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Tacos with John Mayer

taco truckI was in New York City last night with John Mayer. I adore his music. This summer I’m headed out to my very first Dead and Company show, all the way south of our beautiful Canadian border.

Anyway, about last night. John, myself and a bunch of pals were at a buddy’s place in the city, and we were all jonesing for some tacos. I suggested a taco truck that I remembered was a short walk away from the apartment- kinda close to Times Square, but far enough away that it wasn’t right in the mix. It was this funky little truck, painted high gloss black with a scrolling white logo that took up the entire side. It looked neat, tidy, and clean; all good things when it comes to street food.

We all got a little side tracked just before we were going to head out. Someone handed me the most pudgy, little, white, kitten, and it was all I could do to put it down. I just had to have a cuddle, so I sat down, right where I was standing, and let the little guy stretch out on my lap for a belly rub.

The guys couldn’t resist. They all gathered around and bent down to give the little guy a pet. Some of the guys were  naked, (if the kitten weren’t so cute, I would have been distracted by their junk wiggling in my face). Whatever. I had a roly kitten to snuggle. Once you’ve seen a dude’s wiggler, there’s not much else you can be distracted by…except kittens. Hey, I’m over 40, I only wanna see the junk of men I adore, thank you very much.

giphy-4

Wait, where was I? The kitten…??? What happened to the naked guys? Where did John Mayer go during this whole kitten and men’s pubic hair fiasco? Why on earth was I bothering to go get tacos when just last week I vowed I’d had my fill of tacos for life? What I really wanted was a couple of really yummy authentic pork tamales. Oh, and that damn noise to stop….

…my alarm…

Turns out I wasn’t with a  kitten and a bunch of well-hung naked men. John Mayer was defo not just at the door putting his sneakers on to go find a taco truck with me in New York City.  Waking up to reality can really suck, especially when you’ve just been in NYC with your musical fave, fat kittens, naked men, and the promise of a really good taco.

Ah well….a lady can dream.

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Nightmares: When Your Intuition Is Tired of Knocking

dreamylandscape

I’ve been having a lot of nightmares lately.

Which means something long-buried is coming to the surface. And that my darlings, means there’s a lot of psychological and spiritual work in my future.

Don’t worry. I have a pretty good idea what it’s all about. I’ve been ‘Team Jung’ for over 20 years now, and it seems to be working.

I pay attention to whether the water was murky or clear, churning or calm, the colours, the language, whether or not I could dial the number or sound came out of my mouth when I tried to scream. You see, in dreams it matters, because we like to gloss over these things in real life.

Nightmares have always been a sign that something is off. Not quite right. In the past, they have signaled betrayal, inspired me to pay attention to my intuition, and often times, to make significant changes in my life. Often (for me) nightmares are  premonition. You know, a little postcard before the main event. Sometimes they are my intuition tired of knocking and now shouting at me to pay attention to what isn’t being said. I think that’s the case this morning.

I woke at precisely 6:18am, stomach churning and teary eyed. It was a hell of a dream, with conversations and people in my life who aren’t exactly trustworthy or worthy to be invading my head while I’m trying to get my beauty sleep.

Secret keeping has been a common theme in the lives of some people very dear to me lately. Lies of omission are still lies. Being starved for self-care is a terrible form of self-neglect. Telling yourself something is ok when it’s not causes nightmares. Betrayal comes in many forms often defended by the betrayer.

During a conversation with one of my best friends, I said that  people who have never experienced great suffering, don’t know how to care for those who are suffering. Those who have never been betrayed are ignorant of the damage they do.

I’m wise enough to know our wee little human brains love living in black and white. I’m also experienced enough to know that we live in the vast, grey area that constitutes the majority of our mental and emotional landscapes.  I am also a woman who believes in the superior value of trusting one’s instincts over trying to rationalize everything.

Just because we have learned to value logic over emotion, doesn’t mean they  are equally important when it comes to their contribution to personal and global wisdom. We have been duped into thinking logic is king.

Nightmares remind us that our souls are alive and that we must shine light into the shadow side of our selves in order to experience the wonder of life. Without the dark emotions, we cannot celebrate the light and without the light, we cannot fully examine and understand the dark.

My nightmares are telling me to pay attention to what I know to be true. To demand that I have the quality of relationships at work, home and in love that I desire.

Sometimes before I go to sleep at night, I pray for a good dream. Good as in one that will let my subconscious unravel and teach me what I need to know at the soul level. Nightmares shake me up, but in a way that always puts me back on track to happiness, even if it’s a bit of a hike.

 

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Growing Older But Not Up

Bath
Bath (Photo credit: Jagrap)

Ah yes, the famous Jimmy Buffett lyrics, “Growing older but not up….”. Never was a truer lyric written me thinks darlings.

I’m starting to reach the age where I finally understand some of the truisms told to me by those folks who had bravely gone before me, and had indeed grown older but not up. I remember people telling me that despite their age they still felt like the same person on the inside.

I interpret this now to mean they still feel the same emotions, fears, desires, regrets and dreams that youth think are unique to them.  Despite the general stiff upper lip with which we lead our days as productive adults, we all still have the same butterflies in our stomachs about falling in love (again), about new beginnings and relationships.

Somehow, and somewhere, logic over powers emotion. Alas, we are essentially emotional creatures, and we cannot repress our desires forever. We’ve just learned to hide it, push it aside, and carry on as if we’re stoic souls not moved by mere emotion.

But I challenge you my fabulous readers. For every woman who enjoys a long, hot, candlelit bath, there is a woman who still lets her imagination get carried away with romance and love stories.  As the hot water softens her skin, and the razor skims her calves, she remembers the way a lover’s touch felt, or imagines a first kiss.

No matter the storms of marriage, separation, divorce, child-birth, death, or loss we have weathered, there is always a little spark burning inside of us. One that, with just a little encouragement, burns more brightly as we unbind our hearts from fear of losing again.

We all grow older, but you cannot convince me that our gentle hearts ever grow up, or ever should grow up.  If you don’t believe me, draw a hot bath, light some candles, put on some of your favourite slow songs and observe where your mind goes. A glass of bubbly won’t hurt either my sweet darlings. Don’t be afraid of your heart’s desires, rejoice in your vitality.

Someone, somewhere is thinking of you tonight.

 

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I Would if I Could

After love making
After love making (Photo credit: Matt Romack Photography)

…after a day like this, I would slip into a t-shirt, panties and flip-flops and crash in front of the television with my favourite take-out and a cold beer.

I would eat it all, and savour every delicious drop straight from the bottle.

I would know that you were on your way.

I would light some candles and turn out the lights.

I would put on my favourite music, and slide into a hot bath with a glass or two of wine.

I would shave my legs and smooth every inch of my body.

I would soak, deep, deep in the water, right up to my neck.

Wrapped in my favourite bath towel, I would smooth lotion over my warm, damp skin, and sing along to the love songs at the top of my lungs.

I would set out our ice water, your wine, turn down the bed, and warm the massage oil.

I would look forward to you; your big hands, your soft kiss and your machismo.

I would meet  you at the door with nothing on but my smile.

I would kiss you out of your clothes and into bed.

I would caress every blessed inch of your body

I would wash away the demands of the day with passionate love making,

and I would rest, head on your chest, hand on your heart

until tomorrow

and then

I would start all over again.

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Confessions of a Gallery Junkie

Musee Rodin - Adam
Musee Rodin – Adam (Photo credit: John Kroll)

You all know by now that I adore my time spent at the local art gallery.

I have been blessed by the art gods, or pan-sexual-life-affirming gods (whomever inspires you my darlings), to live near a world-class gallery.

I spend many a Sunday afternoon sipping wine in the  member’s lounge, chatting to fellow artists, wanna-be artists, or perhaps just myself, Moleskine and smooth writing pen in hand.

Some days I write pages, and other days the page holds out its fabulously, gnarled hand and won’t let me write a damn thing.

Most of all, beyond my nine-to-five life, the gallery feeds the flame of my creativity.

The art feeds my imagination, and what, pray tell,  my sweet, tender ,figs, would an artist be without imagination?

My top ten fantasies inspired by the AGO

1) I finally find that flowing scarf that never snags, flops into my soup, or makes my voluptuous ass look big. I also find the perfect sexy boot that doesn’t make me sound like a Clydesdale clopping across the sacred silence of gallery space.

2) I am bent over the knee of Rodin’s Adam, being shagged mercilessly by a very determined lover. He must be virile and skilled enough to finish the entire job before we get tossed out of my Eden of art forever. Preferably he speaks no English. Better yet, he doesn’t speak at all.

3) All of the books that whet my insatiable appetite for the exchange of ideas are priced reasonably, and I meet a man across the crowded, over-priced gift shop who is as hungry for intellectually stimulating intimacy as I am. (Hopefully this one speaks English, but with a sexy Irish brogue, or French yum-yum-accent).

I’m afraid that sums it up. I know lovey, I know, I did say there were ten fantasies, but I can’t share the rest with you. I’m saving them for someone special.

The gallery inspires me to creative, lustful, philosophy. It’s as simple as that. The other seven fantasies are for that yummy man, whom I meet as he sizes up my books and I size up his, er, um….anyway, our, eyes lock across the crowded bookstore/coffee shop/gallery/coat check/gate/pub/studio, and I know he’s the lucky one.

Fashion · Girl Stuff · Life · Uncategorized

Fall Fashion Mags: Money Can’t Buy Dreams but It Sure Can Buy Inspiration

“It hurts to be beautiful”, I’ll never forget my mother saying this as I looked up at her through the ammonia haze of my first perm when I was five years old. I believe that’s when I started to really question her ability to parent. 

Alas, this is not a blog about parenting, it’s about what women wear. What we covet in dress shops and shoe stores, and the sisterhood that this desire for beauty creates.

First of all, let me start with disclosing my muse for this piece; marie claire‘s September fashion edition. Despite the all too common ribbing given to Sarah Jessica Parker‘s equine features, I adore her. Her fashion sense that is – I don’t personally know her. Sarah Jessica Parker is on the cover of the magazine in a fabulous little dress that makes you want to take her home, and make a shopping list! Her Sex in the City character Carrie ,gives voice to the inner chick in all of us, and the clothes! Ah, the clothes – wouldn’t it be nice to go through all of our girl moments in fabulous clothes?!

But then, if you’re like me, conservative, a little bubbly here and there where you shouldn’t be, you think, “Oh, I couldn’t wear that!”.  

So, last night, hopped up on Lindt truffles and tea, I snuggled in with my copy of marie claire, and began ogling what’s what in fall fashion. I’m a great reader of the fine print; where to buy,how much it costs, what some more reasonable or easier to find substitutions might be. 

One simple, yet beautiful outfit in a section dedicated to Michael Kors cost a mere $2860.00, and that’s without bra, panties or, most importantly, shoes! In my case, add a few extra bucks or some Spanx. The model wore a simple black bodysuit, skirt, clutch and earrings.

The Anglo Files, filled with pages of stripes, checks, (p)leather and random other 80’s poo-ha made me thankful I pulled through the decade without severe emotional trauma related to my neon-pink, floral stirrup pants.

Ironically, following the “Big Girl in a Skinny World” column, and a few buffer cosmetic pages, there is the “What I Love About Me” section. Features like, “my superlong legs”, “my eyes”, my “dainty hands”, dripped from the lips of the 19-26 year old sample. Hell, when I was 19-26 I loved all of the above about myself. Now I’m just happy my super long legs carry me around, my eyes are healthy, and I haven’t lost a finger somewhere along the way.

Fat chicks must also be broke chicks, because it was in the “Big Girl in a Skinny World” column that I found the one and only dress I could afford, and will likely buy. It’s the $98 Studio M dress at Macy’s. It’s black lace over what looks like some nude material. Perfect for a nice lunch out with the girls, or that elusive date that must be hiding out with the Tooth Fairy and Santa Claus somewhere. 

I indulged in my fashion fantasies as I turned each page, laughing at the memory of some of my great, and not so great buys. I looked at the super-thin models, the memory of myself, two lesbians and the mother of the bride sitting on a hotel room bed with our dresses up and our Spanx showing in an effort to cool off after an afternoon on Parliament Hill getting photos taken popped into my head. Wait – one of us was wearing pants. Anyway….What we don’t do to look and feel like pretty women.

Often we ask, “Who wears this stuff anyways?”. We may not wear it, but designers and fashion magazine editors are selling dreams. We all need dreams, even if it’s a $98 dress from Macy’s. (I’m keeping my fingers crossed that boots feature in the next month’s edition! Who doesn’t love a pair of sexy boots?)

I read it all, even the perfume reviews. I love perfume. Vera Wang , Prada and Givenchy tempt this season with yummy scents, but my must have is Elie Saab’s new fragrance  that, “…leaves the room like the train of a dress”. I’m sure that will fit.

Keep dreaming, and keep smiling ladies, because regardless of what we wear, our attitude does leave the room like the train of a dress, and we all have a little bit of fabulous in us, regardless of what we’re wearing.