MONROK

I was sitting on my parents sofa in Maryland, first trip post-quarantine, when a childhood friend came by and started complaining to me about a friend of his.

“I don’t even recognize her anymore, she used to be life of the party, now she’s such a bummer. She’s obsessed with work, and she drinks a ton which makes her hostile and bitter. I’ve tried giving her advice but she makes no changes, she refuses to do anything to better herself.”

“Two questions. Is she single?”

“Yes.”

“How old is she?”

“35.″

This is not the first time I have heard this storyline. I have heard it from many friends, and I have experienced it first-hand. There is a very serious issue transpiring in society that no one is talking about: A condition called OLS

What is OLS? Old Ladies Syndrome affects women in their late twenties to mid to late thirties. It is engendered by the fear of ending up alone, which unfortunately perpetuates and exacerbates the disease. Several factors can lead to this - lack of self-awareness, bad dating history (men without bed frames seems to be a common complaint), holding a high-paying job paired with an unwillingness to "settle," or wasting endless time waiting for "the one." What essentially ends up happening is that the longer certain women find themselves single, the greater their fear that they are never going to meet someone becomes, and they start exhibiting certain behaviors. Some of the most identifiable symptoms of OLS would be extreme possessiveness over female friends, excessive drinking, loss of social awareness, a sudden interest in volunteering, marathon running, posing for photos with the babies of friends, celebrating birthdays with increased fervor, and posting childhood photos or photos of their parents frequently.

Let it be said that not all single women develop OLS, some are totally fine (especially those that don't want children), but it is happening to a significant number of women and thus should be addressed. Is there a cure? Of course, meeting someone would be the cure and it does happen to many, especially those in the early stages of OLS. But as the disease progresses, and the fear of ending up alone seems more and more like a reality, the mental state many find themselves in makes it nearly impossible to attract a potential mate. An example would be doing things like joking about "dying alone," at a party, a clear sign of hopelessness, which is generally not an attractive trait.

Those that have paired up already may feel responsible for someone with OLS, but they can become harder and harder to be around as their temperament steadily declines and eventually may get cut loose by even the most tolerant of friends. That is why it is so dangerous for these women, especially in the uncertain times we live in, where it is only becoming harder to find a cure. Will they end up in lifelong quarantine?

Some have asked me if men get OMS, maybe those that are truly undesirable, but mainly not because the key differentiating factor between men and women in this case is that men have hope, given that they don't carry the burden of the female reproductive system. The stress of the clock ticking is what sets many women into the more advanced stages of OLS.

Is there an upside to OLS? Yes, OLS does have a positive impact on several industries including pet adoption, human adoption, egg-freezing, networking events, skin care, group fitness, kale, solo-international travel, real estate, and gelato.

Self care is on the rise, touted as the key to mental stability, but no one sees the value in self analysis and improvement. Many people continue to validate the narrative that nothing is wrong with them and it’s the other person’s fault for not seeing their value. If you’re single and see yourself committing to someone long term, but can’t seem to connect, it could be time to pick apart the subject at hand. Maybe being lonely for one too many years has put a damper on your mood, changed your outlook, broken your spirit. It can, oftentimes, even without you noticing. That’s not a personal shortcoming on your end, it’s completely natural, but you might not feel it happening gradually, or discover it as you’re reapplying your makeup at a networking event for egg-freezers. (I swear, it’s a real meet-up).

It is time to confront this issue in society. The first step is to identify it. Thousands of women are being taken by this thing and they don’t even know it. I am especially passionate about this issue because as a married woman, I know I was just one man away from having it myself. I am lucky to have a witness to my life, someone to let me know when I’m being out of line. I have had to change numerous things about myself in order to sustain my relationship, and that’s GOOD. The misconception is that someone has to love you for who you are. If you are someone that leaves all the cabinet doors open and acts like a complete psychopath when woken up from a nap, good luck. You have to be constantly working on yourself, which is much easier when you have someone telling you what’s wrong with you, so yes it’s kind of a Catch 22.  However, there are all kinds of relationships. If you find yourself feeling lonely and pushed out of society a step forward would be to self-reflect, ask your friends what they feel you could change about yourself, and honestly be open. Let’s not forget the OLS Icon, Carrie Bradshaw, and the lie so many were told. She was a bad friend and a selfish, entitled, childish spendthrift that still got the guy that dicked her around for 6 seasons. It was a TV SHOW.

When I was growing up, Michael Jordan represented the American Dream. He WAS the American Dream. The definition of “stahted at the bottom now we here.” One day he picked up a basketball, and he dribbled that ball into 1 Billion dollars. “Be like Mike” was his slogan. You didn’t have sneakers; you had “Jordans.” Everybody wanted to be Michael Jordan. I had neighbors that had two kids; one was named Michael and the other Jordan. AND THEY WERE GIRLS. 

After decades of shattering every NBA record, Mike retired to his 56,000 square foot mansion in Chicago, and what a mansion it was. Sitting on 7 acres, it includes a full size basketball court, three climate controlled multi-car garages, 9 bedrooms, 19 bathrooms, a pool, a pavilion, tennis court, putting green and MORE. In other words, this guy made it. 

In the 90s, a mansion was the ultimate sign of wealth, a way to say to others “I’ve achieved the American Dream, you all can keep dreaming.” But as one human being that can only take up one spot at one specific moment in time, can you utilize a property that size to its maximum potential? I myself grew up in a 5 bedroom house (in suburban Maryland), and looking back I really only used the living room and my bedroom to sleep. 

They say everyone wants to at least maintain the same standard they grew up in or do better, but I never want to live in a 5 bedroom house again. Does that mean I want to be worse off? Or is success being measured differently? 

In 2016 there seems to be a shift going on, an anti-consumerism movement. You no longer have to be a rich man to have a driver; you can uber. We are sharing our cars, sharing our homes with airbnb, even watching one another’s pets with dogvaycay. Michael Jordan is trying to unload his 30 million dollar mansion for half of what he paid for it and is having trouble finding a buyer. Tiny House Hunters is a thing. People are spending their money on experiences, rather than material possessions. Success is no longer defined by what you have accumulated, but seems to be moving towards being defined by what you think, and people are thinking differently. This doesn't destroy our economy or turn us into communist Russia, it actually opens the door to a society that can evolve beyond capital gains, to a richer and more fulfilling individual experience, unencumbered by the pressure of hoarding square footage or filling "climate-controlled garages." I'm proud to be part of the generation that isn't only consumed with making a living, but rather, making a life. 

Finally, the idea of “living large” is going out of style. It’s tacky, and frankly, embarrassing. People are realizing that it’s more important to live well, which you can do on a very small scale. You can live in a beautiful, well-designed space, filled with practical things you love and have an incredible quality of life. You can also be an overweight millionaire with 10 cars and a pantry full of twinkies. Who is the richer man?  

It’s 2016. China has 1.4 Billion people, India has 1.3 Billion people, and the US comes in third, with 326 million people. Africa accounted for 9% of the world’s population in 1950, and by the end of this century will account for 40% of all humans. That means 1.8 billion babies will be born over the course of the next 35 years, leaving us with 4.2 billion Africans by the end of this century. The numbers are growing, everywhere.

The biggest problem in society today is not climate change, it’s not that women aren’t being paid as much as men; it’s a lack of population control. Literally the biggest biohazard in the world and no one is talking about it. Why? Is it an egocentric thing? Why is it OK for us to control the deer population with regulated hunting, but refuse to look at ourselves in the mirror? We’re drowning in humans. Across almost every culture, controlling population growth is discouraged and people view it as a human right, THIS HAS TO CHANGE. It’s the issue that we are not discussing as a species, while it needs to be on the forefront of the social and political conversation across the globe. Relax, before you think this is some Nazi pitch for genocide, just hear me out.

Why are we procreating in the first place? Are we even spreading our seed for the right reasons? I was standing in line the other day and overheard two couples talking about how they were trying for a third. One husband was saying, “Yea we have two girls and we are trying for a boy” and the other was saying “We have two boys and are trying for a girl.” Really? That’s the reason to create a THIRD LIFE? Because you are not happy with either Barbies or Transformers? I couldn’t help but offer my take: “My Mother was one of five girls and my Father one of four boys, best of luck.”

The “big family” ideal has to come to an end. With the current socio-economic climate, you aren’t entitled to a litter of children just because you feel there is “something missing” in your life or become addicted to parenthood. Having a child is serious, and the cost is high if you want to do it right. It should be something you (A), can afford and (B), have the time for, or the product is simply low quality. It becomes a burden more than a gift. The days of promulgating religion and chasing an ideal household gender ratio need to pass by the wayside, we should know better. We simply can’t afford it, and it’s time to face it.

Our generation seems to be the first to respond to the crisis. An unprecedented technology boom brought a plethora of ways to meet new people. Chatrooms lead to live feeds and now, “the swipe.” We’ve made ourselves feel like we’re pursuing a relationship, when we’re actually just browsing. Tinder has 10 million daily active users. You have access to any local single, right at your fingertips no matter where you are on the planet. The options are endless! Just swipe until you meet Mr. Right, right? Sure, there are exceptions, but for the most part, Tinder and the like have kept my generation single, longer. The smartphone dating app has served as an unexpected social correction. Regardless of how you feel about casual encounters, Tinder has provided men with free sex, bottom line. What happens when men get free sex? They are more reluctant to settle down… and procreate. Think about it, back when everyone on the planet was religious, the whole reason men got married was simply so they could ejaculate. (Which is still the case in most of the developing world.) Then, as society progressed, you had to court and spend money on dates to be someone’s boyfriend before you got to ejaculate. Now you can just get on your phone and ejaculate within hours! Who needs a wife and kids? This is good news for population control, but bad news for human connection. When there is too much currency, it’s devalued, and we’re finally sensing it.

The environmental damage, the endless waste, the refugee crisis, factory farming, literally everything comes down to the fact that people will not stop breeding. The essential resolution of our time is managing our rampant proliferation, reasonably. You get two people to replace yourself and your spouse, folks. Beyond that, you should be taxed, because your procreation has an ultimate cost to the human race. Another set of feet on the ground makes a print that has to be accounted for. Society should recognize that if you have one child you are a thoughtful person. If you have none, a saint. We should not be allotting government assistance for having five or more children, you should be entitled to support if you adopt. Are you an affluent, single woman in your 40’s looking for companionship? A loving same-sex couple bored with the weekend rage lifestyle? Are you and your spouse successfully raising your first biological child and have a third bedroom to fill? Maybe add one to the fold, by employing the human form of recycling; adoption. The First World’s duty in controlling the uncontrollable; the demise of our race by self-indulgence.

If we all want to prosper in 2016 and the years ahead, have a decent quality of life for all, as utopian an ideal as that may seem, we have to start with making less of us. Control the quantity, raise the quality. It’s the greatest gift we can give future generations. Thank god for death.

Growing up, not many ethnic families I knew had pets. I had asked my mother why this was. She said that in poor countries, where you had yourself and your family that you had to worry about feeding, an animal was the last priority. They were considered dirty, as less than humans. Only the richest families kept them as pets.

Many people I grew up with to this day, still, do not know how to react to the presence of an animal. “Oh….hey there… what’s up doggy?” they awkwardly mutter as they shuffle around trying to feign interest in my dog. “It’s ok,” I say, “you don’t have to pretend to be a dog person.”

What is a dog person? I was never a dog person, until my boyfriend at the time decided he wanted a dog. “Cool, if you are going to take care of it,” I had said blithely. Needless to say the dog is now mine and I can’t spend more than two hours apart from her. I went from being totally indifferent to not understanding how I am going to continue to survive without this animal in my life.  Which leads me to believe that there is no such thing as a “dog person.” Calling someone a “dog person” insinuates that some people are less prone to accept unconditional love. A dog person is just someone that allows themselves to feel love from an animal. Which is easy, because all dogs are “human people” – they love us, and they do it without judgment. Your dog doesn’t know that you lied to your boss, or didn’t call when you were supposed to call, or forgot to take the trash out. Our dogs think we’re killing it. And no matter how vile of a human you were today, (and we both know you stole that Yoplait from the office fridge) nobody is happier to see you when you get home than your dog.

More than just unlimited acceptance, these creatures heal. I have suffered from depression on and off my whole life. I have gone to therapy, been on various medications, tried the holistic approach (have you ever tried sniffing the “life energy” of a plant?) and nothing has had the positive effect on my life that my dog has. She is there when I come home, she senses it when I’m down and is happy to soak up my tears with her fur. She is happy to walk, nap, or watch tv, as long as she’s with me. When I am petting her I can literally feel my heartbeat slow down.

I’m part of a strange generation that spends the majority of their time looking at photos of themselves. The self-obsession has led us into this bizarre glass box of our own making, limiting our ability to see anything beyond profile photos. Keeping an animal shows you how to love and care for something outside of yourself. I’m selective with who watches my dog, her security is a priority to me, often thought of before my own and she returns the sentiment. She never hesitates to convey her devotion to me and our friendship. When I am traveling abroad and I step out for the evening, I can bet I will come home to find her curled up and asleep in my suitcase because it has my smell. COME ON. That’s commitment.

I’ve often thought that certain people who commit crimes are just people that have had a lack of love in their life, and have turned to the last resort for survival. They may have been short on the unconditional love that they could have received from a dog. There’s a reason they bring animals into prisons. Dogs help to rehabilitate people who so far have had no reason to believe there is any good in the world.

One day I had an audition for the coveted role of Indian Nurse. When I received the script, I was told to translate all the lines and that I’d be auditioning in Hindi. I do not speak Hindi. I asked my parents for help. While they were attempting to translate the lines they got into an argument about what one would say or not say in a Delhi emergency room. They both left the country 40 years ago and only communicate in English. Many of the lines were also medical terms that they weren’t familiar with. I then e-mailed the script to a relative in India who asked a doctor friend of his for help. Finally, I learned the part. True to form, verbatim.

When I arrived on set, I had a bit of a wait. Since I do not speak the language, I rehearsed the lines a few hundred times in my head to make sure I was good to go. Then it was time to deliver. Right before they called “action!” the producer pulled me aside and said “Oh yeah, don’t worry about the script. Say whatever you want but just say it with a sense of urgency.”

When I was a child I used to beg my parents to teach me Hindi, but being the British School educated, pro-American liberals that they are, they had no interest. They would always just say “Aasman mai badhal hai.” Translation: “There are clouds in the sky.” Relatives from India would ask me what my favorite hobby was and I would answer “Aasman mai badhal hai.” Family friends would ask me what grade I was in and I would say “Aasman mai badhal hai.” Here I am wheeling Tim Robbins in a gurney while shouting “Aasman mai badhal hai.” 

They say being a mother is the most difficult job on the planet. I don’t know if I necessarily agree with that statement, I think the most difficult job on the planet is probably being a coal miner, but being a good mother can be tough. When a child is born, they literally know no things. NOTHING. That is a HUGE responsibility. To raise a well adjusted, self-sufficient adult that can contribute to society is difficult. The line is also so skewed; you never know where you’ve messed up. “Were those two glasses of wine I had during pregnancy the reason Charlie got a DUI?” Then there is the question every parent asks themselves; do you raise your child as a child, or as a friend? I want to be the “cool mom,” but that’s bad right? The cool mom always ends up divorced drinking chardonnay alone, or is on Real Housewives with other cool moms.

When a child is raised as a child, the parent is the ultimate authority. Your child respects you and is afraid to cross you or disappoint you. You have control over your child. Your child will be more reluctant to embarrass you in public, or say things like “mom, stop being a bitch!” However, they are also not likely to share everything with you. You may not know about whom they have a crush on at school, if they have smoked marijuana (believe me, they have), or what they really feel about things. They will likely hide things from you to save face and will continue to do so throughout their adulthood. The relationship they have with you is that of respect and formality.

I happened to be raised as my mother’s friend. I don’t know if that was her intention or if I was just too much to handle that she just gave up altogether. “I never raised you MONROK, you raised yourself!” I will say that my childhood was awful, for her. I was a brat. I said things that I can never take back. I drove without a driver’s license, had co-ed sleepovers, and basically did whatever I wanted. I did know there were a few things that were considered serious offenses, like sex and drinking/drugs, and I was careful about those. I didn’t drink until I was in college and I lost my virginity at 24. I’ve experimented with drugs, but frankly I’m just not into them. As awful as I was, the one positive thing was that I told her everything about myself. She knew EVERYTHING and ANYTHING I thought, every person I knew and everything I did. There was nothing to hide, as far as I was concerned. In fact, to this day, there isn’t one thing that she doesn’t know about me. She even knows my deepest, darkest secrets (things that would make you negate everything I’ve said in this article). She is my best friend. I ENJOY her company. I LIKE being around her, she is never a burden or an obligation. I talk to her 3 times a day on average, sometimes for HOURS, and not because I have to, but because I want to. We get into fights, we make up, and it’s fucking great.

I’m not a parent and I don’t know the right way to go about it. What’s the balance? Do you let your child run wild in hopes of them chilling out later in life or are you so strict and severe that you barely know them? Whether or not my mom made the right choice, I wouldn’t have had it any other way.

It’s wedding season. The time of year where the most common question asked is “What’s your address?” Sifting through countless invitations, those in our mid twenties to mid thirties must decide which weddings we are going to go into debt for this year. Weddings can be a lot of fun, and are a great place to meet people, however here are 5 wedding traditions that need to go:

Speeches

“Hi, I’m Tiara, and I met Heidi when we were pledging Tri Delt – and here’s a completely irrelevant story that no one can relate to but us.”

NO ONE GIVES A SHIT.

I am a firm believer that you should only get up to make a speech if you are a public speaker, host, or entertainer. Otherwise, you most likely have no idea how to give a speech. It is a skillset. Listening to 5 or 6 people in the field of anywhere from personal training to accounting prattle on about how they know the bride and groom is a total drag. Let’s keep it short. Make a toast, and let’s get on with it.

Bridesmaid Dresses

They are expensive, they are most likely hideous, and you never wear them again. Also, they are uniform. What if I have armpit fat and a tube top style dress doesn’t really work for my body type? Why are we putting those closest and dearest to us through this emotional turmoil? How about a color scheme? i.e. all my bridesmaids please wear a version of said color. Look how lovely that looks:

The Bouquet Toss

If you think that catching a bouquet means that you are going to get married in the near future, you are going to end up with a lot of dried flowers on your dresser. You have probably caught it on more than one occasion. You are practically a goalie at this point. This nonsensical tradition encourages the profile of women as desperate, helpless creatures waiting to be saved by a man. Getting married is not something that “happens to us,” anymore. It is something that we choose, and it isn’t for everyone. Some of us want someone to sit next to until one of us dies, and others want to spend their Friday nights alone chugging down an entire bottle of wine, AND THERE IS NOTHING WRONG WITH THAT.

Sex on your Wedding Night

No one does it. Ok, maybe some people do, but they shouldn’t have to. “Sex on your Wedding Night” is a thing because it used to be the first time you were having sex. Literally, it was the reason you got married at 18, because you were desperately horny. Statistically, since most women have had sex with at least 3 other guys before their husbands (and if you live in a major city, it’s probably 3 times that); this implied convention needs to go. After standing at the altar, then having the first dance, followed by dinner, followed by more dancing, followed by cutting the cake and endless “CONGRATULATIONS!!!!” from every Tom, Dick, and Harry you have interacted with in your life, who has the energy for sex? Dust that heart of rose petals off the bed and PASS THE FUCK OUT.

The Groom arrives on a Horse/Elephant

What?! Ok, this only happens at Indian weddings, but it needs to go. Traditionally, in Indian villages the groom would roll up to the brides side of the family on a horse or elephant with his whole posse trailing behind to be like “aiight, this bitch is mine now.” He would see her for the first time, marry her and then take her back to his village. Fine, makes sense. (and if you happen to be in a village in India and are reading this, this does not apply to you.) But blocking off half of Chicago’s streets at 9am to dance around a horse does not make sense. Especially since you’ve been living together for the past three years. This is not India, and you are not a Maharaja. You are a consultant at Accenture. Get real. There is nothing sadder than a status-conscious Indian man who is riding a horse from the petting zoo into a suburban Ramada Inn with the swagger of Braveheart.

Los Angeles was the capital of sugar daddies for a very long time. Comprised of the most attractive girls from every high school in the country, Los Angeles has been the destination for women seeking financial reimbursement for their looks, either by the entertainment industry, or by a man that works in the entertainment industry.

I’ve never judged any woman for the latter. Whether you are voting for Hilary Clinton or not, the #1 thing many women look for in a mate is security. A woman pursuing a man for security is just the same as a man pursuing a woman for her looks. If the exchange they are after is mutual superficiality, who are we to judge? Let them have it.

However, it’s not so easy anymore. Being attractive in Los Angeles is not enough. The average actor, musician, or typical “LA GUY” which can range from “Holistic Health Consultant” to “Dog Psychiatrist” is far from ready to settle down.  Maybe they’ve realized they don’t really need to get married, that they can just move on from one gal to the next, as there is a constant influx of beautiful girls into the city every year. Or maybe it’s because it’s a city where youth is the valued currency over hard work and experience. The pressure to stay young and current can turn what would have been men into a sea of Peter Pans afraid of responsibility and commitment.

ENTER: SAN FRAN

San Francisco ranks at the top of the charts as the city with the largest number of mega wealthy individuals. In the arena of people looking for mates, there are significantly more men than women in San Francisco. There’s only one stipulation; these guys are nerds. But why is that bad? Why do we think of nerds as undesirable?

Let’s look at some of the pros of being with a nerd:

First off, they are loyal and family oriented. They are focused on their work and have no time to play the field, which means they are less likely to cheat. They’re more successful at a younger age, so you don’t even have to be with an old creep! They are also usually only good at one thing, their work. Which means, throw money into the equation and we’ve got…

RICH + NERD = LOTS OF MONEY AND NO IDEA HOW TO SPEND IT

What better than an attractive woman to come in and warm up his life a bit? Add some accent pillows to his drab ikea sofa, and give him something to show off. Balance each other out. You can help him with his social skills and he can help you read a book or two so when your looks begin to fade you will have actual interests. It’s a much better deal than being traded in for a younger model and thrown out on the street, the botox you are pumped with left as your only possession.

Think about it, would you rather be with an eventually out of work actor or someone who is building an empire that he wants to hand down to his family?So if you are still sitting around in your Los Angeles studio waiting for the California dreamboy to show up, maybe it’s time to consider making the move. After all, it’s still California.

I have never been intimidated by beauty. I am not a jealous person. I’ve always wanted to be the “friend.” Ya know, the funny friend of the most popular and prettiest girl in high school. I made it happen; my best friend in high school won best smile, best looking, best personality, etc. In retrospect it’s kind of fucking ridiculous that we even had those superlatives. We’re educating students in science and at the same time giving them awards for being the best looking thing science has produced? What kind of message does that send?

Anyway, over the years I have always gravitated towards extremely good looking women. Contrary to popular belief, it was fairly easy to become friends with them. As I got to know more of this advanced species, I realized something: BEAUTIFUL WOMEN HAVE NO FRIENDS. 7’s, sure, 8’s, yea a few, 9’s at least one, but every 10 I have ever met has had no close female friends. When you are better looking than every girl you have ever met it can put you in a very lonely and isolated position. Bitches be hatin’. You have to be a pretty secure person to hang out with someone that literally makes you invisible.

I started analyzing groups of female friends. Most groups of girlfriends are a similar level in looks. If most people are unattractive, few people are attractive, and almost no people are “HOLY SHIT I WOULD KILL MY FAMILY FOR A CHANCE TO SIT NEXT TO YOU” good looking. As one of those few people, what are the chances that you are going to find a group of cohorts to hang out with? Most people are going to be less attractive than you - and pissed about it. All it takes is to see someone ridiculous once, to lower your number on the attractive scale. When I lived in Maryland, I thought I was an 8. Then I moved to Los Angeles and became a 4.

I do think that beautiful people struggle with their own issues, as trivial as they may seem. Imagine being so insanely hot that it’s all anyone can focus on and they have to comment about it within moments of meeting you. It’s like being overly tall,

“WOW YOU ARE SO TALL!”

“Yeah, I know. I live in this body.”

Everyone feels comfortable commenting on a person’s height but the tall person feels like a freak. Being noticed only for your appearance, whether good or bad, can be quite annoying. I once took a beautiful friend to a girls night where she didn’t know anyone and people felt comfortable commenting about how attractive she was to her face. Even with the barrage of compliments, I could tell she felt embarrassed and uncomfortable. They continued to keep alluding to it and make assumptions about her the rest of the night. “Well, I’m sure you’ve never had any trouble with guys, there’s probably a line out the door for you.” It was everyone else’s insecurity that was isolating her.

Good looks can also be a crutch. You can rely on your looks to get by. You don’t really have to study that hard, or develop a strong personality in order to be adulated. Life is a joy ride until you start to get older. Your looks fade and you suddenly feel irrelevant. Looks have been your currency and your sense of self worth. Who are you now?

There is a price tag for everything in life. It sucks to be stereotyped. If you are shy people assume you’re a bitch and if you’re nice people call you fake. Either way, you are still hotter than all of us and we wish we were you.

One thing I always like to do on flights is get completely trashed. (I also like to do that every time I’m not on a flight.) I was flying home for Thanksgiving on United, the only airline I ever fly (if you don’t have a United Mileage Plus Credit Card, you don’t know what’s good for you), and I ordered a Chardonnay. They offer you a small bottle and a large bottle but I obviously took the small because I was afraid of being judged by the passengers sitting beside me. I figured I’d wait till they fell asleep and then order a second bottle, like a dignified air traveler. As soon as it arrived, I opened it and the plane suddenly jolted. Inadvertently, the guy next to me elbows my bottle and knocks it over. The rage I experienced was overwhelming. I could have killed him. I had to remind myself of Ferguson and how the punishment I felt this guy deserved did not actually fit the crime. As a loyal United flyer, I felt I was entitled to a replacement - at the very least. I pressed the flight attendant call button and explained what had happened and seething/cordially asked for another one. She had an extremely put off attitude and curtly told me (without even checking) that they were out of Chardonnay. YEAH RIGHT.

My distrust of flight attendants goes way back. The biggest disservice they have ever done is led me to believe that the blankets wrapped in plastic have been “freshly washed.” For years as I walked to my seat I would collect two or three blankets and then ask the flight attendant for more. I would make a tent for myself to live in for the next few hours. Then I would get off the plane and have the flu 8/10 times and have no idea why. YOU GUYS, THEY DO NOT WASH THE BLANKETS. People’s snot and drool are all over them and they re-wrap them in plastic for the next person to snot and drool in. In other words, my tent had AIDS.

Needless to say, I did not believe that they were out of Chardonnay. But how would I find out? The guy sitting next to me opened the door: “That’s so weird, you just ordered one two seconds ago, how can they already be out?” OK, SO HOW ABOUT THIS: “When the other stewardess comes by, you try an order a chardonnay from her and see what she says. I mean, what kind of plane runs out of wine? What am I supposed to do, read?” He gave me a strange look but was compliant.

“What would you like to drink, sir?”

“I’ll take a chardonnay.”

“I’m sorry, we actually just ran out.”

I was convinced they were lying. I was certain that they were partners in crime in some elaborate plot to keep me from my wine. I walked up and down the aisle to see how many other people had wine to see if it made sense for them to have run out. Then it dawned on me:

I AM A CRAZY ALCOHOLIC.

Ever since I started saying no to people my life has gotten better. I live by one policy: “If you don’t want to do something from your heart, don’t do it.” I have not held my boss’ new baby, declined to be a bridesmaid, and avoided birthday “weekends.” You would think this would have made me worse off, but my life has only improved.

THE OBLIGATION: “something by which a person is bound or obliged to do certain things, and which arises out of a sense of duty or results from custom, law, etc.” In other words, doing something because it’s “expected” of you. Who dictates what is expected of us? Other people just like us. Anything can be expected of anyone if you think about it. “I need help moving. You’re my FRIEND right, you should help me move.” “Yes I’m your FRIEND, that doesn’t enlist me to the same duties as a Russian immigrant with a box truck.” It’s up to us to set the boundaries for our own lives and required heavy lifting.

Don’t get me wrong; I do things for people. I’m not a piece of shit. If I was I wouldn’t have anyone in my life. I just do the things that I want to do.  It’s completely freeing. A friend told me about a friend of his that had two rules about friendship: “I don’t give rides to the airport and I will not help you move.” I thought that was brilliant. Basically, he doesn’t do the things that people force one another to do under the guise of “obligatory friendship duties.” Who even decided that was what it took to be a good friend? Asking someone to come help you pack dusty boxes and sneeze and sweat all day is like asking someone to come and clean your house after a wild party. It’s a ridiculous request.

I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with helping a friend in need if you have the time and ability, but needless to say, I jumped right on board with his policy. And surprisingly enough, I still have friends!! We make things out to be much worse in our heads than they actually are. More often than not, your lack of willingness to do something is met by a simple “Alright.” Any other reaction is a selfish entitlement. “That’s reasonable, I wouldn’t want to do that either, I get it.” That’s friendship.

Note: I also have my own policy about not going to baby showers. The “gifts” that people ask for is really pushing it. They don’t even feel nice to give. Diapers? Pacifiers? You made the decision to have a baby, not me. You don’t need a party, you need a trip to Rite Aid. Get that shit yourself.

GUILT: “a feeling of responsibility or remorse for some offense, crime, wrong, etc., whether real or imagined.” “Real or imagined.” If I murdered someone I would feel guilt, but not if I missed your party. That would fall under the “imagined” category. It’s not (always) personal; sometimes I just don’t want to sit in a crowded room with people I have nothing in common with. It’s like going to a sporting event of a game I know so little about, that I couldn’t possibly care.

It is an absolute wonder what your life can be if you eliminate guilt. It is worse to do something for someone that is insincere than to RSVP “not attending.”

“Wait, so you don’t do anything you don’t feel like doing?”

“You are never pressured into anything?”

“You only have people in your life that truly matter to you?”

“That sounds awful!”

It’s fucking fantastic.

While I was preparing to head home for the holidays this year I started thinking about my childhood, and realized that I had zero attachment to my childhood home. Sure, I had many experiences there. Birthday parties, looking for insects in the backyard, swinging with my sister like monkeys from the coat bar in the basement closet - but if my parents sold that house tomorrow, I would feel nothing. “Am I dead inside?” I thought.

My parents were immigrants, and like many immigrants they turned up wherever they could get a foot in the door. My father had gotten a job as an assistant professor at the University of Maryland, College Park. We lived in a sub development about half an hour from the campus called Silver Spring, on Blue Jay Lane, where every house looked exactly the same. One builder was contracted to build several homes on a lot of land, and the only artistic thing he did was make the stone that each house was built out of a slightly different color than the next, just enough so you didn’t walk into your neighbor’s house by accident. Nothing around except for similar neighborhoods built upon the same formula for miles. The Theatre? Museums? Colonial Architecture? That was all in Washington D.C., which was much too far of a drive. We did the White House tour whenever a relative would visit and that was about it. I started thinking about my memories, specifically my childhood memories. What are they? What has stuck?

My first trip to India and consecutive summers there. Being exposed to that chaotic, majestic place. Showering out of a bucket. Walking a mile to get milk from the milk lady who gave us jars of it, fresh from her cows. Making homemade ice cream with my cousins that had funny Indian accents. Wrapping myself in wet sheets and sleeping outside on the veranda because it was too hot to sleep inside after the monsoon, and that fresh smell of wet mud right after the rainstorm. I pushed a cow once for trying to steal some of my soda and a herd of people starting chasing after me screaming - that part wasn’t so great. I didn’t have any of my things from home except for a couple books. It was so simple, yet so fulfilling. Children are all the same, no matter where they are in the world and what they have, they will always figure out a way to play. I didn’t have an etch-a-sketch, so I drew in the dirt with a stick, AND IT WAS FINE. 

I remember when I went to France with my father on a business trip. I felt like I had never eaten food before and my entire existence was a complete sham. The first night we were there my mom was reluctant to stop at any restaurant without fully dissecting the menu because she wanted it to be the best meal of her life. She made us walk for hours and right when we were about to stop she saw something that looked “quite charming” at the top of a hill so we took all the energy we had left to climb to the top. We sat down and I proceeded to have the best French Onion Soup of my life. The Gruyere cheese had dripped around the side of the bowl to form a hardened cheese crust. I punctured it with my spoon and swallowed up chunks of warm French bread (FROM FRANCE! Do they just call it bread here?) soaked in rich, syrupy beef broth. And it was, the best meal of my life.

In comparison, growing up in a suburb community almost felt like growing up on a television set, but the crew was made up of landscapers who only showed up once every other week. It was a 4-bedroom house in a very safe neighborhood and I had my own room (even though my little sister slept with me most nights), but there was something eerie about it. I spent most weekends at the mall, as it was the only thing to do. I collected various junk from the local “Kids R Us” toy store and enough cheap clothes for an entire school grade of kids. It was the definition of consumerism, and I don’t remember any of it.

In my pseudo-adulthood, the most important thing to me is who’s in my house, not how big it is. I don’t understand the desire for a fancy car at this stage, socially. Cars are mobility, you use them to work and to see the people you love, not to impress them – I know that now. I value diversity, culture, and Malaysian food.

My mother called me this morning to tell me she found about 400 stuffed animals among other things in the basement that she has no idea what to do with. “How do you feel about me getting rid of all of your childhood things?”

Burn them. (No, give them to charity, of course. It’s just fun to declare the burning of things.)

My parents can move, the stuffed animals can be given away, but the property won’t be missed. I will never remember the year I got my Summertime Barbie, but I will never forget the day I tasted French Onion Soup.

When I open up my laptop with no other purpose than to check for the latest Facebook notification (which is more often than not an invite to play Candy Crush Saga), I sometimes long for the time when there was no internet. Of course, OF COURSE, I would never want to live without it, but allow me to indulge in nostalgia for a moment.

People used to need one another. There’s something unromantic about having access to an unlimited amount of information at a moments notice. In pre-internet days, if you wanted a pumpkin pie recipe, you had to meet someone that had a good pumpkin pie recipe, and then you had to strike up a friendship with them, feed their cat when they were out of town, allow their kids to sleepover at your house, all in hope that one fine day you would become close enough to score that little piece of paper that would have someone kissing your ass for it. Now, all you have to do is go to the food network app and choose amongst 800 pumpkin pie recipes, all fantastic.

I remember a feeling I haven’t had in decades. I remember having a question, the feeling of wanting to know something SO BAD. So bad that you would drive to the library, go to the Dewey decimal system, find the appropriate section, grab the book, sit down at one of the long tables as you SHUT THE FUCK UP and ferociously scanned for the answer. Ah, I found it!! “Sharks do not sleep, but they have rest periods where their brain is less active.” Ya know, like putting your phone in airplane mode. The gratification I felt! I earned my answer. These days I seem to look something up instantly and have forgotten it within the hour. It must be that I subconsciously know that if I forget it, I won’t have to drive back to the library, I’m just a click away.

I have been going to the gym for years, taking the same classes, seeing the same faces, yet I don’t know one person in the class. When there were no phones, people used to stand outside the exercise room and talk, because there was nothing else to do. Friendships blossomed. Workout buddies were found. Now if you strike up a conversation with someone it’s like “whoah hold on, don’t invade my space here, can’t you see I’m talking to my friends online??!!” Because that’s where friends live these days, inside iPhones. I don’t carry my phone to the gym, and as I’m walking there I find myself in some sort of video game dodging passerby’s who would run into me if I don’t jump out of the way. It’s a newfound loneliness. We’ve made it impossible to ever run into someone - we never even look up.

We’ve lost the ability to meet people in real life while gaining the ability to meet millions of people online, which has its pros and cons. You can meet someone whose world would have never crossed yours as well as ignore the perfect person on the elevator. Relationships become less meaningful. People are late because they don’t respect your time. “Flaking” never used to be a thing; we’ve had to invent a word to define our unreliability. If you said you were going to be somewhere, you were there. If you didn’t show up, people would assume you were in a car accident. There was no text to say “I’m running late” or “something came up.” The “text” is what gave people the ability to cancel on someone last minute without having to hear their voice. You don’t have to deal with the disappointment on the other end of the line - what FREEDOM! It makes every relationship more impersonal, therefore easier to compromise. All of a sudden everyone was flaking, all the time:

“hungover dude.”

“tired from yoga”

“my feet hurt from those heels last night.”

“ate too much at lunch, taking nap.”

You name it, it was an excuse to bail, and the best thing about it was that it was totally acceptable. Today, the “are we still on for ___?” text is the most common because now people assume someone wants to bail unless there is some sort of second confirmation. “Lets hang out ___” means nothing, it’s just a polite saying sans commitment.

Thanks to the internet, we finally have zero obligations to one another, which is both good and bad. It means that we never have to do things if we aren’t “feeling it,” but also that your weekend barbecue might just be you and 30 hamburgers.

Listen, everybody hates being alone, so let’s do our best to connect with each other.  Say thank you to the barista who hands you your coffee, take off your headphones when you are at the cash register, and FOR GOD’S SAKE LOOK UP. YOU ARE MISSING EVERYTHING.

A lot of propaganda has come out recently stereotyping men and making them look like monsters. As women, we don’t like to be generalized. Or am I generalizing by saying we all don’t like to be generalized? I guess it depends whether you are saying “all women are gods gift to mankind” or “all women are crazy.” We’ll take the former. However all women are not crazy, and all men are not rapists. 

If a man engages me outside of the workplace as I’m walking by, I usually smile or laugh and it doesn’t offend me. It makes me think of city life and street culture. If someone starts to follow me or touch me in any way, sure, I would then feel threatened. But to say "Hello" or a guy saying, “You look lovely today,” and calling that harassment, is something I can not get on board with. I am a woman and I have curves, but that doesn’t mean if someone acknowledges it in a polite manner I suddenly lose my ability to do calculus. It’s unrelated. Don’t strip me of my sexuality. Feminism was supposed to be about equal rights, not diagnosing every penis with ebola. 

The other day I was walking to my car and there were 5 guys of a certain race standing around it. One of the guys said “hey beautiful what’s your name?” I said “Monrok. I’m involved with someone but I appreciate the effort.” He laughed. I got into my car and drove away. Could I have felt threatened? Sure. However, feeling threatened is in my control. So is feeling insecure, feeling unattractive, and feeling jealous. I am in control of my feelings. Just because somebody talks to you and tries to engage you, doesn’t make them a threat. I have not been raped before, but I would assume rapists don’t open with “hey what’s your name how are you doing tonight?” That is a completely different situation and those men deserve to be dead or in jail for the rest of their lives.

A new, sometimes malicious wave of feminism has swept through society, which seems to be more anti-men than pro-equality. The Internet can be an incredibly toxic place where people feel free sharing and expressing judgment on things they don’t know anything about. We have to think about what we are sharing, what we are focusing on, and what our message is. Lets not fall into the trap the media has set up for us to generate clicks. Is sharing a video of guys talking to women on the street going to help us get equal pay? No, it’s not. Taking action will. Sharing that video and labeling seemingly innocuous greetings as "harassment" promotes fear of black and latino men. When you only share videos and articles labeling Muslims as terrorists, that sends a subliminal message to people that all Muslims are terrorists and we should fear them. I happen to have a lot of Muslim friends, and all of them are perfectly kind and respectful people. 

Lets stop sharing videos with the sole purpose of alienating each other. If we want to live in a society where men respect us we need start by acknowledging their best behavior. I would like to take the time to thank all the men out there that are doing the right thing:

Thank you to the men that are not intimidated by a woman’s intelligence.

Thank you to all the male comics that have treated me as an equal and happily shared the stage with me when I am the only woman on the show (99% of them).

Thank you to the actor Amir Talai who became the first openly male feminist I had ever met, well before it was even cool.

Thank you to the men that hold the door open for me when I have a bag full of groceries.

Thank you to the men that still offer to pay even though they don’t really have to.

Thank you to the men that approach you with charm and class.

Thank you to the men that have never sworn at a woman or let their temper get the best of them.

Thank you to my male friends for always noticing when I’ve blown out my hair or gotten a manicure and complimenting me on it.

Thank you to the men on the subway who get up to let a pregnant woman sit.

Thank you to my father for raising me to have self respect and integrity.

Thank you to my husband for constantly helping me out around the house and for helping with the dishes when they have become overwhelming.

Thank you to the gentlemen of the world.

Men can’t touch us. Men can’t approach us. Men can’t talk to us. It’s HARASSMENT. STOP HARASSING US. I SAID NO. LEAVE US ALONE.

I remember a day where a man could walk up to you on the street, comment on how beautiful he thought you were and ask for your number. It was flattering. It was charming. Oh my, I have a date!

When I was in college a guy followed me off the subway and said “This isn’t my stop but I had to talk to the girl with the bright toenail polish. What’s your name? You’re beautiful.” I blushed. He asked for my number. I gave it to him. We went out on a date. He picked me up. IN A PORSCHE. We had an incredible dinner. A great way to end this would be “5 years later we were married.” Although that did not happen, it was still a great time. I met someone new and interesting.

We now live in a culture where it takes an app to talk to someone standing in front of us. I can’t even remember the last time a man approached me. We say we want men, but we are gradually stripping men of the right to even talk to us, and we wonder why half of us are single. There is something innately New York about the “damn girl, what’s your name?” holler. Street guys in every culture do different versions of it all over the world. I don’t consider it anymore annoying than homeless people asking me for change or the 100 people a day that stop me to ask what my dog’s name is. “Her name is Kooks. Nope, she’s a girl. No she’s not a puppy, she’s 6 years old. Yup, just small for her breed!” LITERALLY 100 TIMES A DAY. At least you can ignore the street guys if you want and don’t feel pressured to engage in conversation.

I’m not saying these guys aren’t being gross or creepy in their approach or to go marry one of them. Sure, they are. Many others aren’t. Men are creatures of habit. They are followers. It’s a domino effect. This video only shows the guys being unclassy. How come these guys in the video are the ONLY ONES talking to her? What about all the classy guys? Where are they? How come they aren’t talking to us? Don't we want their attention? It all starts at the bottom. Some guys are always going to be gross, but let’s not let them give the nice ones a bad name and scare them off. By sharing this video that was possibly staged as they are asking for money for this "cause" on their website we are sending the wrong message to men. Men don’t watch this video and think “don’t harass women.” The message they get is “don’t talk to women you don’t know."

Let me share another story. One morning I was having breakfast at a cafe with a friend. I saw a guy that was exactly my type. I knew because of today's culture there was no way he was going to say anything to me, especially at 9:30 in the morning. After we left my friend went back and gave him my number. Although he never saw me he thought hey what the hell and took a chance and called. We met that night. And the following. We were an item for three years. 

The end of catcalls marks the end of a world where men can express interest in the opposite sex without being considered offensive. Currently in society men are literally afraid to talk to us. They can’t talk to us in the workplace, they are afraid to walk up to us in a bar, and they can’t talk to us on the street without being considered a weirdo. HOW THE HELL ARE WE SUPPOSED TO MEET MEN? Simple. In bed in our pajamas watching Netflix, right? Because that’s where we’re headed.

So the next time a man approaches you in a less intimidating manner and compliments you (albeit just superficially), maybe say thank you, or just keep walking.

I was at Trader Joe's in the chocolate covered whatever they decided to cover in chocolate this month aisle when I overheard this conversation:

“I mean I don’t know what to do. I’m 29 and he hasn’t proposed yet. What do I do? What if he never proposes and then I’ll be 30 and screwed. If I break it off now at least that would give me some time to find someone else.”

30. That final annual frontier in a woman’s life. Examining where society expects you to be vs. where you think you should be vs. where you are.

You should have kids by now.

I should be married by now.

I’m single. 

A few of my friends are married, many are single, and everyone is freaked out about it. Some women have a solid prerogative to be married by the age of 30. There is the “born bride.” This woman has one thing on her mind, and it sparkles. She already has her wedding dress picked out despite the fact she has no suitors. She knows exactly where it will be. “I’m going to have a destination wedding in Montana.” She wants a wedding and goddamn it she is going to get one at all costs. If she has to be a bridesmaid at 100 weddings, she will do it. The guy? He’s irrelevant. If you are willing to propose, she is going to say yes. It’s the event she’s after. The title of “wife.” The status of being “married,” and you bet she will update her Facebook status before the wedding has even ended. This woman feels that it is better to be with anybody than to be alone. She wants children. Marriage is a long and tough road so better to get some kids and take a chance on divorce than to end up with nothing.

Then there is the woman that is holding out for true love. She will take on her thirties single if no one came along earlier on. This woman wants to meet “the one.” She wants butterflies, to get lost in one another’s eyes or whatever the hell people do, and weekends away where you don’t leave the hotel room - the whole package.  She will hold out until she finds him. 33. 35. 37…just try her. She WILL NOT SETTLE, and yes, one day her perfect man could very likely show up and sweep her off her feet, or she could die trying. Either way, she would rather be alone than be with someone she doesn’t look forward to seeing at the end of the day. After all, isn’t that the point of marriage? Finding someone you love to spend the rest of your life with? She is a strong woman, completely self sufficient and independent. To her, marriage is a blessing in life, not a right. Or is it? Every year after 30 seems more difficult, she feels more undesirable, she has a newly found feeling of insecurity that has nothing to do with who she is. What is happening? Is it real? Or is she doing it to herself?

30 plays a huge role in the decisions we make as women, and in how we feel about ourselves. We can either fear it, or embrace it, the latter being a hundred times harder. It’s just one birthday. You get to be so many different ages, why is there such a huge emphasis on just this one? 

Even I fell victim to it. Allow me to share this excerpt from a notebook I used to write joke premises in, from late 2008:

“MONROK hates marriage, she will never get married, it’s a stupid contract between two people that means nothing but a tax break. What’s wrong with just being in a relationship with someone forever? You shouldn’t need a piece of paper to make it last, that’s so unromantic. If you really want to be with someone, just be with them. You don’t need a wedding to sit next to someone until one of you dies.”

So naturally, within 12 months of my 31st birthday, I was at the altar.  

Lots of things in life have a shelf life. Ballroom Dancers, Music Careers, and women. We expire at 35. At least, that’s what society tells us. So we better “have our shit figured out by then.”

It’s up to us to change this dated perception, because nobody is going to do it for us. I know it’s hard. It’s hard to look in the mirror and see frown lines suddenly appear between your brows and think “I AM SO ON BOARD WITH THIS!!!!” However constantly focusing on it and stressing out about it is only going to make it worse. If you don’t think your age is a big deal, no one else will. The bigger deal is who you are and what you know about yourself. I live in Los Angeles. It’s the only place in the world where the yoga instructors have plastic surgery. (THIS MAKES NO SENSE.) The power is in OUR hands. 30, 42, 53…these are just chapters that represent the fleeting time we have as tenants on this earth. If your life is a book and you’re flipping through it counting the chapters, you will have missed the whole story.

So the next time someone asks you your age, don’t be a baby – just say it. It’s time to flip the switch. A true man never asks a woman her age? No. A true woman shares her age when asked.

My name is MONROK, and I am 32 years old.

Here I am, in the middle of AAHS, shopping for a Halloween costume that I don’t want to wear. Under any other circumstances I would not be caught dead in a store like this. Why am I here? Because we live in an extended youth culture where people celebrate Halloween for WAY TOO LONG.

I remember Halloween as a kid. It was fun. My mom used to sew me costumes by hand until she had a second child, then she just told me to wear my Indian clothes and “tell people you’re Indian.” I decided that being Indian wasn’t enough of a costume so I would tell people I was Princess Jasmine. There was a PARADE. We had a half-day in school so we could prepare for “Trick or Treating,” which was a fat kids dream. I LOVED Halloween.

Then I grew up. Every year, I think this is going to be it, but I get invited to YET ANOTHER Halloween party, and sometimes multiple. People talking about what they’re going to “be” for months in advance. The dreaded question, “What are YOU going to be for Halloween?” I don’t know, myself? Where do I have to go? As what? Is there a costume for depression?

Halloween originated from the ancient Celtic holiday of Samhain (the end of the harvest in Gaelic culture.) They believed that on October 31st the living and dead would coexist, the dead coming back to life and getting craaaazy fuckin’ up yo crops. Costumes were worn to imitate the evil spirits and scare those fools off. How did we go from that to the endless amount of women using Halloween as an excuse to leave the house naked. Last time I checked, cats were not WHORES.

Every ethnic minority has its traditions. Indians have Holi, where you run outside of your house and throw colored water balloons at people, and Diwali, where you light up your house in the middle of October so you just look like an asshole that doesn’t know when Christmas is. Latinos have Cinco de Mayo, which is so fun that we stole it, often leaving the Mexicans as the only ones working that day.

I understand the US is a new country that doesn’t really have any culture or history. We often cling to arbitrary traditions like Super Bowl Sunday and St. Patricks Day as a way to bond with our fellow American. They can’t be religious because the US is a melting pot, so it has to be something that everyone can celebrate, collectively. But Halloween? Don’t get me wrong, if you are in your twenties, have at it, but leaving the house dressed as Harry Potter after the age of 30 is a little embarrassing. Guys, Halloween is for CHILDREN. If you have kids, totally makes sense. If you’re the age of someone that could have kids, but are single, that doesn’t mean you should throw on a tutu and go get shitfaced.

I’ve decided that this year I’m protesting. I’m not leaving the house because I’m a grown-up and I don’t have to. I’m officially done with Halloween.