Lady Sage

It Isn't Messy, It's Celebrating

2011-12-12T15:24:00.000-05:00

“My hair isn’t messy; it’s celebrating”… that’s what I said to my aunt who was visiting this past weekend. She hadn’t seen me since my hair grew back and before she commented on the gray or that it was windblown or suggest I “style” it, I beat her to it. Instead, she loved the “celebrating” comment and only wanted to see how long it had gotten and how soft it felt.

Since my hair began to grow back, only one person has told me that my “messy hair” didn’t make a good impression and that maybe I should do something with it if I wanted to meet a guy, I still get a lot of, “Have you thought of cutting it?” Or “You should style it.” Or “Why don’t you use a flat iron?” these suggestions may not be negative but they all still say, “You would look better if…” which also means, “In my opinion you don’t look your best.”

I’m not bitching here. I’m bringing this up because I DO feel I look my best. I think looking my best happens when I’m feeling my best. I meant what I said to my aunt, my hair is celebrating. And, I’m encouraging it.

When my hair fell out I was only 26 years old. All of it fell out in a matter of weeks. I didn’t know why it was falling out either. Was it a serious health problem, a side effect of some medication, was it stress? I suffered through a few painful experimental treatments and several tests and procedures before those questions were answered. Then I had to deal with the fact that it might never grow back anyway.

After a woman spends thirteen years of her life having to wear wigs and dealing with all that that entails, trust me, she can deal with comments about messy or un-styled hair.

Here’s the truth… I don’t cut my hair because I‘m not sure how long it’ll stay with me. I don’t dye the gray because gray doesn’t bother me. I’m 42 years old and if some gray is the only tip off to my actual age, then I can’t complain. I don’t “style” my hair because it won’t hold a “style” since it still falls out a great deal. I don’t mind when it’s windblown because it means I didn’t have to worry about my wig blowing off instead.

When I look in the mirror I don’t see an un-styled do, gray hairs or messy waves. I see my face; my eyes, my nose, my smile. I see my body working correctly. I see less tension in my neck and shoulders since I’m no longer paranoid about keeping my wig on straight. I see that I’m free to go out whatever the weather. I can go swimming in the summer. Have a snowball fight in the winter. Go on roller coasters and into haunted houses. And, let a guy romantically run his hand through my hair.

Outside of losing a loved one, losing my hair was the most difficult thing I've ever had to endure. I learned the hard way who was there for me and who wasn’t. I learned what I wore and who I impressed took a backseat to who I was and who I let into my life and that how I felt about myself was more important than how others felt about me. Instead of losing my sense of self I found MYSELF. Instead of fear and weakness I found inner strength.

Think about it, men who often have no problem picking their noses, scratching their crotches or passing gas in front of others can't handle losing their hair. The things some of them do in order to cover up their hair loss and I’m going to worry about my hair being messy? That’s why I’ve made a deal with my hair… the day I begin to contemplate a comb-over is the day I will stop taking my own advice. But, until then, my hair is free to celebrate as she wishes.

William's Recipe

2011-12-02T16:06:00.000-05:00

Coquito for those of you who don’t know is an eggnog drink made with coconut. It’s a traditional Christmas drink. The basic ingredients are eggs, coconut and rum. How much of each can vary, then there is what type of rum to use and whether to use real coconut or cream of coconut.

I have a Coquito recipe that I take a lot of pride in making. It was handed down to me by my grandmother’s cousin, William just before he died of cancer. My grandmother and I were visiting him and while she was making him something to eat he and I sat talking. We were talking about when he was young and the trouble he, his sister and my grandmother would get into. I don’t remember how the subject of his Coquito recipe came up but it did. I told him I wished I knew how to make it. He told my grandmother to get him a paper and pen. He then handed them to me and said, “Here, write this down.” He didn’t just give me the recipe but told me why and how he decided to put in each ingredient. The conversation then went from his simple recipe to other family traditions and then to past holidays that he and my grandmother remembered. It was a really special afternoon for me. I was barely into my 20’s when William gave me his recipe and for a couple of years after he passed I kept it in one of my journals.

When I moved into my own place I thought it might be nice to make it even though I’m not much of a “kitchen” person. I don’t enjoy cooking or baking. If there was a way to nourish myself without having to actually prepare food or eat I’d be the first in line. I figured if it sucked no one would know because I was alone in the house. To my own surprise the Coquito turned out to be delicious. And, now it’s one of the few things I like to make. I make it every year and though I’ve been offered money for it, I only ever give it as a gift. It’s a way of me passing on the love and laughter of that day.

Unfortunately I trusted someone who didn’t understand that it wasn’t just a drink but something special. An old friend was planning a Christmas gathering at his place and wanted me to give him my recipe. He said he’d looked up different recipes but hadn’t come across anything like mine. He knew I didn’t share it but he figured by asking really nicely and by promising not to give the recipe out to anyone else that maybe I would give it to him. I told him that I’d think about it. About a week later he called again. I gave in and to my regret, recited the recipe over the phone.

My “friend” then took William’s recipe and added a different type of rum to it. He didn’t take out the original rum; he simply added his rum to the rest of the ingredients. He said the addition made the recipe HIS. And, since he hadn’t told anyone that the original recipe came from me “technically” he didn’t break his promise either when he eventually shared the recipe. Adding insult to injury he insisted that he improved the recipe. He said that it was good before but with his changes it was “better”. To prove his point he gloated about all the compliments he’d received. I was felt betrayed. He took compliments and credit for something that wasn’t his. It wasn’t an ego thing on my part. I felt good about my Coquito not only because I tasted good but because I was sharing part of my family story. It may be my Coquito to those who know me but I always give credit to William. I don’t know, maybe I am being too sensitive. Honestly, since I don’t work much in the kitchen maybe adding or subtracting one ingredient really does make it an entirely new thing. I have shared the recipe with two more people since then. But I’ve decided that from this Christmas forward I will no longer pass on William’s recipe. I’d rather share the Coquito I make instead. My Coquito comes with more than ingredients. It has a story, a history. It’s the story of a day I spent with my family. It’s a story of tradition, of culture and of respect for what we inherit. And, although I add my own love and friendship to the recipe before it's shared, it still belongs to William.

Married Men

2011-11-07T14:41:00.001-05:00

Not long ago a married man I know literally had the Cojones to say, “You can’t hold it against me that I’m married, I didn’t know you then.” REALLY!!! Really??? I mean, he said it as if it was logical. He felt I should give him a “chance” because it wasn’t his fault that he got married (and remains married) since he didn’t know he would meet me in the future. I wasn’t completely sure how to sum him up. Did he actually believe he was making sense? Did he think I was dumb enough to fall for his warped reasoning? Or was he just a complete asshole and figured he’d throw bullshit out there until something stuck? Whatever his thought process I made it very clear he didn’t have a chance EVER with me.

Unfortunately, he is not the first married man who has tried to convince me to get involved with them. He isn’t even the second, or the third… in fact, as of today, I can count four off the top of my head who are pursuing me. Unfortunately, again, this is not a new thing for me. I honestly don’t know if more married men than usual come on to me or if in general married men just come on to any woman they feel may be willing.

What makes them think I’m “willing” is what I’m trying to figure out. Do I give off a “desperate” vibe? I’m still single and in my forties so maybe that seems desperate. Yet, married men came on to me when I was in my twenties so that couldn’t always be the reason. Maybe because I live alone they feel I’m in need of “company”? Maybe they think I need a man around to do the “manly” things? Who the hell knows what they tell themselves… and I mean that, “what they tell themselves”!!! Because somewhere inside they have to KNOW that they’re lying to themselves as much as they’re lying to me. Seriously, what could they really offer me that would make the situation sound good? Basically, they have nothing I want or need. In the end it is simply self-centeredness on their part. They aren’t thinking of anyone but themselves. They aren’t thinking of their wives, their kids and they sure as hell aren’t thinking of me.

Their wives deal with (and have dealt with) them for years. They deal with reality. Smelly feet. Dirty laundry. Morning breath. Beer belly’s. In-laws. Bills. Mood swings.

Married men say they’re staying because of the kids or because they’ve invested too much into the relationship. If they leave they’ll have to pay spousal support, child support or split the assets. They care for their wives but they don’t love them like they once did. Yadda f*ckin’ Yadda. Come on… I’m supposed to believe in and trust someone’s promises when they’re lying (and obviously aren’t keeping the promises they made) to their wives and families.

They tell me that they will treat me like a Queen, buy me gifts, and take me on trips. They’ll satisfy me sexually too. All I have to do is hmmmmm… oh, yes, have sex with them. Sounds like prostitution to me. You give me some time with your body and in exchange I will give you payment. Now, I personally have no issue with women selling sex if that’s what they want to do. It’s a woman’s right to do what she wants with her body. (*Good topic for another post)

But, has it even occurred to these men that they are in essence asking me to sell my body? Of course not, I mean my feelings aren’t even on their radar.

The arrogance! Honestly, if they sat for a moment and thought about it they might come to the realization that what they are offering is not a bargain for me. The only one who would gain anything would be them. They get to pretend they’re someone else for awhile and they get to have sex with me which apparently is pretty important to them since they make all sorts of offers just for the opportunity.

What is in it for me? I get to be quiet when the wife or children call. I get to have a code name in their cell phone. I get to see them for a few hours on a random weekday when they’re “working late.”

Yes, sometimes there are gifts, which are nice but hey... I can buy things for myself. Trips… I’ve traveled around the world, never relying on a man to finance it. I’m capable of buying myself dinner, paying my own rent and anything else a man can do/give to me. So, basically it comes down to my grand prize being… sex with a married man.

I’m in my forties; I have had my share of sexual experiences. I have had boring, “Why did I waste my time?” kind of sex, I have had mind-blowing, “OMG”, kind of sex and I’ve had the “I satisfy myself more than any man ever could” kind of sex. But, so far I have not had the kind of sex that is so wonderful that I would willingly allow myself to feel “less than” the strong, incredible person I am, in order to keep getting it.

I mean, we aren’t talking about Ryan Reynolds, Ryan Gosling or I don’t know… any other hot Hollywood guy who may not be named Ryan but who makes your mouth water when they take their shirt off, kind of man. The physical part of sex is not hard to find it’s the sensual compatibility that connects people that makes it special. If it’s only going to be physical then you need to be spectacular in the ways that sexually count and if it’s going to be more than physical you need to be available.

You want to turn me on? Find me a retirement plan that I can depend on. Stimulate my mind with conversation. Make me laugh. Respect me. Pull out a chair or hold a door for me. Enjoy my company when I have no makeup on and no cleavage showing. Most importantly though… start out by Being Single.

Thank You for the Reminder

2011-10-06T15:17:00.002-04:00

Thank you for hurting my feelings; I was reminded of the importance of kindness.

Thank you for pointing out my flaws; I was reminded of my assets.

Thank you for teasing me; I was reminded to have a sense of humor.

Thank you for speaking down to me, I was reminded to stay on my toes.

Thank you for breaking my heart; I was reminded that true love is still out there.

Thank you for deceiving me; I was reminded of those I could rely on.

Thank you for lying to me, I was reminded to believe in myself.

Thank you for surprising me, I was reminded to be aware of my surroundings.

Thank you for turning your back on me, I was reminded of who is always there.

Thank you for denying me your guidance; I was reminded to follow my own instincts.

Thank you for labeling me; I was reminded that I am an individual.

Thank you for calling me names, I was reminded to always define myself.

Thank you for talking about me; I was reminded that I too have had an impact on your life.

Your bad behavior is not about ME at all, it’s about your own feelings of inadequacy.

So, I wish for you more than what you ever wished for me… May you come across kinder people than yourself while on your life’s journey and may you one day find your own peace.

So Mote It Be

Missin' the Kissin'

2011-09-30T11:53:00.001-04:00

I’ve written what I love about being single… here are some of the (family friendly) things I love about NOT being single…

Holding Hands

His hands on my hips as he pulls me towards him

His hand on my lower back when I walk ahead of him in a crowd

Standing closer than necessary while waiting on a line

Full body to body hugs

Kissing…

A kiss hello

A kiss good-bye

A kiss for no reason at all…

A kiss while stopped at a red light

A kiss in the elevator…

A kiss on the hand

A kiss on the cheek

A kiss on the shoulder

A kiss on the neck… that makes me shiver

Being called Baby

Him waiting for me outside the Ladies room

Sharing each other’s dinner

Laughing at inside jokes

Cuddling while watching TV

Reaching for each other in the morning (before even opening our eyes)

Making up after a disagreement

Changing clothes without going into another room

Holding his keys in my purse

Wearing his jacket in a cold theater

Wearing his shirt to bed

Comfortable silence

Just sharing space... him watching the game, me reading a book

Seeing my picture when he opens his wallet

Getting a text of “XOXO” in the middle of a busy day

Hearing his voice on the phone before going to bed when we’re apart

And … the comfort of making plans

;-)

A New Path

2011-09-13T10:10:00.000-04:00

I am a Pagan.
I come from a pretty diverse spiritual background and so, I feel Paganism best encompasses that diversity.

I have people in my life from many different religious and spiritual backgrounds and I love it, it’s amazing. When a person is strong in their own beliefs there is no need to convince anyone else of that. Their path is "Their" path, not necessarily "The" path. Since they know where they stand, they can share in another persons spiritual celebration knowing it’s simply a sharing of spirit. It’s kind of like learning a new language or visiting another country. English may be your first language but you don’t suddenly become Hispanic by learning Spanish and you don’t become Italian by visiting Italy. It’s a wonderful thing to learn the way others celebrate their faiths and to find the similarities to what your core system of beliefs are, it doesn’t have to be a threat.
To me, anyone who believes in a positive way of living and who treats others with kindness, consideration and respect is on the same path as I am whatever they decide to label it.

I grew up in a Catholic family who also practiced “Espiritismo” which is Spanish for Spiritualism. Through family and friends I was exposed to different paths of Christianity, Santeria, Judaism, Buddhism and Wicca. Until about a month ago I was part of a spiritual group that was quite eclectic. Members came from many different spiritual paths and we were able to merge the different belief systems with a Progressive magical path. I know, it’s a pretty vague and loose description and I am choosing, at least for now, to keep it that way. It has nothing to do with secrecy or embarrassment concerning my involvement; it is out of consideration for the present group members. Of course I can’t completely avoid mentioning the group either since I write so personally on here and the group has been such a huge part of my spiritual and social life for the past several years. I can only do my best to find a balance between privacy and honesty.

Much of who I am right now in my life and many of the changes I am making are due to my role in and what I learned as a part of that group. My time with them will always be a valued part of my life. And, I will treasure and carry the lessons, the experiences and the people with me wherever I go.

That being said… I realized a few weeks ago that I needed to make some personal changes and becoming a Solitary Practitioner was one of them. It was not an easy choice but for months I kept finding myself at the same place, at a crossroads with paths leading in different directions of learning.

Guiding me toward a Solitary journey were my experiences meeting new people, many who followed a different path or a variation of what my path has been; students, teachers and elders who not only shared their wisdom with me but also listened to my thoughts and answered my many questions. I had that feeling I get when I’m in a huge library or bookstore. When there are just so many books to read, you wish you could just let them seep into you. I wanted to learn everything I could from each person I met, let their knowledge wash over me and seep into my spirit. It sounds a bit hokey and New-Agey but it wasn’t just my mind waking up, it was my very spirit.

So, regardless of my hesitation, I knew that I had to take a chance and see what’s waiting for me ahead. I’m nervous yet I’m also looking forward to it.

A "soon to come post"... Being a Solitary

Blessed Be )O(

Respecting Boundaries

2011-08-31T16:03:00.001-04:00

A simple legal definition of harassment according to Black's Law Dictionary, is: "A course of conduct directed at a specific person that causes substantial emotional distress in such person and serves no legitimate purpose" or "Words, gestures, and actions which tend to annoy, alarm and abuse (verbally) another person."

I have to admit I am sensitive to certain behaviors that I consider “stalking indicators”. Unfortunately, it’s from experience that I've become hyper-aware of domineering or overly-inconsiderate behavior, which makes my guard go up. Often in a "Mama Bear defending her cubs" way.

I’ll start by explaining that I’m a survivor of stalking. I mean that in the very real sense of the word. It isn’t for dramatic effect or me playing a victim, I was literally stalked. I was watched while going to and from work and while out meeting family or friends. I’d get calls from him telling me exactly what I’d worn that day and where I’d gone. If I didn’t answer my phone I’d get messages with just breathing, or long winded rants or straight out threats. Sometimes there were so many messages that my answering machine would become full. As I did everything I could to avoid this person and live my life as normal as possible things just got worse. Paying attention didn’t help, telling him to leave me alone didn’t help and ignoring him didn’t help. First he begged for me to listen, to give him another chance. Then I was cursed at for “thinking I was too good for him” Next step was being threatened physically because I needed to “learn my lesson”.

This experience was an actual stalking but it started with basic harassment. Harassment doesn’t always lead to but can be a potential sign of stalker behavior. For me, the most important indicator is when a person doesn’t accept that No means No. Doesn’t matter whether you believe someone really mean yes, the fact that they said No means you have to step back. I not only find it annoying as hell but I find it disrespectful when I say, “No thank you”, and someone keeps pushing me. To me it says that they either don’t care what I want or they feel that I don’t know what I want. I take great offense to both things because both imply I’m incapable of making my own decisions. If someone doesn’t listen to you when you say No to minor things what will happen when it really counts? No other time is it more important to stand ones ground than when someone is a threat to you. When someone tries to get in the way of you caring for yourself, be it physically or emotionally you should protect yourself. And, the first step is to speak up. Be clear about your boundaries. Don’t we teach our children to speak up when they feel uncomfortable about their personal space being invaded? We teach them that whether it’s a stranger or family member that they have the right to speak up. Yet, as an adult speaking up when we feel threatened on any level other than physically it’s considered being dramatic or difficult? That simply doesn’t make sense. Saying “Hey, I said NO and I mean it” is important for us to express whenever we feel lines are being crossed. Why should it be only acceptable when there’s a physical threat? And, expressing it doesn’t have to be aggressive either, only clearly stated.

For a healthy relationship to exist one needs to be open to compromise and there is a certain amount of give and take but when one person can’t or won’t give then there is no more relationship. Look, I’m not saying to be a jerk about breaking up with someone. Start by explaining why things aren’t working for you any longer. Be kind, we’ve all had heartbreak before and its hell. Sometimes a friendship can grow after a breakup if there’s genuine caring and respect for one another. I’m pro-explanation, it creates dialog. But, when you are put in a position where your “explanation” isn’t enough, then you need to stop and move on. Explaining for the sake of healing or easing a difficult situation is kind and often healthy for both sides. But “having” to explain yourself for the sake of approval (often multiple times) is something totally different. Unless you’re in a court of law or you expect others to clean up your messes, you don’t need to defend your choices. What I’m talking about here is when you attempt a kind and considerate, “this is why I want out” conversation and the other person refuses to give up. I mean, I’ve literally had guys say to me, “You can break up with me but I’m not breaking up with you.” Ummm, if that isn’t stalker-ish, what is? Then there was the, “Oh, so I just have to listen to what you say?” comment. Again, Ummm, yes, when someone says it’s over and you refuse to listen, you then fall into the harasser or stalker category… don’t be offended by the label, dude if that’s where your behavior places you. Bottom line is when one person says they no longer want to be in a relationship the other person needs to respect that. No one has the right; I repeat “NO ONE” has the right to force someone else to stay in a relationship they are unhappy in.

To be fair I don’t think most people see their behavior as creepy when it first goes in this direction. That’s why I take the harsh stand of pointing it out to them. I mean look at romantic comedies or romance novels, often (not always) they show how love makes you crazy and persistent. Extreme persistence is a sign of the amount of love you feel. In time you can get your love interest to “understand” that you’re the one by “convincing” them that they love you in return. The pursuer rarely listens to what the other person wants or asks for. It’s one sided until the love interest is symbolically beaten down and gives in. Wow! That is so very romantic, huh?

I love romantic comedies and I have a collection of Harlequin Romance novels that would put Barnes & Nobel to shame but its fantasy, its entertainment. I mean, think about it, people who confuse what they see on television or in the movies with reality are often the ones who turn up on the 11 O’clock news.

Honestly, I’m a romantic at heart. I believe in true love. I believe in love at first sight. I believe in “wooing” each other and mushy hugs and kisses. I hold out hope of finding love again. But, the same way you can’t really solve a murder or cure a flesh eating disease in one or two hours you can’t really expect to find love in the same amount of time. It takes getting to know another person (the sweet and the sour) and you keep doing that until you come across a deal-breaker. You know you found “the one” when you go years and years with no deal-breakers. If you find a romantic deal-breaker that doesn't mean you can’t remain lifelong friends. Some of my favorite people I wouldn’t want to marry. But, I love them and am grateful their in my life.

Armchair Psychology

2011-08-26T12:27:00.002-04:00

Armchair Psychologist: A person who gives advice for mental/emotional disorders or any other mental illness and has no known background knowledge of psychology. “Self appointed analysts… like back seat drivers of the psyche”

I am really angry right now and I feel the best way to work it out is to write. I have a few things that I’d like to address… the word “no”, stalking and bullying just to name a few but for now the main thing I want to write about is Armchair Psychology.

Look, we are all guilty of it.

I’m certainly one who thinks she knows what is wrong with everyone, including what’s wrong with me. I take some pride in being pretty self-aware. I know what my emotional baggage is and I even understand why I carry most of it. When I look into what I should do to become a “healthier” person emotionally and mentally it doesn’t make “fixing” it any easier. Only time and hard work can do that. I am not a perfect soul. I am here to learn lessons and live as best I can. As I believe we all are here to do. So, though I may feel that I have the answers to why others are the way they are I would be more than arrogant to insist that my unprofessional “diagnosis” is the one true answer.

A woman I have known for about three years has decided that I need help (meaning professional help) for 1. My lying, 2. Playing the victim and 3. Driving men away.

The lies I apparently told were part of a personal conversation that she was never in on and no one including me would have had anything to gain from such information. Later when the truth came out and it was shown there were no lies I didn’t even get an apology nor (for some reason) was it was ever addressed again.

My playing the victim comes from me not liking the way I’m treated and taking a stand. Apparently the fact that I “think” I’m being treated badly means I am playing a victim. Ummm, I’m thinking that taking care of my self when I feel uncomfortable or unsafe means I’m doing the very opposite of playing a victim. Does it matter whether someone is really mistreating me? If I went to the police or if I physically confronted them, then yes… maybe that would be over the top but to distance myself from them or tell them I don’t appreciate their behavior is nothing more than me taking my life into my own hands.

And, now for the last thing… “Driving men away”, this is the one that pissed me off the most. The reason it pissed me off is because it was told to a guy who I liked and which I hoped things would progress in a good direction. This woman was supposed to be not only my friend but someone who was also supposed to be a spiritual advisor and who was supposed to keep my confidences to herself. She just told a man to be aware because I drive away all the men who come into my life. Really??? Let’s me clarify this…

This woman who has known me for three years (I’m 42 so that’s no time really) makes a statement that she could not know to be true. I mean, I have not had a boyfriend in well over four years so she didn’t even know me when I had a man in my life. In (again) the three years she has known me I have gone on dates with less than a handful of guys. Of the “dates” most never made it to a second date, when it’s not a good date, I don’t need a second date to verify it. Let’s see, I had a month long relationship with a guy who I chatted with daily but we NEVER went out. This was his choice not mine. I tried reconciling with an ex-boyfriend who had baby mama drama so that didn’t work out but there was no anger or hate involved. And one amazing night with a great guy who lives on another continent.

So, what is she talking about?

What she knows of my past from before she was around is what I’ve told her. I’ve been engaged three times. The first one we were too young and there are no hard feelings there. The second was a physical abuser. The third, besides having questionable “friendships” loved the NY Yankees more than his own mother.

I am friends with the vast majority of my ex-boyfriends. Most can claim only that I’m stubborn or too independent but they wouldn’t say I wasn’t a good person or someone they couldn’t trust.

I’m getting a little off topic here… I’m trying to wrap my head around the fact that someone who presented herself to be a caring confidante has taken it upon herself to “armchair psycho-analyze” me and instead of talking to ME about it has decided to bring it to the attention of others. “Others” are the people who are using this woman’s self-serving misdiagnosis of me AGAINST me for their own satisfaction. Is that sentence me simply playing the victim? Hmmm… I don’t know. But, it’s what I feel has happened since her words (words I’ve heard her use in my presence) were thrown at me yesterday in anger. I drive men away. That was what was said.

It was hurtful and certainly not true but imagine if it was true!

How in the world would her destructive gossiping help me? It simply wouldn't. In fact, it would and could cause more damage. I could decide that I will never find love and never try again. I could decide that I'm not worthy of a good relationship and settle on an abusive one. I could choose to isolate myself and not trust any more since someone I trusted abused our friendship. I could toss away my spirituality because my Gods led me to people who hurt me instead of cared for me. How dare someone take it upon themselves to purposely influence another's life so negatively? Especially when they promote themselves as an honest, caring leader?

There is no way to end this post other than for me to be grateful for my love of self and faith in spirit to guide me through the rough times.

All in all, hard times create character and I learn with each hardship.

I have long lasting friendships and a loving family. I'm truly more blessed than not.

So mote it be

Reminder to myself

2011-08-12T15:56:00.000-04:00

May I be aware when I’ve hurt someone
May I be humble enough to apologize when I am wrong
May I never assume I know someone else’s path

May I use soft words when offering harsh truths.
May I never purposely push someone to the edge and if I do… may I acknowledge responsibility if they choose to jump.
May I be mindful of the consequences of my actions
May I learn from my mistakes
May I continue to grow and heal
May I remain open to love, trust and friendship.
May I be kind to myself as well as to others.
May I continue to be a shoulder for those who feel they can’t stand alone.
May I be a better daughter, sister and friend
May I be a better me with every new breath

May I remember, daily, the strength I carry within myself
May I remain aware of my daily blessings
And, may the Goddess walk beside me with every step I take

Old & Wise

2011-08-10T09:42:00.001-04:00

I woke up this morning and as I was lying there listening to the radio doing some stretching the words "Let It Be" came to mind. It was an inner voice that was telling me to let things go and move forward. Not an easy task at the moment but as long as that voice is still there, I'm already on the right path.
Well, considering the magical life that I lead, what do you think happened next? Yep, about five minutes after my mind said, "Let It Be" Paul McCartney starts singing it.
It may be a Wise Crone who speaks to me instead of Mother Mary but the words are the same.
So appropriate. It was a good way to begin my day.

I got ready for my first day back at work after my vacation and I'm sitting on the train listening to my ipod. I just shuffled my 3ooo songs and decided to listen to whatever came on. A very significant song comes on. A song I hadn't heard in quite awhile. Old & Wise by the Alan Parsons Project.
Not just another very fitting song for what I'm dealing with but my High School graduation song. Ummm... come to think of it Let It Be was my other graduation song.

I guess in a way I am graduating again. I'm entering another phase of my life. I'm growing and moving on. It hurts to leave some people behind and to go into the unknown but I'm excited. Those that are supposed to remain in my life will find a way back to me and vice versa.
In the meantime, I have lots to be thankful for... Deity, Courage, love, wisdom, family, old friends and a good man... I am on my way.

Old & Wise
As far as my eyes can see
There are Shadows approaching me
And to those I left behind
I wanted you to Know
You've always shared my deepest thoughts
You follow where I go

And oh when I'm old and wise
Bitter words mean little to me
Autumn Winds will blow right through me
And someday in the mist of time
When they asked me if I knew you
I'd smile and say you were a friend of mine
And the sadness would be Lifted from my eyes
Oh when I'm old and wise

As far as my Eyes can see
There are shadows surrounding me
And to those I leave behind
I want you all to know
You've always Shared my darkest hours
I'll miss you when I go

And oh, when I'm old and wise
Heavy words that tossed and blew me
Like Autumn winds that will blow right through me
And someday in the mist of time
When they ask you if you knew me
Remember that You were a friend of mine
As the final curtain falls before my eyes
Oh when I'm Old and wise

As far as my eyes can see

Why I Write

2011-06-04T23:01:00.001-04:00

It was brought to my attention last week that my writing is a bit depressing. Someone I recently met said he didn’t really want to know those things about me. Wow, that threw me off. Besides being a bit offended (criticism is difficult to handle regardless of how open you think you are) I hadn’t thought of my writing as depressing. I mean, yes some of the things I write about aren’t the things you want to dance a jig over but they’re relatable and that’s what I try to put out there. I think lots of what I write is funny too. Even the more difficult topics have humor in them. I live my life through humor. My entire family does and the majority of people I call friends are the same way. Laughter IS the best medicine. I laughed with my grandmother while she was in a hospice. I’ve laughed at funerals. I’ve laughed at spiritual gatherings. I’ve laughed while breathing into an oxygen mask in an emergency room. I’ve laughed through broken hearts and moments of mourning. I laugh at myself when no one else is around and I laugh at all of the more appropriate moments of life.

Actually, this person’s comments came days after someone else I know questioned me about… well, basically he questioned my life. He questioned me about many of my life choices but most difficult to deal with was my spiritual beliefs and of all things where I live. That’s a story for another day but in the meantime… when I was told my writing was difficult to read I was maybe a little more sensitive than I should have been… but maybe not. Maybe I didn’t deserve his criticism at all. I don’t know… Maybe this person had their own reasons for not liking it, reasons that had little or nothing to do with me. For one thing, it was a guy. I tend to call men out on some of their shit in my writing. Maybe I should put a warning on my Blog about that. I hadn’t known this person very long when he read my blog. Maybe I should hold off on letting people read my stuff until we’ve known each other for awhile. It’s just a bit odd if I talk about writing and then refuse to let them read my writing. I’m not ashamed of what I expose of myself so why hold back? Maybe I should hold back some though. I don’t know. I have to think longer on that.

I thought a lot though about what he had to say and this is the answer I came up with as to why my writing may be on the sad side… darker moods… sadness, heartache, loss etc. are the things that bring people together in a way the good times don’t. It’s that simple. Hitting rock bottom emotionally makes us vulnerable. It’s the even playing field that we all can relate to. Different things make us laugh and different things make us happy. I have friends that their kids are the only real thing that fulfills them. I have friends that if they NEVER had kids they would be in heaven. Other friends want nothing more than to be married, some only need/want a partner and a piece of paper doesn’t make a difference. Some are happy when they are high and some are "high" on life itself. Some are happy being with a man and some a woman… some neither or both. Some can’t watch television if it isn’t a flat screen and some choose not to own a television. Some need a new outfit for every occasion and some just need two pairs of well worn jeans. Again… the things that make us happy differ a lot more than what makes us cry and hurt. We have all been rejected by a love interest. It doesn’t matter who that love interest was… same sex, opposite sex, older or younger, fifteen years ago or five days ago… doesn’t matter. The rejection and the very real feeling of your heart being ripped apart is relatable. We’ve all had a loved one die. The pain of loss is relatable whether it’s a family member, a friend or a pet. We’ve all felt insecure with ourselves. Sometimes the insecurity is about our weight, our work title, our financial status, our level of education, a lisp or an accent... the list can go on.

Another very important thing I realized is that it’s a bit taboo to talk about just the good stuff. I know being Puerto Rican that it’s cultural for us not to “brag” about the good things in our lives because it can be taken away. That’s a very Catholic thing too. I’ve talked to friends of different backgrounds and I’ve heard the same thing from them.

I looked back at some of my blog entries and honestly, I have to go back to “I think it’s his thing” because there is something good and positive in each of the entries, even in the ones that are on the darker side. The writing about Michael, it isn’t that the relationship ended that was my point. It was a celebration of love, young, promising, hopeful love. How many high school loves last? The fact that I had love like that is a blessing. It isn’t terrible that we’re living two different lives. It’s wonderful that we got to reconnect and KNOW how the other turned out. That brings a sense of coming full circle and not everyone gets to experience that.

My writing about 9/11 is sad but I found not only humor in my father’s actions but security in my relationship with my mother. I was with my mother and my grandmother. I knew my sister was safe and far from the danger in New York. I was afraid of what was happening in the world but MY world was as it should be.

The story about my hair is sad but I’m healthy in so many other ways. That’s a blessing. The funny part is that 1. If you don’t believe in hexes… well, the fact that I think my father’s daughters hexed me is pretty funny and 2. If they did hex me… well, it backfired. Yes, my hair fell out but my life is full in all the ways that count. I don’t want to go over each entry and defend my words but I needed to do at least THIS much for myself.

I know this person wasn’t trying to attack me or my writing but the truth is that I put so much of who I am in my writing that it’s hard not to be sensitive to the criticism. I used to write only for myself and with lots of encouragement and touching feedback I decided to put myself out there a little more. More times than not I have had people tell me how much they appreciate my words, sometimes thanking me for saying things that they didn’t know how to say themselves. Sometimes what I’ve written has helped people to share with me things they don’t share with most. I’m just one person who is either crazy enough or naive enough to put her emotions out there for review. I don’t’ think I have the answers. In fact, I know I don’t have the answers. I only know what I’ve lived through and what I think about and I write it down. I reach out by letting people read it. If I can connect to others then I’m a step ahead in my own world because positive feedback doesn’t make me feel like a know it all, it makes me feel less alone. Connecting reminds me that I may be walking my own path but in no way does that mean it has to be a lonely journey. It’s simple. I love writing. That’s what makes me a writer, whether I ever become published or if I go back to just writing a journal, I love this and having people relate is just a blessed perk.

Once there was a boy...

2011-03-22T17:00:00.002-04:00

I fell in love with Michael when he was a junior and I was a senior in High School. I was sitting by the senior class lockers the very first time I laid eyes on him; he turned the corner with three ninth grade girls surrounding him. They were following him like a mini harem. He spoke to a blonde girl who I knew was also a junior. There he was carrying his books, wearing acid wash jeans, a dark denim jacket and white high-top sneakers. The blonde said something that made him throw his head back laughing and my heart literally skipped a beat, honestly, it palpitated. He was gorgeous. I couldn’t stop looking at him as he passed by. I asked aloud to anyone, “Who is that?” Ellen answered, “Oh, that’s Mike.”

“Mike?” Really? This was the guy I’d been hearing about? The one most of the girls from grades nine through eleven were swooning over? I had no idea he was really worth the gossip. There was no reason for me to pay much attention before this. I mean, I was a senior he was a junior. I’d just returned from New York and heard this guy was from some itty bitty place down south. I was unhappy enough about having to move back to Puerto Rico where nothing interesting was happening. Finding a boyfriend was not in the plan. My focus was on trying to get back to New York somehow. But something happened to me I still cannot explain, I announced right then and there, “He is going to be mine.” Just like that, I fell head over heels.

Michael and I spoke for the first time at a Halloween party the following weekend. It was the first time I’d heard him speak with that southern accent of his. I’d never thought southern accents were hot but his was sexy as hell. He interrupted a conversation I was having and I called him on it. He smiled and made an apology but kept talking anyway. The boy was arrogant. Even though I stood my ground and interrupted him in return, his attempt at charm did make me all tingly inside. He seemed to get a kick out of me not letting him get his way too.

A few days later I was waiting on the lunch line and Michael (I never called him Mike) walked from the back of the line to talk to some ninth grade girls who were standing behind me. They let him cut. They were giggling and flinging their hair. I laughed at the scene they were making. He saw me laugh and moved closer. He shifted in front of me, starting up a conversation. We introduced ourselves, since we hadn’t the weekend before then chatted until it was his turn to order, that’s when I stepped in front of him and ordered first. I said to his stunned expression, “They let you cut in front of them, I didn’t.” He shook his head and laughed while I carried my tray to a table.

We ran into one another several times in the next few weeks. Each time we played this game where he tried to charm me and I’d pretend it wasn’t working. The truth was he’d already swept me off my feet. It was as if we had all the time in the world. Nothing and no one had ever felt more right. He would one day tell me that it had been the same for him.

In November there was a Sadie Hawkins dance. I invited him to go and he said yes. Later I found out that he’d broken a date with someone else in order to go with me. I felt a little guilty but not enough to call it off. It was unfortunate; I should have cancelled because the date didn’t go very well. He hung out with his friends all night and I was bored to death. I’d mistakenly thought he was someone special. I was angry and annoyed. So, I did what I usually do… simply walked away without looking back.

It wasn’t until the Christmas dance more than a month later that he caught my attention again. I was having a hard day on the last day of classes before Christmas vacation. The dance was that night and I’d decided not to go. I was sitting by the lockers crying about a high school drama of some kind. Michael and one of his friends came over to me and asked what was wrong. I have no idea why but I answered him. After listening to my sob story he put both of his arms around me and let me cry until all I could do was hiccup. Then he complemented my blotchy face. He didn’t mind that his shirt was all wet with tears and makeup. He didn’t mind that I kept blowing my nose. He even said I could use his shirt since it wasn’t one of his favorites. It was the first time of many that he got me to laugh my tears away. Michael then convinced me to meet him at the dance later. When I got there he was waiting outside so we could walk in together. We had our first kiss that night. And, soon afterwards we had our first real date. We went to eat pizza and then walked hand in hand down to the beach. We sat on a huge boulder and talked about everything we could think of in-between many more kisses.

For the rest of the school year we were barely apart. I was the only reason he would follow the rules and he was the only reason I wouldn’t. His mother once apologized to me for threatening him with not seeing me because I was she explained, “the only thing he cared about.” It was the truth. And, he was always doing something outrageous to let me know how much he loved me.

There was the time he climbed onto the roof of an old abandoned hospital near our school and graffiti’d on three sides of it, MIKE LOVES LISA in silver spray paint. We could see it from the school campus. Everyone saw it. Of course, that meant the teachers did too. He got into trouble and was told to go back up and paint over it. He never did.

Once he skateboarded to my house, in a hurricane. I don’t mean heavy rains; I mean an actual Caribbean Island hurricane with falling trees, power outages and winds that could move parked cars. On his way over he was knocked off of his skateboard and scraped his whole side, from hip to calf. His reason for doing it, if he “had to be stuck indoors for a few days, it was going to be with [me]."

Another time, hanging around after a concert in San Juan, we were mugged. We were facing one another Michael, holding onto me with one hand and with the other holding our concert t-shirts. He was grabbed from behind by a guy who was at least a head taller and holding a knife. While the guy held Michael’s arms down a bunch of kids ran over and started to pick his pockets. He kept yelling at me to run but I wouldn’t. How could I leave him there alone? He’d been threatened, punched and was bleeding from his mouth. His wallet and watch were stolen too. When it was over, he was still holding my hand and the t-shirts. He lowered his head, took a few moments to compose himself. He then put his arm around me, kissed me with his busted lip and handed me the shirts. He was more of a man at the age of seventeen than any “adult” male I’d ever known. He was my hero.

Before things would end two years later there would be a loss of virginity, a Prom, a summer spent in North Carolina, a visit to New York, a proposal and a ring. Michael joined the Army so I would say yes to marriage. He figured it was the best way to prove he could take care of me since we were both so young. All wonderful memories that both break my heart and make me smile when I think back. Ironically, he met and fell in love with someone else while he was stationed in Oklahoma and that was the end of our love story. But, I know what we shared once was real on both our parts. And, I still have the ring.

Michael was the first person besides family who loved me unconditionally. He loved when I was strong and when I was a weepy mess. He gave me credit when I was right and told me when I was wrong. He knew when to stand back so I could lead and he knew when to stand in front and guide me. He thought I was pretty and sexy; silly and smart. He was romantic. He was funny. His smile was beautiful. His kisses gave me chills and his hugs could cure any bad day. He was rebellious but kind and considerate. He put me first every time. And, most importantly, he always had my back. I've never found that again.

Michael contacted me a couple of years ago. It was soothing to know he was doing well. For his privacy, let's just say I was satisfied with our reconnection and there were no loose ends left to tie up. We are two dramatically different people today. He’s happily married with three kids. I'm happily living in New York hanging with artists and Pagans. We both have lives that outside of FaceBook would never have reason to cross. We never speak but we're on each others friends' list. It eases my heart and mind to know he’s somewhere within reach. I think it does the same for him. I know he remembers me with love. And, that’s how I will always remember him.

Celebrating Singledom #3

2011-02-25T11:36:00.000-05:00

Today I'm celebrating NOT having to compromise or share.

Recently I shared my apartment with a friend of a friend. It was great at first but soon became a bit strained. Let me clarify now... This is not a "Bash the Roomie" kind of post. This is about me acknowledging some truths about myself and my living space.

I'd never had a roommate before. I went from living at home to living alone. Literally, for one month of my adult life did I live with a boyfriend. That came to an end when I left for work one morning and he Ummm... well, he just LEFT! During that day he and his sister had "discussed it" and they decided that although he still loved me, he wasn't ready to live with me. Yeah, that's a whole other blog post.
I will say though that three months later he showed up on my doorstep in the middle of the night (after seeing a Marc Anthony concert with another woman) crying and begging... yes folks, on his knee's, for another chance.
Again... that's a whole other blog post!

Anyway, my roomie was nice and for the most part he was neat but I wasn't comfortable. I just didn't feel right walking around my house doing my regular things. Watching television in the living room instead of my bedroom. Walking around braless in a tank top. Cleaning the house as early or as late as I wanted or not having to clean up at all. And, I won't even go into how upsetting it was for me to share a bathroom with a boy!

Part of it was that he and I were not romantically involved. If we had been intimate then being half dressed or sharing the bathroom wouldn't have been an issue. But, living with a romantic partner brings with it a much longer list of issues. The following is a little of what I enjoy about not just living alone but being single.

The other day I wasn't feeling well and all I wanted to do was go straight home to bed. When I got there I jumped into a nice hot shower, put on big warm silly pajamas, a fluffy bathrobe and plopped down on my couch to watch crime dramas. I just stayed there sniffling, coughing and drinking tea until I went to bed for the night. I didn't have to make conversation, worry about the TV being too loud or having to look decent for anyone. In fact, I think I looked sexy in a messy carefree sort of way. Besides being sick, it was a dream Winter weeknight for me, being able to rest comfortably without taking anyone else into consideration.

Last Friday a friend called and asked if I wanted to hang out after work and I just answered YES. I didn't have to let anyone know I was making spur of the moment plans. I didn't have to let anyone know I might be home late. I didn't have to let anyone know that I'd decided to bring that friend home to watch a movie instead.

During the weekend I was able to get up early and clean. I put on my music and cleaned out the refrigerator without disturbing anyone. I was able to clean the bathroom and not worry if someone else had to use it at that moment OR worry that they would leave toothpaste spots on the mirror (or spots of any kind anywhere) when I was done.

I could go out in the middle of the day and knew everything would be exactly as I left it when I returned. I didn't have to invite someone along when I wanted to just go out alone.

Other perks:
What I put in the refrigerator is exactly what stays there. No one eating half of something I was saving for later. No pouring a bowl of cereal only to find an ounce of milk left in the container.

I could take a nap whenever I want to without being disturbed by someone else's cooking or their music or their talking.
No one coming and going with company of their own.

My laundry is mine alone. No one else's towels, sheets or socks to wash.

Only I buy things for the house so there's no bitching about what brand something is or isn't. No one can complain about how or what I spend my money on at all.

I can decorate however I want. Buy new furniture, shelves, books or nick-knacks. Put them anywhere. Only the photos I want are hanging up. I can buy a red couch and no one has a say about it. I can move things around. Throw things out or be a pack-rat.

My home is my sanctuary. It's where I sit and think. Where I write and work. Where I welcome family and friends. My home is an expression of who I truly am.

I've wondered lately, "Will I be able to live with a partner one day?" You're probably wondering the same thing as you read this. But, honestly, I think I will be able to live with someone.
Of course it won't be easy but I haven't lost hope. When I find the person who is right for me we will create a balance. We'll give each other space to think and work. Space to create and to relax.
We'll respect one another's alone time and share in the responsibilities of maintaining a home. I know I will have to compromise some things. But until that times comes, until I find the person I'll want to compromise for and who is happy to do the same for me I will continue to enjoy my single life of NOT having to share my space.

Three cheers for warm, footsie pajama's and having sole custody of the remote control.

I'm Talkin'

2011-02-22T14:26:00.000-05:00

People love to hear me talk. Yep, it's true.

Most of my family and friends won't admit it but it's true.

Wonder how I know this? The moment I stop talking everyone wants to know why.
I get phone calls, emails and visits.

I'm not complaining, in fact, I love it.

For the past two weeks this has been going on, then during dinner with friends on Sunday I was asked why I haven't blogged in awhile. That's when I decided I really needed to step up and write something.

So, in response...
I've taken some time away from my blog lately but it isn't because I haven't been writing. I've been working on several things, I just haven't completed any. At least, I haven't completed any to my satisfaction.
In addition to trying to keep up with my blog I've rejoined a writers' group and I have assignments to do for my Priestess Training. I'm also in the process of writing something for a project my sister is working on.

Most of my postings are summarized versions of longer pieces that come from personal essays and journal entries. Before I post anything I change names or edit someone out completely. Unless of course I'm writing about a jerk who really deserves to be called on his behavior and even then I don't name them.

In any case, it's the "editing process" that is causing me to seem lazy.

I will do my best to post soon and certainly more frequently than once a month.

Blessings!
La Lady Sage

Yesterday and Today

2011-01-18T12:35:00.000-05:00

One moment my life was going along on one track and the next, SMACK, it changed direction.
There was an abrupt end to a sense of security I'd known for some time. It felt like a death and I was at a complete loss as to what I should do.

I was going about my day, feeling good. No drama at work. No crazy neighbors. I had food in my kitchen. I knew where my loved ones were. I was happy with my most recent writings. All I had planned was some house cleaning.

On a larger scale, I was feeling pretty settled in my life. I'd gotten a bonus at work. I felt safe and comfortable in my home. I was happy being single. I was breaking old habits that were holding me back, moving past some old hurts. I felt loved, respected and appreciated by family and friends. I felt strong. The presence of the Goddess herself surrounded me.

Then I got a call that broke my heart, a call that almost shattered my inner work, a call that reminded me of why I shouldn't let down my guard.
I'm aware that my "inner work" couldn’t have been very solid to begin with if it could be shattered so easily. But, this was hard… I felt my words, my honesty and my character were in question.

I felt insulted and betrayed.

Suddenly that little girl who only had herself to trust and turn to was back. She was pointing her finger in my face telling me I should have known better; that she knew this would happen. Reminding me, no one can ever really be trusted; no one will ever put me first. Family and friends can easily turn their backs on me and walk away because in truth, I will never be loved unconditionally.

Oh, yes, for awhile I'm tricked into thinking I'm special but the same old lesson is soon repeated... "You will never be enough."
It happens when I think I've found a place that is safe. When I think I've found people who understand, when I have hope that I've overcome hearing that little girl with her big voice saying... “You will never be the smart one. Never the successful one. Never the one who gets picked first. Never the one who wins someone's loyalty. Never the one who gets the benefit of the doubt. Never the one people come to the defense of. Just! Never! The right one!”

What I am, she says, is… the one who speaks up when she should shut up. The one who causes problems and drama. The one who is different. The one who should be ignored. The one who should just go away.
One day maybe I might.
It's easier to accept being lonely when you actually have no one around you.
I need to accept it. This is what I have to work with. This is my path. So, I will keep my head down and quietly stay out of the way.

That was yesterday…

Today I am allowing myself to be angry but mostly I’m letting myself move forward. I have been accused of worse and in the end, have not only survived the hurt but been proven to be a person of my word. I felt betrayed by a few individuals but I refuse to lose or betray myself and so I will adapt to the new path before me. Make choices based on where and who is in my life now.

People who accuse without proof, who judge without clear insight, who don’t stand behind their own words are not people I need to prove myself to.
If I am only given a handful of people whom I can entrust with my love, loyalty and friendship then so be it. Sometimes less is MORE.

I don’t want to dwell on this newest hurt
I don’t want my insecurities to keep me from being open and hopeful

Instead, I want to learn…

May I be aware when I’ve hurt someone
May I be humble enough to apologize when I am wrong
May I never assume I know someone else’s path
May I never purposely push someone to the edge and if I do… may I acknowledge responsibility if they choose to jump.
May I be mindful of the consequences of my actions
May I learn from my mistakes

I want to always remember the strength I carry within myself...

May I continue to grow and heal
May I remain open to love, trust and friendship.
May I be kind to myself as well as to others.
May I use soft words when offering harsh truths.
May I continue to be a shoulder for those who feel they can’t stand alone.
May I be a better daughter, sister and friend
May I be a better me with every new breath
May I remain aware of my daily blessings
And, may the Goddess walk beside me with every step I take.

So Mote It Be.

Because I Won't Settle?

2010-12-23T12:53:00.000-05:00

Lately I've been bothered by comments that, honestly, I've heard for years. It isn't that they've just begun to piss me off, it's that I'm now trying to figure out why they're made in the first place.

I had a conversation a few weeks ago and someone said they couldn't imagine me in love. Granted, they've only known me for a few years and in that time I haven't been in a serious relationship but I was still a bit surprised. It brought to mind a conversation I had years ago. A family member and I were discussing someone who'd chosen to stay in a marriage even though it was abusive. All in the name of love and loyalty. I said I didn't think the person should settle and that's when I was told, "Well then, you've never been in love before." She added, "When you really love someone you do whatever you have to to stay with that person." I disagreed. I felt, when you really love yourself you do what you can to save a relationship but you do WHATEVER you have to to save YOU. Another time I was told I wouldn't understand the reasons to fight for a relationship because I've never been married.
All of these comments bothered me. Actually, they hurt me.
I have certainly been in love before. Deep deep love. I've loved more than once. Each time for different reasons. Each time with very different people. Each time I felt shattered when it was over. But, make no mistake, I have been in love.
Last week I was having dinner with an old friend and there were more comments made that carried a similar message. I was called a hard ass and told that I don't give guys a chance. This made me wonder... why do I give this impression? What is it I do that makes it seem that I don't want or know how to love someone? That I'm not open to giving love a chance?
I've been engaged three times. That's giving love a chance.
I've had long term, monogamous relationships. That's giving love a chance.
I'm known for my crazy dating stories... that's giving love and guys a chance. In fact, that's giving them a chance despite my experiences.

I make silly jokes about being incompatible with guys because of their height or the kind of shoes they wear. That's all it is, a joke. Look, if a man was a good man and treated me right, his footwear would not keep me from loving him.
I think I can be hard on men but only after they give me reason to pause. Even then, I often let my friends and family talk me into giving them a little more time.

I believe the issues aren't about how I'm hard on them or that I don't know what real love is, they're about the fact that I don't settle. It bothers some people. It's much easier for someone to think I'm lacking the capacity to love or to commit instead of saying to themselves that they've settled. This way it's me who has the problem, not them. From their viewpoint they have more than I do, they're above me because they understand love and I don't.

Well, I do understand love. I believe in love itself.
I believe in love at first sight. I believe in soul mates. I celebrate the loving true relationships that exist. I've loved so hard that I'm still friends with several ex-boyfriends. Even some who in the end hurt me, I've found a way to continue to love and care for them. This is the reason I wonder, why do I keep getting such a bad wrap?
I've given love more of an opportunity than most people I know. The difference is that I've been heartbroken many times by different people and others have been heartbroken many times by the same person.
I may be single today but my options are still open and I think in the end, I have a better chance of finding that forever love than many who have criticized me and settled.

Celebrating Singledom #2

2010-12-14T14:22:00.000-05:00

Today I'm going to celebrate the fact that being single means NOT having to deal with Commitment-Phobes.
What's worse than a Commitment-Phobe are the men who make excuses about why they "can't" commit. They feel they need to tell you in advance that the relationship has an expiration date.

Whether it's said before anything even starts or the moment they realize they don't like you "in that way", they want to be "honest" but that doesn't mean they want to walk away either. Stating it first is like legal disclosure. They say it IN CASE they don't like you enough later. That way they can always say they told you in the beginning and not feel guilty. If they wait to say it, it's at the point they KNOW they want to keep their options open. And... if they change their mind and want to stay involved after all, they only come off seeming sweet and romantic. "They just couldn't help falling in love with you". "You changed their mind". Give me a break!

Men don't know when to stop if they're interested in a woman. That's the truth. So, if they were really interested you would know it. I'm sure I'll get negative feedback on that comment but I'm sorry, that's what I think. "He's just not that into you" is true, it isn't just a line from Sex and The City.
When they're interested in you they have tunnel vision. It VERY rarely occurs to them that the woman in question wouldn't be interested.

The most common excuse is being a parent........ not having time to give to a relationship because they're a parent. I say excuse because kids only become an issue when the "parent" chooses to make them an issue. Children aren't problems. What gets me too is that even when they say it's the kids that are a barrier, it's usually the ex that is the barrier.

Now that I've gone in this direction, let's take a look at "Baby Mama Drama". I could never respect a man who pushed his kids aside in order to enjoy the single life but there is certainly a balance. Women find the balance. A single mother does not have to point out that she's a mother first. A single mother is a mother first... that's just a given.
The true problem is not letting go of the past relationship. Not letting go of the relationship could mean one person is still in love with the other, one person wants to get revenge on the other or one feels guilty for failing the other. Whatever the reason, it usually isn't about the kids. Sometimes the ex has a problem with you being with the father but they can't legitimately complain about that so they bitch about your involvement with "their" kids. It's completely selfish on their part. And, if you're dealing with a guilty father... he's trying to prove to his ex that he's a good enough parent even if she isn't in the picture.

Whatever the deal is, men need to be honest with themselves first. Whether a man is using his children as a reason not to commit or they really have convinced themselves that their kids are the reason, they need to open their eyes.
Single fathers always have to point out, "I love my kids more than anything." "My kids are my world." "Nobody comes before my kids." Yadda Frackin' Yadda!
Who are you trying to convince?
Hello! You're a parent, your kids are dependant on you,yes; but mainly, YOU are THEIR world. They should be loved unconditionally, they should know that you are there for them always, they should be your priority but come on... your world? That's a statement a person makes when they aren't sure of their place in someone else's life. Words are just that... words. Actions speak louder.
If your children are YOUR WORLD then why are you looking for someone to spend time with? Those statements are just put out there to put some emotional distance in an adult relationship. If the kids don't live with you full time then what's the problem? Your kids don't need to know what you do in your downtime. Do you tell them everything? Does the ex need to know what you're up to unless you're bringing someone around the kids?
I mean, do you tell your kids what you and your boys are doing when you're hanging out at a bar or at the game? The things "guys" talk about? Do you discuss with them every aspect of your job? Do you discuss being intimate with a woman? Nope. Nope. And... Nope.
So, why the hell do you need to include them or your ex in your dating life? Unless things progress to a real emotional level there is no need.
If you decide you don't want a relationship to be more than physical then be straight up and honest... YOU don't want more. It's not your kids "being your world" that's putting up barriers, it's you. Be a man about it.
And, if there are unresolved issues with your ex then finish that before starting something new.

I have dealt with men making all kinds of excuses about "having" to do this or that with/for their kids. When it comes from the heart, it isn't you "have to", you want to. You don't have to pick up your kids, you're picking up your kids. You don't have to call your kids, you're calling your kids. You don't have to see them in a play, you're going to see them in a play. Think about it! Are they your world or is it your duty to be a parent? Are they your priority yet you have a life of your own? Loving your kids shouldn't be a hardship. Meeting someone new and moving on in your love life shouldn't be one either. IF you meet a woman who has an issue with you having kids, then that isn't someone worthy of your time but that's a whole different thing.

If you only want a physical relationship, that's fine... in that case your kids shouldn't be brought into the deal anyway.

On the other hand, don't confuse the woman. Stop sending mixed messages. When you say you HAVE to do something, you give the impression that you would rather not do it and when it's given as a reason for not being with her... well, it seems you're saying you'd rather be with her IF you could.
Not getting involved emotionally means keeping a certain intimate distance. It does not include you dumping your problems on her. Get a therapist if that's what you need.
Emotions are not just romantic, clingy feelings, they're all emotions. Talking about your kids, your family, making plans for your future, asking opinions about those things are not just the basics. It's getting involved. Asking a woman to give you her time, her concern and her body then drawing a line when she asks for the same is being a selfish jackass. Admit it to yourself at least.

I like to say, everyone has baggage, just don't ask me to carry yours. My hands are already full.

Soooooo... on a celebration note, being single means no Commitment Drama, real or made up. Being single means I can hang out with a guy and I can draw the line... This is a NO Dumping Zone!

Blessed Be

Celebrating Singledom

2010-12-04T21:28:00.002-05:00

Last week I went on a second date with a guy we’ll call “Phil”. The important thing about this particular date… afterwards I wanted to celebrate my “singleness”.

Look, I’m 41 years old. I’ve been in love and I’ve been loved. I’ve been engaged more than once. I’ve been proposed to more times than I’ve accepted. Yet, I’m still single. This isn’t me complaining about not having found “the one”. This isn’t a male bashing thing. It isn’t a “down on love” thing either. This is about me not putting the rest of my life on hold waiting for love. Plain and simple, I want to enjoy where I am right now, in this moment.

Right now I will focus on me and all the wonderful things about having ME all to myself.

During the three weeks we’d gotten to know each other, Phil brought up feelings that reminded me what it felt like to really like someone again. A guy who could take care of himself, who was smart, funny and wasn’t completely broke. He also brought up feelings in me of fierce determination not to settle. His rude comments and uninformed observations on that second date and afterwards could have easily added to my insecurities yet it didn’t. It brought out a side of me I thankfully didn’t have to look far to find. I chose to explain to him my thoughts, actions and even my belief system NOT because I need to defend anything I do but to point out his judgmental attitude. He had a sense of superiority that was quiet obnoxious. He bragged about his education and his love of reading and learning as much as he could, what I found though… he was very ignorant about almost anything having to do with social interaction. He also, couldn’t handle someone knowing something he didn’t; hence I would say he doesn’t really love learning.

I don’t want to dwell too long on this complete dud of a guy but I will thank him (here and not in person) for helping me come to the realization that I am pretty happy about the important choices in my life. I suffer from depression and so sometimes it’s hard for me to remember my blessings. What I try to do is when I’m feeling positive about myself and all that surrounds me I write it down, this way when I need to find my way again, I read in my own words what I am grateful for.

This “Celebration of Singledom” hopefully will remind me of why I have chosen not to settle for someone unworthy of my love.

I am not looking for perfection. There is no such thing when it comes to describing another human. None of us are perfect. I’m certainly not perfect nor would I want to be, what would I strive for if that were the case?

No, what I’m looking for is someone respectful of who I am. Someone who can make me laugh. Someone who is dependable. Oh, the list can go on but for now at least, I’ll keep that between me and the Gods.

So… here is one of the items on my list of favorite “Singledom” things.

Having Male Friends

One of the conversations I had with “Phil” that night had to do with having friends of the opposite sex. He felt that when a couple got engaged or married they should no longer keep friends of the opposite sex. That upset me. I have several male friends and I wouldn’t want to give them up. If the friendship begins to fade, as friendships do sometimes, that’s different. But to think I would be expected to end friendships simply because of gender.

Being asked to end friendships on any basis isn’t a healthy thing between lovers. If a person you’re in a romantic relationship with doesn’t want you to be friendly with anyone of the opposite sex, it’s a given they don’t want you to stay friends with your exes. I, myself, still keep in touch with ex-boyfriends. It comes down to insecurity and little or no trust. Those are serious issues that have very little to do with you. Where would the requests end? What about gay, lesbian, bi-sexual or transgender friends? How about the friends who still know your exes? How about your single friends? When will they feel secure enough?

I know that friends, real friends, are hard to find. Friends are a second family. Friends are the people who sometimes know more about you than your blood relatives do. I have survived many lows in my life with the help of my friends; often, those lows were heartaches due to broken relationships. My male friends have been there just as often as my female friends. Why would my partner ask me to let go of a support system that has helped me become the person they love. Yes, there are “friends” that sometimes aren’t healthy for us to keep in our life, in that case, gender isn’t the problem and it still shouldn’t be dictated when it’s time to let them go.

I will not accept anyone putting limitations on who I call friend. So, I am going to enjoy not defending any of my friendships; male, female, gay, straight or an ex.

Blessed Be )O(

The Myth of Lisa

2010-11-23T00:05:00.000-05:00

I have to give credit to an old friend. He came up with this character based on me years ago that instantly hit home. He described me in a way I hadn't known how to do myself. He knew me very well and so it's no surprise that he could pinpoint things I didn't fully understand.
So, although the person I'm writing about is my own character, he did clearly define who I was on a spiritual level and I used the basic characteristics he saw in me.

Lisa was born to Hilda the Caring and Ray the Addicted.

Lisa was beyond her years from the very beginning. She was born with triple sight which was both a gift and a curse. When looking through her left eye she could see the past. When looking through her right eye she could see the future. When she had both eyes open she was fully in the present. Never knowing how or why she knew the things she did, Lisa lived with the hope that someday she would come to understand both.

Lisa was loved by everyone around her; surrounded by her parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles and all of their friends. Hugs and kisses were how she woke each morning and how she was put to bed each night. She was quick to learn too. Lisa talked from an early age, never crawled but went straight to walking and taught herself to care for others as well.

At about the age of six things changed, her father went off on his own leaving his daughter and wife behind. Lisa was terribly sad but still had lots of people who loved her. Soon her mother also went off on adventures. Hilda always came back for Lisa, sometimes taking her on adventures too, sometimes leaving her safely behind. There were lots of people for Lisa to stay with. She was taken care of by her extended family, a cast of characters who were funny, passionate and gifted in the magical arts.

In time Hilda remarried a man named Edward the Stern; she adopted his niece and bore him a daughter. This allowed for Hilda to bring Lisa back with her permanently, to Edward’s family kingdom, which was headed by Alex the Feared. Lisa again was very sad about the changes in her life but she very much loved her new sisters and they loved her. She could not say the same for Edward. He was very mean, never calling her by name and most times went out of his way to point out her flaws and mistakes. In fact, all of Edwards’s family did this. Lisa was not of the right parentage, she was not the right color, and she was not pretty or smart enough. She was discouraged from being creative and independent and her gifts were not to be used. This was all very shocking to her. Until this point in her young life she had been loved unconditionally. She had been praised for her individuality and intelligence. In this kingdom of Darkness she was lost and lonely, and didn’t understand why it was happening.

She was still allowed to visit her old home and loved ones, often bringing back magical tools of protection to keep her safe. Though, it wasn’t enough to keep her strong while living in her stepfather’s kingdom. Eventually she could not continue to fight the arrows of poison shot through her on a regular basis. Spiritually wounded she walked the edges of darkness, reaching out to a few people on her path that gave her bits of light. They helped remind her of whom she once was and who she might be again one day. Of course, she still did have her mother’s love and that of her sisters but they were under the kingdoms rule. They could never outwardly defend her and so she was basically on her own. She stopped trying to do anything right. She didn’t try to learn because of course she would never be smart. She didn’t try to make friends because who would like her? She didn’t try to laugh because that caused more attacks. Daily the poison seeped into her very bones and she was so sick that her body wouldn’t take in the nutrients to sustain it properly. The poisons were literally eating her from the inside out. Her triple sight is really the only thing that kept her alive; reliving the past and looking to a better future.

When Lisa became of age she was free to roam the lands on her own, which she did. The poisons were still very much inside of her and there was no light bright enough to see her path clearly. Yet she continued searching, trusting her instincts, sometimes simply feeling her way along. The further she left the dark kingdom behind the more her vision cleared. Each step gave her confidence and she could feel her true self slowly coming back to the surface. She was able to reunite with her family again in a new palace and they were stronger together. The love and support they shared gave her more insight and hope. The road became brighter and easier to navigate yet, there were also many disappointments. There were false friendships and lovers along the way. People who wanted the gifts Lisa had inside yet left when she shared her secrets. The same people would always return at some point. After false promises to do right by her, they would again take bits of her magic and leave. At another time on her journey she would meet with them again, most times at their insistence. Often they left behind fortunes, families and demeaned themselves for more of what she had. They wanted her but could never stay for long. Thankfully Lisa learned to revisit the memories but refused to relive them. She realized the poison that still lingered within her helped in the sense that no other poison could settle for long. Lisa didn’t understand why people came and went only to return again but she knew it had to do with her gifts. So, she set out to learn everything she could about her triple sight. She vowed to find others who were different and who could teach her what she needed to know; others who would stay in her life because they too lived gifted, magical lives.

Though always different than those around her, Lisa knew she was not alone in the world. She could feel the others who knew instinctively that there was something more. Special people like herself who walked a spiritual path and had survived poisons of their own.

One day Lisa went to a celebration for those very same people. She wanted to feel what it was like to be accepted and not have to explain herself to anyone. At this celebration she was drawn to a woman who talked to her like no one had in years. This woman gave Lisa hope that she could find a spiritual home. A place where there was knowledge, creativity, passion and friendship. She was given a key to this place and that key opened a gate. The gate guarded a kingdom of Lisa’s own. A kingdom she could share with anyone she chose. Rooms that led to everything she ever wanted, family, friends, knowledge, love, magic. It would take a lifetime to open each door but they were there and they were hers.

Lisa still wanders the halls in search of her full self and offers free tours daily for those who may be looking for a similar place.

Blessed Be )O(

Eighth Avenue Station

2010-11-09T09:54:00.000-05:00

One day I was waiting for the L train at the Eighth Avenue station in Manhattan, which happens to be the last stop in the downtown direction. While I waited on the platform for the next Brooklyn bound L train to arrive I saw an Orthodox Jewish man about two train cars away, also waiting. The train pulled in. Though there were several other people also waiting, there was no one else in the car I sat in. I knew I had a few minutes at least before the train would leave the station since it would wait until the next train pulled onto the opposite track. I sat near the door and started reading my book. A second later the Jewish man stepped onto the car. He wore the typical outfit; Black coat, pants, hat, shoes and white shirt. And, lets not forget the peyes, the curls worn on the sides of the head, almost like sideburns. He entered through the door nearest to me and asked if I knew where he could get a drink nearby. I was surprised because they only speak to women in public when they really have to and even then they rarely look them in the eye. Here he was looking directly at me and asking me a question that I don't really think would be considered "must have" information.
I told him he could go upstairs and on 14th street there were lots of bars. He thanked me and stepped off the train. I laughed and went back to my book.
He then stepped back onto the train and asked if he would be able to meet women there. I couldn't believe it, what the hell... anyway, I told him I was sure he could.
He thanked me and again started to step off the train.
AGAIN... I laughed and just before I could start reading, he stepped back on and asked, "Would you like...???" I looked him straight in the eye and yelled, "NO! I wouldn't be interested!" He bowed to me a bunch of times quickly while walking out backwards, repeating, "Okay, Okay... Sorry."
I was laughing about his reaction and the fact that he was trolling for women on the train platform. But, didn't he realize how unsafe and dangerous that could be? I shook my head and went back to reading.
It was 100% a New York Moment!
So funny and yet so sick!

The Set-Up Part - 2

2010-10-29T16:01:00.000-04:00

Off I was on my date.
Bob and I left my apartment to go out to dinner. I was grateful he parked in front of my building so we didn't have far to walk. Not a word was said in my hallway, walking down my steps, heading towards the car. He didn't even tell me which car was his, he just pointed. I waited for him to unlock the door for me and the very first thing I see is a large, black, rubber rat sitting on the dashboard. The kind people use around Halloween as decoration but it wasn't Halloween. It had white teeth and little nubby claws in front of his sneering rat face. This would be a great moment to explain how much I hate... yes, hate rodents. They make me want to scream and run around in circles. I will jump on furniture to get away from them. I have even cried on occasion. My mother thinks it started when my uncle thought it was funny to turn his leather gloves inside out and toss them at me. Nothing like nice, relaxing torture to pass the time.

Back to Bob... I looked at him and said I would not get in the car with that thing in there. He laughed... Not a good thing to laugh at your date, especially if that date is ME. I repeated I would NOT get in the car. He said he always has it in his car. Like that's supposed to change my mind. I wasn't asking him to take down a sacred photo of Jesus or something. It was a nasty rubber rat!
Finally, annoyed, he took the rat and tossed it in the backseat. I said the backseat wasn't far enough away. He asked what he was supposed to do with it. I said the trunk would be okay. I was just trying to be difficult, hoping he refused, this way I could go back upstairs and do ANYTHING else but go on this date. But, instead he took the rat and put it in the trunk. I get in the car and the ceiling, the sun visors and the dash are covered in buttons and stickers. Each quoting Beavis and Butthead, Wayne's World and Bart Simpson. He was in his thirties. I laughed along with each of those characters at times too. But, This was not normal.
It was going to be a long night...

Unbroken Love

2010-10-05T13:16:00.000-04:00

I've fallen a bit behind with my blogging lately. Lots of wonderful but time consuming things going on and so here is something I wrote about a year ago. It's one of my favorites though.
Enjoy!

I saw him and immediately, I knew he was important. I didn’t know details like his name, his age or where he lived… I don’t know how, but I knew him.
Looking into his eyes, I didn’t notice their color, only the light of his spirit shining there.

I was dizzy from all the emotions running through me.

Images started to race in my mind.

Were they memories or wishes?

Were they mine, were they his, ours?

First, A young woman looking out a window, daydreaming. A man walks towards the house. He’s very handsome, wearing a heavy coat and high boots. He stops and puts down the large bag he was carrying. He just wants to stand there and admire her. At first she doesn’t notice him. She’s lost in her thoughts. Then, almost in slow motion she turns, sensing his presence. There he was, standing just beyond the trees. Her heart skips a few beats before she finds herself running out to him. He lifts her up into his arms and kisses her. She knows this man, the taste of his lips, the smell of his skin, the strength of his arms holding her.

Her heart beats in rhythm with mine.

Suddenly, a new image comes to me.

A different woman, she’s lying next to her lover; Skin against skin. Her head resting on his chest, long dark hair draped across the arm that is wrapped around her. Her small hand over his heart. They’re laughing, happy to be together. No one and nothing else matters.

Again, everything… his taste, his smell, his touch are so familiar.

Her love for him fills my heart.

Another image…

Another woman…

She’s sitting on rocks by the ocean, watching the waves. She’s wishing for a way to be with her love. What if she stowed herself with his cargo? What if she dressed as a man? She could work alongside him. If she could swim the ocean like a mermaid, watch over him and keep him safe. At night she could grow her legs and go to him, sleep in his arms. All these fantastic dreams of hers were all she had until he returned, if he returned.

I feel her sorrow.

Suddenly, the nameless man in front of me, the man I knew nothing about. The man I’ve never seen before walks towards me.

He shakes my hand and I see… it’s him.

The man standing by the trees, the one lying in bed, the one traveling the ocean, all the same. He looks different; but I know him. I know what his lips will taste like, what his skin will smell like and what his arms will feel like around me.

Today he is a stranger yet his spirit I’ve known for lifetimes.

What this meeting means, who knows? Are we destined to love again?

Is this just a reminder of how love endures?

Are we checking in? Letting the other know that we are alive and well on this earth, continuing this amazing journey.

What my heart tells me is that this is not the end of our story.

If not now, another time, another place, our hearts will remember and we’ll find each other once again. We always do.

The Imitator

2010-09-15T09:26:00.000-04:00

I met Ethan on Match.com. We spoke briefly twice before deciding to meet up for dinner. He was okay looking in his profile photos. He certainly was good looking enough when weighed against his information. Only three years younger than me.
Never married.
No children.
Lives alone.
Sales rep for publishing company.
Worked at his company for 13 years.
Has a car.
Comes into the city from Westchester several times a month.

He called when he said he would.
He balanced texting with actual phone conversations.
Called the day of our date to make sure everything was still going along as planned.
He was 10 minutes early getting to the restaurant.
He wore a nice short sleeved, navy blue and beige, collared shirt.
Dark blue jeans.
Comfy looking brown Merrill's.

I was impressed with the place he chose.
Nice Italian restaurant. Not too fancy but certainly not shabby.

Wow... maybe things were looking up for me... right?
WRONG!!!!!!

Okay, lets start with him making a comment about "gay men". I quickly said that I have gay friends, figuring I should just put that out there so that he wouldn't go any further with anything derogatory, if that was his intention. I still don't know what the gist of his "gay man" story was because he turned the next half hour, at least, into an "infomercial" on EVERY gay person (mostly male) he knew. In case that wasn't enough, he told me about EVERY gay person his friends and family knew. I think he was trying to prove he wasn't homophobic. His point was not made.
Just in case all of that wasn't clear enough for me, he then started to imitate many of them, I guess to show me the degree of "gay" they were. Some spoke like macho men. Some spoke very feminine. Many, for some reason, had a lisp. Apparently, a sure sign of a really gay man is whether he lisps or not.
I kept looking around just hoping that no one near us was gay. I mean, it was embarrassing enough for anyone to be listening, thinking I was into this conversation but having a gay person listening just made me feel like shit.
You're probably wondering why I didn't do something... well, I did. I tried several times to change the subject. Each time he was quiet but I'm not sure he was really listening because the moment I stopped talking he would say, "Oh, umm and then..." and would continue with more gay impressions.
When I finally got him to change the subject, which honestly I think had more to do with him running out of gay stories than me finding another topic, he started talking about his favorite TV shows.
You would think me being a television junkie, this would be a great thing to talk about... WRONG again!
He watches reality TV. Now, I can't stand reality shows but there is still some respect for people who watch, say... cooking competition shows or Project Runway. No, Ethan watches Jersey Shore, Celebrity Rehab and whatever shows feature Twisted Sister and Gene Simmons.
Even when I said I didn't really watch reality shows he tried to convince me to give it a try. He explained that he watched them KNOWING how horrible they were. This is when he started to do his imitations again. This time of Snookie, the Situation and Angelina. Let's not forget the drunken, sad, mess that Jeff Conaway (Grease's Kenickie) turned out to be.
By the way, for some reason they all sounded very much like lisping gay men.
Again, I tried to change the subject... which somehow only led to sports. Another taboo topic for me. I'm well aware that more so than not, people like sports of some kind. I know enough to keep a conversation going and so that's what I did. I told him what sporting events I've been to. Basketball, Baseball, College football... MISTAKE!
He took over by telling me specific games... like, Knicks and every team he's seen them play against, he did the same for the Nets, the Rangers, the Giants, the Jets, Mets, Yankees... you get the point.
Of course, he then had to tell me all of the ballparks and arena's he's been to.
Not just Tri-state area ones either.
Nooo... we're talking Fenway, Wrigley Field, Yadda, Yadda, Yadda.
ARGH!
I NOTICEABLY kept looking at my watch... he didn't get the hint AT ALL.
I couldn't believe I wore such a hot dress for this date. Such a waste.
I took extra care with my makeup AND my hair. I smelled yummy too.

Finally! The check came.
He paid for the whole thing... didn't hold back on a tip either. Nice... Okay, maybe I was being too hard on the guy. Maybe he was just nervous. After all, he's not the only person who watches really bad TV and I admit, I'm out of the loop with sports.
So, when he asks if I want to go get a drink and talk for a bit, I say yes.
WHY? WHY? WHY did I do that?
We ended up in a bar with a very drunk Firefighter named Jim who was mourning 9/11. There was a woman there with a Pug who had his own bar stool, a short guy with a really bad fake tan, the guys albino girlfriend, a waitress who kept spraying Windex on everything and wiping them down and a bartender from Dublin, named Glen, who noticeably wasn't wearing any underwear.
Yes, people... you can't make this stuff up.
Fireman Jim sang very loudly and very much off key to every song that came on and when Glen put on Danke Schoen, there was no stopping the chorus of voices. Danke Schoen is apparently a favorite at this place. I was in awe of everything going on but Ethan??? He just kept talking like nothing.
We were past him telling me every detail about a movie called FATSO with Dom Deluise, especially the "funny parts", which was the whole movie in his opinion. I'm sure it is very funny, I like Dom Deluise but Ethan wasn't convincing me of that.
After his movie review, he started talking about music. I didn't add much because I was afraid maybe he would start singing too. With a lisp maybe!
Anyway, he was telling me about all the famous people he's met, from athletes, to comedians, to musicians. He mentioned Kiss, so I added that I met Paul Stanley, twice. This was in the 80's when he was still gorgeous. I was so excited back then because the second time we met he remembered me.
Good story, right?
Uh, Oh... Ethan ran with this too.
He started imitating Gene Simmons and Paul Stanley. Paul Stanley had a lisp. I told him I didn't remember him speaking that way and so, he then started to imitate Paul Stanley meeting me... both times!
I don't know... maybe he thought it would trigger a memory. It didn't!

I couldn't take it! The boring conversation, the terrible singing, the butt crack... I just wanted to get out of there. I said, "I'm sorry, I really need to get up early. I have to get going."
He quickly got up, paid and we left.
He insisted on driving me home. I kept repeating that I lived in THE ghetto, not minding at all if I paid for a cab all the way back uptown but he was turning it all into yet another LONG conversation, so again... I said yes. We then proceeded to go to three, YEP, three different car garages because he didn't remember where he parked. This, even after he read the address...
At this point I'm really starting to wonder, am I being punked? This has got to be a Frackin' joke!
Okay... we get to the car. He drives me to Harlem. We stop at a red light and he makes sure his door is locked. I laugh and said I'd warned him earlier, he did not have to drive me home.
We get to the front of the building NEXT DOOR to my building, he turns off the car, turns towards me and licks his lips... Nooooooooooo, I can't do this. Not even a quickie. Nope, can't do it. So, I lunge forward, kiss the air by his cheek and say, "Okay, thank you. Get home safe."
I saw the look of disappointment on his face but I just wanted to get home.
I was DONE!
In the infamous words of Roberto Duran, "No Mas."

Something I learned on 9/11

2010-09-10T15:15:00.000-04:00

Tomorrow is the 9th anniversary of the destruction of the Twin Towers.
I still really can't bring myself to write much on what went on internally that day. There are still just too many emotions for me to analyze. The facts are... my mother was in One World Trade, which was the North tower. It was the first building that was hit and the second building to fall.
I can explain step by step where I was and what I was doing when it happened. I can tell you how I tried to calm my grandmother down, when all she kept saying was, "my daughter, my daughter." I can tell you that my sister and I could only comfort each other by phone because she was in Connecticut, at college. I can also tell you that I didn't find out my mother was safe until about 11 a.m.

My experiences on that day, for the most part, are similar to others who were relieved to find out their loved ones were safe. My story isn't really that different from hundreds of others who had to walk the streets of downtown in a daze. Numb. Simply in awe of what was happening all around them.
I remember clearly the people I worried about, the people I wanted to hug and kiss. The ones who meant the absolute world to me. Family members who lived out of state. Old friends. Even co-workers.
I also remember clearly who was thinking of me. Family. Friends. Even old boyfriends called, in the middle of the chaos, to check if I was safe.

But when I'm alone and I think back to a clearly defining moment, it's always the same one. It's the moment I felt terror and comfort at the very same time.
It's the moment I understood, on an emotional level, what unconditional, unselfish love was.
The obvious contrast between my mothers love for me and my fathers.

Earlier in the day, my father was able to reach me at my grandmothers house. He was crying and giving thanks to god that I was safe. There were people in the background cheering because he'd found me. He told me he didn't know what he would have done if I'd been hurt or killed. He'd even called the Red Cross for information and promised god that if I was okay, he would shave his head. This is a very Puerto Rican thing... making "Promesas" to god. It's a promise to sacrifice yourself in some way in order to receive a blessing or miracle of some kind. Often people promise to wear all white for a year or all black, women promise not to cut their hair for a certain period, things like that.
Now, I won't say my father was not being honest with me. I think he was being as honest as he knows how to be. At the time, he really did believe he could lose me.
That is why I tried to ignore the fact that I couldn't remember the last time I'd spoken to him. I tried to ignore that he didn't know where I worked, so he had no idea whether I was in the area of the Trade Center before he went nuts worrying. I tried to ignore that if he had my grandmothers number, which he clearly did because that's how he was able to reach me, then why would he call the Red Cross? And... I really really tried to ignore that he didn't even have a full head of hair to shave. That last part still makes me laugh.
I mean, he hadn't had a full head of hair in decades.
His wife and daughters had been on his case for years to shave the rest of it.
Ahhh, there's humor in any situation if you look for it...
So, this man of god who reads the Bible daily, attends church several times a week and is now a minister who performs weddings, literally thought promising to shave his head was a good deal to make with his creator for my safe return. I'm grateful I was kept safe in spite of that vow.

Now for the contrast...
That afternoon, when I finally fell into my mothers arms, she held me tight and soothed me. She was the one in the building when it was hit but she held me and comforted me. She repeated over and over that she was safe, that she loved me and everything would be okay.
We made it back to her house hours later and made what calls we could to let everyone know how things were going. We ate together. We watched the news. We slept head to foot in her bed.
In the middle of the night we were woken up by low flying planes. Not just any kind of plane but fighter planes. Imagine, jets flying over Queens. We both sat straight up, not knowing whether they were our planes or if we were being attacked again. In one split second we grabbed hands and looked directly into the others eyes. We knew that if it was our time, we were not alone. No drama. No promises. Nothing to prove. It was just us and there was nothing that needed to be said. We were together.
Fear of the unknown then... peace.

And, that was the moment...
I knew the feeling of unconditional, unselfish love.

The Set Up - Part 1

2010-09-08T12:36:00.000-04:00

This is a story about why my mother is no longer allowed to set me up on dates.

Though this person, let's call him Bob, remained a part of my circle of friends and family for years, this one date has always been THE strangest date of them all.

He's a great guy my mother said. I knew from the start that I might regret it but I listened anyway.
He's only a few years older than you. He's never been married. He has a very good job.
He has a nice build, goes to the gym regularly. He isn't really cute but certainly not bad looking.
She then sweetened the deal by saying he had great taste in music and even wrote songs.

I said I'd talk to him.

Our first conversation was strained.
He didn't even attempt to make small talk. His side of the conversation was very Vulcan-like...
Hello. How are you? Would you like to go out? How about Saturday?
Although there were really long pauses between his questions, I'm not quite sure he even heard my answers. I wouldn't have been surprised in the least if he'd written everything down on index cards before calling.
When I asked a question he gave me simple one word answers.
Now, I love to talk but even I was stumped for words. It was basically a one-sided conversation. Again, I'm often okay with that but this was just awkward.
I was hoping he was just very shy and that he would loosen up in person.

The following weekend standing at my front door was a guy I would never have chosen on my own to go out with. What on earth was my mother thinking?
I'm not all about looks but this guy was not attractive in any sense of the word. He was not built. He was top heavy but it wasn't muscle. He looked as if he was holding his stomach in. If he did go to the gym, he obviously only worked out his upper half because his lower body was not in proportion to the top.
And, he definitely had hair plugs.
I sympathized with him considering I have my own issues with hair loss... BUT, the rows of hair could be seen clearly even from my height, which was about ten inches shorter than his.
He was wearing a Hockey jersey tucked into his Khaki's and wore a belt with it. Over that he had on a full length black trench coat. On his feet were a pair of MC boots with spurs attached. Yes... spurs. Like what cowboys wear.

I took a deep breath, shook his hand and off we went... I could hear him "chinking" along as we walked to his car.

When I get bored

2010-09-02T18:52:00.000-04:00

Every time I get bored I either shop for ridiculous things I don't need on Amazon.com OR I join a new dating site. I've bought power bars in bulk and paid good money to have illegal immigrants propose to me.

I wish I'd learn from MYSELF.

I can't help it though... I get this overwhelming urge.
I have to do it!

I want, need, have to buy... granola in bulk, "Dummie's Guide" books on every subject I'm even slightly curious about, kitchen gadgets that I'll never use.

I want, need, have to remind myself... why all these men are single, why I'd rather read a book than go on a date, why I was celibate for three years.

I WANT. I NEED. I HAVE TO.

Then... I get a delivery by UPS and "Ugh! I don't have the space for this crap".

I hear a ping, it's my inbox and again, "Ugh! I don't have time for corny lines and 'Latina fetishes'".

It's like I drug. I'm like a fiend.

But, I want it. I need it. I have to have it.

I'm disappointed in myself.

I make a vow... No More!

I'm clean. I don't visit any sites. I keep busy.

One moment of boredom.
One moment of my hormones acting up.
And, I'm off... Just a peek. I'm not going to do anything but look.
And and I'm done!
This vicious vicious cycle!
I'm going to kick this horrible habit one day... I will. I promise myself.

Until then... excuse me while I sign for this package and check my emails.

A as in Alopecia

2010-09-02T16:47:00.000-04:00

I should explain something important about myself considering it figures into many of my stories.

I have Alopecia, which is the medical term for baldness. Alopecia is caused by an autoimmune disease. The hair loss is a symptom of something unknown going wrong in my immune system and it begins to attack the hair follicles. It is not contagious. There are several types of Alopecia, the main three being Alopecia Partialis, Alopecia Totalis and Alopecia Universalis. I have, at different times, suffered from all three types. Alopecia Partialis is when the hair falls out in a patchy pattern on either the scalp, body or both. Alopecia Totalis is when all the hair on the scalp falls out and the body hair remains. Alopecia Universalis is when there is a complete loss of hair over the entire body.

About two years ago my hair started to grow back. I would still find spots of hair loss in places but for the most part, it was back. I hadn't had hair longer than half an inch in thirteen years. I loved it. I would run my fingers through it all the time. I enjoyed having hair that flew around when the wind blew. I loved buying shampoo and hair clips. I loved the way it tickled the back of my neck. I loved bad hair days.
But, I never once took it for granted, knowing it could fall out just as mysteriously and easily as it had grown back.

Alopecia is a medical explanation for what I have.
The other explanation may be jealousy. I believe my father's daughters put a hex on me.
It's okay, you can laugh. If you don't believe in "hexes" or "bad juju" the subject can be pretty silly. The fact is that they dislike me to that degree. I could absolutely see them doing something like this. Outside of actually making me disappear from this earth, doing something that would hurt my looks is exactly their style.

It started when I was 26 years old. It was the day after my father made his wife and their two daughters apologize to me. I'd been visiting for the Thanksgiving holiday when some argument started. I don't remember off-hand what the argument was about but I'm sure it had something to do with my existence. The more I responded with calm and sarcasm the more they wanted to smack me. I could see the anger on their faces. I finally got up and said I was leaving. I didn't care if I stayed in a hotel or sat at the airport until I caught a flight back home, I was out of there. My father agreed to take me to my uncle's house until things calmed down.

The very next morning he picked me up and the only thing I know for sure is that his wife and their daughters apologized for the argument. My father then insisted I stay at the house again. I don't remember my father ever taking a stand on my behalf and so, I stayed.

After my shower the very next morning, his wife found a bald spot the size of a quarter on the back of my head; a very smooth, round spot. Within the next several weeks every hair on my head fell out. Just like that. I wore a hat until I couldn't hide it any longer and finally I bought a wig.

I will not downplay the fact that it is very difficult to live with. I put on a strong front, for one, no one really wants to hear a sob story but mostly because I know there are worse things to suffer from.

Still, some days I can't bare to look at myself in the mirror. Some nights I cry myself to sleep.
I get neck and shoulder cramps from not wanting to move my head much in case my wig moves too. The summers can be unbearable and winter winds scare the hell out of me. Whatever the reason my hair fell out, whatever insecurities I've suffered through because of it... I can't deny it's a part of who I am. It's helped me to rely on inner strength and gut instincts. It's helped me to weed out the wrong people from my life. It's even allowed me an intimacy many don't get to share with others. I think it's helped me to be a better version of who I might have been. I try my best not to question the manner in which this wisdom was given and to simply recognize the blessing of knowing who I am.

Last week I found a smooth, round, quarter size, bald spot on the front of my scalp. There has been more hair on my pillow in the mornings and today, while putting on makeup, wisps of hair fell into the bathroom sink. It's happening again.

This time I may be more prepared but it certainly won't be any easier.

If you're curious about Alopecia... try this site.
http://www.medicinenet.com/alopecia_areata/article.htm

I Thought It Went Great

2010-08-30T09:42:00.000-04:00

A tall, handsome, appropriate aged, working guy from OkCupid wanted to meet up for some coffee or tea at Starbucks. We'd been emailing and talking for a full week and neither of us really wanted to take too long trying to figure out if we were compatible.
I had somewhere to be and only had an hour to spare. He didn't want to wait another week to meet me in person. One hour was sufficient anyway to measure one another up.
One hour to see if we even slightly resembled our photos. One hour to see if there was any chemistry. One hour to see if we could carry on a conversation.

He was better looking in person. That was a very pleasant surprise.
We talked about our families.
He's the youngest of his siblings, I'm the eldest.
We talked about what our worst thoughts were about meeting.
He thought I might be mean, I thought he might be a freak.
We talked about our travels.
He, being ex-military, had some interesting stories, me simply being a gypsy spirit had some things to add.
We talked about our hobbies.
He does landscaping, I enjoy writing.
He made me laugh when he got up to use the bathroom and called me while waiting on line. The lady ahead of him was taking awhile so, he thought he'd find out how my date was going.
When I had to leave he asked to walk with me.

Our one hour meeting turned into a five hour date. The next few hours included listening to a book reading, meeting several of my friends, walking through Chinatown and dinner.
He behaved like a perfect gentleman, something I haven't had much experience with in the past few years. He held open doors for me, walked behind me on narrow sidewalks, poured my water, paid for dinner, helped me put on my sweater and even walked me to the train doors to say goodnight.
A man who gives up a seat on the subway to give a woman a hug and kiss goodnight is unheard of.
The evening ended with my call, like he asked, when I got home.
His last words to me were, "We'll talk tomorrow."

Two days later... I get an email.
"Had a nice time. Thank you. See, not a freak."
On his profile, new photos of himself.
Five days later... no new contact.
Apparently, he wasn't a freak.
Just an Ass!

What Defines a Date?

2010-08-27T11:23:00.000-04:00

I went out with a guy the other night and we began talking about what defined a date.
Women, he said, had too many rules.
Woman think a date needs to be a certain length of time spent together.
That a date needs to be declared. One person formally invites another to spend time together.
That a date is when the guy pays for dinner.
That a date usually has some intimate factor, such as "intimate" conversation or physical "intimacy".

Men figure, you meet up and it's a date.

I think when a woman is interested in a man romantically, it's a date.
When a woman is only interested in a man as a friend, it's "hanging out".

We aren't really all that complicated. We just don't want to fracture the fragile male ego so we make it sound very deep and thoughtful. We know that men stop listening when we do that.

How to Start?

2010-08-26T14:49:00.000-04:00

I don't know where to start.

Which of my sad but true dating stories is worthy of being my very first blog entry?

Hmmmmm

Suggestions, please.