A Little Self Reflection During My Last Full Week at 33

So this past week has been an interesting one for self-discovery – nothing all that unusual as I typically do a lot of reflecting on my life and what it all means in the weeks leading up to my birthday.

Around this time every year I start to get the itch to move to Chicago or San Francisco. I think about changing careers, or going to school or doing something so that I have a better plan than my current back-up plan (to retire as a nun) if I don’t make it as a writer. I also spend a lot of time wondering about exes – what they are up to but mostly what would be different about my life if they weren’t an ex.

It was in this mindset that I clicked on the Atlantic’s article “Is Facebook Making Us Lonely.”

I was most intrigued by this article because I have often thought that things like Facebook and Twitter actually make it easier for me to be alone. On Friday nights, when I’m not in the mood to go out (or my friends are all out on dates) I will sit home and watch TV, enjoy some wine, and check in on Facebook and Twitter obsessively. If I am watching the Phillies play (or this past week, the Olympics) reading my Twitter feed suddenly feels like I am watching the game with a dozen or so of my closest friends – even though I have never met most of these people.

Greener Grass

As I mentioned in an earlier post, I was recently at the pool with Bridie and Pepper. Before we were talking about how happy Pepper was when she was single, we were talking about the Duchess.

The Duchess had sent me a text the previous day about this single guy she knew (or knew of, it was never really clear) who was a billionaire, but also really short, but a billionaire and so she wondered if I could look past my height requirement for a billionaire. I think she then sent another text, reminding me this guy made billions and I would be a fool to not at least let her give him my number. When I responded, I told her he should take some of his money, go to China and have his shins lengthened. But that would still only get him a first date with me. I wouldn’t promise anything more.

After we all stopped laughing at my ridiculousness and the Duchess’s relentlessness, Pepper chimed in, “But you don’t even seem to mind being single.”

We then went on to discuss all the reasons why being single is sort of awesome and that is when Pepper revealed she was happiest when she was on her own.

Open Letter to Marie Claire

Dear MC,

I visited my hometown last weekend to check in on my parents, but mostly to get my hair done (my Mom and Dad will probably out-live us all, not to mention I had just seen them the weekend before when we went to the Phillies game). Waiting for me upon my arrival was a stack of magazines, almost up to my knees and in that pile were a couple of Marie Claires.

See, my mom has a subscription to just about every magazine published. She curates from her collection a selection that she think I would enjoy and leaves them in a pile for me.

My mom was most excited to show me your June issue. Right there on the cover, she pointed out, was a story I was sure to love: “The New Revolution. Love and the Single Girl.”

The next day, over breakfast, my mom asked me what I thought of the article. I rolled my eyes and told her it annoyed me. I then started explaining why. The problem is, I couldn’t pinpoint exactly what it was that so bothered me.

Ten Really Stupid Reasons to Get Married

So, this weekend, while avoiding talking to the creepy guy sitting next to me when I was waiting for take-out, I stumbled across this gem.


Now, I have a lot to say about the single versus married woman (so be prepared as the next couple of posts will be dedicated to it). Mostly, I don’t understand why we are battling, but that is beside the point of this post. This post is to point out that while there may be 10 legitimate reasons out there for single women to get married these aren’t it.

1. Prevents you from dying alone. And now, on this the 16th day of July in the year 2012, I declare this cliché beaten down and dead. First, I have a family and a lot of friends. I am pretty sure when the time comes for me to bite it, they will be by my side. Second, getting married doesn’t guarantee me that my partner won’t divorce me before I die, thus won’t be contractually obligated to hold my hand as I cross over. Third, as my brilliant friend Alexandra pointed out on Twitter, on average women outlive men. So even if I get married, and we stay together, chances are he is going to kick the bucket before I do.

Is Imitation the Sincerest Form of Flattery?

I have a question for my married and engaged readers out there, but before I ask, let me explain.

Last night, Marie and I were celebrating with some cheap wine and what is becoming our favorite happy hour haunt. Marie excuses herself to use the ladies, and I take the opportunity to do some people watching (we were sitting outside because it wasn’t 100 degrees with 99 percent humidity and like all good Philadelphians we took advantage of it).

Caveman Guitarist

As I sat watching what can only be described as a guitar playing caveman, I listened as our waitress took the drink order of the women behind me. She cut them off mid-question and exclaimed, “Are you both wearing the same engagement ring?”

Zack Morris time out: I love brash, 20-something waitresses. They remind me of myself in my glorious youth. Time in.

Fifty Shades of Gross

Like everyone else in America, I had heard of this new super series, Fifty Shades of Grey. I knew it was steaming up the bedrooms and bathrooms of women everywhere and I was even interested in reading it myself.


That is until my father told me he was reading it.

Now, I’m not a prude, nor is anyone in my family. But we all have a quiet understanding that I’m a virgin, Ivan was a virgin until he was married, as was Lana who is now saving herself for her next husband, and that our parents had sex only three times. It works for us, because, let’s be honest, thinking about a family member having sex is disturbing.

This bubble was burst when I climbed into my father’s jeep and he asked, “Have you heard of the book, Fifty Shades of Grey?”

“I have. It is basically porn (I can’t say erotica to my father). You don’t want to read it.”

“I already started it.”

I made an incredulous face.

Why More Men Should Speak Out Against Victim Blaming

I recently learned that a football player at my alma mater has been suspended from both the school and team after he was accused of rape.


You can read all about the story, here, but the cliff notes version is a young woman alleges the football player invited her to his dorm to watch TV, she went there, he raped her, she fought him off, and then he later sent her a text asking if she was going to press charges.

I read about this story where I get most of my news these days on Facebook via Twitter. And, unless you have been living under a rock, you know Facebook allows everyone that wants to, to comment on the post (as do most websites these days). It was in the comments that what I read turned my stomach (probably not a good sign that reading about rape no longer upsets me, but I digress).

Comment after comment blamed the young woman for putting herself in that situation in the first place, for going back to the football player's dorm room alone to supposedly watch television. One commenter incredulously asked “who the hell goes to someone else's room in college to watch the damn TV.”

Umm. I did. All the time. I wasn’t raped once.