On Sunday, Patrick and I celebrated our six-month wedding anniversary by watching nearly seven hours of what Netflix claims are “Halloween favorites” and eating a delicious homemade caprese salad, as Patrick decided that six months is the “caprese anniversary.” No doubt he has some culinary deliciousness planned in six more months.
How has my life changed since April 21, 2012? In some ways, not at all. In other ways … not a lot. In still more ways? Not much. In fact, the manifestations of marriage in my day-to-day life are almost negligible, and perhaps because Patrick and I already lived together and wanted to be with each other forever before we decided to put a piece of paper on it. But also perhaps because, after you spend months planning the hoopla of a wedding — even a small one, even an inexpensive one, like ours was — almost anything would seem banal in comparison. Keep reading »
So, Justin Timberlake and Jessica Biel got married today, and they are both really pretty and talented (okay, he’s really talented, and she’s really pretty). But you know what? We can’t get a boner up for this. They might just be the most dull celeb couple ever. Timberlake called his lady “a really, really, really special person,” which is nice, you know? But also so dispassionate-sounding. I mean, longterm, this probably bodes well for their marriage, but who among us wasn’t secretly hoping that JT would eventually get back together with Britney Spears? Now that’s passion. [People]
“I was lawyering the shit out of the situation. I was like, ‘You know what? Will you just come here and fuck me?’ And he was like, ‘Wha-wha-what?’ I was like, ‘Yeah! I’m done fighting. Just come here and fuck me — that’s all this is about.’ He was like, ‘OK!’”
--Pink, on how she ended a six-hour fight with husband Carey Hart by changing her mind and opting for sex instead. She later goes on to explain in her Advocate interview that the fighting happens because”It’s usually that you feel vulnerable, that you feel powerless, that you feel out of control, that you feel scared,” she explains. “I’m a pit bull, but I’m a toothless pit bull. I will totally attack, but I just really wanted you to rub my tummy. Why when I bite you do you not understand that I just want you to rub my tummy?” [The Advocate]
The few times I ever imagined my future wedding as I grew up in suburban north Texas, I imagined it taking place in the church I was raised in, the altar strewn with pretty flowers and the minister who baptized as a child me officiating. This vague idea of what my wedding might be like never quite left me, even as I left organized religion as a young adult. Weddings were a church thing. Churches have ministers. Ministers do weddings. Seemed pretty simple.
But as I attended more and more church weddings as an adult, the more I realized that there would be no way I could have one of my own: it’s not exactly fair to ask a Christian minister to, you know, leave all those Jesus-y parts out. They do tend to like to get in a bit of that where they can.
My husband, Patrick, was raised Catholic. I was a Methodist. While we both spent our youth as devout practitioners of our respective faiths, we don’t currently attend church and don’t have any plans to. We are happily lapsed, though we both look fondly back on our days as Bible-beating teenagers. I, for one, credit the church for giving me moral guidance and an amazing social circle when I was in school. I’d do it the same way all over again. But it’s not who I am or what I believe today. Keep reading »
“I’m the luckiest man on the planet. It doesn’t make sense to me. The way she looks at me … she has that magical glow about her. … We got engaged over New Year’s and I walked from the Eiffel Tower to St. Germain yesterday and I went to the stoop, the little step where I proposed to Lauren – and I took a picture of it and I sent it to her. … It’s just this little courtyard outside of this hotel, and we were just dancing to Édith Piaf by ourselves on New Year’s and then I begged her to marry me.”
–Aaron Paul on his proposal to fiancee Lauren Parsekian. Is this cute, or does it make you want to vomit? I might just be in the latter category because I’m a miserable person who can’t be happy for others. You? [People]
As a man, when I think about marriage I ask myself: When can I afford it? I understand that the formula for eligible bachelors weighs income and wealth very heavily. Recently, an article on The Atlantic entitled “All the Single Ladies” reinforced this notion, with its many implications that men who are not doing well financially are unworthy of marriage.
“All the Single Ladies” makes clear the idea that because women can now earn as much as men, the relative financial impact of a man’s income in a marriage is much smaller than it was 20 or more years ago. In addition, we all face the reality that many of us who have high earnings (men and women) have a lot of debt with it, and therefore much less cash for weddings, honeymoons, engagement rings, and even residential homes.
So when can a man afford marriage? I have come up with two scenarios that can help answer this question. In my view, there are two financial strategies for marriage, and both of them can work for just about anyone. Read more…
I made sure to get the thin crust pizza, because I knew that once it was just me and a couch and Liam Neeson rescuing some people from some horrible shit and/or wolves, I was going to eat all that pizza, and I did not want the bread bloat. I was treating myself. I was worth it. I was alone.
For the past two and a half years, in the process of dating, moving in with and then marrying my husband, I haven’t been alone much. I’d almost forgotten how to do it. I’d almost forgotten how to do something I love to do, and something that I’m very, very good at doing. I don’t mean being single. I mean being solitary. By myself.
For most of my 20s, I was in long-distance relationships, make-up break-up relationships or deep into singledom. I had a lot of opportunities to cultivate my own favorite kinds of solitude: taking long afternoon drives out into the Texas Hill Country, getting a six pack of High Life tallboys, watching British comedies all night, going bonkers on multi-hour sewing project marathons that ended in inevitable disaster. Doing whatever I wanted, when I wanted to, and never having to wonder whether eating all this ranch dip at 3 p.m. is that going to mess up dinner plans. Because I didn’t have dinner plans. And I fucking loved it. Keep reading »
What is UP with dudes these days? First there was Alexey Bykov, the guy who pretended to die in a car crash in order to make his girlfriend realize how she can’t live without him (really, really). Now there comes the story of Ryan Thompson, a guy who pretended that the small plane he was flying was going to crash in order to propose to his girlfriend Carlie Kennedy. He planted the proposal in a flight checklist, and while pretending that the plane was going down, he asked her to read from the checklist. Despite the elaborate and terrifying ruse, she accepted (they always do, don’t they?)
I’ve been walking around with a sketch of a uterus and cervix in my reporter’s notebook for several weeks now, courtesy of my gynecologist. She drew it while explaining to me how an IUD works. I keep it around both because I like it as a conversation piece and because when you write about ladyparts as much as I do, it’s actually quite useful as a reference tool at the office or, you know, the bar. Wherever.
But what I like best about my little IUD sketch is that I don’t need it, because my husband is getting a vasectomy. When it comes to long-term contraception that isn’t sterilization, vasectomies are the bee’s infertile knees. The benefits are many: I don’t have to live with a foreign body inside me (either of biological origin or one made of copper), condom breakage isn’t a constant concern, and neither do I have to rely on hormones or head back to my doctor’s office regularly for a Depo shot. Keep reading »