I’m going to be 32 in February. Thirty-two. Yikes. To paraphrase the great oracle Jessica Simpson, 32 is almost 33, which is almost 35, which is almost mid-thirties. Hell, in my calculations, it’s pretty much almost 50!
It’s time to take control and be a grown-up, so I’ve made a life decision—you know, like grown-ups do. Here it is: I will become engaged while I am 32. There. It’s out there! It’s happening. Now, let’s get busy making it so.
I’ve written about various plans and schemes I’ve concocted to attract worthy suitors, but those were so ideas for my twenties. It’s serious now! This is for real. It’s time to pull out the big guns! So… Now, we just have to identify what those big guns might be…
I enlisted my friends to help. And, within a minute of announcing my big resolution for my impending nuptials, they all swore their assistance and then decided I will write a book and go on a big book tour. I think that plan has some kinks to work out; for instance, what the heck would I write a book about? And, of course anything I would possibly write would be completely nonsensical and fall into the broad category of chick lit.
Now, I haven’t actually been to a whole lot of book signings for chick lit books, but I’m pretty sure they aren’t swarming with eligible bachelors. Thanks, girls, but while that might be a fun idea, let’s focus on the task at hand!
Putting a pin in the book tour, I’ve instead made several happy hour plans—you know, at bars, where guys are proven to gather in hordes. I’m also building my events calendar for the year, trying to attend every interesting gala (I know what you’re thinking, but really, isn’t the guy I’m going to end up with also going to like dressing up and going to big, fancy events? I sure hope so.), all sorts of sporting events and any number of other fun gatherings. By the time I’m 33, I’m going to be either engaged or bankrupt, come hell or high water!
Stay tuned for updates on how this endeavor goes. We’ve got 13½ months to lock in a ring. Game on.
Wednesday, December 28, 2011
Friday, December 9, 2011
A double date without the double?
I dated this guy for a while once who really enjoyed cooking. I can’t relate. I can’t even really understand, but I did enjoy reaping the benefits of having someone in my life that had a particular culinary acumen. So, I was delighted that he enjoyed cooking for other people—even if it wasn’t to be reciprocated! That is, I was delighted until it became evident that when he considered people for whom he liked to cook, I didn’t seem to register when provided the option of other people. Come on! I am an excellent eater!
We were out one night with a bunch of his friends when the conversation turned to various cooking techniques. Obviously I had to tap out of being an active participant pretty early on, when discussion moved beyond the cooking technique I’ve most mastered: microwaving.
Somehow the chat moved towards “braising.” (I know. Who are these people with these strange discussion topics?!)
Me, to myself: “Braising?! I don’t know how that even happens, but it’s definitely something that occurs only at restaurants and is delicious—at the restaurants, where all sorts of magic food preparation transpire.”
My boyfriend to his friends: “Yeah, I’ve wanted to experiment with braising myself.”
Me, again to myself: “Wait, what?! ‘Experiment with braising’ yourself?! Is that even safe?! Can you just do that in a home kitchen? There must be special equipment involved, right? Or skill? It seems hard. He’s bluffing.”
Boyfriend, to friends: “In fact, I’m having a few people over for dinner day after tomorrow. I’m going to make short ribs, and I think I’ll braise them.”
Me to myself: “I guess he’s not bluffing! And wait, he’s having a dinner party?”
Me to boyfriend after we had left the group: “So, you’re having a dinner party?”
Boyfriend: “Yes, I’m having Mr. and Mrs. Dinner-Party over on Sunday.”
Editor’s note: Of course, he used their first names, but I feel it’s important to highlight that they’re a married couple, that he was having a couple over for a dinner party with himself.
Me: “So, you’re having a dinner party, some might even call it a date, with a couple, just by yourself. You know you’re in a couple, right?”
He tried to back-peddle, telling me that he invited me (nope.) and then that he was going to invite me but it had just been arranged, and he hadn’t had a chance to mention it to me yet (in the four hours we had been hanging out before he found time to mention it to a bunch of other people who were also not invited). He really tried to cover himself when he let it slip that he had bought three short ribs that he was going to serve at the dinner by saying that he had been planning on making the short ribs for us and having extra left over. Suuuure…
So, while he went to the store to buy another short rib for me, his unexpected dinner guest, I tried hard not to think too much about why he didn’t seem to want me to meet particular friends of his (was he hiding something from me or hiding me from them?) and what it meant that he had forgotten he was in a relationship while making arrangements to do one of the most couply things there is with another couple. That’s like being a third wheel because you’ve slashed the remaining tire yourself!
I certainly appreciate more than many that people in relationships should enjoy time doing their own things, cultivating their own independent interests. Everyone needs time with the girls or time with the boys or time doing something the other has no interest in if it's something they, themselves, like. But, isn’t one of the beautiful things about being in a relationship the fact that you don’t have to be the only single person in the room anymore? That you can do couple-centric things and be included in the couple-centricity of them, revel in it, even? There was, unfortunately, very little couple-centricity in this particular relationship, except for the few times he “sacrificed” and went to something he was clear was for my benefit.
In the end, I did score an invite into the double-date dinner party, and boy did I learn some important lessons. As it turned out, the wife didn’t end up making it to dinner after all. We found out that night that she was pregnant and was in the pretty queasy stage. I had made such a stink about being included that I couldn’t then sit it out, of course (crow should probably have been on the menu!), so I went to dinner since the boyfriend had already told The Couple that I was coming. In deference to the evening being no longer about hanging out as couples but rather about the boys catching up, I turned off the sparkly, center-of-attention, bubbly-conversation-driving part of my personality—if you can imagine that—and let it be all about them.
And, here are the lessons I learned from the evening:
We were out one night with a bunch of his friends when the conversation turned to various cooking techniques. Obviously I had to tap out of being an active participant pretty early on, when discussion moved beyond the cooking technique I’ve most mastered: microwaving.
Somehow the chat moved towards “braising.” (I know. Who are these people with these strange discussion topics?!)
Me, to myself: “Braising?! I don’t know how that even happens, but it’s definitely something that occurs only at restaurants and is delicious—at the restaurants, where all sorts of magic food preparation transpire.”
My boyfriend to his friends: “Yeah, I’ve wanted to experiment with braising myself.”
Me, again to myself: “Wait, what?! ‘Experiment with braising’ yourself?! Is that even safe?! Can you just do that in a home kitchen? There must be special equipment involved, right? Or skill? It seems hard. He’s bluffing.”
Boyfriend, to friends: “In fact, I’m having a few people over for dinner day after tomorrow. I’m going to make short ribs, and I think I’ll braise them.”
Me to myself: “I guess he’s not bluffing! And wait, he’s having a dinner party?”
Me to boyfriend after we had left the group: “So, you’re having a dinner party?”
Boyfriend: “Yes, I’m having Mr. and Mrs. Dinner-Party over on Sunday.”
Editor’s note: Of course, he used their first names, but I feel it’s important to highlight that they’re a married couple, that he was having a couple over for a dinner party with himself.
Me: “So, you’re having a dinner party, some might even call it a date, with a couple, just by yourself. You know you’re in a couple, right?”
He tried to back-peddle, telling me that he invited me (nope.) and then that he was going to invite me but it had just been arranged, and he hadn’t had a chance to mention it to me yet (in the four hours we had been hanging out before he found time to mention it to a bunch of other people who were also not invited). He really tried to cover himself when he let it slip that he had bought three short ribs that he was going to serve at the dinner by saying that he had been planning on making the short ribs for us and having extra left over. Suuuure…
So, while he went to the store to buy another short rib for me, his unexpected dinner guest, I tried hard not to think too much about why he didn’t seem to want me to meet particular friends of his (was he hiding something from me or hiding me from them?) and what it meant that he had forgotten he was in a relationship while making arrangements to do one of the most couply things there is with another couple. That’s like being a third wheel because you’ve slashed the remaining tire yourself!
I certainly appreciate more than many that people in relationships should enjoy time doing their own things, cultivating their own independent interests. Everyone needs time with the girls or time with the boys or time doing something the other has no interest in if it's something they, themselves, like. But, isn’t one of the beautiful things about being in a relationship the fact that you don’t have to be the only single person in the room anymore? That you can do couple-centric things and be included in the couple-centricity of them, revel in it, even? There was, unfortunately, very little couple-centricity in this particular relationship, except for the few times he “sacrificed” and went to something he was clear was for my benefit.
In the end, I did score an invite into the double-date dinner party, and boy did I learn some important lessons. As it turned out, the wife didn’t end up making it to dinner after all. We found out that night that she was pregnant and was in the pretty queasy stage. I had made such a stink about being included that I couldn’t then sit it out, of course (crow should probably have been on the menu!), so I went to dinner since the boyfriend had already told The Couple that I was coming. In deference to the evening being no longer about hanging out as couples but rather about the boys catching up, I turned off the sparkly, center-of-attention, bubbly-conversation-driving part of my personality—if you can imagine that—and let it be all about them.
And, here are the lessons I learned from the evening:
- Careful what you throw a fit to be a part of. (And, maybe date people who want you to actually be a part of things!)
- Boys are not the engaging conversationalists that women are when they get together! Did you know that when boys get together, sometimes there’s SILENCE between them?! There are so many strange, strange differences between men and women. I mean, silence! Times when no one is talking! If I hadn’t seen it for myself I’d never know that kind of thing happened!
Monday, December 5, 2011
Next on the reading list, Goodnight Moon?
I finished the Hunger Games series last night, reading the entire trilogy in about 3 days. This makes me nervous. Very nervous.
I couldn't put the books down. They were so captivatingly haunting. (I did not like the ending, if anyone’s interested.) I do have a tendency to get very involved in books I'm reading and even particular movies (let's be real, I also think I pretty much am Lorelei Gilmore), and this book pulled me in to the point, even, of making me afraid to go to sleep myself, in danger of slipping into the same nightmares that tortured the main characters. Of course, they were remembering the horrific deaths of their friends and the devastating roles they played in someone else's manipulation. I'm not really sure what types of tragedies I'm afraid of recalling from my own life—earlier in the day, they didn't have brown rice when I went to Chipotle?
I had a similarly enraptured experience in reading the Harry Potter series, I'm embarrassed to admit. It was a begrudging rapture, but enrapt I did become.
It all started when the fifth book came out. I lived with two very intelligent, well read and mature young women when the fifth book in the Harry Potter series was published. They each had pre-ordered their copy as soon as they could and were on pins and needles waiting for the day to come when the books would arrive. When that day finally came, they were beside themselves with giddiness. None of us could leave the apartment in fear that we’d miss the delivery. I was sent down to the lobby of the building several times throughout the day to check to see if the FedEx man had come and had just not buzzed up. In fact, that day FedEx was very busy. I saw three different FedEx men make trips to our building, each with a truckload of the specially marked Harry Potter boxes from Amazon. They told me it was a crazy, crazy day for them.
Now, until this day, I had made fun of all the Potterheads. I mean, seriously, these are children’s books that people were getting wild about! But, it started to gnaw on me, watching two of my best friends and some of the smartest people I know bouncing around our apartment in anticipation and excitement like I’d never seen out of them, that maybe there really was something to the books, so I picked them up and was instantly hooked. I would even ditch out of happy hours early to go home and read Harry Potter. Ditching happy hour! Me!! That’s how you know things have just gotten serious!
So, as you can see, I have a very severe problem on my hands. My enjoyment of these young adult series has been insatiable. I liked reading them more than any adult series besides Philippa Gregory’s historical fiction books about King Henry VIII's court.
This can only be the beginning of a slippery, slippery slope. It’s a matter of time before I'm reading nothing but choose-your-own-adventure books and then dissolving into a reading list devoid of anything but pop-up books!
I need to get my hands on a very intellectual, non-fiction book, post-haste!
I couldn't put the books down. They were so captivatingly haunting. (I did not like the ending, if anyone’s interested.) I do have a tendency to get very involved in books I'm reading and even particular movies (let's be real, I also think I pretty much am Lorelei Gilmore), and this book pulled me in to the point, even, of making me afraid to go to sleep myself, in danger of slipping into the same nightmares that tortured the main characters. Of course, they were remembering the horrific deaths of their friends and the devastating roles they played in someone else's manipulation. I'm not really sure what types of tragedies I'm afraid of recalling from my own life—earlier in the day, they didn't have brown rice when I went to Chipotle?
I had a similarly enraptured experience in reading the Harry Potter series, I'm embarrassed to admit. It was a begrudging rapture, but enrapt I did become.
It all started when the fifth book came out. I lived with two very intelligent, well read and mature young women when the fifth book in the Harry Potter series was published. They each had pre-ordered their copy as soon as they could and were on pins and needles waiting for the day to come when the books would arrive. When that day finally came, they were beside themselves with giddiness. None of us could leave the apartment in fear that we’d miss the delivery. I was sent down to the lobby of the building several times throughout the day to check to see if the FedEx man had come and had just not buzzed up. In fact, that day FedEx was very busy. I saw three different FedEx men make trips to our building, each with a truckload of the specially marked Harry Potter boxes from Amazon. They told me it was a crazy, crazy day for them.
Now, until this day, I had made fun of all the Potterheads. I mean, seriously, these are children’s books that people were getting wild about! But, it started to gnaw on me, watching two of my best friends and some of the smartest people I know bouncing around our apartment in anticipation and excitement like I’d never seen out of them, that maybe there really was something to the books, so I picked them up and was instantly hooked. I would even ditch out of happy hours early to go home and read Harry Potter. Ditching happy hour! Me!! That’s how you know things have just gotten serious!
So, as you can see, I have a very severe problem on my hands. My enjoyment of these young adult series has been insatiable. I liked reading them more than any adult series besides Philippa Gregory’s historical fiction books about King Henry VIII's court.
This can only be the beginning of a slippery, slippery slope. It’s a matter of time before I'm reading nothing but choose-your-own-adventure books and then dissolving into a reading list devoid of anything but pop-up books!
I need to get my hands on a very intellectual, non-fiction book, post-haste!
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