Why Can't We Be Friends?

When my husband J. and I were dating, he had a great friendship with a single, female co-worker, a woman I liked very much and never thought of as threatening. I also had several good male friends at the time, and one of them routinely hung out with me to watch "Party of Five" or just gab over dinner. If J. thought that was a problem, he never said anything — and he isn't really the type to brood quietly. Come to think of it, we both still have pals of the opposite sex, and our basic attitude remains, "Whatever."

According to comedian Steve Harvey, now a relationship expert/correspondent for "Good Morning America," we are idiots. He is of the opinion that these "outside relationships" are nothing but trouble, and that men and women can't be friends. Period. Occasionally, I've worked with guys who've said that their wives/significant others would not be happy to see them having lunch or coffee (in broad daylight) with a female colleague, and that baffles me. I mean, I think my husband is sexy and fun to be with, but I don't assume that the other women in his life are all trying to get in his boxer briefs. Plus, I'd like to give him a little credit for having these things called boundaries and self-control (Unless the friend in question is Mila Kunis, in which case I've been warned that things could get murky.)

I've always thought that friendship is a form of attraction, and obviously, there are relationships between married people and their "friends" of the opposite sex that end up on a mattress (Hello, Gov. Sanford!). But that doesn't just happen out of the blue, either. Assuming that a) the spouse isn't a lying asshole; b) the marriage isn't already in trouble; c) s/he is conducting the friendship in a respectful, open way; and d) the parties involved aren't fooling themselves about their feelings, I can't buy Harvey's theory. I've known too many great guys to believe that they see women only as potential conquests. When I went through a crummy breakup in college, one of the first people I called was my childhood friend, B., who gave me the kind of no-bullshit analysis men are so good at ("Move on; he has.") We've been friends for more than 30 years and we adore each other's spouses — and we are so not interested in each other that way.

However, if you spot J. having a drink with Mila Kunis, a heads-up would be nice.

Seriously. Enough.

I realize that vampires had their fans long before "Twilight," and if I owned a store with any vampire-themed wares, I'd be promoting the heck out of them right now. I totally get it. OK?

But when I walked into Borders this weekend and saw a huge display dedicated to the Gen Y vampires of "Twilight," "Blue Bloods," etc., I was overcome with exhaustion. Maybe it's because, for the umpteenth time this year, the cover of my beloved Entertainment Weekly is devoted to some permutation of the "Twilight" saga — this time, the "New Moon" sequel. Or maybe it's because I can't walk through a checkout aisle without a publication telling me that Robert Pattinson (Edward) and Kristen Stewart (Bella) are in love/breaking up/just pals/totally doing it. And didn't I just see a commercial for the CW's new teen drama "The Vampire Diaries?"

Again, I understand that Stephanie Meyer is but one of several writers who happened to write a series of books about vampires. Hers is the biggest, and she's certainly doing her part to help keep food on booksellers' tables. (And to be fair, when the "Harry Potter" books were at their peak, bookstores were pimping every children's series that looked like JK Rowling might have had something to do with it). "New Moon" will probably be a huge hit this fall, and as I've admitted, I haven't exactly been immune to Pattinson's charms as Edward Cullen. HBO's "True Blood" seems like the kind of show I would love, and I'm looking forward to renting the DVDs and getting acclimated. But for the love of God. I feel we're at the beginning some cosmic shark-jumping moment that will end in a Disney vampire musical featuring songs by Demi Lovato.

I've Got Your Soul Mate

South Carolina Gov. Mark Sanford can't seem to stop talking about Argentina Maria's whip appeal, even though his wife and kids might not welcome the information. I particularly loved his assessment of the situation as a tragic love story, which is not surprising considering that he actually referenced "The Thornbirds" in his goopy mash notes. And how nice of him to say that he would try to fall back in love with his wife even though Maria is his "soul mate."

I'd like to suggest the following for Merriem-Webster:

soul⋅mate
   Pronunciation [sōl-māt]
–noun
1. a romantic partner, usually brand-new, who has not yet been seen in ratty sweats while folding laundry or making annoying throat-clearing noises.
2. an idealized person experienced only in candlelight, high thread-count sheets and swooning emails, far, far away from the daily drudgery of child-rearing and bill-paying.
3. a person who "gets" you, despite not having seen the real you — good, bad and really ugly.

I consider myself a romantic person, and I don't begrudge anyone the magical experience of falling in love. Marriage is hard, and not everybody needs to stay married. Shit happens. What I don't understand is why the governor seems so invested in defending his actions instead of repairing the damage he's done to his family or moving on with what's left of his dignity. If Sanford wants to get a divorce and split for bliss in Argentina, then he needs to do it like a man and accept the consequences — one of which is probably his kids thinking he's a self-absorbed asshat.

On the other hand, he has a real potential as a writer of romance novels.