Money, Sex, and Goodbye Camelot

Wednesday was #empathyday on Twitter, not sure why. I always thought hump day was enough of a burden for one day to bear, but whatever. Someone posted a link to a New York Times article about a group of tragic women who were dating or married to bankers and stockbrokers. This gaggle of poor unfortunates even have their own blog where they share stories of pain and suffering like having credit cards and vacations canceled and having to (gasp!) cook ... at ... home. Is what I'm feeling empathy? Gimme me a minute ...

I've been poor and I've been moderately not poor. I've been everything in between, too. Hell, I've even homeless for a few days and we had to sleep in our car. I was young so I thought this was an exciting adventure. I've been married poor and I've been married moderately not poor. Sure money puts stress on a marriage and is the #1 cause for divorce, but a lot of that is due to the fact that people can't agree on the way they handle they money they do have. Making sure you are compatible with a person and their money habits is critical in a marriage. Two savers will be much happier than a saver and a spendthrift, TRUST ME.

This blog made me think about how sad it must be for these women to be married to men as a purely superficial economic exchange. They even spell it out: I am in the fashion world, I am hot, I am his trophy wife. This is their value, being young and attractive and in the right field. In exchange, they sell themselves off to the highest bidder. Someone who can offer them the biggest apartment, the nicest reserved tables, and the blackest Amex. In this exchange of power/beauty, the bankers have clearly shirked on their responsibilities with the cash and now the women are calling it quits. Should the men be outraged? Offended? Probably not. You know for a fact that if the situation was reversed and their model girlfriends got fat or involved in a freak acid-burn accident, they'd be making their way to the door. This is the agreement they've made. Man provide cash, woman provide supple body.

If you are a young woman living your life this way, and your man is rich, it is safe to assume a few things as fact:

a) There is a 99.9% chance he is fucking other women.
b) He will probably not have that money/status indefinitely.
c) In all likelihood, he will leave you for someone younger. Not even you will be 22 forever.

Of course we all make tacit agreements in all of our relationships. I agree to be nice, you agree to not throw things. We both agree to not piss in the middle of the living room. That's part of the human experience, but if your top priorities in life are monetary and the deals you make with other humans are all tied to money, things probably won't end well.

I am married to a man who I adore. Like in a crushy, ridiculous, high-school way. Like I watch him sleep and caress his shirts with my cheek before I put them in the wash.

I would love him just as much if we lived in a cardboard box. Where we eat for dinner doesn't matter, whether we go to the opera doesn't matter. What matters is experiencing life together, every little memory we are building day in and day out, every kiss goodbye in the morning, every laugh, every passionate sigh. Smiling at each other in amazement as we watch our daughter. We made that ... that ... human being! This happiness I get from looping my arm through his as we snuggle on the couch, is something these women are never going to experience. And for that, I feel truly sorry. Hey, I'm an empathiz- what? That's sympathy? Oh.

The Rx for a Better Marriage: More Sex

There was an interesting article in the New York Times recently about a pastor, Rev. Ed Young suggesting his parishioners take a 7-day sex challenge to try to improve their marriages. I'm guessing among some evangelical churchgoers this is a shocking concept. But the article isn't what interests me, it was the reaction on Twitter. A single guy remarked angrily "single people have the same needs as married people!"

Ummm, I beg to differ. How many poopy diapers have you changed in the last YEAR? How many sleepless nights have you been up, trying to calm a fussy baby back to sleep? How many of your conversations have been interrupted by crying? You probably get to do lots of things you take for granted as a childless, single, unencumbered. Here, let me point some out for you:

• Going to see whatever movie you want, whenever you want.
• Reading a book, whenever you want. The entire book.
• Flying off to a far-flung location, on a whim.
• Eating out? Okay, no problem.
• Getting amorous and knowing you won't be interrupted by small children.
• Going on vacation? Again, no problem.
• Going to the bar for drinks, going on a whole-weekend bender? Bring it!

This is a problem you don't understand the enormity of, until you have none of these items anymore. Not one. You don't get to pick and choose, it's just that your life gets sidelined into something else. Something called parenthood.

7 Things You Don't Know About Me

God it sounds like the title of a really bad movie in the $5 bin. I was tagged and then retagged for this Seven Things You Don't Know About Me meme. I promised myself I wouldn't make a tag-team joke right here so you'll just have to make up your own.

Why am I dragging my feet? Because this is incredibly hard. Seven things? Are there even seven things about me in total? Criminy!

So I wrote several, erased several that were FAR too personal. Pro tip: Don't publish in haste. Always leave your rough draft for the next day. So here is what's left. I'm sure I'll think of some really pithy, clever things as soon as I hit publish but these will have to suffice for now.

1. I got to that hardcore, Fame level of ballet obsession as a tween. What a feeling! My dreams of being a ballerina were crushed when puberty brought me Coke-bottle hips. Madame pulled my mom aside and explained to her that ballerinas did not have junk in the trunk. Me and my surfeit of trunk sashayed ourselves over to bellydancing and lindy but I still do tour-jetes across the living room when no one is looking. If I had a time-travel machine I would murder Balanchine and take my rightful place as the Firebird.

2. I am very shy IRL and don't make friends easily.* I hate soap operas, "girls night out" parties, talking on the phone, romance novels, and discussing my kid's milestones. I can assure you I do possess a functional vagina. The quiet desperation that surrounds the playground mommies makes my stomach turn and I can't get away fast enough. I'm trying to overcome my mommy phobia as I'm sure they're not all humorless, soulless, gossip-mongers. Twitter has proven this to be true.

3. I am terrified of my passion for horses and know that if I ever gave in to it, I would cross over and become one of those crazy horse people. So I just try to avoid them as much as possible.

4. My eyes glaze over when you mention sports. I don't understand any of it. I will of course be a good sport (oh God, that was bad) and behave enthusiastically in the stands. Just nudge me in the ribs when it gets to the part where I'm supposed to cheer wildly or howl indignantly. I'd like to clarify that I'm a very physical person. I love hiking, running, skating, and generally getting sweaty in general. I'm just not into team sports. I have no competitive spirit. You win. There, see how easy that was?

5. We didn't have a video game console - is that what they're called? - when I was young and I've never played any sort of video or computer game. There, I've said it. Related: Speaking of geekiness, I've never seen any of the Lord Of The Ring movies, nor a single episode of Star Trek. People dressed up as aliens/hobbits doing serious dialogue give me the giggles.

6. When I was little, my dad did research on rhesus monkeys for the government. I loved to go feed them Fruit Loops. Only later did I learn his nickname was Dr. Death.** Was bummed until I realized this made me "Lil Death" and come on, that's pretty righteous.

7. I'm still not over David Foster Wallace.

*I just realized I've talked about this before. See also: Video of me wanking about being an introvert. Am I really that shy if I make a video about how shy I am? I'm going to think on this for a bit, but I'm leaving it in the list anyway because, have I mentioned, making this list is freaking hard?

** I know I've tweeted this already but in that tweet I incorrectly titled myself Princess Death. I'm correcting my tweet here and using up a number on the list. Double bonus points, bitches!

I don't know who has been tagged and who hasn't so I'm giving away my 7 tags to the first 7 people who send me an envelope with $20 in it. On your marks, get set, GO!

Flickr Meme? I'm IN

If you know me at all, you know I'm a sucker for memes. Anika of Faboo Mama fame posted on Twitter about this Flickr meme and, well, you can guess the rest. Here's what she said:

“It works like this: if you use Flickr, go to the sixth page of your photostream and pick the sixth picture there, then post it to your blog.”

Kinda bummed it stops at just 2 sixes because 1 more and I could have worked in a really funny Satan joke right here. Anyway, here's mine. Just a few more uploads to Flickr and it would have landed on my anonymous stripper picture ... sorry.

... and no, my husband isn't really punching me. He would never punch me anywhere that it would show, gosh people! What do you think we are, amateurs?

Twitter Qwitter Cards, Breaking Up Is Hard To Do

There has been a lot of talk on Twitter about Qwitter. If you don't know what Twitter is, might I suggest something off the archived posts menu? Anyway, Qwitter which allows you to track who unfollows you and what your last tweet was. There are big problems with this concept. Personally, I don't unfollow based on a single tweet. It's more a buildup of annoyance until I just.can't.take.it.anymore and then unfollow. Unless your tweet was really disgusting or blatantly horrific, I don't think you have much to worry about. Qwitter supplying you the last tweet as evidence, is useless and misleading.

So here's my brilliant plan: Qwitter Cards. A handy way to let that person know, hey, it wasn't that tweet about pooping, it was the fact that you're annoying as fuck, ALL THE TIME. Here are some of the main offenders that give me an itchy unfollow finger:

THE TWOOL


You spam more than a Hawaiian at lunchtime, boy! We get it, you've got this great [product] to share, okay so go share it. Over there, look. Do you see them? The other Twitter marketers, your own kind. This is just like that scene in Muppets From Space. You can all sit in a circle jerk and retweet each other's links. Monetize!

THE RELENTLESSLY RANDOM

At first glance your Twitter page's pointlessness seemed so charming:

• Just sat up in bed, my butt is numb.
• Ran out of copy paper.
• Thirsty.
• Okay, going to the store.

Remember that time the cat was in your pant leg? CRAZY. But it was a fleeting charm and now I'm wishing you'd either think of something interesting to say or shut the hell up. Sorry it's not you, it's m ... okay, it's you.

THE NICHE-ER


Darling, we have nothing in common because you're only topic is [TV show, kids, craft, team, WOW]. There is a great big world of things to talk about and all you want to discuss is:
(pick one and cross out the rest)

• the latest plot twist in that show.
• another Youtube video screenshot of the 57th level.
• little Timmy's ear infection.
• how Madrino fumbled that pass, dude!
• plastic soft-drink holder crochet art on Etsy.

THE OMG SHE NEVER SHUTS UP


So gregarious. You have a super-cute avatar and scores of followers so you seemed like a good bet ... initially. The first red flag should have been how you append your bio with 'bunny'. I thought maybe you just liked carrots a lot or thought you were more adorable than you actually are. I didn't realize it was because you tweet like a horny rabbit. I need to drop you and free my twitterstream from your sweaty clutches. Oh well. Nice rack, though.

_______________________________________________


But Melissa, are there any instances when it would be in poor taste to send a card? Why yes, there is one type of follow you should never send a card to:

THE SAD SACK


Also known as the pity follow. Often seen bleating about losing followers or having no followers, now you know why. Nonstop kvetching, they will invariably have a cold, their cat has a cold, or they are sitting next to someone with a cold. The only time I would suggest following this person is if you suffer from Excessive Happiness Syndrome (very rare, BTW) and need something for your constant state of joy. Now can you see how sending them a card would be mean? You'd be depriving them of the ability to wank about you unfollowing them. Don't take that away from them, it's all they've got!

Spring Awakening - It's About Sex, Kiddies

I went to see Spring Awakening the other night at the Ahmanson. Lots of hype so I was pretty jazzed. Walking into the theater, I could feel the prickle of excitement and buzz in the air. There were scads of girls dressed as schoolboys in knickers and ties, looking like effete Angus Young impersonators. This show already had rabid fans dressing up like characters? Damn.

Spring Awakening is about the sexual unfolding of adolescence, created by Steven Sater and Duncan Sheik (you know, the Barely Breathing guy). It's set in Germany, 1891. Pay attention to the names, it is going to get confusing. Wendla, Melchior and Moritz are the 3 main characters and I spent the first bit playing character catch-up. Melchy-who? The standout performance, for me, was Blake Bashoff as Moritz, even though he seemed to borrow largely from Tom Hulce's Amadeus, crazy hair included. So adorable.

Thinking of taking your kids? Be advised that this musical's main theme is sex. It covers all of these topics, mostly in great theatrical detail:

• masturbation
• boob fetishes
• erotica
• S&M
• porn
• circle jerks
• homosexuality
• runaways who become nude models
  
• simulated fucking (twice)
• abortion
• incest

My initial reaction was:



Great costumes, superb cast, and more teen angst than a Twilight showing. The melodies of the songs were beautiful but the lyrics seemed to fall flat for me. Words, melody, and story should be a complete package and hit you like a ton of bricks. This just missed the bulls-eye repeatedly when the lyrics would go off on some tangent and I'd be thinking 'what the hell are they talking about?'

Mama, the weeping
Mama, the angels
No sleep in Heaven, or Bethlehem

I still think it's a wonderful musical and you should go see it, if only for the people watching and the rock show choreography. Just make sure grandpa brings his heart medicine.

The Pig Personality Test

Draw a pig. Not just any pig, a magical pig that will reveal your personality. Who would possibly waste 5 minutes drawing a pig? I don't know either!


Apparently this pig says I'm a realist and a crappy listener but at least I have an amazing sex life. How did he know?!