Words manifest

The world seems embalmed in gray, wistful anticipation for fickle nature to relinquish her water and drench an already soddened earth
And I, plan not for what words shall come forth from heart to mind to prose
And I think not of what I will create,
but with open mind and heart, like mother earth I wait
Words as well can fall like rain
Form easily from clouded thought to manifest in a down pour of emotion and content
Till the hands cannot keep pace with the magnitude, (though once trace) of effort spent
I cannot provide intent or source of prose
For what provided inspiration to my story true
I can only hope that what was wrought
Whether sadness, fear, laughter or pain
Did ultimately touch you

if I should die before I wake

In a prayer to our father, those fateful words “if I should die before I wake” never rang so true for me.

Armed with your love my heart is strong, my life one of solidarity.

If I should die tomorrow it would occur with no regret, for did I know the rapture of love everlasting, to feel part of a unique partnership that sealed the gaping hole in my life with passion, allegiance and true honesty.

To have lived a life surrounded, yet so alone. To never know the sweetness of someone other than my mother wondering and worrying about me..Until there was you-longing for me, desperate for my safety and desiring of my happiness over yours. To look at my many neurosis with a quizzical smile, to never cast judgement over my countless sins though it would be justified if your condemnation chosen, to put a vibrant life on hold if mine were pensive or pending, to cry ancillary tears in honor of my own, to feel a strong sense of accomplishment over my triumphs, to experience physical pain over my own torture, and to assume the responsibility of bearing my burdens and problems without a second thought, now you see why this is not a morbid thought but rather a joyful platitude, that if I were to die tomorrow that I have known true love and completion through you.

My husband is slow

I often accuse my husband of being slow
Not in a negative light as in a "slow thinker" or dim witted
Rather he is methodical, calculating, planning everything
In his head thoughts revolving and turning, obsessing and burning
For weeks, months, for he is both creative and diabolical in his assessments
And will deliver near perfection in answer and summary for "less than" is never good enough for he
He is not prone to compulsive action or thought such as I
I have a quick answer for every problem, a quick solution for each dilemma
Though I think, true, and think through, I sometimes act where I should halt
I sometimes speak where words have wrought greater damage still and silence is a welcome shrill
Doing naught is a veritable impossibility for me
Yet he will wait and watch and muse
And while I think I win for action's sake
He must correct the damage wrought by my compulsivity and thus I lose
Never underestimate the silent and slow nor mistake them for weak or deficient
They will still be planning, plotting and producing while you with wasted energy spent

fall before you fly-to my dearest husband

I longed for wings, I longed for things, emblazoned fear from denial so wrought, until all excuses did so diminish what was a heart once bold, my inspirtation cold, until the only words I could utter, hopeless
In my stationary limbo, twas easier to declare that my wings refused to sprout, the proverbial skin stayed smooth and unblemished save for the red dryness where I picked and poked and prodded searching for the smallest sign, a random feather, broken skin with smallest growth, and yet there remained no indication just endless miles of smooth dermis
I longed for bumpy uneven surface, prelude to gorgeous, sparking wings that weighed my shoulders down and extended beyond my mortal shouders, to serve as a brilliant canopy to catch the wind and divert for flight, the smoothest down cloak to shelter me from gusts of wind that whoosh and whirl while one rides the chariot of the night sky, wings to rival the ancient gods or the equivalent of the archangels' own
and still the days passed and there remained no sign
until the day you tired of my hoping and vaulted me over the cliff into the sun, you always told me I had to fall before I flew but I always thought you were talking in the blessed proverbial. In truth you had grown weary of my waitng for greater things and blessed, cursed man did you take matters into your own to goad my dreams to reality
and as I plummeted to earth and cursed your name for you had turned away, my security had abandoned me, my longing to live, to survive and become more of what I knew I was consumed me, the basest instinctive will to live and not become one with hardest ground,
for the earth that circled close looked brutal and unwelcoming, a nasty grave while the wind beckoned, it soothed my trembling skin and spoke of lightness with clarity
the second before my fate was sealed, my back it arched, my skin erupted and the canopy of light and gold that transformed my heart from weak to bold, the canopy enveloped, the angel's wings sprouted and saved me from my oblivion,
as I began to soar above the earth, velocity and direction diminished as I rode each gust highter, above the canyon, above the earth to my destiny, dreams manifest to accept no less than your own greatness, to never wait and long and wonder for that which you can MAKE HAPPEN NOW
and as I scanned the horizon line, I saw the smallest speck, of life, zooming closer twas you looking up with arms outstretched, to catch me just in case I should fall
my anger fled I smiled instead for I did need you after all

the first meet

She walked confidently into Starbucks, appropriately dressed for a first encounter post match communication, 7 jeans and a black sweater, conservative yet classy, as the plunging neckline does not facilitate an engaging yet moderate first impression when one's eyes are cast mid chest as opposed to reminding one that yes, you have eyes. And they are right up here under my scalp.
She looked around hesitantly, and shuddered in concern as a pot bellied, sweaty, fifty something with a bad comb over met her eyes. He raised his frappochino in greeting, and she took note of the classifieds that lay askew upon the wooden table. It couldn't be Ed, her witty and assuredly handsome match friend with whom she had been bantering this past month. This horribly middle aged monstrosity was both unappealing and jobless. Been there, done that she mumbled in repose over a bad memory from her younger years.
A hand motioning from the corner table caught her eye. There was her Ed! Handsome, younger, great smile. She nearly floated over to his table in blessed relief until he opened his mouth and proceeded into a diatribe of how hot she was, what a great body she had, did he look as good in person? While her mouth widened as if to catch flies but really in shock over his immaturity and horrid communication. He proceeded to tell her that he drove a porsche ( on a vice principal's salary) but that he was up to his eyeballs in debt due to the economy and "not wanting to budget though I should ha ha". He then asked her income, her weight, and finished off his line of questioning with "what great chemistry, do you feel our chemistry, and we would have great sex." She paused, and smiled as it occurred to her that what was great about this situation is that she could walk away, which she longed to do, quickly and assuredly flee out of starbucks. Instead she grabbed Ed's arm, nicely whispered that she enjoyed meeting him but had a plane to catch, and sauntered toward the front door. So this did not work out, no big deal. He was one of many and there had to be a few good picks among the bad apples. But as she walked by comb over man on her way out the door she felt fleeting regret as she knew he would have at least been a standard above the idiocy she just endured. Oh well, NEXT!!

the match series volume 1

This series of blogs will highlight my dear friend's adventures in the on line dating world.
And thus my friend returned to online dating, and found a plethora of potential matches in her "in box". Those who emailed her soliciting interest and a desire to communicate or "meet up" (some creepy, some with potential, some of the wrong "sex"). Those who "viewed" her page but did not include a message or greeting (she had mentally categorized those folks who opted to look and not communicate as indecisive or shy and could not bother with them; no time to waste on the wishy washy in her pursuit to find love) and with a sigh of resignation she began to filter through the responses. A series of questions assaulted her mind as she reviewed the potentials. How many suitors were honest in their profile content and pictures? Why do men think that posting pictures bare chested, with questionable wash board abs as their main profile picture is ever ok? And why do bi-curious women write to a designated hetero sexual woman with an obvious declaration of "woman searching for men" on her profile view? The same sex is for friends and friends only. Being a female is difficult enough, trying to understand yourself and your emotions is a challenge. Why on earth would she attempt to take that on in a partner? Back to the pictures-do 45 year old men seriously think that including a high school senior picture circa 1982 with mullet and "Van Halen rules" would lend credibility to an otherwise shady posting? And the several inquiries from 20 something, barely through puberty youngsters? Puhlease, she was so over the training wheel period of her life. NO matter how hot, anything less than 35 required an owners manual and detailed directions on building and maintenance. Let someone else train that trick pony. After several hours of perusal, and a few decided potential "dates" with seemingly good looking professionals who hopefully had their shots, were not drop outs from Rikers or former detainees from the state mental hospital, she closed her computer with thoughtful yet guarded anticipation of the adventure of dating upon which she would soon embark. Stay tuned.

Return to match.com

Online dating is a slippery slope. Sometimes good, sometimes bad, always interesting. We have all done it, loved it, hated it, left it and returned to it, much like a bad relationship. An old friend has returned to online dating after a hiatus, and this blog posting was written from her perspective, in her honor, to capture what we have all experienced..

She distinctly remembers the great excitement/apprehension she felt upon first posting her profile to match.com. A flurry of unanswered questions swarmed her mind. Would anyone look at her profile and take an interest? Was the content exiting, informative, characterize her appropriately, or was it scripted and cliché, a cookie cutter version of what everyone else was saying. And so that first evening, heart pounding, nails bitten to the quick, she logged in and was fairly overwhelmed with the large volume of likeminded single men (and some women, gulp) who were interested in her profile. In retrospect she knew how naïve that was, how sometimes match was just a nightclub in cyber space, and it really took a discerning navigator to read through the fluff and select suitable candidates for that first meet. And her second wakeup call and thus extremely crucial lesion learning was the first “meet”. Handling the disappointment and shock over the men that did not resemble their profiles, by twenty years/pounds/ and IQ points. How to handle men who made no qualms about sexual impropriety and their selfish use of the internet as a new medium for physical conquest, at your behest. Not to mention the large amount of simple losers out there looking for love.
After six frustrating months without a solid suitor, she deleted her profile, and took a long and introspective sabbatical. She pondered the experience, weighing the positives vs. the negatives of cyber dating. And while deciding that it was not for her at the moment, she did not rule out an eventual return to match.com for the second go round.
And here she was, two years later, after cleaning the clutter and straightening her spirit, ready to try on line dating again. This time she was much better prepared for the experience, knowing which tactics to employ for the game ahead, and avoiding the silly and yet sometimes debilitating disappointments’ when things didn’t’ work out. For don’t we all get caught up with our thoughts or ideals of what we think a person is going to be, and thus bank on that day dream vs. leave an open mind for what could be a shadier reality. And as she posted her profile, there was no nail biting, no apprehension, rather an appreciation for the wild ride that loomed ahead, and the laughter and lessons it would surely bring the second and better time around. Open mind, open heart, zero expectation, urgency or mad dash. She had time, she was discerning and she would keep her standards high no matter what, for she knew she was a catch and what she brought to the table.
And dear reader, stay tuned for more postings about "return to match .com".

the usual suspects go downtown

Saturday night my group of friends and I celebrated a multi birthday bash at the Ivy roof top bar; the best place to people watch in San Diego. The battle ensued between the not so beautiful people that comprised the crowd (those fake tanned, surgically enhanced, questionable millionaires you use to see at the Barefoot bar/beach comber round up who have been "about 42" since 1990 drunkenly chasing the scantily clad wait staff and/or the barely legal youngsters who asked them to fish for beer at am/pm their senior year of highschool-which was last June) vs. the beautiful people in the crowd (those fake tanned, surgically enhanced, questionable millionaires screwing their faces in strange and complex expressions to the front doorman in vain to look like their fake IDs, while fleeing from cougars and drunken quasi 42 year olds and wondering why their pursuers look strangely like the old guy/girl who bought them beer at the am/pm senior year) and it brough a smile to my face and a sigh of relief over my boringly domestic married life. Of course the usual suspects, my wonderful friends, were unanimously dressed and pressed in their requisite "down town" duds, and I have to reminisce at our dynamic, for we have all matured and evolved without changing our core personalities or how we interact. And some of us have even progressed from pink lipstick, the Jennifer Anniston 90s shag and penny loafers (yes girls, I did finally realize that the wet and wild shocking pink lip gloss that I clung to went out in 1993, and I am so thankful you introduced me to my new best friend "mac" in 1999). We all poke fun at the unique characteristics that have branded us forever within our crowd, the impetus of many drunken laughter and mimicry as we reminisce via facebook or text the morning after. For example, case in point Saturday night, I can still have been introduced to the same person 5 separate times and blank on their name. Forgive me Cynthia. And then there is my beautiful blonde friend, spotted doing her quintessential right sided hair flip that signifies her status of officially being "buzzed". I became mesmerized with how each strand of her perfect blonde hair covered one full side of her scalp, much like Donald Trump before his fateful firing of an apprentice hopeful. Then there is my lovely friend who often looks at me around 11 pm and whispers "i wish I were watching Battle Star Galactica" while we exchange opinions on the controversial season finale. My other friend who always manages to kiss the hot twenty year old no matter where we are-she is a youth magnet. My friend who bemoans her single status, then turns around and has a hot new boyfriend her first month back on match. The topics of conversation have changed from the latest hook ups and quarrels to our children's inability to clean up after themselves, or the state of the economy, but as I looked around at the beloved faces of those with whom I have shared my joys and triumphs for close to 17 years, I am eternally grateful and humbled that I have experienced such lasting friendships with these wonderful and loyal folks.

week on, week off

Assimilating into my new life has been a duplicitious process; I am both joyful and daunted by being a step mother. We have my husband's children every other week, and the navigation between the two has taken some adjustment. One weekI will find myself worrying with my husband over his teenager's somberness, while hesitantly accepting my other step daughter's request to assist me in my house cleaning duties (for I want to encourage to cleanliness the torrential hurricane of disorder that is her life and yet my patience is tested as have to add an hour to the cleaning schedule as an eight year old's attention is easily diverted from the toilet bowl to Miley Cyrus). I have to find time to accomplish my personal responsibilities and adjust to the noise level generated by small children and adolscents; giggling plus questions plus running stairs plus hamster plus disney channel produces a decibel to which I am not yet accomostomed. It is a gradual process. At first I use to relish the weeks without them for the ease and lessened stress. Time with my husband running on the beach, blogging, dinners with friends. And yet the challenge therein at the end of that week being the mental preparation for the impending week of difference. Louder noise, increased stress. And then when they come it is like the rushing of wind, and it is amazing the joy generated by the simplest words of an 8 year telling you that she missed you. And now the diametric opposition of weeks has settled to a paradigm of appreciation for the differences of both-the simplicity of time alone with my husband, compared to the opportunity to experience an element of parenthood while inadvertently memorizing Nicklodean's Saturday night line up. Adjusting to the contrast and diversity of life is a stressful, joyful and bittersweet process. And I will always bless the sweetest words of a small child and how they have warmed a novice yet learned heart.

A graceful way to break up

Though I have many happy recollections of my single life, I unfortunately don't share that same fond memory for the breakups. The sometimes pathetic and down right cruel way the relationship tie was severed by an ex. And likewise similar recountings by disparaged and weepy friends questioning their self worth as a result of said "dump". Thus begs the question- Is there a graceful or gracious way to break up with someone? And if so, why couldn't those, so disparaged, have been the recipient of kinder words than those harsh ones that caused self esteem to plummet and hearts to break in a thousand disillusioned shards. The requisite, meaningless excuses or complete absence of communication (see blog entitled "fiery car crash" for more details) employed during a breakup can wreak havoc on an already vulnerable heart, and leads one to wonder why someone chooses that option when they have the opportunity to break away gracefully, honestly and prevent a lot of upset on both sides?


I have heard a million break up lines, the one time my ex called to speak to me as if any other evening's conversation, only to suddenly tell me things did not "feel right" an hour into our discussion of our impending weekend plans. Or the slick rick who called my close friend at 7am, the morning after their glorious overnight trip to San Franciso, to tell her he thought they were getting "too close". Of the many things they discussed during their mini holiday, his "five year plan" for them as a couple. Or at 18, the gorgeous marine sargeant who decided to let my high school friend Jamie know he was no longer interested in her by asking out another mutual friendI wonder if "sargeant idiot" thought Jamie would take that not so subtle hint of his ending their relationship. And to add insult to injury-this so called other friend called my friend Jamie to ask permission to go out with this guy-seriously. Justice was delivered for Jamie when we heard through the grapevine that our friend had a suprise visit to the gynecologist soon after her first date with the marine for a malady that Jamie was thankfully spared. My favorite break up excuse is the complete absence of excuse-your supposed lover just does not bother to show up to an arranged engagement, or ever call you again. I never understood that one. I have heard pathetic arguements to support this action, "it is the kinder, better way" or "she will get the hint without a weepy confrontation". Translation, it is easier for the coward thus engaging in these actions to flake out rather than confront and resolve. Or, there was not phone call because someone's hand was broken or cut off at the limb. My friends and I laugh retrospectively laugh over some of these shared experiences slash humiliations. But to all those considering breaking off a relationship, I humbly request that you adhere to the golden rule "do unto others as you would have them do unto you". Approach with honesty, be respectful, communicative and attempt to leave yourself and your soon to be exes dignity intact. The shoe may very well be on the other foot soon enough, and trust me you can only die in a fiery car crash one in a lifetime.

To miss you

I have always been a solitary creature, not prone to longing of individual or place, content to live with myself, exist with my own thoughts, conjecture and sometimes conversation
As a child I would spend hours entertaining myself, never hearing the door creaking and my worried mother so peeping her bemused head and inquisitive eyes through the crack to apprise and thus surmise this strange child who composed lyrics and plays to entertain the silent and invisible majority that comprised her friends
And though I formed strong friendships and convenient social attachments throughout the progression of my life, with overlong exposure I would feel thus confined and need to break free to the solace and silence of my mind and heart, belonging to the world but never truly apart, I chose to stay apart.
And then there was you. At first our periods of intimacy and companionship interspersed with separation were once again convenient to me, truly too much time with one human let alone a man would previously sent me into a threatened tail spin for fear of losing supposed relished and sovereigned autonomy, avoiding a connection or commitment for fear of rejection of self or reprisal of true character, would someone accept me truly. oh i was not sure.
And as our lives and heart drew closer and you demolished walls erected for closure and protection, i find myself most vulnerable and most open to you and despite myself think of you each moment and long for you each hour. What meaning is this, to miss someone if not hearing beloved voice or seeing sweet face, strange place to call home when all of one's time is spent with one's own and there is neither confinement nor resentment but sweet reality that this is where I am supposed to and most long to be..You are the only one I ever truly missed and the last one i ever want to kiss.

Cling together part 2

Today was a crabby day. I felt fat, tired, work was uninspiring and my back ached. I could run the gamut of minor annoyances that are plaguing me; truth be told, there is nothing substantially wrong and I am just having an off day. So instead of crabbing it up to my husband, and bitching down the proverbial list of every negative tic, I made an overall statement about my irritability, whicy drew from him both compassion for my plight and a kindred spirit. He proceeded to regail me with pent up frustrated confessions about his incompetant boss, as he could well empathize with the frustrating work component I shared. This both lightened his spirit and cleared his focus my way. When he arrived home, I was greeted with an enthusiastic kiss and plan to take me to dinner to "cheer me out of my gloom". This turned the corners of my mouth in an upward motion, enabling me compartmentalize my truly insignificant plight and focus on the positive. How fortunate I am to have a strong ally with whom I can share all of my joy, frustration and laughter. How blesssed to have a human litmus test to truly assess if my sour mood is justified or merely hormonal. How nice to have a person willing to put aside his frustration in consideration of my own. That is enough to turn any sour mood sweet!

you have to cling together

My husband and I invariably experience periods of discontent amidst the splendor of love. Ok, to more aptly put it, we fight. Not very often, but alas, not very well. There is a rational and respectful method to battle in which each participant expresses their contrary view point in a calm and collected manner, with empathy and understanding reciprocated though the point is not neccessarily agreed. We have not quite gotten to that point. And sometimes our mutual immaturity, in retrospect, shames and humors us. The period of acclimation when a relationship is newly established is tense enough. Integrating lifestyles is accompanied by exposure to new moods, habits and traits not necessarily desired. And we are expected to endure and ignore that which irritates us, as we made a conscious choice to blend lives and hearts. And though blanketed by love, there are proverbial snags in the fabric. And we are no exception. We shout, we pout, and the silence of intropsect and resentment ensues. And though we have gotten better, less delay between inception and resolution, as the initial arguements would last for a period of days and now we are laughing and enjoying each other soon after the heated exchange. Nevertheless occasional criticism and hateful words are flung, which we later so duly regret. How does one fight well? When strong emotion is the basis for a passionate and loving relationship, the dark side to that coin is that those same strong emotions that elicited great love also spark great anger. It is a slippery slope. I love my husband, and yet we struggle with working together when we argue as oppossed to drifting away from our alliance when we have opposing views. An old friend once told me, when asked how she made it through the tense struggles she and her husband experienced when newly married and faced with financial, career and child rearing struggles, that you have to "cling together through the turmoil or else it will drive you apart." Wise words indeed. I feel as though my husband is my greatest ally, the one who understands and accepts me unconditionally, loving me despite and for all components of my being. Perhaps for our next arguement, instead of turning away in anger I shall grasp his hand and literally cling to his love, even while fuming or feeling resentment over something that will undoubtedly prove insignificant in the greater picture of life.

About this friend

I have a bevy of interesting and dynamic friends that invariably become the subject of one of my blogs. What better diversity of content to draw from than what is gleaned from their experience and perspective? And I do believe we all have that quintessential "friend" that dates and thinks like a dude, though she is unwaveringly feminine in appearance and demeanor. She just has the base common sense to accept when something is not working and thus make an alternate choice that will work, unlike most of us who steep in insignificance and disappointment waiting for a man to change or decide that he wants us. This pragmatism has worked primarily for her in that she can decisively filter through men that are not a suitable match, but worked against her in that she has perhaps been too picky in her selection. She become involved with someone late last year, who after a speculative period of time, she decided would be her next lover/boyfriend/companion. This is attributed partly to his slight mystery and elusivity during their courtship; she never really felt like she had him, therefore he became more appealing. Due to her charisma and beauty, men tend to fall rather easily, and the more disinterested she becomes, the more they pursue. The fact that this guy had stolen her lines and method, that she was forced to walk in the uncomfortable shoes normally worn by her suitors was a genius move on this his part. Though truly I don't know if his behavior was intentional; the result of a skilled hunter who can assess his prey and alter his mechanism of tracking to lure and thus capture. Or the proverbial pieces falling into place when something is meant to work out. And after months of not knowing exactly where she stood, true to nature, she grew bored and backed off. Likewise he was a little reticent about becoming too close too quickly. So they took a mutual break, dated others, and realized what they had together was way better for them both. Fast forward a month later, she is now in an official "relationship" with him, they have met each other's children, and things are falling into place quite easily. In seemed as if one minute they were walking in opposite directions and the next minute they had changed course to plot a path that helped them meet in the middle. And I wonder at the conclusion-timing, destiny, chance or strategic plotting? I speculate a little bit of them all. But thankfully I don't have to speculate on the outcome, for I see the paths forging towards each other until blessedly intertwined for a long lasting journey.

My husband's words on life with Elizabeth

My husband has agreed to a role reversal and will thus serve as guest speaker on this blog, commenting on life with a tornado. Though my verbiage, this is his true narrative.
Says he : "being married to you is like a roller coaster ride. The ups are like life on a desert island with no cell phones, no computers, no stress. The down's are like a ghost train.".
And of course i asked him what a "ghost train" was, as this s a British euphemism and my American ignorance seems to be kicking in. Sometimes I need a Webster's dictionary to follow a conversation with him. It is probably his smarmy English one up man ship.
He continued " A ghost train is a fair ground ride, with things that jump out and scare you, like ghosts and skeletons. "
Of course I became quite happy with him comparing me to a skeleton; my diet must be finally working.
Seriously, I try not to take offense to his insinuating that I am moody. Me, moody? As if.
he continues "every day is like an adventure." I stop him right there. I tell him to stop throwing cliche verbs and descriptors my way and tell me the truth about what life is like with me.
he goes on " I love it! I don't however like the downs, and sometimes I wish you trusted me more. The occasional distrust and questions are the ugly demons of your past rearing their heads".
I say "Oh and I suppose you are the priest who will exorcise my monsters. "
He continued "no the robes do nothing for my hips".
He continues "We are a good fit. We simply enjoy each other, like now. We don't need to endlessly plan activities to have a good time. We can simply "be" with each other. Renting movies, running on the beach, talking. We are content on our own. We don't rely on the stimulus of other people to enjoy our time. We like to occasionally tell the world to go to hell and be alone. That makes me happy. "
As a side bar, my husband has this "thing" with his feet. He does not like anyone touching his feet, so of course in between typing his words I grab at this feet, which annoys the hell out of him. My goal completely. After the third time of his dodging my attempts to tickle his ever elusive feet, he nearly falls out of his chair, which causes me to erupt in laughter. "Stop it". He commands. "if you want me to keep helping you, stop taking the piss out of me. " Another English verb. At least I know what that means. Stop making fun of me. But isn't that one of the essential elements to any good relationship, humor and balance. We are always trying to take the "piss" out of each other. We laugh together well, we co-exist and cross exist beautifully. And though he will have to deal with my "downs" from time to time, and he will have to endure my teasing and picking at his feet, that is what makes our connection strong enough for the long haul. The balance of humor and support. And I wouldn't trade this new life for anything.

People break up for a reason

I used to be good friends with a guy named Sean; a blunt Irish Bostonian who could always be counted on to call a spade a spade. His BS detector provided spot on insight and identification of any crap being peddled; he would provide relentlessly straightforward advice to we foolish girls being spoon fed lines extraordinaire by the loser of the month we happened to be dating. Of course in the moment the advice was resented and discounted, but in retrospect we nearly grimaced in disgust over the wisdom of his words and the foolishness displayed. One of the smartest things Sean ever said to me was in regard to a mutual female friend recently dumped by her cassanovaesque lover (who had been seeing her and forty other girls on the side). Out at the local watering whole a mere two nights after said heartbreak, we caught them on the dance floor playing tonsil hockey. "Whaat is that crap?" he spewed. "Didn't he dump her?" "Oh yes, but he wants to stay friends". I explained to Sean as if that was sufficient justification for our friend's ridiculous display. Over Starbucks that same morning, our friend tearfully reviewed the break up, and our dime store assessment was that the break up was due to her exes fear of commitment and rejection, and that he just needed "time" to be sure of her affection; he loved her that much. And then we were off to buy some beach front property in Arizona, fools that we were. Willing to by any sophmoric line presented by a guy (due to, um, yes I shall say it, DESPERATION) smart enough to realize how he could have his cake and it too, along with a dozen glazed donuts and chocolate brownies as well. Sean's observation raised my defensive caucles due to it's accuracy and disdain. He was on the verge of yet another brilliant assessment, and instead of busitng out a steno pad and writing notes, I began to get angry. Sean began "They call it a break up for a reason. When people break up, that means they stop communicating, hanging out, seeing each other for an extended period of time. " Again when I tried to correct his perspective, I was shut down instantaneously by one sentence. "Elizabeth, he basically told her she wasn't good enough to be committed to, and how she is acting validates her acceptance of his treatment, that she is however good enough to sleep with". I could not say another word. My face turned bright scarlet and I stormed away in self righteous indignation. Years have passed since I have seen Sean, but I swear if I ever run into him again I will give him a big hug and thank him for the words of wisdom it took me ten years to acknowledge and ultimately follow. However I am still trying to off load that beach fron desert property.

A right now happy ending

Several months ago I blogged about a friend who met a guy she was really crazy about; it was her first dating experience after a turbulent divorce, entitled "get off the see-saw". To review, the first few months were great until he summarily informed her he cared for her but still had feelings for someone with whom he had recently split. My very smart friend, instead of performing the requisite but destructive act of letting him off the hook and "waiting for him" , perpetuated strong self esteem and dignity by telling this guy to take a hike until he could make up his mind. To follow up, I did not have to provide any comfort or reassurance to her vacated heart. After several weeks, this ultimately wise man, (with the stark realization of life without her) vigilantly fought to win back her affection with an onslaught of emails, phone calls, flowers and unexpected "pop ins" until she relented and rejoined his companionship. Throughout this ordeal her actions were unexpectedly wise, befitting a seasoned dater rather than a novice newly thrust back into the single world. During their separation she neither pined nor sighed like a school girl, she dated, went out with friends, worked out and only shed an occasional silent tear over this loss. And when he resurfaced with his declarations of intent, she did not immediately acquiesce, but made him work for her affection and time. As she valued herself, his respect and value of her as a person followed suit. Thing are progressing nicely; he is a good man who made a small error in judgement, most likely due to fear of the unknown, and/or fear of rejection. I will leave the psycho analysis to Freud. However my friend is to be applauded, for her actions and positivity virtually prophesied her positive outcome. Oh if only the rest of the worlds relationship problems were so easily resolved.

Leave the wine/whine at home

Several years ago, I was out for drinks with an old high school friend. Over a robust Shiraz she bemoaned her fate. Dumped again by another loser with no seeming reason or rationale. It was like watching Ground Hog Day with a bad hangover. I had memorized the script and the familiar players, only with each showing I prayed for a different outcome. My gaze lowered to an expanse of cleavage and tight jeans. Interesting how some styles don't evolve or progress, though the years always do. And with each glass of wine, her eyes became less focused, her words and lips freer, and the truth finally emerged. "He told me I was different, and special. He called me all the time and made all this effort. Then for no reason, his behavior changed, I heard from him less and less, and then it was only to hang out late at night. I don't know what I did. "I asked her a simple question. "how long did you make him wait?" all the while knowing the answer. She averted her gaze, "what do you mean?". I repeated myself, and she proceeded into a ridiculous diatribe of self delusion and denial. Telling me that my views were antiquated. That if grown people wanted to have sex and the consent was reciprocated, it did not matter. And whilst I agreed, that was on the premise that both individuals had zero expectation beyond the moment, and certainly no plans for longevity. And my friend did not fit into that category. Once again she slept with a guy on the first date, Which led to this perpetuated cycle of impulsiveness, excitement, satisfaction, shame and regret. If you want a different outcome, you need to change behavior and your entire paradigm. And the plain truth prevails;, men like the chase, and men always pick the girl who makes them wait, and work. They are quite simple. After the initial meet, women are instantly categorized, and when men realize they aren't an easy catch, they either relinquish or intensify the effort. Mainly the latter as they are simple creatures who never shy away from a challenge. So when they are given what the want, instantly, the interest predictably vanishes and their attention is turned to another triumph. The pity is that my friend is almost 40 and she has still not had enough reality beatings to divert her mind set and adopt my 'antiquated views." She still drank like a fish, accepted less than she deserved, and slept with men too quickly..I had not a whit of judgement for her, rather regret for I had been in her shoes too many times and knew what she was missing. The repression of our impulsiveness, though difficult at the moment, will result in your long term goal of companionship and love. And I much prefer waking up to the same warm smile and blue eyes as opposed to a hangover and conveniently empty place where a stranger's head once lay.

the perfect day

the perfect day starts with nary an agenda, no set plans or focus, friend merge to share in the warmth of common experience and familiarity, people that know you to your core, and accept all flaws, all idosyncrancies, and embrace your differences that drive negativity to perfection, when the warm sun kisses your cheeks and comforts your sadness, when you are enveloped in a circle of acceptance and trust, with those who have helped you survive your darkest hour and driven your greatest accomplishments, whom you have known most of your life and will perpetuate that bond to your death, you have experienced the perfect day and a rare joy that only comes fleetingly, yet the memory will survive forever.

Open the door to your heart

When one experiences heartbreak and repeated disappointment in love, it becomes much easier to retreat within ourselves, to that safe area of limbo, where we are immune to the possibility of another rejection. The dark side of that safety net is isolation and confinement, where one becomes so accostomed to solidarity that the world becomes grey, lacking luster and color, mired in the perpetual cycle of isloation, where we are unable to experience, evolve and feel joy. The heart must be open to opportunity; the walls erected to protect us in truth confine us to a prison of disillusionment and sadness. This blog is for anyone who has suffered thusly.
The proverbial door to my life was sealed shut, so tight, to let in neither sun nor oxygen
Little did I know that the cold stale air was suffocating me, so accustomed was I to the cold that with each ragged intake my breathe would crackle and freeze
My own weak arms my sole embrace, my tears frozen tracks upon my pale face,
The only sound I heard was your faint knocking, and yet I could not venture forth to the dimming light
Forever was the dark night of my existence that soon only my own words would make sense
For they were all I had left to hear
But still you persisted and my unsure footing propelled me forward, to the iron gate in which I had imprisoned my self
To the detriment of peace of mind and health
And once I lifted the latch and released the lock, a whoosh of fresh air filled the vacancy, the sun and your smile they greeted me
My squinting gaze alarmed by the brightness of light and smile and touch
I did not know, behind closed doors that I had missed so much
And yet like a cornered animal I did retreat, for many before had tried and failed to defeat the demons of doubt that did consume,
for many years I did barricade myself within this room
But you gently taught me that this was not the only life I was destined to know
And you slowly taught me to let go
Still I sometimes resist for I am not fully accustomed to the gentle warrior willing to take up arms for this battle, yet not his fight
However I am thankful to you, my bravest one who still for me will ever defeat the night