Love: The Musical Journey

Posted in Dating, Relationships with tags , on November 10, 2012 by sexandthesinglesoccermom

No doubt about it: I’m a music lover. For me, music manages to capture things that can sometimes be intangible and make them solid and real. It gives us a place to hang our emotional hat, so to speak. I’ve been transported and transfixed by music since I was a young child. Small wonder then that for every significant event in my life romantically, there is musical association. The following are a small list of some of the more memorable moments for me, captured in melody.

Let’s Get It On: A Sexual History

“World In Your Eyes” ~ Depeche Mode
This song was the theme for my very first striptease. An inexperienced 22, I managed to tangle my foot in the iron scrollwork of the footboard and fall on my ass. Much laughter and injured pride followed (as well as some nice bruising).

“The Pass” ~ Rush
I recognize this is a strange choice. Still, the song always takes me back to my first kiss and the bad boy who gave it to me. We shared a tumultuous few months as a couple, while my strict parents worried and fretted. He was my first halfway sexual experience (a third base evening that left me feeling guilty and more curious than ever) and my first true heartbreak. He made me feel daring and exciting and probably gave me quite a hang-up about sensitive bad-boys. It ended in tears, but “Presto” (his first gift to me) brought me hours of joy, pain and extended bouts of soulful introspection in my room. Ah…young love.

“Crash” ~ Dave Matthews
I associate this song with my sexual awakening, which happened after over a decade of marriage. The music is sensual, Dave’s voice is sexy and the lyrics are a bit naughty. “Hike up your skirt a little more and show your world to me.”

“Portishead” ~ Portishead                                                                                                I have to claim this entire CD, rather than just a song. Not only was it the background music for a very hot encounter (or several), but it seems an appropriate theme for the entire relationship that accompanied it. Sexy, but with an underlying darkness and melancholy.

If I were going to create a soundtrack for a sexy evening, it might well include some of the following:

  • Crash ~ Dave Matthews
  • Portishead (Anything by Portishead!)
  • Destiny ~ Zero 7
  • Letting The Cables Sleep ~ Bush (Preferably the Cafe Del Mar version)
  • Overcome ~ Tricky
  • Sadness Part 1 ~ Enigma
  • Inertia Creeps ~ Massive Attack
  • Your Body Is A Wonderland ~ John Mayer
  • The Sweetest Taboo ~ Sade
  • Feelin’ Love ~ Paula Cole
  • Bedroom Hymns ~ Florence and the Machine
  • Personal Jesus ~ Depeche Mode
  • You’re Makin’ Me High ~ Toni Braxton
  • Crazy For You ~ Madonna
  • When Doves Cry ~ Prince
  • Hysteria ~ Def Leppard
  • Fever ~ Peggy Lee
  • Fade Into You ~ Mazzy Star
  • Need You Tonight ~ INXS
  • I’m On Fire ~ Bruce Springsteen
  • Chris Isaak ~ Wicked Game
  • Closer ~ Nine Inch Nails

Love: Down Through The Years

Of course, if we’re talking relationships/break-ups, my significant songs would be entirely different.

“I Want To Know What Love Is” ~ Foreigner: Conjuring up the boy I fell in love with at age 9 and was steadfastly in love with until age 15, when he married my older best friend. We had a deep love of music and bonded over Foreigner; This song will always recall the bittersweet sting of unrequited love.

“November Rain” ~ Guns N’ Roses: The bad boy who gave me my first kiss, who was torn from my life by my parents (Oh! The tragedy!) after discovering his intent to lead me into sin, left me crying to this song night after night in…you guessed it…November. 21 years later I can say with the wisdom of age that my parents were absolutely correct. At the time, however, I was convinced my life was over. My desolation was so complete that I even gave up food for three days, which trust me, is a rare thing.

“Last Worthless Evening” ~ Don Henly: This is for the boy with whom I grew up, maintained a love/hate relationship  for years, but always secretly crushed on…hard. We danced around each other for so long that it just seemed natural when he told me he was interested. As life would have it, we took different paths and never made the leap.  Driving down country roads together so he could let me hear his new sound system and the brand new Don Henly CD he’d just gotten; This song brings him to mind every time I hear it. We wouldn’t have been right for each other, but I still feel a sweetness, tinged with a hint of sadness, when I think of him.

“It Had To Be You” ~ Harry Connick, Jr: My husband and I picked this as the song for our first dance as husband and wife; it would become the song we considered ours. Admittedly, it’s a little painful for me to listen to it now. I still remember hearing it while out on our first year anniversary and thinking it was a sign we were meant to be. We stopped and danced where we were, so in bliss with being young and in love.

“A Murder Of One” ~ Counting Crows: This song is deeply personal for me and I won’t write much of it here. Suffice it to say that when Adam Duritz sings: “I walk along these hillsides/in the summer ‘neath the sunshine/I am feathered by the moonlight/falling down on me” or “All your life is such a shame, shame, shame/All your love is just a dream, dream, dream”, I know exactly what he’s talking about. This song brings deep, intense emotions to the surface…about my life at the time and the man who inspired the feelings.

“How To Save A Life” ~ The Fray: This song played on the way to one of the only few marital counseling sessions my husband would agree to. I remember tears running down my face as we sat in a silence so profound that I didn’t know how we’d ever find words again. I still occasionally get choked up when it comes on the radio. “Where did I go wrong/I lost a friend/Somewhere along in the bitterness.”

“Someone Like You” ~ Adele: Really, does this need any explanation? While I attach it in my mind to one particular man, it could be anyone I’ve loved and lost. “Sometimes it lasts in love, sometimes it hurts instead.”

This is just a short glimpse of a long list. There are songs that make me cry and songs that make me think about certain people, but those are the ones that really stand out in my mind.

If you had to write a soundtrack for your love life, what would it be?

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The Must Have “Look” For This Fall: Joy (And How To Wear It)

Posted in Dating, self-improvement with tags , on November 8, 2012 by sexandthesinglesoccermom

Since my last post I’ve been doing a lot of intense soul-searching. I’m sure this is shocking to most of my readers…

As I suspected, the intense sorrow I was feeling on Sunday passed and by Monday I was feeling more grounded and less bleak. Everyone has their demons and faces darkness occasionally; I’m trying to face mine head-on and deal with them. I’ve learned the hard way that repression has ugly consequences.

I posted a video of a poetry slam a few weeks ago, by a poet named Katie Makkai. She talked about women knowing how to find the right cocktail dress, but not having a clue how to wear joy. So I started wondering…

Do I know how to wear joy?

Of course there are moments I feel joyful, but too often I get bogged down in the day to day monotony of life and the list of “should’s” that runs through my mind constantly. I “should” have a spotless house. I “should” be feeding my children home-cooked, organic food for every single meal. I “should” look a certain way. I “should” be socializing more, or taking a class, or doing more spiritual reading, or doing more yoga, or dating, or not dating. I “should” train for and run a marathon (despite the fact that I despise running). I “should” definitely be doing all those cutesy crafty things with my children that I see other mothers doing.

The list of things I beat myself up with is endless. While all of those things I listed are things that matter to me to some degree, why do I allow the times when I’m not doing them as fully as I want to drain me of my joy?

Of course, there is my biggest joy zapper: The trials and tribulations of dating and relationships. The worry and time I’ve put into that particular aspect of my life is ridiculous.

So, I’ve started putting some simple changes into place in an attempt to learn how to wear joy.

  1. When people ask me how I am, I’m going to respond positively. I’m going to stop giving vocal confirmation to anything negative going on in my life. This isn’t to say I plan to be fake. For most people the question is a rote greeting to which they expect a rote reply. To give a negative response might prompt people to view me as a negative person, thus affecting how they treat me, which influences how I feel and perpetuates a cycle. If I have a situation going on in my life,  I might choose to reveal it to close friends and family, but my standard reply is going to be positive instead of “Okay, I guess” or “Tired”.
  2. I’m going to be kind and compassionate to myself, not just to other people. In an ideal world I would have a spotless, organized house; I would be Jamie Oliver (only organic!) in the kitchen for every meal. I’d work out six times a week and eat salmon and salad constantly. I’d read Eckhart Tolle and Deepak Chopra for my recreational reading (instead of trashy vampire novels) and meditate daily. I wouldn’t drink as much wine and I would take my vitamins faithfully. However, I don’t live in my ideal world. My reality is a full-time job throughout the week and a small job every Sunday morning, two kids, 3 pets, a house, a yard, a car and a lot of evolving I’m still trying to do as a person. If my kids eat fast food once in awhile because I’m exhausted at the end of my work day, so be it. If my brain is numb and all I can manage after the kids go to bed is sitting on the couch, drinking wine and reading some version of “50 Shades of Fucked Up”, the world will still go on spinning. If I decide to sit and read with my kids, or watch a movie with them, or just be a mom instead of a domestic whirling dervish, I don’t think my kids will look back in twenty years and think “Mom was such a failure! She should have cleaned house more!” If I let them watch tv throughout the school week (a big no-no) sometimes, it really won’t impede their progress substantially. Allowing myself to occasionally just be “good enough” rather than beating myself up over not being perfect WILL make a big difference in my current happiness.
  3. I will make the time to do things that make me feel good. I’ve been exercising at least five times a week. If my children are starving (which they always are), I make them a snack and then I take 30 minutes to work out before I plunge into the flow of the evening. When I’m done, I feel more energized mentally and physically. I am trying to walk my dog more: I feel good about it and he is definitely more joyful. I am making time to write, which helps me feel more like a creative, beautiful human being. I am taking longer to cuddle my kids at night. When they ask me to stop my work and come see a drawing, hear a song, give them a hug: I do it. So often in the past, I have felt like a tiny cog in the machine of life. No more. I WILL do the things that are important to me.
  4. I will behave like I am the prize. So often when it has come to love, I have been willing to bend over backwards so the other person will love me. I’ve always believed that if I am constantly willing to accomodate their schedule, not make a fuss if they disappoint me by not keeping their promises, be sweet and giving at almost all times and be LOW DRAMA AND LOW STRESS, that somehow I’ll be viewed as the ultimate girlfriend. By doing that, I was relegating myself to a position of less worth than the man I was involved with. Why? Because if I inconvenienced them, they might stop loving me…or never love me at all. I’m done bending over backwards (sexual positions not included in that blanket statement). I AM a prize and I deserve to be treated like one, the same as I would (and have in the past) treat a great guy like a prize. My behavior needs to underscore that reality. I don’t need a relationship to be beautiful or sexy. I don’t need a man to fulfill or complete me. Yes, one day I want a relationship. The quality man who can bring his best self and win my heart, mind and body will find me one day. He will shake his head in bemusement that the other men let me slip through their fingers. Every single time he wraps his arms around me, kisses me, makes love to me, he’ll feel lucky. When we share our day, inspire each other and celebrate our successes, he’ll know I was worth the wait. When I can forgive his mistakes (and my own) and make life easier, not harder, he’ll know I’m the best woman for him. In return I will give him all the pleasures of my mind, heart and body. Not because I can’t live without him or could never be happy on my own. It will be because he makes my wonderful life even more wonderful.  While this man makes his way to me, I’ll be working on making sure I never put the burden of fulfillment, happiness or joy on any relationship. I’m going to make sure that responsibility rests squarely where it needs to: Upon me. Until then, I’ll be living my life with joy!
  5. I will wear my joy openly, so that others can see it and feel joyful. I’m going to work harder on smiling at people. Happiness is contagious; who doesn’t love to see a smiling person? Letting my laughter ring out frequently is one of my new goals. Even if I’m having a crap day, I’m going to try to get out of my head and offer up my best self.
  6. Practice gratitude daily. Every day I will pick at least three things I am grateful for. If I can do that, it will make goals 1-5 feel easier. I have a tremendous amount of beauty and goodness in my life. It’s time to focus on them!

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Giving Words To Sorrow

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , on November 4, 2012 by sexandthesinglesoccermom

“Give sorrow words. The grief that does not speak whispers the o’er-fraught heart, and bids it break.” ~ William Shakespeare

 Sometimes, in my darkest moments, I wonder if I am the only one that has moments, hours, days where I feel so overcome with sorrow, fear and loneliness that I can hardly breathe. Do others, without catastrophe or tragedy to inspire it, feel such darkness welling up from inside? Do others have days where they find themselves in tears from the sheer intensity of their emotions?

In these moments of bleakness, all my demons come out to taunt me. I feel isolated and afraid, convinced that the reason I am alone in my late thirties is because I am inherently unworthy of love. I’m terrified that although I can inspire respect and admiration, desire and affection, I’m somehow incapable of inspiring love. Every impulse in my body tells me to seek out someone who can somehow convince me this isn’t true, even if only for a little while. Of course, experience is a wonderful teacher. I’ve learned the hard way there is no true comfort to be found in running for the shelter of another person; it’s a temporary distraction from the fears woven through the fabric of my being. Usually the very same people I would seek out for comfort are the people who have reinforced my fears.

Unlike previous times in my life, I know this is a temporary state of mind. I don’t think I’m in the middle of a deep depression; I find joy in my life that is just as intense as the sorrow. Perhaps this is the crux of the issue: I feel everything so intensely. Love, fear, joy, grief, anger, sadness are all felt so keenly. I don’t know how to change myself. It’s always been both my gift and my curse to so fully experience my emotions. A few years ago, the sadness and grief expanded until I could feel nothing else, could see no escape from the constant aching. I was told very clearly there was something wrong with me and to find a way to fix it, or else. Not knowing how to accomplish this directive, I collapsed under the weight of my emotions. It caused me to make choices for months that haunt me to this day.

Today, I felt all the grief and anger, loneliness and sadness rising inside me. I went home and immediately spent 45 minutes working out to try to chemically diffuse the onslaught. Then I started trying to surround myself with the things that make me feel better immediately: Good music and a clean space. Since then I’ve been dicing and stirring and simmering, filling the house with delicious scents and tastes that I will be able to share with others. Fortunately, “Like Water For Chocolate” won’t apply here. I may have wept while I cooked, but no one will ever be the wiser. There may have been moments when I had to stop and sit with my head in my hands, overwhelmed and unable to move past it for a moment, but eventually it calmed. I poured my my fears and sadness into creation, instead of letting it cripple me. Six years and I’ve made progress!

My therapist always said to feel my feelings. I’m not fighting it anymore, because to deny an emotion is to simply have it return in an uglier way. Tonight I am sad and so lonely. My heart hurts, for some reasons I understand and some I don’t. Tomorrow I’ll probably feel better. Tonight, I’m going to give words to this profound sorrow that fills me up. I’m going to embrace it and use it. There is no relationship that can band-aid this,  or that could endure the weight of it. I’m not running to someone else to fix it. I need to be willing to live inside it when it surfaces, until I understand why it exists in the first place.

I’m going to let the music pour over me while I cry and wrap myself in the comfort of domesticity, the sight and scent and touch of the scene I’ve created all day. Then I’m going to start my book. It’s time to let this intensity work for me, rather than just let it hobble me emotionally.

Some people cut themselves to release emotion, allowing the bloodletting to ease the pressure inside them. I’ve done similiar things emotionally in the past and I’ve learned healthier ways to cope. Apparently, these days, I cook and write. Here’s to doing what works and the eventual reappearance of joy in the near future…

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500!

Posted in Dating on October 31, 2012 by sexandthesinglesoccermom

So…my Facebook page for this blog just hit 500 Likes. Granted, I think a lot of the people who “like” my page are expecting a lot more Sex and a lot less Single Soccer Mom. Me too, dear pornography seekers, me too…

Seriously, it’s kind of crazy to me to think that I started this blog a couple of years ago to try to make sense of my love life and random musings, while fitting it all in around being a single mom, and now I have people in countries all over the world who come and read my blog. It has inspired me as a writer and for that, I am very grateful.

So…thank you.

http://www.facebook.com/#!/pages/Sex-and-the-Single-Soccer-Mom/109664552428627

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Prolific Thoughts About PMS From A Hormonal Mind

Posted in women's bodies with tags , , , on October 30, 2012 by sexandthesinglesoccermom

According to a recent study done by the University of Toronto, PMS may be a myth. Right now, I’d like to hunt down each individual researcher and punch them in the face, then weep over their prone bodies and beg their forgiveness sixty seconds later. Or maybe bake them some cookies and try to help them UNDERSTAND why PMS is NOT a myth by using compassion and reasoning…I’m tearing up just a bit thinking about how copacetic the conversation would be. Wait…maybe I should just go with the punching. Yeah…clearly they are idiot people who have a problem with women. Hmmm…I think it’s time to go and take some more midol for the cramping and hideous back pain.

PMDD (the medical term for PMS)  is listed in the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders — the “psychiatric bible” – and has been shown to cause depression, insomnia and  other behavioural and physical symptoms in the second half of the menstrual  cycle. Of course, Dr. Sarah Romans goes on to state that the disorder is relatively rare. She further spins the study to lay out the idea that women use “PMS” to fully vent anger, sadness and irritation 1-2 days a month, because the rest of the time we are expected to be lady-like. That by allowing ourselves a medical reason to be cranky or cry, we can still work within society’s parameters of acceptable behavior for women.

Personally, I think this woman needs to be punched in the face (but according to her, I’ll only allow myself to think it for a few days a month, while suppressing my rage the rest of the time).

While I do think she has a glimmer of an intution about something real in how our society treats and handles women’s emotions, I also think she is a loon. By conducting a study (which primarily seems to have consisted of finding flaw with previous studies) and stating that PMS is a myth, then laying out a feminist framework for why PMS has become a crutch for women within our society, she actually undermines women and the way their bodies work.

W0men’s bodies are constantly in a state of flux (no pun intended), chemically. Our hormones ebb and flow like the ocean and have even been linked (although studies both substantiate and refute this, depending on where you look) to the cycles of the moon. During the second half of the menstrual phase,  or pre-menstrual and menstrual, estrogen and progesterone levels start to decline Without getting too technical, during the luteal phase of a woman’s cycle (beginning at ovulation), if the egg that is released is not fertilized, estrogen and progesterone levels begin to drop. These hormonal levels are at their lowest with day 1 of the follicular phase (menstruation).

At neuronal synapses, estrogen increases the concentration of neurotransmitters such as serotonin, dopamine, and norepinephrine. It affects their release, reuptake, and enzymatic inactivation. It also increases the number of receptors for these neurotransmitters. So in other words, the good stuff that makes us feel happy and have a balanced mood. The common side effects of low progesterone are severe migraines, unexplained anxiety, the feeling of malaise, hot flashes, poor sleep patterns and vaginal dryness.  So what do you get when both estrogen and progesterone drop…

Oh, wait…you get PMS!!! The chemical changes that take place in our bodies in the latter half of the luteal phase and in the beginning of the follicular phase are real, not imaginary and not a cultural phenomenon. It leads to back pain, leg pain, stomach cramps, fatigue, breast tenderness, migraines, mood alterations and many other symptoms. Of course, no two women are the same, so the extent to which any woman will experience any or all of these symptoms depends on her own chemical makeup.

Personally, my back hurts like I’ve been hit with a baseball bat for about a week and I have serious stomach cramps for 3-5 days. Emotionally, I cry easily and feel a bit blue. I crave sugar, which rarely happens any other time (Sweets, especially chocolate, raises the serotonin levels in the brain and increases endorphins. This probably helps combat the dropping estrogen levels). The study claimed that women use PMS as a crutch to verbalize things they’re already unhappy about…well, maybe. For me, the things I’m already unhappy about feel extra intense. A song on the radio that talks about lost love, which any other time might make me feel a bit nostalgic or sad for a moment, while “PMSing” will have me sobbing like a baby. Is this a crutch? Or an amplification, due to altered chemicals, of pre-existing situations? No one claims pregnancy hormones are false or a myth, yet these are the same chemicals changing our bodies during our menstrual phases. I’ve not heard claims that “‘Roid Rage” is not true; tricking the body into believing it’s getting extra hormones (testosterone) clearly causes mood/behavior changes. What makes PMS different?

I think part of the problem lies in the fact that the term PMS has been abused and used to justify bad behavior. So let me make this simple (because as supreme ruler of the universe, I will clearly have SUCH an impact): Hormonal changes do NOT make it acceptable to act like a bitch. It doesn’t give you the right to vent your anger, sadness or hostility on anyone. There have been times when I know hormones were altering my emotions, so I would avoid situations or conversations until I was more level. PMS should be much like a warning label on a drug that reads: Do not operate heavy emotional situations during use. Know your triggers and how you react. Each woman is different. For one woman the changes that happen during her cycle may be a blip in the month; for another, it may be a challenging time physically and emotionally. Regardless, it shouldn’t excuse behavior that is unkind or irrational. Men shouldn’t get a free pass for behaving badly due to the extra testosterone that flows through their veins; women don’t get to excuse bad behavior because of PMS. Let’s keep life simple and sweet by taking responsibility for ourselves and our emotions and knowing when we need to nurture ourselves a little more because of changes in our bodies.

When I’m on the hormonal drip, as I refer to PMS these days, I would probably choose to stay home and take a hot bath rather than have the “relationship” talk with someone I’m dating. If I suddenly feel lonely and sad and think to myself, “Maybe if I call my ex-boyfriend, he’ll reassure me that I’m loved” (which is stupid at any time of the month, but somehow more attractive as an option when I’m hormonal), I realize I am not behaving rationally and I just DON’T. If my children are driving me nuts and I want to either yell or burst into tears, I give myself a time-out in my bedroom and then suggest we all go get ice cream. Ibuprofen and herbal heating pads are my friend. I avoid at all costs listening to anything by Adele, because I know it will lead to sobbing fits. I can’t begin to make relationship decisions, because it would be disobeying my hormonal drip warning label of AVOID OPERATING HEAVY EMOTIONAL SITUATIONS. I know I’m altered for a few days (okay, a week); it’s my responsibility to alter my decisions to compensate for that.

So, to say PMS is a myth is ludicrous and disrespects women and nature. To act like PMS gives us a pass to do whatever we want disrespects women and gives us a bad repuation. Show yourself some love by respecting your bodies during this time. If the woman in your life has PMS, show her some love by realizing she may behave like someone on a mind-altering drug (oh, because she is). Forgive her if she loses her temper and cries more easily. Get her a heating pad and some chocolate. Above all else, remember this:

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A Post of Gratitude And Thanks

Posted in Dating with tags , on October 26, 2012 by sexandthesinglesoccermom

I have a friend who makes it a habit to post “gratitude” on his Facebook page. Practicing gratitude is one of the things I’m working harder on; isn’t it just a bit harder to feel low when you force yourself to stop and think about all the things in your life that are wonderful? So today I am grateful for…

Beautiful children that delight and challenge me, whom have forced me to grow up and rise to the challenge of being a better person, so I can be a better parent.

An amazing set of parents who continue to try to grow in consciousness as human beings, support me in my quest to do the same, and provide a refuge of warmth and love when I need it. Siblings (I’m counting their spouses too!) who are there for me when I need them, make me think deeply about things (even when they are pissing me off), make me laugh when I need it, or can listen to me cry when I’ve lost my laughter.

Friends who have seen me at my worst and still love me, who say I look fantastic even when I don’t, who try to not judge me when I’ve managed to make a mess of things again and with whom I have shared some of the deepest secrets of my soul. Thank you for being there, for being wonderful, for being honest and human and ready to lend a hand or a shoulder when I need it.

The lovers with whom I have shared my heart, mind and body: You have taught me immeasurable things about love and life. Despite the dissolution of our love affair, you left me with lessons I couldn’t have learned any other way. Thank you for the pleasure of conversation, kisses, laughter, love-making and different viewpoints. Thank you for the tears I wept, sometimes during and sometimes after, our relationship. They let me feel, they made me think and they helped me realize how strong I truly am. Without you I would still have so much  relationship work ahead of me. My next relationship will be stronger and healthier because of the things I learned while I was with you.

Finally, I’d like to thank the individuals who have taken the time to read this blog or “like” my Facebook page. You have opted to share part of this journey of self-discovery with me. For those of you who have done so, I am grateful. Knowing you are reading makes me step up my game, not be lazy and work on my creativity. It helps me continually remember and clarify my values, yet be open to hearing other opinions. It helps me remember how important it is to me to grow as a person and not live my life in fear. Instead of just sitting on my couch and reading 50 Shades of Gray and drinking copious amounts of merlot, I’m often thinking of blogs and having to deeply examine (and research) topics. You keep me excited about writing; that is a gift to me and I truly appreciate it.

So, may everyone go out and have a wonderful weekend. I am grateful to have you in my life!

 

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Downpayment On The Goods?

Posted in Dating, women's liberation with tags , , , , on October 23, 2012 by sexandthesinglesoccermom

Driving to work this morning, listening to a morning radio talk show, I caught a popular segment called “Second Date Update”. People who’ve had a promising first date, yet never hear back from their possible love interest, contact the radio program so the DJ’s can assist them with getting a second date (or at least finding out why they didn’t). The show is usually good for some chuckles or a bit of voyeurism into other people’s dating lives (which, honestly, don’t we all enjoy?).

This morning, a woman called in saying she’d had a great first date with “Jack”. They went to an upscale restaurant, had great conversation and shared some laughter. According to her, the date was really great and she couldn’t understand why he hadn’t called to ask her for a second date. Enter the DJ’s: They call “Jack” and get him on the phone, to try to get his take on the evening. Jack’s version was similiar, with one exception: According to him, she had told him mid-way through the meal that she wanted the relationship to be platonic (plutonic is actually what he said, but I’m nitpicking) and just wanted to be friends. He said at that point he lost interest, got the check and ended the evening. Reasonable, right? Afterall, he was looking for a romantic relationship and not somebody to hang out with.

Still, this is where “Jack” turns into “Jack-Ass”…

According to him, it was her obligation to tell him she just wanted to be friends before he took her to a nice restaurant and spent a substantial amount on dinner. He said he wouldn’t put a downpayment on a sports car if he just planned to park it in the garage–he wanted to be able to drive it! He elaborated at length about the amount of money spent, did his best to demean her during the entire conversation and said she should have offered to pay half if it was a “friend” date, because he doesn’t spend that much money on just “friends”. He even went so far as to say the most he’d ever spent entertaining a friend was $65, elucidating this was for a returning war hero. He said, “Now tell me why in hell I should spend $120 for dinner with you, if we’re just gonna be friends, when you haven’t even been shot at?”

And thus we come to the crux of my blog: Do men feel we owe them something if they pick up the check? Are they really just putting a “downpayment” on the future event of sex? Now, most decent men would object and say, “Of course not!” Yet…are they being honest with themselves? Maybe they don’t expect sex that date, or the next, or even the one after that. Yet if they continue to spend money on wining and dining a woman, they have an end goal in mind. For most men, this at least includes sexual intimacy.

I have typically opted to go dutch on dates, for precisely this reason. I don’t want to feel any obligation to a man I barely know. Do I feel I have to sleep with a man if he pays for my dinner? Of course not. Still, if he continues to pay for dinner, I always feel there is some level of reciprocity that is anticipated. Perhaps 60 years ago, the pleasure of a woman’s feminine presence and company was enough, although I’d be willing to wager that wasn’t the case even then. Perhaps the knight slays the dragon for the princess as an act of gallantry; or maybe he’s really just hoping to get the king’s okay to shag his daughter (Sorry: Have her hand in marriage). Today, marriage isn’t always on the table. Sex, however, is almost ALWAYS on the table.

Of course, this isn’t meant to pick on men. I know LOTS of women who think the man should pay simply because they are women. I know plenty of women who would be willing to accept dates just to get a free dinner out. There are people who say they are “old-fashioned” and think a man should pay for at least the first date (if not every date). Really? Why? If you want things to be “old-fashioned”, are you willing to put on a pretty dress and pearls and meet him at the door with a martini in hand? Are you willing to stay at home and play housekeeper and take care of all his needs while he brings home the bacon? Are you willing to have him be the head of the household, since you’re assigning him the “protector” status? If so, that’s totally fine. However, don’t scream about your liberation or your equal rights. If you are seeking out a man to take care of you and be your protector (which is what you’re signaling when you expect him to pay), expect to be treated like someone who needs to be taken care of and protected. Expect to be treated like you are not his equal. Pull the gender card when it comes to who pays and be prepared to have him play the sex/inequality card. It’s not that he should, it’s not that it’s right, but reality isn’t always the ideal and we often create our own reality by the decisions we make.

I think we need to take the money out of the dating equation. Go dutch on dates. If a man insists on paying after you’ve offered to split the check, then offer to leave the tip. Pick up the check on your next date. Allow a man to woo you in ways other than monetarily. Take the pressure off the man financially (what a burden!). In return, guys, if you offer to pay, don’t have an agenda. Don’t make innocuous little jokes about “now that I’ve bought you dinner, I guess you’re going to have to put out”. By making the joke, it hints that you expect something in return, but know it’s not really kosher to say it in a straight-forward way. If you do decide to pay, consider it a gift freely given. If you are going to resent the gift, don’t offer it.

For all the great guys out there who would never dream of thinking a woman owed him because he pays on the dates, know there are lots of great women who appreciate you and won’t abuse it. We realize you won’t refer to us like we are objects you can “put a downpayment” on; we are human beings you are trying to get to know. We’re not naive; we know if you continue to ask us out you probably want to have sex with us (probably sooner, in many cases, than we are ready to have sex with you). We know it and appreciate you putting in the time it takes for us to be ready.

As for “Jack-Ass”, go find a professional. That way it will be an honest, monetary exchange, with a guaranteed rate of return. Ending the date and not contacting her for a second because she played the friend card doesn’t make you an asshole. Referring to her as an object, stating repeatedly and in detail the money you spent on her, acting like she was a gold-digger…well, that certainly does.

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Well, That Was An Experience…

Posted in Uncategorized on October 23, 2012 by sexandthesinglesoccermom

For A Hot, Sexy Time!

So…my nearly two weeks of singledom has gone well. I’ve been productive and creative; I’ve been working out at least five times a week; I’ve spent time with family and friends. My stress level is significantly lower in terms of time management, which is great; I’ve been ridiculously busy. So far I’ve not panicked and joined any dating sites, although I continue to get “tease” emails from them. One of them informed me I had 103 emails waiting from prospective partners! Alas, I know all too well what that might look like if I fell for it and joined.

I even have a hint of an idea for a novel, which I’m going to start trying to flesh out over the next month. Afterall, I might as well use this time to explore things I’ve always wanted to do, right?

Of course, being single has left me in somewhat of a sexual drought (alright, alright…it’s only been a little over a month!). However, after last night’s experience, I don’t think I’ll even be thinking about getting frisky with myself!

Life lesson learned on Sunday: When dealing with raw banana peppers, make sure to wash your hands thoroughly, not just rinse them. Now…I know what you’re probably thinking, however, you’d be wrong. What happened is this: I sliced up banana peppers, rinsed off my hands, then went to the bathroom. I didn’t even realize contact had occurred until I stood up (and got ready to wash my hands!). Suddenly, a searing pain was upon me, the likes of which I’m not sure I’ve ever experienced before. I was, literally, screaming in agony. A cold washcloth seemed to only make things worse. I was afraid I was going to lose consciousness, the burning was so horrific. Hopping into the bathtub (with my nightgown still on), I put my lady parts under the faucet and turned on the cold water. Still, things just wouldn’t calm down! So I soaped and rinsed, howling the entire time. After repeating several times, inbetween dousing myself with cold water, finally the pain started to subside. Exhausted, I dragged myself from the tub, tiny whimpers still escaping me every few seconds. I hobbled, legs apart, into the kitchen to take out my piping hot pizza when the timer went off. Then I sat down with a glass of wine and my pepperoni and banana pepper slice, aiming a fan up my nightgown while I ate.

Aside from the 15 minutes of blinding pelvic agony, akin only to that experienced during childbirth, it was a pretty good night. Still, it’s not the sort of hot and steamy action one envisions having. So, take note: Either wear gloves when preparing banana peppers, wash hands thoroughly, or be prepared to suffer in extraordinary ways!

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The Definition of Insanity

Posted in Dating on October 11, 2012 by sexandthesinglesoccermom

I ended my 4 month long relationship last night. I’d known I needed to do it for about a month, but I didn’t want to face it. Fortunately, there’s no huge drama or heartbreak, hopefully on either side. He’s a great guy who deserves to find a woman who not only thinks he’s a great guy, but also loves him. Unfortunately, that’s not me. I like him tremendously and we have a good time when we’re together;  I will miss him and his company. He has so many of the qualities that I’m looking for in a partner and I know he cared for me. Alas, my heart was silent when we were together. It was time.

True to the man I’ve gotten to know the last 4 months, he handled the breakup with dignity and grace. We talked, held each other and kissed goodbye. When he left I sat and wept. It was the absolute right decision and I don’t feel any second-guessing, I’m just sad it didn’t work out. It hurts that I hurt him.

I think I’m going off the dating grid for awhile. Isn’t the definition of insanity doing the same thing and expecting different results? For five years now I have played the dating game, sporadically leaving the “market” when I find a relationship, then re-entering when  that relationship doesn’t work out. It’s demoralizing and exhausting. I’m not averse to dating if I happen to meet someone, but I’m done seeking for awhile. At least, that is the plan. I want companionship and affection and frankly, sex. A few months into not pursuing a relationship, I’m pretty sure I’ll be lonely. How do I reconcile my desire for love and affection and male companionship (because let’s be honest, friends and family just don’t fill the same needs) with my need to just “let go” for awhile? Sigh…it is a dilemma. Plus, there is the irrational fear that if I step back for 6 months, perhaps I’ll miss the boat and be alone forever. Crazy, right? So, not taking myself off the market, but also not putting myself on a table in the front of the store with a sign in all caps that reads “Pick me! Pick me!”. With the letters in hot pink. With free chocolate chip cookies given out to the first ten men to sign up.

Seriously, it might not be that ridiculous, but over the years, sometimes it has felt like it. I’m taking myself out of the process of “window shopping” for a partner (as the great guy I just ended things with referred to it). Time to work on my book, keep up with the great exercise program I’ve started, finally learn Swiss German (like I promised my dear friend 3 months ago) and take time to honor myself. I have a wonderful life and someday someone will want to share it with me. If they pop up at the bookstore or grocery in the next few months, fantastic. If not, then it might be a bit longer before I meet them.

 

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For My Daughters: Leaving A Legacy of Empowerment

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , on October 10, 2012 by sexandthesinglesoccermom

The word “pretty” is unworthy of everything you will be, and no child of mine  will be contained in five letters. You will be pretty intelligent, pretty  creative, pretty amazing, but you will never be merely “pretty.” —Katie  Makkai

As a child, I ran, jumped, climbed trees and rolled down hills. I can still remember the sun on my skin and the breeze in my hair, chasing butterflies across a hillside dotted with dandelions. I remember wearing my favorite dress as soon as it was warm enough, just so I could sit in my backyard swing and go as high as my seven year old legs could take me, loving the flutter of the full skirt as I swung up and down. I remember feeling powerful and strong and lovely. Sometime between 8 and 10, that feeling of rightness within my body started to fade. The pride I took in my strong legs and sturdy arms, the joy to be had in being in my body and loving what it could do for me, started to diminish. Rising up to overshadow my own sense of worth, or even my own lack of awareness of my body as an “entity” apart from me, was a growing litany of things that were wrong.

My hair didn’t fall in smooth waves or sheets down my back; it curled or frizzed with a mind of its own. My nose was too big, my eyes were too small. My face was too round. My body was far too sturdy and muscular to ever have the delicate look that seemed to be considered beautiful. My cheeks were always so red and rosy, not porcelain and evenly colored like the pretty girls that looked like perfect china dolls.

As I grew older, the list of grievances against my body only grew longer: I was too short all over. Short legs, short waist and short stubby fingers. Of course, too short didn’t mean too small. My legs and arms were too big; my stomach wasn’t flat enough and my hips flared out ridiculously. The only thing that wasn’t big enough (other than my midget height) were my breasts: They reached a B Cup and refused to grow. My rosy cheeks continued to plague me. There were stray moments when I looked in the mirror and I thought I was pretty. When the light would catch my oddly colored golden-green eyes and the reddish gold of my curls and I would pause for a moment, surprised. There were times as an older teen I would be anxiously appraising my nude body in the mirror and realize that there was beauty in the flare of my hips from my small waist and the curve in the small of my back. My breasts weren’t large, but they were high and proud. The feeling of pride lasted as long as it took to open up a magazine, watch a movie or listen to the chatter of conversation among the women I knew.

“Did you see how big her butt was in those jeans? No wonder she always wears dresses!” “Somebody throw her a doggie biscuit!” “I’d never wear shorts if my legs looked like that.” “I can’t eat that! I don’t want to turn into a fattie!” “I’ve lost all respect for my husband for loving me while I’m this fat.” Instantly, any beauty I found in my external self was squelched by self-doubt. Girls were never just people; they were objects to be appraised and assessed, either approved or found wanting.

I spent most of my teenage years, even well into my twenties, obsessed with my appearance. My relationship with my body began to take on a duality: On the one hand, I was deeply unhappy with what I perceived as my flaws. On the other, I was receiving a lot of positive attention from the opposite sex. I was called “beautiful” and “sexy”. Boys fell over themselves asking me out (primarily boys that were not approved by my parents, but then again, that was 99.8 % of all boys). It was a balm for my ego. Unfortunately, when you don’t believe you’re beautiful, having dozens of people a week insist you are won’t actually make you believe it. My body image confidence was like a leaky tire: Being desired pumped me up for a little while, but the “leak” was never actually repaired. I would jokingly make references to “not being my own type” and try to downplay my insecurities, but I felt deeply insufficient as a human being for not being taller, thinner, more delicate, more…beautiful.

Pregnancy helped me see my body with a different lens, at least for awhile. For the first time in my life, my body felt like it was beautiful in a way beyond being decorative; I was growing life inside me. Watching the changes in my body filled me with awe and I loved showing off the shape of my round belly. Sadly, after my babies were born, it didn’t take long for me to slip back into my negative views of myself.

A few years later, my marriage began to erode and I found myself thrust into the dating world, for what was really the first time. I discovered that there were plenty of men who found my imperfect body very attractive. There were also men who wouldn’t dream of looking at me twice. How I viewed myself made a world of difference and I vowed to never voice another criticism of my weight or imperfections to a partner again. It was a small step toward gaining a bit of perspective.

However, as I began to read more books about raising girls, I started really looking around me. I saw that it was no longer enough to be “thin”; now you had to be thin and defined and curvy all at the same time. Eating disorders were starting earlier and I heard very, very young girls lament about being “fat”. “Plus size” models, only now even beginning to be used by the fashion industry, wear a size 8, while the average American woman is a size 12. I saw clothing for eight year old girls that my mother wouldn’t have allowed me to wear at fifteen. Was this what I wanted for my daughters? To be obsessed with their bodies? To feel they had to attract desire at all times, because without it they felt unworthy? Did I really want my beautiful, vibrant girls to feel like without being “pretty” they were inadequate or less-than?

I’ve spent most of my life feeling inadequate. Every relationship that has ended, my first thought has been to wonder if it was because I wasn’t attractive enough. Even now, it is a struggle for me to feel whole and confident if I leave my home in a t-shirt and jeans, with my hair in a ponytail. Why? Because my own sense of worth has been so connected to my appearance for so long , it’s hard to separate it after years of conditioning. It saddens me and it shames me to be trapped in this cycle, yet I know it is a problem I will probably struggle with the rest of my life. Yet I finally over the years have found the strongest reason in the world to continue to fight everyday to overcome the idea that I AM my physical appearance: I have two little girls who are looking to me for cues on what to think and how to feel.

I want more for my daughters than a sense of worth heavily influenced by a number on the scale, a waist size, a bra size or how white their smile is. I want them to love the feel of the sun on their arms and legs, without the instant thought that follows being, “I wonder if people think I look fat in this?” I want them to run for the sake of running, not just to burn calories, not just to fit a cliche. I want them to dance with abandon, without wondering who is looking on in approval. I want the sum of who they are to be measured by the kindness in their hearts, the clever thoughts that dance through their quick minds, the reverence with which they live their lives and the people they love and who love then in return. I absolutely want them to take pride in their appearance and enjoy the physical beauty they’ve been granted, but I want it to be the icing on the cake of a beautiful mind, heart and soul. I want them to know on a heart and gut level, not just from a place of logic, that as women their value is not measured by the number of men who desire them or women who envy them.

The word “fat” never enters my vocabulary in conversation these days; I try to not assess or critique my body in front of them at all. When they see me execising or trying to eat a little less, I tell them it is because I want to be healthier, stronger and have more energy to be able to run and play with them. At first, it was a struggle and I felt I was paying lip service to something I didn’t really believe. The longer I’ve made the effort, the more it has started to sink in and become a part of me. My body image issues aren’t gone; there are still days I feel so insecure I’d like to curl into a ball and disappear. I’m getting better at reminding myself that I am not my appearance. I am strong and kind and compassionate. I have hands that can bake cookies, bandage boo-boos, spot a fever quickly and soothe pains of the heart or the body. My legs can dance and run, or wrap around a lover in ecstacy. My hips, these rounded goddess hips that I have spent years treating with such unkindness, have been used to hold my babies or tempt my lovers. My breasts have nourished two children and provided a place for their sleepy heads. My stomach, despised for so long, was a beautiful home for the life that grew inside it. My body will never be perfect. At 38, when my body is further from the ideal standards of beauty than ever, I am less bothered by this than I’ve ever been. My body is a part of who I am, but not the sum of it by a long shot. These days, when I look in the mirror and my flaws seem to be the only thing I see, it doesn’t ruin my day. I don’t hide from the camera when my children want to take my picture; to them I am beautiful and they will one day treasure the memories in those photos. It won’t be the messy hair, the lack of makeup or the body flaws they see when they look at that photo. I hope they see a mother who was unafraid to live her life just because she didn’t meet someone else’s standard, smiling at the lens with joy and love.

I don’t delude myself that looks don’t matter; People are drawn to beauty and taking pride in your appearance is important. Yet if I can manage to raise my daughters to believe they are amazing for many reasons, desirable and worthy for more than just their looks, I will have succeeded in one of my loftiest goals. I want to leave a legacy for my children of feeling they are powerful. I may not be able to change the entire culture, but I can make a vow to try to not be part of the problem.

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