So Halloween is gone, thank freaking god! Gone and over with, at least for thenext eleven months - not that I put in that much efforts in its overall preparation. But it was mentally exhausting and disconcerting to see my friends morph into morons worrying for weeks on end about the putting together process of their self-proclaimed sensational costumes and desperately trying to secure their invitation at some “it” party for the overrated boo-nanza weekend.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not being an anal constipated adult who doesn’t know how to let loose and let the child inside of me come out and play. I guess “Hal-WHORE-ween” is not my idea of fun. That’s right I wrote that and I could have also written hal-HO-ween if I wanted to – I’m creative like that!
Anyway, this year, what was actually the real horror of Halloween was its uncanny ability to give some ladies carte blanche to, literally and figuratively, turn into total libertines. And apparently my friend Morgan couldn’t resist the urge to tell me all about her trashy exploit in “the lady is a tramp” land. And I should care because?
Seriously, I wouldn’t really advertise it. I mean there’s nothing glamorous about a cheap fuck with some random girl in the private bathroom at the home of the host of a Halloween party - but hey, that’s just me!
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The thing is that I would have totally not thought twice about it and automatically transfer this useless piece of information into the imaginary trash bin of my brain, but the reason why I didn’t was because something terribly disturbing enfolded a few days after this classy “getting laid in the toilet” episode.
Approximately 72 hours later, I met my buddy Morgan at a local café for our usual weekly gossip fest and was slightly surprised to find her accompanied by her bathroom conquest. Yet the shocker came when Morgan – are you ready for this? – introduced mystery girl as her “girlfriend.” Forget about the fact that their first unofficial date was obviously not much of the most romantic candlelight dinner types, but how do you get the guts to call someone you haven’t even known a week your “girlfriend?”
While I’ll never understand my lesbian community, nevertheless, I do have common sense. Forgive me if I am blunt but, seriously, you really have to be dumb no to figure out the protocol when it comes to working your way up the ladder of names. Here are the different phases:
Introduction by first name always preceded by the word “friend” as in “this is my friend blah blah blah”
Terms of endearment: your first name becomes “baby,” “babe,” “sweetie,” “honey,” “pumpkin,” “gorgeous,” “sexy,” etc…
Term of possession as in “She’s with me” also known as “this is my girlfriend”
Term of imprisonment as in “we’re off the market; we’ve totally screwed ourselves” as in “this is my wife so and so.” (notice the return of the first name at this stage)
Of course the intricate part is to figure out how much time should elapse in between each phase before graduating to the next grade. You’ll be happy to know that I can confidently say that I have absolutely no fucking clue. One thing I did know for sure was that Morgan was totally burning bridges by skipping step 1 & 2. I’m not jealous; I just wish I had balls as big as hers!
Since I have nothing else better to do than torture my brain with meaningless questions, I challenged myself to identify exactly when it becomes politically correct to call someone your girlfriend. I know I really need to find a less masochistic hobby – but bear in mind you’re dealing with someone who two years after getting over an excruciatingly painful breakup would purposefully relive the memories of the near fatal stabbing in the heart feeling just to fondly remember the pain. What can I say? I’m a sentimental chick!
Anyway, back to the question du jour. Is that something you ask permission for? Do you call a formal meeting to discuss it and make it official it? Or is there an unspoken rule determined by time – or perhaps an action? What’s the turning point? That pivotal moment in the relationship that makes you wake up one day and say: “today I shall call he my girlfriend!”
Evidently, for my buddy Morgan actions spoke louder than words and the simple action of getting lucky in the lavatory automatically elevated the alleged relationship to “girlfriends” status.
I was trying to dig in the basket of my impressively scarce once-upon-a long time ago relationship bravados for “based on a true story” examples to illustrate this name transition phenomenon. But to be honest, I got nothing – except perhaps for the one constant common denominator that, every time, I kind of, sort of conveniently waited for my date to say it first. You know, just in case I would be publicly humiliated by not being reciprocated the same courtesy.
So, of course, I called the ultimate authority in relationship matters – that’s right, my super sexy therapist - because even if she’s married to a member of this other human gender called “male” (I know, it’s shocking not all the good-looking ones are lesbos!), she certainly holds the gold medal in the “not thinking straight” department. Let’s be real! Why else would she have become a therapist if she weren’t herself amazingly cuckoo in the head? But that’s why I love her! Clearly, it takes one to know one – I’m just saying!
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“When is it appropriate for someone to call the girl she is dating her girlfriend?” I opened my phone call with.
“You will know she is your girlfriend when you can stop being selfish and realize you can care for another as well,” she answered.
So now not only was it all my fault but I was the selfish one?
I told her the reason why I was purposefully not dating anyone right now – beside the fact that I have affirmatively no offers in sight - was because I planned a trip to Australia for next year and I didn’t trust myself not to either entirely cancel my voyage in the land down under just to be with my potential baby or else invest some of my savings on another airplane ticket to fly her with me! In both scenarios I would be financially screwed and emotionally defeated in the face of a separation anxiety relapse.
Anyway, how did all this suddenly become all about me? What part of “someone” didn’t she get?
“Listen, you’re always exactly where the universe wants you to be,” she proceeded to say.
“Oh no, not that ‘universe’ crap again,” I thought to myself. For heaven’s sake couldn’t she speak plain English?
Would it have been so hard for her to tell me that the status of “Girlfriend” organically occurs by ways of the natural evolution of the relationship? That perhaps it has everything to do with a little something called frequency – meaning all the subtle clues that make you see potential for a long-term relationship instead of casual dating?
You know what I’m talking about? That phase when you start seeing and calling her almost every day, not just because you can but because you want to; or when suddenly your existence has been announced to her friends and family circle; or when she starts conjugating you in her future as in planning activities and trips with you for the months ahead.
Girlfriend couldn’t tell me all that?
Wait a second! I think I just answered my own question.
Damn, my super sexy therapist is good!
Catch up with Mona on Singled Out.
