Archive | January, 2012

Dear Facebook Comments on Engagement Status Updates

27 Jan

Dear Facebook Comments on Engagement Status Updates,

It’s January, so everyone’s gearing up for wedding season. Which is in the summer, I believe, unless you live in the Southwest, and then it *should* be in the winter, but for some warped reason, is not. Or maybe it is, what do I know.

The point is, people on my FB newsfeed are getting engaged, and good for them, whatever. I say whatever because I have basically no opinions on whether or not they should be— if I find out about an engagement on FB, chances are good I’m not in that close touch with the couple and really can’t speak to their “readiness.”

Right about now you’re all, “Whaaaa? No opinions? What is even happening right now?” And you’re flailing your arms around like a muppet without a puppeteer, because your world is crashing down around you.

Yes. That is how much I imagine you care about the things I say. Leave me to it.

So people— let’s call them Adam and Eve, random names I picked for no reason, certainly no other couple in the world has ever been paired with those monikers— get engaged on FB. I mean, they get engaged in real life (at least I hope), and then they put it on FB. And they’ve been together for 2.6 years, and own 1.3 dogs and have 6.7 Apple products between the two of them, and 17.8 pieces of Ikea furniture. Adam and Eve post 123 pictures of food on FB per year, and 1,234 vacation pictures, and only wear matching sunglasses ironically.

Ok, so I’m lying. They totally wear the matching sunglasses sincerely, and it’s more like 14.2 Apple products. The point is, they’ve been together a decent length of time, and they’re 25 years old.

And then about 345 people “like” the engagement status post and say a bunch of things like, “Congratulations!” and “Congrats!” and just the word “C!” which I assume in this context continues to communicate felicitations, and not the other C-word. But maybe that post was from an ex, what do I know. But he should keep it to himself at that point.

And then approximately half the people (that would be 172.5) say some variation of this: “Finally!” or “It’s about time!” or “It’s been too long!”

Now look, I’ve had some tank tops longer than 2.6 years. I know couples who have been together for 8 years without getting married. (This does not make them “casual” or “unsure,” by the way. And no, these are not people who “don’t believe” in marriage and so will never get married. They just haven’t. Yet.) I’ve been with my coffeepot for four years now, and while I like it, and it makes me happy every single day, I’m not ready to marry it. And yes, sure, my parents got married at 26, but I turn 26 in March, and I think I might spend my birthday going to see The Hunger Games.

Not that married people don’t like The Hunger Games, too, but perhaps you get my drift. Twenty-five year olds are doing different things now than they used to…..for example, my aunt and uncle were going to see Animal House, not The Hunger Games. And they’re divorced now.

I’m making jokes, yes, but I’m really very serious when I say that really— really—- it has not been too long when Adam and Eve, who have been dating for 2.6 years and who are 25 years old, get engaged. What, were they supposed to get engaged before they could officially sync all their devices through iCloud? Before they’d filled their Pinkberry punchcards? Before they’d weathered fifteen seasons of American Idol? (Is that show on six times a year? I don’t understand.)

Yes, I’m still making jokes. But it does take time to get to know someone. And then things change, and you have to get to know them all over again. And you have to get to know this third entity you’ve created between the two of you, your relationship. And then you move, and you have to get to know a new city. And then once all that is done, maybe you just want to be together. For a while. And then for longer. And then for a few years after that. And maybe you love them, but you’re still unsure for whatever number of good or bad reasons, or maybe you’re very sure, but you aren’t ready to get married, or your bank account isn’t ready to get married, or your Apple products are still adjusting to a blended household.

Weddings aren’t going anywhere. Neither is the person you’re with. And if they are– if they’re threatening to leave you if the two of you don’t get married– and if they’re doing so because you clearly aren’t committed and they’re trying to get you to prove it by slapping a ring on it– or because they’re feeling competitive with their FB newsfeed even though the two of you, together, as a couple, don’t really want to get married– then maybe we should all be posting “finally!” when FB shows that tiny broken heart next to your names. Or at least we’ll think it.

Except for that person who’ll post, “Oh no! But you two were perfect for each other! What happened?!?”

On the other hand, this morning FB let my friend in Boston tell me where to buy these cute shoes I’ve been wanting for a year. So it really does help us connect in very meaningful ways.




20 Jan


Yes. Hello. I’m here. 

I just wanted to let you know that I haven’t been posting in support of the movement against this SOPA/PIPA* business.

HAHAHA just kidding. I have no idea how to do something as fancy as mock-black-out my blog/website/thingamajig.

I mean, I’m not kidding, I do not support SOPA/PIPA, etc, etc. A bunch of people who actually understand the Internet are in charge of the protest, and thanks, guys. I’m glad you’re stepping up. Because Congress is not. (As evidence of my internet ineptness— I wanted to embed that video for you, but I can’t, and I don’t know why not, but my “fix-it” skills are limited to trying over and over again to paste the URL into the box that says URL, and I can only do that about 13 times before I get bored and start watching the clip instead of trying to post it here.)

Really, I haven’t been posting because I’ve been lazy busy. I came back from vacation, and had a bunch of television work to catch up on, and then I had to pretend I was planning plan this class I’m teaching, and eat out make dinner, and see some friends go to some meetings, etc.

So you understand what I’m saying, basically, and I’ll be back next week, I swear. I don’t like making promises to the Internets that I don’t keep, because the Internets are an angry, angry place. Just read the comments section to any weather forecast.

So in honor of bringing down SOPA, and as an apology for my absence, I bring you some potentially felonious material. FELONIOUS IN ITS AWESOMENESS.


YEAH FRIDAY. Helloooooo weekend. Let’s eat pastries!

xxo M


*If you don’t know the deal with the SOPA/PIPA, the Wikipedia pages on it are up— even when the rest of Wikipedia is blacked out. If it still is. Clearly I’m following this development very closely. 


Dear More RomCom Bullshit

4 Jan

Dear More RomCom Bullshit,

Why is it that people think walks in the rain are romantic? If this were true, Seattle would be the most romantic city in the world.

It’s not.

Let’s approach it this way– if walking in the rain was inherently romantic, then walking the dog in the rain should also be romantic. Not in a bestiality kind of way, but in a dreamy, introspective, beautiful world kind of way.

the Mona Lisa of dogs

Instead, walking in the rain with a dog is TERRIBLE. All you can think about is how wet your feet are, and how when you get home you’re going to have to wipe her feet off, and maybe give her a bath, and there’s rain sneaking along the side of your hood into your ear and if that car splashes you when it goes by, you will slash its tires, so help you god.

And you are hoping to end up walking around with a bag of poop in your hand. That is your best case scenario: poop. In your hand.

And look, I like my dog a lot better than anyone I’ve ever dated.*

We think that taking walks in the rain is romantic because the movies TELL US SO. And the movies don’t lie! They’re like the internet: truth machines.

Even better than walking in the rain: kissing in the rain. Have you ever made out in the rain? I grew up in Seattle. I’ve made out in the rain. Making out in the rain = not romantic. You can’t tell where the wetness is coming from— Raindrops? Saliva? Tears? Snot? You end up feeling like it’s all tongue. Everywhere. In your eyes. Hair. Up the sleeve of your jacket. Mashed between your noses.

Hot, right?

The whole idea that movies are trying to sell, I think, is that when you are with your one true love, you don’t notice what’s going around you— ie, you kiss in the middle of the street in NYC and you think you won’t die**, you get engaged on a roller coaster and don’t see the kid puking behind you into his dad’s cupped hands…. and you don’t feel the rain. Or at least, you don’t mind it. But do you seriously not notice wet socks just because the dude next to you is dreamy? Wet socks are the WORST.***

True love deadens all your nerves. Even as it pulls you into a state of transcendency and bliss.

….apparently I’ve been dating the wrong people. As in, not wizards or gods. Or really good anesthesiologists.







*Then again, you’ll notice “dated” is in past tense. I guess it’s not surprising I like my dog better than my ex-boyfriends.

**Let’s think of this from an evolutionary perspective. Say “love” does keep you from noticing your surroundings. Wouldn’t you die before you could procreate? It just doesn’t make sense, biologically. Then again— maybe you don’t notice your surroundings so that you’ll hurry up and procreate anywhere. Regardless of circumstances. Hmm. Will think on this more. Because like I said, the movies are truth machines, so they can be explained by science. You just have to find the right science. Michelle Bachmann-style.

***I tried to come up with a “He better have ___________ and ___________ if you expect me to forget wet socks.” But the best I could come up with was “bulletproof abs” and “the sensitivity of a trained therapist” and that didn’t seem to nearly cover it. Also bulletproof abs sound uncomfortable, and I’d really rather my bf wasn’t a therapist. He’d be so damn understanding whenever we fought. Then I tried “Show me the guy who can make me forget wet socks and I’ll show you Rhett Butler without the rape-y tendency.” That didn’t seem sufficient either.  Wet socks really are the worst.

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