Growing up in a rural community, having a lot of older friends, and having a bunch of pretty religious friends, family, and acquaintances has ensured that I've been going to a steady stream of weddings since age 18. I've written about weddings on here before, so I'll save my breath and talk about what comes before the wedding and is often the more shocking part: the engagement. Because even if a friend has been together with their significant other for many years, has weathered thick and thin, has a grown up job and seems infinitely more mature than me in many ways, I am almost always blindsided when I find out that someone my age is engaged.
I've given it quite a bit of thought. I'm pretty sure that it's not due to jealousy that I'm not the one who's going to get married. I don't want to get married in the next year or two. I want to build my career, date lots of men, do a lot of traveling, live with friends and live alone before I start living for the rest of my life with a significant other. I don't believe that being single at 23 means that I'll be alone at 33, 43, 83, etc.
The reason I usually exclaim "WHAT?!?" out loud in coffee shops when I find out that a good female friend has gotten engaged usually has more to do with the fact that I know that getting married means that their friendships with me will inevitably change. They will no longer be as available to run off and do fun things with me. We'll never again stand swaying in a field with strange hippie boys. I'll be the one having adventures in foreign lands with handsome men while they read my post cards from the comfort of their kitchen with nice furniture and shake their heads at their single friend. I know that marriage doesn't necessarily mean the end of fun, but when you're a 22 year old woman, it kind of puts a huge damper on a bunch of potentially fun things. And it's not only fun things related to sex and romance. When you have someone else in your life, you can't necessarily pack up and pursue your dream career in another place. You have to think about the other person's career and needs as well as your own. And that can seriously limit your opportunities.
I realize that this all sounds like I'm implying that getting married means the death of selfishness and a person's friendships, the end of everything that is the epitome of being a person in your twenties. I know this isn't true. Maybe I am jealous that this person won't have as much time to spend with me when they get married. Maybe I'm partially worried that by the time I get married in 10ish years, all of my friends will be too old and married to be fun guests at my wedding. Maybe I'm bitter and jealous. I definitely don't get it. But I think I'm just sad that my future adventures are less likely to include my married friends in them.
Thursday, February 14, 2013
Friday, February 8, 2013
At Some Point
At some point, when you hear bad news, you have to step away from the computer. Log off of Facebook, resist the urge to Tweet. If you must, e-mail your friends and tell them how much you love them, At that point, you're allowed to crawl into bed. Try to distract yourself by reading, and fail horribly. Close your eyes, and mentally use Mardi Gras beads as a rosary, saying a prayer for the deceased and the still-living, every bead a person that you are grateful for. Try to listen to Tangled Up In Blue because you can't convey to anyone else how that song reminds you of your guitar teacher patiently helping your lazy ass figure out how to play it, singing it with you and letting you carry it because who else other than a 16 year old girl would attach so much importance to Bob Dylan's song about love and loss and changes. When you sleep, you dream of driving to funerals. Wake up and say another fake rosary round for the living. Think of the day years ago driving with your father down to the Williams River, meeting at a picnic table under trees with red leaves, close to dark but not quite there, playing a few tunes before the real action. Playing music in the cabin with wild men and moonshine that somehow keeps missing you.
You lose these things on Facebook. The real memories get caught in with everyone else's pictures of kittens and political posts. It's impossible to convey what one person meant to you in 140 characters. You need to let yourself be filled with love and sadness and not filtered through the internet. Get out your guitar and play. Call your loved ones. Cry if needed. Listen to Tangled Up in Blue and get transported to a time and a place and an age. Do what you need to do to honor a mentor and a friend.
Rest in peace, Alan Dutchess.
You lose these things on Facebook. The real memories get caught in with everyone else's pictures of kittens and political posts. It's impossible to convey what one person meant to you in 140 characters. You need to let yourself be filled with love and sadness and not filtered through the internet. Get out your guitar and play. Call your loved ones. Cry if needed. Listen to Tangled Up in Blue and get transported to a time and a place and an age. Do what you need to do to honor a mentor and a friend.
Rest in peace, Alan Dutchess.
Monday, February 4, 2013
Tweets from the Superbowl
Part of the beauty of Twitter is that it allows you to get the highlights of important national events without actually watching them on television. At least one (no actually it was just one) person used only my Twitter coverage of debates to follow certain election-related events this year. So last night, during the Superbowl, I put Twitter to the test. Could I successfully document an event on Twitter without actually watching said event? Armed with a little extra research from Wikipedia, I think I did an okay job.
Disclaimer: This post is slightly self-promotional as it is a desperate plea to get people who are not porn stars or life coaches to follow me on Twitter.
Important! One of the players from the 49ers has a huge tortoise named Sammy. Why this wasn't bigger news than the Superbowl itself, I have no idea.
After this series of tweets, I retweeted some things from my genius friends.
Beyonce was there and the power went out. In lieu of legitimate commentary about recovery from Katrina, the focus on a power outage during the Superbowl instead of focus on New Orleans itself, and what actually powers the Superdome, I just said something nice and retweeted things from friends who were smarter and more articulate in that moment.
At this point, I tweeted about the tortoise some more, remembered to used the Superbowl hashtag, and then started watching an episode of Gossip Girl.
Gossip Girl became much more exciting than Twitter. I found out that the Ravens won.
I made one final turtle joke, and then I went to bed. In retrospect, I think I was Twitter-rooting for the 49ers only because publicly they had more exciting pets than the Ravens.
Follow me on Twitter!
Friday, February 1, 2013
Girls the Reality Show Application
To Whom it May Concern:
I'm writing in response to the Craigslist posting looking for cast members for the new reality show based on HBO Girls. This description of my recent weekend in New York will tell you exactly why I'd be perfect for this show.
Day 1: I arrive at Penn Station around midnight after a hellacious 12 hour train ride complete with a 30 year old man child who fancied himself a DJ and an intellectual with a skateboard and the nerve to lead the back of the car in a rousing chorus of "Sooouuuullll traiiiinnnnn!" from D.C. to Wilmington. Between Philadelphia and New York, a man sat next to me, told me I looked like I was on drugs, asked me if I wanted any drugs, told me his job "wasn't exactly the most legal thing," then asked me inappropriate questions about my sex life. It was a testament to the fact that I'd been on a train thinking about how much I hated strangers/humanity for half a day that I gave him my number when he asked for it.
I made it safely to my friend Rachel's apartment in Bedstuy. She made me Easy Mac with more cheese and bacon and we stayed up talking until 2 am. Our conversation definitely passed the Bechdel Test,* although I think that might be partially due to the fact that Rachel lives with her boyfriend of 4+ years and I've been living with my parents for the past month. When I fell asleep on their couch, I had a dream that the guy from the train created a cell phone virus that video recorded my location and tried to stalk me.
Day 2: After brunch with Rachel and Kif, Rachel and I headed off in our skirts, boots, and tights (our outfits were almost identical at points during the weekend. It really is an Oberlin Girl Thing) to meet up with Rachel's friend Isabella (who did not go to Oberlin but went to Yale which means she's kind of like us but much more employable). We went to a great museum that we got in for free/reduced with an expired student ID. I love being in my 20s.
Later Rachel and I met up with a bunch of Oberlin girls/some of my best lady friends at my friend's parents' house in Brooklyn. We drank beer and ate indian food. The conversation passed the Bechdel Test until someone brought up OkCupid! and then it was kind of all downhill from there.
A few of us went from there to a housewarming party for some different Oberlin ladyfriends. It was awkward for me because I didn't know anyone and had had a martini before walking there. I struck up a conversation with a boy from Wesleyan (rival school alert!). He told me that he was looking for jobs in "innovation consulting." He said that it's basically like being a professional brainstormer. I resisted the urge to make fun of his chosen profession. But then I told him that I'm trying to be a writer and he condescendingly told me that "Everyone wants to be a writer at some point in time." Instead of telling him that his career path was not a real thing and that his beard was stupid, I went and tried to talk to somebody else.
My champion friends Hanna and Nora and I decided to leave. Then I saw this guy that I used to be in a band with that is pretty much the closest thing I have to an ex-boyfriend who dumped me before I wanted him to. I emitted a shrill shriek (I imagine) and ran over and gave him a hug. At that point, I was toeing the line between belligerent and affectionate. We squeezed gloved hands, I told him that I respect him and his music, then dashed off into the night with Hanna and Nora. I think I yelled a little too much about the guy from Wesleyan in the stairs, we all talked a bunch of shit, then I spent the night at Nora's parents' apartment.
Day 3: Made it back to Bedstuy because I had brunch plans with a guy I really liked at Oberlin and used to make out with a lot. On my way to the bus stop, I found out there had been a shooting nearby the night before. Combined with all of the recent gun violence in America, this news made me feel less than happy, brave, confident and pretty. When I got on the bus, the bus driver was mean to me because I couldn't figure out the ticket thing. I cried a lot more than was warranted. I got off the bus and got really lost. I made it to brunch and may have dripped a little salt water on the poor guy's shoulder. Brunch was fine, boy was really nice and much more successful than me. There were bottomless mimosas involved. Seeing him was good but we didn't make out a lot. I am a grown-ass woman and I know that sometimes it just doesn't happen, but also I was disappointed. I might have cried a little bit more about it on the train ride home. Apparently crying on public transportation is a sign of being a real New Yorker, but that's an honor someone else can have. Because it just felt really shitty all around.
Went back to Rachel and Kif's, cried a little bit more, watched Family Guy and Girls and went to sleep so they could get up the next morning for their grown-up jobs.
There's much more where that came from. If you put me on the Girls reality show, hilarity, self-absorbedness, and crying will ensue. I could probably have even purchased some drugs off of the dude on the train if that would have made it more interesting.
I look forward to hearing your response.
Sincerely,
Janney Lockman
P.S. See, my name even sounds like a Girls name! It's like Marnie mixed with Jessa/Hannah. Plus I'd almost look like Alison Williams if she gained like 30 pounds, had child-bearing hips and red hair.
*The Bechdel Test, as Rachel's boyfriend who is a blogger and also an Oberlin alum (Oh did I mention the fact that I went to Oberlin just like Hannah and Marnie and Jessa on Girls?) told me, was a test created by Oberlin Alum and awesome cartoonist Alison Bechdel. Something passes the Bechdel Test if it has two women talking about something other than men. Did I mention, we all went to Oberlin?
I'm writing in response to the Craigslist posting looking for cast members for the new reality show based on HBO Girls. This description of my recent weekend in New York will tell you exactly why I'd be perfect for this show.
Day 1: I arrive at Penn Station around midnight after a hellacious 12 hour train ride complete with a 30 year old man child who fancied himself a DJ and an intellectual with a skateboard and the nerve to lead the back of the car in a rousing chorus of "Sooouuuullll traiiiinnnnn!" from D.C. to Wilmington. Between Philadelphia and New York, a man sat next to me, told me I looked like I was on drugs, asked me if I wanted any drugs, told me his job "wasn't exactly the most legal thing," then asked me inappropriate questions about my sex life. It was a testament to the fact that I'd been on a train thinking about how much I hated strangers/humanity for half a day that I gave him my number when he asked for it.
I made it safely to my friend Rachel's apartment in Bedstuy. She made me Easy Mac with more cheese and bacon and we stayed up talking until 2 am. Our conversation definitely passed the Bechdel Test,* although I think that might be partially due to the fact that Rachel lives with her boyfriend of 4+ years and I've been living with my parents for the past month. When I fell asleep on their couch, I had a dream that the guy from the train created a cell phone virus that video recorded my location and tried to stalk me.
Day 2: After brunch with Rachel and Kif, Rachel and I headed off in our skirts, boots, and tights (our outfits were almost identical at points during the weekend. It really is an Oberlin Girl Thing) to meet up with Rachel's friend Isabella (who did not go to Oberlin but went to Yale which means she's kind of like us but much more employable). We went to a great museum that we got in for free/reduced with an expired student ID. I love being in my 20s.
Later Rachel and I met up with a bunch of Oberlin girls/some of my best lady friends at my friend's parents' house in Brooklyn. We drank beer and ate indian food. The conversation passed the Bechdel Test until someone brought up OkCupid! and then it was kind of all downhill from there.
A few of us went from there to a housewarming party for some different Oberlin ladyfriends. It was awkward for me because I didn't know anyone and had had a martini before walking there. I struck up a conversation with a boy from Wesleyan (rival school alert!). He told me that he was looking for jobs in "innovation consulting." He said that it's basically like being a professional brainstormer. I resisted the urge to make fun of his chosen profession. But then I told him that I'm trying to be a writer and he condescendingly told me that "Everyone wants to be a writer at some point in time." Instead of telling him that his career path was not a real thing and that his beard was stupid, I went and tried to talk to somebody else.
My champion friends Hanna and Nora and I decided to leave. Then I saw this guy that I used to be in a band with that is pretty much the closest thing I have to an ex-boyfriend who dumped me before I wanted him to. I emitted a shrill shriek (I imagine) and ran over and gave him a hug. At that point, I was toeing the line between belligerent and affectionate. We squeezed gloved hands, I told him that I respect him and his music, then dashed off into the night with Hanna and Nora. I think I yelled a little too much about the guy from Wesleyan in the stairs, we all talked a bunch of shit, then I spent the night at Nora's parents' apartment.
Day 3: Made it back to Bedstuy because I had brunch plans with a guy I really liked at Oberlin and used to make out with a lot. On my way to the bus stop, I found out there had been a shooting nearby the night before. Combined with all of the recent gun violence in America, this news made me feel less than happy, brave, confident and pretty. When I got on the bus, the bus driver was mean to me because I couldn't figure out the ticket thing. I cried a lot more than was warranted. I got off the bus and got really lost. I made it to brunch and may have dripped a little salt water on the poor guy's shoulder. Brunch was fine, boy was really nice and much more successful than me. There were bottomless mimosas involved. Seeing him was good but we didn't make out a lot. I am a grown-ass woman and I know that sometimes it just doesn't happen, but also I was disappointed. I might have cried a little bit more about it on the train ride home. Apparently crying on public transportation is a sign of being a real New Yorker, but that's an honor someone else can have. Because it just felt really shitty all around.
Went back to Rachel and Kif's, cried a little bit more, watched Family Guy and Girls and went to sleep so they could get up the next morning for their grown-up jobs.
There's much more where that came from. If you put me on the Girls reality show, hilarity, self-absorbedness, and crying will ensue. I could probably have even purchased some drugs off of the dude on the train if that would have made it more interesting.
I look forward to hearing your response.
Sincerely,
Janney Lockman
P.S. See, my name even sounds like a Girls name! It's like Marnie mixed with Jessa/Hannah. Plus I'd almost look like Alison Williams if she gained like 30 pounds, had child-bearing hips and red hair.
*The Bechdel Test, as Rachel's boyfriend who is a blogger and also an Oberlin alum (Oh did I mention the fact that I went to Oberlin just like Hannah and Marnie and Jessa on Girls?) told me, was a test created by Oberlin Alum and awesome cartoonist Alison Bechdel. Something passes the Bechdel Test if it has two women talking about something other than men. Did I mention, we all went to Oberlin?
Thursday, January 17, 2013
The Sun Also Sets: WTF Hemingway
So I'm reading Ernest Hemingway's The Sun Also Rises. I don't really know why. Maybe because someone compared it to Lena Dunham's Girls? (I don't really know why). Maybe because I thought it was a Great Book that I should read if I want to be a well-rounded person? Maybe because someone told me it was about bull fights? (Again, I don't really know why). Maybe because in my head I equate Hemingway and Faulkner because I first read them in the same class in high school and recently really enjoyed reading Faulkner?
I'm ten chapters in and here's what's happened so far. No bull fights, but:
There are a bunch of American ex-pats living in Paris. They drink and write and read the newspaper a lot. For some reason they spend most of the time they're not drinking riding around in taxi cabs. There's this one girl who for whatever reason, is named Brett. The narrator really digs her but so does pretty much everyone else because she's been married a couple times and is actually a Lady. But then she divorces the Lord (who we don't meet, at least before chapter 11) and marries this guy named Mike who seems nice enough but is drunk always and is always waiting for someone to send him money. I don't really get why Brett is such a big deal because she seems like sort of a gold digger, not to mention that every time the narrator tries to hang out with her she invites other people or makes him ride around a lot in a taxi. But the narrator and Brett seem to be in love with each other or something. The narrator has a couple of bromances with other guys who are also really into Brett. They make plans to go fishing and watch bull fights and bro-out but in chapter 10 they get screwed up because one of the dudes is super into Brett and thinks he's made plans to meet up with her even though she is traveling with her husband. Whatever.
There's a not-so-subtle racist description.
There's some not-so-subtle anti-Semitism.
There's a scene where a character is looking into a mirror and Hemingway talks about it for a long time. It's probably symbolic but I'm either too dumb or too lazy to want to pick up on it.
It's safe to say that I don't understand great American literature and could probably benefit by reading some articles about Hemingway's writing.
Or I could just continue reading to see if there are any bull fights in chapters 11-19.
I'm ten chapters in and here's what's happened so far. No bull fights, but:
There are a bunch of American ex-pats living in Paris. They drink and write and read the newspaper a lot. For some reason they spend most of the time they're not drinking riding around in taxi cabs. There's this one girl who for whatever reason, is named Brett. The narrator really digs her but so does pretty much everyone else because she's been married a couple times and is actually a Lady. But then she divorces the Lord (who we don't meet, at least before chapter 11) and marries this guy named Mike who seems nice enough but is drunk always and is always waiting for someone to send him money. I don't really get why Brett is such a big deal because she seems like sort of a gold digger, not to mention that every time the narrator tries to hang out with her she invites other people or makes him ride around a lot in a taxi. But the narrator and Brett seem to be in love with each other or something. The narrator has a couple of bromances with other guys who are also really into Brett. They make plans to go fishing and watch bull fights and bro-out but in chapter 10 they get screwed up because one of the dudes is super into Brett and thinks he's made plans to meet up with her even though she is traveling with her husband. Whatever.
There's a not-so-subtle racist description.
There's some not-so-subtle anti-Semitism.
There's a scene where a character is looking into a mirror and Hemingway talks about it for a long time. It's probably symbolic but I'm either too dumb or too lazy to want to pick up on it.
It's safe to say that I don't understand great American literature and could probably benefit by reading some articles about Hemingway's writing.
Or I could just continue reading to see if there are any bull fights in chapters 11-19.
Wednesday, January 16, 2013
Gossip Girl: Upper Pocahontas County Dollar General Edition
Rumor has it that Janney Lockman is back in town. Where has she been? And who am I? I'll never tell...
Gossip Girl: Upper Pocahontas County Dollar General Edition
Spotted: Janney Lockman buying dandruff shampoo at Dollar General. What's your skin problem Lil' J? And why were you so hesitant to share it with a high school classmate's mother when she asked you what you were purchasing in the check out line?
You know you love me.
XOXO,
Gossip Girl
Spotted: Janney Lockman talking to her high school social studies teacher. What is this "research" you're doing back in Cleveland Lil' J? Why are you being so evasive about your future? What are you hiding? And why are you in Dollar General in Green Bank anyway?
Your secret's safe. For now.
XOXO,
Gossip Girl
Spotted: Budweiser truck outside Dollar General. Sounds like Dollar General is about to turn into the new supplier for all of Upper PC's most fabulous parties. So why are the ladies in line ahead of Lil' J complaining so much about it? Who are they to dare to want to stifle economic activity in Upper PC's most booming town? And why was Lil' J seen buying a case 2 hours later?
As for me, I'll be cracking open this limited edition camo Bud Light. Bottom's up, Upper PC.
XOXO,
Gossip Girl
Gossip Girl: Upper Pocahontas County Dollar General Edition
Spotted: Janney Lockman buying dandruff shampoo at Dollar General. What's your skin problem Lil' J? And why were you so hesitant to share it with a high school classmate's mother when she asked you what you were purchasing in the check out line?
You know you love me.
XOXO,
Gossip Girl
Spotted: Janney Lockman talking to her high school social studies teacher. What is this "research" you're doing back in Cleveland Lil' J? Why are you being so evasive about your future? What are you hiding? And why are you in Dollar General in Green Bank anyway?
Your secret's safe. For now.
XOXO,
Gossip Girl
Spotted: Budweiser truck outside Dollar General. Sounds like Dollar General is about to turn into the new supplier for all of Upper PC's most fabulous parties. So why are the ladies in line ahead of Lil' J complaining so much about it? Who are they to dare to want to stifle economic activity in Upper PC's most booming town? And why was Lil' J seen buying a case 2 hours later?
As for me, I'll be cracking open this limited edition camo Bud Light. Bottom's up, Upper PC.
XOXO,
Gossip Girl
Tuesday, January 1, 2013
More like New Year's Revolutions, amirite?
Happy New Year! As many of my faithful readers may (or may not) know, I am currently in Italy. I will blog about that in a few days, but right now I'd like to take a moment to address the subject of New Year's Resolutions.
I naturally tend to be a perfectionist when it comes to myself. With every new year, I make a list of things that I imagine will contribute to the perfect Janney. Be nicer to your family. Exercise every day. Stop cursing. Eat less peanut butter. Floss your teeth. While these are all laudable goals, for me, new year's resolutions tend to send me into a self-absorbed spiral. I become focused on obtaining the attainable perfect, and not on living the way I want to live. And while I pretend to myself that I will be happy when things are perfect, I'm actually the happiest when I'm half-assing. I like the semi-sloppy, the clean stovetop juxtaposed with the sink full of dishes. I don't care if the quilt I'm making is imperfect, I'm just happy that all of the colors go together. I like my body best when there are jiggly parts but I can still feel the strength of my legs when I walk and run. I like being able to curse like a sailor when I need to, and being able to turn it off in the workplace.
So I'm not going to make any self-improvement related resolutions this year. I just graduated from college and there are a whole slew of things about myself that I could try to fix. Instead, I'm going to give myself a little bit of a break. My resolution this year is to listen to my craziest instincts more. I'm already good at trusting my instincts when it comes to things like personal safety or standardized testing, but not so good at trusting my instincts in the grand scheme of things. I'm going to let myself do a little visioning for my future that doesn't include the endgame of job-house-husband-kids(?), and trust that by following some of my wackier instincts, I will arrive at the same place, but through a much different route.
Whatever your new year's resolution, I hope that 2013 will be filled with love, learning, and happiness. Oh, and please recycle/car pool/conserve water-energy-everything, because I am a little worried that there might not be a 2014 if we continue on our current path of environmental destruction. I mean I know I just traveled by jet halfway across the world, but I'm going to try and treat Mother Earth a little more kindly this year. I just really want my theoretical future children (probs adopted, because you know, Overpopulation) to be able to swim in the creek, enjoy snow days in the winter, cool summer evenings and marvel at the amazing creatures on our planet, and not be forced to stay inside because they're asthmatic and have 3 eyes and are allergic to everything.
I naturally tend to be a perfectionist when it comes to myself. With every new year, I make a list of things that I imagine will contribute to the perfect Janney. Be nicer to your family. Exercise every day. Stop cursing. Eat less peanut butter. Floss your teeth. While these are all laudable goals, for me, new year's resolutions tend to send me into a self-absorbed spiral. I become focused on obtaining the attainable perfect, and not on living the way I want to live. And while I pretend to myself that I will be happy when things are perfect, I'm actually the happiest when I'm half-assing. I like the semi-sloppy, the clean stovetop juxtaposed with the sink full of dishes. I don't care if the quilt I'm making is imperfect, I'm just happy that all of the colors go together. I like my body best when there are jiggly parts but I can still feel the strength of my legs when I walk and run. I like being able to curse like a sailor when I need to, and being able to turn it off in the workplace.
So I'm not going to make any self-improvement related resolutions this year. I just graduated from college and there are a whole slew of things about myself that I could try to fix. Instead, I'm going to give myself a little bit of a break. My resolution this year is to listen to my craziest instincts more. I'm already good at trusting my instincts when it comes to things like personal safety or standardized testing, but not so good at trusting my instincts in the grand scheme of things. I'm going to let myself do a little visioning for my future that doesn't include the endgame of job-house-husband-kids(?), and trust that by following some of my wackier instincts, I will arrive at the same place, but through a much different route.
Whatever your new year's resolution, I hope that 2013 will be filled with love, learning, and happiness. Oh, and please recycle/car pool/conserve water-energy-everything, because I am a little worried that there might not be a 2014 if we continue on our current path of environmental destruction. I mean I know I just traveled by jet halfway across the world, but I'm going to try and treat Mother Earth a little more kindly this year. I just really want my theoretical future children (probs adopted, because you know, Overpopulation) to be able to swim in the creek, enjoy snow days in the winter, cool summer evenings and marvel at the amazing creatures on our planet, and not be forced to stay inside because they're asthmatic and have 3 eyes and are allergic to everything.
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