I love you because Hallmark says so

I deeply resent Hallmark holidays. Maybe it's because I am not a mother or a father or in the first year of a relationship, but based on a basic cost-benefit analysis, I believe Hallmark holidays cause more pain than joy.

Mother's Day, Father's Day, and Valentine's Day do a better job of reminding people of death, loss, and resentment than they do of celebrating loved ones. For those who have lost a parent or lover, or who hate a parent or lover, these invented holidays are like pouring alcohol on an open wound, often treated with alcohol down the throat. 

And for those who are lucky enough to have a parent or lover worth celebrating, these invented holidays are about jacking up the price of brunch menus and spending $4.99 on a folded piece of paper with a message inside that is slightly off in sentiment.

As for Mother's Day, I am lucky enough to have a mom who is worth every penny and moment of celebration. But I try to appreciate her every day - I don't need Hallmark to force me to say I love you, while motherless, oedipus complexed people drown themselves in their sorrows.

Maybe I will feel differently once I am a mom. Maybe I will need one special day that forces my family to spend $40 on eggs and give me a sappy card that rhymes. But for now, I am still a cynical, childless brat who is more concerned with the injustices of the world. Happy Mother's Day!

On being female: Gender etiquette

“I think your husband is gorgeous!” a friend exclaimed on a road trip we took together this past weekend.

The two of us had driven five hours from Chicago to Ann Arbor, MI, home of my alma mater. I showed her the campus, took her by my old dorm, and pointed out all the shopping hotspots. We took photos of all the newly-planted tulips and gave hearty congratulations to the graduating seniors. Exhausted from all that activity under the May sun, we settled in at Good Time Charley’s for chilled wine and appetizers.

And then it happened. An old flame of mine, who now teaches in Ann Arbor, walked into the restaurant with his mother and siblings. He came over and greeted my friend and I while he and his family waited to be seated. When finally he’d excused himself and was out of earshot, I excitedly asked my girlfriend, “Isn’t he absolutely gorgeous??”

But she was less than enthusiastic, “Uum…I guess he’s OK.”

OK? “Just OK?” I asked in disbelief. “When we were in college he was the hottest guy on campus!”

“He’s not ugly,” she assured me, sipping her Reisling, “I’m just…not usually attracted to that type.”

“Then what’s your type,” I asked, furrowing my brows, confused that anyone could think Brandon wasn’t hot. “That guy over there in the blue? How about the one wearing the khakis, he’s cute right?”

“I tend to like tall, slim guys with lighter complexions. Sort of like Mark, I guess. I think he's gorgeous, way better looking than the teacher-guy.”

Hmmm. Did Bridgette cross the line of gender etiquette by telling me my husband was gorgeous? Furthermore, what should I make of her telling me that my husband was just her type? To be fair, I have to say this about Bridgette. Although she’s hung out with Mark and I several times, she’s never once been flirtatious with him. Never makes cute little pouty faces as she’s sliding on her lip gloss, never bends over too low at the bowling alley accidentally flashing her thong. She doesn’t linger too long at our vacation photos of Mark, sans shirt, at the beach. So why did I feel like a line had been crossed when she said he was gorgeous?

I’ve been thinking about this for a few days now, and doing so has caused me to question my own behavior. I mean, was I wrong to say the teacher-guy was gorgeous, and reminisce on our time together? Was I out of line for asking Bridgette her opinion then getting upset when she gave it to me? And how about Matthew McConaghey? Am I wrong when I jokingly say, “Now, he can get it,” to Bridgette when we’re watching E!? Should I stop salivating over photos of Barack out of respect to Michelle?

What can a woman do or say to her best friend’s guy without crossing the line of gender etiquette? Compliment his new shoes? Ask what cologne he’s wearing? Send him a friend request on Facebook? What?

If you twitter, it will come

Since I have started to Twitter I find myself daydreaming (often late at night too) about what I want to have happen to me, or what I want to stumble upon, just so I can type a good twitter. Maybe I will find a worm in my burger at a trendy restaurant in Hollywood. Now that would be twiterrable. Or maybe I will discover an amazing homeless sitar player who is blind and wise. I could change a disabled, homeless person's life. And maybe get a movie made about it. "The Sitarist and the Twitterist." (I swear I didn't pick sitar because I knew I could put the two words together so brilliantly. It just happened.)

This is a new way of going about the day. I now look at things or situations and assess whether they are worthy of 140 characters or less.

I have only been twotting for a few weeks, so I am still trying to find my voice. My vwitter, if you will. I have reluctantly looked back at my entries thus far... that's the crappy part. There are numerous times throughout the day when I say ridiculous statements - that are probably about 140 characters or less - that make me cringe at myself. And now those kinds of comments are documented and reviewable forever. At least when I say lame comments, I can only hope they are forgotten with time.

It all makes me rethink what a legacy means these days. At my grandma's funeral, it was easy for those who gave eulogies to conveniently omit all of the rude things she said to people. But if she twittered? She would have been screwed.

What will happen to our online personalities when we die? Who will be in charge of sifting through all of the usernames and freeing up the ones who belong to the deceased? You know someone out there is just waiting to get twitter.com/beaarthur.

If anything, twittering has inspired me to take the time to notice the little things - the 140 characters or less things. The question is, is it more important to have things in life worth twittering or a twitter that makes life worth living? (Really, Megan? Lame. Let's hope no one read that one.)

PS: Follow me on Twitter!