Been feeling a little blue (which always manifests as bitchiness)...yesterday realized that it was my 1/2 birthday, then found the list I composed six months ago of all I planned to accomplish this year...could only check one thing off...got a raise...yeah! for me. Everything else, not so much.
Lose 40 pounds (gained 20).
Stop watching TV (bought a new one with HD).
Find a husband (should have paid for the 6 months Match.com guarantee!).
Release the bitterness (EMBRASSING IT).
Blog (better, late than never).
Thursday, September 22, 2011
Sunday, December 6, 2009
Saturday, June 6, 2009
Monday, April 6, 2009
It occurred to me, that while most women are seeking mates who live up to their fathers, big brothers, or other fantasy males (e.g. Brad Pitt, Will Smith, Bill Gates), I've been holding out for a man who measures up to my lesbian friends. Seriously. Someone who is as responsible, respectful, secure, kind and compassionate as my ladies who love other ladies.
This isn't a coming out piece. I'm quite happy loving and desiring men, and according to The Kinsey Scale, I am 99.9% heterosexual. However, I now understand what attracts straight women to women who are not. Lesbians are like super-girlfriends...they take care of you in a way that Carrie, Miranda, Samantha and Charlotte could never fathom.
I've always been a girls' girl. I have a large circle of female friends. They are my best friends, sisters, soul mates. The ones who've held my hand through all of life's disappoinments and who cheered when things went very well. And yet, when love came into their lives, and men became their central focus, things changed. Thin walls were erected as the protection of these romantic unions and their offspring became the necessary priority. And my single girlfriends? For the most part, they are experiencing several of the same issues as I. I often wonder if there is a silent competition for men and security that keeps us from being 100% in each other's corners 100% of the time.
Male friends? I'm starting to believe in the premise of WHEN HARRY MET SALLY. I once thought I had several close male friends, but as time wore on, and true loves were found, our bonds faded. Again, perhaps necessarily. And the ones who remain single...there's a reason why they haven't attached to anyone. With very few exceptions (honestly I can only think of one), they are more insecure, more hyper-critical, more judgmental than I can handle. I'm fragile enough these days without the "help" of their constant analysis.
Which brings me back to my super-girlfriends. I have been astonished by the kindness and support I've received. Most friends will say, "How can I help?" And then it's on me to come up with the list. My super-girlfriends just do shit--without my asking. A card will arrive in the mailbox with a check and a note, "Hope this helps. Repay when you can!" An email will pop-up, "XYZ is looking for execs, I put in a good word for you. They are expecting your call." There'll be a knock at the door. "I went to Whole Foods, and I know how much you love their organic meats, so here you go." And it's all done in such a loving way, that I don't feel like a charity case. I feel like someone's got my back.
And perhaps it's because I've done such a poor job of picking potential mates that I can say in all honesty, that I've rarely felt so supported by any man.
But I believe he's out there.
Dear Mr. Future Husband,
I know you're warm, kind, secure, funny, loving, accepting, and smart. And I trust that you're on your way to me. But seriously, I need you to hurry!!
You Future Wife
Thursday, April 2, 2009
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
Watching Star Jones on OPRAH today I was reminded of a monologue I'd written for HOW I BECAME A BITTER BARREN SPINSTER BITCH. Seems that those of us who use food to deal with life's trauma/dramas employ similar methods to mask our discomfort. It's entitled: KEEPING UP APPEARANCES.
I want to lose 10 pounds. I always want to lose 10 pounds whether I need to lose that exact amount or three or four times it. I’ve learned to play up my other attributes depending on what the scale reads.
130 + 10 and I go from a 36 B to 36C. I likes the growth. I head straight to Victoria’s Secret to purchase an Angel bra to properly display my new heavenly assets. I appreciate the attention I’m shown for my purchase.
130 + 20 and my skirts get a little shorter to show off my sculptured legs. They are strong and curvy, and capable of supporting my weight. They never let me down. I reward them with lots of cocoa-butter.
130 +30 and it becomes all about my eyes. Extra eyeliner - plumper, darker lashes - a perfect frame to attract men to my big brown eyes.
130 + 40 and it is all about my lips. I outline them in a dark plum pencil, smooth the color over the fullness of my cupid’s bow, and apply a shiny gloss. I know my lips are sensual, and the more attention paid to my lips, I pray, the more folks will pay attention to what is coming out of them, rather than what is being shoveled in.
130 +50 and the hair always has to be done. Honey, I can’t risk people thinking that I’m not taking care of myself. I page through the magazines, pick a weave and book weekly blow-dries.
130 +60 always means a trip to the Neiman Marcus cosmetic counter so some kind girl can teach me how to draw attention to my perfect pimple and wrinkle-free skin. I make sure I glow and can give the appearance of being really, really happy.
130 + 70. And it’s all about the accessories. I purchase a slew of sandals, handbags, and sunglasses. I always have to have a fly pair of shades, and I make sure that I am properly manicured and pedicured. Trust me, I really am my flyest at 200 pounds!!
It costs me more to be heavy than thin, but I’m always rewarded when someone says, “Girl, you’re always so well put together!”
I then respond, “If only I could lose 10 pounds!”