Bridget Jones's Nightmare
When you reach your later 20s, you find most of your friends start pairing off and marrying. They sacrifice their single days of drunkenness and debauchery for stability and responsibility--unless you are Britney Spears of course. Over the long weekend, I flew to California to witness one of my dearest friends who traveled to Paris and got lost in Wales with me marry one of her work colleagues on the beautiful California coast of Huntington Beach. I was immensely looking forward to this event and at the same time, slightly dreaded it. It was to be the weekend of couples.
Upon arriving Saturday evening, I went to stay with my friend Mimi and her husband Eitan in Los Angeles. I hadn't seen either of them since the World Series. Mimi and I had also spent much time in England together in our younger, more care free and stupid days. So when we moved to NYC together and she met Eitan, literally, 2 weeks after we moved into our apartment, I didn't think that she would be married to him. I mean, aren't you supposed to go off and date lots of people until you get that out of your system? Well, 4 years later, they were married and are very happy. (If she wasn't, he'd be in big effing trouble!) They are the picture of marital bliss: 2 bedroom apartment in the Palisades and a dog they rescued and named Kansas. You gotta love a dog that survived living under a SUV and having had most of her teeth broken in some freak car accident, still runs about like a happy puppy, enjoying the pampered life she never dreamed of having.
I'm not interested in being married in the near future--as a matter of fact, I don't have any plans to get the marriage rash for a few more years. But it is rather hard to maintain that perspective when most of your friends go off and find life partners. Case in point: Susan, another friend from my England days who would sit on the porch of Columbae with me drinking tea from jars, made a pact, a promise even, that she and I would remain devoutly single until we're at least 30. She betrayed me, shamelessly, by finding a nice young man that she plans on marrying one of these days. I can't fault her for it--he's a super great guy in comparison to the numerous schizophrenics that could have happened upon her--but I'm finding myself in that greater minority of Singletons. I don't mind the single life--I mind the lack of Singletons to enjoy it with.
What better place to meet many other Singletons than at a wedding, right? Oh no. You're more likely to meet Jimmy Hoffa than solo flyers. I was properly seated at a table with couples. What that usually means is I'm the entertainment for the evening--the brash single New York girl who is half a dozen Manolos away from being Carrie Bradshaw. I wore the Dragon shoes to inch myself a wee bit closer to being a proper Sex and the City girl. After numerous cocktails, I had to compose myself to take photos with the bride and groom and the other couples so they can remember me as "that drunken girl who made all those really funny comments. Tsk tsk."
Literally, it was Bridget Jones's worst nightmare--she'd describe it as an evening with lots of "smug married couples" and have to suffer through the "why don't you have a boyfriend" question about a hundred times. And since I've started reading "The Edge of Reason" which is the sequel to the first Jones novel, I was in quite that state of Bridget Jones-ing but without my urban family for support. Instead, I made a few drunken calls including one to Shenan who has grounded me from combining weddings, alcohol, and winter. She nearly banned me from weddings all together until we remembered we have friends getting married in the near future and I have to go. Honestly, though, it is true what they say about people who suddenly feel that urge to pair off--it is because all their friends are doing it and they don't have anymore single buddies to go on a pub crawl with ending up at Scores or karaoke until 4am when you hail a cab home, stumble into your tiny apartment and pass out with your cat. This isn't to say I have the itch though. I'm more reticent about it now than I was a year ago. I keep reminding myself about (1) the high divorce rate among those married in their 20s and (2) my Chinese fortune teller telling me not to get married before I am 29 or else I'll be divorced. Divorces are expensive--more so than any wedding and 29 seems to be a really sensible age, no? I mean, I think my eggs will still be good enough to pass my genes. Yeah, best not to mess with my Chinese fortune teller--he successfully predicts floods and acne breakouts too.
Upon arriving Saturday evening, I went to stay with my friend Mimi and her husband Eitan in Los Angeles. I hadn't seen either of them since the World Series. Mimi and I had also spent much time in England together in our younger, more care free and stupid days. So when we moved to NYC together and she met Eitan, literally, 2 weeks after we moved into our apartment, I didn't think that she would be married to him. I mean, aren't you supposed to go off and date lots of people until you get that out of your system? Well, 4 years later, they were married and are very happy. (If she wasn't, he'd be in big effing trouble!) They are the picture of marital bliss: 2 bedroom apartment in the Palisades and a dog they rescued and named Kansas. You gotta love a dog that survived living under a SUV and having had most of her teeth broken in some freak car accident, still runs about like a happy puppy, enjoying the pampered life she never dreamed of having.
I'm not interested in being married in the near future--as a matter of fact, I don't have any plans to get the marriage rash for a few more years. But it is rather hard to maintain that perspective when most of your friends go off and find life partners. Case in point: Susan, another friend from my England days who would sit on the porch of Columbae with me drinking tea from jars, made a pact, a promise even, that she and I would remain devoutly single until we're at least 30. She betrayed me, shamelessly, by finding a nice young man that she plans on marrying one of these days. I can't fault her for it--he's a super great guy in comparison to the numerous schizophrenics that could have happened upon her--but I'm finding myself in that greater minority of Singletons. I don't mind the single life--I mind the lack of Singletons to enjoy it with.
What better place to meet many other Singletons than at a wedding, right? Oh no. You're more likely to meet Jimmy Hoffa than solo flyers. I was properly seated at a table with couples. What that usually means is I'm the entertainment for the evening--the brash single New York girl who is half a dozen Manolos away from being Carrie Bradshaw. I wore the Dragon shoes to inch myself a wee bit closer to being a proper Sex and the City girl. After numerous cocktails, I had to compose myself to take photos with the bride and groom and the other couples so they can remember me as "that drunken girl who made all those really funny comments. Tsk tsk."
Literally, it was Bridget Jones's worst nightmare--she'd describe it as an evening with lots of "smug married couples" and have to suffer through the "why don't you have a boyfriend" question about a hundred times. And since I've started reading "The Edge of Reason" which is the sequel to the first Jones novel, I was in quite that state of Bridget Jones-ing but without my urban family for support. Instead, I made a few drunken calls including one to Shenan who has grounded me from combining weddings, alcohol, and winter. She nearly banned me from weddings all together until we remembered we have friends getting married in the near future and I have to go. Honestly, though, it is true what they say about people who suddenly feel that urge to pair off--it is because all their friends are doing it and they don't have anymore single buddies to go on a pub crawl with ending up at Scores or karaoke until 4am when you hail a cab home, stumble into your tiny apartment and pass out with your cat. This isn't to say I have the itch though. I'm more reticent about it now than I was a year ago. I keep reminding myself about (1) the high divorce rate among those married in their 20s and (2) my Chinese fortune teller telling me not to get married before I am 29 or else I'll be divorced. Divorces are expensive--more so than any wedding and 29 seems to be a really sensible age, no? I mean, I think my eggs will still be good enough to pass my genes. Yeah, best not to mess with my Chinese fortune teller--he successfully predicts floods and acne breakouts too.
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