Love Me Tender.... Nah... I'll Pass

I was walking across Mamaroneck Ave into A&P supermarket, wearing my new Sony Walkman. I was 21 and life was so exciting. I was living in my first place, a tiny, basement apartment in Mamaroneck, NY. I had just returned from my first big trip to Portland Oregon, where I was the Maid of Honor at my first best friend's wedding. I hadn't been that thrilled for her. I really felt that marriage would tie her down and ruin her life. That's kind of how I feel when any of my friends succumb to the vows.

I was listening to Elvis that day. "Love Me Tender" was playing.... "Love me tender. Love me true. All my dreams fulfill" Insert noise that indicates screeching wheels coming to a stop...


"Stupid!," I think I said out loud. "No one can fulfill any one else's dreams!" I had no romantic notions. I knew I was who would make my dreams come true.


I had fallen in love for the first time only months before. I'd had a crush on Leroy Spooner since I was 8, but Carl was my first real love. He had told me that he loved me one night in February of that year. I didn't see it coming. I didn't even know we were on a date. I honestly believed that we were just friends. I didn't know how to respond. It took six months and seeing him with someone else to make me realize that I truly loved him. Our love was not meant to be, although we had a long long (insert several more longs here) on again and off again thing. Most of that time he was with someone else. When I met him he was with Lisa Schindler, a trashy stripper whose parents spoiled her rotten. Then there was Audrey, a nice, but equally trashy girl who lived in a basement bar, adorned with neon beer signs and all. Carl met her after that fateful night of his confessing unrequited love. She lasted a long time, and he was serious about her. She and Lisa had something in common that I was lacking. They both needed Carl. They both went to extremes to keep him, like faking a pregnancy and suicide attempts. I knew I didn't need him, but damn, I wanted him. We were friends without benefits, and I moved to Los Angeles for six months to get away from the tension. After ending the frustrations of 3 years of teasing, almost kissing, jealousies and "accidental" physical encounters, we got together. I had been waiting for the right guy, and he was not the one. I wish I knew that 11 years earlier than I did. Our first time, my first time, was painful and disappointing...

"I feel guilty about Audrey," he said as he finished. Fuck! I had just moved back to NY for this douche bag, whom I was still mad about.

Our new, sexual relationship stalled as soon as it had begun. Then, it was on. Then off. Months, and then eventually, years would pass between passionate encounters. He would tell me years later that he wished he could have let himself be with me. He claimed that he never stopped thinking about me that way.

I saw him once more, soon before I moved here to Virginia Beach. He had just moved in with the woman who would become his wife and the mother of his child. I was done with the games by then. Although I let him stay with me that night, we were back to tension and denial.

I always suspected that I was not meant to find love. I certainly didn't want the stuff that is supposed to follow naturally. On my 15th birthday I wrote on a napkin in Red Lobster that I would never get married or have children. My godmother, Aunt Bunny, grabbed the napkin and stashed it in her purse. I'm pretty sure she intended to give it to me when I got married, but she passed away this year and I'm still not married, nor am I a mother.

After Carl, there was Jeff, whom I met while having an affair with his uncle. For a while we were in a poly amorous relationship. I felt like a goddess. They would take turns picking me up from work. We would do everything together. I'd sit between them when we went out on dates, my hands on each one's thigh. They treated me like a princess. The uncle drank heavily, and I hadn't been able to wrap any warm and fuzzies around him, though. To me, he was just fun, a distraction. He'd often be drunk and unable to drive me home, and Jeff would take me. That is when we realized we had a lot in common and struck up a friendship. Eventually Sal was no longer invited. I was mad about Jeff. He broke up with me while out with my friends in Manhattan one very cold March night in 1998. My twin niece and nephew were born that day. So, I will always remember it. I also still have the gloves he lent me that night. I couldn't tell you where they are right now, but they always pop up when I'm least expecting it.

Three more loves followed Jeff. They all ended the same way. Always there was another woman, or many other women. Well, except Mike. I'm not sure what happened with him. The last time broke me. I just didn't want to try anymore. Scott said he'd ruin me for any other man. He did. I was done with the lying, cheating and, most of all, the pretending. By pretending, I mean my pretending. I was always acting as if I wanted to be in a relationship. I never really did, though. Frankly, what I had with Carl was what I enjoyed the most. We'd have amazing passion and then he'd be gone. The sexual tension was more than half of the fun. I had the love of my life, but I had my independence too.

It occurred to me the other day that I was really healthy and in the best position I've ever been in to find love. It also occurred to me that I wanted nothing less. I'm so happy, my life is full, and I can't imagine letting another man screw that up.

Another Carl, who I find attractive, asked "Are you married?"

"No," I answered.

"Would you like to be?" He flirted.

"Hell, no!" I answered. "Haven't you noticed the vehicle I drive? It's transportation for one, and that's the way I like it."

Faith Wars

As my bus emerged from the Holland Tunnel, Thanksgiving morning, I saw this. Honestly, I do know it's a myth. I don't really get the point, though. Is this sign really going to change the minds of the believers? Seriously?

My best guy friend, Jerry, says that religion is the ultimate expression of emotion, and atheism is the ultimate expression of logic. I often wonder if I don't believe because of how my mind works or because the religious machine didn't get me early enough. I hadn't had a lick of religious instruction until a few months into 2nd grade, when my parents took me out of Public School 5 and put me into St.Bartholomews Catholic School. From the moment I colored my first picture of baby Jesus and Mary, I felt it was a bunch of nonsense. Of course, by the age of 3 I had already determined that Santa wasn't real as I whipped off his beard at my father's lodge's Christmas party... in front of all of the other children. So, I already had established a history as a "doubting Thomas."

My mother gave me some story about THAT Santa being one of the "real" Santa's helpers, but I didn't buy it. So I stayed awake Christmas night and listened to my father and mother arguing as they put up the Christmas tree and assembled toys as my father grunted and cursed, and my mother yelled at him for doing it all wrong. It was our tradition that Santa put up the Christmas tree. It was a nice touch. The pressure was always too much for my parents, though, and they would end up whisper fighting until the wee hours of Christmas morning. I didn't pretend to believe in Santa, but I didn't say I didn't either. It was kind of a "don't ask, don't tell" policy. It was important for my parents to think I believed, but it was equally important for me to realize I'd figured it out. The funny thing is that they tell you that it's some sort of end of innocence to find out there is no Santa. Frankly, I felt better knowing the truth. Lucky for my parents, my sister believed until she was around 10, and she pretended a lot longer so her Santa presents wouldn't diminish.

I never had a flicker of faith. As Confirmation approached I went to my parish monsignor and told him that I did not want to go through with it, as I didn't believe. Even though they tell you that you don't have to do it unless you are ready, I was told by Monsignor McManus, and my parents, to just shut up and do it. I didn't answer yes to any of the questions they asked. So, in my heart I never committed. I just stopped going to church. After all, I was an adult in the eyes of the church, and the first decision I made was to stop going through the motions.

I could not be strong armed into believing. I could not be convinced to believe. I know that Yahweh, Jehovah, Allah or whatever you want to call it is a creation by Dark Age man looking for explanations to the mysteries of life before science existed. I know what I know. Until proven otherwise, scientifically, no one can put faith, magically, into my soul.

On the other hand, no one can take some one's faith away. People who believe can't be convinced that there is no God. Some people believe because of tradition, other believe because they don't want to think about what might happen if they disbelieve and are wrong, and others just need to believe because it makes them feel less alone out in the big, scary Universe. Whatever the reason, a billboard in Manhattan is not going to change their minds. Why waste the energy and money on a losing battle? Same with the opposing billboard across the street. That one shows a picture of statues of Mary, Joseph and baby Jesus and says, "You know it's real." Again, what's the point? It'd be nice if the sponsor's of these billboards donated the money, instead, to feed the poor. That might make a real difference.

I just wish that we'd all be tolerant of people's beliefs and non-beliefs. I was at a jewelry party several weeks ago when one of the other guests was going on and on about a candidate for city council who was opposing her guy.

"He's an Atheist," she said with mock shock and disgust. "How could he think he could win?"

Almost all the other guests were from my friend's church, so they were all shocked and horrified. I felt like the only cat in a room full of pitbulls at that point, and couldn't wait to put in my time and run. I'm not sure how belief in a god makes one a better person, and belief in the "Big Bang Theory" makes one bad. I wish some one would explain that to me. I've known quite a few Christians who lie, steal, cheat, etc. I've also known non-believers who follow the golden rule to the letter, because it makes logical sense, not because the Bible tells them so. A good person is a good person, god or no god. A bad person is a bad person, god or no god. I think it is time for both sides to be logical and charitable.

The Secret to Happiness

Unhappiness can make us toxic to ourselves and the people we care about. Not letting go of past hurts and holding on to pain and disappointment can ruin any one's life. The biggest tragedy is that the secret of finding happiness is amazingly simple. Happiness won't come in the form of a lover, great job, or streak of good luck. Sure, those things are great, but they won't make us happy. A new pair of cute shoes or a slice of cheesecake can give anyone a momentary feeling of euphoria, but it doesn't last. In fact, over spending and over indulging can lead to feelings of guilt and self loathing once that initial high wears off.

I was an unhappy person. I discovered true happiness three years ago, and once I found it, it turned on my inner GPS that leads to contentment and joy every day. Sometimes I've gone in a different direction out of old habit, but I eventually wise up and follow the highlighted route.

The first step to achieving bliss is to let go of all the past villains in our lives who put us in this unhealthy state. For me, it meant taking a painful look at my childhood, and then forgiving my antiheroes for every slight that poisoned my ability to be joyful. Nothing poisons our soul quicker than hatred. I still have a few people on my short list, but those people are new arrivals whom I'm just not ready to release. I think I'll do that today. Hatred makes my soul heavy. Which is why the Egyptian goddess Ma'at weighs a person's soul to determine if they can enter Heaven. Only those whose soul is lighter than a feather may find eternal peace and joy. So, adios Dannenberg, Rose and Scott.

The second step is to really look at yourself and love who you see. I procrastinate, am often disorganized and messy,I've got a big belly, thinning hair and I cracked a few back teeth because I grind and gnash my teeth in my sleep. I don't beat myself up for any of these things. I see all the wonderful things about me, first. So, when these other things enter my mind, I see how some flaws make me real, and how there is a beauty in imperfection as it makes me unique.

The third step is learning how to pick your battles. It is not healthy to be passive, but it is probably less healthy to be ready to do battle over everything. The other day I was watching "The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills" and one of the husbands of the housewives said the smartest thing I ever heard someone say on the subject. He was chatting with some of the other husbands about the longevity of their marriages (or lack there of) and remarked that he had been with his wife since she was 21, which is almost 30 years of marriage. This caused the other men to question him about his secret. He gave the stock answer about not going to bed angry, but then handed out the real jewel...

"I choose to be happy over being right."

I worked for a woman who is a miserable, joy-killing, type A personality. After years of being jealous of her husband's family's large homes in Northern Virginia, she got what she wanted. Her husband bought her a big house in Nevada. Instead of enjoying her home, she spent all of her waking hours on her computer watching her workers via an ever-expanding number of video cameras. She would then get all worked up because I decorated a cake with yellow icing when she wanted red, or because she saw an otherwise conscientious worker send her boyfriend a text message. She took it as a personal slight when another great worker wanted to go on vacation with her family to Japan, and punished her by taking her off of the schedule for the rest of the summer. She turned everything into a big deal, and eventually she lost her staff, her sales, and was forced to hire, and keep, a staff that was sub par because she drove all of her good workers away with her unrealistic expectations of perfection and her need for total control.

You just can't turn everything into a big deal and expect to have felicity in your life. Life is not perfect. There are traffic jams, people "interpret" your instructions differently than you imagined, soda spills on your keyboard, one of your coworkers might walk off with your favorite pen, and you might get bleach on your favorite shirt. Things like this happen every day. Get over it and stop letting small mishaps turn into huge mood-killers. All of this falls under the category of "Don't Sweat the Small Stuff.... And It's All Small Stuff."

The last and most important step to finding your euphoria is the simplest. Like the husband of the Real Housewife, Lisa VanderPump, choose to be happy. Accept the people in your life for who they are and what they can give without pinning unrealistic expectations on them. Choose great experiences that you will always remember over buying something that will only allow you temporary fulfillment. Use all of the energy you put forth to complain about the mishaps of life to search within yourself for what makes you happy. Cut yourself a break and love the person you are, and give yourself permission to be happy. Happiness is not elusive. It is simply a decision. Decide to be happy and you will find the route magically highlighted in front of you.

Hands off my breasts and my 4th Amendment!

I wanted to introduce myself with my first, new blog. I had planned to write a witty commentary on women, men and why I prefer to fly solo. Recent events, however, have made me madder than a food starved, absinthe intoxicated Vinny Van Gogh during his knife to ear period.

This past March, an event occurred in my life that changed my priorities. My Aunt Bunny passed away from a long fight with cancer. She was the woman I grew up wanting to most be like. She was smart, cosmopolitan, fashionable and a world traveler. I know she had her lapses in judgment over a man or two, but she never allowed any of them to tie her down. She flew around the world and collected friends and great experiences as she went. She always returned with a great souvenir... a leather camel from Egypt, a small, marble statue of Venus De Milo from Rome, and evil eye pendant from Greece were my favorites. She encouraged me to travel too. I started young, traveling around the United States, but then life got in the way. Vacations were spent visiting friends and family, and I put aside my desire to see the world. The loss of a loved one often makes one reflect upon the fragile and fleeting nature of life. I realized that I had put off traveling the world long enough. I had just turned 42, and this was the year I got my passport.

I gave my mom a cruise to the Western Caribbean for her birthday. We traveled in October, and had the time of our lives. We toasted Aunt Bun, and laughed about how she'd never believe mom was drinking, never mind that she was traveling abroad. I plan on going to Bermuda in April, and perhaps in October again. Next year I've got my sites set on Europe. I might have to put that off, however. As much as I want to see the wonders of the world, I want to preserve my unalienable right of privacy and I want my government to do its one job... protect and uphold the Constitution.

I'm not sure when we, Americans, accepted the notion that the federal government's job is to provide for our personal safety and protect private property.... ummm.... that's a lie. I do know when, it was 9/12/01.

We were all panicking, and the government said, "We will protect you, but you are going to have to give up some rights."

We said, "Okay, just keep us safe."

Now I'm not going to say that some members of our own government plotted 9/11, but I am going to say that if you follow the money trail it doesn't only point in the direction of Osama Bin Laden. It points straight at Dick Cheney, George H.W. Bush and James Bakker III. The Bush family are no strangers to profiting from the pain and suffering of others. Prescott Bush (W's grandfather) made his fortune laundering money for the Nazis (money directly stolen from slaughtered Jews). George H.W. Bush just happened to be the head of the board of directors of the Carlysle Group, a defense and investment firm that represented the financial interests of his friends, the Bin Ladens as well as the financial interests of the Bush family. I swear this on my favorite zebra print pumps. Follow the money trail, but turn your head to its implications, because the government says it doesn't really matter.

The winfall-out of 9/11 doesn't stop there. Michael Chertoff, former Secretary of Homeland Security, ordered the "porno-scanners" while holding the position of Secy of Homeland Security. Only problem is that Rapscan, the company who makes the scanners (now being used at an airport near you) is one of Chertoff's paying clients. Hmmmmmmm......

Quick... look away. It's for your safety. They aren't robbing you of your privacy and punishing you with molestation if you refuse to use their high tech version of x-ray goggles to make money. It's to keep you safe. It's not important that Muslims are exempt from the invasive, sexually abusive body scans and breast groping "pat" downs because it "violates their religious beliefs". Hmmmm........

Musims attacked us on 9/11. The underwear bomber is Muslim. The shoe bomber is Muslim. The guys who attacked the USS Cole were Muslim, but we aren't feeling up the Muslims because we are affraid of offending them? Really?

So, how is molesting and robbing law abiding, innocent American citizens of their Constitutional rights going to keep us safe?

As Ben Franklin said, "They who would give up essential liberty for a small measure of safety deserve neither safety nor liberty." That's kind of the position we find ourselves, isn't it? Not really safe, definitely not free, and violated without so much as being treated to a fuzzy naval or a pomegranate martini.

I ask all American's to refuse the scans and the pat downs. I also ask that you call your congressmen and women to tell them to support Congressman Ron Paul's legislature to hold TSA agents personally accountable for their actions, which include molestation, sexual harassment, pornography, and child pornography.

Oh, and to scare you even more... the scanners haven't been proven to be safe. According to Congressman Paul and many other experts, they aren't safe. Think not flying is going to keep you safe? Wrong again. The scanners have been loaded into vans and are roving the streets of the US as I write this. Freedom is but an illusion. It's time to make it a reality, once again.