If you want a happy relationship, it helps to have good role models. But let's face it, in this age of the dueling Lohans (not to mention the 50% divorce rate), they can be hard to come by.
Today's Dear Abby featured letters from two men who've been happily married for many years. Look for the signatures, "Tutu
Kane" and "Gina's Man in Virginia."
Very inspiring.
And at Manslations today, Jeff Mac answers a reader who wants to know what the heck a guy means when he says he's "anti-marriage."
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
Monday, August 27, 2007
Show Me Your Hits
Of course I tuned in to Rock of Love last night. I'm a fool for the show, if not for its star, Poison lead singer Bret Michaels, who has offered himself as God's gift to a gaggle of women with low self-esteem (henceforth to be known as the LSEs).
Last night's episode had the LSEs separating into teams to come up with the cover art for Bret's forthcoming solo album.
The first team made the mistake of putting forth a photo featuring an LSE dressed up as a dirty old man, which deeply troubled Bret's henchman. "Are you saying Bret's old?" he demanded.
The second team offered a highly original Angel/Devil theme with a brunette LSE clad in a red teddy straddling a blonde in a white teddy. Of course, those clever foxes won the challenge.
"Like the girl-on-girl action," Bret remarked.
You gotta love this dude. He's a real visionary.
The winning team's creative director, a pink-haired LSE with beautiful features, won the top prize: alone time with Bret, whose leathery face is doomed to reincarnate into a Harley Wallet.
"Wear something warm and sexy," Bret advised the poor sucker.
According to VH1, next week "The Girls Take It Off." As if they haven't been taking it off already.
Last night's episode had the LSEs separating into teams to come up with the cover art for Bret's forthcoming solo album.
The first team made the mistake of putting forth a photo featuring an LSE dressed up as a dirty old man, which deeply troubled Bret's henchman. "Are you saying Bret's old?" he demanded.
The second team offered a highly original Angel/Devil theme with a brunette LSE clad in a red teddy straddling a blonde in a white teddy. Of course, those clever foxes won the challenge.
"Like the girl-on-girl action," Bret remarked.
You gotta love this dude. He's a real visionary.
The winning team's creative director, a pink-haired LSE with beautiful features, won the top prize: alone time with Bret, whose leathery face is doomed to reincarnate into a Harley Wallet.
"Wear something warm and sexy," Bret advised the poor sucker.
According to VH1, next week "The Girls Take It Off." As if they haven't been taking it off already.
Do You Hate Your Job?
If you do, you're not alone.
Fortunately, Michelle Goodman has written a fun-to-read and highly informative guidebook to help you escape the "corporate hamster wheel."
I found Michelle's book, The Anti 9-to-5 Guide: Practical Career Advice for Women Who Think Outside the Cube
, at the library last month while I waited for my younger daughter to be sprung from her writer's workshop.Here's the funny thing:
The woman in the author photo looked a lot like the Michelle Goodman I worked with at the job I mentioned (and hated) in the previous post, but it had been 15 years since I'd seen her. I went home, read the book, and liked it enough to call Dorothy, the owner of the new independent bookstore in my neighborhood, to order a copy for me.
It's a great book. But what, you may ask, does it have to do with dating?
Well, it's my philosophy that happy people attract good circumstances, friends, jobs, and lovers. Unhappy people attract more unhappiness. When you're so stressed your skin hurts, it shows. If you're overworked, underpaid, and bitter about it, believe me, people sense it. It's not a turn-on.
So, whether you're showing up at work with your hair wet because you can't get up in time for your 9-to-5 routine, or if you just want to flee Corporate America to explore your real passion, you might want to check out Michelle's book.
Take a look at her website while you're at it, too.
By the way, I emailed Michelle. She is indeed the Michelle Goodman I worked with.
Friday, August 24, 2007
An Anniversary of Sorts
Eighteen years ago today, I flew to San Francisco to be by myself. I had to get out of New York.
I was stuck working a rotten job I hated that hated me back. My roommate (and best friend since grammar school) and I had a major falling out that caused me to move out of the apartment we'd shared for two years. (Although I've never experienced a divorce, the loss of this friend sure felt like one; fortunately, we reconciled after the birth of my first daughter.)
Oh, and I was still hung up on a man who hadn't the capacity or the intention of ever loving me back.
I had been making a point to get out and meet new people, but the guys I met didn't do it for me. For the most part, they were decent looking, had good jobs, but they lacked something. To be perfectly honest, I lacked something, too. They were better off without me.
The most recent of these guys worked as a producer at a major network. He did some of the right things: Called when he said he would, showed up when he said he would, and made polite conversation with my parents, whom I'd moved back in with. But the guy drove like a maniac. He also squealed like a psychotic chimp when he lost his car in a parking lot.
I ended the relationship on a Saturday, went back to my cube on Monday, and wanted to kill myself Monday night. At this point, I made a vow: Don't date until you meet someone worthy of dating. Make yourself worthy of someone worthy of dating.
I had started working in earnest with the Law of Attraction about a month before, hanging out in my little brother's room (covered with a mix of posters that included Anthrax, Van Halen, and exercise guru Kathy Smith in a bathing suit) after dinner and writing affirmations while listening to Kate Bush, Tears For Fears, and Simple Minds.
I decided I needed a change of scenery (living in my parents' house facilitated this revelation). Travel had always cleared my head, and I needed clarity. So, one desperate evening after another soul-massacring day in the cube, I stopped at a bookstore and found a travel book on San Francisco. I liked San Francisco. I wanted to go.
But my best friend and I were no longer friends (she and I had been travel companions, having gone to England, Ireland, and Scotland together the year before, and the year before that). I had no boyfriend, and I really didn't feel like advertising for a new companion among neighboring cube dwellers.
I decided to go by myself. The travel book listed a Bed & Breakfast called The Red Victorian Inn on Haight Street, where I could get a room for $75.00 a night (about all I could afford). I called and was booked into the Inn's 'Sunshine Room.' I booked a cheap flight on a crappy airline, which ran out of pillows and lost my luggage on the return flight but managed not to crash.
Staying in a B&B afforded social opportunities I wouldn't have found in a hotel. Because guests ate breakfast together in a common room, I became acquainted with a beautiful South African dancewear designer who worked for Mikhail Baryshnikov. She and I went out to see Baghdad Cafe, an obscure film starring The Shield's CCH Pounder. I had lunch with another woman, who'd recently sold her business in London to travel around the world.
I spent a day by myself, checking out a record store on Haight Street. I went to the Japanese Tea Garden in Golden Gate Park. I walked to Union Square, Japantown, and Chinatown. I got lost in the maze that is the Presidio, until I gave into common sense and got a pair of bicyclists to show me the way out.
I didn't meet any fantastic men, but when I came back, I felt different. I had experiences that took the edge off the broken friendship, the romance that would never be, and the tortuous days in the cube.
Travel, for me, is about possibility: I see new things outside me. I see new things inside me. Therefore, I am different.
It sounds corny, but when I came back to New York after four short days, things changed for me. I kept the rotten job, but it got easier, and they offered me more money. Eventually, they kicked me upstairs to a better job which allowed me to travel.
I kept my promise not to date. I wrote my affirmations every single night. In October, I started a dating a guy who's sister promised he'd treat me "like gold," which was strangely appealing. He did treat me like gold, but by Martin Luther King Day, the relationship started to feel like a dress rehearsal for something better. I ended it.
In February, Peter asked me out. We went to Fishtales, a seafood restaurant in Manhasset, on a Wednesday for our first date. We ended up staying out until 3AM, and we've been together ever since. Eleven months after my solo trip to San Francisco, we drove up to Cape Breton Island, off Nova Scotia, where he introduced me to his grandparents.
My life had completely changed.
I was stuck working a rotten job I hated that hated me back. My roommate (and best friend since grammar school) and I had a major falling out that caused me to move out of the apartment we'd shared for two years. (Although I've never experienced a divorce, the loss of this friend sure felt like one; fortunately, we reconciled after the birth of my first daughter.)
Oh, and I was still hung up on a man who hadn't the capacity or the intention of ever loving me back.
I had been making a point to get out and meet new people, but the guys I met didn't do it for me. For the most part, they were decent looking, had good jobs, but they lacked something. To be perfectly honest, I lacked something, too. They were better off without me.
The most recent of these guys worked as a producer at a major network. He did some of the right things: Called when he said he would, showed up when he said he would, and made polite conversation with my parents, whom I'd moved back in with. But the guy drove like a maniac. He also squealed like a psychotic chimp when he lost his car in a parking lot.
I ended the relationship on a Saturday, went back to my cube on Monday, and wanted to kill myself Monday night. At this point, I made a vow: Don't date until you meet someone worthy of dating. Make yourself worthy of someone worthy of dating.
I had started working in earnest with the Law of Attraction about a month before, hanging out in my little brother's room (covered with a mix of posters that included Anthrax, Van Halen, and exercise guru Kathy Smith in a bathing suit) after dinner and writing affirmations while listening to Kate Bush, Tears For Fears, and Simple Minds.
I decided I needed a change of scenery (living in my parents' house facilitated this revelation). Travel had always cleared my head, and I needed clarity. So, one desperate evening after another soul-massacring day in the cube, I stopped at a bookstore and found a travel book on San Francisco. I liked San Francisco. I wanted to go.
But my best friend and I were no longer friends (she and I had been travel companions, having gone to England, Ireland, and Scotland together the year before, and the year before that). I had no boyfriend, and I really didn't feel like advertising for a new companion among neighboring cube dwellers.
I decided to go by myself. The travel book listed a Bed & Breakfast called The Red Victorian Inn on Haight Street, where I could get a room for $75.00 a night (about all I could afford). I called and was booked into the Inn's 'Sunshine Room.' I booked a cheap flight on a crappy airline, which ran out of pillows and lost my luggage on the return flight but managed not to crash.
Staying in a B&B afforded social opportunities I wouldn't have found in a hotel. Because guests ate breakfast together in a common room, I became acquainted with a beautiful South African dancewear designer who worked for Mikhail Baryshnikov. She and I went out to see Baghdad Cafe, an obscure film starring The Shield's CCH Pounder. I had lunch with another woman, who'd recently sold her business in London to travel around the world.
I spent a day by myself, checking out a record store on Haight Street. I went to the Japanese Tea Garden in Golden Gate Park. I walked to Union Square, Japantown, and Chinatown. I got lost in the maze that is the Presidio, until I gave into common sense and got a pair of bicyclists to show me the way out.
I didn't meet any fantastic men, but when I came back, I felt different. I had experiences that took the edge off the broken friendship, the romance that would never be, and the tortuous days in the cube.
Travel, for me, is about possibility: I see new things outside me. I see new things inside me. Therefore, I am different.
It sounds corny, but when I came back to New York after four short days, things changed for me. I kept the rotten job, but it got easier, and they offered me more money. Eventually, they kicked me upstairs to a better job which allowed me to travel.
I kept my promise not to date. I wrote my affirmations every single night. In October, I started a dating a guy who's sister promised he'd treat me "like gold," which was strangely appealing. He did treat me like gold, but by Martin Luther King Day, the relationship started to feel like a dress rehearsal for something better. I ended it.
In February, Peter asked me out. We went to Fishtales, a seafood restaurant in Manhasset, on a Wednesday for our first date. We ended up staying out until 3AM, and we've been together ever since. Eleven months after my solo trip to San Francisco, we drove up to Cape Breton Island, off Nova Scotia, where he introduced me to his grandparents.
My life had completely changed.
Thursday, August 23, 2007
Dating and Commitment From a Man's Perspective
Why do some guys freak out whenever the word 'marriage' comes up? Check out this smart and funny post on Men, Marriage, Commitment, and Terror from Manslator Jeff Mac.
For my perspective on why some women freak out when they hear the word 'marriage,' click here.
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
Cruise Alone or With a Friend
Virginia's a cruise planner I met in June 2006 through my networking group for entrepreneurial women. She's booked vacations for several of us, and everybody raves about her.
In July, she took the pastor and 50 parishioners from St. Lawrence Roman Catholic Church on a 3-week cruise to Italy and the Greek Islands. A goodly number of them have already booked another trip with her for next year.
She just emailed to advise me of a 4-night cruise on Royal Carribean's Navigator of the Seas to the Western Carribean. The ship will leave Fort Lauderdale on November 29th (the Thursday after Thanksgiving, which might be a good time to get away before Christmas drama ensues).
The timing and pricing may make it ideal for a quick getaway alone, with a couple of friends, or with a special friend. Interior Staterooms start at USD $304.00. Oceanview Staterooms start at USD $509.00.
Space is limited. Book with Virginia before August 30th, and you'll get a $25.00 on-board credit. She's personable and easy to talk to. Give her a call at 1-800-794-0741, and tell her Terry sent you.
On Being the CEO of Your Dating Life
This morning on Today, ad exec Donny Deutsch offered dating advice to a single mother. The 38-year-old never-married woman, who has a job she "loves" and a 4-year-old she "adores," is reluctant to throw her life out of balance by getting involved with a man. She says she has supportive friends and family. She seemed pretty content to me.
I'm sure Donny meant well. He suggested that this woman "test market" dating, so that "five years out," when her daughter may be tired of hanging out with her, she'll have "options." (Gotta love the corporate-speak.) Ann Curry chimed in, telling her, "People may say you're not taking care of your emotional needs" by not having a man on the scene.
If only it were that simple!
While I've never met the woman subjected to Donny's theories on dating, I do have ideas of my own on why she's hesitant to hook up with--or even meet--a man at this point in her life.
For instance:
Once she starts dating, the possibility exists that she'll fall in love. Once she falls in love, the possibility exists that she'll either move in with the guy or marry him. Once that happens, the possibility exists that she'll be stuck with a another job: Taking Care of Him (which could include doing his laundry, cooking for him, picking up his dry cleaning, shopping for his mother's birthday presents, and so on).
And if she marries him, she'll also have to face the question of changing her name. She may not want to change it, but his parents and much of society may smirk if she doesn't (yeah, she can keep her name professionally, but it's not the same).
The guy might not be satisfied being stepfather to her child, either. He could insist on having children of his own, and she may feel obligated to get pregnant. And then make arrangements for childcare. The decisions and sacrifices might never end.
So much for her emotional needs.
Today this woman is captain of her own ship. Letting a man climb aboard it could destroy her autonomy (just ask a successful woman who married and suddenly found herself signing her name beneath her husband's on a tax return).
And then again, it is entirely possible this woman could exempt herself from this nonsense. She could meet and fall in love with a man who does his own freaking laundry, who isn't threatened if she keeps her name, who is proud of her accomplishments at work and at home, and will be happy to be father of a child who didn't emerge from his gene pool.
She could, absolutely.
But when you look around and see all the women who still check their identities at church doors, it's easy to see why she spends Saturday nights watching 48 Hours.
I'm sure Donny meant well. He suggested that this woman "test market" dating, so that "five years out," when her daughter may be tired of hanging out with her, she'll have "options." (Gotta love the corporate-speak.) Ann Curry chimed in, telling her, "People may say you're not taking care of your emotional needs" by not having a man on the scene.
If only it were that simple!
While I've never met the woman subjected to Donny's theories on dating, I do have ideas of my own on why she's hesitant to hook up with--or even meet--a man at this point in her life.
For instance:
Once she starts dating, the possibility exists that she'll fall in love. Once she falls in love, the possibility exists that she'll either move in with the guy or marry him. Once that happens, the possibility exists that she'll be stuck with a another job: Taking Care of Him (which could include doing his laundry, cooking for him, picking up his dry cleaning, shopping for his mother's birthday presents, and so on).
And if she marries him, she'll also have to face the question of changing her name. She may not want to change it, but his parents and much of society may smirk if she doesn't (yeah, she can keep her name professionally, but it's not the same).
The guy might not be satisfied being stepfather to her child, either. He could insist on having children of his own, and she may feel obligated to get pregnant. And then make arrangements for childcare. The decisions and sacrifices might never end.
So much for her emotional needs.
Today this woman is captain of her own ship. Letting a man climb aboard it could destroy her autonomy (just ask a successful woman who married and suddenly found herself signing her name beneath her husband's on a tax return).
And then again, it is entirely possible this woman could exempt herself from this nonsense. She could meet and fall in love with a man who does his own freaking laundry, who isn't threatened if she keeps her name, who is proud of her accomplishments at work and at home, and will be happy to be father of a child who didn't emerge from his gene pool.
She could, absolutely.
But when you look around and see all the women who still check their identities at church doors, it's easy to see why she spends Saturday nights watching 48 Hours.
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
Bret Michaels Continues to Terrify Me
Peter busted me watching Rock of Love again the other night. "Isn't this kind of against everything you stand for?" he wanted to know.
"Leave me alone," I said. "It's research."
The latest episode featured women racing each other into porta-potties to be the first to change into hooker gear. By now you should know that Bret Michael's girl "always has to look hot" in a hurry.
The prize?
Alone time with the hair band frontman himself (whether he actually has hair is debatable; some of the traffic I get to this blog is from people who've keyed "bret michaels bald" into search engines).
Bret doesn't seem to be worth the effort. He's self-involved as hell, and for a 4-needle-a-day diabetic, he sure does drink a lot.
"Leave me alone," I said. "It's research."
The latest episode featured women racing each other into porta-potties to be the first to change into hooker gear. By now you should know that Bret Michael's girl "always has to look hot" in a hurry.
The prize?
Alone time with the hair band frontman himself (whether he actually has hair is debatable; some of the traffic I get to this blog is from people who've keyed "bret michaels bald" into search engines).
Bret doesn't seem to be worth the effort. He's self-involved as hell, and for a 4-needle-a-day diabetic, he sure does drink a lot.
Monday, August 20, 2007
The Kid's Getting Married!
Busy weekend:
The offspring returned from two weeks at camp on Saturday. Yesterday, we attended a party to celebrate the recent marriage of a good friend at the Manhasset Bay Yacht Club. I had a great time, especially since my father and all the siblings attended.
Out on the deck overlooking the water, my brother whispered to me that he'd gone to Tiffany's to buy an engagement ring for the woman he's dated for the past year (we really like her). He said he didn't know how or when he'd propose.
After Peter and I and the girls arrived home in Connecticut, the phone rang. It was my brother calling to say that he'd indeed sealed the deal. He and his fiancee will marry in December '08.
In case you're wondering, he met her through an online dating service. Like most people who've tried online dating, he waded through his fair share of duds, for sure.
But this girl's a winner.
Ready to try online dating? Click the black box on the right.
Friday, August 17, 2007
Turn On Your Love Light at the Blood Drive
I rarely find myself without something to do, but today I had time to kill and remembered a blood drive going on in town. Ordinarily, I would have talked myself out of donating, as I've done since the last time I gave blood, oh, six years ago. But I decided to go for it.
Lying there waiting for the blood-taking-person to insert the needle into my flesh (yes, I am a giant baby, and I am always careful to alert any and all blood-takers to treat me gently, lest I collapse into convulsive wails and humiliate myself beyond redemption), it occurred to me that my old friend, G, and her boyfriend, A, started giving blood together early in their relationship.
At the time, I admired their altruism, but I had no intention of joining it. I did notice that their devotion to each other grew after the first donation, and they made appointments to keep going back. They were the first couple among the group I hung out with to marry. Many years later, they remain together happily.
I suppose they still give blood, although I can't swear to it. Over the past few years, they've taken up participating in Run/Walk events to benefit sufferers of Cystic Fibrosis.
My parents used to give blood together, too, and they remained happily married for 44 years, until my mother died two years ago this August 20th.
Giving blood with a date may seem like an odd alternative to getting tickets to Daddy Day Camp, but it's an adventure. It's a scary thing for a lot of people. It requires sacrifice, which is kind of attractive. It requires vulnerability, which is definitely attractive.
And when it's over, donors feel a sense of achievement , which can facilitate closeness. It also brings on an uncontrollable urge to celebrate.
Just be sure to make an appointment before you go, or you could be stuck sitting around for hours.
Lying there waiting for the blood-taking-person to insert the needle into my flesh (yes, I am a giant baby, and I am always careful to alert any and all blood-takers to treat me gently, lest I collapse into convulsive wails and humiliate myself beyond redemption), it occurred to me that my old friend, G, and her boyfriend, A, started giving blood together early in their relationship.
At the time, I admired their altruism, but I had no intention of joining it. I did notice that their devotion to each other grew after the first donation, and they made appointments to keep going back. They were the first couple among the group I hung out with to marry. Many years later, they remain together happily.
I suppose they still give blood, although I can't swear to it. Over the past few years, they've taken up participating in Run/Walk events to benefit sufferers of Cystic Fibrosis.
My parents used to give blood together, too, and they remained happily married for 44 years, until my mother died two years ago this August 20th.
Giving blood with a date may seem like an odd alternative to getting tickets to Daddy Day Camp, but it's an adventure. It's a scary thing for a lot of people. It requires sacrifice, which is kind of attractive. It requires vulnerability, which is definitely attractive.
And when it's over, donors feel a sense of achievement , which can facilitate closeness. It also brings on an uncontrollable urge to celebrate.
Just be sure to make an appointment before you go, or you could be stuck sitting around for hours.
Thursday, August 16, 2007
What Kind of Man Are You Dating?
Natalie Morales and her guests Kate White and Dale Atkins help you figure it out in a silly but mildly entertaining Today Show segment.
I doubt Today will ever run a story helping fellows decipher women. The burden of reading minds seems to fall exclusively on females in this society.
Personally, I've opted out. I don't read minds.
Here's my credo when it comes to relationships: If you like me, show it. If you have something to say, say it. Treat me as you would have me treat you, lest I get fed up and hit the highway.
I doubt Today will ever run a story helping fellows decipher women. The burden of reading minds seems to fall exclusively on females in this society.
Personally, I've opted out. I don't read minds.
Here's my credo when it comes to relationships: If you like me, show it. If you have something to say, say it. Treat me as you would have me treat you, lest I get fed up and hit the highway.
Monday, August 13, 2007
Meet Lots of 'Maybes'
This morning's Today Show ran an excellent, if unfortunately titled, segment on how to meet someone special. Check out the video here.
I love the tip about getting a $25 webcam to screen online 'duds.' It surely beats learning a guy's not what he claimed after jockeying across town to meet him.
I could do without the segment's title, though, which is "Desperate to Date!" Yikes. Most single people aren't desperate; they're just too smart to settle.
I love the tip about getting a $25 webcam to screen online 'duds.' It surely beats learning a guy's not what he claimed after jockeying across town to meet him.
I could do without the segment's title, though, which is "Desperate to Date!" Yikes. Most single people aren't desperate; they're just too smart to settle.
Men and Love
I found this fascinating quote from a man who wrote the Modern Love essay in yesterday's New York Times:
"...especially as a guy in a good, solid marriage, I have no reason to lie: Once you sleep with someone, it's hard to ever get together with them again, no matter how much later, without thinking of the physical closeness that was, or wasn't quite, or might have been."
Read the entire essay here.Another article in yesterday's paper addresses the myth that men sleep around more than women.
"...especially as a guy in a good, solid marriage, I have no reason to lie: Once you sleep with someone, it's hard to ever get together with them again, no matter how much later, without thinking of the physical closeness that was, or wasn't quite, or might have been."
Read the entire essay here.Another article in yesterday's paper addresses the myth that men sleep around more than women.
Sunday, August 12, 2007
VH1's The Pickup Artist
So, far VH1's The Pickup Artist isn't as scary as I thought it would be.
The show features a bunch of decent but rejection-shy (and awkward) guys who need direction in attracting women. Their mentor is a man who goes by the silly-ish name of Mystery and claims to draw women like mice to cheddar. The second episode airs tomorrow at 9PM.
NBC's frightening Age of Love died its miserable death last Monday. Mark, the hapless Prince Charming charged with choosing his princess from among a group of 20- and 40-something women, anointed a 25-year-old with giant teeth.
VH1's Rock of Love, starring What's-With-the-Do-Rag Brett Michaels, continues to boggle the mind. I'd like an account of the show's budget for spray tan, for one thing. Everybody, including Brett, is orange.
And Brett is getting paranoid. He's convinced some of the women on the show aren't into him; they're just into the star trip. One woman in particular, a restaurant worker named Erin, is really getting under his skin. She mentioned that Justin Timberlake would soon appear in her place of employment.
Update: Brett just sent Erin back home to Chicago.
The show features a bunch of decent but rejection-shy (and awkward) guys who need direction in attracting women. Their mentor is a man who goes by the silly-ish name of Mystery and claims to draw women like mice to cheddar. The second episode airs tomorrow at 9PM.
NBC's frightening Age of Love died its miserable death last Monday. Mark, the hapless Prince Charming charged with choosing his princess from among a group of 20- and 40-something women, anointed a 25-year-old with giant teeth.
VH1's Rock of Love, starring What's-With-the-Do-Rag Brett Michaels, continues to boggle the mind. I'd like an account of the show's budget for spray tan, for one thing. Everybody, including Brett, is orange.
And Brett is getting paranoid. He's convinced some of the women on the show aren't into him; they're just into the star trip. One woman in particular, a restaurant worker named Erin, is really getting under his skin. She mentioned that Justin Timberlake would soon appear in her place of employment.
Update: Brett just sent Erin back home to Chicago.
Saturday, August 11, 2007
Love Is In the Air
I'm republishing my response to a reader comment on a previous post, "The Love of Her Future Life" here.
The reader's comment reads in part:
"Great blog. However, I still, more than one year after reading your book, am having trouble visualizing my man in as fine detail as you and your friend were able to do. How does one do that without "seeing" someone you may have known, thought was great, but is married or otherwise unavailable?"
Here's my response:
Before I started visualizing, I was flat-out crazy about an unavailable guy whose unavailability didn't stop him from stringing me along. Let me tell you, my attraction to him was all-consuming and relentless.
I took myself to one side: You're attracted to him, but he will not make you happy. Even if you did end up with him, you'd be looking over your shoulder for the rest of your life.
I set out to use visualization to attract a new relationship. I knew how great the uavailable guy made me feel (when we were together, that is). The trick was to re-create that feeling with another, yet unseen, man.
I did not necessarily know what I'd be attracted to (as long as it stopped being the other guy). I knew what qualities I wanted and needed in a long-term partner, though. I wrote them down (writing is more effective than thinking; you're making it concrete).
As you know, Margaret, I wanted someone who was: loyal, loving, reliable, successful, and fun. So, I wrote the following affirmation every single day while listening to Kate Bush's The Sensual World:
"I am happily married to a loyal, loving, reliable, successful, fun man."
Now there are many men who possess those particular qualities; however, some of them are already married, or they're Mama's Boys, or they like to pick their noses at stop lights.
I didn't want to be attracted to them.
So what I did, when writing my affirmation, was to conjure the sense of excitement I got with the old guy with the new, unseen, one.
Now this can get tricky. At first you have very few details to go with. The guy in your imagination is like ether. You can't see him, feel him, and so on.
So, it's here, during your visualization (keep a pen in your hand if it helps you focus) that you start filling in the smell of his shirt, the warmth of his hand, and so on.
All the while you're bringing up that feeling you got when you were with Mr. Unavailable.
As for my friend, she's just coming out of the most awful marriage, so she's very clear about what she DOES NOT want. It's easy for her to tell you what she DOES WANT.
Now, she's listed the occupation of her future fellow, but you don't have to be that specific (I wasn't). It's the feeling she gets (let me emphasize that, the feeling) when she brings this guy to life in her imagination that will him into her life.
She's conditioning her subconscious to believe that she's capable of being in a relationship with someone who treats her well.
She's also conditioning herself to BE ATTRACTED TO someone who treats her well.
Let's face it: Some of us are walking around forever attracting and being attracted to men who do not treat us well, hence the girls-who-love-bad-boys syndrome. Or the girls-who-only-love-boys-they-cannot-have syndrome.
You don't have to predict what you'll be attracted to. You know what you're attracted to. So, if you're attracted to a married guy, what attracts you to him?
If it's that he's married, that's a problem. A lot of women are attracted to unavailable guys for their own reasons, usually because they'll never have to wake up to him for the rest of their lives. (If this sounds like you, determine what puts you off about marriage and create a marriage in your imagination that defies it. For example, I didn't like the idea of being stuck with all the housework, among other things.)
But if it's his sense of humor, the way he handles a car, the way he looks in a white button-down shirt, the sureness of his hands, you can re-create that in your new unseen man. You can certainly re-create the feeling you get.
Easy does it, Margaret. You know how you feel when you're with a guy you're attracted to.
Write down the qualities you want in your new guy, gel 'em with the feeling you got with the old guy. Write an affirmation in the present tense about your great new relationship.
Every day write a scene about you and the new guy: "Today my husband and I (feel it as you write it) went to IKEA to buy a new couch to put in front of the fireplace. When we got home, we ate onion bagels while we put the couch together. It came together in no time, so he lit a fire. We stood in front of the fireplace holding each other for a while, and then he poured some wine. We turned off the phone and slumped on our soft new couch together, his arm around me, my head on his shoulder, taking in the smell of burning wood. He kissed me..."
When you write your scene, engage all your senses. Be in it.
Do this every single day. Do it tomorrow: "Today my husband and I went to the park..." Keep bringing the relationship to life in your imagination.
It really doesn't help to do it once in a while. Get thee to Staples and buy a cheap spiral notebook and write a short scene every single day.
I hope this clarifies things.
The reader's comment reads in part:
"Great blog. However, I still, more than one year after reading your book, am having trouble visualizing my man in as fine detail as you and your friend were able to do. How does one do that without "seeing" someone you may have known, thought was great, but is married or otherwise unavailable?"
Here's my response:
Before I started visualizing, I was flat-out crazy about an unavailable guy whose unavailability didn't stop him from stringing me along. Let me tell you, my attraction to him was all-consuming and relentless.
I took myself to one side: You're attracted to him, but he will not make you happy. Even if you did end up with him, you'd be looking over your shoulder for the rest of your life.
I set out to use visualization to attract a new relationship. I knew how great the uavailable guy made me feel (when we were together, that is). The trick was to re-create that feeling with another, yet unseen, man.
I did not necessarily know what I'd be attracted to (as long as it stopped being the other guy). I knew what qualities I wanted and needed in a long-term partner, though. I wrote them down (writing is more effective than thinking; you're making it concrete).
As you know, Margaret, I wanted someone who was: loyal, loving, reliable, successful, and fun. So, I wrote the following affirmation every single day while listening to Kate Bush's The Sensual World:
"I am happily married to a loyal, loving, reliable, successful, fun man."
Now there are many men who possess those particular qualities; however, some of them are already married, or they're Mama's Boys, or they like to pick their noses at stop lights.
I didn't want to be attracted to them.
So what I did, when writing my affirmation, was to conjure the sense of excitement I got with the old guy with the new, unseen, one.
Now this can get tricky. At first you have very few details to go with. The guy in your imagination is like ether. You can't see him, feel him, and so on.
So, it's here, during your visualization (keep a pen in your hand if it helps you focus) that you start filling in the smell of his shirt, the warmth of his hand, and so on.
All the while you're bringing up that feeling you got when you were with Mr. Unavailable.
As for my friend, she's just coming out of the most awful marriage, so she's very clear about what she DOES NOT want. It's easy for her to tell you what she DOES WANT.
Now, she's listed the occupation of her future fellow, but you don't have to be that specific (I wasn't). It's the feeling she gets (let me emphasize that, the feeling) when she brings this guy to life in her imagination that will him into her life.
She's conditioning her subconscious to believe that she's capable of being in a relationship with someone who treats her well.
She's also conditioning herself to BE ATTRACTED TO someone who treats her well.
Let's face it: Some of us are walking around forever attracting and being attracted to men who do not treat us well, hence the girls-who-love-bad-boys syndrome. Or the girls-who-only-love-boys-they-cannot-have syndrome.
You don't have to predict what you'll be attracted to. You know what you're attracted to. So, if you're attracted to a married guy, what attracts you to him?
If it's that he's married, that's a problem. A lot of women are attracted to unavailable guys for their own reasons, usually because they'll never have to wake up to him for the rest of their lives. (If this sounds like you, determine what puts you off about marriage and create a marriage in your imagination that defies it. For example, I didn't like the idea of being stuck with all the housework, among other things.)
But if it's his sense of humor, the way he handles a car, the way he looks in a white button-down shirt, the sureness of his hands, you can re-create that in your new unseen man. You can certainly re-create the feeling you get.
Easy does it, Margaret. You know how you feel when you're with a guy you're attracted to.
Write down the qualities you want in your new guy, gel 'em with the feeling you got with the old guy. Write an affirmation in the present tense about your great new relationship.
Every day write a scene about you and the new guy: "Today my husband and I (feel it as you write it) went to IKEA to buy a new couch to put in front of the fireplace. When we got home, we ate onion bagels while we put the couch together. It came together in no time, so he lit a fire. We stood in front of the fireplace holding each other for a while, and then he poured some wine. We turned off the phone and slumped on our soft new couch together, his arm around me, my head on his shoulder, taking in the smell of burning wood. He kissed me..."
When you write your scene, engage all your senses. Be in it.
Do this every single day. Do it tomorrow: "Today my husband and I went to the park..." Keep bringing the relationship to life in your imagination.
It really doesn't help to do it once in a while. Get thee to Staples and buy a cheap spiral notebook and write a short scene every single day.
I hope this clarifies things.
Friday, August 10, 2007
Thursday, August 09, 2007
The Love of Her Future Life
A lovely woman I know has made a decision to leave her marriage after many years of anguish (I'll protect her substandard husband by not going into details).
The other day she informed me there's a new man in her life. She hasn't met him and doesn't hope to meet him for some time; she's looking forward to being single. But she already knows what she'll want in a man when she's ready for a new relationship.
She has a general idea of what he'll look like and what he'll do for a living. She knows what they'll have in common: He'll like books and art. He'll enjoy traveling with her. She has an idea of the sound of his voice, the warmth of his hand, and how she'll feel when he says her name.
He will love her. She won't know this by ostentatious gestures, but by the way he looks at her over the dinner table. She is a brave and passionate cook who lives to prepare meals for the people she loves. He will be grateful for every plate she sets before him.
I have no doubt that one day this man will enter her life and make her happy. She knows what she wants, and she's bringing it to life in her imagination.
This is how love happened for me. When she's ready, it's going to happen for her, too.
The other day she informed me there's a new man in her life. She hasn't met him and doesn't hope to meet him for some time; she's looking forward to being single. But she already knows what she'll want in a man when she's ready for a new relationship.
She has a general idea of what he'll look like and what he'll do for a living. She knows what they'll have in common: He'll like books and art. He'll enjoy traveling with her. She has an idea of the sound of his voice, the warmth of his hand, and how she'll feel when he says her name.
He will love her. She won't know this by ostentatious gestures, but by the way he looks at her over the dinner table. She is a brave and passionate cook who lives to prepare meals for the people she loves. He will be grateful for every plate she sets before him.
I have no doubt that one day this man will enter her life and make her happy. She knows what she wants, and she's bringing it to life in her imagination.
This is how love happened for me. When she's ready, it's going to happen for her, too.
Wednesday, August 08, 2007
How to Bounce Back From a Break-Up
If you've been with me for a while, you know I'm a proponent of EFT (or Emotional Freedom Technique). It got me through a wicked case of insomnia and panic attacks, for instance, during my mother's illness and after her death.
Holistic Health Counselor Alison Held recommends EFT for healing a broken heart. If you're like me, I didn't bounce back from failed relationships well (tended to pack on the pounds and wallow in misery) and held myself back from finding happiness with a more suitable guy.
The cool thing about EFT is it's free to use on your own, or if you prefer, you can hire a practitioner like Alison to take you through it. It's been endorsed by Joseph Mercola MD, Cheryl Richardson, Deepak Chopra, Jack Canfield, and others.
Check out EFT founder Gary Craig's website for a free manual.
On Monday, Alison phoned to say that a company named Try It Productions was calling around to her and other EFT practitioners, looking to talk to clients who could provide testimonials about EFT's effectiveness. Alison recommended me.
An interviewer and cameraman arrived at my house yesterday, so I may end up in the movie (if I don't end up on the cutting room floor). It was great fun telling my story. After the duo packed up and left, I checked out the trailer for the movie, which debuted on Try It On Everything yesterday.
I was delighted to find out that if I do make the final cut, I'll be in good company. Jack Canfield, Joe Vitale, Cheryl Richardson, and Norm Shealy, M.D. are featured in the film.
The trailer is short, informative, and fun to watch. Check it out here.
Monday, August 06, 2007
Why Eat Healthfully When You Can Get Liposuction Instead?
In a segment entitled, "Drama Over the Posh Spice" diet, The Today Show eviscerated the authors of Skinny Bitch (prefacing the attack by warning parents to lower their TVs to avoid scaring children with the word "Bitch," which Today altered to read "B*tch," lest anybody's eyes fall out).
Today noted that sales for Skinny Bitch, a book that promotes eschewing meat and dairy, took off after Victoria (Posh Spice) Beckham had been photographed holding the book. Beckham's publicity machine later denied their client follows "fad diets" and instead eats a diet high in fruit, vegetables, and fish. Which is pretty much what the Skinny Bitch authors promote, less the fish.
If you're willing to sit through a commercial, you can check out the report here.
For further commentary by the show's horrified producer, click here. In questioning the authors' right to write a book about healthy eating, he writes, "..last I checked, being around skinny people hardly makes one an authority on how they got that way."
Wuh?
Here's the ironic thing about the Today segment: They preceded it with an "expose" disputing diet and exercise as a means of spot fat reduction. Their source? A plastic surgeon. That's right. The lone, single, solitary source Janice Lieberman used in her segment dismissing the effectiveness of diet and exercise was--ta da!-- a plastic surgeon. Watch her report here.
What, pray tell, does the surgeon recommend for spot reduction?
You guessed it, Baby: Liposuction.
The Today Show is officially headed off the rails. (And please do not insult me, Matt and Meredith, by implying that you're offended by the word "bitch," or that you've never used it.)
Let's face it: The vegan diet Skinny Bitch promotes may not be for everybody. I've tried to give up cheese more times than I can count, and it just ain't happening. And, although I gave up meat for Lent and haven't turned back, my family likes it and continues to eat it.
That said, since I've given up meat, my LDL and triglyceride levels returned to normal. Would lipo have yielded such healthful results?
I don't think so.
Today noted that sales for Skinny Bitch, a book that promotes eschewing meat and dairy, took off after Victoria (Posh Spice) Beckham had been photographed holding the book. Beckham's publicity machine later denied their client follows "fad diets" and instead eats a diet high in fruit, vegetables, and fish. Which is pretty much what the Skinny Bitch authors promote, less the fish.
If you're willing to sit through a commercial, you can check out the report here.
For further commentary by the show's horrified producer, click here. In questioning the authors' right to write a book about healthy eating, he writes, "..last I checked, being around skinny people hardly makes one an authority on how they got that way."
Wuh?
Here's the ironic thing about the Today segment: They preceded it with an "expose" disputing diet and exercise as a means of spot fat reduction. Their source? A plastic surgeon. That's right. The lone, single, solitary source Janice Lieberman used in her segment dismissing the effectiveness of diet and exercise was--ta da!-- a plastic surgeon. Watch her report here.
What, pray tell, does the surgeon recommend for spot reduction?
You guessed it, Baby: Liposuction.
The Today Show is officially headed off the rails. (And please do not insult me, Matt and Meredith, by implying that you're offended by the word "bitch," or that you've never used it.)
Let's face it: The vegan diet Skinny Bitch promotes may not be for everybody. I've tried to give up cheese more times than I can count, and it just ain't happening. And, although I gave up meat for Lent and haven't turned back, my family likes it and continues to eat it.
That said, since I've given up meat, my LDL and triglyceride levels returned to normal. Would lipo have yielded such healthful results?
I don't think so.
Sunday, August 05, 2007
Love, Loss, and Marriage
After putting the girls on the camp bus to New Hampshire this morning (I still have a small pain in my stomach), Peter and I made a quick stop for coffee and the newspaper at a gas station in Hicksville, Long Island. We hit the highway by 7:30 and managed to get home to Connecticut before the coffee got cold.
The New York Times ran two worthwhile stories in its Style section today.
The first is by a woman who lost her best friend after falling for a man she met in Prague. The other details the wedding of a once-reluctant bride and co-author of the book, The Bridal Wave: A Survival Guide to the Everyone-I-Know-Is-Getting-Married Years
.
The New York Times ran two worthwhile stories in its Style section today.
The first is by a woman who lost her best friend after falling for a man she met in Prague. The other details the wedding of a once-reluctant bride and co-author of the book, The Bridal Wave: A Survival Guide to the Everyone-I-Know-Is-Getting-Married Years
.Saturday, August 04, 2007
Alone At Last
If you're here for dating advice, this particular post won't interest you. Scroll onward, Pilgrim.
The offspring are heading to camp for two weeks in New Hampshire tomorrow, so I've spent the past couple of days ironing labels onto bedsheets and bathing suits. Had to run out for necessities like bug repellant and sunscreen. Ended up spending a boatload of money.
My father came up from New York Thursday and stayed until this morning. He left before I got up, probably around 6. It can be pretty noisy around here. I hope he had a good time.
We're off to Long Island today for a block party. The girls will catch the bus to camp at 6:30 AM tomorrow morning.Peter and I don't have any earth-shaking plans for the next two weeks, but we're looking forward to it. I'm sure we'll find a way to fill the time.
The offspring are heading to camp for two weeks in New Hampshire tomorrow, so I've spent the past couple of days ironing labels onto bedsheets and bathing suits. Had to run out for necessities like bug repellant and sunscreen. Ended up spending a boatload of money.
My father came up from New York Thursday and stayed until this morning. He left before I got up, probably around 6. It can be pretty noisy around here. I hope he had a good time.
We're off to Long Island today for a block party. The girls will catch the bus to camp at 6:30 AM tomorrow morning.Peter and I don't have any earth-shaking plans for the next two weeks, but we're looking forward to it. I'm sure we'll find a way to fill the time.
Thursday, August 02, 2007
Who Should Pay On the First Date?
If you're a woman, Dating Coach Ronnie Ann Ryan says it shouldn't be you. Click here for her free report and find out why.
A reader has taken me to task for suggesting that checking a guy's cell phone for evidence he's been talking to other women is unattractive. She made some excellent points that I'm thinking over seriously.
While the women I'd referred to routinely surveilled innocent boyfriends, this reader had serious grounds to believe her fellow was cheating. She checked his cell phone and found that he had indeed text messaged another woman about "getting together."
She followed her instincts, and that's a good thing. She did what she had to do.
But I think we can fairly set her apart from women (and men) who suffer from the kind of insecurity that compels them--without sufficient cause-- to check up on good, devoted, true loves and ultimately drive them away.
A reader has taken me to task for suggesting that checking a guy's cell phone for evidence he's been talking to other women is unattractive. She made some excellent points that I'm thinking over seriously.
While the women I'd referred to routinely surveilled innocent boyfriends, this reader had serious grounds to believe her fellow was cheating. She checked his cell phone and found that he had indeed text messaged another woman about "getting together."
She followed her instincts, and that's a good thing. She did what she had to do.
But I think we can fairly set her apart from women (and men) who suffer from the kind of insecurity that compels them--without sufficient cause-- to check up on good, devoted, true loves and ultimately drive them away.
Wednesday, August 01, 2007
The Law of Attraction Nets Me a Falafel
The Amazing V. and I set out for a neighboring town to India Raj for lunch. (All morning, I got a warm, happy feeling in my stomach whenever I remembered I'd soon be filling with vegetable vindaloo.)
We arrived at India Raj at 3:07, only to learn that they'd closed at 3 and wouldn't reopen until dinner. Dejected, we headed back for her minivan and stuffed the children back in. The warm feeling in my stomach was replaced with a cold loneliness.
"We could try that other Indian place in Newtown," V. suggested.
"Yeah, let's do that," I said, even though the food didn't taste as good as India Raj's. It also cost more.
"Let's go for pizza," shouted a little voice from the back.
But I wasn't in the mood for pizza, not Connecticut pizza, anyway.
Valerie drove on, and as we passed the beautiful old stone houses and lattice-balconied stores and the mossy ponds with the tree branches coming straight up out of them, I kept thinking, "Wow. I am just so lucky to live here. It is the most beautiful place on earth."
I said to the Amazing V., "You know, I really could go for falafel. I haven't had a falafel since I moved here four-and-a-half years ago."
"Yeah," she said. "But you can't get falafel in Connecticut, unless you count that dried-out thing we had in downtown Shelton."
She hung a left into the parking lot of the Newtown Indian place. The sign on the door revealed that it, like the other, was closed and would not reopen until dinner.
"What's with these people?" she asked.
And then we saw it: Across the street stood a little hole-in-the-wall Greek market.
"Check it out," I said. "Greek food! Do you think they have falafel?"
(Although the state of Connecticut is home to many Greek diners, I have yet to find one that serves falafel. But I was feeling lucky.)
"Let's try it," said V.
We popped out of the van and into the store. A strapping Greek man came toward us.
"Do you have falafel?" I asked him.
"Yes, I have falafel. How many you want?"
At this point, we rounded up the children and seated them at tables in the back.
"I have a funny story to tell you," I told the owner, as he brought out our orders. Then I told him of my desperation for a decent falafel since I moved here.
"Where are you from?" he asked.
"New York."
"I used to live in New York when I came to this country. Where did you live?"
"Flushing."
"Where?"
"Near Northern Boulevard."
"Where?"
"172nd Street."
"I know it. I used to work at the Saravan Diner."
"Get out! It's impossible to get falafel in Connecticut, you know."
"Yeah," he said. "Everyone here wants hamburger, cheeseburger, fish fry."
Before I left, I ordered a gyro to go for Peter. When he and I were dating, we used to eat them at a Greek place in Flushing near his apartment.
Some people will insist that my falafel acquisition moments after uttering the words, "I could really go for falafel," is coincidence.
But the Amazing V. and I do not think so.
We arrived at India Raj at 3:07, only to learn that they'd closed at 3 and wouldn't reopen until dinner. Dejected, we headed back for her minivan and stuffed the children back in. The warm feeling in my stomach was replaced with a cold loneliness.
"We could try that other Indian place in Newtown," V. suggested.
"Yeah, let's do that," I said, even though the food didn't taste as good as India Raj's. It also cost more.
"Let's go for pizza," shouted a little voice from the back.
But I wasn't in the mood for pizza, not Connecticut pizza, anyway.
Valerie drove on, and as we passed the beautiful old stone houses and lattice-balconied stores and the mossy ponds with the tree branches coming straight up out of them, I kept thinking, "Wow. I am just so lucky to live here. It is the most beautiful place on earth."
I said to the Amazing V., "You know, I really could go for falafel. I haven't had a falafel since I moved here four-and-a-half years ago."
"Yeah," she said. "But you can't get falafel in Connecticut, unless you count that dried-out thing we had in downtown Shelton."
She hung a left into the parking lot of the Newtown Indian place. The sign on the door revealed that it, like the other, was closed and would not reopen until dinner.
"What's with these people?" she asked.
And then we saw it: Across the street stood a little hole-in-the-wall Greek market.
"Check it out," I said. "Greek food! Do you think they have falafel?"
(Although the state of Connecticut is home to many Greek diners, I have yet to find one that serves falafel. But I was feeling lucky.)
"Let's try it," said V.
We popped out of the van and into the store. A strapping Greek man came toward us.
"Do you have falafel?" I asked him.
"Yes, I have falafel. How many you want?"
At this point, we rounded up the children and seated them at tables in the back.
"I have a funny story to tell you," I told the owner, as he brought out our orders. Then I told him of my desperation for a decent falafel since I moved here.
"Where are you from?" he asked.
"New York."
"I used to live in New York when I came to this country. Where did you live?"
"Flushing."
"Where?"
"Near Northern Boulevard."
"Where?"
"172nd Street."
"I know it. I used to work at the Saravan Diner."
"Get out! It's impossible to get falafel in Connecticut, you know."
"Yeah," he said. "Everyone here wants hamburger, cheeseburger, fish fry."
Before I left, I ordered a gyro to go for Peter. When he and I were dating, we used to eat them at a Greek place in Flushing near his apartment.
Some people will insist that my falafel acquisition moments after uttering the words, "I could really go for falafel," is coincidence.
But the Amazing V. and I do not think so.
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
Not Every Man Wants to Be Jack Nicholson
At a barbecue, the subject came up that a recently-purchased house in the neighborhood is up for sale again.
"I wonder what happened," I said.
"The guy left his wife for a 23-year-old girl," the hostess remarked.
"Are you kidding?" asked a 44-year-old fellow dipping into a bowl of Doritos. "How old is he?"
"I don't know," the hostess replied. "Forty-seven, I think."
"What an idiot!" the guy shouted. "Hey, Paul, did you hear that the guy in the white house left his wife for a 23-year-old?"
"I heard," Paul replied. "What an IDIOT!"
Later, I told Peter the story.
His reponse?
"What a moron. What's he going to talk about with a 23-year-old?"Contrary to what the box in the living room tells us, not every guy wants to be Jack Nicholson or Michael Douglas (I still haven't figured out what Catherine Zeta Jones sees in that guy. His rump wobbled way back in Basic Instinct).
"I wonder what happened," I said.
"The guy left his wife for a 23-year-old girl," the hostess remarked.
"Are you kidding?" asked a 44-year-old fellow dipping into a bowl of Doritos. "How old is he?"
"I don't know," the hostess replied. "Forty-seven, I think."
"What an idiot!" the guy shouted. "Hey, Paul, did you hear that the guy in the white house left his wife for a 23-year-old?"
"I heard," Paul replied. "What an IDIOT!"
Later, I told Peter the story.
His reponse?
"What a moron. What's he going to talk about with a 23-year-old?"Contrary to what the box in the living room tells us, not every guy wants to be Jack Nicholson or Michael Douglas (I still haven't figured out what Catherine Zeta Jones sees in that guy. His rump wobbled way back in Basic Instinct).
Monday, July 30, 2007
Checking a Guy's Cell Phone For Evidence of Other Women
Peter hoped to go to Paul Newman's restaurant on Saturday night, but I figured the place would be jammed with theater-goers (the Westport Country Playhouse is located next door), so we went to our favorite Mexican haunt instead. I was happy to go someplace dark and familiar.
Instead of going to see Sicko, we ended up in Trader Joe's (we love Trader Joe's!). When we were first married, we used to go to the supermarket together, and we enjoyed being able to do it again without offspring arguing with us to buy things we don't want.
On the way home, we got caught in a flood on Route 34. Water gushed up to the doors of our car. I don't think I've ever been on the road in such conditions. Pretty scary, but we came out of it okay. A lot of other people had to pull over and fiddle around under their hoods.
During all this, Peter told me that two guys he works with are dealing with girlfriends who routinely check their cell phones for evidence of communication with other women. I have news for you; the day I feel compelled to check Peter's cell phone is the day I die. And the day I find him checking mine is the day he dies.
It's harrassment. It's surveillance. It's unattractive.
If a guy cheats (or has given a woman reason to think he has), isn't she better off discussing it and feeling him out? Sure, he might lie to her, but then he's only confirmed the fact that it's time for her to hit the highway.
As for the guys whose girlfriends are surveilling them, both asked Peter's advice.
"Are you cheating?" he asked.
"Absolutely not," came the replies.
"Do you like coming home and getting the third degree about Betty from Payroll's number being in your cell phone?"
"Not really."
"Well," Peter said. "These situations don't usually improve with time. You might want to rethink the relationship."
Instead of going to see Sicko, we ended up in Trader Joe's (we love Trader Joe's!). When we were first married, we used to go to the supermarket together, and we enjoyed being able to do it again without offspring arguing with us to buy things we don't want.
On the way home, we got caught in a flood on Route 34. Water gushed up to the doors of our car. I don't think I've ever been on the road in such conditions. Pretty scary, but we came out of it okay. A lot of other people had to pull over and fiddle around under their hoods.
During all this, Peter told me that two guys he works with are dealing with girlfriends who routinely check their cell phones for evidence of communication with other women. I have news for you; the day I feel compelled to check Peter's cell phone is the day I die. And the day I find him checking mine is the day he dies.
It's harrassment. It's surveillance. It's unattractive.
If a guy cheats (or has given a woman reason to think he has), isn't she better off discussing it and feeling him out? Sure, he might lie to her, but then he's only confirmed the fact that it's time for her to hit the highway.
As for the guys whose girlfriends are surveilling them, both asked Peter's advice.
"Are you cheating?" he asked.
"Absolutely not," came the replies.
"Do you like coming home and getting the third degree about Betty from Payroll's number being in your cell phone?"
"Not really."
"Well," Peter said. "These situations don't usually improve with time. You might want to rethink the relationship."
Saturday, July 28, 2007
Date Night Tonight
We regained access to our money, so Peter and I will go out by ourselves for dinner tonight. Perhaps we'll see Sicko, too.
Maybe we'll call another couple to join us. Then again, maybe we won't.
I spent the morning watching the old Andrew McCarthy/Kevin Dillon movie, Heaven Help Us, which pretty much sums up my experience at Our Lady of the Blessed Sacrament in Bayside. Spoke to my old classmate, Karen, yesterday on the phone for almost two hours. We met in Blessed Sacrament in 3rd grade and have been friends ever since.
Must recommend Heaven Help Us to her. I imagine she'll find it cathartic.
Both Andrew McCarthy and Kevin Dillon were fabulous in that movie, by the way. McCarthy made you feel exactly what the character felt, and around Eighth Grade I knew boys just like Kevin Dillon's character. These days, Dillon blows me away as Johnny Drama on Entourage. He and Jeremy Piven's Ari Gold are my favorite characters (although I like Kevin Connolly as the show's moral compass, E,, too).
It's too bad Andrew McCarthy has fallen out of the limelight. I saw him on 20/20 a couple of years ago, where he explained that much of the widely lauded performance he gave in Pretty In Pink benefited from the pain of a wicked hangover.
I hoped to post Stephen Colbert's response to Pope Benedict's disturbing claim that only Catholics are on the path to salvation (I hang around with a lot of non-Catholics), but I cannot seem to dig it up. By the accounts I've read, Colbert is a much better Catholic than I am.
His take on Benedict's comments were priceless.
(Note: A quick Google search directed me to McCarthy's website. Apparently, he's keeping busy, which is great news as far as I'm concerned.)
Maybe we'll call another couple to join us. Then again, maybe we won't.
I spent the morning watching the old Andrew McCarthy/Kevin Dillon movie, Heaven Help Us, which pretty much sums up my experience at Our Lady of the Blessed Sacrament in Bayside. Spoke to my old classmate, Karen, yesterday on the phone for almost two hours. We met in Blessed Sacrament in 3rd grade and have been friends ever since.
Must recommend Heaven Help Us to her. I imagine she'll find it cathartic.
Both Andrew McCarthy and Kevin Dillon were fabulous in that movie, by the way. McCarthy made you feel exactly what the character felt, and around Eighth Grade I knew boys just like Kevin Dillon's character. These days, Dillon blows me away as Johnny Drama on Entourage. He and Jeremy Piven's Ari Gold are my favorite characters (although I like Kevin Connolly as the show's moral compass, E,, too).
It's too bad Andrew McCarthy has fallen out of the limelight. I saw him on 20/20 a couple of years ago, where he explained that much of the widely lauded performance he gave in Pretty In Pink benefited from the pain of a wicked hangover.
I hoped to post Stephen Colbert's response to Pope Benedict's disturbing claim that only Catholics are on the path to salvation (I hang around with a lot of non-Catholics), but I cannot seem to dig it up. By the accounts I've read, Colbert is a much better Catholic than I am.
His take on Benedict's comments were priceless.
(Note: A quick Google search directed me to McCarthy's website. Apparently, he's keeping busy, which is great news as far as I'm concerned.)
Friday, July 27, 2007
Who Wears the Pants In Your Relationship?
I loathe that expression, but I did like The Today Show's encouraging report about power in relationships this morning. Guests Helen Fisher and Ian Kerner made some brilliant points.
Click here to check it out.
Click here to check it out.
The Letter Nobody Wants to Receive
I received notice in Wednesday's mail that I am among the souls whose personal data was stolen from a company that verifies debit card purchases.
After breathing myself through a panic attack, I notified the major credit agencies (actually, I notified one, who says they'll notify the other two as a matter of course).
Went to the bank yesterday, where the lovely woman on the platform advised me to clear my checking account of all funds, less enough to cover uncleared checks. We opened a new account, but while everything is in transition, I don't have access to my money.
Which means that, instead of going out to dinner tonight as we planned, we stayed home. We could've used a credit card, but I'm just not into it.
So, I cooked.
Magically, a friend showed up with a bunch of basil from her garden, and I started putting together a sauce in my head. Then I remembered the zucchini that another neighbor gave us from her garden Sunday.
I sauteed onion and garlic, added tomatoes, and then the zucchini and basil. I set them on a low heat for hours. Because Peter cannot live without meat (the rest of us can), I slowly cooked the sweet sausage I bought at Stop and Shop on Monday to tender perfection. Then I added them to his portion of the sauce.
I served it on angel hair. With freshly grated parmagian, the dish turned out quite well. I didn't miss spending $100 on dinner out one bit.
There's something freeing about not spending money, at least temporarily.
I lucked out on a couple of counts:
-Our mortgage payment had been safely deducted from our account the day we got notice of the security breach
-Nobody took any of our money
-I had enough food in the house.
I guess I'll find out in time if some idiot took out a loan or opened a credit card account in my name. Say a prayer, will you?
After breathing myself through a panic attack, I notified the major credit agencies (actually, I notified one, who says they'll notify the other two as a matter of course).
Went to the bank yesterday, where the lovely woman on the platform advised me to clear my checking account of all funds, less enough to cover uncleared checks. We opened a new account, but while everything is in transition, I don't have access to my money.
Which means that, instead of going out to dinner tonight as we planned, we stayed home. We could've used a credit card, but I'm just not into it.
So, I cooked.
Magically, a friend showed up with a bunch of basil from her garden, and I started putting together a sauce in my head. Then I remembered the zucchini that another neighbor gave us from her garden Sunday.
I sauteed onion and garlic, added tomatoes, and then the zucchini and basil. I set them on a low heat for hours. Because Peter cannot live without meat (the rest of us can), I slowly cooked the sweet sausage I bought at Stop and Shop on Monday to tender perfection. Then I added them to his portion of the sauce.
I served it on angel hair. With freshly grated parmagian, the dish turned out quite well. I didn't miss spending $100 on dinner out one bit.
There's something freeing about not spending money, at least temporarily.
I lucked out on a couple of counts:
-Our mortgage payment had been safely deducted from our account the day we got notice of the security breach
-Nobody took any of our money
-I had enough food in the house.
I guess I'll find out in time if some idiot took out a loan or opened a credit card account in my name. Say a prayer, will you?
Thursday, July 26, 2007
Law of Attraction and Aging
I love the following article by Jeannette Maw about how she uses her mind to stay young. It's the very subject I addressed in a post on my last birthday. (Click here to read that one.) Yeah, I know death is inevitable, but my goal is to put it off as long as possible.
"You're not getting any younger, you know."
Ahem.
These words probably make the top ten list of "How to Spoil Sunday With Your Girlfriend."
I said to Russ, "Look, these are words you should never say to ANY woman you want to sleep with, let alone the one who doesn't believe in aging."
"You don't believe in aging?" He said it more than asked it. Like he was confirming just how crazy his girlfriend was.
"Well, I'm trying NOT to. That's my point. Hearing it from you doesn't help. I want to escape that old mentality. I want to grow younger and get healthier and better looking every day."
"'Old mentality,'" he repeats. "Honey, aging is a fact." (As if I were an eight year old that he was breaking the news to about the Tooth Fairy.) "It's what happens. You can't stop it. You can't stop time."
Well, with any hope of a friendly romantic encounter shot to smithereens, I let him have it.
"All right, let's go over this again." And I ran him through the principles of deliberate creation a-frickin-gain. We get what we think about. There are no rules out there. There are no limitations. If we can imagine it, we can have it. There isn't any reason we should be aging, other than that the whole of society has bought into it, and I'm opting out.
"You're opting out of aging," he says, not even trying to mask the laughter in his voice.
"Yeah, I am. And I guarantee I'm not doing it so I can hang out with some decrepit old guy, so I would rethink my position on this, if I were you."
I tell him I'm not the only one thinking this. That others are on board with this same idea. LOTS of others. I don't know how many, but I know I'm not alone. I've been trained by one of them. (Ron Zeller, who is a stand for ageless living. His wife, who is known as Ninja Grandma. Not to mention all the yogis who are known for good health in the upper echelons of birthdays.)
And while I'm telling him that, I'm thinking of the enormous vibrational escrow of all those people all those years who desperately wanted good health and great looks in their later years. Oh yeah, I'm tapping into THAT party!
So, Russ agrees not to argue with my beliefs, and swears I will never again hear him say, "You're not getting any younger."
As he's making breakfast (making fun of my brown $4 cage-free eggs and rice milk), I find two emails in my in-box related to law of attraction and aging. Or anti-aging, I should say. Thank you, Universe, for backing me up!
I march out of the office with news of the two articles that were waiting for me this morning. "I am not alone," I repeat to him with conviction.
"That's nice, honey." He's clearly made peace with having a crazy girlfriend.
And I'm gearing up for making peace with having a 30 year old boyfriend in my last years of life. Maybe he could have an accent, too. Olive skin. Gorgeous smile. (We'll see who has the last laugh, Mr. Smart Guy.)
Just to nail this vibration down, I'm thinking about turning 27 this year. I've turned 27 a couple of times now, and have enjoyed it every time. It's a good year. I thought about earlier twenties, but they seemed a little shallow. 30's seemed a little heavier. So I'm going with carefree, optimistic, fabulously healthy and fit, got-my-whole-life-ahead-of-me 27.
I really really like my girlfriend's girlfriend who doesn't know how old she is (really, she doesn't know! She doesn't keep track!), and my former coach who would flat out lie (and feel great about it) when someone asked her age. I'm letting go of what it "means" to age as well. It doesn't mean anything; it's not who I am; and I just get better with every day that passes.
That's what I'm manifesting with the law of attraction. That's my story and I'm stickin' to it. Because I know it's possible. And I pick it. Period.
Yes, it might feel like a stretch today, but as I spend more time with it, and more time with articles and people lined up with it, it'll become more and more mine. Watch me go!
"You're not getting any younger, you know."
Ahem.
These words probably make the top ten list of "How to Spoil Sunday With Your Girlfriend."
I said to Russ, "Look, these are words you should never say to ANY woman you want to sleep with, let alone the one who doesn't believe in aging."
"You don't believe in aging?" He said it more than asked it. Like he was confirming just how crazy his girlfriend was.
"Well, I'm trying NOT to. That's my point. Hearing it from you doesn't help. I want to escape that old mentality. I want to grow younger and get healthier and better looking every day."
"'Old mentality,'" he repeats. "Honey, aging is a fact." (As if I were an eight year old that he was breaking the news to about the Tooth Fairy.) "It's what happens. You can't stop it. You can't stop time."
Well, with any hope of a friendly romantic encounter shot to smithereens, I let him have it.
"All right, let's go over this again." And I ran him through the principles of deliberate creation a-frickin-gain. We get what we think about. There are no rules out there. There are no limitations. If we can imagine it, we can have it. There isn't any reason we should be aging, other than that the whole of society has bought into it, and I'm opting out.
"You're opting out of aging," he says, not even trying to mask the laughter in his voice.
"Yeah, I am. And I guarantee I'm not doing it so I can hang out with some decrepit old guy, so I would rethink my position on this, if I were you."
I tell him I'm not the only one thinking this. That others are on board with this same idea. LOTS of others. I don't know how many, but I know I'm not alone. I've been trained by one of them. (Ron Zeller, who is a stand for ageless living. His wife, who is known as Ninja Grandma. Not to mention all the yogis who are known for good health in the upper echelons of birthdays.)
And while I'm telling him that, I'm thinking of the enormous vibrational escrow of all those people all those years who desperately wanted good health and great looks in their later years. Oh yeah, I'm tapping into THAT party!
So, Russ agrees not to argue with my beliefs, and swears I will never again hear him say, "You're not getting any younger."
As he's making breakfast (making fun of my brown $4 cage-free eggs and rice milk), I find two emails in my in-box related to law of attraction and aging. Or anti-aging, I should say. Thank you, Universe, for backing me up!
I march out of the office with news of the two articles that were waiting for me this morning. "I am not alone," I repeat to him with conviction.
"That's nice, honey." He's clearly made peace with having a crazy girlfriend.
And I'm gearing up for making peace with having a 30 year old boyfriend in my last years of life. Maybe he could have an accent, too. Olive skin. Gorgeous smile. (We'll see who has the last laugh, Mr. Smart Guy.)
Just to nail this vibration down, I'm thinking about turning 27 this year. I've turned 27 a couple of times now, and have enjoyed it every time. It's a good year. I thought about earlier twenties, but they seemed a little shallow. 30's seemed a little heavier. So I'm going with carefree, optimistic, fabulously healthy and fit, got-my-whole-life-ahead-of-me 27.
I really really like my girlfriend's girlfriend who doesn't know how old she is (really, she doesn't know! She doesn't keep track!), and my former coach who would flat out lie (and feel great about it) when someone asked her age. I'm letting go of what it "means" to age as well. It doesn't mean anything; it's not who I am; and I just get better with every day that passes.
That's what I'm manifesting with the law of attraction. That's my story and I'm stickin' to it. Because I know it's possible. And I pick it. Period.
Yes, it might feel like a stretch today, but as I spend more time with it, and more time with articles and people lined up with it, it'll become more and more mine. Watch me go!
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
Broken Hearted? Don't Give Up On Your Miracle
Viveca Stone-Berry suffered a devastating break-up at the age of 41. Her article details the steps she took to get over it, move on, and marry a man who makes her happy.
Click here to read it.
Click here to read it.
The Confidence You Need
You show up for a date looking smashing and feeling grand. Then some creep brushes past and gives you one of those, "Who do you think you are?" looks. Or you prepare to interview for the job of your dreams and somebody mutters, "You know, you have to be really good to get a position like that."
Instead of feeling foolish, crestfallen, and ready to call it a night, take this quote from Mary and Heather of MomsTown to heart:
"We once had a very powerful and important and influential person tell us that if people asked why he was important, he'd say 'Because I said so.' At first those very impressive words impressed us. But now we realize we're only important because we say so. Same goes for you. It's not because of what someone else says or believes. It's about what you say and believe. We want you to feel and say, 'I'm important because I say so.' Enough said."
If you don't know Mary and Heather, they're entrepreneurs who help women realize their dreams and achieve prosperity. You can tune into their weekly show on Hay House Radio.
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
Age of Love and Rock of Love Continue to Scare Me
Yes, I know I watch too much TV, and I don't even watch decent TV (although, once in a while, I do get a kick out of The British House of Commons on C-SPAN).
Last night and the night before, I joined the rest of the lowest common denominator in tuning in to two pathetic programs, NBC's Age of Love, and VH1's Rock of Love. Both shows feature a parade of surgically-enhanced females who compete for the affection of a substandard male. In the case of Age of Love, it's a slutty and confused 30-year-old named Mark. Rock of Love stars Bret Michaels, the slutty and no-longer-relevant frontman of a 1980s hair band.
I'm not sure which show is more revolting. On Rock of Love Sunday night, women lined up for their turn to engage in phone sex with Bret, who'd been hooked up to a device which measured his arousal level (yes, it is what you're thinking).
Last night on Age, Mark enjoyed a little tongue action (filmed way too close for comfort; thank God I don't have HDTV) with a person named Amanda, directly after a snuggle with a person named Jayanna (I don't know what kind of a name that is).
It's downright gross watching this guy move from woman to woman like some kind of farm animal. I know it's "reality TV" and, therefore, mostly fake, but check the show recap. Plenty of viewers are buying it, not to mention the sorry stereotypes the show reinforces.
Last night and the night before, I joined the rest of the lowest common denominator in tuning in to two pathetic programs, NBC's Age of Love, and VH1's Rock of Love. Both shows feature a parade of surgically-enhanced females who compete for the affection of a substandard male. In the case of Age of Love, it's a slutty and confused 30-year-old named Mark. Rock of Love stars Bret Michaels, the slutty and no-longer-relevant frontman of a 1980s hair band.
I'm not sure which show is more revolting. On Rock of Love Sunday night, women lined up for their turn to engage in phone sex with Bret, who'd been hooked up to a device which measured his arousal level (yes, it is what you're thinking).
Last night on Age, Mark enjoyed a little tongue action (filmed way too close for comfort; thank God I don't have HDTV) with a person named Amanda, directly after a snuggle with a person named Jayanna (I don't know what kind of a name that is).
It's downright gross watching this guy move from woman to woman like some kind of farm animal. I know it's "reality TV" and, therefore, mostly fake, but check the show recap. Plenty of viewers are buying it, not to mention the sorry stereotypes the show reinforces.
Great Law of Attraction Resource
When I have time, I like to listen to Summer McStravick's Flowdreaming show on Hay House Radio. Just having it on in the background makes my day go better.
During the show, Summer offers a guided meditation to help you "get into the flow" to achieve whatever it is you want in life. Check the archives for the topic that interests you (money, relationships, and so on). You can listen when it's convenient.
The Hay House stable boasts several other interesting hosts, including Dr. Wayne Dyer, Caroline Myss, and Louise Hay herself (if you haven't read Louise Hay's You Can Heal Your Life, try it. I find that I take it off my shelf and reread it about once a year.)
Monday, July 23, 2007
On Meeting Men and Getting Married
At a party for my aunt's 74th birthday yesterday, I spoke to my cousin's wife, who told me that she and my cousin run a marriage preparation class for couples at their church.
She told me two interesting things:
1. That an average of three engaged couples per session met online.
2. That an average of three couples decide not to marry after taking the class.
"It's amazing how many couples meet online these days," she said. "Most of the people coming to our classes are marrying for the first time, and they're about 35 years old."
As for the couples who end up not getting married, she maintained, "That's a good thing. Better to know now than later."
My father agrees wholeheartedly. As we rolled up to the church for my wedding, he turned to me and said, "There's still time to change your mind, you know."
I didn't, and I'm glad I didn't. But I'm also glad I had a father who encouraged me to put my well-being ahead of the deposit on a reception hall.
She told me two interesting things:
1. That an average of three engaged couples per session met online.
2. That an average of three couples decide not to marry after taking the class.
"It's amazing how many couples meet online these days," she said. "Most of the people coming to our classes are marrying for the first time, and they're about 35 years old."
As for the couples who end up not getting married, she maintained, "That's a good thing. Better to know now than later."
My father agrees wholeheartedly. As we rolled up to the church for my wedding, he turned to me and said, "There's still time to change your mind, you know."
I didn't, and I'm glad I didn't. But I'm also glad I had a father who encouraged me to put my well-being ahead of the deposit on a reception hall.
Saturday, July 21, 2007
How Not to Let a Good Day Go Bad
Slept in this morning and woke up happy as a lark. Read a bit of Henriette Anne Klauser's Write It Down, Make It Happen
, which I found while cleaning out my basement last Saturday. It's one of my favorite books on the Law of Attraction, and it was high time I read something again on the subject. I've been attracting a bit of blah lately.
I got a call this morning from a good friend, who had a small wedding ceremony in April and is now planning a reception for friends and family. She sent invitations last week for "cocktails and hors d'oeuvres" at a yacht club.
She addressed the envelopes to include children, which was fine with me. But she's already gotten one call from a woman who gave her a hard time for using the word "cocktails" on a family invitation. "Are you sure I should be bringing my kids?" she wanted to know.
And this just put me in a bad mood: Because of course the woman understood that children were welcome, and that they would probably not be forced at knifepoint to consume barrels of Harvey Wallbangers. The point of her call was to make the bride feel as though she'd done something wrong.
I loathe women like this, women who live to belittle other females and to compete with them in the pettiest contests.
From then on, the day got a bit darker, and here I am at 12:51PM trying to shake it off. And I'd better, too, because we're expected at a party this evening, and I can't show up there in my current frame of mind.
A bad mood always results in crappy circumstances.
And it's true whether you want to attract a great guy, or a job where they show you the love instead of tossing you 2% raises, or just a good time at a party.
Which means I must strap on my headphones, hit the treadmill, and shake off this ennui. Then I'll do an exercise from Henriette's book.
, which I found while cleaning out my basement last Saturday. It's one of my favorite books on the Law of Attraction, and it was high time I read something again on the subject. I've been attracting a bit of blah lately.I got a call this morning from a good friend, who had a small wedding ceremony in April and is now planning a reception for friends and family. She sent invitations last week for "cocktails and hors d'oeuvres" at a yacht club.
She addressed the envelopes to include children, which was fine with me. But she's already gotten one call from a woman who gave her a hard time for using the word "cocktails" on a family invitation. "Are you sure I should be bringing my kids?" she wanted to know.
And this just put me in a bad mood: Because of course the woman understood that children were welcome, and that they would probably not be forced at knifepoint to consume barrels of Harvey Wallbangers. The point of her call was to make the bride feel as though she'd done something wrong.
I loathe women like this, women who live to belittle other females and to compete with them in the pettiest contests.
From then on, the day got a bit darker, and here I am at 12:51PM trying to shake it off. And I'd better, too, because we're expected at a party this evening, and I can't show up there in my current frame of mind.
A bad mood always results in crappy circumstances.
And it's true whether you want to attract a great guy, or a job where they show you the love instead of tossing you 2% raises, or just a good time at a party.
Which means I must strap on my headphones, hit the treadmill, and shake off this ennui. Then I'll do an exercise from Henriette's book.
Friday, July 20, 2007
Men and Women Are More Alike Than We Thought
I loved Ellen Goodman's column in today's newspaper, where she discussed the recent research that puts to rest the annoying myth that women talk too much.
I once read that women utter something like twice or three times as many words as men, but my own experience refutes that statistic. Anybody who knows me and my husband, for example, can tell you the guy easily out-talks me four words to one. (And his friends aren't much better.)
I nearly died of shock after I moved in with him and got our first phone bill; I'd shared an apartment with a female friend for two whole years, and our bill consistently came in at about half of what Peter could ring up.
So, I do object to the whole 'Men are from one Earth, and Women are from Pluto' theory. Sure, there's feminine, and there's masculine, and thank God for it. But in the end, we're all human.
Interestingly, I spoke to a woman today who has a 29-year-old son she'd like to marry off, but she says he's hit that patch in life where he's just not meeting new people. She maintains that a lot of the woman he's dated just aren't in a hurry to commit, a fact she attributes to the wider range of choices women enjoy these days.
She said she'd like her son to try the online dating route but is pretty sure he'll tell her to mind her own business. She is the second person I've met recently who's told me she has a son in his twenties who wants to get married.
So much for the stereotype that men don't want to commit.
This woman also mentioned that her 42-year-old niece met and married a guy she met online. The woman's crazy about her new husband, but unfortunately, he's an officer in the army and was sent to Iraq shortly after the wedding.
If you've done any online dating, you know that meeting and entertaining a stream of new people can get expensive. Here's a cheap date idea: Go out for ice cream and a walk. It's a relatively pressure-free way to get to know someone, and it can encourage warm and happy feelings.
I once read that women utter something like twice or three times as many words as men, but my own experience refutes that statistic. Anybody who knows me and my husband, for example, can tell you the guy easily out-talks me four words to one. (And his friends aren't much better.)
I nearly died of shock after I moved in with him and got our first phone bill; I'd shared an apartment with a female friend for two whole years, and our bill consistently came in at about half of what Peter could ring up.
So, I do object to the whole 'Men are from one Earth, and Women are from Pluto' theory. Sure, there's feminine, and there's masculine, and thank God for it. But in the end, we're all human.
Interestingly, I spoke to a woman today who has a 29-year-old son she'd like to marry off, but she says he's hit that patch in life where he's just not meeting new people. She maintains that a lot of the woman he's dated just aren't in a hurry to commit, a fact she attributes to the wider range of choices women enjoy these days.
She said she'd like her son to try the online dating route but is pretty sure he'll tell her to mind her own business. She is the second person I've met recently who's told me she has a son in his twenties who wants to get married.
So much for the stereotype that men don't want to commit.
This woman also mentioned that her 42-year-old niece met and married a guy she met online. The woman's crazy about her new husband, but unfortunately, he's an officer in the army and was sent to Iraq shortly after the wedding.
If you've done any online dating, you know that meeting and entertaining a stream of new people can get expensive. Here's a cheap date idea: Go out for ice cream and a walk. It's a relatively pressure-free way to get to know someone, and it can encourage warm and happy feelings.
Thursday, July 19, 2007
Another 'Family Values' Politician Revealed to Be Scum
You really had to feel for Louisiana Senator David Vitter's wife, Wendy, when she stood at his side on Tuesday, announcing she had forgiven him for visiting prostitutes. I can't imagine what it must be like to wake up every morning next to this hypocritical jackass, who not only committed adultery but paid somebody to commit it with him.
What's really galls me is that Vitter billed himself a champion of family values. I really, really resent these guys and their phony passion for the hallowed American marriage, especially when we find out they've been out banging everybody they can get their hands on.
During the Clinton/Lewinsky scandal, the upstanding Senator Vitter called the former president "morally unfit to govern."
Wendy Vitter claimed that she would not forgive Bill had she been in Hillary's shoes. "I'm more like Lorena Bobbit," she was quoted as saying.
So it killed me to watch her standing there in her animal print dress, swearing that she'd forgiven the sleazebag. I don't know how she can even look at him, let alone live with him.
What's really galls me is that Vitter billed himself a champion of family values. I really, really resent these guys and their phony passion for the hallowed American marriage, especially when we find out they've been out banging everybody they can get their hands on.
During the Clinton/Lewinsky scandal, the upstanding Senator Vitter called the former president "morally unfit to govern."
Wendy Vitter claimed that she would not forgive Bill had she been in Hillary's shoes. "I'm more like Lorena Bobbit," she was quoted as saying.
So it killed me to watch her standing there in her animal print dress, swearing that she'd forgiven the sleazebag. I don't know how she can even look at him, let alone live with him.
Leonardo DiCaprio Is a Tall Man
Yesterday's post suggested that Leo was shorter than his ex-girlfriend, Gisele Bundchen. A sharp-eyed reader immediately wrote in to correctly me.
She's right. I'm wrong. A quick Google search revealed that Mr. DiCaprio is actually 6'1.
Please forgive the error.
I guess Leo is one of those people who doesn't "read" tall; the two women I had coffee with yesterday morning believed him to be quite tiny.
As for Colbert, I've seen him in person. HIs incredible sexiness notwithstanding, he, too, comes off as someone who could be carried around in a pocket. A Google search reveals his height to be 5 10 1/2, which I think might be a slight exaggeration.
Apparently, Stewart is 5'7.
Which means nothing as far as I'm concerned. If he were single, and I were single, I'd date him.
She's right. I'm wrong. A quick Google search revealed that Mr. DiCaprio is actually 6'1.
Please forgive the error.
I guess Leo is one of those people who doesn't "read" tall; the two women I had coffee with yesterday morning believed him to be quite tiny.
As for Colbert, I've seen him in person. HIs incredible sexiness notwithstanding, he, too, comes off as someone who could be carried around in a pocket. A Google search reveals his height to be 5 10 1/2, which I think might be a slight exaggeration.
Apparently, Stewart is 5'7.
Which means nothing as far as I'm concerned. If he were single, and I were single, I'd date him.
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
Short Men Are Sexy, Too
A few years ago, I knew a tall, dark-haired, blue-eyed woman who bore an uncanny resemblance to a young Mia Farrow. Yet she rarely had a date and was known to spend more than one New Year's Eve alone, crying herself to sleep.
She seemed like a pleasant enough person, though, and so I hoped to set her up with a well-employed, fun-oriented cousin of mine. I invited them both to a party and casually introduced them. Later, I asked her what she thought.
"I would never date that guy," she said. "He's too short."
It didn't matter that he was friendly enough, decent looking, shared her religion and her passion for sports, had a great job, and lived in a desirable neighborhood. He didn't meet her height requirement.
It didn't matter that he was my cousin, either (yeah, I took the rejection a bit personally).
So that was the first and last time I introduced her to any man anywhere. You just can't help a person like that.
Apparently, she is not alone in her disdain of shorter men. One columnist claims that most women will not date fellows they deem too short due to some holdover from evolution. As far as I'm concerned, that's a lot of crap.Women who don't date shorter men aren't biologically programmed that way; they just care too much about what other people think.
You know, my husband does happen to be taller than me, but I did date a couple of diminutive fellows before I met him. When I decided I wanted to get married, my requirements for a man were that he be:
Loving
Loyal
Reliable
Successful
Fun
I didn't really care how tall he was.
Women who avoid shorter men owe it to themselves to take another look. If short guys are really so undesirable, then somebody better tell Stephen Colbert (do a Google search; both women and men call him a sex symbol) and Jon Stewart (he once dated Tawny Kitaen, the model/Whitesnake-video-hood-ornament, before eventually marrying another attractive woman).
Dating Coach Ronnie Ann Ryan, another colleague, and I had a fine time smashing the short-guys-are-unattractive myth over coffee this morning. Skyscraper Gisele Bundchen never had a problem being seen with Leonardo DiCaprio, that's for sure.
Peter once knew two guys who didn't quite make the 5'7 mark. One of them believed in his soul that his small stature rendered him deformed and hideous, and guess what, he was right. The few women managed to attract capitalized on his insecurity and took him for cash and prizes.
The other guy, who was even shorter, wasn't nearly as intelligent as the first. He called in sick to work as often as possible and, at the age of 30, remained a major aficionado of Bugs Bunny and other prepubescent TV fare.
Yet he always had a date. Despite all evidence to the contrary, he believed he had something to offer. A lot of women picked up on it. He married a pretty blue-eyed blonde with five inches on him.
When you want to meet a decent guy, go for qualities that matter. Height doesn't.
And when you find a kind, fun, successful man who's shorter than you, keep your shoes on.
She seemed like a pleasant enough person, though, and so I hoped to set her up with a well-employed, fun-oriented cousin of mine. I invited them both to a party and casually introduced them. Later, I asked her what she thought.
"I would never date that guy," she said. "He's too short."
It didn't matter that he was friendly enough, decent looking, shared her religion and her passion for sports, had a great job, and lived in a desirable neighborhood. He didn't meet her height requirement.
It didn't matter that he was my cousin, either (yeah, I took the rejection a bit personally).
So that was the first and last time I introduced her to any man anywhere. You just can't help a person like that.
Apparently, she is not alone in her disdain of shorter men. One columnist claims that most women will not date fellows they deem too short due to some holdover from evolution. As far as I'm concerned, that's a lot of crap.Women who don't date shorter men aren't biologically programmed that way; they just care too much about what other people think.
You know, my husband does happen to be taller than me, but I did date a couple of diminutive fellows before I met him. When I decided I wanted to get married, my requirements for a man were that he be:
Loving
Loyal
Reliable
Successful
Fun
I didn't really care how tall he was.
Women who avoid shorter men owe it to themselves to take another look. If short guys are really so undesirable, then somebody better tell Stephen Colbert (do a Google search; both women and men call him a sex symbol) and Jon Stewart (he once dated Tawny Kitaen, the model/Whitesnake-video-hood-ornament, before eventually marrying another attractive woman).
Dating Coach Ronnie Ann Ryan, another colleague, and I had a fine time smashing the short-guys-are-unattractive myth over coffee this morning. Skyscraper Gisele Bundchen never had a problem being seen with Leonardo DiCaprio, that's for sure.
Peter once knew two guys who didn't quite make the 5'7 mark. One of them believed in his soul that his small stature rendered him deformed and hideous, and guess what, he was right. The few women managed to attract capitalized on his insecurity and took him for cash and prizes.
The other guy, who was even shorter, wasn't nearly as intelligent as the first. He called in sick to work as often as possible and, at the age of 30, remained a major aficionado of Bugs Bunny and other prepubescent TV fare.
Yet he always had a date. Despite all evidence to the contrary, he believed he had something to offer. A lot of women picked up on it. He married a pretty blue-eyed blonde with five inches on him.
When you want to meet a decent guy, go for qualities that matter. Height doesn't.
And when you find a kind, fun, successful man who's shorter than you, keep your shoes on.
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
Is Pole Dancing the New Feminism?
Some weeks ago, I had something to say about media reports touting pole dancing as the key to female empowerment. Last night, Stephen Colbert took on the subject, but he did it so much better.
On August 16th, the video will expire and should disappear from this space. Enjoy it until then.
On August 16th, the video will expire and should disappear from this space. Enjoy it until then.
Monday, July 16, 2007
Does He Like You?
I know I keep repeating myself, but it's not your job to convince some guy that you are the woman for him. It's also not your job to analyze every syllable he utters, his every facial expression, or the deep-seated cause of his compulsive knuckle cracking.
If he says he doesn't want a relationship, take him at his word. Keep moving until a braver man appears. If he wakes up one morning and finds he didn't mean it, he'll be sure to let you know.
Trust me.
If he says he doesn't want a relationship, take him at his word. Keep moving until a braver man appears. If he wakes up one morning and finds he didn't mean it, he'll be sure to let you know.
Trust me.
Sunday, July 15, 2007
VH1's 'Rock of Love'
Tonight at nine o'clock will mark the premiere of VH1's new reality series, Rock of Love, starring Poison lead singer, Bret Michaels. According to the show's website:
"Since 1986 when MTV introduced the world to the blue-eyed lead singer of Poison, women around the world have worshiped Bret Michael's as a veritable Rock God. Never out of the spotlight, Bret's career is still rocking with Poison and as a successful solo artist and the women are still lining up in hopes of a lying down with the sexy star. But the demands of life-on-the-road for the ultimate rocker have taken a toll...on his love life."
I have some questions.
1) Bret's career is still rocking? Really? In which mall?
2) Where are these women who line up in "hope of a lying down with the sexy star?"
3) What kind of an expression is "a lying down with," anyway?
"Twenty lucky ladies will get their chance for an All-Access pass to Bret Michaels' heart and to share in all his superstar lifestyle. Bret will invite twenty handpicked beautiful women to move into his rock and roll palace in the Hollywood Hills and compete for his heart. They must win over his mind and his body by proving their love for Bret, their passion for rock and their potential to be the perfect 'Rock Star Girlfriend.'"
4) What the hell is an "All-Access" pass to Brett Michaels' heart?
5) How can one can compete to share a superstar lifestyle if there is no superstar in the equation? (While Brad Pitt qualifies as a superstar, the leathery lead singer of an 80s hair band does not.)
6) Who writes VH1's web copy? Better yet, who comes up with the ideas for their shows?
7) Is 'Rock Star Girlfriend' a goal I should encourage my children to shoot for?
Gee, it's already 9:10, and I could use a good laugh. I think I'll tune in.
"Since 1986 when MTV introduced the world to the blue-eyed lead singer of Poison, women around the world have worshiped Bret Michael's as a veritable Rock God. Never out of the spotlight, Bret's career is still rocking with Poison and as a successful solo artist and the women are still lining up in hopes of a lying down with the sexy star. But the demands of life-on-the-road for the ultimate rocker have taken a toll...on his love life."
I have some questions.
1) Bret's career is still rocking? Really? In which mall?
2) Where are these women who line up in "hope of a lying down with the sexy star?"
3) What kind of an expression is "a lying down with," anyway?
"Twenty lucky ladies will get their chance for an All-Access pass to Bret Michaels' heart and to share in all his superstar lifestyle. Bret will invite twenty handpicked beautiful women to move into his rock and roll palace in the Hollywood Hills and compete for his heart. They must win over his mind and his body by proving their love for Bret, their passion for rock and their potential to be the perfect 'Rock Star Girlfriend.'"
4) What the hell is an "All-Access" pass to Brett Michaels' heart?
5) How can one can compete to share a superstar lifestyle if there is no superstar in the equation? (While Brad Pitt qualifies as a superstar, the leathery lead singer of an 80s hair band does not.)
6) Who writes VH1's web copy? Better yet, who comes up with the ideas for their shows?
7) Is 'Rock Star Girlfriend' a goal I should encourage my children to shoot for?
Gee, it's already 9:10, and I could use a good laugh. I think I'll tune in.
Saturday, July 14, 2007
Dating Advice From Dianne Brill
Peter worked today, so I decided to clean out the basement.
I'm not the type of person who would ever set out to do such a thing without prodding, so Peter gently suggested that I go through my 48 boxes of books I haven't opened since we moved here four years ago, sort them, and decide which ones to keep and which to donate to the libary. I started at 9AM, didn't take a break until 2, and there's still a boatload of stuff for me clear out down there.
During this session, I came upon two interesting items.
The first was a letter from an old friend apologizing for making out with my then-boyfriend. Now, I haven't seen this girl in years, and I actually kind of miss her. The guy (obviously) turned out to be a jerk (in numerous ways), and I don't miss him at all. Never even think of him.
Her letter said that he'd led her to believe our relationship had ended, which she soon realized was a lie. After she went home to England, I told him to get lost. He resumed pursuing me ardently (some would call it stalking), but by then I'd moved onto a marginally better guy.
The other interesting item I found in the basement?
It was Dianne Brill's how-to book, Boobs, Boys, and High Heels or How to Get Dressed In Just Under Six Hours. In case you don't know Dianne (she's on the right in the 1986 photo with Ozzy Osbourne and Janis Savitt), she became known as Queen of the Night in the 80s due to her constant presence on the NYC club scene. I liken her to a benevolent Paris Hilton without the destructive tendencies.
I hadn't thought about her for years until I happened upon her book. Then I did a search and found her website. Apparently, she's selling her own line of makeup these days.
Boobs, Boys, and High Heels sparkles with Ms. Brill's wit and wisdom. Here's one highlight:
"The bad date does not exist. Believe me, I've been on all kinds, and I've discovered that all are love experiments, learning experiences (even if what you learn is what you don't want), and good dating practice. I've survived a lot of dates a lot of you babes probably dread."
The joker who made out with my friend certainly qualifies as a learning experience. In retrospect, I'd call him less a love experiment than a science experiment. What a doofus!
I'm not the type of person who would ever set out to do such a thing without prodding, so Peter gently suggested that I go through my 48 boxes of books I haven't opened since we moved here four years ago, sort them, and decide which ones to keep and which to donate to the libary. I started at 9AM, didn't take a break until 2, and there's still a boatload of stuff for me clear out down there.
During this session, I came upon two interesting items.
The first was a letter from an old friend apologizing for making out with my then-boyfriend. Now, I haven't seen this girl in years, and I actually kind of miss her. The guy (obviously) turned out to be a jerk (in numerous ways), and I don't miss him at all. Never even think of him.
Her letter said that he'd led her to believe our relationship had ended, which she soon realized was a lie. After she went home to England, I told him to get lost. He resumed pursuing me ardently (some would call it stalking), but by then I'd moved onto a marginally better guy.
The other interesting item I found in the basement?
It was Dianne Brill's how-to book, Boobs, Boys, and High Heels or How to Get Dressed In Just Under Six Hours. In case you don't know Dianne (she's on the right in the 1986 photo with Ozzy Osbourne and Janis Savitt), she became known as Queen of the Night in the 80s due to her constant presence on the NYC club scene. I liken her to a benevolent Paris Hilton without the destructive tendencies.
I hadn't thought about her for years until I happened upon her book. Then I did a search and found her website. Apparently, she's selling her own line of makeup these days.
Boobs, Boys, and High Heels sparkles with Ms. Brill's wit and wisdom. Here's one highlight:
"The bad date does not exist. Believe me, I've been on all kinds, and I've discovered that all are love experiments, learning experiences (even if what you learn is what you don't want), and good dating practice. I've survived a lot of dates a lot of you babes probably dread."
The joker who made out with my friend certainly qualifies as a learning experience. In retrospect, I'd call him less a love experiment than a science experiment. What a doofus!
Friday, July 13, 2007
Single and Loving It!
At one point in my disastrous dating career, I made a vow to stop going out with men altogether until I met a guy worth my time. I concentrated on my friends and my career, traveled, and generally enjoyed life until my husband showed up.
And, even then, I wasn't too enthusiastic about dating him. When he asked me out for the following Saturday, I answered, "How about Wednesday?"
To this day, he teases me about that. It certainly didn't turn him off, though. If anything, it established the fact that I had a life of my own and enjoyed it (healthy men tend to be attracted to happy women with full lives).
But, hey, I figured all the guys I'd dated so far turned out to be duds (or heartbreakers), so why blow a perfectly good Saturday night with some guy I'd probably have nothing in common with? Especially when I could be out with my friends.
After all, Saturday only comes once a week.
And, even then, I wasn't too enthusiastic about dating him. When he asked me out for the following Saturday, I answered, "How about Wednesday?"
To this day, he teases me about that. It certainly didn't turn him off, though. If anything, it established the fact that I had a life of my own and enjoyed it (healthy men tend to be attracted to happy women with full lives).
But, hey, I figured all the guys I'd dated so far turned out to be duds (or heartbreakers), so why blow a perfectly good Saturday night with some guy I'd probably have nothing in common with? Especially when I could be out with my friends.
After all, Saturday only comes once a week.
Thursday, July 12, 2007
How to Keep a Man Faithful
A lot of women ask me how they can keep a man from cheating. They believe that some magic formula must exist, but the only formula I know of is to only ever get involved with a faithful man.
Yeah, I know you've read the crap in the media that men are "hardwired" to "spread their seed," and they can't help themselves from sleeping around, but it's garbage. Talk about lowering expectations!
Men are no more hardwired to cheat than we are. Recent data shows that women today step out on their mates much more than we used to. We work outside the home, so we have ample of opportunity for something on the side. Plenty of women go for it, but it doesn't make it right.
Some people cheat.
Some people do not.
It's that simple.
Unfortunately, often when a woman learns her partner's been slipping between the sheets with another lass, she blames herself. She thinks perhaps she's not pretty, sexy, smart, interesting, or whatever enough. She believes she's failed.
Or she blames the other woman. She reasons that a guy has a biological imperative to be unfaithful, and it's the female's fault for throwing herself at him: The girl's a slut.
(It's a terrible idea to call another woman a slut, by the way. If the guy cheated on me, I'd call him a slut.)
If a guy is unfaithful to you, please take comfort in the fact that he suffers from a major character defect: cowardice. Real men end relationships before they begin new ones. A coward will probably always be a coward. Say a prayer for the next woman he gets involved with.
When a woman cheats on a man, the guy rarely blames himself. Sure, he's hurt. He's probably closed the door and cried about it, but he usually ends the relationship and moves on.
Take B, a good male friend of mine and Peter's. After he learned his longtime girlfriend had a lengthy affair with her auto mechanic, we spent a lot of time talking him through it. The man was heartbroken. (I can't imagine what the hell she was thinking; he's funny, good looking, an excellent cook and gardener, handy around the house, a whiz at finance, and, oh yeah, faithful).
He broke off the relationship immediately. He gave himself time to mourn the loss. After a couple of months, he signed up for a cooking class and the Adirondack club, where he met new new people.
Today he's happily married to a woman who loves him. As far as we know, she resists impulses to sleep with her mechanic.
Have you ever seen the movie Father of the Bride with Elizabeth Taylor and Spencer Tracy? There's a scene where Elizabeth and her fiance have just had a fight. Spencer, who plays her father, asks if it was over another woman.
Elizabeth replies something to the effect of, "No, but I wish it was. That would be something I could sink my teeth into!"
For the life of me, I don't know what she meant. Why would anybody ever want to fight for a disloyal man's affection?
What a colossal waste of time.
Yeah, I know you've read the crap in the media that men are "hardwired" to "spread their seed," and they can't help themselves from sleeping around, but it's garbage. Talk about lowering expectations!
Men are no more hardwired to cheat than we are. Recent data shows that women today step out on their mates much more than we used to. We work outside the home, so we have ample of opportunity for something on the side. Plenty of women go for it, but it doesn't make it right.
Some people cheat.
Some people do not.
It's that simple.
Unfortunately, often when a woman learns her partner's been slipping between the sheets with another lass, she blames herself. She thinks perhaps she's not pretty, sexy, smart, interesting, or whatever enough. She believes she's failed.
Or she blames the other woman. She reasons that a guy has a biological imperative to be unfaithful, and it's the female's fault for throwing herself at him: The girl's a slut.
(It's a terrible idea to call another woman a slut, by the way. If the guy cheated on me, I'd call him a slut.)
If a guy is unfaithful to you, please take comfort in the fact that he suffers from a major character defect: cowardice. Real men end relationships before they begin new ones. A coward will probably always be a coward. Say a prayer for the next woman he gets involved with.
When a woman cheats on a man, the guy rarely blames himself. Sure, he's hurt. He's probably closed the door and cried about it, but he usually ends the relationship and moves on.
Take B, a good male friend of mine and Peter's. After he learned his longtime girlfriend had a lengthy affair with her auto mechanic, we spent a lot of time talking him through it. The man was heartbroken. (I can't imagine what the hell she was thinking; he's funny, good looking, an excellent cook and gardener, handy around the house, a whiz at finance, and, oh yeah, faithful).
He broke off the relationship immediately. He gave himself time to mourn the loss. After a couple of months, he signed up for a cooking class and the Adirondack club, where he met new new people.
Today he's happily married to a woman who loves him. As far as we know, she resists impulses to sleep with her mechanic.
Have you ever seen the movie Father of the Bride with Elizabeth Taylor and Spencer Tracy? There's a scene where Elizabeth and her fiance have just had a fight. Spencer, who plays her father, asks if it was over another woman.
Elizabeth replies something to the effect of, "No, but I wish it was. That would be something I could sink my teeth into!"
For the life of me, I don't know what she meant. Why would anybody ever want to fight for a disloyal man's affection?
What a colossal waste of time.
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
Bald Guys Are Sexy
While watching TV last night, I was subjected to one of those ads designed to make bald guys feel like unappealing losers that no sane woman would touch.
The ad demonstrated how bald guys could achieve never-ending joy, sex, and success by submitting to a procedure that would have them sporting a scalpful of nubs like Granny's old sweater in no time.
Then I was treated to some footage of women crawling over the formerly bald losers.
I have to say, I hate ads that make people feel inadequate (although that is the function of most advertising). In case you haven't noticed, many bald men are incredibly attractive. The fact that they can even go bald is evidence of their masculinity.
Fortunately, a lot of balding guys are beginning to get this. They're forsaking the pathetic-looking (and sympathy-inducing) plugs, drugs, and transplants and just shaving off whatever's left.
I know one great-looking balding dude who, for years, painstakingly arranged the hair he had left into a horrifying comb-over. Then, one day, the light went on and the razor came out. He looks like a million dollars (maybe ten, after inflation).
Every now and then, he lets that little wreath of hair grow in a bit too long, and I remind him, "Think Ed Harris, not Ed Asner."
Check out the hilarious BaldRUs for fun facts for bald men and the women who love them, as well as the dirt on what really goes on in some of those ridiculous "hair clubs."
The ad demonstrated how bald guys could achieve never-ending joy, sex, and success by submitting to a procedure that would have them sporting a scalpful of nubs like Granny's old sweater in no time.
Then I was treated to some footage of women crawling over the formerly bald losers.
I have to say, I hate ads that make people feel inadequate (although that is the function of most advertising). In case you haven't noticed, many bald men are incredibly attractive. The fact that they can even go bald is evidence of their masculinity.
Fortunately, a lot of balding guys are beginning to get this. They're forsaking the pathetic-looking (and sympathy-inducing) plugs, drugs, and transplants and just shaving off whatever's left.
I know one great-looking balding dude who, for years, painstakingly arranged the hair he had left into a horrifying comb-over. Then, one day, the light went on and the razor came out. He looks like a million dollars (maybe ten, after inflation).
Every now and then, he lets that little wreath of hair grow in a bit too long, and I remind him, "Think Ed Harris, not Ed Asner."
Check out the hilarious BaldRUs for fun facts for bald men and the women who love them, as well as the dirt on what really goes on in some of those ridiculous "hair clubs."
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
The Peril of Wearing Too Much Perfume
Stayed up last night to watch Craig Ferguson, who, like Colbert and Stewart, interviews people who write books instead of, say, people like Paris Hilton and Lindsay Lohan who just get their pictures taken a lot.
Last night, Craig talked to an Irish guy named Ken Bruen, the author of Priest, the latest in a series about an alcoholic ex-cop from Galway. I will probably give it a whirl once I get through the stack of books on my coffee table.
Yesterday at the library I added Donald Spoto's Joan, the biography of Joan of Arc, to the stack. It will be chock full o' laughs, I'm sure. Nothing like a true story about burning a 19-year-old girl at the stake to put a smile on your face.
Good thing I'm also reading Nick Hornby's Housekeeping Vs. The Dirt to fend off utter despair (Hornby, the author of the book that became the Hugh Grant movie, About a Boy, is hilarious and gives me reason to live).
Now for my dating-- or human relations--tip of the day: The temperature here in New England hovered around 93 yesterday with the humidity coming in at about 900%.
And then, in the faintly air conditioned library where I dampened Joan's pages, a lung leadening odor wafted into my sphere, which I came to recognize as women's perfume.
Despite the implications of the seductive gatefold ads in The New York Times Magazine, bathing oneself in a powdery flowery fragrance is unattractive at any time of the year. In the choking heat of summer, it's downright repellent.
Less is more! And even less is even better!
If you must wear perfume during the summer and want to attract men and the goodwill of the general population, resist! Until sundown, anyway.
Which brings me to the subject of fragrance for men. Perhaps you've seen the ads, which promise that women will be compelled to spray themselves with whipped cream upon catching a whiff of a fellow wearing Tag Body Spray.
Even though I don't know any women who've ever succumbed to the mysterious powers of Tag, the advertising clearly works in getting guys to buy the stuff.
Every single man I know has a couple of cans in his bathroom.
Oh!
Last night, Craig talked to an Irish guy named Ken Bruen, the author of Priest, the latest in a series about an alcoholic ex-cop from Galway. I will probably give it a whirl once I get through the stack of books on my coffee table.
Yesterday at the library I added Donald Spoto's Joan, the biography of Joan of Arc, to the stack. It will be chock full o' laughs, I'm sure. Nothing like a true story about burning a 19-year-old girl at the stake to put a smile on your face.
Good thing I'm also reading Nick Hornby's Housekeeping Vs. The Dirt to fend off utter despair (Hornby, the author of the book that became the Hugh Grant movie, About a Boy, is hilarious and gives me reason to live).
Now for my dating-- or human relations--tip of the day: The temperature here in New England hovered around 93 yesterday with the humidity coming in at about 900%.
And then, in the faintly air conditioned library where I dampened Joan's pages, a lung leadening odor wafted into my sphere, which I came to recognize as women's perfume.
Despite the implications of the seductive gatefold ads in The New York Times Magazine, bathing oneself in a powdery flowery fragrance is unattractive at any time of the year. In the choking heat of summer, it's downright repellent.
Less is more! And even less is even better!
If you must wear perfume during the summer and want to attract men and the goodwill of the general population, resist! Until sundown, anyway.
Which brings me to the subject of fragrance for men. Perhaps you've seen the ads, which promise that women will be compelled to spray themselves with whipped cream upon catching a whiff of a fellow wearing Tag Body Spray.
Even though I don't know any women who've ever succumbed to the mysterious powers of Tag, the advertising clearly works in getting guys to buy the stuff.
Every single man I know has a couple of cans in his bathroom.
Oh!
Monday, July 09, 2007
The Naked Truth About Strip Clubs
The New York Daily News ran an expose on strip clubs yesterday. I have to say it was a bit of an eye-opener, especially this quote from the Erik Langan, the CEO of Rick's Cabaret in Manhattan:
"For guys, it's male bonding, or an escape from reality," Langan said. "You want to believe this 19-year-old girl really loves you, is listening to you and maybe in another time, she could be your girlfriend. So you can spend $3,000 here and say 'Hey, I had a good time.'"
I don't know about you, but my feelings would really be hurt if my husband were out spending three grand to pretend a teenager was in love with him.
But then the sting would wear off, and I'd lose respect for him. It would be hard to press from my mind the image of him moaning about his horrible life to a stranger who couldn't care less about the poor bastard.
Here's what Raquel, a young woman who dances to finance her Mercedes, her property on Long Island, and to pay off her student loans, says about the fellows she entertains:
"Most of the time is spent listening to them talk. They talk about their marriages, they talk about work, their kids, their problems. I mean, I feel like a psychotherapist. A lot of them seem very lonely, it's pretty sad sometimes."
Pretty sad, indeed.
What about you? Do you think it's okay for attached guys to hang out with strippers?
A lot of wives and girlfriends are fine with it (or to pretend to be), but, for me, it doesn't quite mesh with "treat others as you would have them treat you" rule of happy relationships.
For some reason, I don't think my husband would appreciate me going off on a business trip, getting drunk, and jamming dollar bills into some strange man's underwear. So I when I used to go away on business, I didn't do it.
I expect no less from him.
"For guys, it's male bonding, or an escape from reality," Langan said. "You want to believe this 19-year-old girl really loves you, is listening to you and maybe in another time, she could be your girlfriend. So you can spend $3,000 here and say 'Hey, I had a good time.'"
I don't know about you, but my feelings would really be hurt if my husband were out spending three grand to pretend a teenager was in love with him.
But then the sting would wear off, and I'd lose respect for him. It would be hard to press from my mind the image of him moaning about his horrible life to a stranger who couldn't care less about the poor bastard.
Here's what Raquel, a young woman who dances to finance her Mercedes, her property on Long Island, and to pay off her student loans, says about the fellows she entertains:
"Most of the time is spent listening to them talk. They talk about their marriages, they talk about work, their kids, their problems. I mean, I feel like a psychotherapist. A lot of them seem very lonely, it's pretty sad sometimes."
Pretty sad, indeed.
What about you? Do you think it's okay for attached guys to hang out with strippers?
A lot of wives and girlfriends are fine with it (or to pretend to be), but, for me, it doesn't quite mesh with "treat others as you would have them treat you" rule of happy relationships.
For some reason, I don't think my husband would appreciate me going off on a business trip, getting drunk, and jamming dollar bills into some strange man's underwear. So I when I used to go away on business, I didn't do it.
I expect no less from him.
Sunday, July 08, 2007
A Masochist In Love No More
Today's New York Times Style section ran this fabulous and instructive piece by a former doormat in love. This woman dated (and put up with) the creepiest men, until she flouted the advice given to her by her father and the authors of the dating manual, The Rules.
I never read The Rules, but I did catch the pair who wrote in on Oprah a few years back. I objected to a lot of their advice, particularly that a woman should never call a man back. It's one thing to remain a bit elusive; it's another to be downright rude.
I do think (although the author of the Times piece will disagree with me) that it's better to let a guy phone first: He will usually ask for your number and say, "I'll call you." Or he'll drop you off after a first date and say, "I'll call you."
In which case, I think it's wise to see if he lives up to his word. Unfortunately, too many women choose not to take the wait-and-see approach and call, text, and email the guy to death.
And that amounts to relationship suicide.
I never read The Rules, but I did catch the pair who wrote in on Oprah a few years back. I objected to a lot of their advice, particularly that a woman should never call a man back. It's one thing to remain a bit elusive; it's another to be downright rude.
I do think (although the author of the Times piece will disagree with me) that it's better to let a guy phone first: He will usually ask for your number and say, "I'll call you." Or he'll drop you off after a first date and say, "I'll call you."
In which case, I think it's wise to see if he lives up to his word. Unfortunately, too many women choose not to take the wait-and-see approach and call, text, and email the guy to death.
And that amounts to relationship suicide.
Friday, July 06, 2007
Lessons From a Master Flirt
My friend is an amazing flirt.
Here's what she's not: Trashy, vulgar, in-your-face, or desperate. Here's what she is: Attractive, kind, and confident. She has an open and pleasant face, but after two children, she doesn't possess a figure like any of the women on NBC's fright fest, The Age of Love. She looks like a woman, not a girl.
A couple of weeks ago, she and I and a bunch of other female friends headed to a tapas bars for, well, tapas. Oh, and mojitos.
The host came over to seat us, but he refused to make eye contact. So Master Flirt made a joke (nine times out of ten, she gets people to loosen up this way), but he was resolute. He wasn't going to look at us.
At that point, I admit, I'd have given up. Hey, she tried. But the girl did not give up. Instead, in an act of sheer genius, she sidled up to the guy. She was careful not to invade his space frontally, but moved over to his side gently in a way that conveyed, "Hey, Buddy."
And guess what? He smiled at her. He smiled at her all the way over to the table.
Then the waiter came over. He, too, refused to make eye contact. So she made a comment about the weather (I'm an idiot at small talk; while I'm trying to come up with something clever to say, she blurts out something benign, and it usually works. But this guy, like the last one, was a tough customer). When that didn't achieve the desired result, she brought up the subject of the bandage on his arm.
"Hey, what happened?" she asked.
The waiter involuntarily arched his back, surprised that she even noticed. "Eh, I just scratched it pruning a tree," he said. And then he smiled. And he smiled at her for the rest of the evening.
At the school where she works, she's known as the "hot teacher," even though she doesn't own a provocative article of clothing. She's also over 40.
The woman knows how to draw people in and make them feel important.
At her house for lunch one day, I spied How to Win Friends & Influence People
by Dale Carnegie in her bookcase. While I've read that book, she absolutely lives it. Winning friends and influencing people is not about manipulation; it's about making people feel good about you and, more important, themselves.
And that's what a master flirt does. Everybody just loves her for it.
Here's what she's not: Trashy, vulgar, in-your-face, or desperate. Here's what she is: Attractive, kind, and confident. She has an open and pleasant face, but after two children, she doesn't possess a figure like any of the women on NBC's fright fest, The Age of Love. She looks like a woman, not a girl.
A couple of weeks ago, she and I and a bunch of other female friends headed to a tapas bars for, well, tapas. Oh, and mojitos.
The host came over to seat us, but he refused to make eye contact. So Master Flirt made a joke (nine times out of ten, she gets people to loosen up this way), but he was resolute. He wasn't going to look at us.
At that point, I admit, I'd have given up. Hey, she tried. But the girl did not give up. Instead, in an act of sheer genius, she sidled up to the guy. She was careful not to invade his space frontally, but moved over to his side gently in a way that conveyed, "Hey, Buddy."
And guess what? He smiled at her. He smiled at her all the way over to the table.
Then the waiter came over. He, too, refused to make eye contact. So she made a comment about the weather (I'm an idiot at small talk; while I'm trying to come up with something clever to say, she blurts out something benign, and it usually works. But this guy, like the last one, was a tough customer). When that didn't achieve the desired result, she brought up the subject of the bandage on his arm.
"Hey, what happened?" she asked.
The waiter involuntarily arched his back, surprised that she even noticed. "Eh, I just scratched it pruning a tree," he said. And then he smiled. And he smiled at her for the rest of the evening.
At the school where she works, she's known as the "hot teacher," even though she doesn't own a provocative article of clothing. She's also over 40.
The woman knows how to draw people in and make them feel important.
At her house for lunch one day, I spied How to Win Friends & Influence People
by Dale Carnegie in her bookcase. While I've read that book, she absolutely lives it. Winning friends and influencing people is not about manipulation; it's about making people feel good about you and, more important, themselves.And that's what a master flirt does. Everybody just loves her for it.
Thursday, July 05, 2007
Wedding Season Is Dating Season
Weddings can be great places to meet guys. When my sister attended the nuptials of her college friend's brother, she ended up meeting, falling in love with, and marrying the bride's brother. They celebrated their seventh wedding anniversary a couple of months ago.
My friend's husband's sister was seated next to the future COO of a major Wall Street firm at the "loser" table at a wedding. These "losers" have been married 23 years, have three children, reside in well-to-do Greenwich, Connecticut, and hire a helicopter on summer weekends to fly them out to their other home in Amagansett, Long Island.
On Tuesday evening, Peter and I attended a lovely party given by some neighbors. Over drinks, I asked them where they met. The answer?
At a wedding.
The wife (let's call her Carol) attended with a date; the husband (we'll call him Roger) went by himself. At the party after the reception, everybody except Carol and Roger went to the parking lot to schmooze and smoke cigars.
Carol and Roger got to talking. Turns out he was the cousin of the bride, Carol's friend from childhood. She knew much of Roger's family, and so they had plenty to talk about. His family assured her he was a great guy.
They said goodnight around 4:30AM. Roger lived in a faraway state, so Carol offhandedly offered to make him breakfast at her apartment. Since she knew his family so well, she felt safe enough to invite him over before he had to hit the highway.
He showed up at her door four hours later. She made omelets. Sparks flew, but so did the time. He had to get home for work the next day.
He left. He liked her. She liked him. He wanted to see her again, but she had a trip to Cancun coming up. A reunion would have to wait.
Which gave him plenty of time to think about her, how much he liked her, and how different she was from other women he'd met so far. He couldn't wait to see her again.
When she got back from Cancun, he made it a point to call her. They got together once. Twice. Again and again. And now they've been married 12 years.
I wonder if things would have worked out differently if they had cell phones (not everybody had a cell phone back then), and they called each other incessantly. I wonder if too much contact too soon would have prevented their feelings from percolating.
Cell phones (and email and texting) are great in emergencies, but my guess is that they've killed many a romance due to overaccessibility.
What I love about Carol and Roger's story is this: She showed interest in him, and then she went away. While it's important to be available, it's even more important not to be too available.
Everyone--both men and women--wants to think they're getting a prize.
My friend's husband's sister was seated next to the future COO of a major Wall Street firm at the "loser" table at a wedding. These "losers" have been married 23 years, have three children, reside in well-to-do Greenwich, Connecticut, and hire a helicopter on summer weekends to fly them out to their other home in Amagansett, Long Island.
On Tuesday evening, Peter and I attended a lovely party given by some neighbors. Over drinks, I asked them where they met. The answer?
At a wedding.
The wife (let's call her Carol) attended with a date; the husband (we'll call him Roger) went by himself. At the party after the reception, everybody except Carol and Roger went to the parking lot to schmooze and smoke cigars.
Carol and Roger got to talking. Turns out he was the cousin of the bride, Carol's friend from childhood. She knew much of Roger's family, and so they had plenty to talk about. His family assured her he was a great guy.
They said goodnight around 4:30AM. Roger lived in a faraway state, so Carol offhandedly offered to make him breakfast at her apartment. Since she knew his family so well, she felt safe enough to invite him over before he had to hit the highway.
He showed up at her door four hours later. She made omelets. Sparks flew, but so did the time. He had to get home for work the next day.
He left. He liked her. She liked him. He wanted to see her again, but she had a trip to Cancun coming up. A reunion would have to wait.
Which gave him plenty of time to think about her, how much he liked her, and how different she was from other women he'd met so far. He couldn't wait to see her again.
When she got back from Cancun, he made it a point to call her. They got together once. Twice. Again and again. And now they've been married 12 years.
I wonder if things would have worked out differently if they had cell phones (not everybody had a cell phone back then), and they called each other incessantly. I wonder if too much contact too soon would have prevented their feelings from percolating.
Cell phones (and email and texting) are great in emergencies, but my guess is that they've killed many a romance due to overaccessibility.
What I love about Carol and Roger's story is this: She showed interest in him, and then she went away. While it's important to be available, it's even more important not to be too available.
Everyone--both men and women--wants to think they're getting a prize.
Wednesday, July 04, 2007
The Age of Love
Ronnie Ann Ryan, the author of Manifesting Mr. Right, alerted me to The Age of Love, a truly scary new reality (uh, yeah, right)program on NBC, in which 20-something women compete with 40-somethings for the affection of some 30-year-old man.
I checked it out on Monday evening. Two days later, I still cannot quite articulate how much I despise it. Even my 11-year-old hated it.
"Why are all those women fighting over one dumb guy?" she wanted to know.
"Why do they all have, like, the same bodies?"
"Why are they all wearing bikinis?"
"This show is really stupid."
Yes, it certainly is.
Apparently, she and I are in the minority when it comes to disliking The Age of Love. Elle magazine called it, "this summer's guiltiest pleasure" (now I remember why I don't read Elle magazine).
Judging by the comments on the show's message board, it's poised to be a massive hit.
Note to "hunky host" Mark Consuelos: Call me crazy, but The Age of Love is a lousy career move.
I checked it out on Monday evening. Two days later, I still cannot quite articulate how much I despise it. Even my 11-year-old hated it.
"Why are all those women fighting over one dumb guy?" she wanted to know.
"Why do they all have, like, the same bodies?"
"Why are they all wearing bikinis?"
"This show is really stupid."
Yes, it certainly is.
Apparently, she and I are in the minority when it comes to disliking The Age of Love. Elle magazine called it, "this summer's guiltiest pleasure" (now I remember why I don't read Elle magazine).
Judging by the comments on the show's message board, it's poised to be a massive hit.
Note to "hunky host" Mark Consuelos: Call me crazy, but The Age of Love is a lousy career move.
Tuesday, July 03, 2007
Keys to a Happy Marriage
I completely agree with this report from The Today Show (it's worth watching if you can put up with the 30-second commercial before it starts).
Nothing kills romance faster than a partner who doesn't keep up with his or her share of the housework.
A woman I know and love recently married a man who's lived on his own for many years. She moved into his house, but she's taken on all the household chores: the cooking, the cleaning, the laundry, everything.
I can't imagine why. You figure the guy cleaned the toilet once or twice since he moved out of Mommy and Daddy's house.
I'm not necessarily blaming him, either. Why did my friend assume the housework? Did he ask her to? Or she she take it upon herself.
They've only been married two months, and she already resents it. Resentment is a passion-killer.
Nothing kills romance faster than a partner who doesn't keep up with his or her share of the housework.
A woman I know and love recently married a man who's lived on his own for many years. She moved into his house, but she's taken on all the household chores: the cooking, the cleaning, the laundry, everything.
I can't imagine why. You figure the guy cleaned the toilet once or twice since he moved out of Mommy and Daddy's house.
I'm not necessarily blaming him, either. Why did my friend assume the housework? Did he ask her to? Or she she take it upon herself.
They've only been married two months, and she already resents it. Resentment is a passion-killer.
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