Beyond OK and Fine

OK (or okay) informal adj. satisfactory. adv. in a satisfactory way. New addition: K, to end a conversation or show sudden disapproval.

fine adj. 1 of very high quality. 2 satisfactory. 3 in good health. 4 (of the weather) bright and free from rain. 5 thin. 6 consisting of small particles. 7 delicate or complex. 8 subtle. n. a sum of money to be paid as punishment. v. make someone pay a fine.

The problem lies within the definition of both words; and here is the part where psychological profiling makes its grand entrance. You want to know what’s meant by both when they are the reply you get… the following case study will help you out.

The Case:

The person you have been going out with (and occasionally fucking) sends you the following text:

Hey, how you doin? Feel like having drinks at 7-ish?”

There are two possible replies to give here, since so far nothing bad has happened between the both of you:

“Hey! Yeah, 7 sounds fine. Where would you like to meet?”

or

“Hey. Things are ok. Wanna meet at Hamra?”

Before we go any further, let us consider both options thoroughly. The first is too enthusiastic but not pretentious; the second is more realistic but also nihilistic in a way.

People understand what Hamra means as either:

  • We’re getting a room after this.
  • I don’t want this to go beyond the walls of the pub we’re sitting in.

The good thing is that in both cases there’s a possibility that you’d slip into someone’s pants, even if just in the pub. The bad thing is that Hamra is a living entity by itself, and it loves sucking the squeamish life out of whoever treads its streets.

Now, from the above findings, I ask for your patience in the following study:

The person replies following what you sent, and naturally two possibilities exist as well:

How about we go to Manny’s, and then hop around?

or,

How about we just have drinks at my place?

Sweet summer child, here is where you fuck up no matter how you answer:

Ok, Manny’s sounds good.”

or,

Would you like me to get any drinks with me?”

See, if you go with the first option, the person you’re with is gonna be ‘ok’ with it, but not ‘fine’; because they want you (even though you’ve already fucked and been on dates before) to clear the slate which continuously asks: “What is the purpose behind all of this?”

as in,

Where do we stand with each other?”

Another way of understanding would be ‘K’, as in they would respond to your ‘ok’ as if they read ‘K’.

If you go with the second option, they are ‘fine’ but they are not ‘ok’. They are fine with you wanting to spend quality time with them in a private space, with fucking as an option and not a necessity; but they are not ok with the fact that you didn’t suggest going out to explore a new place. Usually the latter is accompanied by “We never do anything exciting. We just wine and dine, or fuck. I want us to do new things.” And here is where things get even more fucked up, because in both replies the purposes become blurred, almost unified. ‘Ok” and ‘fine’ join forces in confusing you further.

Two final possible replies remain after this for you:

“Ok, I’ll see you.”

or,

“It’s fine, I’ll order delivery if we run out of things to drink.”

The first suggests that you are never going to see the person again, even if you do. The second implies that the person wishes that you wouldn’t need that many drinks to feel comfortable, or to get going with it.

End of case study.

She Used Her Own Words and Everybody Else’s

“Some of the world’s greatest pieces of art were made out of it. Michelangelo’s dreams were of that material. Yes, marble. The color of your face reminds me of marble. What a work of art you are!” Those were the words I got her attention with on Facebook.
She liked books, most of them religious. But she was beautiful, really beautiful.
Same week was her birthday, not her first one, her thirtieth something… it doesn’t matter. She was out of my league.
I asked her out with sweet, plastic but controversial words and she said yes. Attaboy, Johnny!

I arrived at her house. She came through the front door, opened the door of my car and got in. Marvelous hair, feminine shoulders, a cleavage deeper than the Pacific ocean. The circularity of her behind and its shape were equal to rounded numbers, firm as the faith of the pope. Hey man! I know where to look. Her feet? You can have them for breakfast. I told you, beautiful.

Without further ado she started talking about her day and how her mom’s hip-replacement thing was going good. That I didn’t ask about and will never do. I interrupted her to ask where she wanted to go and, with an air of pride, she said she’ll show me the way and continued narrating her saga.
It was a less than average looking Café-Resto which was a block away from her house. We could have walked here, Einstein!

When we got out of the car, she was still talking. I could even hear her talk behind the car as she crossed over to my side so that we could go up the stairs of the Café.

We sat down, looked at the menu (she read the menu out loud) and ordered. She then asked me for a light; I had a glimpse of hope that she’d shut up while smoking at least. Well, not tonight, Johnny, not tonight. she was blowing out smoke and words at the same time: Now that’s what I call multitasking.

What was she talking about? How she met famous people “back in the day”, how she could help me publish my poems and stories by giving me moral support, how she hated her sister’s kids, how she had no privacy living with her mother, how her friends left her and migrated (let me take a wild guess why)… She talked till the cows came home and left again!

All I did was nod and smile. It was worse than the lectures on Ethics I used to attend at the university.

She took only two bites of her food and smoked half of my cigarettes.
Thank you, Facebook!

She said it was time to go home (God answered my prayers). We got to her house, and she told me it would be nice to have beer at her place the next time. I did what any other guy would do and said, “sure”. My God, she was talking about how she predicted her father’s death and how she hated her sister’s kids…

I swore to myself never to do that again. At least never again with her.

You know, I’m remembering all of this while sitting face to face with a girl who thinks UFO pictures are true and phones cause cancer.
The Eagles are playing in the background and I think that all of this has a lot to do with Facebook. And the song goes: you can check out anytime you like, but you can never leave…