In Which Happiness Is A Warm Apartment

When I looked at my phone last Wednesday night, I saw that I had a voice mail, which was preceded by a text message. The missed call was from my father; I first checked the text message, which was from my sister, and which said only, "Have you talked to Dad?" That was all I needed to know exactly what the voice mail was about.

After nearly 13 years of being unmarried, my father proposed to his girlfriend of 5 1/2 years. Coincidentally, he did it a few days before they were scheduled to fly out and visit me in Boston, so I was able to - quite genuinely - give them my congratulations when they arrived at Logan on Friday morning. I am happy for them; though in an ideal world, my father would still be married to my mother, I can say with certainty (especially after this weekend) that my dad and his fiancee are not only suited to each other, but truly in love. Logistically, marriage makes sense; they are both selling their houses to buy one together (a process which started about a year and a half ago) so they might as well be married while living together as not. And since I live in Boston and they live in Cleveland, the arrangement has no real bearing on my life anyway.

In any case, we were able to spend a very fine celebratory long weekend together. After arriving they got to see my apartment for the first time, and my father declared it to be just like my sister's. Having never seen my sister's apartment, I decided to take this as a good thing. That night we went to dinner at Legal Sea Food with my mother's sister and her family. After dinner we (just the three of us) stopped at the Sunset for a drink, where my dad and his fiancee thoroughly enjoyed both the beer and the spinach dip.

On Saturday we had lunch at the Paris Creperie in Coolidge Corner, then drove to Harvard Square, where we experienced a small parking catastrophe: while perusing the streets for a parking space, we saw a garage; the gate was open so we drove in, then, seeing the rates, decided to try elsewhere, but when we tried to leave, the attendant wouldn't let us out without paying $28, the fee for a lost ticket. She didn't believe that the gate had been open, and thought we were trying to get out for free. After much deliberation, we decided to park there, since we would have to pay almost 30 bucks anyway. And that's why you don't drive in Harvard Square.

On Saturday night my dad and his fiancee came to The Comedy Studio for what was a truly spectacular show, possibly made all the more awesome because I got to run the booth. After the show I introduced them to Rick Jenkins, the owner.

"She's great," he said to my father of me, "she basically runs the show!" [Note: not true].

"Well then maybe you should think about paying her," my dad said, in a tone which I recognized as joking, but knew could sound quite serious to those who don't know him. I was mortified; luckily, Rick didn't mention anything later.

On Sunday we had breakfast at Dunkin' Donuts, because I thought it would be blasphemy to visit Boston without eating at one. Then we took the T to Government Center and walked around the North End, where my dad took a lot of pictures and generally looked as much like a tourist as possible. We got lunch at Quincy Market, which was, of course, packed beyond occupancy with people, then walked through Downtown Crossing to Boston Common. After taking a post-thunderstorm stroll through the Common we were all tired, and went home to rest before having dinner with my roommate's parents that evening. This morning (Monday) we went to Target, after which they left for the airport.

"You seem really happy," my dad said as he hugged me goodbye in my third-floor apartment, the standing fan in the corner a flimsy attempt to combat the late-May heat. "I think this is the happiest I've seen you in a long time."

I think he's right. It's been a year since I've graduated from college (!), and I think life is going pretty well, all things considered. Sure, I don't have everything I want, and this isn't really where I envisioned myself when I thought of the future a few years ago. But to invoke the words of a dozen Hallmark cards, "happiness is a journey, not a destination." Why shouldn't I enjoy this pit stop?

Obama is cool, but my dad posing with this life-sized cut out of him
at Newbury Comics is even cooler!

In Which Facebook Acts As The Messenger Of Hymen

[Hymen: in ancient Greek mythology, Hymen (or Hymenaeus) was the god of marriage.]

Last night I logged on to Facebook, as I (regrettably) do more than once in a twenty-four hour period. As do many people, I have a very love-hate relationship with every twentysomething's favorite social networking site: it allows me to keep up with the lives of people I might otherwise have lost touch with. On the other hand, it allows me to keep up with the lives of people I might otherwise have lost touch with. It's a double-edged sword.

In any case, as I began to scour my News Feed for tidbits of information I desperately needed/didn't need at all, I came upon a thumbnail of a picture of a friend from high school and her boyfriend. My friend and I were fairly close in our high school days, but as is wont to happen, drifted apart after we went to college, and (as is also wont to happen) have maintained what is left of our friendship by sporadically contacting one another through - wait for it - Facebook. Now, this picture wouldn't have caught my fancy had it not been for the fact that my friend, with her boyfriend's arm around her, had her left hand laid across his chest. I recognized it immediately as prime bling-displaying position.

I clicked the thumbnail and, sure enough, there were three things staring back at me: a young man, a young woman, and a nice-sized rock on the young woman's ring finger. Now, my friend and her boyfriend have been together since we were all juniors in high school. Even then they were a sickeningly perfect couple, but so obviously meant for each other that it was impossible to begrudge them their happiness. They went to the same college and remained together throughout, so it's really been more a question of "when" than "if" regarding their marriage plans. Needless to say I am very happy for them; anyone who knows them has probably known for some time that this was going to happen. But as I looked at that picture I felt an entirely selfish, if unwanted, emotion: self-pity.

Now, for purposes of clarification, I should mention that I am in no way ready, nor do I now desire, to get married. I feel too young, and that there is still so much I want to do before doing that, and besides, the thought of living with someone every day for the rest of my life is currently unfathomable. It probably also has to do with the fact that I am not right now in love with another person. Just to get the record straight, however, I'm not looking to receive a ring anytime soon. But this is not the first Facebook engagement or marriage I have witnessed. In fact, this one comes closely on the heels of the marriage of my high school crush - the BIG high school crush, the one all my other crushes, had they known or cared, would have bowed down before. And, quite frankly, I'm getting tired of it.

I know I'm only 23, and that is very young. But (although exceptions must be allowed for the change of times) the thought has crossed my mind more than once that my mother, when she married my father, was 23. And now, it seems like all these people I know who are 22, 23, 24, are taking that step as well. I think what bothers me the most - and I shall try to make this succinct, as I think whining about one's love life is just about the most trite (and annoying) thing possible - is that for as long (and longer) as my friend and her now-fiance have been together, I have been single. The logical answer to this way of thinking is that in consideration of circumstances, it is ridiculous to compare onself to other people. But to that I say this: if I didn't compare myself to others, what kind of human would I be? Answer: none at all.

So to all the couples I know who have or are going to announce their nuptials on Facebook: accept my sincerest congratulations and wishes for happiness, but don't expect much sympathy from me beyond those initial wishes. Maybe, just maybe, you'll someday be able to ogle over my wedding photos electronically as I have done yours. Then again, I'm just not sure if a Facebook wedding is for me.