A friend of mine just told me that after dating some dude she met a few weeks ago, they are now official. Guess how she found out? Apparently one morning after signing on to Facebook, she got a request asking her to verify that she and he are in fact, together. After sending out a silent prayer of thanks to Facebook for letting her know what in fact was happening in her life- she accepted the request, and that was that. There was absolutely NO communication on the subject. She just went from zero to relationship at the speed of light. So in an age where dates are scheduled through second hand parties, and texts count as love letters, is it really true that as far as emotions go people have the range of a teaspoon, and the attention span of a goldfish? Apparently so. You’ll be happy to know that said friend is, in fact, happy with the little love triangle between she, he & her 1,305 friends. And I’m fairly sure the cyber lovefest won’t hit its expiration date for at least another four months. I mean- when the most intimate conversations a couple has involve texting, how could it not? As much as I’d love to advise the clueless Cher to redirect herself into the arms of a guy that’s actually mature enough to remember how people communicated prior to the cellular age (and no, it did not involve the pony express,) I’ll have to let this cyber and cellular insanity run it’s course. I guess like Becky Sharp from days of yore, the title is in fact, the most important thing. Apparently this notion has parlayed it’s way into the hearts and minds of savvy cyber users everywhere. If she’s lucky, he might even propose on her wall! I’m sure I’ll get the event request- although the guestlist might be hidden- which will severely hinder my ability to scope out the hot single guys. If we’re really lucky, there might even be a status update! Charming.
I turn 25 in a couple days. The 24/7 college cocktail fests have faded into the more elusive and exclusive happy hour scenes, and even though these alcoholic sweet treats start off around five, it anything but qualifies us for the early bird special just yet. For as much as I complain about my mattel manufactured city, I love living in sun soaked So-Cal, even when I hate it. Although drowning in a sea of bottled-blondes and an endless parade of Ed Hardy accouterments can have a girl from the big city trading in her five minutes of fame for seven days of small town charm faster than your brother’s prom date. You’ll inevitably ask why, and the answer is quite simple- it is 21st century shower dating. You lather, rinse, repeat with the same (insert appropriate poison here). We are all so well practiced in the art of faux friendship, that it has transpired into this pre-matrimonial mechanical mess! Drinks and dinners are destined for disaster and star-crossed lovers are losing their luster in search of uncharted territory in every capacity imaginable. Big city suburbanites are trading in their Manolos for Montana’s mocassins, and Vanity Fair forsaken for Field & Stream.
On a couple night’s before the eve of my impending quarter-life crisis, I’m marinating on the idea (lord knows I can’t cook in any other capacity,) that if I parade around on another date with some Smith whom I’ve undoubtedly rinsed & repeated with before, I will pull out my signature pantene locks before they even have a chance to go gray. So, last year’s wish was for something different in general, but this year it’s to burn the blessed Barbie and Ken mold altogether, and make way for a new kind of (hopefully) not-so-fashion-forward fellow. I’ve been so preoccupied documenting the do’s and dont’s of hopefully happily-ever-after Hollyweird endings, that I’ve become completely unaware that the four horsemen of the apocalypse will be here in just a couple of days to carry me off on new adventures in this hell-ridden city of seraphs. Although, with my birthday wish pending, this could just be four prince charmings waiting to happen, but then that would be boring, wouldn’t it?