Sharing Blankets

Karen and I went to the MET about two weeks ago. It was a much anticipated trip, for both of us enjoyed art immensely–or so I thought. I know a bit about art history while Karen knows more about technique and movements. You would think that it’s quite a good balance for discussions, but going to the museum has taught me more about relationships than any other date.

Image Source: http://www.newyorkstatesearch.com

I always knew that women often contradict themselves in regards to what they like; they say they hate anything with the color red, but would find something red and tell you they love it. Karen is that person. She tells me she likes vibrant colors and hates dark, dull colors, which pretty much dismisses like 70% of the paintings and vases in the entire museum since most of the pieces are old and color has faded. Then she says she has a real dislike for religious art, which implies about 80% of the entire museum’s collection since most art historically has something to do with religion. Then she expresses she has little interest in Asian art, which means 40% of the pieces do not interest her. She then expresses that she only likes sculptures that show entire bodies and is not interested in portraits where they only show the shoulder and head. The only place where any of these criterias would be fullfilled, would be in the Modern Arts section, but even then, most of the pieces there didn’t interest her since she couldn’t understand it.

Since I’ve been to the MET numerous times, this was just a place to take Karen. She wound up enjoying the experience more than the actual art there. And it clicked to me about what she really likes. Karen generally doesn’t like art created by other people. She only prefers to see things so she would know what she doesn’t like and maybe inspired to create something she likes. She loves art as an idea, but not much more. When asked if she would buy a Picasso or a Van Gogh for three month’s pay, she said no without hesitation. At the time of her response, I was surprised, but I understand now. She expressed that if she had a home, she wouldn’t put up work by other people and only her own. Sounds narcissist, but she doesn’t think so.

With her dislikes in mind, we completely skipped all the Egyptian art, flew through my favorite section, which were the European Paintings, didn’t really stop to look at pieces from the Tang Dynasty (probably one of the most art riched dynasties in China) and skipped over the American pieces. Most of our time was spent admiring the sculptures in one of the courtyards, the weapons and armory exhibits, the modern art section, Greek and Roman section and the replication of the Chinese Scholar’s Garden.

After about four hours, we were finished and left. I guess it was enough for the both of us since there wasn’t much she wanted to see and I no longer wanted to be annoyed by her lack of enthusiasm for beautiful paintings and pottery that’s over a thousand years old.

Back to my original point, what bothered me most was whenever she liked something, it was against all her previous claims she hated. In hindsight, the biggest lesson of all is that it’s a waste of time to try and figure Karen out. There’s no pattern and the only way I would know if she likes something is to ask. Ultimately, it’s about how something makes her feel and we both know that the same thing can make women feel two different things at two different times.

My relationship with jigg is the longest serious relationship I have ever been in – which at this moment stands at 6 months officially and 7.5 months unofficially.  At the age of 24, I still consider myself pretty much a noob as far as relationships go.  But I have come a long way (and I still have a long way to go!) in understanding men.  Below is a list of discoveries and lessons I have learned throughout the years.

1. Do not start arguments in public.
I find that this is one the most embarrassing and tasteless things you can do.  It also makes everyone around you feel super awkward.  The best thing is to either pull him aside privately or just walk out.

2. Do not offer to take a shot/drink for your boyfriend.
It insults his manhood; just let him puke.

3. Whine to your girlfriends instead.
For years I wanted the guys I dated to comfort me, tell me that things will be okay, or agree that whoever pissed me off is an asshole.  What I usually get is logical advice – which isn’t very useful when I’m stubbornly being an emotional wreck.  Therefore, go to your girlfriends – they’re usually better at it.

4. Learn to like football.
Sunday and Monday nights get a little bit less lonely that way.  An added bonus would be to remind him to set up his Fantasy Football team every Sunday morning.

5. Meat is his aphrodisiac.
I’m pretty sure a juicy burger would get him much more excited, not chocolate dipped strawberries, oysters, or champagne.

6. Don’t poll your friends and use the results to support your argument.
Friends often have very similar outlook and beliefs, so there’s a likely chance that they would agree with you anyway.  (Or if they’re girls, they would probably find something to agree with you on to make you feel better.  See #3.)   The relationship is between you and your boyfriend, so don’t bring outsiders’ opinions in – it doesn’t matter how many of your girlfriends feel it’s right that their boyfriends buy them a two carat engagement ring.

7. Do not volunteer your boyfriend or RSVP for him.
I just recently made this mistake…twice.  No matter how sure you are he is up for it or assume that since you’re doing it, he would too.  He is still his own person – ask and let him decide.

8. Twist when you go up.
This is what you do with your hand while giving an awesome BJ.

9. Don’t make him do kissy noises over the phone in front of his friends.
Let him have some dignity.

10. Let things go.
Some things are just not worth having the last word over.

As Karen gets ready to move here and probably spend the rest of her life with me, I can’t help but wonder about the insane sacrifice she is making. She is giving up her New England life to be with me, possibly spending the rest of her life in some suburb type neighborhood in Brooklyn.

Since relationships are all about sacrifices, it’s no surprise that she had to give up something to be with me. The question is, what do I give up to call it even? Is there even anything I can give up that actually means something? I can’t give up my left hand, but would just the pinky be too little and seem insincere? It’s quite the dilemma.

The more I think about it, the more I only come up with things I can’t give up. After much thought, I have a list of the top five things I can’t give up and hope that whatever I sacrifice in the name of love, it isn’t too much and hopefully, something I can buy back one day for under 50 bucks.

Top 5 Things that I CAN’T Sacrifice (in the order of importance):
1. Yankees. Tell me to wear anything that represents te Red Sox and I would rather give up life in a fight to the death.
2. Meat. Not eat meat for the rest of my life? Karen would have to allow me to have two mistresses before I am called a vegetarian.
3. Alcohol. No more alcohol? Crazy talk. Quitters never win!
4. Children. I have to have children! I will adopt if I have to.
5. Veto power in naming our kids. No offense, but no son of mine will be named Newton!

Like every couple, Karen l and I get into our share of arguments. Unlike other couples, we don’t fight about anything important. In fact, none of it has anything to do with our relationship.

I remember one of the earliest showdowns we had concerned copyright laws. I’m all about rightful ownership and she is all about FREE distribution of information and art. I realized early on that not only would I have to accept that she was from Boston, but she was also a socialist/communist. Ellsworth Tooey would be proud of Karen.

The other day, I had to raise my voice at her. She decided to pull a sneak attack on me, resuming the battle we have been having for two days. She just could not accept the fact that even though historically Sunday was the first day of the week, Monday has since taken over in modern times. Sure, the calendar still has Sunday in front, but Sunday is part of the “weekend” and a new week starts on Monday. And we all know that if it was Sunday and I said I was moving next week, on Saturday, I would be refering to a time 6 days later and not 13.

There was no end in sight and I decided that it was pointless. I decided to surrender and agree with her, on the condition that we would phrase it accordingly. If it was Sunday and I said next week Saturday, it meant the Saturday after the one coming up. Yes, this would make thing harder and more confusing, but there was no other way to end it. She then asks me if I was doing it out of spite. The nerve! I was willing to sacrifice logic and convenience to settle an argument and she thought I had ulterior intentions.

I guess for someone who feels like all problems can be worked out, we have to substitute the time most couples use to fight and duke out our own battles. I already win the argument about New York being better than Boston. I guess Karen needs to find other things to beat me in.

Karen has among a great number of weird bodily dysfuctions like B.O., excessive gas and hair growing out of weird places, has really sweaty palms and feet. Okay, maybe she doesn’t have the first three, but her hands and feet do in fact sweat profusely as if she walks on all fours through puddles just for shits and giggles.

I find it hilarious, but she’s always embarrassed. Understandable I guess. I mean, what would you think if you shook someone’s hand and it was cold and wet? Yeah, exactly my thought too.

Anyway, she ran out of socks today, so I decided to give her a pair of my special Nike socks that wick off the moisture off your feet and keeps it warm and dry. Without knowing this, she complimented about the socks being really soft and comfy a couple of hours later. Of course they were. Your feet are dry and wrapped in a really soft cotton. Her feet has probably never experienced such an awesome feeling before.

She asked me how long must two people be together to talk about their weird bodily dysfunctions before they don’t get freaked out. I don’t know about other people, but I prefer to get it out of the way–like put it all on the table on the first date kind of thing. They are either dealbreakers or things I will have to learn to accept. Sweaty palms? Not even a problem. Uncontrollable flatulence? Unless it’s always inaudible and has no odor, I would have to say dealbreaker.