GUEST POST: how to say the hard stuff OR not even in the face of armageddon

This is Chris

My dear and very wise friend Chris, who has been reading my blog since its beginning (it is the very source of our friendship) and helping me work through the muck of life, love, and spiritual growth, wrote this beautiful guest post for us today. It was inspired by my post A Heart's Gamble, and I am so happy to share his insights here.

Enjoy...

-----------------------

I once spent two and half years working up the clarity / confidence in my choice to tell a woman that as much as I loved her, deeply, profoundly loved her, I was not truly happy in the relationship with her because she and I wanted different things out of life, or at least to live in ways that did not bring me closer to her.  It was *excruciatingly* difficult to commit my future to that path, of ultimately living without her in my life.  The (many!) times I thought about it and what it would mean... and what could I possibly be thinking that I would give up all the extraordinary times we had together in hopes that I would somehow find something "better"?  What kind of fool did I think I was?!...  I waffled.  I tried all kinds of things to make it work, to contort myself for us to fit better -- and I know she did a lot of that too on her end, for sure.

I had numerous conversations with friends and family along the way to sanity check myself.  My best friend gave me lots of wisdom and a broader perspective.  My brother gave me a lot of practicality, but empathy all the same.  Nevertheless, in terms of the positive benefits my suffering could bring to the world, my mom was the most interesting one to talk to about what I went through.  My dad had divorced her only after 20+ years of marriage counseling and trying and trying... and trying.  They just weren't right for each other.  She gave me, in her own way, a woman's perspective of being on the receiving end of a serious breakup, and I gave her, much to my tangential happiness, a perspective on what a man's side of instigating such a breakup could be like.  That it was hard.

The reality is, I have been unskillful with women.  I have done and said the worst possible things at the worst possible moments.  Usually things I thought were innocuous and sometimes took me years to realize what a horrible thing I done to that poor woman's psyche.  I certainly hope they have recovered well, and at least learned something useful from my horrendous mistakes.  I myself have learned a great deal from my "failing big" and am very, very enjoyably much more skillful now, but even now I still have no strong knowledge of how to handle situations where really deep feelings are involved.  Hell, even when incredibly superficial feelings are involved on both sides: how do you, compassionately, tell a chick you know just came over because she was horny, "btw, I don't want you to sleep here tonight, can I get you a cab?"  Sometimes there's just no easy way to say some things.

So, how, in what was unquestionably the most serious relationship of my life to date, how could I possibly know the right thing to say, to express my real feelings, to be heard and understood that I had my own needs, but that they did not correspond with what she wanted (to remain with me)?  It hurts me deeply to hurt women.  I *love* women, I love taking care of them, treating them well and making them feel safe and comforted.  But as I am a monogamist, I can not do this for all women for all time...  The women I take some time with to explore and see how we fit, learn about her -- and learn about me! -- well...  Statistically, there are going to be more breakups than lifelong relationships that result.  But I remain nevertheless anxious that even after the hurt, somehow, *somehow*, I can find a way to impart to each one the knowledge and certainty that I cared so deeply for her, want her to be profoundly happy and wish with all my heart that a better guy for her than me shows up just around the corner.  And all the while I feel as though she is going to hate my guts no matter what I say, no matter how hard I try -- especially if I am actually _honest_ with her about my feelings, god forbid!

I do not begrudge the women of the world their bar hopping in the aftermath, telling their friends -- or random strangers, or the very next guy they hook up with for a night to forget... -- any stories they can think of that paint their ex-men in the worst possible lights so they can all commiserate on how men are scum, or at least that particular one.  But by the gods I wish it was not so.  Holy fuck I wish there was a way to demonstrate/share/empath the struggle and pain and frustration that goes into the desire to find an, honestly, _better_ happiness -- but still acknowledging that it was indeed a happiness before with that woman.  To know that a woman I cared so deeply for, and gave so much of myself to, that she would remember me fondly and know that I do still, until the end of all days, care for her, in a different way, yes, but deeply care all the same.

When my mom, over time, came to acknowledge that I was clearly greatly concerned about the happiness and well being of the woman I was contemplating leaving behind, she developed at least a hint of appreciation for what my dad went through.  That was so hopeful for me, that at least one woman saw that the guys who do/say these things to them are not cold heartless sociopaths who were lying about their feelings the whole time they were having these intimate moments prior to the uncomfortable conclusion, but rather human beings going through a struggle of their own, to find their own way in this confusing world and trying their damnedest to do the best they could with the skills they had at the time.

And it's not just the super intense moments.  The whole dating game is ripe with opportunity to hurt each other as we gradually shed layers with each other.  (And sometimes not so gradually -- thankfully!  I have cried my own eyes out over such times and am so, so, so immensely grateful to have had those experiences.)  We are all unskillful at times and we are all trying to find happiness in our own particularly selfish (but not in a bad way!) /individual ways.  I want to live in a world where we all recognize this of each other, and can respect our "opponents" in the battle of the sexes, especially from skirmish to skirmish as wounds are inflicted.  Forgiveness, compassion, understanding.

I would rather spend my life looking for a relationship that is truly satisfying for me, even if I never find such a creature, than settle for "almost but not quite" and then spend the rest of my life wondering what it would have been like to experience the satisfaction I knew I truly desired.  I will never stay with someone who wants something that is not what I want to offer, or offering less/other than what I know it would take to truly satisfy me.  Along the way, I will break hearts, including my own, and I hope that, at least for me, all the women I encounter are able to see and value my own attempts to do the right thing, even when it conflicts with their desires and thereby causes them pain.  

Eternally pursue that which brings you joy (and learn better every day what that really is!), perpetually operate from the assumption that hope is worthwhile even when it seems pointless or impossible, and, please, constantly look for the best in everyone on your path to real satisfaction.

May you, ultimately, find peace.

****

*Note from the author regarding the title: I have always planned for my own blog, agonizingbliss.com to title articles twice, once somewhat obviously, and the second a seemingly nonsensical reference at first that ultimately relates to what the article turns into.  This particular second title is somewhat unfortunately a bit obscure, it requires quick googling for those who are not already very familiar with the source material, but it is _extremely_ profound when taken in context and is very apt for the material.  A suggestion to google it after reading might be worthwhile. You should read the graphic novel it comes from, although it is a substantial commitment to do so -- it would take a day start to finish, basically.  A very very profoundly moving day.

A Heart's Gamble

Image from here.

Eyes smile at each other and touches linger. Flirtation plants its seed and desire waters it. Between would you like another drink and you're beautiful, we kiss. Boom boom double-boom, goes my heart, and in an instant smaller than a sigh, hope is born. 

Legs interlace, noses touch, hips kiss. Grr grr grrar, goes my body, and in between this is nice and yeah there, my armor falls to the floor. 

I am nervous, he touches my cheek and torsos piece into each other, a puzzle completed.

Vulnerable and hopeful, I rest on his chest and wait for his lips to find my forehead, his heart to find mine. 

But it doesn't. 

His body goes cold. I don't want to hurt you, I'm not ready for more than this, I don't want you to have expectations, his lips say instead. 

Boom. 

In a breath of space smaller than the sigh in which it was birthed, hope is killed. Desire vanishes, hearts hide.

I turn away and quickly touch my heart. Shh, little heart, it's okay. We'll be okay. We were too quick to trust. We know how this goes. Let's pack up and go now. 

I get up from the bed, and I feel a part of me stay there. That's the gamble; a part of us is always lost. Good bye, my sweet romantic girl. 

I pick up my armor from the floor and put it back on. It is heavier now.  I feel my edges sharpen, I am older. It will be harder to take off next time...

Letter From My Future Husband

Dear Larissa,

Yes, you do find me one day. Don’t worry about whether I’m taller than you or what color my eyes are. You’ll be surprised how little that matters. (But, for the record, no, I am not John Hamm).

I’m here, though, and I’m crazy about you.

I think you are breathtaking. And I tell you that, all the time. I find every inch of you incredibly sexy, and I can’t get enough of touching you, grabbing you, kissing you, holding you, and looking at you.

Our bodies and our hearts have a language of their own. We are madly in love, and we are dedicated to each other fully.

                                                                                                                       

We are honest; there are no lies or secrets. There are no eggshells; there is no caution. You can read me, and I can see you.

I think your cheesy romanticism is so sweet. I always hold your hand, run my fingers through your hair, stand close to you at parties, look at you when we make love, talk to all your friends, and let you have the last bite of everything.

I watch all your plays, films, and gigs. I am your number one fan, and you are my greatest supporter.

It matters to me that your family like me.

I love to hear you talk about feminism. I love to hear you talk.  

I am not perfect. We will fight. I am not here to fulfill or complete you. But I love you, I want you, and I care about you. I am here for you. I see you.

I know you are anxious to know when we are going to meet, or if you already know me. I know you want to know if we have kids and a home and our dream jobs. I can’t tell you that, though, it’s against the rules. But you’ll know when the time is right.

Until then, take good care of yourself and of your beautiful, open heart. Be gentle, be kind, be sweet, and indulge in your willingness to love. Have no regrets, know that every single one of your stories will lead you to me.

I am here, I am crazy about you, and I cannot wait to marry you.

Love,

Me.

When An Ex Reads Your Blog

People have asked me if, when I write, I take into consideration that my ex (ex's...) may be reading.

The answer is yes and no; how could I and how could I not?

Sometimes, as I am writing, I definitely hope that he might read it. I hope that he will know how I feel now, know that I still think about him, know that I am still sorry, know that even if we never see each other again, he meant a lot to me. Back when I was really hurting, I used this blog to purge my pain and I did hope to reach him. I hoped to somehow show him that I was human, since I knew I had turned into someone he couldn't love anymore. I ached for his forgiveness, and I was asking for it through every avenue I could think of. I had no interest in seeming strong, put together, over it, and better off without him. I was broken and I missed him desperately; it leaked right through my writing weather I wanted it to or not. I didn't have any guarantees that he'd read my blog, but I figured that if I could put it out into the universe, it might help me to heal anyway. 

At the same time, I had to set the thoughts of him reading it aside in order to hit publish. I have plenty of drafts of posts I wrote that I didn't have the courage to publish because the thought of him reading it mortified me. So, the ones I've published here I've done so by letting go of wondering weather he'd read it or not; I published them because I wanted them to exist regardless of his possible reactions. I needed to put them out here, where they could touch others, shift, and bounce back to me as a little bit of armor, a drop of medicine, a step closer to relief.

When I've written about older ex's, I have generally written under the assumption that they do not read my blog. I have been mostly wrong, as many have contacted me to tell me they do, in fact, read it. Still, I never took down any published posts because I believed they all had value. If I ever wrote a blog that downright offended someone or exposed them in a way they did not want to be exposed, and they let me know, I would take it down. It hasn't happened yet, because I believe they all know that our stories can serve others, and that I write here what has helped me to heal and become a stronger, more loving person.

I don't think he, or any of my ex's, wish to see me in pain, or get off on how much losing them has hurt me. I don't think any of them come here hunting for evidence that they scarred me in some way, or wanting to read about my inevitably biased perception of what we lived through so that they can then write me an angry email about how wrong I have it all.

So, why do they come here?

If I were to guess, I'd say it's for the same reason I still write about them, too; because no matter how much pain and disappointment we may have caused one another, we meant something to each other, and that's hard to find.

Irene Stirred Things Up, Alright

I'm not gonna lie; I really wanted to have a boyfriend for Hurricane-Turned-Tropical-Storm Irene. I wanted a man-- in the most primal sense of the word. One of those who changes light bulbs with one hand, opens beer bottles with his forearm, and could carry me over his shoulder effortlessly (!) if we had to run for our lives. A big, strong, handy, resourceful, protective man.

I actually had a great time during Irene, hiding out in Brooklyn with a bunch of friends, drinking, laughing, cooking, playing games, and waiting for a tree to fly across the sky or a big Hudson River wave to crash over a building. It was good old fashioned bonding, and I didn't feel lonely or scared. I didn't need this fantasy man, I simply wanted him around. I was happy, surrounded by friends, and having a good time, but still-- this natural disaster brought forth my desire to be loved and cared for.

Currently, my brother and I live together (though he was out of town for Irene), but I lived alone for four years. I learned to change light bulbs, fix leaks, open jars, kill bugs, and mend broken things. I braved many a windy night (and it gets scary up here on the 14th floor during the winter), and I often nursed myself when I was sick. I learned to soothe a burned hand with honey and to put salt under my tongue when my blood pressure gets low. I once took the subway to the hospital when I thought I'd seriously injured my neck and sat in the emergency room for 7 hours by myself. I've carried heavy suitcases through the snow and walked home with eggplants in my pockets after a grocery bag broke on me.

I know I can live on my own; I know I can take care of myself. And that's very important information to have about oneself.

But I don't really want to be alone anymore. I want someone around to share these natural disasters with. Build a puzzle while watching the weather channel, make spaghetti from scratch, use the unused bathtub water to wash yoga mats and curtains, paint the bathroom wall, take pictures of the wind messing up our hair, and snuggle up at the end of it all knowing we survived this crazy non-hurricane... together.

I think this might be what independence is; knowing I can be on my own, but not wanting to be.

Thanks, Irene.

Sky on Sunday evening, after Irene had passed...

Relationship Lessons

Check out my Guest Spotlight Post for Simply Solo, going up today! 

And, in the spirit of single life and dating, here's a lesson plan on what my past relationships have taught me. May I review it often and never make the same mistakes again. (Or, if I must, may they be delicious, exciting, and passionate mistakes).

The Good High-School Boyfriend

·      Losing one’s virginity to a boyfriend is better than losing it to some random guy at a party, I’m guessing, because it’s forgettable. The latter would have been more memorable, in a bad way.

·      Cheating doesn’t change the fact that you’re still in a bad relationship.

·      Getting to say, “I have a boyfriend,” is not a good enough reason to be with someone.

The Bad College Boyfriend

·      Losing weight and working out like a maniac will not stop a man from looking at other women.

·      Open relationships are bullshit.

·      If he doesn’t say, “I love you,” he probably doesn’t love me.

The Feminist Guy (one of my favorites)

·      A woman does not have to be tamed, waxed, manicured, plucked, smooth, soft, undernourished, or even feminine, if that’s not who she is.

·      There’s no such thing as “good enough to marry”. Everyone is good enough to marry.

·      The female orgasm is VERY IMPORTANT. 

The Richard Burton to my inner Elizabeth Taylor 

·      Passion makes everything amazing, and also very dramatic.

·      Fantastic sex does not mean you’re madly in love and should get married.

·      When a man says, “I’m not looking for a committed relationship,” it means he’s not looking for a committed relationship. Not now, and not when he gets to know you better and has so much sex with you that the obvious next-step would be to want to be in a committed relationship with you.

The Forbidden Love

·      Everything feels amazing when it's forbidden, but that doesn't change the fact that it's forbidden.

·      It’s easy for guys to say, “I love you, you’re my soul mate, I can’t live without you,” when they’re in an impossible situation that has a definite end-point in sight.

·      I’m not all good. It’s important to know that.

The Serious Boyfriend

·      If I don’t trust a guy, there’s probably good reason for it. No need to stick around and investigate what the reasons are, just get out.

·      If I’m not happy, I better speak up, and soon.

·      Never give up passion. That is a compromise that will come back to bite me in the butt.  

Conclusion: If it didn't work out, learn from it, grow, and know that I will never know everything there is to know about relationships and how to make them work. There's always more to learn, and so there are always more love stories to come. At least until I find the guy I want to keep making mistakes with and learning from for the rest of my life...

Friends With Benefits

At some point, everyone tries it.

Two friends are attracted to each other, but neither wants to commit. Or, one of them doesn't want to commit and the other pretends they don't want to either. And so they agree on being FWB. The arrangement is usually based on the idea that there are no strings attached and no one is accountable for the other person's feelings. There are no, "Why didn't you reply to my text?" or "So do you wanna meet my mom tomorrow night?". It's supposed to be easy, safe, commitment-free, and fun.

There are two circumstances in which such an agreement usually sounds the most appealing to a woman. The first is if she is in love with someone else but can't be with that person (due to distance, unrequited love, unforgivable infidelity, death, whatever), and the second is if she is hoping that this arrangement will actually lead to a relationship, because once he hangs out with her enough times, he'll realize she's the love of his life. The latter is usually kept a secret, as any indication that this is the case can cause immediate and permanent disappearance of the male benefited friend.

A couple of light years ago, I was in love with someone I couldn't be with, and a FWB situation kind of just fell right on my lap. It seemed to work incredibly well. I didn't want him to be my boyfriend, but I was attracted to him, and he felt the same way. My heart seemed safely guarded, and I was lucky in that he was very respectful and honest. It all seemed like a very good idea. I couldn't help feeling sad and longing for someone I couldn't have, but I could do something about my loneliness. I could have a FWB.

But.... life is never quite so simple. The body tricks the heart, and the heart is way louder than the mind. After you sleep with someone enough times, you kind of start to wonder if maybe there isn't something there. I mean, there's all that chemistry and no pressure, so what would happen if we tried to date? Months had gone by- certainly if this was only meant to be a physical connection then it wouldn't have lasted this long, right? And, most importantly, he probably felt the same way and didn't know it.
Those thoughts, ladies, should be your flaming red alert to get the hell out.

(Aside: I've said them before, and I say them again. Remember Cassandra O'Keefe's words: "When a man says he's not the commitment type, run like the wind. You want to save something? Save a whale. Save the rainforest. Don't try to save a man." But it takes a long, long time for any woman to actually learn that lesson, doesn't it.)

One night, I asked him if he'd like to go out, a little more formally. He said the fateful words that no woman can bear to hear: he didn't want to ruin what we had. Even though I wasn't even all that sure that I liked him, now he had hurt my pride, and hit the nerve in me that needed to prove to him that he actually did want to date me. So I presented my argument: We had great chemistry, we had fun together, we weren't really interested in seeing other people, so why not take it a step further? Even if it didn't work out, at least we'd have tried, and surely we'd have fun along the way.

Maybe my argument touched him in some way, or maybe it was the fact that we had this conversation in our underwear, I don't know- but his response was, "You're right. Let's go for it."

And we did. We started dating, formally.

With my ego nourished, however, I was able to see that I actually didn't want to be in a relationship with him. There was something missing, or my heart just wasn't available then, and there really wasn't any point in forcing a relationship upon us. We broke up after three weeks, amicably.

Our FWB arrangement didn't really work after that either. Try as we did, we couldn't erase the fact that we had tried to commit to each other and that it just didn't work. We stayed in touch, though, and, down the road, when we both started dating other people, we were genuinely happy for each other.

I have no regrets. I think the instinct to see if there's something beyond the physical connection between two people is one we should listen to. Maybe there is something there. Even if it's only evolved for one of us, that's reason enough to change the circumstances. And if there is nothing there, it's probably time to find out. The only mistake one can make in a FWB situation, I conclude, is to ignore any feelings that come up.

By the way, if I'm ever in that situation again, I'm calling it FWBUFA.

Friends With Benefits Until Feelings Arise.


Image from here.

Top 10 Biggest Turn-Offs

10. A crush on Rachel Ray so big his ringtone was her voice, talking us through a 30-minute meal

9. A pet tarantula

8. Framed Playboy covers (what's wrong with family photos, or the cliche Beatles posters?)

7. "George Bush's #1 Fan" Boxers

6. Chewing gum during.... (you can fill in the blank)....

5. Scientologist

4. Puppy kicker

3. Nail Polish on toes

2. Abstinence-only bumper sticker (the fact that it's a bumper sticker is really the disturbing part)

1. Swastika tattoo


Image from here.

The Really Bad Date

Inspired by reading the blog Simply Solo today, I'm sharing one of my really bad first date stories.

The Really Bad Date

He was an artist. When you're 20, you think that's hot. What it really means, you learn, is that he doesn't have a job, has at least one addiction, and lives in Brooklyn, off the G train. (If you don't know what that means, we call the G train the Ghost train, because it never shows up.)

But, in the spirit of adventure, I patiently waited 45 minutes for the G train on a hot, humid, New York summer evening. I had tried my best, as women do, to look pretty. It was our first date, but it wasn't a blind date; we had seen each other before at a party- in the dark, inebriated- so there wasn't too much suspense, though there was some self-imposed pressure to live up to whatever had drawn him to ask me out in the first place. I had tried on about 97 outfits before settling for a pink linen blouse and a flowy skirt. I was ready to have a great date.

When I got out of the subway, he was waiting for me. How sweet, I thought, forgetting that I'd just spent hours of my life in an underground hell. He was wearing jeans and a t-shirt that said, "Legalize Marijuana." Well, that's an odd choice. Whatever. He probably just wants to make me laugh. I said hi and smiled. He still looked as cute as I'd remembered him. He kissed me on the cheek and my heart started racing. I waited for him to tell me I looked nice. He picked up the cue and checked me out- head to toe- before saying, "You look hot." Not exactly what a girl hopes to hear as the first compliment, but no problem. He's an artist, he's playing it cool.

He took me to the restaurant where we were going to have dinner. The place was crowded and when the hostess said there'd be a 15-20 minute wait, he turned to me and said, "Let's go somewhere else." I told him I really didn't mind waiting, it was friday night and there'd probably be a wait anywhere we went, but he really didn't want to stay there. I thought he was going to take me to another restaurant, probably one as nice as the one we were just at, but instead he took me to a diner. Now, I have no problems with diners. I actually love an old-fashioned new york city diner and don't think it's a bad place for a date. But I was really confused about how his plans to take me out to dinner at a nice restaurant had turned into eating at a poorly-lit, unimpressive diner, and started getting paranoid that maybe he didn't think I was pretty anymore and didn't want me to have any expectations.

As soon as we sat down, though, he started to explain himself, "You look all dressed up, I feel bad bringing you to a diner, I should've made a reservation, I never think anywhere's gonna be as crowded as it is." Oh, how cute, I thought and decided to ignore that his second compliment of the evening was you look all dressed up. "Please, don't sweat it," I said and gave him my best smile, "I rather be somewhere where we can hear each other talk anyway." He seemed pleased with my response and smiled back, which made him look super cute and I was back in this-date-is-going-to-be-great land.

Then the waitress came over. I've never been any good at being the girl who orders a garden salad at a diner, so I ordered a burger, fries, and a chocolate milk-shake. I guess that shocked him, because he blurted out, "What are you, pregnant?" The waitress looked at me, and my face must have registered, "What the fuck?" because she said she'd give us a few minutes. He looked at me and said, "I'm just joking around, I know you're not preggers."

Aside: to any male readers, if I may give you some advice here: Never, never, ever, ever, on date number 1 or date number 508, not even on a date with a woman who is pregnant, not even on a date with a woman you think is so skinny she'll most certainly understand that it's a joke, should you ever, ever, ever joke about a woman being pregnant. And, for the record, "preggers" will never be funny.

So, now that he had succeeded, with one sentence, in making me feel fat and self-conscious about what I'd ordered, you can imagine how the date went. I shut down and became monosyllabic. He could sense that something was up, though, and talked enough for both of us. For an artist, by the way, he was incredibly boring and I might as well have been on a date with an investment banker whose favorite hobby was collecting stamps. The highlight of our conversation was when he asked me to guess where his four piercings were. I'll spare you the details on that, as I myself have worked very hard to try and push that memory away.

I barely ate my food, which he didn't seem to notice, and when the check arrived, I didn't offer to split it, which I always do. He picked it up and paid for it with wrinkled $5 bills that he took out of his pocket (no wallet ever made an appearance), and asked me if I wanted to go to a bar and, I kid you not, "have some shots". I yawned and said, "It's a long way back for me, I think I should go home." He looked semi-defeated.

He walked me to the subway, and when we reached it I tried to avoid direct eye-contact so as to kill any impulse he might have kiss me, but he grabbed my hand and tried to kiss me anyway. I was so startled I almost fell on him. "Oh I'm sorry, I was trying to kiss you," he said. "Yeah, I noticed, I didn't see that coming." And then we stood there in an awkward silence. I mumbled the obligatory thank-you-for-a-nice-evening, and he replied with the let's-do-this-again-sometime, and then I went down the stairs to the subway, thinking to myself, Golly, I'd rather have had a date with the G train.

The next day, he wrote me an email (this was just before men resorted to texting for all forms of communication), saying it was great meeting me and asking me out again. I wrote back politely declining.

A few years later, he found me on facebook (yep, creepy), and sent me a message: "I know I wasn't good enough to date, but wanna be my facebook friend? I still think you're hot!"

Um. No, thanks.

Image from here.

The First Kiss

Age 13: My first time at a night club.

Club K. My mom called it Club Cu. Translation: Club Asshole.

I had fought with her for about six months until she let me go. Her argument was that Sao Paulo was too dangerous and I was too young to go clubbing- (I totally agree with her NOW, by the way. But back then, I thought she was being way over-protective and paranoid). She finally let me go, because all my friends had gone a bunch of times, and every time they went, I locked myself in my room and blasted Sheryl Crow songs. I think she was afraid I was going to start doing drugs or cutting myself or something, so she let me go.

My curfew was 1:00am.

At 9:00pm I met up with my friends. We all wore some variation of the same outfit: tight black pants, heeled boots, and a sparkly or see-through-ish shirt. We met up at someone's house. They told me how it would all go down. The hardest part was getting in. The club was for 16-year-olds, and we were 13. So they taught me how to "look 16". Darker lipstick. Don't smile (I wore braces). Talk about our boyfriends while standing in line (we didn't have boyfriends). It was starting to sound nerve-racking and I expressed my concern. They assured me I'd be okay because I was tall and had big boobs. The next most important thing (the whole reason we were going to the club) was getting boys to kiss us. Well. I had never been kissed. I asked them what I'd have to do. "Basically," one of them said, "A guy will grab your hand if he wants to kiss you. Or he might try to grab you by the waist from behind on the dance floor. Take a look at him, and if you're not interested look at one of us and we'll save you. If you're interested, smile at him but pull away. He has to try at least three times before you let him." I took in what she said. But I didn't think she had understood my question. What do I do once I "let him"??? I had no idea how to kiss someone. I was dying to do it, I couldn't have been more ready, but I didn't know much about technique. Seeing my puzzled face, another friend said, "Listen, your first kiss might feel a little gross. You might not like it. Just let him do it. You'll learn instinctively. Let it be short and sweet and then move on. It'll take a few kisses to get the hang of it." Okay.... I was not at all clear on the subject, but I was too anxious to keep talking about it. We had to go.

At 10:00pm we arrived at the club. It was packed. We stood in line for what felt like an hour, but was probably just fifteen minutes, before we got to the bouncer. This was the moment. I tried to look "16". I tried to look like I didn't care. Meanwhile my stomach was fighting to keep itself from falling out of my ass. He didn't card us. We got in. Victory.

We walked in to the huge club with its green and red lights, and the rush was immediate. The rush of freedom, of rebellion, of being somewhere dark and forbidden. For these couple of hours, we were independent and free. We had to do two things: go to the bathroom, and then go to the bar and drink "FlashPower" (the drink before Red Bull). We went to the bathroom, checked ourselves out. We ran into some of the cool girls from school in there, and they totally talked to us like we were cool too. I felt so cool.

On our way to the bar, a guy already grabbed my hand. I looked at him, as instructed, and checked him out, could this be the guy to give me my first kiss? His nose was huge. No. I looked at my friends, they intercepted, pulled me away, he let me go, and we proceeded. I loved it. I felt so wanted. It was going to be a special night. We made it to the bar, got our energy drinks and hit the dance floor.

Uh-oh. They definitely failed to tell me that this club only played techno. And I had absolutely no idea how to dance to this kind of music. I had hippie parents who had raised me on folk music. At the very least, I thought a song had to have someone playing the guitar in order for it to be called a song. This techno stuff felt like someone was beating the club up with a hammer the size of China. I looked at my friends. They were basically pulsing their torsos. I tried to follow suit. And just as I thought I was getting the hang of it, a guy cut into our circle and stood in front of me. Uh... they had not told me about this approach. He took both my hands. He was taller than me and he had green eyes. That's about as specific an image as I have for him. He asked me my name. I told him. He said I had a beautiful name. I smiled. He told me his. And then he asked if he could kiss me. At this point, I'd forgotten all the rules. I just looked him in the eyes and my face must have said, yes, you're the one, kiss me, because then he kissed me. And it didn't feel gross or weird at all. I liked it right away. I wanted to kiss him forever. I put my arms around his neck and he pulled me really close to him. Everything in my body was responding in a new way to this experience, telling me I was no longer a child, I was now an almost-adult. I couldn't tell you what song was playing, I don't know how long it lasted (my friends said it went on for a really long time- they were shocked), and I don't remember what thoughts went through my head. At some point, the kiss ended. We danced around each other a little bit. And then my friends and I decided to go to the bathroom again. I looked at him, said good-bye, and went off with my friends, never to see the boy who gave me my first kiss again.

When we got to the bathroom, they wanted to know everything. I wanted to look at myself in the mirror. I wanted to see if I had changed. Something had to have changed- I just felt so different. I finally knew what it was like. I had finally been kissed. But I looked the same, and my friends wanted to talk more than they wanted to hear what I had to say. They told me what it looked like to them, "You totally knew what to do with your head, it was impressive, " and "His hands were pretty low on your back, I thought he was gonna try to feel your butt." We analyzed it for a while, and then went back out to the dance floor so the other girls could find boys to kiss too.

When I got home, I could barely sleep. I replayed the night over and over in my head. I smiled for about a month after that.

For a while, I thought my first kiss had happened all wrong. It was just too unromantic. I had been kissed in a nightclub? By a complete stranger who I never saw again? Why didn't it happen under a starry night, with a boy who'd courted me for years? Had I fucked up something I could only do once?

Eventually, though, "first kisses" got upstaged by other "firsts", and I stopped thinking about it too much. The memory faded over the years, until all I could remember of his face were his eyes.

I look back on it all now, and it makes me smile. The sweetness of those 13-year-old girls with raging hormones, feeling so incredibly powerful and free for a few hours at a nightclub. The outline of the boy's face and how he looked at me and let me know with his eyes that I had been chosen.

It wasn't a perfect first kiss. It didn't set the bar too high for romanticism. It wasn't like the movies. It was very "real life-y". And that's okay.

It remains as a sweet imperfect memory of a time that was as torturous as it was precious.

Oh, adolescence.

image from here.

Compartmentalizing Women: Response to Wombat

As I read Wombat's post today, "Never Look a Gift Babe in the Brain," I got really really angry. As he relaid how men compartmentalize women, I felt my stomach turn. Although I know he probably meant it much more lightly than I took it, I found it unsettling and offensive. Here's my response.

I've heard people say, "Compartmentalizing is just what men do. It's how their brains work."

Well. I think compartmentalizing women is not only sexist, it's cowardly. Especially in this day and age. If you keep a woman in one compartment- say, the "not a girl you bring home to mom" compartment, then you absolve yourself of the responsibility you have over her feelings. If you established that this is "just" about sex (I'm still trying to figure out what about sex is so "just"-y, but okay, that's not the point right now), then you're off the hook- if she develops feelings it's her fault and she has no right to hold you accountable for them. How convenient! And if you're with a woman who is "girlfriend-material", well then she better live up to those expectations, always. If she does something that's "un-girlfriend-material"- say, fantasize about being a naughty nurse or wear a skirt that's too short for someone who's in a relationship to be out wearing- then you get confused and start wondering if you really love her.

I have touched on how limiting it is for women to be compartmentalized in my post "Sexuality of a Woman." But I'll say it again: Compartmentalizing women is an ILLUSION. That woman at the bar who's wearing a skimpy dress and goes home with you on the first night- believe it or not- that woman still wants to be loved. And that woman you can imagine being the mother of your children- that woman still wants to be fucked. And both women are capable of playing each others roles. We choose- or shift instinctively- who we want to be for the different men we meet, usually based on who they let us be. We either put on the "good girl" act or we unleash the "bad girl". We rarely let both co-exist because we know that men compartmentalize us. (Not all men, and not all the time- I am aware I am speaking in general terms here- but I'm responding to a particular train of thought.)

Men and women have brought up that women also compartmentalize men. "He's a jerk, I don't wanna date him." or "He's dating material." To which I say, guilty as charged. We absolutely do that. The difference is that the guy who sleeps around does not usually want to be seen as "dating material" or wish to fit into that category in any shape, way, or form, whereas the woman who sleeps around is rarely happy to remain in that category forever. Even Samantha in Sex and The City settled down with someone in the end, and it was always pretty clear that her rejection of intimacy was the survival technique of woman who had been hurt too many times and couldn't come to terms with denying her sexual self in order to be seen as datable. There doesn't seem to be a male counterpart who struggles with these things in the same way. Similarly, even when women compartmentalize, it is mostly a defense mechanism against being compartmentalized first.

Categorize women and you are limiting who we are.

Let us be ourselves, all of ourselves, and we will grow.

And I bet you, too, will feel much more like yourself, encounter a new sense of empowerment, and find much deeper happiness and pleasure.

Sounds like a good deal to me. Why don't you try it out?

The Ex Test

It's like they can smell it.

All of them. On the same week. Within the same 48 hours.

Here's the scenario, perhaps it's familiar to you too:

Merry you are, with your life and your healed heart and many things to smile about, when it's like the Universe suddenly wants to test you a little bit. Just how strong are you, it wants to know? Pretty damn strong, you're thinking. Oh really. Can you handle a text from an ex? Well, yeah. That's what the delete button is for. How about three? Hm. Not as easy. And then a phone call from one of the really old ones whose number you most definitely forgot by now? WTF? I thought we said we'd delete each other for good? And then maybe an email from the one you swore off all contact with until you forgot why you said that? FML. How about a facebook friend request from the one who might as well be dead to you- in fact, you vaguely remember attending his funeral, but maybe that was just in your darkest fantasies? This is fucked up, Universe.

And it all happens over the course of two days. I. Kid. You. Not.

In portuguese we say, "Ninguem Merece." Meaning, "Nobody Deserves That." As in, not even the cow you work with who borrows your pens and chews on them and then returns them with all her saliva still on them deserves that.

What could they all possibly want? Well. They're innocent enough. "Haven't talked to you in so long, thought we'd touch base." Or, "Ran into so-and-so who I know through you and thought of you." And, "Didn't realize I still had your number, thought I'd check to see if it was still accurate." Things like that. The Universe isn't that mean. I mean, at least they're not reaching out to say, "I'm getting married next week but realized you're really the love of my life and I was an asshole, please take me back and let's move to Cambodia where my in-laws-to-never-be won't find me?" At least nobody said that. Right? But still. The past is a witch. Just when you're comfortable with the fact that it's where it should be- behind you- it decides to peek in just to remind you that it may be farther away, but it's never gone.

There's the age-old question of, Can you be friends with an ex? Usually, the answer for me is no. Not that all contact has to be cut off completely, forever, but a close friendship, no. Mainly because I don't want to hear about current girlfriends, I don't want to sit across from someone at lunch with the lingering feelings of how different we are now, and I don't want to read facebook statuses that say, "hot girls playing volleyball outside my window. score." It's just too hard on me. I love deeply, and I don't exorcise the people I love from my heart; I let them leave behind a piece of themselves in the part of me they've touched. I honor my past, which makes it difficult for me not to be affected by it when a whole bunch of it pays me a visit.

The questions are inevitable. Why are you thinking of me now? Do you think of me often? Are you happy? Were you changed by me? Do you miss me? Does your mom miss me? Does your current girlfriend sleep through your snoring? And so on...

There's some mild freaking out. There's some paralysis. There's some search for comfort, usually found in food and Sex and The City. There's a whole lot of, "How do I respond to this? Do I respond at all?"

But then, once the questions stopped racing through my mind and the initial shock subsided, I was pleasantly surprised to find that I was okay. I cared about them, I cared about why they were reaching out to me, I cared about everything that was happening, but I was still my happy, healed self. No one could take away who I am now by bringing up who I was. The memories of the loves and the heartbreaks had surfaced, but they no longer had as much power over me. They were exactly that: Memories.

Even all together, all those ex's could not overpower or overwhelm me. The love and pain I experienced with each one of them were now sources of my strength and power. My "weaknesses" and "soft spots" were what rooted me and allowed me to grow.

I started to shift my perspective of what was happening. The Universe probably wasn't testing me as much as it was teaching me new things about myself. I am strong, I have a handle on my past, and my heart has no limit on how many love stories it can hold.

I think that's pretty awesome, actually, and I'm grateful I got to realize it.

So even if it was a test, I think I passed.

image from http://just4ufit.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/03/healthy-heart.gif

Infidelity

A friend of mine recently sent me an email about cheating. She had just heard someone recount their stories of infidelity and was extremely upset by it, and was wondering why she was so upset, being that the infidelity did not even directly affect her. Although I am not innocent on the subject- or perhaps because I am not innocent on the subject- I knew how I felt about it and why she was probably so upset. Since other people have also asked me to write about this topic, here are some of my thoughts on cheating.

First of all, let me clarify how I define cheating. I think my friend Chris best described it when he said, "It's less about what actions are taken and more about how the other person will feel."

When two people have made an agreement to be exclusive and one person develops an interest in another and acts on it- be that kissing, dating, or having sex- without clearing it up with the person they are committed to, I call that cheating. If there was never an agreement made regarding exclusivity, then I don't call it cheating. Irresponsible and unkind behavior, maybe, but not cheating. Also, I don't consider looking at other people or fantasizing about people other than the person you're with cheating.

Someone recently said to me, "What they don't know can't hurt them."

To which I say, Bullshit.

In a nutshell, cheating is not cool because its essence is rooted in lying. And all lying does is limit space to grow, since a relationship post-cheating-and-not-telling-the-truth-about-it is then between two people who have two different ideas of what their relationship is. The party that's been cheated on is now living an illusion, and the cheater can only focus on keeping up that illusion.

If you're going to cheat, then at least be honest with yourself about what you're doing and the potential damage you might be causing.

I have taken part in an infidelity- big time, in a way that affected an innocent third party. I was in love, and I thought that justified my actions. I knew that what I was doing was wrong, but I was too blindly in love to really consider it. He was the one who had made a promise to someone else and he should have known better, but I was no child and certainly never entertained any illusions about just how much responsibility I was holding over someone else's feelings. I knew what I was doing. And when eventually we had to stop, not only was I heart-broken, but I was then haunted by my guilt. It took a lot of therapy, meditating, writing, yoga, crying, and creating to move past this huge disappointment and forgive myself. Although I learned and grew because of how much love existed between us, I would not do it again. I hurt someone, tremendously, and I hurt myself just as much in the end.

I also had a brief fling with a friend's ex-boyfriend. He was her first love, and although they had broken up three years prior to my hooking up with him, I knew it would hurt her. We thought about never telling her. She was a dear friend. But I didn't want her to have any illusions about what kind of a friend I am. That action made me a shitty, flawed friend, and I respected her enough to let her choose whether she wanted to forgive me and keep the friendship or not, so I told her. She was really hurt, and I am still recovering from it. She never spoke to me again. I would not do that again either. I had to do it, so that I could learn, and so that I could see that I am capable of majorly fucking up (I have this problem where I try to be the perfect friend/girlfriend/daughter/sister, etc. and it does nothing but destroy me). But it was a lesson that came at a very, very high cost.

I've actually never been cheated on, so to speak. I was in an open relationship for a while, so I couldn't call it cheating, but I remember really hating the fact that he slept with other women. I've also been led on about what a particular situation I was in was really about- one of those, "I wasn't lying, I just wasn't telling you the whole truth" kind of things. It hurt me deeply, and I learned that I don't think it's right to shut off the part of ourselves that wants to love someone so much that we won't be with anyone else, because the thought of that person getting hurt is not worth any fuck in the world.

I certainly believe that love can end and that people want and fall in love with other people, and that there's merit in honoring those feelings. I also think that different couples can have different arrangements, and that with honesty and awareness, it's possible to create a relationship with rules that suit both people's wants and do not necessarily follow society's morality rules. I'm an advocate for honesty, all around. I much rather hear, "What we have might not be working, because I'm developing an interest in someone else," than live in the illusion that everything is okay and we're still in love and loyal to each other so as to avoid a conversation about someone's potential infidelities. I also believe in forgiveness and compassion. I don't think someone who cheats is a bad person, incapable of truly loving someone, or inhumane. I don't think someone who forgives a cheater is weak. We are all capable of hurting each other, and we are all capable of realizing it and overcoming it.

Over the course of all these lessons and mistakes, I've learned how I aspire to live: If I'm in love, I don't cheat. If an agreement is made that says we are exclusive, I honor it. I value loyalty and respect, even though I do not believe human beings are 100% monogamous by nature. I think our inner animals want to fuck all the time, and not just be with one partner.

But we're not just animals. We are humans with consciences, and we must honor that part of ourselves too.

The most beautiful thing about being a human being, I think, is the ability to care for others. Care so much that we take in their feelings before acting upon our desires. Cheating, in that respect, is a violation of our humanity. It says, "I am going to pretend not to care about another person's feelings. I'm going to do this even though it will hurt someone else, and then I'm either going to feel guilty about it, or I'm going to justify it until I feel nothing." There's nothing sadder than shutting off a part of ourselves so as to get away with or go through with something.

As humans, our ability to care for each other and empathize is what sets us apart from other species. Our awareness of each other's pains and our power to cause it or prevent it gives us an understanding of infidelity and lying that other creatures don't have. To dishonor this is to hurt our humanity and limit the possibilities we have for love and respect.

Although I feel quite clear about this, people are constantly presenting me with scenarios that seem to challenge my thoughts. In the end, nothing is black and white, wrong or right. But if we can be honest with each other, then I think that's a good place to start.

What do you think?

The Break-Up

The first time I got broken up with I was 19, which is actually pretty late in the game considering I'd been going out with boys since I was 13. Here's how it all went down...

The Situation (or- Why it was Never Going to Work):

He was 14 years older than me (which is normal for me, but in this case, it was a huge gap sometimes). It was a long-distance semi-open relationship (kind of like, what you don't know can't hurt you but let's not kid ourselves kind of thing). We had nothing in common other than each other. He was a handsome man who got a lot of attention from women, and I consequently lost a lot of weight and worked out till I was almost spitting out my uterus, every day. I thought that maybe if I got really really hot, he wouldn't look at other women. (Take your guess on how well that plan worked out). In the year that we were together, we never used the word love. And I faked orgasms every time we had sex (at that point I had not even had a real orgasm yet, so all I knew was faking, and apparently I was really good at it. I no longer believe in or support faking orgasms, for the record).

Breaking- Up (or- The Process of Crushing My Heart):

Even with all the flaming red flags and as-clear-as-it-gets signs that we were not going to live happily ever after, I was still caught completely off-guard when he broke up with me. He had to do it twice actually. The first time he broke up with me, I was like, why don't we have sex, and then we did, and we ignored that he had tried to break up with me. A week later, he called me to tell me we really did have to break up. I drove to his place. It was raining and I couldn't find a place to park. I drove around his block for fifteen minutes, and my legs were already getting weak. I knew I was about to suffer a very great loss, and the last thing I wanted was to parallel park and then walk four blocks in the rain.

He opened his door and I started laughing. There was just too much tension in me- I was either going to cry or laugh or scream. He told me to come in. We sat on his tiny beige couch. Some things were said. He wouldn't look at me. He was being vague. "It's just not working." "It's not meant to be." Things like that. I wasn't having it. I wanted to know the heart of the matter. He finally looked at me. His eyes were watery. And then he said it. "I'm not in love with you."

I didn't stand a chance at holding back the tears that were ready to stream down my face. I couldn't have been "tough" or "cool" about it to save my life.

No, we had never said we loved each other. And yeah, that always seemed weird. But I always thought I felt it. And I figured that's what mattered. Oh, how dumb I was. How willing to lie to myself. How naive and hopeful.

As I sat on his couch, crying and unable to create any distance whatsoever from the emotions gushing out of me, I had to face the truth. This man- who knew me, who spent a year with me, who had been inside me, who had revealed to me who he was, who had warmed up my heart so many times- this man did not love me and he never would.

I had broken up with people before. I had broken hearts, I had witnessed the pain I caused. I had been in relationships with boys I didn't love and, after watching them fall in love with me and doing nothing to stop it, said the same thing to them. I'm not in love with you. Now, as I stood in their shoes, I felt disgusted with my cruelty. Was it really possible that I had inflicted this much pain on someone else and then kept on living and dating as if I hadn't just cracked someone's soul?

The Aftermath (or- My Semi-Death):

I don't remember how I left, how I got home, how I slept that night. It's all a blur. I remained stuck in the pain of that moment for several hours, days, weeks, months, and years. I couldn't get in my car without crying. I couldn't smell the things he liked to eat. I couldn't wear the clothes I'd worn with him. I couldn't hear my phone buzz the familiar tone of a text message without it paralyzing me in hopes that it would be from him- and it never was. I couldn't sign on to msn chat- in fact, I soon stopped online chatting almost for good. I didn't want to do anything that involved happiness or smiling. I was wallowing in this new kind of pain, a pain I couldn't believe existed- the pain of being left by someone I loved combined with the pain of not being good enough to love.

I thought I was going to die. I felt part of me had already died. I couldn't imagine ever feeling good again. I certainly couldn't imagine ever loving someone and opening my heart again. I couldn't get up in the morning, and then I couldn't sleep at night. I couldn't eat meals, only tubs of chocolate and buckets of vodka. I couldn't look at myself in the mirror, there was nothing about me I wanted to see. No one could have convinced me that this pain would ever go away.

The Ritual of Recovery (or- Life Goes On- Because it Has to):

But, eventually, I did recover, of course. About six months after it happened, I found myself at a bar, having a lot of fun with my friends and talking to lots of boys, and when I got home, I realized I had just gone several hours without thinking of him. That was when I knew I would survive this. It took two years to fully let him go, which involved a lot of random flings, eating, sex and the city, creative projects, time spent with friends, writing, and alcohol. I actually performed a ritual in order to stop holding on to my love for him and the idea that I couldn't love or be loved again. The ritual was taught to me by a teacher in grad school. Take a piece of wood (preferably one you've meditated with and given meaning), write on it what you want to let go of (in this case, it was his name), then tie a feather to it with a red string, which represents air and fire, and then go to a body of water and throw it in when you're truly ready to let it go. The ritual works for me because I feel like I am calling upon the four elements, and thus the universe, to help me and guide me. I sat by the river for four hours before I was ready to let go of him. I cried, I wrote him a letter, and I kissed the piece of wood. And then, I threw it in, and let him go.

A week later, I met the next man I loved.

That's just how it goes. We break some hearts and one day, someone breaks ours. We think we will never get over it. We think no pain will ever be greater. But we do recover. We love again. We get hurt again. We feel greater pains. The heart and the soul are unbelievably strong and stubborn. Stronger even than the walls we put up to protect them. We can get damaged over and over again, but our hearts still want to love. I think that's really beautiful, actually. I touch my heart once a day and say, "Thank you little heart, thank you for being so brave and for loving so deeply."

I'll end with a quote from my dad paraphrasing William Blake during the time I went though that break-up,

"We are in this world but for a little while, so that we may learn to love."

image from http://www.smh.com.au/ffximage/2006/10/05/break_up_wideweb__470x306,0.jpg

Masculinity vs. Femininity

"Be aggressive. Really strong. You know, tap into your masculinity."

If you're an actress or if you have ever played a sport, you've probably heard something like that and know what I'm talking about. As soon as I hear that, I get uncomfortable. Mostly, I get uncomfortable because it works. I channel in whatever socially constructed understandings of masculinity exist in me and I am suddenly more aggressive. My voice drops. My shoulders tense just slightly. My hips roll forward. But why, I ask myself, do I need to be told to be more masculine in order to come off as aggressive and strong? Clearly, if I can do it, then those qualities do not belong solely to men. Hm.

Yes, women can be aggressive and strong too. But not only are those qualities that are normally associated with men, they are of greater value when they are present in men. When we say of a woman, "She's really aggressive," we don't usually mean it in a completely positive way. We're not likely to get rewarded for punching someone- we'll probably get labeled as crazy if we do that. But an aggressive man is just being, well, manly.

Now, women have a lot of nice qualities associated with them too. Sensitive. Nurturing. Emotionally Open. Loving. But here's the thing: AGAIN, when those qualities are displayed in men, they are valued more. When we say, "He's so sensitive and nurturing," it's most likely a compliment. Whereas in a woman, very often, even qualities associated with femininity can be seen as a negative. For example, I read an article the other day where a working mom said something like, "If I dare to say I have to leave a meeting because my kid broke his arm, I get glares and eye-rolls. If a man says he has to leave a meeting early to watch his son's little league game, he's met with oh, how cute!" We usually get rewarded, actually, for "overcoming" our feminine traits- for leaving our kids at home and going to work, for detaching ourselves from commitment, for becoming immune to sex, and the list goes on. This does not apply, however, to more practical aspects of "being a woman"- it's still okay if we do all the cleaning and cooking and wear push-up bras, for example. A woman can be the CEO of a company now, but it's better if she does it in heels, never yells, and, when her husband volunteers to feed the kids one night, she rewards him by wearing a school-girl outfit the next time they have sex.

So when do we win?

I don't actually have a problem with aggression and physical strength being masculine traits and sensitivity and nurturing being feminine traits, I think that's pretty much in accordance to our human nature. The problem, for me, is that certain traits are valued more than others, especially in men, and we don't acknowledge that every human being has both masculine and feminine traits within them, in varying degrees. A woman who is a boxer but still wishes to be attractive to men shouldn't feel like she has to overcompensate for her aggression and physical strength by wearing loads of make-up and covering her bulky arms. On the same token, men shouldn't be given an award every time they do a house-hold chore or know the name of a flower.

It seems that there's a whole lot of focus on getting us in to the man's world. But how about valuing a woman's world? If house-cleaning paid as much as investment banking, men would learn the tricks of the trade quite quickly, I'm guessing. If you've never read Gloria Steinem's famous 1978 article, "If Men Could Menstruate", you should. I highly recommend it. In it, she says, "Whatever a 'superior' group has will be used to justify its superiority, and whatever an 'inferior' group has will be used to justify its plight."

So, ladies, here's my suggestion: How about we start saying, "Yes! How great that I get to feel something for the men I sleep with." and "It's amazing that I actually want to stay home and raise my kids! (And yes, I should get paid for it)." and "Oh, I don't want to start a bar fight, that's what makes me awesome."

Because maybe if we start to value some of our feminine traits, the rest of the world will eventually follow suit.

What do you say?

Image from "Porn for Women" http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3171/2884131572_92796377ed.jpg

The Hopeful Cool One

We've all heard, at some point, the famous (male) words: "Just don't expect too much of me," later echoed with, "What do you honestly expect from me?" Usually meaning, Don't develop feelings, don't start wanting a commitment, I'm warning you now so that I don't have to be held responsible for my actions later.

What we ought to respond is, "Well, you know that it's actually not possible for me to control what I feel and expect, so what you're actually asking from me is that I pretend that I don't feel anything for you or expect anything from you, even if I do, so that you don't feel bad about using me for sex and company."

But do we ever say that?

No.

Instead, we say, "Cool."

Because that's what we want to be. Cool. And you know what? It's fucking stupid. We know we're not cool at all. We play it up, act all detached, wait the obligatory four hours before answering a text, shrug when he asks if we mind if he goes to a party without us, pretend we're not the commitment-type, but inside- unless, and this is important to note, for there is an unless: we're in love with someone else, deeply heart-broken, or really jaded- we're not really cool with not developing feelings and not expecting anything from the men we date.

We all read or watched the movie "He's Just Not That Into You". We're too self-aware and too educated about men, at this point in Herstory, to fool ourselves about a guy's emotional availability. When our mothers were dating, they had to take a lot more risks. A guy could get away with a lot more. A girl could think, "Oh, he hasn't called me because he's visiting his Grandmother or, like, at war."

Nowadays, girlfriend, you know that if he didn't reply to your text within 45 minutes, he's probably not interested in more than your booty- people text during funerals now, no one is busy with something where they don't have access to their phones for over 45 minutes anymore. And we know that when a man says he doesn't want a relationship, we should take his word for it and, as Cassandra O'Keefe once said, "Run like the wind. You want to save something? Save a whale. Save the rainforest. Don't try to save a man."

So we have no excuse. And that's the most disturbing part. We, the most educated generation of women, are still choosing to lie to ourselves and play it "cool".

I can, of course, relate this to a recent event in my own dating life. I've been engaged in a text flirtation with a guy for about two weeks now, and he texts me extremely sporadically, and has already given me excuses like "I'm busy with work" and "I'm hanging out with friends", and I've already vowed to stop replying to his texts about 14 times, but every time he texts me I get super excited and wonder if he's finally going to ask me out. It's ridiculous! I want his attention simply because I don't have it. I've felt like I'm 12 and trying to get the most popular guy in middle school to notice me when he was already dating the popular blonde and only called me when he needed help with his homework (and by help I mean I would give him the answers to everything). I finally decided to do something about it today, and I texted him, "So you wanna meet up sometime or just text me for another 7 months?" To which he replied, "haha. I absolutely want to meet up with you. Tell me when and where." (You're probably thinking- as I was- oh, so he was interested all along! But not really. I mean, think about it, what else was he gonna say? Men don't tend to say "nah, I'll pass" when a woman asks them out. They usually figure that at the very least they'll get a boob.) We then proceeded to set a date. After the whole interaction had occurred, though, I sat thinking to myself, "So this guy has been kind of a jerk, I've been getting the wrong vibes all along, and my way of settling it was by asking him out? Golly Moses. Women are stupid."

Why do we keep doing this to ourselves, and can we stop?

As I write this, I think, I should text him and cancel the date so that I can end this blog post with my triumph over my stupid neediness and inspire other women. And, in my inability to do so, I am given the answer as to why we keep this up.

Hope.

I hope he won't be a jerk. I want to give him a chance, because the pay-off that could come from him actually being a great guy is worth the cost of a bad dating experience. I want to take the risk that maybe beyond his virtual actions, this guy might be really really nice, and we might like each other. Because at the end of the day, what I want most of all is to find someone to love who will love me in return, and that's really hard to find, so I gotta give some odd balls a chance, hope for a seemingly douchy guy to turn out rather sweet, take some risks, or I may miss my chance.

And you know what? I'm cool with that.

I accept comments on my new blog design too....