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This Christmas, Leave it All On Ladies

You’d have to have your head buried in the sand not to have seen the calendar pic of Amy Schumer having almost taken it all off in the 2016 Pirelli Calendar. schumer.jpg

The Calendar traditionally featured pin-up models, but this year, the change in shape and degree of, shall we say, modesty has changed significantly.

I’m still not convinced that having iconic women and pop-culture cuties being coyly half-naked is a giant leap forward for women. I’m not an automotive buff, but I’m pretty sure Pirelli doesn’t offer escorts with the option of coffee breath.

The reality is that  when it comes to the real world women continue to be measured against male standards and values.  It’s like being upset that your cat doesn’t bark like a dog. Insane, and a complete construct of the human mind. Balderdash to it all I say.

What I don’t understand is why women feel they still must bare all to prove their strength, femininity and ultimately their worth?

Can you imagine how absurd it would be to have Jimmy Fallon clad in a banana-hammock , wearing dress shoes, teetering with his bare bum-cheeks on a stool while sipping a latte and looking into the camera?

Or perhaps let your mind wander to a full rear nude of Robert DeNiro with is hair blowing in the synthetic wind.

venus

 

Alas, you may have questioned Donald Sutherland’s value as an artist until you saw him suggestively posed on a stool in a top hat, tails and a pair of hosed legs stretched awkwardly toward the camera.

yoko

For the love of all that’s right in the world ladies, please, stop taking your damn clothes off in an effort to prove your equality.

No one has the power to strip you bare and shine the spotlight on your beauty and your flaws except yourself.

Love yourself; body, mind and spirit, and to hell with trying to prove a point to the people who simply don’t get it.

 

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Dear Emotionally Ambivalent Male & You too Girl!

poke the bearTonight one of those smarmy articles popped up in my newsfeed. The hook was, Dear Emotionally Ambivalent Male.

I almost read the damn thing, but stopped short. You see, all women have experienced the emotionally ambivalent male. Read; emotionally unavailable, angry, fearful or man with his head up his arse. I do concede that men have experienced the same of women, and everyone else who has entered into relationship with another human being.

As a passionate Scorpio, ambivalence is akin to sporting tangy, unbreathable B.O., that makes your eyes sting and your throat close. Ambivalence is lazy, without passion, or any kind of zest for life that is attractive or sensual. Ambivalence is a sin against the nature of our spiritual selves.

Ambivalent Men; We know them, and we love them, just as they know us for all of our strengths and weaknesses.

But hold on here.

All men are not emotionally ambivalent, unavailable, angry or  fearful of showing emotion. Nor do all men find themselves breathing the stanky air of their colon when they become verklempt.

Ladies, when was the last time you bumped in to one of your school chums? You know, the male kind who used to do all kinds of silly stuff in school, didn’t mind getting muddy at recess, or that his sock was soaking wet and dangling off his foot like a dead sea creature. These are the men whom you will always remember as the class clown, the boy who carried your books home, or was single during everyone else’s double-dates.

Well, of late I’ve had the opportunity to reconnect with an old school chum. Ironically, it’s at a time when the man-o-my-dreams is doing a smashing job at clamming up.

If you’ve had the good fortune of having a good chat with one of your little-boy-all-grown-up-into-a-man classmates, you’ve known them since you were a kid, pre-bra, and pre-adult-life-sure-isn’t-all-it-was-cracked-up-to-be. They remain in the platonic way, completely emotionally available and not emotionally ambivalent at all. They are generous with their time and opinions, sharing their life stories, and they give you the old go-get’em pat on the ass that we all need sometimes.

After some chats with men you’ve known since they sported Underoos, you can rest assured that one thing is for certain; Men and women both struggle with regard to having the courage to be vulnerable. For my pals out there who do not relate to binary relationships, let me be crystal clear; Anyone involved in a romantic relationship is afraid of rejection, stripping themselves down to their emotional birthday-suit, and standing in the spotlight of authenticity.

When I’m faced with an emotionally ambivalent, unavailable, man-cave-dwelling partner, my instinct is to poke the bear. If he comes out on his hind feet pawing at the air and growling a frothy growl, I fight back. In a loving way of course. Some people run like hell, but that’s not gonna do any good now is it darlings? Nope.

So here I am, all ready to get naked (in the existential sense of course), waiting

I don’t have the answer to emotionally ambivalent partners. I don’t have an answer because I don’t think that there is one. There is no such thing as emotional ambivalence. Emotion is what makes us fully human. To not feel is to despair, and in the words of the great L.M. Montgomery, ‘To despair is to turn your back on God’. If you don’t believe in God, it’s the same thing as turning your back on humanity.

For those going through the dark-night-of-the-relationship-soul, do not despair. Feel what you feel deep down to your bones until it seeps from the soles of your feet back into the earth where it will be filtered and washed away by the rivers of life.

If there’s one thing that my conversations with my old chum have taught me this week, it is that there are people out there who believe in love, in life, and that the best is indeed, yet to come.

Ambivalence, schmivalance, someone get me a stick!

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Selling Yourself Short One Glass of Bourbon at a Time

whiskeyJust so I make myself absolutely clear, this one is for the men out there.

Last night I met a sexy beast of a friend of mine for bourbon.

“Did you get new glasses? New look?” He said, as he stood up to give me a hug.

I was confused. My glasses are over a year old, and well, I’ve been rockin’ the same look since I refused to wear leotards to grade-school. In other words, I was a bit concerned about his perception of time. Hadn’t it just been a few months since we’d last met to discuss writing over a few shots of bourbon?

No. In fact, it had been almost two years. Two. Yeeeeaaaars.

Time flies darlings. Faster than you know, and much faster when you’re having trouble keeping your head above sea level.

So, we sat and chatted as we always do about life, writing, and bourbon.

Neither of us are aficionados, but could be if we put our minds to it. Bourbon has just been an excuse to get together every once in a while.

I also have a confession. I’ve thought this guy was hot since the day I met him and my existence barely registered on his mid-40’s radar.

I met this gentleman about 14 years ago in his backyard. He was rushing off to play tennis, and I was the third wheel in a conversation with his then wife. I’m not sure if she was his first wife, or second wife, but one thing was clear even to my somewhat naïve and cynical divorced-at-25 eye; the marriage was not best described as blissful.

Fast forward to last night. He’s divorced and I’m a champion at remaining single. We have never, ever, not-even-once known what I’m sure would be the mutual delight in one-another’s flesh.

After a beer a few glasses of good-for-what-ails you, he confessed that he was in a sexless relationship.

bourbonglassTake that in; Sexless.

Time flies.

“We don’t’ have sex, we don’t share a bed. What is that?”

“Fucked up,” I said, swallowing the last delicious caramel nosed swig of my Woodford.

We talked about his age, his relationship (great companionship other than the sex – which, if you didn’t know, is called friendship). Don’t get me wrong, friendship is amazing, but let’s face it, relationships come down to one more thing than friendship; heart-stopping, sweaty, messy, endorphin-releasing, sex.

Being able to drink alcohol, walk around naked in my own place, and thoroughly enjoy a long, luxurious boink are a few things that I appreciate about being an adult. No matter how my finances are, my perspective, or my schedule, I always make time for each of those things.

So, to hear this man confess his lack of sexual engagement was heart-breaking for me. Heart breaking as in; I, more than most, know how fleeting and precious life is.

womaninlingerieWhat I wanted to do, was to lean over, and give him a soft, slow, very wet and deliberate kiss on the mouth, and have him take me home for a thorough and proper ….

But I didn’t…because he’s clearly a lovely man who doesn’t want to hurt the woman whom he is remaining in this friendship with.

Gentlemen, it doesn’t matter if you’re 26 or 76. Life is what you make it. If you are still a nostril-flaring stallion at 65, get it on and praise the universe that you still have it.  Because you do. And we still want it. Every, single delicious drop of it.

Don’t sell yourself short with a glass of bourbon and a fantasy.

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Why We Need Men

Jeff Bridges admires Julianne Moore at New Yor...
Jeff Bridges admires Julianne Moore at New York LebowskiFest 2011 (Photo credit: ChrisGoldNY)

You must be over 18  and an Open-Minded, Sexually Liberal Adult to enter this blog….

“Why We Need Men”…or women, whatever your particular gender identity or sexual preference, you get what I’m going for here…

One of GQ’s covers this month, featured fellow Buddhist Jeff Bridges. He’s  on my I-Would-If-I-Could list.

Old gnarled up Jeff Bridges really lights my fire ladies and gents. His rugged two-day beard, the way he holds his jaw, and fills up a big screen with his raw laid back machismo makes me want to be close to a MAN. Meow!!!

The mouth-wateringly sexy cover was a good enough excuse to pick up the magazine and bring it home so I could slobber over another interview with the famous, intriguing ‘Buddhist’.

While flipping through the pages, I happened upon an article intended to reassure men that our ‘small bedroom appliances’ would never take their place. I’ve reached that tender age where reading the article would have been a tad elementary.

After all darlings, at this stage, we’ve all made the foray into the land of I-Never-Want-To-Be-Bothered-With-Man-Crap again.

This little journey into the dark forest of what I like to delicately refer to as ‘self-care’ offers an education in B.OB.’s (battery operated boyfriends), lifelike models of the phallic landscape, slippery prosthetic tongues, the ‘cone’, gags, ties, whips, slips, chains and canes, lube, tube and, ultimately, disinfectant. Le sigh….

Alas, it’s kind of like buying a long skipping rope with no other playmates to turn it for you.  This is precisely why we need, or choose to keep the company of our succulent and satisfying men.

There is no more powerful antidepressant or anti-anxiety than the comfort offered by human contact. Whether it’s a sincere hug, or a full-on-body-contact-bedroom-bonanza, having a real life partner to connect with is priceless.

At the end of the day, after all is said and done, we’re all trying to connect. Why else would there be a zillion toys on the ever-thriving adult market trying to make up for the simple miracle of human anatomy?

So, gentlemen, do not let a lady’s collection or experience frighten you.

Consider it a compliment that an experienced woman who has a choice of suitors has invited you to join her on a journey into that warm, wonderful, slippery slide into a full-on intimate relationship.  Consider yourself blessed if it’s accompanied by a deep friendship and lifelong commitment.

 

 

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Fantasy Man

The 'Glasses Apostle' in the altarpiece of the...
Image via Wikipedia

Don’t tell anyone will ya? I’ve always had a fetish for the geek; the guy with slightly skewed fashion sense, and brains galore.

The really sexy guys are the ones who can lay you out with their scars and leave you breathless as they skirt every last inch of your body with their hunger, not the ones you dominate because they need to be reigned in a little.

Don’t get me wrong here fellas. Women don’t want some mess of insecurity or a homeless guy on their hands, but they do want a man who would appreciate a woman’s touch.

There is an undeniable sexiness about a man who is competent. On the other hand, there is no bigger turn off than being with a man who has to do everything bigger and better than you can.  Competence with a window of opportunity for a woman’s touch is a nice compromise.

This little rant is brought to you courtesy of Leonardo DiCaprio‘s sexy mug on the cover of  the October issue of GQ. Manliciously staring at me from under his ever-concerned brows, wrapped in a snug pea coat, I could hardly leave his image stranded there on the rack. $5.99 later, sweet Leo was at home on my chesterfield.

Leo wasn’t  perfect though you see. It was the subtle imperfection that caught my eye (subconsciously maybe, but eye-catching still). Even a man as accomplished and intelligent as Mr. DiCaprio he was, underneath his stylish coat and turned up collar, wearing a rumpled tee.  Above the well-groomed skin and hair, the voice of that tee screamed to my  x chromosome, “I’m all man, and there’s room for a woman in my life…”, or something like that.

This weekend I shared a conversation with a gentleman whom I had made the acquaintance of at least once or twice before. There was something oddly attractive about him, and I couldn’t quite put my finger on it until I flipped through the pages of GQ. 

Like other issues, the pages unravelled countless instructions and tips about how to be a man. There were instructions for making a bed so a woman would want to come back to it, how to pack a carry-on, and which eye-glass frames would create the ideal persona.

That was it!  His eyeglasses. That’s what must have subconsciously whispered “geeky-sexy” to me while I talked to this guy. His glasses looked like something that survived 1977, and needed retirement. They matched his blue and white plaid sport coat. Does anyone even know what a sport coat is any more? Anyway, the guy was intelligent – a doctor of medicine nonetheless – friendly, and knew how to carry a conversation and, he could have used a little TLC. Perfect.

I caught myself fantasizing about putting my glasses on him,  getting him a tousled up hair cut and dressing him  in some jeans and a nice cozy sweater. Sexy, very sexy.

I fantasized that there were actually men out there who knew how to ask a woman on a date, and were a little shy in their own geeky way.

You see guys, women don’t want you to be perfect. Perfection with a chink in it is like a chipped piece of china – if you try to cover the crack, that’s all you see.  Imperfection on the other hand is endearing like a homemade quilt or your favourite pair of jammies. You can love that without ever being afraid it will fail you.

Contrary to linen advice in GQ, women will come back to your bed regardless of the matching shams.  So long as the bed is clean, and the company is genuine, you have no worry about return guests.

Perfection needs a lesson in wanting, and the vulnerable get offered up a feast. Or so it is in my wee, little, girl-brain.