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Are You There God? It’s Me. Where’s Margaret?

itsmemargaretFinding your father’s copy of Playboy. Playing two-minutes-in-the-closet. Wearing a bra for the first time. Buying your first maxi-pads.

Those were all of the things that made 11 year old Margaret Simon’s  character so relatabel in Judy Blume’s  ‘Are You There God? It’s Me Margaret’.

I can’t remember who lent me the book, but I do remember hiding it from my parents and older sister.  Although the book was a decade behind (those girls had to wear belts with their pads),  it was as a staple in my generation’s pre-teen reading diet.  It was our porn.

Wanting to know about my changing body and emotions wasn’t easy. I was shy, a bookworm and a tomboy who was raised in a body-shaming-Baptist family.  Ballsy Margaret who crushed on Phillip and bought her own pads  from a boy cashier, was my hero.

How things have changed.

After having spent my adult years fully loaded up on contraception, today was the day that I would have my Mirena removed. This morning I stood in the drugstore looking at a wall of pads, tampons, and Diva Cups wondering just what the hell I was going to need. I would have loved to have had Margaret’s advice.

croneI no longer need birth control. What I need is to return to my feminine body. To experience the shift from motherhood to new-cronehood with some modicum of respect for the awesome female form that I inhabit.

I am from a generation of women who have been convinced that our natural cycles should be stunted. We are being convinced that unless we want to get pregnant, we need to saddle up on hormones and keep a constant, obedient level of functioning that does not include paying attention to the natural rhythm of our bodies to stop, rest, rage, weep and rejoice. We have been twisted into she-men.

If I could do it all over again, I would do it like a woman, and not try to be the she-man that our you-can-have-it-all-girl-boss-culture would like me to buy into. I would get pregnant again and rejoice in my body. I would revel in my sexuality. I would do so many things differently with regard to my divine feminine.

Much like young Margaret’s character, I’m wondering about what will happen next. Except I’m in my mid-forties.

I’m noticing changes in my body; less firm, more round, a greater comfort with my own self when I look in the mirror after I slip out of my clothes and into the hot bathwater.

I wonder what happened to ballsy, Margaret when she hit forty? I’d sure like to hear from her now.

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That’s a Mighty Fine Driver You Have There Sir: The Un-fore-seen Benefits of Golfing with Your GF

basket-of-golf-ballsToday was a first. The left side of my mid-back is whispering caution to me. It’s rather insistent that tomorrow I may be in some pain. The right side is nodding in agreement.

My sweetie finally took me to the driving range. Brave? Yes. But not brave enough to take me out on a for-real golf course, and who can blame him?

About midway through the ‘jumbo’ bucket of balls, I thought that I had hit him in the back. You see, I made contact with the little white devil, but it took off toward my baby on a trajectory akin to tiles blowing off a space-shuttle. I must have missed his left ear by an inch. For a full two hours, he patiently took me through a range of clubs and tried teaching me the basics, and he didn’t swear once…out loud.

bad golfer

As you all know, I’m incredibly patient. Ok, maybe a teensy-tiny-eensy-weensy-bit patient. Or not. By the time we were chipping,  I held out my hand and let him know I was already an expert and his blathering was unnecessary. My chipping as it turns out, sucks.

My putting is slightly better if I have my arms over my voluptuous breasts, which means the damn club sticks out perpendicular to the ground and I have to bend over like some weirdo with a metal detector on the beach to ‘pendulum’ like my sexy instructor was trying to demonstrate. You see, his breasts are significantly smaller than mine, and penduluming is not such a challenge for him.

I made contact with the ball (most of the time), and if I were aiming 120 degrees to my right, I was dead on target. By the time I finished with the driver, I could really appreciate my man’s talent.

And maybe that’s why I think I’m going to love the game. A woman like me likes a challenge, and some fun. I can’t wait to go again.  Perhaps when my man buys a helmet he’ll take me on another hot driving-range date.

Laugh as you may, it was a great way to spend the afternoon. I’m a strong, confident, capable woman. There are very few things that a man can do that impresses me to the point I’m actually attracted to him because of it.

But today was the day for my man. He was good at it. Like, crazy good. He made it look easy, and I was struggling to even connect.  It made me kinda hot for him, in that grrrrr, you’re a manly-man kind of way.

He doesn’t know it yet, but his patience may just pay off for him two-fold. He may have a willing partner to hit the links with every chance we get, and he may also have a lady who needs to go immediately home for some good lovin’s when we come off the course. All of a sudden, I can appreciate his driver just a little bit more.

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Shhh!!! This is my Favourite Part…

shhmyfavouritIf you don’t have one, you need one. At least one. If not a few, you know for special occasions; waking up, driving to work, road-tripping, wine-sipping, skinny dipping, cooking, cleaning, bathing, preening  and everything else you get up to in life.

You don’t have any idea what I’m talking about do you? I could be talking about pairs of shoes, but I’m not. I know, I’m straying from my usual bubbly-without-brains banter. What I’m talking about in this case my darlings, is music; playlists, albums, or, if you’re an 80’s child, mixed-tapes.

Today I share with you some of my favourite lines from some of my favourite songs. I’ll give you the line, you give me the song or artist.

1) Don’t let yourself fall. Don’t let yourself stumble. If you can’t do the time, don’t do the crime…

2) And it ain’t that I’m wiser, it’s only that I’ve spent more time with my back to the wall…

3) You came to me this morning and you handled me like meat. You’d have to be a man to know how good that feels, how sweet…

4) Another Saturday another date. She would be ready but she’d always make him wait in the hallway in anticipation…

5) Oh it’s hard to be a boy when all the men have lost their joy and they can’t find the ones they’ve left behind…

6) Take the ribbon from your hair. Shake it loose and let it fall, laying soft against your skin like the shadows on the wall…

7) Drive in. You guzzle gin, commit a little mortal sin. It’s good for the soul…

8) When you’re loving somebody, baby, you’re taking a gamble against some sorrow. But who knows, baby, ‘Cause we may not be here tomorrow…

9) No, there’s nothin’ you can send me, my own true love.  There’s nothin’ I wish to be ownin’.  Just carry yourself back to me unspoiled from across that lonesome ocean…

10) Nothing could be sadder than a glass of wine alone.  Loneliness loneliness, is just a waste of  time,  But you don’t ever  have to walk alone…

This may have left you with a song in your head, or maybe a bit annoyed that we don’t share the same taste in music. Whatever else, I hope  it reminded you that music can change your mood, and can speak to your heart when words are inadequate.

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Cocktail Hour Questions for Discerning Intellectuals

“Never stay up on the barren heights of cleverness, but come down into the green valleys of silliness.”
~Ludwig Wittgenstein~

There are a number of burning questions I have that I dare not ask the average person. Sure to stimulate heated, highly intellectual debate I pose them here for you my dear readers, so you may ponder them. After thoughtful consideration, perhaps you could present them for discussion.

1) How do Mermaid’s go to the bathroom? 

2) Does anyone really cut someone’s hair into a mullet on purpose?

3) Would having bedbugs actually improve the quality of nooky since there would be more wiggling around?

4) When exactly did we reach the tipping point in North America of women getting  too lazy to paint their own toenails?

5)Is there anything more luxurious feeling than skinny dipping with your man?

6) 1980’s fashion – parachute pants and mesh tops for men; Should this have triggered social action regarding a significant increase in recreational, chemical drug use?

7) Men are reactive rather than proactive with regard to romantic gestures – is this shrewd economics or ignorance?

8) Why do men of a certain age snore in that freaky way that makes you think they’ve stopped breathing and then all of a sudden  let out a blast of air from their mouth that’s kind of like a fart?

9) How come water-beds went out of vogue?

10) Why do we announce our impending orgasms?

I’ve done my best to enhance the quality of your conversation this weekend. I expect a full report in my inbox by Monday morning.