Sometimes you just gotta dance. I mean get out there, take off your wrap, your jacket, your inhibitions, and just shake what mamma gave you!
I’m not talking about the stiff, elbows up, I-give-you-a-seven-out-of-ten style of dance. No, I’m talking about freestyle baby. The kind that you do when no one’s home and you’re dusting the Dalton’s.
There are any number of holiday parties to attend, and a zillion reasons to be quiet, go home early, or feel inadequate. Trust me darlings, we’ve all felt that way, and when we feel that way, we wither like a two day old lily out of water. It’s the antithesis of fresh and glowing. Wilted and sad are never in style darlings. Never.
Not that hibernating and living in your jammies with leg stubble and four-day unwashed hair doesn’t have it’s place in spiritual growth, but come on! A bit of frivolous silliness is just what the doctor ordered to combat our winter blahs.
So, last night, I did just that with my mumster. We met a few new people, took some silly photos, and danced until we had to mop ourselves off the floor and go home. Fun, friendship, shaking off the burden of should-be’s; that’s what a party is about, not sitting primly at a table and counting the seconds until you can make your escape.
During my forty or so trips around the sun, I’ve learned that without a doubt, time passes whether you’re enjoying yourself or not. It’s your choice; suffer through the holidays, or do the hustle!
This blog started as some fun entertainment for mature single women who needed a laugh. I found out very quickly that the battle line drawn in the battle of the sexes is a grey and sometimes non-existent figment of the collective imagination.
To crave meaning and connection is a universal experience. Some of us just don’t know it yet. One day you might wake up and wonder about habits, addictions and unhealthy patterns of being….or not.
Sadly it seems that men I’ve dated are still caught in the early stages of psychological development, fascinated by their own pee-pee, and what they leave behind in the bathroom.
The last man I ‘dated’ had been a friend for years. Years. I thought I knew the quality of his character, but he showed some pretty ugly true colours. Besides revealing himself as a to-the-core-asshole (you just can’t make that pretty), It became pretty plain to see why this little gem and poster boy for why-we-need-pharmaceuticals-in-the-bedroom was on the ‘available’ list.
To be fair, he’s not the only mis-match I’ve met. No my sweet, tender lamb chops. I’ve met a rainbow variety of men; too young, too old, can’t spell, can’t carry a conversation even-if-you-gave-him-a-bucket, married, sorta-married, men with mommy issues, men whose penises need a long-committed relationship with a therapist, men who pride themselves in being evolved yet eat like pack-animals, ego-maniacs and those, who, at this tender-middle-age are on their way to creepy- old-manhood.
Yah, I’ve met them all, and they’ve all been just off the mark.
Despite this, I’ve had grand love-affairs. Upon reflection, I’ve had quite a few, but I just haven’t recognized them.
Have you ever had a love affair?
I’m not talking about the the kind of love affair where you have to sneak off so you aren’t discovered by a jilted partner, over-bearing parents, or the church. No. I’m talking about the kind that coddles and challenges you to be a better person, to be better than you were yesterday, or the day before that.
I know, they’re rare.
Once upon a time I thought a love affair had to involve a man and a woman ( or a man and a man, or a woman and a woman, or a trans, bi, pan, or other “_______ sexual” union), but that was long, long ago and far, far away darlings.
It’s not all doom and gloom though. I’ve also met some really, really great men. Men who take responsibility for their lives, know how to avoid the dreaded white-sweat-socked-and-white-running-shoed casual look, men who seek genuine relationships, have their own interests, and take pride in their work rather than just their pay-cheque. Yah, there are some really swoon-worthy, incredibly sexy men with integrity out there.
That’s why I’ve decided I’m not going to date any more. That’s right, it’s the good men out there that I’m basing this decision on. I’m not going to look, hope, or consider any wonderful man with my is-he-relationship-material filters in place. Nope. I’m finished with that .
I think back to my first prom, and wonder what happened to that great guy who asked me to be his date. You see, three boys asked me, and at that age I hadn’t been mucked up with men who don’t know their spirit from a fart. It was pre-high-school-sweetheart-heartbreak and drama. At that tender age I had the wisdom to make a simple decision based on whether or not each of these three was a gentleman. I made the right choice. I had fun. What I wouldn’t do for a man like that now.
I’ve been the poster woman for ‘having-it-all’. I’m educated, a good mom, I have authentic connections with colleagues and community partners. I also have anxiety, debt, and run on the same 24 hour clock as everyone else. As a young woman, I used to think you could have it all. Now I know you can have it all, just not all at the same time.
With this knowledge I have decided that unless my prom date from 25 years ago shows up, I’m giving up dating.
As a little girl, you get told a lot of fairytales…
Join me tomorrow for the best news about fairytales in real life, and why, I’ll stick by my decision…for now.
During one of our famous, rambling conversations one of my man-pals dared to criticize my blog posts.
Imagine that my luscious little plums?! A man brave enough to make a suggestion to the woman who is known for her scathing tongue and hot sexy temper.
But that’s the kind of friendship we have. We talk about EVERYTHING. Like everything, EVERYTHING. Yesterday the conversation started with me saying, ” I hope you’re on the toilet because what I’m going to tell you is going to make you….”. I’m sure you have a good enough imagination to figure out how that sentence ends.
My friend, let’s call him _________________, suggested that although 55% of my readership is male, I frequently direct my posts to ‘gal-pals’. Just to clarify, when I use terms of endearment such as darling, sweet little peaches or plums, I am indeed including my mysterious man-pals in the group.
Just a note to my male readers, I picture you all as cowboys, sophisticated southern gentlemen in smoking jackets, or cute little younger kittens who are mute and have washboard abs.
Although I give loads of credit to my dear gal-pals for keeping me out of a permanent psychiatric facility for the fabulously insane, I do have some pretty darn incredible man-pals. As a matter of fact, the past few days have been man-pal packed. I’ve had lunch and coffee, relaxed and watched a movie and had long, sprawling telephone conversations with my man-pals. They too keep me sane, and nurture my very natural and dominant tom-boy side.
There are indeed obstacles to overcome if you have friends of the opposite sex, or the ‘sexual’ persuasion that you’re attracted to. In fact, some of my man-pals and I have test-driven the highway of carnal hell and decided to keep things on the ‘let’s stay clothed’ side. Once pride is knocked out of the way, we’ve developed wonderful friendships.
Unlike my gal-pals who see my stubborn nature and my ferocious ‘go for it’ attitude as motivating, most of my man-pals get a little kick out of my temper. Coming off of a huge passionate rant, one of my man-pals once commented, “I get such a kick out of you when you lose it. It’s hilarious man.”. The same man-pal takes the battle of the sexes to a fun-at-the-fair-muddy-tug-of-war level, and we have hysterical conversations. God bless him.
If you haven’t already figured it out, I’m a pretty straightforward gal. I like to put my cards on the table, and expect my friends, acquaintances and colleagues to function without pretence. In the past I’ve been accused of being blunt, naïve and having high expectations.
Yes, I think, as I nod my pretty little head, I am indeed all of these things. Of course being blunt, naïve, and having high expectations can be troublesome, it can be wonderful too, especially when you find kindred spirits who share the same expectations, disappointments and joys as you.
Would I say that my man-pals are a good check and balance to the strong-feminine energy that my gal-pals and I exude? Perhaps, but I don’t see it that way. My pals are my pals regardless of the shape of their underpants, soft and frilly or masculine and tight ( oh sweet love of Mary, now there’s a thought to make your hearts go pitter-patter!). In fact, I could care less how my friends gender-identify, they are all human, lovely, and wonderful! I think some of my pals don’t even wear underpants most of the time….but I digress…perhaps that last bourbon didn’t have enough ice?
My man-pals help me with my man-issues. I can run by the ultimate single in your 30’s and 40’s question, “What the hell was that?! Was that supposed to be a date?”, and trust them to give a no-nonsense answer. Usually it’s one of the following;
1) Yes you dumb ass, he was trying to be romantic.
2)Hell if I know, he sounds screwed up.
3)No, don’t be stupid, he just wanted to get in your pants.
My man-pals can be counted on to soothe my fears and tears and provide the same solutions as my gal-pals to my rare weepy rants;
1) Oh sweety, I wish I was there to give you a hug.
2) Are you crying? You never cry.
3) Hahaha. Don’t be silly, you’re fabulous and you know it! Fuck’em.
My man-pals do often give beauty advice much different from that of my gal-pals. When I make negative statements about my body;
1) Who cares about a couple extra pounds, you’re jiggliscious and lots of guys want to jump your bones.
2) So what,work it off with a little sex.
3) Get off your ass.
My man-pals are as glorious, wonderful and priceless as my gal-pals. They offer me a balanced male energy, and maybe, just maybe, one day, one of them might turn into the man of my dreams. More bourbon please.
So, for any of my man-readership who have felt marginalized or offended by any of my posts, I sincerely and deeply apologize. Regardless of what treasure you hide below the belt, you are all my sweet, succulent little plums, and I wouldn’t change any of you for the world.
Today I was listening to one of my favourite radio programs on my long, construction-jammed drive to work, and they were playing songs from the movie 16 Candles. It got me thinking about all the wonderful emotions we leave behind as our youthful innocence slips away.
Do you remember…
1) Slow dancing at high school dances.
2) How you felt the split second before a first kiss
3) Doing your best friend’s hair before a double date
4) Staying up all night whispering into the phone
5) Being asked to Prom.
6) Dreaming about who you’d be at 20, 30 and 40
7) Trying new eye make-up
8) Reading a love note from your high school sweetheart