Ever Tuesday

Serious Stuff

2010-06-15T21:59:00.000-07:00

Wow, I have seriously been neglecting this blog lately. Just a little too much going on in the everyday, workaday world. But I'm starting to get my creative on again.

You know, sex scenes are not easy to write. I mean, you can get all caught up in the moment, but then you have to stop and think about where to put the hands, and what's going on with the breathing, and ...WTF...is there talking? And if so, what are they saying? And...if you want it to be real, exactly how realistic do you make it? I mean, there must be a happy medium somewhere between a letter to Penthouse, a Cosmo article, and the blurry euphamisms in your typical romance novel.

I know, I know - some people sweat their dialog, want to know if it's believable. I'm all about the sex. Big surprise there. It does make a nice counterpoint to the work projects, cleaning the house, painting the bathrooms, and paying the bills. (What about the breathing? And is there talking?)

Wait in the Van: Even A Monkey's Lungs Seemed Safer. And More Homey.

2010-01-26T20:29:00.000-08:00

Holy Cow -- totally classic. At least, it is if you're a mom and you're pretty much done with George. I want more...

Wait in the Van: Even A Monkey's Lungs Seemed Safer. And More Homey.

No one knows her, but Dar Williams rules...

2010-01-25T21:36:00.000-08:00

I've had this song on the brain all day...

How I long to fall, just a little bit
To dance out of the lights and
to stray from the light
But I fear that to fall in love with you
is to fall from a great
and gruesome height.
So you know I asked a friend about it
on a bad day, her husband had just left her
and she sat down on the chair he'd left behind
she said, "What is love? Where did it get me?
Whoever thought of love is no friend of mine."

Once I had everything - I gave it up
for the shoulder of a driveway and
the words I never felt
But for you, I came this far
across the tracks
10 miles above the limit and with no seatbelt,
and I'd do it again
For tonight I went running
through the screen doors of discretion
when I woke up from a nightmare
that I could not bear to see
You were wandering out on the hills of Iowa
and you were not thinking of me

A Great Start!

2010-01-01T14:56:00.001-08:00

Whoohoo, no hangover -- starting 2010 on the right foot!

Now let's see what else I can accomplish today....

Never Enough Time

2009-12-31T12:01:00.001-08:00

Where did 2009 go?

Not that I'm sorry it's over -- I don't think there are very many people who are sad to see the backside of this year. But this year has flown by on supersonic wings. Especially the last two months, which seem to have lasted about two weeks!

When I lost my job, I thought I'd take advantage of the extra time to focus on some pet personal projects that have been on my mind and my "bucket list" but that I never seemed to have time to complete. Working on my book, organizing the house & garage and clearing out 3 years of accumulated junk, creating my new website -- and of course, working on my resume, my personal marketing plan and my job search. I don't know WHY it didn't all get done in 60 days!

Now I'm facing several job offers at the beginning of January and the reality of going back to work full time, and I'm starting to have a panic attack that it hasn't been long enough. Which then makes me incredibly guilty to feel this way at the moment, because really, who complains about job offers in a difficult market? But I AM questioning whether going back to work for someone else is really the right thing to do. What if I only need a few more months to make some great things happen on my own? On the other hand, a challenging career working for a company that will give me a lot of control and a lot of discretionary income is also highly satisfying and....what's that word? Oh, yeah...safe.

One thing I do know is that I'm determined that 2010 will be a much better, much different year than 2009. I took some baby steps this year that I intend to turn into fearless leaps -- no matter how terrifying or difficult. I'm afraid I don't believe that the meek will inherit the earth. Or perhaps it's just that I don't believe I should sit around waiting for an inheritance.

And I believe in the power of specific goals. So here are some of mine for next year:

1. Accept a lucrative, flexible job offer or produce consulting income no later than February 1st.
2. Submit Twelve Months to SVWC in May. Finish book in 2010.
3. Resolve relationship paralysis.
4. Pitch the Berkeley book to a cable network as a mini-series.
5. Launch portal site.
6. Run 2 half marathons and possibly one marathon (gulp).
7. Get my financial house in order.

OK, those are the SERIOUS things. But there are also some fun things I want to be sure I do:

1. Host a Passion Party.
2. Go to Disneyland. Or maybe on a Disney cruise. I realize I'm a nerd here, but I don't care.
3. Canyon Ranch. And regular spa days.
4. Take a 12-week workout class with my scary-fit friend(s). Do the Wii Fit.
5. Research the silly wine idea. Include at least one Napa trip.
6. Bowling.
7. Lunch/drinks with my fabulous friends.
8. Vegas, baby.
9. Sex, for the love of god. (Now, why did I think of this last??? Have I not learned??)

I'm sure there's more. There's always more. But I'm feeling up to the challenge.

Gotta Love It

2009-12-27T19:39:00.000-08:00

Courtesy of the three year old:

On the fifth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me:

Five gold wigs,

Four collic birds,

Three Frenchmen,

Two Turtle bugs,

and a Padre in a Pierre tree.

Gotta love it.

Show Up At The Page

2009-12-13T21:35:00.001-08:00

Now that I have two kids, I'm really understanding the whole "room of one's own" thing in a visceral way.

But I'm also learning that if things aren't going the way I want them to, I usually have only myself to blame. Laziness and procrastination are easy drinking buddies, but they leave behind a nasty hangover. I can't call myself a writer if I don't write, the bills won't pay themselves, and if I'm not being treated the way I want then I better fix the circumstances and the terms, because no one else will.

Sometimes I just have to kick my own ass. I hate that.

New Starts

2009-12-08T09:35:00.000-08:00

I've been neglecting my blog lately.

I experienced what a lot of my clients have gone through when I was unexpectedly fired from my job (unfairly, of course - doesn't that go without saying). So on top of everything else I've been working through, I had to get through that too. However, I think I've come to conclusion that maybe in order to get through my paralysis, ALL of the crap in my life needed to be torn down, swept off, pulverized, and otherwise gotten out of the way. I just hadn't realized that included my job!

2010 will be the year of moving forward.

It's funny, but after I got past the anger over the details of my situation, I started to realize that leaving that way actually created a gateway for me to get to what I really want to be doing with my time, my energy, and my focus going forward. So I've been working on the book - which is getting stronger every day. I've been working on the plan for a website, which is bringing a lot of excitement when I share the idea. I've been facilitating some really interesting discussions around an entrepreneurial venture. I've been working on several consulting projects, which are bringing in enough money. I'm running on a regular basis, and I'm registered for some big races next year, which is a huge step for me. And I've actually got the time and the equilibrium to think about resolving my personal life, instead of sweeping it under the rug and thinking I'll just deal with it later.

And my office is organized, the house is clean, and the laundry is done, all at the same time, for the first time since we've lived here.

When I had to transition from my corporate email back to my personal after seven years, I was reminded that Leap and the net will appear was my motto. I think it particularly apt for 2010.

Where's the vodka?

2009-11-01T22:40:00.000-08:00

I like to think I'm a pretty resilient person.

As crazy as things may get around me, I've always been able to look at the situation and try to figure out what I need to learn, or what I need to teach, and thank god, I have a pretty well developed sense of humor. But for the first time in a long time, I'm really feeling like I'm a bit overwhelmed this week, like maybe I just don't know where the safe landing is. I'm not sure I can take one more damn thing.

At least I have unbelievably great friends.

Friday Nights

2009-10-16T21:47:00.000-07:00

Half the time the world is ending
Truth is I am done pretending
I never thought that I
had any more to give
You're pushing me so far,
here I am without you
Drink, to all that we have lost
Mistakes we have made
Everything will change
Love remains the same.

Gwen Stefani I can live without, but Gavin Rossdale I like. And somehow these lyrics seemed quite apt, tonight.

Golden

2009-10-11T19:17:00.001-07:00

If I could just have at least one weekend like this every month.

This weekend, unexpectedly, turned into the perfect storm of just what I needed to recoup and energize after several weeks/months of bad juju. My girls spent the weekend with their aunt, and my husband flew out of town for a conference, so Friday night was spent downtown having some creative time with four really good friends and some Justin pinot, which resulted in a really BIG business idea involving box wine (don't ask), a couple of possible jobs, and laughing until my sides hurt. Not to mention the cheddar and butter orgy - but some things should just be left unsaid.

Saturday morning I went back to my old stomping grounds in Newport Beach, and ran six miles, half on the boardwalk and then back again on the sand. It was one of those absolutely perfect days -- crisp and sunny, with no one on the beach. I stopped at the old house, but no one was home. It felt so good to be there, like a homecoming, and I realized I hadn't been back for at least 2-3 years. Lots and lots of renovations going on -- one of these days I'll have to figure out how to finagle a house there.

After my run I headed for the hills and the house of my best friends and surrogate family. We sat in the jacuzzi, drank champagne, and took turns getting a massage from a guy who used to work for Two Bunch Palms. On the whole, it probably ranks up there with one of the best afternoons of my life! And then we got dressed and took four teenagers to see Spamalot -- not as funny as the movie, but a surreal deja vu experience to hear the four next to us quoting lines that WE were quoting at sixteen too. Maybe 40 is really the new 16? We came back and got out old photo albums from when we were all in college together and told old stories about people we haven't seen since, which was hysterical and bittersweet at the same time -- and then watched Heathers, which I don't think I've seen or thought of for at least 15 years. A fabulously evil movie -- found myself shouting the lines out in each scene, and all of us laughing until we cried. It made me remember what it's like to be around people who get everything about you, who not only appreciate but celebrate the fundamental elements of your life and perspective. It also made me think I may have to relocate to OC at some point so I can have that in my life again on a regular basis.

Or maybe I wouldn't appreciate it so much if I did.

Seriously?

2009-10-08T21:56:00.000-07:00

Forget the pre-relationship credit check.

There are only two things you need to find out about someone before you marry them:

1. How do they handle packing for a trip? and
2. How do they handle filing their taxes?

In other words, if: (a) they run through the house frantically searching for things like a madperson while yelling at you 20 minutes before you have to leave for the airport, and (b) they consistently file for an extension, put off meeting with the accountant, and then lose the folder with all of your tax receipts, 1098s and 1099s -- RUN AWAY. Believe me, your life will be far, far better if you do.

Not that I'm speaking from experience or anything. Just a hunch.

Progress

2009-09-27T11:58:00.000-07:00

It's Sunday morning around 10:00am, and I'm skipping church and writing porn. Gotta love it!

Ok, I'm not REALLY writing porn. I'm writing down a dream I had - which thank god was much better than the last dream I had where every dysfunctional couple I've ever known in my life got back together and it felt like I was running through the dream yelling, "NOOOOOO..." endlessly -- and working on my novel, which needs to have porn so it can be excerpted in Cosmo (except I swear I'm not going to stop my sex scenes and have the main character moan, "...do you have a condom?" Yes, yes, I'm all for safe sex but seriously???).

Was that the longest run-on sentence ever?

I guess that 100 days must be paying off. My subconscious has obviously decided that if I can't have real sex in my life, it will at least give me some really good dream sex. Which gave me some great motivation this morning to go for a 6 mile run. Can we say...sublimation? Plus, I noticed this morning (sex on the brain) that my local grocery store sells Astroglide -- who knew? Score! And then I figured out yet another piece of the puzzle that is my novel (if not the puzzle that is my life), so I'm feeling pretty good about TODAY. I'll just be Scarlett for a while and worry about everything else tomorrow.

Enough with the negativity

2009-09-25T16:07:00.001-07:00

I have to admit I've been somewhat depressed recently, for a number of reasons. But I got an interesting email today, and I'm plagiarizing it because it made me think about things in a slightly different vein. Which is a good thing. So I thought I'd share:

What will you do with the next 100 days?

Tuesday actually marked the final 100 days of 2009. And Jian Ghomeshi from CBC radio challenged listeners to do something with those 100 days.

He suggested maybe writing a hundred pages of that novel you’ve wanted to write, or doing 100 push-ups every day for the next 100 days, etc. I love this idea because it gives you a simple and focused way to achieve a goal. What would it mean for your professional success, if for the next 100 days you:
Contacted one new potential client each day, or
Wrote a blog post on your business website each day, or
Networked with one new person on your favorite social media site each day, or
Performed a writing exercise each day, or
Added a new page to your money-making website each day?

Whatever you choose, doing it 100 times, day after day, could have a profound impact on your business this year. Not to mention propel you forward that much faster towards success in 2010.

So of course they are focused on business, and that could be very powerful. But what if you took a more holistic approach? What could you do for the next 100 days that would make you HAPPIER, as well as more successful?

You could:

Do SOME form of exercise every day (at least walk)
Talk to one good friend
Drink one glass of really good wine
Do one thing that is entirely selfish
Do one thing that is entirely unselfish
Write down one thing you're grateful for
Think about something you love for 5 minutes
Think creatively about how to address one thing that bugs you

Who knows where this could lead?

Happiness is...what, exactly?

2009-08-31T21:02:00.001-07:00

And just when I'm feeling all cocky, like maybe things are turning around and going in the direction I'd like them to for once, life comes along and gives me a nice little smackdown.

If you asked me, I wouldn't say that I'm a sucker for punishment. I don't think I'm needy or have self esteem issues. Maybe it's some kind of genetic defect that ensures that I will fall hard for the wrong men, and then stick it out and hope that I'm wrong long past the point that a smart person would have run screaming for the lifeboats.

Stupid is as stupid does, and man, I feel stupid this week. I got a multiple whammy, and I don't even want to talk about some of it - THAT's how stupid I feel. Not fun. Just lying here, contemplating the ceiling and doing a little re-evaluating of everything while I'm metaphorically flat on my ass.

So just a little taste of what I'm dealing with - just one small thing. There are several others, but like I said, I'm not going there at the moment. Maybe later.

We've had this little tax issue with my husband's company for the last 3 years (yes, 3), in which the govt claims that they haven't paid them any withholding, and they claim they have, and we go around in circles, and my husband says he'll take care of it, and I believe him. Until today, when I got a notice from my company that my wages have been garnished to pay for his tax bill. MINE. Not his. I'm the wordsmith, so what's the right phrase for this situation? Oh, that's right -- FUCK that noise.

Why have I put up with this, you might ask (along with the other stuff)? And the answer is....I don't know. Seriously. I don't know. I know that if the shoe was on the other foot, I would have had my ass kicked down the street by now. But noooo, I always have to be the nice one. Well, I'm not feeling nice.

It's a good thing I'm running the half marathon this weekend. I'm really, really not feeling particularly fond of men at the moment. Nope, not feeling the love.

Curiouser and curiouser...

2009-08-16T20:21:00.000-07:00

The last couple of weeks have been a lesson in focus, serendipity and putting things out to the universe.

I spent five days in Canyon Ranch with a group of really motivated, intelligent, interesting women. We worked out, hiked, talked, were scrubbed and massaged, sat by the pool, cooked, ate, and generally detoxed and relaxed. While we were there, we all went out on the night of the full moon to walk the labrynth. We also had a charm to leave there, signifying something to accomplish and something to leave behind this year. Mine was a silver heart - signifying that I'd like to figure out where to go with my personal life, and to leave the anxiety about my professional life behind.

Eventually, we had to leave paradise for the real world, which is always an adjustment. But this week has been very interesting...

Because of a conversation with one of my customers about change management, I was introduced to a woman who has created a "mental fitness" training program. Because of my lunch with her, I was introduced to the COO of a Scottish total lifestyle training company who likes my background. Because of a conversation about eLearning with an exec in my company, I'm now on a rotational action team with national exposure. Because of a random conversation about the difference one year can make, and the effect of playing the "what if?" game, I was introduced to a publisher from Penguin who wants my book outline.

I may not have figured out what the heck to do about my personal life yet, but at least I can say that things are happening on the career front -- and for the first time in a long time I'm really optimistic. And a little nervous, since I suddenly need to get serious about putting my money where my mouth (or my writing) is.

Carpe diem.

Summer Days

2009-07-18T22:12:00.000-07:00

I'm having a sensory memory right now.

I just came downstairs from putting the girls to bed, and the whole house smells like wildfire. It dropped me straight into the fires from two years ago -- I immediately had to go out in front and then out in back to see if there's a telltale glow in the hills or on the horizon anywhere. Nothing is visible, so I hope it's just a bunch of outdoor fireplaces. I REALLY don't want to pack up the house and evacuate again...

There are days I truly love being a mom. Today was one. I got up early to run/hike with a friend of mine, and it was absolutely gorgeous. But you could tell it was going to be a scorcher - at 8:00am down by the ocean it was totally clear, sunny, and HOT. So when I came home, I said to hell with the housework and took the girls to the playground with the waterpark sprinklers (since we don't have a pool, like I grew up with), and we ran around for the next few hours. When they got hungry, we came home for lunch, and I set up beds in their fort outside, and they both fell asleep there for several hours. It was a very peaceful day -- the kind of day you're supposed to have when you're a kid during the summer.

When I was little, my two best friends (next door and across the street) and I all had pools in our backyards. When you live in a place that hits 115 in the summer, a pool is a critical accessory. We would spend every day (and night) during the summer traipsing from one backyard to the next, swimming in the morning at Lori's, in the afternoon at Becky's and at night at my house, depending on how the fancy struck us (or how our parent's respective patience levels might be). By 10:00pm, we were exhausted little mole children, completely blind from the amount of chlorine our eyes had endured. The three of us would crash at someone's house, and get up in the morning to do it all again. We didn't have "play dates" -- we were more like a pack of puppies.

I miss that.

Keep Moving

2009-06-28T21:03:00.000-07:00

Today's quote of the day was so good, I needed to immortalize it.

One day Alice came to a fork in the road and saw a Cheshire cat in a tree. "Which road do I take?" she asked. "Where do you want to go?" was his response. "I don't know," Alice answered. "Then," said the cat, "it doesn't matter." – Lewis Carroll (1832-1898)

I spent the entire day today fighting the urge to get in my car and drive until the road ran out. I've never been addicted to anything, but I think I understood today what people who are fighting an addiction feel. I just wanted to leave everything in place, get in the car, drive somewhere, and start over from scratch.

It's not like anything horrible happened today. It was a gorgeous day. But I had 5 loads of laundry to do, and the bills to pay, and the kitchen to clean, and baths to give, and church, and and and. Some days I think I have meaningful work in me, but there's just so much stuff that gets in the way. And suddenly I find myself sitting on the wall in the backyard, looking over the hills and wondering how far would be far enough.

I think it's a good thing I'm giving my alter-ego a road trip; my subconscious is stuck in craving mode.

Vicarious Sex

2009-06-22T22:28:00.000-07:00

I just liked the title.

I think I'm going about this all wrong. Since my day job/real life is just not all that and a game of hide the biscuit at the moment, I really need to get off my ass and start living vicariously through my characters. Fuck real life. My heroine has needs, damn it! At the moment, she needs:

To get laid so I can write some hot sex scenes (has anyone read Cosmo lately -- good god, I'm not letting my daughters touch that until they graduate college/birth their first child - no wonder they now have Teen Cosmo, which probably thinks only talking about the J's is appropriate for that age group);
A really good stripper name (and a club, for that matter);
Some snappy dialogue/soliloquies;
A kick ass masseur; and
A three-book deal and an HBO miniseries...

Not that I'm projecting or anything.

And why is it that when I get on a perfectly good writing kick for one project, the idea for another, totally unrelated one blossoms in my brain and demands immediate attention, like a three-year-old whose mom is on the phone? I need that thing (I can't remember what it's called at the moment) that Dumbledore has in his office into which he deposits his memories/thoughts to create additional space. Where can I get one?

It is increasingly apparent to me that I will just need to create my own version of reality.

Inertia

2009-06-15T22:20:00.000-07:00

We walked down the street tonight after dinner and shared a bottle of wine with our neighbors, while the kids played in their living room. They have the same model of house as we do, so we talked a lot about the landscaping and the decor and what we liked about the neighborhood, and it was a very pleasant night.

And the whole time I was sitting there thinking, you know, to the outside world we probably seem like a really nice, happy couple. No issues. Great kids. Except that we'll go home tonight and put the kids to bed and revert back to our usual roommate personas - I'll clean the kitchen, he'll fall asleep on the couch watching the war channel and then we'll both end up in separate bedrooms to sleep the rest of the night. Remind me why I want this?

I think what I'm most afraid of is the fact that when we're not fighting, the inertia of every day life will make me forget that this isn't the way things should be --we're not 70 years old, for god's sake, I shouldn't have to go without sex or getting anything back for the rest of my natural life for no apparent reason. I don't want to rub my eyes 5 years from now and think, wow, you traded passion and interest because...you liked the neighbors? Your backyard was just perfect? WTF? I know those women; they're not fun to be around. I don't want to be one.

But where do you draw the line between unsatisfied and miserable? I'm not miserable. I just have the nagging feeling that even if I spent the rest of my life alone, it would be more satisfying in the long run than this is. Except that I don't know if that's the case with my kids. Which is why I'll keep putting off a decision until I'm sure one way or the other. I'm just not sure what it's doing to my self respect.

There are some days I wish I was fearless.

Harder than it looks

2009-06-08T09:03:00.000-07:00

Take what you want, and pay for it, says God.

On my vacation last week, I read what might make the short list of my favorite books of all time: The Likeness, by Tana French. In it, one of the main characters has an excellent, insightful soliloqy around the fact that despite the elegant simplicity of this saying (i.e., there is a price for everything, accept that, and pay it) we have all managed to overlook the second clause. We want what we want, but we're outraged when anyone, ever, mentions that the bill must be paid.

For me, that was a timely reminder. Perhaps I've spent too much time over the last year getting myself knotted up about managing to have absolutely everything I want (satisfying career, happy family, effective writing, productive alone time, enough money, workout/running time, interesting vacations, fabulous sex life/terrific relationship, etc) without having to pay for anything.

It's all about the consequences. You CAN have what you want -- just know what the price is, and whether you're willing to pay it. Is it worth it? Where does it fit in the grand scheme of things? Do you have to have it RIGHT THIS MINUTE? Instant gratification has become so easily achieved.

If only the consequences were immediately apparent - it would make prioritizing so much easier.

Motiv...Vac...Damn...Ation

2009-05-19T21:49:00.000-07:00

It's the end of May and I haven't written jack this month. Nothing on my blog, nothing on my novel...one big fat goose egg.

I HAVE been running, and I have been productive, so the month isn't a total loss, but still. WTF? I usually have so much to think about/write that if I don't get it out of my head I can't go to sleep and I'm afraid I'll explode. This month? Nada. Maybe this is writer's block?

Maybe it's because next week I'm taking my bikinis and my sunscreen and my clean, virgin notebook and pens and other assorted goodies on the plane to my solo vacation. I'm petrified that I'm going to be punished karmically for this. If the plane crashes, there won't be anything to publish posthumously. Just this blog. Maybe I should quickly start a blog of all my writing instead? How much could I fill in between now and next Tuesday? Maybe I'll work on that this weekend instead of my abs! (Which is better for posterity?)

Philistines everywhere, unite

2009-04-30T22:25:00.000-07:00

I am tired and hungry and haven't had nearly enough (read, ANY) wine this evening. But this might possibly be the best website ever.

Check it out when you need a pick-me-up:

www.museumofbadart.org

That's all for now.

Easter

2009-04-12T22:00:00.000-07:00

Hold to the truth, and the truth shall set you free.

Which is true, of course, but how come the truth always has to get mixed up in all sorts of other things, so that it's either hard to recognize or difficult to act on? Or both.

Nothing worth having ever comes free & clear, but what if you're struggling with what is worth having? Maybe this is my own version of ADD. Why is it so hard to be good?

I'm not a cougar, but I play one on tv...

2009-04-07T21:31:00.000-07:00

I saw this today on a totally unrelated post, and I just couldn't stop laughing.

I'm not real keen on the whole cougar concept. Although I have to admit, it could probably be worse. Hyenas, for example. Or armadillos. And absolutely no one wants to be a snapping turtle...you get the picture.

Personally, I think we all need to stop lying about being younger than we are, and go as far as possible in the opposite direction. Yes, in fact, I look AMAZING for 62!

Of course, one does run the risk that someone will actually believe that you are, in fact, 62. Oops.

So...about that vacation

2009-03-30T22:31:00.001-07:00

How guilty do I have to feel about taking a vacation that probably ought to be a romantic trip...except it's with one of my friends instead of my husband?

I think if we were doing well I wouldn't be so conflicted about this. Well, maybe I would because that's just what I do. But I have been on the website all evening, just...lusting...(there's no other word for it)...after the resort and the beach and the potential experience. Oh, BodyHoliday, I must have you!

A long-standing friend of mine with who got me addicted to Canyon Ranch is now trying to corrupt me...I mean persuade me to go with her earlier this summer to Body Holiday in St. Lucia. This place is unbelievable -- it's gorgeous, you can work out, go to the beach, get a massage, drink high-end liquor, and generally be as healthy/active or as indulgent/slug-like as you want in a totally hedonistic environment. No kids.

Can I repeat that - no kids.

I want to go. But I'm having trouble justifying this. Maybe because I'm going to Canyon Ranch in August, and the idea of two spa vacations in one year is just the tiniest bit hyper-indulgent, even for me. Maybe because I'm feeling like I'm selfish for wanting this trip for myself alone -- even though my husband is going to his reunions, to Cabo, and to Denver on his own "guy trips." Maybe because I knowthat it's not a good sign that I'm more interested in going on this trip with my friend than I would be in going with my husband. But my therapist thinks I should go (I love him) -why can't I just get on board with this?

Please, please, please let me get what I want. (Or have I forgotten the lyric? I can't be that old.) Maybe...stay tuned.

Guilty Pleasures, Part 2

2009-03-25T22:35:00.001-07:00

What is it with women and porn?

I know it will come as a complete shock to all 2 of my regular readers, but I like sex. I like reading about it, I like watching it on the big or little screen, and I like it in real life. It has been a real learning experience for me over the years that this is not the norm for most women. What's up with that? It's not like I was raised in a cat house. I mean, I know I have an overactive imagination, but I'm really pretty normal otherwise.

Why is it that women have such a hard time with porn? I understand the serious ick factor of child pornography or snuff movies, but what exactly is the issue with consenting adult relations? We're nearly 300 years past Plymouth Rock, so do we HAVE to be such effing puritans? Why can't we all just take our clothes off and get along?

Trust me, people who spend most of their time having or watching someone get some probably aren't the ones out screwing up the rest of the world. I could be wrong, but I don't think so.

Guilty Pleasures

2009-03-15T20:57:00.000-07:00

I decided today that I run so I can drink red wine and eat Ben & Jerry's without guilt.

And so that I don't kill anyone, like my husband. And so that I can maintain the ass of a 26 year old (which kinda goes along with the red wine/ice cream thing). Plus I'm incredibly productive after a run, which is a total bonus. Plus, now that I have the iPod (which I also have not killed yet) I get to listen to anything I want at ear-splitting decibals. Single people have no idea what I'm talking about, but moms everywhere are nodding their heads. Which reminds me that there is no David Byrne on my baby yet, which is a total sin of omission. I'll have to get on that (twss).

My musical world has now been categorized into straight running songs, hill songs, and cool-down songs. For example, Leonard Cohen's Hallelujah would be a good hill song. The Uninvited's Is That Me is a flat-out sprint. REM's The River is a cool-down masterpiece. I'm sure that somewhere there are good sex songs, but I've forgotten what those are.

I'm really excited today because I ran 4 miles, finished a really big presentation for next week, and have been working on a short story that started out as a scene in my novel. I really like how it's going - I really just need about 4-6 more hours in the day. It's a good thing it's not the 80s anymore or I'd probably be getting into coke right about now.

Instead, I'm going to have some Tomaresco and B&J. ..don't mind me.

I need a vacation

2009-03-08T21:27:00.000-07:00

Ok, it's what? February? March already?

I need a vacation. I sent my husband and children off to church this morning by themselves because I just could not stand 5 more minutes with anyone else from the human race. Is this wrong?

There are days I wonder if I should have had a family -- and I say this as someone who is madly in love with her children. Granted, I had this worry long before I had kids, but it comes back every once in a while. I am fundamentally a solitary person -- I like my books, I like my thoughts, I like my wine; I do like other people, and I'm definitely getting more "E" as I get older, but...there are days I MISS my peace and quiet. And the ability to do whatever I want when I want to do it. Is it wrong to fantasize about divorce because it means my husband will HAVE to take the kids 50% of the time?

So...I should want to go on vacation with my husband, right? So how come lately I'm consumed with the desire to go off all by myself -- to the desert, skiing, on a cruise to Europe, WHATEVER? It can't be good. I had drinks with a good friend of mine yesterday with whom I go to Canyon Ranch every year, and she wanted me to go to some spa in the Caribbean. So I told her I'd love to (and I would), but frankly I'd have to get divorced to even consider it. Which is sad. But is it more sad that I'm sad about this? (Now I'm confusing even myself.)

I think maybe I'm on overload at the moment. Too many projects, too many committments, too much on one little plate. Lots of fodder for my therapist. And if one more stay-at-home mom friend of mine says "I don't know how you do it," I'll have to stick my head in the oven...

Mardi Gras & Other Lost Indulgences

2009-02-24T22:02:00.000-08:00

So I have this wild urge to run out on a wrought iron balcony overlooking the street, rip off my shirt, and have men throw beads at me while shouting "show us your tits!"

A typical Tuesday night, in fact.

And totally in line with my personality. Unfortunately, I'd probably be captured on MILFs Gone Wild and the video would make its way back to my corporate office, causing me to need my own outplacement services and land a reality show.

Sigh.

Perhaps I'm having a midlife crisis? I already had one, but that was 20 years ago, so maybe it's a rotating thing.

Last weekend, I discovered that my personal philosophy maps pretty damn closely to a 12 step program, and I had the kind of discussion with my husband that featured the words "not happy" and "therapy" but refrained from mentioning the concept of "divorce." In hindsight, it probably wasn't the best time to completely clean out my bedroom closet and find The Box.

I should explain that I never throw anything away that might possibly serve as fodder for a future novel or other exercise in futility. I have notes that go back to high school - my favorites the ones from typing class that start out "Huey, you are a slutty whore, and I hope you are having a good day running around with no clothes on" - which to anyone who knew me in high school is seriously hilarious. College, maybe, but high school, yeah...ok...whatever. Well, there WAS that one skinny dipping party...

Anyway, I had completely forgotten about The Box. Inside were letters from most of the important men in my life, some friends and some lovers -- at least those who were evolved enough to hold a pen and form words with it. Letters from my very first best friend, Carl (we wrote from age 8 until about 25, and then lost touch), letters from my high school friends who wrote when I went to college, and one who became my sweetheart later on, letters from my first real love (now one of my best friends), letters from my ex - in short, a history of my emotional life in a box.

A bittersweet afternoon, sitting on the floor of my closet, reading them. I think we tend to forget how intensely we feel things when we're in our 20's and 30's. Not that I'm particularly sensitive to that right now or anything. But as a reader I'm also particularly appreciative of the well-chosen word or phrase...and I've been blessed to be involved with some intelligent men over the years.

I used to love to write letters. And there truly is nothing like the feeling of reading something heartfelt that someone else has written, only to you. It's an art that I fear is lost today - now we email, and blog (guilty) and Twitter. I hesitate to sound like a crotchety grandma, but it just doesn't carry the same emotional weight.

Wow. From Mardi Gras to lost arts. What an evening. Sommalier, more wine please...

Life, the Universe, and other stuff

2009-02-16T22:50:00.000-08:00

So this weekend, which might just rank up there as one of the worst I've experienced in my not-so-terribly-long life, I've been reading this book a friend recommended, The Language of Letting Go. It was written for people in recovery (which I'm not). Imagine, if you will, learning that your entire personal philosophy of life apparently maps to a twelve-step program. I don't know whether to laugh or feel smug...which I'm sure would be a terrifically healthy emotional response.

I would write more about this, but I'm way too tired. Will have to digest and regurgitate more tomorrow evening...

Ah, the Joys of Motherhood...

2009-02-06T22:20:00.000-08:00

You know, two year old girls are probably the cutest things on the face of the planet. They're precocious, they're sweet, they're funny...and then, just when they have you wrapped around their tiny little fingers and you're least expecting it...

I had a great time with my youngest tonight. We watched the Sound of Music, we ate dinner, we went upstairs and she had a bath, we read books, and at the end of the night, she looked up lovingly into my eyes, smiled, and then my little Linda Blair projectile vomited all over me, the rocking chair, and her bedroom floor.

Sometimes, being a mom, it just gets you right here...and over there...yep, and there's some way over there too - how do they do that?

I'll never get that effing smell out of the carpet.

Faith

2009-01-26T20:33:00.000-08:00

This is a very unusual topic for me and I'm probably going to do a really crappy job with it.

I don't have what would probably be considered your typical Christian belief system. I'm not athiest, or agnostic, or even a druid (though I used to tease my ex about that). I do happen to believe in the teachings of Jesus, but there are some fundamental tenets of Christian theology that I have a real problem with. However, I'm not going to get into that tonight.

I spent a good bit of time thinking along these lines today because:

I went to church on Sunday and paid attention;
I have a good friend who is in a world of hurt, and I'm feeling ridiculously impotent about being enough help or comfort or any good at all;
I work in an industry that teaches people who have been laid off how to be more strategic with their job search, and right at the moment we seem to be struggling with armageddon (or it just feels that way to the people involved); and
I've been reading There If You Need Me, in which I am learning that Kate Braestrup and I have very similar theories about the way life and faith and love are supposed to work.

So what do I believe? I don't believe that life is difficult here because it isn't heaven. (And I don't believe that only those who accept Christ are allowed to go to heaven -- this gets me in trouble every time.) I do believe that life is like a giant university. It's not supposed to be easy or simple -- we ourselves are not easy or simple creatures. Life is going to present you with a series of obstacles or challenges or crises at every stage. That's just the way the world works. Our job is not so much to overcome all of them as it is to figure out why they are there and what our role is. Are we there to learn, or are we there to teach? To take something away or give something to?

Too simplistic? Here's another one: I believe that the fundamental reason we are all here, our reason for being, has to do with love. (Oh boy, here she goes...)

There is a passage in the book that really resonated with me when I read it - where she's writing to her brother about the nature of dealing with crisis and death and what is really important:

"It doesn't matter how educated, moneyed, or smart you are: when your child's footprints end at the river's edge, when the one you love has gone into the wood with a bleak outlook and a loaded gun, when the chaplain is walking toward you with bad news in her mouth...your life, too, will swing suddenly and cruelly in a new direction with breathtaking speed, and if you are truly wise...you will know enough to look around for love. It will be there, standing right on the hinge, holding out its arms to you. If you are wise, whoever you are, you will let go, fall against that love, and be held."

One of the issues I have with traditional Christian churches is that they seem to be more about judgement and rules than about love. The ten commandments versus the new testament. At the risk of sounding like a hippie, it's not about the rules. Dude. It's about whether we can open our hearts enough to get over our innate fear -- enough to recognize our role in a situation, understand what kind of love is necessary to help the people around us when they need it -- and offer it -- and have the ability to accept it when it is offered to us.

I believe we are here to learn, and to teach, and to help, and to love. What else is there?

Take Care Now, Y'Hear?

2009-01-19T23:02:00.000-08:00

Now, about those percolating thoughts...

I spent a lot of time this weekend observing the parental units - not in their natural habitat, but it's better that way -- and thinking about some of the differences between their generation and mine when it comes to marriage and the expectations involved therein.

I don't really know if my parents have a happy marriage. I've asked, and my mom doesn't know how to answer the question. They aren't actively UNhappy -- but they seem to be annoyed with each other more than they seem to have a good time together. It's been this way forever, as far as I can tell. This fact scares me shitless,. This is my model for the way marriage works. Crap.

My father was a good provider. A distant, work-obsessed, non-emotional dad, but a good provider. My mother was raised to find a man who could/wanted to take care of her, so she could concentrate on taking care of the house and the kids and her husband. (Possibly in that order.)

Maybe because I've seen precisely how this works in my nuclear family, I do not want a man to take care of me. Nor do I want to reverse things and take care of a man. In fact, I don't know many independent, professional, emotionally mature women who do. What we want is a man who cares for us. There is a difference - subtle, maybe, but large. Being "taken care of" implies that one person has more power than the other -- is, in fact, the adult in the relationship: the responsible one, the mature one, the one who knows or is able to do/handle more than the other. Granted, this is ok in the short term -- look, we all have times we NEED someone to take care of us, or vice versa. But on an ongoing basis, that imbalance of power can be crazy-making.

I don't want a parent. I want a partner. Preferably, an equal partner. In a balanced relationship, two people care for one another. (And in a REALLY good relationship, they also eff like bunnies, but that's beside the point at the moment.) Why can't we ALL be adults at the party, focus on the give-and-take, shoulder our own responsibilities -- and still manage to have a loving, intelligent, happy relationship? Is this really so difficult? Apparently so.

I think this is why I fight so hard against my husband when he insists on being the only one allowed to paint the walls in our house, choose the landscaping, take care of the taxes, do the grocery shopping - whatever it is. I know he thinks he's taking care of me, but -- the impulse might be loving, but I'm wary of the motive behind it. If I let you do everything for me, will I become dependent on you? How much knowledge/skill/independence/adulthood will I abdicate for the sake of convenience and comfort? (I mean, hey, I already gave you total control over my sexuality, and look how well you did with that -- do I want to repeat that with all of my needs? Not effing likely...)

I also think it's why I was so annoyed this week when my dad spent his entire visit talking to my husband about his business - but never asked about mine. It felt like I was immediately assigned to little-girl irrelevance.

Yes, I realize I totally overthink everything.

Inspiration...Not

2009-01-18T21:27:00.000-08:00

Why is it easy to blog, but not finish a chapter? Of course, I might as well ask why it's easier to landscape the yard, build a car from scrap metal, organize my closet by color and year, finish seven scrapbooks, and learn high German than write any part of my book. It just is.

When I started this blog I thought it would serve as a great warm up to the "real" stuff, and a safe place to test out some ideas and material. But it seems to have taken on a life of its own, and I keep having more fun writing it than the book. (Plus I keep finding other people's blogs to help waste more of the time that I have so much of, what with the job and the kids and the science lab and the law firm and the recording studio...) Sigh. I must get back on track.

The baby iPod is still alive, thanks for asking. (Again, instead of writing)...I've loaded 150 songs on it, created two playlists and ran approximately 12 miles so far without killing it. Feeling pretty good about this, which means I'll undoubtedly drop her in the reservoir the next time I'm out. (Also discovered that the world's best running song is the Uninvited's Ordinary Man -- which no one except a few other hard-core fans has ever heard, so their secret is probably safe with me and I can use it to someday win the Boston marathon.) But seriously -- have you seen the Southwest commercial where the guy actually throws the wii controller INTO the TV, which explodes and then crashes off the wall? Genius. I've never seen a commercial that quite so perfectly captures my relationship with technology.

Oy. A little scattered tonight, aren't we? But I did just spend four days nonstop with the parental units, so I should probably be grateful I have any coherence left at all. Or sanity. FOUR days listening to my father ask my husband about his business (but not me) and my mother describe in detail what food was served at/what she wore to every party she has attended since Thanksgiving. I have some thoughts percolating around relationships (i.e. the difference between "caring for" and "taking care of", among other things) that have to do with my observations over the last four days, but they're not quite ready to emerge yet. Maybe tomorrow night.

Sometimes there isn't nearly enough wine.

Into each life...

2009-01-08T20:54:00.000-08:00

...a little rain must fall. Or maybe detergent.

I ran my cell phone through the laundry today.

Can you hear me now? No, no, I can't.

(But I can hear really interesting electrical shock type sounds coming out of it, where it sits in the very back of the kitchen in case it blows up eventually. Poor baby. No one warned them not to sell you to me.)

Good thing I have idiot-proof insurance. I'm sure it's really meant for IT guys and engineers who drop every electronic gadget on god's earth into the toilet. But I can make it work for me as I invent new ways to destroy my electronic toys.

I got a new iPod today too. I'm trying to keep it as far away as possible from the cell phone. In case it can still communicate, you know. Otherwise I'll wake up tomorrow and find that the new baby iPod has disconnected from my computer, wedged her way under the front door, and is halfway down the street in a desperate attempt to keep me from dropping her in the bathtub or running over her with the car. It's futile, honey. Just try to enjoy whatever short amount of time we will have together.

Maybe one of my pairs of sunglasses will send you a message letting you know how they've escaped over the years. (They're all living together on an island somewhere.)

Ooooohhh...maybe tomorrow I'll get a crackberry.

Twelve thousand monkeys with typewriters...

2009-01-04T20:43:00.000-08:00

It's a new year, and nothing crappy has happened yet.

I thought I would have posted before this, like on New Year's Day maybe, but instead I've been sucked in (or suckered in) to the Twilight series -- which despite not being very good and in fact incredibly irritating, is also addictive and I can't escape until I finish all four books. Have they figured out a way to infuse the pages of the actual book with crack? It's the only thing that would explain it.

Can I vent for a moment regarding the extreme lack of patience I have with the ubiquitous practice of taking multiple pages in any sequel to explain what happened in the previous books? Look, I know that some people have short term memory loss, and other people are idiot enough to buy the fourth book in a series without reading the other three first, but it just makes me want to scream when someone has to waste valuable page space by explaining for the umpteenth time why X did Y to Z.

Anyhoo...

However, all of this irritation does mean that I have even more incentive to finish my damn book this year, though not containing vampires and werewolves and not being marketed to hormonal teenage girls it probably won't shoot to the top of the bestseller list immediately (or ever).

On the bright side, I also read (finally) the last two Meredith Gentry books...aaaahhh, I am very very pleased. Life is good. Laurell K. Hamilton writes really, really good sex. I think perhaps she would have many many points in the quiz I mentioned in a previous post. Did I mention that she writes good sex? Better than Anne Rice - a worthy role model.

Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go draw a bath, pour a glass of wine, and see if I can get through a few more hundred pages of Bella without wanting to kill her myself -- the reading equivalent of binge drinking with Bartles & James: can't seem to stop, tastes like candy, but will hate myself in the morning and have to self-medicate with Faulkner or Vonnegut.

The End is Near

2008-12-30T17:53:00.001-08:00

I stole this from a totally random blog today, but it pretty much sums up my view of the whole bailout/nationalization/financial bullshittery currently mucking up our economy.

I spent this weekend at a beach house in San Clemente with some friends from college -- some I see about once a month, and a few I probably haven't caught up with for 20 years. I was reminded why it's depressing to go back to any kind of reunion -- it's hard to see how people have changed from how you remember them. Lenore, Tish, Gene and I seem to have aged pretty well (of course, would you expect anything less?)-- the rest looked like they've spent the last 20 years eating nothing but Doritos and Crisco while lying on a couch somewhere in a dark room. And it's really unnerving when people's kids start to resemble what they looked like in college. I might have welcomed a nice little bong hit or two for old times' sake, but god forbid I should end up hitting on someone's eighteen year old son.

My parents graduated college in 1961 -- I wonder if they thought the world had gone to hell in a handbasket 20 years later? If it weren't for the fact that if I think too long about what may transpire in 2009 I feel the need to drink heavily, I would welcome the end of 2008. I just hope we all make it through next year with a roof over our heads.

Boy, I'm a cheery little Pollyanna today, aren't I?

All I Want for Christmas...

2008-12-24T12:15:00.000-08:00

I don't want a lot for Christmas - there's just one thing I need
I don't care about the presents underneath the Christmas tree...
I don't need to hang my stocking out upon the fireplace
Santa Claus will make me happy, without snow on Christmas Eve...

Ah, Christmas Eve.

Even though we know the economy is going to hell in a handbasket, even as we sit stranded in airports all across the country, even as we wait in fear for those bills to come in January and our children finally crack under the pressure of waiting for Santa -- there's still something magical about the night before Christmas.

I don't typically make New Year's resolutions, but I do try every year to make a Christmas wish. People seem to be a little warmer, try a little harder during the holidays, and so I figure God and the universe may be feeling reciprocally generous.

This year I spent a good part of the holiday season thinking about everything that transpired in 2008, and what I'd like 2009 to bring (and what I'd like to bring to 2009). There are so many things to be anxious about at the moment -- finances, job security, family, time, relationships, life -- but I realize that somehow I don't see any of it as insurmountable. Must be the optimist taking over.

So my Christmas wish for the people I love in 2009 is that we find wisdom, and success, and most of all happiness in our endeavors, wherever they lead us. And the companionship of like minds to make the journey that much more enjoyable.

I must confess that I do indulge in Christmas movies. However, can I possibly be the only human on the face of the planet who hates It's a Wonderful Life? Say it isn't so! I cannot stand this movie, I think it is horrible, I refuse to watch it. There, I've admitted it in public.

Instead, I watch another Capra movie - Pocket Full of Miracles, with Bette Davis as an alcoholic panhandler, and Ann-Margret in what has to be her first movie ever, since she looks like she's about 15. Every year I watch this movie, and every year I wonder WHY they don't make clothes like that anymore? Sigh. Grace Kelly, where are you when we need you?

Anyway.

The other untraditional Christmas movie I watch every year is Love Actually. Vignettes about romance in London during the holidays, with an amazing cast -- funny, poignant, clever -- what's not to love? Wait until the kids go to bed to watch, however -- one of the vignettes is about a couple who meet as stand-ins for porn actors, and they spend almost the entire time onscreen totally naked in x-rated positions. NOT for the easily offended; and yet, their story is one of the sweetest in the movie.

But my favorite is the 12-year-0ld who becomes a drummer to impress the love of his life. When Olivia Olsen sings at the end, and you see the astonishment on the faces of the adults in the audience, I get goosebumps every time. If I had another Christmas wish, it would be the ability to sing like that. And then I walk around with the song in my head for at least a month afterward...usually humming it under my breath, which I'm sure just confirms my nutcase status in everyone's mind. And now it's in my blog...not sure the words are entirely accurate, but hey, it's my head...

I just want you for my own, more than you will ever know
Make my wish come true..

All I want for Christmas, is you

Merry Christmas!

Passion Play

2008-12-18T21:07:00.000-08:00

So, what does a bored housewife...no, wait...professional woman do when her husband has apparently lost interest (I mean besides talk ad nauseum about said fact in her blog)? That's right, children - she goes to a Passion Party with two completely insane enabling friends to pick up some tips, tricks, and toys, of course.

I'm sorry, it took me quite a while to get back on track after teasing about my fuckerware party experience. Apparently it took a while to recover. Or something.

So, Miss C and Miss H and Miss T all arrived at the random F-Party, to find an assortment of women between the ages of 27 and roughly 50. Along with a lovely sales representative who was busy setting out her wares (bottles, jars, implements, and some very interesting battery operated items) on a table in the tasteful living room. Tupperware, begone!

I'm sure you'll be shocked to learn there was alcohol on the premises. We had some. Several glasses, a bottle, does it really matter how much? It made it easier to relax and take it all in. (That's what she said...)

The first thing we were invited to do was to take a little quiz. Our sales rep, Miss Thai (or Ty, or Tai, I'm not sure) asked a series of questions, and we gave ourselves points based on our answers. Basic little questions about what we'd done, with whom, and of course where, in the last decade. (i.e., Have you done it in an elevator? Have you done it at the neighbor's house? With the neighbor? Add 10 points! With more than one neighbor? Add 20 points! On film? Add 50 points!)

Being one of the more mature women attending (emotionally, that is), I thought I was probably doing pretty well in the experience department. Until we started adding up our scores, that is.
Apparently, not nearly enough of what I had done over the last decade had been captured on film or distributed in a foreign country. I was, in fact, the virgin of the group. I had the lowest score -- which in turn scored me a lipstick in the shape of a penis. It's in my purse now, in fact. I live in fear of taking it out accidentally after a business lunch to touch up my lips.

We moved on to try some of the lotions, gels, and other special lubricants. My favorite was a pheromone stick -- kind of like a perfume roll-on. We all tried it, and then smelled each other (sounds a lot kinkier than it actually was, but feel free to go with your fantasy). We all smelled different - I smelled a lot like my favorite perfume, which explains a lot. I bought one.

I was truly amazed at the number of guests who leaped up to introduce a more...stimulating...gel to Vageena Davis. What was highly amusing to me was how many of them were currently single. Not that it's any of my business...but, this stuff being for immediate stimulation and excitement and all...exactly how much delayed gratification are you into? Let's just say that in my world, if I'm trying it out, I'll be trying it OUT. Not sitting for the next two hours in a room full of women trying to keep from squirming on the couch...just sayin!

As an added bonus to the evening, we also got little tiny penis erasers to go on the end of our pens. We were supposed to use these to "dip and lick" -- anything that required tasting. I have to admit the sight of 10-12 grown women licking tiny little penises throughout the evening made me decide I had to host a party myself for sheer entertainment value.

I wonder if anyone ever hosts co-ed parties? What do the men get to use to "dip and lick"? The speculation alone is worth the trip.

The other reason I must host a party is that I had to leave before we got to the battery operated toys. I assume that maybe the delayed gratification of the prior lubricants may have been addressed here -- perhaps the women concerned were motivated to do some product demonstrations? I can't answer -- but I do know my relatively conservative though insane friends were motivated to make some extremely interesting purchases. I've even heard some product endorsements since...

I'm waiting to hear from Thai -- my calendar is out!

How To Give Good...

2008-12-11T21:15:00.000-08:00

Oh please. Where is YOUR mind? (Well, if you read my last post, I guess I can't blame you.)

I have to apologize. I was all set to write the follow up post to my fuckerware party...

BUT, then I had a conversation with a friend about our relative stress levels and the desperate need for a really good massage, which got me thinking...always dangerous...and so I'm going to take the equivalent of a commercial break to write this instead (disclaimer: I am NOT a professional masseuse, so follow at your own risk):

How To Relax Your Man

For maximum results, dim the lighting and make your background music relaxing - instrumental is good, speed metal not so good. Lightly scented oil or lotion is perfect - if it heats up when you rub or blow on it, all the better. Let your partner choose a scent for best effect (and since this is MY instruction, I get to assume from here on out that my partner is a man. Any hetero men reading this feel free to substitute gender as necessary).

A warm bath or hot shower ahead of time can help loosen tight muscles and put him in the right mood. To begin, have him lie face down (fully clothed, partially clothed, or nude is up to them and you -- I generally prefer the latter, but hey, it takes all kinds). And since I'm running this fantasy massage, I also get to assume that most of you will be doing this at home without the benefit of a professional massage table. With that in mind, straddle your man with one knee on either side of his hips. Put some oil or lotion in the palm of your hands and make sure they are warm and well lubricated.

I like to start at the base of the spine, one thumb on either side of the spinal cord, and run both hands up the back, with medium pressure on the thumbs and heels of each hand, to the base of the neck. Some men like a lot of pressure, some don't - ask if you're not sure. Return to the base of the spine and repeat, but this time using a wide circular motion with the thumbs, seeking out and working any pressure points or tight muscles. At the top, trail your fingers/fingernails lightly down the back; repeat as desired. At the top, work the shoulders next, and down each arm with long strokes. Lace the fingers of both of your hands through one of his, stretching the hand apart gently, and knead the heel and finger pads with both of your thumbs. Repeat, other arm.

Return to the base of the neck. Massage the neck with your thumbs, again using a circular stroke, and use your fingers to massage up from the neck onto the scalp and crown of the head. Make your index and middle fingers into a "v" and run them up around each ear, and then onto the earlobes.

If your goal is to get your man into bed, you may find you don't need to continue the massage at this point (well...except maybe for some more intimate areas that I'm not going to address). If, however, the relaxation must continue...you will need to change position.

Kneel or stand in front of your partner's head. Replenish the oil or lotion on your hands, and stroke down his spine to the lower back. Massage out from the spine in circular motions. If more pressure is needed/desired, ball your hands and use your knuckles to knead.

Move all the way down your partner's body to stand or kneel at his feet. Picking up each foot separately, massage the heels, up the fleshy middle with your thumbs to the balls of his feet, and finally, with additonal oil/lotion, in between and up each toe. I can't tell you if it's true, but I have been TOLD that when done right this can be the pedicular equivalent of oral sex. I know it feels pretty damn good when someone does it to me...

Separate the legs slightly and continue the massage up the calves -- which can be particularly tight and painful, so be careful of too much pressure here -- to the thighs and buttocks, using long, medium pressure strokes.

I like to end a massage (if it hasn't ended from say, natural causes, by now) where I started -- straddling his hips, using long and/or feather-light strokes.

There now -- everyone feeling better?

Holiday Magic

2008-12-08T21:10:00.000-08:00

What is it about lights on a Christmas tree that can make you forget that your entire world is upside down, sideways and entirely effed up?

I had fun this weekend. On Saturday, while my husband was hibernating in a friend's man-cave (converted garage with bar & big-screen TV), I put up the tree, turned on some carols, and decorated the house with the munchkins. There's just something about watching a two-year-old laugh at her reflection in shiny red ornaments that takes my mind off the Recession-Watch 2008/stock-market-housing-prices-job-loss seesaw. Forget the shopping list -- if you need some Christmas spirit, avoid the malls and the newspapers and hang out with the pre-schoolers.

Ah, but sooner or later all things good and innocent must come to an end. The babysitter arrived and it was time for me to get dressed and meet two of my attractive and completely insane friends, who insisted I accompany them to a lovely fuckerware party hosted by a work colleague. (And not just any colleague, mind you - a co-worker at a retirement home. Go figure.).

What's that you say, eyes widening with horror? Pardon? You've never attended such a party? Oh, let Miss Tuesday enlighten you, by all means. Tomorrow, though, darling...for the moment, I'm completely tuckered.

To be continued...(hate me now, don't you?)

Next...

2008-11-30T16:51:00.000-08:00

Be careful what you wish for....I've said that before, haven't I?

I was forced to do a lot of thinking this weekend. Which doesn't always go well with turkey, pumpkin pie, lots of really, really nice pinot and a bottle or so of port. But...here's the thing. What have I been bitching about for the last umpteen months? The fact that my husband won't play naughty with me -- there is no sex in the Tuesday household, despite the fact that I'm apparently the only working mom in all of America who still wants it. Of course there are other issues, there always are, but this is the crux of many of them.

We spent Thanksgiving with four other couples -- really good friends, and then friends of friends. After god knows how many glasses of wine, one of the other wives overshared with me that she's in the same boat. Except that in her case, her husband is having an affair with one of his young sales associates (serious oversharing, since I don't really know either of them very well). Who am I to say she's mistaken? In fact, who am I to say I'm not in the exact same boat?

Of course, I don't know that my husband isn't having an affair, but I am at least pretty sure that it isn't with anyone he works with (all men -- unless he's switched to the other team, a slim possibility but not one I can quite get my mind around in his case). Perhaps it's me, perhaps it's him, who knows, he won't talk about it and I've exhausted myself trying to come up with the solution.

So this is where we still are on Thursday night. And lo and behold, on Friday morning, he's in the mood. I don't know why. Maybe he heard me at some point on Thursday and decided to do something before I posted an ad or an article in the neighborhood paper. Perhaps my post-Thanksgiving port hangover made me look particularly fetching. Maybe he had a dream. After multiple years of failing to figure out what exactly makes this man horny, I still don't know the answer.

What I do know, and what set the stage for some heavy thinking, was the fact that I didn't want to respond. In fact, I was mad. I'm still mad. Why? A very good question. Especially since I have in fact been WAITING for this. What the heck is wrong with me?

So here's my theory. I think I got mad because it felt like it didn't have anything to do with me. I think what I just realized is the fact that maybe the effing isn't the most important thing -- maybe what I'm really craving is being desired. For whatever makes me who I am -- my mind, my spirit, my body, my heart. Not just because I happen to be in the house, in the bed. Not out of convenience. So ... I'm not really feeling the love. I'm not there. That's not the person I want to be in bed with.

This is, to put it mildly, not the reaction I expected to have. Which begged the question -- for me, at least -- have we gone past the point of no return? If I no longer want the person I've been waiting around to want me (now there's a mouthful), what do I want? Where do we go from here? There are other questions, but I'm not ready to write them here.

I'm thinking...

Weather Permitting

2008-11-23T21:48:00.000-08:00

Ok, I admit it. I have sex on the brain.

I spent this weekend trying to write some pretty graphic sex scenes for my current novel. Which is challenging all on its own, even ignoring the fact that I am --at the moment, at least -- significantly light on material to draw on from my own life (if you don't count fantasy). I really haven't written this graphically before -- it's a lot harder than I thought it would be. Unfortunately for me, it's pretty critical to the entire plot of the book. Now I understand what Anne Lamott really meant when she wrote about shitty first drafts and KFKD radio -- when all the voices in your head combine to convince you that you don't have a clue what you're doing. I'm right there with you, babe, god help me.

Maybe I need to practice by reading some letters to Penthouse. Or Cosmo -- I understand they've become quite graphic recently. 75 Positions for Naughty Girls or something similar might provide some welcome inspiration. If I dictate my sexual fantasies while I'm at work, d'ya think it will affect my job performance?

Unfortunately, it felt like the ghost of my grandmother was sitting on my left shoulder while I tried to write yesterday. "Oh, my goodness," I could almost hear her laughing, "Surely she's not going to do THAT? And how in the world do you even KNOW about that?" And don't even get me started on my father's imaginary reaction. I know, I have two kids, but I'm sure my dad would rather believe I found them under a cabbage leaf than think about whether I have anything at all to do with a penis. Let alone read what I might write about it.

At any rate, mostly I felt like I was writing the screenplay for a really bad porn film. Or a really bad romance novel. Or some combination of the two.

I need some new material. Oh, I'm really going to have to work on this. Not that that's a bad thing. I can always hope that life will imitate art.

An Idea for the Millenium

2008-11-09T20:02:00.000-08:00

Fidelity sucks.

Not in the abstract, of course - in the abstract it is a worthy ideal and certainly makes paternity and the sharing of possessions quite a bit easier. But specific instances, like say during the X number of years that your husband is blatantly uninterested in sex with you (or in general, it's hard to say), test the limits of that particular ethic.

Sometimes I feel like I'm paying for the sins of every woman who ever had a baby and then refused to have sex with her husband again. And I swear that every married person I know with kids has some variation of this complaint. What is WRONG with people? I want to be faithful, really I do -- but it is frustrating. In What Do Women Want? Erika Jong wrote that we all need mystery, danger, and ultimately, fantasy in our lives.

No shit.

And besides that, I want some mind-blowing, furniture-splintering, rock-my-world boot-knocking. (Ok, and maybe a little tiny bit of back-scratching and neck-nibbling...and maybe...never mind.) Is that wrong?

My personal theory is that maybe we need to institute a three-year contract review, whether it's within the context of marriage or a long-term relationship. Kind of like an annual review at work -- we sit down, we look at what's working, what's not working, what the goals are for the next three years, what next steps are. Maybe you are happy with the way things are so you renew the contract as is. Maybe you renegotiate the terms entirely. Maybe you take a sabbatical or leave of absence if necessary to recharge (I am particularly fond of this idea at the moment). Maybe you dissolve the contract and move on.

Of course the religious right, having absolutely no imagination or sense of humor, would come up with Proposition 37, which would make it illegal to take a marriage sabbatical on the chance that actually allowing people to explore other options would destroy the sanctity of marriage rather than allowing them to retain their sanity and act like grownups for a change.

How hard could this be? I think it also takes into account that people do not stay the same over the course of their lives -- who you are and what your goals are when you're in your 20's and 30's is likely to look very different when you're in your 40's, 50's and beyond. Some people do a good job of communicating, managing expectations, and changing together, and some people don't. In my own private utopian world (run by me, of course), the 3-Year Contract Rule would help with that -- at least it would all be out in the open, regularly scheduled, something to plan for and strategize around.

Maybe I should write my own Proposition.

Running Behind

2008-11-07T21:45:00.000-08:00

I took up running again this year, after I finally realized that as long as I had two kids under 10, a full time job, and a spouse who works ridiculous hours, I was not going to see the inside of a gym again for many years. (Though...I haven't given up paying for the gym membership yet, so at heart I'm still hopelessly optimistic.)

After years of mocking anyone who owned a pair of dolphin shorts and running shoes, I started to run out of desperation at the stubborness of what my oldest daughter lovingly referred to as my post-pregnancy "bouncy tummy." Ouch. And because I needed something to do besides play with myself that would allow me to work off my frustration at the current state of my sex life. To my surprise, I liked it (ok, I admit it - not as much as my other stress-relieving activity, but it DOES burn more calories and I can do it in public).

I'm probably the only person on the planet who does not have a pair of earbuds destroying what's left of my hearing while I run. I don't listen to music; I count. I run in eight-counts. I have no idea why - it just happens. Possibly left over from ballet and drill team during my formative years. I realize this probably qualifies me as borderline nutso, but hey, I like it. It works. It's got some weird zen property that clears my mind and allows me to think about something other than whether I'm in the right job or the right marriage -- maybe instead about my writing, plot and character development, dialogue, and whether the f-ing skin around my middle is finally getting any tighter, damn it.

Recently, I even ran a 5k. (Or maybe I should say, even I ran a 5k.) I don't think I will ever be a marathon person because frankly I would rather pour orange juice on my eyeballs than run 26 miles in one day. (Ok, maybe the Rock & Roll Marathon, but only because there are bands. And maybe, in keeping with the overall theme, they'd let you run it on shrooms...try thinking about what that would be like, I dare you.) But 5k is not so bad, it's doable, it's only mild discomfort. And I did come in 6th in my age group, which I was feeling pretty cocky about for exactly 10 days. And then I got an email from the owner of a company I'm consulting for, who had just run a supermarathon -- apparently, after the asylum inmates are released, the first thing they want to do is run a 50 mile race. Who thinks this is fun? Why are they allowed to live afterward, and worse yet, to talk about it? We (the only mildly insane) do not want to hear about your supermarathon, you hypercompetitive alien from another planet! We are feeling pretty good about our stupid little 5k, thank you very much.

Maybe I should just break down and get an IPod...

Je Reve

2008-11-02T22:57:00.000-08:00

I wrote a poem tonight, which I haven't done in a very long time.

Actually, I had a bath tonight, and the poem just happened. I take far too many baths, but I don't write a lot of poetry. I am primarily a story teller, plus I enjoy using many words, which most people might say does not mesh well with the poetic form. However, occasionally I'm inspired. Which usually means I'm feeling dangerously sentimental and/or I've had one glass too many.

When I was in college, I had a passion for Baudelaire and Andre Breton, and I wrote quite a lot of poems in what was probably quite atrocious French. But my professor liked them, and my boyfriend at the time didn't speak it, so he couldn't judge and didn't care (unless it involved me dressed as a French maid while reading them -- look, there's that naughty maid thing again). But it was somehow easier to play around in another language; because I had a limited grasp, I wasn't trying to pick between hundreds of words to find just the right combination, alliteration, cadence, etc.

And to jump to an entirely unrelated topic, am I the only person wondering why the hell no one is reading Ayn Rand? With everything going on in the economy, nationalization of the US banking industry looming, and the election becoming a popularity contest, Atlas Shrugged should be required reading (but maybe not all 927 pages of John Galt's speech from the hidden location, which will make just about anyone throw the book across the room and/or set fire to anything in reach).

Ah, The Good Old Days

2008-10-30T21:12:00.000-07:00

Tomorrow night is Halloween.

My old roommate and I used to throw the most rockin' Halloween parties in all of Southern California, complete with jewel-toned jello shooters, handcuffs and a killer sushi bar. It's true. One year there was even a hood ornament. The police loved us. Our neighbors wrote letters to the city mayor and tried to get us evicted. Unfortunately for them, the mayor was usually at our party, totally hammered and making out with the local news anchor in the hall closet.

What primeaval urge makes adults dress up in really odd things to go out on Halloween? When you're a kid, it's pretty simple -- pirate, princess, witch, Godzilla, skeleton. Then we get older and things get a lot weirder. Giant chickens, tumbleweeds, partly cloudy with a chance of rain, sushi, Mickey & Minnie Mouse (trust me, nothing is weirder than a grown man dressed as Mickey Mouse). And of course the slut-o-rama. Don't laugh, you've all done it. The french maid, the naughty schoolgirl, the dominatrix. I have a friend who used to come to the party every year and handcuff herself to the hottest guy. It usually worked. Pissed the rest of us off, let me tell you. Only because we hadn't thought of it first.

I did the slut thing one year. In what was clearly a career-limiting move, I went as a Freudian Slip (an outrageously revealing black negligee from Vicky's Secret with phrases like "oral fixation;" "Oedipus complex," etc. pinned all over it) the year that I worked as a project manager for an IT consulting firm. As I recall, all of my employees came to the party. (As well as my boss..) Hmmm....lets see...IT guys, jello shots, and my usually buttoned-up assets on serious display. Yeah...great idea. Thank god it was pre-YouTube.

Of course my favorite part of the evening was coming out early on in my costume to answer the door to a handful of stunned trick-or-treaters. I think those dads came back three or four times that night, just in case they were imagining things.

In comparison, my current Halloweens are oceans of tranquility, taking place as they do in this hill town that time forgot. If I really want to shake things up, maybe I can dig that little slip out and make my husband take the kids trick-or-treating. I wonder if I have time to make some jello shots?

Envy

2008-10-28T21:14:00.000-07:00

I was going to do a post on adversity this evening, but then I stumbled on to some completely random blogs and wasted at least 2 hours. There are people out there who are exponentially more creative than I am. And funny. I hate that.

I'll have to work on my book instead while I recover. More wine, please...

Just Another Day

2008-10-26T20:44:00.000-07:00

The end of October is a big time in my family. My brother was dragged into his 40th year yesterday, I eased into 43 today, and my youngest is thrilled to be 2 tomorrow. I usually don't have an issue with my birthdays - my fortieth was barely a blip on my emotional radar - though it has crossed my mind that maybe all of this recent angst is some kind of delayed midlife crisis. Except that I had one of those at 25, so I feel like I'll be over my quota if I try for another. Really, it's not fair to those who haven't had a turn yet.

So in case I'm turning into some kind of maudlin cliche, I thought I'd celebrate my birthday by looking at all the things I'm happy about/grateful for tonight:

Good health -- something we all take for granted, but I'm very, very blessed in this;
My family -- not to brag or anything, but it goes without saying that I, of course, have the most beautiful, gifted, talented children on the planet (who have not hit puberty yet);
Resort spas, and men who have chosen massage as a career path -- I had an 80 minute massage today, and I'm very grateful for the fact that even if I'm not having sex, I can at least have this;
Getting fit - stepping on the scale for the first time today in god knows how long and seeing that I am within 2 lbs of pre-baby weight (hallelujah);
Running - who'd a thunk it? A way to manage mood swings and plot developments without Prozac;
Books -- what would I do without my one obsessive-compulsive behavior?
A quick mind, a sympathetic ear, and the most enjoyable voice -- thank you for ALL of the conversation and understanding lately, it means the world to me;
A good challenge -- whatever it looks like, really, it's what keeps me going;
Really, really good wine -- snaps to Patz & Hall, Elyse, Fantesca, Blackbird, and a few other favorites who illuminate my evenings and probably make me a better person in the long run; and
Writing -- what might be the whole reason I exist; I feel like I've finally hit my stride this year, despite (or perhaps due to) the upheaval in the rest of my life.

I think my only fear about getting older is in not wanting to miss any opportunities. I spent a good portion of my early years being afraid of doing anything remotely risky (a legacy from my parents), plus I'm a late starter in general, so I often feel like I'm trying to make up for lost time in multiple areas. The fact that I'm an insatiable reader probably doesn't help in this case, as I'm always reading something that makes me think, "oh, I wish I could do THAT" or "damn, I wish I'd written that!" So, while I don't have a burning desire to overcome world hunger or win the Nobel Peace Prize, there are a few things I'd like to accomplish before I leave the station:

A house in Italy -- yes, Frances Mayes, this is entirely your fault;
A best seller -- doesn't have to be the magnitude of Harry Potter, but it would be nice to know I made the NY Times list for a couple of weeks;
Be a stakeholder in a successful startup company (high tech, biotech, whatever) - I've always wanted to exercise my options;
Be fluent in at least two languages (besides English) - I'm thinking French and Italian, but Chinese might be more practical;
Take an entire year off, travel, and write about it; and
Be happy with the choices I've made.

I've always believed (simplistically, perhaps) that there is a reason for everything that happens. Sometimes it's just difficult to see the big picture from where we are currently standing, and even more challenging to pick out the right path from the thousands of starting points that lie in front of us. Maybe next year at this time, I'll look back and hindsight will make it easy for me to see what choices I should have made and the direction I should have gone. For now, I may not be content, but I'm willing to keep an open mind and keep moving forward.

Be Careful What You Wish For

2008-10-24T22:53:00.000-07:00

Curiosity killed the cat...

Lifelong learning is an ideal that most of us aspire to, I think. At least in my life, my motto has always been that when you stop learning, you stagnate, and when you stagnate, ultimately you die. But is there such a thing as too much curiosity?

What if you have such a hunger to learn and/or experience new things that you're never satisfied with what you actually have? It has occured to me, as I've been working through all of these ...issues, for lack of a better word, that perhaps I'm asking too much of the universe.

I've always been the kind of person who actively sought out the next goal, challenge, project, idea, etc. For the most part, I think this has been a positive aspect of my personality; however, maybe this intellectual hunger has carried over into my emotional life. I sometimes wonder if a fear of "settling" and an overly competitive nature makes me unwilling to stay happy with a person/place/situation for the long haul.

Sometimes I think maybe I was just born in the wrong era. I should have been one of the settlers who went West after the Louisiana Purchase! If I'd been with the wagons that rolled into Oregon and California and saw the Pacific Ocean for the first time, maybe I would have been content.

On the other hand, every time I start to worry that I have a limited amount of time and a lot of material to get through (or life experience, or projects, or places to see, or love), I think about my great-aunt, one of my role-models: who went to Berkeley while the rest of her generation had babies, who never married, who traveled alone to China and Egypt when she was in her 70's, who took up roller-blading the year she turned 90. And that renews my faith in my own courage and resiliency.

It isn't what you've got, or what you've done, or who you're with that matters in the end. I think it's how you approach life and define who you are -- so what if my thirst for experience, or learning, or whatever you want to call it, occasionally makes me dissatisfied with where I currently am? The fact that I want, I need to keep moving forward in some way, let's me know that I'm still very much alive -- and that I'm not going to spend the next 50 years as a passive observer, on the couch of life, watching TV.

Where are those damn rollerblades anyway?

How much for the women?

2008-10-21T22:10:00.000-07:00

Enough of this heavy serious stuff for now - I'm thinking about good old-fashioned friendship tonight. A shout out to the people who bring us laughter, emotional support, stories, commiseration, and generally make our lives more enjoyable just by being themselves.

Having been an introvert for most of my life, I've been fairly selective in my close friends. There are a few from college, a handful left from high school, and at least one or two from as far back as grammar school. But there is the Family.

I've been planning the 40th birthday recently of a very good girlfriend - she and I and two other girlfriends have celebrated at least twenty years together. We've lived through five husbands (yes, do the math), seven kids, jobs/volunteer work/stay-at-home choices, multiple camping and ski trips, hundreds of concerts, too many bottles of Grand Marnier to count, and the fact that we're all Scorpios. We know things about each other that we will never reveal (or at least not for less than six figures). Years ago, we became Family - not by necessity but by active choice.

I am not a girl's girl, and I don't trust groups of women in general. But more than anyone else in my life, these women would challenge, support, defend, encourage, and love me in the face of any adversity -- and I'd do the same for them. It's hard to believe that we're all in our 40s now - it can't possibly have been that many years. On the other hand, I know we'll be saying that another 20 years from now when we're planning our 60th birthdays (in Italy, at the villa on Lake Como one of us will have purchased from George Clooney's estate...)

I think I'm also lucky enough to have this kind of friendship with a handful of men as well. Not that we're planning trips together - that might be taken the wrong way by the significant others in our lives, unfortunately. (But hey, you're all invited to my villa when we're 60, to hell with it...) I don't always agree with the quote from When Harry Met Sally that men and women can't be friends because sex always gets in the way -- sometimes it does, absolutely; sometimes friendship just isn't enough, and that can be difficult and depressing. But sometimes conversation, an alternate viewpoint, a sense of humor and the knowledge that someone from the other team is on your side is quite good enough. And greatly valued.

I love my friends - may we all celebrate an infinite number of future years together. Even those of you who aren't Scorpios.

The L Word

2008-10-19T21:33:00.000-07:00

And now for something completely different...

Love.

Which might even be more complicated, confusing, and ultimately irritating than its predecessor. I hesitate even to tackle this topic that poets and philosophers have attempted to define centuries before my DNA was even a mote in my parents' eyes. On the other hand, this one stupid emotion, along with its partner-in-crime (sex), has caused so much upheaval in my short life that I probably ought to consider myself an expert and shove my opinions toward center stage.

What is love? A divine emotion; a jumble of hormones; a many-splendored thing; something we can't live without? Do we fall or grow into it? Do we fall in love with those we're sexually attracted to, or are we sexually attracted to the ones we love? Can/should love be separate from sex? (A question women in general have a hard time with.) Do you only get one love of your life? Why DO we fall in love, and what makes love last? And finally, if your love dies, can you bring it back?

I certainly can't presume to speak for anyone but myself on this topic. If I look back on the course of my life, I think romantic love represented a tapping in to certain qualities that I lacked in myself. In my twenties and early thirties, I was most attracted to and fell in love with men who were type-A, hard charging over-achievers: attractive men who could tell a good story, command a room, direct a team, get things done. I'm sure my mother's generation would have looked at them as "a good provider," and certainly it was reassuring to know there was someone in my life who could handle just about anything. But as I got older, I also found that the qualities that attracted me to these men did not really respond well to change, which made it very hard for me to grow and develop. They didn't want to hear my stories - they had their own. They didn't want me to develop a plan for our future -they already had one, thank you very much. They did not want me to assume a starring role in my life -- they were already occupying center stage, and it got a bit crowded with two of us up there.

As I wrestled with these issues, I also struggled with the nature of love, and what we all do to make love "work" within the context of our daily lives. Often we fall in love based on an initial physical attraction, which might be bolstered by the commonality of shared experiences (think of high-school sweethearts, college students, or work colleagues). As relationships progress, how many of us have adapted or given up pieces of who we are in order to make everything go smoother -- habits, past-times, beliefs, friends, convictions, whatever it might be? At the same time, we're focused on benchmarking the relationship in accordance to whatever context we're comfortable with - are we going on the right dates, does he drive the right car, is she hot enough, are we moving at the right pace, are we planning the right wedding, will we live in the right neighborhood, will we be the right kind of parents, etc? By the time we get most of the way down this path, it's too late to take a step back and realize that maybe the questions we should have been asking were, "Who am I? What makes me tick, and what kind of life do I ultimately want? How do I want to define love?"

I think many of us instinctively know the qualities that a lasting love should have: respect, integrity, honesty, open communication, attraction, caring, honor, joy -- continue as you wish. So why is it so incredibly hard to find the real thing? Possibly because human beings have very little patience - we want what we want when we want it (especially my generation). The idea of "love at first sight" has screwed up a lot of otherwise rational people. I think also the idea that there's only one soul-mate for everyone has screwed us up too -- what if this is The One and I let him/her get away? What if I never get another chance? Most of us don't pause to reflect on what matters most to us, what qualities or characteristics from another person might enhance our lives -- instead, we rush to lock in the loan without considering the terms and the fact that the interest rate is going to quadruple at some point in the future. If it's a bad deal, it's a bad deal, and no amount of money, or the right diamond, or a killer promotion, or a house in the best neighborhood is going to make up for the fact that you've committed yourself to something that doesn't work for you. Eventually, what you thought was love is going to go out the window.

I realize it sounds like I'm the biggest cynic on the planet (sex is screwed up, love is worse...) - but I really believe that we just need to slow down and pay attention. When I realized that I'm typically attracted to the show horse, the kind of guy who needs to be on center stage all the time, I was also forced to confront the fact that because of that pattern, I was giving up far too much control over my own decisions, activities, friendships, and personality. I resented those men for being themselves - it was my own fault, only I had never taken the time to analyze and articulate what was important to me, or develop the emotional fortitude to stick to my guns. Now I know I want someone who listens as well as they talk; who has curiousity and a great thirst for new experiences; who has a sense of humor and adventure; who wants a partnership as instead of a dictatorship; who isn't afraid to lay the hard stuff out at the beginning and see who is still standing when the dust clears. Oh, and the physical attraction thing too -- I'm still interested in that.

It's Complicated

2008-10-18T22:39:00.000-07:00

Sex.

Was there ever a word, thought, impulse, deed that was so fraught with conflicting emotions? From adolescence on, the moment we figure out what feels good and what our minds and bodies are capable of, we are sucked (or thrust - even the verbs are evocative) into the maelstrom.

At 12, when most of my peers were reading Nancy Drew or Teen magazine, I swiped Fear of Flying off my mom's bedside table (and Wifey a few weeks later), and entered a world of adult fantasies and emotions that probably warped my sensitive little mind and formed the individual I am today. Or else it merely jumpstarted my erotic life and caused me to get off about 5-6 years earlier than the rest of my friends - but hey, he who dies with the most orgasms wins, right? But I do have cause to wonder if my appetite might be a little more...healthy...than most women I know, and if the cause is heredity or environment.

When I was in high school, I wanted to be a courtesan. Not a wife, not a woman with a traditional career, and certainly not a whore, but a highly-educated, intelligent woman who negotiated a contract with her sexual partners according to their wealth, intelligence and position in society. Today I find this curious -- what was it that I, as a 16-year-old, found intriguing about this situation? The sex, of course -- but I think it was also the independence, the control, and the fact that there were other elements (the intellectual discourse, the witty repartee?) involved. Marriage sounded so boring, but a courtesan, THIS was fascinating.

Fast forward twenty years to when I had my first child, and every woman's/parenting magazine I read talked about how to get your sex drive back, how to lose those last 10 lbs and look sexy for your husband, how to know if you were ready for him to touch you again (and how to tell him you weren't without making him feel bad). It was enought to make me scream. Where were the articles, I thought, that told you what to do if you were ready to get down but your husband wasn't? What if there wasn't any baby weight and I still looked good? What if I wanted it three times a week but he wanted it three times a year? What then?

Despite Sex and the City, in my experience, real women (or perhaps just real married women) don't talk about sex openly or freely. None of my friends felt the way I did -- they were all siding with the women in the magazines! When I revisited the whole courtesan idea they looked at me as if I'd suddenly grown another head and perhaps a couple pair of horns as an added bonus. It was enough to make me wonder what the heck was wrong with me. Which still makes me mad -- why wasn't I wondering what was wrong with THEM?

Like-Minded Souls

2008-10-16T22:38:00.000-07:00

I've been pondering lately about life, attraction, and the concept of soul-mates. What is it that attracts, connects, attaches us to the people around us? What is it that makes you think "aha!" with certain individuals, and struggle to find a shred of commonality with others? What are we looking for, why is it so important, and in all the craziness of modern daily life, is it even realistic to think we can find it, or having found it, hold on to it? We all crave the company of a like-minded soul - someone who understands and accepts us, celebrates our individuality, allows us to be more, do more, think more, create more than we would by ourselves. So why are we apparently so bad at finding that companionship?

I observe my friends, my co-workers, my neighbors, seemingly my entire generation -- all of them in some form or another are struggling with the significant relationship in their lives. Myself included. For the vast majority, we are not people who married for money or bowed to the family pressure of an arranged marriage; we are individuals who believed we had found "the one" (or "the next one") and chose our spouse or partner for love. Now we're being pulled apart by conflict over finances, raising children, not being able to have children, lack of sex, sex with other people, unemployment, too much time spent at work -- the pendulum seems to swing in either direction and the writing in the sand reveals emotional exhaustion. And these are not long-term relationships: 3, 5, 10 years - has modern life become so complex that it's only a matter of time (and not that much of it) before forces beyond our control break us apart? A cheery thought. Or is it us? Do we need to reconsider what we demand from life? How would that affect the choices we make about how to live and who we want to surround ourselves with and commit ourselves to?

More on this later...I think I need a glass of wine.