Friday, November 19, 2010

It's a dash to the aisle... And I am in the slow lane.

White Dresses. Shiny Diamonds taking up permanent residence on a finger. Something borrowed. Something new. Something old. Something blue. Or something like that. All I know, is that the women around me have caught the "Mrs." virus that I have thankfully gotten my vaccine against.

Now, please don't get me wrong. There will come a day and time when I decide to settle down and meet Mr. Right and start driving the mini-van with 2.5 children while wearing my matching Juicy valore sweatsuit. But not today. Or tomorrow. Or even next week.

There seems to be a stigma in society that women who are in their mid to late-twenties should be settling down. Finding that perfect someone. Having the box checked "single" on facebook is grounds for an intervention from high school and college friends; not to mention your Grandmother who somehow learned how to log onto the internet. As if showing up to Christmas dinner without a "beau" isn't bad enough, you broadcast to all of the internet community that you most likely wear footed pj's to bed because there is nobody else present to see it.

So why is it that women my age have to face specific challenges: follow your dreams and eat spaghettios for survival or do something you're not satisfied with and actually afford rent? Rely on your parents for cash every now and then so you can have toothpaste or rack up a credit card bill that would make Trump wince? Or the greatest: Enjoy your life as a single, independent and happy woman or be tied to someone because you're expected to be? Frankly, I will take the canned noodles, some free toothpaste and a "sleeping single in a double bed" life.

I have the utmost love and respect for my married (or soon to be married) friends. They found that special someone. As once stated to me, they found "the peanut butter to their jelly." But, in all honesty, they're making the rest of us look bad. I almost swallowed my own tongue when I heard a girl say "I'm not here [college] for a B.S., I am here for my MRS." Dream big, girl! Dream big.

I have had wonderful times being a bridesmaid. Providing that last minute shot of whiskey before walking down the aisle to prep the bride. And posing the oh-so-important question "Are you sure you want this to be the last person you are ever with?" Perhaps I am not the most qualified bridesmaid, but I think facing reality before walking down a carpeted path to your bound future, is valid.

I want to be able to flirt with the guy in the car next to me at a red light. I want to be able to profess to the world that I am marrying Jason Aldean without justifying it with "well, that's if I wasn't with you lovey." I want to be able to have dinner with John Doe one night and a movie with John Doe 2 the next. I want to be able to go an entire day with my cell phone off, apartment door locked and blaring my music without having to think "is he going to text?" or "I have to check in at some point." And then there's baseball... I do not want to be disturbed during a baseball game. And that includes boys. Don't come between me and the pinstripes.

So, the moral of this rant is simply put: Stop pressuring this 26 year old to find that special someone. Stop making me feel like a leper because when I raise my left hand, nothing glitters. And stop giving me that pitiful "oh" expression when you ask if I am seeing anyone and you hear the word "no." Just because the two words rhyme, doesn't mean they have to be said together. And if you should be happily hitched or delightedly dating, congrats! Please spread the word that it's ok to be single, content and independent this day and age. I have no objections to weddings: you will normally find me by the open bar... talking to a boy.

Wednesday, June 2, 2010

People Say I Have Too Many Fears.... They Could Be Onto Something

It is no secret that I have been a coward when it comes to various things that do not affect other people in the slightest way. Did you sit down and watch The Wizard of Oz with a smile on your face and having a sing-along? I didn't. I covered my eyes and screamed for mercy at the first sight of Judy Garland and her ruby slippers. That is truly one of the most frightening, unnecessary movies ever made. And please, do not get me started on the emotional turmoil that I underwent when watching Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. Nothing good can come from a movie where little orange men make candy. Nothing.

The list of fears is long and detailed. It is random to some, but makes perfect sense to me: Open-backed staircases, small white dogs, seafood, Larry King, scales (and the process of standing on one), heights, dwarfs (Little People, Big World=Horror Show), spiders, men in Speedos, burning myself with a chi, cars that are on hydraulics, people who wear the ear hole earrings in their lobes, people with red hair, people who wear fanny packs, anyone who participates in a Mosh Pit, driving in the rain, sport Mascots and their half time shenanigans, someone being in my backseat when I start my car in the dark, Pillsbury discontinuing Funfetti Whipped Frosting, children with runny noses/say their tummy hurt/are bleeding/sneeze in my general vicinity, vanity license plates, argyle socks, the smell of Indian food, Lady Gaga, and although the list continues, I will just add one more: Democrats.

Just when I thought the list couldn't get any longer, I came upon something absolutely horrifying while channel surfing. Upon landing on TLC, I saw images that will forever haunt my mind, and no it was not dinner time at the Gosselin house. It was a bunch of little 4-year old girls dressed in false teeth, false hair, and poofy dresses dancing around and blowing kisses to grown male judges. Does anyone see a problem with this? Is anyone else disturbed that not only are these girls walking on a stage looking like a young Tammy Faye Baker Barbie Doll, but there is actually a TV show that promotes this insanity? TLC should be ashamed of themselves. And the mom's that encourage their daughters to fake tan, wear dentures, go through 2 cans of aqua net in one sitting, and wear a dress that only Shirley Temple could have pulled off 60 years ago should be imprisoned as Child Services is called to the scene.

I believe a new special should come about because of this little "Tiara, Whatever" circus that I unfortunately happened upon. If Chris Hansen of Dateline NBC: To Catch A Predator joined forces with the audience of these pageants, I think we could be onto something. The first person to have to sit down and talk to Mr. Hansen? The creep-ass emcee who sings "Pretty Little Angel" while wearing a huge smile and prancing around on stage. He is not to be outdone by the random man with a pen, legal pad and chair at the judge's table who is giving one too many winks to Cindy Lou Who up on stage shaking her "thang" to "All the Single Ladies."

I object to this television show. I object to this behavior. I object to stage mom's and the pageant scene all together. But like a car crash on the shoulder of the road, you just can't help not taking your eyes off the horror and blatant disaster staring directly at you. I am billing TLC for this hour of my life back as well as the bill my shrink will send me after our "I'm afraid of tiny, fake beauty princesses" session.