Life can be unbearable sometimes but I live for these rare happy moments. The ones where it feels as though nothing can go wrong even though the things that you’d normally be upset about are still left hanging in the air. Like the fact that the boy you really really really like gave an ambiguously absent answer when you finally mustered up the courage to ask him out. Or the discovery that a college acquaintance (and former major crush) suddenly died last Saturday, an evening where you felt very much alive and very much immortal.
There was nothing particularly unusual that happened this evening either. We had the usual conversations we have after work, the same passionate discussions on music and movies, the same neurotic ramblings about how men suck and how they’re totally missing out on a really wonderful girl here. Despite that, tonight felt exactly like how I imagined life should be. Shit still happens, the existential angst is unresolved, the guilty gets to walk away, the future remains uncertain. Yet none of those matter as much as they used to. Because there are good things to look forward to, and good people you can believe in when it seems as though your ideals are incompatible with the reality you have to deal with everyday.
Tonight, the world felt like a place I can live in. I’d like to wish for everyday to turn out like tonight but that would be silly. To quote the movie Heathers, “If you were happy every single day of your life, you wouldn’t be a human being. You’d be a game show host.” Being alive is about getting your highs and plummeting down. But it’s the fall, the crash, and the effort you make to scramble back to the top that makes moments like these really beautiful.
I just realized that I haven’t updated my blog all week. O_O Too many non-bloggable things have been happening at work and in my personal life, and I’ve been around long enough to know that talking about this stuff on a public blog can only fan the flames of the drama and the wankage. So let’s just say that I’ve been spending the past couple of days getting harshly bitchslaped into the loving arms of the real world. It hasn’t been very pleasant and I’m real thankful that I have sweet friends who gave me endless supplies of beer, crack, and the contact numbers of their hitmen throughout all this.
The feeling that I couldn’t quite shake off all week is this strange ambivalence I feel about my gender and the opposite sex. I keep getting this weird urge to take a sharp knife to my breasts and chop them off. Breasts are the most obvious and visible symbol of my sexuality and there are times when I really can’t stand them. It wasn’t until now that I became very aware of the fact that things are going to be even more difficult in the real world just because I’m a woman in a society of men raised to be macho assholes.
At times like these I can’t help but wish I were born a guy. Which is a stupid thing to wish for really, but come on. If I were a guy I could have my cake and eat it too. My dad wouldn’t have to stay up late on Friday and Saturday evenings just to make sure that I arrive home safely. If somebody messed with me, I could easily solve the problem with my fists, like a real troglodyte. I really envy the freedom men have and the convenient position they have in society. See, no matter how conservatively a woman dresses or how carefully she acts around men so that they don’t get the wrong idea, she’ll still end up being fresh meat, the inspiration for lucid sexual fantasies, a trophy that needs to be won by the best alpha-male.
The thing is, I’m not about to go all radical feminist on everyone and start hating men. Gender equality will never happen, just as eradicating poverty will never happen. And I’m not about to stop shaving my legs and start wearing shapeless t-shirts to hide my sexuality. Much as I hate it at times, I’m a woman goddamnit. Shaving my legs is a form of therapy and I wear clothes that flatter my figure just because I like knowing that I’m pretty. All that crap I keep getting from guys is not going stop me from being who I am.
Maybe it’s just me being idealistic and all that, but I’m surprised that some of the comments I received in my previous post were less than encouraging. I’ve spoken to and dated more assholes and womanizers than I can count but despite all the stories I’ve heard, I’m still weirdly optimistic that not all guys out there are total dickwads. Just you wait, I’ll find the ideal guy someday!
Last night I attended a Dado family dinner at a fancy-schmancy Spanish restaurant because one of my aunts is getting married to a chef from Tuscany. At the gathering, half of my female relatives were telling me to have fun while I’m still single; the other half joked about how I’m probably going to get married next. Hah! I can’t really blame them for thinking that because the last time I attended a Dado family wedding, I caught the bouquet. I was twelve years old.
So all that talk about marriage reminded me of this meme Aileen tagged me to do. Eight traits my ideal guy should have, off the top of my head:
1) Good-looking and attractive enough to make me want to make babies with him. Contrary to what a lot of people say, looks are very important. If you’re going to spend the rest of your life with one person, he might as well be eye candy.
2) Emotionally stable. I don’t want someone who’s depressed and who still cries about how his father didn’t make it to his kindergarten graduation ceremony. I tend to become emotionally volatile and I need someone who’s calm, rational, and sane to balance me out.
3) Intelligent and articulate. I don’t just want someone I can mate and procreate with. I need to be able to talk to him too. 
An intellectual connection is essential.
4) Artistic tendencies. People who aren’t creative are the most boring people on earth. But I don’t want somebody who’s all temperamental and angsty, either. My ideal guy can either play an instrument, write, sing, paint, make movies, sculpt, or blow glass without being such an artist about what he does.
5) Faithful. Words cannot stress how important this is to me. I have a jealous streak and the notion that I’m not the most important woman in his life would just kill me. My ideal guy might check out other women every now and then, but he never chases skirts. Ultimately he considers me a goddess among girls and he wouldn’t even think of sleeping with someone else.
6) Honest. I think the root of a lot of problems in relationships–and even with friendships, actually–is that both people involved can’t bring themselves to be completely honest with each other. I can’t stand being lied to. My ideal guy has the balls to call out my mistakes and let me know if I’m doing something that hurt him. If there are problems in the relationship, we talk about it as rationally as possible. Also, if he no longer loves me, he flat-out tells me instead of faking it and keeping a 19-year old college chick as a mistress or something.
7) What is the opposite of chauvinist? Well whatever that is, my ideal guy is it. Nothing screams “Tiny penis!” louder than guys who act like alpha-male assholes.
Enjoys doing the dishes. Washing the dishes is my least favorite chore in the whole world. Cooking takes effort, and the only proper way to thank me is to clean up after. Unless of course he’s a better cook than me; then I’ll try not to look at the clumps of food that gather up on the kitchen sink drain when I do the dishes.
Don’t get me wrong though. I’m definitely in no hurry to get married or to even be in a serious relationship. It’ll happen when it happens and I highly doubt it’ll happen anytime soon, simply because I’m not ready for it (and because no sane guy ever gets attracted to me :P). Although if I happen to find the ideal guy by some miracle, I will ditch everything and go for him. Decent guys are a dying species these days.
It’s really not like me to be so optimistic about love or whatever, so I shall add a dash of cynicism to this entry and end it with yet another poem by Dorothy Parker.
Men I Am Not Married To
No matter where my route may lie,
No matter wither I repair,
In brief - no matter how or why
Or when I go, the boys are there.
On lane and byways, street and square,
On alley, path and avenue
They seem to spring up anywhere
The men I am not married to
I watch them as they pass me by;
At each in wonderment I stare,
And, “But for heaven’s grace,” I cry
“There goesthe guy whose name I’d wear!”
They represent no species rare
They walk and talk as others do
They’re fair to see - but only fair -
The men I am not married to
I’m sure that to a mother’s eye
Is each potentially a bear
But though at home they rank ace high,
No change of heart I could declare.
Yet worry silvers not their hair;
They deck them not with sprigs of rue.
It’s curious how they do not care -
The men I am not married to
L’Envoi
In fact, if they’d a chance to share
Their lot with me, a lifetime through,
they’d doubtless tender me the air-
The men I am not married to
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