can offer any insight, tips perhaps, on how to "acknowledge now, express later," or whatever it is you're doing, I'd really appreciate it. I wouldn't mind having better command of my tear ducts.

i totally paused

I failed my driving test today. Which would be bad enough, except that my boss is the one who escorted me to the DMV and let me borrow his car. So it’s worse. There’s nothing quite like displaying your incompetence to the person who signs your paychecks—especially after he’s taken two hours out of his morning to cheer you on.

What did I do wrong, you ask? I failed to do the one thing that I was specifically warned about: Be sure to pull into the bike lane before making a right-hand turn. Honestly, I thought I did. Then my tester started scribbling notes on her clipboard. Apparently, I wasn’t entirely IN the bike lane before making the turn. Or maybe she didn’t appreciate me looking at her notes. I did have to take my eyes off of the road to do so. It pretty much went downhill from there. After the unsatisfactory right-hand turn, she took me to an intersection full of construction and asked me to make a left-hand turn from a lane that was almost completely blocked. I panicked and ended up in the intersection when the light turned red. More scribbling. Awkwardness and anxiety ensue.

As I pull back into the parking lot, my tester casually delivers the news that I’ll “have to try that again,” and launches into a diatribe on my driving indiscretions as if I’d run over puppies and babies at every intersection. Thanks, lady, I get it. Now I have to tell my boss that I’m a failure. He takes it better than I did, of course. Though I imagine he regretted lending me his car.

I keep thinking to myself, “I have a masters degree from an Ivy League university, yet the state of California deems me too inept to be trusted behind the wheel of a car. How can this be?” Maybe it’s unrelated. I don’t know. Either way, I feel like kind of a loser. Good thing I have a bike.