Frayed Knot

The Scarlett Letter

^enopause 

^{The dreaded M word was uttered during a conversation with a few girlfriends recently.  They were praising the virtues of growing too old to multiply, and going on and on about looking forward to no longer dealing with the curse.  The room started to close in and I began to hyperventilate.  Are these women nuts?  I wanted to run screaming from the table so that I wouldn't catch the cooties or be associated with anything remotely menopausal.} 

^{Chin hairs, dry kitty cat, hot flashes and memory loss do not sound sexy.  I am too hot in the ass for all of that.  How could anyone possibly look forward to such nonsense?  Obviously, these women were married and not making fools of themselves for younger, uninterested men.  How could I possibly snag a nice, young hard body if I have gray cotchie hair and no sex drive?  That's not going to work.  I am only forty and a deuce - stop playing with my emotions.}

Can you have hot sex forever? In days gone by (thank God) doctors routinely warned midlife women to abstain because intercourse past menopause could be fatal. Women were taught to believe it was dangerous for us to even thinkabout sexual activity after menopause because erotic thoughts might, among other evils, evoke regrets for lost allure and those regrets could trigger disease. Medical literature of the time (mostly written by men, of course) often portrayed menopausal women as borderline insane. The supposed reason: they were no longer appealing to the opposite sex.

What?     
 
At this point in my life, I am savvy enough to know that feeling sexy is a state of mind, and that a good man doesn't need a partner to look perfect in lingerie in order for her to be desirable.  We are not snake charmers.  Women's bodies change as we get older—no matter how much yoga or liposuction or miracle creams we use,  slower metabolism and gravity begin to take their toll. In order to enjoy sex, you have to feel that you're sexy. That's not easy.  What's a girl to do? Men can take a pill to stay aroused and enjoy sex as they get older, but women's responses are far more complex.  Sexiness is connected to our self esteem and long list of things to do around the house.

Mister Right better hurry up and get here while the cookies are still hot in the oven. As stated earlier - I am not about to hand in my letter of resignation to the Hot and Sexy Club, and maybe I should go ahead an look for a nice condo in Cougar Town. 

Download Barbie_50th_anniversary

Would you rather find true love or 10 million dollars?

is it true that money can't buy me love? Not even for a little while? Then I guess I will go with the virtuous answer of true love - even though it won't pad the retirement account or take care of the mortgage

TypePad Conversations » Answer this question!

Letter of Resignation

zsa zsa zsu: noun informal; a phrase to describe that undeniably charismatically sexy something in someone

Not long ago, I began to ask myself if I should move into middle age with respect, dignity and grace, or if  I should burst into the flames of a phoenix to emerge and better than ever?  Am I at a point in life that is beyond the zsa zsa zsu?  Should I prepare to resign my expectation of chemistry, attraction and sex appeal because I've become an invisible suburban soccer mom? 

Somehow, I don't think I can go through with it.  Even the thought of living without the zsa zsa zu has put me in a tailspin.  Mind you, it's not that I think I won't feel it, the problem is that I think I've stopped causing it.

 

 

What seems like crazy....remix

In reading my past blogs - I sound like a very sad, lonely, sickly whinning woman with a dictionery.  In truth, I am those things, but I am also a happy, perky, blessed mother of 4.  I am a friend, a seductress, a comforter, chief cook and bottle washer.

I have a circle of friends that could support a third world country with all the love and understanding they provide.  Friends who tell me that I would have fewer menstrual cramps if I used my coochie more than twice every year.  Friends who leave Post-It notes on my computer reminding me to keep my head up.  Friends who help me recreate the Michael Jackson Thriller video, in the aisle at the Sam's Club.  Life is good, even in this pattern of ordinary. 

If  God did not bless me ever again - I would have no right to complain.  The children and I are together, laughing loving and having a good time.  There is nothing like waking up to 4 children who are standing at the side of you bed, with a breakfast tray containing a cold chicken leg, the last pickle in the jar and a juice box.  There is no greater happiness than coming home to the people who love you enough to ask for a good morning kiss, when there is crust in your nose and dried slobber on your cheek.

So there - lumps, bumps, no humps and all, I rebuke thee!  I have peace, and balance - happiness and laughter's true companions. 

Pattern of Ordinary

Have you ever seen the Pixar movie, The Incredibles?  It's about a family of super heroes trying to blend in with the rest of society.  Imagine the world's strongest man, who can fly and topple buildings, trying to drive to his insurance job in the family Mini Cooper.

The film begins as Mr. Incredible and Elastigirl marry each other, calling themselves Bob and Helen Parr. Shortly afterward, lawsuits from injured bystanders lead to a political backlash that forces all superheroes to stop saving the world and live normal lives.

Fifteen years later, Bob and Helen live unhappily in a suburb of Municiberg. Their young son Dash is able to run faster than the human eye can see, and their teen daughter Violet can turn invisible and create protective force fields, but they are not allowed to reveal their powers. The baby, Jack-Jack, appears to be an ordinary child. Bob has gained a lot of weight, and he feels frustrated by his office job in an insurance company.That's the life of Bob, also know as Mr. Incredible.  Every day after work, he bemoans the mediocrity of his life, now that super powers are no longer welcomed or admired. 

This morning, I was reminded of this scene from the movie.

[Bob notices the little boy on the tricycle staring at him for the second day in a row]
Bob: Well, what are you waiting for?
Little Boy on Tricycle: I don't know. Something amazing, I guess.
Bob: Me too, kid.

Every day this summer, I wake up at five, thank God for the day, our health and the fact that we are together.  After that, I spend a few minutes daydreaming or mentally organizing the day.  I rouse the twins from bed, tidy the house, and drop them off at their respective summer camps.  I drive to work, sit at my desk and perform a few tasks.  Not too many so that I appear incredible, and they give me more work, but never a poor performance.  Passionless.

At 5:00, I get back in my car, pick up the twins, and as soon as either of them sees me, they ask the same two questions, in the same order.  What's for dinner, and how was my day? I don't know the answer to either question.  I don't have a plan, and I can not describe how I came to this point in the day. 

Once we had gotten through dinner, had some family time and gotten ready for bed.  I worry about being a good parent, and if all the bills are paid, and which ones are waiting for payment.  I try to take up as much of the bed as possible just because I can, and fall asleep until five the next morning. 

Five years ago, I made a major decision, and took steps to move towards ending my marriage.  It was a tremendous change, and I had no idea if it was for better or for worse. Ever day, I woke up with a determination to be a good parent, to make the this irrevocable change less traumatic in any way possible.  I needed to increase my take home pay, so I made every project an event and opportunity for promotion. I was free to date for the first time in 10 years, and I tried everything you can think of to get out of the house when the kids were visiting their dad.  I filled every minute with something - a goal, a recipe, a game or a good time.  I was IncrediMom - and my quest was to save my kids and myself from a life of misery. 

And here we are - the kids are adjusting, and we are coping with our lives.  There isn't a ton of money to spare, but we eat well, the lights come on and the car is in the driveway every morning.  In my perfect dream, I would be remarried to IncrediHunk, and we would all be incredihappy.

Instead, I seem to drift through each day, in the same repetitive pattern.  I changed my hair length and lightened the color.  I changed the comforter on my bed and the towels in my bathroom.  Nothing.  I have tried new cigar bars, martini spots and hot new restaurants with my friends.  Nothing.  Ii've managed the kids and made sure they understand that I will listen to any problem, and always be in their corner, but somehow, I have landed on the grey square in Candy Land, and my forties are disappearing like smoke through a keyhole.

My children seem to be waiting for their Mom to reappear, and like Bob, I am waiting for something amazing to happen.

If you are wondering about Bob - he did shake up his life, and that of his family, but, in true Pixar fashion, it all worked out in time for the credits.  I'm not sure how to solve my probelm, but I do know that I have to interrupt this pattern before the fabric of my life starts to show wear.  I have to make the change. 

Skiing

Okay - considering my dismal social life, one has to ask if skiing is a possibilility.  How many times can I not have a date because the perfect Black man hasn't shown up - who says Boaz doesn't have a last name like Schmidt or Chong or Lopez? 

via frayedknot.typepad.com

The shortest distance between a problem and a solution is the distance between your knees and the floor.

So often, I look at others and compare myself to them. And often, I come up short. I look at other women’s accomplishments and say, "Oh she's 25 and she's done this, this, this and this. Or I watch people who "have it all together" and I begin to magnify my mistakes and missteps. I find a dozen ways to compare myself, my life to the next sister - and come up short....STOP!

via frayedknot.typepad.com

It's His Birthday

 

 

Haiku for Tavon

A good friend because

His stelo makes rough times as

Smooth as peanut butter

What do you think of people who leave their Bluetooth headset on even when they're not on the phone? Are you one of those people?

I think they are pretentious. I use the bluetooth for specific purposes - when I am driving or if I have a long conference call and I want to keep my hands free during the call. I

TypePad Conversations » Answer this question!

Mo' Better

    Very recently I rekindled a relationship with my very first boyfriend, a true life long partner.  He is living in Paris with his family, and we have been out of touch for the last 12 years for reasons that no longer seem valid.  We've both been in contact with another friend from highschool, and one day he called me at work hoping that I would be at my desk.   The minute I heard his voice, I knew that I never stopped loving him. 

We met as sophmores at the Baltimore School for the Arts 25 years ago.  He was a trumpet player, and we spent almost every spare moment together.  He reminded me that we could have been in a room filled with 100 people, and it was still as if there was only the two of us.  We were completely uninhibited with each other, completely trusting and as unafraid of love as only young lovers can be.  We had our share of teenage breakups and makeups, and dated until we both finished school. 

Once I left Carnegie Mellon, I began teaching, and he stayed at Oberlin Conservatory to make up for the year he spent in France.  We managed to sustain a long distance relationship filled with phone calls, letters and short visits to one another.  By the time I was in graduate school, he was working on a cruise ship, but we still had that same inensity.  By the time we were 25 - we were both making life decisions.  He wanted to make his living as jazz musician, and he wanted to move to Paris.  I wanted to teach, get married and have a family.  We were at a crossroad, and it was time to grow outside of  the rose colored world we made.  He moved - I stayed.  We both married, had children and lived our lives as we thought best.  I never stopped thinking about him.  He never stopped thinking about me.

I realize now that I looked for him in every relationship thereafter, and he fully admits doing the same.  He said he hit Paris with a vengenace looking for me in every woman he met, and not finding that same love - that same intensity - keeping looking.  I looked for him in every man that I dated, and compromised what I thought love should be - because I think subconsciously I knew that I would never feel its parallel.  We taught each other about love.  We taugh each other about sex.  We could not separate the physical from the emotional.  Good or bad - they seemed intwined for us.  Nothing was forbidden - nothing was impossible.

The minute I heard his voice, his laugh - I could recall everything about him.  His walk, his scent, his hands.  I could take my full self to him - no fear of judgment or rejection.  He seemed to never get his fill - and was always there with open arms, mind and heart.  I can only hope that I gave him the same in return.  

The minute I heard his voice, the years of separation melted into thin air - and I realized that I wanted him in my life - needed him as my friend, and he promised to never let me go again.  It amazes me that he feels the same way - that he loves me still. 

It is almost impossible to imagine or to explain - and most likely looks like something sinister to anyone on the outside - and for the two of us - everyone is on the outside. I just know that I can't give up his friendship or this love.  He makes sense to me - he makes it mo' better.