One-and-a-half years out of my last relationship, my single ladies swagger had finally fallen into place. Balancing medical school with extracurricular activities, on top of spending time with family and friends and then juggling dates on a regular basis, balance was in order and life was good.

And then, I met Jason.

Jason and I met at the university gym. He was doing planks on the mat; I was doing floor stretches. Unlikely time and place, and more so--nobody looks attractive when they are heaping hot messes of sweat. He was a business school student, and though there were no overlaps between either of our programs, we were already indirectly networked through the MD/MBA joint program on campus.

We said our names to each other exactly once. A couple of guys approached him soon after, and feeling like I didn't want to intrude, I left and said goodbye.

Later that night, I found an email from him. I had no understanding of how he got my email, but the stalking that he had to accomplish to find my email address and add me on Facebook (despite me being almost impossible to find) was somewhat flattering and less creepy.

Two weeks later, I'm sleeping over, we're cooking breakfast, and making Valentine's Day plans. This is moving so fast. How did we get here? Where are we heading?

He's moving to New Jersey in June after he finishes his program.

June is four months from now. We've got time.

But do I want time? I don't want to fall for him--this can't end well.

I can't leave California, and I would never ask him to stay. I know I'm over-thinking this, but as defensive, guarded, and as afraid as I am of my own emotions, the thought of emotionally investing in something, someone for the short term is mortifying.

Take things slowly--breathe.

Taking a deep breath,

Shopgirl.

Another chicken vs. egg analogy

lemontea: How long does rubber cement take to dry?

Shopgirl: A few hours, tops.

lemontea: So, do you think leaving the glue to dry overnight is long enough to keep the penis in place?

Shopgirl: Oh, yeah, totally. I used to use that crap all the time.

Before you go on--no, this isn't some bizarre anatomy project or piece of abstract art here. In fact, I almost wish I were speaking about a bizarre anatomy project or "piece of art." Moreover, I wish the subject was just as or more innocent than either the former or the latter.

Unfortunately, we are referring to the vibrator that lemontea's ex-boyfriend had so lovingly molded out of his own genitalia. (I'm absolutely serious.) Of course, he saw this doohickey as a treasure befitting that of a birthday present to lemontea last year.

Shortly after he had bestowed his "gift" upon her, he broke up with her for his "lesbian" co-worker.

Shopgirl: Told you, you should've glued that thing on top of his car. Reminds me of that Teletubby.

Exhibit 1: Green Teletubby.

Shopgirl: Why do you even still have that thing?

Shoes...??? :(

lemontea: Haha, yeah. I don't know, really. I keep it tucked away in a shoe box. You know, random--but Bert called me the other day and left me voicemail about how his boyfriend Ernie had wanted to see what my ex's junk looked like.

Shopgirl: That's so weird. Did you actually bring it?

lemontea: Yeah. It's a good thing he caught me before I left.

***

lemontea's ex, whom we shall henceforth know as Ken, seemed like an unassuming, well-educated, and cerebrally-gifted intellectual. Actually, I'm understating that. He's a total geek, which was endearing about him and seemed like a trait that lemontea truly prized. Though everyone's got their secret tendencies, who would have known that Ken had that much freaky-deaky to him?

I promise this has a point. Did you ever create a list of qualities that you find ideal in a mate? Don't lie. And making even just one list still counts. It's ok, I did, too. (See Gettin' ready to check you off.)

The really funny thing is that we create these lists, thinking that once we find someone who fits all of the criteria, they are serendipitously perfect.

The problem though, is that when you meet someone who satisfies "all of the requirements," what's to guarantee that the requirements are enough to sustain the attraction?

To satisfy our curiosity, we conducted a research study at Maggiano's, subject count = 1.

Shopgirl: Do you think that people learn fondness for each other and build attraction from there on, or do you think that attraction lends itself to build fondness?

Server: I don't think you can predict whether or not you'll fall in love with someone.

Survey has it, folks--you cannot fall in love instantaneously. Some of you may agree, while some of you believe that love at first sight is possible. I liken this debate to that of the chicken or the egg. What comes first--attraction or fondness?

Or maybe you've got it all figured out. But what happens when your Barbie or Ken turns out to be one of those creepy Troll dolls with the bejeweled belly buttons?

Will probably avoid looking through any of lemontea's shoe boxes, for future reference,
Shopgirl.

Sorry I'm not home right now--I'm currently pushing a catheter through an artificial penis.

"Sorry I'm not home right now. I'm walking
through a spiderweb, so leave a message and
I'll call you back!" Anybody remember that
song? No? Ok, fine.

Scooby: ...I just know that if I really wanted to make time for someone, I would.

Shopgirl: Scooby, we have a great time together, but I'm just really busy.

Scooby: I don't understand. I feel like you're avoiding me. I mean, when I ask you to hang out, it's like you're purposely trying to avoid me.

Shopgirl: It's not that I'm purposely trying to avoid you. You can't call me one day and just expect me to be free. When I tell you that I'm busy, I'm legitimately busy.

Scooby: What about when you're not busy?

Shopgirl: I don't know, Scooby--I don't have free time often, but when I do, I just want to be goofy and do stupid girly things.

Scooby: That's what I'm trying to figure out. I mean--why can't we do goofy stuff together?

Shopgirl: Scooby, you don't get it. You're demanding. We're not even committed to each other and you are already expecting too much from me.

Scooby: No, no--that's not true. I think you're being a little condescending.

Shopgirl: Huh? Scooby, please try to understand. I can't give you what you want. I don't have a lot of free time, so I--

Scooby: I do understand. What I don't get is why we can't together enjoy some of the little time you have.

Shopgirl: Because if anybody is going to get any of my free time, I want to savor every moment.

Scooby: Yeah, isn't that what we have?


No, this is not "Confessions of a commitment-phobe, Part Deux" (see "Confessions of a commitment-phobe"). Contrary to what my nearest and dearest might tease me of, I'm no ice princess. My refusal to commit is perfectly valid for this reason: I don't have much free time, so if I'm going to share any of my free time with anybody, I don't want to have to explain myself. In fact, I don't have time to explain myself.

Maybe this reason is a bit unreasonable for some, but I cannot imagine committing to someone who needed a one-hour explanation for fundamental principles I live by. In addition, my time is divided amongst many people. That makes men jealous. Most people I spend time with are men. That makes men even more jealous, but I can't help it if I grew up a dude in a girl's body.

The point is, it's not about making anybody jealous. It's not even about playing elusive or hard-to-get. This may be shocking to some, but not all women are looking for a boyfriend. (And please don't misconstrue the previous statement as something equivalent to "single female looking for a bedtime buddy" or lesbianism. Yes, I get this question often, if you must wonder.)

According to many men, I'm a difficult person to share a commitment with. My response? I'm inordinately busy and need a truly confident partner. That is--he's got to understand that while I don't have much time to give, the little time that we do share is time savored and undeniably appreciated. Please let go of your insecurities--my gratitude is real and obvious, if not explicit. I don't sugar coat--in fact, I don't have time to sugar coat.

So what about Scooby and me? We are just incompatible. Do I ever wonder if I'll meet my match? Often, but I'm not on a treasure hunt. Nor do I care for fool's gold.

Thank you for putting up with my ramble. I despise writing lengthy posts, but I know you were absolutely torn about my not posting for months. (Lucky you!)

Likely to celebrate Single Awareness Day 2011,
Shopgirl.


P.S. If you were wondering, I left my teaching career to learn the art of penile catheterization.

One thing that Nick Nolte and I have in common.

It's been a while since I'd thrown in a post, but I thought that taking a hiatus from deep, meaningful reflection might do my self-confidence some much needed recovery.

Yet at the risk of more embarrassment (which shouldn't really surprise you if you've ready any of my previous Shopgirl posts), I itch to twiddle away at my keyboard once more.

Unemployed since July 2nd and returning to school on August 6th, I've spent ample time with myself, many times trying to find others to spend time... with... myself. (The only thing I actually planned on doing during vacation was sleep, lots.) I forget that most people do not have the summer off and that most people my age have "real jobs" that they must tend to on a M-F basis. (Go figure.) But anyway, the point is that hunting for friends to hang out with can really do a doozy on your self-esteem, especially if your friends (1) live far away, (2) are extremely busy, or (3) just don't like you enough to make time for you.

Humiliation aside, spending time alone is revitalizing--being lonely too much is self-deprecating. A lack in return, whether it's a phone call, email, or text message, is enough to send your imagination flying. Your brain starts to tinker and concocts the worst case scenarios possible--Did they lose my message? Are they hurt? Did they die?! Okay, maybe it's just my brain and my imagination, but you understand the paranoia, or at least a fraction of it.

It never seems to strike me that perhaps the lack in communicative followthrough is unintentional. Because for me, my communicative return is pretty darn speedy and en pointe. I feel like I have an obligation to acknowledge others in a timely fashion, at the very least enable others to acknowledge that I acknowledge them. After all, it's the very least that I would do for them. (The inner Ron Artest in me screams, "Acknowledge me!" Bonus points if you got that.)

Though this may shock you, not everybody anticipates response the way I do. It's been a hard lesson to learn, and I've swung my sharp tongue only too many times at the detriment of really good friends. I've been described as abrasive (agreed), but bless their little hearts for withstanding my steel wool exterior. (Because really, I'm quite squishy on the inside. Teehee!)

I thought a lot about my close relationships--past and present--and why it is that I go into panic mode at the thought of losing communication. I thought about all the friends I'd lost while moving continents, counties, cities, and schools. And then I came to the conclusion that the reason why I'd held my close friends so tightly with so much anxiety was because I was afraid of losing them. I didn't want to lose them like all the other "good friends" who promised to keep in touch but didn't. As a result, I learned mistrust. Years later at twenty-four, mistrust is still something that I'm dealing with. I have a hard time believing what others say and too often force myself to read in between the lines. I might just be illiterate.

We often times put up defense mechanisms to injure others in hopes that we come out unscathed. But the consequences are usually far from what's intended.

If you're wondering if this is about you, it is.

Humble and apologetic,
Shopgirl.

P.S. Nothing screams "apologetic" more than Nick Nolte's mug shot.

Confessions of a commitment-phobe

SLR: You're the reason why good guys turn bad.

Shopgirl: Uh, say wha, say what?

SLR: Girls like you make good guys turn bad.

Shopgirl: I hardly believe that. You exaggerate.

SLR: Think about it. Every guy has his breaking point. He can only take so much of "you're so sweet and thoughtful, but..." and then bam! Friend status. Girls like you always want the bad guy and always shaft the good guy. You don't even give the good guy the time of day. That's when good guys decide to screw it all and forget about being so nice.

Shopgirl: You're generalizing. That's only partially true. And even if it were, I have a perfectly legitimate reason for such sheisty behavior on my part. I'm allergic to commitment.

SLR: That's bull and you know it.

Shopgirl: Sincerely, honestly true. I may have gravitated towards "bad" boys in the past because they kept me from getting bored. Nowadays, I tend to avoid the "good" guys because I'm not ready for commitment or anything that might resemble one. Trust me, I know what a good guy looks like--I just can't get caught up in something I'm not ready for.

SLR: Uh, on your choice of men--you sure about that? Sometimes I question your filter.

Shopgirl: First of all, I'm offended by that. Second of all, yes. I did date an amazing guy for years, remember?

SLR: Then why the lack in selectivity?

Shopgirl: Dating a good guy with good intentions on both ends would mean the possibility of building the foundation for something more.

SLR: And tell me again why that's a bad thing?


It's been about nine months since my ex and I called off our six-year, on-and-off (mostly on, by far) relationship for good. I took a few months to rebound, went into a reclusive dormancy, then emerged from my cave hole, ready to embrace dating etiquette with a fresh perspective. Spring was upon me, flowers abloom and birds in harmonious song.

Nevertheless, sensing even a slight whiff of commitment sends me running in zigzags. And while I can't speak for all commitment-phobes out there, I can offer a bit of enlightenment on why the sweet scent of seriousness turns putrid:

1. Sometimes, you just want to have fun. "Fun," of course, is up for interpretation. This kind of fun is not easily had when attached, 'nuff said.

2. Life constraints make an already hectic life even more difficult. Life constraints could be any of the following--life-consuming work, life-consuming school, an anorexic bank account, or all of the above for a home run in life instability.

 3. Commitment demands more emotional output from an already waning puddle. This has got to be the number one reason why commitment-phobia prevails, even after meeting the "right" significant other at the "right" time (the concept of "right," of course, is relative). Shall we break it down, in lieu of its complexity? (As if you had a choice!)

3a. Emotional immaturity. Lacks in ability to introspect, empathize, and sympathize are all examples of emotional pathology. 

3b. Emotional insecurity. This results from an inability to realize self-worth and may or may not be linked to emotional immaturity. For whatever reason, a commitment-phobe may not feel deserving of a healthy relationship with a fully competent partner.

3c. Self-destructive tendencies. This is a direct result from having emotional insecurity. Let me elaborate: Commitment-phobes, like other human beings, do appreciate the care and company of a genuine partner. However, the disconnect lies in the emotional insecurity. As the saying goes, "If it's too good to be true, it probably is." Such is the mantra of the self-destructive commitment-phobe. Rather than having a good thing taken away, willingly push it away.

Commitment is a scary thing. In fact, it's terrifying. It demands change and compromise, often times in ways that we may not be equipped to handle. Though the right person can withdraw the fear out of commitment, commitment-phobes have been known to remain in stagnant relationships for the sake of companionship.

That said, if you're currently "attached" to a commitment-phobe, I can't speak for why he or she has decided to linger so long. That's a whole 'nother conversation.

Speaking the honest truth on a more serious post,
Shopgirl.

Insecurity Walls and Cold Wars

Yogini: You should say something to him.

Shopgirl: Impossible. Saying something would totally undermine my ego.

Yogini: It shouldn't be a power struggle.

Shopgirl: You're right. It shouldn't have to be a power struggle but there always seems to be one anyway.

I glanced at my phone to check for incoming messages. None. I wasn't sure what kind of response I was expecting or if my expectation was in itself a lack of any response altogether. I slid my phone aside and decided it was best to leave and let be. I turned my attention to the panda assembling the drum set on stage:

Drummer for Sanguindrake at Hotel Cafe. Yes, folks. That is indeed a panda.

It's easy to find yourself on the defensive edge of a personal Cold War. Anticipating the next move, having one-up on the opponent, yet never really accomplishing anything? Yeah, that's a cold war. I get caught up in all these stupid little games, which more or less might just be in my head, though my deluded sense of hubris would certainly argue otherwise.

It's the game of cat and mouse that men and women play. Take cat-string theory, for instance. A few years back, a guy friend of mine pointed me over to The Game by Neil Strauss, a geek to chic story of a man's journey to becoming a world-renown pick-up artist, AKA a world-class man-whore. In the novel, Strauss describes cat-string theory:

Listen. Have you ever seen a cat play with a string? Well, when the string is dangling above its head, just out of reach, the cat goes crazy trying to get it. It leaps in the air, dances around, and chases it all over the room. But as soon as you let go of the string and it drops right between the cat's paws, it just looks at the string for a second and then walks away. It's bored. It doesn't want it anymore.

I reconsidered my end of the cat-string theory. Was I the feverish feline on alert for the bait?


Yogini: If you really are friends, there shouldn't be a power struggle.

Shopgirl: I like to think that we are, that we've both moved on from our fling and are perfectly capable of having a platonic relationship, but all this ambiguity makes me feel like he's breaking up with me.

Yogini: That's silly. People don't break up with friends.

Shopgirl: Precisely. Which is why I feel even stupider about this whole thing.

Yogini: Maybe he's not over it yet. Maybe you're not over it.

Shopgirl: Me? Not over it? Yogini, you know me, I'm way too noncommittal in way too many ways to ever consider something remotely meaningful. And you know that I'm moving.

Yogini: Then why do you care so much? You have plenty of friends--why him?

Shopgirl: I don't know. For some reason, I'm drawn to him. He's intense in so many ways that I wouldn't ever anticipate from anyone, but the intensity resonates with me on levels that most people never understand. It's like he sees me for who I am, seeing through the walls I put up to purposely shut people out.

Yogini: Walls, huh? Even me?

Shopgirl: Well of course not. You know what I mean!

Yogini: Ok, just checking. Carry on.

Shopgirl: So I feel like we're on a similar brain wave, which was jolting because I felt like he could see into my insecurities. He read me like a book and asked me to read him in return, but I refused because I completely freaked out.

Yogini: So what do you think about it now?

Shopgirl: In retrospect, him reading into my insecurities is almost comforting. It's as if I don't have to put up any fronts. He knows who I am without me having to explain. That's hard to find in anyone, dating potential or friend.

Yogini: Why don't you tell him that?

Shopgirl: Are you nuts? He'll think I'm psycho.

Yogini: What've you got to lose? And besides, you're supposed to be friends right? You'd be completely honest with me, why not with him?


I reach for my iPhone and swish through the pages. Shall I send my neurotic thoughts via text or Facebook message? I opt for the Facebook message since it was going to be a long one.

A softer, yet bolder me,
Shopgirl.

You must not know 'bout me, though I think Beyonce (and the Ghetto Tooth Fairy) might.

I don't usually blog out of frustration, but it's been brought to my attention that my kindness or love of a jolly good time might be misconstrued for fragility or lack of a backbone.

Don't get it twisted.

In behalf of the Ghetto Tooth Fairy and all the misunderstood out there, please get a life and stop with the egocentrism. Furthermore, what you seem to find so endearing about my sugary nature might actually be my cynicism snickering behind my sweet smile.

It's not that I'm not upfront with what's on my mind or that I'm unreasonable to great extents. I do believe that when entering social contracts with one another, certain obligations ought to be met. Am I the Social Contract Police? No, that's silly (and so is the Ghetto Tooth Fairy!). But do be courteous and do your very best to meet your obligations to one another. And what if you fail to meet these obligations? Well there is nothing wrong with being upfront and honest with the circumstances of the occasion.

I think that eloquence in language and communication as a whole is often misinterpreted as beautiful, flowery, floaty language that functions to sugar coat the matter at hand. On the contrary, the kind of language described is anything but eloquent. Rather, it is deceitful and offensive to the listener or recipient of the message as it assumes a lesser cognitive ability of the recipient. Eloquence in communication is conveyed when the message is delivered in a concise manner, all the while capturing a tone that is subtle yet worthy of empathy as to engage the recipient completely with the moment of that message.

Spewing out thoughts about how we ought to communicate to each other (just sayin'),
Shopgirl.

Gettin' ready to check you off!

Date: So, tell me about yourself.

Shopgirl: Um, that's kinda vague. Care to elaborate?

Date: Ok, tell me about your activities, your interests.

Shopgirl: Haha, are we filling in a questionnaire about me?

Date: Ok, how about your family? Where are you from? You're so exotic.

Shopgirl: I'm from Southern California.

Date: No, where are you from?

Shopgirl: Uh, Orange County?

Date: No, like, where are your ancestors from?

Ok, hold it right there. So maybe I can be a little difficult on first dates, but  after reading that thread, you can't blame me for being cynical.

Don't get me wrong. I get excited and nervous about first dates too. I pay careful attention to how I do my hair and make-up, how much skin I want to show (or cover up), if I want to wear the "cute" or the "sensual" perfume, and even how the height of my high heels might convey a sneak into my sly nature.

Expectations of myself for the night include playing the cute, coy role. I typically don't like to reveal too much about myself on the first date because I'm too busy observing the minute things he does and says so that I might get a better glimpse of his character. Expectations of my date? Very simple. I'd like him to be himself and mindful of personal space.

You might be wondering what's going on my my head as I closely people watch my date. Am I going through a checklist in my mind?

Has a job? Check. Lifetime goals? Check. Is he wearing Ed Hardy? Uh-oh, d-bag alert. Either that or poor fashion sense. I'm putting an exclamation point next to that one.

Yes and no. These thoughts aren't necessarily part of the checklist I govern by. But then again, I don't have much of a standing, firm checklist nowadays.

Not to say that I didn't have checklists before. They're things we all develop, as if to narrow our searches down to the perfect mate. Think Weird Science. You plug in your preferences and out pops the "perfect" man or woman.

These lists, whether or not you admit having them, are dynamic things. They change with age, experience, perhaps status change. Take for instance, my ever-changing picture of the ideal mate:

Elementary School Cutie:
1. Pushes me during recess.
2. Wears awesome LA Lights shoes.
3. Loves tag, handball, and teatherball.

High School Hottie:
1. Has a car.
2. Athleticism of some extent.
3. Knows how to get booze.
4. Good at jumping fences.

College Stud:
1. Smart.
2. Funny.
3. Athletic.
4. Has a real major.
5. Planning to graduate within 4-5 years.

Post-college Preferences:
1. College-educated.
2. Has a job, or better yet a career.
3. If criteria #1 or #2 are not met, must currently be in grad school.
4. Smart, funny, athletic.
5. Loves science.
6. Reads often.
7. Between 5'10" and 6'4" in height.
8. Wears properly-fitting clothing.
9. Wears cardigans.
10. Prefers Apple over Windows.

Current Preferences:
1. Can hold a conversation.
2. Eccentric and artistic.
3. Smart, funny, athleticism is a plus but not necessary.
4. Knows how to shut me up.
5. Likes the outdoors.

I think nowadays, what I tend to look for in an ideal mate are general characteristics rather than specific personality traits and mannerisms. It's easy to think that you know exactly what you want, feeling young, spry, and perfectly capable of achieving ambitions you'd set forth to accomplish.

Out of college, I thought I knew exactly what I wanted (hence, the exhaustive list). When I found men who had met those specific criteria, they were lacking in many more ways that I wasn't willing to compromise--like integrity, honesty, willingness to becoming emotionally capable.

Nowadays? I don't know. I do feel like it's absolutely necessary to find a man that I can respect. Does that mean that this man needs to have a particular degree or job? Not at all. Just don't let me step on you.

An open, more humble me,
Shopgirl.

What we owe each other.

For millennia, mankind has tried to devise all-encompassing schools of ethics in attempts to define what is just and unjust, agreeable and disagreeable, worthy of social praise and worthy of social ostracism. Schools of metaphysical thought were some of the first formal constructs that defined guidelines from which its followers were expected to abide by. Each modeled the creation of the universe and our presence in this world. They discussed our obligations to ourselves and to others, or lack thereof. (One might call some of these social constructs religion.) Written documentation of such guidelines and a growing literacy amongst followers facilitated dispersion worldwide.

Meanwhile and in some cases soon after (and in other cases much later), the buildup of empirical evidence on the known universe and the physical properties of this world led to a revolution that allowed science to take precedence over older (and some would argue obsolete) schools of metaphysical thought. We dropped questions regarding metaphysics and instead directed our focus to the present state of society and how to remedy its shortcomings.

We thought more about what we owed to ourselves, our partners, our friends, our families, our neighbors, our communities, our nations, and to our international counterparts. Suddenly our perceptions of such obligations required stronger cognitive effort to take into consideration things like political correctness, diplomacy, and pre-nups.

The funny thing is that throughout these years of thinking, though we have an idea of what's right and what's wrong, nobody can completely agree on how to make a universal set of morals. Take this cartoon on Utilitarianism, for instance:

What exactly makes people happy? And in the same regard, who are these people, exactly? Do things make us happy because we have arbitrarily associated happiness to such things, or do they have an intrinsic happiness factor inherent within them?

*****

One of my good friends was recently diagnosed with a serious chronic infection. I may be one of the only people that he's told. Nevertheless, I haven't seen him in months. I want to see him, believe me--to comfort him, help him run errands, do silly stupid things with him, just to offer some sort of strength and support--but any form of contact with him always turns into failed attempts.

I told him that I would be open to him when he's ready to talk or just hang out. I can't help but wonder if the reason why he's avoiding me is because facing me would mean having to face his illness. Heck, even I'm having a hard time accepting it all.

I want to be there for him, but it's not easy being there for someone who is too preoccupied with himself that he can no longer show compassion or show appreciation for or towards others (uh, ok, by others I mean me). Needless to say, I can't even imagine what's going on in his mind. As empathetic as I can try to be, I lack the insight because I lack the understanding.

All I can do is remain receptive and go along my merry little way. Though it's hard to be merry with this constantly looming in the back of my mind. How are you? Where are you now? How have you been?!

*****

What do we owe to ourselves and to our friends? Altruistic behavior, in a biological sense, has been documented in several animal species as a means of contributing to the survival of the community at one's own expense. However, all this begs the following questions: How much is too much and how little is too little?

We enter social contracts like friendships, assuming that the relationship exists for the benefit of both parties. Yet, how much benefit is one party getting if the other feels like the unwilling recipient of the two girls one cup smoothies (bonus points if you got that)?

Trying to end on a somewhat positive (though admittedly disgusting) note,

Shopgirl.

You're only artsy if you kill yourself--that's hot.

Late last December, UniqueDaily.com posted up the Top 10 Reclusive Artists. Their list is as follows:

   10. Cormac McCarthy
   9. Terrence Malick
   8. Bill Watterson
   7. Harper Lee
   6. Emily Dickinson
   5. Stanley Kubrick
   4. Syd Barrett
   3. Thomas Pynchon
   2. Greta Garbo
   1. J.D. Salinger


Whether or not you agree with this list is debatable. Personally, I don't consider an artist a true recluse unless he or she commits suicide. There's no better way to pursue seclusion than to disappear from the world entirely, leaving behind all of one's organic remains of course. Unless one requests cremation as to pulverize anything human about the body. But even then, requesting cremation would require contact with the outside world. Not to mention that once cremated, one's ashes have a better chance of being distributed, which would further deter from complete seclusion. Is it possible to annihilate one's remaining matter completely? We've been taught that matter can neither be created nor destroyed. Though I suppose that we can juxtapose such matter with anti-matter to completely destroy oneself + remains, assuming that one has access to it. Does accepting the absurd start to become absurd at any point?

I was recently involved in a fling with one I might describe as a tortured artist. Intelligence, talent, and freedom from normative inhibitions are qualities that often breed attraction and intrigue from those who observe. The departure from norms adds a sort of mystique to such a persona. In short, yes, some musicians are hot by virtue of their artistic capabilities and tortured souls (Note: SOME). No, I'm not a groupie. And no, I don't cry when Dashboard Confessional comes up on my iPod. And yes, I do own Dashboard Confessional music.

I normally try to avoid anything that smells insincere, especially men who try too hard to enamor women with their status, profession, and/or godly physiques. It's just not cute--save it for the bro-hos and dimwits, please.

And yet, something about the tortured, reclusive artist keeps me interested. (No, I'm not insinuating that tortured artists pose insincerity. I'm merely implying that some try pull off the persona for the sake of appearances.) Perhaps it's a puzzle that I feel demands my attention to be solved (as if you can solve a person). I can't help but wonder what's behind those wild, unruly eyes. Give me a hint of crazy and I want more. Maybe I'm a little crazy too and crave something similar, as to provide me with some sort of insight into my own sporadic, misunderstood reclusivity.

Before you jump the gun and assume that this man is just playing me, fine--I'll admit that this is a possibility and hence quite problematic for my ego. Yet, despite popular belief that I'm a radical feminist/man-hater, I do believe that there are some men who offer redeeming qualities, thereby providing some salvation to the rest of their gender.

So what's a girl to do? I'm not worried. I think that the beauty in these kinds of relationships is the ephemerality of it all. It's all so short-lived, that all one can do is enjoy it for its current value. Never mind all the strings attached because there are none.

Freedom lies in letting go of worldly attachments and accepting consciousness as a prize in itself. Yet suddenly, I feel like cutting (ok, terrible joke and total misuse of an otherwise elegant concept--duly noted).

Enjoying the beauty in my day off from work,
Shopgirl.

Even if I don't want it, can I still keep the ring?

Single and ready to mingle. There's no better way to assert your nonexistent relationship status than by declaring it proudly in an overused rhyme. Some of you may have had fond memories using this phrase. For me, it evokes something more like the Ghost of Christmas Past--eighth grade dances, windbreakers, and flared jeans with the tuxedo stripes running down each leg. '90s flashback, anyone?

Not to say that there's anything wrong with being single. (Though people who still say the aforementioned cliche? That's debatable.) Some people are ecstatic about being single, some absolutely loathe it. Such discrepancies lead me to ask the following question: Does one choose to be single or is one single by default?

Let me clarify. I'm often asked the following question:

"Why are you still single?"

It never fails to amuse me. No, I don't think that there's anything particularly wrong with me, if that's what you're thinking. And even if there were something tragically flawed about me, don't you think that I'd lack the insight to acknowledge it? Second, what do you mean by still? Was I supposed to wait for Prince Charming?

A guy friend of mine made the following argument:

It's more socially acceptable for women to stay committed. It's almost like they are expected to stay in relationships. If a woman is single, I assume one of two things--either she's not yet met the right guy or she just got crapped on by another. For guys, it's different. It's as if society permits them to stay single so that they can stay promiscuous. And even if a guy is dating a girl with seemingly great attributes, he might have no qualms about leaving her.

I think he makes an excellent point--men are generally known to be more promiscuous than women. It's a truism that rings too familiarly; society has traditionally encouraged men to pursue numerous sexual partners while it had ostracized women who do nothing else but the same. Hence, women had been expected to remain in monogamous relationships while men were allowed to peruse the shopping aisle.

We came up with the following conclusion: Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free? (A novel concept, I know--but we had to stick with the grocery store analogy.) Most would agree with the statement that it's much easier for women to find sexual partners than it is for men. That said, where are these so-called promiscuous men finding their sexual partners, assuming that they're straight? Though it's clear that the double standard on promiscuity between the sexes still stands, societal viewpoints on this topic have become more progressive. (Thanks, Nelly Furtado?) Promiscuous women, at least in Western first-world nations, have become more accepted into societal norms. In this regard, women are relinquishing the upper hand on selecting sexual partners. Because more women are having sex outside the boundaries of a monogamous relationship, men have a broader selection from which to choose from. Whether the man selects the Grade A beef or some ground meat is another story.

So how do the dynamics of gender promiscuity relate back to the question of single by choice or by default? Women can choose to be single and promiscuous. Similarly, a man can settle down and commit when he's met someone he's decided is worthy of his transformation.

Gender roles have become more complicated as women have become more independent and as marriages (or alternatively, long-term relationships) lean closer towards becoming equal partnerships and away from paternalistic dependencies. The next questions, then are these--what's to happen to our gender roles as we redefine what's acceptable and what's not? Do we progress closer to gender equality or will we suddenly turn the opposite direction?

A former tomboy,
Shopgirl.

Horoscopes are suggested to give purpose in life

Today's Aquarius horoscope for the day states the following:

Today your best friend could call you and say that they've met someone truly amazing who has convinced them to go on a journey. This will inspire you to get going on finding your own special someone. Use your friend's example to be daring and adventurous!

While I can't say that I buy into horoscopes, they're fun to read. (My mother's Roman Catholic opinion? Blasphemy and devil worship.) Two comments on this reading:

1. My best girlfriend's new relationship has definitely inspired me to change my outlook on love. I've not seen two people so unconditionally honest and accepting of each other, respectful of each other's differences without the suffocation or intrusion. I look at their relationship and think, hm, that's what I want for myself--when I'm ready.

2. By stating that I'll be inspired to find my own special someone, the horoscope already assumes that I'm single. Lucky guess. However, surely not all Aquarians are single, right?

To justify the validity of astrology, I needed some hard facts. I'm a scientist by nature and training and need data. After a tedious one minute of Google searching, I found the following compatibility data from www.compatible-astrology.com:

As depicted in the figure above, the higher the numerical value (maximum of 5 and minimum of 1), the greater the compatibility in the area of love specified. That said, the greatest amount of compatibility between Aquarians and other astrological signs occurs when the ratings for Sex, Communication, and overall Compatibility total to 15 points. Comparison of these data suggests that I am significantly most compatible with Geminis, Libras, and Sagittarians (p < 0.5). Noteworthy astrological signs that I might communicate well with but not fully enjoy are Aries and other Aquarians. Signs that the stars propose I steer clear from are Tauruses, Cancers, Capricorns, and Pisces. In addition, telephone numbers that I should keep but only call in times of distress belong to Leos.

These assertions may undergo further testing by conducting field research in locations found to have heavy traffic of eligible males. According to All Women Stalk, the top five places to encounter large sample sizes are at the bar, the market, online, church, and the water cooler. Future studies may involve the validity of the locations indicated, based on the quality of samples found at each location.

Reporting only the hardcore facts and evidence,

Shopgirl.

Bromance, Not Growmance?

Ok, so it's a lame title. But 'tis definitely a question of the times. I can guarantee you that every young woman has pondered variations of the following two questions:

1. What's up with the bromance? and
2. Where do I fit into the bromance equation?

Men, before you jump on me with answers that sound something like "uh" and "duh," can you let me try to answer these?

Let's start with question number two. Ladies, it's a bromance for a reason. That would imply that the following is true: bro + romance = bromance. Stating the obvious? That's because it is. Bromances can only occur between bros and must, absolutely must, exclude the uterus-bearing sex at all times. Men need their time to talk about sports, current events, exploits of sorts, not to mention time to grunt, scratch balls, and slap male booty indiscriminately. The reason why we women cannot and should not participate in this totally hetero tango is because men still need the time to be themselves. As much as you want to believe that you are all that your man needs, you know damn well that you're lying to yourself. Give each other some space and know that you're doing the right thing.

The answer to that question may seem obvious, but I see friends struggle through this issue all the time. For example, how about a true story? Here's a young couple, in love and in a perpetual honeymoon state. They rarely make separate appearances and even go to the restroom together. Um, ick? Space is important, especially regarding matters of the toilet. Albeit, this example is certainly an extreme case. The moral of the story is that participants in couples should have their own lives, own friends, own hobbies, not to mention their own toilet schedules.

So what's the remedy? Ladies--continue having your ladies' nights. Gentlemen--continue having boys' nights out. Staying connected at the hip is a sure way of suffocating each other and potentially driving each other away.

Onward to question numero uno. This one I find to be tough and impossible to answer. Throughout time, famous bromances have allowed us to redefine what kind of relationships are appropriate between completely heterosexual males. We all have an idea what a bromance is and how it looks like, but maybe the best means of describing it is better left to mentioning noteworthy examples. Here are a few of them--Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson; Wayne and Garth; Bill and Ted; Notorious B.I.G. and P. Diddy; House and Wilson; and Siegfried and Roy...? Ok, maybe the last one isn't so hetero, but you get the picture.

The reason why I bring this up is because of the strange dynamic between men in these bromances. Men seem completely open to divulging any matter regarding superficial interests but hiss at the thought of sharing feelings and their innermost thoughts at the risk of sounding emo. That's what I don't get--what's wrong with sounding emo with the best of your buds? Isn't that the point of the almighty bromance--to establish a safehaven for each other, where you can be yourself and not worry about being judged?

Take for example a group of men well into their twenties. They discuss sports, politics, work, new cooking techniques, and the like--but fail to ever discuss their relationships with women. Men, what is it that you're afraid of, exactly? Are you afraid of being judged based on who you're dating or pursuing? Or am I missing the picture, and do you purposely omit your dating details for the sake of keeping your romantic relationship sacred, free of insightful comments like "no way my girlfriend would do that" and "that's what she said?" Or rather, is it competition, or fear of competition? And if so, with whom?

Whatever the reason for the bromance-related emotional ambiguity, the end result seems to point to stunting in emotional growth and well-being. Such issues then beg the following question--if we as women can't expect you to connect deeply with each other--nonetheless yourselves--how can we expect you to connect with us at all? I know men well into their 30s still trying to figure this one out.

Men, are we as women then forever doomed to wonder about the kind of emotional baggage and inhibitions you carry with you? Or do things eventually start to click? Please tell me this happens before the age of 30 and that the 30-year-old men I know of are just bozos and completely unrepresentative of your gender. Otherwise, the only men in my life that are going to remain are either one of two things (or both): relatives or gay. Tragic? I know.

Sincerely curious and definitely not male bashing,

Shopgirl.