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Why You Should Be Late

hotAs I’ve developed my spiritual side, my tendency for mischief has decreased.

I’m not sure whether that’s a good thing or a bad thing, mostly because, well, there’s no other way to say it, I’m a hoot to hang out with when I feel a little frisky.

Regardless of your deeply cultivated, responsible self, the world is still a veritable playground.

Years ago that’s how I unconsciously approached the world every day. It was fun. I was fun. Very few things were sacred.

I remember, almost a decade ago, looking at a 7th story window with my mumster beside me and saying, “The world is our stable.” We laughed so hard we nearly choked on our coffee.

But it was the truth, and I felt it was my duty to point that out to her. Now I need to refresh my own sense of fun, mischief, and go back to my ‘what-the-hell-why-not’ attitude.

Do you remember getting excited about what you were going to wear underneath what you were wearing? Do you remember being silly and giggling, and knowing that Mr. Right-Now was either going to adore you, or you’d move on?

Yah, I remember that too…..

As it turns out I’m not the only one. According to my pals, our taste for older, slightly balding men who could wine and dine us, has been sated. There are few men of our own vintage or older who can teach us much that we don’t already know or haven’t already done. We no longer need the older, balding man (who, incidentally look much like a giant phallus) to impress us with what he knows or what he owns.

No darlings. Now we like the younger ones. The ones who may be able to be taught a thing or two. Please finish those last two sentences with, ‘in the bedroom’.

They aren’t jaded, or miserable, or blaming their ex for making them intolerable. They are yummy and delicious, and we want more.

Now, for the older gentlemen out there, don’t moan and roll your eyes. Do not take your sorry over-the-hill-ass to the couch and guzzle a beer. Trust me, older women can relate, after all, this is the paradigm that we’ve been faced with for centuries.

Perhaps we all just need to refresh that seventh story-office-I-was-late-this-morning-because-my-lover-was-ravishing-my-body perspective again.

There’s nothing that a hot snog, thorough shag and bottle of bubbly can’t make right.

Now go get’em goddesses.

…and I don’t want to see you until ten minutes after you’re supposed to start on Monday.

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Love is Another Country

“To fall in love is easy, even to remain in it is not difficult; our human loneliness is cause enough. But it is a hard quest worth making to find a comrade through whose steady presence one becomes steadily the person one desires to be.” ~Anna Louise Strong~
“To fall in love is easy, even to remain in it is not difficult; our human loneliness is cause enough. But it is a hard quest worth making to find a comrade through whose steady presence one becomes steadily the person one desires to be.”
~Anna Louise Strong~

Ever one to be in line with the mindless consumer push, I decided to write a post about love. After all, it was just on December 24th that I spotted the first signs of Valentine’s Day tidbits taking over the jingle-bell-and-kiss-me-under-the mistletoe section of a local shop.

Don’t be disheartened my wee little sprites. This isn’t a syrupy sweet Hallmarkish promotion of red fish-net stockings and silicone lubricant. Not that I’m into that kind of stuff anyway…..ah hem

It’s about a topic I believe is close to the sentimental chamber of our very human spirits. It’s about letting yourself give and receive love without letting the pressures of  what-we-should-be-doing ruin it all.

As is tradition in my home, I fall easily into my nightgown in front of a slew of chick flicks when I have the place to myself. Usually I have a cup of tea or a spicy hot chocolate. Wine, I have learned only leads to more tears and possibly drunk dialing.

One of my favourite shows is New In Town. Far from a blockbuster, but so wonderful, and at the same time anti-feminist too. It just tears the hard-ass-independent-woman in me to bits to admit that I love it.

Perhaps it’s because I see myself falling for the ever-able-to-save-the-day-rough-around-the-edges Ted Mitchell. You know, the classic strong and silent type. It doesn’t hurt that Harry Connick Jr plays the character of Ted. Meow!

During a classic mother-daughter talk, my mumster and I waxed nostalgic about the bad boys we loved and (thankfully, in retrospect) lost.

As hard as it is to admit, sometimes it takes a few bad boys, heartbreaks and major losses to help us realize that it’s the gentlemen, the nice guys, the ones who open the door for you when your hands are full, who always seem to have put thought into a conversation, date, or drink at the end of the day, who are the ones who have always really had our hearts despite our steamy trysts with the tall, dark and handsome ones.

These are the guys and gals who really make our hearts pitter-patter. For a long, long time. These are the fellas worth the red fish net stockings and chilled bottles of bubbly, or perhaps the gals worthy of some well planned manscaping.

Whether you’re a man or a woman, whether you’re the educated one, or the blue collar one, whether you’re too old for him and he’s too young for you, or he/she doesn’t come with the vamp/hunk stamp of approval of your pals, they’re too tall, too short, too fat, too thin, have a funny  accent, maybe, just maybe, none of that stuff matters.

In our culture, love, indeed is another country.

Any kind of deep love, whether platonic or romantic is a deep reach down into our day-to-day, nine to five bag of consumer culture. We constantly measure the losses and gains, benefits and drawbacks, pros and cons of ‘what if’.

We’ve all had our hearts broken and taken risks. We all love the solitude of our own home. We also all yearn for that special someone who is there when we get home to help us celebrate, or hold us when we need some encouragement.

In order to know great love,  you must take a grand leap of faith to find out whether you’re being led down a path with no breadcrumb trail, into a dark, tangled, wilderness, or to a brilliant  life you only dared dream of.

Love is only between two people, not his sister, the hairdresser, your brother-in-law, the dental hygienist, your granny or Dr. Phil.

Love is a state of its own, declared the moment you enter into relationship. You are the sovereigns, the populace and the lawmakers. Love is indeed another country.

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Older Women & Younger Men

Pulp Portait: I wonder if she goes to my church?
Pulp Portait: I wonder if she goes to my church? (Photo credit: Terry McCombs)

It’s taboo. It’s frowned upon, and more often than not over-romanticized. Younger women and older men go together like cashmere and lambskin leather. They just fit.

Younger men and older women on the other hand have a social fit a little more akin to vinyl pants clinging to sweaty thighs – not so comfortable.

But, my darlings, for the single woman, younger men have their place. I’m not talking a few years younger. No dears, that’s nothing. I’m talking a decade or more.

This weekend I did a little experiment. Something to push me out of my comfort zone, and away from the unrelenting pace of all-work-and-no-play. Yes, I succumbed to a much younger man’s invitation. I know, I know, what on earth was I possibly thinking? Stamina perhaps? A wild romp through the bed linens? Perhaps some nostalgia for the beautiful-taught young bodies that we all once had?

No, it was none of that really.

It was boredom. Sheer, I’ve-gotta-take-a-break-from-this-all-work-and-no-play year.

After having been romanced by lovely, cultured older men, I feet it is my humanitarian duty to ‘pay it forward’, and tutor the occasional enthusiastic young gentleman. There’s nothing sexier than learning something new from a lover, and most younger men don’t have much to offer in this department.

As a woman-of-a-certain-age, I finally understand why men have so long coveted younger women. Yes, it could be their hot bodies, but most likely, it’s the doe-eyed, breathless, the-world-is-my-oyster attitude. It’s charming to be around, and reminds us that the joyful essence of our youth has no expiration date.

What they do offer is a reminder that life is fun and fresh and new. They offer us a reminder about how far we’ve come, and how thankful we are not to have to do it all over again. A simple (pun intended) chat over a glass of wine can bring a smile, a little tweak to our self-image that serves as a reminder of how much fun we are.

What happens when you’ve lost your joy? Maybe your heart has been broken (again). Perhaps you’ve been managing your home life, and you’ve forgotten how to play? You may have cultivated a deep inner peace, a wonderful meditation/prayer practice, a balanced harmonious way of showing up in the world….but what is life without unbridled joy, deep belly laughs, and the occasional throwing it all to the wind and living, not just peacefully, but fully in the present moment?

Although my lovely little ‘French Enfant’ is not the love of my life, he reminded me that there is silliness, fun and humour out there still.

Your laugh may be buried, but it’s still there my sweet peach…somewhere.

 

 

 

 

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Shakin’ You all Night Long

The headline on my homepage asks, “What’s the dirtiest fruit in the grocery store?”

After a yoga class, two mojitos and a hot bath, the only obvious  answer is the banana. Duh!

"Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale her infinite variety. Other women cloy the appetites they feed, but she makes hungry where most she satisfies." ~William Shakespeare~
“Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale her infinite variety. Other women cloy the appetites they feed, but she makes hungry where most she satisfies.”
~William Shakespeare~

You see my sweet little Georgia peaches I came face to face with a dark-haired blue-eyed devil this weekend. A demon I thought I had left behind along with 3am-morning-after-escapes and my dark, dirty and delicious Mr. Grey.

As my Belgian pal would say…le sigh. Le sigh indeed Carson, le sigh. What is a girl to do???

You see, in a former life, I wouldn’t have thought twice about a younger man. A much younger man. In fact, a couple of them have been great fun, and a very smooth stroke to the ego. In the past  I’d have had a hot romp and set him loose, locking the plantation gate behind him with a flick of my blonde locks.

Instead, tonight, I let the last of the steaming bath evaporate from my skin, sip my drink and think, “Tomorrow….maybe, just maybe tomorrow…”

In the spirit of all that’s sultry, sexy, and reminiscent of our youthful, sexy, feminine, giggly, glory days, I present you with Mr. King and Mr. Hooker….do dim the lights, sip your bourbon, and let your mind wander to your young indiscretions as you listen to this;