Wednesday, August 12, 2009

Paper or plastic?

Today I've decided to stop thinking of myself as society expects me to think of myself - an item on a shelf in a store waiting for some guy to pick me, pick me!

Enough already. I must start thinking and acting like the shopper, not the shopee.

Who says I can't have MY pick? Maybe it's that abstract, all-encompassing and oh-so-blame-able entity I like to call "society," maybe it's all in my mind, but whoever it is, SHUT UP ALREADY!

I've got a platinum card and I'm ready to sample.

Other thoughts for the day? I must start choosing my men like I choose my friends. I know I don't expect my friends to meet the same standards I set for my partners. All they need to be is, well, a good friend.
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Thirty and *gasp* single

It started about five years ago. Everyone – and we mean EVERYONE – got married. Being in a university sorority meant we knew a lot of women – some as close friends, some as acquaintances and some simply as recurring names in the endless stream of gossip that permeated our lives as part of the so-called “Greek system.” Back then we were like all the other girls – crushing, flirting, dating, crying, begging, breaking up, getting back together, falling in and out of love and, from time to time, daring to dream of our future weddings. What would the dress look like? How many bridesmaids would we have? And – most importantly – who would the groom be? We were all travelling the same path at that time; all puzzling over the complexities and emotions of “being in a relationship;” all wondering (and worrying) – when would that wonderful, white day, with its “I dos” and promises of everlasting love and happiness, come?

And then we came to that big, fat intersection. You know the one. You can either take a right, hit cruise-control and coast down scenic Wedding Way, where the sun shines and the birds sing and all the floral arrangements match the place settings or hang a left, shift into four-wheel drive and do your darndest to navigate Lonely Lane, a rocky, winding, unpredictable route fraught with potholes, landmines and seats at the singles’ table (it’s the one at the back of the room, in case you didn't know). Read more.