A Moment for Boston

Rue La La is selling these tees
if you are interested (proceeds benefit
the Emergency Medicine Fund
at Massachusetts General Hospital).

I have a couple of posts due to you kids, but as a runner, I felt the need to address this first.

I sat at my desk yesterday afternoon fighting back tears. I don’t know it if was all the calls and texts asking me if I knew anyone running Boston, or my sister emailing me about how happy she was that I didn’t qualify for Boston this year, or the tweet I read from a reporter passing folks on the street in Boston on their phones all saying the same thing: Mom, I’m okay.

Yep. Just typing that makes the tears well up.

Regardless, like many of you, I was saddened by what happened at the Boston Marathon yesterday.

Then I was angry.

This Symbol Means I Support Marriage Equality, Not That I Love Bacon

There have been a number of times in my past when I wished I was gay. Most of these times coincide with being hit on by a hot, accomplished, funny female and wondering why I can’t simply be attracted to her.

But never in my life had I wanted to be gay more than last week.

See, last week, as you all know, the Supreme Court heard arguments to strike down both Proposition 8 in California and the federal Defense of Marriage Act. Like so many others, I changed my Facebook profile picture to the red equals sign.

Why Didn't He Call?

Show of hands: Growing up, who asked their
 parents for this phone? Keep 'em up if you got it.

Guys. I think I’ve been pretty helpful over the past couple of weeks – show of hands, how many of you took my advice about Valentine’s Day.  All four of you? That’s what I thought. So, now I’m going to ask you to help me solve one of the great riddles that has perplexed women since Alexander Graham Bell first asked Mr. Watson, “Can you hear me now?”

Why do you ask for our phone numbers and then never call?

Now, because this is something I have been researching extensively for the past 20 years or so, I will tell you, I understand in some instances it is a play to get in the panties. You’re out, you’re talking to a woman you wanna bang and in an effort to close the deal, you ask for her phone number, hoping she will take this to mean you aren’t just looking for sex and will take you home to make the beast with two backs.

And for every time that has worked for you, I say well-played, sir.

It Gets Better, Preston

The post from the other day got me thinking – no, not about how I’m setting myself up to fail – but about young men in general – and no, not that way you perverts.

Clearly, Preston (the author) is hurt. His girlfriend got tired of sitting around the house with him and out of the blue dumped him for an older guy who has to wear a suit to work every day. Preston didn’t see this coming and so after a night of heavy drinking, he took his pain out on his keyboard.*

I’ve been there, Preston. I get it.

How Women Set Themselves Up To Fail

Wow. I mean. Wow.

So, Theresa sent me a link on Facebook – I’m still debating posting it – of an article on how women set themselves up to fail.

First, I think it is a great show of maturity on my part that I’m not nearly as angry about this post as I would have been, say two years ago. From the beginning when he calls all women crazy (yes, those are the first three words of this post), to the part where he tells me, I (as a woman) have been brainwashed, to when he points out that we (women) all lose our looks after 26 (no brainwashing there, Preston), I didn’t scream or punch the back of the neck of the guy sitting in front of me on the subway, or use the eff word, or even throw my phone down in disgust.

Mostly I just laughed, because I feel terrible for this poor, simple, 20-something (my guess and hope as if he is in his 30s, then I feel scared for our future) idiot.

Recovery and Moving On

Well, Single Ladies, we made it past President’s Day. How’d we do? Did you drink every time a family member asked you about your ex at Thanksgiving, get drunk and finally stand up and say, “You know what? You can all go f*ck yourselves.” Grabbed the bottle of wine off the table and later pass out in your childhood bed? Did you sit in one weekend in December, eating all the cookies you made for co-workers and cry through all the made for Hallmark holidays movies that were less about the holidays and more about finding love in time for Christmas dinner?  How many times did you check your phone New Year’s eve for a text from you-know-who?

And I’m not even gonna ask about last week.

Bizarro Valentine’s Day

My father isn’t afraid of many things. He’s a former Marine who owns a lot of guns and quite frankly, if you don’t know him, looks terrifying in a big, angry sort of way.

One thing that does scare his socks off is my independence. He fears my not needing anyone will lead to my never finding someone and spending my life sad and alone. This manifests itself in many ways, most notably on Valentine’s Day when my father sends me a bouquet of flowers so he doesn’t have to picture me sitting at my desk, fighting back tears because I’m the only girl in the office who doesn’t have a Valentine.

And while I could definitely do with fewer talks on the back porch of my parent’s home about how he would really like me to find someone, I do love getting flowers from him every Valentine’s Day.

I mean, what girl doesn’t love to get flowers?