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.

Two Birds, One Stone

Didn’t I tell you all I would solve the matter of yummy?


Okay, so I didn’t solve it. Cricket did. But it is solved. And the best part, it also plays into my desire to travel more.

The answer is vacation yummy.

I will give you all a moment to slap your foreheads, mutter of course, and then shake your heads while you wonder why it took us all so long to think of it.

Now everyone on the count of three, let’s say “Thank you, Cricket.”

I can’t believe it was just sitting there the whole time. Such an obvious solution. I mean, every women’s magazine has written on the phenomenon that is the holiday hook-up. Discussing how, when you are away, your inhibitions are lowered, and you find it easier to meet and flirt. Of course the magazine then offer tips on how to harness that power to find something more meaningful, but I say – eff that. I am going to use this super power to get some. And then I am going to get on a plane and never think about the guy again.

Now the only question that remains is where to first?

My Inner Athlete

I was recently out with the girls when Bridie noted that it seemed “I had gotten my athlete back.”


For those of you that don’t know, I used to be an athlete: a Division 1, full college scholarship athlete. But I lost it. Well, not so much lost as suppressed. Not because I wasn’t proud, but because, during my four years of college among the many things I learned about myself, I discovered I am a terrible loser. My competitive side, is not my pretty side.

But something happened to me recently that brought my athlete out of retirement.

For the past several years I have run a half marathon in my hometown. It started as something my brother and I did, but I liked the race so much, that I continued to run it, even after he flew south.