Pleasantries in Threes

The last 48 hours have been great and fun and make me realize how lucky I am to live the life I lead. I know it is hokey as all hell but every so often I do forget how good I have it and then a couple of days come along that make me sit back and take notice.

It all started yesterday when Samuel surprised me. It was mid afternoon and I had spent most of the day in my pajamas working on e-mails and e-cards and just trying to catch up on old e-mail. I was on the porch all greasy and nasty and smoking-bad-when Samuel came bounding up the stairs. Turns out he only worked a half day at his temp job and was very eager to see me.

We spent the rest of the day lying around and watching television and kissing and cuddling and it just made me very grateful to have him in my life. I am constantly amazed at how well we fit each other; the way that we delight in each other’s company., One minute we are very sexual and touching, the next laughing and making fun of each and then next debating the pros and cons of season 6 “Buffy” and whether Joss really did achieve his character arcs; all in the same hour. It is odd how soul mate we tend to be and even if we were to end things, we still would be.

Speaking of soul mates, I was able to finally get Chloe on the phone for a long overdue conversation and catch up. It always amazes me who in synch our lives tend to be, with our being out of sorts in our apartments or what stage in our relationship or how we have even felt at certain times. She is someone I wish was in my life 100% more than she is and I adore just the thought of her voice--much more the reality.

And finally I was able to hang out with Kelly and Valeska both back from their trips home. We went to Ernie’s Taco House and drinks/dinner and just talked and gossiped and laughed. It is always fun to hang with two of my best friends and just make a night of it. It is always funny how we think the same and are totally different. I really missed those girls.

It’s just been a great couple of days and makes me realize that we are so to lead the lives we have. I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Boredom Sits In

I am midway through my second week of vacation and am so bored I could run screaming down the street. I spend my time reading "Sandman" (thanks Sam!) or working on notes for some writing I am gearing up to work on or imagining how I could rearrange my living room. It's amazing how little I have to really due with time off unless I have people to spend time with. Almost makes me wish I was working.

I said almost. Off to play with the living room I guess.

Q: Where Did You Go For the Holiday? A: To Crazy Town—No I Didn’t Take Photos

So Sam and I broke up on Christmas Eve. This may be surprising to anyone who saw us over the holiday parties but for 14 hours Sam and I were done. Like over and possibly forever.

It wasn’t my intention to break up but over the course of two days I realized that I wasn’t sure of my feelings. And because I couldn’t figure out my own mind, every time Sam said “I love you” I felt like a huge poser, a fake and asshole for not being sure.

I guess where it started to boiled over was during Christmas Eve Day when we joined Patty for “Sex and the City”. As we watched the entire start of Steve and Miranda relationship I suddenly realized I wasn’t sure if Sam and I were truly compatible. I tried to figure out where my head was at with Patty but I just couldn’t string my thoughts together.

The thing is in some ways we are two very different people; he is always sure of himself while I have to work my way through things. We’re both passionate but by very different means about key parts of our personalities. He’s loud and decisive in a way that I’m usually not.

See, I fail a lot. I have to fail and hurt myself and learn and slowly grow through experiences in a way that Sam doesn’t seem to need to. And what I pictured in my head the night of Christmas Eve was two very different people eventually reaching a serious impasse and not being able to survive it; not even as friends. And so I started to realize that maybe I should break up with him to have our friendship instead of losing him if the romantic relationship continued.

My head was racing that night as we came back to the apartment and I realized I needed to take a walk and work things out. And when he said “Okay, go for your walk--I love you” I responded with “thank you”. I don’t remember this but when I returned Sam was in the dark and upset. And so we fought and I tried to figure out where my head was but I couldn’t and so we broke up and he left. Angry.

And I spent most of the night on my floor, torn up and sick to my stomach, edge of tears and just so confused. And this was because when Sam asked me if I loved him and I couldn’t answer. It took me a night of restlessness to realize what the answer was and what I was concerned about.

Because the question for me was never “did I love him?” but whether he could love me even when I failed him, made mistakes or did something stupid. Because I do that all the time and I wasn’t sure that if I somehow crossed some line with him or did something unintentional that he wouldn’t just walk. I needed to know if he could try and love me in spite of all my faults and mistakes. Because I couldn’t give my heart if he wasn’t capable of it.

So I called him on Christmas and asked him to come over and he let me just spill everything out. And Sam listened and understood and told me that it would be okay. He explained how all he wanted me was for me to at least give him the chance and that if we were both honest then we could work through pretty much anything. And I needed to hear that. Because I do love him—as crazy and fast as it all seems. He’s me if only a bit louder and more sure. And I have to put faith in the idea that that is enough.

I beginning to think it might just be.

The Sum of Things

So I am back in my apartment. It's been about a week and between redoing the room and all my laundry and sorting my bills, mail and books I have been feeling very out of sorts. But as of now I feel like my life is back in order and I feel better about things.

Sam and I are still going strong and moving forward--he has now hung out with the big group a handful of times and they seem to love him as most as I do. And though there have been some rough patches we both are able to talk our way through them. It's a good sign and makes seeing him better each time.

I also finally spoke to my mom for a bit and cleared up some things that have been bothering me as of late. It's nice to know that we are still able to be honest and on good terms and that everything is truly ok with us. I was feeling odd about things but realize I have been the victim of too much navel gazing. But I'm over it.

And work has sent us on our holiday break which means I get to do all the stupid stuff I love to do like catch up on General Hospital and see ranodm friends before they head off for the holiday season. It also gives me time to try and get back to the art of writing. If I can consider what I do art. Sometimes that is hard.

But all in all things are good and hopefully getting better. It's nice to be back.

I missed me.

Raise Your Hand If Surprised.

You are a Slutcom 3, and are on the prowl. A hook-up each weekend isn't unusual; the distance a hook-up will go is high. Your friends talk about you behind your back, and even you're shocked you haven't broken your bed yet. You for some reason are semi-proud of your track record. After all, not many can claim they've gotten as much tail as you. Take the slutcom litmus test! The slutcom litmus test originated in A Word of Advice.

Must Be One of You--Not It! (thumbs down people!)

The statistics on sanity are that one out of every four persons is suffering from some sort of mental illness. Think of your three best friends -- if they're okay, then it's you

Yes or No--No Excuses or Blame

yes or no
Current mood: blank

You can only say yes or no you are not allowed to explain anything:

1. Taken a picture naked? yes

2. Painted your room? yes

3. Made out with a member of the same sex? yes

4. Driven a car? yes

5. Danced in front of your mirror? yes

6. Have a crush? yes

7. Been dumped? yes

8. Stole money from friend? yes

9. Gotten in a car with people you just met? no

10. Been in a fist fight? yes

11. Snuck out of your house?yes

12. Had feelings for someone who didn't have them back? yes

13. Been arrested? no

14. Made out with a stranger? yes

15. Met up with a member of the opposite sex somewhere? yes

16. Left your house with out telling your parents? yes

17. Had a crush on your neighbor? yes

18. Ditched school to do something more fun? yes

19. Slept in a bed with a member of the same sex? yes

20. Seen someone die? yes

21. Been on a plane? yes

22. Kissed a picture? no

23. Slept in until 3? yes

24. Love someone or miss someone right now? yes

25. Laid on your back and watched cloud shapes go by? yes

26. Made a snow angel? yes

27. Played dress up? yes

28. Cheated while playing a game? yes

29. Been lonely? yes

30. Fallen asleep at work/school? yes

31. Been to a club? yes

32. Felt an earthquake? yes

33. Touched a snake?yes

34. Ran a red light? no

35. Been suspended from school? yes

36. Had detention? yes

37. Been in a car accident? yes

38. Hated the way you look? yes

39. Witnessed a crime? no

40. Pole danced? yes

41. Been lost? yes

42. Been to the opposite side of the country? yes

43. Felt like dying? yes

44. Cried yourself to sleep? no

46. Sang karaoke? yes

47. Done something you told yourself you wouldn't? yes

48. Laughed till some kind of beverage came out of your nose? yes

49. Caught a snowflake on your tongue? yes

50. Kissed in the rain? yes

51. Sing in the shower? yes

52. Made love in a park? yes

53. Had a dream that you married someone? NO

54. Glued your hand to something? yes

55. Gotten your tongue stuck to a flag pole? no

56. Gone to school partially naked? no

57. Been a cheerleader? yes

58. Sat on a roof top? yes

59. Didn't take a shower for a week? no

60. Too scared to watch scary movies alone? no

61. Played chicken? yes

62. Been pushed into a pool with all your clothes on? yes

63. Been told you're hot (cute) by a complete stranger? yes

64. Broken a bone? no

65. Been easily amused? yes

66. Laugh so hard you cry? yes

67. Mooned/flashed someone? no

68. Cheated on a test? yes

69. Forgotten someone's name? no

70. Slept naked? yes

71. Gone skinny dipping in a pool? yes

73. Blacked out from drinking? yes

74. Played a prank on someone? yes

75. Gone to a late night movie? yes

76. Made love to anything not human? no

77. Failed a class? yes

78. Choked on something you're not supposed to eat? no

79. Played an instrument for more than 10 hours? no

80. Cheated on a girl/boyfriend? yes

81. Celebrated the 4th of July? yes

82. Thrown strange objects? no

83. Felt like killing someone? yes

84. Thought about running away? yes

85. Run away? no

86. Done drugs? yes

87. Had detention and not attend it? yes

89. Made a parent cry? yes

90. Cried over someone? yes

91. Owned more than 5 sharpies? yes

92. Dated someone more than once? yes

93. Had a dog? yes

95. Owned an instrument? yes

96. Been in a band? no

97. Drank 25 sodas in a day? no

98. Broken a CD? yes

99. Shot a gun? yes

100. Been on myspace for more than 5 hours? no

What Song Age am I and Other Unsolved Mysteries

You Are 21 Years Old

Under 12: You are a kid at heart. You still have an optimistic life view - and you look at the world with awe. 13-19: You are a teenager at heart. You question authority and are still trying to find your place in this world. 20-29: You are a twentysomething at heart. You feel excited about what's to come... love, work, and new experiences. 30-39: You are a thirtysomething at heart. You've had a taste of success and true love, but you want more! 40+: You are a mature adult. You've been through most of the ups and downs of life already. Now you get to sit back and relax.

What Age Do You Act?

Your 2005 Song Is

Beverly Hills by Weezer "My automobile is a piece of crap My fashion sense is a little whack And my friends are just as screwy as me" You breezed through 2005 in your own funky style!

What Hit Song of 2005 Are You?

Your Hair Should Be Orange

Expressive, deep, and one of a kind. You pull off "weird" well - hardly anyone notices.

What's Your Funky Inner Hair Color?

Quote of the Week

This is from the GRB Christmas video and almost killed me...

"Dramatically convenient..."

This will be the title of my autobiography!

I’m Tired

I know in the grand scheme of my life I shouldn’t be complaining—but I’m going to. I am tired. I am tired of not being in my room, of not having my things; my clothes, books, music, pictures, food, shoes, bed, phone, computer and a million other things. I miss my shower and my coffee maker and my daily does of GH and the little hall I walk every morning on my way to the shower.

I am tired of my managers telling one move in date and then being wrong but only after I get all excited about coming back and then finding that I can’t. I am mad about how I will have to redo EVERY aspect of my room which took me about 7 years to get the way I wanted.

And I am tired of feeling bad about being this selfish but it is my home and I miss it.

When You Try

So I did what I needed to and owed up to my mistakes thus far. Thanks to Ruby and Patty for helping me sort out my head and getting me through it. Sam is--as always--amazing and I'm learning the past is the past. Really.

I think I just heart him.

Really.

Welcome to Bored

Take the first sentence or two from the first post of each month. Pass it on.

January: I AM DRUNK BUT NONETHELESS--HAPPY NEW YEARS!!!!!!!

February: I am Butch Damn It!!!!

I am only 46% gay!!! Go me!!!

March: I am boring—I did nothing at all today.

April: You're "Cheerleader". You love
cheerleading, Le Girl magazine, and looking so
good! You are popular and the leader of Teen
Girl Squad.


May: This Makes Me Cry.

LOS ANGELES - William Joseph Bell, an Emmy award-winning daytime TV soap writer, producer and co-creator of "The Young and the Restless" and "The Bold and the Beautiful," has died. He was 78.

June: Friday I discovered the glory of "Eurotrip" the film with Kelly and Lizzie.

July: I’m not huge believer in tarot cards, psychics or fortunetellers. I say not huge because I have two rather odd experiences that make me open to the possibilities—things that would be extremely hard to explain away and so I leave myself open.

August: Am I Normal? Solitude does strange things to you

September: So we went turtle racing the other night--I was rather hesitant because I have problem with exploitation--much less animal exploitation.

October: Overhead at work

"Hey-don't I know your sister--Cinderella?"

November: Your birth on the 19th day of the month adds a tone of independence and extra energy to your life path.

December: It's Less Sleazy then It Seems.

Ok--truth time. Part of the reason I was so bummed about things with the apartment is that I knew that being trapped in a hotel meant I couldn't see Sam.

The Wprld Could Use Another



"Imagine all the people living life in peace"

Truly

I'm Nosy

I wanna know 21 things about you .. fill in all the blanks .. leave no question unanswered! ANSWER iT & SEND iT TO ME (REPLY) THEN COPY & REPOST iT FOR YOURSELF!


1. Your Name:
---> Rory George Lapointe

2. Age:
---> 30

3. Favorite Color:
---> Orange or gold

4. Favorite Movie:
---> “Beautiful Thing’ though ‘Gone With the Wind’ and ‘I think I do’ come close.

5. Favorite Song:
---> Hmm—I don’t know if I can pick. “Gold Digger” by Kanye West is my latest favorite

6. Favorite Band:
---> No Doubt or Velvet Underground

7. Most Embarassing Moment:
---> Hmm—I peed myself in class in 3rd grade waiting for an audition. I did get the lead though

8. Are you a virgin:
---> LOLOLOLOL

HERE COMES THE FUN ... ... ...

1. Are we friends: Yes—Jessica and I are Mona and Mouse people.
--->

2. Do you have a crush on me/are you attracted to me:
---> Well—if it went that way.

3. Would you kiss me:
---> Probably and sober too.

6. Would you ever ask me out?
---> Hmm I don’t know

8. Tell me one odd/intresting fact about you:
---> I have nude pictures of me on the internet.

9. Would you take care of me when I'm sick:
---> Yes—unless I was sick

10. Do you want to tell me something that you couldn't before:
---> nope—we’re pretty open.

11. Have you heard any rumors of me lately:
---> Well I did hear about a pirate ho running around San Fran leaving men broken in her wake—could be you.

12. Do you/have you talk(ed) crap about me:
---> Never.

13. Do you think I'm a good person:
---> One of the best.

14. Would you let me sleep with you (in the same bed):
---> We have done that silly…

15. Do you think I'm attractive:
---> Yes and yes.

16. Are there ever times when you want to call me but don't:
---> All the time.

17. Would you ever listen to my problems even if they don't involve you:
---> I do that already silly.

18. If you could change anything about me, would you? What would it be:
---> You would be in Los Angeles.

20.Would you come over for no reason just to hang out:
---> The old sofa has ass imprint from when I did that.

21. Will you post this so I can fill it out for you? Yes!

Words

I love words—it’s the writer in me. They have meaning and purpose and change and evolve and give depth and understanding to so many things. Without them I feel lost but sometimes I still feel out of sorts when I don’t know how to use them.

See—there have been some changes in my vocabulary and I am trying hard to work my head around how they are being used. It’s not because of the speaker because I know that they are being sincere and genuine but I can’t get past what the words meant to me before. I know that’s not fair and I am trying to process through but…

I have been freaking out. But this is only about me and my own bag of crazy,

And I know that I am being roundabout and silly and overly dramatic,

All I can say is I’m trying.

I So Wanna

I want to Carrie Bradshaw out and just blogg about everything but I am using a computer that just might be the Terry Schiavo of laptops and should be dead but just won't go yet. Hotels are't great for writing but what can I do? Nothing...

But everything is great.

Annoyances Grow

So I was called yesterday and I was told I would be locked out longer than I thought. Much longer. But I was told I could stop by and grab some stuff so I tried too. Imagine my surprise when I got inside the apartment and found the set of ET. Like when the scientists quarantine them at the end.

Tight white plastic and scaffolding and no way to get in any room in the whole place. And no sign of the workers or Alma. I was not happy since I have only 3 shirts 2 pairs of pants and one sweatshirt. I guess I'll have to buy new clothes. Sighs abound and yet…

GRR--I HATE HOTELS and HAVING NO CLOTHES!

It's Less Sleazy then It Seems.

Ok--truth time. Part of the reason I was so bummed about things with the apartment is that I knew that being trapped in a hotel meant I couldn't see Sam. And since this was his first night back in town, there was no guarantee that that would even happen or that he would even call. But even if he did call, I wouldn't be home to answer so we wouldn't be able to talk which is-was-very upsetting. I just wanted to hear the sound of his voice.

So I e-mailed him and the girls my hotel and room numbers so they could call me and I could play coy with my motives. I was just laying all alone in my king-size bed, flipping through bad tv and missing my orange walls and art prints when the phone rang. It was Sam, eager to see me, not jet lagged and happy sounding. I hesitated before explaining where I was--the irony of the 3rd date in a hotel room when we are not having sex was not lost on me.

But I threw caution to the wind and before I could even try to get ready Sam was here. He was at my door with cute hair, a cuter scarf, and the cutest little bounce in his step. And I realized he missed me like I missed him and we fell on each with lips and jokes and sentences--just amazing.

And I had him stay the night for kissing and hugging and cuddling--there was a bit more but we are still virgins in the eyes of the most major religions. It was joyful and nifty and swell but the best part is we slept well together. We cuddled and held hands and nestled into each other less like spoons and more like a Chinese puzzle box. Each move was hard to make but opened up another hidden part of whom we are in relation to each other.

Words and glances and slight sighs were exchanged till early dawn until there was this moment when everything skipped for me and I realized that this is not 'just some guy'. Not that he ever really was 'just some guy' but now I'm starting to own up to what that means. Really.

Hotels Are For Vacation.

So I am staying in a hotel right now. I wish I wasn�t. But when your ceiling is falling in and you are evicted from your place you don�t have many choices. It doesn�t help that one of the building�s owners is a bitch about it and you�re a bitch to the other owner.

I guess I was upset about being blamed for the ceiling when the truth was that the building used a cheap ass construction crew to reroof the building thus creating the problem. I did complain when I saw problems in the ceiling, as did Edie on my behalf. So when it is implied that I did this by not being vocal enough about the problem and allowing it to get worse--fuck you.

And after I managed to move all my furniture out of my room, all the art off my walls and my bed out of the way Charlotte showed up to get her things to leave as well. I have to give credit where it is due; she knew all the questions to ask and how to ask them.

So now here I am alone in my own room, feeling as if I am out of town and out of place. Thank god I brought a candle and a book and this laptop. At least I feel somewhat connected. But that doesn�t chase the lonely away.

Pointless But Not


10 Reasons Why Gay Marriage Is Wrong

01) Being gay is not natural. Real Americans always reject unnatural things like eyeglasses, polyester, and air conditioning.

02) Gay marriage will encourage people to be gay, in the same way that hanging around tall people will make you tall.

03) Legalizing gay marriage will open the door to all kinds of crazy behavior. People may even wish to marry their pets because a dog has legal standing and can sign a marriage contract.

04) Straight marriage has been around a long time and hasn't changed at all; women are still property, blacks still can't marry whites, and divorce is still illegal.

05) Straight marriage will be less meaningful if gay marriage were allowed; the sanctity of Britany Spears' 55-hour just-for-fun marriage would be destroyed.

06) Straight marriages are valid because they produce children. Gay couples, infertile couples, and old people shouldn't be allowed to marry because our orphanages aren't full yet, and the world needs more children.

07) Obviously gay parents will raise gay children, since straight parents only raise straight children.

08) Gay marriage is not supported by religion. In a theocracy like ours, the values of one religion are imposed on the entire country. That's why we have only one religion in America.

09) Children can never succeed without a male and a female role model at home. That's why we as a society expressly forbid single parents to raise children.

10) Gay marriage will change the foundation of society; we could never adapt to new social norms. Just like we haven't adapted to cars, the service-sector economy, or longer life spans.

Moving On Seems Unfair

This weekend was a weird combination of things—nothing about it seems well planned or easy or even about me. I just skimmed through things with little involvement beyond the moment. I found myself in the middle of things just wondering about Edie and how she is and what can I do to help her. It was hard to focus on the day to day.

I mean I had fun--at points--with people in bars and shops and food courts for all sorts of reasons that were happy and needy and interesting. I raised glasses with Davis over Barb, laughed at Lola’s silliness with Erykah while listening to truly bad karaoke with the Persian Pussy Posse in a strip mall and spent my Friday with all the right people in the right moods with the right drinks at the right bar.

And yet there were so many moments where I was caught up in the unfairness of things and how they just end. That everything is more fragile than we think and somehow even we see how quickly things can change; we don’t. That we spend so much time navel gazing and over thinking or being upset and petty over the nothings of life. It seems so worthless.

But what surprised me was how easily things just roll on and don’t stop when someone dies. And all I can do is catch myself thinking of Barb and her family and wondering why things can’t just stop for a moment. And I’m not even Edie.

Like I have said, I can’t begin to understand at all.

There Are No Words

My best friend--someone I consider my sister--just lost her mother early Thanksgiving morning to a cancer related heart condition. It's impossible to be even begin to understand or put into any frame of reference and this makes me feel useless and a very cold comfort for Jen and her siblings.

I couldn't help thinking of not only Jen but her mother during the course of my holiday. As I laughed and ate and sang and did all the normal holiday things--how much she loved all the trappings of the season. Of how kind and gracious and genuine and sweet Barb was--how much she was the mother that we would all want. About how all the times I spoke with her or saw her and how included and important she made me feel.

That each of her children are so like her in many ways. Open and free spirited, always with a smile and a joke and a sense of adventure and curiosity about everyone and everything. She was someone special and will be dearly missed.

I'm glad that she passed peacefully and that her pain was finally over. Barb Eddy will most definitely be missed.

Anything else I could say seems so secondary.

A Lovely Night

So I have had a few drinks so excuse me if this goes astray. Tonight is the start of my holiday and if this evening was any preview then it shall be quite fun. Ruby, Heath, Kirby, myself and a bunch of their group headed out for drinks at this little hole in the wall bar called the White Horse to celebrate pre-Thanksgiving in all it's glory.

Kirby and I had a nice conversation about the boy and how I feel about it and where it is going. (It's going places but not at the moment.) It's weird how everything in my life seems to be shifting into place with a job I like--though long hours- and a boy that is nifty-though too soon to get too catch up--and a good vibe with all my friends. (If I could get my family in on this then that would be good.) But I am still waiting for a shoe to be dropped somewhere but I refuse to over think it.

I was also very happy about how great Kirby seems to be as of late. She is becoming so much more in control and happy and just fun and I am very very grateful for this. I mean, she is one of my favorite people and seeing her rise to the occasion is just awesome.

That and I was able to have fun and much chit chat with people who usually put me on edge. I am letting go of what I feel like I should be like and just being myself. A cool hat helps though and I felt and was told I look great. I think it is the glow.

And of course that is because of a sweet e-mail from Sam which just shored up that we are kind of feeling the same way toward each other about everything as of late. It's just lends it self to a great place and helped make a great night.

Lovely indeed.

Work or What is the Point?


Seriously--I have nothing to do today--at all. I am here because there might be a phone call that I might need to take to make the show work but until them I am listening to the Bee Gees and so bored that I have been cleaning my desktop for hours.

What is worse is I feel bad about this even though there is really nothing i can do at the moment at all. So pointless.

I don't know why I am here and well--there are better things I could do. Like laundry or the bank or shop...

Okay--off to reread my e-mail.

Yeah-This Makes Me Feel Good


Speaking of connections: Expect one to develop fast and furiously -- but don't get comfortable. You're due to meet someone under quite unusual circumstances -- someone who'll make a major impact on your life, even though they may not be around for long at all. Your best bet is to enjoy this person for as long as they're in the neighborhood, and learn the lesson (about freedom) they're here to teach you. Just don't expect them to be permanent faces in your scrapbook.

Feeling Fat--Not Fit.

Okay--I know I am crazy but this is how I feel today



It is all because of a picture from Saturday and Ali's birthday--one where I look like I hate a small city and then smoked a bowl afterwards. Really unflattering but of course made Lola look great so it will make the new calender and surprise me some random month.

I know I am nuts here. I know.

I just need to eat better for a bit. No carbs for a while. No bread at all. Because no one should look like the bad guy from a second rate cartoon.

It's So Crazy I'm Out of Order

So I have blogged this past weekend in bits and pieces--ignoring certain things for no other reason then I am not sure how to own them. The truth is I am quite scared of all the ways I found myself feeling this weekend but not in a bad way. It's just--I don't know how to handle the idea of being happy much less the fact that I have been pretty much glowing this past two days.

Really.

Glowing.

I know.

And of course it is a over a guy--a guy that I think is pretty nifty and an amazing kisser and all shades of wow and sexy and comfortable and I just really like him. Lots. Probably lots more than I should at this step of the game. I can't even sum up a full account of how it was; it is just a collection of small great moments.

Like how easy it was to let him hold my hand--no over thinking it, just allowing it to happen. The weird moment when our eye met and it was crazy sexy intense and we just burst into laughter for no reason. How we talked for 2 hours on Friday about all of my favorite things and his favorite things and while sometimes I felt lost--I didn't mind at all. I just think he is adorkable--his word.

And so now I just have to sit back and wait. For my head to put the pieces in order. To make sense of everything. But it still spins me around too much. I just might be crazy.

And I'm kind of okay with that.

So Good it Needed a Guest Blogger
by kelly

"it's 3m and tim is passed out on my floor snuggle with brandyu who was making out with him earlier, and some other guy. She also called RDT to find out if he's ever had sex and blamed it on Royr. CRick's passing out in Kat's room with Nicolas in the way and Becky;'s snuggling with Loren in the kitchen. Roxanne's passed out on the couch and I'k m ty[ing. WJeneedddy's got a lighter which is frightening alonme but with the other goings on makes perfect sense. MIssy;'s trashed and we have HJope enisteing back. Fun for all! I wish my Raj was here/ : ) We've all eaten Chinese food made by Jen."

LOLOLOL. I love when my friends drunk type.

What i did for kicks

I had to get up at 6am on Saturday-for work. this is not cool, just going in to sign off on a package and that was it. no other reason for me to be in but that no one else could do it. so i sat outside and just waited. i brought a notebook and did some work on my novel and worked out some kinks.

but th other thing i did was make lists. of sam versus chance. pro/con type of thing. very interesting and weird how much they don't make sense with me. and how much i like the attention. and one boy in particular. who i talked to for almost two hours last night.

yikes. it's reasons like this that i should sleep in. too much thought makes me crazy.

Quote of the Week.

This comes from Kirby-a vrigin to this honor.

"A temp is the rebound in job relationship terms."

LOLOLOL. Thanks

A Side Note

Я думаю я действительно как хоббит. Я надеюсь, что он любит меня столько, сколько я делаю его. Вздохи имеются в большом количестве

Old Friends—New Responsibilities

So last night Edie and I went out for dinner over in Pasadena. Being roommates sometimes means having to go on location to really catch up and since I hadn't seen her since the announcement about her mother--we had a lot to talk about.

It's weird--in some ways my life has been very over the top with divorces, dysfunction and the drama but I have never really had that much of an experience with death. Outside of my younger brother who died young and when I was young--for the most part I have little dealings with that subject.

And now with everything going on with Edie's mom I just find it hard to know what to say because there is so much I want to say and do and I just don't want to make her think too much about it or make her think I care too little about it.

That being said--I am brushing up on my dumb blond act so that I can be silly and foolish and a distraction as long as she needs. It seems to be working out well now and as long as stupid things keep happening then I'll have plenty of materials to use. It's seems important to make her laugh as much as she can.

The other stuff will be much harder. But she is like family for me so I will try to be there as much as she’ll let me. Hopefully that can be enough.

I'm Freaking Joey Potter

So I checked my voicemail last night when at work. One message is a very cute one from Sam talking about how much fun he had on our date, that he would love to see me again and how he had to get off the phone before he made himself into a dork. I was giggling the whole time at my desk.

The second message was from--CHANCE! Out of the blue and apologzing for dropping of the face of the earth and how I should call him so we can hang out. I felt like I had been slapped and according to my co-worker Alicia--I looked it too.

So now I am going to I guess just play through... I'm so Katie Holmes in 'Dawson's Creek'--does this mean I have to eventually hook up with Tom Cruise? (And why does this not seem that hard at all?)

Are Hobbits Bestiality?



So I went on a date with Sam yesterday. I just decided that I had to do it for a million reasons--because I had him on the back burner for too long, because he seemed cool, because I was bored and needed to take a chance. So I called him up and told him that we would be going out for coffee. He wanted me to take control and I did.

I always forget that I hate the first date--there is always this odd moment of nerves and silences and eagerness that you can't really hide. We had coffee at my favorite cafe and just talked and talked and walked and walked--we had a good flow but wasn't sure if it was a friend one or a romantic one.

After 3 hours--I know, way too long--we ended up walking back to his car. I was cold and had to go to the bathroom and was meeting up with people to plan Dominic's party and so I needed to end the date. It had reached a good stopping point.

So I tried to gently close the date off with the 'I'm cold' and off came his jacket and on me. So then I tried to explain about needing to meet up with my friends, which he totally understood and asked if he could call later which I said he could. And then I handed him back his jacket at his car and we just stood there.

I think the 10th circle of hell would be just a series of first date but only the last moment--when you have to figure out if you hug or shake hands or kiss. Instead we just both stared for several beats--several beats to long. Finally I had to break the moment and take a step back. Then Sam stepped forward and said 'what the fuck.'

And we kissed. It was quite amazing and good and surprising and romantic. And we just stared at each other and I was like--'cool'. And then I turned to leave as he got in the car. I took a step and then I heard 'oh shit' and he spun me around and we kissed in the middle of the sidewalk. People had to part around us and we broke away and stared at each other and Sam was all 'I'm not like this' and I was like 'I don't mind.'

And then I walked away and I was all dewy and glowy and then I hear 'okay--I'm not crazy but one more time'. And as I turned around he had run up a full block to catch up with me--kissed me like fully on middle of the street with a little dip in it and then he righted said- ‘okay, and me up going home now'.

And as I caught my breath and started to make my feet finally move, one of my neighbors just stared at me and then laughed. Told me I should enjoy it because it is not always like that.

Don't I know it--but how cool is it that could be that?

I like him."

Exchange of the Week or Things Said at Work

Doug walks up with a new staff member as Elita and I search for a sound bite.

Doug "And this is Rory--he's our little piñata of joy. (BEAT as Elita and I turn to stare at him) You just want beat him with a big stick and see what comes out. "

(Longer BEAT as Elita and I stare at him.)

Me "You know that sounds like sex harassment."

Elita "Or a hate crime."

Doug "I like to think it is a little bit of both."

I Love T-Shirt Hell.

Quote of the week

Chloe regarding gay celebs

"although if a drunken rufus wainwright lost his gay marbles and wanted
to put them in my pants, i would NOT say no."

This Woman Might Ruin My Life



Really--who would have thought I'd say that?

Fun For the Bored At Work

WHAT IS IN A NAME

...my PORN STAR NAME
(grandparent of same gender's first name favorite snack):
Lawrence Pop Tart

...my MOVIE STAR NAME
(name of FIRST pet and street you grew up on)
Eightball WIlliams

...my "FLY GIRL/GUY" NAME
(first initial Last three letters of your last name):
R'Lap

...my DETECTIVE NAME
(favorite animal name of high school mascot):
Lion Patriot

...my SOAP OPERA NAME
(middle name city where you were born):
Walter Cambridge

...my OPPOSITE SEX NAME
(name of sibling/parent [opposite sex] cell phone company you use):
Margurite

...my DRAG QUEEN NAME
(name of favorite fruit, and current street you live on):
Apple Moorpark

It's Sometimes Like A Tolstoy Moment



So this weekend was great. I had a lot of fun and managed to work in a lot of contentment, happiness and comfort. It was nice and weird and different and I enjoyed every second of it.

When I these sweet, joyful, unencumbered times though-I have a hard time being able to write about then. It's like the opening passage of 'Anna Karenina'--all happy moments are like one another; each unhappy moment is unhappy in it's own way. It becomes hard to make happiness interesting.

I could talk about how Edie, Dominic, Lizzie, Vedder, Valeska and I went out dancing hardcore Hollywood Nights style. About how we had too many drinks in a club that would look exactly like my bedroom except I have better lighting and less attitude. I could talk about how we took tons of ridicious pictures of each other, each other's cleavage and each other's side. About how excited we were when Willis finally arrived and just in time to do shots with some of us.

I could talk about how Lizzie almost got us thrown out of Jumbo's Clown Room for trying (and at one point) touching strippers and hollering about how hot the stripper was. I could talk about the sexy guy who was totally freaked out by Edie's Apache yell as she cheered out the dancing girls. Or how cool I felt as I rocked out in my little gay pimp necklace and just laughing as the wrong people made out and ugly girls got paid way too much.

I could talk about how Lizzie dropped it like it was hot at the after-hours club that Willis got us into, about how Dominic was grinding on the ladies and how Valeska and Vedder continued their dance of 'will they or won't they?'. (No worries-no emergency brunch.) About people peeing in the parking lot or the quote of the night.

"I'm DRUNK!"
"I'm GAY--both are pretty obvious."

But I won't go into detail--it is just enough that for that night I was happy and they were happy and we all had fun together. Of course the next day was rough for some people but at least no one made Baby Jesus cry.

(You know who you are.)

I'm Joycing Today

This is my favorite bad album cover of all time.



As you can obviously read--this is Joyce. Now some might mock this poor woman with the hair, those glasses, that outfit all combined to make something sad. But I don't see my Joyce (yes my Joyce) that way.

See, when I look at this cover all I can see is endless optimism in the face of near failure. This woman had to know that she wouldn't be a star, that this was not the look to shoot for and that it wouldn't pull in an audience yet she still did it. It is hopefully when the magic 8 ball (probably cropped out of the shot) should have pointed to no.

I like that idea. To smile bravely, throw on a colorful dress and just smile through the misery of it all. That we can all just take a tip from Miss Joyce here and just smile and get trhough it. It can't ever be this bad--that's the thought. And that's joycing.

My Day Was Funny, Funnier, Fucked

I was going to write about this--



and how it was funny and wrong and made me laugh and no-I am not going to buy but would not turn it down if a gift...

I was going to comment on this

"Pearl Harbor is also a sexual move. When you are fucking your partner from behind, you spit on their back. The unsuspecting foe, assuming you have already climaxed, then turns around and you cum in their face. The Pearl Harbor. What a lovely surprise attack!"

And how this was so wrong that I spit out my water across my desk and almost died and took out a computer with me.

But no--two words.

Bomb threat.

I Was Going to...



I was going to write some grand post about empowering and moving forward and being a voice of change--but then I thought about it. It wasn't what she would want.

The thing is--if you studied Rosa Parks, read any interviews or watched her speeches then you know she wasn't about this. That she was just a tired woman who didn't want to give up her seat that day--that there was no forethought's or planning or message behind her gesture. She was just one individual making a choice in that one moment of time. She didn't know how it would change everything.

In a way Rosa Parks is the most defining example of true social activism--that it isn't what you give speeches about or make posters for or the pin you wear on your jacket but rather the choices you make in the small moments of your life and whether you stand behind your beliefs or even just stand up for yourself. I wonder how many people can be that brave to face down the world.

I know she was.

The Trouble With Happy

So I knew going into this Halloween that it wouldn’t be fun. Regardless of how hard I tried and what precautions I took that nothing would compare to the happiness of last year. That I would not wake up November 1st feeling as if I had a chance to have everything I ever wanted all at once.

The thing is that you can never be as happy as you were the same time and the same way as before. I truly believe that happiness doesn’t come in happinesser—just happiness—a one time one size thing. There would be no boy at the party to surprise me, no midnight call to make him come back to the party to see me, no grand moment in the middle of West Hollywood with music and fanfare and the perfect kiss in the perfect place at the perfect moment. No way at all.

And thus I tried to trick myself—by hanging out with Ruby before the party instead of the big group hang out and dress up as in years past. By not really drinking at the party at all and instead of hanging with my friends—talking with every random person I could to try and pretend like I was just fabulous. By making myself busy and such a presence that I could pretend that last year didn’t happen.

That I spent Halloween night with Charity for the first part and the second part just wandering the parade with old friends from a life pretty far back in my past. With people who had no idea what happened last year and didn’t care when I let some strange cute white trash dressed Southern boy make out with me in the middle of the parade and in front of a certain band’s stage.

And to some degree it worked—for awhile I fooled myself into believing a lot of things. But I still woke up this morning a bit sad.

Whatever.

BDay Fun?

Your Birthdate: August 19

Your birth on the 19th day of the month adds a tone of independence and extra energy to your life path. But at the same time, it poses a number of obstacles to overcome before you are able to be as independent as you would like. The number 1 energy suggests more executive ability and leadership qualities than your path may have indicated. A birthday on the 19th of any month gives greater will power and self-confidence, and very often a rather original approach. However, a somewhat self-centered approach to life that may be in conflict with some of the other influences in your life. This 1 energy may diminish your ability and desire to handle details, preferring instead to paint with a broad brush. You are sensitive, but your feeling stay somewhat repressed. You have a compelling manner that can be dominating in many situations. You do not tend to follow convention or take advice very well. Consequently, you tend to learn through experience; sometimes hard experiences. The 19/1 is a loner number and you may experience feelings of being alone even if you are married. You may take on a tendency to be nervous and angry.

What Does Your Birth Date Mean?

Here you go


Here You Go

Quote of the Week

Lucy wins again!

We had really good sex, but the only reason it was really good was because it would be the only time we had it.

If I had a dollar-

This is Important--thanks Heather


By MAUREEN DOWD

When I entered college in 1969, women were bursting out of their 50's chrysalis, shedding girdles, padded bras and conventions. The Jazz Age spirit flared in the Age of Aquarius. Women were once again imitating men and acting all independent: smoking, drinking, wanting to earn money and thinking they had the right to be sexual, this time protected by the pill. I didn't fit in with the brazen new world of hard-charging feminists. I was more of a fun-loving (if chaste) type who would decades later come to life in Sarah Jessica Parker's Carrie Bradshaw. I hated the grubby, unisex jeans and no-makeup look and drugs that zoned you out, and I couldn't understand the appeal of dances that didn't involve touching your partner. In the universe of Eros, I longed for style and wit. I loved the Art Deco glamour of 30's movies. I wanted to dance the Continental like Fred and Ginger in white hotel suites; drink martinis like Myrna Loy and William Powell; live the life of a screwball heroine like Katharine Hepburn, wearing a gold lamé gown cut on the bias, cavorting with Cary Grant, strolling along Fifth Avenue with my pet leopard.

My mom would just shake her head and tell me that my idea of the 30's was wildly romanticized. "We were poor," she'd say. "We didn't dance around in white hotel suites." I took the idealism and passion of the 60's for granted, simply assuming we were sailing toward perfect equality with men, a utopian world at home and at work. I didn't listen to her when she cautioned me about the chimera of equality.

On my 31st birthday, she sent me a bankbook with a modest nest egg she had saved for me. "I always felt that the girls in a family should get a little more than the boys even though all are equally loved," she wrote in a letter. "They need a little cushion to fall back on. Women can stand on the Empire State Building and scream to the heavens that they are equal to men and liberated, but until they have the same anatomy, it's a lie. It's more of a man's world today than ever. Men can eat their cake in unlimited bakeries."

I thought she was just being Old World, like my favorite jade, Dorothy Parker, when she wrote:

By the time you swear you're his,
Shivering and sighing,
And he vows his passion is
Infinite, undying -
Lady, make a note of this:
One of you is lying.

I thought the struggle for egalitarianism was a cinch, so I could leave it to my earnest sisters in black turtlenecks and Birkenstocks. I figured there was plenty of time for me to get serious later, that America would always be full of passionate and full-throated debate about the big stuff - social issues, sexual equality, civil rights. Little did I realize that the feminist revolution would have the unexpected consequence of intensifying the confusion between the sexes, leaving women in a tangle of dependence and independence as they entered the 21st century.

Maybe we should have known that the story of women's progress would be more of a zigzag than a superhighway, that the triumph of feminism would last a nanosecond while the backlash lasted 40 years.

Despite the best efforts of philosophers, politicians, historians, novelists, screenwriters, linguists, therapists, anthropologists and facilitators, men and women are still in a muddle in the boardroom, the bedroom and the Situation Room.

Courtship

My mom gave me three essential books on the subject of men. The first, when I was 13, was "On Becoming a Woman." The second, when I was 21, was "365 Ways to Cook Hamburger." The third, when I was 25, was "How to Catch and Hold a Man," by Yvonne Antelle. ("Keep thinking of yourself as a soft, mysterious cat.. . .Men are fascinated by bright, shiny objects, by lots of curls, lots of hair on the head . . . by bows, ribbons, ruffles and bright colors.. . .Sarcasm is dangerous. Avoid it altogether.")

Because I received "How to Catch and Hold a Man" at a time when we were entering the Age of Equality, I put it aside as an anachronism. After all, sometime in the 1960's flirting went out of fashion, as did ironing boards, makeup and the idea that men needed to be "trapped" or "landed." The way to approach men, we reasoned, was forthrightly and without games, artifice or frills. Unfortunately, history has shown this to be a misguided notion.

I knew it even before the 1995 publication of "The Rules," a dating bible that encouraged women to return to prefeminist mind games by playing hard to get. ("Don't stay on the phone for more than 10 minutes.. . .Even if you are the head of your own company. . .when you're with a man you like, be quiet and mysterious, act ladylike, cross your legs and smile.. . .Wear black sheer pantyhose and hike up your skirt to entice the opposite sex!")

I knew this before fashion magazines became crowded with crinolines, bows, ruffles, leopard-skin scarves, 50's party dresses and other sartorial equivalents of flirting and with articles like "The Return of Hard to Get." ("I think it behooves us to stop offering each other these pearls of feminism, to stop saying, 'So, why don't you call him?"' a writer lectured in Mademoiselle. "Some men must have the thrill of the chase.")

I knew things were changing because a succession of my single girlfriends had called, sounding sheepish, to ask if they could borrow my out-of-print copy of "How to Catch and Hold a Man."

Decades after the feminist movement promised equality with men, it was becoming increasingly apparent that many women would have to brush up on the venerable tricks of the trade: an absurdly charming little laugh, a pert toss of the head, an air of saucy triumph, dewy eyes and a full knowledge of music, drawing, elegant note writing and geography. It would once more be considered captivating to lie on a chaise longue, pass a lacy handkerchief across the eyelids and complain of a case of springtime giddiness.

Today, women have gone back to hunting their quarry - in person and in cyberspace - with elaborate schemes designed to allow the deluded creatures to think they are the hunters. "Men like hunting, and we shouldn't deprive them of their chance to do their hunting and mating rituals," my 26-year-old friend Julie Bosman, a New York Times reporter, says. "As my mom says, Men don't like to be chased." Or as the Marvelettes sang, "The hunter gets captured by the game."

These days the key to staying cool in the courtship rituals is B. & I., girls say - Busy and Important. "As much as you're waiting for that little envelope to appear on your screen," says Carrie Foster, a 29-year-old publicist in Washington, "you happen to have a lot of stuff to do anyway." If a guy rejects you or turns out to be the essence of evil, you can ratchet up from B. & I. to C.B.B., Can't Be Bothered. In the T.M.I. - Too Much Information - digital age, there can be infinite technological foreplay.

Helen Fisher, a Rutgers anthropologist, concurs with Julie: "What our grandmothers told us about playing hard to get is true. The whole point of the game is to impress and capture. It's not about honesty. Many men and women, when they're playing the courtship game, deceive so they can win. Novelty, excitement and danger drive up dopamine in the brain. And both sexes brag."

Women might dye their hair, apply makeup and spend hours finding a hip-slimming dress, she said, while men may drive a nice car or wear a fancy suit that makes them seem richer than they are. In this retro world, a woman must play hard to get but stay soft as a kitten. And avoid sarcasm. Altogether.

Money

In those faraway, long-ago days of feminism, there was talk about equal pay for equal work. Now there's talk about "girl money."

A friend of mine in her 30's says it is a term she hears bandied about the New York dating scene. She also notes a shift in the type of gifts given at wedding showers around town, a reversion to 50's-style offerings: soup ladles and those frilly little aprons from Anthropologie and vintage stores are being unwrapped along with see-through nighties and push-up bras.

"What I find most disturbing about the 1950's-ification and retrogression of women's lives is that it has seeped into the corporate and social culture, where it can do real damage," she complains. "Otherwise intelligent men, who know women still earn less than men as a rule, say things like: 'I'll get the check. You only have girl money."'

Throughout the long, dark ages of undisputed patriarchy, women connived to trade beauty and sex for affluence and status. In the first flush of feminism, women offered to pay half the check with "woman money" as a way to show that these crass calculations - that a woman's worth in society was determined by her looks, that she was an ornament up for sale to the highest bidder - no longer applied.

Now dating etiquette has reverted. Young women no longer care about using the check to assert their equality. They care about using it to assess their sexuality. Going Dutch is an archaic feminist relic. Young women talk about it with disbelief and disdain. "It's a scuzzy 70's thing, like platform shoes on men," one told me.

"Feminists in the 70's went overboard," Anne Schroeder, a 26-year-old magazine editor in Washington, agrees. "Paying is like opening a car door. It's nice. I appreciate it. But he doesn't have to."

Unless he wants another date.

Women in their 20's think old-school feminists looked for equality in all the wrong places, that instead of fighting battles about whether women should pay for dinner or wear padded bras they should have focused only on big economic issues.

After Googling and Bikramming to get ready for a first dinner date, a modern girl will end the evening with the Offering, an insincere bid to help pay the check. "They make like they are heading into their bag after a meal, but it is a dodge," Marc Santora, a 30-year-old Metro reporter for The Times, says. "They know you will stop them before a credit card can be drawn. If you don't, they hold it against you."

One of my girlfriends, a TV producer in New York, told me much the same thing: "If you offer, and they accept, then it's over."

Jurassic feminists shudder at the retro implication of a quid profiterole. But it doesn't matter if the woman is making as much money as the man, or more, she expects him to pay, both to prove her desirability and as a way of signaling romance - something that's more confusing in a dating culture rife with casual hookups and group activities. (Once beyond the initial testing phase and settled in a relationship, of course, she can pony up more.)

"There are plenty of ways for me to find out if he's going to see me as an equal without disturbing the dating ritual," one young woman says. "Disturbing the dating ritual leads to chaos. Everybody knows that."

When I asked a young man at my gym how he and his lawyer girlfriend were going to divide the costs on a California vacation, he looked askance. "She never offers," he replied. "And I like paying for her." It is, as one guy said, "one of the few remaining ways we can demonstrate our manhood."

Power Dynamics

At a party for the Broadway opening of "Sweet Smell of Success," a top New York producer gave me a lecture on the price of female success that was anything but sweet. He confessed that he had wanted to ask me out on a date when he was between marriages but nixed the idea because my job as a Times columnist made me too intimidating. Men, he explained, prefer women who seem malleable and awed. He predicted that I would never find a mate because if there's one thing men fear, it's a woman who uses her critical faculties. Will she be critical of absolutely everything, even his manhood?

He had hit on a primal fear of single successful women: that the aroma of male power is an aphrodisiac for women, but the perfume of female power is a turnoff for men. It took women a few decades to realize that everything they were doing to advance themselves in the boardroom could be sabotaging their chances in the bedroom, that evolution was lagging behind equality.

A few years ago at a White House correspondents' dinner, I met a very beautiful and successful actress. Within minutes, she blurted out: "I can't believe I'm 46 and not married. Men only want to marry their personal assistants or P.R. women."

I'd been noticing a trend along these lines, as famous and powerful men took up with young women whose job it was was to care for them and nurture them in some way: their secretaries, assistants, nannies, caterers, flight attendants, researchers and fact-checkers.

John Schwartz of The New York Times made the trend official in 2004 when he reported: "Men would rather marry their secretaries than their bosses, and evolution may be to blame." A study by psychology researchers at the University of Michigan, using college undergraduates, suggested that men going for long-term relationships would rather marry women in subordinate jobs than women who are supervisors. Men think that women with important jobs are more likely to cheat on them. There it is, right in the DNA: women get penalized by insecure men for being too independent.

"The hypothesis," Dr. Stephanie Brown, the lead author of the study, theorized, "is that there are evolutionary pressures on males to take steps to minimize the risk of raising offspring that are not their own." Women, by contrast, did not show a marked difference between their attraction to men who might work above them and their attraction to men who might work below them.

So was the feminist movement some sort of cruel hoax? Do women get less desirable as they get more successful?

After I first wrote on this subject, a Times reader named Ray Lewis e-mailed me. While we had assumed that making ourselves more professionally accomplished would make us more fascinating, it turned out, as Lewis put it, that smart women were "draining at times."

Or as Bill Maher more crudely but usefully summed it up to Craig Ferguson on the "Late Late Show" on CBS: "Women get in relationships because they want somebody to talk to. Men want women to shut up."

Women moving up still strive to marry up. Men moving up still tend to marry down. The two sexes' going in opposite directions has led to an epidemic of professional women missing out on husbands and kids.

Sylvia Ann Hewlett, an economist and the author of "Creating a Life: Professional Women and the Quest for Children," a book published in 2002, conducted a survey and found that 55 percent of 35-year-old career women were childless. And among corporate executives who earn $100,000 or more, she said, 49 percent of the women did not have children, compared with only 19 percent of the men.

Hewlett quantified, yet again, that men have an unfair advantage. "Nowadays," she said, "the rule of thumb seems to be that the more successful the woman, the less likely it is she will find a husband or bear a child. For men, the reverse is true."

A 2005 report by researchers at four British universities indicated that a high I.Q. hampers a woman's chance to marry, while it is a plus for men. The prospect for marriage increased by 35 percent for guys for each 16-point increase in I.Q.; for women, there is a 40 percent drop for each 16-point rise.

On a "60 Minutes" report on the Hewlett book, Lesley Stahl talked to two young women who went to Harvard Business School. They agreed that while they were the perfect age to start families, they didn't find it easy to meet the right mates.

Men, apparently, learn early to protect their eggshell egos from high-achieving women. The girls said they hid the fact that they went to Harvard from guys they met because it was the kiss of death. "The H-bomb," they dubbed it. "As soon as you say Harvard Business School . . . that's the end of the conversation," Ani Vartanian said. "As soon as the guys say, 'Oh, I go to Harvard Business School,' all the girls start falling into them."

Hewlett thinks that the 2005 American workplace is more macho than ever. "It's actually much more difficult now than 10 years ago to have a career and raise a family," she told me. "The trend lines continue that highly educated women in many countries are increasingly dealing with this creeping nonchoice and end up on this path of delaying finding a mate and delaying childbearing. Whether you're looking at Italy, Russia or the U.S., all of that is true." Many women continue to fear that the more they accomplish, the more they may have to sacrifice. They worry that men still veer away from "challenging" women because of a male atavistic desire to be the superior force in a relationship.

"With men and women, it's always all about control issues, isn't it?" says a guy I know, talking about his bitter divorce.

Or, as Craig Bierko, a musical comedy star and actor who played one of Carrie's boyfriends on "Sex and the City," told me, "Deep down, beneath the bluster and machismo, men are simply afraid to say that what they're truly looking for in a woman is an intelligent, confident and dependable partner in life whom they can devote themselves to unconditionally until she's 40."

Ms. Versus Mrs.

"Ms." was supposed to neutralize the stature of women, so they weren't publicly defined by their marital status. When The Times finally agreed to switch to Ms. in its news pages in 1986, after much hectoring by feminists, Gloria Steinem sent flowers to the executive editor, Abe Rosenthal. But nowadays most young brides want to take their husbands' names and brag on the moniker Mrs., a brand that proclaims you belong to him. T-shirts with "MRS." emblazoned in sequins or sparkly beads are popular wedding-shower gifts.

A Harvard economics professor, Claudia Goldin, did a study last year that found that 44 percent of women in the Harvard class of 1980 who married within 10 years of graduation kept their birth names, while in the class of '90 it was down to 32 percent. In 1990, 23 percent of college-educated women kept their own names after marriage, while a decade later the number had fallen to 17 percent.

Time magazine reported that an informal poll in the spring of 2005 by the Knot, a wedding Web site, showed similar results: 81 percent of respondents took their spouse's last name, an increase from 71 percent in 2000. The number of women with hyphenated surnames fell from 21 percent to 8 percent.

"It's a return to romance, a desire to make marriage work," Goldin told one interviewer, adding that young women might feel that by keeping their own names they were aligning themselves with tedious old-fashioned feminists, and this might be a turnoff to them.

The professor, who married in 1979 and kept her name, undertook the study after her niece, a lawyer, changed hers. "She felt that her generation of women didn't have to do the same things mine did, because of what we had already achieved," Goldin told Time.

Many women now do not think of domestic life as a "comfortable concentration camp," as Betty Friedan wrote in "The Feminine Mystique," where they are losing their identities and turning into "anonymous biological robots in a docile mass." Now they want to be Mrs. Anonymous Biological Robot in a Docile Mass. They dream of being rescued - to flirt, to shop, to stay home and be taken care of. They shop for "Stepford Fashions" - matching shoes and ladylike bags and the 50's-style satin, lace and chiffon party dresses featured in InStyle layouts - and spend their days at the gym trying for Wisteria Lane waistlines.

The Times recently ran a front-page article about young women attending Ivy League colleges, women who are being groomed to take their places in the professional and political elite, who are planning to reject careers in favor of playing traditional roles, staying home and raising children.

"My mother always told me you can't be the best career woman and the best mother at the same time," the brainy, accomplished Cynthia Liu told Louise Story, explaining why she hoped to be a stay-at-home mom a few years after she goes to law school. "You always have to choose one over the other."

Kate White, the editor of Cosmopolitan, told me that she sees a distinct shift in what her readers want these days. "Women now don't want to be in the grind," she said. "The baby boomers made the grind seem unappealing."

Cynthia Russett, a professor of American history at Yale, told Story that women today are simply more "realistic," having seen the dashed utopia of those who assumed it wouldn't be so hard to combine full-time work and child rearing.

To the extent that young women are rejecting the old idea of copying men and reshaping the world around their desires, it's exhilarating progress. But to the extent that a pampered class of females is walking away from the problem and just planning to marry rich enough to cosset themselves in a narrow world of dependence on men, it's an irritating setback. If the new ethos is "a woman needs a career like a fish needs a bicycle," it won't be healthy.

Movies

In all those Tracy-Hepburn movies more than a half-century ago, it was the snap and crackle of a romance between equals that was so exciting. You still see it onscreen occasionally - the incendiary chemistry of Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie playing married assassins aiming for mutually assured orgasms and destruction in "Mr. and Mrs. Smith." Interestingly, that movie was described as retro because of its salty battle of wits between two peppery lovers. Moviemakers these days are more interested in exploring what Steve Martin, in his novel "Shopgirl," calls the "calm cushion" of romances between unequals.

In James Brooks's movie "Spanglish," Adam Sandler, playing a sensitive Los Angeles chef, falls for his hot Mexican maid, just as in "Maid in Manhattan," Ralph Fiennes, playing a sensitive New York pol, falls for the hot Latino maid at his hotel, played by Jennifer Lopez. Sandler's maid, who cleans up for him without being able to speak English, is presented as the ideal woman, in looks and character. His wife, played by Téa Leoni, is repellent: a jangly, yakking, overachieving, overexercised, unfaithful, shallow she-monster who has just lost her job with a commercial design firm and fears she has lost her identity.

In 2003, we had "Girl With a Pearl Earring," in which Colin Firth's Vermeer erotically paints Scarlett Johansson's Dutch maid, and Richard Curtis's "Love Actually," about the attraction of unequals. The witty and sophisticated British prime minister, played by Hugh Grant, falls for the chubby girl who wheels the tea and scones into his office. A businessman married to the substantial Emma Thompson, the sister of the prime minister, falls for his sultry secretary. A novelist played by Colin Firth falls for his maid, who speaks only Portuguese.

Art is imitating life, turning women who seek equality into selfish narcissists and objects of rejection rather than of affection.

It's funny. I come from a family of Irish domestics - statuesque, 6-foot-tall women who cooked, kept house and acted as nannies for some of America's first families. I was always so proud of achieving more - succeeding in a high-powered career that would have been closed to my great-aunts. How odd, then, to find out now that being a maid would have enhanced my chances with men.

An upstairs maid, of course.

Women's Magazines

Cosmo is still the best-selling magazine on college campuses, as it was when I was in college, and the best-selling monthly magazine on the newsstand. The June 2005 issue, with Jessica Simpson on the cover, her cleavage spilling out of an orange croqueted halter dress, could have been June 1970. The headlines are familiar: "How to turn him on in 10 words or less," "Do You Make Men M-E-L-T? Take our quiz," "Bridal Special," Cosmo's stud search and "Cosmo's Most Famous Sex Tips; the Legendary Tricks That Have Brought Countless Guys to Their Knees." (Sex Trick 4: "Place a glazed doughnut around your man's member, then gently nibble the pastry and lick the icing . . . as well as his manhood." Another favorite Cosmo trick is to yell out during sex which of your girlfriends thinks your man is hot.)

At any newsstand, you'll see the original Cosmo girl's man-crazy, sex-obsessed image endlessly, tiresomely replicated, even for the teen set. On the cover of Elle Girl: "267 Ways to Look Hot."

"There has been lots of copying - look at Glamour," Helen Gurley Brown, Cosmo's founding editor told me and sighed. "I used to have all the sex to myself."

Before it curdled into a collection of stereotypes, feminism had fleetingly held out a promise that there would be some precincts of womanly life that were not all about men. But it never quite materialized.

It took only a few decades to create a brazen new world where the highest ideal is to acknowledge your inner slut. I am woman; see me strip. Instead of peaceful havens of girl things and boy things, we have a society where women of all ages are striving to become self-actualized sex kittens. Hollywood actresses now work out by taking pole-dancing classes.

Female sexuality has been a confusing corkscrew path, not a serene progressive arc. We had decades of Victorian prudery, when women were not supposed to like sex. Then we had the pill and zipless encounters, when women were supposed to have the same animalistic drive as men. Then it was discovered - shock, horror! - that men and women are not alike in their desires. But zipless morphed into hookups, and the more one-night stands the girls on "Sex and the City" had, the grumpier they got.

Oddly enough, Felix Dennis, who created the top-selling Maxim, said he stole his "us against the world" lad-magazine attitude from women's magazines like Cosmo. Just as women didn't mind losing Cosmo's prestigious fiction as the magazine got raunchier, plenty of guys were happy to lose the literary pretensions of venerable men's magazines and embrace simple-minded gender stereotypes, like the Maxim manifesto instructing women, "If we see you in the morning and night, why call us at work?"

Jessica Simpson and Eva Longoria move seamlessly from showing their curves on the covers of Cosmo and Glamour to Maxim, which dubbed Simpson "America's favorite ball and chain!" In the summer of 2005, both British GQ and FHM featured Pamela Anderson busting out of their covers. ("I think of my breasts as props," she told FHM.)

A lot of women now want to be Maxim babes as much as men want Maxim babes. So women have moved from fighting objectification to seeking it. "I have been surprised," Maxim's editor, Ed Needham, confessed to me, "to find that a lot of women would want to be somehow validated as a Maxim girl type, that they'd like to be thought of as hot and would like their boyfriends to take pictures of them or make comments about them that mirror the Maxim representation of a woman, the Pamela Anderson sort of brand. That, to me, is kind of extraordinary."

The luscious babes on the cover of Maxim were supposed to be men's fantasy guilty pleasures, after all, not their real life-affirming girlfriends.

Beauty

While I never related to the unstyled look of the early feminists and I tangled with boyfriends who did not want me to wear makeup and heels, I always assumed that one positive result of the feminist movement would be a more flexible and capacious notion of female beauty, a release from the tyranny of the girdled, primped ideal of the 50's.

I was wrong. Forty years after the dawn of feminism, the ideal of feminine beauty is more rigid and unnatural than ever.

When Gloria Steinem wrote that "all women are Bunnies," she did not mean it as a compliment; it was a feminist call to arms. Decades later, it's just an aesthetic fact, as more and more women embrace Botox and implants and stretch and protrude to extreme proportions to satisfy male desires. Now that technology is biology, all women can look like inflatable dolls. It's clear that American narcissism has trumped American feminism.

It was naïve and misguided for the early feminists to tendentiously demonize Barbie and Cosmo girl, to disdain such female proclivities as shopping, applying makeup and hunting for sexy shoes and cute boyfriends and to prognosticate a world where men and women dressed alike and worked alike in navy suits and were equal in every way.

But it is equally naïve and misguided for young women now to fritter away all their time shopping for boudoirish clothes and text-messaging about guys while they disdainfully ignore gender politics and the seismic shifts on the Supreme Court that will affect women's rights for a generation.

What I didn't like at the start of the feminist movement was that young women were dressing alike, looking alike and thinking alike. They were supposed to be liberated, but it just seemed like stifling conformity.

What I don't like now is that the young women rejecting the feminist movement are dressing alike, looking alike and thinking alike. The plumage is more colorful, the shapes are more curvy, the look is more plastic, the message is diametrically opposite - before it was don't be a sex object; now it's be a sex object - but the conformity is just as stifling.

And the Future . . .

Having boomeranged once, will women do it again in a couple of decades? If we flash forward to 2030, will we see all those young women who thought trying to Have It All was a pointless slog, now middle-aged and stranded in suburbia, popping Ativan, struggling with rebellious teenagers, deserted by husbands for younger babes, unable to get back into a work force they never tried to be part of?

It's easy to picture a surreally familiar scene when women realize they bought into a raw deal and old trap. With no power or money or independence, they'll be mere domestic robots, lasering their legs and waxing their floors - or vice versa - and desperately seeking a new Betty Friedan.

Maureen Dowd is a columnist for The New York Times. This essay is adapted from "Are Men Necessary: When Sexes Collide," to be published next month by G.P. Putnam's Sons

But I'm Bad At Numbers


MERCHANT

You are a Merchant, the
ambitious business tycoons of fantasy.
Merchants are very intelligent and cunning.
They are adept with numbers and in dealing with
people. Their hunches about their businesses
are usually right. They have a knack for
knowing what people or thinking. They are very
perceptive, and very ambitious. Driven and
hardworking they will not stop until they've
achieved what they want.

Color:
Red
Animal: Tiger
Gem: Ruby
Symbol:
Coin

Image:
http://www.deviantart.com/view/5772843/


Who would you be if you were a character in an epic fantasy? (beautiful pictures)
brought to you by Quizilla

Halloweenie

It takes a lot to scare me and yet somehow last night--Exorcist Three managed to scare the crap out of me. I'm not sure how that happened exactly but I ended up staying up half the night and watching my "Tales of the Cities". Somewhere in the midst of it I ended up taking comfort that I have a Mona in my life and that I might--if I play my cards right--be my own Mouse.

Of course the only thing scarier to me than horror films is watching films about San Francisco and seeing how they calm me and make me smile. Because I know what that means and if I think about it too long--it scares either to be there or to not be there.

Wow--not where I thought this would all go.

Truth Is

I’ve been hiding. I know it, most people around me know it and somehow I have to get around it. Part of it is my upset at being unemployed, having no money coming in, and freaking out stuff going on career-wise right now. That I found out that I can’t collect unemployment so I need a job ASAP and that I don’t know what I can do to make a job show up. (And this stirs up resentment about certain things from this past summer.)

On top of all of this I have a huge case of writer’s block and it is not helping matters to have certain people in my life asking all about it and making feel like I am even more a failure than with the job stuff. It’s scary that every time I have put pen to paper or flipped on my computer that nothing is coming out and it is scaring the shite out of me.

So instead I have spent my time avoiding things; reading Jane Austen books, watching Veronica Mars and making mix cds for no real reason. And worrying about everyone else around me because it is easier than worrying about myself-I think.

But it isn’t solving anything at all. Really.

Happiness is in Perspective.

So last night Kelly and I headed down to Ty and Stacey’s house to clean up the last remaining ties of what was Kelly and Ty’s relationship three after TOD. It was an odd feeling going with her-the realization that everything that happens now with Ty will be because of real friendship and not left over obligation to keep the peace or keep up appearances.

I tried not to watch Kelly’s face as Ty showed off Stacey and their new house and new computer and two car garage and puppy dog a and a million other things that couldn’t really be theirs and just wonder at whether Ty had somehow ended up happier than Kelly was. Much more than any of us thought he could be. I don’t think either of us could believe how awkward it was as Stacey—the girl who never liked Kelly or me—followed us through the house as Ty showed off the bed they share with this look about her—that she won.

And did she win? Maybe—she has the man and the house and the dog and a million little toys but I also know enough about Ty to know that he is not happy. Maybe he is content and he was always simple but he isn’t 1/3 happy as he was with Kelly. I know that still to this day and while he has let go—he still knows what he had a chance at and what he lost. It’s hard to feel that way towards someone I adore and lord knows he deserves happiness but I don’t think this is the way to get it.

The funny thing is as we left their driveway as Ty and Stacey waved us off with the dog chasing behind us—stuffing ourselves with chocolate and fighting the urge to run—we both knew how impressive that Stacey and Ty’s life is; on paper anyway. An as we drove back up to Studio City through the traffic, I felt something drifting away as Kelly asked why she couldn’t have the good Ty and all the stuff he and Stacey had and what did she have that they didn’t? I thought about it a moment.

“A real chance at happiness?”

Charity Asked
Current mood: contemplative


THE QUESTION. If you're single then you know it. The one that well meaning relatives ask at holidays, new co-workers broach it over drinks, a friend of a friend might ask.... (if you know this then say it with me...)

So, are you seeing someone?

I never know quite how to answer this question... (Outside of the sarcastic... "Oh shit, no, thanks for reminding me.... I was going to and then I got busy...) For some people this is a rough question. Throws them into a pit of self-doubt, double guessing, wondering...why aren't I? But for me, to be honest, it doesn't ring any bells... Set off any alarms.

The thing is... I know that I'm not in the place to be in a relationship. And I don't know how to explain that to others... That feeling of I'm not ready... I don't want it right now. That I'm not lonely, that I'm not afraid that time is running out. That I'm not missing anything. That I'm happy enough to work on who I am. That being alone is better than being in a relationship and wondering.... How did I get here... I don't know if this is normal... Not many people talk about this stuff, about how maybe being with someone else isn't the right choice. But I think sometimes it is. It is okay to work on being your own best date. That sometimes being in a relationship only hides one from the things they need to do to better ones self.... I'd rather wait then play act in a relationship that I'm not ready for....

"So if you not ready for love you should stay single?"


"Why not? If nobody ever got married or had children unless they were really in love, don't you think it would clean up a lot of the mess around here?"


"Miami?"


"Life."


"But then so many people would be alone."


"Is that such a terrible thing? I remember the first time I was lying in bed alone and feeling sorry for myself and I said, Wake up, Iris. Wake up. How many times have you been in bed with someone who was making you feel bad? Unconfident, unloved, or constantly having to hustle to deserve to be loved. Or being cheated on. And I thought, this is definitely better than any of those real-life situations. I was just trying to con myself into a remembering romantic situations that, in fact, hardly ever existed. No. If I can't go first class I don't want to go at all. And it's me, if I'm being honest, who knows what first class is."


"No accommodations. Is that it?"


"Oh, I can accommodate a lot. I can handle a missing limb. Or someone who's not brilliant. Or not a great money-maker. Those things are not problems. I might very well fall in love with someone in any of those categories. What I don't want to do is fall in love with someone I don't really know. Someone I've given a personality to, and later I find out they're someone completely different. And I'm fucked, in more ways than one. Life goes on, Glen. Life goes on. I don't want to waste any time giving really heavy emotion to someone who doesn't get it. Doesn't appreciate it. Doesn't even know what I'm feeling. Does that make sense?"

"My Worst Date." by David Leddick.

The Actor Studio Questions.
Current mood: surprised


The Actor Studio Questions.

1) what is your favorite word? Tis, though I'm not sure why. Most likely too much Shakespeare.

2) what is your least favorite word? Mani/pedi/metrosexual. Why do we let "Sixteen" magazine create this terrible slag? I'm not crushing, in a sit. or having a mani/pedi... Use the full word!!!

3)What turns you on spiritually, emotionally, creatively? That perfect moment when the sky is blue, the breeze in my hair and the sun on my face. It cause to realize that there is always something right with the word.

4) what turns you off? Blind need. I guess because I run into this alot with relationships and some friendships. It's kind of like--will anyone do or do you want me here?

5)Favorite curse word? Bloody... It is easy to use, fun and can be used in public and around kids. All purpose.

6) Sound or noise you love? I love wind chimes, or the sound of leaves blowing aorund the ground.
7) Sound you hate? Cell phones. I guess this is a hang-up from working retail and people just answering them when you are trying to help them. They stop talking to you and you go help someone else and the phoner is pissed because you didn't wait for them to finish. Fuck you! Tis rude to answer the phone when talking with some one.
8) What profession beside yours would you love to attempt? High school guidance counsler.

9) What profession would you hate? I would hate to be the guy who cleans the backroom at LeSex Shop!

10) If Heaven exists, what would you like God to say when you are at the Pearly Gates? "Sorry about all the confusion. Come on in!"

If Case You Wonder About These Things

So Friday night was savaged by the combination of several random things. One was Bryant from work just doing his best to make me laugh and basically put the bug in my ear to do as little as possible. I didn't take a lunch and had come in early so I got out of there as early as possible. This helped a lot.

What helped even more was the night's activities. I ended up going out with Joy to pick up some last minute things for her Halloween costume. We talked on our way to mall about all the recent events in her life-yes Grant came up-and I just wanted to check in and see if she was okay. Joy definitely is still herself-which is a good thing.

We also picked up Lola and the ever fabulous Erykah for our shopping adventures. The four of us slummed around the mall and then I dragged the girls to Urban Outfitters because I had some clothes from on line that I wanted to return. I think I made the cashier's night when I answered "they're ugly" as to why I was returning certain things. On-line shopping is filled with risks and ugliness is one of them. (We also learned a new word-kakaphobic which is a fear of ugly. This word is now the latest in my expanding vocab.)

We topped the night off with a few rounds at the BR with Duncan, Dom, Cheryl and Shannon. Debates about art and costumes and film were had in plenty. It was good times and took my mind off things. Which is a good thing eh?