Archives for posts with tag: marriage

Did you know getting engaged is the leading cause of marriage in the U.S.? Know the facts. Get educated. The Fiancé Fever is sweeping the country, and my Facebook feed, more quickly than a Kardashian files for divorce. No one is safe. Love is literally everywhere.

February is full of white girls suffering from Acute Boyfriend Syndrome: the desperate act of trying to swoop up a man in time for V-day. As a precursor to the Fiancé Fever, symptoms of ABS range from a low-grade depression often resulting from meticulously amassing a secret wedding board on Pinterest, to a moderate or severe depression as a direct result of binging on romantic comedies, often featuring Ryan Gosling.

Tragically, this disorder affects more than 100 billion women each year: All the single ladies. ALL OF THEM.

I, on the other hand, have taken the proper precautions in the perpetual battle against Acute Boyfriend Syndrome, even if it means bringing my mum as my date to another of my peers’ weddings. I haven’t had a great track record with dating. My last breakup was pretty messy…

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[Yeah, I’m not proud of it either. My prom dress was so not quiche. “Blame it on the a-a-a-a-a-alcohooool!”]

I’d like to take a mulligan on the last few years of my dating life. Like Mariah Carey in Glitter, let’s just forget this ever happened. It doesn’t help that all of my girlfriends are bringing men home for the holidays… I brought home a cat, which is still a step up from the last guy I brought home: same amount of hair and quality of conversation, but prettier eyes.

The hype over Valentine’s Day is great… if you’re in a stable, committed relationship that’s never been featured on Teen Mom. I understand the desire to commit an entire holiday to love, but shouldn’t we be celebrating the love in our life every day? I’d be happier with a holiday dedicated to grabbing beers with your best friends: Beerentine’s Day. Then again, I celebrate that fictional holiday all year.

Admittedly, I’m nowhere near the authority on dating & relationships. The most steamy, committed relationship in my life to date has been with pizza… also the entire cast of SNL. But, if I could build my perfect mate, it would go something like this:

  • the face of Ryan Gosling
  • the body of Ryan Gosling
  • (I could end the list here, but…)
  • the hair & suits of Don Draper
  • the voice of Bon Iver
  • the church of Irish Catholic (for my mum, of course)
  • the personality of Michael Scott, regional Manager of Dunder Mifflin
  • the liver of Brett Michaels
  • (JK on that last one)

I like ‘em tall, dork & handsome. I just want to find a guy that will love me as much as Kanye West loves Kanye West. Why settle?

Unlike those tragically affected by ABS, or all of my peers in actual stable relationships outside the realm of reality TV, I’ll be enjoying a pretty satisfying Gal-entine’s Day on my own. Being single on Valentine’s Day means you can do WHATEVER YOU WANT. Also, you don’t have to disappoint anyone (beside your mum who wants you to get hitched & settle down before you’re 40 and have no more “viable eggs”, whatever that means). In any case, fear not, my Gal-entine’s Day will be filled with plenty of pizza, brews, and Bobby Moynihan impressions.

In the meantime, fellow single minglers, we’ll just have to grin & bear all of the schmoozy, gushy social media posts this holiday. A Valentine’s Day post is a lot like Enrique Iglesias’ mole: if you just ignore it long enough, it will go away.

Oh, and if you’re one of the 5 straight men (excluding my immediate family) that read this blog, and you’d like to take me out to celebrate Anti-Valentine’s Day, you can find me at the hardware store, Take Me Home Depot.

XOXO (sarcastically),

M.

I am twenty-five. There, I said it. I have been so for a handful of weeks, so I’m still getting the hang of things. Additionally, I’m still waiting for my Being an Adult: A Detailed Manual of Responsibility, Looking Awesome, & Proper Bikini Waxes* to arrive in the mail… any minute now. The reason I am effectively outing my age to you is because I spent the majority of my teens hurrying to grown up, and the majority of my early twenties trying to hang on to my stubborn youth. Finalement, at the icy peak of my mid-twenties, saddled with student loans, the hippest slang, and a detailed memorization of which Happy Hour starts where, I’m hella ready to live in the moment.

*this is a fictional piece of literature. Should Google verify its existence, please holler at me.

A lot of my high school friends are in the hay day of getting pregnant, or married, or dogs, or some combination of the three. And while I’m over-the-moon happy that they’re finding joyous fulfillment in this baby-married-dog life, I am in no way ready (or legally qualified) for this for three very specific reasons:

  1. I don’t have a boyfriend/husband/babydaddy. You have to have a boyfriend/husband/babydaddy to get pregnant (according to MTV).
  2. I don’t have a boyfriend/husband/babydaddy. You have to have a boyfriend/husband/babydaddy to get married (according to Pinterest).
  3. I don’t have time to pick up dog poop. Also, I don’t have a yard.

Truth be told, I admire the way my peers handle the baby-married-dog situation: I only know one friend-of-a-friend-of-a-cousin’s-friend who ended up on Teen Mom. So, save a few, minor “WTF For Real? No, Seriously?” cases, my homies have the whole ‘Maturity & Looking Awesome Taking Care Of Babies/Spouses/Dogs’ thing down to a science. As for me, I’ve got other priorities.

Let me put it this way: my best galpal and I are more excited about the latest technology, sporting event, or food/beer combination. Those are our babies [food babies; I’m in my second trimester, thanks for asking!]. For example, if she were to welcome home the latest Apple gadget, we would react as if she were welcoming home a fresh baby from the hospital. We would gather around the sparkly machine, wide-eyed and cooing things like:

“Oh, it has your sleek lines!”

“Cuuuute, it definitely has Steve Jobs’ lips!”

“Dang, that baby is fresh.”

“Hell yes, you should totally enter it in pageants!”

I will never tire of watching the baby-married-dog situation of my peers play out on Facebook, that I can promise you. Some of those chubby babies, dogs, and spouses, are my day-makers (and Thinspiration)! At this point in my quarter-century of a life, it’s safer, and more fulfilling, for me to watch from a distance. So while they’re keeping me in the loop on the swankiest new wedding venue, or how their dog knows more words than their toddler, I’ll be dancing like a mega-dork in ankle deep mud at a music festival to my favorite band in the entire universe and letting you know how fan-flippin’-tastic my last meal was. Also, I still listen to New Boyz’s “Better With the Lights Off”. I feel like you should be legally obligated not to do that in order to procreate.

My questionable taste in Chris Brown-related music aside, I love being twenty-five-ish, and I’m hella happy being sans baby/husband/dog. I might, however, feel differently about this if I find myself in my fifties publicizing my lack of a baby-husband-dog, and if I do find myself there in another quarter-century, there’s always CATS!

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