Sex and the City

Warning: Spoiler Alert. Don't read if this if you are going to see the movie.


So, I saw Sex and the City, with 2 of my friends. I thought it would be fun--girls' night on the town. But I hated it. And, frankly, I didn't like seeing the side of my friends that just loved that coat and had to have those shoes. I don't think of them as being like that. And I know--I sound judgmental. I am judgmental.

There were two major issues that drove me insane. One was the vapid whoring for fashion. Who actually cares about fashion when they have people in their lives they love? It is so stupid. There was a time when part of me sort of cared, but now I look at this and I'm just baffled that people think this stuff is supposed to look good. Oooh--it's a 2-foot flower on her shoulder! Oh, a 3" diamond flower ring! Oh, a bird in her hair! The girls went to a fashion show, and the outfits were so dumb, I thought they were supposed to be parodies. Carrie goes out in the middle of a snow storm, at night, and wears 4 inch heels to do it. And (shock, horror), Samantha gains "15 pounds" (although, the plot says it was in 6 months, one month before the weight gain she had sushi all over her naked body and looked amazing, but why should a Hollywood movie be consistent), and her friends are horrified. Just horrified! Oh, no! At 50, she has ballooned up to what might be a size 8 or so. She had maybe an inch of fat on her stomach. Not like Kate Winslet in Titanic fat, or Renior, but still, fat enough for fat jokes. Charming.

But the other issue is a much bigger one. (And this is major spoilers--please don't read if you think you might see the movie.) Charlotte leads a perfect life, with absolutely no problems whatsoever. So, of course, she is happy. The other three girls have problems in their relationships! Oh, NO!!!!! Heaven forfend! Big (the guy Carrie dates) gets cold feet at their wedding and takes all of 5 minutes to realize it, turn around and apologize, but Carrie won't listen, can't accept it, can't talk about it. Samantha feels suffocated by being Jared's manager and not having her own life, so she breaks up with him. Never considers quitting the job as his manager and developing her own life. There are no compromises. Steve cheats on Miranda (after she hadn't had sex with him for 6 months) and she can't even talk to him. (That one I understand a little more, but still--don't have sex with a man for 6 months, what the hell do you expect? And he told her immediately after it happened and apologized. Not an on-going affair.) So during the course of the movie 2 of these get resolved, with great fanfare and angst.

I had watched the DVDs in a time in my life where I had essentially no friends that lived within 1000 miles of me. I was SO lonely for people I cared about, I mostly noticed the fact that they hang out together and they are they for each other. But these characters don't talk to each other honestly. Girls talking about sex is not the kind of honest talk I mean--I mean actually letting down your public persona--the girls, even with each other, rarely share any real human vulnerability. Samantha turns 50 in this movie. Does she have any fear about it? Is she scared? Ambivalent? You can't convince me a woman like that hits that milestone without a little angst. Miranda has a job that makes a ton of money (I assume). At least, she keeps telling me she has a job. How does that make her feel? Why is it important? When she and Steve separate, does the income differential play into things? Or even while they are still together and he's still a bartender, and she's exhausted--do they ever try to talk about these issues?

And I'm also left wondering what the hell is going on with our culture. I'm so out of it that I don't even understand why people would like the shoes that these girls covet. But the fact that there are shoes for sale that cost $500? One character gave another a bag that the other character absolutely adored. It was Luis Vitton. And I swear, if someone gave that to me, I would thank them very much and give it to a preschool, because with all those bright colors, it looked like it has been drawn on. And that is enough to feed a family in Africa for a year. God, that sounds so self-righteous. But I would at least save the 500 for a trip or pay down my mortgage, or something. Not a pair of shoes that will fall apart in one snow storm.

Even if you want Love, which is a central theme in the movie, There have to be compromises, I think. And yet, there are a couple of men out there right now who want to be with me, in a serious way. My ex and the young'un. They would do just about anything I asked to be with me, and I've said no; intellectually I believe in compromise, but when push comes to shove, sooner or later, I seem to compromise less than part of me believes I should. My ex has been so very kind to me in the last few months. So warm and fun to be with. But the idea of bringing sex back into it--part of me just numbs out with him and waits for it to be over. He doesn't bring me along. And the young'un. I can't explain why he hit me the wrong way so much, aside from the fact that he kisses the way my father and I kiss--quick pecks on the cheek without the 'inside of the lip.' But, more than that, he has no empathy. He rambles on about trivialities for hours. And he is demanding of my attention and approval.

Bitchy and Blue

I just got dumped by a perfectly nice, sweet guy, whom I wasn't the least attracted to but kept trying to convince myself I could learn to like. It kind of surprised me, because the whole thing was so odd. "I don't know where this is going" he said, which seemed perfectly reasonable at the time. I didn't realize till later he meant "I know where this is going and you just aren't 'girlfriend' material." He was being nice.

It depressed me far more than it should, because I didn't actually like him. There is this weird dating algebra--kindof like college admissions, although completely different. There are schools you'd never get accepted to and don't bother with, reach schools, probably schools and safeties. Someone like John was, according to the dating algebra, was a reach for me. He is really handsome, tall, great job and so smart. I always felt like he was a little out of my league (although, the whole S&M thing changes the calculation--according to the S&M world, I'm a 9, or so. In the vanilla world, I'm probably a 6 or something.) So John was like applying to Harvard and getting wait-listed. I mean, I don't mean to sound so callous. But being rejected by John (who would say that isn't exactly what happened), well it isn't that big a deal (aside from the emotional part of it which is that I adored him and I continue to care about him more than I should). But it didn't hurt my self-esteem; on a human level it hurt a great deal. But I also kind of always knew that someone like John was out of my league. I kindof wish he weren't so handsome so I'd be more in his league.

This guy, on the other hand, he was kind of sweet. Short, but I don't mind. But he had a lisp, which really, really bothered me. And he didn't have terrific social skills. He didn't do anything to put me at ease. I had to carry a lot of the conversation, ask him tons of questions, then not have him reciprocate interest. That said, he is, I think, fundamentally, a good man, so I was willing to see what would happen. But being rejected by him feels like being rejected by the local community college. I'm trying not to be bitchy--realize that first of all, he's probably right. There wasn't that chemistry that you can almost feel. And the fact that I wasn't all that interested in him doesn't necessarily mean that someone I'm actually interested in wouldn't behave differently. But it certainly has me very blue.

My ex continues to want me back. And I actually went over to his place last night to watch 'Recount." I actually made plans after the movie was over so that I wouldn't be tempted to stay. My ex has many things to offer--kindness and companionship and comfortability. And I know it would be a mistake. I know that erotically, he wasn't good for me. But he healed me more than he hurt me. But not that the part of me is healed, it would be dangerous to get involved with him again.

I'm in this weird place in my life where I'm much more of a bitch than I used to be. Men try to talk to me on the bus, and I don't take my headphones off. They are bothering me. I'm listening to something--why should I bother? This guy on a vanilla dating site said he couldn't live without "420" and I said "no, thanks" and he went into the rant about how racist I was. I thought it was funny, and didn't even bother blocking him because it was so amusing. I used to feel obligated to talk to anyone who wanted to talk to me (crazy homeless sometimes excluded).

And yet, when it comes to dating, I'm not bitchy enough. I'm 'well, I ought to be able to make this work.' It is rare that I have the "I want to be with this person more than anything" reaction. John and the man that smote me were actually the only ones I felt that way about. And I wonder if maybe that is necessary, or if it is too much to ask for.

Meta-blogging

Very interesting article in the NY Times Sunday magazine this coming week, about blogging about your personal life. The author and I are very different in several ways, most notably that her blog was very well read and she was not anonymous. And so of course, those differences lead to other differences.

I no longer had the luxury of writing something and imagining that the only people who might read it would be a handful of funny, supportive friends.

I do have that luxury. I expect maybe 4 people read this blog, if that much, and I assume you are all in my corner, a little. Or at least, I assume you (if any 'yous' exist) mean me no harm. There are no nasty comments on this blog--no one has ever left one. "Attention is my drug," one of the characters in the story confessed. And I get no attention from here--so I don't do it for that reason (although that comment someone left a month ago or so touched me deeply). But I crave the clarity that I sometimes get from exploring a topic.

I had been getting up each morning at 7 a.m., my thoughts jostling in my head, eager to escape.

I'm not a morning person, but that sense of allowing an idea to escape, not just escape, blossom, is a strong compulsion. Somehow, I believe if I can truly understand what makes me feel something, than I can accept it and live peacefully with it. I think for me, this is a sort of therapy. And I'm pulled here when I'm feeling something I can't explain.

The will to blog is a complicated thing, somewhere between inspiration and compulsion. It can feel almost like a biological impulse. You see something, or an idea occurs to you, and you have to share it with the Internet as soon as possible.

For me, it is not so much the sharing as the exploring, but I'm more likely to explore an idea if I put it here, if I think I can tease out the underlying issues, but I crave the idea that I'm not alone in struggling with these issues and that someday, someone out there will say "yes--that's how I feel too." I also believe that women my age have been dealt a very difficult hand and by discussing those contradictory pulls on our lives we can, hopefully, treat ourselves with a little more love. And knowing we're not alone, helps give permission to accept.

I was in the 6th or 7th grade when I snuck into my first "R" rated movie--Fame. And the scene when the Irene Cara took off her shirt--it was so important, because it was the only time I saw a woman who had breasts like mine. I didn't have real nipples till I was older, and I always thought there was something wrong with my breasts. Seeing her's were just like mine made me feel much better about my own. I hope that exploring my neuroses on the little screen can, maybe, help have the same impact.

But there are some similarities.

I’d been clinging to [him] for months in spite of our differences because, in addition to the comfort and stability he gave me, he was my sounding board — someone with whom I could share my unfiltered thoughts, without worrying about being entertaining. In his absence, I was becoming more and more open on Gawker.

I miss John because of the same reason. I don't even know if I miss John, or I miss the idea of John. Do I miss the "John" of the 700 e-mails or the guy who's name isn't John that I can spend 8 hours with and wish for 8 more. Or do I miss the guy who's name really is John that cherished my self-analysis even if he didn't partake? Where does "John" end and John begin? Do I really even know "John?" They were powerful glimpses. I loved knowing him. But did I really?

I've got a date with one of the guys I went out with last week on Friday. He is taking me ballroom dancing. Just about the best date I could ask for from anyone. He is a sweet man, and he seems to like me. But there isn't that restless search for clarity, or that self-awareness. He isn't tantalized by words. Maybe somehow we would start that dance of the 7 veils of self-disclosure, but I don't see how we'd begin. There are no hints that we could go there. The NY Times gal writes:

I wanted him to know everything there was to know about me.

Yes, exactly. But I don't just want a mythical him to know everything about me. I want him to embrace and accept and cherish and adore. Even my horrible sides. The idea that someone could know my most private details. And still say "OK. You're worth it. I'll take the good with the bad."

The Republican wanted to see me naked, physically. And I can name every single one of my physical flaws. If I had done it, it would have made me feel incredibly vulnerable because would he be rejecting me because my stomach isn't flat, or my scar or the stretch marks on my breasts? And if he had looked at me and said "yeah--you're good enough for me" it would have bound me emotionally to him. It really would have. He never would have been enough for me, but it would still have glued me to him for a while. But that physical vulnerability and sharing is nothing compared to the emotional. Lot's of women have stretch marks. They even sell different things for dealing with them. And intellectually, I believe lots of women have the psychic stretch marks from feminism and yearning for acceptance and MTV and high-school popularity contests and being mocked and believing ourselves to be unlovable, if only for a brief, fleeting moment, and all the things that defined us. But it lives in the shadows. Unknown and unembraced. Maybe it is too much to ask to share that with a romantic partner. I don't know.

Good Girl

Oh, those magic words that usually send tingles down my spine. Spoken by my mother! Oy.

My father would never say something like that to me. He is careful with his approval and doesn't even like me to call him "dad" as I'm supposed to be an adult and not forget it. My mother is lavish with her praise. Which means it means little. I take it for granted. Amazing how my mother uttering those two words just shocked me. The wrong context; they become meaningless.

Meanwhile, my life is certainly not boring.

Went out with a very nice man today, and there might be potential there. But the whole time we were out at the first place we met, an older guy was behind him, watching me, appreciating me. It was this really bizarre dynamic. First of all, it was flattering. I have had so many men flirting with me in the last week (there was a huge puddle at the bottom of some stairs at the parking lot and a man gave me his hand to help me over it, and then said "I should put my coat down to help you over it" and then our cars were in the same place and you could tell he was embarrassed that he didn't want me to think he was following me, but also very sweet), it surprises me. I don't think of myself as the kind of woman that random men care to flirt with. It is good for my ego and for my soul! I didn't flirt with the other guy at all--of course. I'd never do that. But I made eye contact like 2 times--I didn't mean to. I was thoroughly enjoying the conversation, but I'd look away for a moment, like you do when you're looking for a word or a fact, and there were these eyes staring in my eyes. How do you deal with that? I tried to make sure my date wasn't even aware. I felt rude, almost cruel. But even if my date hadn't been there, I wouldn't have been interested in the older guy from the coffee shop. If Steven and I couldn't make it work, I could never make it work with an older guy.

Meanwhile, I'm about 2/3rds the way done with my novel, and I showed it to one of my best friends. The subplot has S&M. And my best friend was shocked. She loved every part of my novel, except the part where the girl got tied up and flogged. And there are several issues there. The first is: cool--I'm being a little cutting edge. If that is her reaction (and I realize that almost all the representations of S&M are either caricatures or show women in charge, or both)--then what I'm writing is needed. And the same time, though, how much can this be my best friend if this part of my life would horrify her so much! What would happen if she lifted up my pink, Laura Ashley dust ruffle and found the ropes tied to my bed? We've been friends for more than half my life. Would she drop me? I can't imagine she would, after all we've been through. And yet, the disapproval is visceral and cutting.

Finally, and this is distressing, the kid from last November/December decided to quit his incredibly well-paying job (over six figures) to do political activism work. And I think it was 70% because he doesn't like his job and 30% because he wanted me back. It is just a hunch. I hope I'm wrong. I feel guilty rejecting him, but I could never be happy with him. I told him bluntly a couple of months ago that I didn't want to go out with him, and I wouldn't be his friend because he wouldn't accept that. (I never actually wanted to be friends--but I felt guilty.) He called me 4 times this weekend, after announcing he would be quitting his job on this upcoming Monday. I let it go to voice mail and e-mailed him not to call me. I was pretty nasty, but I'm scared that if he was quitting his job to do something I'd approve of (he never had any interest in activism before--that's the only reason I think I might be a factor--I don't mean that to sound egotistical), he still has time to not quit. I don't want the responsibility of my 'approval' having anything to do with his decision. So, while I was nasty (which I hate being!), I think it was the right thing to do.

And, of course, there are the things that I don't mention here. The darker parts of my soul. When I started this blog, I shared those more easily. Now, I'm aware that there are things that should be explored, things that are itching to be owned instead of hidden, and I'm not. And that gets into all the intricacies of the ways that blogs operate. The partial disclosure hidden under the full disclosure. The fact that I'm not entirely over this guy (a pre-blog guy--Michael--I haven't mentioned him before). I intended to be over him, but he sort of wandered back into my life in a non-romantic way. Just at I expect the young'un intended to be over me (although I didn't wander back into his life). I know I have to move on, just as he probably knew he had to move on. I don't want to be pathetic in the eyes of someone I think must know I still care about him, at least a little. And yet, he has made it perfectly clear by deeds, although never by words, that he's not interested. I don't want to force him to the bluntness that the young'un forced me. And yet, at least the young'un has certainty. Letting go and moving on while wondering what might have been is hard. I have many regrets in this world. I don't want to regret not having given something a chance.

I'm back

Well, I doubt anyone will still read this, but getting rid of my blog didn't open up great amounts of creativity on my part. In fact, I felt like it shut down my creativity a little bit. I had a great spurt on my novel, and then half-way through, I just stopped.

I also seem to be stuck in my life. My e-harmony subscription is expiring, and I'm letting it. There was only one eharmony guy I was interested in, and he seems to be letting it slip away, so c'est la vie.

And yet, the 2 days having an ad back on collarme, really reminded me why I wasn't there. I actually am thinking about getting together with my ex, and that thought shocks me. And yet, I miss sleeping in his arms. I haven't slept with anyone since him, and it isn't even the sex I'm craving. It is the sleeping next to another person, hearing him breathe, feeling his arms around me.

It is very weird--I know there are several men right now that would like to be with me, that I have said no to. And I'm clear as to why I said no to each one. And I have no regrets there. And I know who I thought I wanted, and I know it won't happen, so I have to let that go. And my ex would help me let go of that. But ...

I know he wasn't good for me in some ways, and yet in others, he was. And lately, he has been a steady and warm presence. I don't even know if it would be a mistake. I told him I'd kindof lost my sex drive since the Republican slapped me, and all I really wanted was to be held, and he said "you can come over; I'll hold you." That was sweet. There's no future there, but all my attempts to find someone that might be a future seem to have been for naught. Maybe something will happen when I least expect it. I've tried to live integrity. But sometimes I think it would be easier to not have integrity be quite so important to me.