The Story of Witch & Rabbit

What you are about to read is 100% true. It happened in the late Autumn of 2008. I wrote this shortly after it happened while it was still fresh in my mind. Today, as I was working on another writing project, I thought back fondly on this experience and realized exactly how much it affected me, and exactly how much my friendship with my best friend, Jason, means to me. I pondered the incredible influence he’s been on my life, how often he’s been there for me when things have been awful in my little world, and how much we’ve leaned on each other. This is not the only thing I’ve ever written on the subject. In fact, I’ve written thousands and thousands of words about Jason over the years. But today, this story in particular came to mind simply because the conversations we had during this experience and the events that took place, many of which did not make it into this piece, were such that I came home and changed my entire outlook on life, the direction in which I wanted to go, and the goals I wanted to achieve. Jason, thank you so much for everything. I wouldn’t be half of who I am if you were not a part of my life.

Witch and Rabbit

There is something mystical about the air in Kauai. Maybe it’s because upon my decision to fly there to be with Jason I had put aside every other thought and concern in life, but for some reason, breathing that air, everything about my subconscious was open and ready to accept whatever I was presented with. Jay had asked me to meet him there, having flown out from LA to “get away from it all” following the final shattering of his marriage. Jason was my best friend; if he needed me… I was going to be there for him. So, I’d booked last minute flights, thrown a few things in a bag, and dropped everything to be by his side. I landed at Lihue Airport, where Jay picked me up in a rental car. He looked exhausted, a little frightened, and utterly heartbroken.

As we sat at a tiny outdoor table at his favorite vegan restaurant, the fresh air and Jason’s hypnotizing blue eyes set me in a state of utter Zen. Whatever would be would be – I had no expectations, I had no agenda, I had no idea what was going to happen over the next several days – and none of it mattered. I was simply there because he’d asked me to be. And what a paradise it was. There were flowers and lush greenery everywhere I looked, and the atmosphere was light with breezy, sweet humidity. It was nothing like I’d ever felt. Warm and cool at the same time, with the fragrances of tropical plants and chamomile tea settling into my soul.

After our dinner, Jay drove us back to the room he’d rented. It was a large, sparsely furnished space, with a bed, a small table, and lots of large windows. I’d been traveling for nearly 20 hours, and Jason offered to rub me down. He asked me to smell some oil he had, to see if I liked it, and then used it to knead the tension out of my shoulders and back. After that, he asked me if I’d wrap around him – spoon him – just for a few minutes. We talked idly… and he said that he was pretty sure he’d end up walking across the street to the beach once I dozed off, and spend the night on the sand, listening to the ocean and breathing the night air. I must have fallen asleep almost instantly. Before I knew it, he was up and out of the bed. He told me he’d see me in the morning.

After he left, I looked around the room. I was in Hawaii. How had that happened, I wondered? It was all so last minute… yet I was more relaxed and calm than I had felt in years, and something in the night air coming through the open windows made me feel as light and carefree as a person possibly could. I’d be here for a while and it was rather exciting – but for now… sleep.

Somewhere in a dream… a picnic table… larger than any picnic table I’d ever seen, sat before me. On top of the table was a rabbit. It was white, and had a black, geometric pattern of zig-zags all over it. The pattern was fascinating; I’d never seen a rabbit like this. Knowing that the rabbit spoke my language, I tried to approach it to speak to it. But as I stepped forward towards the table, the rabbit became terrified and backed away, eventually leaving all together. I felt frustrated. I had no dark intentions – I would never have hurt it, I just wanted to talk to it. Again the rabbit appeared on the table, and I attempted to approach it again. Again, it became terrified and backed away, leaving this time, for good. I became angry. Why would the rabbit think I meant any harm? I only wanted to talk to it.

I woke to the sound of two of Kauai’s feral roosters having a nasty cock fight in a parking lot outside the front door of the room. It wasn’t even light out yet. I got out of the bed, went to the window and peered out into the darkness. A large, full grown rooster was being taunted by a very small, juvenile one. The noise would normally have made me really mad, as I am not a morning person and hate being rudely awakened, but the roosters were positively hysterical and I went back to the bed and layed down. Each time I heard the roosters screaming at each other I laughed out loud. They seemed so incredibly silly to me, it just struck me as hilarious and I couldn’t stop giggling.

The door to the room opened and Jay entered. I wished him good morning and asked if the roosters had woken him up, too? He said no, all he’d been able to hear was the crashing waves – not even the traffic on the main road between the beach and the Hostel penetrated the sound of the Pacific. I told him about my dream. He said that he had a set of Animal Medicine Cards with him, and we’d look up the meaning behind it. For now though, we wanted food.

After a shower and a quick discussion about leaving the Hostel and going to a more traditional hotel, we packed up and Jay drove us to Hanalei for breakfast. The scenery was mesmerizing. On our right, brilliant turquoise water, swaying palm trees and soft white sand. To our left, volcanic mountains covered in lush green plant life and shrouded in ever-present mist. Amazing, it was as if you were in two completely different environments at once. To me, a Gemini, duality of this sort felt as natural as breathing. Yes, it was safe to say, less than 12 hours after landing; I was in love with Kauai.

We had a wonderful breakfast and then sat at a table that would become our morning chat spot and talked for quite some time. Jay had a lot on his mind. He was confused and hurt, feeling like the proverbial carpet had been ripped out from under his life. After he’d had his fill of talking, we returned to the rental car and headed back towards the Hostel, where Jason was going to have to tell the owner that we’d decided not to stay the originally booked number of nights. He was stressed about it, and didn’t really want to deal with it. I told him, “I’m an administrative assistant. I make peoples’ calls for them all day long. Why don’t you just let me handle it?”

He agreed, and after settling up with the owner we drove back north to Kilauea, in search of our new place. As we tried to follow the driving directions, we became mildly confused when we arrived at a construction area where no cars were allowed to pass. Jay wondered aloud if the street on our right was where we were supposed to turn, since there was no street sign. I looked up to my left, and saw a sign that read “St. Sylvester’s Catholic Church.” I smiled.

“That’s the street.” I told him.

“How do you know?” he asked.

I pointed to the sign. He read it and, accepting that this must, indeed, be the place I was destined to go, said “Oh, yeah, ok.” And took the right. Naturally, it was the correct street. The house we rented a room in was only a few steps from the Church.

We unpacked, and after Jason got into the shower I decided to walk over to St. Sylvester’s and check it out. As I rounded the corner by the sign, the octagonal church sat high above me on a mound. Under the eaves of the church sat a massive, larger than usual picnic table. I stopped in my tracks, almost expecting to see a geometrically patterned rabbit sitting on top of it. But no, there was no rabbit. Just a picnic table larger than any I’d ever seen in my life.

The church was closed up, not a soul around, so I went to the table and sat down. The view of the tiny Hawaiian neighborhood from the church was pretty. I felt more at home sitting there than I did in my own house. I felt like sitting in that spot, God would hear anything I said to him. At that moment, I realized that we were staying there for a reason. (Each morning, before Jay and I got going, I walked to my church and sat on my picnic table. I asked God for many things. I won’t reveal them here, but I will say, each and every thing I asked Him for was granted.) I headed back to the room to tell Jason what I’d found.

He opened his Animal Medicine book and read me the story of Rabbit and Eye Walker, the Witch. As the story goes, Rabbit and Eye Walker were friends. Rabbit was thirsty, and Eye Walker used her magic to give Rabbit a drink. Rabbit drank, but said nothing. Then, Rabbit was hungry, and again Eye Walker used her magic to give Rabbit food. Rabbit did not say anything. Then, Rabbit was injured, and Eye Walker the Witch used her magic to heal him. After that, Eye Walker lost contact with Rabbit. Finally, after a great search, she found him and asked him why he was avoiding her. Rabbit replied that he was afraid of the Witch, afraid of magic, and wanted nothing further to do with her.

The book went on to state that if you are presented with Rabbit medicine, you must confront your fears. Jason asked me what it was that I was afraid of? I told him I wasn’t afraid of anything. He insisted I must be afraid of something, but I was not. “How are you so sure I’m not the witch?” I asked him. Seeing that this discussion was getting us nowhere, we went to dinner.

The next day, we went for a helicopter ride out of Lihue airport. On the way there, Jason said he felt like he was getting sick – the flu, maybe. Indeed, he looked pale and had started coughing, and we agreed that after the one hour ride, we’d go straight back to the room so that he could get some sleep. After the helicopter ride, Jay became visibly upset. At first, I attributed it to his not feeling well. Then, as we drove back to Kilauea, he said to me, rather threateningly, “You may have to find a way to entertain yourself while you’re here, because I’m feeling like I really need to be alone.”

I’d known Jason for more than 20 years. I knew that tone in his voice. I knew that this was not out of the ordinary behavior for him, and I also knew that with what he was going through, this was somewhat to be expected. Still, I had flown half way around the globe to be a shoulder for him, and though being in Hawaii was amazing and I wanted to be there, I also didn’t want to spend all my time alone. We went back to the room and I took my book into the kitchen. I sat there reading for a while, but I was unable to concentrate and I thought… “This is silly. Something is wrong and I’m not going to pretend there isn’t an elephant in that room.”

I went into the room and Jay was intentionally avoiding eye contact with me, puttering around pretending to be busy placing books here, cell phones there… I sat down on the bed.

“Can I ask you a question?” I said.

“Sure.”

“Would you be more comfortable if I changed my flights and went home?”

He spun around and looked at me. “What do you mean?”

“I mean: Would you be more comfortable if I called the airline, changed my flights, and left… went home… now.”

“Do I seem that uncomfortable?”

“Yes.”

Jason stiffened. He looked me in the eye, and began telling me all manner of contradictory thoughts and feelings he was having about all kinds of things. About me being there, about him being there, about our friendship, about his marriage, and on and on and on. I sat and patiently listened. It seemed to me that more than trying to talk to me, more than trying to explain something to me, he was working through some of his own things out loud. We talked for quite some time. The conversation became deep, and deeply productive. He admitted to me that he was afraid of my being there. He was afraid of “what I wanted from him.” I assured him, I wanted nothing from him.

As it turned out, Jason had called each of his parents and asked them for help. He had even called his brothers. Each member of his family was either unable, or unwilling to help him. So I said to him, “Jay, you’ve asked God for something. You have told me time and time again that when you pray, God will answer, but maybe he sends you something slightly different than what you had in mind. You asked for family, you got me. I’m here. Now, what do you need help with?”

At that moment, Jay seemed to immediately let go. His facial features relaxed, his breath steadied, he wiped his eyes and said “If I had a wish list, this is what would be on it: There is an Ayurvedic Healing Center across from where we stayed the first night. There is a treatment they offer that I’d like to get.”

“Great. No problem, let’s do it, let’s get it for you.”

“Ok, and I’d also like to get the right foods, I’ll even prepare them, but I can’t keep eating in restaurants.”

“Done.”

“And I need an advocate… I have all these bills; all these bill collectors calling and I can’t handle it. I just need someone to look everything over and help me figure it all out.”

“I will absolutely help you with that.”

He heaved a sigh of relief.

The next day, we went back to Hanalei for breakfast. As we sat at our usual table chatting and working through his many painful issues, I pointed to a small, organic grocery store called Papaya’s behind him. “Do you want to go in and get your food?” I asked him.

At the cash register, Jay started to reach for his wallet. I didn’t even make eye contact, I simply said with solid determination, “Don’t even think about it.” I paid for the food, and as I tucked my ATM card back into my wallet Jason turned to me and said with great humility “Thank you, Witch.” I smiled and replied, “You’re welcome, Rabbit.”

Once Jason’s flu symptoms subsided, we decided to spend a day beach hopping. We went to Hanalei and I bought a bathing suit. I told Jay I’d run to the ladies room and then meet him at the car. As I washed my hands I realized that we’d forgotten to grab towels from our rooms. I went into the boutique beside the ladies room and asked the shop keeper if she had any beach towels? She said she had two left, and pointed to a basket on the floor by the front door. There in the basket, were two rolled up beach towels, each tied with hemp. One was covered with pink, orange and red hibiscus flowers and said “Hawaii” on it. The other towel, however, took my breath away. It was a cream colored background, and had a navy blue, geometric zig-zag pattern. It was the exact pattern on the rabbit in my dream.

I paid the shop keeper and walked back to the car. Jay wasn’t there yet. I opened the driver’s side door and placed his new beach towel on his seat. When he came back, he opened the door, saw the towel and said “Wow… it’s a really nice one.” He looked up at me and said “Thank you.”

We spent a gorgeous day on the beaches of Kauai, and when the time came for me to leave the island, I felt closer and more connected to my friend than I ever had before. Several weeks later, as I browsed a doll, toy, and teddy bear show with my mother, a handsome gray rabbit hand crafted out of antique fur coats looked at me. He seemed to be there for a reason, so I purchased him, packed him up, and mailed him to Jason for Christmas. Rabbit now sits on Jason’s shelf, a reminder not to be afraid of this Witch’s magic.

Writing Behind The Wheel… NOT!

They say that art imitates life. Well, for me, life seems to get into the way of my art. I often wonder… if I didn’t have a day job… if I didn’t have to spend 11 hours a day occupied by things that I “must” do … how soon would everything come bursting to the surface? I know it would be quick; so quick it might overwhelm me, but how sweet that would be.

Today was one of those days when I woke up feeling pretty damn good, and as the day progressed, my half-way decently happy mood was forced right down the shitter. Can I pinpoint specific things that happened to turn me into a negative, depressed, total downer? Yeah, I can… but you’d find it all quite trivial and boring and I’d have to give you all kinds of background information about each incident… and who wants to wade through all that? Certainly not I, after all, I already lived it once, I honestly don’t have the intestinal fortitude to rehash it all and attempt to make it witty and entertaining while I’m sitting here feeling like total shit. Suffice to say that events of the day all conspired to make me feel like God hates me, my life sucks, and I have nothing to look forward to except more of the kind of crap I experienced today.

Once, a few months back, I had decided that it would be a good idea to get Dragon software (despite my hatred of the idea of speaking instead of actually writing; I believe it will kill the art form eventually, but I digress…) so that when I was driving I could get my thoughts down. It seems like when I’m driving (I commute an hour each way back and forth to work) my mind seems to percolate with prose and when I finally get home every thought and brilliant idea I had is either gone from my noggin all together, or I just don’t have the same passion for the topic as I did in the heat of my road rage induced passion. A friend of mine was kind enough to get me the software for my birthday. Naturally, I have been unable to set it up and try it out thus far because my everyday life has simply not provided me with the opportunity to do it yet. So, tonight, yet again as I drove home trapped in a traffic jam of biblical proportions that turned my usual 60 minute ride into a 140 minute ride, my mind was filled with thoughts that I wanted so badly to be able to get into a Word document that I wanted to scream.

Now, here I sit, keyboard in front of me, opportunity to write it all down wide open, and do you think I can muster the passion and eloquence my mind was bursting like a volcano with just a mere hour ago? OF COURSE NOT!!! What does this have to do with my shitty day today? Ugh… see?! That’s just it. In a state of total depression and upset my mind seems to be a writer’s paradise… I get filled with the kind of angst and longing and soulfulness that I can only cure by writing; words pour out of me. Yet when the moment passes I can still recall what I wanted to say but the passionate desire to write it is gone and I find myself going “Eh…” and not doing it.

Tonight, in the deep dark shadows of what was a terrible experience well over a year ago, and the miserable, rotten events of the past 24 hours, a poem was bubbling to my surface. It was intense and raw and had I been in possession of a fountain pen I might have been compelled to write it in my own blood just to make real the idea of my heart bleeding out … but I had no fountain pen… I had no ballpoint pen… hell… I had no Dragon software. So where did that poem go? Where did the 10 paragraph blog post about liars, cheats, and selfish, toxic, disappointing people up and vanish to? I’ll tell you, my friends… those items and more… they never escaped me. They lie in waiting someplace deep inside me. They will return… it’s happened before.

No, that poem isn’t entirely hidden. I see it peeking at me from around the corner. I am not certain if I wish to play hide and go seek with it tonight. So much of me is reeling from the days drama and disappointments. Do I poke the emotional bear and bring it all to life by writing it all down… or do I force it to hide and declare in Scarlett O’Hara fashion “I can’t think about that right now. I’ll think about that tomorrow… after all… tomorrow is another day!” Hmmmm…. Let’s see what the night has in store.

My Oatmeal Caught Me Watching Food Porn

A brief and incomplete list of things I am not supposed to eat: Bacon, fried foods, dairy, gluten, citrus, tomatoes, mint, coffee, egg yolks, dark chocolate, anything too acidic, anything too fatty, or anything too spicy. Do I stick to this? Um…. (points to the sky) HEY! IS THAT A SPACE SHIP?!

The first time a doctor told me that I had to break up with a food was in 1989. I’d been having these sharp pains in my side and when I went to the doctor, based on my family history he said: “It sounds to me like you have gallbladder disease.” I was sent for an ultrasound, and no stones were discovered. He told me, as he checked things off on his clip board in an ‘I’ve-got-other-patients-in-the-waiting-room’ sort of way, “Stay away from bacon, fried foods, egg yolks, orange juice, or anything too spicy. See the receptionist to make your co-pay.” Oh. Ok.

After that, over the years, in addition to gallbladder disease, I’ve been told that I have lactose intolerance, high cholesterol, IBS, gluten sensitivity, and that my stomach is basically an acid factory. (The latter being the only condition I decided to accept medication for, because, quite frankly, I was unable to manage the horrible symptoms with diet alone.) It sounds pretty depressing, but honestly, I’m pretty lucky in that you can feed me pretty much anything. I love whole, natural foods every bit as much as I loved McDonalds as a kid. I always tell people that I’m easy to feed, and it’s the truth. I really do adore grilled salmon with sautéed baby spinach and brown rice. I could have that every night and be totally happy. Chicken breast with cilantro and mixed grilled veggies? Bring it on! Fresh fruit with yogurt or cottage cheese? Pass me a spoon! Quinoa… with pretty much ANYTHING? Hell yes! But ask me if I want a slice of really good  pizza or if I’d like to go get a traditional New England summer seafood plate overflowing with fried scallops and French fries and … after a moment’s hesitation and the odd prayer that I won’t die an hour afterwards… I’m also going to say “absolutely! What time and where??”

Look, I’m half Italian, and my other half doesn’t know it’s not. Stick a slice of sausage pizza under my nose and I’m going to bite. If I get your hand, oh well. And let’s look at that: Gluten laden crust, tomato sauce, dairy melted over the top, and spicy, fatty sausage. So what happens to me when I indulge? It depends: if I have been a good girl for weeks on end, then probably nothing but the addition of another pound or two. But, if I’ve cheated within the last 24-48 hours, let’s just say I’ll regret the indulgence in a big way, and spend a few hours laying on a beach towel on my bathroom floor begging God to forgive me and swearing I’ll never do it again. Of course, He and I both know that’s never lasted very long…

Back in the days when I had cable TV, I watched a LOT of Food Network. Oh, how I loved Emeril Live and Good Eats! Now that I’ve told the cable company to go pound sand with their insane fees, I look forward to Saturday and Sunday mornings so that I can watch Phantom Gourmet.

(If you don’t live in the Boston area, you’re missing out. http://www.phantomgourmet.com/ShowPage.aspx )

Why the interest in looking at food I can’t touch, taste, or even smell? Well, I suppose it’s for the same reason people look at porn. Really sinful foods plated well and shot from seductive angles … cheese bubbling and sauces oozing for the camera… are just enough to calm the odd craving for something that, should I actually consume it, would get me into a lot of trouble. I mean, let’s face it… if I had mozzarella sticks and garlic bread, fettuccini Alfredo and bacon wrapped scallops, crab rangoons and triple layer chocolate cake every time I wanted to, I’d probably already have had a heart attack by now and I’d definitely be ten feet wide.

Despite all these food restrictions and “conditions,” I actually consider myself lucky in that when I walk into a supermarket, I’m fascinated and awestruck by the produce department. It’s goofy, I know, but really… the colors, the shapes, the scents… and my mind starts going off in 50 directions as to what I could do with each lovely fruit or veggie: what I could pair it with, and how I could prepare it. I suppose this is God’s way of helping me through all the horrible food break-ups I’ve had. Someone like me who loves rich, heavy, gooey foods could easily have given up and just continued to eat all of the things I was advised not to, gained 200 pounds, and developed congestive heart failure or just spent my life morbidly obese stubbornly refusing to change my ways… maybe THAT is the non-Italian half of me rearing it’s life-saving head.

I also consider myself lucky in that there are worse conditions I could have. A friend of mine has all of the same ailments as me with the exception of the gluten sensitivity; but she also has conditions that prevent her from being able to eat anything with tiny seeds, or eating garlic, or drinking vodka, and I’m sure there are other things on her forbidden list that I’m forgetting. She and I maintain a healthy sense of humor about our food predicament, and thank God we have each other to laugh with.

If your doctor tells you that you need to say goodbye to a beloved food, or foods, don’t despair. Believe me: It’s truly not the end of the culinary world and if you’re willing to try new things you’ll find there are fantastic things you have been missing out on. If not for my health consciousness I never would have tried sushi, which I would now choose over Alfredo sauce any day. If not for my “conditions” I would never have attempted cooking Thai rice noodles, which I now love enough to marry. And… when all else fails… there’s always food porn.

Video Killed The Radio Star, But Texting Killed The Romance

Did you know that your mobile device has a feature that allows you to talk to your friends in real-time and hear them, as well? It’s amazing! It’s called a “telephone call.” You simply dial a number that’s been assigned to your friend, they are alerted of your desire to talk to them by an audible sound of their choosing (traditionally a sound of ringing bells) and they answer …. Voila! You can talk to each other for hours and hours … or only for a moment, if that’s your desire… and actually enjoy a conversation where the sound of their voice, their infectious laughter, and their tone and meaning are able to come through loud and clear. I know, I know… the technology is mind boggling… but it really works! Trust me; I talk to my friends this way from time to time.

Yes, I’m being snarky. Don’t get me wrong, I do text, and I find it useful and convenient for some things, but really people, what ever happened to the phone call? Especially in male/female relationships? Seriously, have we gotten that lazy that we can’t find the energy and drive to actually SPEAK to the people in our lives? Is it too much effort to actually engage in a real conversation where you have to actually give your undivided attention to another human being for a few minutes? It’s bad enough when my female friends want to discuss something important over text and burn a hole in my cell phone but when a man wants to talk to me… really… if he can’t pick up the phone and speak to me I pretty much get turned off and think “no manners on that one.” Besides, I’m really not into the idea of dating the equivalent of an “app.” If all you’re going to do is text me all the time then I’m better off to just read a book.

The whole point of communicating with someone should go much deeper than just the exchange of random crap like “running ten minutes late,” which, by the way, is what texting should be for. Communication should be a little more of a human interaction than that. It’s stimulation of the brain, the art of conversation, the sound of your voice, the spontaneous changes of subject, the laughter, the connection… you see what I’m driving at here? I have nothing against the texting of a sweet message like “Miss you” or some other small phrase that speaks a thousand words in its ability to convey  that you can’t stop yourself from contacting your sweetie. Those texts are marvelous and romantic and give a girl a serious case of the warm fuzzies and can earn you lots of brownie points to be cashed in at bed time. (Or dinner time, or shower time, or you know… whenever.) It’s also great to get a text when we know you’re in a meeting or someplace you shouldn’t be texting us. Actually, that’s pretty damn hot.

However… when you’re on the sofa, or otherwise engaged in just “killing time” and you text us to “talk,” it’s basically like telling us that we’re pretty much on the bottom of your priority list. I know everyone is into “multi-tasking” now, but come on… human beings are still way more important than machines. Televisions, Wii consoles, laptops, smart phones… they’re going to be there for those moments when you truly have nothing better to do. They aren’t going to pack up and move out of your apartment if you neglect them. One of my favorite sayings in the whole world is “happiness is only real when shared.” It’s something I saw in a movie. (Into The Wild) In all honesty, your relationships with people are truly the things you should be working on in your life. Not just the people you date, but all of the people in your life.

Texting has its place (and so does sexting, actually,) but you can’t base a relationship on it. A relationship should NEVER get to the point where texting is the form of communication of choice. Relationships are supposed to progress and blossom and become stronger and bring people closer. There is an element of human connection that is lost in texting. Things don’t translate clearly, for one thing; sometimes causing unnecessary arguments or misunderstandings. Secondly, with texting, it’s impossible to have an actual conversation: a FULL  conversation. Texting doesn’t convey the true emotion that is in someone’s voice, it doesn’t allow for the natural flow of idea exchange, and it sure as hell doesn’t create bonds between people.  And for the love of God... if I call you and leave you a message, don't respond with a text saying "Hey, got your message. What's up?" If I called, you - have the decency to call me back unless you're suffering from laryngitis.

The next time you have to tell someone something, or ask someone something, or even just want to ask how someone is doing, call them. Get comfy and settle into your chair and actually have a human to human conversation with them. You might recall the sensation from your childhood. It’s an amazing thing, human interaction. It brings people closer together. What’s really great, though, is when that phone call leads to “getting together.” Now, THAT is really something special. Yes, I’m being snarky again, sorry. We all have a little spare time in which to cultivate our relationships; the next time you think of someone, try calling them. It could be surprisingly pleasant. I know for me, the greatest thing is the sound of laughter coming from someone I care about. It just loses something in translation when all I get to do is see the letters LOL. Well, gotta go for now, the phone’s ringing!  (not mine, yours!)

Keeping It Real

“Don’t bottle up your feelings!” Who hasn’t heard that before? It’s true, you know. You really shouldn’t. It’s much healthier on every level to let them out. Bottling up your feelings is really unhealthy. It increases your stress level, and it can actually make you physically sick. So, let all that pent up crap fly. For some people that means talking about their problems, but, for some of us, it means diving into our creative outlet and pouring it all out. If you’re a painter, or if you make music, or if you sculpt, or… perhaps even if you write… you know what I mean by that.

For those of us who tend to “create” when we have something inside, there are options you face when creating. How much of yourself and your inner struggles and emotional bullshit do you actually pour into the project? How honest do you get about it? And, if you choose to take it all the way; really dump your heart, soul and guts into something, do you then show it to the world, or do you slip it into the way back part of the closet behind the ugly clothes you never wear?

I always find it a little silly when I hear controversy about paintings or sculptures that depict things people find “offensive.” Nudity, sexuality… whatever the case may be, if you ask the artist what they were trying to showcase they never say “I’m just really into porn, so I thought… hey… paint naked people getting it on.” Maybe you have to have a different mindset to understand that kind of art than some of the stuffier “shocked” folks have, I honestly don’t know. Personally, that stuff never shocks me. But, I’m into writing… that’s my outlet, and my way of expressing myself and my way of coping… I write. So, especially when writing this blog, the question comes up for me all the time: In attempting to keep it real, how real is too real?

I honestly don’t have any issue with pouring out my personal feelings, my thoughts, my opinions, sharing my most personal experiences or confronting my fears publicly. I really do believe right down to my bone marrow that life is entirely too short to ever hold back. Those of you who know me know perfectly well that I’m not shy about telling you in open wound fashion if I love you, what I think your greatest qualities are, or how important you are to me. I’m also not ashamed to discuss private matters if I think my experiences could help you gain some kind of insight into something you’re going through or if you are considering doing something I have experience with.

No, my issues with keeping it real arise when I consider how things I might share would affect other people. You may have noticed that many times when I tell stories I do so without mentioning names. I do that in the hopes that those I’m speaking of will feel anonymous enough not to be upset that I’ve blogged about them. (*Thus far, those who I’ve mentioned have known instantly that they were the person in my story and nobody has been upset… yet.) As a writer, though, there are so many other stories I’d like to tell… so many other things I’d like to share… so many things I go through that, were it not for the feelings of other people, I’d spill my guts out about in the realest possible fashion.

So enters the cliché: Some things are better left unsaid. Unfortunately, as a writer, this really cuts me off in a way I’m struggling with. How polite is too polite? I mean, if writing is my way of coping, do I simply write these things … get it all out… and then delete the file? More and more I’m coming to the conclusion that that’s not really “getting out of my system” at all. In fact, in some way, that’s bottling it all up. I am struggling with trying to answer the question: When are you being unfair to yourself by trying to be kind to others? I’m not about to post something that I think will upset someone I love, yet what does that leave a truly honest and open person to do when they write? It makes me feel like my hands are tied sometimes.

I’ve often heard the phrase “artistic integrity” and never really thought much about it. I guess I didn’t really consider myself an artist. But I do think writing is an art, and one I couldn’t possibly live without. Keeping this blog real is getting harder and harder… because there are things I want to write about that are my observations and opinions about life. My life, the world around me, the people I know and love, and how I feel about things … it was the whole point of starting this thing… and now moving forward may require that people who know me well realize that writing truly is what makes me whole. I can cope with nothing difficult in life if I cannot write about it, and writing about it cannot consist of hitting the delete key in the end, or leaving a will that states “Ok, I’m dead now. Here’s how I felt.”

So… if you paint, or sculpt, or dance, or create beautiful music… do so in a way that is true to yourself, because if you don’t, you might just as well move yourself to the back of the closet with the rest of your reality. I’ve decided not to live there.

Ghosts of You

There are Ghosts of you everywhere

And I’m supposed to be all right

Ghosts everywhere I look

The door I watched you open

The rug where we made love

The Ghost of you is in this chair

Where I sit to write

I see you

I feel you

I hear your voice

See you smile

I feel your kiss

You’re haunting me

It was just a little while

Yet you haunt

You’re indelible

You just won’t fade away

I keep waiting

Hoping

That someday I won’t see

The Ghost of you

Hear your laugh

And hurt the way I do

Soul mates are forever

And I’m woven into you.

PMS and Other Things That Suck

Hormonal mood swings are one of the lovelier aspects of womanhood. Not only are they lovely for us, but they’re lovely for everyone around us who has to deal with us when we’re experiencing them. Moments of anger, sadness, or total outright bitchiness for no apparent reason… it’s not anyone’s idea of fun.

You know, this is one of those subjects thats been written about by a lot of people and not once have I ever read anything on the subject that didn’t bug me or make me roll my eyes and say “Seriously? They wasted ink on that?” Most articles aren’t helpful at all, and I don’t really find anything written with biting, bitchy humor to be either entertaining or identifiable. I also don’t think I have ever seen anything written on the subject that would give men any kind of idea what it’s like or any kind of accurate description of what we go through. So… what the hell, I might as well take it on, since, at the moment, I happen to be engulfed in it.

I can’t speak for anyone else, only myself and my own experiences with this, and I’ll be honest, this isn’t like… a FUN subject for me to tackle. Honestly, I’m writing about it because writing is how I cope with things in life that suck. For me, there are months when PMS takes the form of “raging bitch” and months when it takes the form of “sobbing mess.” As you probably just guessed, this month has been “sobbing mess.” Actually, it’s been a little of both; I had a couple days of raging bitch and a couple days of sobbing mess. Today has been a roller coaster of both but mostly sobbing mess.

Unfortunately, though there are over the counter pills out there that are supposed to help with symptoms, they really don’t. There are reports stating that women honest to God do benefit from chocolate at this time in their cycle (personally I am a chocoholic anyway, not just when I’m going through this) and that’s a lovely concept… and it’s why women joke about chocolate all the time. Wine, too. You hear us talk about both of them with the kind of enthusiasm most men wish women had for blow jobs or football like they’re magic elixir or something.

I recall being a teenager and talking about this with a friend of mine. We both knew that when we flew into a hormonal rage and acted like lunatics that it was PMS causing it, but we had no control over it whatsoever, and later would feel terrible for things we did or said. We felt like it was awful to have to apologize later, rather than just simply not behave that way in the first place, especially considering that we knew what we were doing in the moment. I can’t speak for her, but for me, at that time, it was literally impossible to control myself. My theory is that as a teenager, the hormonal imbalance must have been much greater.

In my early 20’s I was dating a guy who, one month, after I had been a total bitch and later apologized, said to me “You know, that ranks right up there with ‘I was drunk’; it’s no excuse to treat people like shit for a week and then say ‘oh, I had PMS’ like it’s a get out of jail free card on your Monopoly board.”  Initially, I was really angry with him. After all, it was hormonal and I couldn’t control it. But, the more I thought about it, the more I agreed with him. I knew what I was doing when I was doing it; now I needed to find a way to stop myself from being a bitch.

I happened to be lucky in that my cycle was always something you could set your watch by. Not only did I know what day Mother Nature would show up but for many years, it happened at exactly 6:30 am, give or take 15 minutes. I’m not kidding, I know that’s nuts, but its true. It made it extremely easy to map out when I’d start to experience mood swings. Once I was able to determine when it was going to happen, I started making a huge effort to figure out how to control my words and actions when it hit. I’ve definitely mastered not taking my raging hormones out on the people around me, though I do still get into those uncontrollable bitchy moods. There are days when *I* don’t even want to be around me.

As for the crying part of this lovely condition… well… that’s another story. It’s not really as if crying or being a mess in that respect causes a fight with anyone. Sure, it might annoy the hell out of them, but it certainly doesn’t offend them. I’ve never really battled all that hard against the crying jags, I mean, as a chick, I find the hysterical bawling my eyes out every so often to be cleansing and sometimes I can even laugh about it later. Like when I find myself overcome with emotion because of the coffee commercial where the son comes home from the military and makes coffee to wake up his mom. Forget it, I’m toast on that one.

And that brings us to the really FUN part of PMS. Its like feeling your emotions in some kind of crazy fun house mirror. Weird stuff gets magnified and looks way out of proportion, but seeing is believing in a mirror, and feeling is believing in life. When you have PMS, things that normally bother you a little become these giant insurmountable problems and you believe your crazy hormonal imbalance when it tells you that your life sucks. Before you know it, you’re so depressed that you’re bawling your eyes out and you have no valid reason for it… but you THINK you do.

Today, for example, I got deep into the sobbing mess mentality. I was feeling every single negative thing in my life on a scale so gargantuan that I really don’t know how I got through the work day. Everything in my life that sucks came right to the surface and took over the front and center of my whole existence and ran my thought processes all day. I was talking to a friend and telling her how I was feeling, and as I was listening to myself, I knew that in a day or two, I would not feel nearly as strongly as I did at that moment.

I don’t have all that tough of a life. I mean, I live in the USA, which, to begin with puts a person right up there just in terms of infrastructure and opportunity. I have a good job, I have a lovely teeny little house, a decent car, food on my table, and for the most part… good health. I have a great family of origin, and wonderful friends. I know all of that and I’m thankful for all of it every single day of my life. But, on days like today, things that suck, like having little health problems, being broke, and having a still fairly broken heart over my last relationship all seem like the end of the world. They become so enormous and heavy on my shoulders and unbearable that I just want to crawl under the covers and never come out.

On some level, though, somewhere deep down, I know it’s only a temporary condition, and tomorrow I’ll be me again. And, as I said, I can only speak for me. Yeah, I have PMS and there’s a few other things I have that suck… lactose intolerance, gluten intolerance, arthritis, a crooked spine, bad hips, chronic fatigue, and a budget that leaves me in the red every month… but happiness truly is a choice and if you know that your cycle is frigging up your world once a month then do something about it. Maybe your solution isn’t as simple as mine was. If you’re finding your life disrupted or if you have people in your life who you find yourself apologizing to even though you knew you were wrong in the first place, please talk to your doctor. We are women, and our hormones do flux, but there’s no reason on earth to be unhappy once a month.

Some of us truly do indulge in a glass of wine, some chocolate, a bowl of ice cream, and feel better. Some of us require putting a lot of thought into when to expect it, focus on signs and signals of it creeping in and taking over, and do our best to take control of ourselves. Some actually do need to seek medical help. For me, I know that exactly every 28 days I’m going to host Mother Nature and that 4 days prior I’ll begin to experience moods that “aren’t me.” As they arrive, I have to make a real effort to keep myself grounded and mindful of the world around me and how my words and actions will affect others. That’s not to say I put myself last, not by a long shot. I just try to balance my needs with the needs of those around me, and it’s far more of a thought process on those four days than it is at any other time in life.

Today was a tough day. Worse than I’ve had in a while… but I made it through. Ain’t nuthin' but a thang.

Let’s Talk About Sex, Baby! Part V: Sex… The Final Frontier!

Ever been bored with sex? Ever thought that you’ve seen it all, done it all, had it all, and that there were no more sexual mountains to climb? No more erotic lands to conquer? Call it what you will… whether you blame a seven year itch, or a stale relationship, or if you just think you’ve done everything you ever wanted to do…whatever the case may be, at some point you may have felt that nothing was really ringing your bell the way it was rung when you were young and sex was a grand adventure. 

There’s no question in my mind that the greatest aspects of sex are all in the human mind. The body may do all the work, and the physical aspects of the act; your senses of touch, taste, sight, sound and scent may be the prominent parts of actually “doing it,” but anyone who has ever had an orgasm in their sleep can’t deny that without ever having been touched or touching your partner, those orgasms can be the deepest, most intense, and best ones you ever have. To me, that’s proof positive that sex, above and beyond the act, is in the human brain.

When you’re young and sex is somewhat new, the excitement and adventure all centers around what you’ve heard, what you’ve imagined, what you’ve thought about, heard about and never experienced for yourself. The youth and beauty of the partners, the new places and positions you do it in, and the various “new” things you try. Well… new to YOU anyway. As you try each one; naughty new things… kinky new things… taboo new things… dangerous new things… sinful new things… with all that fresh, new, exciting, hot, crazy sex, arousal levels stay pretty high. But after years and years and years of sex, one day you find yourself thinking… “Where’s that blazing fire? Where’s that orgasm that blows my mind? Where’s that arousal that’s so intense I can’t even function?” Well… I know where it is. It’s all in your head, baby!!! It’s all in your head.

Chances are that you’ve had dreams that have seemed strange to you once you’ve woken up; dreams that left you wondering “Why the hell did that turn me on?” There’s a chance that there have been things people have said or done in your presence that have piqued your interest, and maybe you didn’t understand why, or even want to admit to yourself that they did. My advice to you is this: Don’t be afraid of what’s just under your sexual surface. Allow yourself to wander into those spaces in your mind and explore them. Allow yourself to think about whatever you find strangely intriguing, and let your imagination run wild. Only you are inside your head, and only you can unlock the doors that you’ve subconsciously closed. Open them, and see just how delicious those fantasies can be.

Personally, I’ve got a head full of incredible fantasies that I can dive into and get so hot I can barely stand it. Will I share them with you? No. But I will share them with my partner. That’s the whole point of them: to enhance and embellish the great thing we already have going on. Role playing, having play dates with each other, exploring and sharing with each other in ways that we find exciting. What we want, or what we do doesn’t have to make sense to anyone else. It only has to please us. The ability to be open and share those deep fantasies is one that can lead to incredible sexual places, but there has to be a very solid foundation of trust in your relationship, as well. When you have that the sky is the limit.

Fantasy and imagination are truly the keys to really revving up your engine. The depth of your own fantasies is the only limit to how hot you can actually get, and how great sex can actually be. Now, having a partner who’s down with that would be a beautiful thing, so, obviously I’m going to tell you once again that communication with your partner is key. It doesn’t have to be weird. It doesn’t have to be ‘we-need-to-talk’ heavy and presented as a problem. What it does have to be is honest and there has to be totally open communication. You can’t approach your mate and say “Our sex life is stale” or “I’m bored in the bedroom” or anything that will make them feel like you’re dissatisfied with them, personally, or with the relationship itself. This is strictly about sex. If the relationship itself is healthy and you’re simply looking for that heat and intensity that you’re missing from your youth, there’s a chance your partner probably feels the same way, too.

Only you know your partner and your relationship well enough to know the best way, the best time, and the best angle to approach this from. Personally, my suggestion would be to bring it up when you’re already engaged in a meaningful conversation. Don’t bring it up when you’re trying to pay bills, or when you’re discussing anything stressful or problematic. Bring this up when you’re talking about the good things in life. Bring it up when you’re talking about the positive things, and the things that make you both happy. Make sure your partner knows that you’re still completely attracted to them. Make sure they know that they’re the one you want to share these things with. Make sure that when you tell them you’ve got the hots for some hot sex, that it’s THEM you want to experience it with. And then… get ready to have some of those earth shattering orgasms.

The Fear of "What If?"

It’s not an ancient and mysterious secret that fear keeps us from doing many things. It’s actually a completely well known and “duh” kind of concept, yet for some reason, a lack of willingness to take a leap persists in so many ways in life. “What if” nags at the back of your head… “What if I do X and the result is less than desirable? What if I say ABC and the response is hurtful? What if I crash and burn? What if I end up alone? What if I lose? What if I get hurt?” What if, what if, what if…

Some people seem to have more ambition and drive than others. Some people seem more willing to take chances, to take leaps; some people seem to have a fearlessness that the rest of us can’t comprehend. Some are brave in some areas of life, and not in others. There are so many times when fear can stop you from doing what you need to do, want to do, or dream of doing “someday.” We admire piss and vinegar in people who seem unafraid to do things that, to us, seem to be a high wire act, and, one that we would not be willing to perform.

Intestinal fortitude can be a fine line kind of thing. I look at someone willing to attempt to jump the Grand Canyon on a motorcycle as a completely suicidal moron, but some people may view that kind of thing as daring and gutsy. When I was younger, I remember thinking a friend of mine was crazy for quickly shedding all of his large belongings, packing the rest into an unreliable vehicle and moving across the country without any kind of landing pad, plan, or even a job lined up. Now, I see it as brave as hell and I wish I’d thrown caution to the wind and gone with him. Interestingly, he recalls being frustrated with me back then for my lack of drive and ambition in life. Truly, what that lack really was, was a lack of backbone. I feared the unknown. I feared the “what ifs” and I feared falling on my proverbial face.

But that aspect of bravery in me seems to be limited to things of that nature. Where emotions are concerned, however, I am fearless, though some see me as reckless and emotionally suicidal in that arena. I believe from the depths of my soul that taking chances in this part of life is one that we cannot fear. I believe that where our feelings are concerned, we MUST be fearless and determined. We must be willing to take the chances that could make us the most happy, or leave us the most sad. If we don’t, then we actively cultivate regret.  Perhaps in business ventures or extreme sports you are ballsy, but in spilling your guts you’re chicken.

Think back to the worst emotional hurt from taking a leap that you’ve ever had. Maybe you’re in the midst of it now… or maybe it was years ago. Either way, you lived through it. Painful though it may be, there was life experience in it; there was learning. Most times, where a hurt comes into play, there are good memories as well as bad in whatever the situation was. When the pain is at its zenith, even the happy memories are painful. Everything is painful during that time, but slowly you emerge from it. You learn from it. You honest to God do get stronger as annoying as that cliché is: That which does not kill you truly does make you stronger. (*yeah, you’re not getting out of my blog without a cliché. Sorry.) I think for me, it may be this aspect of getting hurt that keeps me willing to take emotional leaps. I know that if I don’t take the leap, I’ll regret it later. I’ll wonder if it could have been the thing that made a really positive difference in my life, and I know in the back of my head that even if it ends up hurting me… somehow… I’ll still gain in the end.

I get completely irked when I’m watching a movie and a character wants to say something and holds back. It makes me crazy. I scream at the screen, I get so frustrated that I have to remind myself it’s only a movie. In real life when I see someone who has something to say and won’t spit it out, it’s all I can do not to smack them on the back of the head, especially when I know it’s something they need to say to ME. There is only so much guessing you can do in life, and only so much you can coax someone into a comfort zone where they can tell you what’s on their minds. Some people just never find the place inside themselves where they can say “I have to tell you something” take a deep breath, and leap. Even if they open their mouth, sometimes they just can’t get words out. In my eyes, these are the crippled people in the world. I don’t believe you can achieve personal happiness until you’re willing to take emotional risks.

Hurts heal; they’re temporary, believe me. But risks we don’t take can nag and fester for a lifetime at the back of our heads, wondering what might have been. You have one chance at life. This isn’t a video game. If you screw up, you don’t get another guy, and there is no bonus round. If you love someone, TELL THEM. If you tell them and they don’t say it back… yes, you’ll get hurt. But if you love them and you take that leap, and they love you, too, then what wonders you’ve just entered into. There are going to be times you’re going to get hurt. It’s a fact of life. This is not a fairy tale, this is a sometimes incredibly cold cruel world we live in, but it’s the risks you take that pay off that bring you the joys that life is all about. It’s the risks you don’t take that breed regret and unhappiness. So take a leap from time to time. Let go of your fears and say what’s in your heart, even if you fear the outcome. And, if you get hurt, know that this is part of life. We don’t stop having growing pains when we get our diploma. We don’t ever stop having them. Leap, and when you’re hurt, learn. But leap… because some of those leaps will land you in places more glorious than you can imagine. Some of those leaps will land you in the heart of someone amazing and you wouldn’t want to miss out on that, now, would you?

Counsel of The Foolish Souls

For those I love.... ANYTHING.

Believe it.

So many foolish souls...

If you must stay in your cave,

I hope the fire is warm

and the wood pile endless.

When you emerge

Hunt

I’ll not interfere

Merely watch from the forest

Until you’re strong enough

Sure enough

I leave offerings

Anonymous

Foolish souls…

Now in your tribes

Fighting off those who seek to overthrow you

Looking back to days when I hunted by your side

Fondly

Sadly

Yes, there you are,

Still in your cave

Frightened that you may end up

One of the many

Foolish souls

Warm yourself.

Feast well.

Call to the Gods,

Seek their council.

How long does she wait for me?

Rest well in your cave,

Dwelling

Planning

Letting time steal everything

But do not endeavor to join them

Foolish souls

Wishing I still hunted at their sides.

Settling for offerings at the feast

That I have left as gifts

But never knowing the safety of my tribe again.

Mental Spam

This morning, as I was waking up, I was in that sort of half asleep / half awake place and I had a surge of writing energy, which, obviously I couldn’t do anything about because I had to go to work. Also, in the shower this morning I had about a half dozen ideas for blog posts that escaped me by the time I was done drying off. That REALLY perturbs me, how ideas can just leave me like that. How does it happen? The same way that we all have those moments when we say “Oh, crap…. I totally forgot what I was about to say!” It’s because my head is filled with nonsense. You know… every day bullshit that takes up hard drive space? I hate it. I think that as kids, that’s why we have so much pure and fiery creativity and imagination. Our brains aren’t full of spam yet. Now, in adulthood, my head is full of account numbers and driving directions and to-do lists and names of people who aren’t even a part of my life and news stories and all of that horseshit, and there’s really no way of clicking on “delete cookies” … which… by the way… I’d also like to be able to do to my fat ass.

I mean really, is it necessary for me to know that Lindsey Lohan pleaded no contest to stealing a gold necklace? Is it necessary for me to know the names and ranks of the Royal Family or what they wore to William and Kate’s wedding? Is it really going to benefit my life to know that crap? But I know these things. I can’t get away from that sort of useless information, and it’s taking up space in my cranium that I want for other things. I’d much rather be able to remember the recipe for Toll House Cookies or any ONE of those six ideas I had this morning in the shower than to know any of that other garbage that has no bearing on my life or my goals or my family or my health or my happiness.

It’s frustrating as hell that my head is full of this mental junk mail, construction debris and plastic. There’s basically a landfill in my noggin full of shit I’d really like to throw out. When your computer gets slow you delete files to make room. When your house gets too full you have a yard sale. When your closet gets overstuffed you give things to the Good Will. What do you do when your brain is too full? Can I see a hypnotist and ask him to “delete cookies?” Can he make me dump all the useless information that’s causing me to have a system crash whenever I come up with a great idea for writing and then 20 seconds later it’s just… GONE… like I accidentally hit the delete key and there’s not a damn thing I can do to get the file back?

At one time I thought… meditation! That’s it! I’ll clear my head… I’ll make all of that every-day baloney that makes life in the 21^st century stressful and makes it impossible to pull up the files I actually want to use line up and march single file into a little prison cell in my head and I’ll lock the door… meanwhile the creative thought process and all of my wonderful ideas and my happy, intelligent, imaginative thoughts will come out and play and when I return to an upright and locked position it will just flow out and I’ll write like wild fire!!! Unfortunately, as fab as it was in theory… it didn’t work. There was this giant bouncer standing there with his arms folded, looking at me like “All right, lady, you’ve got exactly one weekend to accomplish this, and then it’s back to reality.” I have never been good with deadlines.

Thankfully, my frustration and anger at this situation prompted me to vent to a friend via email. There’s something about writing an email to a trusted friend. It brings out an unedited flood. I guess it’s the fact that he is there to be my friend and listen and understand when I’m being a raving lunatic, so my email is just a stream of ferocious aggravation that, when complete, makes me step back and figure out what’s really bothering me or at least purges some of my mental garbage. That’s how writing is for me. I’ve described it before as a bucket you’d put under a leaky roof. The roof drips, and the bucket fills. Every so often you have to dump the water or you’ll have a flood. That’s why I write. I fill up with words, thoughts, ideas, theories… eventually I have to empty the bucket.

Writers block is horrible for me. It’s like a drought, I guess. When crops don’t get water, things start to shrivel and die. The roof doesn’t leak. I have no ability to function when no words are slowly filling the bucket. However… a tsunami is pretty friggin’ frustrating, as well. I can’t write fast enough, I lose half the ideas, I sure as hell don’t have enough hours in the day to devote to it even if I manage to notate all of them for later use… and that brings about a whole other aspect of 21^st century life that infuriates me…. But that’s a post for another day.

For the moment, I’d like to thank my best friend in the entire world, Jay, for helping me out by being there for me and always being the giant wrecking ball that obliterates that insurmountable wall. Writer’s block literally feels like a wall has been built between me and my creative process. So many brilliant writers have given the advice that you should write every single day, even if you think you have nothing to write about. Entire books have been devoted to ideas of things to write about when this happens. Today, I had to write about writer’s block. It’s amazing to me how much I actually had to say, most of which I spared you from, and how the subject itself actually poured out like that proverbial bucket being dumped. Maybe now I can get on with things.

So, you ask, why bother posting this? I mean, really, what’s the point of making it public? I guess it’s this: Sometimes you have to vent. And by you I mean YOU. Maybe you don’t purge your issues through writing, but whatever it is that seems to be blocking your path in life… kick the hell out of it, whatever it takes. Ready for my cliché of the day? Here it is: We all have our crosses to bear. The thing is that each one is different but no matter what the cross you’re carrying around is, it’s just has heavy and cumbersome to you as this is to me. So get rid of it. Holding it doesn’t help. Leaving stuff that isn’t working alone doesn’t help. Continuing down a path that you know is leading to nowhere doesn’t help… and worse… continuing down a path that you know is leading to  your own annihilation is just… NOT GOOD. So don’t do it. Rise up and fight!!!

Taking Care of YOU

I know the whole world is sick of the saying “Life is too short.” But, it is. Especially in adulthood and in this society that’s paced at warp factor nine. Days fly by in a blur; weeks are gone before we know it, and months slip away at what seems like an impossible speed. When I think of something that happened ten years ago, I can scarcely believe a decade has passed since … well, in the case of the current year, can you honestly believe it’s been a decade since September 11^th? I can’t. Also that year, Lifehouse’s “Hanging By A Moment” came out and the remake of Lady Marmalade by Christina Aguilera, Lil’ Kim, Maya, and Pink was in the movie Moulin Rouge. Doesn’t seem like a decade ago, does it?

As time ticks away we work like ants in an ant hill, going about our tasks almost robotically… get up, shower, get dressed, leave on time… fight traffic, park the car, get to your desk, check email, answer phone calls, attend meetings, meet with customers… before you know it the day is gone and your “to do” list might not have been scratched. Fires sparked up and had to be put out, interruptions happened, things were unavoidable. Meetings had to get moved; personal appointments had to be cancelled in order to accommodate business. And when 5:00 comes each day – are you able to head home to your family? Do you have to work from home in the evening? On weekends?

I call the difference between work and home “The separation between church and state.” Honestly, it’s the best way I can describe it. When talking about the concept of over-eating, people will often say “eat to live; don’t live to eat.” It’s good advice. Simple, to the point, and makes perfect sense. When it comes to separating church and state (or, if you prefer the corporate American term “work/life balance” which I happen to hate,) the same rule applies:

Work to make a living; don’t live just to work.

When was the last time you did the things you’re supposed to do in order to take care of yourself? Not your spouse, not your kids, not the dog, or the house, or the bills… but YOU. When was the last time you had a full physical? When was the last time you had a dental cleaning and check-up? When was the last time you had a night out with your friends? When was the last time you engaged in whatever your favorite past time is? When did you last eat at your favorite restaurant? When was the last time you spent time by yourself doing absolutely nothing? When was the last time you went shopping for yourself? When was the last time you bought something you wanted just for fun? Not something huge; maybe a music download or a favorite old movie on DVD… but for yourself.

Do you ever go into a bakery? Not the one stuffed into a corner in the supermarket, but an actual bakery. Not for any specific reason; not because it’s someone’s birthday or because you have a dinner to go to and need to pick up a dessert – but just because it’s a bakery. Just to look at the gorgeous confections and maybe get a cookie or a really good loaf of bread that’s still warm from the oven. If you don’t: THEN DO IT! Walk into the bakery, inhale the delicious smells, look at all the enticing things in the case, and pick out just one small treat for yourself. Something that looks amazing in its decoration, or something that looks so scrumptious that your mouth waters, or something you haven’t had since you were a kid.

Do you ever go into a pet store? Not because you’re looking for something to take the smell out of a sofa, but just to look at the tropical fish? Do you ever blow off the housework in favor of doing something relaxing and fun? How often do you make it to the beach in the few months we have to enjoy it here in New England? Do you play in the sand? Do you jump in the waves? Do you take walks with no destination, and no purpose other than to be outdoors?

Maybe none of these things appeal to you, but I guarantee there’s things that you love that you haven’t done in a dog’s age. The bakery, the tropical fish tank, the beach… these are all things that feed the soul. Things that get your brain out of that stagnant work mode and remind you that you are alive. If you don’t find the things I’ve mentioned here appealing then do something YOU love. Even if it’s only for a half an hour.

And hey...call your doctor, and your dentist… call the optometrist if you go there, too. Make appointments and keep them. Bring everything up to date. Take care of yourself and feed your soul. When you do that, you’ll be happier and healthier, and it will carry into every aspect of your life. It will rub off in your relationships. It will make the sunshine a little brighter, the food taste a little better, and the absurd in life a little funnier. We all have to work. We all have to take care of business, but life is a gift and when it gets tedious and stressful and frustrating… that’s when you have to step away from the ordinary routine and remember the small things that bring an enormous smile to your face and actually go and do some of them. You weren’t put here on this earth just to be an ant in an ant hill. So, get out in the world, and remember why you’re really here. Remember why you have a job in the first place: To support yourself so that you can have a life.  

The Sex Was Great! Let’s Talk About Sex, Baby! Part IV

Remember Kelly Lebrock’s annoying Pantene commercial in the late 80’s? “Don’t hate me because I’m beautiful!” It was a great line, and we all used it… picking on each other, laughing at ourselves, and basically taking it for what it was; a joke. But there are women out there who will tell you that beauty is a curse. Being really, truly, drop-dead gorgeous … the kind of gorgeous that turns heads when you walk into a room, the kind of gorgeous that doesn’t require make-up, hair styling, or flashy clothes. The kind you can’t get away from… it can be a major curse. I do understand that. I mean, imagine trying to talk to someone; trying to make a point about something, and having them so mystified by your appearance that they couldn’t hear you. That’s got to be severely frustrating. So, too, I find, is being “great in bed.”

Yeah, that’s right… I’m bragging… I’m great in bed. Deal with it. If you want to think I’m telling you I rock the house down because I want you to be jealous or because I’m trying to get attention, think again. (For the record, I’ve been celibate for the past year. The reason why, at least at first, was a heart so horrifyingly broken that the idea of anyone touching me was just too much to bear. I couldn’t even deal with dinner, much less deal with sex. I did go on one date a few months back. Nice guy; pretty easy on the eyes, polite, articulate, we had a lot in common… but when the check came and I realized the date was coming to a close, the idea that he might try to kiss me chilled my blood so cold that I couldn’t even fake a polite excuse. I haven’t bothered with attempting another date. If you’re out there, Jim, sorry about that. I know it’s a terrible thing to say, but it’s the truth of the matter: It wasn’t you, it was me. Lately, though, the celibacy has been because I haven’t met anyone I want to sleep with, and, as far as sleeping around goes… been there, done that.)

I’ll be the first one to tell you how much I adore sex. The pleasures of a man’s body are positively boundless. There’s a reason why, when people have incredible experiences in life, they compare them to sex. It’s because sex is the be-all, end-all of our existence. You can argue that point any way you like, but great sex is better than great anything else. In my early twenties, I went through a period of unabashed promiscuity that would make a hooker blush. Don’t ask me how many men I’ve slept with because I honestly don’t know. And, FYI, I’m not ashamed of that. I’m not proud of it, either. It just is. I was young, I was pretty, I was built, and it seemed I could have any man I wanted…so I did. I loved the first time with each one so much; it was such an exhilarating feeling. I don’t know about anybody else, but for me, first times are just about the height of physical sensitivity. There is no more erotic feeling than that of the first time you touch someone and feel their body temperature, their heartbeat, their skin against yours. The tension, the nervousness, the newness of it all is something you can never, ever recapture.

I just wasn’t someone who was ashamed of my body, or uncomfortable with my sexuality, or even concerned with lady-like modesty. I never quite understood the concept of Catholic guilt, even though I was raised Catholic. I wanted to experience the men I dated, not just run down some scripted small talk, be paranoid about spilling salad dressing on myself and then sit by the phone hoping he’d call the next day. I still can’t stand the thought of that; it’s so phony. I’m a passionate person and when I met men I think it was obvious that, although I wasn’t throwing myself at them, I wasn’t like most women, either. Maybe it has something to do with being raised predominantly by my father, but for whatever reason I’ve always identified more with men than women. I just find that men are easier to talk to, easier to get along with, more easy-going in general. So, I spent a lot of time with them. Men are so terribly attractive to me. The way a man’s body feels, the sensation of the muscle tone underneath their skin, the smooth yet slightly abrasive sensation of a freshly shaven face, the deep gravelly tones of a male voice, the Adam’s apple, and honestly, there is nothing like a pair of big, strong hands on a man. Testosterone just makes me weak in the knees.

Aside from the sex, each one of those men had some kind of impact on me. These dates weren’t just a pick up followed by a tawdry one-night stand. I didn’t see each guy one time and say “See ya!” I dated them, just nobody serious and nobody for any extended periods of time. The dates always involved a lot of conversation, most times on a pretty deep level. Beyond the bedroom, there was a lot of learning and sharing going on with them, and it was equally as satisfying. I never slept with anyone I didn’t want to sleep with. I slept with all of them, and it was because I wanted to. If that makes me anything less in anyone’s eyes then they’re shallow and they don’t know a whole lot about life; and dare I say, they’re somewhat repressed. This was a period of exploration in my life and one that I enjoyed and wouldn’t trade. Dating all of those men was wonderful, and yes, sleeping with them was, too. I don’t apologize for it, I got a lot more than sex out of those men, and anyone who uses anyone else for just sex isn’t having all that great of a time.

One of the greatest things I learned from them was that what really, truly turns a man on above and beyond anything else, is a woman who is confident enough in herself, comfortable enough with herself, and has the self esteem to let go of her inhibitions in the bedroom. In a committed relationship, men do equate sex with love. They do see how you relate to them in bed as a sign of how you feel about them. Whether you trust them, whether you’re honest with them, whether you feel bonded to them; they seek that out physically. Whereas women want open, honest, intense conversation and think that relationship bonding  develops from that, and want to know what men are thinking, what they’re feeling, what they dream about… well… men simply aren’t as complicated as all that.

Men want open, honest, intense shared sexual experiences. Men want that from you because when you let go, when you share yourself, your fantasies, your inner trollop with them, (hmm… how do I put this delicately?) it makes them cum like a goddamn freight train from hell. Truly, that’s what they want to share with you. They want to give you that same thing back. If you want to have that open, honest, intense conversation that will bond you with your man, try starting out by talking about sex. It’s not to say that’s ALL that men want, but it’s a definite crossroads between the sexes. And if you open up to him about sex, he’ll open up to you about other things.

Now then, I told you all that so I could finish telling you this: There are times, for me anyway, when being great in bed has come to haunt me. Men I’ve slept with in the past, old flames and men who broke my heart so badly I can scarcely believe it will tell me how amazing I was in bed, and although the logical side of my brain knows that it’s meant as a compliment, the feminine, more emotional side of me remembers the conversations, the laughter, the inside jokes, the shared experiences that took place outside of the bedroom, and just wants someone who once made love to her to say, “more than anything else I remember your heart.” And leave off the “and the sex was great!” Somehow, though, I suppose that knowing I gave them my heart when I gave them my complete and honest, uninhibited self in bed, I should be flattered that they recall the physical aspects of our relationship so fondly. Those men who’ve broken my heart, they remember a woman who was a hellcat in bed. A woman who was willing to explore, a woman who indulged their fantasies and made them feel like mighty Zeus – and they all made love to me that way, too.

After all, I loved each and every one of them with everything I had. Each of them brought about physical and emotional sensations with their very existence; first with the way they looked, their smile, their voice and their scent, then with the way they spoke and expressed their thoughts, and then the feel of their skin, the texture of their hair, the vast differences in the way each of them laughed and touched and kissed and made love. And each of them, each of these very different men never ceased to surprise me in their minds, or in their hearts. They were never what I expected but they were all great, and I wouldn’t trade one single experience, broken heart or not. But please, boys, remember, though I may have torn the roof off of your bedroom, and yes, the sex was great, I am a whole person with a lot to give, and aside from sex, I also gave you my heart.