The Art of the Fade

Anyone who follows me on Facebook knows it has not been a good year. To be honest it has, for the most part, thoroughly stunk. I have spent more of it discouraged than in recent years. Part of it is that I feel trapped by life circumstances, which I'll save for a future post. Part of it is all the things I feel I can't or don't say in the moment. I don't have a journal, so I have made a goal of sorts to say the things I want or need to say here, to feel that I am doing something to express myself at a time when I increasingly feel too busy or emotional to do so. Plus, I was always better at writing my thoughts than speaking on the fly.

The idea of a person's essential-ness has been on my mind a lot. As a single person, there is a very small list of individuals to whom I am essential. And even those family members would not have a drastic alteration to the ebb and flow of their lives if I moved to Fiji or disappeared into the TARDIS on an extended trip with the Doctor. They would miss me and there would be an empty space that I use to occupy but they have their spouses, children, step-children, grandchildren etc. to take up the day-to-day space. This not a statement of desolation or that I think no one cares about me. It is acknowledgement that I am, in fact, not anyone's first priority (nor should I be).

This notion of nonessential-ness is not something I mourn over on a daily basis but I have noticed it affecting my current friendships and my thinking about future relationships. I find myself expecting people to move on, fade away, or disappear because they have before. Career opportunities, family issues, marriage, babies, etc. have a way of physically and emotionally separating people. Even those who are really good at maintaining friendships post-marriage and baby are still, rightly, operating with a different set of priorities. Priorities that shift where I'm at in their lives. I don't begrudge them that, however, it does mean I'm putting less effort into making deep, best friend-y sort of relationships because it never lasts. This probably has a lot to do with my whole issue of feeling unable to express my experiences. It is a lot of work to build and maintain the types of friendships in which I trust people to that extent and I'm tired of starting over. I don't really know what this means for the future or if it is just a phase everyone goes through at a certain age, regardless of life circumstances. I just know I've unconsciously gone a long time perfecting the art of the fade as a self-defense mechanism.

It Isn't What You Would Think

There is a look some people get when they realize I am single.  It is a mixture of curiosity and pity. They want to ask about my life, about what it is like, about what I feel. It isn't really their fault. Even outside of LDS culture I'm becoming a social outlier. 

From comments I have heard and questions that have been asked, it seems like a lot of people assume I am lonely. That can't be farther from the truth. If I want social interaction, I can find it. I am probably a lot less lonely than a stay-at-home mom whose children determine their daily schedules and don't allow for a lot of social interaction. Loneliness isn't the issue. 

Additionally, I don't suffer from a longing ache for a husband or children. I wish they were part of my life, but I know from experience that I can live a happy, fulfilled life without it. It won't be the same as if I were married when most of my peers were, but it won't be filled with despair and bitterness like some people assume. I do, occasionally, dream of being swept off my feet by a tall, lanky, British man, not from loneliness or despair but because everyone needs a bit of romance in their life. Even if it is fantasy-based.

The secret that people don't grasp, or don't want to grasp, is that while I am not lonely or despairing or bitter, there is an emotional darkside to my continuing singleton status. Envy. A particular sort of envy. I don't sit around staring covetously at women with babies in church and I don't envy individuals their particular spouses or children. It is more to do with envying situations and blessings that I haven't got and then getting very angry at how unfair it seems to be.

I look at people I encounter at work or out shopping or on Facebook and get cranky. I see parents who don't treat their children as they ought in that snapshot of a moment at the checkout line and think "Why do they get to be parents? They are rubbish at it! I would be a much better parent." I watch friends and acquaintances who have regularly flouted the Law of Chastity for years get engaged and married and procreate (not necessarily in that order) and I get jealous and petty and angry that I have to sit on the sidelines, seemingly punished despite following the rules. I look at people from high school, who weren't very nice to me and were downright vicious to some of my friends, now living seeming picture-perfect lives and I'm livid at the injustice of it.

I don't like feeling this way. I try extremely hard not to feel that way. To be charitable instead of critical. To be happy at another's happiness. To forgive and forget and be glad that high school doesn't define us for life. Most of the time I am successful. Sometimes I'm not. Sometimes I'm stuck in the moment, mistaking the fleeting second of transient mortality for the finality of eternity. My battle is not against loneliness or despair or bitterness. Maintaining a clear vision, recognizing the difference between the mortal transience of becoming and the eternal finality of being is my battle. 

I think it might be everyone's battle, regardless of the challenge, trial, or tribulation. Everyone struggles with perspective when it seems like it will never end, when it feels like a permanent state. Very few things are permanent in this life, good or bad. We just have to remember to remember that.

Uggos, Crazies, and Bailers

I was watching the season finale of 30 Rock recently and Liz Lemon's boyfriend of the season, Criss (James Marsden, in the one role in which I don't find him completely annoying), said something that made me laugh and then made me think. He was explaining to Liz why he was stressed about their relationship, saying: 

“You know what kind of women in their 40s have never been married, Liz? Uggos, crazies, and bailers. You’re not an uggo. And you’re haha crazy, not oh boy crazy, which means you bail!”

While I'm not in my 40s (although you could argue that the pressure on an LDS woman who is single and in her 30s is roughly equivalent to an non-LDS woman in her 40s), the comment stuck with me. I'm aware enough to know I'm not a complete uggo, middle school pictures to the contrary, and I like to flatter myself that I am endearingly and amusingly crazy, not scary crazy. That leaves one choice: bailer. Once I started to think about it, it didn't see so far off the mark.

A brief and non-scientific analysis of my behavior would show that I am the first to leave any situation. If I'm in a conversation, 99% of the time, I'm the one to end it. In an sort of communication situation, I'm so worried about making a fool of myself, I get out early before I can embarrass myself. You can imagine how the stakes rise if I'm actually in a situation involving a guy in whom I might be interested. A ticking timer starts in my head the minute one of those conversations start. I can only imagine what kind of signal it sends to the guy I'm talking with (gentleman readers, if you exist, please chime in).

Additionally, if several of these conversations, with their abrupt endings, occur and nothing comes of it, I assume there is no interest. I bail on the possibility of something, which inevitably becomes self-fulfilling prophecy. And since I assume they are not interested, you can imagine how much shorter the conversations become and how much sooner I'm ready to pull the plug. Which does nothing to change the situation.

So, how do I change my behavior? That internal timer is so habitual I don't realize what is happening until the situation is over, til I sit back and realize I've done it again. Suggestions?

Torn Between Two Archetypes

On the one hand there is the man who has a specific skill set at which he is brilliant but causes him to be rather megalomaniacal. He has tunnel vision, ignoring the things, the people, the situations that don't fit into his small view. But within that small, specific world he inhabits he is master. No one can compete and that makes him dangerous to others and, more especially, to himself. 

On the other hand is his friend or accomplice or partner or companion, a man who is equally or nearly as equally brilliant as the other, but with a wider world view that means his brilliance is more diffuse, used in more areas and therefore seen, especially by the first man, as less-than. This second man sees value in humanity and society, respects the conventions of society and social morality more, and lives accordingly. He is, however, drawn to the experiences and adventures inherent in the life of the first man and his dismissal of these same conventions and morality. He also acts as the voice of reason and morality in the actions of the first man, a check to his impulsive myopia. 

Half the shows and movies I watch play with these archetypes. Psych, Sherlock (the BBC series), House, Sherlock Holmes (the movies), White Collar, Burn Notice, and even Doctor Who. I think the reason I like the shows so much is that I'm torn between the archetypes. I can't decide who I like better, who I would ultimately choose. Shawn or Gus, Neal or Peter, Sherlock or Watson, the Doctor or Rory. On the one hand, the brilliant, myopic man lives an adventurous life, an extraordinary life away from the mundane. However, there is no room for the ordinary, for the relationships or the day-to-day that must be lived and can be extraordinary.  There would be no possibility of a relationship with him, as that is exactly the sort of mundanity he dismisses because it doesn't fit into his world view.

On the other, the reasonable, more conventional man appreciates the ordinary in life and understands how the small and the mundane can be beautiful and extraordinary in its own way. He would actually see the value in a relationship. Although we might both be more drawn to the extraordinary and adventuresome ways of the first man than either of us would care to admit.

Perhaps I just want to BE the friend or accomplice or partner or companion. A female Watson. That would be the best of both worlds; I wouldn't have to choose. Which is why, I suppose, I love Doctor Who so very much. There is a constantly rotating cast of Watsons, mostly female, who get the opportunity to enjoy their time with a brilliant, myopic, extraordinary individual and have amazing adventures. If only a madman in blue box would arrive on my doorstep. I can worry about adjusting to life post-adventures later.

I Am Not Normally A Violent Person

However, I have developed a nearly-overwhelming urge to punch people in the face in the past few years. It isn't always the same people, which is good because if it were the same people repeatedly inspiring such feelings, I might end up actually doing it. And assaulting someone is never a good idea, whatever Hollywood says about such things.

But I digress. 

The rotating group of people who inspire such ire and rage are those who attempt to make me feel okay about being 31 and single. Which most of the time I am okay with, in fact most of the time I am quite okay with it, happy in fact. To quote Gwen Stefani, 'the longer I wait, the more selfish I get.' I enjoy my life and what I am doing and have done with it. Sure I wish I occasionally had a date, but that isn't the norm and it isn't what I spend my days obsessing about and it isn't why I'm angry. Rather, it is when people feel they have to reassure me that the rage sets in. Cognitively, I know they think they are being helpful, but really what they are implying is that I should feel down because I'm not married, that I should be devastated that I'm not a wife and a mother, which is why they need to reassure me. So, in offering their support and reassurances, I'm hearing nothing but pity and the endless conversations they must be having in which they talk about feeling sorry for me because I'm not a wife and mother and, therefore, must have a never-ending parade of dismal, depressing, and disconsolate days. Which I patently do not.

The worst sort of reassurance is one I term The Consolation Prize. In the LDS world, The Consolation Prize comment employs either Wendy Watson Nelson or Kristen McMain Oaks as examples. These women, single for most of their lives and living lovely, productive lives, are married to Elder Russell M. Nelson and Elder Dallin H. Oaks (respectively), well-loved Apostles of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I have to be very careful how I phrase the next bit, because I think both couples are wonderful and the women are fantastic examples of living life to the fullest even if things you hope for do not come when expected. However, people who use them in their Consolation Prize reassurances do not focus on this aspect of their lives. Instead, they point out that at the end of their prolonged singleness, they were 'rewarded' with marriages to esteemed men. All of which, to me, negates their true example. It turns something real and bittersweet, long-single women and recently widowed men finding happiness, into an unreal, fairytalesque anecdote or the plot of an LDS-oriented romantic dramedy. Which seems unfair to everyone involved. It also tends to imply that other long-single women, women who stay that way and do not end up married to a General Authority, are somehow lacking. That Sheri L. Dew or Barbara Thompson or the myriad other, unknown single sisters living quiet Gospel-oriented lives around the world who remain single are somehow doing something wrong because they are still single. Which is the worst possible thing to imply.

This is all leading to the point that I don't need reassuring, especially reassuring that makes me feel like a freak rather than just a regular statistical outlier. If someone wants to reassure a single person, they really shouldn't bring up marriage or singleness at all. Talk about what is actually going on in that person's life, their adventures, their jobs, their interests or hobbies, something that makes it seem like you actually know them as a person, rather than solely as a single person. 

I bring this up, not because of anything someone has said to me lately, but because my roommate recently ended a serious relationship and has been watching a series of romantic comedies (or dramedies as the case may be) and we have very different opinions about their endings. She wants them all to end happily ever after while I prefer the bittersweet endings that may not be the traditional happily ever after but feel real. Which got me thinking about why people feel they need to reassure me and why it makes me so irate. 

I think the reason I get so irate, especially when handed some variation of The Consolation Prize, is that real life is not easily packaged, nor does the Hollywood happily ever after have any relation to real life. Romantic comedies generally end with a kiss or a wedding. That is not the end of the story; that is the beginning of the story. When the screen goes black after the kiss or the wedding it signals that the hardships are over, that everything was blissful, that the fairytale is complete and nothing bad ever happens again. That is, possibly, the biggest falsehood embraced by society. Relationships are hard. They take work. Soulmates aren't out there just waiting to find one another; you choose your own soulmate and then you work like crazy to make sure you stay that way. It isn't easy and the problems don't just go away. It doesn't mean that relationships and marriage aren't worth it, if done right they make hardships and difficulties less hard and less difficult because you have someone to share them with, but it doesn't make them easy. 

All of which is to say, I would like to get married and have children but if it doesn't happen I'm going to be okay with that. I just wish other people would let me be okay with it.

I Spend Days Deciding What Shoes To Buy, I'm NOT Going To Rush Picking A Husband

Today at the Institute Friday forum, where they feed us lunch and have a speaker, I wandered into the kitchen to wash my dishes. Just minding my own business, washing my dishes, I suddenly became the topic of conversation between the two people already in the kitchen. One was the mother of a friend of mine, my friend being in her late 20s and also unmarried, and the other a retired man who serves with his wife as the CES missionaries. They must have been talking about how my friend is unmarried when I walked in because her mom was saying she was picky and then she starts referring to "these two" which apparently included me. Out of nowhere I was under attack for being picky and caught totally unprepared. I declared, quite loudly, that it was for eternity so I was going to be picky, thank you very much. Then they went back to talking about how in the world they were going to get "these two" married. Like they have ANYTHING to do with it AT ALL. Also, how in the world am I supposed to get married when a) the pool of eligible men remotely close to my age is miniscule and 2) that pool shrinks further when you add the demand that they be upstanding and temple-worthy. I think that leaves 1, maybe 2, individuals in my possible dating pool. Oh, and one can't get married if one never gets asked out on a date. Argh.

The Review I Promised On Facebook, Even Though A Lot Of It Is About Me

Often reviews become more about the reviewer than about what is being reviewed, possibly because a review is based in the individual’s response to the work. This review of The New York Regional Mormon Singles Halloween Dance by Elna Baker is one of those. I can’t find a way to separate my thoughts about the book from my thoughts about me. So I apologize in advance, since I’m sure you came looking for my opinions about the book and are probably going to end up with a long, self-referential collection of random thoughts.

First and foremost, Ms. Baker is an excellent storyteller. If you haven’t heard them before, go straight to her website and listen to “The Fortune Cookie Story” and “Babies Buying Babies.” The former had me laughing so hard I cried and I fully intend on making my future students read and/or listen to the latter. In fact, I think every person in the United States should read/listen to “Babies Buying Babies” but I won’t tell you why, since that would kind of ruin the impact of the story. Anyway, storytelling is one of Ms. Baker’s strengths and it is apparent in her memoir. She weaves together past and present, childhood and adulthood together quite effectively. She engages the reader (i.e. me) with a voice that is simultaneously familiar and unique. If you are looking for a collection of well-crafted stories, you’ll enjoy this book.

I enjoyed this book, but it also made me a little uneasy. It took me a while to pinpoint the source, partly because I always experience a bit of general discomfort when reading memoirs – in the entering and exploring of a different life and way of thinking. More than that, however, was the fact that she was discussing our shared religion very openly and frankly on a national stage. I am a little sensitive about the pressure that comes with being part of the LDS faith. Not overly sensitive – I generally dismiss pop culture references and actually liked the storyline with the LDS character on House (although I sincerely wish that writers would do actual research about the religion and the Church before writing). But I do have issues with individuals who talk about being LDS and then act in a way that is completely opposite to the doctrines of the religion, like that girl on The Real World lo those many years ago (was it really 10? How time flies!). Ms. Baker’s memoir falls somewhere in between. I can respect that someone struggles with his or her faith and with aspects of a religion’s cultural traditions that can, at times, seem oppressive. But I also can’t deny there isn’t a part of me that wishes Ms. Baker hadn’t been quite so open and frank about her struggle. Obviously I don’t want to promote a false image of perfection or mindless compliance, but there is that moment of cringing every so often when I think about how a reader unfamiliar with our religion and faith will interpret what he or she is reading. Mostly because I don’t know how I’m interpreting what I’m reading. There is plenty to consider in Ms. Baker’s book, but here is what struck me the most.

Moments of Truth

Ever have those moments in which something random, from a film or song or story hits you with impressive and inordinate force? Maybe it is just me, but I was watching Last Chance Harvey (which is marvelous and should be required watching for anyone who enjoys Emma Thompson or Dustin Hoffman) and Emma's character Kate says "You see, what I think it is, is . . . is I think that I’m more comfortable with being disappointed." This line almost made me cry. I am, especially in matters of men, dating, relationships, etc., very much more comfortable being disappointed. It is much safer than getting one's hopes up. Which seems a very sad way to live one's life, however many times one has previously been disappointed or had one's hopes dashed. It has given me something to ponder. Any thoughts?

NOT. A. FAN.

I attended a wedding reception this evening for two lovely and wonderful people who really love each other and are adorable and I wish them all the best because of all of the above. They really have nothing to do with this post other than their wedding reception was the setting for the subsequent stuff that sucks massively. So, I sat at a table with several friends, most of whom are single. One poor gentleman happens to be over 25 so everyone is on RED ALERT to get him married ASAP because obviously his singleton status is untenable to people only tangentially involved in his life. Pretty much every single person who stopped at our table to chat brought up the fact that a) he wasn't married and b) he needed to get on that STAT. Because apparently he wasn't aware of that fact already. It drives me insane when people cannot mind their own business and let people live their own lives. It finally annoyed me so that I politely (and loudly) thanked him for taking all the crap I usually get at weddings. It didn't help with the annoying people passing our table, but it did shut a few of the people up who were sitting at our table. Which was something.

Besides the fact that it is just rude to be so intrusive into an individual's personal life, is there any other situation in which people say such obnoxious things? I know people ask recently and not-so-recently married folks when they are planning to have children or if they are trying to have children (which is awful in and of itself) but the behavior I witnessed tonight was akin to people accosting a couple who are unable to have children and telling them that they needed to get themselves a child right away and implying that they should just walk down the street and pick-up the first one they see. THIS IS NOT OKAY! It isn't appropriate to say to a childless couple and it isn't okay to say to a single person. How have we become a society or culture that allows such intrusive, rude, and hurtful behavior? Why are extremely personal aspects of individual lives the fodder of public speculation and even mockery. And why, oh why, is it considered rude for said individual to do anything but sit there and take it or joke about it themselves? HAVE WE NO DECENCY?

So, Yeah II

Remember this post from last year? About how I realized my dad would probably get remarried before I get a date? Well, I apparently have excellent intuition. My dad got engaged this weekend to a lovely woman who shall be known, until I can come up with a better alias, as Future StepMother or FSM for short. I'm sure this is coming as a shock to a few of you, as I haven't mentioned anything about it because I wasn't sure how much my dad wanted people to know, but as they have announced it on Facebook, I figure I can mention it here. It happened quickly and the wedding will be sometime this summer. 

In other news I was sick this weekend and spent lots of time watching movies on Netflix. If you are a fan of Cary Grant I would suggest checking out The Bachelor and The Bobby-Soxer. I also watched Bella and have a new fantasy boyfriend, because the lead actor's eyes were simply hypnotic. Also, the movie is fantastic and I highly recommend it. To say much about it would kind of ruin it. So go experience it yourself and get back to me.

Recipe For A Perfect Single Valentine's Day

• A good night's sleep.
• A service project that gets you out in the spring sunshine for a couple of hours.
• Doing your taxes and finding out you are getting $1100 back this year.
• A convert baptism into the ward.
• A fantastic dinner made by Flower Child consisting of wild rice, mahi mahi, and steamed broccoli.
• A pan of brownies made from the Ghirardelli Triple Chocolate mix you get at Costco.
• Watching delightful romantic comedies that contain musical gems that induce giggles and inspire awesome dance moves like this:

Hibernation

I turned my last paper in on December 11th, somewhere around 1:30 pm. And subsequently had nothing to do. I still had a few things on my calendar, like a department Christmas party and a friend's birthday, and two more tutoring sessions at the middle school. But nothing supremely solid and nothing that required anything resembling preparation other than putting on varying amounts of makeup. Then the snow hit. While it was snowing the wind blew a bit and made it a little treacherous, but once the actual snowing and wind-blowing stopped, there was only an inch or two on the ground. Completely innocuous by Eastern Washington and Utah standards, but enough to cause people here to cancel church and start school on a delay two days after it stopped snowing. The delay meant no tutoring. It also meant I spent the day watching the 1995 BBC version of Pride and Prejudice with my friend the birthday girl and a subsequent sunny and snow-free day finishing Christmas shopping. This subsequent day brought bad news in the form of my dad's Christmas vacation being cancelled due to some work crises and the recent death of my aunt's sister-in-law. The first bit of bad news meant I was feeling sorry for myself about the nomadic, mostly solo, Christmas vacation I would be spending and the second bit made me feel guilty for feeling sorry for myself.

Wednesday brought real snow. The kind of snow that would find me housebound in Utah, let alone in a place so unused to 6 inches of snow. I realized that maybe the SUV with chains I had laughed at on Monday was driven by someone prescient instead of paranoid. It also meant that my second tutoring session was cancelled and that I would really have nothing to do other than finish wrapping and shipping Christmas presents. So, dear friends who receive packages from UPS on Monday, know that I risked life and limb in really bad weather to drive amongst lots of people who have little experience with such weather to get to the UPS Store to ensure you had surprises by Christmas. Not that I want you to feel guilty. Just appreciative.

Anyway, I was housebound. I decided to see if my theory that hibernation would be awesome was actually true. I slept in until truly obscene hours and then spent even longer lounging in bed doing nothing until my stomach told me it needed food, STAT. I only put on jeans to run outside and check the mail, justifying the return to pajama pants with the discomfort of jeans becoming wet with melting snow. I watched hours of TV and movies, mostly on my laptop. I caught up on my favorite shows, which took less time than expected because most everything went on hiatus at Thanksgiving. I watched two new episodes of Pushing Daisies and got all enraged (again) at it being cancelled when truly awful shows with similarly poor ratings remain on the schedule. But after two days of doing nothing, all that rage felt uncomfortable. Like the jeans I forced myself to wear for a couple of hours (or minutes) before returning to my pajama pants. So I stopped mentally drafting a blog post/open letter to ABC. It took too much energy. I watched Jane Eyre for the upteenth time and the watched a 1996 adaptation of The Tenant of Wildfell Hall. I noticed that BBC adaptations are not immune to the Hollywood double standard that applies to women and men older than 30. Toby Stephens is the dead sexy romantic lead in both Jane Eyre and The Tenant of Wildfell Hall. Tara Fitzgerald, who plays the lovely leading lady in The Tenant of Wildfell Hall plays old, evil, and dying Mrs. Reed in Jane Eyre, though there is only a decade between the two adaptations. And she wasn't yet 40 when Jane Eyre was filmed. Still, took too much energy to get all riled up about it.

My eating habits totally changed as well. I ate something after finally dragging myself out of bed, which could technically be called breakfast but usually to occurred to late to even qualify as brunch. After that, I might nibble on something when I walked past the kitchen on my way to the loo, but really only ate something resembling a meal, usually soup and toast after 7 or 8 pm. Other than that my only caloric intake was through sipping the 8 oz. of Coke&Lime allow myself to have in a day. The scale is registering a weight loss, but I don't really feel I have denied myself anything. Especially considering most hours of the day, waking or sleeping, during my hibernation has been spent on my bed under a pile of blankets. There is a new, me-sized, dent created on one side of my bed. I did venture out yesterday for necessities like toilet paper and milk, but the half hour I spent trying to get out of the Fred Meyer parking lot (because everyone and their Aunt Fanny was doing the same thing, usually in cars with tires not suited to snow that ended up stalling and/or sliding back down the inclined exit) convinced me to go back into hibernation. I also went to Target this morning, but only because they are forecasting another storm and I was up early because I had just cancelled plans to spend the day with my brother, sister-in-law, and niece in Seattle due to said winter storm warning. I was home by 9:30 am.

After 3 days of watching various dead sexy Brits in BBC adaptations, catching up on TV shows (and related TVboyfriends) and breezing through the first season of Supernatural on DVD (which only added to my conviction that Dean Winchester is one of the hottest TVboyfriends on the planet and also made me wonder if I needed to make an appointment to speak with my Bishop, even though I haven't done anything more than repeatedly think "Dean Winchester is wicked hot. And little Sammy isn't far behind him." and possibly fast forward through any part of the episodes that doesn't contain a Winchester in it, especially Dean) and one aborted attempt to watch Under the Greenwood Tree (Netflix's Watch Instantly program and my internet were not getting along. It took me an hour to watch 35 minutes of the movie) I decided to crack open a book. I am now halfway through The Geography of Bliss: One Grump's Search for the Happiest Places in the World, which I highly recommend, for it is both funny and thought-provoking. And a great way to travel without getting out from under warm blankets.

It is supposed to start snowing at some point tonight, which means church might again be cancelled and my hibernation can continue uninterrupted. There is a weird sort of timelessness that has come over me. Since I don't leave my apartment, day and night don't really matter. I wake up to find I turned off my alarm and it is nearly noon. Conversely I realize I'm hungry and finally eat dinner at 9:30. I shower at 11 o'clock at night because I can. I finish watching The Tenant of Wildfell Hall and discover it is nearly 3 o'clock in the morning. Time passes at different speeds depending on what I'm doing. The 5 minutes it takes for Netflix to adjust its streaming to my internet speed seems prohibitively, obnoxiously long, but the 5 hours I spend staring at my laptop, simultaneously aimlessly surfing, watching TV, and chatting with friends, passes in a blink of an eye. In some ways it is the most boring 4 days of my life. In others the most relaxing, freeing time I have spent. It has been a busy and stressful few months, on top of a couple of hard, stressful, miserable couple of years. I kind of don't want to stop hibernating. But perhaps it is better to stop while I am still enjoying it. I'm sure at some point this sort of existence would become insupportable. But until then, I have some Doctor Who and Inspector Lynley DVDs that came from Netflix today calling my name. I might as well enjoy it while it lasts.

Bad Flashbacks To Nursery

So, two of the wards in our stake put on a performance of The Forgotten Carols. Did they invite the young single adults to join them? Not so much. They invited us to run the children's rooms they provided so the adults could enjoy the performance in peace. Which is fine. I volunteered, I went and I had a fine time. But as much as I hate to label children, some of them were hellions. And as the performance stretched past 8:30 pm ALL the children became tired, cranky, stinky, and/or obnoxious. There were a pair of sisters who wouldn't stop crying for their mom who, in fairness to her, warned us that they might and told us to come get her if they didn't. And then disappeared into a darkened gym. Good times. By 9 o'clock I had changed a stinky diaper, dealt with a hysterical little girl's bloody lip after she ran into another kid, and wiped countless snotty noses. I don't regret volunteering, but I would like to say it made me feel WAY better about being single and childless at this moment. A lot better. To the point of being smugly self-satisfied as I watched parents bundle up their crying children and exhaustedly walk them out of the nursery rooms. Then I walked out to my car to find it in full-on Point-of-the-Mountain-Utah-blowing-vertical-snow-blizzard mode. And I, unlike the children, and the other YSAs who were making snow angels, was not amused. It took me 25 minutes to get home. It usually takes me 5. Good thing church doesn't start until 11 am tomorrow.

The Space-Time Continuum Has Some Explaining To Do

So, I'm sitting here at 10 o'clock at night on a Saturday, having just finished my philosophy reading (the whole chapter on indoctrination illuminates nothing so much as the author's hatred for the Catholic Church and religion in general) which did nothing to put me in the mood of finishing the writing of the talk I agreed to give in church tomorrow. Instead, I have been wasting time meanderingly checking blogs I regularly read and links on those blogs to other blogs and inadvertently discovered Confessions Of A Single Mormon Girl, which has a Scully there too. After reading her posts, I couldn't decide if I had stumbled upon a loop in the space-time continuum and was reading the writings of a future me or a me in an alternative dimension or if similar-thinking people choose the same internet identity. And if it is the space-time continuum, why am I not simultaneously spending some quality time in the TARDIS with a certain attractive Time Lord?

I think I'll go take a bubble bath whilst the universe and the space-time continuum contemplate that question.

In Which My Darkest Suspicions Are Confirmed

Last night I attended a baby shower. There were no games and wonderful food, so all told a pretty good shower as such things go. Except for one disturbing conversation that took place around me. In the last couple of weeks several families I know through church have had loved ones pass away. And one of the ladies at the shower hadn't heard of the most recent passing.  So three ladies were discussing the details:

Lady 1:  I have just had to send out too many sympathy cards lately.

Lady 2:  What?

Lady 3:  So-and-so's sister passed away.

Lady 2:  Sister A or sister B?

Lady 1:  Sister B.

Lady 2: Wait I thought sister A was the one that was sick.

Lady 3:  No, it was sister B

Lady 1:  Which is just so tragic.  She is leaving behind a 10 year-old daughter

Lady 3:  No, she is 15.  The same age as my daughter.

Lady 2:  Oh, how sad.

I have long had the sneaking suspicion that single people are looked at as second-class citizens in our conservative, religious culture.  Single people aren't the norm in most congregations and are often expected to pick up extra slack because we don't have a husband or children.  It also happens to married women without children, I suspect. But to hear a conversation in which some participants intimate that it is somehow more tragic for one 40-something woman to die than another simply because one has children is awful.  A life ended is a life ended, regardless of circumstance.  It is appalling to hear that people think otherwise.

Memorial Day: Not A Holiday For Single People

So I thought Mother's Day was going to be awful and it wasn't. Memorial Day weekend seemed innocuous, but managed to induce a major sulk. Why you ask? Because every single child of every person my dad's age in the ward came home to visit. Seriously, the congregation yesterday was twice its normal size. Which, after conversation with someone about how their child (who is substantially younger than I) just bought a house, was not something I wanted to deal with. Every visiting child had at least two children of their own if they are my brother's age and three or four if they are my age. All of this sent me into a very bad mindset, as I am already feeling like I missed the boat or am stuck on the short bus when it comes to getting my life in order. I can barely afford grad school, let alone a down payment on a house.  I haven't had a date in who knows how long. How does a 29 year-old manage to squander her twenties so effortlessly? I have no answers, even though I sat through Sunday School yesterday sulkily pondering possible answers. Needless to say, I was not looking forward to getting up early to go help out at the ward breakfast this morning. Like, at all.

Once there was this one time . . .

Okay, so I was all ready to post about seeing Iron Man (which is great, go see it!) and the mystery that is the allure of superheroes masquerading as playboy billionaires (see also: Bruce Wayne/Batman) but I ran out of steam about a paragraph in and the whole thing fell apart and the only thing I can really say is "Go see Iron Man because it is on the 'Awesome' end of the superhero movie spectrum and even though Robert Downey, Jr. is a hot mess (yes, I used that phrase, but only because it totally fits, as he is attractive and a total mess) most of the time.  But when the movie opened on him in a Humvee while Back In Black by AC/DC (which I must confess is kind of a trigger song for me, which I blame on Supernatural, because once you associate a song with Dean Winchester, how can it not be sexy? And that is probably more than you ever wanted to know about me) kicked into high gear, the only thing I could think was 'Da-yum' (and yes when I see attractive men I tend to have a potty mouth.  And, apparently, a Southern accent)."  Oh, and if I were the endlessly efficient and completely co-dependent personal assistant to a superhero masquerading as a playboy billionaire, I would totally want Gwyneth Paltrow's wardrobe in Iron Man.  Full of little black dresses and perfectly tailored suits as it was.  But see, that just isn't the well thought out piece of pseudo-psychology I wanted it to be.

Part of the problem is that I have the attention span of an adolescent gnat.  I have absolutely no concentration.  This is partially due to the fact that I'm still getting up at 5:15 in the morning to work out, which hasn't so much made me lose weight as make me crave junk food (I devoured almost an entire box of Red Vines while watching Iron Man.  And most of the ice in my Dr. Pepper.) all day long and then curl up for a nap under my desk at work.  Additionally, I'm still waiting to hear about grad school and obsessing about not knowing takes up a lot of brain power.  And Sunday is Mother's Day and it's totally going to suck.  Which possibly leads me to why I would rather read whatever trashy magazine I can lay my hands on than focus on anything serious.  If I truly think about my life, it kind of sucks right now.  Not least of all because pretty much every person (but one,  Hi E!  Remember that old maid's commune we planned in high school?  I think we cursed ourselves.) I know between the ages of 18 and 40 are seriously involved or married and at some stage of procreation.

The Avoidance and Ignoring part of my brain took over last week shortly after the secretary in the law firm that shares our office announced she was getting married.  To explain exactly why that is so depressing, I have to describe this girl.  And in so doing you will probably all think less of me.  First of all, because she and another secretary that was hired at the same time had very similar names, she came to be called 'Pants.'  The reason she is called 'Pants' is because her work wardrobe consists solely of stretch pants (some with stirrups, some without) with elastic waistbands.  This girl is 29, not 67.  And shaped like a 5 foot-tall apple.  Also, she tucks her knit shirts into said elastic waistbands of said stretch pants.  With which she wears white athletic socks and black penny loafers.  If she allowed it, her hair would be naturally curly, but she combs it out and it is a big sheet of frizz.  In which she wears a knit headband that is color-coordinated to her pants.  She has glasses that take up half of her face and would not be out of place on a woman three times her age.  She also has facial hair.  A lot.  All the girls in the office want to nominate her for What Not to Wear.  Not in a mean way, but in a concern for the fact that in inhibits her ability to function in the professional world.  Mostly because we cannot believe she even got hired, because presentation is half of that equation.  And while the rational slice of my brain tells me that her fiance is closing in on 300 pounds and not exactly an overachiever, seeing as it took him 10 years to propose and completely not what I would want. But the non-rational slice is louder these days and has minor freakouts at work because someone I don't even know outside of reading her blog (but seems so fabulous I wish I did know her and I have now reached a new low) just announced that she too is procreating. All of which leads me to the conclusion that I will die alone and be eaten by Alsatians (TM Bridget Jones). Which is why I spent Monday night alternately inhaling Red Vines and chewing ice that tasted vaguely of Dr. Pepper whilst wishing I was the endlessly efficient and completely co-dependent personal assistant to a superhero masquerading as a billionaire playboy.  And I have completely regressed to the age of 15.

In Which The Universe Mocks Me

Now, it isn't as if I particularily embrace my Singleton life, although I'm fairly realistic about the sacrifices marriage and family entail. I am where I am and I deal with it as best I can, but some days I do long for a corporeal significant other, rather than the bevy of Fantasy Boyfriends with whom I am currently involved. I do not need the fact that I am 29 and single emphasized for me. Which is exactly what the theme of the past few days has seemed to be. Two incidents seem to indicate the Universe would very much like to pour lemon juice in the paper cut that is being 29, single, and LDS.

INCIDENT #1
Setting: Sunday evening, my home.
Players: The Wholly Unsocialized Twelve Year-Old Daughter of my dad's friends, and myself.

Parents of WUTYOD: This is our oldest daughter.

Scully: Hel-

WUTYOD (interrupting): Can we watch TV?

Scully (befuddled): -lo. Um, I guess so. Let me show you how the system works. (We have a complicated system of remotes - not for the faint of heart)

WUTYOD: Are you thirty?

Scully (even more befuddled): No, twenty-nine, but close.

WUTYOD: I thought so.

Scully (silently): And what does that mean?

Later in the evening, as the family was leaving.

WUTYOD (popping up out of who knows where): Are you married?

Scully (thinking, 'Do you SEE a husband?'): No.

WUTYOD: Are you going to get married?

Scully: I don't know. I haven't met anyone I like that much.

WUTYOD: Oh.

END SCENE


INCIDENT #2
Setting: Monday night, ward member's house who had invited my dad and I and another family over for Family Home Evening. I'm playing Wii games with the daughter of the family that invited us while the thirty-four year-old daughter with Down's Syndrome of the other family watches.

DwDS: Do you have a boyfriend?

Scully (out of breath due to the Wii kicking my trash): No.

DwDS: I have boyfriends.

She then proceeded to name three.

END SCENE

Now, if an unsocialized twelve year-old and a woman with Down's Syndrome is calling one out on one's lame social life, changes need to be made.

In Honor of What Is Left Of V-Day

I am posting lyrics from one of my favorite Natasha Bedingfield songs, Single. Enjoy!

Ah yeah that's right
All you single people out there
This is for you
Yeah

I'm not waitin' around for a man to save me
('Cos I'm happy where I am)
Don't depend on a guy to validate me
(No no)
I don't need to be anyone's baby
(Is that so hard to understand?)
No I don't need another half to make me . . . whole

Make your move if you want
Doesn't mean I will or won't
I'm free to make my mind up
You either got it or you don't

[Chorus:]
This is my current single status
My declaration of independence
There's no way I'm trading places
Right now a star's in the ascendant

I'm single
(Right now)
That's how I wanna be
I'm single
(Right now)
That's how Im gonna be

Ah yeah uh huh that's right

Don't need to be on somebody's arm to look good
(I like who I am)
I'm not saying I don't wanna fall in love 'cause I would
I'm not gonna get hooked up just 'cause you say I should
(Can't romance on demand)
I'm gonna wait so I'm sorry if you misunderstood

[Repeat Chorus]

This is my current single status
My declaration of independence
There's no way I'm trading places
Right now a star's in the ascendant

I'm single
(Right now)
That's how I wanna be
I'm single
(Right now)
That's how Im gonna be

I'm single
(Right now)
That's how I wanna be
I'm single

Everything in it's right time everything in its right place
I know I'll settle down one day
But 'til then I like it this way, it's my way
Eh I like it this way

Make your move if you want doesn't mean I will or won't
I'm free to make my mind up you either got it or you don't
'Til then I'm single

This is my current single status
My declaration of independence
There's no way I'm trading places
Right now a star's in the ascendant

This is my current single status
My declaration of independence
There's no way I'm trading places
Right now a star's in the the ascendant

I'm single
(Right now)
That's how I wanna be
I'm single
(Right now)
That's how Im gonna be
(repeat)

Miss Austen Regrets

I find fictionalized biographies distasteful. I realize most biographical films have fictionalized moments, where the script hypothisizes what the characters most likely said. That I can forgive. What I cannot forgive is the total fabrication of details of events for which we only have skeletal outlines. This is why I avoided Becoming Jane last year. I have read enough biographers' tales of Miss Austen to know that whatever the film presented with be hypothetical to the extreme, much like playing Pin the Tale on the Donkey, only with a real person's life. From the reviews I read, I was not mistaken. Also, it was tantamount to treason to cast an American as Jane Austen. But I digress. All of this is to say that I faced tonight's Miss Austen Regrets with some trepidation. It said it was based on her letters and writings, but we all know Cassandra burnt most of those. So I was not prepared for how moving, poignant, and engaging this was.

I do hope you all watched this film. What struck me was how much hasn't changed, especially for those of us of the LDS faith. Granted, money is no longer such a sore spot in the equation. We can have a career and build up a 401k and make our own safety net, but as single women in a religiously orthodox culture, we face some the same stigmas thrown at Miss Austen throughout the film. Of the conversations with her niece, her brothers, her mother, all were of the hypothetical nature I dislike, but they felt real. The words might have come from a scriptwriter, but I don't doubt that at some point she faced all those conversations and more. Lest you think I'm being melodramatic, I will give a case in point:

Today in Young Women's (the LDS Church's program for girls between 12 and 18) the lesson was entitled "Preparing to Become an Eternal Companion" and the two major emphasises were on spiritual preparation and homemaking skills. I must compliment the woman who taught, as she did strive to make sure the girls understood that these skills were useful regardless of whether you marry or not, but that didn't mean I felt less of a fool during the lesson. Much like the conflict between Miss Austen and her niece Fanny, how am I to advise these girls on any of the lessons on marriage and family this year? In their adolescent minds, my single-ness undermines anything I might have to say on the subject.

Returning to the subject of career, how many of my single women readers have had it suggested to them that if they weren't so "career-oriented" they might happen upon a husband? How many have heard the words "not getting any younger" uttered in their presence, about them or, more likely, someone else in a similar situation? Does it occur to no one that building a future, a safety net, self-reliance, is what we have to do? We cannot stay at home and keep house for our mothers and fathers, just wishing and hoping that The One (if such a creature does, indeed, exist) to magically appear on our doorstep. We do not need to have the brilliance, grandeur, and wonder of wifehood and motherhood dictated to us repeatedly. We have seen it in the lives our friends who find happiness and joy in those roles. We have also seen the sorrow of ill-advised marriages, the pain of divorce, and the misery of choosing poorly.

The sum of this ranting is to say that I loved Miss Austen Regrets. It struck a chord with me. Maybe the reason I love her works so much is that I believe I sense a kindred spirit. Her books are about women fighting their own faults and the judgements and follies of others to make their right choice, to find their own happiness. Miss Austen walked a different path than the great majority of her peers; maybe she regretted it, maybe not. But her enduring legacy is that she did it bravely.