Your Resident Single Friend: Grease is a terrible musical

In a few weeks, I'll enter the last year of my thirties. I've loved this particular decade of my life the most. I didn't love high school or my twenties, but my thirties have been pretty awesome. I've done a lot of cool things, spent time with the people in my life who are most important, and gotten comfortable with being my weird, quirky self. I've also embraced the fine art of not caring what other people think. It's a refreshing way to live one's life. I mean, I care about people's opinions of things that matter, like politics or whether they eat Twizzlers or Red Vines at the movies (Twizzlers is the correct answer), but I'm less inclined to care about what others think of me. This works fine in most situations, but isn't always helpful in one particular area: dating.

I haven't quite figured out is this dating thing. Regular Island readers may recall those times I signed up for online dating and that one time I went to a speed dating event, neither of which were particularly successful in the "going out on dates" side of things. However, they were very successful in providing me with amusing anecdotes to share here on the Island and strengthening my belief that more people have secret families than not. I've recently gone the online dating route again, this time on a site I like to describe as "online dating for do-gooders" and an app only site that sends me clever emails everyday with my matches, but doesn't seem to help any of these dudes with writing their profiles. During this time, I've gone on one horrible coffee date, chatted online with a very nice dude who was clearly lonely and then vanished, and filtered through lots of guys who seem like nice guys, just not my nice guy. I'm starting to think I'm missing the dating gene OR I missed the day in school where instead of being separated to watch videos about periods and how our bodies are changing, my classmates went to a class and learned how to date. I did miss the class where they taught us how to dress like a woman, so anything is possible.

A couple of trends have emerged during this go-around online:

• I seem to attract, at least online, much younger guys (like 22) or much older guys (like mid-50s into their 60s). I'm sure there are merits to either group, but I'm really not interested in exploring either.
• Dudes seem to believe saying "you're beautiful" is a good opening line. Am I supposed to reply with a comment about his handsomeness? What if he's not handsome? "Thank you" seems like the best route, but then I'm stuck for where to go next. Maybe start with something a little less grand and build up to that one.
• The fine art of understanding proper grammar has died. It's "you're" not "your" (see above comment) and there is not character limit so please leave text speak to actual texting. I'm such an old lady.
• Why include photos of you with other women? Maybe she's your sister or best friend, but with no context, I see one of two things: secret family or you just got divorced and you're not over her yet.
• Married guys - what are you doing on these sites? You have your own sites so go over there and stay there. 
• Kids! Are the children in the photos yours? Be up front about whether or not you're a parent. It's cool if you are, but I have to make a choice if I want to be involved in that life or not so I'd like to know.
• The amount of specificity in descriptions of physical traits is unnerving and a bit much.

I don't look my age, which is something I thank my parents and my skincare regime for every day. (And by skincare regime, I mean I wash my face, moisturize, and wear sunscreen. Occasionally, I use an exfoliating mask. That's it.) Some of the profiles talk about what a person is looking for in a match and often, they describe a woman's physical appearance and that appearance relative to age. I've seen comments about wearing lots of makeup (seen as both a positive and negative), hair length and color (no gray! long hair only!), "takes care of herself", which is open for lots of interpretation, and my favorite, being "fashion forward." Yes, some dude wrote that he wanted a woman who is fashion forward. This would be fine if he was wearing something other than gym clothes in every one of his profile pictures. I've also seen a few profiles that included comments about women not looking their age (a plus) and interest in women who alter their looks (this one mentioned plastic surgery specifically; he was cool with it).

I've brought this up with a few of my friends recently, and it's been fascinating to hear their responses to the idea of aging and how they discuss physical appearance in their profiles. Literally, everything from dressing differently on a first data to Botox in your 30s has come up. My head is still hurting from some of these discussions. Like me, most of my friends don't describe physical appearance when we fill out the exact same questions these guys are filling out. Each of us seems to have a type, but we don't spell it out in the profile questions. My friends also noticed that we're not allowed to age and it would be cool if we changed ourselves physically. Some of them are okay with this; others are not. The message is pretty clear: once we start to "show" our age, we have to stop dating, get a bunch of cats, and wear caftans OR change our physical self somehow. I'm down for the cats and maybe the caftans, but I refuse to believe anything else.

This is why I hate the musical/movie Grease. If you recall the plot, girl next door Sandy meets greaser Danny while on summer vacation. None of their friends are around when this happens, so Sandy doesn't know Danny is the leader of a gang called the T-Birds. She also doesn't know he gets around and is sort of a jerk. Sandy shows up at Rydell High in the fall and it changes everything. During the course of the musical, Sandy tries to fit her girl next door personality/look into Danny's T-Birds/Pink Ladies world and it doesn't work. It works for a little while, but then the dance happens and Sandy is literally pushed out of Danny's life. Danny, meanwhile, doesn't do much to try to fit into Sandy's life except going out for the track team. It isn't until Sandy becomes a Pink Lady (sort of), with skintight pants and big hair, that all is righted in the world of Grease. Sandy had to change physically, while Danny had to change personally (sort of). I would argue his change isn't really that big either; he doesn't leave his friends behind or get rid of his cool car; he letters in track. I was always disappointed in this ending, even when I was younger. The whole thing is so unbalanced.

I'm not interested in altering my looks for anyone but me. Look, I color my hair, mostly because I like experimenting with different degrees of red over my normally strawberry blonde red, and a little bit because I have some grays that I'm not quite ready to deal with. I will be, at some point, and then I will stop coloring my hair. But you'll notice this statement is all about me. Cosmetic surgery (on any level) is not for me either. I'm not judging anyone who does it as long as you do it for you. I don't wear a lot of makeup so I'm not going to start now. I love fashion, but always dress like me. Maybe Sandy did want to look that way at the end of Grease, but I think that's bullshit. Does anyone really want to wear pants like that? How did she sit down in those pants without them splitting? I refuse to believe that outfit was comfortable and made her feel like she was herself.

It took me a long time to be comfortable and confident in who I am. I know this is true for many of my friends too. Society as a whole is getting better at realizing there isn't one life timeline that works for everyone, but that doesn't stop the questions and the judgement about being single or dressing a certain way or having really short hair. I can embrace not caring about what others think, but that doesn't mean it doesn't sometimes place a little doubt in my head, making me think about all of this and wonder if I'm wrong in my choices or beliefs. In these moments, I turn on Grease 2, which is the better movie, and all is right in the world.


Coming soon to the Island: a Lazy Movie Weekend post about pie, some baking/cooking stuff, and I volunteer for the MLB All-Star game. It's going to be a super fun summer!

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This is probably a dad joke

I bought my dad an egg separator.

This is not a revolutionary gift by any means. Like many things related to my family, it has a back story: For as long as I can remember, there has been a yellow, plastic egg separator in my parents' kitchen. It may have been Tupperware, but I'm not entirely sure about that. We had a lot of Tupperware when I was a kid (as did any suburban family in the mid-late 1980s). It was the egg separator of every Sunday breakfast and of countless Christmas cookie baking days. This model was great because it would rest across the edge of the prep bowls perfectly, making egg separating a snap. It survived at least seven moves, including a move back and forth from Hawaii. One day, about two years ago, the yellow egg separator disappeared. No one seems to know what happened to it. I suspect it was accidentally thrown away. This is the only explanation that makes sense. 

Now my father has not gone two years without an egg separator. A replacement separator was purchased, but it is not the right egg separator. It's a metal, wire version. It's not the same. I admit, some of my feelings about the yellow egg separator are wrapped in the constant wave of nostalgia I've been riding since we began cleaning out my parents' basement. I'm both incredibly sentimental about the things we unearth, which have been hiding in the basement for at least a decade, but I'm also the first one to say "throw it away." Some things, like the wooden salad bowl we used forever, needed to go, but the egg separator was being used and felt necessary. The new separator is totally fine; my dad's egg prep is still on point (he makes the best fried eggs), but he doesn't like the new separator. It doesn't work as well and it doesn't fit over the little prep bowl he uses when he makes eggs. Little things like this shouldn't be so complicated or annoying. Since the yellow separator went missing, anytime I'm out and about and come across kitchen utensils, I always looks at the egg separators, hoping to find something similar to the one we lost. I usually strike out. Until last weekend.

After our morning at Crumbs & Whiskers, Anita and I made our way back to Virginia and ventured to a random store called Hollin Hall Variety Store off Fort Hunt Road in Alexandria. Walking into this store is like walking into an old-store general store, complete with a penny candy aisle and weird knickknacks that would make anyone who likes awkwardly adorable knickknacks incredibly happy. It's the kind of place where you can buy fabric off the bolt, ant killer, and puzzles all at the same time. Before there were dollar stores, there were variety stores. As I wandered down each aisle, because it's a requirement to walk down every aisle in a store like this, I considered buying completely unnecessary items like buttons I'll never sew on anything, cookie cutters, a dinosaur hobby horse, and Nordic Ware bundt pans. I came upon a display of kitchen utensils that made the baker in me sigh given the sheer volume of possibility. Among the utensils, I found the egg separator. It's not an exact match to the lost one, but it's pretty close. I texted the photo to my brother and asked him to ask dad if he wanted it. Even if he had said no, I would have purchased the egg separator. He did not say no. He's getting an egg separator for Easter. That's a dad joke waiting to happen.

This isn't so much about the egg separator, but about the idea of finding the egg separator. This is exactly the kind of thing my dad does. Things get mentioned to him, even in passing, and they eventually appear. Sometimes he's legitimately not listening, but most of the time he's listening just enough to make it matter. A few Christmases ago, he asked me what I wanted and I, being the smart ass I am, said a unicorn. Well, he bought me a unicorn pendant. It's one of the few pieces of jewelry I wear regularly. That's the kind of human my dad is. What this episode has made clear to me is that I'm turning into my dad in small ways. Mention something random to me and I will find it for you. It might take me years to accomplish, but one day I'll be wandering the aisles at a time warp variety store and whatever you wanted will magically appear. You might not need or want the item anymore, but I'm still going to buy it for you.

What will be next on the road to becoming my parents?


Want something more Easter-y for your weekend reading? Check out my short story series "House of Peeps" - who knew Peeps could be so dangerous? The original story can be found here. The sequel, "Return of the Peeps" can be found here and here. 

This Is 35

When I was younger, I had a very specific image in my head of what my life would be like as an adult. I would be married, have children, be a famous costume designer, and have a dog named Albert. I wrote about this image a few years ago and my struggle to understand what it means to be an adult. When I was in my teens, I thought 25 was so old and 35 ancient. Age is pretty irrelevant; there are teenagers who are more adults than some of the people I see everyday and some "adults" that will always be 16. And that is my problem: where do I fit into this whole thing?

I hoped that when I turned 35 there would be some magical moment on my birthday where I would just get it. I would understand what I'm supposed to be doing in life and know that I am what I wanted to be when I grew up. That magical moment did not occur on my actual birthday BUT I did get to meet John Waters and learned that he had never been to an Outback Steakhouse until he started his hitchhiking book. New experiences happen at the weirdest moments. (Read his book Carsick - it's really funny.)

Flash forward to the Saturday following my birthday. I decided to have a birthday party this year since 35 is a milestone birthday (according to my mom). It was a bowling party. I love bowling. Any activity where you can combine junk food (snacks are important), beer, and special shoes is a success in my book. I was talking with one of my friends during the party about turning 35. She turned 35 in April and had a phenomenal roller skating party to celebrate. She told me that it took two months to adjust to the idea of being 35 (she was at two months) and I should report back when I came to my two month anniversary.

Well here we are. I have been 35 for two months. There's still been no magical moment of "This Is 35" but I have come to some realizations over the last two months about this whole adult thing. What better way to discuss than a list?

• One of the greatest joys in life is having cereal for dinner. Frequently. I actually have cereal for dinner more now than ever before, including college. I'm not a huge fan of cooking (although I love to bake) and cooking for one is horrible. I end up having to eat the same thing for days or I freeze the leftovers and then promptly forget about them. My co-workers like to go out to lunch so I tend to have a big lunch anyway so cereal just makes more sense. Or I'm suddenly very European.
• I excel at being a good rock and roll citizen. Old Lady Concert Rules are not just something my crankier self came up with because I hate fun and people. Peter Frampton has even entered the fray and taken drastic measures to make concerts a fun and safe space for all. If you can't respect Old Lady Concert Rules stay at home.
• I am a feminist and you can deal with it. I know that feminist is a very loaded word for a lot of people. You need to get over it. As I've explained before, I believe in feminism in the way that I believe it was intended: the equality and full humanity of all women and men. I don't hate men (I love men) and I'm not here to tell you that your traditional values are terrible. But I don't like making less money than men for doing the same job OR having people (Congress, the Supreme Court, corporations, fundamentalist religious organizations, Fox News) make decisions about my body and my rights to make choices about my body OR the belief that I am less of a woman because I don't have a husband or children to take care of. Y'all, women are more than their wombs and we need to stop defining woman and womanhood in these terms. 
• Let's all geek out together. I love that we live in a time where geekiness about anything is encouraged. The fandom sphere is vast and welcoming (except when Comic Con attendees are acting like total d-bags). Even if you haven't been reading Marvel Comics (or insert any book, tv show, or comic) since you learned to read, you can catch up and be part of the fun. Recently, I had a lengthy conversation with the intern working for my department this summer about comic books, the DC v. Marvel universe debate, the reboot of Red Sonja, and a female Thor. She and I also discussed feminism and Cat Woman. I love our intern; she gives me hope for the future. We have yet to discuss Guardians of the Galaxy but we'll get to it this week.
• It's okay to hate the gym. I hate going to the gym. I've had some very negative gym experiences in my life and I don't feel the need to continue to repeat them. That doesn't mean that I don't care about my fitness and health. I got a FitBit in February, stopped drinking soda, and am much more aware of what I eat. Gyms aren't for everyone; the key is finding what you like to do and doing it. I walked 17,333 steps in one day two weeks ago and it was an exciting accomplishment.
• Youths. I enjoy making fun of the youths as much as the next person. Guess what? They're making fun of us too. Not everyone under 30 is a terrible, self-absorbed millennial who doesn't understand the value of hard work and applying themselves. They're not all special snowflakes but neither am I so let's just work together in peace and harmony.
• I like pineapple patterned sweaters. Personal style can be a challenge. I would consider my personal style somewhere between classic and slightly punk librarian. I like really bright colors and patterned sweaters (the pineapple sweater is a recent addition) and stripes. I like wedge heels and would kill for a pair of Doc Marten Mary Janes like I had in the late 90s. (Why didn't I keep those?) I don't understand women over the age of 8 who think rompers are attractive. I have come to terms with skinny jeans (I own exactly one pair and they are purple). I finally know what works for me and I have stopped trying to be a person I'm not because of fashion. Nina Garcia will probably never love what I wear but that's totally cool. 
• Take a break and enjoy recess. No really, take a recess break. Even NPR did a story on the importance of play and having fun in adulthood. Having grown up responsibilities tends to make us all forget about having fun. Two Fridays ago, my brother and I spent the day at Kings Dominion and it was awesome. We rode all the roller coasters (some of them twice) and stopped at Sonic on the way home for slushies. It was a great day and it reminded me of the importance of taking a break. Have fun. Be a silly. Life's too short to be serious all the time.
• Always take the bonus cupcake. I shouldn't have to explain this but I will anyway. When I bought a dozen cupcakes for my birthday party, the woman at the bakery gave me a bonus cupcake for my purchase. Of course I ate it and then ate another one at my party. We shouldn't deny ourselves the simple, good things in life. Sometimes you need a bonus cupcake and sometimes you need a new purse. Just follow Donna and Tom's advice and "treat yourself".

Two months in to being 35 and that's what I have figured out so far. Reality is way more fun than what I imagined as a youth. Let's do this, second half of my thirties!

Photos by me