Sunday, September 19, 2010

Sex starts in the kitchen

My mom told me a long time ago, "When you are married someday you will need to help out in the kitchen." As we were doing dishes that night she explained to me that a healthy marriage can often be spotted in the kitchen after dinner. If both the wife and husband are involved in the cleanup process, then often times that is an indication of a healthy marriage. When I grew older my mom explained this to me again, but this time it really clicked. She said, "Sex starts in the kitchen." Asking for clarification (I tend to be a very literal person), I found out that this was a very logical truth. My mom explained to me that after a long day of dealing with kids/working and then cooking and or cleaning, a woman is tired and the last thing she wants to do is clean up after dinner. A wise husband, my mom explained, offers to clean up after dinner and tells his wife "Go relax, I know you worked hard all day, I got this." Now the reason this is wise should be apparent, but my mom explained anyway. "Happy wife-Happy life. A woman who is tired isn't going to want sex." The lightbulb definitely went on in my mind after this talk, and as a result, I am a kitchen fiend. I always think of my mom's advice whenever the kitchen is dirty or has dishes laying around and I smile and happily go to work because I am practicing. I don't understand why my dad never got these things. And I will never understand why he would ignore my mom when she told him that dinner was ready, only to come in 30 minutes after we'd started eating. Any woman that cooks for you had better be listened to when she says it's time to eat. I live to be the antithesis of my dad.

Saturday, September 18, 2010

Green thumb

My grandma on my mom's side was an avid gardener. Every plant she touched thrived and was vibrantly alive. Patricia had a full flower garden and at the time when cancer was found in her, 12 house plants. This love of gardening somehow passed effortlessly on to my mom who cared for the 12 house plants after her mom was stolen from her at the age of 17. Though my mom "killed," as she would say, the plants her mom could no longer tend, she still found joy in the green life that sprang from the ground with the effort of her hands and a smile from God. My mom has gardened all my life and I have seen many tears shed over squirrels stealing her tomatoes, raccoons traipsing through her herbs, and dogs peeing on her plum trees. But the joy gardening brings my mom makes her exuberance for life shine through even more. But the best part? I too have acquired this gardening gene. What started as my first job working for an elder lady in my cul-de-sac watering her roses, geraniums, and all sorts of random twisting trees has turned into something deeper. I feel it in my blood; the call to get my hands dirty and grow something beautiful. Last year in my apartment I could resist the call no longer. So even though in a 3 story apartment, I decided that I needed to get my green on. I bought a basil plant and it thrived in the window, soaking up all the sun and bringing LIFE to my living room and fresh basil to my sandwiches and marinara sauce.

Before I left home to finish my senior year and get my bachelors in science my mom and I gardened together. I had decided that I wanted to expand my "garden" and start growing more things in my appartment window, and the day we gardened we were going to begin that venture. My mom had an aloe plant that we could separate and make into two plants, one of which will travel with me back up to Cal Poly and sit in my window. The whole time it felt very natural to be out in the sun getting a lesson from my mom in gardening. One day I intend to have my very own garden and I can't wait to continue what is getting to be a tradition of green thumbery! On my current "garden" wish-list is a rosemary plant because I love the smell and it is a useful herb in cooking.

Sunday, September 12, 2010

Diary of a helpless romantic Part 2/ Ghost Loving

Alright, so I'm sure at least one of you guys wants to know how my plan worked out. Here's all the juicy details you could ever inquire about.

Saturday morning I woke up at 7am to the blaring cell phone alarm that usually ruins my peaceful sleep. Immediately regretting setting my alarm for an hour before the farmers market even opened, I cursed at myself before hopping out of bed and sauntering to the shower. I had picked out my outfit the night before and I took hardly any time to get dressed and ready. Skipping breakfast so that I could eat at the farmers market, I set off in my car (thank God for GPS) for Little Italy. When I arrived I decided to scope out the place and see if she was indeed there. Sure enough, she was manning the booth for Lisko Imports with a bevy of delicious food. I promptly bought a bouquet and a croissant along with a few other trinkets before finding the courage to head over to her section of the booth.

Feigning as though I didn't remember her or didn't recognize her from wednesday night, I began looking at the goods for sale. Her face lit up and she started to say something just as I too started talking. Apologizing for cutting her off I said, "What were you going to say?" She then replied, "Weren't you at the OB farmers market this week?" "Yes I was!" "How did you like those eclairs?" "Oh they were delicious, but boy oh boy if I keep coming back here I will be fat in no time, everything is soo good!" laughter "So what do you recommend?" (referring to the olives she is standing near) "Well, I personally like the garlic olives, but they ruin your breath like nothing else" "Ok, may I try one?" (as she jabs one with a toothpick, I am beginning to get concerned that my plan will not work because she may not ask about the flowers) She hands the olive over saying, "Ok now, don't go for a hot makeout session after this!" "Oh, I'll do my best" At this point I am realizing that she's not going to ask outright about the flowers. After ordering more ciabatta bread and sundried tomato dip then I can consume in two lifetimes, she asks, "Is this all for you? Having a feast?" I see my opportunity come at me and I take it. "Well, the Croissant is mine exclusively, the Ciabatta I might share with my mom, and the sundried tomato sauce I'll probably share with her too, but the flowers, the flowers are for you!" "For ME?" She asks inquisitively. "Yes, for you! thanks for everything" And it is at this point that my very cool deed becomes something of the past. I hadn't thought my plan out past the point of giving her the flowers. This is my patented invention called: Ghost Loving.

Ghost Loving is doing something fabulously romantic with no plan of action or pursuit. It is a coping mechanism that romantics like myself find themselves doing inadvertently because all this passion has to go somewhere. Why not put this zeal to work in spreading the love? I certainly find myself dreaming of a life with every girl I meet. So doing tiny little things here and there just appeases my need to do this eternally with someone I don't just picture a future with, I actually desire a future with. Goodness, this whole story seems like a giant digression. So what is the point? Is there a point? I don't really know, but I guess the beauty of blogging is that you feign as though you are enlightening those who read your blog, but in reality, it is the author who finds the true knowledge gained by expressing their innermost thoughts and feelings on the world wide web. Blogging is the single best way to get to know yourself.

Tonight this song was inspirational. It is a classic in my book:

Friday, September 10, 2010

Diary of a helpless romantic

I bought exactly one flower for a girl I was romantically interested in many moons ago. Since it was only one flower, I guess you know how that story ended. Tomorrow I think I'll give it a try again, different girl but same tactic: Flowers as aesthetic bribery for romance.

So here's the story. I went to the OB street fair wednesday night with my best friend. We toured all the different street fares and found lots of delicious food. In our first loop through all the stands I found a pretty bouquet that I thought my mom might like so I purchased it. A few booths down I saw a gorgeous brunette manning a booth full of dessert baked goods. She was occupied with a decent sized line of customers when I saw her, so I was very pleased to take my place in the back of the line. I tried to think up something witty or funny to say, but nothing came to mind (there's not much you can say about cheesecake and eclairs). When my time was up and it was my turn to order I was pleased to see that she was in no hurry to rush me on out of her presence (very different from my technique at a certain retail establishment). She asked me how I was and seemed actually interested in conversing. Pleased, I decided to stall as long as possible, I tried cheesecake (I hate that shit) and remarked about how good it was (really it tasted gross, but she was pretty enough to elicit a smile and a compliment). Noticing the bouquets my friend and I held in hand, she remarked, "Flowers for your moms?" After I answered "Yes" (and then she said, "awww what wonderful sons you are.") I inquired about whether she always worked at this booth on Wednesdays. She replied that she did indeed always work there on Wednesdays BUT she also worked saturday mornings at the Little Italy farmer's market. This delightful sparkly eyed dessert goddess then invited me to check out the Little Italy farmers market, which brings us back to present time and my endless subterfuge.

I'm notorious for over-thinking my every move when I try to talk to beautiful women. But I can't help myself. So here's the scene: beautiful day, beautiful girl manning a booth full of delicious desserts (and cheesecake) in a farmers market in the picturesque Little Italy. A guy with a fresh bouquet purchased at said farmers market arrives. The queen of the desserts recognizes this flower toting gentleman and remarks about the flowers, "Flowers for your mom again?" To which our hero responds, "Not this time, this time the flowers are for you."

This whole shebang is rather simple to me. My options upon meeting this beautiful woman were: A) To return to OB farmers market every week till I could sweep her off her feet. The obvious side effect of this plan is that I would become an obese man from consuming copious amounts of eclairs. Or B) Try something daring and perhaps find the woman of my dreams. This is why I hate being a romantic. I imagine a future with every girl I meet. And I have been wrong soo many times. Oh, and there's the whole creepy aspect of it too. Everyone thinks you are a stalker extrordinaire because you take every chance you get or invent in the pursuit of a mere second of time to spend in the oft hopeless attempt at conjuring up a relationship out of thin air. I am just afraid that one day I will stop caring. I'll become jaded to that giddy feeling of immense hope and opportunity and end up a lonely old man who quit trying a moment too soon.

Tuesday, September 7, 2010

The dangerous thing about looks

“The Look” by Sara Teasdale.

Strephon kissed me in the spring,
Robin in the fall,
But Colin only looked at me
And never kissed at all.

Strephon's kiss was lost in jest,
Robin's lost in play,
But the kiss in Colin's eyes
Haunts me night and day.