Thursday, November 8, 2012

Don't Mess With Sex: Us

"sisters are doing it for themselves..."--Eurythmics & Aretha Franklin






Just saying.







Thank you. 


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Thursday, November 1, 2012

Hard: A Memory

"that's when I saw a light/a glowing paradise/thought i'd stay awhile..."--Alicia Keys


Before I fell in love with television and movies, I wrote mainly short stories and what remains my quietly adored love: poetry. It's been awhile since this and even longer since this, but lately it hasn't stopped.

Tonight I felt another one coming on. Enter at your own risk:


HARD

Hard.
I made you
Hard
the first time you leaned down to kiss me, I was sitting and I could feel you getting and my heart was so
Hard
from the pain of the recent past
I had been broken and humiliated by a dream I got too close to,
a reality I'd imagined but could not handle; I was alone, without a vision for my heart, no hope for the future, sliced open like an oozing wound, ripe for infection.
And there you were,
clean and sterile,
it seemed. I never dreamed it would get so
Hard.
And your bed was too, some transitional, temporary feeling of a temporary situation in your temporary place. It was
Hard
underneath my jeans, my legs. And your body was too-
Hard,
a rock in the middle of my ocean, suddenly something to hold on to. It was in that kiss
just a kiss
clean and good and something new
amidst the old chaos I'd gotten used to.
The insight was impeccable and suddenly I could see,
accept what I had once rejected, and I knew--
we were missing pieces,
no accident,
no chance. It was
Hard
to leave, but I did, and it was
Hard
to forget how good we felt as I went through the days before I saw you again.
And as I peeled back the layers and shattered the glass inside, I saw my reflection in the pieces and it made it
Hard
to pretend. I went for honest, for open, for broke,
planning not to fall but it was too
Hard.
I gave in and gave all--
the good and the bad--
too soon, too much, too often. My heart got so tender but your heart got
Hard.
And it got
Hard
to talk. Then it got
Hard
to touch, then it got
Hard
to even be. I tried, but I tried too
Hard.
I still think of you.
Still spiritually connected to the idea of you, the pregnant promise of us as I got kissed by unintended and touched by unexpected, caressed by coincidental
Undone by Unplanned--
before it got
Hard.
Even as it floats farther from the shore, too far to grasp
I still toss the vacant possibility over in
my head and it's just so
Hard
to imagine.

You.
You made it too
Hard
and I made it too
Easy
And both of us were wrong.


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Tuesday, October 16, 2012

Be Afraid.

"i'll be the last to help you understand/are you strong enough to be my man?" --Sheryl Crow


Today, I found myself thinking about how some women are constantly all "I think men are intimidated by me" and their friends are all [insert faux-concerned face] "You think so? You know what, you're probably right!". One of my good friends says this--that she intimidates men--pretty frequently, frequently enough that she has clearly moved beyond just thinking it and is actually totally invested in the theory. Now, the girl is whip smart, beautiful, and highly entertaining. So, practically speaking, one would think her hypothesis held some truth. Fast forward to the real truth and nothing but the truth and it might not be that men are intimidated by her so much as they're terrified of her. And not in a "she's so beautiful; what do I do?" kind of way, but in more of a Glenn Close/Carrie/Isla Fisher-in-Wedding Crashers kind of way. "I would fiiiind you!!"

Which got me thinking about my theory that all women are crazy and that it's only the manifestations and degrees of craziness that vary. As an unattached woman, I can never call the kettle black without glimpsing in a mirror. So I began to wonder: When it comes to my own personal craziness, is it all pretty innocuous or is there a bit of scary there? Why, yes, I realized, there most certainly is.

There are some pretty amazing things about me as a woman. I'm very smart, I like to think I'm funny, I'm fun, I'm attractive, I can cook my arse off, I'm deeply spiritual, generally chill, loyal, charismatic,and I love God, people, and kids (most of them at least). So what lies underneath, you ask? Why, let's see.

The Top Nine Scariest Things About Me As A Woman

9. I'm a writer. And I'm a pretty serious writer, seeing as how it's my actual career and not a hobby, and therefore I spend a lot of time in solitude, digging pretty deep, and the stuff that's excavated isn't always cute. Because of this--

8. I'm attracted to films like Crazy/Beautiful, When A Man Loves A Woman, and basically any film where a man deeply loves a woman who's a hot crispy mess of emotions and startlingly poor errors in judgment. Most terrifying is that I profoundly identify with these characters.

7. I'm a daddy's girl. Not in an obnoxious way, but I pretty much adore my father which might turn off a lesser man. Good thing I don’t deal with lesser men.

6. I suffer from terrifyingly real PMS. Not just PMS of the cramps-fatigue-can't-button-my-jeans variety, but like, PMDD. My hormones are totally whacked. I get hot as hell, crampy as hell, exhausted as hell, and worst of all, I get mad as hell. It truly is hell, and honestly, I really avoid just about everybody the first day and sometimes clear up until Day 3.

5. I love Mariah Carey. And that should scare every man. Not that men listen to her lyrics, but if they did, they would get a whiff of the creepiness that wafts from that obsessive, morbid vulnerability all women quietly pray doesn't bust out Spaceballs-style at the wrong moment. Mariah leaves blood on the floor with her heartbreak ballads; you can genuinely feel the gaping open wound that was her pride and semblance of dignity through the speakers. Chillingly, I admire this and can play her stuff on repeat for hours.

4. Deep down, I'm a drag queen. Not really, but kind of. I am in a long-term, serious relationship with hair and makeup and anything else related to beauty--and there's not a lot I won't sacrifice to make sure both are on point 99.99% of the time.

3. I'm OCD. Once I start something or set my mind to a task, I have an epic, autistic level of determination to get it completely done before I can eat, sleep, or use the bathroom. True story.

2. I'm a clean freak and get grossed out super easily. I struggle with this, because I realize I have largely unrealistic ideas about how clean other people should be, and when they aren't up to code I'm totally disgusted. I am particularly anal about feet and cannot get into a bed or any other enclosed space with someone who has not washed theirs. I can't tell you the silent screams deep within my soul when I behold an unkempt bedroom or bathroom. I think I may have missed my calling as a hotel maid. I get great satisfaction from making the unsanitary immaculate.

1. I talk to myself. A lot. Every day. I can't even tell you half of the conversations I have with me, but the dialogue (monologue?) is ongoing. In fact, this is one of my greatest fears about getting back into a relationship--I've doubted for years that anyone else but my ex could ever deal with the mild-to-moderate psychosis that is evident from my self-talk of homeless proportions.

And there you have it, all my crazy, encapsulated. At least I'm good in bed.

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Monday, October 1, 2012

Let's Talk Titties

"when i think about you i touch myself..."--The Divinyls


First off, as I put on my Facebook page and my other Facebook page, today begins Breast Cancer Awareness Month, a month concerning a disease I lost my mother to 20 years ago. She was diagnosed with the disease almost 30 years ago.

In that time, there have been countless advances. All of the "experimental" things her doctors tried in the near decade she fought this disease have been perfected in many ways and are now commonly used to treat and eradicate. So instead of starting this important month begging folks to pray and hope for a cure and run in races and turn Facebook pink and all of the other amazing things we do as a society to make this disease smaller--which is all wonderful, don't get me wrong--for a moment, I just want to stop and literally thank GOD for all we now know about this type of cancer, how often it's caught early, and how treatable it is when caught early. Breast cancer, while still scary and heinous, is no longer an automatic death sentence. Let's all give thanks to God, Jehovah Rapha (the Lord that heals), for that!

All that said, I want to encourage all the ladies to FEEL YOURSELF UP!!! Not like that...I mean, do what works for you--but like this:



Every month, post-period. Doing it about the same day in your cycle monthly will increase the chances of discovering any major changes in tissue or breast composition more quickly. Happy Boobies:)

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Thursday, September 13, 2012

Us V. Them

"convince me to please you/make me think that i need this too..."--Sara Bareilles



"I'm good. Just working and trying to get a ring on this finger."

I clicked out of Facebook. Really? I hadn't spoken to this dear college friend in years, and of all of the updates in the world this beautiful, elegant, supremely well-educated cosmopolitan young woman could write me, it was that she was actively working towards a diamond. In the moment, reading that was like opening a two-tablet pack of depression and dumping it into my morning coffee.

What was this "trying" of which she spoke? The concept felt familiar (we are twenty-first century American women, after all), yet somehow just as foreign. Was I missing something?

Getting married is something I see in my future--but not as a goal, per se. I don't and have never aspired to marriage, certainly not in the same way I press towards professional success. But the more I thought about my old friend's comment, the more I wondered if there was something wrong with her...or if there was something wrong with me? With she and probably legions of other girls "trying", what does it mean not to? I thought of a Gandhi quote I love that reads, "satisfaction lies in the effort, not in the attainment--full effort is full victory." I apply this to my career all the time. But what about the flip side, one's personal life? What if there is no effort?

If I'm not trying to get married, then what exactly am I trying to do?


I really enjoy being single, perhaps to an unnatural extent. I was born into a very nuclear home where my parents modeled a fun, supportive, healthy marriage during my formative years, and consequently I do find some things attractive about the notion. But, perhaps as a result of being an only child, I also love freedom and crave solitude. I like being able to disappear and not having to report my comings and goings to anybody. I'm independent and self-reliant, a hardened shell I'm not in a rush to shed.

As more of my friends marry (even and especially some of the most unusual suspects), I find myself approaching the conversation around romantic relationships from an increasingly defensive posture, having to champion my personal choices not to explore certain relationships or make certain concessions, without really wanting to. Because I'm not the girl who's anti-marriage; in fact, my closest friends' wedding days have been some of the happiest days of my life. But I don’t date often because it's genuinely not that high up on my present priority list. Perhaps it should be, but until I'm comfortable in my career skin--which speaks to my purpose and my calling--I personally find it extraordinarily difficult to focus on such matters.  Friends who used to support my position have married and not only expect me to as well but in some cases desperately desire that I "find" a husband. Women who used to hang tough in the resolve to get where we were going in life have abandoned the fight, gotten married and pregnant and settled into a comfortable plateau that's markedly far away from the goals they set out to achieve.

I don't begrudge them this remarkable joy, but I find that they often begrudge mine.I don't poo-poo the notion that someone could come in and snap me out of my one-track mind without cheating me out of my dreams, and I would welcome the person who is so spectacular and amazing that I could safely place him above my primary concerns. He just hasn't met me yet. But don't tell girls who have already taken the plunge that. There's a pervasive belief that a 30 year-old unattached woman is simply subversive--overly picky and making bad life decisions that will stick with her for years. Friendships change with age already, but as any unattached woman knows, when you're single amongst a bunch of marrieds, there is an inherent vilification that occurs. You become less of who you are and more "that girl": the rebel, the interloper, and finally, the threat.

This us-versus-them female culture is something new to me. No one mentions this phenomenon when you're younger because everyone assumes you'll be married by 29. And when you're not, weird things start to happen. Older relatives who never hopped in your business before open conversations with marriage questions. Parents, specifically, approach the dating topic with a tone usually reserved for telling you something is wrong with a grandparent. My father, who is the most nonchalant of men, actually asked me recently to tell him about some "prospects". As though I was purchasing real estate or waiting to hear back about a job.

And your friends. They inquire about anyone you're seeing with a faux-indifference so insincere that you can almost smell the hope on their breath. If you are seeing someone, there are a million questions about him, most of which are so intrusive and personal that you have zero answers. If you're not seeing someone, they say something patronizing like "it's so about to happen!" or tell you you're pretty. Um, duh.

So it's when I consider this vastly uncomfortable position that I find the empathy for my old friend's concentrated efforts to cop her fourth-finger-left-hand's sparkly lifetime ensemble. Perhaps it isn't about the promise of a wedding or the security or even the procreation.

I realized she probably just wants her friends back.

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Thursday, August 9, 2012

"he is my lover/my baby's father/my lifetime partner/and my friend...."--Tamia


"Today, I marry my best friend." Most women cream over this statement--evidence by its gross overuse in the romantic comedy genre--but I'm calling crap.

When I make the leap into marriage, I want to partner with a man with whom I am deeply in love, one who trusts me, respects me, admires me, rides for me, and loves me wholly and only. Someone who has my back and my front. Someone who won't break my heart. Someone who will be a great father. What don't I need him to be? A best friend. That's because the vast majority of my best friends have vaginas, which are, shall we say, less than arousing to me. Most of my best friends have been and are women, save a couple special guys--one of which is actually a San Francisco-based homosexual. Needless to say, we're not getting married.


Maybe I'm crazy, but I'm not waiting for the guy who would be the most fun to rock out a road trip with or who's down to hit the Forever 21 clearance rack. I'm actually much more interested in whether he can hold me down and lay the pipe.

Now, don't get me wrong: While I admit I find something mildly nauseating about the whole "I fell in love with my best friend" jig, I'm not down on it. Some people are in, in fact, literally in love with their very best friend--sometimes even fall for someone who was their best friend first--and more power to them. In the words of the timeless Bernie Mac: "That's a beautiful thing". My concern is that we--and by "we" I mean "women"--have culturally added this 'best friend' qualification to the already lengthy list of things men need to be, have, and do in order to snatch "Mr. Right" status. In addition to the spiritual, financial, and physical needs women should anticipate, some of us now spend time waiting and looking for a man to fill our trough of emotional needs while sinking our own ships with the weight of unachievable expectation.

I, for one, am not looking or waiting for a best friend. I have plenty of those. My interests are the guy who can fill the shoes and play the role of a man, not the girlfriend I cry to about my period. Slapping a "best friend" moniker on a relationship as deep a marital one is actually a bit dangerous. It demeans and trivializes a bond that transcends friendship. Having children, building a home, paying bills, sharing families, and going through all types of trials and tribulations with someone for decades at a time does, in fact, call for friendship. But a dial-down is necessary. The stress that the "best friend" narrative creates is an albatross to the woman making a decision on a partner, not to mention the burden it creates in the actual partner. The glue of a marriage is commitment, and while assigning an after-school special spirit to the union might sound cute, the reality is that the nucleus of a marital relationship isn't BFF status: It's Love.

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Tuesday, February 21, 2012

Friends With Kids

"let's go half on a baby..."-R.Kelly

Jennifer Westfeldt, writer and producer of one 2001's Kissing Jessica Stein (a hilarious and poignant semi-romcom...you'd have to see it yourself to discover why I'd never call it a full-fledged romantic comedy), is at it again. She's written and directed Friends with Kids, which looks pretty darn funny. It certainly has a great cast. I look forward to it, anyhow. Check out the trailer after the jump.




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Wednesday, February 8, 2012

Fun With Wordle

"who are you when i'm not looking..."-blake shelton


Wordle: The B Is Crazy

















I decided to plug this blog's RSS into Wordle in order to discover my most commonly used words since I began the blog. "Love" ranked higher than "orgasm". Good thing I'm not a betting woman.

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Wednesday, February 1, 2012

Daily BIC: Birth of A Nation

"let's go half on a baby..." -R.Kelly



Have I become psychic? Because I see a whole mess of unwanted unplanned infants and a plethora of bitter lawsuits against Pfizer Pharmaceuticals in 2012.

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