Mock of Love

It came down to Heather and Jes on the finale of Rock of Love last night. At long last Bret made his decision, but not until he spread his man-seed around one last time.

Parts of last night's episode proved truly revolting. After spending the night with Bret, Heather warned Jes, who was on her way out for her date with Bret, to remember where his mouth had been the night before. Jes made some allusions to Heather needing a shower earlier on, complaining that she smelled of "rotten _______."

My stomach is still turning.

Jes "won" Bret (as if anyone really considers him a prize) when she passed his last and final test. As she and Heather stood before him for the ordination phase of the show, he asked if they'd consider sharing him.

Our hero requested Heather's answer first. Poor fool probably figured that saying 'yes' would ensure her safety; after all, Bret confessed to finding girl-on-girl action hot in a previous episode, and by the way he'd been throwing his bod around, monogamy didn't appear to be his strong suit.

"I'd love to," she told him.

Wrong answer.

Jes told him what he wanted to hear, that she could never share a man she loves. It just wasn't "in" her.

And so Bret told Heather their love was not to be, which sent her running to her limousine, probably back to the strip club whence she came. She launched into a hilarious tirade about what an a-hole loser he turned out to be, and worried what the hell is she going to do with his name tattooed on her neck.

Meanwhile, the rest of us are left wondering exactly what vinyl-like hair substitute our hero had peeking from behind his bandana. Surely, VH1 could have thrown the guy a decent toupee.

How Much Sex Is Too Much Sex?

Men think about sex about every seven minutes.

But what about women? What about you? Are you some kind of a sex addict, or do you just enjoy a healthy appetite?

Former fatigue sufferer and Get Ready for Love radio host Viveca Stone-Berry interviews Dr. Charlotte Kasl to discuss women, sex and addiction.

Click here and listen in.

Down, Boy!

Hi Terry,

I just love your advice and down-to-earth common sense. Would love your opinion on my own individual situation and wonder if this happens to any other women.

I am on an internet dating service, and I get heaps of contacts and my choice of dates from desirable men.

However, from date one they seem very keen, almost too keen and start talking romance straight away, then sending me texts professing their interest and desire. This freaks me out a little and I feel they are coming on too strong, too soon.

When I try to slow the pace down to a level that is comfortable to me, they seem to take offence and move on to someone else pretty quickly.

Last week, for example, I met a great guy for a coffee after he contacted me on the dating site. It was obvious he was really into me and asked me out to dinner that coming weekend. I wasn’t sure if I was attracted to him or not. I need more than one date usually to know.

When he phoned me during the week he came on pretty strong again, so I suggested we start just as friends initially.

He then emailed me later to cancel the date with the excuse that he was giving dating a miss for a while. But he has continued to stay on the site, so this seems untrue and was his way of giving me the brush off.

So, now I am wondering if I am sabotaging these relationships too early, or if these men are not able to accept what I consider to be reasonable boundaries.

Please help. I am now ...

-Confused

Dear Confused:

Thanks for the kind words.

Judging by the response you're getting online, you must be very attractive! The fact that the men you meet are smitten with you is an excellent sign, as well.

However, you're right to take things slowly. Why shouldn't you be allowed to take your time in getting to know a man and letting an attraction develop?

Unfortunately, once you say, "Let's start out as friends," lots of men interpret that to mean, "I'm not interested in you."

If a man starts coming on too strong, you might smile and say, "Let's see what happens. I'm looking forward to dinner Saturday night."

If he sends a flowery text, I'd respond the same way. That way, you can hold him off a bit without letting him think he's been rejected.

-Terry

Help for Women Who Date Online

Dating Coach Ronnie Ann Ryan told me yesterday about What Do You Know About Romeo, a site that calls itself a "collective of women who want to help out their fellow women by reviewing the guys they've met online." They cover all major online dating sites, so check it out by clicking here.

The bonus? Membership is free!

Why He Fell in Love

Originally uploaded by Maybell21

Last Thursday, I got to talking to an Australian man (let's call him Tim) in the waiting room at the eye doctor's. I'm acquainted with his wife; we attend the same networking meeting at the Huntington Street Cafe.

I asked him how they met. He told me he'd been traveling around the world and had taken a job at a YMCA in New Canaan, Connecticut, where his wife (let's call her Susie) was also employed. She was much younger than he, but they became friends. Eventually, he got to know her parents and siblings. He thought of them as his American family, and of Susie as a little sister.

He went back to Australia.

For the next five years, he and Susie wrote to each other. "A handwritten letter is something you can hold in your hand. It means that someone actually cared enough to sit down and write to you," he said. "Over time, our relationship changed. I became attracted to Susie. She was the most genuine person I'd ever met."

The guy fell in love with his wife not because she was beautiful, big-breasted, rich, or the owner of a classic Corvette. He fell in love with her because she was genuine.

"By 1996, she wasn't too young for me anymore. She visited my family and me in Australia, and we got married there."

The third drawer in the dresser of the bedroom they now share contains every letter they sent one another. He plans to pass them onto their son some day.

The Truth About the Guy Who Liked You...and Then Didn't

Gotta love Manslator Jeff Mac for telling women the truth about men.

At Manslations today, he explains why that guy who seemed so crazy about you suddenly stopped calling. Read it here.

Knowledge is power.

Schlock of Love

The best thing about VH1's Rock of Love is witnessing the ease with which Bret Michaels spreads his affections. He kisses each and every one of the show's low self-esteemed contestants with heart-melting tenderness and passion. He tucks his chin and pours his eyes into the eyes of whomever happens to sit across from him.

A few years ago, Nicole Kidman won an Academy Award for playing Bret Michaels in Moulin Rouge.

Last night's Rock of Love, intended to tease us in TV Land into a froth for next week's finale (will it be Jes or Heather? I'm so excited I cannot breathe!), took us behind the scenes of earlier episodes.

One highlight showed 44-year-old Bret playing Butt Bongo Fiesta with "Rodeo," the personal trainer/clothing designer/single mother of a 7-year-old. In another memorable moment, crazy vegetarian Lacey tore chicken breasts with her bare hands and hid clumps in her rivals' pillows (better watch out, Lace; keep it up and PETA will take away your T-shirt).

The moneyshot, of course, featured the girl-on-girl action we all clamor for: Heather, the knucklehead with Bret's name tattooed on her neck, making out with some other knucklehead.

While I'll definitely tune in next week to see how this debacle ends, I'm not particularly interested in seeing which of the two remaining LSEs (or women with crushingly low self-esteem) Bret chooses. A recent Google search turned up an interview with our hero, in which he said that the relationship with the mother of his two daughters (you read that right; Butt Bongo Baldie is a father -- of girls!) "may have a future."

Clearly, Bret doesn't know his ass from his elbow, so say a prayer for his children and their mother. In the meantime, somebody please buy the poor bastard another beer bong.

Gotta Love 'Dear Abby'

Her column today featured a letter from a woman who met her husband under the most unusual circumstances.

You can read it by clicking here (after today, click and key 'Woman's Online White Knight Becomes Her Prince Charming' into the search bar on the Dear Abby homepage.

I really liked Abby's take on the subject of meeting men online vs. offline.

O.J. Simpson's Girlfriend

It's hard to believe that any woman would hang around with the likes of O.J. Simpson, but 12 years ago, a pretty 20-year-old started dating the accused wife killer. They've been together ever since.

Her name is Christie Prody. She's now 32 and looking a bit worse for wear. I guess loving O.J. isn't easy. Here's a clip from this morning's Today Show about this woman who friends describe as "a shy girl."

After the original broadcast, Today brought in relationship experts to discuss Prody's unfortunate attraction. Dr. Drew Pinsky maintains that women who go for bad bets like O.J. are often expressing a subconscious wish to heal difficult relationships with their own fathers.

Is America Ready for a Woman President?

When I was a little girl, I really and truly believed we'd have one by now, but it didn't happen.

Last night, The Daily Show's Samantha Bee offered her perspective on the question. It's hilarious, and you can watch it here:



My friend's husband, a cardiologist who grew up in Greece, says it's high time America got with the times and elected a woman to its highest office. He backs Hillary.

It's way too early for me to decide who I'll vote for (although I'm quite sure who I won't vote for). I just wish more than one woman had stepped up to run this race.

Bitches

Yesterday, I objected to the current fashion of substituting the word "bitch" for "woman." It's bad enough when a guy does it (actually, it's a red flag, so don't date him), but it's especially troubling when females do it.

You hear it on reality television, but real-life women and girls love to "bitch," too. I know a group of attractive, middle-class girls from Connecticut who routinely refer to each other as "bitches." Sometimes they get fancy and call each other, "bee-yotch."

It's idiotic.

Not only do they consider people of their own sex mongrels, they take style pointers from Paris Hilton (one of them actually carries a little purebreed in her purse). They live their lives according to the gospel of Teen People.

Unfortunately, some of their post-college counterparts also suffer from the disease that makes them disrespect other women.

On Saturday night, I went out with friends. While we were having drinks after dinner, a group of 20-something women cackled at a forty-ish woman as she danced to "Living On a Prayer" by Bon Jovi. Then one of them further insulted the dancer by swiping her seat at the bar. Did it ever occur to these dopes--if they're lucky-- that they'll be 40 one day?

To cap things off, yesterday my daughter came home from school and told me of a conflict she had with girl in her class, who likes to go by the nickname, "Albanian Slut."

Albanian Slut cornered my daughter. "Do you have a crush on B___________?" she barked. "You better not, Bitch! You stay the #@#$ away from my man!"

Her man? These girls are 12 years old.

In case you haven't noticed, most guys don't treat each other this way.

Women complain that we're still second-class citizens, but a lot of the time it's our own fault. If you call other women "bitches," guess what? You're the problem. If you spend half the day on the phone criticizing other women, you're the problem.

And if you think you have to degrade other women to get a man's attention, you're really the problem.

Rock of Sleaze

VH1's Rock of Love lost any charm it once possessed last night with the broadcast of "Meet the Parents."

The parents of the three remaining LSEs (or women who hold themselves in startling low self-esteem) were rolled in to meet Bret Michaels, the egomaniacal frontman of the the forgettable '80s hair band, Poison.

It's bad enough that any human being would willingly subject herself to the humiliation Bret and the show's sadistic producers shell out, but it's inconceivable that she would do it in front of her parents.

Bret took each of the LSEs and the people who spawned them on a field trip, in an effort to get to know them better. Heather, the stripper who had our hero's name permanently branded on her neck, and her crew got to go to Bret's favorite restaurant.

While enjoying a beer bong, Heather's purple-faced father treated his host with fart stories, which had Bret slapping his knee in earnest. Who knew that Bret Michaels loves a good fart story? What a regular guy! Then Heather treated us to a spirited performance on a mechanical bull.

Next, Bret took Jes and her parents shopping for rock star clothing, gleefully transforming Jes' middle-American-looking, middle-aged mother into the village idiot.

Then our hero met up with Lacey, the resident wacko, and her wacko father and surprisingly sane-looking stepmother. Lacey's dad bragged that he's a successful man and informed Bret that if he wanted to marry his daughter he'd have to sign a pre-nup.

Later on, Heather revealed to Lacey's parents (and everybody else) that Lacey had been providing Bret with oral sex, while she, good girl, hadn't done "anything sexual" with him. She is clearly the better person. Lacey is a slut! An evil, evil slut! Heather then announced that she is in love with Bret, the recipient of said oral sex.

Is it just me who sees the flaw in Heather's logic? (If her parents did, we weren't privy to their objections.)

Incensed, Lacey's father tracked down Bret to investigate. Cut to Bret, who confided to us in TV land, "Wow. Every rock star's nightmare. A man asking if his daughter's been s______ your c_____.

Note to Bret: It's usually best not to refer to oneself as a rock star when it just underscores the sad reality that you're really not. Bruce Springsteen is a rock star. So is David Bowie. And Ann Wilson. And Chrissy Hynde. And dead people like John Lennon and Jerry Garcia.

But you? No.

I still cannot understand what any of the LSEs stands to gain by winning this "rock star." (My cousin maintains they're all actresses hungry for exposure, but somehow I doubt any of them will show up in Hedda Gabler, let alone on The View.)

Lacey got the boot last night, so we're down to Jes and Heather. My money was on Jes for a while, but she's got this terrible habit of calling other women "bitches," and it's kind of hard to abide.

Secrets of Attraction

Viveca Stone-Berry interviewed Sandra Ann Taylor, author of Secrets of Attraction: The Universal Laws of Love, Sex, and Romance (I've read it and recommend it), for her Get Ready For Love radio show.

Listen by clicking here.

Law of Attraction Strikes Again

Sophia Loren, Venice, 1955

Well, I'm going out with The Girls on Saturday night (and not the ones I gave birth to, either). It's a major feat scheduling the group of us into the same place at the same time, but it looks like we'll pull it off.

Despite the fact that we'll drink like sailors, these special evenings require a modicum of glamour, so I ran the contents of my closet through my mind to put together the perfect outfit. I decided on the gray pleated A-line skirt with the fitted V-neck black top, except I could not find the top. Anywhere.

Last night, I decided to go shopping this morning for a similar top. Oh, and a pair of patent leather pumps. And a bag (it's time to retire that white thing I carried around all summer). I found the last two items, but the right top eluded me. I found something similar with a crew neck, but that will not do.

So I drove home and rummaged through my drawers and my closet and the offsprings' drawers and closet--and came up empty again. But all the while I saw myself Saturday night in my outfit. I had it down to lipstick and earrings. I felt myself in it.

Later on, as I left a voice mail for my aunt, the doorbell rang. It was the postman with a package from my friend, M, who'd called Tuesday to say she was sending me a teapot and some clothes she'd bought on a whim and never wore.

A few hours later, while watching the rerun of last night's Daily Show, I opened M's box and discovered the very top I need for Saturday night.

This not the first time I used LoA to attract the right outfit, although in the past, I've actually drawn on paper the dress I wanted to wear to a wedding--and then gone out and found it (which beat sewing it, that's for sure).

For those of you who are just joining me, I also used the Law of Attraction to meet the kind of man I wanted to marry. Then I married him.

You In the Nude?

Recently, a reader wrote in to ask my opinion of her new boyfriend's request that they exchange nude photos via email. At the time, I thought it was a no-brainer. Why would any intelligent person consider doing such a thing, especially in the Internet age?

I wrote to tell her that it was a terrible idea. Since then, I've learned that taking nude photos and performing in homemade porn flicks rivals the popularity of, say, the craze for brewing one's own beer in the early 1990s.

For example:

A couple of weeks ago, a mild-mannered, churchgoing man told me that he threatened a neighborhood teen not to copy or distribute a sex tape in which the boy appeared with the man's daughter.

And...

A newlywed couple invited their parents over to view footage from their Caribbean honeymoon. They accidentally screened parts of it that should have been kept in the dark.

And...

While cleaning out a closet, a teenage girl came across a stack of nude photos of her older brother and his wife.

Do you get where I'm going with this?

Paris Hilton, Kim Kardashian, and now Vanessa Hudgens (that's V in the photo) have shown up on the Internet in the buff, and it amounts to brilliant publicity. They're celebrities. But for real people like you and me, posing nude or performing sex acts for the camera inevitably results in disaster.

Resist all temptation.

Dating Advice From a Man Who Knows

When you want to know what a guy is thinking, it helps to get a man's perspective.

That's why I love Jeff Mac. He's smart, compassionate, and funny (when he's not dispensing love and dating advice, he's a comedian; you may have caught his act on Comedy Central).

Check out Jeff's take on your chances of becoming the 'girlfriend' instead of the 'friend,' what it means when a guy doesn't make a move, and the truth about those tricks women's mags prescribe to drive a guy wild in bed here!

Got something to ask Jeff? He's taking questions..

He's Not Your Mr. Right

Dear Terry:

Earlier this summer I invited a guy I was dating steadily to attend a concert with me this coming weekend. The tickets cost me $160.00.

NOW HERE'S THE DILEMMA: We I haven't been out together since August 5th, althought I did see him August 11th to pick up a hat I left in his car. That parting was cold and indifferent. The last bit of warmth I felt from the guy was in July .

(Although he did call on Labor Day to invite me to play golf. I wasn't available, so I called him on his cell and left a voice mail and sent him an email too. Heard nothing since...)

Back to the concert: What should I do about it? Should I remind him? Am I still entitled to go with him?

Please help. Time is ticking on this one.

-Confused North of the Border

Dear Confused:

Today is Tuesday. Email this person and remind him about the concert. Tell him that if you don't hear from him by tomorrow evening that you will give his ticket away.

In the meantime, line up someone fun to take it (friend, relative, co-worker, whatever) in case he doesn't get back to you. Go to the concert. Make a firm decision to have a great time.

Stop thinking about the money you put out; what's done is done.

Your previous emails to me indicate that this guy is probably not the right man for you. If he doesn't contact you, be grateful you weren't stuck wasting another perfectly good Saturday night with him.

Bret Michaels In Vegas

You really need a pen and a notebook to fully enjoy Rock of Love. Some of the stuff that comes out of Bret Michaels' mouth is hilarious. (I didn't have the proper equipment on hand last night, so forgive me for paraphrasing.)

To help determine which of the four LSEs would go home this week, Bret took them to Las Vegas (where, odds are, he's bald as a bean underneath the 'do rag) to see him in concert.

"They've seen Bret Michaels the man," he explained, "and now I want them to see Bret Michaels the rock star." Actually, the way he said it was even more obnoxious, so catch the repeat if you have the stomach for it tonight at 6.

Two of the LSEs got wasted at the concert after-party (which appeared to be little more than being forced to booze it up with a couple of band members--no Bret in sight-- in a storage closet; furthermore, you'd think a rock-n-roll party would include music). Then, all four of them went off to meet Bret in his room for dinner, where the LSE in the above photo threw up at the table.

The winning (or, in this case, best-behaved) LSE got to stick around for a nightcap. Jes, the pretty, pink-haired Mother Teresa, who cleaned up the Vomiting Wonder, was rewarded for her efforts. Lucky girl exclaimed the next morning, "I got to know him sexually!"

But not before Bret announced:

"After I pulled Brandi's head out of the toilet, she said the most touching thing to me. She said she's falling in love with me."

Later on in the show, The King of Chastity spent a night with another LSE, not Brandi, but a volatile (and possibly psychotic) person named Lacey. The way Bret spreads the love around, somebody might want to send him out for a blood test.

In the end, Vomiting Brandi packed her bags, despite the proclamation of love she made from that cold tile floor. Lacey, Jes, and Heather (the LSE who had 'Bret' tattooed onto her neck last week) will return next week for more hijinks.

Beauty Tip For a Hot Date

To avoid showing up looking like you've been shot out of a cannon, sleep is paramount. Former insomniac Viveca Stone-Berry offers this round-up of tips that'll put you in dreamland in no time.

While some of the tips are aimed to women with children, others will benefit any woman --or man-- in need of a good night's sleep (I especially like Tips 5 and 6 myself).

No pills or booze required.

Too Provocative to Fly 'Family Airline'

This woman was kicked off a Southwest flight for being dressed inappropriately (watch the Today Show clip here).

Even though Today viewers caught a flash of underwear when she sat down, her outfit resembled the stuff lots of women (and Abercrombie-clad preteens) wear to the mall. She's carrying more fabric than the broads on Desperate Housewives, that's for sure (well, except maybe for Lynette).

On a planet where PTA members take their children to Hooters for dinner ("The best hot wings!" they squeal), the line between appropriate and inappropriate dress has blurred to oblivion.

Gotta wonder about the real motive of the "gentleman" crew member who lectured this passenger about her attire on a "family airline." My guess: His girlfriend just kicked him to the curb, and he needed to humiliate somebody.

How to Email a Guy In a War Zone

Dear Terry:

I have really, really enjoyed and benefited from your emails since I signed up. It's great perspective.

I have a question to throw into the mix. While there are a number of potential candidates for dates at the moment, the man I think I like the bet is, unfortunately, deployed to Iraq. I've never met him; he's someone my Dad thought would be great for me, but we're both formerly married, so the conversation got going over email last January when it became clear we were both now divorced and available. Initially, I just treated it as a sort of a reach-out to a person in a war zone and therefore under considerable distress (my small part to help the troops...Yadda yadda yadda).

But we have a great deal in common (as it turns out), and my Dad may well have been right (wonderful man, my Dad) that this guy is a good match.

So what I'm wondering is this: If you've never met someone, and he's in a war zone, how ought you conduct a "relationship," or at least a semi-romantic exchange? Do the rules shift at all? The specific instance is that there are more occasional gaps of several days between his messages. As a general rule, one should not (did I get this right?) send more messages to a man than one receives. Does this rule still apply in this particular situation? I feel I'm in an awkward compromise between trying to be a compassionate stateside perspective provider and a candidate for girlfriend/wife at some future time. So I'm perplexed.

Thanks again!

-E.

Hello, E.-

I definitely respect and admire your compassion for the troops, but no, I don't think the rules shift. You write, he writes, you write, he writes.

Let's pretend you're the one deployed to Iraq: You get a message from a guy you don't know who turns out to be the son of an acquaintance. Intriguing.

You write back. He writes back.

You get sent somewhere where you don't have access to a computer. When you get back, you are immediately sent somewhere else where you don't have access to a computer. In your few spare moments, you roll the contents of your correspondent's last message around in your head. You mentally formulate a response.

You finally get access to a computer. You sit down to write to your new friend, only to discover he's beaten you to the punch. You read his letter, which, while very welcome, requires you to revise the letter you planned to write to him. You send your message. Then you are sent away again.

When you return, you find one...two...three...messages from your new friend. You're still glad to hear from him, but his stock is dropping by the minute.

Do you see what I mean? Clearly, this man knows that you're compassionate toward the troops. If you don't hear from him for a while, there's no need to reassure him of that fact. Write to him only after he writes to you.

Thanks for your very kind words, by the way. I'll keep my fingers crossed for both of you!

-Terry

He's Cheating On Me. What Should I Do About It?

Dear Terry:

How about we women who are married and know our husband is cheating and can't get a divorce due to reasons beyond our control? Are there ways to peak our husbands' interest, become more mysterious, and make him wonder what he is missing?

I vascillate between wanting to be charming around him and being so angry that I want nothing to do with him. I've read How to Get Your Ex Back, but what about when you are still together and not getting what you need from the relationship? There are no consequences for his behavior; therefore, he has no reason to change. I would love to hear your thoughts on this one.

Thanks.

-K.

Thanks for writing, K.-

First off, let me say how sorry I am that you're even in this situation. Nobody deserves to be cheated on.

I don't blame you for vascillating between anger and wanting to charm your husband. Since it's hard to make sense of things when you're in the middle of them, talking to a good friend, therapist, or member of the clergy may help you put things in perspective and come to terms with your very justifiable anger.

I've known several excellent women who've been in your situation. One of them, an extremely attractive, smart, talented, kind, and funny person did all she could to right her relationship. She sought therapy, and because her religion frowns upon divorce, spiritual counseling. In the end, everyone she consulted encouraged her to end her marriage. She didn't have the financial resources at the time, so she made it her goal to prepare for-- and get-- a job that would allow her to shake her husband loose.

She succeeded.

If you decide to try to make your husband realize what he's missing, I guess you'll have to forgive him, which is no small feat (I wouldn't be able to do it myself, but other people can and do).

But if--say, by some act of God-- I managed to forgive the jerk, here's how I'd resuscitate his affection for me:

-I would be smiling, serene, jovial, funny, whenever my husband had the good fortune to be in my presence. Then I'd disappear for a bit, even if it meant running out to the drug store. I would systematically and methodically limit his time with me.

The key is to stop being taken for granted. I'd be unpredictable (without being irresponsible). I would alter my routine.

-I'd immediately replace my underwear. Any white briefs cluttering my drawers would give way to lacy new gear in colors that make me feel great (if I couldn't afford La Perla, I'd hit Target; they've got some lovely stuff).

-I'd buy a few bras that look alluring drying on the shower curtain (and look even better on me). I would absolutely not hop around the place in the new undergarments in an attempt to seduce my husband. I would enjoy wearing them because of the way they make me feel. Let him wonder what I look like in them.

I would, however, leave them on said shower curtain. That should have him thinking of me in flattering terms in no time.

-If I'd given up doing my hair (or getting it cut regularly) or wearing makeup or caring for my hands, I'd take it up again. I'd also slowly rub cream onto my calves, feet, and ankles before bed and let my husband watch. Then I'd roll over and turn off the light.

-Since I do most of the cooking these days, I'd do less of it and let him fend for himself. Since we have children, I'd probably hang around more to chat with other parents after piano, soccer, Religion, church, whatever. I'd also make frequent plans to meet other adults for coffee or to take the kids out for pizza. I'd be be out of the house more than usual.

-If I felt like it, I might leave a note for my husband telling him I wouldn't be too late, but that he should probably help himself to whatever's in the fridge. Then I'd come home looking my best in the prettiest clothes appropriate to the day's activities. (The idea is not to turn myself into eye candy, but to let the man wonder why I'm suddenly looking so good all the time.)

-If I had a job outside the home, I would agree to meet colleagues for drinks spontaneously and often. I would wake up 10 minutes early in the morning and leave the house looking smashing, even if my job involved wearing a vest and a nametag.

-Repeat: I would be smiling, serene, jovial, funny, whenever my husband had the good fortune to be in my presence. Then I'd disappear for a bit, even if it meant running out to the drug store. I would systematically and methodically limit his time with me.

-I would not try to make him jealous, take up with another guy, and so on (that could backfire).

-I would tell the truth on all occasions ("Mary and I are meeting at the bookstore to look around and have a cup of tea," for example) and let him wonder what I was really up to.

-I would never mention his other woman (or women) under any circumstances. I would not call her names or snipe about her. After all, she's irrelevant. He's the problem.

If the guy is capable of giving you what you need in your relationship, these tips could do the trick. I must warn you, though, that he may not be capable. If this turns out to be the case, it's not your fault.

In the end, all you can do is all you can do. You cannot make any relationship work without the consent and participation of the other party. (Read that again: It took me ages to learn it!) Even if you do manage to make your husband "see what he's missing," there's no guarantee he won't revert to his dishonorable ways.

Again, if this happens, it is not your fault.

I hope this helps, and I wish you all the best in everything.

Men Are Polygamous, Women Are Monogamous

By now, you know I don't buy it.

I've known many a faithful guy who had his heart torn out by a faithless woman, and vice versa. Some biologists claim that men are hardwired to look around, if not cheat, while women in relationships are programmed to tuck their eyes back into their heads.

Which is nonsense.

Let's be mature about this: Once you fall in love, other attractive people will tend not to fall off the planet. You will probably notice them some of the time, or all of the time. The trick is to treat your guy the way you'd have him treat you. You don't flirt with other men, ogle other men, carry on about other men, or sleep with them, either.

That said, you should expect the same treatment from your guy. Some women and men insist that men are incapable of fidelity, but Manslator Jeff Mac says otherwise.

I say we listen.

Glistening Needles and Tongues on 'Rock of Love'

I'm still scratching my head over Sunday's Rock of Love (actually, I've worked a hole into my scalp). Just when you think you can no longer be blown away by the absurdity of it, you look out the window to find your patio furniture flying across the yard.

This week's episode featured three of Poison singer Bret Michael's "superfans" (as he calls them) or groupies (as I call them), corralled to determine which of the remaining LSEs (or contestants who suffer from scarily low self-esteem) were worthy of competing to be his concubine.

Bret introduced the superfans to the girls (as he calls them). "This is Amy," he said of SF Number One. "I believe she still sleeps in the first t-shirt I ever threw her."

Bret may be short on hair, but he sure is long on ego.

The superfans started throwing their weight around. One of them warned, "As a rock star's girlfriend, you can't disappoint him in bed." She then ordered an LSE to demonstrate her proficiency at faking orgasms.

The episode only got better when LSE Heather decided to show her commitment to Bret by having his name tattooed onto the back of her neck.

"If Heather actually goes through with this," Brett said, "it would impress the shit out of me."

At the tattoo parlor, Heather lay down her neck, while Bret rhapsodized about the eroticism of submitting one's flesh to the needle. "I've had some of the best sex ever after getting tattoo work done."

Some women would kick a guy in the head for mentioning sex with other women after they'd had his name branded into their necks, but not Heather. Who knows? Maybe her devotion will pay off.

After the deed was done, Bret gushed, "Looking at my name on the back of Heather's neck made me feel close and romantic."

Apparently, not romantic enough. At the end of the show, Bret eliminated this week's reject, an LSE by the name of Sam, who'd been deemed "too sensitive." Heather and the rest of the hopefuls stood shifting uncomfortably while their man consoled Sensitive Sam with his tongue.

One Man's Perspective On Married Women Who Keep Their Names

My father is visiting me for Labor Day weekend. Last night he informed me that he plans to "die broke," as recommended by Stephen Pollan. Then we got to talking about women who don't take their husbands' last names.

"If I were to get married again," he said. "I wouldn't encourage anyone to take my name. What would she want to do that for? She's had one name for 70 years, and she's going to have to fill out all those forms? It just doesn't make sense."

Nice thinking, Dad (but are you trying to tell me something?).

Of course, some women want to fill out all those forms, and that's cool, too.

Are Men Attracted to Women With Gray Hair?

If you were to ask me, I'd say no. But Peter says yes.

In 2002, he and I went to New Orleans (without kiddies) and took a walking tour of the Garden District. Among our group was what I thought was an older woman with striking silver hair and beautiful skin.

"That's what I want to look like when I get old," I told Peter.

"Old? She's not old," he said. "Look at her. She's not even 50."

I sneaked a longer look. No, she probably wasn't even 50, but, boy, she was striking.

Peter's always telling me I should stop coloring my (heh heh) prematurely graying hair. "Be proud," he says.

"I am proud," I tell him. "I just don't want to be invisible"

Interestingly enough, the current issue of More magazine features an article by a woman who performed an experiment to see if men are indeed attracted to women with gray hair.

The author, Anne Kreamer, said she came across a survey that reported, "An overwhelming 86 percent of women and 91 percent of men said they would not date someone with gray hair, preferring instead someone who looks younger."

Kreamer set out to find the truth by posting two photos on Match at separate intervals, first as a brunette, and then with gray hair. Surprisingly, the gray-haired photo pulled considerably more looks and "winks" (a Match term meaning that a looker wants to exchange emails). She retried the experiment several times, targeting different geographic areas, but her findings remained consistent.

Enboldened, she and a friend went out to Pete's Tavern near Gramercy Park in New York (nice place, by the way). She sat down next to an attractive man, sensed interest on his part, and started flirting (turns out he was a 39-year-old electronics specialist with the Merchant Marines).

Eventually, she told him the truth about her experiment and asked his opinion of her gray hair.

"Men just don't care about that," he told her.

As for the rest of this particular issue of More, I liked it. A financial planner at my entrepreneurial group brought a back-issue to our meeting yesterday and recommended we check it out. I'm glad I did. I subscribe to more magazines than I can shake a stick at, but I just may make room for one more.

Strangely enough, I just check the More website, which includes an article about how to color hair. According to the accompanying blurb:

"Blond, brunet, or gray, the perfect shade can trim years off your look. Use these expert tips to find your best color."

Are you confused yet? I am.

Spying On a Guy

A while ago, I addressed the subject of women who routinely check men's cell phones to see if they're talking to other females.

Although a couple of women responded to say they'd done it because their guys had lied to them at some point, I still maintain that it's a bad (and unattractive) idea. Once you catch a person in a lie, you have a pretty good idea who he is, anyway. Surveillance isn't necessary.

Manifesting Mr. Right author Ronnie Ann Ryan has an opinion on this subject (and just about everything else). Read it here.

Envisioning Your Happily Ever After

If you want a happy relationship, it helps to have good role models. But let's face it, in this age of the dueling Lohans (not to mention the 50% divorce rate), they can be hard to come by.

Today's Dear Abby featured letters from two men who've been happily married for many years. Look for the signatures, "Tutu
Kane" and "Gina's Man in Virginia."

Very inspiring.

And at Manslations today, Jeff Mac answers a reader who wants to know what the heck a guy means when he says he's "anti-marriage."

Show Me Your Hits

Of course I tuned in to Rock of Love last night. I'm a fool for the show, if not for its star, Poison lead singer Bret Michaels, who has offered himself as God's gift to a gaggle of women with low self-esteem (henceforth to be known as the LSEs).

Last night's episode had the LSEs separating into teams to come up with the cover art for Bret's forthcoming solo album.

The first team made the mistake of putting forth a photo featuring an LSE dressed up as a dirty old man, which deeply troubled Bret's henchman. "Are you saying Bret's old?" he demanded.

The second team offered a highly original Angel/Devil theme with a brunette LSE clad in a red teddy straddling a blonde in a white teddy. Of course, those clever foxes won the challenge.

"Like the girl-on-girl action," Bret remarked.

You gotta love this dude. He's a real visionary.

The winning team's creative director, a pink-haired LSE with beautiful features, won the top prize: alone time with Bret, whose leathery face is doomed to reincarnate into a Harley Wallet.

"Wear something warm and sexy," Bret advised the poor sucker.

According to VH1, next week "The Girls Take It Off." As if they haven't been taking it off already.

Do You Hate Your Job?

If you do, you're not alone.

Fortunately, Michelle Goodman has written a fun-to-read and highly informative guidebook to help you escape the "corporate hamster wheel."

I found Michelle's book, The Anti 9-to-5 Guide: Practical Career Advice for Women Who Think Outside the Cube, at the library last month while I waited for my younger daughter to be sprung from her writer's workshop.

Here's the funny thing:

The woman in the author photo looked a lot like the Michelle Goodman I worked with at the job I mentioned (and hated) in the previous post, but it had been 15 years since I'd seen her. I went home, read the book, and liked it enough to call Dorothy, the owner of the new independent bookstore in my neighborhood, to order a copy for me.

It's a great book. But what, you may ask, does it have to do with dating?

Well, it's my philosophy that happy people attract good circumstances, friends, jobs, and lovers. Unhappy people attract more unhappiness. When you're so stressed your skin hurts, it shows. If you're overworked, underpaid, and bitter about it, believe me, people sense it. It's not a turn-on.

So, whether you're showing up at work with your hair wet because you can't get up in time for your 9-to-5 routine, or if you just want to flee Corporate America to explore your real passion, you might want to check out Michelle's book.

Take a look at her website while you're at it, too.

By the way, I emailed Michelle. She is indeed the Michelle Goodman I worked with.

An Anniversary of Sorts

Eighteen years ago today, I flew to San Francisco to be by myself. I had to get out of New York.

I was stuck working a rotten job I hated that hated me back. My roommate (and best friend since grammar school) and I had a major falling out that caused me to move out of the apartment we'd shared for two years. (Although I've never experienced a divorce, the loss of this friend sure felt like one; fortunately, we reconciled after the birth of my first daughter.)

Oh, and I was still hung up on a man who hadn't the capacity or the intention of ever loving me back.

I had been making a point to get out and meet new people, but the guys I met didn't do it for me. For the most part, they were decent looking, had good jobs, but they lacked something. To be perfectly honest, I lacked something, too. They were better off without me.

The most recent of these guys worked as a producer at a major network. He did some of the right things: Called when he said he would, showed up when he said he would, and made polite conversation with my parents, whom I'd moved back in with. But the guy drove like a maniac. He also squealed like a psychotic chimp when he lost his car in a parking lot.

I ended the relationship on a Saturday, went back to my cube on Monday, and wanted to kill myself Monday night. At this point, I made a vow: Don't date until you meet someone worthy of dating. Make yourself worthy of someone worthy of dating.

I had started working in earnest with the Law of Attraction about a month before, hanging out in my little brother's room (covered with a mix of posters that included Anthrax, Van Halen, and exercise guru Kathy Smith in a bathing suit) after dinner and writing affirmations while listening to Kate Bush, Tears For Fears, and Simple Minds.

I decided I needed a change of scenery (living in my parents' house facilitated this revelation). Travel had always cleared my head, and I needed clarity. So, one desperate evening after another soul-massacring day in the cube, I stopped at a bookstore and found a travel book on San Francisco. I liked San Francisco. I wanted to go.

But my best friend and I were no longer friends (she and I had been travel companions, having gone to England, Ireland, and Scotland together the year before, and the year before that). I had no boyfriend, and I really didn't feel like advertising for a new companion among neighboring cube dwellers.

I decided to go by myself. The travel book listed a Bed & Breakfast called The Red Victorian Inn on Haight Street, where I could get a room for $75.00 a night (about all I could afford). I called and was booked into the Inn's 'Sunshine Room.' I booked a cheap flight on a crappy airline, which ran out of pillows and lost my luggage on the return flight but managed not to crash.

Staying in a B&B afforded social opportunities I wouldn't have found in a hotel. Because guests ate breakfast together in a common room, I became acquainted with a beautiful South African dancewear designer who worked for Mikhail Baryshnikov. She and I went out to see Baghdad Cafe, an obscure film starring The Shield's CCH Pounder. I had lunch with another woman, who'd recently sold her business in London to travel around the world.

I spent a day by myself, checking out a record store on Haight Street. I went to the Japanese Tea Garden in Golden Gate Park. I walked to Union Square, Japantown, and Chinatown. I got lost in the maze that is the Presidio, until I gave into common sense and got a pair of bicyclists to show me the way out.

I didn't meet any fantastic men, but when I came back, I felt different. I had experiences that took the edge off the broken friendship, the romance that would never be, and the tortuous days in the cube.

Travel, for me, is about possibility: I see new things outside me. I see new things inside me. Therefore, I am different.

It sounds corny, but when I came back to New York after four short days, things changed for me. I kept the rotten job, but it got easier, and they offered me more money. Eventually, they kicked me upstairs to a better job which allowed me to travel.

I kept my promise not to date. I wrote my affirmations every single night. In October, I started a dating a guy who's sister promised he'd treat me "like gold," which was strangely appealing. He did treat me like gold, but by Martin Luther King Day, the relationship started to feel like a dress rehearsal for something better. I ended it.

In February, Peter asked me out. We went to Fishtales, a seafood restaurant in Manhasset, on a Wednesday for our first date. We ended up staying out until 3AM, and we've been together ever since. Eleven months after my solo trip to San Francisco, we drove up to Cape Breton Island, off Nova Scotia, where he introduced me to his grandparents.

My life had completely changed.

Dating and Commitment From a Man's Perspective

Why do some guys freak out whenever the word 'marriage' comes up? Check out this smart and funny post on Men, Marriage, Commitment, and Terror from Manslator Jeff Mac.

For my perspective on why some women freak out when they hear the word 'marriage,' click here.

Cruise Alone or With a Friend

Virginia's a cruise planner I met in June 2006 through my networking group for entrepreneurial women. She's booked vacations for several of us, and everybody raves about her.

In July, she took the pastor and 50 parishioners from St. Lawrence Roman Catholic Church on a 3-week cruise to Italy and the Greek Islands. A goodly number of them have already booked another trip with her for next year.

She just emailed to advise me of a 4-night cruise on Royal Carribean's Navigator of the Seas to the Western Carribean. The ship will leave Fort Lauderdale on November 29th (the Thursday after Thanksgiving, which might be a good time to get away before Christmas drama ensues).

The timing and pricing may make it ideal for a quick getaway alone, with a couple of friends, or with a special friend. Interior Staterooms start at USD $304.00. Oceanview Staterooms start at USD $509.00.

Space is limited. Book with Virginia before August 30th, and you'll get a $25.00 on-board credit. She's personable and easy to talk to. Give her a call at 1-800-794-0741, and tell her Terry sent you.

On Being the CEO of Your Dating Life

This morning on Today, ad exec Donny Deutsch offered dating advice to a single mother. The 38-year-old never-married woman, who has a job she "loves" and a 4-year-old she "adores," is reluctant to throw her life out of balance by getting involved with a man. She says she has supportive friends and family. She seemed pretty content to me.

I'm sure Donny meant well. He suggested that this woman "test market" dating, so that "five years out," when her daughter may be tired of hanging out with her, she'll have "options." (Gotta love the corporate-speak.) Ann Curry chimed in, telling her, "People may say you're not taking care of your emotional needs" by not having a man on the scene.

If only it were that simple!

While I've never met the woman subjected to Donny's theories on dating, I do have ideas of my own on why she's hesitant to hook up with--or even meet--a man at this point in her life.

For instance:

Once she starts dating, the possibility exists that she'll fall in love. Once she falls in love, the possibility exists that she'll either move in with the guy or marry him. Once that happens, the possibility exists that she'll be stuck with a another job: Taking Care of Him (which could include doing his laundry, cooking for him, picking up his dry cleaning, shopping for his mother's birthday presents, and so on).

And if she marries him, she'll also have to face the question of changing her name. She may not want to change it, but his parents and much of society may smirk if she doesn't (yeah, she can keep her name professionally, but it's not the same).

The guy might not be satisfied being stepfather to her child, either. He could insist on having children of his own, and she may feel obligated to get pregnant. And then make arrangements for childcare. The decisions and sacrifices might never end.

So much for her emotional needs.

Today this woman is captain of her own ship. Letting a man climb aboard it could destroy her autonomy (just ask a successful woman who married and suddenly found herself signing her name beneath her husband's on a tax return).

And then again, it is entirely possible this woman could exempt herself from this nonsense. She could meet and fall in love with a man who does his own freaking laundry, who isn't threatened if she keeps her name, who is proud of her accomplishments at work and at home, and will be happy to be father of a child who didn't emerge from his gene pool.

She could, absolutely.

But when you look around and see all the women who still check their identities at church doors, it's easy to see why she spends Saturday nights watching 48 Hours.

Bret Michaels Continues to Terrify Me

Peter busted me watching Rock of Love again the other night. "Isn't this kind of against everything you stand for?" he wanted to know.

"Leave me alone," I said. "It's research."

The latest episode featured women racing each other into porta-potties to be the first to change into hooker gear. By now you should know that Bret Michael's girl "always has to look hot" in a hurry.

The prize?

Alone time with the hair band frontman himself (whether he actually has hair is debatable; some of the traffic I get to this blog is from people who've keyed "bret michaels bald" into search engines).

Bret doesn't seem to be worth the effort. He's self-involved as hell, and for a 4-needle-a-day diabetic, he sure does drink a lot.

The Kid's Getting Married!

Busy weekend:

The offspring returned from two weeks at camp on Saturday. Yesterday, we attended a party to celebrate the recent marriage of a good friend at the Manhasset Bay Yacht Club. I had a great time, especially since my father and all the siblings attended.

Out on the deck overlooking the water, my brother whispered to me that he'd gone to Tiffany's to buy an engagement ring for the woman he's dated for the past year (we really like her). He said he didn't know how or when he'd propose.

After Peter and I and the girls arrived home in Connecticut, the phone rang. It was my brother calling to say that he'd indeed sealed the deal. He and his fiancee will marry in December '08.

In case you're wondering, he met her through an online dating service. Like most people who've tried online dating, he waded through his fair share of duds, for sure.

But this girl's a winner.

Ready to try online dating? Click the black box on the right.

Turn On Your Love Light at the Blood Drive

I rarely find myself without something to do, but today I had time to kill and remembered a blood drive going on in town. Ordinarily, I would have talked myself out of donating, as I've done since the last time I gave blood, oh, six years ago. But I decided to go for it.

Lying there waiting for the blood-taking-person to insert the needle into my flesh (yes, I am a giant baby, and I am always careful to alert any and all blood-takers to treat me gently, lest I collapse into convulsive wails and humiliate myself beyond redemption), it occurred to me that my old friend, G, and her boyfriend, A, started giving blood together early in their relationship.

At the time, I admired their altruism, but I had no intention of joining it. I did notice that their devotion to each other grew after the first donation, and they made appointments to keep going back. They were the first couple among the group I hung out with to marry. Many years later, they remain together happily.

I suppose they still give blood, although I can't swear to it. Over the past few years, they've taken up participating in Run/Walk events to benefit sufferers of Cystic Fibrosis.

My parents used to give blood together, too, and they remained happily married for 44 years, until my mother died two years ago this August 20th.

Giving blood with a date may seem like an odd alternative to getting tickets to Daddy Day Camp, but it's an adventure. It's a scary thing for a lot of people. It requires sacrifice, which is kind of attractive. It requires vulnerability, which is definitely attractive.

And when it's over, donors feel a sense of achievement , which can facilitate closeness. It also brings on an uncontrollable urge to celebrate.

Just be sure to make an appointment before you go, or you could be stuck sitting around for hours.

What Kind of Man Are You Dating?

Natalie Morales and her guests Kate White and Dale Atkins help you figure it out in a silly but mildly entertaining Today Show segment.

I doubt Today will ever run a story helping fellows decipher women. The burden of reading minds seems to fall exclusively on females in this society.

Personally, I've opted out. I don't read minds.

Here's my credo when it comes to relationships: If you like me, show it. If you have something to say, say it. Treat me as you would have me treat you, lest I get fed up and hit the highway.

Meet Lots of 'Maybes'

This morning's Today Show ran an excellent, if unfortunately titled, segment on how to meet someone special. Check out the video here.

I love the tip about getting a $25 webcam to screen online 'duds.' It surely beats learning a guy's not what he claimed after jockeying across town to meet him.

I could do without the segment's title, though, which is "Desperate to Date!" Yikes. Most single people aren't desperate; they're just too smart to settle.

Men and Love

I found this fascinating quote from a man who wrote the Modern Love essay in yesterday's New York Times:

"...especially as a guy in a good, solid marriage, I have no reason to lie: Once you sleep with someone, it's hard to ever get together with them again, no matter how much later, without thinking of the physical closeness that was, or wasn't quite, or might have been."

Read the entire essay here.

Another article in yesterday's paper addresses the myth that men sleep around more than women.

VH1's The Pickup Artist

So, far VH1's The Pickup Artist isn't as scary as I thought it would be.

The show features a bunch of decent but rejection-shy (and awkward) guys who need direction in attracting women. Their mentor is a man who goes by the silly-ish name of Mystery and claims to draw women like mice to cheddar. The second episode airs tomorrow at 9PM.

NBC's frightening Age of Love died its miserable death last Monday. Mark, the hapless Prince Charming charged with choosing his princess from among a group of 20- and 40-something women, anointed a 25-year-old with giant teeth.

VH1's Rock of Love, starring What's-With-the-Do-Rag Brett Michaels, continues to boggle the mind. I'd like an account of the show's budget for spray tan, for one thing. Everybody, including Brett, is orange.

And Brett is getting paranoid. He's convinced some of the women on the show aren't into him; they're just into the star trip. One woman in particular, a restaurant worker named Erin, is really getting under his skin. She mentioned that Justin Timberlake would soon appear in her place of employment.

Update: Brett just sent Erin back home to Chicago.

Love Is In the Air

I'm republishing my response to a reader comment on a previous post, "The Love of Her Future Life" here.

The reader's comment reads in part:

"Great blog. However, I still, more than one year after reading your book, am having trouble visualizing my man in as fine detail as you and your friend were able to do. How does one do that without "seeing" someone you may have known, thought was great, but is married or otherwise unavailable?"

Here's my response:

Before I started visualizing, I was flat-out crazy about an unavailable guy whose unavailability didn't stop him from stringing me along. Let me tell you, my attraction to him was all-consuming and relentless.

I took myself to one side: You're attracted to him, but he will not make you happy. Even if you did end up with him, you'd be looking over your shoulder for the rest of your life.

I set out to use visualization to attract a new relationship. I knew how great the uavailable guy made me feel (when we were together, that is). The trick was to re-create that feeling with another, yet unseen, man.

I did not necessarily know what I'd be attracted to (as long as it stopped being the other guy). I knew what qualities I wanted and needed in a long-term partner, though. I wrote them down (writing is more effective than thinking; you're making it concrete).

As you know, Margaret, I wanted someone who was: loyal, loving, reliable, successful, and fun. So, I wrote the following affirmation every single day while listening to Kate Bush's The Sensual World:

"I am happily married to a loyal, loving, reliable, successful, fun man."

Now there are many men who possess those particular qualities; however, some of them are already married, or they're Mama's Boys, or they like to pick their noses at stop lights.

I didn't want to be attracted to them.

So what I did, when writing my affirmation, was to conjure the sense of excitement I got with the old guy with the new, unseen, one.

Now this can get tricky. At first you have very few details to go with. The guy in your imagination is like ether. You can't see him, feel him, and so on.

So, it's here, during your visualization (keep a pen in your hand if it helps you focus) that you start filling in the smell of his shirt, the warmth of his hand, and so on.

All the while you're bringing up that feeling you got when you were with Mr. Unavailable.

As for my friend, she's just coming out of the most awful marriage, so she's very clear about what she DOES NOT want. It's easy for her to tell you what she DOES WANT.

Now, she's listed the occupation of her future fellow, but you don't have to be that specific (I wasn't). It's the feeling she gets (let me emphasize that, the feeling) when she brings this guy to life in her imagination that will him into her life.

She's conditioning her subconscious to believe that she's capable of being in a relationship with someone who treats her well.

She's also conditioning herself to BE ATTRACTED TO someone who treats her well.

Let's face it: Some of us are walking around forever attracting and being attracted to men who do not treat us well, hence the girls-who-love-bad-boys syndrome. Or the girls-who-only-love-boys-they-cannot-have syndrome.

You don't have to predict what you'll be attracted to. You know what you're attracted to. So, if you're attracted to a married guy, what attracts you to him?

If it's that he's married, that's a problem. A lot of women are attracted to unavailable guys for their own reasons, usually because they'll never have to wake up to him for the rest of their lives. (If this sounds like you, determine what puts you off about marriage and create a marriage in your imagination that defies it. For example, I didn't like the idea of being stuck with all the housework, among other things.)

But if it's his sense of humor, the way he handles a car, the way he looks in a white button-down shirt, the sureness of his hands, you can re-create that in your new unseen man. You can certainly re-create the feeling you get.

Easy does it, Margaret. You know how you feel when you're with a guy you're attracted to.

Write down the qualities you want in your new guy, gel 'em with the feeling you got with the old guy. Write an affirmation in the present tense about your great new relationship.

Every day write a scene about you and the new guy: "Today my husband and I (feel it as you write it) went to IKEA to buy a new couch to put in front of the fireplace. When we got home, we ate onion bagels while we put the couch together. It came together in no time, so he lit a fire. We stood in front of the fireplace holding each other for a while, and then he poured some wine. We turned off the phone and slumped on our soft new couch together, his arm around me, my head on his shoulder, taking in the smell of burning wood. He kissed me..."

When you write your scene, engage all your senses. Be in it.

Do this every single day. Do it tomorrow: "Today my husband and I went to the park..." Keep bringing the relationship to life in your imagination.

It really doesn't help to do it once in a while. Get thee to Staples and buy a cheap spiral notebook and write a short scene every single day.

I hope this clarifies things.

How to Break Up With Your Girlfriend

I found this "very simple primer" on Radar Online. It's hilarious. Click here to check it out.

The Love of Her Future Life

A lovely woman I know has made a decision to leave her marriage after many years of anguish (I'll protect her substandard husband by not going into details).

The other day she informed me there's a new man in her life. She hasn't met him and doesn't hope to meet him for some time; she's looking forward to being single. But she already knows what she'll want in a man when she's ready for a new relationship.

She has a general idea of what he'll look like and what he'll do for a living. She knows what they'll have in common: He'll like books and art. He'll enjoy traveling with her. She has an idea of the sound of his voice, the warmth of his hand, and how she'll feel when he says her name.

He will love her. She won't know this by ostentatious gestures, but by the way he looks at her over the dinner table. She is a brave and passionate cook who lives to prepare meals for the people she loves. He will be grateful for every plate she sets before him.

I have no doubt that one day this man will enter her life and make her happy. She knows what she wants, and she's bringing it to life in her imagination.

This is how love happened for me. When she's ready, it's going to happen for her, too.

How to Bounce Back From a Break-Up

If you've been with me for a while, you know I'm a proponent of EFT (or Emotional Freedom Technique). It got me through a wicked case of insomnia and panic attacks, for instance, during my mother's illness and after her death.

Holistic Health Counselor Alison Held recommends EFT for healing a broken heart. If you're like me, I didn't bounce back from failed relationships well (tended to pack on the pounds and wallow in misery) and held myself back from finding happiness with a more suitable guy.

The cool thing about EFT is it's free to use on your own, or if you prefer, you can hire a practitioner like Alison to take you through it. It's been endorsed by Joseph Mercola MD, Cheryl Richardson, Deepak Chopra, Jack Canfield, and others.

Check out EFT founder Gary Craig's website for a free manual.

On Monday, Alison phoned to say that a company named Try It Productions was calling around to her and other EFT practitioners, looking to talk to clients who could provide testimonials about EFT's effectiveness. Alison recommended me.

An interviewer and cameraman arrived at my house yesterday, so I may end up in the movie (if I don't end up on the cutting room floor). It was great fun telling my story. After the duo packed up and left, I checked out the trailer for the movie, which debuted on Try It On Everything yesterday.

I was delighted to find out that if I do make the final cut, I'll be in good company. Jack Canfield, Joe Vitale, Cheryl Richardson, and Norm Shealy, M.D. are featured in the film.

The trailer is short, informative, and fun to watch. Check it out here.

Why Eat Healthfully When You Can Get Liposuction Instead?

In a segment entitled, "Drama Over the Posh Spice" diet, The Today Show eviscerated the authors of Skinny Bitch (prefacing the attack by warning parents to lower their TVs to avoid scaring children with the word "Bitch," which Today altered to read "B*tch," lest anybody's eyes fall out).

Today noted that sales for Skinny Bitch, a book that promotes eschewing meat and dairy, took off after Victoria (Posh Spice) Beckham had been photographed holding the book. Beckham's publicity machine later denied their client follows "fad diets" and instead eats a diet high in fruit, vegetables, and fish. Which is pretty much what the Skinny Bitch authors promote, less the fish.

If you're willing to sit through a commercial, you can check out the report here.

For further commentary by the show's horrified producer, click here. In questioning the authors' right to write a book about healthy eating, he writes, "..last I checked, being around skinny people hardly makes one an authority on how they got that way."

Wuh?

Here's the ironic thing about the Today segment: They preceded it with an "expose" disputing diet and exercise as a means of spot fat reduction. Their source? A plastic surgeon. That's right. The lone, single, solitary source Janice Lieberman used in her segment dismissing the effectiveness of diet and exercise was--ta da!-- a plastic surgeon. Watch her report here.

What, pray tell, does the surgeon recommend for spot reduction?

You guessed it, Baby: Liposuction.

The Today Show is officially headed off the rails. (And please do not insult me, Matt and Meredith, by implying that you're offended by the word "bitch," or that you've never used it.)

Let's face it: The vegan diet Skinny Bitch promotes may not be for everybody. I've tried to give up cheese more times than I can count, and it just ain't happening. And, although I gave up meat for Lent and haven't turned back, my family likes it and continues to eat it.

That said, since I've given up meat, my LDL and triglyceride levels returned to normal. Would lipo have yielded such healthful results?

I don't think so.

Love, Loss, and Marriage

After putting the girls on the camp bus to New Hampshire this morning (I still have a small pain in my stomach), Peter and I made a quick stop for coffee and the newspaper at a gas station in Hicksville, Long Island. We hit the highway by 7:30 and managed to get home to Connecticut before the coffee got cold.

The New York Times ran two worthwhile stories in its Style section today.

The first is by a woman who lost her best friend after falling for a man she met in Prague. The other details the wedding of a once-reluctant bride and co-author of the book, The Bridal Wave: A Survival Guide to the Everyone-I-Know-Is-Getting-Married Years.

Alone At Last

If you're here for dating advice, this particular post won't interest you. Scroll onward, Pilgrim.

The offspring are heading to camp for two weeks in New Hampshire tomorrow, so I've spent the past couple of days ironing labels onto bedsheets and bathing suits. Had to run out for necessities like bug repellant and sunscreen. Ended up spending a boatload of money.

My father came up from New York Thursday and stayed until this morning. He left before I got up, probably around 6. It can be pretty noisy around here. I hope he had a good time.

We're off to Long Island today for a block party. The girls will catch the bus to camp at 6:30 AM tomorrow morning.

Peter and I don't have any earth-shaking plans for the next two weeks, but we're looking forward to it. I'm sure we'll find a way to fill the time.

Who Should Pay On the First Date?

If you're a woman, Dating Coach Ronnie Ann Ryan says it shouldn't be you. Click here for her free report and find out why.

A reader has taken me to task for suggesting that checking a guy's cell phone for evidence he's been talking to other women is unattractive. She made some excellent points that I'm thinking over seriously.

While the women I'd referred to routinely surveilled innocent boyfriends, this reader had serious grounds to believe her fellow was cheating. She checked his cell phone and found that he had indeed text messaged another woman about "getting together."

She followed her instincts, and that's a good thing. She did what she had to do.

But I think we can fairly set her apart from women (and men) who suffer from the kind of insecurity that compels them--without sufficient cause-- to check up on good, devoted, true loves and ultimately drive them away.

The Law of Attraction Nets Me a Falafel

The Amazing V. and I set out for a neighboring town to India Raj for lunch. (All morning, I got a warm, happy feeling in my stomach whenever I remembered I'd soon be filling with vegetable vindaloo.)

We arrived at India Raj at 3:07, only to learn that they'd closed at 3 and wouldn't reopen until dinner. Dejected, we headed back for her minivan and stuffed the children back in. The warm feeling in my stomach was replaced with a cold loneliness.

"We could try that other Indian place in Newtown," V. suggested.

"Yeah, let's do that," I said, even though the food didn't taste as good as India Raj's. It also cost more.

"Let's go for pizza," shouted a little voice from the back.

But I wasn't in the mood for pizza, not Connecticut pizza, anyway.

Valerie drove on, and as we passed the beautiful old stone houses and lattice-balconied stores and the mossy ponds with the tree branches coming straight up out of them, I kept thinking, "Wow. I am just so lucky to live here. It is the most beautiful place on earth."

I said to the Amazing V., "You know, I really could go for falafel. I haven't had a falafel since I moved here four-and-a-half years ago."

"Yeah," she said. "But you can't get falafel in Connecticut, unless you count that dried-out thing we had in downtown Shelton."

She hung a left into the parking lot of the Newtown Indian place. The sign on the door revealed that it, like the other, was closed and would not reopen until dinner.

"What's with these people?" she asked.

And then we saw it: Across the street stood a little hole-in-the-wall Greek market.

"Check it out," I said. "Greek food! Do you think they have falafel?"

(Although the state of Connecticut is home to many Greek diners, I have yet to find one that serves falafel. But I was feeling lucky.)

"Let's try it," said V.

We popped out of the van and into the store. A strapping Greek man came toward us.

"Do you have falafel?" I asked him.

"Yes, I have falafel. How many you want?"

At this point, we rounded up the children and seated them at tables in the back.

"I have a funny story to tell you," I told the owner, as he brought out our orders. Then I told him of my desperation for a decent falafel since I moved here.

"Where are you from?" he asked.

"New York."

"I used to live in New York when I came to this country. Where did you live?"

"Flushing."

"Where?"

"Near Northern Boulevard."

"Where?"

"172nd Street."

"I know it. I used to work at the Saravan Diner."

"Get out! It's impossible to get falafel in Connecticut, you know."

"Yeah," he said. "Everyone here wants hamburger, cheeseburger, fish fry."

Before I left, I ordered a gyro to go for Peter. When he and I were dating, we used to eat them at a Greek place in Flushing near his apartment.

Some people will insist that my falafel acquisition moments after uttering the words, "I could really go for falafel," is coincidence.

But the Amazing V. and I do not think so.

Not Every Man Wants to Be Jack Nicholson

At a barbecue, the subject came up that a recently-purchased house in the neighborhood is up for sale again.

"I wonder what happened," I said.

"The guy left his wife for a 23-year-old girl," the hostess remarked.

"Are you kidding?" asked a 44-year-old fellow dipping into a bowl of Doritos. "How old is he?"

"I don't know," the hostess replied. "Forty-seven, I think."

"What an idiot!" the guy shouted. "Hey, Paul, did you hear that the guy in the white house left his wife for a 23-year-old?"

"I heard," Paul replied. "What an IDIOT!"

Later, I told Peter the story.

His reponse?

"What a moron. What's he going to talk about with a 23-year-old?"

Contrary to what the box in the living room tells us, not every guy wants to be Jack Nicholson or Michael Douglas (I still haven't figured out what Catherine Zeta Jones sees in that guy. His rump wobbled way back in Basic Instinct).

Checking a Guy's Cell Phone For Evidence of Other Women

Peter hoped to go to Paul Newman's restaurant on Saturday night, but I figured the place would be jammed with theater-goers (the Westport Country Playhouse is located next door), so we went to our favorite Mexican haunt instead. I was happy to go someplace dark and familiar.

Instead of going to see Sicko, we ended up in Trader Joe's (we love Trader Joe's!). When we were first married, we used to go to the supermarket together, and we enjoyed being able to do it again without offspring arguing with us to buy things we don't want.

On the way home, we got caught in a flood on Route 34. Water gushed up to the doors of our car. I don't think I've ever been on the road in such conditions. Pretty scary, but we came out of it okay. A lot of other people had to pull over and fiddle around under their hoods.

During all this, Peter told me that two guys he works with are dealing with girlfriends who routinely check their cell phones for evidence of communication with other women. I have news for you; the day I feel compelled to check Peter's cell phone is the day I die. And the day I find him checking mine is the day he dies.

It's harrassment. It's surveillance. It's unattractive.

If a guy cheats (or has given a woman reason to think he has), isn't she better off discussing it and feeling him out? Sure, he might lie to her, but then he's only confirmed the fact that it's time for her to hit the highway.

As for the guys whose girlfriends are surveilling them, both asked Peter's advice.

"Are you cheating?" he asked.

"Absolutely not," came the replies.

"Do you like coming home and getting the third degree about Betty from Payroll's number being in your cell phone?"

"Not really."

"Well," Peter said. "These situations don't usually improve with time. You might want to rethink the relationship."

Date Night Tonight

We regained access to our money, so Peter and I will go out by ourselves for dinner tonight. Perhaps we'll see Sicko, too.

Maybe we'll call another couple to join us. Then again, maybe we won't.

I spent the morning watching the old Andrew McCarthy/Kevin Dillon movie, Heaven Help Us, which pretty much sums up my experience at Our Lady of the Blessed Sacrament in Bayside. Spoke to my old classmate, Karen, yesterday on the phone for almost two hours. We met in Blessed Sacrament in 3rd grade and have been friends ever since.

Must recommend Heaven Help Us to her. I imagine she'll find it cathartic.

Both Andrew McCarthy and Kevin Dillon were fabulous in that movie, by the way. McCarthy made you feel exactly what the character felt, and around Eighth Grade I knew boys just like Kevin Dillon's character. These days, Dillon blows me away as Johnny Drama on Entourage. He and Jeremy Piven's Ari Gold are my favorite characters (although I like Kevin Connolly as the show's moral compass, E,, too).

It's too bad Andrew McCarthy has fallen out of the limelight. I saw him on 20/20 a couple of years ago, where he explained that much of the widely lauded performance he gave in Pretty In Pink benefited from the pain of a wicked hangover.

I hoped to post Stephen Colbert's response to Pope Benedict's disturbing claim that only Catholics are on the path to salvation (I hang around with a lot of non-Catholics), but I cannot seem to dig it up. By the accounts I've read, Colbert is a much better Catholic than I am.

His take on Benedict's comments were priceless.

(Note: A quick Google search directed me to McCarthy's website. Apparently, he's keeping busy, which is great news as far as I'm concerned.)

Who Wears the Pants In Your Relationship?

I loathe that expression, but I did like The Today Show's encouraging report about power in relationships this morning. Guests Helen Fisher and Ian Kerner made some brilliant points.

Click here to check it out.

The Letter Nobody Wants to Receive

I received notice in Wednesday's mail that I am among the souls whose personal data was stolen from a company that verifies debit card purchases.

After breathing myself through a panic attack, I notified the major credit agencies (actually, I notified one, who says they'll notify the other two as a matter of course).

Went to the bank yesterday, where the lovely woman on the platform advised me to clear my checking account of all funds, less enough to cover uncleared checks. We opened a new account, but while everything is in transition, I don't have access to my money.

Which means that, instead of going out to dinner tonight as we planned, we stayed home. We could've used a credit card, but I'm just not into it.

So, I cooked.

Magically, a friend showed up with a bunch of basil from her garden, and I started putting together a sauce in my head. Then I remembered the zucchini that another neighbor gave us from her garden Sunday.

I sauteed onion and garlic, added tomatoes, and then the zucchini and basil. I set them on a low heat for hours. Because Peter cannot live without meat (the rest of us can), I slowly cooked the sweet sausage I bought at Stop and Shop on Monday to tender perfection. Then I added them to his portion of the sauce.

I served it on angel hair. With freshly grated parmagian, the dish turned out quite well. I didn't miss spending $100 on dinner out one bit.

There's something freeing about not spending money, at least temporarily.

I lucked out on a couple of counts:

-Our mortgage payment had been safely deducted from our account the day we got notice of the security breach

-Nobody took any of our money

-I had enough food in the house.

I guess I'll find out in time if some idiot took out a loan or opened a credit card account in my name. Say a prayer, will you?

Law of Attraction and Aging

I love the following article by Jeannette Maw about how she uses her mind to stay young. It's the very subject I addressed in a post on my last birthday. (Click here to read that one.) Yeah, I know death is inevitable, but my goal is to put it off as long as possible.

"You're not getting any younger, you know."

Ahem.

These words probably make the top ten list of "How to Spoil Sunday With Your Girlfriend."

I said to Russ, "Look, these are words you should never say to ANY woman you want to sleep with, let alone the one who doesn't believe in aging."

"You don't believe in aging?" He said it more than asked it. Like he was confirming just how crazy his girlfriend was.

"Well, I'm trying NOT to. That's my point. Hearing it from you doesn't help. I want to escape that old mentality. I want to grow younger and get healthier and better looking every day."

"'Old mentality,'" he repeats. "Honey, aging is a fact." (As if I were an eight year old that he was breaking the news to about the Tooth Fairy.) "It's what happens. You can't stop it. You can't stop time."

Well, with any hope of a friendly romantic encounter shot to smithereens, I let him have it.

"All right, let's go over this again." And I ran him through the principles of deliberate creation a-frickin-gain. We get what we think about. There are no rules out there. There are no limitations. If we can imagine it, we can have it. There isn't any reason we should be aging, other than that the whole of society has bought into it, and I'm opting out.

"You're opting out of aging," he says, not even trying to mask the laughter in his voice.

"Yeah, I am. And I guarantee I'm not doing it so I can hang out with some decrepit old guy, so I would rethink my position on this, if I were you."

I tell him I'm not the only one thinking this. That others are on board with this same idea. LOTS of others. I don't know how many, but I know I'm not alone. I've been trained by one of them. (Ron Zeller, who is a stand for ageless living. His wife, who is known as Ninja Grandma. Not to mention all the yogis who are known for good health in the upper echelons of birthdays.)

And while I'm telling him that, I'm thinking of the enormous vibrational escrow of all those people all those years who desperately wanted good health and great looks in their later years. Oh yeah, I'm tapping into THAT party!

So, Russ agrees not to argue with my beliefs, and swears I will never again hear him say, "You're not getting any younger."

As he's making breakfast (making fun of my brown $4 cage-free eggs and rice milk), I find two emails in my in-box related to law of attraction and aging. Or anti-aging, I should say. Thank you, Universe, for backing me up!

I march out of the office with news of the two articles that were waiting for me this morning. "I am not alone," I repeat to him with conviction.

"That's nice, honey." He's clearly made peace with having a crazy girlfriend.

And I'm gearing up for making peace with having a 30 year old boyfriend in my last years of life. Maybe he could have an accent, too. Olive skin. Gorgeous smile. (We'll see who has the last laugh, Mr. Smart Guy.)

Just to nail this vibration down, I'm thinking about turning 27 this year. I've turned 27 a couple of times now, and have enjoyed it every time. It's a good year. I thought about earlier twenties, but they seemed a little shallow. 30's seemed a little heavier. So I'm going with carefree, optimistic, fabulously healthy and fit, got-my-whole-life-ahead-of-me 27.

I really really like my girlfriend's girlfriend who doesn't know how old she is (really, she doesn't know! She doesn't keep track!), and my former coach who would flat out lie (and feel great about it) when someone asked her age. I'm letting go of what it "means" to age as well. It doesn't mean anything; it's not who I am; and I just get better with every day that passes.

That's what I'm manifesting with the law of attraction. That's my story and I'm stickin' to it. Because I know it's possible. And I pick it. Period.

Yes, it might feel like a stretch today, but as I spend more time with it, and more time with articles and people lined up with it, it'll become more and more mine. Watch me go!