MaryB and the City

Love is patient.

Every single one of us possesses an achilles’ heel. Evidently, mine is accepting that my grandoise master plan concocted in my subconscious hasn’t come to fruition.

The older and wiser I get, the more I realize and believe in the depth of my Being that I’m exactly where I’m meant to be. That every single solitary part of my journey to date has a purpose; the good, bad and ugly.

Yet, even though I *know* this, sometimes, my silly ego with a poor memory forgets.

Like today, while on Facebook, I stumbled across professional photography of a couple {K & C} who recently gave birth to their first child. My computer mouse and I innocently scrolled through the delicious images and instantly got drunk on their love…which has expanded beyond just two individuals in a romantic relationship. Now, they know what love beyond reason is. They created a human life, together.

My mind took an unexpected detour and suddenly transitioned into a time machine; I am sitting at Mr. Big’s dining room table in or around 2005/06 {I told you my memory stinks}. Mr. Big and C are in the kitchen cooking, K and I are enjoying conversation over wine, waiting for our boyfriends to serve us their home cooked Valentine’s Day dinner. K is telling me about their plans to eventually move in together…and before long, the rest was history.

That basic story composition has been regurgitated dozens of times with other couples. It’s like watching the same movie, re-made over and over and over but with different actors/actresses. You know the beginning, middle and end. After a while, you wonder when you’ll be cast to play the lead part.

When I felt tears filling up in my eyes, partly because I’m so overjoyed for their joy, and partly because I have ‘future envy’ {why aren’t we there yet, or even half way there?} — once again, I gently remind myself:

Our journey had some detours. I hold onto hope that we’ll arrive ‘there’ too someday…

Wherever there is.

My story, my scripted plan laced in patience may still be in the editing room, but I don’t think I can hold on much longer to the table-for-one cliché.

A few weeks ago, Big and I hung out with another couple who had just celebrated their 6-year wedding anniversary. They know our entire history, and vice versa.

Me: I still can’t believe that she gave him an ultimatum to get married. I just couldn’t do it, not my style. Do you think he still would have proposed even if he didn’t have that declared cut-off date?

Big: Yes, he still would have proposed, maybe not when he did though.

Meanwhile, I’m reading and working on a review of the book, Blow Me. It’s authored by a smart, witty gal out of Los Angeles. Her literary work has been compared to Sex and the City…which had me at, Hello may I please have a copy? She is very active in the social media world and has a weekly column, Ask Lennie. I couldn’t help myself…so out of curiosity I emailed…and submitted a question.

I suppose it shouldn’t surprise me that a fury of 20+ comments on her fan page plus another five on the web site were the result of such a controversial question.

How do you feel about women giving their man an ultimatum, like an engagement proposal deadline?

People vacillated between “absolutely not” to “hell to the yes.” I didn’t inquire because scripting a final proposition is something I’m considering, but because I truly find the dynamic fascinating. In my opinion, if your man doesn’t ask for your hand in marriage by {insert appropriate time based on your personal situation} then you either have an honest conversation about intentions, and/or you exit stage left.

As the brilliant Steve Jobs said, “You have to trust that the dots will somehow connect in your future. You have to trust in something — your gut, destiny, life, karma, whatever.”

I trust that our time will come. I trust in love.

Why you’re not married.

By Tracy McMillian

You want to get married. It’s taken a while to admit it. Saying it out loud — even in your mind — feels kind of desperate, kind of unfeminist, kind of definitely not you, or at least not any you that you recognize. Because you’re hardly like those girls on TLC saying yes to the dress and you would never compete for a man like those poor actress-wannabes on The Bachelor.

You’ve never dreamt of an aqua-blue ring box.

Then, something happened. Another birthday, maybe. A breakup. Your brother’s wedding. His wife-elect asked you to be a bridesmaid, and suddenly there you were, wondering how in hell you came to be 36-years-old, walking down the aisle wearing something halfway decent from J. Crew that you could totally repurpose with a cute pair of boots and a jean jacket. You started to hate the bride — she was so effing happy — and for the first time ever you began to have feelings about the fact that you’re not married. You never really cared that much before. But suddenly (it was so sudden) you found yourself wondering… Deep, deep breath… Why you’re not married.

Well, I know why.

How? It basically comes down to this: I’ve been married three times. Yes, three. To a very nice MBA at 19; a very nice minister’s son at 32 (and pregnant); and at 40, to a very nice liar and cheater who was just like my dad, if my dad had gone to Harvard instead of doing multiple stints in federal prison.

I was, for some reason, born knowing how to get married. Growing up in foster care is a big part of it. The need for security made me look for very specific traits in the men I dated — traits it turns out lead to marriage a surprisingly high percentage of the time. Without really trying to, I’ve become a sort of jailhouse lawyer of relationships — someone who’s had to do so much work on her own case that I can now help you with yours.

But I won’t lie. The problem is not men, it’s you. Sure, there are lame men out there, but they’re not really standing in your way. Because the fact is — if whatever you’re doing right now was going to get you married, you’d already have a ring on it. So without further ado, let’s look at the top six reasons why you’re not married.

1. You’re a Bitch.
Here’s what I mean by bitch. I mean you’re angry. You probably don’t think you’re angry. You think you’re super smart, or if you’ve been to a lot of therapy, that you’re setting boundaries. But the truth is you’re pissed. At your mom. At the military-industrial complex. At Sarah Palin. And it’s scaring men off.

The deal is: most men just want to marry someone who is nice to them. I am the mother of a 13-year-old boy, which is like living with the single-cell protozoa version of a husband. Here’s what my son wants out of life: macaroni and cheese, a video game, and Kim Kardashian. Have you ever seen Kim Kardashian angry? I didn’t think so. You’ve seen Kim Kardashian smile, wiggle, and make a sex tape. Female anger terrifies men. I know it seems unfair that you have to work around a man’s fear and insecurity in order to get married — but actually, it’s perfect, since working around a man’s fear and insecurity is big part of what you’ll be doing as a wife.

2. You’re Shallow.
When it comes to choosing a husband, only one thing really, truly matters: character. So it stands to reason that a man’s character should be at the top of the list of things you are looking for, right? But if you’re not married, I already know it isn’t. Because if you were looking for a man of character, you would have found one by now. Men of character are, by definition, willing to commit.

Instead, you are looking for someone tall. Or rich. Or someone who knows what an Eames chair is. Unfortunately, this is not the thinking of a wife. This is the thinking of a teenaged girl. And men of character do not want to marry teenaged girls. Because teenage girls are never happy. And they never feel like cooking, either.

3. You’re a Slut.
Hooking up with some guy in a hot tub on a rooftop is fine for the ladies of Jersey Shore — but they’re not trying to get married. You are. Which means, unfortunately, that if you’re having sex outside committed relationships, you will have to stop. Why? Because past a certain age, casual sex is like recreational heroin — it doesn’t stay recreational for long.

That’s due in part to this thing called oxytocin — a bonding hormone that is released when a woman a) nurses her baby and b) has an orgasm — that will totally mess up your casual-sex game. It’s why you can be f**k-buddying with some dude who isn’t even all that great and the next thing you know, you’re totally strung out on him. And you have no idea how it happened. Oxytocin, that’s how it happened. And since nature can’t discriminate between marriage material and Charlie Sheen, you’re going to have to start being way more selective than you are right now.

4. You’re a Liar.
It usually goes something like this: you meet a guy who is cute and likes you, but he’s not really available for a relationship. He has some condition that absolutely precludes his availability, like he’s married, or he gets around town on a skateboard. Or maybe he just comes right out and says something cryptic and open to interpretation like, “I’m not really available for a relationship right now.”

You know if you tell him the truth — that you’re ready for marriage — he will stop calling. Usually that day. And you don’t want that. So you just tell him how perfect this is because you only want to have sex for fun! You love having fun sex! And you don’t want to get in a relationship at all! You swear!

About ten minutes later, the oxytocin kicks in. You start wanting more. But you don’t tell him that. That’s your secret — just between you and 22,000 of your closest girlfriends. Instead, you hang around, having sex with him, waiting for him to figure out that he can’t live without you. I have news: he will never “figure” this out. He already knows he can live without you just fine. And so do you. Or you wouldn’t be lying to him in the first place.

5. You’re Selfish.
If you’re not married, chances are you think a lot about you. You think about your thighs, your outfits, your naso-labial folds. You think about your career, or if you don’t have one, you think about doing yoga teacher training. Sometimes you think about how marrying a wealthy guy — or at least a guy with a really, really good job — would solve all your problems.

Howevs, a good wife, even a halfway decent one, does not spend most of her day thinking about herself. She has too much s**t to do, especially after having kids. This is why you see a lot of celebrity women getting husbands after they adopt. The kids put the woman on notice: Bitch, hello! It’s not all about you anymore! After a year or two of thinking about someone other than herself, suddenly, Brad Pitt or Harrison Ford comes along and decides to significantly other her. Which is also to say — if what you really want is a baby, go get you one. Your husband will be along shortly. Motherhood has a way of weeding out the lotharios.

6. You’re Not Good Enough.
Oh, I don’t think that. You do. I can tell because you’re not looking for a partner who is your equal. No, you want someone better than you are: better looking, better family, better job.

Here is what you need to know: You are enough right this minute. Period. Not understanding this is a major obstacle to getting married, since women who don’t know their own worth make terrible wives. Why? You can fake it for a while, but ultimately you won’t love your spouse any better than you love yourself. Smart men know this.

I see this at my son’s artsy, progressive school. Of 183 kids, maybe six have moms who are as cute as you’re trying to be. They’re attractive, sure. They’re just not objects. Their husbands (wisely) chose them for their character, not their cup size.

Alright, so that’s the bad news. The good news is that I believe every woman who wants to can find a great partner. You’re just going to need to get rid of the idea that marriage will make you happy. It won’t. Once the initial high wears off, you’ll just be you, except with twice as much laundry.

Because ultimately, marriage is not about getting something — it’s about giving it. Strangely, men understand this more than we do. Probably because for them marriage involves sacrificing their most treasured possession — a free-agent penis — and for us, it’s the culmination of a princess fantasy so universal, it built Disneyland.

The bottom line is that marriage is just a long-term opportunity to practice loving someone even when they don’t deserve it. Because most of the time, your messy, farting, macaroni-and-cheese eating man will not be doing what you want him to. But as you give him love anyway — because you have made up your mind to transform yourself into a person who is practicing being kind, deep, virtuous, truthful, giving, and most of all, accepting of your own dear self — you will find that you will experience the very thing you wanted all along:

Love.

Source: Huffington Post

Single again, sorta.

While managing the emotions of Mr. Big coming in, then moving out of my life in the blink of an eye - and pretty bummed that our epic hangouts on a regular basis are more or less over - it occured to me that there are actually some perks to my predicament on paper. As I’ve discovered over the course of this week.

And I love a list. So here is one that covers the positives.

Top Ten Reasons Why Dating Someone Long Distance Isn’t So Bad:

10. The monotonous and dreadful act of shaving a 1/3 of my body is a past time. Now I pick up the Mach 3 Turbo only when necessary. And, the best part is, just in time for a change of season with fall’s long pants and tights.

9. In 5 days flat, I had two emergency calls from friends. Ok maybe 911 wasn’t on stand-by, but there was a need for support and I was there, front & center. Even if Mr. Big was here, I still would have shown up, without fail. But having absolutely zero distractions or commitments certainly made the availability that much easier.

8. On Sunday, I actually participated in society and accomplished big & small tasks. Whereas for the last few months, from sunrise to sunset, the traditional day of rest was spent with him on the couch watching big burly men tackle each other in spandex pants. While on the surface, that in itself is not painful whatsoever, it did hinder me from doing other activities. Like going to church, grocery shopping, gyming it, writing my book, and reading a book.

7. You don’t know what you have til it’s gone doesn’t apply here, since our reconcilation is still so new. However, not having the luxury of driving 10 minutes for a sitdown dinner, must-see TV marathon, or renting a movie…definitely makes you appreciate when we will see each other in the flesh again.

6. Speaking of, being apart enables us to plan ahead, which consequently gives us things to look forward to. Like meeting him at the airport, then off to our getaway at a lakehouse this weekend.

5. My closest friends [and now the blogosphere world] thinks this is absolutely ridiculous, but we are practicing antiflatulents. In almost a decade, we’ve never once publicly passed gas in front of each other. The average person produces about half a liter of gas per day, distributed over about fourteen farts. So it goes without saying -all of the newly allotted alone time allows for liberation and release of oxygen, nitrogen, and methane.

4. Going out on the town - be it a weeknight happy hour or a weekend throwdown -surrounding males excreting testosterone does not phase me. Being able to fully focus on my company in tow without any eligible bachelor desires whatsoever is super fun.

3. When in the crux of everyday life, it is easy to become complacent. But when you’re dating long distance, inevitably it forces you to be, well, sweeter. Like the beautiful vase of flowers I received yesterday at the office. About a dozen coworkers have walked by asking, “What’s the occasion?” My answer is “just because” — which is true. Except it’s also because I had a mini meltdown Sunday night from reaching maximum stress levels that he got the brunt of. Whereas maybe normally we would have hugged it out with a cuddle, Mr. Big went the extra mile to embrace me across the miles through a lovely delivery of fresh blooms.

2. Not having the luxury of face-to-face chats fosters much more conversation. Under regular circumstances we might have fancied 5 or 10 minute chats here and there, but now our nightly dialogue always passes the hour mark. And for a woman, there is nothing that makes you feel closer to a man than a hearty, satisfying bowl of talk soup.

1. Staying connected over state lines is the ultimate test to see how serious a partner is. Simply put, this experience will make or break us. And we’ve already studied for what is the equivalent of a GED, SAT, GMAT, LSAT and MCAT. There are no do-overs and the only grade is pass or fail.

So while the angst of navigating this new remote territory together is present, I’m hopeful that the time apart doesn’t have to be so painful. Except perhaps the 5 o’clock shadow on my legs.

Phone a friend.

At the risk of sounding trite, I have a hunch that the Universe draws the last 30-something single-ones-still-standing-solo, together.

Tonight while catching up with my coveted DVR and enjoying Oprah’s last season which has been far from disappointing…a friend called. I looked at the cable box clock before answering and thought, “Hmm, 8:45 is a little late [pause to reflect on how ridiculous that sounds, and remember my age has brought severe early onset tiredness], I wonder if anything is wrong.”

The conversation went something like this.

Single Friend: So I’m driving home from a book club meeting and…

Me: Wait, what? You’re in a book club?

Single Friend: Haven’t been in 6 months, but it doesn’t matter - no judgment from the other members. Anyway, I had a moment and you were the first person who came to mind who would appreciate the story.

Me: [anxious and intrigued] Oh?

Single Friend: So all of these girls are laughing, having a good time, talking about the book when it occured to me — a few are pregnant, some already have kids, and every. single. one. is. married.

Me: [Laughs] Yes…

Single Friend: Two years ago, this wouldn’t have even dawned on me. But for some reason, it did tonight. They are dressed in business suits, have husbands with high-paying jobs, and wear huge rocks on their fingers. I show up in gym clothes.

Me: I get it, totally. I’ve had that moment many times, where you just stop - look around the table or room, and realize that you can’t relate to them on so many levels.

Single Friend: Right, exactly. The conversation would always come back around to their families, and I go home to my dogs. I just couldn’t even imagine right now, having to come home and take care of a baby. Is something wrong with me? Do I need to see a counselor [laughs]?

Me: Nope.

Single Friend: I’m happy…I really like my life. But there was just something about seeing everyone else living in such a different world than me, that made me think.

I’ve only known this friend for less than a year. We work together and among 80+ people in the organization, are the only two unmarried, childless female coworkers in the entire building. We regularly attend department-initiated baby showers and have had our fair share of sheet cake; pink, blue, pink, blue, pink, blue. While fellow mothers shout out descriptives of their thoughtful, hand-picked gifts and why specifically they’re the best bottles, her and I are focusing on how delicious the icing tastes.

We’ve formed a bond. Inside and outside of the business. While there are many points of difference in our daily interests, we definitely share that particular commonality. Actually, we even share the same name on our birth certificate.

As a rule - I truly believe that through every step and facet of our complicated lives on earth, people are brought into the picture for a purpose at particular moments in time. Usually to learn a lesson, or to make the lessons a little less painful. Her and I each come with our own set of amazing friends that pre-date our infant companionship; those people are there through thick and thin. But the truth is, they run a tight ship with busy schedules and have a much different set of priorities than us.

Simply put - she knows that at a quarter to 9 on a Wednesday night, I’m sitting on an oversized sofa by myself.

In our case, neither one of us throws pity parties, nor invite each other to attend any unforeseen ones. But it is in these brief moments of innocent inner banter, where it just helps to know that you can call someone who understands how you feel. Maybe it isn’t on a game show to help win a million dollar prize, but the comfort of knowing someone will pick up - and listen - is priceless.

A hot mess.

The Internet (and my mind) is fucking with me. I appear to be overheating.

Let me back up 24 hours.

Bullets Pictures of Mr. Ex are flying around from all sides of the screen through our mutual Facebook friends. Dodging them seems near impossible. Ever since I interacted with him in the flesh on multiple occasions so far this summer, it has occurred to me I definitely, definitely negated any kind of “steps forward” I had previously achieved over the first few months of separation. I’m back at ground zero…Which is also why I’m choosing to remove myself from continued communal interactions via river boating and BBQing hangouts; my raw heart can’t handle it. I’d be better off just skewering the broken pieces and adding them to the grill.

Next up, my colleague who is also single was recently talked into joining The Match.com (compliments of my own peer pressure) and before she could even blink, the Quarterback winked at her. That’s just awesome. Guess he isn’t taking my advice on resolving his trust issues with women before hitting the field again. It stung a little bit, but also validated my intuition to just move on.

I wish on The Match there was a Commenting box available — or better yet — a Reviewer’s section. Ya know, just like online stores have thru their web site for consumers. You can write up your personal experience of a product…its features, quality, durability, if the description on the package actually translates to real usage. That would be oh so helpful in online dating. In this case, I’d have to call QB’s bluff on “balancing work and personal life.”

Or like the Lawyer who I briefly dated last June & lied about his age. The guy just turned 40 but his profile page proclaims he is in his early 30’s.

Which leads me to my next subject — recycling. I recycle plastic, paper and aluminum products, but am making it my mission to not recycle men. Period.

The Lawyer is still on The Match and emailed me. Or should I say had the nerve to email me. Exhibit A: He took me to his beach house after knowing me for 3 weeks, then didn’t contact me again for another 2 weeks. Lame. And, now, he wants to know if I’d like to grab some sake with him (just like our first date). No thank you. His case is closed.

There was also yet another past bachelor who reached out yesterday — I formerly referred to him as The Artist. After several emails and a phone call, we were scheduled to meet in early December, but then Mr. Ex came back swinging into the picture. I was entirely too confused and overwhelmed to even fathom holding a conversation with a new chap at the time, so I gently canceled the date. I then later ran into The Artist in March and recognized him from pictures. I don’t think he is my type though so won’t pursue that avenue. And also because, as I said above, I really and truly want a fresh start.

Finally, after all the digital debauchery over the course of the day, last night I met up with two of my best girlfriends — one is visiting from out of town. She is married, a mom, and drives a mini van. I still don’t believe it, even seeing it in writing. The other gal is a fellow Match.com customer and cashed in on the cream of the crop. I’m devasted the guy doesn’t have a clone in the form of a brother or cousin; he’s amazing. They have proven to be a match indeed…and could actually be used in the company success story commercials.

I knew that both off-the-market ladies, who are almost as invested in my search to find lasting love as I am, would want to participate in culling down my growing list of potential manfriends. So I printed out about 15 dudes for them to review. One by one they scanned photos, “About Me” sections, hobbies, and interests. Each got put into two piles: Yes and Hell No.

The orchestrated ordeal was halfway hilarious, halfway hard. The married judge on our panel was picking apart elements such as restricted height (5’6”), the way the guy sat on the chair (legs wide open = cocky), posing on a motorcycle (or as she calls them, crotch rockets), if a female (not even knowing if they’re maybe related) was included in any photos, and on and on. I sat there defending myself, constantly sourcing the book “Mr. Good Enough” written by a lady over 40 who never got married because she was entirely too picky.

This time around, I’m genuinely trying hard to expand my normally strict criteria.

Which leads me to my next subject: Kids. I want kids, but I want them to come out of my uterus. Not only am I not ready nor wanting to be a Step Mother, but I just want *1* thing to be sacred and of my own. I’m open to meeting someone who is divorced (which by the way is 1:1 who contact me), but offspring baggage too…that’s tough. Both my sister & sister-in-law were ripping me a new one over the weekend, telling me I *have* to be more open about guys with children, otherwise I’m vastly limiting my ability to meet men.

God forbid I’m limited in any capacity.

So, I’m supposed to settle. I’m supposed to just totally throw my hands up and say screw it. Just give me anyone. I’m over 30 and maxing out here soon.

Really though — where do you draw the line on settling?

I need a cold shower… this 100+ degree heat is clearly getting to me.

On the hunt.

As I anticipated might happen, The Match.com shenanigans are well under way.

And, I can’t keep up.

Typically I’m a very organized, detail-oriented kinda gal. But both @ work & on the manfriend hunt — incoming requests are coming in far too quickly to keep up with. I refuse to believe that a part-time assistant wouldn’t do a body good.

Out of the six contenders so far [meaning we’ve had multiple exchanges be it through email, ichat or phone], there is one in the lead; mostly by default of having the highest volume and consistency in communication. Here are the stats: 30 y/o, as tall as a tree, from Pittsburgh, is a middle school teacher, baseball coach, and just got into grad school to eventually become a Principal. We’re gonna call him Mr. D.

That may sound simple, but it’s what his students call him, and, I also consulted with him on the alias. That’s right — he knows this blog exists and was on board with “becoming famous” as he put it. Little does he know what he’s really gotten himself into (grin).

We talked on the phone last night for the first time: 2 hours and 47 minutes. That is absolutely ridiculous, for many reasons. Normally I *hate* talking on the phone. My coveted window of me-time after work & the gym, leaves me with a very small window before bed. At best, a 20-minute call is what I have to offer.

There were only 2 internal hiccups that occurred through the course of our phone-a-thon. The first was that he drives a pick-up truck, an F-150. I wish that I didn’t associate these vehicles with “good ol’ boys” or rednecks, but I do. I’m a city girl. I will get over it. The second is that he is a self-proclaimed Mama’s Boy. This has the potential to be a major issue. However, my initial take is that it’s of manageable proportions. Mr. D is the youngest of the family & the person who birthed him, spoils him. They talk on the phone 2x a week and parental units live 3 states away. We’ll just have to play this one by ear for now, as Mothers are a particular hot spot for me.

The positive takeaways is that he loves his job, is good with kids, dedicated [getting his Master’s degree], funny/witty, a bona fide handy man, has a close relationship with his parents & brother, and brews his own beer!

So Mr. D just kept plugging away with the questions, and it was nice. There wasn’t one single lull in the conversation either. At one point I wondered if when we do meet face-to-face this Saturday, there will be anything left to discuss…but then I remembered drinks-in-hand usually allows room for expanded topics.

Speaking of getting together…plans aren’t set yet. I am leaving that up to him. With the Quarterback, one of my #1 pet peeves was that it was like pulling teeth to get him to make a decision. It drove me absolutely bonkers. Hopefully Mr. D will utilize his assignment skills from inside the classroom and run the show. Or at a minimum, set an agenda.

Meanwhile, I’ve gotta get back to ignoring, deleting, responding, assessing, analyzing, and weeding through the next batch of bachelors.

This might be a long summer.

19 things you should never say to a single person.

A Glamour dating blogger collected 19 of the most-hated, tired and depressing clichés about being single. Read them, and swear never to use them on any of your single friends. Ever.

1. It happens when you’re not looking.
“This is just bull. Some people find people when they’re looking; some don’t. You’re not doing anything wrong by going out and meeting people.” —Beth

2. There are plenty of fish in the sea.
“I dated a guy whose last name was Fish. People just had a BLAST with that one.” —Kelly

3. So, why are you single?
“I generally dislike this question. I mean honestly, if I knew why, I don’t think I would be single right now, now would I?!” —Erica

4. You’re too picky.
“This may be true, but it feels like I’m getting criticized for my taste, vision, and close-mindedness — when I’m already down.” —Sarah

5. You’ll find the right person for you.
—Kelly

6. He’s out there.
—Kelly

7. It was just bad timing.
“Like it’s so easy to dismiss a guy on such an emotionless and objective reason.” —Taryn

8. Just have fun with it!
“Um, don’t tell me how to date in my thirties when you got married at 24.” —Maya

9. Have you tried online dating?
“Duh!” —Elisa

10. He just wasn’t the right guy for you.
“I know! That’s what I’m complaining about!” —Elisa

11. Well, when my boyfriend and I first got together…
“Wait, I still want to talk about me.” —Elisa

12. When the time is right, you will meet someone.
—Betsy

13. Wow, I wish I were single and in your shoes!
“Really?! I’m pretty sure you CAN be single if you actually want to be. That there is an attainable dream, so if you aren’t messing with me right now out of pity (which I suspect you are), please go for it!” —Kim

14. Your turn next [at weddings].
—Natlondon, via Twitter

15. It will happen when you least expect it.
—dlegas05, via Twitter

16. Some guy is going to come along and ruin your career/life plans.
“I am 32 and no one has ruined the last 10 years of plans.” —frolicblog, via Twitter

17. But you’re so pretty! Why don’t you have a boyfriend?
“There’s just no graceful way to answer that.” —earnesteats, via Twitter

18. It just wasn’t meant to be.
“Any of these platitudes are exponentially more annoying when coming from the mouths of smug marrieds.” —Reberoodle, via Twitter

19. Sure, my guy rescues kids from abusive homes, donated my sister a kidney, and picks up fresh flowers for me daily on his way home from work, but will he QUIT IT with the sports on TV already?
“Single people just hate to be complained to about petty relationship stuff. If you do this, I’m not going to want to hang out with you. (In fact, maybe I’ll call your boyfriend and ask him if he wants to grab a beer and watch the Yankees game?)” —Kim

Bottom line, if you’re in a relationship or married and you don’t have any specific, original advice or wisdom for your single friend—and you must use an established saying — we would prefer to hear neutral ones like, “This too shall pass” or “Take it one day at a time.” They are so much more helpful and comforting.

Also of note: not one person I polled mentioned they were tired of hearing, “He’s just not that into you.” I think that’s because it’s not condescending. And apparently, it’s not overused. So that one is still okay to say. For now.

Babies.

Today’s theme has manifested in the form of babies.

My long-standing admiration and appreciation for soft & cuddly canines is quickly starting to translate over into the little human sector too.

Throughout my life, the miniature people in onesies never put my uterus into a tizzy. I simply enjoy them from a safe distance — as an Aunt by blood and by choice. Aunt Mimi loves to hold, caress and kiss the cutie pies, and then immediately return to sender.

While 99% of my female peers’ anatomy alarm clocks were ringing for the last decade, mine stood stagnant & silent. When most kick off their career in the early teen years, I didn’t begin babysitting until my late twenties. Who does that? Then something clicked and in the year 2010, slowly but surely, my observation of their surrounding presence began to make me want one closer, more permanently attached to my hip. Preferably a spawn that I produced.

Because my anti-baby syndrome lasted for much longer than ever anticipated, solely based on friends’ desires and the ticking timebomb coming from their tummies, the obvious absence began to make me wonder if perhaps I was missing the Mom gene. But now I know that isn’t the case.

This morning started out by thinking of my very first nephew and Godson who turned 13 today. I flipped through memory lane beginning with 1997 in the photo album  that I made as a keepsake to track the first years of his life.

Then I reflected on Oprah’s show that I watched last night on DVR about a man who made a documentary called Babies. He spent one whole year filming 4 babies from all across the globe and made it into a movie. There is no dialogue, speaking, or voiceovers. You simply get to watch the pureness and magic that are infants — and discover that no matter what country you reside in or what language you speak — we’re all the same at that age.

In the afternoon, I finally mustered up the discipline to get up off my ass and head to Babies R Us. There is a baby shower scheduled for the morning and a diminishing registry was calling my name. Notoriously, always, without fail, I wait until the very last second to make a purchase from these lists. Sure I’m a professional procrastinator, but by now I should have learned my lesson: Wait & You Will Pay. Meaning, the most random items are leftover, leaving me with a hodgepodge of products to wrap in a bow. Giftgiving is traditionally a talent of mine ~ pinpointing the perfect present seemingly custom-manufactured just for that person. But in the case of any and all celebratory showers, I fail miserably.

After waiting my turn in the check-out line surrounded by bright colored Fisher Price packaging and tiny toes sticking out of strollers, a young lady manning the register clearly knew I was not purchasing for myself…seeing as though I had a printed registry in one hand and a roll of baby blue wrapping paper in the other, yet she still asked if I wanted to activate a frequent buyer rewards program card. Although it felt like just another moment to tuck away into my “That was like taking a bullet” bag, I was able to stop and think rationally for a second: That is something I should have applied for about 24 showers ago! Damnit.

Inevitably during times like these, I always-always playback the Sex & the City episode where Carrie is seen in a montage scene checking out at various registries over the years. She eventually registers for her own singlehood shower, at Manolo, of course. These two quotes from the show will never, ever get old.

“Let’s be honest. Sometimes there is nothing harder in life than being happy for somebody else. Like lottery winners. Or extremely successful people who are 27. And then there’s that hell on earth that only your closest friends can inflict on you — the baby shower.”

“Think about it. If you are single, after graduation there isn’t one occasion where people celebrate you…Hallmark doesn’t make a “congratulations, you didn’t marry the wrong guy” card. And where’s the flatware for going on vacation alone?”

According to scientific studies & research, I have exactly four more years left until my eggs start dying out on me. Well correction. Until my odds will skyrocket of experiencing major complications both to get preggers and/or conceive a Grade A healthy baby.

But a lot can happen over the next 1,460 days. When the time does eventually come to take hold of the retailer’s gun, frolic up and down the aisles, and scan away at my heart’s desire to create a haute couture printable purchase order for others to activate, you better believe [from someone who shops as a sport] that the shower party will be epic. And the registry wish list will be extensive, to make sure everyone on the long guest list has options…you know who you are.

So go right ahead, book your babysitter now.