Kittens, we have finally entered the 21st century! The Spinsters have an official Facebook page! Crazy, right? Next thing you know, pigs will be flying and my Great Aunt Myrtle will be buying an iPad.
The only problem is that we don’t exactly have a lot of followers. Or, you know, any. So, if you like us even a little bit and use Facebook, could you wander over there and like us like us? In exchange, we will love you forever.
Forever. Ever.
- Grace, Kate, & Mae
Eleven years ago, one of the great tragedies of my life occurred. I went to prom.
Grace, the World interjects, you obviously mistyped that. Prom isn’t a tragedy! Prom is the most magical night of a young girl’s life, filled with romance and sparkles and unicorn fluff. It’s right up there with Getting Married and Bleeding From the Uterus on the list of days that define a woman. You loved prom, Grace. You felt like Pretty Princess Grace of Prettyville. Tell the people the truth!
Okay, fine. I totally felt like a princess. My hair, long and blonde, was artfully curled into Lana Turner waves and my dress was—to date—one of the most gorgeous things I’ve ever worn. With the agreement that I would wear it to both junior and senior proms, my mom splurged on an espresso-colored silk taffeta ball gown, embellished with a trailing spiral of embroidered copper roses. It was fancy pants. It was—let’s be honest—fucking baller. It didn’t matter that my date was a complete stranger, or that we were going to Macaroni Grill for dinner. This was a bewitching night of wonderment!
Well, it was until we arrived at the actual prom, anyway. Despite having attended many 21st century dances, I expected more from this one. Prom was classy! Prom was magical! Prom was when boys turned from smelly dorks into Cary Grant. I was born to go to prom.
In my mind, prom looked like this:
I was deranged. My grasp on reality dulled by too many viewings of Meet Me in St. Louis. For modern prom, of course, looks like this:
My brain exploded. Grey matter splattered everywhere, as dreams were dashed. Rubbing crotches with that guy who sits behind you in Calculus is not dancing. It’s dry humping. There’s nothing wrong with it, explicitly, but it probably shouldn’t be done in public and it definitely shouldn’t be mistaken for “moving rhythmically to music, using prescribed or improvised steps and gestures.” There was no magic that night, only awkward fumbling.
Our society is crumbling, readers. When did people decide that oafish twitching was a proper substitute for the waltz? In less than fifty years, we’ve gone from turns and technique to shuffling side to side, pumping our pelvises. Teenagers don’t learn to dance anymore, they learn to pantomime sex. With a bit of booty shaking and crotch grabbing, we imagine ourselves to be Beyonce or Justin Timberlake.
No, darlings, just no. This is the great lie of modern culture. What they’re doing is Hip Hop. It’s actual, legit dancing that takes a lot of practice and talent. What we’re doing is ungainly grinding. These are not the same thing! This is why clubs are the most horrid of places. A strange man rubbing his hardening junk against your badonkadonk is not dancing, but sexual harassment. In what other setting would this be appropriate? When browsing the history aisle of Barnes & Noble, dudes do not gyrate their manhoods against me. If they did, cops would be called! In a dimly lit club, however, this is accepted behavior.
Shouldn’t dancing be readily distinguishable from a criminal misdemeanor? Maybe I sound like that old woman next door, yelling at meddlesome kids to stop trampling her petunias, but I refuse to grind with.you. When friends ask me to go dancing, they should mean swing dancing. I want my skirt to twirl and my heart to race! There should be minimal chance of my partner imitating a Great Pyrenees on Viagra, in the process. Someone, anyone, bring the standards and the sexy back.
I don’t want to get my freak on, kittens, I just want to tango!
- Grace
Good afternoon, kittens! For some time now, I have held a dream close to my heart. Surprisingly, I’m not talking about setting up a detective agency or finally learning to make Parisian macarons, but something infinitely more daunting. Advice giving!
I, Grace O’Kelly, have a not-so-secret passion for dispensing wisdom. This is why we’ve always said that, if you have a question, you can e-mail us anytime. It was less about wanting blog header design inquiries and more my wishful daydreams of Sad Suzy from Switzerland. Only, the e-mails never came. For too long, my advice went ungiven to anyone but my dog. (Who, incidentally, still hasn’t asked out that cute corgi next door.) Until now! Because perhaps people haven’t been asking us questions, but they have been asking internet.
Google, that delightful search engine in the sky, has been sending them to us. So, from the depths of our search terms, I give you the first installment of: Ask A Spinster!
Darling, I’m so glad you asked. If you’re finding spinsterhood boring, then obviously you haven’t discovered roller derby yet. Nothing livens up a day like whirling at top speeds around a track, trying to do bodily harm to another person. Oh, the thrill of your first clothesline! Nothing rivals such bloodthirsty joy. Or, so I hear.
I’m not so great at roller skating. Or being in pain. Quite frankly, my spinsterhood was filled with things like eating pie and sewing dresses. My biggest thrill, to date, was watching Firefly in Whedon’s intended chronology, rather than the broadcasted order. Woohoo! But you seem to need more. That’s understandable! Being single can get lonely, even when it’s a conscious choice you’ve made. So, roller derby, my dear! If that’s not your cup of tea, find a passion that is. Learning a hobby or finding a cause can fill up downtime faster than anything. Also, it’s a bit more productive than my Mal ogling.
Excellent question! Here’s my litmus test: Does the person in question sincerely love you? Take for example Professor McGregor. The dear professor calls me “love” all the time, but it works, because I am his love. It’s like calling someone “friend,” when they’re your friend. It’s just a glorious statement of fact!
However, if it’s a random stranger or person you don’t actually love? Definitely patronizing. This is right up there with “sweetheart” and “babe” on the list of inappropriate things men call younger women. Remind them, perhaps with an artfully placed elbow, that you do not love them referring to you so.
Welcome, dearest! I can only assume that you’ve recently met a spinster you admire. Congratulations! This is a very exciting development for you. As such I will answer your question with the utmost sincerity: It depends. You see, spinsters are people and people, as you have no doubt noticed, are different from each other.
Despite what society may intimate, not all spinsters harbor dreams of domesticity. Some of them are much happier building their careers as elephant psychiatrists than settling down with a spouse. Meanwhile, some spinsters just never found a person wonderful enough to tempt them out of their independent ways. For a clue to which camp your spinster may be in, I have a radical notion. Ask her.
This is not a question, but I will still accept it. If you think you’re in need of a haircut, you probably are. Contrary to popular belief, this state can not be fixed by a quick Google search. Instead, hie yourself off to the nearest salon, liebling! There, you will find a brilliant person who actually gets paid to trim the fluff around your ears.
If that fails, buy a Flowbee.
This has been the first installment of Ask A Spinster! If you have questions you’d like answered by your friendly local spinster, leave them in the comments or e-mail them to us!
With love and pie,
Grace O’Kelly, Wisdom Dispenser
I was (thankfully) raised in a home where racism was not tolerated. My parents had lots of friends of different ethnicities and cultural backgrounds than ours and I never thought twice about it. In fact, I was so shocked by what I saw in a video on racism in the South when I was in 5th grade that I literally sobbed in front of my entire class and had to see the school counselor. I just couldn’t even fathom that type of hatred. It shocked and upset me deeply, but it also made me feel very proud to come from the family that I came from. A family that would NEVER discriminate or feel hatred towards a member of a different race.
I have a great Uncle who has been exceptionally awesome to me. He has always encouraged my love of hiking, exploring, history, and world travel. He would let me roam for hours on his large property, patiently and sweetly explaining to me that the rock I found was not a dinosaur fossil, but was indeed, a very unique rock. He watched all the history shows with me that the rest of my family found boring, and when I declared I was going to go to Africa by myself, he was one of the only ones who focused more on helping me prepare for the trip than trying to talk me out of it.
And then one day I overheard him use the N-word. And I felt the same shock and deep level of distress that I felt the day they showed the video on racism in 5th grade. I couldn’t believe my ears. How could this man who I had always loved and even admired say something like that? Never in my childhood had I heard him say such a thing. I was beyond appalled and stunned. And then he continued on his tirade and it became glaringly apparent that my great Uncle was a racist. A horrible despicable racist. How in the world, could I love a racist?
There ensued a battle with myself. If he was a stranger, I would find him repugnant. But he wasn’t a stranger. He was a man who had cared for me and encouraged me. But he was a racist. Could I reject him knowing how much he had done for me? Could I love him knowing how hate-filled his heart was?
How do you love a racist? Can you? Should you?
I chose to distance myself from him. I explained why. He promised not to say those things around me ever again, but his heart wasn’t changed. I still see him for family holidays but we’re no longer as close as we were. I feel like to go back to the way things were would be dishonest and damaging to my conscience. I think that racism should have consequences and in this case, the consequence was losing a closeness with his niece. It didn’t change his mind. But my mind was also unchanged. I think I made the right decision for myself, but I still think about this question and wonder about how other people may have handled the same situation.
So, I’ll ask again. How do you love a racist? Can you? Should you?
- Mae
I’ve always wanted to be a Mom. Even when I wasn’t sure I wanted to get married, I knew I wanted to be a Mom. I’ve been a nanny, a kindergarten teacher, and go-to baby-whisperer for all my friends and family. But, for the first time in my life, becoming a Mom is actually a real-life possibility and not just a theoretical future. And that’s like BOOM in my brain.
Now, I feel like I’m not prepared enough, even though I’ve done loads of research (and continue to), even though I ask myself the hard questions, even though I had the best example of a Mom anyone could ask for, I feel UNPREPARED. Everyone keeps telling me “You can’t be *totally* prepared.” and even though I know that’s true, I still want to try, because, I’m a prepper y’all. I prep. You know that show “Doomsday Preppers”? I am those people. Granted, I’m worried less about the apocalypse and more about natural disasters, but either way, I’m prepped. I have the bags ready and filled with survival gear. For real.
So, I’m going to come at this Baby Prepping thing the same way I did my emergency/disaster/apocalypse prepping. I’m making a list.
Baby Prepping List
Get diet right and exercise more. I want this body in tip-top pushing a baby out of my vagina shape. Also, I want to get in the habit of better nutrition now, so it’s not such a challenge in a year or so.
RESEARCH. I need to keep researching pregnancy, birthing methods, pre-natal vitamins, pregnancy yoga, and everything else about babies and pregnancy EVER. Did you know babies can be born with a full set of TEETH? Teeth.
Find a good pediatrician. I’m all set on this one, unless my husband and I move away from Austin in which case ANARCHY AND CHAOS WILL ENSUE.
Create a birth plan A.
Create a birth plan B.
Create a birth plan C.
Create a birth plan in case labor begins during a natural disaster or apocalypse.
Create a budget for maternity clothes. Mama’s got to shop y’all.
Create a playlist for each pregnancy trimester, birthing, and each stage of child’s life.
Test husband’s reaction time by shouting “We need to go to the hospital!” at random moments and especially in the middle of the night.
I think if I do all these things and about a million others I already have listed in an excel spreadsheet (and print-out), then I will be like the ultimate baby prepper. So, I should be ready to have a kid in like….let me crunch some numbers…..ummmm…..100 years.
What about y’all? Did you baby prep?
- Mae
I started wearing make-up around the age of 12/13. And it almost always looked terrible because my Mom believed in letting us make mistakes and so I just layered on foundation and occasionally blue eye shadow which made me look exceptionally sickly and, on occasion, like an actual ghost. (Side note: Sheesh Mom, I know you wanted us to be independent but couldn’t you have given me even 1 make-up lesson??)
To this day, make-up, though I generally like the way it looks now that I know how to use it, still makes me feel….ummmm….insufficient? Like the way I look isn’t good enough? Something along those lines although I can’t quite find the right word for it. And recently I was thinking about that and it reminded me of how my Grandfather always calls make-up “war paint”.
And even though I think he means it as a joke, it really does feel like that sometimes. Going to a wedding where you will be seeing an ex? Interviewing for a new job? Going on a blind date? Just waking up in the morning and facing the day? All of these things can feel like going to war and instead of weapons and armor, women use make-up to prepare and protect themselves against whatever they’re facing that day. Make-up makes us feel strong, makes us feel beautiful, makes us feel powerful. makes us feel SUFFICIENT.
But, isn’t that some bullshit? Why can’t we feel that way as our natural selves, wrinkles and pimples and all? Why do I feel so much better about my capabilities when my under-eye circles are camouflaged? What the fuck does the way I look have to do with my intelligence, my ambition, my joie de vivre?
And yet….and yet….it does. When I’m war-painted up, I do feel more powerful, more capable, more together.
Gosh damnit, I’m so ashamed to admit that.
- Mae
Today, Facebook is awash with red. A good portion of Americans, including myself, have replaced their profile pictures with red and pink equality symbols. This is because a historically good portion of Americans—53%!—unequivocally support same-sex marriage. That’s over half the nation who believes that love trumps “tradition.” That’s over half the nation who believes that marriage is a right, not a privilege. That’s roughly 167 million people who are hoping that the U.S. Supreme Court decides on the side of gay marriage. That’s a lot of love, kittens.
Of course, there is still the other 47%. This is a blog post for them.
Hello there, my dears! My name is Grace and I’m your local spinster blogger. Normally, I blog about things like taxidermied mice and how hot men with beards are, but today I wanted to talk about something else entirely: you. You, I am given to believe, don’t think that my friends Anna and Shelly should get married. You, I am told, are narrow-minded and hateful and backwards. But that can’t be true! Didn’t you spend last summer building wells in Ecuador? And didn’t you nurse that sick stray kitten back to health? Surely, you’re not actively hating my friends.
In your defense, this morning I read up on why people oppose gay marriage. What I found, was odd. I’ve read article after article, but still can’t find a good argument against my friends. You’ll see what I mean.
Reason #1: Traditional Marriage is Between A Man & Woman. We Must Hold Up Tradition! Oh, interesting argument. How terribly Fiddler on the Roof of you! Marriage has been between a man and woman forever, so we should keep it up for the sake of tradition. Here’s the thing: tradition sucks. If we kept up with all our traditions, this world would be in a sad state. Women would have no rights, people would be kept as slaves, and the TV would be considered the devil’s instrument, so none of us could watch Buffy. Is that what you want? You can’t be in favor of a world full of oppression and lacking Spike! For that matter, there are plenty of examples of homosexual marriage in history. So whose tradition are we going with, exactly?
Reason #2: Homosexual Marriage is Against God! Interesting. You’ve got me there. I fully believe in religious freedom, so how can I judge you for your beliefs? I can’t, but I do have a question. If marriage is a religious covenant between a couple and God, then why can atheists and deists and agnostics and pagans get married? If this is a Judeo-Christian God issue, then shouldn’t only Jews and Christians be able to get married? If people who don’t believe in any God at all can get married, then surely Anna and Shelly don’t need His approval for marriage either.
Reason #3: This is the Downfall of Morality! I am befuddled. Isn’t one of the basic tenants of morality settling down and getting married? If you hate the sexual revolution and think we’re sliding into Hell faster than Helena in a handbasket, then you should be pro-marriage, period. The more people getting married, the less people living lives full of single shenanigans. If you don’t let gay couples get married, then you can’t complain when they slough off all monogamy.
Reason #4: Children Need a Mother and a Father! First off, how many times must I tell you that just because you’re married, doesn’t mean you want children? Second, if we believe so hard that children need both parents, then we should probably take kids away from single moms and dads. It would be better for those kids to be raised by two strangers with complimentary genitalia, than with one parent who loves them. Children need both mothers and fathers, because as everyone knows, gender decides personality traits. Who will nurture a child with a bruised knee, if there’s no mother? Who will throw a football, in a fatherless home? New law: kids only go to two-parent heterosexual households! It just makes no sense.
Reason #5: Homosexuality Violates Natural Law! Heterosexuality propagates the species! Oh, this one is rooted in science. This is more like it! Except, quick question, don’t we violate a whole bunch of natural laws? Humans can’t fly, but we’ve gotten pretty good at this whole airplane thing. People are also supposed to be omnivores, but a lot of people I know are vegetarians, so they must be abominations too. And if we’re so hot-to-trot on species propagation, then we should probably test all couples’ fertility, before they get married. If you can’t have babies, you can’t get married! We will do a ten year check up to make sure that everyone is procreating successfully! Wait, that feels…wrong. We can’t take away people’s rights, just because they can’t have children.
Marriage is about love and commitment, not kids. People aren’t getting married only to have children or to satisfy God’s will. The vast majority of people in modern America get married because they love each other. People get married because they want the rights of a legal partner, in case their beloved gets ill or passes away. People get married, because they’ve found their other half. What business do we have saying that you’ve chosen the wrong half? Modern marriage is a personal union based on love and consent, not a moral or religious covenant.
The tide has turned and progress is coming. Don’t you want to be on the winning side of history? You have a right to your beliefs, but our country shouldn’t violate other people’s rights because of yours. I hate mayonnaise and think it’s an unholy white ooze, but America shouldn’t forbid tuna salad, because of my opposition. Let them eat mayo! Let them get married!
It’s time for equality, my dears. It’s time for love.
- Grace
Kittens, I am here to disillusion you.
You think, much as I once did, that the annoying questions will stop once you’re engaged. You think, having “landed a man,” that people will stop handing out unsolicited life advice and finally let you be happy, because—devil take it!—you’ve done what society wants, right? Not so, my dear yarn pouncers. You see, once the questions about your single status stop, The World starts in on wildebeests babies.
Welcome to pastel-wallpapered, pacifier-laden hell.
[For the purpose of dramatic recreation, The World will be played by italicized blue text, while the part of Grace will be sensibly vertical.]
We’re so excited for you and Professor McGregor, darling Grace! You must be so relieved that a man is deigning to marry you and your feminist ways. So, when are you having babies?
Not for a really long time. Like, at least five years.
Five years? Oh, my naïve Grace. Haven’t you heard how fertility works? Right now is the best/only time to have darling lumps of babykins!
Well, it’s not the best time for us. You see, the dear professor wants to get tenure first and I need to start and finish my residency. We just don’t have the time or resources!
Maybe you didn’t hear us correctly, sugar lump. If you don’t have babies in your twenties, you’ll give birth to horned horrors of children whose only forms of communication are shrieking and ritual sacrifices. We didn’t tell you this when you were single, just in case you were a spinster for another decade, but having babies in your twenties is crucial!
But we don’t want children yet. Every time a child screams in the grocery store, Professor McGregor and I high-five about not being parents. If we had kids now, I’d probably just hate them for the first year. I love sleep! My selflessness is really not developed enough to sacrifice it. We’ll chance the horns, thanks.
My dear, that’s how we all thought, until we had button-nosed mushy pea faces of our own. Once you see their wee, dear faces, you can handle all manners of trials. Sleep deprivation and never-ending screams are nothing, in light of your love! Why, the first time your spawn urinates on you is a moment to always be cherished!
We’re not ready for babies. Leave off.
But think of your grandmother, Grace. Doesn’t she deserve to be a great-grandmother?
My cousins, Alfred and Sage, have already taken care of that. We are totally absolved of any pressure!
But your father would love little ones to watch Notting Hill with!
My father would also love a dog. How about we get him one of those, instead? I’ve heard Labradoodles adore romantic comedies.
How can you be so selfish? Don’t you know that it’s your duty as a woman and a human being to have children? This is the next step, you callow girl. You’re supposed to get married and start a family. The species must propagate!
I call bullshit. On all of it. Are you ever suspicious that some people don’t actually have thoughts in their heads at all, but societal scripts they run through daily? That, perhaps, we’re surrounded by player pianos disguised as humans? After you get married, you have children, raise them, send them to college, then go tour the country in an RV, because you’re no longer needed until they have children of their own. That’s how it works! Once you deviate from said script, their wee little circuits explode. It’s all raised eyebrows and poor logic, instead of rational conversation.
Look, Professor McGregor and I want a family. Eventually. We want one when we’re financially and emotionally prepared. That seems super reasonable, to me. No one ever questions you about wanting to have children, only about not wanting to. How ridiculously backwards! The biggest life commitment you can make is the creation and care of another person. Shouldn’t that be treated with some degree of caution? Isn’t it the thoughtful thing not to jump on the baby wagon, just because we’re married?
Some people feel ready for children from the moment they reach adulthood. They are positive about their parenting abilities and the amount of love in their hearts. That’s totally awesome! They should be parents! I, however, have always known that I wanted children theoretically. Such as: One day, theoretically, I want to name a little girl Cordelia and teach her about feminism and Nutella! One day, theoretically, I will force bow-ties upon my son.
One day, however, has yet to arrive. Right now, I am emotionally ill-equipped and not financially stable enough to feel comfortable spawning. I don’t want to deal with the realities of children: the long nights, the diaper changing, the worries about how to raise them into socially-conscious adults who eat carrots and respect women.
At the moment, I just want to watch Psych with my love and eat a lot of cake. Is that so unreasonable?
- Grace
I have a job that pays me fairly well. I have benefits. My husband has benefits. I shouldn’t complain, especially when there are so many people still without any job at all. BUT.
But, I’m miserable at work. I’ve been doing this for 6 years and while it can be interesting work, most days it just feels like taking a voluntary emotional beating. I’m exhausted every day when I get home, and not just physically, but emotionally and mentally. I hate this job. I hate that there isn’t any balance, that I have to work even when I’m sick and can’t ever be too far from my phone in case someone calls or emails. I’m completely at the whim of my clients, which, more and more often, means late night emails that need immediate attention. And despite the promises of my boss when I first interviewed for this job, there is no support for life/work balance. A lot of those late night emails that require immediate attention come from him.
And I feel trapped. Trapped because the job does pay well and it helps support us, and lets me buy some pretty shoes every now and again, and helps us fly to visit my husbands family. It supports me, but I hate it. And I feel guilty for complaining, but I hate it. And I find myself resenting it more and more because it takes all of my energy away from the thing I *really* want to do, which is write.
But life is expensive. I’m rather fond of having a roof over my head and a cocktail in my hand. So, I keep working at a job I’m miserable at. Because sometimes, you have to do what *have* to do, and not what you want to do. At least for a little while longer. Just a little while longer.
- Mae
I, personally, believe that a little competition never hurt anyone, except for the people it has. More than likely, you are one of the people that in one case or another competition has hurt. I’m one of those people too. We’re all one of those people. (Let’s join hands and sing y’all!)
We human-sapiens are competitive by nature. It’s because of the birds on the Galapagos. So, competition amongst ourselves is inevitable. Because of Dodo birds. Or something. But nothing is as heated and potentially ego-trouncing as competition amongst friends. Wether you’re playing Scrabble online or actively working towards the same career goal, that shit get competitive and uber-personal. Because it is personal. Because you are a person and you are doing it and they are person and they are doing it too vis-a-vis personal.
And that isn’t to say you can’t feel supportive of friends you’re competing with as well. People are capable of all kinds of layered and seemingly contradictory emotions. For instance, you can feel both excited and disappointed if a friends gets a job you both applied for. Both of those are valid feelings and it’s possible to feel them at the same time. Confusing? Yes. But totally a thing that happens all the time. Especially amongst your friends you might have a lot in common with. If you’re both working towards the same goal, you’re in competition with each other, maybe not directly, but in competition nonetheless. And that can be a really difficult thing to sort through, because of all the conflicting emotions. It’s complicated, and in one of the worst ways possible, because you feel like a real shit-head for being bummed for yourself and not completely excited for them, while also feeling like a real dumb-ass for not succeeding at your goal. OR- you could be the one who snagged the win and then you feel like a real shit-head for being excited while your friend is sad, while also feeling like a dumb-ass for not totally celebrating your awesome accomplishment in everyone’s faces. So that even when you win, you don’t really win because you know your achievement has caused someone you care about pain, and when you lose you are totally losing because you know your friends achievement is just a little bit dampened by your sadness.
Basically, competition with friends is an emotional clusterfuck either way. But it’s going to happen, if it isn’t happening already, and you’re going to need a plan of action to deal with it either way. My plan of action? Be as supportive as possible to the other person no matter what the outcome is. And either celebrate or commiserate with food, because those french fries understand my complicated feelings and don’t judge me for them.
What about y’all? How do you handle competition with friends?
- Mae
