NYE 2012

Can we all just agree that this movie/these types of movies is/are terrible and stop producing them?

It's that time of year again when we mumble along to an inexplicable Scottish song and feel compelled to kiss a complete stranger. (When I started writing this blog I thought Auld Lang Syne was in German. EMbarrassing. How could I have not caught on to the slight linguistic differences?) If you haven't been preparing for this moment for 47 years like Harry and Sally, you're probably screwed. They probably had a LOT of crappy New Year's Eve's before that, though, if it makes you feel better.

As a side note, I have to mention something that bothers me about that movie. It's that moment at the friends' wedding toast when they thank Harry and Sally, because if they had found either of them 'even remotely attractive' they'd never have ended up together. Now, I understand that less funny people have to use deprecating humor to be funny in speeches. Sure. But it's ludicrous that this actress, Linda something (I'm guessing purely based on her haircut), and that guy with the unnecessarily large mustache would be more attractive than Billy Crystal and Meg Ryan. Anyway. Big chip on my shoulder, obviously. I love that movie.

This blog isn't for cynics. It's more of a warning, like that 'expiration' date they put on food. Really it's up to you if you choose to abide. You COULD end up getting an extra week out of that loaf of bread. I don't think I need to mention the alternative. What I'm really addressing is that elusive night we chase every year: the ultimate New Year's Eve. (Or as some clubs I would never attend are now snappily dubbing it, NYE.) (Clearly the name of this blog is ironic.)

So what constitutes the perfect night? As my favorite movie (no, not in an ironic way) The Holiday would have you believe, finding the love of your life and/or flying to England are necessary ingredients. Seeing as how we can only find the love of our life once, this necessarily rules out 74 years, assuming we all live to the average 75. (I'm giving all you people on that paleo diet until 70, because there's no WAY eating bacon all the time will pay off in the end.) Flying to England IS an option, apparently, seeing as how five out of 10 of the most recent Facebook posts on my newsfeed have been from abroad. When did all my friends become jet-setters??? Unfortunately, England is gray and dull unless you have Jude Law to entertain you. And seeing as how he has lots of nannies to entertain, he probably doesn't have time to see you. Zing! (Jude, if you ever see this, I don't hold it against you. I have 51 New Year's Eve's left to share if you're interested…) Also, though England is possible, nobody wants to make that flight every year. So, sure, we're down to 73.

72: Aretha Franklin. 

Since this is the sixth paragraph, I'm gonna throw something out there now that will cover probably 71 more holidays: family and friends. Now, don't sell this one short. They're like the flour. They hold everything else in your life together, but they're often overlooked. (If anybody feels the need to correct me about what really holds baked goods together, please refrain.) Nobody wants flour by itself; it has a semi-burnt flavor and it's really dry. AND that's the end of this analogy. Let's agree that we have the best time with the people we love when our expectations aren't higher than the Empire State Building. And when we don't think someone will kiss us at midnight on the Empire State Building. This group of people can include the love of your life too, just not on the year you meet--that year's already covered, and it's a completely different category. Get it together. Now this whole paragraph has me worried that I'm getting old, and I'm moving on.

So this year, you'll enter that 'perfect' party you've been planning on. Your expectations will be high and so will your hair. A tuxedo-clad waiter will hand you a sparkling glass of champagne as you survey the room, then descend the staircase (there WILL be a staircase) as a spotlight perfectly illuminates your twinkling silver gown. You handpicked that gunmetal silver like your life depended on it. You cross the room and spot your friends, and begin to make your way to them, but you are stopped by a gentle brush on your arm. It's a sharply dressed gentleman, black shirt and white tie sharply off-setting the Australian tan and baby blue eyes. You lock eyes and your heart drops. This is it. He says, in that glorious accent, "I'm sorry mate, but you've left the tag on there." You look down in horror to see that your tag is exposed, revealing not only your carelessness but the fact that you shop at Forever 21. But perhaps this was just a reason to talk to you? A meet-cute? You lift your eyes from the tag to say thank you but he has moved on, arm in arm with a brunette who is of course his girlfriend.

Oh, how quickly you've forgotten my warning.

Texting Protocol

Texting fail. Source: damnyouautocorrect.com

Lately I’ve noticed that so many different styles of texting have emerged that I often have no idea what kind of subliminal messages I’m sending people. This has made me very anxious. I’ve spent several minutes at times debating whether or not to add a period at the end of my sentence because it just seems so final. In my head, a sentence with no period is breezy. And you’ve left room for a potential dialogue. (Whereas a period feels like the equivalent of Hitler slamming his hands down on the table and yelling, “Nein! No more conversation for the Jews!” Is that racist? Oh no, one more thing to worry about.)

…Let’s just bring it back to the question this blog is addressing before anyone gets angry. Is there a correct, uniform style?

I think I need to break this down into people groups.

1.     The Eager Texter: This is the person who sends you five texts immediately in a row instead of using up the extra space we know they had in their first message. They get you excited because you think some mysterious new person has just texted you—until you see their name followed by ‘5 new messages.’ This brave soldier also isn’t afraid to send another text if you haven’t responded in an appropriate amount of time. You know, something cool like “Are you there? Hello?” Oh, the dreaded double text. I think in dating relationships the double text is practically tantamount to saying I love you. Eager Texters are usually either your friends or those with no game.

2.     The Lazy Texter: This person frustratingly can’t seem to text back within less than 3.5 hours. Their lives are SO BUSY that they just barely had time to check their Blackberry after a quick bite at their desk. Who are these corporate execs that I’m friends with?? Either that, or they leave their phone somewhere not on their body and only check it periodically, like it’s email or something. What?!!!! (Okay, okay, I’m guilty of this.) Lazy Texters are likely one of three: 1. People who want to seem cool and stressed, 2. People who are just not that into you, or 3. People who genuinely don’t care about communication and need to get their lives together.

3.     The Abbreviator: This specimen is either longing for AIM to be cool again or has read some handbook on texting featuring all the most-used abbrevs. (See what I did there?) You know, like what parents think we say. “TTFN, BFF! ROFLMAO about those pix.” I think the iPhone has caused a resurgence of Abbreviators because people don’t have that handy T9 anymore. (Okay fine I never figured it out, but people said it was fast!) Autocorrect seems to be lacking at best, judging from the amount of hate sites formed specifically for this cell phone function. The Abbreviator is probably either your dad or some friend who has not yet caught on. No, I don’t want 2 go 2 bch w u. But I would love to go to the beach; it’s a lovely day!

4.     The Wild Card: Who needs consistency, anyway? I can only assume these people are going on weeklong safaris with no cell service, only to return to the States where they become desperate for human interaction and text everyone incessantly. Seriously, either find a plan with no dead zones or lose the phone entirely. I need some stability in my life. The Wild Card may be your ex or an old friend who you sometimes hang out with all the time and sometimes don’t see for a year.

I could go on, but I’d rather just end this right now. None of these styles is appropriate. I hate them all with a passion that burns like hot embers. (Is it sad that when I typed embers, the first thing I thought of was Pokemon? Ember was something, right?) ANYway, if I ran the world this is how it would go down:

Interested male, 5:23 p.m.: “Hey Katie, I had a lot of fun with you last night. We should take that hike this week.”

Katie, 5:30 p.m.: “Hi Evan! Me too. J Oh yeah, I remember you mentioning a trail in Temescal Canyon.”

Evan, 5:35 p.m.: “Exactly. It’s a great hike, really awesome views. You’ll like it. How does Wednesday sound?”

Katie, 5:39 p.m.: “Perfect! Just let me know what time.”

Evan, 5:44 p.m.: “How about I come by your place around 9:30 a.m.? We can get breakfast and head out.”

Katie, 5:46 p.m.: “Sounds great, see you then.”

Note: This conversation took no longer than 30 minutes, because that would be ridiculous. Both parties were upfront and did not beat around the bush. (They used proper grammar!) Evan was a man; he got to the point immediately and established exact details so Katie would not have to worry about vague plans. The time between texts did not get longer, but shorter. Plus, a unique activity was suggested and a meal was added on top of that. He lets her know he will pick her up. This Evan sounds like a classy guy, right? Exactly. And that’s how it should go down. Who run the world? ME.

Unspoken Rules

The skort, aka the mullet of the garment world. Also, hilariously, this picture is from that company that created our textbooks. That says enough in itself.   Source: Google Images

An important part of a young adult’s education is the education that is not mentioned. This is what you learn when you show up to a party on time, when you show interest in a friend’s ex-boyfriend, or when you wear a skort. These are things you don’t learn when you are homeschooled, or just antisocial in general. If you haven’t caught on by the time you’ve reached your twenties—or if you have no idea what I’m talking about right now and think skorts are a great way to be feminine and yet, active—there is some bumpy road ahead of you, my friend. (Let’s be clear, though—we’re not friends. I have a reputation to maintain.)

Just for funsies though, let’s take a look: is it possible to avoid the unspoken rules and maintain a normal life?

Location, location, location. In my experience, Southern California preteens—and teens, and the hipsters living on their own in L.A., especially—are ruthless. Judging from Gossip Girl, New York City kids have the same attitude. (What? It’s a more credible source than Wikipedia.) I’m not sure I personally would survive the embarrassment of my arch-nemesis dumping yogurt on my uniform in front of the entire school. Also, I can’t remember if that is an actual plot line or if I just made it up. CW, I want the credit if I invented that! Anyway, somehow I think the kids in Kansas aren’t draining the brake fluid from each other’s cars. Yep, that’s real.

As far as dating goes, everyone knows we abide by rules.* The dating game isn’t fun, but everyone plays.** Have you never waited to text someone back until it had been as long or longer than the time it took them to reply to you? Have you not fiddled around on Words With Friends, even though every game open said ‘Their Move,’ contemplating whether you should start one with the computer, just so you wouldn’t text back on a time that ended with an increment of 5? (E.g., 5:30=desperate; 5:32=cool and casual.) And the three-day rule is standard procedure, of course. Who possibly has time within the next two days to make a phone call?! That’s ludicrous.

But. Yes, there is a significant but. (Jennifer Lopez might make it into this blog yet. Is that good enough, Jenny?! Stop hounding me, I mentioned you. Gosh, she’s so desperate since she got on American Idol.) A good friend of mine started dating a guy from out of state not too long ago, and I was astonished to hear the rules were tossed out the window like Will Ferrell’s discarded burrito in Anchorman. (Shout out, M&M. Haha.) Texting galore, complete openness, consecutive hangouts! Consecutive hangouts! You can ask her, my mind was blown. In what kind of world do we allow these things to happen?!

Don’t worry, though, the rest of us can go back to our corner bar and flirt with the same guy/girl we’ve been flirting with for the past two months just so it can end in another two. But only if they approach us first. And only if we’ve had a drink. And we are not going to respond to their text if we see them talking to someone else before us. (Okay, probably.) So breathe a sigh of relief, guys. The world is still in order.

*Disclaimer: see homeschooled/antisocial note above.

**Again.

The Mean Reds

Audrey with her cure.     Source: Google Images

 

Some of you might see the subject of this blog and think it refers to that cute little ailment (or severe depression?) Audrey Hepburn coined in “Breakfast at Tiffany’s.” Some may think it refers to that time of the month—which, come to think of it, makes a lot of sense. Okay, I’ll give you that one. But this blog is about that relationship-killing, general-discomfort-giving feeling one gets at uncertain times. Or, as Audrey describes it, “suddenly you’re afraid, but you’re not sure what you’re afraid of.” It’s not medical enough to be serious, and it’s not casual enough to be dismissed. It’s just in-between, and it’s there.

Phew! That was a dark, stormy rain cloud of an opener. Trust me, though, it will pour forth a torrent of glorious blog. This is about that beginning phase of relationships, a time when your status is unclear, you constantly debate if the other person is into you and it seems any one piece of straw will break the camel’s back. (Or at least the beginning phase of relationships for OCD-prone people. Ahem.)

So the question of the week, courtesy of BJ (whose name I will perpetually allude to in abbreviated form just for the giggles), is how do you cure the Mean Reds?

Careless, extravagant Holly Golightly (seriously, if you’re not getting the references by now I can’t help you) went to Tiffany’s. Seriously though, those of us (all of us) not fortunate enough to attend Tiffany’s on a regular basis will require an alternative antidote.

Soapbox aside to my target audience: Yes, there are those of us who shop at Tiffany’s. Those who request minor little baubles from our BFs, who buy ourselves the tiniest of tiny diamond earrings or thinnest of silver chains just to say they are from Tiffany’s. (For the record, I am not alluding to myself; those who know me can vouch that I prefer gaudy, brummagem jewelry. BOOM! Word of the day.) Let me tell you something—nobody your age can tell if those diamonds are real, and nobody cares that they are from Tiffany’s. Word out.

On the real (I think I’ve been watching too much Sh*t White Girls Say to Black Girls), I have given this a lot of thought and the answer, I believe, is communication. This is not easy for blossoming relationships, when you want to seem cool and detached, like you always have a 3 p.m. meeting to run off to or a call you HAVE to take. Nobody wants to be the one who dives in the pool first and splashes the person just testing the water with their toe (ugh, so annoying), but everyone wants to know what the other person is thinking.

How about, instead of playing it cool and letting anxiety consume you, you tell the other person how you feel? Trust me, this is an ego-driven society; nobody will be upset to hear that someone likes them. If they don’t like you back it may be uncomfortable, but it would never have worked anyway. Plus, it’s a lot more comfortable than the Mean Reds, which is what that unhindered anxiety will lead to.

As further proof of this theory, take a closer look at the Mean Reds: they truly are the antithesis of communication. You can’t communicate to yourself how you feel, you’re unsure of what others around you are thinking but you can’t ask, and you don’t know what you want. (I mean, these are the basic tenets of being a girl, but that’s a subject for another blog.) Quod erat demonstrandum—the cure for anti-communication is communication.

I referred to the ‘Reds as relationship killers because they are. To conclude, a little flow chart action, if you will. (I’d prefer a little Venn diagram action as I’ve been really into them lately, but I certainly do not know how to html that ish.) 

Flirting → call → date → call back → date → a couple days → call back → a couple more days → call back → a week → anxiety → ‘should I call?’ → more anxiety → ‘I’ll just call’ → date → ‘does he/she really like me?’ → even more anxiety → THE MEAN REDS. 

(Feel free to use my flow chart or Venn diagram ideas to diagram your feelings for your significant other—doesn’t get much clearer than this. It’s all science! You can’t stop it.)