When we discuss the beauty of relationships, we rarely describe them in terms of taste beyond good or bad. But as a woman who’s dated many men and married none, I think the variety of our romantic interactions deserves a better range of adjectives.
So when the folks at WordPress prompted a discussion this week about taste and which we’d give up voluntarily, it only seemed fitting for me to equate it to my palate for the ups and downs of this portion of my life. Continue reading
If my affinity for the male “species” didn’t start at birth, it began soon thereafter. My mother loves to tell childhood stories about it.
While my sisters cried like banshees whenever my mom left the house, I pitched a fit until my father took me along with him to construction sites, my building blocks in tow.
Photo credit: Fabienne from morguefile.com
While my sisters joined my mother and other visiting wives in the kitchen during football season, I plunked myself down in the middle of the living room with the men, watched the games, and “sneaked” sips of my dad’s Budweiser. Continue reading
In my college years I met a wonderful man. We’ll call him James.
He struggled with drinking, as most college boys do, but he exemplified the smartest and sexiest man I’d ever known. My 20-something self wanted to marry him in spite of his drawbacks.
My mother and grandmother supported the coupling but for different reasons. For my mother, I feel it was a bit of a check mark – yes, I’ll finally get my youngest daughter married. For my grandmother it reflected a more romantic and basic idea. Continue reading
We’re all called to action at some point, right? Whether it be assisting someone with car trouble, helping an old lady cross the street, or performing the Heimlich maneuver on a stranger (e.g. Bill Murray Groundhog’s Day style), most of us hope to be ready to help when crises arise.
I call that “action-hero syndrome,” and boy, do I suffer from it.
Perhaps it’s because, as a child of the 80s, I watched too many movies (Cloak & Dagger and The Goonies) and TV shows (The Bionic Woman and Charlie’s Angels), or may be it’s just generational hubris? Continue reading
Several years back, I decided to date a younger man – and by younger I mean 10+ years my junior. Adding to the awkwardness of my could-be-boyfriend choice was the fact that I worked with him.
My friends and I dubbed him “New Kid on the Block” when he first caught my attention. For months, the two of us flirted, he poked and prodded around the dating edges, and I agonized over whether I should give him the signal to proceed. Continue reading
If bad blogging Karma exists, I’ve caught it.
Last month, I posted The Perils of Un-drunk Dialing, in which I poked fun at an ex-coworker for being less-than-adept in her use of voice mail and warned against misplaced drunk and sober texts, calls, etc.
Wrapping up a lovely brunch on Sunday with a few of my closest girl friends, we stood on the sidewalk for a few moments to say our goodbyes.
“It’s like we’re all waiting to hug each other,” my friend Jodi quipped.
“Well, you know that’s not on my mind,” I retorted.
Everyone laughed. They know I’m not a hugger.
Before you get all judgy and assume I need counseling for some deep-seeded aversion to affection, let me explain. It’s not that I don’t hug people. I just subscribe to a self-imposed hugging etiquette that’s evolved over time.
Cooties, schmooties. From birth, I thought boys were fantastic!
To my four-year-old girl friends who thought otherwise…well, I don’t understand your reluctance. Boys were awesome! (Unless you were gay. Then I completely understand, though I didn’t at the time.)
Peter was my first boyfriend. It was a pre-school kind of infatuation – the kind most would quickly dismiss. But not I.
He was the Goldar to my Silvar (a bad but popular 1970s’ reference to Space Giants).
Dear Cat-Check Boy,
You don’t even know that’s your name, and I confess I’ve long since forgotten your real one.
I met you in 2003. Your strong face and blue eyes struck me from across the bar. You stood out amongst the lackluster men I had encountered since moving to that small town.
Awkward Laughter 