People just love to get engaged at Christmastime. I imagine this is a result of a combination of factors, from feeling more family-oriented than usual (although the holidays have the opposite effect on many of us) to the celebratory atmosphere at large and increased presence of shiny objects generally. I spent Christmas Eve “liking” a whole new host of “Blankety Blank is engaged to Persony Person” updates before heading to sleep in my childhood bedroom with my new-ish husband. Keep reading »
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 »
“With ‘Bachelorette,’ I thought of these really thin, beautiful women, who if you saw walking down the street you’d think, ‘These girls have their lives together and it makes me feel bad about myself.’ I wanted to examine how they are gluttonous through drug addiction, materialism, sexual voraciousness, eating disorders — literally take, take, take, consume, consume, consume. Then there is their friend, Becky, who is moving into adulthood. She’s the one who appears to be the gluttonous one, who you might point at and say she has a problem because she’s overweight. You might feel better about yourself and move on. But she’s the one who’s getting out of the prison that these characters have created for themselves. … I couldn’t for the life of me think of one good moniker for these women and who they are that wasn’t punitive. You know what I mean, like ‘Sluts’ or ‘Bitches,’ and who would see a movie called that? All we’ve got is this feminized version of this male idea, that’s, by the way, a great thing if you’re a man. If you’re not married and you’re a straight guy, the world is your fuckin’ oyster, but if you’re single and you’re a woman and you’ve got something going for you, it’s just so sad you’re not married yet. It doesn’t make any sense to me. But what do I know? I’m sad and alone.”
Watching “Bachelorette” on Video On Demand is on my to-do list this evening, so I was interested to read this Q&A with the writer/director Leslye Headland. “Bachelorette,” as you’ve probably heard, is about four high school friends who reunite for one of their weddings — and the other three freak the fuck out because they’re still single and childless. And snorting loads of cocaine, apparently. As someone who is gearing up for her 10-year high school reunion and is also “sad and alone” according to societal standards, I have to say it’s a topic of interest! The subject of the movie, I mean. [BlackBook Mag]
Single ladies, be warned: your singleness may sometimes be confused with craziness. That’s the message New York Times writer Ginia Bellafante sent this past weekend, in a piece entitled, “A Tale of Desperation and Restraining Orders.” In it, she chronicles the sordid tale of Louise Neathway, a woman accused of stalking and extorting money from her former lover, Yankees General Manager Brian Cashman. What’s likely true: the married Cashman had an affair with Neathway — who is also known as Louise Meanwell — and following their tryst, Neathway demanded $15,000 for an undisclosed medical procedure. But while most might read Neathway’s story as a cautionary tale about the risks of entering into an affair with a married man, the Times’ Bellafante instead eeks out a warning to all the poor misbegotten men out there: Single women be crazy, y’all. So watch out.
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I’m too intimidating. I hate birthdays. I hate New Year’s. Yup. I’ve said all of these things and more. Behold, shit single ladies say. [YouTube]