Welcome
Welcome to my world: A world in which I am still finding my way and my voice; where the language is laced with dry humor; where stilettos and football games go together like peas and carrots; where happy hour starts long before 5; where I make mistakes, get angry and laugh my ass off; where I will never love anything as much as I love my cat; where no one knows your name and you like it that way; where comments are welcome and where strong women who fight for what they believe in are always adored.
Frankly,
On My Mind
Six Months of Short Sentences
Letter from my Father [Part 2]
My Greatest Fans
Brick Walls & Picket Lines
Kindred Spirits (Part One)
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Thursday, January 26, 2012
Dear Phantom, A Letter
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
Six Months of Short Sentences
I was dumped.
He said he was sorry.
I gave him another chance.
He disappeared.
He apologized. Explained. Pursued. Attempted to make amends.
I kissed him. And said goodbye.
I went on dates.
I met a guy. He’s disarmingly mature, attractive and intelligent.
We go away for long weekends.
We spend time with friends.
I keep a toothbrush at his house.
He talks to me and not at me.
He likes my cats.
He tells me what he’s thinking.
He asks about my day.
He asks me to dance.
He sees me.
I turn 31 next week. And I’m happy.
Frankly,
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
Letter from my Father [Part 2]
Scarlett:It's late and I'm worried about you getting home, so I thought I'd "scratch off a few lines", as they used to say.
Sorry about your last minute email from [The Chef], but that in itself was revealing enough to know it was for the best. In that context, I offer these thoughts for whatever they are worth.
Women like you, Scarlett (transparently needful of romantic love), are particularly at risk I think, because there are two ways most men will respond: (1) with reciprocal endearment and love or (2) as an invitation to exploitation. It's just the way men are. And, sadly, there are far more of the latter than the former. Therefore, I think that you should try to be a little more guarded in your interactions with, and reactions to, men. You have so much to offer the right man, but you cannot sell it too cheaply or offer it too readily. There is an old saying I heard a long time ago and never forgot: that people tend to disdain what is thrown at them. And that is all too true. Moreover, by being too eager you sell yourself short. The descriptions you have given me of your recent interactions did not convey much respect on his part, nor self-assuredness on yours. I guess my sense is (and I don't mean to sound cliched) that you need to take ownership of your own 'personhood', for lack of a better word, in such a way as to demand that requisite respect before offering love--not after. Real respect and love are mutually reinforcing and mutually sustaining.
You have been through so much for one so young, but you must resist the temptation to think of yourself as a victim. Down that road lies immense vulnerability, not to mention cynicism. You are in need of neither one just now. You must take stock of your incredible assets and value them commensurately. The question in your mind should always be whether or not a man measures up to your (preferably astronomical) specifications, not whether you measure up to his. Meanwhile, concentrate on the requisite self-improvement we all seek.
I'm not so old that I don't understand the need for intimacy with someone, honey. But this lurching from "candidate to candidate" in this fashion can't be good for you can it? I mean you are so much more than that. The mental toll, for one thing, must be considerable. And disappointment and despair tend to reinforce each other in a cyclic, toxic emotional cocktail. You really need to rethink your perspective, Scarlett, along with your own self regard, in order to concoct an antidote for it. And if you do, I think you'll find that the more you redirect that energy and emotional commitment toward self-improvement and self-fulfillment, the sooner fate will take a hand with the romance. I'm certain of it.I actually wrote this several days ago but wanted to wait until after New Years eve to send it.
Our trip home to the 'Promised Land' [Texas] (that really ticks Mom off when I say it) was very enjoyable and uneventful.
Love you.
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
My Greatest Fans
Friday, November 12, 2010
Brick Walls & Picket Lines
I tend to see the world through an Ansel Adams photographic lens, that is to say, “black and white”. While I keep attempting to inject a wider spectrum of gray into my two toned, “right vs. wrong”, “love vs. hate” world, it’s been consistent uphill struggle.
I believe boundaries to be an important part of life.
Comfort zones. Deal breakers. The disclosure of privileged information. Whether
they indicate the point at which a relationship reaches the end of its
emotional tether or simply the line that, once crossed, lands you swiftly in an
Iranian jail and resulting in years of imprisonment followed by equally scary Lisa
Ling interviews upon release – boundaries, if not clearly marked, can be
precarious places.
My therapist likened
healthy emotional boundaries to the idyllic image of a house surrounded by a manicured
lawn and bounded one each side by a picket fence. The fence is a clearly
defined, yet semi permeable structure erected to keep undesirables at bay (i.e.
negative pressures, cognitive trespassers, basically the in-laws of the
emotional community); while still allowing for the option of admittance of
positive emotions, constructive monologues and affirmative influences, (i.e.
the puppies and kittens or free range hens romping about our mental yard).
After describing this Zen-like
state of mental health to which she recommended I strive, she took a deep
breath. Scarlett, at present your “house” is surrounded on the north, south and
west by a 10 foot high brick wall, laced with barb wire. The east side,
however, not only is void a wall, but any clear demarcation of property
whatsoever. Moreover, you have posted a neon, blinking, “open-house” sign out
front exposing the lawn to many an unwelcome trampler.
That is to say, either you
go to inexorable lengths to keep people out, or you lay out the red carpet all
too quickly, consequences be damned. A situation very much in need of
modification.
I took issue with this image for a
number of reasons not least of which being the necessity for an immediate
change of setting from a suburban, “Leave It To Beaver” avec picket fence to one of a urban
penthouse condo with a 24 door man. But that’s besides the point.
Whether we’re talking about 24-hour
door men and alarm systems or brick walls and picket fences, both images denote unhealthy extremes, the hallmark of a
black & white worldview. Either I’m walled up like Fort Knox, or I am
constructing an emotional superhighway for which I have not even thought to
charge a toll. More often than not I frantically switch between the two exhausting
both myself and those around me.
All this to say, I met someone. He’s kind of great. I like him. Comfort zones have been pushed. Boundary lines obscured. Needless to say, I’m more than a little bit freaked out and those brick walls with their height and strength and ability to obscure look mighty appealing in the face of vulnerability. And so up and down I go in on the "he loves me, he loves me not", "I'm safe, I'm going to get hurt." yo yo.
Its painfully elusive,
this emotional balance. Can a boundary line be redrawn once crossed? Do I permit him to wander unchecked about upon my emotional real estate? Do I change the locks just
in case?
Or do I stand here and first let my eyes adjust to the newly emerging shades of gray?
Frankly,
Thursday, October 14, 2010
Kindred Spirits (Part One)
"I wonder what Piglet is doing" thought Pooh. "I wish I were there so I could be doing it too." ~ A. A. Milne
I
was told that I blog too much about sex, relationships, soulmates, not having sex,
dating, bitching about how I’m not having sex, or social commentary
relating to any and/or all of the above subjects. But as Carrie
Bradshaw and her cohorts so wisely taught us - sometimes your soul
mates really can be your friends. This past year that very concept has
rung true more than ever.
I met my best childhood friend on the swing-set outside of the red brick pre-school building on my first day of formal education. I sat there swinging next to her, gauging the height and overall swinging prowess and sizing it up against my own. She must have passed muster for I immediately jumped off the swing, ribbon adorned pigtails floating behind me, turned around and said “will you be my friend?”. The rest is history.
I met my best adult friend on a park bench bordering the National Mall while taking a break from our kickball game one hot August afternoon. She likes to say I was “sizing her up” (Apparently an MO of sorts before determining someone to be befriendable). A week or two later, our relationship blossomed over a night of crab dip, a chain-smoked pack of Marlborough lights and more than one bottle of Pinot Noir.* The friendship was sealed over the impulse purchase of airline tickets that would take us on a New Year’s adventure through Paris, Amsterdam and ringing in 2010 surrounded by kilts, whiskey and Scottish brogues in Edinburgh. .
I don’t know what she saw in me initially - but I saw in her a social, sarcastic, intelligent, independent woman adjectives I would eventually discover to be horrifyingly inadequate.
Its been quite the year for both of us. For me, its been a year of rebuilding, self discovery and above all, friendship. For her its been a year spent regaining her voice, making tough choices and landing on her feet.
I’ve held her hand during a nerve wracking medical procedure, she held my hand while I got a tattoo. She wheeled my crippled ass through Charles De Gaul airport and enjoyed the advantages afforded too a handicapped individual and their escorts. We’ve danced at rock concerts, shared the most honest opinions and the snarkiest of comments, hugged after romantic disappointment, yelled over misunderstandings, cried at movies, hashed and then rehashed the absurdities of life, scoffed at the impossible and consumed more mimosas and filthy martinis than I dare count.
A friend knows everything about you and loves. you. anyway. She loves me in spite of my aversion to traveling to her local venues in Old Town, my chronic lateness, the painfully slow pace at which I read books, my incessant need to fill a silence, my routine deletion of at least 75% of the pictures she takes of me, my ability to completely demolish a hotel room within 5 minutes of check-in, my thoughtlessness, my big mouth, my love of the outdoors & camping, my tendency to over-share, my horrific singing voice on road trips and my obsession with all things Harry Potter.
She’s a musician. She’s a teacher. She’s a student. She’s dedicated and fiercely loyal to her friends. She keeps secrets. She calls it like she sees it. She doesn’t smile until the P.M. hours. She’s known both abuse and loss and has come out stronger on the other side. She knows when to walk away. She has performed her original music at the legendary CBGBs. She loves horror movies but hates being scared. She’s up for anything as long as it doesn’t involve sleeping in the great out of doors. “Drinks? yes!” “Oysterfest, sure!” “Edinburgh via Amsterdam & Paris - why not!?” She’s, in equal measure, a lover of Opera and Ani Difranco. She’s unapologetic. She may take time to warm up to you but you’ll find that time well spent. She has a temper to rival that of any redhead. She has a guitar shaped tattoo on her shoulder. She hates eggs. She refuses to waste her time on people who “aren’t worth it”. She has an uncanny radar to detect the insincere, the hypocritical and the duplicitous and summarily shuns all such offenders. She prefers Converse All Stars to Vans. She has no idea how beautiful she is on both the inside and out.
She’s my Bestie and for that I am grateful.
Frankly,
*That was the last time either one of us smoked.
Friday, October 8, 2010
Landscape Architecture
*For those of you who snoozed your way through medieval history class, the Bayeux Tapestry is an embroidered cloth (dating roughly around 1077) depicting the events prior to and concurrent with the Norman conquest of England.