Sunday Styles

People like myself are the reason that we’re all going to have to soon pay $165 per year to read The New York Times online. For those who rarely have the time or energy to sit down with a hard copy of a newspaper, our smartphones and laptops provide a quick and easy solution to getting the juice without newsprint ink on our fingers. Heck, for the amount of news I read online-- which has ultimately caused such papers to recognize potential areas of profit-- I really should earn a commission on every dollar they make. Either that or I definitely shouldn’t be paying the fee, because people like me made the fee worthwhile and valuable in the first place.

On rare occasion though, I do succumb to the joys of doing things old- school and sit down with an actual Sunday paper in hand. Usually it’s when I’m home in my childhood house, when some mysterious fairy has already placed it on the kitchen table-- right before she laid out my breakfast in front of it. Now while I normally read somewhat intelligent articles on my iPhone on the way to work, Sunday mornings at home call for a more indulgent read: The Sunday Styles.

Why, you might ask, do I automatically flip to this section? Especially coming from the girl who hates engagements and romance, how can I be so contradictory?

I think the answer is that it’s flat out enjoyable to catch a sneak peek into the lives of people we’d never otherwise encounter. As I read about Ms. Yale University the biochemistry graduate whose father is a world renowned cardiologist, I consider how bizarre her conversations with her Harvard philosophy major husband must be. Do they spend hours debating evolution at the dinner table, or perhaps they do they plan their upcoming exotic vacation?

Whatever the case, it’s interesting to get a look into the lives of strangers on their special days, to read the sometimes fascinating biographies of the newlyweds. The best is when we’re provided short vignettes that describe how the two met at a cocktail party when he spilled his red wine down her pastel colored dress, or how she knew from the start at that Halloween party that she just had to know Mr. George Bush impersonator.

What’s always been apparent, though, is that the New York Times is exceptionally exclusive and elitist. Sorry, but you’re not going to find Mrs. Manicurist and Mr. Truck driver’s announcement, although I think their story might be more interesting than two boat shoe clad and stuffy thirty-somethings.

As of recently, there’s apparently a new website that attempts to quantify exactly how many of the people in these announcements are Ivy League educated. Not only Ivy League educated, but also married by a Catholic Priest and women keeping their last names.

Meet WeddingCredential.com (see http://www.weddingcredential.com) and you too can search 3,981 NYTimes wedding announcements to see how many female Princeton graduates who kept their last names. You can also learn how many Goldman Sachs employees who graduated Summa Cum Laude have also been listed. Because we all really care about these details.

According to a New York Magazine article Columbia is the Most-Named University in the Times Wedding Pages, Columbia is the most-named university in the Times Wedding Pages. OK not funny, sorry. But really, it’s interesting to consider how NY Magazine has broken down these seemingly useless yet interesting statistics. (See http://nymag.com/daily/intel/2010/07/columbia_is_the_most-named_uni.html.)

First off, NY Magazine’s analysis has led me to consider the fact that the New York Times is, in reality, pretty elitist. That we all already knew. But, really, who would actually care to read about someone non-Ivy Leage educated? I won’t even begin to mention those people who not only didn’t go to top tier schools, but those who were raised by teachers or-- even worse-- wait, I can’t think of anything the Times would shun more than that.

Beyond that, I think the article makes a very significant point: it’s because of the prevalence of words like “Jdate,” “online dating,” and “Facebook” in marriage announcements that online dating as a whole has become more socially acceptable overall in America. Since we’ve been reading those words repeatedly every Sunday morning for years now, we’ve somehow begun to convince ourselves that meeting someone over the Internet is less taboo.

I also learned that if you want to try and get a three by six inch spot in the Sunday paper, you too can now search this new website. Your seach can help you find out if you’re more likely to make it in if you’re marrying a surgeon or lawyer. You can also determine if your chances are better with a man whose father was a salesman or one whose mom was a CPA. I don’t know about you, but my one and only life goal has been to make it into that section-- so much so that I’m willing to spend hours plotting a way how. (Can you believe that some girls actually do think that though!?)

So what, in actuality, is this new site good for? Besides a little fun with statistics for non-mathematicians, I’m not really sure. What I do know, though, is that we Americans are nosey. We like learning a bit or two about that handsome stranger who we’ll only meet on paper, and we feel validated by the fact that even that gorgeous woman met her soul mate online and-- gasp-- not at a friend’s party. Perhaps it’s sad that one three-page section of a newspaper impacts us this much socially but hey, we’ve gotta get with The Times, folks.

A little (Tweeting) bird told me you're proposing to me?

The idea of men proposing makes me gag. Doesn’t matter who it is, if I know them or not or how close I am with either the male or the female. The idea of a man getting down on one knee and asking the love of his life to spend the rest of his life with a women is sort of sickening to me, although I’ve been told that when it happens to me I won’t feel so nauseated. I’m not so sure.

So what’s the deal? I’m not opposed to marriage, I’m certainly not opposed to sparkling engagement rings, but I hate the engagement process? Here’s what it boils down to-- over-the-top gestures (of any kind) disturbs me.

For example, big birthday celebrations. Going out to dinner is one thing. A week long fiesta full of bar hopping, spa treatments and pricey gifts? Way out of control. We were all born and we didn’t do so much to earn that celebration-- other than perhaps not fleeing a bar with a stranger in a foreign country or saying no to riding that dude’s motorcycle without a helmet in the pouring rain.

Take this idea a step further when a man decides to pay to have his “big question” sprawled across a big-screen at a Red Sox game. I don’t think it’s cute. I don’t think it’s sweet. And I definitely don’t wish it upon myself. It’s overdone, ridiculously dramatic and not something that most people want to see.

Regardless of my irrelevant opinion, people have and always done extreme things in the name of love. I mean, people tattoo their lover’s (lovers’?) names on their arms, so really how much more ridiculous is asking for someone’s hand in marriage while riding in a horse drawn carriage in Central Park?

I’ve always said that if I actually ever tricked some poor soul into proposing, I’d prefer that he just ask the question casually and not create a whole scene. My romanticized idea is that I’m scrubbing dishes as we talk and he’s like “Hey, wanna get married?” I say “sure” and then the sink overflows because I took my eyes off what I was doing to look into that little black box for a split second. (OK, I confess, even I am not that shallow.)

Well, folks, things just got weirder with how men propose. If you’re anything like me, you’ll find what I’m about to discuss even more disgusting. According to a new CNN article, Is chivalry dead? Technology twists the wedding proposal, not only are couples getting engaged in ways as sickening as ever, but they’re doing it publicly: via the internet. (See http://www.cnn.com/2010/LIVING/07/28/marriage.proposals/index.html).

The writer talks about men who have proposed through YouTube videos and even people who have done it by tweeting their question for god knows how many followers to see. Now, as I’ve already established, I’m not one for chivalry or romance, but really? Really?! You’re going to make your engagement not only public, but that impersonal?

Unless things have changed recently, I’ve always thought that marriage was between two people who love each other and want to stay exclusively with each other. I didn’t think that it was something that should involve your 857 Facebook friends, and certainly not the 35,000 people in the football stadium. Or maybe I’m just that uncool and bitter that I don’t have as many friends as the rest of the world. Who knows.

Point is, this new concept is weird. Even though we’re such a voyeuristic culture, some things are better left between the two people in a relationship and really shouldn’t be out there for the public to judge. (But, of course, your 35,000 stadium friends aren’t “the public,” they’re all people you care about, right?)

Believe me, I know that me posting this isn’t going to change even one thing in the way that any man proposes to his girlfriend in the future. But, for the sake of the rest of us, try to keep your proposal somewhat intimate and reasonable. I don’t think you really want to ask your girlfriend to marry you via a short and sweet Tweet-- only for her friends to respond to you on her behalf before she does.

I'm Single-- But Have a Very Serious Boyfriend

I’m the queen of being single. Really. I’ve definitely spent the majority of my life unattached. But, then again, if you count childhood, most people my age can say the same. Personally, though, I think I’ve had my fair share of being single, and when I am, it’s something that I’m usually OK with and have come to terms with. After all, being single can be a blast. It can be liberating to not have to report to anyone but yourself, to not have to worry about when you’ll be home so you can have dinner on someone else’s schedule.

Some people, though, don’t think of being single the way that I do. They think of it perhaps as being “alone,” that they have no companion with whom to share their life. Some girls equate singledom with failure: there must be something wrong with me that I can’t get a boyfriend! Even that weirdo girl who doesn’t shave her legs in my history class has a boyfriend. I shave and shower, so why don’t I!?

Obviously people can cope with their feelings of despair various ways. Some choose to actually be proactive, to put themselves out there, meet men, online date, go out more, you name it. And sometimes those tactics work.

Other times, though, people do what drives me absolutely insane: they lie. They tell their close friends that they’re “seeing someone” and tell acquaintances (or anyone who doesn’t know much about their daily routines) that they’re with someone who’s going to soon be popping the question with a five carat Harry Winston.

Sour singles, as I like to think of them, at times lie to exes and say they have a new person in their life. This occurrence can happen when, in reality, it’s evident that they’re still sitting home watching Say Yes to the Dress on TLC at 9:00pm on Friday nights. (Please note that single or taken, that’s actually a fun way to spend a night!)

Maybe you’re thinking, alright, people lie. So what?

The “so what” is that lying becomes frightening when the liar actually begins to believe their fictitious stories. It goes without saying that this is a common phenomenon among all liars, that they start being unable to distinguish between real life and their creations. But, for some reason, I keep noticing this happening more and more with people I know and people they know, and their cousin’s friend’s sisters and their father’s best friend’s daughters.

More and more people, it seems, feel increasing pressure to be dating someone. So much pressure, I think, that it feels more acceptable to invent elaborate tales of their experiences with Mr. Perfect than to admit that they’re just not at the point where they’ve actually found him!

Well, listen up, ladies and gents. I’ve gotta tell you that whether or not you realize it, it’s much easier to get caught in your lies these days since the invention of what we call the internet. It becomes especially clear when you’re posting fifty photos per month on Facebook that you don’t have a boyfriend because he’s not in any of the photos. And you know that thing called Twitter? Yea, well, if you’re tweeting every hour on the hour about how you ate a banana for breakfast and took a bathroom break from that painfully boring meeting at work, it seems a little odd that you never once mention your boyfriend for the general public to read about, no?

And think your friends won’t see you hanging out on dating websites? Believe me, friends know. I’ve run into countless people I know on sites, as have most of my friends. So if your dear friend doesn’t notice that you’re chilling on Jdate for three hours at a time, not to worry: someone else will. And you will get caught. Liars always get caught.

Why am I bothering to write about this? And why do I write this with such passion and emotion? Because it makes me sad-- legitimately upset-- that people can’t just accept that there are periods of time where they WILL be single. Meanwhile, there’s no need to be upset about it, especially as it usually doesn’t reveal much about your character. We all go through those rough patches. (It’s different if you’re unable to ever score a date, but that’s a different story.)

Instead of lying to others and, most importantly, yourself, do me a favor. Embrace being single. Spend extra time with your friends and family. Go eat dinner alone in a restaurant from time to time and watch couples fighting so you’re reminded that it’s a joy to not be involved with that. Being single is nothing to be ashamed about-- if anything, it’s a fabulous excuse to be selfish and do the activities that YOU want to do all the time.

His Mommy Wrote His Personal Ad... And Now We're Dating.

When I was a senior in high school and had just been accepted to college, my grandmother’s cousin happened to be speaking at an event hosted by my soon-to-be school.

“It’s a great honor to be speaking here today,” he started, “and extremely special to me personally. My cousin’s granddaughter just got into B* University this past week, so being here speaking and supporting this school means a great deal to me.”

Innocent statement enough, right?

Wrong.

Immediately after his speech to alumni, friends and family of the university, an elderly lady approached him. She wasn’t about to compliment his articulate speaking or explain how proud she was that he supported the same cause she did. She introduced herself so she could set me up with her grandson-- a boy who apparently was also accepted at my school.

Yes, she wanted to set him up with me. Me being the girl who was in Connecticut at the time, the event being in Florida, she of course hadn’t ever seen me. For all she knew I had tons of moles and two lazy eyes. Maybe she decided that I was of comparable intelligence to her grandson because we were to attend the same school, or maybe my cousin made an impression good enough to pique her interest in his family members.

So even though this lady immediately whipped out her grandson’s phone number and photo, I never actually met him. Or maybe I did and didn’t know it. To this day I have no idea who the boy was, although I do know he entered my school the year I did, was tall, dark and handsome (of course) and that he was from New York. My cousin fortunately lost this boy’s contact information, something that he and I are probably both grateful for.

So why, now, many years later, am I reflecting on an event where I wasn’t present, one that never really impacted my life in any way whatsoever?

Well, to be quite honest, that was the fist thing that popped into my head when I read Moms Post on “Date My Single Kid,” a CNN article about a new website where mothers can post personal ads on behalf of their children. (See http://www.cnn.com/2010/LIVING/07/19/matchmaker.parent.date.my.kid/index.html.)

The article profiles some sad soul named Colby Brin, age 31, who routinely allows his mother to set him up on dates. In fact, he estimates that his mother has set him up on over thirty dates. And he wonders why none of them have amounted to anything. Every girl dreams of her matchmaker being her future mother-in-law! Nothing like her meddling in your relationship from the very beginning.

Towards the end of the article, the author states that Brin insists that “if a relationship becomes serious...‘his girlfriend won't have to fret.’ He says his mother tends to be more hands-off with his love life once he is in a committed relationship.”

And he expects us readers to believe that? That his mother is coordinating his dating life, but-- don’t worry-- once he becomes a thing with some naive lady mom will step out of the picture? And what about later, when there are kids? Not to worry, she certainly won’t attempt to control the way her grandchildren are raised. It’s not like she cared at all who their mother was. And, after all, she knows her son better than he knows himself, and she certainly know's who the best choice for a girlfriend (read: ultimately his wife) is.

Honestly, I don’t know about you, but I wouldn’t want to ever consider going on a date with a man whose mommy put him on the site. Besides the whole control issue at hand, why would I want to date someone who doesn’t have the guts to self-promote on his own behalf?

Now, don’t get me wrong, I love moms and on occasion love their sons. But really, I don’t want to love those moms until I'm deeply involved with their sons. One lady calling and nagging me to pick up the phone and call my relatives is enough, thank you. I already have one mom and I certainly don’t need another.

XOXO,
R.

Wait, What? Feeling Bad for Celebrities?

This past week I went on a date. A unique type of date, for that matter. A date with my boyfriend's mom. I'll call his mom C for the purposes of this post. The plan was to see the documentary Joan Rivers: A Piece of Work. C showed up at the theater a half hour before the movie was supposed to start so she could purchase our tickets. About twenty-six minutes before the previews were set to begin, she called me.

"The movie's sold out. We have to pick something else."

"Um, are you sure?" I asked.

"Yes, I just asked and they said there's not a seat left!"

"OK, but I'm not sure how that's possible," I began, the disappointment evident in my tone. "I mean, the movie came out almost a month ago, it's a WEDNESDAY NIGHT, why would it be so packed?"

I had waited for weeks to see this woman perform on the big screen, to gauge how much plastic surgery she had since the last time I watched her criticizing red carpet outfits on television.

"The theater where it's playing holds fourteen people," she replied, almost incredulously.

Fourteen people. Right. Because any public theater would have that few seats. But as we walked by that room on the way to another movie, I peered inside. Sure enough, there were only fourteen seats. Although I was so anxious to see the film that I was willing to sit on the floor, I knew that might not be the most appropriate suggestion for the occasion. Not everyone would like to listen to Rivers spewing obscenities with dropped popcorn embedded in their clothing. Perhaps I'm the only one.

After my disappointment, I was finally able to see the movie. Of course I had to wait three whole days until I was home in a different state and with my mom. The wait was painful but I survived.

When we arrived in the theater, I was shocked to see a completely different scene than I had expected: an extraordinarily large, completely empty theater! And as the opening scene flashed on screen, another unexpected scene: Rivers with no makeup on. None. Zilch. Nada. Not even a stroke of foundation. But, of course, we viewers didn't get to see her entire face as that could be too damaging to her image. We only caught pieces of it.

What's interesting, though, is that this one makeup-less scene seems to have foreshadowed what I was about to learn from the rest of the film. I know, I know, it seems silly that I would actually learn something from watching this vulgar creature's escapades from rural Wisconsin to fashionable neighborhoods in Los Angeles to her luxurious apartment in Manhattan.

But I did.

I realized that behind all that makeup lies an incredibly vulnerable woman. There hides an older lady who, even at seventy-five years of age, feels like she still has so much to accomplish in her life, that nothing in her career has been satisfactory enough to call it quits and retire like a normal person. She flaunts herself in the eye of the media, only to be judged, torn to shreds and judged again, just so that she will hopefully feel one day that she has accomplished something so large that she can finally consider herself a success.

I understand that it might seem strange that I'm siding with this successful woman who, as wealthy as she is, still chooses to present this unprotected side upon herself. But this movie made me consider anyone who's in the public eye.

Like just now, for example, I'll admit that I just clicked Perez Hilton's Twitter link to see what Lindsay Lohan's mugshot looks like. (I accidentally just typed "mugshit" and it seems like an appropriate Freudian slip here.) Not only is it pathetic that I'm looking at the mugshot of a girl who I don't even know, but what's worse is that she's having so many people look at it while she's also dealing with this situation on a personal level. People are judging her, they have since The Parent Trap, and they will for as long as she's exposed in the media. So for as much as she's messed up, and as many issues as she has, I almost feel a little sorry for her. What if my every move were scrutinized? What if I felt that I needed to have my life broadcasted throughout the world just to make myself feel successful? (OK, maybe in some twisted way I'm doing that now here...)

Anyway, I'm realizing that it's important to consider the flip side of fame: all of the negative ramifications that come along with it. Everyone has problems, but some of the biggest problems come to those like Joan or Lindsay who have decided to make their fame in front of anyone with a computer. It's times like these that I'm proud to be a nobody who's at home eating an ice cream pop in my pajamas.

XOXO,
R.