On August 30, I told you how Ellen Schultz will donate a percentage of her commission when you book your next vacation through her website. Well, as you know, things have gone awry in a certain part of this country since then, so Ellen has switched gears.
She'll donate her commissions from now until the end of 2005 to the American Red Cross for the benefit of the victims of Hurricane Katrina. You can book tours, cruises, and flights through Ellen's site, and you can buy travel insurance through it, too.
Got the itch to see Tuscany? London? How about a Hawaiian cruise? New England in the Fall?
Check out Ellen's site and go for it.
Friday, September 09, 2005
Thursday, September 08, 2005
Clueless Quote of the Week
"What I’m hearing, which is sort of scary, is they all want to stay in Texas. Everyone is so overwhelmed by the hospitality.... And so many of the people in the arena here, you know, were underprivileged anyway, so this is working very well for them."
- Barbara Bush, mother of the President of the United States, observing the mulitude of newly homeless families living it up in the Houston Astrodome.
- Barbara Bush, mother of the President of the United States, observing the mulitude of newly homeless families living it up in the Houston Astrodome.
Wednesday, September 07, 2005
He Left His Wife--- Now What?
Terry,
I fell for a man twice my age, who is married. I decided that he was a no-go, as my parents wouldn't approve. Secondly, he has children my age (21).
However, to my suprise he has left his wife. What do I do now?
-Baffled
Okay, Baffled-
He's left his wife. Ask yourself:
1. Is there any chance he'll go back to her?
2. How do you feel about dating a man his age? How would you feel about it 20 years from now?
3. If things progress, how would you feel about being a stepmother to people your own age?
4. Do you love him (or like him enough to find out if you could)?
5. Do you think he is capable of being faithful to you?
6. Since your parents' opinions matter, will they approve of your having a relationship with an older, divorced man with children?
Only you know can answer these questions. Proceed accordingly.
To your happily ever after,
Terry
I fell for a man twice my age, who is married. I decided that he was a no-go, as my parents wouldn't approve. Secondly, he has children my age (21).
However, to my suprise he has left his wife. What do I do now?
-Baffled
Okay, Baffled-
He's left his wife. Ask yourself:
1. Is there any chance he'll go back to her?
2. How do you feel about dating a man his age? How would you feel about it 20 years from now?
3. If things progress, how would you feel about being a stepmother to people your own age?
4. Do you love him (or like him enough to find out if you could)?
5. Do you think he is capable of being faithful to you?
6. Since your parents' opinions matter, will they approve of your having a relationship with an older, divorced man with children?
Only you know can answer these questions. Proceed accordingly.
To your happily ever after,
Terry
Friday, September 02, 2005
Her Long-Distance Relationship
Hi Terry,
Two years ago I met a wonderful guy, but I was going through a phase and things didn't work out. Destiny seems to have put us together again, although now he lives in Montreal and I live in Mexico. He now has a job that will bring him to Mexico once every two months.
On his first trip, he was supposed to be here for a week, but he has been here for two-and-a-half and will be leaving on Monday. We've had a really wonderful time together. I really want to make this work, but I don't want to pressure him. He seems very happy too.
What is your best advice on long-distance relationships? We want this to work!
Thanks-
Out on a Limb in Mexico
Okay, Limb-
Before the man heads for the airport, tell him the truth: You care about him, and you hope to hear from him often.
Then let it go. The ball will be in his court, so let him take the initiative and contact you after he gets to Montreal. If he calls and you're not in, call him back. (If you don't hear from him, wait a few days and call to make sure he got home safely. But only call once.)
The man should definitely know that you care about him, but he should never get the sense that you're sitting by the phone waiting for him to call.
While he's away, try not to focus on him as if he's the last bus out of the depot. Make a point to do the things you love. Treat yourself well. Go out with your friends, but keep your conversation about Mr. Montreal to a minimum. Do not obsess over him.
Take comfort in this: You cannot make any relationship, long-distance or otherwise, happen. It will develop in its own time, if it's meant to be, and if you don't push it.
Have a wonderful last weekend with this fellow. When you kiss him goodbye, make sure he knows that you'll miss him. Then walk away and leave the next move up to him.
To your happily ever after,
Terry
Two years ago I met a wonderful guy, but I was going through a phase and things didn't work out. Destiny seems to have put us together again, although now he lives in Montreal and I live in Mexico. He now has a job that will bring him to Mexico once every two months.
On his first trip, he was supposed to be here for a week, but he has been here for two-and-a-half and will be leaving on Monday. We've had a really wonderful time together. I really want to make this work, but I don't want to pressure him. He seems very happy too.
What is your best advice on long-distance relationships? We want this to work!
Thanks-
Out on a Limb in Mexico
Okay, Limb-
Before the man heads for the airport, tell him the truth: You care about him, and you hope to hear from him often.
Then let it go. The ball will be in his court, so let him take the initiative and contact you after he gets to Montreal. If he calls and you're not in, call him back. (If you don't hear from him, wait a few days and call to make sure he got home safely. But only call once.)
The man should definitely know that you care about him, but he should never get the sense that you're sitting by the phone waiting for him to call.
While he's away, try not to focus on him as if he's the last bus out of the depot. Make a point to do the things you love. Treat yourself well. Go out with your friends, but keep your conversation about Mr. Montreal to a minimum. Do not obsess over him.
Take comfort in this: You cannot make any relationship, long-distance or otherwise, happen. It will develop in its own time, if it's meant to be, and if you don't push it.
Have a wonderful last weekend with this fellow. When you kiss him goodbye, make sure he knows that you'll miss him. Then walk away and leave the next move up to him.
To your happily ever after,
Terry
Thursday, September 01, 2005
Horror in New Orleans
Can't bear to watch any more of the suffering in that magnificent city. All that's left to do now is pray and donate to the Red Cross.
Tuesday, August 30, 2005
Your Next Vacation Can Save Lives
Love to travel?
A lovely woman by the name of Ellen Schultz has asked me to let you know that you can travel and raise money to help save the lives of women and children in the United States and in Africa. Book your next vacation through Ellen's new website: http://teawoman.globaltravel.com, and she'll donate a percentage of her commission to two charities.
Half of her proceeds will go to the Susan G. Komen Breast Cancer Foundation; the other half will benefit an African AIDS charity. She's still researching worthy AIDS charities and welcomes your suggestions (send 'em to EllenNewYork@aol.com).
Help her raise funds by doing something you might already do: Book a cruise, a tour, a flight, or buy travel insurance.
It won't cost you a penny extra, and you'll rack up excellent karma.
A lovely woman by the name of Ellen Schultz has asked me to let you know that you can travel and raise money to help save the lives of women and children in the United States and in Africa. Book your next vacation through Ellen's new website: http://teawoman.globaltravel.com, and she'll donate a percentage of her commission to two charities.
Half of her proceeds will go to the Susan G. Komen Breast Cancer Foundation; the other half will benefit an African AIDS charity. She's still researching worthy AIDS charities and welcomes your suggestions (send 'em to EllenNewYork@aol.com).
Help her raise funds by doing something you might already do: Book a cruise, a tour, a flight, or buy travel insurance.
It won't cost you a penny extra, and you'll rack up excellent karma.
Monday, August 29, 2005
Rest in Peace, Ellen Marie
My mother died in her sleep, surrounded by my father, my siblings, and me, shortly after midnight on Saturday, August 20. Here's the eulogy my brother-in-law read for me at her funeral:
Ellen Marie Cummins Hernon was born on Friday, August 14th 1936. According to the plaque I had in my childhood bedroom, Friday’s child is loving and giving. That describes my mother. It’s not a good idea to make a person out to be a saint when writing her eulogy, but my mother definitely qualified as a good soul. No, she was an excellent soul. That’s not to say that she didn’t have faults, but we can talk about them later.
My mother liked people. I can’t remember a single instance when she was rude to anybody. Our kitchen in Flushing often overflowed with people of various ages, drinking instant coffee. Most of the time they were friends of mine, my sisters and brother, but they came to see our mother as much as they came to see us. Once I came home to find Mom and my brother, who was about 12 at the time, playing board games with a boy I’d known in high school but hadn’t seen in years.
My mother treasured her own friendships and enjoyed a close one with her sister, Maureen. When we were children, my mother would rattle off tales from her days at Ladycliff College until we could recite them in our sleep. The years she spent in Highland Falls were the happiest of her young life, and she made important friends there. Later on, geography and circumstances prevented her from seeing them as often as she’d like, but she continued to talk of them as if they’d just left the room.
After college, Mom became a teacher but cut short her career to raise her children. She returned to teaching many years later and made new friends who brought her great happiness. After she retired and moved to Manhattan, she became involved in the parish council of this church, which allowed her to enjoy the company of new and interesting people. Living in Manhattan also allowed Mom to meet her beloved friend and college roommate, Juliann Gill, for lunch every chance she could.
My mother’s great love was my father. One of my father’s favorite memories is of my mother walking up the aisle—all by herself—to meet him at the altar at their wedding. He had never seen a bride walk herself up the aisle before then, or since. With typical understatement, he said, “She pulled it off.”
While we were growing up, my mother had a habit of giving my father his breakfast, and then watching him walk to the bus stop from the dining room window until he was a speck in the distance. While waiting for her to scramble my egg, I found this behavior highly annoying. “Why do you do that?” I finally asked her. “Because anything could happen,” she answered. “There could be an accident, and I might never see him again.”
So, she loved in a big way, and that love extended to social causes. She was a proponent of fair trade and a passionate supporter of Amnesty International. Shortly before her illness, she marched in a peace rally in Washington. She held Native Americans in the highest regard and contributed to their causes.
Now, as I said, the woman did have a fault or two: You could always count on her to be late, for instance, which got me into trouble with teachers whenever she offered to drive me to school instead of letting me walk. She was notorious for showing up at church just behind the bride or the casket.
And, although she fiercely believed that all people were created equal, she never could understand why a person who had the benefit of a Second Grade education would use double negatives. She was forever correcting our English. And while most people would consider her highly intelligent, she could be a terrific space cadet. Lost in thought, she’d drive past exits. She’d occasionally forget to pick up one of her children. She could sit down to a meal she’d cooked and chew it for ten minutes before it dawned on her that she’d forgotten to include some important ingredient; for instance, the meat.
Here’s one of my favorite stories: When my brother was young, he developed an affinity for black light posters, the glow-in-the-dark wall hangings that proclaimed the greatness of rock bands like Led Zeppelin and The Who.
There was only one place in town where you could buy them, and that was at the head shop on Main Street. Now, the other women of our parish had mounted a campaign against this purveyor of pot-smoking paraphernalia, but that didn’t trouble our mother a bit. She and my brother set off for the head shop. A few days later, I was in a record store when a guy I went to grammar school with tapped me on the shoulder. “Terry Hernon!” he said. “I just ran into your mother in Jolly Joint!”
My mother could be howlingly funny. She had an absurd sense of humor. Very often, while setting out the tuna fish on a Friday night, she would burst into hooting laughter because something comical popped into her consciousness. But she was also wise. She liked to encourage us by saying, “It’s not where you start, it’s where you finish.” When we were tempted to do something wrong, she’d say, “Maybe nobody else will know, but you’ll know.” She insisted that the surest way to make yourself unpopular was to complain about your ailments. She died as she lived, never complaining, usually smiling, always with more concern for the other person than for herself.
Of course she was special to me; she was my mother. But I like to believe she was special to all who knew her. She wouldn’t want us to feel sorry for her, though. She would hate for anybody to be unhappy on her account. As much as we’ll miss her, this passage from Anam Cara by the Irish philosopher, John O’Donohue, offers hope:
“We do not need to grieve for the dead. Why should we grieve for them? They are now in a place where there is no more shadow, darkness, loneliness, isolation, or pain. They are home. They are with God from whom they came. They have returned to the nest of their identity within the great circle of God. God is the greatest circle of all, the largest embrace in the universe, which holds visible and invisible, temporal and eternal, as one.”
I like to think of my mother drinking coffee with the invisible, the people she loved who left the earth before she did, her mother, the aunts who helped raise her, the father who died when she was just 11 years old, the sister and brother who died before she was even born. I like to think of her having a big laugh and too much dessert for her own good with her friend, Maureen Holmes.
This is what comforts me. I hope it brings you comfort, too.
Thank you.
Ellen Marie Cummins Hernon was born on Friday, August 14th 1936. According to the plaque I had in my childhood bedroom, Friday’s child is loving and giving. That describes my mother. It’s not a good idea to make a person out to be a saint when writing her eulogy, but my mother definitely qualified as a good soul. No, she was an excellent soul. That’s not to say that she didn’t have faults, but we can talk about them later.
My mother liked people. I can’t remember a single instance when she was rude to anybody. Our kitchen in Flushing often overflowed with people of various ages, drinking instant coffee. Most of the time they were friends of mine, my sisters and brother, but they came to see our mother as much as they came to see us. Once I came home to find Mom and my brother, who was about 12 at the time, playing board games with a boy I’d known in high school but hadn’t seen in years.
My mother treasured her own friendships and enjoyed a close one with her sister, Maureen. When we were children, my mother would rattle off tales from her days at Ladycliff College until we could recite them in our sleep. The years she spent in Highland Falls were the happiest of her young life, and she made important friends there. Later on, geography and circumstances prevented her from seeing them as often as she’d like, but she continued to talk of them as if they’d just left the room.
After college, Mom became a teacher but cut short her career to raise her children. She returned to teaching many years later and made new friends who brought her great happiness. After she retired and moved to Manhattan, she became involved in the parish council of this church, which allowed her to enjoy the company of new and interesting people. Living in Manhattan also allowed Mom to meet her beloved friend and college roommate, Juliann Gill, for lunch every chance she could.
My mother’s great love was my father. One of my father’s favorite memories is of my mother walking up the aisle—all by herself—to meet him at the altar at their wedding. He had never seen a bride walk herself up the aisle before then, or since. With typical understatement, he said, “She pulled it off.”
While we were growing up, my mother had a habit of giving my father his breakfast, and then watching him walk to the bus stop from the dining room window until he was a speck in the distance. While waiting for her to scramble my egg, I found this behavior highly annoying. “Why do you do that?” I finally asked her. “Because anything could happen,” she answered. “There could be an accident, and I might never see him again.”
So, she loved in a big way, and that love extended to social causes. She was a proponent of fair trade and a passionate supporter of Amnesty International. Shortly before her illness, she marched in a peace rally in Washington. She held Native Americans in the highest regard and contributed to their causes.
Now, as I said, the woman did have a fault or two: You could always count on her to be late, for instance, which got me into trouble with teachers whenever she offered to drive me to school instead of letting me walk. She was notorious for showing up at church just behind the bride or the casket.
And, although she fiercely believed that all people were created equal, she never could understand why a person who had the benefit of a Second Grade education would use double negatives. She was forever correcting our English. And while most people would consider her highly intelligent, she could be a terrific space cadet. Lost in thought, she’d drive past exits. She’d occasionally forget to pick up one of her children. She could sit down to a meal she’d cooked and chew it for ten minutes before it dawned on her that she’d forgotten to include some important ingredient; for instance, the meat.
Here’s one of my favorite stories: When my brother was young, he developed an affinity for black light posters, the glow-in-the-dark wall hangings that proclaimed the greatness of rock bands like Led Zeppelin and The Who.
There was only one place in town where you could buy them, and that was at the head shop on Main Street. Now, the other women of our parish had mounted a campaign against this purveyor of pot-smoking paraphernalia, but that didn’t trouble our mother a bit. She and my brother set off for the head shop. A few days later, I was in a record store when a guy I went to grammar school with tapped me on the shoulder. “Terry Hernon!” he said. “I just ran into your mother in Jolly Joint!”
My mother could be howlingly funny. She had an absurd sense of humor. Very often, while setting out the tuna fish on a Friday night, she would burst into hooting laughter because something comical popped into her consciousness. But she was also wise. She liked to encourage us by saying, “It’s not where you start, it’s where you finish.” When we were tempted to do something wrong, she’d say, “Maybe nobody else will know, but you’ll know.” She insisted that the surest way to make yourself unpopular was to complain about your ailments. She died as she lived, never complaining, usually smiling, always with more concern for the other person than for herself.
Of course she was special to me; she was my mother. But I like to believe she was special to all who knew her. She wouldn’t want us to feel sorry for her, though. She would hate for anybody to be unhappy on her account. As much as we’ll miss her, this passage from Anam Cara by the Irish philosopher, John O’Donohue, offers hope:
“We do not need to grieve for the dead. Why should we grieve for them? They are now in a place where there is no more shadow, darkness, loneliness, isolation, or pain. They are home. They are with God from whom they came. They have returned to the nest of their identity within the great circle of God. God is the greatest circle of all, the largest embrace in the universe, which holds visible and invisible, temporal and eternal, as one.”
I like to think of my mother drinking coffee with the invisible, the people she loved who left the earth before she did, her mother, the aunts who helped raise her, the father who died when she was just 11 years old, the sister and brother who died before she was even born. I like to think of her having a big laugh and too much dessert for her own good with her friend, Maureen Holmes.
This is what comforts me. I hope it brings you comfort, too.
Thank you.
Thursday, August 18, 2005
She's No Slut!
Dear Terry,
When is the right time to have sex with a guy, without setting yourself up to be called a slut and turning the relationship around to be all about sex? Because unfortunately this always happens to me. It kills my self-esteem!
-Baffled
Dear Baffled-
Why do you get to be the slut? Um, the guy you're with is doing the same thing you're doing; why is it wrong for you and right for him?
But to answer your question: If you're really interested in a guy, it's best not to have sex with him for a good while, until you're sure the relationship is about you and him and not about your bodies. If you have sex too soon, everything goes awry. Often, you'll find yourself obsessing about a guy you really aren't that crazy about.
Develop a friendship first. Go to movies, have dinner together, climb the Empire State Building together if you want, but don't sleep with the guy. Don't assume that you owe him anything because he's graced you with his presence on three separate occasions.
Back to my disdain for the double standard (the woman ending up with the slut label, while the guy saunters off happily in search of the next mattress): It doesn't take into account the fact that women like sex. It's all about punishing her for giving into some guy when she's really giving into her own desires.
So you have desires, and you're entitled to them. He has desires, too. But his are not more important than yours. If you end up in bed together too soon, the relationship may end before it really started, but you are no more a slut than he.
As far as your self-esteem goes, don't wrap it up in some guy. If you think sleeping with him will jeopardize the way you feel about yourself, don't do it. Treating others as they would treat you is the best way to go through life, but make sure others treat you as you would treat them.
Would you sleep with a guy and then run around and tell everybody he's a total slut? Of course you wouldn't. So, don't waste another minute on anyone you suspect would do it to you.
To your happily ever after,
Terry
When is the right time to have sex with a guy, without setting yourself up to be called a slut and turning the relationship around to be all about sex? Because unfortunately this always happens to me. It kills my self-esteem!
-Baffled
Dear Baffled-
Why do you get to be the slut? Um, the guy you're with is doing the same thing you're doing; why is it wrong for you and right for him?
But to answer your question: If you're really interested in a guy, it's best not to have sex with him for a good while, until you're sure the relationship is about you and him and not about your bodies. If you have sex too soon, everything goes awry. Often, you'll find yourself obsessing about a guy you really aren't that crazy about.
Develop a friendship first. Go to movies, have dinner together, climb the Empire State Building together if you want, but don't sleep with the guy. Don't assume that you owe him anything because he's graced you with his presence on three separate occasions.
Back to my disdain for the double standard (the woman ending up with the slut label, while the guy saunters off happily in search of the next mattress): It doesn't take into account the fact that women like sex. It's all about punishing her for giving into some guy when she's really giving into her own desires.
So you have desires, and you're entitled to them. He has desires, too. But his are not more important than yours. If you end up in bed together too soon, the relationship may end before it really started, but you are no more a slut than he.
As far as your self-esteem goes, don't wrap it up in some guy. If you think sleeping with him will jeopardize the way you feel about yourself, don't do it. Treating others as they would treat you is the best way to go through life, but make sure others treat you as you would treat them.
Would you sleep with a guy and then run around and tell everybody he's a total slut? Of course you wouldn't. So, don't waste another minute on anyone you suspect would do it to you.
To your happily ever after,
Terry
Thursday, August 11, 2005
Guy Wants Commitment
Hi, Terry-
I recently read your article on how to get over breakups (or being dumped) and thought perhaps you could give me some quick advice because your article was so good. I'm desperate! I have been seeing a girl for 3 years, and we lived together the past two. I am almost 23, and she is 22. Four weeks ago, we moved out. Now we live about 40 minutes away from each other, due to my changing schools and her getting a job. Looking back, I definitely see all the warning signs of something wrong while we lived together. She was often distant from me, etc.
Recently, I told her I wasn't getting what I wanted out of the relationship because it seemed like a lot of the time I was the only one into it. I said I needed to know what her deal was. She has been at an intense 6-week training course, which has been a sleep-over thing with intensive 16-hour days for her new job(teaching). She has been even more distant, but I have kept telling myself how busy she is. That was her excuse for a while too. So I gave her the scoop on my feelings and left the ball in her court. Last Sunday, she said she needed time to think things over. She called it a "break". This "break" is essentially a breakup, but she said she wants to leave the possibility of us getting back together open. I told her this was unreasonable, as my feeling for her are still strong.
Nevertheless, I agreed to the "break" and am now wondering if I should call and demand an answer. It has been 5 days and its driving me nuts. She has just finished her 6-week course so now she has "time to think", but I wonder if this is even really necessary as it seems she has already made up her mind. I need time to heal because I need to have a clear head before school starts up again. So my question is this: Should I call and demand an answer so I can move on? Or should I wait in hopes that maybe she still wants to be with me? This "break" has a deadline of August 20th (school starts) agreed to by both of us. Help me! Should I call sooner or give her time?
-In Limbo Land Man
Hello, In Limbo-
Thanks for the nice comment about my article.
Now, about this girl...
Since you've very smartly put the ball in her court, you should definitely leave it there. It's possible that she's overwhelmed with her studies, or then she may feel that it's time to end the relationship.
Whatever it is, it'll do no good to call her up and ask her if she's made up her mind. But I also don't think you should wait around, hoping that she'll come back to you. Since you're on a break, why not use the time to do the things you couldn't while you were living with this girl? See the friends she hated, see the movies she didn't like, and so on. Fill your time with things and people you enjoy. If her face pops into your head, banish it. If someone brings up her name, say "She's fine," and change the subject.
Look at it this way: Say you're the one in the relationship who's been distant, needs time to think, and so on. What would be your reaction if she called you or insisted on an answer? Would you like that, or would it make you feel less attracted to her?
So, stay away. Let the girl come to her own conclusions. Let her wonder what you're up to.
Now, if she doesn't get ever back to you, or gives you the answer you dread, it's going to hurt, for sure. In time, you will definitely get over it (yeah, I know you don't believe me, but if you're willing you can get over almost anything).
If she decides to say goodbye, you must avoid turning her into "the one who got away." It helps to remember what you didn't like about her and remind yourself whenever you're tempted to fantasize about how great things were. The benefit of this scenario is that you'll free yourself to meet a girl who's mad about you and gives you the love and attention you need.
Now, on the other hand, absence may clarify things for this girl in another way. Maybe it will dawn on her what she's missing (because you haven't called her), and she'll make a firm and happy decision to get back together with you.
The only way to find out is to let her come to you. If she doesn't, she's done you a favor. (One thing I really admire about you is your ability to say what you feel. You didn't play games with the girl, just told her straight out you weren't getting what you need from the relationship.) You deserve a girl who's crazy about you and never lets you forget it.
Terry
I recently read your article on how to get over breakups (or being dumped) and thought perhaps you could give me some quick advice because your article was so good. I'm desperate! I have been seeing a girl for 3 years, and we lived together the past two. I am almost 23, and she is 22. Four weeks ago, we moved out. Now we live about 40 minutes away from each other, due to my changing schools and her getting a job. Looking back, I definitely see all the warning signs of something wrong while we lived together. She was often distant from me, etc.
Recently, I told her I wasn't getting what I wanted out of the relationship because it seemed like a lot of the time I was the only one into it. I said I needed to know what her deal was. She has been at an intense 6-week training course, which has been a sleep-over thing with intensive 16-hour days for her new job(teaching). She has been even more distant, but I have kept telling myself how busy she is. That was her excuse for a while too. So I gave her the scoop on my feelings and left the ball in her court. Last Sunday, she said she needed time to think things over. She called it a "break". This "break" is essentially a breakup, but she said she wants to leave the possibility of us getting back together open. I told her this was unreasonable, as my feeling for her are still strong.
Nevertheless, I agreed to the "break" and am now wondering if I should call and demand an answer. It has been 5 days and its driving me nuts. She has just finished her 6-week course so now she has "time to think", but I wonder if this is even really necessary as it seems she has already made up her mind. I need time to heal because I need to have a clear head before school starts up again. So my question is this: Should I call and demand an answer so I can move on? Or should I wait in hopes that maybe she still wants to be with me? This "break" has a deadline of August 20th (school starts) agreed to by both of us. Help me! Should I call sooner or give her time?
-In Limbo Land Man
Hello, In Limbo-
Thanks for the nice comment about my article.
Now, about this girl...
Since you've very smartly put the ball in her court, you should definitely leave it there. It's possible that she's overwhelmed with her studies, or then she may feel that it's time to end the relationship.
Whatever it is, it'll do no good to call her up and ask her if she's made up her mind. But I also don't think you should wait around, hoping that she'll come back to you. Since you're on a break, why not use the time to do the things you couldn't while you were living with this girl? See the friends she hated, see the movies she didn't like, and so on. Fill your time with things and people you enjoy. If her face pops into your head, banish it. If someone brings up her name, say "She's fine," and change the subject.
Look at it this way: Say you're the one in the relationship who's been distant, needs time to think, and so on. What would be your reaction if she called you or insisted on an answer? Would you like that, or would it make you feel less attracted to her?
So, stay away. Let the girl come to her own conclusions. Let her wonder what you're up to.
Now, if she doesn't get ever back to you, or gives you the answer you dread, it's going to hurt, for sure. In time, you will definitely get over it (yeah, I know you don't believe me, but if you're willing you can get over almost anything).
If she decides to say goodbye, you must avoid turning her into "the one who got away." It helps to remember what you didn't like about her and remind yourself whenever you're tempted to fantasize about how great things were. The benefit of this scenario is that you'll free yourself to meet a girl who's mad about you and gives you the love and attention you need.
Now, on the other hand, absence may clarify things for this girl in another way. Maybe it will dawn on her what she's missing (because you haven't called her), and she'll make a firm and happy decision to get back together with you.
The only way to find out is to let her come to you. If she doesn't, she's done you a favor. (One thing I really admire about you is your ability to say what you feel. You didn't play games with the girl, just told her straight out you weren't getting what you need from the relationship.) You deserve a girl who's crazy about you and never lets you forget it.
Terry
Wednesday, August 03, 2005
Cheating Bastard's Girlfriend Writes Again
(Note: Read August 1st's post to get up to speed on this one.)
Terry-
This all sounds good, and I do have a lot to think about, but it is hard when he has started back on the kick that he cannot live without me. I feel like a yo-yo.
-A.
Well, A-
You're not a yo-yo, so don't allow yourself to be treated like one. It's time to make a decision. Are you in or are you out? If you're out, then stop taking this guy's calls and emails. Make a clean break.
As for his saying he can't live without you, how very romantic! But he's still breathing, isn't he?
You're in pain, so take care of yourself. Only you can end the torture.
Terry
Terry-
This all sounds good, and I do have a lot to think about, but it is hard when he has started back on the kick that he cannot live without me. I feel like a yo-yo.
-A.
Well, A-
You're not a yo-yo, so don't allow yourself to be treated like one. It's time to make a decision. Are you in or are you out? If you're out, then stop taking this guy's calls and emails. Make a clean break.
As for his saying he can't live without you, how very romantic! But he's still breathing, isn't he?
You're in pain, so take care of yourself. Only you can end the torture.
Terry
Monday, August 01, 2005
She Continues to Attract Cheating Bastards
Dear Terry-
I have basically had it with men. I have been married and divorced twice. I met the man I thought loved me when he started working with me in 2002. He was a married doctor doing his residency in our office. We slowly became better friends during his second year of residency. When I found out that my second husband cheated on me, he was the one there who helped me get through it.
Even though we both knew it was wrong, we became intimately involved. We continued to have a relationship for the rest of his stay here. Then when it was time for him to graduate and move to another state. We made a promise that we would still make it work. (His new office is only an hour away).
During his first week there, we still talked often. He asked me to let him live with his children for four more years. That would be when his contract was up, and he could move wherever he wanted; basically, he would have to move to wherever his wife wanted after he left her so that he could still have a relationship with his children. In four years we would be married and supposedly live happily ever after.
On July 1, 2005 we spent another wonderful night together and told each other how much we loved each other. Then on July 12, 2005 he left for a family vacation. During this time I rarely spoke to him. When he finally called me on July 17, 2005 he informed me that he was still on vacation and he missed me. We argued a little due to the fact that he wasn't honest about his venture, and that I was all alone while he was having fun.
Well, once he was at home the emails started again and I once again thought that everything would be ok, but little did I know that the emails would eventually only come once maybe twice a day. Finally, I made a break for it and offered him the easy way out. I told him that I thought that his feelings for me had changed and that he didn't want me anymore; that is when he gave me this story about his children and how we couldn't be together permanently. He closed with "I love you and I know that I don't tell you enough. I can't imagine my life without you in it." Being the fed up person that I am, I replied "I know what I have to do now"...meaning it was time for me to move on.
The problem is that I honestly love this man. He was my best friend who helped me to overcome so many obstacles. I haven't heard anything from him since our latest argument, and I am starting to feel like he never loved me at all, and I was delusional for thinking that he did. I have been on your site, and I have read and re-read every one of your steps to getting over this person, but I don't know what to do. I feel like a fool. This man promised me everything, but all that he gave me was a broken heart. Please help me.
-A.
Hello, A-
Your break-up is virtually seconds old. There is no way at this tender stage for you to be completely over this man. The good news is that you can definitely get over him, but you must be patient. Give yourself time, treat yourself well, and every time you're tempted to relive a happy memory you shared with him, stop yourself. Make a habit of banishing him from your mind, and eventually, he'll stop popping in.
Keep yourself busy. Indulge in unabashed escapism and see a movie you've been dying to see-- by yourself. See all the movies you want by yourself! If you don't want to be seen going to a theater on your own (I enjoy it, actually), go to a Saturday matinee (couples tend to hit pre- and after-dinner showings). Treat yourself exquisitely. Buy yourself flowers. Sleep late. Enjoy lovely meals and other luxuries; just avoid going into debt.
If this doesn't sound good to you, picture this scenario instead: The guy in question decides he wants to be with you. You'll get married and spend the rest of your lives together. Everything will be just as you dreamed.
Or will it? The guy cheated on his wife to be with you. That makes him, like your former husband, a cheater. If you were to marry this man, you would be looking over your shoulder for the rest of your life. You'll be afraid to go to the Ladies' Room for fear that he'll be chatting up another woman while you're in there. And what will he be doing at work? Solving another woman's problems over the water cooler?
For some reason, you've attracted at least two cheaters. And, worse, you were attracted to them. Why? Only you can answer these questions. The world is full of fun, monogamous, cute guys, and you deserve a joyous, peaceful, lasting relationship with one of them.
My best advice is to stay the course and let Dr. Feelgood go. You've been married twice, so perhaps it's time for you to give yourself some space and really get to know yourself and enjoy your life. You don't need a man. You need yourself. Once you get to the point where you love yourself too much to waste time with somebody else's cheating husband, you'll start attracting better men. Best of all, you'll be attracted to them, too.
You'll run into this guy on the street five years from now and wonder what the hell you were thinking.
To your happily ever after,
Terry
I have basically had it with men. I have been married and divorced twice. I met the man I thought loved me when he started working with me in 2002. He was a married doctor doing his residency in our office. We slowly became better friends during his second year of residency. When I found out that my second husband cheated on me, he was the one there who helped me get through it.
Even though we both knew it was wrong, we became intimately involved. We continued to have a relationship for the rest of his stay here. Then when it was time for him to graduate and move to another state. We made a promise that we would still make it work. (His new office is only an hour away).
During his first week there, we still talked often. He asked me to let him live with his children for four more years. That would be when his contract was up, and he could move wherever he wanted; basically, he would have to move to wherever his wife wanted after he left her so that he could still have a relationship with his children. In four years we would be married and supposedly live happily ever after.
On July 1, 2005 we spent another wonderful night together and told each other how much we loved each other. Then on July 12, 2005 he left for a family vacation. During this time I rarely spoke to him. When he finally called me on July 17, 2005 he informed me that he was still on vacation and he missed me. We argued a little due to the fact that he wasn't honest about his venture, and that I was all alone while he was having fun.
Well, once he was at home the emails started again and I once again thought that everything would be ok, but little did I know that the emails would eventually only come once maybe twice a day. Finally, I made a break for it and offered him the easy way out. I told him that I thought that his feelings for me had changed and that he didn't want me anymore; that is when he gave me this story about his children and how we couldn't be together permanently. He closed with "I love you and I know that I don't tell you enough. I can't imagine my life without you in it." Being the fed up person that I am, I replied "I know what I have to do now"...meaning it was time for me to move on.
The problem is that I honestly love this man. He was my best friend who helped me to overcome so many obstacles. I haven't heard anything from him since our latest argument, and I am starting to feel like he never loved me at all, and I was delusional for thinking that he did. I have been on your site, and I have read and re-read every one of your steps to getting over this person, but I don't know what to do. I feel like a fool. This man promised me everything, but all that he gave me was a broken heart. Please help me.
-A.
Hello, A-
Your break-up is virtually seconds old. There is no way at this tender stage for you to be completely over this man. The good news is that you can definitely get over him, but you must be patient. Give yourself time, treat yourself well, and every time you're tempted to relive a happy memory you shared with him, stop yourself. Make a habit of banishing him from your mind, and eventually, he'll stop popping in.
Keep yourself busy. Indulge in unabashed escapism and see a movie you've been dying to see-- by yourself. See all the movies you want by yourself! If you don't want to be seen going to a theater on your own (I enjoy it, actually), go to a Saturday matinee (couples tend to hit pre- and after-dinner showings). Treat yourself exquisitely. Buy yourself flowers. Sleep late. Enjoy lovely meals and other luxuries; just avoid going into debt.
If this doesn't sound good to you, picture this scenario instead: The guy in question decides he wants to be with you. You'll get married and spend the rest of your lives together. Everything will be just as you dreamed.
Or will it? The guy cheated on his wife to be with you. That makes him, like your former husband, a cheater. If you were to marry this man, you would be looking over your shoulder for the rest of your life. You'll be afraid to go to the Ladies' Room for fear that he'll be chatting up another woman while you're in there. And what will he be doing at work? Solving another woman's problems over the water cooler?
For some reason, you've attracted at least two cheaters. And, worse, you were attracted to them. Why? Only you can answer these questions. The world is full of fun, monogamous, cute guys, and you deserve a joyous, peaceful, lasting relationship with one of them.
My best advice is to stay the course and let Dr. Feelgood go. You've been married twice, so perhaps it's time for you to give yourself some space and really get to know yourself and enjoy your life. You don't need a man. You need yourself. Once you get to the point where you love yourself too much to waste time with somebody else's cheating husband, you'll start attracting better men. Best of all, you'll be attracted to them, too.
You'll run into this guy on the street five years from now and wonder what the hell you were thinking.
To your happily ever after,
Terry
Friday, July 29, 2005
The Man of Her Dreams? A Freaking Nightmare, is More Like It
Dear Terry,
I downloaded your interesting e-book How to Attract and Marry the Man of Your Dreams a while ago. I enjoyed the book a great deal and have been trying to attract the man of my dreams eagerly ever since.
I thought I already met the man of my dreams last year via Internet. He turned out to live in the neigborhood, a divorced man with 3 kids. He was handsome, kind, polite, well tempered, loving, caring, good in bed and in kissing, wealthy, sporty... there were so many good qualities in him and I felt that I want to spend the rest of my life with him. It was so good to be in his company that I wanted to turn off the time so that I didn't have to be separated from him ever!
Then he e-mailed me that he wants to be alone. It was quite a shock to me. We met few times during the winter and phoned and e-mailed occasionally. Last April we met in the south of Finland. He told me there that he had met someone and had feelings for her. It was even harder shock to me, although it didn't prevent him spending a lovely evening and night with with me in his hotel room. I met him last time - so far - in the middle of June and he kept hugging and kissing and caressing me while we met and he told that he's seeing that woman whom he told me about in April. I wondered if he had told her about our meeting in April.
I love this guy a great deal, but I sense that he's is not so good as he first seemed. He has been lying to me more than once and it hurt a great deal that he rather slept with his 14-year-old girl than me while he was still living in the same municipality as me. The girl wanted to and of course Daddy couldn't say "no", because he can't say "no" to me, either, but only on e-mail or text-message, not ever face to face!
Any good advice? Probably not the man of my dreams? I loved him, respected and valued him, never was mean or disgusting, but always loving and caring as it's my nature. Eventually, he was distant and cool on emotional level and didn't return my feelings. I just don't know what did I do wrong. Love to hear your comments!
-R
Hi, R-
Thanks for your nice comments about my book.
Now, this fellow you wrote me about, the one you say that emailed you that he wants to be left alone, took up with another woman (but hit the sheets with you on the sly), slept with his 14-year-old (did I miss something here, or did you write that the dude slept with a 14-year-old?), hardly qualifies as anybody's dream man, let alone yours.
So he seemed to have great qualities at first, and oh yeah, he was good in bed (if I had a nickel for every woman lost her head over a guy who was good in bed!), but after a while he began to reveal himself for what he really is: A slimy bastard who may, if I understand you correctly, belong in jail.
Please read your letter again. Read it out loud.
This man is not for you, and you know it. Stop wasting your life thinking about him. The world is full of so many lovely men, and as long as you're fixated on this loser (I don't care what kind of job he has, how polite he is, what a great kisser he is, he's a loser!), you'll never meet the one who's right for you.
You say that this man was emotionally distant. How would it feel to attract a man who isn't emotionally distant, who returns your feelings, and lets you know it every day of your life? How would it feel? Think about it. Write it down. Do you feel any fear when you think about being with a man who truly values you? If so, why do you think that is? What's the downside of being in a truly affectionate relationship?
What does the perfect relationship feel like to you? Write that down. Visualize it. Incorporate all your senses and make it real for you. It doesn't matter if you don't have all the details at first (or even if you believe it's possible). Do this for a few minutes every day, and new details will start to emerge. Refer to How to Attract and Marry the Man of Your Dreams and write a script around what you come up with.
Put this clown out of your mind. Stop blaming yourself for doing something wrong. This guy wouldn't be right for you under any circumstances, so be grateful you found out sooner rather than later.
Please do the exercises I describe in the ebook faithfully. Idiots like the one you describe will eventually cease to clutter your path. Treat yourself like a treasure yet to be discovered, and one day, you'll attract a genuinely good man who's actually worthy of you.
To your happily ever after,
Terry
I downloaded your interesting e-book How to Attract and Marry the Man of Your Dreams a while ago. I enjoyed the book a great deal and have been trying to attract the man of my dreams eagerly ever since.
I thought I already met the man of my dreams last year via Internet. He turned out to live in the neigborhood, a divorced man with 3 kids. He was handsome, kind, polite, well tempered, loving, caring, good in bed and in kissing, wealthy, sporty... there were so many good qualities in him and I felt that I want to spend the rest of my life with him. It was so good to be in his company that I wanted to turn off the time so that I didn't have to be separated from him ever!
Then he e-mailed me that he wants to be alone. It was quite a shock to me. We met few times during the winter and phoned and e-mailed occasionally. Last April we met in the south of Finland. He told me there that he had met someone and had feelings for her. It was even harder shock to me, although it didn't prevent him spending a lovely evening and night with with me in his hotel room. I met him last time - so far - in the middle of June and he kept hugging and kissing and caressing me while we met and he told that he's seeing that woman whom he told me about in April. I wondered if he had told her about our meeting in April.
I love this guy a great deal, but I sense that he's is not so good as he first seemed. He has been lying to me more than once and it hurt a great deal that he rather slept with his 14-year-old girl than me while he was still living in the same municipality as me. The girl wanted to and of course Daddy couldn't say "no", because he can't say "no" to me, either, but only on e-mail or text-message, not ever face to face!
Any good advice? Probably not the man of my dreams? I loved him, respected and valued him, never was mean or disgusting, but always loving and caring as it's my nature. Eventually, he was distant and cool on emotional level and didn't return my feelings. I just don't know what did I do wrong. Love to hear your comments!
-R
Hi, R-
Thanks for your nice comments about my book.
Now, this fellow you wrote me about, the one you say that emailed you that he wants to be left alone, took up with another woman (but hit the sheets with you on the sly), slept with his 14-year-old (did I miss something here, or did you write that the dude slept with a 14-year-old?), hardly qualifies as anybody's dream man, let alone yours.
So he seemed to have great qualities at first, and oh yeah, he was good in bed (if I had a nickel for every woman lost her head over a guy who was good in bed!), but after a while he began to reveal himself for what he really is: A slimy bastard who may, if I understand you correctly, belong in jail.
Please read your letter again. Read it out loud.
This man is not for you, and you know it. Stop wasting your life thinking about him. The world is full of so many lovely men, and as long as you're fixated on this loser (I don't care what kind of job he has, how polite he is, what a great kisser he is, he's a loser!), you'll never meet the one who's right for you.
You say that this man was emotionally distant. How would it feel to attract a man who isn't emotionally distant, who returns your feelings, and lets you know it every day of your life? How would it feel? Think about it. Write it down. Do you feel any fear when you think about being with a man who truly values you? If so, why do you think that is? What's the downside of being in a truly affectionate relationship?
What does the perfect relationship feel like to you? Write that down. Visualize it. Incorporate all your senses and make it real for you. It doesn't matter if you don't have all the details at first (or even if you believe it's possible). Do this for a few minutes every day, and new details will start to emerge. Refer to How to Attract and Marry the Man of Your Dreams and write a script around what you come up with.
Put this clown out of your mind. Stop blaming yourself for doing something wrong. This guy wouldn't be right for you under any circumstances, so be grateful you found out sooner rather than later.
Please do the exercises I describe in the ebook faithfully. Idiots like the one you describe will eventually cease to clutter your path. Treat yourself like a treasure yet to be discovered, and one day, you'll attract a genuinely good man who's actually worthy of you.
To your happily ever after,
Terry
Thursday, July 28, 2005
Running Up a Hill
Went in to see Mom yesterday. She was about the same, asleep most of the time and when her eyes were open, they were focused on something else, usually the crucifix over my father's bed.
Dad was extremely quiet, but then it was nearly 100 degrees. He hates air conditioning, so we sat in the heat and tried to read our newspapers. I wore a dress that kept sticking to my legs. I brought Dad the cottage cheese he asked me to pick up for lunch, but he ate a sandwich instead. After a while, I took his book of Irish short stories from the bookcase and read a funny but sad piece by Joseph O'Connor. I think it was called "All Mothers Were the Same."
Went home and drank a bunch of Guinesses with my amazing neighbor, V, who took the offspring to see Charlie and the Chocolate Factory while I was gone. She stir-fried asparagus and sesame seeds in her new wok and boiled some dumplings she got from Trader Joe's for dinner. Then Peter came over with some pizzas.
Today I took the girls to piano lessons and changed the sheets. Whenever I'm out of this place for a whole day, it takes me another day to catch up. I managed to cook dinner for the first time in almost a week. Didn't get any real writing done, though, which irritates me.
My cousin, Chris, just called me with the names of some restaurants in Westchester we'll consider for the reception after my Mother's burial. Sibling 2 asked him for them; she figures it's better that we make arrangements now, instead of trying to plan a menu between appearances at the wake.
Peter is home. I'm hungry. Let's eat.
Dad was extremely quiet, but then it was nearly 100 degrees. He hates air conditioning, so we sat in the heat and tried to read our newspapers. I wore a dress that kept sticking to my legs. I brought Dad the cottage cheese he asked me to pick up for lunch, but he ate a sandwich instead. After a while, I took his book of Irish short stories from the bookcase and read a funny but sad piece by Joseph O'Connor. I think it was called "All Mothers Were the Same."
Went home and drank a bunch of Guinesses with my amazing neighbor, V, who took the offspring to see Charlie and the Chocolate Factory while I was gone. She stir-fried asparagus and sesame seeds in her new wok and boiled some dumplings she got from Trader Joe's for dinner. Then Peter came over with some pizzas.
Today I took the girls to piano lessons and changed the sheets. Whenever I'm out of this place for a whole day, it takes me another day to catch up. I managed to cook dinner for the first time in almost a week. Didn't get any real writing done, though, which irritates me.
My cousin, Chris, just called me with the names of some restaurants in Westchester we'll consider for the reception after my Mother's burial. Sibling 2 asked him for them; she figures it's better that we make arrangements now, instead of trying to plan a menu between appearances at the wake.
Peter is home. I'm hungry. Let's eat.
Monday, July 25, 2005
My Mother
Spent Saturday night with Mom and Dad. The priest from their parish came over and said a Mass for them. Mom is still sleeping most of the time, and her breathing is often hard and labored. She talks but we can't understand what she's saying.
Was reading her New York Times and was heartened to see a byline by Maureen Dowd, who's been on book leave. She wrote a lovely piece for her mother who died last week.
I have been asked to write the eulogy for my mother when the time comes.
Was reading her New York Times and was heartened to see a byline by Maureen Dowd, who's been on book leave. She wrote a lovely piece for her mother who died last week.
I have been asked to write the eulogy for my mother when the time comes.
Monday, July 18, 2005
Run, Sienna Miller, Run!
Just logged on to my homepage and found the following headline: Jude Law Publicly Apologizes to Fiancee." If a guy is publicly apologizing about something, the story can't based on the type of half-baked speculation that follows Jennifer Aniston around these days. I had to check it out.
Turns out old Jude, who's engaged to his Alfie co-star Sienna Miller, has been banging one of his children's nannies. How very sad.
You know, there's nothing wrong with being single and having fun. Obviously, Jude isn't ready to be married (again!), so why doesn't he do all of womankind a favor and stop proposing to people.
Hey Jude, go out and have all the sex you want. Just don't do it while you're engaged to be married, you dumb slut.
Turns out old Jude, who's engaged to his Alfie co-star Sienna Miller, has been banging one of his children's nannies. How very sad.
You know, there's nothing wrong with being single and having fun. Obviously, Jude isn't ready to be married (again!), so why doesn't he do all of womankind a favor and stop proposing to people.
Hey Jude, go out and have all the sex you want. Just don't do it while you're engaged to be married, you dumb slut.
Friday, July 15, 2005
On Bringing Back a Lost Love
Hi Terry!
There are many e-books that have been written about sure fire ways to bring back ex-loves, regardless of the circumstance. I would love to have your spin on their theories, or additional tips, as I really respect your opinion. Any help would be greatly appreciated.
Regards,
L
Hi, L-
Thanks for writing and for the kind words.
I'm not familiar with the books you mention, but as far as bringing back a lost love is concerned it can certainly be done, as long as the man is willing.
It's definitely worth it, though, to sit down and write down exactly why you want him back. Then write down why you might not want him back. The goal is to remember realistically what the relationship was really like, and if it's worth having again.
In the news lately there have been lots of reports of people who've reunited with lost loves and had happy results (Donna Hanover, the former First Lady of New York and ex-wife of Rudy Giuliani, recently married an old schoolmate, for example). But, apparently, most of these people once had good relationships, which make great foundations for new ones.
But I worry about people who long for a lost love who once cheated on them, repeatedly disappointed them, and eventually left them in the dust, often for somebody else. A lot of the time we tend to romanticize "the one who got away" when he never deserved us in the first place.
Before you buy a book that instructs you how to bring back an old love, ask yourself if the person you long for is really worth it. If the answer is yes, go for it. There are no guarantees, of course. You risk rejection, but you'll still achieve peace of mind knowing whether or not the relationship was meant to be.
If you decide that the man is not worth it, ask yourself what kind of person would thrill you the way he once did. What qualities are you looking for? What kinds of things would you do together?
It helps to write a list of these things and contemplate it often. You can write an affirmation (don't ever discount the power of affirmations; they worked for me) like "I am now happily married (or dating) a loyal, loving, reliable, successful, fun man." Write it 10 times a day. Say it out loud before your feet hit the floor in the morning. Repeat it to yourself as you're dropping off to sleep at night.
Just replace the qualities I used for the ones you prefer and be sure to put your affirmation in the present tense. And make sure the guy you envision treats you well and has a sense of humor!
To your happily ever after,
Terry
There are many e-books that have been written about sure fire ways to bring back ex-loves, regardless of the circumstance. I would love to have your spin on their theories, or additional tips, as I really respect your opinion. Any help would be greatly appreciated.
Regards,
L
Hi, L-
Thanks for writing and for the kind words.
I'm not familiar with the books you mention, but as far as bringing back a lost love is concerned it can certainly be done, as long as the man is willing.
It's definitely worth it, though, to sit down and write down exactly why you want him back. Then write down why you might not want him back. The goal is to remember realistically what the relationship was really like, and if it's worth having again.
In the news lately there have been lots of reports of people who've reunited with lost loves and had happy results (Donna Hanover, the former First Lady of New York and ex-wife of Rudy Giuliani, recently married an old schoolmate, for example). But, apparently, most of these people once had good relationships, which make great foundations for new ones.
But I worry about people who long for a lost love who once cheated on them, repeatedly disappointed them, and eventually left them in the dust, often for somebody else. A lot of the time we tend to romanticize "the one who got away" when he never deserved us in the first place.
Before you buy a book that instructs you how to bring back an old love, ask yourself if the person you long for is really worth it. If the answer is yes, go for it. There are no guarantees, of course. You risk rejection, but you'll still achieve peace of mind knowing whether or not the relationship was meant to be.
If you decide that the man is not worth it, ask yourself what kind of person would thrill you the way he once did. What qualities are you looking for? What kinds of things would you do together?
It helps to write a list of these things and contemplate it often. You can write an affirmation (don't ever discount the power of affirmations; they worked for me) like "I am now happily married (or dating) a loyal, loving, reliable, successful, fun man." Write it 10 times a day. Say it out loud before your feet hit the floor in the morning. Repeat it to yourself as you're dropping off to sleep at night.
Just replace the qualities I used for the ones you prefer and be sure to put your affirmation in the present tense. And make sure the guy you envision treats you well and has a sense of humor!
To your happily ever after,
Terry
Thursday, July 14, 2005
On Dating, Tama Janowitz, Coldplay, and More
Just finished sending the newsletter. Am thinking of discontinuing it and starting a second blog devoted entirely to dating and relationships instead. What do you think?
Am almost finished with Mansfield Park, which is by far the best book I've read in a year. Next up, A Certain Age by Tama Janowitz and Queen Bees and Wannabes by Rosalind Wiseman. Saw Hotel Rwanda over the weekend, which renewed my desire to press my representatives to aid Dafur.
The new Coldplay CD is astounding and constantly running in my head. Their performance at Live 8 blew me away, and Madonna certainly silenced critics who've accused her of decaying into a boring housewife. The fellows who gathered around my barbecue table Saturday evening expressed undying admiration for her.
Will spend the weekend with Mommy, who is no longer responsive. The woman who takes care of her still manages to get her to eat, which is a miracle.
Am almost finished with Mansfield Park, which is by far the best book I've read in a year. Next up, A Certain Age by Tama Janowitz and Queen Bees and Wannabes by Rosalind Wiseman. Saw Hotel Rwanda over the weekend, which renewed my desire to press my representatives to aid Dafur.
The new Coldplay CD is astounding and constantly running in my head. Their performance at Live 8 blew me away, and Madonna certainly silenced critics who've accused her of decaying into a boring housewife. The fellows who gathered around my barbecue table Saturday evening expressed undying admiration for her.
Will spend the weekend with Mommy, who is no longer responsive. The woman who takes care of her still manages to get her to eat, which is a miracle.
Monday, July 11, 2005
Don't Get Sucked In By a Bad Boy
Hi, Terry-
I know you said to stop seeing and cut off the person who is no good for you, but what if you have a child with that person? How do you not get sucked back in?
-m
Hello, M-
Sorry for the delay in responding. I was out of town.
You're in a tough spot. You want to put the guy out of your head, but you have to maintain some sort of relationship with him because you have a child. The best advice I can give you is to write down on a piece of paper exactly what what he's done (every single thing you can think of) that brought you to the conclusion that he is no good for you.
Carry that piece of paper around with you. Read it when you get up in the morning. Read it whenever a happy memory you shared together pops into your head. Read it before you drop off to sleep at night. Read it before he shows up at your house to visit your child. Go into the bathroom and read it after he gives you that smile that makes you want to forgive him for every bad thing he's ever done.
I don't think you should walk around harboring a grudge (because that's not good for your health), but being with a man who you know is not good for you is certainly not good for your health, either. So you do need to remind yourself-- constantly--why you want to break free of this guy.
I don't know if you signed your name with a lower case "M" because it's a style thing, or if subconsciously, you think you don't rate a capital letter. You do.
You deserve the best in life. Please start to think about what the "best in life" means to you in terms of a boyfriend or a husband. Start to formulate a picture of him in your mind. Treat yourself really, really well. Buy yourself flowers once in a while.
If you start treating yourself like the wonderful person you are, eventually other people will, too. And the people who don't (and didn't) will no longer appeal to you.
To your happily ever after,
Terry
I know you said to stop seeing and cut off the person who is no good for you, but what if you have a child with that person? How do you not get sucked back in?
-m
Hello, M-
Sorry for the delay in responding. I was out of town.
You're in a tough spot. You want to put the guy out of your head, but you have to maintain some sort of relationship with him because you have a child. The best advice I can give you is to write down on a piece of paper exactly what what he's done (every single thing you can think of) that brought you to the conclusion that he is no good for you.
Carry that piece of paper around with you. Read it when you get up in the morning. Read it whenever a happy memory you shared together pops into your head. Read it before you drop off to sleep at night. Read it before he shows up at your house to visit your child. Go into the bathroom and read it after he gives you that smile that makes you want to forgive him for every bad thing he's ever done.
I don't think you should walk around harboring a grudge (because that's not good for your health), but being with a man who you know is not good for you is certainly not good for your health, either. So you do need to remind yourself-- constantly--why you want to break free of this guy.
I don't know if you signed your name with a lower case "M" because it's a style thing, or if subconsciously, you think you don't rate a capital letter. You do.
You deserve the best in life. Please start to think about what the "best in life" means to you in terms of a boyfriend or a husband. Start to formulate a picture of him in your mind. Treat yourself really, really well. Buy yourself flowers once in a while.
If you start treating yourself like the wonderful person you are, eventually other people will, too. And the people who don't (and didn't) will no longer appeal to you.
To your happily ever after,
Terry
Friday, July 01, 2005
Maybe Tom Cruise Isn't Crazy After All
Like the rest of the free world, I've been scratching my head over Tom Cruise's recent desperate attempts for attention. I don't buy the fairy tale romance with Katie Holmes, for instance, especially after his divorces from Mimi Rogers and Nicole Kidman. (He was really, really, really in love with them, too.)
But when I saw him battling it out about psychiatry and prescription drugs with Matt Lauer last week, I had a change of heart. The guy went whacko on Matt, shouting him down about psychiatry being a pseudoscience and, "Do you know about Adderall, Matt? Do you know about Ritalin?"
And Matt, instead of remaining calm and asking, "I guess I don't, Tom. Why don't you tell me about them?" got defensive. He didn't question Cruise about why he objects so strenuously to psychiatry. Later on in the broadcast, Al Roker remarked that Tom Cruise had been "rude" to Mr. Lauer. Maybe. But Matt definitely lost control of the interview.
When Tom was beating Matt over the head about psychiatry and prescription drugs, he reminded me exactly of a man I know who, as a child, had learning disabilities, and is now angry about the treatment he suffered as a result. Teachers told his mother he needed counseling, but they didn't harbor high hopes for him. In desperation, his mother traipsed him in and out of psychiatrists' offices, took him to "learning specialists" (ha!), "focusing doctors," and on and on and on.
None of them helped. They put him on Ritalin. It didn't help.
Today, through his own determination, the man is a college graduate and has worked, quite profitably, for the same company for almost 15 years. He owns an apartment in Manhattan and is a good deal more successful than the little bastard who used to taunt him on the Pee Wee soccer team.
So, when I see Tom Cruise freaking out about Ritalin and psychiatry, I wonder if he once had a similar experience. I have read that he suffered from learning disorders and dyslexia.
As for his comments about Brooke Shields, I don't agree.
But, interestingly, an AP report in yesterday's Newsday revealed that the FDA plans to strengthen warnings about Concerta, the slow-release version of Ritalin, because a routine review found more psychiatric reactions to the drug than had been previously stated.
Those reactions? Suicidal thoughts, hallucinations, and violent behavior.
This is especially interesting to me because both my children have been diagnosed with ADHD and were prescribed Concerta, after our pediatrician reassured us that Ritalin has been "used safely for 30 years."
I wonder if Matt Lauer will pick up on the AP report that seems to vindicate Tom Cruise. In the meantime, I'll tear up my children's prescription for a Concerta refill.
But when I saw him battling it out about psychiatry and prescription drugs with Matt Lauer last week, I had a change of heart. The guy went whacko on Matt, shouting him down about psychiatry being a pseudoscience and, "Do you know about Adderall, Matt? Do you know about Ritalin?"
And Matt, instead of remaining calm and asking, "I guess I don't, Tom. Why don't you tell me about them?" got defensive. He didn't question Cruise about why he objects so strenuously to psychiatry. Later on in the broadcast, Al Roker remarked that Tom Cruise had been "rude" to Mr. Lauer. Maybe. But Matt definitely lost control of the interview.
When Tom was beating Matt over the head about psychiatry and prescription drugs, he reminded me exactly of a man I know who, as a child, had learning disabilities, and is now angry about the treatment he suffered as a result. Teachers told his mother he needed counseling, but they didn't harbor high hopes for him. In desperation, his mother traipsed him in and out of psychiatrists' offices, took him to "learning specialists" (ha!), "focusing doctors," and on and on and on.
None of them helped. They put him on Ritalin. It didn't help.
Today, through his own determination, the man is a college graduate and has worked, quite profitably, for the same company for almost 15 years. He owns an apartment in Manhattan and is a good deal more successful than the little bastard who used to taunt him on the Pee Wee soccer team.
So, when I see Tom Cruise freaking out about Ritalin and psychiatry, I wonder if he once had a similar experience. I have read that he suffered from learning disorders and dyslexia.
As for his comments about Brooke Shields, I don't agree.
But, interestingly, an AP report in yesterday's Newsday revealed that the FDA plans to strengthen warnings about Concerta, the slow-release version of Ritalin, because a routine review found more psychiatric reactions to the drug than had been previously stated.
Those reactions? Suicidal thoughts, hallucinations, and violent behavior.
This is especially interesting to me because both my children have been diagnosed with ADHD and were prescribed Concerta, after our pediatrician reassured us that Ritalin has been "used safely for 30 years."
I wonder if Matt Lauer will pick up on the AP report that seems to vindicate Tom Cruise. In the meantime, I'll tear up my children's prescription for a Concerta refill.
Tuesday, June 28, 2005
Get a Second Opinion
Working on an article entitled, "Do Aggressive Drivers Make Lousy Husbands?" Got some excellent experts to give me quotes, and I'd like to finish the damn thing except the offspring are about. I can't write three words without one of them interrupting me.
Spoke to Mom this morning. Her voice is even smaller now; it's almost impossible to hear her. To make things worse, my cousin K. called me at 7:28 this morning to report that a needle biopsy reveals that she, at 47 years of age, has cancer. The doctors say it's a secondary tumor, but they can't seem to find the primary source.
I say it's time to find another doctor. Called Dad, who agreed, and offered some other advice, which I left later in the day on K's answering machine. She is convinced she is going to die, but since she's been given virtually no answers, I wouldn't panic just yet.
Our childhood neighbor, J, was diagnosed in November with an "inoperable brain tumor," which was found to be easily operable upon a second opinion. She's since had surgery and is doing just about everything she used to, save driving.
Missed Kept on Thursday and expected to catch a rerun on Sunday evening, but it didn't air. Now what do I do? Hope I have the stamina to stay up for Rescue Me tonight at 10.
Spoke to Mom this morning. Her voice is even smaller now; it's almost impossible to hear her. To make things worse, my cousin K. called me at 7:28 this morning to report that a needle biopsy reveals that she, at 47 years of age, has cancer. The doctors say it's a secondary tumor, but they can't seem to find the primary source.
I say it's time to find another doctor. Called Dad, who agreed, and offered some other advice, which I left later in the day on K's answering machine. She is convinced she is going to die, but since she's been given virtually no answers, I wouldn't panic just yet.
Our childhood neighbor, J, was diagnosed in November with an "inoperable brain tumor," which was found to be easily operable upon a second opinion. She's since had surgery and is doing just about everything she used to, save driving.
Missed Kept on Thursday and expected to catch a rerun on Sunday evening, but it didn't air. Now what do I do? Hope I have the stamina to stay up for Rescue Me tonight at 10.
Monday, June 27, 2005
Am I Being Paranoid?
Just sent out the newsletter. It's about time; it's been almost two weeks since the last one.
Took the ferry from Bridgeport to Port Jeff on Saturday. Peter and I and the offspring went to A. and M.'s block party in Bethpage. Mike's mother was there, flaming mad at George Pataki for his treatment of the families of 9/11 victims (her sister lost a son). Promised I'd write a letter on behalf of the cause if she sends me information.
Left Peter and offspring at the party and hopped the LIRR into Manhattan to see Mom. She hardly talks at all anymore, and when she does, you have to put your ear to her mouth to hear what she's saying. It's like watching a lightbulb go out.
Sibling One brought her new baby, who is so adorable he makes us forget our mother is dying. He has the most amazing round, peachlike head.
When I arrived home yesterday evening, the in-laws, who'd been visiting off and on for a week, were packing their car for their trip up to Nova Scotia, where they have a summer home. They peeled out of here at 6:10 this morning.
The account from which I send my email newsletter has been bombarded with messages with headings like, "Returned Mail: User Unknown." The thing is, until I sent my newsletter a few minutes ago, I hadn't sent anything from that account in days.
Is it possible somebody is using my email address to send SPAM, or am I just being paranoid?
Took the ferry from Bridgeport to Port Jeff on Saturday. Peter and I and the offspring went to A. and M.'s block party in Bethpage. Mike's mother was there, flaming mad at George Pataki for his treatment of the families of 9/11 victims (her sister lost a son). Promised I'd write a letter on behalf of the cause if she sends me information.
Left Peter and offspring at the party and hopped the LIRR into Manhattan to see Mom. She hardly talks at all anymore, and when she does, you have to put your ear to her mouth to hear what she's saying. It's like watching a lightbulb go out.
Sibling One brought her new baby, who is so adorable he makes us forget our mother is dying. He has the most amazing round, peachlike head.
When I arrived home yesterday evening, the in-laws, who'd been visiting off and on for a week, were packing their car for their trip up to Nova Scotia, where they have a summer home. They peeled out of here at 6:10 this morning.
The account from which I send my email newsletter has been bombarded with messages with headings like, "Returned Mail: User Unknown." The thing is, until I sent my newsletter a few minutes ago, I hadn't sent anything from that account in days.
Is it possible somebody is using my email address to send SPAM, or am I just being paranoid?
Friday, June 24, 2005
I'm a Better Mother When My Children Aren't Around
They've been off from school only two days, and they're driving me crazy. It's great being able to sleep late, but after breakfast it's all down hill. One child never stops moving, and the other one never starts. She lives on the couch like mold on bread.
I didn't get the newsletter out this week. Hope to keep offspring quiet long enough to do it Tuesday or Wednesday. Am behind on revising the novel, as well. Can't wait until camp starts, although it will interfere with my late mornings.
Missed Kept last night because the in-laws are up from South Carolina, and I didn't really think they'd appreciate watching Jerry put the fellows through their paces. Hoped to watch David Letterman grill Tom Cruise (who is full of it) after they went to bed, but I passed out during a commercial break.
I didn't get the newsletter out this week. Hope to keep offspring quiet long enough to do it Tuesday or Wednesday. Am behind on revising the novel, as well. Can't wait until camp starts, although it will interfere with my late mornings.
Missed Kept last night because the in-laws are up from South Carolina, and I didn't really think they'd appreciate watching Jerry put the fellows through their paces. Hoped to watch David Letterman grill Tom Cruise (who is full of it) after they went to bed, but I passed out during a commercial break.
Wednesday, June 22, 2005
Neighborhood Pigs Strike Yet Again!
I stepped out to get my mail this afternoon, narrowly missing a steaming pile of dog turd, courtesy of the neighbor who persists in letting her growly animal wander through my yard. This is the same individual who puts out her garbage on Friday afternoons when pick-up isn't until Thursday.
One of her sons (the one who zings through stop signs while she beams with maternal pride in the passenger seat) graduated from high school on Monday, and the deflated balloons testifying to that fact still hang from her mail box. I expect them to be there at Christmas.
One of her sons (the one who zings through stop signs while she beams with maternal pride in the passenger seat) graduated from high school on Monday, and the deflated balloons testifying to that fact still hang from her mail box. I expect them to be there at Christmas.
Monday, June 20, 2005
Yesterday Was Father's Day
Mick Jagger received cards from all over the globe.
While we're on the subject of the promiscuous Mr. Jagger, I have to make a confession. I'm addicted to his ex-wife Jerry Hall's reality TV show, Kept. I'm not proud of it, but I can't stop watching. I am currently rooting for somebody named Austen (I think he spells it that way), who seems like a nice fellow and boasts big lips like the former Mr. Jerry.
In my defense, I have not watched and will not watch the reality series based on Gilligan's Island. I promise. I also refuse to sit through that dance competition with Rachel Hunter, either. I'm not a complete loser.
While we're on the subject of the promiscuous Mr. Jagger, I have to make a confession. I'm addicted to his ex-wife Jerry Hall's reality TV show, Kept. I'm not proud of it, but I can't stop watching. I am currently rooting for somebody named Austen (I think he spells it that way), who seems like a nice fellow and boasts big lips like the former Mr. Jerry.
In my defense, I have not watched and will not watch the reality series based on Gilligan's Island. I promise. I also refuse to sit through that dance competition with Rachel Hunter, either. I'm not a complete loser.
Monday, June 13, 2005
12 Things Men Want to Say to You But Don't...
Is one of the cover blurbs from the current issue of Glamour magazine. The idea is to get you, desperate female, to plunk over your hard-earned cash to find out what red-blooded American men (because they're all the same, you know!) think about your looks, your job, your laugh, and your Starbucks coffee habit. Expecting a man to actually say what's on his mind is completely out of the question (don't you know anything, you big ol' nag?).
If you need a magazine article (written by an individual who has never met the guy in question) to tell you what a man thinking, you need a new boyfriend, preferably who knows that his mouth is more than a depository for McDonald's Value Meals.
The Dating Tips Newsletter didn't go out last week because my mother's condition is not getting better, so my trips to Manhattan are becoming increasingly frequent. Please bear with me. Hope to have something out this week.
Mangaged to finish David Sedaris' Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim on MetroNorth back to Connecticut last evening. Fortunately, the train was packed with revelers from the Puerto Rican Day Parade, so my outbursts of shrieking laughter went unnoticed.
If you need a magazine article (written by an individual who has never met the guy in question) to tell you what a man thinking, you need a new boyfriend, preferably who knows that his mouth is more than a depository for McDonald's Value Meals.
The Dating Tips Newsletter didn't go out last week because my mother's condition is not getting better, so my trips to Manhattan are becoming increasingly frequent. Please bear with me. Hope to have something out this week.
Mangaged to finish David Sedaris' Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim on MetroNorth back to Connecticut last evening. Fortunately, the train was packed with revelers from the Puerto Rican Day Parade, so my outbursts of shrieking laughter went unnoticed.
Wednesday, June 08, 2005
You Could Be Better Off Alone
The last batch of emails I've gotten are from women who are bouncing the mattress with guys who are unavailable.
Either the guy is married, or divorced with children he claims to be devoted to (which allows him the dual benefit of looking like Super Daddy and using somebody for sex at the same time), or he suffers from the residual effects of an emotional tragedy that precludes him from committing himself fully to a new relationship.
My correspondents are settling for half men. Too many of us have been brainwashed into believing that scoring half a man is better than no man at all. Others get a twisted sense of superiority from banging another woman's husband (the worst possible karma, by the way). Still others are so afraid of commitment ourselves that we continually attract these sorry relationships; subconsciously we know damn well they're not going anywhere.
But life is much more fun when we don't have to deal with a half man and the drama he thrusts into our lives. It's actually more fun to set a beautiful table, pour a glass of wine, and enjoy a delightful meal on one's own, rather than wait by the phone to find out if the Loser of the Month is going to show up.
If you're involved with a guy who can't commit for whatever reason, or if you're just not sure where your relationship is headed, I suggest you download "Express Yourself" by Madonna and listen to it four hundred times a day. Now, I don't pretend to always understand Madonna; I was utterly bewildered by her gold tooth period, for example, but this song serves as a guide to fulfilling love relationships.
Check out the lyrics if you don't believe me.
Either the guy is married, or divorced with children he claims to be devoted to (which allows him the dual benefit of looking like Super Daddy and using somebody for sex at the same time), or he suffers from the residual effects of an emotional tragedy that precludes him from committing himself fully to a new relationship.
My correspondents are settling for half men. Too many of us have been brainwashed into believing that scoring half a man is better than no man at all. Others get a twisted sense of superiority from banging another woman's husband (the worst possible karma, by the way). Still others are so afraid of commitment ourselves that we continually attract these sorry relationships; subconsciously we know damn well they're not going anywhere.
But life is much more fun when we don't have to deal with a half man and the drama he thrusts into our lives. It's actually more fun to set a beautiful table, pour a glass of wine, and enjoy a delightful meal on one's own, rather than wait by the phone to find out if the Loser of the Month is going to show up.
If you're involved with a guy who can't commit for whatever reason, or if you're just not sure where your relationship is headed, I suggest you download "Express Yourself" by Madonna and listen to it four hundred times a day. Now, I don't pretend to always understand Madonna; I was utterly bewildered by her gold tooth period, for example, but this song serves as a guide to fulfilling love relationships.
Check out the lyrics if you don't believe me.
Sunday, June 05, 2005
You're Lying to Yourself
Dear Terry,
I am in love with a man who does not reveal who he is. This guy does not say he loves me, but whenever I go to his place he makes love to me. He told me he has a baby boy and that this baby and its mother need him for the boy's betterment. I really tried to forget him, but the truth is this guy loves me. He calls me, sends me messages, and he asked me to be his closest friend. Well, I agreed, but now I am drawn to him again.
I love him so much that I can't fall in love with any other man and love him the way I've loved this one. Worst of all he smokes. I believed I could change that; with all my effort and prayer, I will change that. We are happy together but he does not tell me he loves me. He always asks to make love to me. So I don't know what to do. Please help.
Confused
Hello, Confused-
I do not think you are a bit confused. You say you're in love with this man, but he doesn't seem to do very much for you, except make love to you (and I'm sure that's exciting and fun and wonderful, but it's not enough to make you happy when he's not doing it).
He says that he wants you to be his friend. Okay. But is he being your friend? Is he around to listen to you after a bad day? When you need a hand unclogging your sink?
How do you feel when he's not around? Happy and at peace? Or completely freaked out? If you're freaked out, stop seeing him. Do not make love to him, even if it kills you. Then, if he truly loves you, he will follow you. He will be available to you for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, not just for making love.
You can't change anybody but yourself, so stop praying that he quits smoking and his many other annoying habits.
You deserve a man who will treat you as well out of bed as he does in bed. Is he up to it? Let him prove it to you. If he's not the right man, dump Mr. Feely and hold out for the guy who fits the bill. He's out there, and you're definitely worth it.
To your happily ever after,
Terry
I am in love with a man who does not reveal who he is. This guy does not say he loves me, but whenever I go to his place he makes love to me. He told me he has a baby boy and that this baby and its mother need him for the boy's betterment. I really tried to forget him, but the truth is this guy loves me. He calls me, sends me messages, and he asked me to be his closest friend. Well, I agreed, but now I am drawn to him again.
I love him so much that I can't fall in love with any other man and love him the way I've loved this one. Worst of all he smokes. I believed I could change that; with all my effort and prayer, I will change that. We are happy together but he does not tell me he loves me. He always asks to make love to me. So I don't know what to do. Please help.
Confused
Hello, Confused-
I do not think you are a bit confused. You say you're in love with this man, but he doesn't seem to do very much for you, except make love to you (and I'm sure that's exciting and fun and wonderful, but it's not enough to make you happy when he's not doing it).
He says that he wants you to be his friend. Okay. But is he being your friend? Is he around to listen to you after a bad day? When you need a hand unclogging your sink?
How do you feel when he's not around? Happy and at peace? Or completely freaked out? If you're freaked out, stop seeing him. Do not make love to him, even if it kills you. Then, if he truly loves you, he will follow you. He will be available to you for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, not just for making love.
You can't change anybody but yourself, so stop praying that he quits smoking and his many other annoying habits.
You deserve a man who will treat you as well out of bed as he does in bed. Is he up to it? Let him prove it to you. If he's not the right man, dump Mr. Feely and hold out for the guy who fits the bill. He's out there, and you're definitely worth it.
To your happily ever after,
Terry
Thursday, June 02, 2005
Shirking John Stamos (and Other Jerks)
Went to see Mom yesterday.
She sleeps most of the time, but when she's awake she's cheerful. She stopped watching Ellen, Judge Judy, and all that other crap she used to fill her day with. She used to be frustrated about not being able to get out of bed, but she's gotten used to it.
By coincidence, on Saturday we discussed her cousin Frank and his wife, who she likes a good deal and hadn't heard from in ages. Lo and behold, a letter arrived from them on Tuesday, saying they were concerned because they hadn't heard from Mom and Dad since Christmas 2003. I wrote to them this morning to tell them of my mother's illness.
Sent this week's ezine today. If I hear about one more woman putting up with a lying, cheating, self-important schmuck I will scream.
Need exercise desperately. I spend entirely too much time reading and writing. Well, not entirely too much time, but it wouldn't hurt to hit the NordicTrack more often.
The offspring are home from school today with colds. They were off on Monday for Memorial Day, too. We are seeing too much of each other. A deep-chested cough hasn't stopped Child Two from cartwheeling off the couch all morning, and nothing stops her or her sister from watching Full House reruns until their eyes fall out.
She sleeps most of the time, but when she's awake she's cheerful. She stopped watching Ellen, Judge Judy, and all that other crap she used to fill her day with. She used to be frustrated about not being able to get out of bed, but she's gotten used to it.
By coincidence, on Saturday we discussed her cousin Frank and his wife, who she likes a good deal and hadn't heard from in ages. Lo and behold, a letter arrived from them on Tuesday, saying they were concerned because they hadn't heard from Mom and Dad since Christmas 2003. I wrote to them this morning to tell them of my mother's illness.
Sent this week's ezine today. If I hear about one more woman putting up with a lying, cheating, self-important schmuck I will scream.
Need exercise desperately. I spend entirely too much time reading and writing. Well, not entirely too much time, but it wouldn't hurt to hit the NordicTrack more often.
The offspring are home from school today with colds. They were off on Monday for Memorial Day, too. We are seeing too much of each other. A deep-chested cough hasn't stopped Child Two from cartwheeling off the couch all morning, and nothing stops her or her sister from watching Full House reruns until their eyes fall out.
Tuesday, May 31, 2005
Call Me Crazy
I wrote back to the woman whose boyfriend is cheating on her. It took me half the night to think up a good answer. I'll use her story as the basis for this week's ezine, so if you'd like to read it, and you haven't already signed up, go for it.
The issue should go out Thursday, I think, because I'm going to New York to see Mom again tomorrow. I won't see her this weekend because it's Child Two's birthday, and you know how that goes. I really don't like to go too long without seeing Mom at this point because we never know when she's going to step over to the other side.
The doctor's predict it will be by summer's end. Last weekend, my sister didn't give her that long. But my mother has gotten through bad patches over the past few months, so you never know.
Tonight V. and I are going downtown to the Planning and Zoning Committee meeting to voice our opposition to the erection of a 171-unit residential complex slated to be plopped just outside Huntington Center, which is the heart of this charming New England town (picture old churches and a cemetery that pre-dates the Revolution). The cars destined to result from the proposed complex would decimate it.
Speaking of cars, I look forward to the day when we can do without them (as Lewis Black once shrieked, "It's 2005! Why can't we teleport?") Cars seem a bit behind the times, if you ask me.
How lovely it would be if more of us actually used the streets for walking, instead of driving, and said hello to one another, rather than lean on our horns and beat each other to the traffic light. Driving is antisocial.
And, if more of us walked, fewer of us would need to drive to the gym.
The issue should go out Thursday, I think, because I'm going to New York to see Mom again tomorrow. I won't see her this weekend because it's Child Two's birthday, and you know how that goes. I really don't like to go too long without seeing Mom at this point because we never know when she's going to step over to the other side.
The doctor's predict it will be by summer's end. Last weekend, my sister didn't give her that long. But my mother has gotten through bad patches over the past few months, so you never know.
Tonight V. and I are going downtown to the Planning and Zoning Committee meeting to voice our opposition to the erection of a 171-unit residential complex slated to be plopped just outside Huntington Center, which is the heart of this charming New England town (picture old churches and a cemetery that pre-dates the Revolution). The cars destined to result from the proposed complex would decimate it.
Speaking of cars, I look forward to the day when we can do without them (as Lewis Black once shrieked, "It's 2005! Why can't we teleport?") Cars seem a bit behind the times, if you ask me.
How lovely it would be if more of us actually used the streets for walking, instead of driving, and said hello to one another, rather than lean on our horns and beat each other to the traffic light. Driving is antisocial.
And, if more of us walked, fewer of us would need to drive to the gym.
Monday, May 30, 2005
It's Memorial Day
The saddest letters I get are from women who are trapped in relationships (or almost-relationships) with men who mistreat them. I received one this morning that took my breath away. The writer has two children with a man who cheats on her constantly; she's walked in on him with other women. He's even cheated with her sister. When I get letters like this, it takes me one or two days to fully process them because they just blow my mind.
It would be easy to write back to her, "Leave him! What's the matter with you?" But she says she's in love with him. So I have to think of ways to help her fall out of love with him; once she becomes indifferent to the guy, she'll be free.
Hey, I've been there. A million years ago, I dated a guy who treated me poorly. Today I wouldn't look at him twice, but that man used to be a drug to me. Couldn't get enough. Ever hear that song by Emmy Lou Harris, "I Don't Want to Talk About it Now?" That sums it up.
Went to Mom's on Saturday and came back yesterday afternoon. Sometimes she loses the ability to speak. Then it comes back. She smiled a lot and says she's happy, though. I suppose that's the best all of us can hope for, to die happy and surrounded by loved ones.
Right now, I'm listening to U2. Peter is outside barbecuing chicken, steak, and potatoes. We may go to B's later for another barbecue. I suppose I'll be eating a lot of fruit and not much else this week.
The weather is warm and sunny, a change from the windy March weather of last week. When I woke up this morning, the birds were chittering. Paradise.
I'm reading The Group by Mary McCarthy. My mother, who came from a later generation, was so much more innocent than the characters in the novel, who graduated from Vassar in 1933. I didn't know that girls got up to all that sex back then. I thought my generation invented it.
Andy Rooney's commentary last night about Memorial Day hit the mark. The best thing we can do for the men and women who lost their lives at war would be to end war altogether. It's hard to believe that the human race is still settling its differences in 2005 by killing each other.
It would be easy to write back to her, "Leave him! What's the matter with you?" But she says she's in love with him. So I have to think of ways to help her fall out of love with him; once she becomes indifferent to the guy, she'll be free.
Hey, I've been there. A million years ago, I dated a guy who treated me poorly. Today I wouldn't look at him twice, but that man used to be a drug to me. Couldn't get enough. Ever hear that song by Emmy Lou Harris, "I Don't Want to Talk About it Now?" That sums it up.
Went to Mom's on Saturday and came back yesterday afternoon. Sometimes she loses the ability to speak. Then it comes back. She smiled a lot and says she's happy, though. I suppose that's the best all of us can hope for, to die happy and surrounded by loved ones.
Right now, I'm listening to U2. Peter is outside barbecuing chicken, steak, and potatoes. We may go to B's later for another barbecue. I suppose I'll be eating a lot of fruit and not much else this week.
The weather is warm and sunny, a change from the windy March weather of last week. When I woke up this morning, the birds were chittering. Paradise.
I'm reading The Group by Mary McCarthy. My mother, who came from a later generation, was so much more innocent than the characters in the novel, who graduated from Vassar in 1933. I didn't know that girls got up to all that sex back then. I thought my generation invented it.
Andy Rooney's commentary last night about Memorial Day hit the mark. The best thing we can do for the men and women who lost their lives at war would be to end war altogether. It's hard to believe that the human race is still settling its differences in 2005 by killing each other.
Tuesday, May 24, 2005
Neighborhood Pig Asks For It!
Making serious strides on the revision of my novel today. Also wrote draft for dating newsletter . Will send it tomorrow morning.
Did an interview with Marketing for Her founder Denise Michaels yesterday. First time I've ever been interviewed (as opposed to interviewing). Don't know how articulate I came off; had Mom on my mind, and the blood sugar felt a bit low.
Went to the Huntington Street Cafe this morning with V. and came across a book called Cooking for the Dead, which is crammed with recipes for the foods fans of the band used to make and sell to support their Dead habit. Some of them looked pretty good, but by the time I thought about writing them down, V. had to go home to get her kindergartner off the bus.
Peter's aunt just called to say she will be in town for a golf tournament tomorrow and wants to spend the night at our house. It's fine with me.
Have only asked the neighbor next door (the one who leans her pizza boxes and old furniture on my curb six days before garbage pick-up) to kindly keep her dog on a leash at least five times. Am not the only neighbor who has made this request. Said mangy mutt has bitten at least one person to my knowledge, craps all over lawns, and menaces my children.
This morning, the nasty little creature jumped at Child One and barked in her face, resulting in tears. Minutes ago, after Peter's aunt's call, we found it stalking up and down our driveway.
Would hate to call the police, but neighbor is not being neighborly. She is not being fair to us or her stupid dog, which has run out into traffic more than once.
Did an interview with Marketing for Her founder Denise Michaels yesterday. First time I've ever been interviewed (as opposed to interviewing). Don't know how articulate I came off; had Mom on my mind, and the blood sugar felt a bit low.
Went to the Huntington Street Cafe this morning with V. and came across a book called Cooking for the Dead, which is crammed with recipes for the foods fans of the band used to make and sell to support their Dead habit. Some of them looked pretty good, but by the time I thought about writing them down, V. had to go home to get her kindergartner off the bus.
Peter's aunt just called to say she will be in town for a golf tournament tomorrow and wants to spend the night at our house. It's fine with me.
Have only asked the neighbor next door (the one who leans her pizza boxes and old furniture on my curb six days before garbage pick-up) to kindly keep her dog on a leash at least five times. Am not the only neighbor who has made this request. Said mangy mutt has bitten at least one person to my knowledge, craps all over lawns, and menaces my children.
This morning, the nasty little creature jumped at Child One and barked in her face, resulting in tears. Minutes ago, after Peter's aunt's call, we found it stalking up and down our driveway.
Would hate to call the police, but neighbor is not being neighborly. She is not being fair to us or her stupid dog, which has run out into traffic more than once.
Monday, May 23, 2005
What Some People Will Do To Promote a Movie
The weekend started well. Child 2's friend invited her over for dinner, so Peter and I took the older one out to The Metro Grill. Had the magnificent Fromaggio Florentine pizza and two glasses of Cabernet. Brilliant!
A couple came in with their cute little boy and sat at the table next to us. The woman's low-rise jeans revealed considerable ass crack all through the meal. Note to females in the market for fashion: waistbands cut just below the navel are best. They flatter the figure without "cracking up" innocent bystanders.
Spent the night at Mom's on Saturday. She seemed a bit out of it, gave lots of one-word answers, and responded, "I'm just feeling wooonderful, thank you!" when anybody phoned. Her eyes don't light up when she sees any of us anymore, although she still recognizes our voices when we call. Sibling 2 cried all through Mass yesterday due to the change in Mom's condition, but who knows? It could be temporary.
I suppose I was upset myself when I woke up in a panic at 2:30 Sunday morning. I like to read a book when I get like that, so I brought one into my parents' kitchen and closed the door. I drank a couple of Guinnesses, too, for their tranquilizing effect. It occurred to me, though, sitting on floor with two bottles in, that I might be more upset about my mother than I've been letting on.
Today I've been subjected to a deluge of ads for today's Oprah, in which America's Best Girlfriend will interview Tom Cruise ("I'VE NEVER SEEN HIM LIKE THIS BEFORE!") about his relationship with Katie Holmes.
Like the majority of the population, I don't believe this romance is real, and nothing Oprah says is going to change my mind about it. Furthermore, even if it is real, why should I care about it?
I do not care about it. Please stop invading my air space with this crap.
A couple came in with their cute little boy and sat at the table next to us. The woman's low-rise jeans revealed considerable ass crack all through the meal. Note to females in the market for fashion: waistbands cut just below the navel are best. They flatter the figure without "cracking up" innocent bystanders.
Spent the night at Mom's on Saturday. She seemed a bit out of it, gave lots of one-word answers, and responded, "I'm just feeling wooonderful, thank you!" when anybody phoned. Her eyes don't light up when she sees any of us anymore, although she still recognizes our voices when we call. Sibling 2 cried all through Mass yesterday due to the change in Mom's condition, but who knows? It could be temporary.
I suppose I was upset myself when I woke up in a panic at 2:30 Sunday morning. I like to read a book when I get like that, so I brought one into my parents' kitchen and closed the door. I drank a couple of Guinnesses, too, for their tranquilizing effect. It occurred to me, though, sitting on floor with two bottles in, that I might be more upset about my mother than I've been letting on.
Today I've been subjected to a deluge of ads for today's Oprah, in which America's Best Girlfriend will interview Tom Cruise ("I'VE NEVER SEEN HIM LIKE THIS BEFORE!") about his relationship with Katie Holmes.
Like the majority of the population, I don't believe this romance is real, and nothing Oprah says is going to change my mind about it. Furthermore, even if it is real, why should I care about it?
I do not care about it. Please stop invading my air space with this crap.
Wednesday, May 18, 2005
Everything Sounds Like Frere Jacques!
Went to school last night to see Child One sing and play the flute in the Spring Concert. The PTO managed to wedge in their annual induction ceremony before it started -- very slick. I felt rotten about not attending PTO meetings, so now I can say I went to at least one.
Spied the fat bully who threw my child to the ground in the Girls' Room last week. She sang with the 5th Grade Chorus, perched on the top bleacher looking like Pugsley from The Addams Family in an unfortunate horizontally-striped polo shirt. Stuck a smile on my face and banished revenge fantasies.
Peter had to attend a meeting of his own, and he arrived home shortly after we did. After the kiddies went to bed, we watched the second episode of Deadwood, which I'd rented from Netflix. Deadwood is kind of like The Sopranos with horses. Lots of prostitutes, violence, and under-the-table commerce. The word "c-sucker" flies out of somebody's mouth at 15-second intervals.
It's a bit silly.
Spied the fat bully who threw my child to the ground in the Girls' Room last week. She sang with the 5th Grade Chorus, perched on the top bleacher looking like Pugsley from The Addams Family in an unfortunate horizontally-striped polo shirt. Stuck a smile on my face and banished revenge fantasies.
Peter had to attend a meeting of his own, and he arrived home shortly after we did. After the kiddies went to bed, we watched the second episode of Deadwood, which I'd rented from Netflix. Deadwood is kind of like The Sopranos with horses. Lots of prostitutes, violence, and under-the-table commerce. The word "c-sucker" flies out of somebody's mouth at 15-second intervals.
It's a bit silly.
Monday, May 16, 2005
It Has to Be PMS
I just caught the repeat of Conan O'Brien's show from Friday, which had Robert Plant as a guest. I was forced to sit through Conan's latest fat joke first, this time about Star Wars fans.
I heard Robert Plant's new song on the radio and wanted to watch him perform it. He sounded great, and it's a comfort to see he's stopped wearing the tight pants with the big sock in them.
Does anybody care that Everybody Loves Raymond is about to bite the dust? I mean, thank God. That show ceased being funny years ago. Now it's just spiteful and old.
I went to the supermarket after visiting Mommy yesterday and was once again assaulted by images of celebrities I wish would go away. Does anybody really buy the Katie Holmes/Tom Cruise thing? Why are we expected to have an emotional investment in Jessica Simpson and Jennifer Lopez's marriages?
And, now the Stones are about to bless us with their presence again. I saw Keith Richards perform without Mick and the rest when he promoted his solo album, Talk is Cheap, and I have to say, he's the talent behind the band. (I like Charlie Watts, too.) But that bag of bones Mick Jagger? You can keep him.
His voice has more holes in it than a pouch of moldy Swiss cheese, and his relentless pursuit of young models is highly unattractive. I, for one, would be afraid to have sex with him. He's so bony I'd probably lose an eye.
But the media, particularly The Today Show, continue to cover the Stones forthcoming tour as if it were the second coming of Christ. Or as if United Airlines performed the miracle of making restitution to the employees they bilked out of their pensions.
I heard Robert Plant's new song on the radio and wanted to watch him perform it. He sounded great, and it's a comfort to see he's stopped wearing the tight pants with the big sock in them.
Does anybody care that Everybody Loves Raymond is about to bite the dust? I mean, thank God. That show ceased being funny years ago. Now it's just spiteful and old.
I went to the supermarket after visiting Mommy yesterday and was once again assaulted by images of celebrities I wish would go away. Does anybody really buy the Katie Holmes/Tom Cruise thing? Why are we expected to have an emotional investment in Jessica Simpson and Jennifer Lopez's marriages?
And, now the Stones are about to bless us with their presence again. I saw Keith Richards perform without Mick and the rest when he promoted his solo album, Talk is Cheap, and I have to say, he's the talent behind the band. (I like Charlie Watts, too.) But that bag of bones Mick Jagger? You can keep him.
His voice has more holes in it than a pouch of moldy Swiss cheese, and his relentless pursuit of young models is highly unattractive. I, for one, would be afraid to have sex with him. He's so bony I'd probably lose an eye.
But the media, particularly The Today Show, continue to cover the Stones forthcoming tour as if it were the second coming of Christ. Or as if United Airlines performed the miracle of making restitution to the employees they bilked out of their pensions.
Friday, May 13, 2005
Don't Mess with Texas
After leaving the ceremony at school where Child One accepted her citizenship award this morning, Peter and I went to breakfast. We overheard a man at the table behind us ordering something called Texas Toast.
"What is Texas Toast?" I asked Peter.
"French Toast."
"Why do they call it Texas Toast?"
"Actually, it's really Texas Freedom Toast," he answered. "They stopped calling it French Toast when France refused to back us with the war in Iraq."
I'd heard of Freedom Fries, but... Texas Freedom Toast?
How about Texas Electricutioner's Toast? They sure fry things up in a hurry in that state. Woo. Eee! Our New Haven-born-and-raised Texan president presided over the executions of 150 people as governor there.
In a related note, the state of Connecticut held its first execution in 45 years last night. Don't we all feel better now?
"What is Texas Toast?" I asked Peter.
"French Toast."
"Why do they call it Texas Toast?"
"Actually, it's really Texas Freedom Toast," he answered. "They stopped calling it French Toast when France refused to back us with the war in Iraq."
I'd heard of Freedom Fries, but... Texas Freedom Toast?
How about Texas Electricutioner's Toast? They sure fry things up in a hurry in that state. Woo. Eee! Our New Haven-born-and-raised Texan president presided over the executions of 150 people as governor there.
In a related note, the state of Connecticut held its first execution in 45 years last night. Don't we all feel better now?
Thursday, May 12, 2005
I Would Not House This Man's Baby for All the Cheese in France
I lost two nights' sleep over it, but the Communion party was a success. Nobody commented on the stain on the rug, either.
Went to Manhattan to visit Mom yesterday. She's hanging in there. We ate some of the box of chocolates Aunt I. sent over for Mother's Day while watching Jane Pauley and Lorraine Bracco discuss depression. I wonder if Lorraine is on the Zoloft payroll.
Watched Craig Ferguson instead of Conan last night. Couldn't sleep but couldn't bear another of Conan's fat jokes about Kirstie Alley or Ruben Studdard, either, so I checked Craig out. He did a really clever and on-the-mark impression of Mick Jagger, and Tori Amos sang a song from her new CD. I think I'll visit Craig more often.
I saw the headlines in the supermarket that Jennifer Garner is pregnant with Ben Affleck's baby, but I didn't believe it. Then I heard the reports confirmed on television. When I think of Ben Affleck, I think about the time he went to that Canadian strip club and performed oral sex on a dancer. I can't imagine having sex with somebody with that kind of history, but different strokes for different folks, I guess.
Went to Manhattan to visit Mom yesterday. She's hanging in there. We ate some of the box of chocolates Aunt I. sent over for Mother's Day while watching Jane Pauley and Lorraine Bracco discuss depression. I wonder if Lorraine is on the Zoloft payroll.
Watched Craig Ferguson instead of Conan last night. Couldn't sleep but couldn't bear another of Conan's fat jokes about Kirstie Alley or Ruben Studdard, either, so I checked Craig out. He did a really clever and on-the-mark impression of Mick Jagger, and Tori Amos sang a song from her new CD. I think I'll visit Craig more often.
I saw the headlines in the supermarket that Jennifer Garner is pregnant with Ben Affleck's baby, but I didn't believe it. Then I heard the reports confirmed on television. When I think of Ben Affleck, I think about the time he went to that Canadian strip club and performed oral sex on a dancer. I can't imagine having sex with somebody with that kind of history, but different strokes for different folks, I guess.
Friday, May 06, 2005
Adventures in Party Planning
We planned to set up tents and tables outside for the Communion party tomorrow, but here's the official forecast, courtesy of Channel 3: "Nasty, windy, wet, and raw."
No way will the weather get in the way of a good time. We'll put the tables inside and remove them after dinner, the way they do at Irish weddings to facilitate drinking and dancing. Can't promise anyone will launch into a reel in my living room, but let's just say we plan to have enough rye on hand to keep Peter's 100-year-old aunt happy.
I forgot to order the cake, by the way. What a knucklehead! I just hope I won't be stuck whipping up something from scratch; every Catholic family within a 40 mile radius has a kid making her First Communion tomorrow (Peter's brother will shuttle between our party and the Communion party for his wife's nephew in Stratford). The bakeries will be jammed.
And it'll be Derby day! My brother-in-law from New Jersey will surely show up in a new hat and take bets.
My aunt and uncle with the house with five bathrooms will here, too. To say I'm intimidated would be an understatement. Every window in their place gleams like a diamond, so I spent a good part of yesterday washing mine. Never get them quite gleamy, though. And there's a stain on the rug where some bright light spilled a cup of tea. Maybe that would be a good place to stick a dinner table.
No way will the weather get in the way of a good time. We'll put the tables inside and remove them after dinner, the way they do at Irish weddings to facilitate drinking and dancing. Can't promise anyone will launch into a reel in my living room, but let's just say we plan to have enough rye on hand to keep Peter's 100-year-old aunt happy.
I forgot to order the cake, by the way. What a knucklehead! I just hope I won't be stuck whipping up something from scratch; every Catholic family within a 40 mile radius has a kid making her First Communion tomorrow (Peter's brother will shuttle between our party and the Communion party for his wife's nephew in Stratford). The bakeries will be jammed.
And it'll be Derby day! My brother-in-law from New Jersey will surely show up in a new hat and take bets.
My aunt and uncle with the house with five bathrooms will here, too. To say I'm intimidated would be an understatement. Every window in their place gleams like a diamond, so I spent a good part of yesterday washing mine. Never get them quite gleamy, though. And there's a stain on the rug where some bright light spilled a cup of tea. Maybe that would be a good place to stick a dinner table.
Thursday, May 05, 2005
Goldie Hawn is Nuts
My mother-in-law is staying with us until Child Two's Communion on Saturday, so instead of writing, I've been chatting, drinking tea, and watching inane TV shows. Yesterday, during The View, we were treated to some advice about men from the perpetually smiley Goldie Hawn.
She believes that men are incapable of monogamy. The poor dears suffer from surges of testosterone, which compel them to bang every women in sight. "That's what men do," Goldie squealed. "spread their seed!"
When one of the broads asked her if her longtime love Kurt Russell goes a-spreading, she said, "I don't ask!" And then Joy Behar, I think, remarked that Goldie had lumped men in with animals, who don't have the benefit of a conscience. Goldie responded with something like, "Well, put your head in the sand then!"
The next guest, Canadian sex therapist Sue Johannsen, set poor Goldie straight. Despite what Ms. Hawn makes herself believe to justify bad behavior, men do not have a biological mandate to sleep around.
It's a choice. Some men do it. So do plenty of women. But a lot of people don't.
She believes that men are incapable of monogamy. The poor dears suffer from surges of testosterone, which compel them to bang every women in sight. "That's what men do," Goldie squealed. "spread their seed!"
When one of the broads asked her if her longtime love Kurt Russell goes a-spreading, she said, "I don't ask!" And then Joy Behar, I think, remarked that Goldie had lumped men in with animals, who don't have the benefit of a conscience. Goldie responded with something like, "Well, put your head in the sand then!"
The next guest, Canadian sex therapist Sue Johannsen, set poor Goldie straight. Despite what Ms. Hawn makes herself believe to justify bad behavior, men do not have a biological mandate to sleep around.
It's a choice. Some men do it. So do plenty of women. But a lot of people don't.
Tuesday, May 03, 2005
Lifestyles of the Fat and Stupid
I find the network news reports advising us how to find cheap gas amusing.
Wouldn't it be smarter to drive less? Or to drive a smaller car? Why do we persist in buying vehicles capable of transporting circus animals? How about taking the train instead of driving for a change?
Maybe if we gave walking a try, we would cease to be the fattest people on the planet.
Wouldn't it be smarter to drive less? Or to drive a smaller car? Why do we persist in buying vehicles capable of transporting circus animals? How about taking the train instead of driving for a change?
Maybe if we gave walking a try, we would cease to be the fattest people on the planet.
Monday, May 02, 2005
We Have Been Married 13 Years
Instead of going out for dinner to mark our anniversary, Peter painted the shutters after he got home from work. Thank God; the last thing I need is another restaurant meal, and the shutters really needed help.
We celebrated my birthday Friday night. Ditched the offspring and went out to dinner, and I could actually taste my food without some kid popping up to use the bathroom every two minutes. Afterwards, we dropped in to Costco to buy white towels because even the ones Peter bought in November have already been destroyed. Must have fresh stuff in the bathroom when this Communion party goes off on Saturday.
After Costco, we met C and B and half the town at Danny O's. They sold me the filthiest margaritas on the planet, but it didn't stop me from drinking them. Ran into our babysitter's aunt, Child One's religion teacher, and other luminaries in there. Everybody appeared to have been over-served.
We celebrated my birthday Friday night. Ditched the offspring and went out to dinner, and I could actually taste my food without some kid popping up to use the bathroom every two minutes. Afterwards, we dropped in to Costco to buy white towels because even the ones Peter bought in November have already been destroyed. Must have fresh stuff in the bathroom when this Communion party goes off on Saturday.
After Costco, we met C and B and half the town at Danny O's. They sold me the filthiest margaritas on the planet, but it didn't stop me from drinking them. Ran into our babysitter's aunt, Child One's religion teacher, and other luminaries in there. Everybody appeared to have been over-served.
Thursday, April 28, 2005
Don't Tell Bill Frist
Had a brilliant birthday Tuesday, even if it was on a Tuesday and we couldn't go to dinner because Child Two had to attend something called Jesus Day at church. We'd been instructed to drop her off at 6:00 and return at 7:45 for a play about The Last Supper. Peter and I thought that trying to squeeze in a restaurant meal in an hour and forty-five minutes would be pushing it.
Peter picked the kid up while I walked away the pounds in front of the TV with Leslie Sansone. When he came home, he reported that a girl (a female!) played Jesus in The Last Supper play. I wonder what Bill Frist would make of that.
Speaking of religion, I tried watching that NBC "event," Revelations a couple of times and couldn't make heads or tails of it. It was so boring I kept falling asleep. It did occur to me, though, that it would be funny if Jesus showed up for the Second Coming as a girl. And why wouldn't he? If God is a spirit and has no sex, if S/he is all-powerful, then what would be the harm of showing up as a woman? That would wipe the smirks off the faces of the Christian Right, eh?
About the Christian Right and their recent "Justice Sunday:" They freak me out. Some of us came to this country for religious freedom, and now these clowns are foisting their wacko views on the rest of us. If you don't support George Bush's nominees for the Supreme Court, you are not with Jesus, they say. They're nuts.
Back to my birthday: Earlier in the day I went to my friend V's house for lunch. She'd brought in Indian food (korma, samosas, nan, vindaloo; oh, yes!) and gave me a gift of green tea and a book called The Maker's Diet. Last night we went to a natural health lecture, where an audience member kept slapping her copy of The Maker's Diet and quoting from it. I'd rather not read the book if I'll turn into a person like that.
Couldn't miss The Enquirer front page in the supermarket the other day, which claims that Matt Lauer is cheating on his wife, and that she's thrown him out. They looked pretty happy to me when I saw them on the street last month.
My goal today is to order the food for the Communion party. I also have to order tables, linens, china, and that sort of thing. I put in calls to two babysitters, so that Peter and I can go out to dinner tomorrow night, but I haven't heard back from either of them. I'm hopeful.
Peter picked the kid up while I walked away the pounds in front of the TV with Leslie Sansone. When he came home, he reported that a girl (a female!) played Jesus in The Last Supper play. I wonder what Bill Frist would make of that.
Speaking of religion, I tried watching that NBC "event," Revelations a couple of times and couldn't make heads or tails of it. It was so boring I kept falling asleep. It did occur to me, though, that it would be funny if Jesus showed up for the Second Coming as a girl. And why wouldn't he? If God is a spirit and has no sex, if S/he is all-powerful, then what would be the harm of showing up as a woman? That would wipe the smirks off the faces of the Christian Right, eh?
About the Christian Right and their recent "Justice Sunday:" They freak me out. Some of us came to this country for religious freedom, and now these clowns are foisting their wacko views on the rest of us. If you don't support George Bush's nominees for the Supreme Court, you are not with Jesus, they say. They're nuts.
Back to my birthday: Earlier in the day I went to my friend V's house for lunch. She'd brought in Indian food (korma, samosas, nan, vindaloo; oh, yes!) and gave me a gift of green tea and a book called The Maker's Diet. Last night we went to a natural health lecture, where an audience member kept slapping her copy of The Maker's Diet and quoting from it. I'd rather not read the book if I'll turn into a person like that.
Couldn't miss The Enquirer front page in the supermarket the other day, which claims that Matt Lauer is cheating on his wife, and that she's thrown him out. They looked pretty happy to me when I saw them on the street last month.
My goal today is to order the food for the Communion party. I also have to order tables, linens, china, and that sort of thing. I put in calls to two babysitters, so that Peter and I can go out to dinner tomorrow night, but I haven't heard back from either of them. I'm hopeful.
Friday, April 22, 2005
She's Not a Trollop!
It's amazing what passes for comedy these days. On The Tonight Show last night, Jay Leno featured some jug-eared comic who did a bit about a real-life Armenian family, whose hospitality he accepted and lampooned for the benefit of Americans coast-to-coast.
Jug Ears introduced the bit by botching the family's name, quipping something like "or whatever it is" because it was just too much of an effort to remember it. Then he rolled a clip, in which he presented the Armenians and made fun of their food, their jobs, the knicknacks on their mantle, and so on. It was a poor excuse for comedy.
Instead of possessing the talent to tell jokes that actually make people laugh, many late-night "comedians" resort to meanness. Take Conan O'Brien: We all know that Ruben Studdard has a weight problem, Conan. We don't need you to remind us every night.
And what fodder Camilla Parker Bowles made for these idiots. For the past three weeks, I've heard her called a whore and a trollop more times than I could possibly count. I've been told how ugly she is (um, have you looked at her? She's really not quite as bad as some of the characters you see in the mall these days).
I never had strong feelings about Camilla one way or the other. I liked Diana and confess to getting up with my mother at 5AM to watch her wedding (I was young, okay?). But let's face it: Camilla didn't ruin Diana's life. The Royal Family did. They plucked a young virgin (whose virginity was, humiliatingly, confirmed by the royal gynecologist) to marry Charles, who they prevented from marrying Camilla years earlier. Diana's own family was complicit in this victimization. Charles was no peach, but he was performing his royal duty. Somebody, no doubt, perhaps an elder male, encouraged him to wed Diana and continue seeing Camilla.
The day after Camilla married Charles, The New York Times ran the most sexist, ageist, nasty piece about her. Sadly, it was written by a woman, and most of the people who contributed nasty quotes were also women, and professional women at that (one of them likened Camilla to an old sofa).
I really can't sympathize with women who cry about double standards in sex and in business when they knock other women. They have nobody to blame but themselves.
Jug Ears introduced the bit by botching the family's name, quipping something like "or whatever it is" because it was just too much of an effort to remember it. Then he rolled a clip, in which he presented the Armenians and made fun of their food, their jobs, the knicknacks on their mantle, and so on. It was a poor excuse for comedy.
Instead of possessing the talent to tell jokes that actually make people laugh, many late-night "comedians" resort to meanness. Take Conan O'Brien: We all know that Ruben Studdard has a weight problem, Conan. We don't need you to remind us every night.
And what fodder Camilla Parker Bowles made for these idiots. For the past three weeks, I've heard her called a whore and a trollop more times than I could possibly count. I've been told how ugly she is (um, have you looked at her? She's really not quite as bad as some of the characters you see in the mall these days).
I never had strong feelings about Camilla one way or the other. I liked Diana and confess to getting up with my mother at 5AM to watch her wedding (I was young, okay?). But let's face it: Camilla didn't ruin Diana's life. The Royal Family did. They plucked a young virgin (whose virginity was, humiliatingly, confirmed by the royal gynecologist) to marry Charles, who they prevented from marrying Camilla years earlier. Diana's own family was complicit in this victimization. Charles was no peach, but he was performing his royal duty. Somebody, no doubt, perhaps an elder male, encouraged him to wed Diana and continue seeing Camilla.
The day after Camilla married Charles, The New York Times ran the most sexist, ageist, nasty piece about her. Sadly, it was written by a woman, and most of the people who contributed nasty quotes were also women, and professional women at that (one of them likened Camilla to an old sofa).
I really can't sympathize with women who cry about double standards in sex and in business when they knock other women. They have nobody to blame but themselves.
Neighborhood Pigs Strike Again
Note to pigs: It's been two days. Your garbage cans are not likely to grow legs and walk themselves back into your garage.
Wednesday, April 20, 2005
Little Bakers Visit the Zoo
Child One had a friend sleep over last night, and I'm still recovering, even though the two of them left for the Bronx Zoo at eleven this morning.
Yesterday they ran a bake sale, ostensibly to raise money for something called "Spring Fling" at school, but I'm pretty sure the real objective was to just raise money.
They made the usual confections. Although I was too lazy to help them make batter from scratch, I did manage to purchase mixes without evil partially hydrogenated oils. No point in killing the customers, or else what do you do for repeat business?
The girls set up on the corner, which can be busy at times, but I hardly expected anybody to stop and buy anything. Whenever I see a bake sale, whether it's in front of some kid's house or a PTA dealie at school, I keep walking.
I'm skittish about food preparation. Was a cat traipsing along the counter while the egg was being beaten into the cookie batter, for instance? Did the baker wash her hands? Was her hair tied up?
But Offspring and Friend pulled in $22.00 in 90 minutes. Amazing! One rather cute 22-year-old guy actually stopped and got out of his jeep to purchase a whole wheat chocolate brownie (don't ask) and let the girls keep the change for a tip.
But all this baking and taking takes its toll. I must've cleaned the kitchen forty times yesterday. I swept and mopped and swept and mopped. This morning, after some bright light spilled soda all over the floor, I couldn't walk from the stove to the sink because the floor was so sticky. So I mopped again.
Then I took a nap.
But now the chili's on the stove. Husband's on the train home. Got a new bottle of Cabernet on the counter.
Life is good.
Yesterday they ran a bake sale, ostensibly to raise money for something called "Spring Fling" at school, but I'm pretty sure the real objective was to just raise money.
They made the usual confections. Although I was too lazy to help them make batter from scratch, I did manage to purchase mixes without evil partially hydrogenated oils. No point in killing the customers, or else what do you do for repeat business?
The girls set up on the corner, which can be busy at times, but I hardly expected anybody to stop and buy anything. Whenever I see a bake sale, whether it's in front of some kid's house or a PTA dealie at school, I keep walking.
I'm skittish about food preparation. Was a cat traipsing along the counter while the egg was being beaten into the cookie batter, for instance? Did the baker wash her hands? Was her hair tied up?
But Offspring and Friend pulled in $22.00 in 90 minutes. Amazing! One rather cute 22-year-old guy actually stopped and got out of his jeep to purchase a whole wheat chocolate brownie (don't ask) and let the girls keep the change for a tip.
But all this baking and taking takes its toll. I must've cleaned the kitchen forty times yesterday. I swept and mopped and swept and mopped. This morning, after some bright light spilled soda all over the floor, I couldn't walk from the stove to the sink because the floor was so sticky. So I mopped again.
Then I took a nap.
But now the chili's on the stove. Husband's on the train home. Got a new bottle of Cabernet on the counter.
Life is good.
Monday, April 18, 2005
Miracle on Tulip Lane
The offspring are off from school this week; I don't know how I'll ever get to my writing. I did manage to clean and reorganize the linen closet, though. What a miracle.
I'm already losing sleep over Child Two's Communion party. It's not for a couple of weeks, and usually I'd be in full-on planning mode because there's nothing I love more than a party, but my mother is sick. It's dampened my enthusiasm. When Child One made her First Communion, Mom came to the store with us to help pick out the dress, and she helped me choose the flowers for the tables.
Yesterday we took her to the park in her wheelchair. The nurse's aide slipped out at 11:20 to attend 12:00 Mass two blocks away, so I was left to get Mom dressed. I have absolutely no training in lifting a person who can't help herself, but I managed it.
You couldn't ask for more beautiful weather, but it was tragic sitting on a bench watching my poor mother struggle to eat the stale sandwich my brother-in-law picked up at the supermarket (D'Agostino's on 1st and 53rd, if you'd like to avoid stale sandwiches). Ten months ago, Mom was driving my father and his empties to the bottle return at Stop & Shop.
On the way down to the park, I caught sight of myself in the full-length mirror next to my parents' elevator. Even though I exercise regularly, my legs looked strange, narrow on the bottom and wide on top. I looked like a dreidel.
My sister later informed me that the cut of my jeans was passe, and that nobody is wearing them nipped at the ankle anymore. She also said I should wear jeans with a lower waist.
So I took the low-waist jeans I bought last year out of my drawer this morning and put them on. I suppose I do look better, even if I've been fighting carpenter's crack most of the day.
I'm already losing sleep over Child Two's Communion party. It's not for a couple of weeks, and usually I'd be in full-on planning mode because there's nothing I love more than a party, but my mother is sick. It's dampened my enthusiasm. When Child One made her First Communion, Mom came to the store with us to help pick out the dress, and she helped me choose the flowers for the tables.
Yesterday we took her to the park in her wheelchair. The nurse's aide slipped out at 11:20 to attend 12:00 Mass two blocks away, so I was left to get Mom dressed. I have absolutely no training in lifting a person who can't help herself, but I managed it.
You couldn't ask for more beautiful weather, but it was tragic sitting on a bench watching my poor mother struggle to eat the stale sandwich my brother-in-law picked up at the supermarket (D'Agostino's on 1st and 53rd, if you'd like to avoid stale sandwiches). Ten months ago, Mom was driving my father and his empties to the bottle return at Stop & Shop.
On the way down to the park, I caught sight of myself in the full-length mirror next to my parents' elevator. Even though I exercise regularly, my legs looked strange, narrow on the bottom and wide on top. I looked like a dreidel.
My sister later informed me that the cut of my jeans was passe, and that nobody is wearing them nipped at the ankle anymore. She also said I should wear jeans with a lower waist.
So I took the low-waist jeans I bought last year out of my drawer this morning and put them on. I suppose I do look better, even if I've been fighting carpenter's crack most of the day.
Friday, April 15, 2005
She Wouldn't Commit
So, S and F had been dating for nearly four years, and by all accounts, they were in love. People kept asking when they'd get married. They kept answering, "We're happy as we are."
Of course nobody believed this. They assumed F wouldn't commit because men never want to commit, or at least what the blurbs say on the magazines at the supermarket checkout.
Anyway, S and F blocked out the background noise and went on with life. They booked a trip to Hawaii -- for three weeks.
They were soaking up the sun, sucking up tropical drinks, when ol' F dropped to his knees and presented S with a ring. No thanks, she said (in the kindest way possible).
They went home and continued seeing each other every chance they got, until he appeared at her door one night to go to dinner. S said, "F, we have to talk."
"Okay," said F.
"We need to break up," she said.
He told her he loved her and wanted her to be happy. He sent her on her way. He went home and cried, and then he called his friends and ate dinner at their house. And cried.
This is the second story I've heard in recent weeks about a guy being dumped by a woman who didn't want to commit. Don't believe that men are always the villains, that they're heartless, and have no feelings.
They do.
Of course nobody believed this. They assumed F wouldn't commit because men never want to commit, or at least what the blurbs say on the magazines at the supermarket checkout.
Anyway, S and F blocked out the background noise and went on with life. They booked a trip to Hawaii -- for three weeks.
They were soaking up the sun, sucking up tropical drinks, when ol' F dropped to his knees and presented S with a ring. No thanks, she said (in the kindest way possible).
They went home and continued seeing each other every chance they got, until he appeared at her door one night to go to dinner. S said, "F, we have to talk."
"Okay," said F.
"We need to break up," she said.
He told her he loved her and wanted her to be happy. He sent her on her way. He went home and cried, and then he called his friends and ate dinner at their house. And cried.
This is the second story I've heard in recent weeks about a guy being dumped by a woman who didn't want to commit. Don't believe that men are always the villains, that they're heartless, and have no feelings.
They do.
Wednesday, April 13, 2005
24 Hour Party Person
Rented 24 Hour Party People last night and loved it. I'm stuck in the Eighties musically, so it was right up my alley. I'd never seen Steve Coogan before, although my friend in Manchester, England tried to send me some of his videos a couple of years ago, but they somehow ended up erased in transit. Steve Coogan is highly attractive.
The movie, based on the experiences of New Order manager Tony Wilson, takes place in Manchester. I'm interested in Manchester because my mother's family parked themselves there for a generation or two on their way to New York from Ireland. The New York Times claims it's a great place to visit. Good nightlife, supposedly, and I'm definitely a creature of the night.
24 Hour featured a scene where Tony (named for St. Anthony of Padua) accepts oral activity from a hooker in the back of a van and his wife busts him. She turns around and bangs some guy in a restroom. I suspect that's how Hillary Clinton got through the Lewinsky ordeal, but I'm just speculating.
Speaking of the Clintons, Bill did an interview with Katie Couric the other morning. Man, I miss Bill Clinton.
The movie, based on the experiences of New Order manager Tony Wilson, takes place in Manchester. I'm interested in Manchester because my mother's family parked themselves there for a generation or two on their way to New York from Ireland. The New York Times claims it's a great place to visit. Good nightlife, supposedly, and I'm definitely a creature of the night.
24 Hour featured a scene where Tony (named for St. Anthony of Padua) accepts oral activity from a hooker in the back of a van and his wife busts him. She turns around and bangs some guy in a restroom. I suspect that's how Hillary Clinton got through the Lewinsky ordeal, but I'm just speculating.
Speaking of the Clintons, Bill did an interview with Katie Couric the other morning. Man, I miss Bill Clinton.
Monday, April 11, 2005
Single Guys Destined for Loneliness
My brother and I were walking along First Avenue on Saturday, when along came these two nebbishy-looking guys.
The little guy, swinging his coffee cup, remarked to the other one, "Yeah, but you gotta remember, women are like children."
Poor bastards will never get laid.
The little guy, swinging his coffee cup, remarked to the other one, "Yeah, but you gotta remember, women are like children."
Poor bastards will never get laid.
Friday, April 08, 2005
Single Woman's Nightmare
Last night we watched Bridget Jones and the Edge of Reason. It would be more accurate to say we cringed through it. I don't even know where to begin, it was so horrible. Peter and I enjoyed the first one, so much that we used to stop to watch it whenever we discovered it while flipping around with the remote.
But this thing: Terrible! The first one managed to be funny and clever and made a few good points. It also entertained. This one, The Edge of Reason, was utterly desperate in its attempt to be funny and clever, and it made no good points. The subtext is, Girls, if you're not married, you're a loser. Poor Bridget even envisions her tombstone: "Bridget Jones, Spinster."
Being an unmarried woman in the real world carries a stigma only to the uneducated and ignorant. Renee Zellweger is unmarried, as are Marisa Tomei, Laura Linney, Nicole Kidman, and Angelina Jolie. Some women like being single. But in movies, the single female is a complete loser.
As for the performances, Zellweger, despite the weight she'd put on for the role both times, was more attractive in the first installment. Seemed smarter, too. This time, her Bridget came off cloying and desperate. Peter couldn't stand the pain and left the room. But I couldn't stop watching it, even as I clutched my stomach in revulsion for two hours.
The fetching Colin Firth (who unfetched me as the selfish bastard in Girl with a Pearl Earring) fetched again, although Sir Lawrence Olivier wouldn't convince me that a character like Mark Darcy would stay enamored of this pathetic broad. You'd think he'd want to take a long bath.
Hugh Grant let his face bronzer do the acting for him. I had a strong feeling he appeared on set and told the director, "This'll only take a minute. Make sure somebody's cutting my check."
But this thing: Terrible! The first one managed to be funny and clever and made a few good points. It also entertained. This one, The Edge of Reason, was utterly desperate in its attempt to be funny and clever, and it made no good points. The subtext is, Girls, if you're not married, you're a loser. Poor Bridget even envisions her tombstone: "Bridget Jones, Spinster."
Being an unmarried woman in the real world carries a stigma only to the uneducated and ignorant. Renee Zellweger is unmarried, as are Marisa Tomei, Laura Linney, Nicole Kidman, and Angelina Jolie. Some women like being single. But in movies, the single female is a complete loser.
As for the performances, Zellweger, despite the weight she'd put on for the role both times, was more attractive in the first installment. Seemed smarter, too. This time, her Bridget came off cloying and desperate. Peter couldn't stand the pain and left the room. But I couldn't stop watching it, even as I clutched my stomach in revulsion for two hours.
The fetching Colin Firth (who unfetched me as the selfish bastard in Girl with a Pearl Earring) fetched again, although Sir Lawrence Olivier wouldn't convince me that a character like Mark Darcy would stay enamored of this pathetic broad. You'd think he'd want to take a long bath.
Hugh Grant let his face bronzer do the acting for him. I had a strong feeling he appeared on set and told the director, "This'll only take a minute. Make sure somebody's cutting my check."
Thursday, April 07, 2005
Dating and the Pope
Just sent out the dating tips newsletter. It's always a relief to have that done. Spent the morning with Val, solving the world's problems over coffee at the Huntington Street Cafe. They played a lot of Dead in there this morning, which was a good thing. I can deal with the Dead at 9:30 in the morning.
Didn't get much revision done on the novel today. It's been a slow week for novel revision, actually. Had to do a major virus scan yesterday, which took two hours, and then I had to print the invitations for Child 2's First Communion party. It took forever to find a typeface that conveyed "this is a serious occasion, but let's not take it too seriously." If I used a cursive font, I feared I'd end up with people coming in suits. I'm hoping for collared-shirts and chinos.
So, the Pope has been dead for nearly a week now, and the pilgrims keep coming. I feel sorry for Jimmy Carter that he was shut out of the events. The Pope opposed the War in Iraq, yet the Vatican waved those war-monging Bushes in. The peace-loving Carter, a champion of the poor, was turned away at the gate. I do not get it.
And what is wrong with me that all I can think about is how hot the Pope was as a young guy. What a waste!
I won't cook tonight; I've dispatched the husband to get a pizza.
Didn't get much revision done on the novel today. It's been a slow week for novel revision, actually. Had to do a major virus scan yesterday, which took two hours, and then I had to print the invitations for Child 2's First Communion party. It took forever to find a typeface that conveyed "this is a serious occasion, but let's not take it too seriously." If I used a cursive font, I feared I'd end up with people coming in suits. I'm hoping for collared-shirts and chinos.
So, the Pope has been dead for nearly a week now, and the pilgrims keep coming. I feel sorry for Jimmy Carter that he was shut out of the events. The Pope opposed the War in Iraq, yet the Vatican waved those war-monging Bushes in. The peace-loving Carter, a champion of the poor, was turned away at the gate. I do not get it.
And what is wrong with me that all I can think about is how hot the Pope was as a young guy. What a waste!
I won't cook tonight; I've dispatched the husband to get a pizza.
Monday, April 04, 2005
Et Tu, Girl Scouts of America?
My Boy Scout of a husband bought four boxes of Girl Scout cookies, only to discover upon delivery that they are riddled with partially hydrogenated oil! Are the little green gremlins out to kill us?
Fie on you, Girl Scouts of America! Next year, peddle your confections elsewhere. We'll not open our door to the likes of you!
Fie on you, Girl Scouts of America! Next year, peddle your confections elsewhere. We'll not open our door to the likes of you!
Are Camilla and Charles Jinxed?
According to the late Princess Diana's friend, Andrew Morton, they are. He cites the Queen's refusal to attend the wedding, the mix-up over whether Camilla will be made Princess of Wales, and now the Pope's funeral, which is scheduled to take place on Friday, the same day as the royal wedding.
I don't know whether to feel sorry for Charles or to hate him. He was a 32-year-old man when he allowed himself to be pressed into marrying a girl he didn't love. He made her miserable every day of her short life.
On the other hand, in an age when celebrity couples like Donald and Melania and Catherine and Michael are prevalent, it's heartening to see an old coot like Charles marry an old coot like Camilla.
I don't know whether to feel sorry for Charles or to hate him. He was a 32-year-old man when he allowed himself to be pressed into marrying a girl he didn't love. He made her miserable every day of her short life.
On the other hand, in an age when celebrity couples like Donald and Melania and Catherine and Michael are prevalent, it's heartening to see an old coot like Charles marry an old coot like Camilla.
Sunday, April 03, 2005
Sex and the City: Wrong About Dating
"I don't want to have sex for the sake of having sex. I'm looking for an emotional connection."
Okay, who said it? A lovelorn woman who can't find the right guy?
Nope. It was a guy -- a physically fit, blond, educated, good-looking, well-employed straight guy who happens to own a co-op in Manhattan. He told me this last night and, no, he wasn't hitting on me. I'm married, for one thing, and I've known this man most of my life.
So much for the crap they're selling on Sex and the City, eh?
In recent weeks, I've read reviews of the recent crop of dating manuals, whose authors seem to agree that men and women are different species. Some of the authors purport that men are little more than sex-crazed animals who must be manipulated.
Maureen Dowd (and I usually love Maureen Dowd; she's my favorite thing in The New York Times) published a column about how XYs are a lower life form than XXs and quoted some guy (I don't remember his name) who also claims that we are different species.
Get over it! Men are not from Mars. Women are not from Venus.
You want to succeed at dating? You want to achieve a fun, healthy, angst-free relationship? You want to get married?
Stop treating people of the opposite sex like science experiments. Treat a person as you would have him or her treat you. If the schmuck doesn't treat you as you would treat him or her, hit the highway. Don't try to to force a circle into a square. Move on, Darling.
Dear Abby used to publish a column (or perhaps it was her sister, Ann Landers) that started with "Love is friendship that has caught fire..."
Go for the friendship first. Then worry about the fire.
Okay, who said it? A lovelorn woman who can't find the right guy?
Nope. It was a guy -- a physically fit, blond, educated, good-looking, well-employed straight guy who happens to own a co-op in Manhattan. He told me this last night and, no, he wasn't hitting on me. I'm married, for one thing, and I've known this man most of my life.
So much for the crap they're selling on Sex and the City, eh?
In recent weeks, I've read reviews of the recent crop of dating manuals, whose authors seem to agree that men and women are different species. Some of the authors purport that men are little more than sex-crazed animals who must be manipulated.
Maureen Dowd (and I usually love Maureen Dowd; she's my favorite thing in The New York Times) published a column about how XYs are a lower life form than XXs and quoted some guy (I don't remember his name) who also claims that we are different species.
Get over it! Men are not from Mars. Women are not from Venus.
You want to succeed at dating? You want to achieve a fun, healthy, angst-free relationship? You want to get married?
Stop treating people of the opposite sex like science experiments. Treat a person as you would have him or her treat you. If the schmuck doesn't treat you as you would treat him or her, hit the highway. Don't try to to force a circle into a square. Move on, Darling.
Dear Abby used to publish a column (or perhaps it was her sister, Ann Landers) that started with "Love is friendship that has caught fire..."
Go for the friendship first. Then worry about the fire.
Saturday, April 02, 2005
Online Dating Success!
I get frequently get letters asking me what I think of online dating. People, especially women, wonder if they're going to meet a lot of jokers that way. My feeling is, you can meet a joker anywhere; since online dating deepens your pool of prospective new friends, you're definitely likely to meet more of them.
But that's no reason not to go for it. If you're stuck in an office all day with the same suits walking in and out, you must expand your horizons. Online dating is the way to do it.
Does it work?
Hell, yeah. I hear stories all the time about married couples who met via online dating (and not just in those eHarmony ads, either). Case in point: The engagement announcement in this week's New York Observer of Entertainment Weekly writer Kristen Baldwin to the very fetching Joe Holmgren, a -- wait for it, Girls -- psychiatry resident at The NYU School of Medicine. Kristen and Joe met through match.com.
But you'll never meet the guy or girl of your dreams when you're still smarting over a lost love, so head to marrysmart for my take on what to do when you've been dumped.
But that's no reason not to go for it. If you're stuck in an office all day with the same suits walking in and out, you must expand your horizons. Online dating is the way to do it.
Does it work?
Hell, yeah. I hear stories all the time about married couples who met via online dating (and not just in those eHarmony ads, either). Case in point: The engagement announcement in this week's New York Observer of Entertainment Weekly writer Kristen Baldwin to the very fetching Joe Holmgren, a -- wait for it, Girls -- psychiatry resident at The NYU School of Medicine. Kristen and Joe met through match.com.
But you'll never meet the guy or girl of your dreams when you're still smarting over a lost love, so head to marrysmart for my take on what to do when you've been dumped.
Friday, April 01, 2005
Putting Neighborhood Pigs on Notice
It's time for you to get the ancient metal chairs off your lawn and move the trailer and six minivans from your driveway. You are ruining the freaking neighborhood.
In case you didn't notice, other inhabitants of the area whisk their empty trash cans back into the garage; they don't leave them rolling around the street for the citizenry to dodge whenever a good wind picks up. They resist propping old mattresses along the curb for pick-up on Saturday evening when it isn't scheduled until Thursday.
Did it ever strike you, as you are driving toward your house in one of your numerous beat-up vehicles, how everybody else's yard is cared-for, while yours looks like the county dump? And what the hell is the purpose of those electric blue tarps that have been lying along the side of your house since August?
In case you didn't notice, other inhabitants of the area whisk their empty trash cans back into the garage; they don't leave them rolling around the street for the citizenry to dodge whenever a good wind picks up. They resist propping old mattresses along the curb for pick-up on Saturday evening when it isn't scheduled until Thursday.
Did it ever strike you, as you are driving toward your house in one of your numerous beat-up vehicles, how everybody else's yard is cared-for, while yours looks like the county dump? And what the hell is the purpose of those electric blue tarps that have been lying along the side of your house since August?
Monday, March 28, 2005
Easter Freak-Out
I spent Saturday night at Mom and Dad's, as usual. Mom and I were watching Today yesterday morning while I waited to use the shower, and she asked me if I thought Campbell Brown was pretty. Then she contracted into a ball and launched into a wild seizure.
She'd had seizures before, and the protocol is to just let them run their course. If an episode lasts longer than five minutes, we're to call 911. But Dad had seen her previous seizures. To him, this one looked like a stroke. Her mouth had caved in, her limbs were twisted. She was making noises that would haunt me in my sleep.
I called 911, and the EMTs arrived at the door in, like, four minutes. No kidding. They were both so nice I felt sorry for them having to talk to me and my unbrushed teeth. Since I'd witnessed the seizure, I had to take the ambulance with them to the hospital. I jumped into the clothes I had on the day before and headed off, teeth still unbrushed. Thank goodness for Altoids.
Several hours at the hospital, along with blood work and a CT-Scan, revealed that my mother had indeed had a seizure (the EMTs had also suspected a stroke), and we were able to go back to my parents' for Easter dinner, where my siblings, husband, offspring, niece and nephews gathered.
We managed to have a good time, and the meal we threw together at the last minute worked out well, too (thank God for spiral-cut ham). Had to forgo the potatoes, though.
It was my sister's 40th birthday. She was completely freaked out about the seizure. I lay awake last night staring at my bedroom ceiling for hours. Didn't have the strength to pick up a paperback and read the way I usually do when I'm anxious.
I did make it to Mass yesterday, though. I thought for sure I wouldn't, but while we were hanging around the hospital, an announcement came over the PA system that a Catholic Mass would be held at 11:15 in the chapel. It worked out well because the nurse came to take my mother for her CT-Scan at about the same time.
My favorite part of the day? When Mom came out of the seizure, and the EMT worker said, "Hello, Ellen. How are you?"
My mother smiled at her and replied, "I'm fine, thank you. And how are you?"
She'd had seizures before, and the protocol is to just let them run their course. If an episode lasts longer than five minutes, we're to call 911. But Dad had seen her previous seizures. To him, this one looked like a stroke. Her mouth had caved in, her limbs were twisted. She was making noises that would haunt me in my sleep.
I called 911, and the EMTs arrived at the door in, like, four minutes. No kidding. They were both so nice I felt sorry for them having to talk to me and my unbrushed teeth. Since I'd witnessed the seizure, I had to take the ambulance with them to the hospital. I jumped into the clothes I had on the day before and headed off, teeth still unbrushed. Thank goodness for Altoids.
Several hours at the hospital, along with blood work and a CT-Scan, revealed that my mother had indeed had a seizure (the EMTs had also suspected a stroke), and we were able to go back to my parents' for Easter dinner, where my siblings, husband, offspring, niece and nephews gathered.
We managed to have a good time, and the meal we threw together at the last minute worked out well, too (thank God for spiral-cut ham). Had to forgo the potatoes, though.
It was my sister's 40th birthday. She was completely freaked out about the seizure. I lay awake last night staring at my bedroom ceiling for hours. Didn't have the strength to pick up a paperback and read the way I usually do when I'm anxious.
I did make it to Mass yesterday, though. I thought for sure I wouldn't, but while we were hanging around the hospital, an announcement came over the PA system that a Catholic Mass would be held at 11:15 in the chapel. It worked out well because the nurse came to take my mother for her CT-Scan at about the same time.
My favorite part of the day? When Mom came out of the seizure, and the EMT worker said, "Hello, Ellen. How are you?"
My mother smiled at her and replied, "I'm fine, thank you. And how are you?"
Friday, March 25, 2005
Confessions of a Bad Catholic
The offspring were off today for Good Friday. I took them for piano lessons, and then we went to Blockbuster to rent the SpongeBob movie. Came home, made popcorn, and was subjected to the SpongeBob movie three times. The kiddies just couldn't get enough of the scene with David Hasselhoff.
Went out for dinner to El Torero in Milford, our favorite Mexican restaurant. I don't think we've been there since Mother's Day. Afterwards, we went to Costco, which I found depressing. All those people milling around for good deals on stuff they don't even want.
All I wanted was a can of coffee and dinner rolls, but all the dinner rolls were riddled with partially hydrogenated oils, as were the cookies and dessert. Dragged disappointed offspring over to the optical department, where I found a flattering pair of frames. Will have to go back and buy them when the doctor is in to give me an exam.
Peter found a solar-powered lamppost and wants to give it to me for Easter. I have been pleading for a lamppost for my birthday for two years now but kept getting gift certificates for full-body massages and facials. This year, he seems to have gotten the picture, except my birthday is not on Easter.
After Costco, we went to Trader Joe's, the Talbot's outlet, and the liquor store. I never want to go shopping again.
Tomorrow I'm off to Manhattan. I called Dad today, and he was at church, so I'm not sure what time to show up. I called my sister, and she was at church. We, however, were watching SpongeBob.
I just realized that I had beef in my burrito tonight. I don't ordinarily even eat beef, but I had a craving for it.
I am a miserable Catholic.
Went out for dinner to El Torero in Milford, our favorite Mexican restaurant. I don't think we've been there since Mother's Day. Afterwards, we went to Costco, which I found depressing. All those people milling around for good deals on stuff they don't even want.
All I wanted was a can of coffee and dinner rolls, but all the dinner rolls were riddled with partially hydrogenated oils, as were the cookies and dessert. Dragged disappointed offspring over to the optical department, where I found a flattering pair of frames. Will have to go back and buy them when the doctor is in to give me an exam.
Peter found a solar-powered lamppost and wants to give it to me for Easter. I have been pleading for a lamppost for my birthday for two years now but kept getting gift certificates for full-body massages and facials. This year, he seems to have gotten the picture, except my birthday is not on Easter.
After Costco, we went to Trader Joe's, the Talbot's outlet, and the liquor store. I never want to go shopping again.
Tomorrow I'm off to Manhattan. I called Dad today, and he was at church, so I'm not sure what time to show up. I called my sister, and she was at church. We, however, were watching SpongeBob.
I just realized that I had beef in my burrito tonight. I don't ordinarily even eat beef, but I had a craving for it.
I am a miserable Catholic.
Thursday, March 24, 2005
Stop Calling Me
This is for the annoying individual (you know who you are) who persists in phoning me to bitch for lengthy periods about:
-Women at your kid's preschool who throw birthday parties at times you find inconvenient
-your sister-in-law and how she talks behind other people's backs
-how you are not as rich as everyone thinks
-how you do more work, spend more money, and throw more parties than everybody you know, and that nobody appreciates it
-the people next door and their new granite countertops
-that the woman across the street does not take her children out to play enough
-that your husband's sole purpose in life is to smoke pot and watch TV.
My usual method for dealing with you is to check my caller ID and screen your call. Of course, then I'm subjected to the guilt-inducing message you invariably leave on my machine.
Today, however, the offspring were home from school. They picked up the phone, and I got stuck listening to you. This necessitated the use of Plan B: I launched into a filabuster about how evil food manufacturers are killing us by slipping deadly trans fats into so-called "healthy snacks" like Kellogg's Nutri-Grain bars.
Got you off the phone in no time.
-Women at your kid's preschool who throw birthday parties at times you find inconvenient
-your sister-in-law and how she talks behind other people's backs
-how you are not as rich as everyone thinks
-how you do more work, spend more money, and throw more parties than everybody you know, and that nobody appreciates it
-the people next door and their new granite countertops
-that the woman across the street does not take her children out to play enough
-that your husband's sole purpose in life is to smoke pot and watch TV.
My usual method for dealing with you is to check my caller ID and screen your call. Of course, then I'm subjected to the guilt-inducing message you invariably leave on my machine.
Today, however, the offspring were home from school. They picked up the phone, and I got stuck listening to you. This necessitated the use of Plan B: I launched into a filabuster about how evil food manufacturers are killing us by slipping deadly trans fats into so-called "healthy snacks" like Kellogg's Nutri-Grain bars.
Got you off the phone in no time.
Wednesday, March 23, 2005
Some Days You Want to Scream
Had a reasonably frustrating time revising the novel today, but did manage to write a query I plan to send to a national magazine. Wish me luck on that, will you?
I was just about to watch a rerun of last night's The Daily Show at 10 this morning, but Sibling One called. We were on the phone for over an hour, which pretty much torpedoed my day. Will have to watch the 7PM rerun of TDS, then. Can't miss it because Lewis Black will be on, and the only reason I subscribe to cable is to watch Lewis Black on The Daily Show.
I tried to watch The Shield last night, but I can't stay up past ten o'clock, especially when school is in session. I'm up at 6:30 with the offspring, which is completely contrary to my nature. If I had my way, I wouldn't get up until 10, which is what I do when the children are on vacation. I have no trouble at all staying up until 3 AM then.
The offspring are driving me crazy today. Child Two takes two baths a day, yet always looks like she just rolled out of a trash can. Her piano books are all over the living room floor. I refuse to move them. Child One is forever pushing the smaller one around, resulting in the latter's sudden skull-shattering shrieks.
There are days when I want to send them to bed as soon as they come home from school. This would be one of them.
I was just about to watch a rerun of last night's The Daily Show at 10 this morning, but Sibling One called. We were on the phone for over an hour, which pretty much torpedoed my day. Will have to watch the 7PM rerun of TDS, then. Can't miss it because Lewis Black will be on, and the only reason I subscribe to cable is to watch Lewis Black on The Daily Show.
I tried to watch The Shield last night, but I can't stay up past ten o'clock, especially when school is in session. I'm up at 6:30 with the offspring, which is completely contrary to my nature. If I had my way, I wouldn't get up until 10, which is what I do when the children are on vacation. I have no trouble at all staying up until 3 AM then.
The offspring are driving me crazy today. Child Two takes two baths a day, yet always looks like she just rolled out of a trash can. Her piano books are all over the living room floor. I refuse to move them. Child One is forever pushing the smaller one around, resulting in the latter's sudden skull-shattering shrieks.
There are days when I want to send them to bed as soon as they come home from school. This would be one of them.
Tuesday, March 22, 2005
Box Tops for Cancer
Yeah, I'm happy today. U2 is spinning in the background. I just love U2, even if they did run on too long at the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame thingie. After ten minutes of listening to Bono pontificate, I thought I was at Mass.
I don't understand why Chrissie Hynde was the only woman inducted this year. It took Joni Mitchell a million years to get inducted, but she finally did after years of watching poseurs like Rod Stewart get waved right through the gate.
Got lots of writing done today. Continued revision of novel, sent out newsletter, helped offspring pen essay about the importance of eating healthily and exercising regularly. The kid is freaked out about the prevalence of partially hydrogenated oils in so-called healthy foods (Kellogg's Nutri-Grain Bars) and spelled out their dangers (they contribute to heart disease, cancer, and multiple sclerosis).
But she didn't take down General Mills' Box Tops for Education program, in which schools are offered monetary rewards in exchange for pressing their students' parents to buy tons of junk (like Pillsbury Crescent Rolls and Betty Crocker cake mixes), which are loaded with not only partially hydrogenated oils but also high fructose corn syrup, which has been blamed for the burgeoning obesity problem in this country.
Fie on The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame! Fie on Box Tops for Education!
I don't understand why Chrissie Hynde was the only woman inducted this year. It took Joni Mitchell a million years to get inducted, but she finally did after years of watching poseurs like Rod Stewart get waved right through the gate.
Got lots of writing done today. Continued revision of novel, sent out newsletter, helped offspring pen essay about the importance of eating healthily and exercising regularly. The kid is freaked out about the prevalence of partially hydrogenated oils in so-called healthy foods (Kellogg's Nutri-Grain Bars) and spelled out their dangers (they contribute to heart disease, cancer, and multiple sclerosis).
But she didn't take down General Mills' Box Tops for Education program, in which schools are offered monetary rewards in exchange for pressing their students' parents to buy tons of junk (like Pillsbury Crescent Rolls and Betty Crocker cake mixes), which are loaded with not only partially hydrogenated oils but also high fructose corn syrup, which has been blamed for the burgeoning obesity problem in this country.
Fie on The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame! Fie on Box Tops for Education!
Monday, March 21, 2005
Lifestyles of the Drunk and Stupid
I visited Mom twice since Thursday, which was St. Patrick's Day. On my way to Grand Central Station to get the train home, I dodged weaving drunks all over Second Avenue. And no, they weren't Irish. They were middle-aged idiots of various ethnicities who called in sick from work to drink and paint themselves green.
On the train, a group of well-dressed businessmen hung out by the doors, drinking Coors Light. I really hate to see anyone drink Coors Light, especially a man. Put it this way, I wouldn't date a guy with such weeny taste in beer. Anyway, by the time we hit Greenwich, these lightweights were drunk on the stuff, if that's possible, getting loud and daring each other to do sit-ups. One fool went for it, while the rest of them stood around swinging their Silver Bullets and counting: "28, 29, 30...I can't believe it! Even his bald spot is turning red!"
The hooples got off at Fairfield, I think. When I got off the train at Bridgeport, I discovered they'd left every single beer can on the floor, along with bags of half-eaten bagels from Zaro's.
Trust me, Girls: If a guy litters, he's not for you. You'll be cleaning up after him for the rest of your life. And if he drinks Coors Light, he's a poseur and a lightweight.
Hey, I just got a tip idea for my newsletter! Want it? Go to http:///www.marrysmart.com
On the train, a group of well-dressed businessmen hung out by the doors, drinking Coors Light. I really hate to see anyone drink Coors Light, especially a man. Put it this way, I wouldn't date a guy with such weeny taste in beer. Anyway, by the time we hit Greenwich, these lightweights were drunk on the stuff, if that's possible, getting loud and daring each other to do sit-ups. One fool went for it, while the rest of them stood around swinging their Silver Bullets and counting: "28, 29, 30...I can't believe it! Even his bald spot is turning red!"
The hooples got off at Fairfield, I think. When I got off the train at Bridgeport, I discovered they'd left every single beer can on the floor, along with bags of half-eaten bagels from Zaro's.
Trust me, Girls: If a guy litters, he's not for you. You'll be cleaning up after him for the rest of your life. And if he drinks Coors Light, he's a poseur and a lightweight.
Hey, I just got a tip idea for my newsletter! Want it? Go to http:///www.marrysmart.com
Monday, March 14, 2005
Brushes with Not-Quite Greatness: Matt Lauer and Raoul Felder
I'm not the kind of person who spots celebrities. My sister routinely runs into people like Billy Joel on the streets of Manhattan. She's seen Uma Thurman, and she used to spot John Kennedy Jr. on almost weekly basis when he was alive.
Until Sunday, the only famous people I ever saw in the flesh were Heather Matarazzo (of The Princess Diaries fame) and Conrad Baines from that show with Gary Coleman, Dana Plato and Todd Bridges (that's his name, right?).
But, walking down Third Avenue after my nephew's baptism at St. Vincent Ferrer on Sunday, my brother spotted Matt Lauer and his wife, Annette Roche, pushing a stroller alongside us. I would have walked right past the guy. He looked pleasant enough--but remarkably average.
Later, after the christening party, my cousins and I waited for the elevator of my parents' building to visit my mother. Who stepped out of said elevator as we hopped in but divorce attorney-to the-stars, Raoul Felder, seen recently on Extra or Access Hollywood weighing in on the Denise Richards/Charlie Sheen split. Not quite as pleasant-looking as Matt, the dude resembled a bald bear in what appeared to be (I hate to stare) a giant fur coat. I guess Raoul doesn't like the cold.
Revising this novel is taking longer than I thought it would because I just can't stop tinkering with it. I'm supposed to be just typing changes, but I keep finding things to improve.
Until Sunday, the only famous people I ever saw in the flesh were Heather Matarazzo (of The Princess Diaries fame) and Conrad Baines from that show with Gary Coleman, Dana Plato and Todd Bridges (that's his name, right?).
But, walking down Third Avenue after my nephew's baptism at St. Vincent Ferrer on Sunday, my brother spotted Matt Lauer and his wife, Annette Roche, pushing a stroller alongside us. I would have walked right past the guy. He looked pleasant enough--but remarkably average.
Later, after the christening party, my cousins and I waited for the elevator of my parents' building to visit my mother. Who stepped out of said elevator as we hopped in but divorce attorney-to the-stars, Raoul Felder, seen recently on Extra or Access Hollywood weighing in on the Denise Richards/Charlie Sheen split. Not quite as pleasant-looking as Matt, the dude resembled a bald bear in what appeared to be (I hate to stare) a giant fur coat. I guess Raoul doesn't like the cold.
Revising this novel is taking longer than I thought it would because I just can't stop tinkering with it. I'm supposed to be just typing changes, but I keep finding things to improve.
Friday, March 11, 2005
Nudity and the PTA
Last night, Peter and I went to see Hair at the Bridgeport Cabaret Theater. Seeing the silhouettes of those singing naked people made me feel better about my own body.
The PTA bought up all the tickets for a fundraiser (the president wished to avoid another gift wrap sale), and, at $35 per, it was almost sold out. On the way home, there was speculation that the nudity offended the senior citizens in the crowd. The scene was dimly lit so I couldn't see much, but the old lady seated below the lead character's penis saw considerably more.
The PTA bought up all the tickets for a fundraiser (the president wished to avoid another gift wrap sale), and, at $35 per, it was almost sold out. On the way home, there was speculation that the nudity offended the senior citizens in the crowd. The scene was dimly lit so I couldn't see much, but the old lady seated below the lead character's penis saw considerably more.
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