I made it! I’m 58! This is a rare thing on my father’s side of the family. Only he lived longer than that, to 78, because he was a bit of a fitness nut. Everyone else was gone by 57.
As always, I got Chinese take-out. It’s my little tradition, one started in the ’90s when a bunch of my USPS coworkers took me out to lunch for my 30th birthday. I keep the fortune in my wallet all year as kind of a theme for my next trip around the sun.
Some may recall that last year, there was no fortune in my cookie. NOT that I’m superstitious or anything, but that is considered a bad omen, and I had a heart attack four days later, so I was very relieved to see the little slip of paper sticking out of my cookie tonight.
And my fortune is hilarious.
Yeah. No. I’d rather eat every gross candy in my previous entry. I took myself off the market at the end of June 2014 and—fellas, look away—I don’t miss one dang thing about being in a relationship. It’s too much emotional, logistical, physical, and financial labor for too little return on investment. And it’s just so confining, for me at least. Suffocating, even. It’s just not for me, the way having kids just wasn’t for me. Other folks, more power to ya. Whatever your life path and choices, if you’re happy, I’m happy for you.
Freedom, though—freedom to come and go as I wish, eat what I want, have a home as clean as I want, spend or save what I want, and basically just plain do what I want, without having to worry about anyone else or hearing anyone else’s unsolicited opinions (because so many American men sure are full of them regarding what women should and shouldn’t do, wear, eat, look like, or be)—that is divine. Freedom is yummy to the max, like my favorite candy, Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups. Here’s the Halloween version, which is merely pumpkin-shaped and NOT pumpkin-flavored, thank gawd.
As for a “fulfilling relationship,” I take that to mean with myself, my body, my bank account, my work, or the environment and the other living creatures on Earth.
And now off to catch up on one of my shows.
Like The Golden Bachelorette.
Just kidding.
I’m all caught up on that.
I think Joan might end up with Chock at the very end. I’ve thought that all along, and I was there for it until he pulled that overbearing body posturing at the bowling alley. I felt bad for Joan, actually. Her body language in response to him hanging all over her really bothered me. It was like she was trying to make herself smaller, sitting with her knees up and her arms around her shins.
I’m surprised Jordan has made it this far. I thought he’d be out in the third round. He just seemed too nervous and the harsh lighting on set doesn’t do him any favors. (He’s a looker in photos, though.) Then I thought for sure Joan would go for Jonathan over Jordan. Joan and Jonathan would have been one HELLUVA striking couple. He’s hot of face and built like no one’s business. But if Jordan has made it this far, there’s something there, and if he makes it to the final two, then maybe it won’t be Chock. But my money is on Chock, even though he’s lost his appeal to me. I just want Joan to be happy. She’s a local gal, from the Maryland side of the river.
See? Might not be for me, but for those who enjoy relationships and being part of a couple, rock on. I hope you find your beautiful.
One of my all-time favorite candy bars is 3 Musketeers. So light. So soothing. So delicately sweet.
And in the picture above, so absolutely fake.
Did you know that the food shown in print ads is almost never real? Real food melts, wilts, congeals, solidifies, spreads out on the plate, and otherwise reacts with its environment and the hot lights of the studio, so it’s very difficult to photograph in an appealing way.
Nowadays they probably just use Photoshop or something, but decades ago they used sculptures that were anything but edible. My father was one of the original Mad Men and one day he brought home this hefty block of clear, wavy glass that had a little slot drilled into it. I remember him putting it on the coffee table, sliding a straw into the slot, and saying “There you go.”
The sculpture was for an ad for drinking water, and in photos it did look like someone could take a long, refreshing slurp through the straw. However, on the coffee table it looked like a giant, melting ice cube. Whenever people who had never been to the house before came to visit, they would stare at it like they weren’t sure what were seeing. Then they would reach down and touch it very gently and nimbly with just their fingertips. Upon realizing it was room-temperature, they’d slowly put their whole hand over it, and invariably they’d say, “Oh, my God, I thought that was REAL!”
Sometimes they’d even pick it up. By the time the 80s rolled around, dozens of people had held it up to the light, turned it this way and that, checked its weight like they would a melon’s. It was about three-and-a half, maybe four pounds—light enough hold in one hand, but heavy enough to do some damage if swung. My parents were always spritzing it with Windex and wiping it down because it would get covered in fingerprints.
And that, friends, is why I’m still out here, twenty years later, roaming free and unpunished while the one who did me dirty is in the ground and the one he did me dirty with—my bestie, she who swore up and down that she would always be there for me and have my back, the woman I trusted like a sister—is in the clink. All I had to do was show her that sparkling clean little sculpture. All I had to say was “Check this out! My parents left it to me. It’s glass!”
Lawd, but I am so sick of people bashing Taylor Swift and the misogyny that doing so reveals about them.
Let me preface this by saying that although I do love two of her albums (folklore and evermore), I’m not a Swiftie in that I wouldn’t pay thousands of dollars to see her in concert, I only listen to her music on Spotify and haven’t actually purchased any of her albums, and I haven’t seen the movie about her. Therefore, this isn’t a knee-jerk reaction to criticism of something I personally enjoy or someone I admire.
This is about the cultural war over her and the rampant sexism and misogyny fired at her and her fans. CNN had a good piece on why you should watch what you say about Taylor Swift in front of your kids, because they will pick up on what you say. The author made the point that Eminem flipping off the crowd after his football team lost was seen as “relatable” but Swift watching her boyfriend play football and cheering on his team was seen as a publicity stunt and a distraction.
Over the past few months I’ve seen this culture war play out on Threads, the Twitter alternative that is tied to Instagram. People—usually white men in trucker’s caps—ragged incessantly on Swift for doing what they themselves do, which is watch her boyfriend play football. Funny how no one criticized me when I dated a football player back in high school and went to all of his games to cheer him on. So what is it about Swift that edges these men so much?
First, she’s wildly successful as a businessperson in a way none of them will ever be. Yet they’ll fawn over blowhards like Elon Musk and the Orange Ape, both of whom have proven to be terrible at every aspect of business except for wasting other people’s money and ruining any major venture they inherit or buy.
Second, she’s outspoken and strong.
Third, she’s not afraid of being vulnerable.
Fourth, she’s beautiful and super feminine in her appearance and carriage.
It’s those last two that really set the toxic guys off. She’s beautiful and feminine, but she’s not pliable or submissive. In their minds, being feminine should also mean being malleable and easily dominated, and Swift is anything but. Does not compute! Danger! Danger, Will Robinson!
Compare this with Pink going to see then-boyfriend Carey Hart race in motocross. There was no criticism of her at all, and she proposed to him at one of his races by holding up signs saying “Will you marry me?” and “Serious!” as he was actually racing. How is that not a “distraction” but Taylor Swift going to a football game is? Don’t get me wrong: Pink has her own brand of beauty and femininity, but her image is that she’s one of the “cool” chicks, someone you’d hang out and have a few beers with while you both watched her now-husband do what he does. She wears her hair short, she’s built like an athlete, and her strength is the kind that implies that she’ll kick your ass if you say anything about anyone she loves. She’s one of the girls guys see as one of the guys. That has its own toxic perspective, wherein an athletic woman is seen as masculine, but that’s a post for another day.
I’ve also seen words like “simp” lobbed at Travis Kelce for showing affection to Swift. For those not up on internet slang, simp is a word used by certain men, usually incels (involuntarily celibates), to describe someone who shows excessive sympathy and attention toward another person, typically someone who does not reciprocate the same feelings, in pursuit of affection or a sexual relationship. Uh, yeah. Pretty sure that doesn’t apply to Kelce, as it’s obvious Swift loves the guy. As a pro athlete, he wouldn’t have a hard time getting sex, either, and therefore wouldn’t need to be unctuous just to get attention from women. The misogynists are angry that someone they would consider to be an “alpha male” dares to show affection for a woman he loves, because in their eyes, alpha males should treat women like garbage.
All of this hatred toward Swift and Kelce reflects a culture of misogyny and toxic masculinity, one that fills social media and popular discourse. It’s a sign of insecurity among those who belittle Swift and Kelce, many of whom will also natter on about the “crisis of male loneliness.” These dullards might as well wear a hat with a logo declaring their hatred of anyone who isn’t White and male like them.
Oh, wait… Most of them do. A red one.
Well, I have no sympathy for those guys. Half of them are angry that women want nothing to do with them, yet don’t see how they’re the common denominator in all of their failed attempts to date and find love. The other half may be partnered, but I guarantee that most of their wives or girlfriends do a helluva lot more housework and childminding than they do, even as those women also work full-time, and then these guys will wonder why their wives won’t sleep with them. They’re the kind of guy who struts around acting like he deserves a medal for Father of the Year for changing a diaper, pushing a stroller, or taking his kid to the park for a game of catch. They’re the kind of guy who will take a woman for granted and then say “she blindsided me” when the couple hits their 50s, the kids leave the nest, and she leaves him.
Is it any wonder young women are increasingly eschewing dating and relationships in favor of building their careers and working toward buying their own homes, and even deciding, in their late 30s, to go to a sperm bank and try IVF if they want a child? Patriarchy likes to decree “why buy the cow when you can get the milk free?” but women have turned that on its head and declared “why buy the whole pig for just a little sausage?”
More women are in college than men. More women are in law school and med school than men. And the more women rise, the more this pathetic subset of men hates them for it, and they aim their hatred at Swift because they see Swift as symbolic of the women they want but who are leaving them behind, the smart, beautiful, talented women who seek and receive more from a man than what these guys have to offer. Same goes for the women and girls who love Swift’s music and are Swifties. These guys tend to be the type who inherently belittle anything a girl or woman is interested in, so it’s double threatening when girls and women see value in a strong, successful woman. Wouldn’t want the little wimmin’ gettin’ ideas.
Well, to hell with those guys. I say more power to the young women who have decided they’d rather be alone than put up with their nonsense, and more power to Taylor Swift and Travis Kelce. Rock on with your strength, and don’t mind the angry little men behind the curtain. Their time is over, and yours has just begun.
Travis Kelce and Taylor Swift. Image: Patrick Smith/Getty Images
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