Having gone through the most recent batch of weddings, I have spent some time thinking about coupledom vs. singledom.  Particularly at the last wedding I attended, I encountered a pack of law school classmates, each accompanied by a spouse, telling me stories of kids, suburbs, etc., even one with a (very cute) baby in tow.  While they all seem quite happy, I literally felt like I was from another planet.  After they’d update me on their lives, they’d turn and ask what was new with me.  "Well," I’d say, "I’m just here living the cosmopolitan single-girl life here in the city.  I’ve got so much going on, a great group of friends," blah, blah, blah.  All true, mind you, but really, sometimes I don’t even know how to relate, and I’m sure they feel the same way about me.  I once had a friend’s husband ask me, with all seriousness, "so, is your life like Sex in the City?"  "Um.  Yeah," I replied.  "Just like it.  Except without as much sex.  And my clothes aren’t that nice."

This topic seems to be on everyone’s mind lately.  Amy Sohn’s latest column, entitled "Why Getting Married Kills Your Social Life," addresses how young couples, once they get married, are viewed by their single friends as boring — they’re less likely to go out, they move out to Brooklyn and hibernate, but then they get annoyed that their single friends stop calling.  On the flip side of the coin, one single guy offers up his guide to couplehood, including rules for couples about PDA (basically, to knock it off), and ideas to make single/couple interaction go more smoothly: "The least you can do for your single friends is at least try to set them up with a friend of yours. How can we possibly be happy for you if we’re busy wallowing in our own misery?"  You all know how I feel about that.

Now, I do worry that I’ll lose my friends to some extent when they get married, and yes, I’ve picked up more single friends as other friends have coupled off, but I do have couple-friends that I really just think about as friends — I don’t think twice about calling one or the other to do something individually, and they’re not nauseatingly slobbering all over each other when they go out together.  I think there should be much more of that, and if/when I’m ever in a serious relationship again, I hope I behave that way.    I am also not one to "lose" friends that easily.  I have no qualms about calling people up or emailing out of the blue to try and get together.  I’m somewhat tenacious in that regard, so even if you couple-y folks try to slip away, odds are I won’t let you off the hook that easily.

Help bridge the gap between the "me’s" and the "we’s" — any tips?

One of the many reasons I love having a blog is when, out of the blue, I get an email from a law school classmate asking why I didn’t have an April Fools’ Day post.  I didn’t even know he read it!  A big shout out to Jono — so nice to hear from you.  And earlier this week my friend Christopher came to town for a business trip (okay, so that part made the blog).  He mentioned that he had read something on my blog — I had no idea he read it.  No offense, Christopher (you know I adore you), but you’re the last person in the world I’d imagine was reading this! 

Who else is lurking out there?  Shoot me a line, write me a comment — let me know you’re reading!  It makes me so happy to know, and lord knows I can always use a little more happiness in my world.

New York is one of those places where many people seem to define themselves by their occupations.  So often when you meet someone new, the first thing they ask you is what you do for a living.   Although I consciously try not to do this, inevitably it happens.  For the past five years, when people have asked me what I do, I have said "I work at a nonprofit," or "I’m a lawyer."  Why do I feel the need to say that I’m a lawyer?  I haven’t practiced law for over five years!   

I had a conversation recently with a woman who is the executive director of a very prominent organization.  She said she sometimes fantasized about getting a job as a receptionist.  She noted that her responsibilities would be crystal-clear, her hours would be limited, it would require less thought than her current job, and would leave her with enough time to spend with her family and do all the other things she wants to do outside of work.  But there’s a stigma out there — it sounds much better to the outside world to be an executive director than to be a receptionist, although the same individual might be much happier at the more straightforward and well-defined receptionist job.

Sometimes, what you are depends on the context in which you are asked.  I had the interesting experience recently of attending a freelancers’ party sponsored by Mediabistro.  A woman was snapping photos for their website, and when she asked what
I do, I knew that "lawyer" was not the right answer.  I turned to my friend Doug, who had brought me, for guidance.  He
prompted me: "You’re a food writer."  Ah, yes.  "I’m a food writer."

As the hunt continues, I consider all the things I can cobble together to make money, some of which might allow me to have time to do things on the side, some of which won’t, and some of which are things I do on the side that could turn into ways to make money, like the food writing.  So what am I?  When you look at the things I do or have done to make money, I’m a lawyer, a food writer, a self-defense instructor, a crepe-maker, an administrator, a secretary.  But more importantly, I’m a woman, a friend, a sister, a daughter, a karaoke diva, a bit of a geek, a creative soul, and a hopeless romantic.  What you do for a living is not necessarily who you are — don’t ever forget that, even in New York.

I’m pretty sure* tonight is going to be a PNI (planned night in).  I was up far too late last night and need to rest up for the East Village Idiot Pub Dive Bar Crawl tomorrow, not to mention Easter dinner at Lupa on Sunday.  Tonight’s exciting activities include: working out!  laundry!  having a big salad for dinner!  falling asleep watching crappy TV or reading on the couch!  Woo hoo!

* Can’t be 100% sure — might be tempted by the Dodgeball gremlins or other fine friends.

UPDATE:  Ok, so I went out.  Rob, you are the devil, but that’s why we get along so well.  I did take it very easy, however, and was in bed by midnight.  Also — my apologies to John B. who pointed out to me that his event is the East Village Idiot Dive Bar Crawl.  "I would never, ever organize a PUB Crawl.  Never, I tell you… I’d just as soon walk out of my apartment wearing a college sweatshirt in tandem with a white baseball cap with a curved
lid…"

It’s only March and I have not one, but two prime candidates in the running for my Jackass of the Year award.  The interesting part about dating in New York is interacting with a wide variety of guys, and strangely (or maybe naively) enough, I am constantly shocked and amazed by the amount of jackass behavior to which I am exposed.  So — for your entertainment and amusement, and possibly a bit for my personal revenge, I am going to collect my favorite jackass moments, present them to you at the end of the year, and you can vote on who gets to be named the official Sweet Blog o’ Mine Jackass of the Year.  Ideally, there won’t be any other candidates, but as long as I keep dating this year, there most likely will be more to come.  And after all, it’s only March.

I said goodbye to my Grandma Jane this weekend.  She passed away in January, and my family, who are not big on funerals per se, held a memorial for her up in Maine which I missed due to the blizzard, and one here in New York this past Sunday.  Friends and family gathered to tell stories, recount memories, and just to say goodbye. 

She lived in New York for many years, and ever since she moved to Maine, she complained about how provincial the people in her apartment complex always seemed.  "They’ve never been anywhere," she’d groan.  Having been a travel agent for a good portion of her life, Grandma Jane had been everywhere, and first class, no less.  She would tell great stories of her luxurious travel on the Concorde and the QE2, and the exquisite hotels in which she had stayed.  "It’s just not the same these days."  Well, certainly not for me when I travel, Grandma. 

She missed New York tremendously — she yearned for "the hustle and bustle of the city."  Ironically, she is now back in New York, in a predominantly German-Jewish cemetery out in Brooklyn.  There is a whole stretch of cemeteries out underneath the elevated subway tracks of the J line, and although the gates and exteriors of each one were somewhat run-down, there was something beautiful about them nonetheless, especially in contrast with the bright, crisp blue sky.  We drove out yesterday to place her ashes in her family mausoleum, which, although creepy, was quite beautiful, with a stained glass window across from the ornately gated door.  Probably not the scene she was searching for, but she did make it back to the city she loved so much.  As a last thought, as our family turned to leave, we joked that it would be quite fitting if we left her with the New York Times crossword, which she did regularly.  Luckily, I had the Sunday magazine in my bag.  We ripped out the puzzle, placed it next to the box that contained her ashes, and wished her luck.  We’ll miss you, Grandma.