Several years ago, I read that France was listed #1 in terms of quality-of-life for countries. My understanding is that this number one spot varies from year to year, but it seems that, overall, France does pretty well. So I decided I want to move to France.
Great plan, right? I mean, who wouldn't want to live in the country that boasts the highest standard of living anywhere? Plus, I've done my own research. I watched Sicko and learned that the health care is of high quality and is also universal. (Since I have these recurring fears of winding up homeless and unemployed and living under a bridge, knowing that I could be treated for my seasonal allergies and all the various injuries I would expect to occur when you combine a klutz and under-the-bridge living, is reassuring.) I also questioned my friends, Jon and Ginger, who lived in Paris for several years. Yes, the 35-hour work wee is strictly enforced. Yes, they have lots and lots of leave and everyone is expected to and does - use it. Yes, people do spend the odd afternoon sipping excellent, inexpensive burgundy at a sidewalk cafe. Get me a plane ticket!!
Alas, France, just like America, and probably everywhere else humans actually choose to inhabit, isn't out looking for new residents. Those pesky immigration laws! So, what to do?
Obviously, one has to get a job to get a work visa and since my remedial (alright - pathetic) French will probably make this difficult, I'd better look for other options. Maybe someone would adopt me? I'm sure Jon and Ginger would have done so if I could have given them enormous sums of money but a) I don't have enormous sums of money, and b) they're now back in the States, living in New Jersey. Some help they are! What else? What other options??
Why of course! I need to marry a Frenchman! Clearly, this is the best strategy. After all, I'm single, so this should be easy, right?
As I've not actively looked to marry before I'm not sure how one goes about this. Yes, I watched Sex and the City so I'm aware that finding and marrying "the one" can be difficult and time-consuming, but I'm not looking for a soul-mate, just someone with French citizenship.
I polled my friends. There were suggestions that I go to French films, French restaurants and any events at the French Embassy to which I can be admitted. I've done enough of the first two to be pretty sure they don't work. (Also, this has caused me to wonder, why don't French women get fat.) As for events at the French Embassy, this sounds like a pretty good plan. If nothing else works, I might come back to this.
The response most of my friends gave to the "how do you find someone to marry" question, is that they basically wait for someone to knock on their front door.
Yes, these are single friends.
No, they don't date much.
Nonetheless, this plan has a lot of appeal. First, I'm terribly lazy at heart and this wouldn't require any real activity on my part. Second, while I'm waiting for him to show up, I can be working on my French. Or sleeping. So I'll be really rested and look good when he comes along. And it's not like I'm unwilling to make any effort. Au contraire! I've told many of my friends - and even some people I don't' know - that I'm looking for a Frenchman to marry. My requirements are few. He needs a good heart, a big apartment and a desire to marry an American woman and take her to France.
Okay. I've put this plan in motion. Now I'm just going to sit here and wait for the doorbell to ring.
Friday, January 17, 2014
Not Exactly Camille
Days spent lounging in bed, reading a bit, watching the odd movie, but mostly sleeping - ah, the life. Well, except for the mounds of snotty, soggy tissues piled in and around the trash bin, the cough suppressants, vapor rubs and the constant hacking sound that is apparently a primitive form of communication verbalized by a small alien who is now inhabiting my chest.
Yes, yes, I have no right to complain. When it comes to sickness, I have been incredibly lucky thus far. I have no illnesses which are immediately life-threatening. I have insurance and paid leave which can be used when I am sick. And I rarely get sick at all. I believe the last time I took sick leave was three bosses ago. Not bad for someone who is the antithesis of germaphobic. (Five-second rule? Please. If I didn't just see a roach running across the spot where it landed, and it's not embedded in dirt, I'll eat it.)
So I've no reason to complain about coming down with classic head-crud this season. After all, I've seen co-workers and friends dropping like flies for months now, and this particular bug did have the courtesy to wait until I actually had some time to deal with it - post-holidays and all that. And as for the practical stuff, yes, I have tea and cough drops and - talk about timing - had just made a pot of garlic soup the day before I came down with this. Had to cancel very few plans and my co-workers pitched in where my clients are concerned for the one or two who needed something immediately.
I think, really, it's the indignity of it all. Mind you, I live alone, so no one else gets to witness said indignity, but just walking past a mirror and noticing my swollen eyes, lobster-red nose, and the fact that my hair has taken on a life of its own since I've not had the energy to style - or wash - it, makes me feel rather like an orphaned waif on Dicken's London streets. I envision myself sticking a grimy cup filled with stubby pencils under the noses of passers-by while I snivel my sales pitch, wiping my runny nose on my ratty bathrobe cuff every third word or so. The fact that I've completely lost my appetite and everything I eat tastes the same (gruel?) adds to the picture.
The movies have lied to us. Again! I think of Meg Ryan in "You've Got Mail", all curled up in bed with her own mound of tissues, red-nosed and sniffly, looking adorable and loveable and heroine-like. I think of all the Camilles, dying slowly of consumption, whose own chest-inhabiting aliens communicated in genteel, discrete coughs. And I look in the mirror and think, "This is why I live alone. So I can look hideous and sound disgusting and exhibit not one single adorable, loveable trait when my head and my lungs are battling to see which can explode first. But I do live alone.
So for all anyone knows, I've been curled up with a big mug of steaming tea, sniffling delicately into an initialed lace handkerchief, occasionally emitting a whisper of a sneeze, looking wan but perfectly coiffed and dressed in an antique silk dressing gown for the last few days. This is my story. And no one can disprove it!
Yes, yes, I have no right to complain. When it comes to sickness, I have been incredibly lucky thus far. I have no illnesses which are immediately life-threatening. I have insurance and paid leave which can be used when I am sick. And I rarely get sick at all. I believe the last time I took sick leave was three bosses ago. Not bad for someone who is the antithesis of germaphobic. (Five-second rule? Please. If I didn't just see a roach running across the spot where it landed, and it's not embedded in dirt, I'll eat it.)
So I've no reason to complain about coming down with classic head-crud this season. After all, I've seen co-workers and friends dropping like flies for months now, and this particular bug did have the courtesy to wait until I actually had some time to deal with it - post-holidays and all that. And as for the practical stuff, yes, I have tea and cough drops and - talk about timing - had just made a pot of garlic soup the day before I came down with this. Had to cancel very few plans and my co-workers pitched in where my clients are concerned for the one or two who needed something immediately.
I think, really, it's the indignity of it all. Mind you, I live alone, so no one else gets to witness said indignity, but just walking past a mirror and noticing my swollen eyes, lobster-red nose, and the fact that my hair has taken on a life of its own since I've not had the energy to style - or wash - it, makes me feel rather like an orphaned waif on Dicken's London streets. I envision myself sticking a grimy cup filled with stubby pencils under the noses of passers-by while I snivel my sales pitch, wiping my runny nose on my ratty bathrobe cuff every third word or so. The fact that I've completely lost my appetite and everything I eat tastes the same (gruel?) adds to the picture.
The movies have lied to us. Again! I think of Meg Ryan in "You've Got Mail", all curled up in bed with her own mound of tissues, red-nosed and sniffly, looking adorable and loveable and heroine-like. I think of all the Camilles, dying slowly of consumption, whose own chest-inhabiting aliens communicated in genteel, discrete coughs. And I look in the mirror and think, "This is why I live alone. So I can look hideous and sound disgusting and exhibit not one single adorable, loveable trait when my head and my lungs are battling to see which can explode first. But I do live alone.
So for all anyone knows, I've been curled up with a big mug of steaming tea, sniffling delicately into an initialed lace handkerchief, occasionally emitting a whisper of a sneeze, looking wan but perfectly coiffed and dressed in an antique silk dressing gown for the last few days. This is my story. And no one can disprove it!
Friday, November 15, 2013
To Have and to Hold
Ah, weddings. As little girls, most of us dream about them, plan them, and have no doubt that we will, someday, have one. Fortunately for many industries, people often do.
At work, however, many of us remain unmarried. Some are looking for a possible life-mate, others wouldn't mind if one suddenly appeared, and still others have decided that Oprah's long-ago warning that unmarried people (okay - she said women - but men think these things too) are more likely to be killed by a terrorist than to marry, applies to them. Granted, when that statement was made, back in the 80's, none of us ever thought about being killed by a terrorist, but the same philosophy applies.
Nonetheless, we still think about them, talk about them, and plan them, even if these are not quite the weddings of our childhood fantasies.
Years ago, when I was already pretty certain that wedded bliss would not be mine, I announced that I had invented the perfect wedding. I would walk down the aisle to the strains of "There is a Sucker Born Every Minute" (from Barnum), the groom would walk in to my father singing "My Daughter is Marrying an Idiot" (from I Do, I Do) (this was a bit problematic on two counts. First, it would require not only a groom with a marvelous sense of humor, but also one whose entire family and circle of friends would find this funny, and second, well, my father can't sing.) My bridesmaids would be "flown" in, a la Peter Pan, on wires (don't all bridesmaids wear tights under their dresses?) and the officiant would send us, at the conclusion of the ceremony, down the aisle to the strains of "Send in the Clowns" (from A Little Night Music). One of my closest friends at the time, when I described this event to him, announced that he was pretty sure he would have a headache on my wedding day. Just as well I hadn't planned to invite him to be a bridesmaid!
The two never-married women in the group, myself and a friend, find ourselves plotting to marry the other off. I know that she would like to marry, so I do this purely in her best interest. She has made it clear that she wants to marry me off simply because doing so would amuse her. I don't entirely understand this, but am afraid to ask for clarification. I did tell her I would happily plan her wedding if she were to marry and she actually said that would be fine with her! So now I have a mission! After all, I have always wanted to plan a wedding, and being allowed to do so without the encumbrance of actually marrying someone does seem like the best possible solution.
In fact, I gave serious thought to the brief trend (how many people have to do something before it is called a trend? Perhaps it was a trendette?) of having a wedding to marry oneself. I decided that my friends would give me such grief that it wouldn't be worth it. Instead of embracing the idea that I love myself so much that I would choose to spend my life alone, I'm quite sure they'd either go with the "if she couldn't get a man to marry her..." theme or else decide I'd crossed the line into sheer narcissism. Not worth it.
And it isn't just women! Several of the (happily-married) men in our group enjoy these discussions as much as we do. The married among us love to regale us with tales of their own weddings. From the several-days-long Indian weddings, to the backyard cook-out weddings, to the thrown-together-at-the-last-minute-because-I'm-being-deployed weddings, people enjoy reminiscing about them. Even those who later divorced join in the discussions with fond memories. Such is the delight in weddings that two of the group have gotten their on-line clergy licenses so that they can perform wedding ceremonies. (I'm tempted to go find myself a groom just for the pleasure of having my dear friend, Frank, perform the ceremony. I strongly suspect that anything he would come up with would cause the wedding fantasy described above to seem dull and colorless.)
Why are weddings still such a source of delight and wonder even in these days where huge numbers of people cohabitate with no intention of marrying and the divorce rate remains high? For those throwing the $40,000 weddings, perhaps it is about status. For others, the tradition of it all is alluring. Pledging one's love before others may make it feel more permanent. But if I'm honest with myself (and I usually am), I know that I want a chance to wear that costume ... er, dress ... and be the star of the show, complete with a fabulous strike party. With cake.
At work, however, many of us remain unmarried. Some are looking for a possible life-mate, others wouldn't mind if one suddenly appeared, and still others have decided that Oprah's long-ago warning that unmarried people (okay - she said women - but men think these things too) are more likely to be killed by a terrorist than to marry, applies to them. Granted, when that statement was made, back in the 80's, none of us ever thought about being killed by a terrorist, but the same philosophy applies.
Nonetheless, we still think about them, talk about them, and plan them, even if these are not quite the weddings of our childhood fantasies.
Years ago, when I was already pretty certain that wedded bliss would not be mine, I announced that I had invented the perfect wedding. I would walk down the aisle to the strains of "There is a Sucker Born Every Minute" (from Barnum), the groom would walk in to my father singing "My Daughter is Marrying an Idiot" (from I Do, I Do) (this was a bit problematic on two counts. First, it would require not only a groom with a marvelous sense of humor, but also one whose entire family and circle of friends would find this funny, and second, well, my father can't sing.) My bridesmaids would be "flown" in, a la Peter Pan, on wires (don't all bridesmaids wear tights under their dresses?) and the officiant would send us, at the conclusion of the ceremony, down the aisle to the strains of "Send in the Clowns" (from A Little Night Music). One of my closest friends at the time, when I described this event to him, announced that he was pretty sure he would have a headache on my wedding day. Just as well I hadn't planned to invite him to be a bridesmaid!
The two never-married women in the group, myself and a friend, find ourselves plotting to marry the other off. I know that she would like to marry, so I do this purely in her best interest. She has made it clear that she wants to marry me off simply because doing so would amuse her. I don't entirely understand this, but am afraid to ask for clarification. I did tell her I would happily plan her wedding if she were to marry and she actually said that would be fine with her! So now I have a mission! After all, I have always wanted to plan a wedding, and being allowed to do so without the encumbrance of actually marrying someone does seem like the best possible solution.
In fact, I gave serious thought to the brief trend (how many people have to do something before it is called a trend? Perhaps it was a trendette?) of having a wedding to marry oneself. I decided that my friends would give me such grief that it wouldn't be worth it. Instead of embracing the idea that I love myself so much that I would choose to spend my life alone, I'm quite sure they'd either go with the "if she couldn't get a man to marry her..." theme or else decide I'd crossed the line into sheer narcissism. Not worth it.
And it isn't just women! Several of the (happily-married) men in our group enjoy these discussions as much as we do. The married among us love to regale us with tales of their own weddings. From the several-days-long Indian weddings, to the backyard cook-out weddings, to the thrown-together-at-the-last-minute-because-I'm-being-deployed weddings, people enjoy reminiscing about them. Even those who later divorced join in the discussions with fond memories. Such is the delight in weddings that two of the group have gotten their on-line clergy licenses so that they can perform wedding ceremonies. (I'm tempted to go find myself a groom just for the pleasure of having my dear friend, Frank, perform the ceremony. I strongly suspect that anything he would come up with would cause the wedding fantasy described above to seem dull and colorless.)
Mind you, we're a practical group. The most recent idea for a wedding is for the bride and groom to go to Nordstrom's and try on a wedding dress and tuxedo, then have all the guests show up right there and then. Someone will play the grand piano and there are always beautiful floral arrangements there. The groomsmen can either show up in suits/tuxes, or try one on and the bridesmaids can try on dresses. One of the licensed officiants of the group would arrive and - voila! - a wedding! After the formal wear is removed and put back on the rack, everyone will adjourn first to Costco for food tastings and then to a local liquor store which has daily wine tastings. A wedding and reception, all for the price of the gas to get to the stores!
Why are weddings still such a source of delight and wonder even in these days where huge numbers of people cohabitate with no intention of marrying and the divorce rate remains high? For those throwing the $40,000 weddings, perhaps it is about status. For others, the tradition of it all is alluring. Pledging one's love before others may make it feel more permanent. But if I'm honest with myself (and I usually am), I know that I want a chance to wear that costume ... er, dress ... and be the star of the show, complete with a fabulous strike party. With cake.
Tuesday, June 4, 2013
A **** story
Girl Meets Boy: A love like lust Story
Basic version is this - girl meets guy, they hit it off, are very attracted to each other, seem to have the important things in common (values, morals), and things progress. Before thing progress too far, Girl tells Boy she has herpes. He says, "Let's be safe" and they (mostly) are. He insists she get tested (so it's now on her medical record) and take meds for it. And then - and then - he tells her he "can't get past it", he's too "scared" and walks away.
It's easy for me to tell her the right things, because I believe them. You know - if he doesn't think all the fabulous things about her are more important than that, he's a fool; if he's shallow enough to walk away from her because of that, he doesn't deserve her, anyway.
Do you think I'm being cavalier? Look, no one wants to get herpes. It sucks that it's not curable. But it isn't fatal, it isn't disfiguring, and I've heard a doctor refer to it as "essentially, only a skin disease". So, yeah, I'm ready to tell her to dismiss him as a shallow wimp. Or at least to figure that he couldn't have cared much about her - if she wasn't really important to him, anyway, then it makes sense.
However ... it occurs to me that we probably all - she and I, included - have "lines" that we wouldn't cross for someone. She didn't seem to be in the mood for a philosophical conversation, so I resorted to an internal dialogue.
What disease/condition would cause one to walk away from what could potentially be a great relationship? First, we have to (this is my query, so I get to set the terms) dismiss things that are obvious. I mean, if someone is missing both arms or is blind, you'd probably notice that up-front and if these were deal-breakers, you wouldn't go out with them in the first place. No, I'm thinking of a burgeoning relationship which suddenly is quashed.
Would I leave someone because he had diabetes? I feel fairly confident that I wouldn't, as long as he was working hard to take care of himself. Heart disease? Same deal. (Besides, I have a mild heart condition myself, so that would be bad form.) Kidney failure? Tougher call, but still probably not worth leaving someone wonderful for. MS? Okay, now we've probably found it. I've seen end-stage MS and I'm not at all sure I'd sign up to go through that with someone, no matter how much I cared.
And that was it - my "ah hah" moment. Just as those words flashed through my mind, they were replaced by a picture of Jon.
Jon is a man I was madly in love with a couple of decades ago. If there is such a thing as a soul-mate, he was mine. I wanted to spend my life with this man and I'm not good at taking no for an answer. However, no was all I ever got. Jon swore he didn't love me and he kept me at a distance, most of the time. Still, I've learned to trust my gut, regardless, and my gut told me he loved me as much as I loved him. Flash forward a couple of years and Jon tells me (finally) that yes, he's in love with me and would dearly love for us to spend our lives together, but it's not going to happen. No way, no how. He's HIV positive and that is why he has ... and will continue ... to keep me at a distance.
Guess this was the time for a "line". I burst into sobs but the first actual words out of my mouth were, "We have to get married. Right away. That way I can put you on my health insurance." (I've long been convinced that women are more pragmatic than men and I think I proved it right there and then.) Jon said there was no way we'd get married and live together platonically, but I pointed out that there are ways to have sex safely (okay - not 100%, but pretty safely) even with someone who is HIV positive and because we loved each other so much, we'd figure it out. Turns out that Jon had a "line" of his own, though. No matter how much he wanted the same thing I did (and no matter how much he needed health insurance!), he wasn't going to take even the tiniest chance of putting me at risk.
I guess I've figured out what my "line" is. If I love someone enough, there isn't one. I do, however, realize that this might be extreme. I'm enough of a romantic to hope that it's the same for everyone - that when you truly love someone, there is no mountain too high, no river too deep, no disease too serious - but enough of a realist to strongly suspect that that isn't always true.
So is her guy a cowardly, shallow fool? Or capable of overlooking herpes and pretty much anything else if he finds someone he truly loves? I don't know. Nor does she and it's unlikely that we'll ever find out. But in my secret, well-hidden romantic soul, I hope - for his sake - it's the latter.
Saturday, March 2, 2013
A Jury of My Peers
I firmly believe that all of us Americans have an obligation to be a good citizen. To that end, I pay all my taxes without complaint, I never fail to vote, I obey even stupid traffic laws. According to YahooAnswers, these are the obligations of American citizens. There is one requirement of citizenship that has been made mandatory, however, that I despise and believe no one should be obligated to perform – jury duty.
Yes, I am quite aware of the reasons why we are subjected to this absurdity. As a (non-practicing) attorney, I have heard them all numerous times. That doesn’t mean I buy them.
One common argument is that each of us would want our case to be heard by a jury of our peers should we go to court, so that we should be willing to perform this service for others. A jury of one’s peers? This is not even a possibility in most parts of the country. Merriam-Webster defines a peer as “one that is of equal standing with another: equal; especially : one belonging to the same societal group especially based on age, grade, or status “. I posit that, in this country, one would also need similar intelligence levels and religious and political beliefs to be considered a peer.
Now what are the chances of finding twelve people who meet these criteria to serve on a jury for most of us? And what happens if you have a jury that is composed of non-peers?
Have you ever sat on a jury? When I clerked for a federal judge, many years ago, I sat in on jury trial after jury trial. Some of these juries were asked to understand scientific concepts that were extremely complex, to make sense of them, and then to apply them to the questions at hand. Yes, some of the jurors were capable of doing this, but others clearly had no idea what was going on. In criminal cases, these juries were asked to determine the guilt or innocence of defendants while leaving their own biases at the door. They all felt that they could do that, of course, but I watched patently guilty parties set free for no reason other than that jurors didn’t want to convict someone of that race, that class, whatever. And on the other side of the coin, all the sentences which have been overturned because later DNA evidence proved one’s innocence makes it clear that juries can be pretty lousy at determining guilt.
Frankly, should I ever be charged with a crime, I wouldn’t want a jury trial. Unless I were guilty. Lawyers commonly believe that if one is guilty, one has a better chance with a jury, whereas if one is innocent, one has a better chance with a judge. And in a civil trial, the only reason for a jury is that one has a good chance, if one’s case is tremendously sympathetic, of being awarded an enormous amount of damages. Damages that will likely be reduced on appeal, where there are no juries.
So, I feel no obligation to serve because I would want the same. I steadfastly believe that the constitutional mandate for a “jury of one’s peers” has long been abandoned. I have seen no evidence that juries do a decent job of fact-finding (their job – the judge is in charge of the law; the jury in charge of the facts). It is a financial hardship for all of us whose employers don’t pay us for days spent on jury duty. (And if jury duty is mandated, why aren’t employers required to compensate their employees for performing their “civic duty”?)
So I decided to figure out how to get out of this. This used to be fairly do-able. An employer could write the court and say they couldn’t do without you. As a medical provider, you could get out of it because you had to see patients. If you couldn’t afford not to work those days, that would do it. Now, you practically have to be dead.
Well, dying didn’t seem like the best plan, so what are the other options? Hard of hearing. That would need a doctor’s note. As would any other applicable medical condition. I could exhibit psychotic behavior in the courtroom, but that runs the risk of being hauled off to a mental hospital. Can’t read, write or speak English. Yeah, I don’t think I could pull that one off. Currently charged with a crime or misdemeanor. No … wait! I’m not, but I could be! Granted, being convicted of one little felony could relieve me of this nonsense forever, but I fear that would have other, less pleasant repercussions. Still, if I could regularly get charged with a misdemeanor…. Time to do some research!
I looked up misdemeanors and found a partial listing: narcotics and weapons possession, theft, prostitution, animal cruelty, illegal dumping, destruction of property, threats and simple assault. A narcotics or weapons possession charge sounds a bit too serious. Obviously, (in spite of what my cats say when I refuse to give them second helpings of food), I’m not about to be cruel to an animal. Being arrested for prostitution, even though I could probably get arrested for solicitation and never actually have to DO anything, would be embarrassing. Looking at the rest of the list, threats, theft, or simple assault sound good. Granted, I don’t intend to actually steal something or assault someone, (depending on the person and the situation, threatening…maybe!) but I could get arrested for one of those things and then have the person who accused me drop the charges. No jury duty, no conviction. A win-win.
It goes without saying that one does have to trust one’s accomplice here. And then there’s the fact that you are defrauding the court so one would have to keep really, really quiet about all this. All in all, this getting out of jury duty requires a significant amount of effort and more dishonesty than I’m comfortable with. I think.
Bottom line, though, is that I’d do a great deal not to have to go spend time in a place I hate participating in a system in which I no longer have any faith. And in which I’ve lost all interest. I’m wondering how long I can play Angry Birds on my phone before they realize I have no clue what the case is even about. Yes, I’m sure there are people out there who take this quite seriously and try their best to do an excellent job as a juror. But at this point, I won’t be one of them. When I practiced law, I became quite disillusioned with the judicial system (I won’t even call it the justice system, as I think justice has little to do with it) and any participation on my part is unwilling and resentful. I’ve spent enough of my life in a courtroom listening to half-truths and evasions. I’m not interested. Stick me in a jury box to deliberate and I’m going to go with whatever decision is going to get me out of there the fastest. Guilty? Innocent? Liable? Not liable? I. don’t. care.
And if I ever wind up in court, you can bet I do NOT want a jury of my peers!
Monday, January 21, 2013
I'm Too Sexy For My ....
When I was growing up, my mother's way of saying someone was sexy was to exclaim, "He could eat crackers in my bed any night!" (Of course, this led me to believe that what adults did in bed together was eat crackers but the ways in which this has possibly warped me is a story for another time.)
Over the years, she became less subtle and there were many discussions in our family about what - and who - was sexy. A close friend of mine does a fabulous imitation of my mother, recounting a conversation they once had. Mother, who had no compunction about being verbally honest in her assessment of others (one of her favorite sayings was, "He can't help being ugly, but he could stay home"), was using that well-known Southern method of insulting someone. She noted that a friend of mine was "just so unattractive, bless his heart". She went on to comment that my father "always had a lot of sex appeal".
It was from her that I learned that being sexy and being good-looking were not necessarily the same thing. She was adamant that my high school boyfriend looked just like Alfred E. Newman, the nerdy cover cartoon for Mad Magazine, yet she freely admitted that "there was something very sexy about him". (She wasn't as kind about my college boyfriend and she told the rest of my family that the man I was involved with in the last years of her life - a man she adored - was "the ugliest man [I'd] ever dated".)
It wasn't just the men my sister and I brought home who were subjected to her scrutiny. Every man she met was rated on her "sexy" scale, whether she voiced it or not. We women think men are shallow and looks-obsessed? My mother was willing to overlook no end of vices if a man was sufficiently sexy.
The subject of whether women were sexy never really came up, and I suspect that's just as well. In those days, big breasts seemed to be the primary criteria and, unlike my mother and my sister, I fell very short of meeting it. Yet, after hearing so much about the importance of sexiness in men, I desperately wanted to be sexy myself! I wore low-cut blouses whenever possible to show off my non-existant cleavage. I used temporary tattoos to peek, alluringly, I hoped, out of those blouses. False eyelashes, short-short shorts ... in retrospect, I suspect I looked quite trampy, but I never managed sexy.
And then I gave up. I decided to audition for a role in a play which the script described as "not sexy - an attractive, wholesome, All-American girl look". Great! A role that specifically said I shouldn't be sexy. I could do this! So I auditioned. Several people at that audition came up to me afterwards and said they knew I'd get the role because my reading was far and away the best anyone gave. Only I didn't get the role. A friend of mine who was also friends with the director asked him the reason and he was honest. I wasn't sexy enough!
Okay. So I'm not even sexy enough to play someone who isn't sexy. Short of major plastic surgery and possibly an entire personality overall, there wasn't much wiggle room here. I wasn't sexy and that wasn't going to change. After an appropriate period of eating lots of chocolate and wishing I'd been born someone else, I decided to prove my mother wrong. Sexy wasn't that important. At least, I was determined to convince myself that it wasn't.
When one looks around, there are all sorts of women whom one wouldn't immediately think of as "sexy" without that being much of a detriment. Then I read somewhere that only flat-chested women can wear haute couture! (Not that I've ever worn - or even have any interest in wearing - haute couture; that's not the point.) Clearly, there is room for all sorts of looks. I've actually never been much good at trying to fit myself into someone else's mold, so letting go of this one was a relief. Much better to create my own mold.
Over the years, society's definitions seem to have loosened a bit, but I still don't pay much attention to them. Yes, I can still appreciate the sexiness of a wicked grin on a good-looking guy, but what I really find sexy now - for men and women - is a kind smile, a killer sense of humor, a quick mind, a love of animals, a body and face that are cared for, and a large degree of compassion. Would it still feel good - just once - to have someone tell me I'm "traditionally" sexy? Sure. But if it never happens, it's okay. In the end, my kind of sexy never sags.
Tuesday, January 1, 2013
Train to Heaven
Religion is a funny thing. Regardless of what religion one chooses, there is virtually no factual evidence to back up most of its claims. We are entreated to "believe" precisely because we cannot "know". I have no problem with this. I am well aware that I choose to believe in my gods for reasons that make sense to me but I do not "know" even whether they exist.
(I should throw in a warning here. Some might not see this as a politically correct post.)
At any rate, it seems that a lot of people don't see things this way. On a long train trip recently (22 hours), I was seated in the dining car with three people - all born-again evangelical Christians, eager to share their beliefs with me. The first indication that I was in trouble was when one of them said that "God had led" her to take the train. People eating in the dining car of a train tend to try to be friendly, so I attempted to steer the conversation to safe topics. I asked about travel. Two of them went on and on about the delights of visiting Israel and walking "where Christ walked" and the other talked about missionary work in Kenya. I brought up movies and books. They talked about the Bible. Families? One of the women pointed out that hers had disowned her because she became a Christian. Finally, I just ordered more wine and tried to focus on finishing my meal.
Needless to say, three people who are "saved" cannot just sit idly by with a heathen in their midst. My own beliefs were questioned (when I said that I am a Pagan, they looked at me quite blankly) briefly, then they began telling me how wonderful their god is.
First, I have no problem with the Christian god. As a polytheist, I am happy to acknowledge his existence, and if people derive joy from worshipping him, why would that bother me? I devoutly believe that all religions are equally valid and deserving of respect.
Second, I do have a problem with any religion that teaches that it is the "only" true religion and that you must believe in it or horrible things will happen to you/ you're an evil person/ whatever. So when one of the women told me that the Christian god "is a jealous god", all I could think of is if he's all that he says he is, what does he have to be jealous of??
Another thing I don't understand is this Old Testament/New Testament thing. They appear to be two very different gods. So what happened? Does god have a multiple personality disorder and the good alter finally took over? Or he "saved" himself and became good?
That said, I fear Judaism doesn't make any more sense to me than Christianity does. The "original" god wasn't a nice god at all! He told a man to kill his own son to prove his love to god! (Okay, he reneged at the last minute, but hell of a practical joke!) He was always going around "smiting" people and killing them off en masse. Sort of the original mass murderer. So why would anyone worship this god?! Fear, okay, sure. But worship??
From my limited knowledge, Jesus sounds like a good guy. But even he, I gather, said one had to follow his god (the same one who thought having his son crucified was a good idea. And this heinous act "saved" us how??). Perhaps it's an occupational hazard. Perhaps I see dysfunction everywhere, but if a god who refuses to allow anyone to worship other gods, who demands total loyalty and fealty to himself, isn't the definition of a raging narcissist, what is?
Truly, I was not trying to be provocative so I kept chomping down on my tongue, rather than expressing these views, but you can see how well their attempts at converting me went. The only thing this conversation did was remind me of all the reasons I left Christianity in the first place.
(I should throw in a warning here. Some might not see this as a politically correct post.)
At any rate, it seems that a lot of people don't see things this way. On a long train trip recently (22 hours), I was seated in the dining car with three people - all born-again evangelical Christians, eager to share their beliefs with me. The first indication that I was in trouble was when one of them said that "God had led" her to take the train. People eating in the dining car of a train tend to try to be friendly, so I attempted to steer the conversation to safe topics. I asked about travel. Two of them went on and on about the delights of visiting Israel and walking "where Christ walked" and the other talked about missionary work in Kenya. I brought up movies and books. They talked about the Bible. Families? One of the women pointed out that hers had disowned her because she became a Christian. Finally, I just ordered more wine and tried to focus on finishing my meal.
Needless to say, three people who are "saved" cannot just sit idly by with a heathen in their midst. My own beliefs were questioned (when I said that I am a Pagan, they looked at me quite blankly) briefly, then they began telling me how wonderful their god is.
First, I have no problem with the Christian god. As a polytheist, I am happy to acknowledge his existence, and if people derive joy from worshipping him, why would that bother me? I devoutly believe that all religions are equally valid and deserving of respect.
Second, I do have a problem with any religion that teaches that it is the "only" true religion and that you must believe in it or horrible things will happen to you/ you're an evil person/ whatever. So when one of the women told me that the Christian god "is a jealous god", all I could think of is if he's all that he says he is, what does he have to be jealous of??
Another thing I don't understand is this Old Testament/New Testament thing. They appear to be two very different gods. So what happened? Does god have a multiple personality disorder and the good alter finally took over? Or he "saved" himself and became good?
That said, I fear Judaism doesn't make any more sense to me than Christianity does. The "original" god wasn't a nice god at all! He told a man to kill his own son to prove his love to god! (Okay, he reneged at the last minute, but hell of a practical joke!) He was always going around "smiting" people and killing them off en masse. Sort of the original mass murderer. So why would anyone worship this god?! Fear, okay, sure. But worship??
From my limited knowledge, Jesus sounds like a good guy. But even he, I gather, said one had to follow his god (the same one who thought having his son crucified was a good idea. And this heinous act "saved" us how??). Perhaps it's an occupational hazard. Perhaps I see dysfunction everywhere, but if a god who refuses to allow anyone to worship other gods, who demands total loyalty and fealty to himself, isn't the definition of a raging narcissist, what is?
Truly, I was not trying to be provocative so I kept chomping down on my tongue, rather than expressing these views, but you can see how well their attempts at converting me went. The only thing this conversation did was remind me of all the reasons I left Christianity in the first place.
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