Eat the Damn Cake

“Well, well,” I thought to myself in a slightly sleazy tone, “Aren’t you looking lovely this evening!” And I was. My features appeared to have resolved several recent disputes and were all quietly getting along. My hair was graciously complementing my form, rather than competing against it for “Most Awkward in Show.” I looked a little like a boy, in a good way. I thought that if I wandered across the bridge, Brooklyn would welcome me with open arms. Which is a good sign, because the young people there are almost always very attractive.

Later on that night, I ended up on an elliptical next to a woman on the staircase machine (is that called a step master, or is the little step people order for their homes called that? Or neither?), in part because the gym is being dramatically renovated and all of the treadmills were covered with white tarps, like they died in their sleep.

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That’s it. I’m moving to the Bahamas. It just snowed. These fat, confused flakes slipped out of the clouds and tried to pass my window as quickly as possible. I think they were embarrassed.

I’m sorry to talk about the weather, but it was so warm a few days ago that I realized I’d had seasonal depression for like four months. I mean, I didn’t know that I did at the time. I was walking around like, “My life is strangely tragic. But I don’t know why. Maybe I need more pizza.” And then it was warm and I burst out of my apartment building, singing, my arms flung out, skipping down the sidewalk, scattering flower blossoms in my wake.

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I will be participating in the Bloggers Day of Silence, out of respect for the gravity of the situation in Japan.

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I lost my virginity because of a really terrible book. But there’s a little more to the story.

I was one of those girls every parent hopes to have and every boy hopes his girlfriend isn’t. I was perfectly fine with saying no.

That’s not true. I don’t know that every boy wished I’d just please, for once, say yes. The boys I dated seemed pretty excited just to have a girlfriend. There was no pushing, urging, pressuring, or egging on.

As a teenager, there was no way I was going to have sex. Just no way. Why? Because I didn’t feel ready. It was very simple. And there was plenty of other stuff to do.

Once, when I was seventeen or so, a boyfriend whipped out a pack of condoms (“family size” I always said, retelling the story), and I laughed. “OK,” I said, “But we’re not having sex.”

“Just in case,” he said. “Maybe I should put one on.”

“Go ahead,” I said, fully clothed and completely entertained.

We did not have sex.

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Quick note: I’m over on iVillage, talking with the famous and amazing Virginia about cake. Virginia, I will love you forever. I promise.

My friend texted me. “Just boy stuff again, if u want to talk.”

When do I not want to talk about boy stuff?

She met a cute guy. He listened to her talking about yoga with real interest. They liked a lot of the same random indie music. He invited her back to his place, where she hung out with him and his roommates for a while and then left. He has not texted her since. Even though she texted him.

I have three friends with boyfriends who don’t pay for things enough. As in, “What if we’re going to see a movie? Can’t he just pay once in a while, instead of always expecting me to split everything? Why doesn’t he ever want to take me out?”

Dating is kind of a mess.

(and that’s not even counting all the clothes that go along with it.)

When I interviewed Kay Hymowitz, author of Manning Up (read my interview with her here. I mean, if you feel like it), last week, she told me that dating is so confusing for everyone now not because there aren’t any rules, really, but because everyone has a different set of rules that they’re following. And her reason for why people all have different rules is that people are on different career and biological schedules.

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2.3 meters of exposed fuel rods. Only essential 50 workers left to frantically try to fix everything. First there was an explosion at the No. 2 reactor. Seawater pumped in. Radioactive steam. Waiting for the wind to blow the wrong way. Over sunken buildings and floating debris and finally people. The pulsing, hungry, growing potential for monumental catastrophe. As if the existing catastrophe were not quite monumental enough.

I’m looking out the window right now, and everything is in its place. The sky knows what it’s supposed to do, and it’s obligingly blue, with a tasteful hint of clouds, nothing too showy. People on the street below walk towards somewhere familiar. They know where they’re going. Regular, harmless steam floats from a rooftop.

I can’t help but think about how much we depend on everything working the way it worked yesterday and the day before that.

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