Letting a Guy Walk Me To My Car. Priorities vs. Options, COTW

The Car Escort.
Yes, you're right. Sometimes I should just let a guy walk me to my car.
Apparently, sometimes I'm one of those women that are so staunchly independent, it can get annoying.

A colleague offers to walk me to my car after we hang out. I decline because I'm only a block away. He asks again. I decline a second time. He insists. We're walking and there's no turning back. I admit that I lied - I've parked at least a good three or four blocks.

Why is my instinct to fight it? I think it was a flash of that "annoyingly staunch independence" zone that women can get in. Yeah. I gotta get my foot outta that one.

Priorities vs. Options
"So, why aren't you dating?"
I look across at the inquisitive eyes peering at me from behind a pair of specs. It seems I can't escape the topic, there is no segue, no large crowd to deflect off of; I am cornered, face-to-face.

"Why, do you have a guy for me?"
I do love challenging a question with a question. Maybe that's the fighting spirit that stems from growing up with a brother, or the stalwart source of bravado that comes from being the youngest sibling.

Dating is not a priority; has no one been paying attention? Finding an apartment - a roof over my head and a place to stash my bed so that I can pass out upon it - is a priority. I can always date; it is available, it is possible, it is not the most important thing in my life right now - it is an option.

I do hate it when people treat you as an option and not a priority, particularly when you make them a priority in your life. I don't want to be the type of person who drops everything for someone else on the pathway to Pushover Zone. Must be the fear of other people shelving me under 'Options' instead of 'Priorities.' Maybe we all have this fear.

COTW [crush-of-the-week]

Guys that insist on walking you to your car, even after you decline in your oh-I'm-an-independent-woman-and-can-take-care-of-myself moment. Definitely a COTW move to make to keep insisting. Who knew? Note to self: sometimes you've got to remember to give men the space and opportunity to be gentlemen.

Wednesday Fog, Wedding Date, and COTW.

For some reasons I keep thinking about things...I shouldn't be thinking about. Sometimes I feel like I relate more to 100daysinbed.blogspot.com than my own friends in that respect.

Cake Boss

Right about now I could go for a piece of cake from Sweet Lady Jane. Thanks, Cake Boss. You have just added some fondant to my thighs. Buddy! Make me a cake! That man could make a cake that looks like anything. But mainly, it's got me thinking about triple berry cakes from Sweet Lady Jane's. Not that I need to be thinking about cake. Or Roscoe's chicken-and-waffles-combo.

On the Brain.
The top of my lip is dry. I wonder if its possible to get sunburned on one part of your lip. About 2 millimeter section. Who gets dryness in a 2 millimeter spot on their lip? Yep. Real normal.

I kind of want to get a tattoo. Yes, I know. The truth is, I've always wanted to get one, I just never could decide on where exactly I would put it. Didn't think I had it in me, did ya? I did get an eyebrow ring once. Ask anyone who knew me in college. Really. I did get one. The scar is still there.

The Beauty of the Wedding Date
I'm single and incredibly independent, but I like having back-up dates for certain occasions that arise. Weddings are one of them.
My wedding date flaked. And then I remembered - if I go to a wedding single, then I'll have better chances of meeting someone THERE. Duh. Otherwise, once I saw an attractive single guy, I would have to quickly shove my date across the reception hall and spit out, "Go away! Future Husband is over there." But, honestly, it is nice to have a back-up date for these things. Why, do you ask? Luckily, I'll tell you.

Dance Partner.
Gentlemen, Listen Up, and Listen Well: Women love to dance. We really do. It's for fun, it's a way to kick back, and we always have a good time. We get sick of guys that we can't do anything with or take anywhere. Why do you think sometimes we go out dancing without any guys? It's nice to have someone to dance with at the wedding reception, when all these couples are up and about, dancing out on the floor.

To Fend off the Ugly.
Creepy Drunk Guy at the wedding stumbles over to you, his breath stankalicious with alcohol and his shirt stained with whatever didn't make it down his gullet. This is where Back-Up Date comes into play. Crucial, this one. Your lovely Date, one of your good friends, is also your Boyfriend when anyone asks, but especially when Creepy Drunk Guy, or Awkward Ugly Duckling gets up in your grill; you have someone else to help you fend him off.

To Keep You Company.
Last, but certainly not least, your date is there to do the most important thing: hang out with you. Weddings can be packed to the brim with people you don't know and may have nothing in common with you; with your awesome guy friend as your date, you'll have someone to talk to for the whole night, someone who you can make small talk with the other guests with. And, you two can order two different dishes and get to sample all the food being served.

COTW[crush-of-the-week]

Your good friend, the wedding date, of course. Looks good in a suit and tie, along with the three factors aforementioned above.

Guys that can make dessert - cakes, in particular.

Exchanging Digits, and COTW.

I gave a guy my number the other day.

I wasn't expecting to give my number to this particular guy. Even as we were exchanging numbers, the thought crossed my mind that I had no intention of calling him.

He walks past me, taps me lightly on the shoulder and calls, "Hit me up, girl!"

I'm mid-conversation with a friend,"Oh...yeah - "

Wait. What?

"Hit me up, girl?" Really? What am I, 17 ?

But anyway.

COTW

Guys that stop saying "Hit me up, girl!" after they graduate high school. What's the proper response, you say? Oh, I don't know, how about, "Excuse me, miss, I will give you a ring to see if you happen to be available."

Actually, you don't even have to say anything as you're leaving. Just wave.

Shirt-and-tie-and-fitted vest-paired-with-jeans combo. Did I repeat this? Maybe. Spotted at a salsa club. Hot. Wow. Maybe I'm going for preppy again these days. (Note to dude that I danced with wearing the white polo shirt on - if you are literally dripping with sweat off of your face and brow, take a break! Dry off, man! Really, I'd rather you stop and take a breather before you pass out and I fall because we were mid-dip.

Another reminder: Guys that walk women to their cars.
Went to drinks with a colleague. Was reminded that somehow, sometimes, somewhere, the work of a gentlemen, however deeply buried, can be WITNESSED. Shocking, I know.
Had a bit of a faux pas when the guy offers to walk me to my car. I immediately respond: "No, it's okay." He asks a couple more times after I insist a couple more times that it was fine, I was only a block or so away.
Clearly, I wasn't going to win this one.
So we start walking and I admit, "Okay, well, I lied. I'm actually three or four blocks."

Sometimes being fiercely independent can backfire on you a little bit.

Apartment Hunters, Hollywood-Assistant-Style.

I have moved every single year that I have lived in the greater Los Angeles area for the past five years.  I count milestones of events that friends remember by which apartment I lived in at the time.

Last August, I moved into a one-bedroom apartment that met my needs; it had: close proximity to work, gated covered parking, central air, a pool, poolside grill, balcony, walk-in closet, fireplace, wood floors, ample street parking, and juxtaposition on the top floor of a building.  My apartment, this apartment, is the first one I've ever lived in that I wanted to stay in for awhile, and not just jet to seek bigger and better things at the end of each 12 month lease.

A few weeks ago, my landlord called me, informing me that he had decided to list his condo for sale.

If it sells before my lease ends, say for example, the end of this month, then I need a new home at the end of August.

I truly loathe moving.  The physical act of moving.  The stress, the packing, the unpacking and organizing and cleaning.

Not even Jerry moved in nine years.  Heck, it took awhile just for the green couch in his apartment to get updated!  Did Elaine move though...?

I could sell my excessive belongings. (Note: in this case, excessive=annoying to move, too bulky to pack conveniently.)

What am I saying?  I don't want to move.  I hate moving.  I don't want to be that chick that moves every year (this is probably already a reality, I conclude as I write).  Five years.   Blech.  What am I, a gypsy?

The Heat Is On
The heat, my God, the heat!  I live on the top floor of my humble abode in NoHo.  It must have been 95 to 100 degrees this week.  It was the first time I turned the air conditioning on all summer.

It is also the first time I realized that the a/c was busted.  Apparently the filter had not been cleaned in some time (I've lived here for 10 1/2 months), and because the coating of dirt and filth on the filter had accumulated so much, the entire central air and heating system had crashed.

So here I am, blogging.  Melting.  Thank God for fans.

Note: When you move to a building that has central air, do NOT immediately toss your fan.  Stuff breaks.

Delusions of Grandeur / Things I Shouldn't Be Dreaming Thinking About

Right now, I would love to hop on a plane to Barcelona.

Butter croissant, still warm from the oven.

Blowing a bunch of dough on one of James Beard's friends.

Fried chicken 'a la Roscoe's.

Lying on the beach all day.  (Because of skin cancer!)

TV Shows Where Somebody Moved

Dawson's Creek: from high school to college.  Not sure if this genuinely counts...

The Hills.  Hate this show.  Like a car accident - can't look away from the wreckage.
That's all that seems to come to mind at the moment. Maybe it's because I'm exhausted. Or maybe it's the heat.
Hmmm...I guess most shows tend to keep the same settings...that makes the show unique, that makes a show what it is.

Los Angeles ia a transient place, in more ways than one.  I was aware, but I guess I never really gave it much thought until now.  Who knew that even apartments, the home that you live in, could become such a transient thing as well?

Every four years.

So career and dating has been on the brain lately.  Well, sure, career, and the fact that I should, apparently, be focusing on dating, or at least pay some attention to it.  It is, honestly, the least of my priorities at the moment.

But, I wonder, if I spent half the amount of time and energy thinking about or working on my love life that I did on my career, how successful I would be in love.  I mean, that goes for anything, right?  Spend time on one thing, keep working on it and improvements will arise; progress becomes imminent.

Someone posed the question of how many guys I've dated.  If that includes single, one-time dates, then my total is: 6.  Does that sound like a lot?  I mean, I'm including my junior prom date who I never went out with after we went to prom.  I think the number is low.  When you stop and think about it, the percentage of guys that you meet (or vice versa the women, for guys), at least, out of all the guys you've ever met in your life, the percentage of which you end up getting interested in, and actually pursue, is fractional.  Fractional, I'm telling you.

And if I calculate the total number of guys, that averages out to me dating one guy every four years or so.

So basically, then...

Every (Presidential) election year.  Every Olympic year (Summer Games because they're more exciting than the Winter Games).  Every leap year.  Well, you get the gist of it.

Crossroads.

It seems that, the older you get, the more times you are faced with crossroads.  If you go down this path, the direction will lead you to a place such that you are unable to go back.

And, of course, life throws you curve balls sometimes.

Such is life.

No decision is without consequence; no step forward is made without changing you into a different person than you were pre - aforementioned step taken.

I was called in for jury duty, and selected for the jury.  I found it to be quite the baneful existence.  (See previous posts.)  Between conversations with the temp covering my desk and hopping on the metro to downtown, my friend from New York came to town and visited me for a week, and with jury duty and going to Mexico for a missions trip (another once-in-a-blue-moon occurrence), I barely managed to spend two days with her.  I had gotten what I thought was an ear infection, and then I had a case of bad carsick/motion sickness with a blend of diarrhea, migraine, and outright exhaustion.
My landlord called me - he had decided to sell his condo (which I am currently renting out and living in) and informed me that, after the lease ended, I had 30 days to move after the condo was sold.  I am also keeping my eyes open for creative opportunities so that I could finally take that giant leap forward and pursue a writing career that was truly my passion (read: this means jobhunting).

Also, two writing programs' deadlines had come and gone, neither of which I ended up applying to, the aforementioned circumstances not helping my cause.

It's all happening, I suppose.  It's all happening, right now, all, simultaneously.  

It's all got me wondering.  Hmmm.  My purpose, my passion, my pursuits, my failures.  Gets difficult not to dwell on one's failures.  And then I remember, that God's will isn't always your will, and God's timing is for sure not going to revolve around mine.  And I remember that God doesn't use perfect people.

And I also remember, Thank God I have a hot shower in bathroom.  And epsom salts.  Things could be a whole lot worse.

Like still being on jury duty.

Back from Mexico, and Simplified.

Back from Mexico.  Yep.  Went to Mexico for a weekend missions trip with my church.  It was an incredibly humbling and blessing experience.  I have never driven to Mexico before - it is quite an experience.  And yes, humbling.  Thank God for modern plumbing, and I am seriously thankful that I have a hot shower and a comfy bed to sleep in.

First impressions
1. There are no border checks or customs declaration needed when entering Mexico.  Like a club with no bouncer, no guestlist, and no one carding at the door.  Anyone can stroll right on in.  So...then...what kind of club would this be, if it were one...?
2. No easing into it.  You drive over a politically drawn line, and you are right smack into the country of Mexico, and for us, the city of Tijuana.  Looks...like Mexico.  If you'd only ever imagined Mexico, it's what you probably imagined it would be.

Little Village
Sunday morning I woke up and took a cold shower (not even lukewarm, I mean COLD! shower) for about 60 seconds and got dressed.  The shower is a small pipe that emerges from the wall of the restroom at the dorm site we were staying in.  The single pipe pours out cold water in a steady flow.  We had gotten up late, however, at least we ended up taking the fastest showers on record.  I had paint on my arm from the day before, when we had been painting crafts with the kids the day before which I noticed hadn't completely scrubbed off.

We got into the minivans and drove off.  There we were, driving along dirt roads into the mountainous enclaves of Ensenada.  When we went from the highway to the dirt road, I immediately felt the change in terrain, as I'm sure my whole group did.  We were bouncing around in the car as the road went from smoothly paved to rocky and hilly.  There was no railing, no curb, and no signs.  No lampposts.  This must be the real Mexico most people don't see, I guess.  After about an hour we finally arrived at our destination.  A small mountainside community (or village or barrio).  The restrooms were basically outhouses/port-a-potties.  We had been briefed that this community was tucked away from the city, and that many of its inhabitants were likely uneducated and such.

I looked around at the surroundings we had found ourselves in.  It felt like another world, another life.  Los Angeles felt worlds away.  This was someone else's life.  People lived here.  I wondered what it would be like.  Because life, as we know it, the life we are born into, how we are raised, have nothing to do with us and is beyond our control.  I wondered about this briefly and then focused on the task at hand.

We took a walk around, talking to the people we saw.  Kids were just outside playing.  Two women were cooking tortillas over a wood burning fire stove of sorts - they were rolling out the dough and making them by hand.  Legit.  We talked to them briefly, inviting them to come to church.  We talked to a few gentlemen sitting in front of their house and learned a little about their neighborhood, their families.

A few hours later and many activities with kids later, I sat down in the little church.  The migraine in my head had returned, throbbing at the temples.  I sat down on the small stage, one of the other kids sat next to me.  I felt winded, dehydrated.  Drained all of a sudden.  I grabbed a small piece of watermelon from the tray being passed around and realized that my hands were dirty and I didn't care and took a bite anyway.  I spit the black watermelon seeds into my bare hands.

I was amazed at how quickly life can get simplified.