MOVIE MOVIE WEEKEND

Dear Friends,

Just in case you're in the mood to watch a DVD this weekend, I have two possibilities for your consideration.

The first is not for the sensitive or faint of heart. It is called "The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo." It's the sort of movie I usually wouldn't like because it is pretty gory and nasty in spots. But it's also an extremely good thriller. I could see what the solution to the mystery was going to be, but I don't have any way of knowing if it's obvious to everyone.

I have a gift (usually) when it comes to solving a puzzle. Give me a mystery to read, and I know who the killer is by page 12. That's one of the reasons I don't bother to read mysteries. Seldom are they mysteries to me.

But if you like a good thriller, I recommend "The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo," -- conditionally. It's quite dark. You must promise me that if you are frightened or grossed out that you will not call me at 3 a.m. because you can't sleep. It's not that I won't be awake. I probably will be. I simply don't care to chat at that hour of the morning unless it's with one particular person or with my dogs.

The second movie is charming and tender. It's called "Beginners." Christopher Plummer, who won the Best Supporting actor Academy Award for his role as Hal, is a man who has finally come out of the closet following his wife's death. He enjoys his gay lifestyle, feeling open and free for the first time in his life, and then cancer gets him.

Through it all, his son Oliver (Ewan McGregor) is at his side, as is his dog, Arthur, a Jack Russell terrier played by Cosmo. The dog is adorable, and not sickeningly adorable. Just adorable enough. This movie is so well made, with its flashes to different times, or the dog looking up at Oliver and under the dog is a subtitle so we know what the dog is thinking.

If you want a movie that's not scary, but is sweet and thought provoking, I would choose "Beginners."

Happy Watching and Infinities of love,

Janie Junebug

WHAT IS LOVE? WHAT IS INTIMACY?

Please join me in welcoming The Frisky Virgin.

Many, many thanks to Janie Junebug for inviting me to be a guest blogger this week.  Janie is one of my favorite bloggers—she’s funny, smart, kind, and a true symbol of strength.  Thank you so much, Janie, for asking me to write for your blog—I appreciate it more than you know. 

The Urban Love Myth

Tell Bridget Jones, call Carrie Bradshaw, channel Jane Austen, and alert the white jackets. And someone, please, slap me silly because I have done something beyond comprehension. 

The thing with which I must hide my head in shame: While watching the wedding scene of The Twilight Saga, Breaking Dawn, Part I…I cried. We’re talking the salty tears, snotty nose variety, here, folks.  And I was really pathetic when they started playing Flightless Bird, American Mouth…yeah, hello, Kleenex. 

My mind, which was thoroughly repulsed, screamed, “You don’t cry at Twilight!” (totally modified that from Tom Hanks circa A League of Their Own).

It was a totally impulsive, unfiltered reaction, and I couldn’t help but wonder why.  Then, it hit me: the reason my tears flowed wasn’t for the vampire and his flightless bird, it was because I envied the love they shared, and, more importantly, I wondered about its existence in reality.

And, yes, I know it’s a movie, a book, fake, so not the real world, blah, blah, blah.  I get that; I’m not delusional.  But…in all honesty, shouldn’t that supposed unrealistic love be part of our world? I mean, minus the bloodsucking, bruising, and rapidly growing baby, followed by gruesome birth stuff. 

So, the trillion dollar question:  Does that kind of inconvenient, heart-stopping, endless love actually exist in our reality?  If we’re patient, and look with our hearts, yes, I believe it does.   

I could easily say it doesn’t exist.  Why?  Because it’s the easy answer.  It’s an easy way to explain away the frustration, the perpetual Singletonville address, and, in some cases, settling with someone you know isn’t right for you. 

See, I think many people today are so jaded that, on some level, they settle for what’s easy or convenient because they figure they’ll never find the real thing.  I’ve known people who have married because they believed that person was the best they could do at the time.  Then, of course, you have the men who marry based on lust, women who marry for money, etc.  None of these scenarios equal the kind of love I’m talking about—the kind of love we all yearn for…and we all deserve.  

People are so quick to say true love is only for books and movies.  But, I don’t think that’s true.  The only reason we don’t see it in everyday life is because no one steps up and actually makes it happen. 

If everyone settles or rushes into something “just because,” then, naturally, the concept of a soul mate becomes more of an urban love myth than an actuality.  No wonder so many people don’t believe movie-love exists—they’re all too busy crapping on the idea.

Maybe if we trusted our hearts a little more, gave credit to our instincts, and took chances, we’d look at the world and it would remind us of An Affair to Remember or a Jane Austen novel, rather than just leaving us wishing for some elusive dream. 

I’m pretty sure some people think I’m a fool, waiting for something I may never find.  Maybe I am.  But, I’d rather be a believing fool, than alone in a relationship, wishing I had trusted in something that’s seemingly unbelievable. 

There are many different kinds of love, bringing people together, making us happy.  So, why sell one brand of love short?  If love really does make the world go round, then giving up on any part of it is like helping to end the world (in a manner of dramatic speaking).

Maybe never giving up isn’t such a bad thing after all.  

And so ends this episode of Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride, otherwise known as my single gal brain dump.

Frisky, you truly understand what I want. And now I know you just a little bit better because I know what you want. Applause, applause, applause for The Frisky Virgin!

I DON'T REALLY THINK IT'S GONNA WORK

Please join me in welcoming The Frisky Virgin.

Many, many thanks to Janie Junebug for inviting me to be a guest blogger this week.  Janie is one of my favorite bloggers—she’s funny, smart, kind, and a true symbol of strength.  Thank you so much, Janie, for asking me to write for your blog—I appreciate it more than you know. 

The Urban Love Myth

Tell Bridget Jones, call Carrie Bradshaw, channel Jane Austen, and alert the white jackets. And someone, please, slap me silly because I have done something beyond comprehension. 

The thing with which I must hide my head in shame: While watching the wedding scene of The Twilight Saga, Breaking Dawn, Part I…I cried. We’re talking the salty tears, snotty nose variety, here, folks.  And I was really pathetic when they started playing Flightless Bird, American Mouth…yeah, hello, Kleenex. 

My mind, which was thoroughly repulsed, screamed, “You don’t cry at Twilight!” (totally modified that from Tom Hanks circa A League of Their Own).

It was a totally impulsive, unfiltered reaction, and I couldn’t help but wonder why.  Then, it hit me: the reason my tears flowed wasn’t for the vampire and his flightless bird, it was because I envied the love they shared, and, more importantly, I wondered about its existence in reality.

And, yes, I know it’s a movie, a book, fake, so not the real world, blah, blah, blah.  I get that; I’m not delusional.  But…in all honesty, shouldn’t that supposed unrealistic love be part of our world? I mean, minus the bloodsucking, bruising, and rapidly growing baby, followed by gruesome birth stuff. 

So, the trillion dollar question:  Does that kind of inconvenient, heart-stopping, endless love actually exist in our reality?  If we’re patient, and look with our hearts, yes, I believe it does.   

I could easily say it doesn’t exist.  Why?  Because it’s the easy answer.  It’s an easy way to explain away the frustration, the perpetual Singletonville address, and, in some cases, settling with someone you know isn’t right for you. 

See, I think many people today are so jaded that, on some level, they settle for what’s easy or convenient because they figure they’ll never find the real thing.  I’ve known people who have married because they believed that person was the best they could do at the time.  Then, of course, you have the men who marry based on lust, women who marry for money, etc.  None of these scenarios equal the kind of love I’m talking about—the kind of love we all yearn for…and we all deserve.  

People are so quick to say true love is only for books and movies.  But, I don’t think that’s true.  The only reason we don’t see it in everyday life is because no one steps up and actually makes it happen. 

If everyone settles or rushes into something “just because,” then, naturally, the concept of a soul mate becomes more of an urban love myth than an actuality.  No wonder so many people don’t believe movie-love exists—they’re all too busy crapping on the idea.

Maybe if we trusted our hearts a little more, gave credit to our instincts, and took chances, we’d look at the world and it would remind us of An Affair to Remember or a Jane Austen novel, rather than just leaving us wishing for some elusive dream. 

I’m pretty sure some people think I’m a fool, waiting for something I may never find.  Maybe I am.  But, I’d rather be a believing fool, than alone in a relationship, wishing I had trusted in something that’s seemingly unbelievable. 

There are many different kinds of love, bringing people together, making us happy.  So, why sell one brand of love short?  If love really does make the world go round, then giving up on any part of it is like helping to end the world (in a manner of dramatic speaking).

Maybe never giving up isn’t such a bad thing after all.  

And so ends this episode of Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride, otherwise known as my single gal brain dump.

Frisky, you truly understand what I want. And now I know you just a little bit better because I know what you want. Applause, applause, applause for The Frisky Virgin!

WHAT IS LOVE? WHAT IS INTIMACY?

POST: 

What is love?  I used to think it was when you put someone else’s happiness above your own, but now I realize that’s just the sign of an unhealthy, one-sided relationship.  Lately I’ve been thinking that love is when another person’s happiness becomes your happiness too.

For example, I didn’t want to drive an hour away to attend the funeral of someone I only met once, but when I saw how happy my mother-in-law was to have the ride and the companionship, I was happy to have been able to do it. I didn’t want to get up extra early this morning so I could take my daughter to the orthodontist before school, but anticipating her relief at being rid of the poking wire, I didn’t mind a bit.

I think another way to know if you love someone is by their annoying habits.  When his idiosyncrasies make you smile and shake your head rather than resist (or not) the urge to bludgeon him with the heaviest thing you can get your hands on, chances are you love him.

What is intimacy? To me, intimacy is trusting someone with your vulnerabilities. Whether it be embarrassing and personal secrets or embarrassing and personal body parts—when you share that with someone and you don’t regret it afterward, that’s intimacy.  

--
Nicki Elson
Author
www.nickielson.com

Thank you, Nicki! My friends, please be sure to give Nicki some bloggy love in your comments. You're great, Veb!

FRIDAY BONUS POST: I ANSWER THE FRISKY VIRGIN'S QUESTIONS

That friskiest of frisky virgins has tagged me. So for a bonus weekend post, I'm going to answer her questions because they intrigue me and I like that lady. 

My Questions (I’m going with whimsy, here):

1. If you could have the choice of one superpower, what would it be and why? X-ray Vision? No. Faster than a speeding bullet? No. I have to say the opportunity and ability to help people, because whenever we help someone, we're putting the power for good to use. I believe goodness is a superpower.
2. Which Harry Potter movie is your favorite?  Why? D.H. II. Why? It's the last one. It's so well made. It's perfection. It made me sniffle the most. I'm starting to sniffle again right now, thinking about it, but I swear it's allergies.
3. Which Harry Potter book is your favorite?  Why? H.P. and The Half-Blood Prince because (sniffle) it's so heartbreakingly beautiful (little sob) at Dumbledore's funeral. Oooooooo, Dumbledore, I miss you so. Snape. Snape. We didn't know then. We didn't understand. Oh, Snape. Snape and Dumbledore. Sob. Sob. Sniffle. Sniffle. Sniffle. Pardon me. I need to grab the box of Kleenex from my bathroom. Yes, my allergies are that bad.
4. Do you believe in parallel universes? Why or why not? No, I don't believe in parallel universes because I don't see any evidence of them. But maybe Harry Potter's Wizarding World in Orlando is a parallel universe? Maybe? If I ever get there, I'll let you know. It's only a couple of hours away, beckoning me, but the tickets are expensive, the crowds (tremble) large, and the heat oppressive.
5. Do you think aliens exist?  If so, are they E.T. kind orIndependence Day mean? No, I don't believe they exist, but if they did they would be Close Encounters of the Third Kind musical and welcoming.
6. What’s the first thought that jumps into your mind when you see the word Disney? Taking my kids to Disneyland when The Hurricane was a toddler. She went on a ride with her daddy. My son and I were behind them and the whole time I could hear her saying "Wheeeee." It was a joyful noise unto the Lord.
7. Assuming it’s true, and we only know about 10-15% of the ocean’s inhabitants, what do you hope is down there that we have yet to find? Atlantis
8. What is your favorite movie score? This question is surprisingly difficult. I feel I should choose a musical. Choosing a musical is obvious, but I think I'm going to pick the score from Jaws because that "duh-duh" music does so much to enhance the film. One time for a film class I watched the beginning of Jaws without the sound on. Then I watched it with the sound. It was SO much more frightening with the music. If you've never seen it, without the music, you would have no idea that the girl in the water will diiiiiiiiie.
9. If you found yourself living with seven tiny men, what would their names be? David. I can't get away from men named David, so every single one would be David.
10.  A big blue genie grants you one particular wish: Change the world into any imaginary world you’ve either read in a book or seen in a film.  Which world would you choose and why? The world of Harry Potter, of course. But if I were a muggle, I would be like Hermione and receive my letter from Hogwarts.
11. If you could pick one literary or film character and bring him to life to be your soul mate, who would it be and why? This question is very difficult. My obvious answer is Harry or Hermione, but when I think of Mr. Darcy in Pride and Prejudice, it sets my heart afire. And when I think about Colin Firth playing him in the mini-series, my entire body goes up in flames. The problem is that I want to live in Harry and Hermione's world; I don't want to live when people didn't have nice toothpaste and go to the dentist regularly and died from strep throat. I'm fussy that way. If I can educate Mr. Darcy enough to live in the present, then I take Mr. Darcy. SIGH

I'm not going to tag anyone because people hardly ever do these when I tag them, and I can't handle the rejection now or in the past or in the future. Rather, I'll say that if you feel intrigued by the questions -- and I don't know why you wouldn't be -- then go ahead and answer them and give The Frisky Virgin a shout out for creating them.

MOVIE MOVIE MOVIE MOVIE WEEKEND

Happy Friday, My Friends!

I'd like to tell you about four new-to-DVD movies I've seen within the past few weeks. All were Academy Award nominated, and some were winners.

First, Tree of Life: This movie is unusual. However, it's beautifully made because it was directed by Terrence Malick. The problem: I cannot even give you a hint about the plot because I do not know what this movie is about. It seems to be a passage through time that includes dinosaurs and the lives of a family in more recent years. It's gorgeous. It's beautifully shot. If you appreciate the look of a film and if you have ever loved Terrence Malick (Days of Heaven, and yes I could follow that plot easily), then you will want to see Tree of Life. If you want your movies to have a clear plot, then don't bother with Tree of Life.

Second, Hugo: Loved it. Absolutely loved. The story of Hugo, a young boy who lives in the walls of a Parisian train station, turns into a magical mystery tour into the the beginnings of films. Directed by Martin Scorsese, this is no Casino or The Departed, so don't rent it or buy it expecting typical Scorsese. Hugo is totally different. Also beautifully shot. Love the color palette.

Third, Warrior: Loved it. Absolutely loved. Two estranged brothers fight in mixed martial arts competitions. They end up in the cage competing against each other for $5 million. One brother wants security for his family; one brother wants to give the money to the wife and children of his fallen Marine comrade in Iraq. Who will win? Beautiful performances all around, especially by Nick Nolte as the brothers' recovering alcoholic father.

Fourth, My Week With Marilyn. This one is more of a chick flick. I thought it was cute and is Michelle Williams' (Marilyn Monroe) best performance to date. It tells the story of Monroe in England to make The Prince and The Showgirl with Laurence Olivier (a crusty Kenneth Branagh). Olivier is a nasty grouch. Monroe is a nervous, barely able to perform wreck. She becomes involved with an assistant director on the shoot, who later wrote a memoir about the brief experience. I'm not a Michelle Williams fan, but she captures Monroe nicely without being too giggly or too breathy. The best parts of her performance are when she dances and sings. Then she almost seems to be Monroe. The problem: No one is Marilyn Monroe except Marilyn Monroe.

Here's my ranking of these four movies, with #1 as the movie most worth your time:

1. Warrior
2. Hugo
3. My Week With Marilyn
4. Tree of Life

So, should you want to watch a movie this weekend, now you know what the Junebug thinks.

Infinities of love,

Janie Junebug

WHAT IS LOVE? WHAT IS INTIMACY?

This week's guest postess is my sister from another mother, dirtycowgirl from http://dirtycowgirl.blogspot.com/.
Please leave some appreciative comments for her. She always makes me laugh. Her blog is titled "Left Alone With a Full Moon."

When Janie first asked me if I wanted to write a contribution to this topic it left me rather stumped.

Because she said it should be "a post about intimacy, not sex, real intimacy", and in my world you can't have one without the other.

The way my emotions are wired sex, love and intimacy are all sides of the same coin.

Well that's not entirely correct.

I can have sex without intimacy, have done, more times then I care to remember a few times.

But just not the other way round.

The saying goes the way to a man's heart is through his stomach, it's the same for me, except you need to reach my stomach via a different route.

I've had some great sex with men I wasn't in love with, but I've never fallen in love with anyone who wasn't giving me mind blowing, swinging from the chandeliers, how the fuck do I manage to get my legs in that position sex.

Don't misunderstand me, I know that when you find intimacy it becomes about more then sex. But I just can't get there without it.

I have experienced that feeling of being so in tune with someone that it's almost like you can read each other's minds.

But for it to last that needs to translate itself to a man who can read my mind so I don't have to tell him when to speed it up or slow it down or flip me over.

That's how I REALLY know that somebody gets me.

Sometimes I wonder if I was really ever in love, because as soon as the sex diminished I went off the man pretty damn quick. 

The way it works for me is I like someone, so the sex gets a bit better, so I like them more, the more I like them the more I want sex, the more sex we have the better it gets, until it gets to the point where I think I love them (and the very best sex is always with someone you love - for me THAT'S where the intimacy comes into it). And then I want it ALL the time.

Morning.

When you get in from work.

At night.

If you have an extra half hour for lunch.

And don't be making plans that involve getting dressed at the week-end. Although I have a selection of outfits that might fit the occasion.

It's also at this point that I like to get a bit kinky.

And it's at this point that pretty much every man I ever got serious with started saying things like, and I quote. . . "I can't do that with you, I love you and I respect you too much" (No, I'm not telling you what 'that' was, but he was on the way out the minute those words were out of his mouth).

"You just want me for sex" (Well no, but without it you're not getting anything else).

"If I had an accident and my cock got cut off you'd dump me" (Honestly ? Yeah, he was probably right).

"I'm not a human vibrator" (Clearly he wasn't, once his battery died there was no replacing it).

"All we ever do is fuck, can't we just cuddle" (FYI in my world cuddling is foreplay).

"Do NOT be waking me up with a blow job tonight I need to sleep" ( I decided this one was gay).

"Why do you have to act like a slut all the time" (Because he told me he liked women who dress up, so I used to turn up at his house wearing. . . )

"Why can't you let me make the first move instead of jumping on me as soon as I get here" ( This one wanted me to make him dinner while he moaned about work...nah, help me work up an appetite first and then I'll let you order a pizza, and his job was digging holes in the road. REALLY wanted to talk about that. Not.)

And once I heard those statements I knew the end was nigh.

Boring.

Seriously, I thought men wanted a woman who is always up for it. And when I'm really into someone I am, truth is I think they found my libido intimidating.

But as soon as I start to feel anything approaching frustration any emotions I feel seem to die off.

Maybe that's why I'm single.

Some of the relationships I've had have left me rather cynical, but at the same time I think that I just haven't met anyone truly compatible, or maybe never found true love, and I'd like to think I can put a YET on the end of that.

My last boyfriend fucked with my head in ways that have nothing to do with this post, and I am only just now beginning to think that it might be time to put the hunting gear on again.

Because there are really only two things I miss about being with someone.

The first one, obviously, is sex.

I'm spending a fucking fortune on batteries.

But the other thing is intimacy, and by that I mean the closeness I only seem to be able to feel when I am physically in touch with someone.

Which means I'll be expecting a lot of sex.

And having just read this back I realise that while Janie wanted a post about intimacy I have in fact just written a post about sex.

I think that proves my point.

Thank you, dirtycowgirl! Applause! Applause! Applause!

NOW I KNOW WHO I AM

My Friends,

I strongly recommend you click on the link, sent to me by The Hurricane.

http://www.cracked.com/article_19695_9-foreign-words-english-language-desperately-needs.html

Now I know who I am. I have discovered my true identity: I am a comma fucker.

It's kind of like being a teenager and finding out that Oh thank the Lord your parents really did adopt you and Paul McCartney is your true father.

Not that I ever imagined such a thing. Before I found out how nuts he was, I wanted Howard Hughes to be my real father. His representative would show up at our door and deem me worthy of being the wealthy man's daughter. Daddy Howard would arrive and swoop me up and carry me off in a private plane while I waved a happy goodbye to the obnoxious strangers who had pretended to be my parents.

How dare they insist that I clean up my room? Daddy Howard would provide a maid for my personal use. Maids are there to clean rooms. Not me. I was meant for bigger things. Daddy would let me finish high school at home and then he would groom me to take over one of his most important companies.

Oh, Daddy. Why did you have to die crazy with the whole world knowing that your finger and toe nails were long and thick for wont of being cut? And who was my real mommy? Did I even have a real mommy, or did you hatch a scheme for me to be born in a womb with a view?

I guess I have to spend the rest of my life knowing that I am, in fact, my wonderful (late) parents' daughter. Those people produced a true comma fucker.

Infinities of love,

Janie Junebug

By the bye, I wish I had an award for Stephanie (a.k.a. Stephanola to my Janieola) at http://thestephanieconnection.blogspot.com/. Her suggestion for my book title, Poop! There It Is! makes me laugh out loud every time I look at it. Stephanie, You are a real gem. You have no idea how difficult it is to make me laugh out loud, especially repeatedly. I tend to be a laugh on the inside kind of person unless I'm with The Hurricane. She makes me laugh so hard I could just wet myself.

MY FIRST NEWSPAPER COLUMN

Happy Friday, Friends!

On Wednesday this week, I gave you a taste of published me with the first story I sold for a nice little check: http://dumpedfirstwife.blogspot.com/2012/03/first-story-i-sold-for-actual-money.html. Click on the link to read "the mice, the cat, and me."

Now I'm going to give you a taste of newspaper me with the first column I ever wrote. Keep in mind that in a column I could express myself creatively, as opposed to an article, which sticks to the facts -- at least when I write it.

I wrote this piece for a newspaper in Maryland. It was published January 28th, 2000, and it bought me my 15 minutes of fame as promised to all of us by Andy Warhol.

Actually, it ended up giving me more time in the limelight than 15 minutes because it became what I believe was the most popular thing I ever wrote for a newspaper. It was the kind of column people cut out and put on bulletin boards at work. Every time I went to the grocery store, some nice person would stop me and start to cry and say, Your writing is so beautiful.

I felt very honored and touched by the appreciation

Here's "It seems like only yesterday that I took the red-haired boy to preschool" :

When I took my little red-haired boy to preschool, we met the teachers and looked at the toys. We sang some songs. Then it was time for me to leave.

The boy threw his arms around my knees and cried, "But I want to stay with you!"

I reminded him that we had talked about going to preschool. I reminded him that he needed to spend time with other kids, that I would return soon and we would spend the rest of the day together.

He kissed me good-bye and went off to build a tower of blocks with his new classmates. I rushed out the door, thankful we had just taken the first successful step toward his independence. 

But the boy needed to learn to dress himself. Every morning, he sat down, pulled his pants over his legs and tried to stand up before they were over his feet.

"I'll have to go to college with him to dress him," I grumbled.

With practice, though, he learned to dress himself. Another step toward independence.

The boy went to kindergarten. I removed the training wheels from his first bike. He rode around the block alone. He stopped asking me to marry him. He learned how to read.

I stood on a basketball court for hours while he threw ball after ball up and toward the hoop. None went through. I passed the ball back to him and waited while he threw it again. One day the ball finally went through the hoop.

He played basketball with the other boys. He didn't need me to rebound for him anymore. I breathed a sigh of relief. More steps.

Fourth grade and he started to play the trombone. The sound hurt. I helped him learn to read music. I played the piano; he played along on the trombone. The sound improved. He didn't need my help with the trombone.

Middle school years, and someone on the school bus teased a girl. She blamed the boy and put gum in his hair. The bus driver gave the boy's name to the principal. We practiced at home so the boy knew how to explain to the principal. The principal let the boy go. I didn't have to visit the school. A big step.

High school: Clear the roads -- he's learned how to drive. I felt frightened, then happy. He didn't need me to be his chauffeur. I could go where I wanted, when I wanted.

But so could he. More independence for him and more worries for me.

He had his ear pierced -- six times. He seemed to have trouble pulling up his pants again but he didn't ask for help with his clothes or with anything else.

I fought to stay involved in his life. Could this independence thing really be a good idea?

"Aren't you glad you know I'm independent and I don't listen to you?" he asked me one day as I was trying to gain his cooperation in some endeavor such as cleaning up his bedroom.

"Yeah, I'm glad you don't listen to me," I answered. I laughed, but I really was glad. Wasn't his independence what I had sought all along? Wasn't it what I had raised him to seek?

I insisted he hold down a job and pay for his own car insurance if he wanted to drive. He played on basketball teams, chose his own clothes, spoke up for himself, even became a trombonist in a ska band. And he did it all without me.

We went to college orientation and picked up our name tags. "Students to the right; parents to the left," a young woman told us.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Students go to a meeting in the room to the right and parents go to a meeting in the room to the left."

They were splitting us up.

I threw my arms around his waist and cried, "But I want to stay with you!"

"You'll be OK with the other parents. I'll be back soon and we'll spend the rest of the day together," he reminded me.

He hugged me. Then he walked away to be with the other students. I went to the meting with the parents, but not to build a tower. I had already built one. It was six-feet three inches tall and had red hair. 

On Jan. 15, he stood at the altar of a church. He didn't hold my hand; I didn't hold his. He took the hand of the most beautiful bride I've ever seen and vowed to be her husband for the rest of his life. I sat -- an onlooker in the drama of his life, missing him, but grateful for his independence.

WHAT IS LOVE? WHAT IS INTIMACY?

This week's guest postess is singer/songwriter Charlotte Martin.

"Intimacy"

By definition, it is a close and personal relationship with another. I have to pause for a moment and truly think about what "another" means. Is this another person? Is this another place? Is this just another "thing"?

I have had relationships with many "anothers". As I am writing, I think about my pet fish, Fitzgerald. I felt very close to the fish. But I would stop short of saying it was intimate. And then I pause again to reflect. I loved Fitzgerald. I cried when he died. But he was just a fish.

I have loved my lifetime of pets. "Cats". At one time I had six of them. And I do not claim to be a cat person. They just somehow ended up in my life. I loved them.

I am a dog person! I truly love dogs. I remember the family dog when I was growing up. His name was Pepper. On this particular day, I picked him up and just held him. I have to say that I still can remember the love I felt at that moment. But it was not intimate love. Even today, I am mom to my three dogs. Somehow they all ended up here with me. I should say that two were planned and one was rescued from the certain death of the street. But alas, this is not intimacy to me. It would border on being weird if I told anyone that I felt intimate about my dogs.

Now I will go to where intimacy began. It all started in junior high school. I really wanted to play the saxophone for the school band. On the day of tryouts, I still see the band teacher having to quickly decide out of the 200 students which ones were suited for the 50 positions. When it was my turn, she asked me to hold my hand up. When I did, she measured it and said "too small". You can't play in the band. "Goodbye".

I was shattered! I was rejected! I was a loser!

But just remember how resilient we were back in those days. Someone said let's try out for the chorus. I did and I found out I was an alto. And, they let me join.

I enjoyed singing.

Now I am in high school and there is a friend of mine that played the guitar. I thought that was really neat. She asked me to come over to her house . When I saw her strum the guitar, I was really impressed. And then she started to sing. It didn't take too long for us to be comfortable enough around each other to sing together. We  ended up singing for some classes in school and even had a gig at Shakey's Pizza Parlor. But I found out I had a little jealous streak in me. She got all the attention because she played the guitar. I asked her to teach me to play. She taught me exactly one and a half chords. I was hooked! I wanted to play guitar. It turns out my dad had to take me to the blue chip stamp store to get my own guitar. One and a half chords wasn't much to work with so we also bought a Mel Bay book of guitar chords. My mission was to teach myself how to play guitar. And I did it! I found I also enjoyed writing poetry. I started to put my poetry to the guitar chords that I was strumming and found out I was a songwriter.

My journey to intimacy had been firmly cast.

Through the years, I have written music, played the guitar, played in the "band" and sung in a few local talent shows. It was my band years that I learned the most. Because musicians are flaky, I found I had to teach myself to play the bass guitar and even the keyboards to fill in when those silly musicians failed to show up for a gig. Back in the eighties, there was a new thing happening in music. It was called "Midi". You could program musical parts and not have to play them at the same time. You played with them. You had to use a keyboard to program them. It was a very exciting concept. We started using it so that we didin't have to worry about the musicians showing up. Now the band became a duo. We sounded like a full band. It was fun! It was exciting! It was hard work!. The years of playing music at night and working a full-time job during the day had taken its toll on me. I was tired. I was tired of playing my music and only having people appreciate it when they were tanked, drunk, poop faced, and almost out of it. The band called it quits and music was over.

I settled back into life. Go to work, come home, go to bed. The next day, get up and do it again. Sound familiar? The great American way. My music was silent. And the years turned into a decade. And then almost another decade would pass.

Two years ago my friend asked me to go to church with her. I said yes. I walked into the church. It was not like I had never been in a church before. I had. But something about this church caught me. Held me. Would not let go of me. Each week I went back not because I had to. It was because I wanted to. Then one Sunday, a man got up to talk about why he enjoyed coming to this church. But instead of talking, he sang . He had no music. It was just his voice. I was captured by the sincerity of that moment. And it was that very moment that I felt music again. Music! Music! Sweet music! I could hear music again. I wanted to write music again. I wanted to write about what just happened. I went home and picked up my guitar. I turned on the keyboard. I wrote a song for the first time in almost twenty years.

I was inspired by God and music has come back to me. And my life has been profoundly changed. I am a Christian Singer and Songwriter. I believe that I have been led down this path by God. God knew where I was supposed to be. And when I got there, He would not let me go.

I am intimate with God! And I am truly humbled by it.

I am very grateful for this time in my life and want to share my music with anyone that wants to listen to it.

Check out my website:  http://charlottamartin.com/

Shared Blessings,

Charlotte A. Martin

Applause for Charlotte! I've had the pleasure of hearing her sing. She's great, and I think her post is impressive. She shares her love of music so beautifully. Please leave her some comments with bloggy love.

THE FIRST STORY I SOLD FOR ACTUAL MONEY

Once upon a time, I became a published writer. But the first few pieces I had published were printed in journals that didn't pay anything.

And then I had my breakthrough. It was 1998. I wrote a story about how a cat joined our family. It took me about 20 minutes to write it. I sent it off to a cat lovers' magazine, it was accepted, and I received $125 and five copies of the magazine.

Writing is addictive. I love to write.

But I admit, I really love writing and getting paid for it.

Anyhow, I thought you might enjoy reading the very first story for which I was paid. It's called "the mice, the cat, and me."

I hated cats. I had been raised to hate cats. My mother had taught me that cats were slimy and disgusting and that they had lizard eyes. She didn't understand how anyone could love a cat, and neither did I.


Consequently, no cat ever entered my house. But mice did. First, a few parachuted in to conduct reconnaissance missions. They held inspections and sent word to the troops that mine was a safe house. Their army invaded, marching and counter-marching as their drillmaster squeaked out orders. They conducted maneuvers under the refrigerator.


My husband suggested a cat. He loved cats. Now, he saw his opportunity, and he took it. "A cat could defeat the mice," he whispered in my ear, fearing their spies might be listening. "A cat could break their ranks and force a retreat. Why, one cat alone could stop an entire division of mice."


His fervent praise left me wondering if he might be working with the mice. Maybe he had invited them in. Maybe he had even led the first strike, all so that he might obtain a cat.


"No cats," I cried. I thought I heard the mice huzzah, a chilling sound, but it couldn't change my mind -- yet.


I fought valiantly with glue boards and with traps. Just when I thought I had them licked, the mice call in their reserves and struck greater blows with their never-ending supply of droppings. My pantry became their mess hall, my entire kitchen their beachhead. I was surrounded. I considered "For Sale" signs. Maybe we could just unload the house on some unsuspecting buyer . . . . 


However, our children learned of their father's plan to acquire a cat. They took up his battle cry. "Yes," they trumpeted, "a cat could rout the mice. We don't want to move. And cats are so cute and cuddly."


Cute and cuddly? Slimy and disgusting. But I really didn't want to move either. Combat fatigue combined with the thought of packing all those boxes made me wave a white flag. My family had defeated me with the help of a battalion of mice. We would look for a cat.


We decided to adopt and found an ad in the newspaper. A woman who worked for the pound took cats into her home, and, yes, we could see them the next day.


I approached the woman's house with fear and loathing in my heart. The place crawled with cats. We looked them over and chose a little male tabby that seemed bold and daring; he had asked our four-year-old daughter to pet him. The woman told us he had been thrown in the garbage with his mother and his sister. Someone had rescued them and brought them to the pound. My heart quivered. Not even a cat deserved such treatment.


On our way home, my husband suggested we name the cat Milhous because it was Richard Nixon's middle name. "No doubt this cat will be as tricky in handling mice as President Nixon was in dealing with his enemies," my husband promised. I had to admit I liked the name.


Milhous entered his new home and ran behind the couch. So much for bold and daring. Unfortunately, we soon realized that the warrior on whom our hopes rested was sick. His breathing sounded labored. His nose ran. Something dripped from his eyes. I took him to the vet. "I don't think he'll make it through the night," she told me. "You should take him back where you got him."


Milhous looked up at me and meowed pitifully. Strangely enough, he didn't have lizard eyes. His eyes were large and green and, though I hardly dared think it, sweet. He seemed tiny and helpless. I felt something strange and new: sympathy for a cat.


"No," I said to the vet, surprising myself. "He's my cat now, and I'll take care of him." We left her office with a large bill, medicine and feeding instructions.


The vet had warned me Milhous wouldn't want to eat while he was ill, but that he needed to do so. She recommended baby food, given to him on my fingers. So there I sat in what had once been my kitchen, mice in camouflage conducting drills at my feet, and a sick cat on my lap -- a sick, soft cat, that is. He wasn't slimy, after all. He licked some food from my finger. The sensation of his rough little tongue wasn't at all disgusting. Milhous himself wasn't at all disgusting. My mother had been wrong. I cuddled him closer. Milhous had won my heart without killing a single mouse.


Milhous lived through the night, and when he had recovered completely, the mice met their Waterloo. Their ground forces went AWOL; their navy gave up the sink; their air force couldn't even get to their planes. In short, Milhous mopped up the kitchen. The mice never returned.


Milhous achieved more victories than William the Conqueror at Hastings. He prevailed over my prejudice, he defeated the mice, and he even won over my mother when she came for a visit. Although she never developed a desire to own a cat, she did go home saying that he was the prettiest, funniest cat she had ever seen. Milhous has been with us for eight years now. Our cute, cuddly gladiator guards the kitchen by day and guards our daughter by night. He sleeps on her pillow, curled around her head. He also paved the way for two other cats that joined our family -- but that's another story.


Please be with us tomorrow for the Thursday post in which our guest, Charlotte A. Martin, answers my questions: What is love? What is intimacy?

WHAT? MONDAY

Greetings boys and girls,

The past few months have been filled with even more turmoil than I usually experience. Of course, I know I'm not the only one who has to deal with problems.

So my What? Monday question is
What helps you find peace of mind?


For some people it's church and prayer. For others, it's yoga. And for a lot of folks, it's venting and venting and venting some more.

I was extremely upset last week when I learned my father-in-law had a heart attack and subsequently, passed away. I burst into tears or wept quietly several times every day. I feel calmer now.

I have found peace of mind through a variety of blessings. First, I prayed a lot; second, I wrote about how I felt; third, I had the support of many friends, including you, dear readers. Toward the end of the week, a close friend was so sympathetic and supportive that I finally started to feel better. Intellectually, I knew my father-in-law was in Heaven. Now I also know it emotionally.

But what about you?
 What helps you find peace of mind?


Infinities of love,

Janie Junebug

This week's Thursday guest postess will be Charlotte Martin. Charlotte is not a blogger. She is a singer/songwriter. I'm pleased to be able to call her my friend.

OUR BELOVED MELYNDA

Dear Friends,

As some of you may recall, before Christmas I collected funds for a blogger in need. Many of you responded even though I kept the identity of the person a secret, and I thank you again.

The money was for Melynda. So now you know. I sent the money to Melynda anonymously, but today I'm telling you her identity because Melynda needs more help; and Elisa, fishducky, and Joshua came up with a way to provide some assistance.

The three of them put together a book made up of some of Melynda's blog posts. The book is now for sale, and I urge you to purchase it.

Melynda will not see this post unless she has some assistance so she can "read" it in the future. Today she's having eye surgery. She has to hold absolutely still while a needle is inserted directly into her eye. She won't even be sedated because her insurance doesn't cover it!

She's frightened; I'm frightened; I think all of her friends are very concerned.

We weren't able to save Melynda's house, but the money we gave her during the holidays paid for the family's Christmas dinner and took care of a few bills. Now, I implore you to purchase Melynda's book because she has astronomical medical bills. I don't understand why their insurance doesn't cover everything necessary to help control Melynda's diabetes and save as much of her sight as possible. Melynda's husband, Phil, is in the Air Force. Why aren't we taking care of our military families?

If our country isn't going to provide the healthcare Melynda needs, then I hope we in the blogging community -- and we are most definitely a community -- can help pay her bills by purchasing her book.

Here's more information from Elisa:

   Here's the deal.  Melynda's first book has been released!!!  She just found out last night--it was priceless.  And just between the Internet and me . . . I think she's pretty thrilled.  
    As you know, Melynda's been through some tough times (blindness etc.).  That's why I worked with Joshua (from Vive le Nerd) and Fishducky (the goddess of awesomeness), to edit the first three months of Melynda's blog posts.  We've surprised her with the book, but the excitement doesn't stop there.  You can buy her work on Amazon, for kindle, and onSmashwords!  
    To top that off, now we're having a blogfest to celebrate. 

If you'd like to promote her blogfest, please grab this button:

    This blogfest is all about my buddy, Melynda.  She is AMAZING.  The woman has been a tower of strength for me.  Now she needs some love and support.  She's having another eye surgery and this is our time to try and make things better--if only a little bit.
    So people, get 'r done! 


As Elisa said, get 'r done. I'll add, Hop to it. I hope you'll buy the book AND promote it with the Just Nonsense button and the purchase information.

Believe me, if one of us needed this help, Melynda would be the first in line to provide aid.

Infinities of love,

Janie Junebug

WHAT IS LOVE? WHAT IS INTIMACY?

Maxwell from Misanthropy Chronicles is our guest poster today. Welcome, Maxwell!

What is Love?

Baby, don't hurt me. DON'T hurt me!

NO MORE!!!

So, this whole “What is love/intimacy?” thing is a bit antithetical to what my blog tends to talk about. But Janie asked, and since she was one of the few people who supported me on what is, undoubtedly, my most poorly received blog post, I knew I had to answer the call.

I'm awesome. Tell your friends.

Anyway, love/intimacy... I consider myself to have been in love/intimacy three times. I'll start chronologically.

The first time was with a girl I had dated for about 11 months in college. The bulk of our relationship was built on a close friendship. We had known each other for years before we ever actually dated.

I mean, I had groped her years before we ever kissed. It was that sort of friendship.

The love and intimacy stemmed from the friendship we had built over many years. We knew each other so well that we didn't have to go through any of that “are we compatible?” shit. And yes, save for the sex, the first several months of any relationship are shit. We avoided all that shit, because we were awesome.

Like constipation, assuming you don't think too deeply about that metaphor.

But, over time, we learned we didn't work as a couple. Plus, distance didn't help. Boo.

Also, apropos of nothing I've stated here, this was the girl who tried to get 4,000 women to simultaneously murder me.

Years later, came love/intimacy #2. This was someone I went to grad school with. We knew each other for about six months before we ever started dating.

This relationship lasted 3.5 years. We were studying the same thing, so we had a lot of shared common knowledge and friends. Thinking back on this, I think this is where our intimacy stemmed from – we knew so much of the same stuff that we could get into really deep conversation about our field of study without having to deal with anything real.

Fun story: One night, this ex and I went out for a nice meal. It was one of our date nights, and we were both looking forward to it. We had been dating for years at this point. During dinner, we got into one of our typical discussions on research we were doing. This was a particularly in-depth discussion, as we were getting into the nuances of the subject material. When our bill came, with both burst out laughing. The waiter, without asking or any prompting from us, split the bill. He had overheard enough of our conversation to assume that we were not even slightly romantically involved.

We thought it was funny at the time. Though I kinda wanted to punch the waiter in the junk.

Currently, I'm in love/intimacy #3. God willing, the third and final time I have to deal with this shit.

By far, this is the easiest one. I'm myself. She's herself. We're similar, yet different. We have very different views on life, but similar views on the things that matter.

• Kids? Same (none)
• Religion? Same (none)
• Interpersonal relations? Insulty (my nickname for her is “Slutty Face”; I'm in her phone as “Ass Face”)
• Living together before marriage? Yes (we are)
• Marriage? Sure (but no rush)
• Wedding? I guess... (but fuck that shit – elope)
• Chores? Shared (like a boss)
• Decorations? Complementary (I'm function; she's form)

You get the point.

Everything about this relationship is easy. It's perfect. It's been going on (mostly) for over a year. The parts that weren't on were due to distance (an obstacle which has been overcome).

So what is love/intimacy?

• It's the ability to wake up in the morning and say “Get out of the bed, you dirty whore!” then follow it up with “Now tuck me back in and snuggle me.”
• It's being able to turn a forcibly picking of the nose into a sexually intimate moment.
• It's being able to have a conversation about a TV show you're watching while in the bathroom pooping.

You get the point.

Basically, it's easy. RSDW (my bloggy nickname for the GF) and I were long-distance for several months. Whenever she and I were together, it was easy. When we were apart, the relationship was still fine; it was the individual parts that were hard. Grocery shopping for myself sucked, and is something I avoided at all costs. Grocery shopping with her was easy and fun. House upkeep I never used to do, and when I did, was awful and poorly done. Since we've moved in together, it's easy and happily done.

You get the point.

No, the birds don't sing when RSDW and I are together. Disney movies make no more sense, and they can largely suck on my unwashed, freshly-evacuated asshole. Jesus has no part in our relationship, save for when one of us screams “Jesus Fucking Christ” during the throes of orgasm.

Since we now live together, RSDW's mother likes to use the (ridiculous) phrase: “Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free?”

Excuse the inappropriately- and overextended-metaphor, but when you love the cow so much you can't imagine life without it, you fucking buy it.

That's what love/intimacy is. You get the point.

Bravo, Maxwell! I'm glad you love the cow so much. Congratulations and thanks again. Please leave Maxwell some love in your comments. He pretends he's not sweet and loving, but trust me, he is.