On Nostalgia and a Pet Peeve I'm Probably Not Entitled to Have

I have a pet peeve.

Well, I have many, and they include wrapping oneself around a pole on a crowded subway train, the concept of multiple lines gone awry at Duane Reade, and guys referring to each other as "bro." But I have another one.

I'm the first to admit that, being neither married nor in possession of children who burst forth from my womb, I may not be the best authority on this. I first witnessed it during those long, dark days during which I was employed at iVillain, uh, I mean iVillage. My job was all about writing promos, and when I was struggling with one, I'd often turn to the message boards on the site to see what the discussion was around that topic so I could cater my promo to the needs and desires of the audience. Usually, where I struggled was with parenting topics.

So many of the women discussing parenting topics on the message boards would have membernames such as; tommysmommy, beckysmom, momtomanny, dannyswife, mrsbloomfield. It bugged me, and I hate to get all Women's Studies on y'all, but it bugged me because I was like, "Don't you have a name? An identity that exists outside of motherhood and marriage?"

Fast-forward to last night, when I had one of those "let me look up everyone I've ever known on MySpace and see what they're up to" nights. And I found an old college pal, who was a hardcore party girl, a giant pain in the ass, and a very good friend. Her MySpace url is myspace.com/mrs[insert husbands last name] and her title is "[Insert baby's name]'s Mommy." We fell out of touch a long time ago, and had a falling out of epic proportions, but I'm still happy for her that she's married and has a baby and is presumably happy. I don't know. I guess I just wish she were still "Maria," too.