Tag Archives: Relationships

Your Pen Name Could be Leading an Exciting Secret Life of its Own!

Some of you might think “Little Miss Menopause” IS my actual pen name. And to those people I’d calmly ask, “What are you, nuts?!?” That’s simply a regretful silly title I chose for myself many years ago when I first began blogging and thought I should brand myself with something cutesie. Little did I know I’d box myself into hot flash humor. Forever. Sigh.

But when I first started getting other work published “in the real world” (and didn’t want family and friends to be able to see some of my more uh… “unique topics” if they googled me) I made up a Pen Name to hide behind.

That’s right. Back then I opened a new email account under the name ‘Samantha Stratton’ and submitted things authored under that name to various publishers. ‘Samantha’ because that was supposed to be my given birth name until the show Bewitched became wildly popular when my mother was in her last days of pregnancy and she feared people would tease me about being a witch, taunting me to twitch my nose to make them disappear. And ‘Stratton’ because who knows? I like alliteration. Or I felt sorry for the murdered playboy bunny Dorothy Stratten, but misspelled her last name? Or I always had a thing for Stratton mountain in Vermont? Honestly, who knows!

The point is eventually I chose another better Pen Name (And I’m not telling you what!) and disregarded ‘Samantha Stratton,’ for good. But I forgot to delete her email account.

When I became single again and decided to try online dating, I made my profile at Match and Plenty of Fish, but when it came time to correspond with men, I of course signed my messages to them by my name — “Stephanie.” However I didn’t want strange guys writing to me at my normal email address because I preferred them not knowing my true last name. At least not right off the bat — I suspected from that, they could easily obtain my address and other personal information and who knows what they might do. So which account did I send dating emails from? You guessed it. Unbeknownst to me, (because I have a menopausal mush mind memory and forgot about the discarded pen name) my emails were landing in their email box from a ‘Samantha Stratton.’ Let’s just say “Ms. Stratton” was inadvertently reborn.

Fast forward to what was supposed to be a nice walk in the park with a potential someone. “You must be Michael,” I said as we hugged hello. “And you are Stephanie, of course, heh heh,” he said with an obvious sly wink. Weird.

As we ambled toward the beach, he asked if I preferred him calling me by the nickname Sam or Sammie? “Neither,” I said, thinking that’s a strange choice to give someone named Stephanie. But I ignored it. Later he inquired if I was a big fan of Saturday Night Fever? I held my breath hoping he was not about to break into a Travolta famous dance pose right there on the sand or confess his penchant for white three-piece suits.

Then he mentioned how interesting it is that I would choose to be called Stephanie when other Stephanies go by Lady Gaga and Stevie Nicks.

“Okay, WHAT??” I finally turned to him in exasperation. “I did not choose Stephanie. That IS my given name. I AM Stephanie.”

“No problem, Stephanie. You can be Stephanie all you want. Your secret is safe with me, Samantha Stratton,” he said conspiratorially.

Okay, now we were getting somewhere! And I knew exactly how to sort out this strange mix-up. Once I explained to him that Samantha Stratton was a pen name for my writing that I forgot was linked to my email account, a lightbulb went off in his head and he excused himself to use the bathroom.

When he returned he acted extremely humbled and impressed by me. There was talk of working in Hollywood and questions about double axels, forward crossovers, and spirals . More confused than ever, I begged off the date with an excuse that my cats needed to be fed and headed home to Google my old pen name.

Well Ms. Samantha Stratton really got her act together since I adopted her name so many years ago. Apparently she’d recently risen to fame as the creator/writer of a new Netflix show called “Spinning Out” about professional ice-skating. In fact Samantha Stratton herself used to be a high-level figure skater for twelve years and based a lot of it on her own life.

Oy! Michael is gonna be very disappointed when on our second date, I confess I’m actually just plain old ‘Little Miss Menopause.’

To top it all off, I accidentally left this old Pen Name email account open so when I suddenly realized it had been ages since I’d written my mother, I guiltily fired off a quick hello and clicked ‘send.’

Immediately my cellphone rang.

Me: Hya Ma!

My Mother: So you decided you liked Samantha better and changed your name? And nobody thinks to inform their mother??

Me: I didn’t, Mom. I was just trying to hide some stuff I wrote from you and the rest of the family. So I invented a pen name. You know, a pseudonym.

I could hear furious typing on her keyboard as she clucked her tongue reproachfully.

My Mother: So you’re keeping it to yourself that you’re a big shot in the television industry, huh? So your father and I should continue paying for your car insurance!

Great. Who has time for this much explanation? I’ll just ignore her with silence.

My Mother: Hello? Hello? Whadya do, Samantha? Twitch your nose and make me disappear??

Did I remember Travolta’s dance partner was named “Stephanie” in Saturday Night Fever? No, but apparently my date did.

Readers: Do you have a Pen Name? How did you pick it? What intrigue do they have going on you might not be aware of? And if you don’t have a Pen Name, get one HERE! 

“You Don’t Bring Me Flowers Anymore…” (And Maybe That’s a Good Thing, Barbra??)

“Would you like ranch dressing or honey mustard with your Valentine’s bouquet?” Said No Florist Ever!

Patience! This is actually a post about Flowers and Valentine’s Day and Love — even though it starts out quoting an old sad song. Poor Neil, he really got admonished in this late 70’s popular ballad for not being romantic enough. Did you know that Streisand and Diamond each sang those same lyrics separately until their recordings were famously spliced together by different radio stations, creating unofficial duets, the success of which led to the studio bringing the two performers together for an official duet recording? Okay, back on topic.

Recently I did some crowdsourcing on Facebook and this was how I presented my subject.

Ladies, do you genuinely love getting flowers?? Or do you look at it as a “default gift” when your mate cannot think of anything else you might like? Men, do you think ALL women must like receiving flowers and so that’s the first thing you gravitate to for a nice gesture? Or is it out of sheer convenience/ease?

Out of 42 responses, only five females were not flower fans. Here were their comments:

No flowers for me . . . I would prefer to be taken to a field of daisies or have him plant some rose bushes for us to witness their growth, rather than pluck beauty from the earth to watch wither.

~Violet

Chocolates any time. Flowers, never! To me, I’m just waiting to see when they will be dead enough to throw away after making a mess on the counter.

~Lily

I have asthma. Flowers make me wheeze. Please bring me jewelry. Or coffee. Or a candle. Or a toy for my dog. Just not flowers!

~Jasmine

Honestly, they just don’t do a thing for me. It’s such an “I’m Going Thru The Motions” empty gesture. I’d much prefer something that has some meaning attached to it.

~Daisy

Okay, I hope there’s enough room for me to fully respond to your question. First off, the main reason I don’t care for a man giving me a bouquet is that after my father passed away I got lots of floral arrangements sent to the house, so I tend to associate them with funerals and the loss of a loved one — not to mention flowers themselves run through their life cycle extremely quickly and will die right before your very eyes, no matter HOW WELL you care for them. I once had a boyfriend who got flowers for me only after an argument … so when I’m not associating them with death, I’m linking them to quarrels, apologies, and/or multiple breakups! The tight plastic wrapping frustrates the heck out of me. Ouch! I’ve gotten stuck hard by roses while trying to arrange them. Speaking of water — I never have a vase I can safely reach. Twice I’ve fallen off barstools trying to get one out of an upper cabinet. The water gets all yucky and gross smelling if you don’t change it often and try washing the vase after it’s all gunked up with encrusted floral droppings. My kitties play with them, knocking them over or ingesting them. They can trigger my allergies. Flowers with yellow in them always stain everything they touch, including my granite kitchen countertops. And lastly, yes flowers do feel like a “generic” gift, leaving me to think “I guess he doesn’t know me well enough to pick out something more personalized.” See aren’t you sorry you asked me?

~Little Miss Menopause

 

Astute readers will notice I took the liberty of responding to my own crowdsourcing survey with quite a lengthy rant. (Talking to myself, nothing new here!) I also embedded a similar display of emotion in my novel as one of my main character’s personality traits. But would I ever directly tell a man I was seeing how I felt about receiving flowers? Never.

A man is conditioned to think all women love flowers and so in his mind, he’s done good! How could you fault a guy for that? How could you burst his romantic bubble by pricking it with a sharp rose thorn?

I bet there are a lot more women out there like me, secretly hiding the fact that flowers just don’t bring them as much joy (or any?) as the giver assumes they do. Perhaps (like me!) they’re also keeping silent so as not to hurt his feelings. Bottom line, what if all these men are bringing all these women flowers and nobody sincerely wants to give them and nobody sincerely wants to get them?

“A Rose by any other name … might just be a vicious cycle of poor communication and wasted $’s.”

I’ll leave you with my one amusing, touching, adorable tale of receiving flowers from my youngest son. Once Upon a Time on a Mother’s Day long ago an eight year-old boy waited until the last minute to get anything to show his adoration. Picking a bunch of last minute blooms from multiple neighbors’ gardens, he rushed into the kitchen to hastily try and find a suitable vase (remember they’re all stored inconveniently in the highest cabinets!) before his mother came downstairs that Sunday morning so he could shout, “Surprise!” Realizing his search was in vain, he grabbed the closest thing that emulated the shape of a vase. And that was the first, last and only time I’ve ever received flowers displayed in water (yes he remembered the water) sticking out of a Hamilton Beach Blender … of which he did thoughtfully unplug from the outlet.

Happy Valentine’s Day!

Female readers….hoping for flowers? Fess up in my comments section! Male readers… Is it a cop-out gift because you’re feeling lazy or do you truly believe there isn’t a woman alive who won’t swoon at posies? 

 

How an Innocent Entertainment App On Your Phone Can Impact Your Relationship

Because I live in a large metropolitan area, there is an Entertainment App available for purchase called “The Seat Junky.” The premise/philosophy behind it is quite simple — basically events at local live venues (this does NOT work for movie theaters however) will take place regardless of how many tickets are sold, so they may as well have a full house (lots more applause, and hopefully more people to write positive reviews afterwards, right?) by giving away (yep, completely free!) tickets at the last minute once they project how many extra seats they will have.

The show MUST go on, right? (Side-Note: I sure wish cruise ships, airlines, and hotels also shared this perspective when they aren’t sold-out!!)

Now utilizing this app (to the fullest extent possible) requires a person to have major flexibility in their schedule, an open-mindedness to trying new things, and in my case… a full-blown case of OCD. The latter is because when things suddenly pop-up on this app (and that can happen any time of the day or night btw!) because there are no fees, they go LIKE THAT! Quicker than you just read my last sentence. I learned this the hard way by only logging on once a day and seeing “Sorry, Unavailable!” tags across all of the recent show listings.  And we’re talking wonderful broadway style musicals, stand-up comics, major concerts, symphonies, and anything else you can think of that someone might turn into a live theatrical experience.

If I didn’t know about the acronym FOMO (Fear Of Missing Out) before, I certainly do now, thanks to this App! Like clockwork first thing each morning, I would immediately log in to see if something new and exciting had come on. But then it “dawned” on me…normal people were literally logging in at “dawn!” In other words, my “first thing in the morning” wasn’t exactly what most people would deem “morning” due to my horrible insomnia. In fact my “first thing in the morning” (10 am) would be most people’s first “coffee break” at the office. And that’s why I was still finding those irritating “Sorry, Unavailable!” tags on all the offerings.

This would never do. Darn those Early Birds and their respective worms! So now during all hours of the night, I inexplicably startle awake with an uncontrollable obsession to check the app.

Last night at 3 a.m., I nabbed two tickets (the app always allows you to bring a guest!) to a play called “The Humans” (Now mind you, I’ve never in my entire theater-going life even heard of this show before, but the description said it was equally uproariously funny AND deeply chilling and there was no way I was letting those two simultaneous emotions pass me by!) and so after snatching them up (and gleefully witnessing that “Sorry, Unavailable!” tag appearing afterwards, (effectively taunting the rest of the app subscribers!) I felt totally victorious and triumphant. “Nah nah nah… They’re all Mine!”

Forgetting the late hour, I enthusiastically dialed my boyfriend.

Me: Hi. Oh! Did I wake you? Really?? Well, I’m sorry. But it’s important. I just wanna make sure you’re available to see “The Humans?” with me this Friday?

Him: (groggy) Which humans? Your kids? Because I’d say that’s a bit of a stretch if we’re talking about your teenage son.

Me: No no, not my family.

Him: Oh I get it. Is this another one of your ploys to get me to the animal shelter again to adopt a dog that you insist has a human soul, which you claim is evident by looking into his large expressive eyes.

Me: No, don’t be silly. It’s a show on our app.

Him: (Groaning) Not that app again, Stephanie. You can’t just keep willy nilly snapping up every new listing that comes on there just because it has unsold tickets.

Me: Did you just say “Willy Nilly?”

Him: Never mind that. Did it ever occur to you that there must be a good reason there are so many empty seats?

Me: Please? If I didn’t grab them, someone else would have.

Him: Is that so? Over Christmas you impulsively claimed two seats for a Sunday morning church service.

The preacher had let us bring our menorah and some latkes, but I guess that wasn’t the point. Perhaps it was getting out of hand? I was becoming (becoming??) competitive, compulsive, calculating, and basically dragging us to every show in town, including a lonely old man who managed to make a listing for bowling so he could have a few fans cheer him on in the ally. It had sounded like fun to me because he’d titled it, “That’s Just the Way I Roll — A One Man Show.”

After we hung up, I reluctantly released my seats for “The Humans” and was about to log out of the entertainment app (possibly for good?) when I suddenly noticed a description pop-up for a brand new show called, “The Addiction!” Synopsis: A pathetic woman becomes so addicted to an app for live theater events that she ruins her own relationship.” I was proud of myself, (and my boyfriend would be as well!) because I did NOT grab two tickets…

Instead, I wrote to the director and told him I was the perfect Understudy in case the star ever got ill.

Note: Post NOT sponsored by Seat Junky. Just my doing some penance for getting so crazy.

 

 

Favorite Fairytale Follow-ups!

Let’s play “Where Are They Today?” with a special focus on our Career Edition!

Snow White: This fair maiden no longer has skin as white as snow since she overcooked herself in a tanning salon to prepare herself for the huntsmen, (the Queen’s hunky assistant who saved Snow White’s life by hiding her in a forest, instead of killing her) on their wedding day. Ms. White now works in the field of sleep disorders (actually many Fairytale characters find the subject of sleep to be the bane of their existence!) and runs a clinic specializing in insomnia, oversleeping, nightmares, and F.F.F. (FatalFlawFruit) which is a common syndrome rendering victims helpless if they should fall into a deadly slumber after biting a Red Delicious apple. The handsome prince, (whom Snow divorced after trying to make her marriage work for 2.5 years) is currently a member of a 12-Step group for people compelled to kiss the lips of individuals impersonating corpses in glass coffins. It’s called “Dead End Relationships Anonymous.” (As of yet, there are no specific 12-Step groups to address the addictions of the individuals inside those glass coffins.) Meanwhile the seven dwarf miners saved up all their sick and vacation days and so it’s — Off to Bali they go!

Cinderella: Cindy has designed an entire line of shatterproof acrylic shoes, after getting a shard of glass deeply embedded in her heel from those fateful slippers. Her unique tagline is, “From flip-flops to stilettos, one thing is perfectly clear . . . someone with a foot-fetish will need to be transparent about it from the very start!” Her two wicked step-sisters briefly dabbled as adult film stars, but eventually settled into a housecleaning business called “The Merry (Scary!) Maids” and they have a sideline company throwing fancy balls and inviting everyone with the exception of Cinderella. So far they’ve dribbled lacy basketballs, rolled sequined bowling balls, hit velvet tennis balls, and kicked pearlized footballs in front of appreciative audiences whilst Cinderella remained banished from every court. Instead Cindy contents herself staying home watching her handsome prince bake pumpkin pies whilst trying to control their rodent problem with humane traps.

Sleeping Beauty: This ambitious early-riser (who only answers to Aurora now) finally cured her narcolepsy at Snow White’s Sleeping Disorder clinic, and has a lot more on her mind these days than just pricking fingers. She sews elaborate baby christening gowns and shows up at the events to monitor the blessings that guests bestow on the innocent little tykes. The gift of Song, the gift of Beauty, the gift of Charm, the gift of Huggies diapers are all permitted, but lest someone try to utter “the gift of a Spindle on a Spinning Wheel,” and you haven’t seen real revenge until you’ve seen this slumbering beauty wake up on the wrong side of the bed. Like Snow White, Sleeping Beauty also divorced her prince of a husband because she couldn’t get past his dragon breath which he unfortunately picked up whilst slaying one in her honor. Meanwhile Flora, Fauna, and Merryweather have taken their bumbling stand-up comedy on cruise ships, billing themselves as the “The Three Stooges Wearing Rouges” going extra heavy with blush on their cheeks. It’s really quite humorous how they make-up this work! Evil Maleficent never responded to the official “What are you up to these days?” survey, but she is thought to have gotten involved in the movie sequel industry.

Rapunzel: Rest a-sheared, today we find Rapunzel straightening out her life and towering over the other princesses on Amazon simply by marketing a reformulated ladder she calls “Hairway To Heaven” and you can guess what it’s made out of! Handymen the world over are loving this new shiny, full of body, replenishing way to climb up on rooftops, change ceiling lightbulbs, and hang Christmas decorations under any condition(ers). See you on QVC Rapunzel!

Rumplestiltskin: This conniving shyster went from spinning straw to gold to writing legit Baby Naming books which consistently rank in the top three on the New York Times Bestseller List. His secret? He takes three common words and strings them together (Rumple/Stilt/Skin) until they sound so exotic and mysterious that even a Queen might not guess the name. Rip/Van/Winkle was a big fan until he fell into such a lengthy sleep that a good samaritan brought him to . . . (wait for it!) Snow White’s Sleep Disorder clinic. . . where he met up with The Princess and the Pea (who was there successfully curing her inability to get a good night’s rest on green produce!) and the rest they say, is Happily-Ever-After History!

Always Snoozing! These former lazy princesses have awakened to bigger and better things!

How Can You Want What You Already Have?

Many readers individually messaged me to journey further into my last blog post “What Happens When the Honeymoon Phase is Over?”

So awaaaaay we go . . .

  1. You’re eating your third pralines and cream ice-cream cone. It’s your favorite flavor and you’ve had a real craving because it’s been forever since you treated yourself to it. How many licks into it do you still really and truly have strong interest for it? Maybe a bag of salty Lays potato chips is starting to sound better right about now?
  2. You always wanted to be a novelist. It was your life’s dream. And now you’ve put out three books — congratulations on achieving your goal! Ho hum, now it’s feeling kinda old hat. What’s next on your bucket list? Becoming a literary agent … a professional who helps others reach their own writing goals. Now THAT sounds fascinating, right?
  3. You’re in a relationship with someone you thought was highly intriguing, rather mysterious, and definitely “hard-to-get.” But they finally noticed you and now you’ve settled in for a monogamous commitment. How is it then that your bedroom life has become a predictable yawn, and why do your eyes zero in on the next elusive stranger who happens to flit by?

Of course the common thread in all three scenarios is … Desire. What propels it and what causes it to dissipate? Is a burning desire as simple as wanting what we cannot have? “The grass is always greener” or “The Forbidden Fruit?” Lets take that last phrase literally for a moment. If you hear a newsflash that after tomorrow bananas will be outlawed, what will go through your head? Yes, it will soon be illegal to grow them, ingest them, or use them in slapstick comedy … so of course what will you suddenly want more than anything, starting tomorrow? Even if you never really cared for them in the first place. That’s right….get peeling! Cuz you’re about to go bananas for bananas.

Every failed dieter knows this lesson when their “Last Supper” on Sunday night consists of everything the new diet deems “off-limits” come Monday morning.

Impending scarcity leads to desire!

But what can lead to maintaining desire?? Is it as simple as remembering that “Variety is the spice of life?” Sticking with the banana metaphor here — let’s say bananas actually have always been your all-time favorite food. And some new wacky reality television gameshow will pay you to eat nothing but bananas. In fact each day that you consume only bananas, you’ll earn a hundred dollars. (Being paid to eat your favorite food? Piece of cake! Or banana cream pie!) But I’ll wager you won’t leave the show with anywhere close to a thousand bucks in your pocket. And what do you wanna bet that you split (banana split?) even sooner than a week? Yes bananas quickly became extremely Dole dull, didn’t they?

Feast or Famine!

So if desire (and lack thereof) is predicated on levels of deprivation and/or abundance, is it possible to sustain our hunger, yearning, aching, lusting, hankering, coveting something (or someone) once we secure it? I’m going to go out on a limb here by stating that we attempt to maintain passion and desire by the unconscious act of pushing away the things that we really want, keeping ourselves in a constant state of arousal? Psychologists take note: maybe it’s not the “fear of failure” that causes us to self-sabotage after-all? Maybe it’s just the brain’s way of keeping us interested.

Still not convinced? Why does a dog bury a bone when he knows it’s possible to indulgently sleep with the bone 24/7 in its bed or doghouse. But nooooooo. The dog hides the bone from himself so it has some distance from the bone and can sorely miss the bone. Later it becomes a thrilling surprise to happen to be digging in the backyard garden and whoa… would you look at that? It’s baaaaaack! Alright don’t go Googling this because you’ll find some silly explanation about how dogs need to instinctively protect their food from other predators because it hearkens back to the days before they were domesticated. Just do me a favor and stick with me on this.

However if you think my theories are for the dogs, let me get more human with you. On this blog it’s no secret my life romances haven’t sustained themselves longer than ten years. Early in my first marriage as a young and immature woman, I actually created arguments out of thin air with my new husband. I couldn’t figure out why I did this repeatedly until it dawned on me that our reconciliation was super exciting to me. I would bring myself to the brink of “losing something” so I could reawaken my desire for it once again and have the challenge (and satisfaction) of earning it back. Makeup sex anyone?

Only slightly more mature, I enter into a second marriage secretly thrilled that this husband travels frequently for business so I’ll have time and space to actually pine for him. Whenever he returned, things instantly became new and fresh again! Judaism understands how physical separation enhances a marriage, and actually will sometimes promote it as a side benefit to Family Purity Laws. Curious? Read more HERE.

In my next long-term relationship, (where I somehow manage to grow even more selfish and immature) I calmly ended things after they became overly predictable and lackluster some five years later. But this time, rather than trying to manipulate and trick desire into coming back . . . surprise (!) — desire had its own way with me when I least expected it. And was it ever painful.

Because another woman found my carelessly discarded ex-boyfriend to be the answer to her dreams and quickly nabbed him, my sudden reignited passion for him went through the roof, and let me just say that I became extremely physically ill realizing how playing mind-games and trying to control and manipulate had backfired on me big time. I then proceeded to (single-handedly!) help all the authors of books titled, “How to Get Your Ex Back, Even If You Were the One Who Broke Up” send their kids to college. Not a proud moment.

Does Stephanie ever stop riding a Streetcar Named Desire?

I will abruptly end here without telling you the answer (so your desire for me to post more about this topic stays heightened?) but I want to leave you with a terrific video from Esther Perel that has over 3.5 million views and counting. Click on THIS (but be sure and skip the ad, sorry!) and then leave me a comment with your thoughts. And I hereby promise to always want you as a follower, even if you already are one!

                                       Where did I purposely bury my heart’s desire????

What Happens After The Honeymoon is Over?

         Going, going . . . GONE!

 

They say it’s inevitable and happens to all relationships. Who are “They??” I hate them! The initial magic starts to fade, the rush of learning new things as a “couple” subsides, the novel unpredictability and the exciting challenge starts to feel like a sure thing and a walk in the park with your eyes closed. And yes you can get mugged when you walk in the park with your eyes closed, but that’s not the novel unpredictability you want. Boredom sets in. Then the fact that you’re bored sends you into questioning the relationship and soon you’re googling, “How to Regain that Spark” and finding over 1.6 million of these kind of titles right HERE.

My First Husband told me we would never have to worry about this problem because he had the perfect solution — after the wedding, we would simply not embark on a traditional honeymoon trip. If it never began, it could never end. Logic like this is only one of the hundreds of reasons he will continue to be justifiably referred to as “My First Husband.”

My Second Husband and I had a whirlwind courtship and married rather quickly so our honeymoon phase was quickly interrupted by extreme morning sickness, baby preparations, and worries about Down Syndrome when test results came back highly elevated. Luckily our daughter was born perfectly healthy, but our romantic life was no longer “highly elevated.” Sadly, that elevator never went above the bargain basement floor after all the newfound responsibilities of parenting kicked our butts.

After my second divorce, my obsession with keeping the Honeymoon Stage alive kicked into high gear and truly began in earnest. We’re talking a full-time job, (I wasn’t just moonlighting in Honeymooning!) and I was determined to think outside the (Victoria’s Secret shipping) box.

Here are the tactics, tips, tricks, and techniques I tried, but to no avail:

FAMILIARITY BREEDS CONTEMPT: Notice that is NOT a typo. The phrase doesn’t read, “Familiarity Breeds Content.” Therefore I decided if part of the problem was we eventually knew each other inside and out, I would be intentionally mysterious and hard to pin down. Here was how that looked . . .

HIM: So what’s your favorite color?

ME: Why do you ask?

HIM: I’d like to buy you something.

ME: I feel it’s too soon to release that information, so I’ll just say Rainbow. My favorite color is rainbow.

HIM: Yeah, my choices are yellow, red, or pink. Roses don’t come rainbow. Never mind that. What’s your favorite ice-cream flavor, I’ll pick some up.

ME: It’s not Rocky Road. It’s not Cookies N’ Cream. It’s not Salted Caramel, it’s not Mint Chip, it’s not ….

HIM: Oh my god, woman. What IS it then?

ME: If I tell you, I’ll have to kill you.

ABSENCE MAKES THE HEART GROW FONDER: I really thought I had it right with this one! I intentionally put physical distance between us as often as I could, encouraging him to go on lengthy business trips, scheduling back to back writer’s conferences, and going out with girlfriends instead of more frequent dates with him. Surely I would miss him, crave him, pine for him, and then our eventual reunion would be off the charts Electric! Uh…apparently there’s this whole other conflicting adage that goes like this – “Out of sight, out of mind!” And sadly, that’s the one that ruled my heart. I soon forgot what exactly attracted me to him in the first place, and if I was doing so fine and dandy alone, what was even the point of reconvening??

THIS WON’T HAPPEN TO US: This is the tact you take when you think that you and your new lover are different from the rest of the population and can beat the system if you approach it preventatively. Clear out your bookshelves, add more storage space on your cellphone, and make room on your calendar, because you will buy so many enrichment books, download so many relationship podcasts, and attend so many Couple’s Workshops that you could power the sunrise on a cloudy day with all your romantic insights. Except the sun WILL eventually set on the honeymoon stage for you two as well. And so you should now resort to . . .

DAZZLING, DARING, DOPAMINE: Supposedly this is the neurotransmitter that makes it all so incredible!  If you can maintain high levels of this compound in your brain, you’ve got it made in the shade. But don’t stay in the shade! Get out into the sunshine and go parasailing, sky-diving, windsurfing, skiing, river-rafting, and rollercoaster riding! But as you’ll soon find out, you should break up with your mate and start dating the owner of Groupon. Do you know how expensive all of this adventurous stuff is to do? Not to mention the cost of landing in the ER with a broken rib or a sprained ankle. There has to be a better way?

THE BETTER WAY: Many of my Couple Friends state this, “Stephanie, you’ll actually be grateful when the Honeymoon Stage wears off. Because that’s when the real deep and truly satisfying intimacy begins and you go to a whole new level that there’s just no way to articulate. Believe us when we say there’s nothing like the intuitive knowledge of finishing your partner’s sentences for them and then falling asleep to the rhythmic sounds of their snores.” Essentially they are saying, “Forget dopamine. Serotonin is where it’s at!” These are the same people who become diabetic and can never eat sugar again but will try to convince you, “I never realized just how sweet broccoli tastes. It’s indescribable.” These are highly suspect individuals for sure!

Readers: If you’ve found a surefire way to keep the Honeymoon Stage everlasting, please put it in the comments section. Alternatively, if you know the reason why it’s totally unimportant to do so, please also chime in the comments section — I beg of you! For now, I’m sticking to the conclusion that when you’re with the absolute right person, it doesn’t take hard work, contrived behaviors, or gimmicks — it all just unfolds the way it’s supposed to. Stay tuned for an update on my fairytale hypothesis!

Science says THIS has an expiration date. Noooooooo!

When is a Dress Not Just a Dress?

I wanted to buy a new dress. I wanted the dress to be one I could go to work in, go out fancy in, or just lounge around at home in. I wanted to get compliments on it from others, but also feel totally satisfied wearing it just for myself. And above all, I wanted the dress to fit me perfectly, and be so well made it lasted a lifetime.

I went online and felt myself responding to lots of ads for a classic LBD (Little Black Dress) and soon became overwhelmed and rather frightened at what I was finding out there. After all, buying the perfect dress was a huge commitment. Each day I’d pore over the descriptions and photographs and send my specific questions to the advertisers who would respond with very generalized answers like, “It’s one size fits all.” or “The sleeves can be worn off or on the shoulders.” This went on for months until I realized this wasn’t getting me any closer to my dream of actually WEARING a real dress.

Perhaps choosing a dress in person was a more organic and natural way of achieving my goal. A longtime mall-hater, I braved the traffic to get to a crowded department store and immediately found a fitting room where I told the personal attendant in great detail what I was looking for. “I’ll fix you up,” she said and returned holding a blue dress (mostly matching my description) and hung it in the tiny little room with all the mirrors.

Something came over me and I decided to take it home without even trying it on, even though blue wasn’t the color I had in mind. In my bedroom I admired it from all angles, then shoved it in the back of my closet. Around 2 am, I grew restless with insomnia and decided to slip it over my naked body and immediately knew it was all wrong for me. Disgusted with myself, I flung it over the little table next to my bed (my one nightstand) and vowed never to lay eyes on it again.

Thoroughly ashamed, the next morning I faced the same lady who sold me the dress as I sheepishly explained I’d been impulsive. This time I elaborated even more about what I was looking for and she said, “That’s a lot to ask from a single frock.”

“Oh so it’s a frock now?” I said amused. “Yes, I’m aware. I’ve had two that didn’t work out for me in the past.”

“You’ve already gone through more than one frock? What a crock.” she said, looking at me critically.

“You can mock the frock, but my first had a lot of baggage.”

“Does that mean it came with a matching purse?”

“Not exactly. And my second one was really clingy.”

“Stay away from polyester and spandex,” she warned.

“Look, I’m just looking for a frock I can rock, as they say. And I don’t really want to settle.”

Without hesitation she brought a different kind of dress in and immediately I was drawn to the plunging neckline, the sexy slit up the thigh, and the sparkly material. Could this be The One? “I’ll take it!”

“Try it on this time,” she admonished. I listened to her sage advice and it was love at first sight. Much wiser from my prior experience I inquired, “How long do I have to return it?”

“Sixty days with receipt and tags attached,” she stated.

No problem, although I felt slightly anxious with the time limit. Would I know in only two short months?

“I’ll just wear this dress everywhere and tuck the tags under my long hair, so nobody will be the wiser.” I thought.  I was anxious to get friends’ and family’s opinions. This was a big step.

“Wow! That’s a real Bad Boy dress!” Tiffany told me that afternoon at a fundraiser party.

“What are you saying? You think this dress could cheat on me?” I asked feeling worried.

“Are you kidding? I’d let that dress press up against my breasts in a New York minute,” my friend whispered seductively, which really disturbed me, so I left to meet my family for dinner.

“What were you thinking? A dress like this? How can it be practical?” my mother was having trouble controlling herself. “It’s not like you’ll wear it in stormy weather. And you’ll trip in the high heels needed to keep that hemline from dragging on the floor and you’ll break something.”

My mother was always exaggerating. My children would feel differently.

“We liked the nice dress you wore everyday when we were born,” my kids chimed in together. “Please, mommy?”

“But you know how I feel about that ratty old thing. Besides it’s been given away to Goodwill. Who knows what other woman could be parading around in it these days,” I reminded them. They looked disdainfully at the new dress I had on and slowly shook their heads.

Back at the mall I sat forlornly watching other women walk happily around in their basic dresses. I asked a few of them how long they’d had theirs and was given answers that ranged from many years to six decades. How in the world were they all able to do this?

“Gentle cycle only,” one elderly woman confided in me. “And I mend it as soon as any threads unravel.” I nodded with appreciation. But that still didn’t explain how one dress could meet all their every day needs. And how they didn’t become bored with it.

More determined, I went into a bookstore and read up on fashion for hours. I became so knowledgable, I felt like I could even design my own gown, but I had a better idea. I found a resale consignment clothing store and bought a simple dress that looked like it had been well cared for by a previous owner. I drove, holding the dress in my arms to a dry-cleaners I knew did alterations.

I had photographs of all the revamping I wanted done. Much of it was rather drastic, but the dress would be more versatile and exciting when I needed it to be. And I wanted zippers added to attach and detach parts of the dress to really change it up!

“You vant excitement?” Olga, the Russian seamstress asked me, “You do exciting things vearing this dress. That’s all. I not alter this dress. You vill tank me later.”

Rude much? Unbelievable. I stared at the dress but to my surprise, I suddenly felt a strong attachment for it welling up inside me. But still I kept the tags on — I was no dummy anymore. Plus I had a real case of the jitters, like I should buy several others as back-ups in case this one didn’t come through for me, but something prevented me from doing any more shopping that day.

Throughout the months to come, I wore the dress everywhere and discovered a big secret. Accessorizing! I added a belt and the dress became perfect for editorial meetings. Diamond drop earrings and my hair in an updo and the dress took me out dancing. I put on a string of pearls and dark sunglasses and my dress saw me through a heartbreaking funeral. And really, when you think about it, not many dresses can do that. This dress obviously had my back, literally.

One day while walking past the consignment store where I’d found my beautiful garment, I noticed a sign in the window. “Make sure you like it. All sales Final.” Gosh, I’d kept the tag on all this time as a precautionary measure, just in case. But I felt no panic. This time there was something very reassuring about the word — ‘Final.’

I gingerly patted the soft sleeve and reached inside to pull out the cardboard tag that had been feeling kinda scratchy against my arm all this time, and gave it a tiny tug. It came off easily in my hand and I saw there was handwriting on the back where the price was stamped. “Sewn with Love by Olga. Wear in Love for Life.”

I’m keeping my dress. And the tag. Forever. Because I finally understand what it means to be all in.

 

 

 

Lessons I Learned From Going on Dates and Bringing my Toy!

There was a time when first meetings with men from online websites consisted solely of mundane beach walks and ho-hum coffee talks. But then I decided to make it more interesting and bring some “props.”  Here’s some of the takeaway and things I gleaned:

BUBBLES

From my purse I extracted two tiny vials of soap bubbles purchased from Target. This was not as bizarre as it sounds because we were sitting in a park.

HIM: Bubbles. Really??

Me: I think they’re fun! Let’s see who can blow and preserve the most by catching them on our wands.

HIM: Sure.

Me: Uh, could you stop intentionally poking my bubbles? That’s literally the opposite of what I suggested we do.

HIM: Just ten more?

Me: Really. It’s very important to me to see how long a beautiful but fragile bubble can last. Don’t you put stock in symbolism??

HIM: Sorry. I can’t seem to stop. Pop! Pop! Pop!

Little children began to gather around us, but the date actually ended when my dream bubble literally burst as it dawned on me that (after five days of non-stop compatible emailing) this was someone who was either mean-spirited or had a strange case of OCD and I should certainly “blow off” any further dates with him.

PLAY-DOH

From my purse, I deftly pulled out five mini canisters of that iconic children’s colored modeling compound and sniffed the distinctive scent (always takes me back fifty years!) then watched as the smile faded from my date’s face. I then proceeded to roll out a replica of his annoying frown using red Play-Doh and stuck it on the blue ball of Play-Doh, which now represented his dumb head! But he wouldn’t participate because he said he doesn’t like to get his hands dirty. Then he chastised me for combining the different colors together because (his words!) it will be hard to separate them and put them away neatly. The date ended when he inquired, “So how long have you been a preschool teacher?” And I responded, “I’m not. What an odd question. Whatever made you think I was?”

SILLY PUTTY

I withdrew from my purse (I know! I’ve got some great purse, huh?!) the classic red plastic egg which housed the addictive Silly Putty and handed it to my date to see how he’d use it. He was very enthusiastic! This was a great sign. Game on! But instead of pinching it, rolling it, or putting his thumb into it to make a hollow hole and then squeezing it tightly to produce the loudest, most satisfying cracking sound ever, he asked to see my drivers license. What?? Over and over he pressed the flat rubbery substance against my photo and after it magically transferred onto the Silly Putty, he’d distort my image by pulling it this way and that while murmuring things like, “Look! You’ve got the longest nose in the world. Honk honk!  And the skinniest neck, giraffe lady! Haha.” And “I’m gonna make your hair stick up even further than it actually does. Watch!” Game over. Date definitely over. PS. Even if he didn’t make my face look grotesquely cartoonish, he had some weird accent that made him refer to it as “Silly Potty” and there was only so much of that I could take.

JACKS

It did not help matters that my timing with this specific object was rather unfortunate because this guy’s name was actually “Jack” and he thought by picking this particular toy, I was insinuating that he was a “Player.” Sheesh, some people put too much stock in symbolism. He also kept asking, “What era did you grow up in? My great great great grandmother played Jacks.” There were too many “greats” in his sentence for my liking. Finally we lost the little red ball completely and he thought a better game was to see who could stand upon all the Jacks the longest (barefoot!) without grimacing.

LITE-BRITE

Remember this beloved contraption with the little colored pegs? I should have known how this would turn out when I texted my date, asking him to bring batteries so we could use my favorite “toy.” He immediately messaged back, “Oh, I’m on it, babe! And I can’t wait for you to be on it, too. Heh heh.” Words cannot describe how disappointed he was to see what I actually had in mind for a “toy” when we met in real life.  But my bigger mistake? Lite-Brite only works in a dim room. And therefore it was in the dark co-ed public restroom with the door locked, when my mind became fully illuminated that Lite-Brite should never be attempted with a Grope Dope.

SLINKY

This man used the wonderful metal spring to bind my wrists and ankles to the park bench and then stole my purse and cellphone while singing the original product jingle — “Slinky, Slinky, it’s fun for a girl and a boy.”

MAGIC 8-BALL

What do you do with a guy who cannot understand that you can only ask a Magic 8-Ball “yes or no” questions? This isn’t a difficult concept, seriously! Yet he kept asking it things like, “What will Stephanie be like in bed?” and “How many times will Stephanie climax?” and “Where’s the most unique place we’ll do it?” Finally, out of frustration I shouted, “No!  Don’t you get it? You can’t ask stuff like that. You have to ask something like, “Will Stephanie sleep with me even though I’m a complete idiot?” He was thrilled this suggestion came directly from me and made this exact inquiry three different times, claiming the answers in a row were, “It is decidedly so” and “Without a doubt!” and “You may rely on it” but then he’d shake the black ball up really quickly before I could verify any of that. Which was a moot point anyhow because “my sources (AND my senses!) said “No f*#@ing way.”

Barbie & Ken Dolls

Really I thought these toys would have zero chance of coming out of my purse, but to my surprise his reaction was, “Cool. How about we use them to act out different gender issues and dating challenges by utilizing their bodies and our voices.” Creative. I’m liking it! Then he actually suggests that he’ll be Barbie (It was really a Midge doll, but did he need to know that?) and use her to depict the type of woman he likes to be with. This oughta be interesting. And then he tells me to be Ken. Ha. Fat chance. But hey, if I can learn some telltale things, it’s probably worth talking in an embarrassingly deep voice.

Ken: Hey baby. How about you and I play a little Lite-Brite in the public bathroom??

Barbie: I don’t do sexual innuendo. Let’s grab a salad and see the live version of Les Miserábles.

(Salad, not pizza? And OMG that’s my absolute favorite show! Nobody ever wants to see that show. This guy has potential.) 

Ken: Are you sure? Okay hop in and we’ll take the “scenic” route. Heh heh.

Barbie: Sorry. I don’t let guys I’ve just met drive me places. I make it a rule to meet them there.

Ken: (slaps Barbie’s ass) Hard to get! That gets me hard.

Barbie (slaps Ken’s face)

Ken: Man, you’re a prudish bitch.

Barbie: Yeah. And quirky too. But I’m sure they’ll be another Bimbo err Barbie who will be into it with you. Good luck with your herpes.

Quirky? It’s like someone gave this guy the CliffNotes on me before he arrived. Immediately I snatch the dolls and stuff them away in my bag, and pull out this favorite childhood toy instead.

Because finally I found someone who’s a barrel of fun and perhaps a guy I’ll truly want to have a little monkey business with. 😉

Readers: What’s your favorite Childhood Toy? Leave it in the comments!

You’ve Heard of Ghost Writing Before, But Ghost Dating??

A ghostwriter is hired to write literary works that are officially credited to another person as the author. There is normally an included clause for anonymity so the ghostwriter can never steal the person’s thunder, which doesn’t seem quite fair since he/she is the person doing all the hard work!

I’ve ghostwritten material before, in fact even other blogs. Consider this: You may have just come from reading another post on WordPress that I am secretly the author of? Hey, it could happen!

But in the online dating world? You betcha! I’ve created many profiles for people who pay me to compose a creative ad because they’re at a loss for words as to how to best describe themselves or what to say to captivate someone to be interested enough to respond.

I charge a fee for this, which gets rather tricky when my friends approach me and ask me to write one for them “as a favor.”

In instances like this, bartering seems to be the best approach. For instance, I recently did a complimentary profile for a local eligible bachelor acquaintance who just happened to be a renowned surgeon. In return, he took my daughter’s tonsils out for free. That’s a great deal, right? (Especially when you consider that my “chatty” teenager had to be quiet for days ….yay! — and his new cool profile might procure him a wife who births bunches of children with more unnecessary body organs he can operate on all he wants!) That’s a win/win if ever there was one.

By the way, I created his profile headline to go something like this:

I’m Good With My Hands, So Can I Grab Your Heart?

Nobody had to know it involves anesthesia, right?

The big game-changer in all of this was when my female best friend not only asked me to write her a stunning profile, but begged me to go one step further and also compose (on her behalf) any replies to interested respondents. In return she would trade a month’s worth of homemade meals since she was a professional chef. Yum! (Cyrano de Bergerac  without the big nose anyone??)  Game on!

In the beginning it was easy because my friend didn’t attract many intelligent potential suitors. These dullard men were impressed by anything I wrote that went above “Hey there, Handsome!” or “Wow, you have a nice smile!”

Soon she wanted me to modify her profile so she WOULD draw in a higher caliber of man. Yep, she wanted me to (gasp!) lie about her appearance, her profession, and her hobbies. Within minutes I took her from a mousy brown-haired receptionist in a law office who enjoyed scrapbooking — to an alluring raven-tressed attorney with a passion for naked chess.

(Hey if there can be strip-poker, why not a more intellectual game also played in the nude?)

And by the way, I crafted her profile headline to go something like this:

If You Can Sustain an Objection, Let’s Adjourn to the Bedroom Cuz I’ve Got a Great Rebuttal!

Soon the responses began to pour in like crazy and I was very busy fielding them back with clever, smart retorts. The first week I got paid in lasagna, chicken cacciatore, beef stroganoff, and cobb salad!

I met with my girlfriend to show her all the people I was corresponding with “as her.” She was quite impressed with the lively conversations I was able to develop. But one online dialogue stood out the most for her. It was with someone in the medical field and our messages were full of volleying sexual quips back and forth and our tremendous internet chemistry literally leapt off the screen. Here’s an example of one of our initial communications:

Me: Hi! I’m sure you’re a doctor with a lot of patience. Maybe you’d like to give me a shot?

Him: That depends. Would it all be in vein?

Me: Oh you’re so funny. I can’t wait to hear what you’ll prescribe for my relief from this excruciatingly painful experience of online dating.

Him: Well I’m actually a surgeon, so I hope I make the final cut. You might say I’m The Wizard of Gauze.

Me: Haha. You have me in stitches, Dr!

“Ohhhhh! That’s the guy I want to be with,” my friend announced matter-of-factly after reading page after page of our witty rapport.

“Are you sure he’s the one?” I asked. “Maybe one of the other men would be a better match?”

“Nope, I’ve made up my mind. Can you set up the initial meeting date?”

“Okaaaaay. I’ll write to him tonight,” I hesitatingly confirmed. “Should it be in the day or evening?”

“When are you available?” she inquired.

I stood there incredulous. “Wait! You want ME to go and meet him for you?  Am I supposed to sleep with him too??”

She deliberated a moment, then told me that wouldn’t be necessary because she’d take it from there. I looked at her skeptically, but she threw in a fettuccine alfredo PLUS key-lime pie, so at that point I had no choice but to proceed.

The night of the big meeting approached and I was nervous at how to explain this entire complicated predicament. The doctor and I got along famously, just as well in fact as we did when he first hired me to write his dating profile and then again in the recovery room after he’d taken out my daughter’s tonsils.

Handsome, smart, funny. I almost wished I was available to date him. But then I remembered what was happening.

Him: So thank you again Stephanie for handling all these many email responses for me. Boy these women sure like to type, huh? It’s been a really busy week in the hospital and you’ve responded to these even better than I could.

Me: Yes well, I guess that’s what happens when you have a son who breaks his leg in football and needs a cast. Thank you for your medical barter —  Can you give me a quick eye-lift next week too?

Him:  You’ve earned it, Sugar. And I love how you had me say, “All in vein.” Ha ha. I wouldn’t have thought being so punny could turn a woman on so much. And look at her response about being in stitches after finding out that I’m a surgeon…boy she can certainly hold her own, eh? She must kill the jury in the courtroom.  Please write to her immediately and tell her I want to set up a meeting with the woman who entertained me so much!

I wanted to tell him, “Uh, You’re actually having it right this very moment.”

Instead I went home, quickly gathered up my recovering son and daughter, (plus all my deliciously pre-made meals!) and absconded to a deserted mountain cabin.

Whether the both of them finally figured out they were simultaneously paying me to write their emails and that all along, I was actually just talking to ….. myself, I’ll never know. But that will be the last time I dabble in ghost-writing!

Should You Start Parenting Yourself? “We’ll See!”

There’s a theory floating around these days that if you missed out on crucial emotionally satisfying input from your mother and/or your father as a child, you will walk around seeking what you lacked in your past via other people in your present. Particularly in romantic relationships. Uh oh!

There’s another theory wafting about that says (and I’m over-simplifying) that when you become upset in life, you actually have what it takes to soothe and comfort yourself.

Now nobody has come out and combined both of these theories together in a weirdly logical way, but I will boldly integrate them right now by asking the obvious question. “Can we just be our own parent and become happy and content forever??”

Always up for a multiple personality experiment to help my blog content, (Translation=I LIKE talking to myself!) I will give it a try for the next 24-hours.

My name is Stephanie so therefore a Capital “S” IN BOLD will be the version of my parent side and lower-case “s’ will represent me, the woman I actually am today.  Ready?  Here I go….

s: Wow, it’s really colder outside than it looked. I’m freezing right now.

S: That’s what you get when you don’t keep an extra sweater or jacket in your car.

s: Yes that would have been smart. But right now, I’m super hungry and am going to focus on picking up some food at Le Fondue.

S: Le Fondue? Do you think money grows on trees? And stop frowning, do you want your face to freeze that way?

s: The answers to those questions respectively are Maybe and Botox. But seriously, all my friends get salads, soups, and crepes from Le Fondue.

S: Well if all your friends jumped off a bridge, would you do that too? Now go home and cook something healthy.

s: Why would all my friends do that? Unless of course, they all had a mother like you.

S: Don’t you get smart with me! Did you hear me? Answer my question.

s: No, of course I wouldn’t jump off a bridge. But why do I have to go home?

S: Because I said so.

s: Well then can I eat at Le Fondue tomorrow night?

S: Ask your father.

Alright, alright. I’m not doing 24 hours of this nonsense, I cannot even do five minutes. I guess the point is that our “inner parent” may not be much better than our original childhood role model was. (Oh hi mom! This blog is not about you, it’s supposed to be humorous and fictional.)

Well if theory number one (above) is true, then I guess the man I’m embarking on a new relationship with may get slightly frustrated with me from time to time. I suppose he can always just say, “As long as you’re living under my roof, you’ll behave appropriately.” Wait a sec, that doesn’t seem quite right either. Hmmm.

Well until I figure all this relationship/childhood/happiness/life stuff out, this post can serve another purpose — my covert way of officially welcoming him to the WordPress blogosphere because he’s trying out blogging for the very first time.  If you’d like to read some terrific and eclectic poetry and prose, you can take a shortcut to peruse his stuff right HERE. 

Meanwhile, I’m off to buy a special Time-Out chair so that when I tell myself, “I’ve had just about enough of you and your shenanigans, Young Lady!” I’ll have a designated place to sit in seclusion — because I’m really not disciplined enough to ground myself (without a car or cellphone!) for an entire weekend.