Wedding Season: The Plus One Conundrum

The wave of weddings in my late twenties (not my weddings, other peoples') passed over us as quickly as it came. But like a tsunami, I've noticed another wave coming. Lately with each week's mail there's been another beautifully done invitation, another announcement of happiness, and... another "& Guest" to answer to.

WE BEGIN WITH CONFESSIONS
I should preface by saying this: I have never taken a date to a wedding. Never. While I have gone as people's dates, I have never taken someone myself. Not to my best friends' weddings, including the one where I was Maid of Honor. Not even to my own sister's wedding. At major events like these I have always preferred to fly solo, which allows me to do my social butterfly thing, catch up with old friends, and be free of the obligation to cast a backwards glance at a guy who may or may not become miserable when I can not be torn from the dance floor, which guilt on my part would only be compounded if he has done me the courtesy of wearing a suit, eating hotel chicken, and doing a stream of disgusting kamikaze shots at the bar with my always-hyper friends.

Now, until recently this "free agent" policy was a smart strategy. In many cases it was de facto, i.e. I wasn't invited with a date, and thus the paradox of choice was removed. Being "plus zero" often sucked in that, after moving across the country, attending weddings of old friends or family required much travel and someone to carry my stuff would have been nice. I'll admit it, it sometimes irked me to not be invited with a date, the implication being that I could socialize well with people I had not glued to myself. The nerve! But ultimately it wasn't a huge deal- I'd show up at the wedding and sit at the table with a bunch of other single friends, and be the loud, fun table, and make a great weekend of it.

THE TURNING POINT
I'd say the turning point on my no-date policy came at a cousin's wedding where I was older than everyone seated with me... by a decade. At one point a relative who thought he was being very cute began to lay into me about having seen me "hit on" a guy at my table. I snapped back that I was just making conversation with the guy who by the way was the only one at the table who had graduated high school. Give me a freaking break. But there was a crack in my always-perfect plan, and it had begun to reveal itself.

My policy took another hit when my sister got married a year and half ago. While I could have brought a date, the thought of taking one to my younger sister's wedding would have put too much heat on the poor guy (Persians being how they are, they might have panicked on my behalf and maybe tried to throw me in for a two-for-one ceremony.)

Anyways, preceding the wedding, my younger brother and I had a conversation that went like this:

Me: "Are you bringing a date?"
Him: "No. Are you?"
Me: "No. Ok good."

So imagine my surprise when the evening of the wedding I'm sitting with friends, enjoying the festivities, and my brother strolls in late with, not just a date, but a gorgeous model-amazon of a girl. Not only had he brought a date, but he had brought the type of date that makes you NOTICE that he had a date. And I didn't. The closest I came was my parents' dog Toby, who was wandering the lawn dressed in his finest tuxedo tee shirt.

At this point, I began to be more thoughtful about the purpose of the "and Guest" portion of wedding invitations.

Well now that The Second Wave of Weddingism is happening, it's time to readjust my strategy. And to add to that, I've been invited to upcoming weddings in the most gorgeous of places. The prettiest inn in San Diego! Or wine country! I think the time has come to take a partner in crime to enjoy these magnificent events my friends put on. But I don't want to just do this on the fly. Picking a date out of thin air is a habit I hope I left behind in my sorority date party days.

So, for these purposes, I am devising a Potential Wedding Date Questionnaire. It's a work in progress, but here's where I am with it so far:

POTENTIAL WEDDING DATE QUESTIONNAIRE

1) Do you own a suit?

2) Does it still fit you?

3) Can you hold your liquor?

4) Can you hold mine?

5) If presented with a situation where 100 people around you rise and do the Electric Slide, what would you do?

6) Do you have weird eating restrictions that might hamper my ability to respond to an RSVP card with dignity?

7) Do you know/have you slept with the bride? (insert name)

8) Do you promise not to push me onto the dancefloor when the bouquet toss happens? Do you agree with me that that part of the night is not funny?

9) Can you make conversation with strangers just enough to be comfortable, but not so much that you pick up someone else while on a date with me?

10) If I promise you freedom to use the bathroom or wander the premises as needed, do YOU promise never to choose to leave me at a juncture in the night that happens to be a slow dance when all other couples have gotten up from our table?

Since I'm still tweaking it, I might end it with a few open-ended questions if I'm feeling whimsical... What makes you feel like you are the right applicant for this position?

How Do I Love Thee? Let Me Text the Ways.

I've said I’d write about this before, and here it is:

Technology will be the downfall of romance.

I’m sure I’m not the first to say it, but hopefully someone soon will be the last. It's something I've thought about a lot, and finally was motivated to put down (ironically in e-format). I needed to address the situation after hearing an ongoing stream of horror stories: Reading a tone wrong. Realizing that the guy you have so admired doesn’t have basic spelling on lock. Being sent a text clearly meant for someone else. Being sent a photo that begs to be forwarded to your entire address book.

I am particularly sensitive to the intersection of technology and romance for two reasons- one, I myself am guilty of relying (too) heavily on electronics for communications. And two – I am extremely sensitive to the way people communicate. Whether it's because I pick my own words carefully or if I’m just the sensitive type, I choose every word I use specifically because it’s the word to use, and I assume others do too. (This is a really, really bad idea. Just trust me.)

Someone already established that men and women hail from different planets, and adding techno-translation is frankly a problem we all don’t need. Yet, we increasingly rely on technology to communicate with the people we are bringing into the innermost parts of our lives. On the one hand, we over-rely on it, and on the other, we ourselves become guilty of the over-reveal. Can we preserve a little mystery, people?

The following is (sadly) only a partial list of electronic communications that are throwing a wrench in it for all of us.

TEXTING

The most common guilty pleasure. You know you do it. Texts can be cute, we think! They’re a way to tell someone, in a limited number of characters, how you’re thinking about them. They’re offhanded, they’re fun! But here are the catches:

a. Technology is not reliable.

Now, I think a lot of people use this fact as an excuse (“Sorry! Never got your message!”), but it’s gotten so bad that recently my friend and I had to decide to “roger” this or that so we know our texts went through (cough cough, SPRINT). Sad state of affairs for 2011, but it is what it is. So when you send a text, it’s become a little more of a message in a bottle than we previously anticipated. Which creates a dilemma when there is an awkward pause. Did you make an off-color joke and get silence back? Now you’ll never know if you pissed someone off or if they didn’t get it at all.

b. You are minimized to a few sentences.

Bcuz u b turning women off with u letters instead of words.

Look at how dumb Twitter can make people look. Texting does that for you every day. Writing on the fly is the quickest way to show someone that, if you aren’t paying attention or if you're limited for space, you can look ignorant of basic grammatical rules. Ok, that’s not a dating dealbreaker (for most people), but I’m just saying, it doesn’t help. And don't even get me started on sexting.

And then there’s the whole tone thing. No one has developed sarcasm font, which I have been pushing for for ages. Women in particular are guilty of hanging on those sentences, unable to read tone. Was he kidding? Was he serious? Now she won't know, but she'll save the text and ask 23 of her closes friends. Ay.

Some men try to convey tone with emoticons, but we all know that is really just tough territory. Note: avoid putting noses in your smiley faces at all costs.

EMAIL

Email represents a problem that exists with technology as a whole. That is: not everyone is on email the same amount. Someone told me about a teenager they know who sleeps with her phone ACROSS HER EYES so if it buzzes with news (text, email) she will wake up. The point is, we’re all connected to a different extent.

I have a desk job and many people I know do too. So we respond quickly to most emails. They are a welcome break from spreadsheets, powerpoints, and emails that make your eyes roll. So yeah, given the choice between reviewing someone’s latest report and reading a juicy email from a friend, I’m no dummy. I’m gonna hear that “bing” on my personal email and get happy. And the fact that I type 100+ wpm makes it easy for me to respond quickly - and sometimes, at length – to you. It doesn’t mean I’m in love with you. Well, it might. The problem being that it probably gives that impression regardless.

Last weekend my friend and I discussed the intersection of technology and dating at length. We imagined (remembered?) what it was like dating back in a day when people went on dates, then had a week of silence in between and didn’t think anything of it. Because it was NORMAL. She pointed out that, back in the day, a you would never expect the other person to check on you in the middle of her workday. People had their own lives, which they could then discuss on a scheduled date. They did not have a constant thread connecting them to the boring minutae of each others' days.

No matter how busy a person is these days, you could be a surgeon on the fields in Africa, and the person you’re dating expects that, since you have a phone on you, you will be connected. Today, knowing that you can reach someone at virtually any point, there is an expectation there. The fact is, yeah, sometimes we leave our phones on the dinner table, sometimes it's on our desks, but not always. Having access to someone's phone isn't the same as having 24/7 access to them. Or is it?

As if we aren’t all reading too much into everything anyway, non-communication becomes a void, a failure, if someone we like isn’t responding. If someone texts someone else and doesn’t hear back for 4 hours, it becomes an implicit statement of disinterest. Which is, frankly, insane. Check yo’self before you wreck yo’self. And yes, I just said that.

THE WEB IN GENERAL: RESEARCH TOOL OF THE MASSES

Stalking is a fine line, my friends. My people and I have debated at length the propriety of doing a Google search on someone before a date. I am anti. When I have Googled (rare) it has been because someone told me to or because I need a picture. Ok, and maybe to check that there’s no outstanding criminal situation.

The technodilemma we’re facing in the day of Google is that much of the fun of first dating-- the revelation stage - is taken away. When someone tells me where they’re from or their education or about their travels, I get to enjoy exhibiting genuine surprise. My friends cannot always say the same. (I’m sure they fake it well) But what Google has you doing is creating even more preconceived notions, one way or another, about the person. The organic getting to know you process is totally obliterated.

And don’t even get me started on the Facebook friend add. You don’t bring your high school yearbook on a first dinner date, do you?

SOCIAL MEDIA, OR AFTERMATH REPORTING

I think we can all agree that, in the day of social media, privacy is gone. One girl I know decided to break up with a guy because he "checked in" somewhere with another girl while they were dating (in her defense, he’s obviously an idiot). Social media gives us a venue to cross-check what someone tells us about themselves, because most people don't even realize where they are inconsistent.

This becomes highly problematic after a date, after a relationship, if someone posts something vague but unpromising. You will automatically read into what it means. (“You’re so vain” is about all of us, honey.) Even worse if they are blatant about it. And yes, for a minute I felt a wave of regret for the blog posts I’ve written about certain dates. But just for a minute.

BACK TO THE BASICS

Well, the good news is I can identify the problem. We are relying on modern technology to communicate where we’re all still getting the hang of said technology, much of which has only appeared in our lives in the last decade. The bad news is I’m not sure I have a solution in a world where online dating is on the rise, everyone has a laptop, and the new iPhone model is like crack on the streets. Obviously we’re online all the time, we’re on our phones all the time.

I don’t want to get crazy, but maybe we can mix it up and go old school once in a while. Didn’t you hear? The ringing of the phone is the new mating call.

Don't Criticize Your Parents- You're Becoming Them.

So last weekend I had a startling revelation. I was pulling a little trolley cart thing through the crowded aisles of a popular nursery (I'm choking over many of the things I just said, don't worry) and I realized that I have become my parents.

Now, don't get me wrong, I love my parents. I should be so lucky as to become my parents. But suddenly I was a GROWNUP. And a grownup version of them. It dawned upon me when I realized that it was a beautiful Saturday and I had chosen to get up at 7am, meet a friend for coffee on my patio, workout together, and then head to the nursery. All voluntarily.

I had flashbacks to when my mom was my age- I would have been 4 years old. I would quite possibly have been running the aisles of the plant nursery while she shopped, or I could have requested to stay in the car (don't get your panties in a bunch DCFS, parents didn't know that was a no-no back then). But the days of choosing to go look at plants, much less take them home and repot them into new soil and spend hours doing so, didn't even register on my little horizon.

And yet there, I was. And before I knew it, I was crouched on my patio, wearing GARDENING GLOVES, hands deep in soil, tapping pots and focused completely on finding them a new home.

Sometimes you have these moments, where you notice yourself becoming your parents. My patio potting moment reminded me of every spring, when my parents would buy annuals and sit and replant THEIR ENTIRE GARDEN because the Chicago weather required them to do so. They'd be out there for hours, handing marigolds and petunias to each other, lining hedge after hedge. I'd help with weeds for 20 minutes and then retire inside to air conditioning and a Nintendo. It seemed like craziness to me, I couldn't imagine needing beauty around you that much. BOOOOORING. And here I was, manifesting the gene.

That just led me to think about the other little habits I've picked up from my parents. Some are cute, many might be admirable, and some are ones I've harassed them about for years and now find myself sneakily doing:

1) reheating coffee in the microwave. maybe 3 times. [BOTH]
2) highlighting mail. ok, i don't highlight my mail but i write on it so i know what it is. [DAD]
3) tapping my nails on the keyboard/table [MOM]
4) raising my eyebrows while dropping a frown in dramatic "no kidding!" fashion [DAD]
5) putting makeup on without needing a mirror [MOM]
6) feeling the need to provide audio accompaniment to a big arm stretch [DAD]
7) buying lotto regularly -- and being convinced i'm going to win [DAD]
8) underlining in books [MOM]

These are just a few off the top of my head. (Ok, and the ones I feel like posting to the world at large.)

We always think about the big habits/physical traits we inherit, but recently I've been noticing the littler ones. The funnier part is when it's things I remember yelling at them about ("throw that OUT!" "just make a new pot!"). And the truth is, everyone has them. Look beyond the eye color, the hair color, the generosity or the brains or the other major traits your parent formally handed down to you, and you'll start to see the little habits, tics, and quirks that made their way into you. It's ok, you're in a safe space. You eat the burned popcorn? You make up songs to go with housework? You ring doorbells three times? Whatever it is, there's something reassuring about it all. As I press 1:00 min on my microwave for the second time this morning I realize that genetics makes some sort of sense to me in an otherwise crazy world.

What I Want To Be When I Grow Up. And Justin Bieber.

If you had told me a year ago that I would reflect on my life while watching a Justin Bieber anything, I would have quickly answered "yeah, maybe to END IT."

A while back I saw a poster for the (then) upcoming Justin Bieber movie "Never Say Never" and made a crack to a friend that we should go. The irony was that, in the months to follow our setting of that plan, I would actually become a fan of his music. It started with an adorable 2 year old playing it and dancing for me when I Skyped with her family, and then grew into me sticking his CD on the bottom of a stack of albums bought at Target, putting it in my car, and keeping my guilty pleasure to myself. What can I say - it's light, it's poppy, he has a voice that reminds me of Jackson 5-era Michael (oh no she didn't. oh yes she did!).

Anyhow, when the day of the movie release drew closer, we decided to make a girls' day of it and shop, eat, and see it on the sly. We didn't expect other high-functioning adults to understand why we would put the time -- much less the money for 3D glasses -- into seeing this. I knew nothing about the movie- at all - and only heard the week we were going that it was a documentary. I had no idea what I was getting into, but I know that Bieber likes his mom, and that makes me like the Beebs.

What I did not expect, however, was to actually enjoy the movie. For those of you who don't get internet reception under your rock, it's about how he was discovered, how his career has progressed, and the network around him that puts things in motion and makes the machine run (in addition to his strong work ethic). On some level it's about how quickly fame comes, and how immense it can be when it does.

So when I left, why did I feel a sinking feeling? And no, it wasn't about me not being the right age for him. (Ick) It was the fact that this kid had such a clarity of purpose. He never (on camera, at least) debated being a basketball player, a fighter pilot, a banker. He banged away on a chair, using it as a drum as a toddler, and just went from there to playing on the streets (literally), playing in church events, playing anywhere he possibly could get noticed. And with that intention he become a young gazillionaire doing what he loves all day every day. He can't buy lotto, he can't buy a beer, but he could probably buy the companies that produce both.

I'm guilty of saying "I could do anything if I only knew what it was!" In fact, my mom once bought me a book by that title which I never bothered to read because it felt patronizing. I mean, who *doesn't* know what they want to be? What a freak! Oh yeah, that freak is me, I realized... ten years later.

I thought of the people around me who have that focus, and suddenly started to feel a bit alone. The examples within even my family are astounding. My sister debated two artistic paths but was drawn to illustration. I remember my mom giving her receipts and a pen to keep her busy in restaurants when we were little. My brother? We have footage of him banging away on the piano at one year old, he was born a musician and has the hair to prove it. My mom wrote a novel at age 12 -- and just published her first novel in English last year.

I have friends who chose their majors coming into college, sure they wanted to be doctors or lawyers. They knew at 18 what they would be 15 years later. That's insane- amazing - and nothing I can identify with. I went in wanting a double major in sociology and French, and came out with English. In between? I studied everything from statistics to Spanish to...Congolese dance. And then I went to law school because, well, that's what you do if you can do it. And then I went to business school because, well, 10 letters in my last name wasn't enough for me.

So here I am, twice the Biebs's age (gags, gasps, curls into a ball and weeps at how old writing that makes her feel). Shouldn't I know by now? Should I really be career and life purpose shopping around in my 30s? I mean, this is the age when cavemen's lives would *end*!

In my head, I run through the list of what I wanted to be at various stages of my life:

1) pop star

To be clear, I spent more of my time growing up listening to Madonna than any child should. So I wasn't aiming to be a necessarily talented musician so much as a singer/dancer/entertainer. I guess I should be glad this one didn't pan out, because most of them have ended up with shotgun weddings, kids with weird names, and rehab stints. I think my dad is also glad this didn't pan out, because there are only so many choreographed shows in a basement that a grown man should be subjected to.

2) dental office manager

Kids all play something up in their rooms. I played office manager. (yes, other kids played "doctor" with each other, and I focused on scheduling. Let's not call this prophectic, ok?) I worshipped my mom's office manager Paula. So I didn't want to be the dentist, I wanted to book the appointments for her! Socialize with the patients! Take the calls! I would spend hours organizing patients by half-hour "recall" time slots, or if they needed a bigger procedure, I'd block off more time. I liked organizing other people I guess, something I still do (and has earned me the not-quite-flattering nickname "Monica"...)

3) stock broker

I didn't want to sit at a desk. I wanted the job where you're on the floor at the Exchange, yelling and trading. I believe I thought this was a fit because I was good at yelling loudly when things so required. I had proven this talent time and time again at day camp, and I thought it made a natural jumping off point for my career. My dad pointed out that you don't see many women on the floor (or didn't back in the late 80s). He was kind enough not to note that I would not physically be visible on the floor of an exchange. Oh yeah, and I don't like math.

4) translator

I like learning languages and I tend to learn them quickly. My mom's friend was a translator and I thought that could be fun. I don't remember why I dropped this one but it probably had to do with the fact that I wouldn't be part of the conversations ;)

5) run an orphanage. or a day care.

I was inspired by the movie Annie, ok? I love kids and my mom and I discussed the possibility of getting licensed and having a day care. Actually, the one job I had in college was working at a day care just because I liked being around little kids since I didn't have my own. It wouldn't take long for that reasoning to sound really, really creepy on job interviews! My mom grew up without parents and it's always been a cause close to my heart. I will be like Angelina, with smaller lips and a Middle Eastern kid thrown in there for good mix! This is one I am intent on revisiting.

6) run a record label.

I have always loved sending people new music I thought they would enjoy, or promoting music that I was enjoying myself. To some friends this gets overbearing, I'm sure, but then they can say they listened to (Lady Gaga, D'Angelo, etc etc) years before the person became huge. You're welcome, people. Anyhow, long ago I thought running a record label would be interesting. To influence what artists the world is exposed to. I read Richard Branson's books, felt inspired, promised myself I'd apply to his company, and never did. When I lived in LA I worked at a music law firm and then realized that I didn't enjoy doing the contracts, I wanted to be closer to the music. Oh yeah, and the time I had to go after Special Olympics to pay us for using a certain multimillionaire artist's music was pretty much my sign to go.

Funny how things work. There were other jobs I entertained in my mind, but those are the six that I kept coming back to. Interesting that nowhere in that list was being a writer or working in publishing -- much less healthcare and alternative energy -- and yet that's exactly what I did. Maybe it's like how they say you never end up marrying someone who looks how you thought your "person" would. Maybe it's like that with jobs too. Don't get me wrong- I've enjoyed (and enjoy) my work, but I haven't been able to say "Oh yeah, I knew at age 10 that I wanted to write marketing plans and turn out a REALLY good press release from time to time." I guess that's how it is with most grownup jobs though.

But who says I'm a grownup?! Certainly not the hi tops and Silly Bandz that were worn for the viewing of said film. And maybe I need to put on my hi tops and gummy bracelets a bit more often is all I'm saying.

Singles' Guilt: Admitting is the First Step

Some people discover hidden planets. They give it a name, and they live on in whatever scientists' version of fame and fortune is.

I have discovered a phenomenon myself. And I named it. It's called "Singles' Guilt".

Maybe I should have been a sociologist- I like examining social phenomena and giving it a name, and then making people around me use it whenever they talk to me about an applicable situation (see also: Friend Poaching).

DEFINING IT.

This weekend I was having fun hanging out with a friend and promised her I would finally set my latest theory/find to paper - so here it is: Singles' Guilt. The punctuation is intentional; it refers to the situation in which a single/singles make themselves feel guilty for being single.

The consequences of Singles' Guilt can be mild to severe, depending on the stage of affliction. It can begin with a poorly thought-out visit to an ex, or it can end with a tearful, sloppy rendition of Love is a Battlefield. By educating yourself, you can best protect yourself and those around you.

WHY ROMANTIC MATH IS ANNOYING.

Singles' Guilt is endorsed and perpetuated by society. I think of this every time I get pushed onto the floor at a wedding to catch a bouquet -- which by the way, is pretty much a feminine gladiator ring (those girls throw 'bows!). And let's be honest- Singles' Guilt is visibly nurtured in society by the modern day tarring-and-feathering that is bridesmaid dresses. It's like a scarlet letter A, but scarlet at least goes with my skin tone.

Social mathematics is also at fault- by which I mean the simple equation: Single + Single = Couple! Many people believe this math (for example, a certain someone who mentioned a guy to me with the sole descriptors "over 30 and looking for a wife). But since the singles are too busy reading self-help books and being set up on awkward dates to take the time to disprove mathematic hypotheses, people around the world continue to believe said equation and throw singles together in the hopes they will spontaneously mate. It's like the "only two people left on the planet" theory in action. If two people are STILL single after so long, they must be drawn to one another, no?

I, for one, know that even if I was left on the planet with only one man and if that man was disgusting to me in some way (ex. Tea Party candidate, wearer of strappy man-sandals, racist, or a fan of Andie MacDowell- not in that order), that nothing could shake my vow to stay single in that situation. I could disprove the couple equation of social math, but we have more important work to do here, folks.

SIGNS AND SYMPTOMS OF SINGLES' GUILT.

Lately I've noticed lots of girlfriends (in particular) going on dates because they feel like they're supposed to. Giving a guy a second shot because, again, they feel like they're supposed to. What is this "supposed to" business? Well, they're doing it because they feel Singles' Guilt (when you use it, remember to capitalize, 'kay?)

I'm not saying women shouldn't be open-minded- we ALL should-- Mr. Awesome may show up on date two or three, when the guy you've been dating drops his guard a little and stops talking about himself and making forced jokes. I definitely believe in staying open minded... but you owe it to yourself to have that *curiosity* about the person. If you take a deep breath of relief after you close your door and lock yourself into your house for the night, then methinks this isn't the match for you. If you force yourself to march forward, that's not dating, that's a modern-day form of arranged marriage, but instead of parents (or in some cases, including them), you're being nudged by your own "guilty" conscience.

AND THEN THERE WAS ONE.

Singles' Guilt is apparent to me in how so many people around me (and sometimes even myself) act like they did something *wrong* by not settling down yet. It's as if we are playing a game of musical chairs and we are really, really bad at it. Everyone else got a chair! You're still standing! LOSER! Maybe you're standing because you were still enjoying the music. If there was a chair, I would have taken it! we cry.

So then the single finds themselves self-flagellating (as soon as they look up what that means) -- they didn't "pick" someone in time, therefore they lose the lovely option of choice. They start forcing themselves to hurry up, like it's a romantic freakin clearance sale. That is just sad, people.

SINGLE AND PICKY AREN'T ALWAYS THE SAME THING.

Let's be clear. In some cases they are. But a lot of times they aren't. Sometimes you're just single because it's not your time to be dating someone. Sometimes there is something else you should be doing. Sometimes there is someone coming your way and you won't meet them at 22 like your college roommate did.

SYMPTOM: THE SEARCH FOR AN ALIBI.

On more than one Friday night I've talked to friends who almost whisper their whereabouts into the phone.

Me: "Where are you?"

Them: "...home?...I think I um... I might be getting sick?... or... I might have to work?"

What they have is a case of the Singles' Guilt. They FEEL like they should be out that night because they are not paired off. They are tired, they had a long week, they have family drama, maybe they are getting over a breakup. But in their Singles' Guilt-ridden minds, they (ahem, WE) are slacking...slacking on their part-time job of finding someone to propagate the species with by staying home with their ice cream and comfy blanket on the couch. You know Singles' Guilt because you really do start to feel like it's a part-time job to de-single yourself. You feel like you're playing hooky by staying in, cooking dinner, and having the nerve to enjoy your own company.

THE SHOWMANSHIP OF SINGLES.

Singles' Guilt also manifests itself in what the lovely Carrie Bradshaw in one episode described as "singing for your supper" when around married friends. In that episode, Carrie talks about how couples almost expect singles to regale them with tales of dating. I confess I am one such storyteller (trust me, my stories are GOOD) but Singles' Guilt takes an angle on this. Sometimes you, oh victim of Singles' Guilt, find yourself rattling off your list of dates and stories just so that people will know you are TRYING, therefore "not guilty."

Believe it or not, I've found that my friends are just as interested to hear about my latest tour of the world, my stack of books, my hobbies, and my other adventures that don't center on dating. Try it, you might be surprised.

BYE BYE, GUILT!

Well, as Miss Diana says (and later, Phil Collins, thereby violating my fatwa on his doing covers of other people's songs), You Can't Hurry Love.

So if you're gonna feel guilty about something, do me a favor and let it be about the fact that, deep down, you actually like his version of "True Colors".

Because that, my friend, is the only thing you should *really* lose sleep over.

Battle Callback of the Tiger Cub

Right now, all across America, there are Iranian-American parents printing out and framing copies of the Wall Street Journal excerpt of Amy Chua's "Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother", a book about her experience raising children in America according to extremely strict Chinese parenting standards.

The Iranian parents I know (not least of all my own) are probably dancing in circles around their kids with in gleeful validation. They now have written proof - in the Wall Street Journal, no less! -- that:

1) they weren't as strict as some other people

2) someone finally defended the immigrant style of parenting

In fact, some of them may even have gotten new ideas ;)

Before I go any further, it's worth pointing out that the excerpt is from a part of Chua's life when she's extremely hard on her kids (ahem, "disciplined"). The excerpt, just a snippet of the book, did a great job in garnering publicity- except it publicized a book that frankly isn't. Many who read only the short excerpt assumed she had written basically a parenting manual -- but the book is about an unusual parenting model in the US environment and ultimately she, as a parent, transforms, as any good book protagonist does.

But we live in a time and place where people don't have the time to trouble themselves with context - and now she's getting death threats. It reminds me of Once Upon a Time when I turned a rant about not feeling like working out into a funny blog post called "I Hate Skinny People". My "fan mail" was something for the books... did you know I was obese? Yeah, neither did I ;)

Publicity: can't live with it, can't live without it!

The Tiger Mother Debates have led me to these thoughts:

1) Chinese people take the hit.

That's the thing about Tiger Mothers... they exist in many, many cultures, not just certain Asian cultures. Strictness was something that bonded me to people quickly when we were growing up; although our parents' homelands were worlds apart, my friends whose parents were Korean or Greek or Indian always "got it". I never had to explain to them why I had to go home right after school and why I didn't talk back to my parents and why when I got a B+ I sunk in my chair. It's a way of life that exists around the world that only raises eyebrows when it happens here.

2) The book/excerpt is intriguing because it is extreme.

Um, hello, that's the POINT -- Chua takes it to another level. Now, the book is interesting because she (Chua) is extreme and she knows it. No one wants to read about a hiker who accomplishes their trip; we want to read about the one who has to cut off his own arm. They say in gambling that you should pick your strategy and stick to it; in Blackjack if you are going to hit on a certain number, then always do it.

Part of what is fascinating about Chua's approach is that she appears to do just that -- she is unbending in how she approaches parenting. She does not seem susceptible to the homework one day, tv/friend's house negotiation the next day that 99.9999% of American parents fall prey to.

3) My mom wasn't the biggest tiger. (But she could roar!)

Obviously, as you read you reflect on your own life. My sister and I give my mom a lot of grief for the strictness with which we were raised. But on second thought my mom (who was definitely the disciplinarian between my two parents) falls squarely between Amy Chua and western parents like Ayelet Waldman, whose counterpoint "In Defense of the Guilty, Ambivalent, Preoccupied Western Mom" is an entertaining read. She never made me sit at the piano and play whatever that white donkey song was; she, like a normal human being, would have gone bonkers if we had sat at the piano and played some kiddy tune ad nauseum.

Sometimes I think she (mom) wished she'd leaned one way or the other instead of wavering between the two, which is what she ultimately did. When recently I saw a performance by Lang Lang and told her I wanted to take up piano again, I could swear I could see her smack her hand to her forehead, thinking of how she let 16 year old me drop classical piano and take up... hip hop dance... instead. But I have this to say: if and when I take up piano again, it will be because I want to; and when I play it will be with a passion and joy all my own. And that's what it's all about, homey! (here: homey=Mom)

4) Tiger mothers sacrifice.

She would never admit it, but I'm sure my mom laughed out loud at Waldman's wish to avoid ever attending another piano recital. I shudder to think of the performances we put our parents through. And the sheer horror of coming home from a six day workweek to help your kid learn a BS version of American history or make a diorama, much less pretending you cared when there is a new episode of Dallas on that you could be watching instead. I don't know how she did it, and I should probably take notes.

But that's what Tiger Mothers do- they don't just point and tell you to do something, they are engaged. (I swear, to this day my mom remembers more than I do from my classes.) The tiger mother suffers alongside the child; it sucks as much for them as it does for the kid.

Another point I don't believe was brought up in the article but is true in my case is that many Tiger Mothers are probably successful themselves. Tiger Mothers may know what they're doing because they themselves are accomplished and confident and so they are passing on the rites of passage of what they felt worked for them. If my mom was lying around eating bon bons and subsisting off a sugar(my)daddy, that would be one thing for her to tell me to go do my homework, but she was busting her butt to run a practice and teach at Northwestern University's dental school. Chua is a law professor, so she's no slouch either.

Maybe this is a passing-the-TypeA-torch. Some people really, really want their kids to be into sports and the kids aren't. I'm not entirely sure how it's different, but in the west you'd never criticize a parent for putting a kid in a tee ball class if they cry and say they want to go home or they don't want to play with other people. We prioritize building different skills in the US, but sometimes similar methods are used to get there.

Add to the time investment that tiger mothers frankly sacrifice their run in the popularity contest. As a kid, It's really hard to be buddies with the person who tells you to stop goofing around and go do your homework, the person who acts as your conscience, pointing out that you could do better. Once someone asked me how I did two graduate degrees; to this day I swear high school was harder for me, possibly because I had the shadow of the Tiger Mother over me.

For sure the Tiger Mother loses against their candidate in the popularity primaries, ie. your other parent (if they're around). My dad sat back and reaped the benefits of us being hard workers and studiers, but my mom was the one barricading herself in the dining room reviewing vocab words with us most of the time (she's a published author now, so Mom, you're welcome ;).

5) Anyone who says your parents are the basis of your self esteem needs to make more friends.

Parents do affect your self-esteem, absolutely. The other day I reminded my mom of my first kiss and how when he decided he didn't want to date, her response was to look up from the kitchen counter and shrug: "Well, maybe you weren't a good kisser!"

But ultimately you're with your parents a fraction of the day and you are with your schoolmates the rest of it. Your parent can tell you the sun shines out of your a$$ but if your classmates call you ugly or stupid or say you have funny hair, you're screwed. I would argue that your self esteem and subsequent self-conduct takes a way bigger hit from the treatment (and encouragement) of your peers; how else to explain the perpetuation of stirrup pants?

I was borderline midget size in elementary school (<--not joking) and my mom told me I was "big inside". Well, kids at my school called me a shrimp. Guess whose opinion hit home.

Joking aside, the Tiger parenting itself affected my self confidence a lot less than the friends who made me uncomfortable about it.

6) To each their own.

I loved Ayelet Waldman's response for so many reasons, not only because she was honest about being a relaxed western parent. But I specifically loved her point that, as a parent, you ultimately do what will work best for that child. My parents' relaxed parenting of my brother, who is 10 years younger than me, was met with dramatic dropped jaws and eye rolling by my sister and myself. If they had told him to be home by 10:30pm, which, for the record, was my curfew my senior year of high school, he would have laughed in their faces. Maybe pointed.

They were strictest with me and had my brother later in life. My mom liked to joke "We didn't know if you would give us grandkids - so we had our own!"

My sister and I got spanked, my parents wouldn't so much as lift a hand on the golden child (ok, and maybe we asked them not to). Maybe they felt we required a different level of supervision and nudging in order to accomplish what we (my sister & I) were able to; my brother didn't need it-- nor did he want it.

Ultimately, parents have to decide what will be best for their children. And here's the part the people making death threats to author Chua are forgetting: it's their right to raise their kids however the heck they want to. (Granted... maybe next time don't write a book about it.)

I like to think my parents could be tough on me because I was born with a big dose of suck it up. I could handle it; it didn't crumble me for my mom to tell me I could do better- where it was possible, I did better. The end. I love her, she loves me, we are able to sit over coffee and discuss the Tiger Mother article and both laugh about it. If that's not a sign of the fact that how they raised me worked fine, I don't know what is.

I have to say, it's a lot of fun writing and philosophizing about raising kids, seeing as I have none yet. I quite enjoy the armchair quarterbacking of the whole thing.

Let it be said that my hat's off to the parents all around the world who raise kids, especially teenagers. The fact that we have all made it to adulthood is a testament to their good will, I assure you.

My Bucket List

I've made progress since I started my Bucket List 9/16/09 or reflected on it later that same year. Crossed a few things off and added many many more. I took two things off of it too, realizing that you're setting yourself up for failure when you depend on other people to make them happen. The bucket list is about daydreams you have that you can make happen if you really want to, right? So here goes nothing:

My Bucket List (started 9/16/09)

• Learn to sail (DONE- Oct 09)
• Learn to sing a song in Portuguese
• Learn Italian
• Go to Senegal
• Learn fluent Spanish
• Adopt a kid
• Become a parent
• Be able to do a freestanding handstand & hold it
• Do lotus pose
• Learn tango (Done in 2010...ok, in progress ;)
• Tango in Buenos Aires (now that I actually can)
• Do yoga in India
• Pet a lion
• Sing in a jazz club
• Be listed in 50 under 50 or a woman to watch, etc. make some list
• Record a song
• Microfinance a woman’s business abroad
• Visit every country in the world
• Ride an elephant
• Experience 0 gravity
• Try veganism (Done, 3 weeks in 2010. Not so hard after a few days. Liked it.)
• Go to Germany (again) or Iran with my dad
• Sleep in a castle
• Wear an 18^th century costume a la Marie Antoinette, etc.
• Drink foreign wine while sitting where I can see the vineyard (Done- Tuscany, May 2010)
• Make friends with an old person I’m not related to
• Get a 6 pack
• Go to Macchu Picchu
• Go whale watching and actually see a whale
• Go to NashVegas
• Hear jazz in a New Orleans bar
• Sleep overnight on a small boat
• Sleep on a beach
• Learn how to make my mom's fesenjoon
• Watch sunrise at the beach
• Go blonde
• Flirt with a handsome foreigner fluently in his native language
• Show up at the airport and just GO
• Learn how to spin (DJ)
• Host a radio show
• Sail in a submarine
• Learn to fence
• Read War and Peace
• Get a belt in a martial art

The Goodbye Girl

I hate saying goodbye.

I think the first time I realized how much I hated it was when I was leaving a summer program in my early teens. I had fallen for a guy and he stood by the window of the bus waving as we pulled out for the airport, and I sobbed like I'd never cried in my life. Now it's funny, because in retrospect I realize I had spent a whopping 3 weeks with him -- by which I mean hanging out with him in large groups of people. Only. And yet I cried as if the Montagues and the Capulets were keeping us apart. I mean, HYSTERICS. I distinctly remember sniffing and sobbing into the bus window and watching it steam up, and dramatically placing my hand there, absolutely SURE I would never be the same. (If I could find my journal from those days I'm sure I would put the folks in Mortified to shame.)

It happened over and over again. I was quick to make friends on one week vacations, and then would spend months depressed that we'd had to split up; we'd keep in touch for years, and write letters (yes, people born after 1985, we used to write letters), but those goodbyes were the worst. When people talk about their favorite songs from hair bands, it's probably telling that one of mine is of course Tuff's I Hate Kissing You Goodbye. For the record, I was rarely kissing anyone, much less goodbye, but I sang that song with heart when I was a teen. I hated goodbyes, so naturally I was going to hate kissing someone goodbye, you know, someday.

With time, I stopped being melodramatic about it and shifted to a tactic I'm quite fond of: avoidance.

Maybe it's a conditioned response. I grew up without any family nearby; we were in the midwest with our closest cousins in California or Canada and the rest of the family was international. I quickly discovered that the counterpart of energetic, hilarious reunions was tearful, aching goodbyes; watching my mom and her sisters or brothers agonize over having to part ways. Goodbye meant a descent from loud laughter in the middle of the night to horrible silence. Or seeing how sad my parents were to put my grandma back on a flight to Iran, worrying about her and the distance between them. Persians have a phrase "Jaht khalee" meaning "your place is empty". Goodbye meant someone's place was going to be empty. Goodbye meant acknowledging the void to come.

Yes, over time I've simply avoided saying goodbye. In fact, I avoid events that even relate to goodbye. I prefer to have friends drop me off really (read: 4+ hours) early at the airport so we can talk by phone or whatever else and phase into the parting of ways. Better yet, I will leave them and take public transportation and spend the last day alone. I don't do curbside anything. If someone is moving, I will see them at some point before they leave but not right before; I skip the sendoff party.

It's true, I don't even like watching other people say goodbye. Even fictional people. You know the ending of The Breakfast Club, where they all walk different ways home but you know they'll SEE EACH OTHER AGAIN AT SCHOOL ON MONDAY? Yeah, I usually turn off the movie before their letter gets read.

Sometimes saying goodbye to someone isn't about saying goodbye to *them* forever, but what hits us is that we're saying goodbye to a particular era. See also: me slumped over the passenger's seat in my mom's car driving away from my last house at University of Michigan. (Ironically, during college my favorite song was the *ultimate* goodbye song, Jeff Buckley's Last Goodbye.) The way I acted, you would have thought the University, with all my friends, had detonated and I was left alone in the rubble (ok, when I said I had left melodramatics behind me, they still occasionally peek out from time to time).

When someone has had a unique impact on you in some way, and when you say goodbye to that whole experience, maybe that's what makes it so heavy. You'll keep the lessons of it and the fun memories and blah blah blah, but something is changing and that alone is hard. I think it's the person + experience combo that makes it so hard.

All of this came up because tonight I broke my rules and said a proper goodbye to a great friend who is moving and has no plans of turning back. I really have no idea when this person and I will get ourselves together in the same city, or even country, again, so I had to break down and do it. This is someone I look up to in many ways, and I think we had surprised ourselves by becoming closer right before the move. We sat around bouncing ideas about our lives and what we should do with them, getting advice from each other, and he even helped me cut my caffeine intake (which alone is a reason to bring a tear to my eye ;) I was spoiled with easy access to his insights and support and ideas and friendship.

The goodbye rule was broken tonight because I knew I would regret it if I didn't. So we chatted and we said the goodbyes. I surprised (impressed!) myself with how cheerful and light I was able to be, joking and yelling down the hall after him that I wanted Cracker Barrel updates from the road.

And when I closed the door behind him and heard it click, my little heart just sank.

There are a lot of things I am happy to say goodbye to: bad haircuts, obnoxious flight companions, Natalie Portman's trim waistline, and 2010... But this "people" thing is going to take some work.