Feed Icon Moslitski
11/20/2019 10:21:00 AM
For the record, the most versatile word in the English language did not originate from an acronym.  THE WORD originated from the term fokken which means “to thrust or copulate with” (www.snopes.com).  However, this post is not about an etymology.
The Knowing….
Say whatever you want that motivates the human libido.  Old fashioned propagation of the species?  The “conquering” of foreign lands?  The pursuit of “the strange”?  Or is it some kind of ancient bartering system trading of supply and demand?  What I think, or hope in my romantic yet hedonistic mind, is that both men and women are seeking “the knowing.”
If we go by standard stereotypes, men are seeking the “knowing” of another woman, to know what pleases her and to know how his skills can please her.  Sometimes he seeks that knowledge just to use with someone else, but I do not think that skills in the bedroom are obtained through one night stands.  Usually, I think, people pull out their “best” tried and true moves with new people and anything beyond the standards are explored in deeper, longer lasting relationships.  I know that I am a little inhibited about standing on my head and whistling Dixie the first time I am in bed with a man.  I usually reserve that little trick after we have a few “Olive Garden” dates under our belts.
Maybe women are seeking the knowing in a different way.  Maybe women want to “know” men’s secrets.  It is the only power we have: the surrender some of their pride, the distraction of the desire over to us.  Or we think we can somehow “change” them through the power of our love.  The love we trade for sex, that is.  I hope that in the new “sexual revolution” women do not become too much like men.  If women do not remember sex is also about emotional intimacy, who will?
And here is why I go into the world of too much information and why I wear a mask
When I fall in love or even infatuated I am seeking “the knowing”.  I want to know the man’s mind and his heart.  This is probably why I am attracted to mostly intelligent men so I am not bored too quickly.  I want to know his body too.  I want to know if he has freckles and where those freckles stop.  I want to know if he is ticklish.  I want to know what really turns him on.  I sometimes want to know their inner dirty little fantasies even if they scare me and/or I have no intention of acting them out.  (This has backfired on me before).  I want to know what position they like best.  I want to know if they are a breast or a butt man.  I want to know if he swears, grunts, or simply sighs when he comes.
This is what I want to know.  It is what I need to know when I want a man.  It is not about my pleasure or just about the conquest or the orgasm, it is about the knowing.  That little bit of sweet happy surrender they have right after they come when their hearts and minds are as soft and pliable as their spent penises and I can shape them to my liking.  If men knew this is what women do after sex they would rush out the bedroom as soon as possible or not enter it at all.  But maybe, secretly even unwittingly men want that molding too.  The Changing.
A Little Story About The Knowing.
When was first ushered into the world of love and sex, it was like I was in the lobby of a grand play or opera but not allowed in.  I did not have the necessary ticket of attractiveness or at least guile to get much past the foyer.  I would hear whispers of how great, terrible, fantastic, and terrifying that world was from friends and movies, but it was like seeing a trailer for a foreign movie without subtitles.  You kind of want to see it, but it is not out yet and you have no way understanding the movie without a translator, but you just gotta see it anyway.
I remember this awkward infatuation I had when I was a senior in high school.  By this time, over half my class was sexually active, and that was just the ones I knew about it.  We were a suburban school about 80% white in the early 90’s so 50% of my class being sexually active is about accurate.  I was still in that lobby waiting for my ticket.  I was very interested in this boy, oh let’s call him Brian.  Brian was in my music theory class.  I had delusions of grandeur of a career in music, but let’s not dwell.  Brian played guitar but he was also involved in drama and was in all my advanced classes, so he was a nerd.  If memory serves me, I think we even was pictured in the last issue of our school’s paper was the top ten of our class.  What can I say, I have taste.  I dare say that I was not necessarily “in love” with Brian.  I think I might have talked to the boy maybe twice.  Our exchange of words barely quantifies as a paragraph.  But I remember just wanting to TALK to him.  I fantasized more about our fascinating and revealing conversations more than I imagined any kind of nakedness or anything overtly sexual.  Instead of writing my name Mrs. _____ in my notebook, I would study the music and the album covers to every band t-shirt he would wear.  The album cover of Ritual De Lo Habitual scared the hell out of my seventeen-year-old self, but I was ready to discuss if Brian happened to pass my locker randomly.
I imagined that we would hang out in a dark basement listening to Pearl Jam or Pink Floyd and discussing the essence of Kurt Cobain lyrics. And during all this talking we happened to kiss and make out that would be cool as long as it were really dark in that basement and he could not really see my body.  This is also when I started shoplifting cute panties and bras so my mother would not know that I no longer wore K-mart training bras and plain white cotton panties.
If Brian and I bored with talking about music, or we needed a break from all that dry humping, we could talk about Fahrenheit 451 or 1984 that we read on our summer reading list for Honors English because teen boys love to sit around talking about their summer reading with their female classmates.   I read Science Fiction because I thought it would make me seem cool.  At least I knew Jane Austen and Dickens were not cool.  I fantasized that we would talk about the radical changing powers of the written word or relating how our school administration was trying to “keep us down” like the Ministry of Truth trying to keep the youth of this nation docile with misinformation.  Yeah, I was a nerd.  I read dystopic science fiction and listened to grunge thinking it would somehow impress teenaged boys.  That is a good way to have an affair with a mid-thirties English professor at a local junior college, but not the way to get the cherry of the vice president of the National Honors Society who also plays bass for his garage band with his buddies.
For the record, I have never impressed a guy with my literary knowledge.  I have never had this dream conversation of staying up all night talking about how science fiction is used to make sense of modern societal dilemmas or talk about Kurt Cobain or even comic books with a man and then end up not just having sex, but joining of like minded souls with our bodies and then fuck our brains out as a political statement against the hypocrisy of society trying to dilute us of our humanity through ridiculous sexual mores.  Sounds like fun though doesn’t?
I have impressed guys with my Wonder Woman outfit and been asked to tie them up with my lasso.
Sigh…..  Why do guys have to fuck up fucking?
11/20/2019 10:18:00 AM
I was going to title this “Why Fat People Cannot Buy in Bulk”
but I thought that was demeaning to myself and others and you do not have to be
fat to have emotional eating issues.
I briefly attended Overeater’s Anonymous (OA).  I really should go
again.  OA is like all other 12 step programs only you replace the word “alcohol” or “drugs” with “compulsive overeating.”  Never mock someone who is
in a 12 step and takes it seriously.  It is DAMN hard.  I never got past the fourth step that was about making a “fearless moral inventory of our lives.”  One of the things I had to “inventory” was my triggers.
Please note that even as I type this I have a sense of dread.  People brag about when they got “fucked up” or their sexual exploits even if they regret them later.  No one really wants to talk about “the secret shame everyone sees” of food
addiction.  Of course bulimics hide it better.  I was bulimic in my youth.  I still feel like a bulimic, only missing a step.  I am avoiding the topic, aren’t I?
Activities, Emotions,
Foods, and Other Situations that Trigger My Emotional Eating.
Foods:  (I will start with the easiest) There are
foods that I cannot stop eating or I buy on impulse when I feel like being mean
(or really “good”) to myself.
Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups: I freaking love this candy and I
have ever since I was a chubby little kid.  When I was very little, my brother and I were not given any candy.  We had candy at Halloween, Easter, and Christmas.  When I was old enough to be sent to the store I would get a Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup or Reese’s Pieces and a Mountain Dew.  As a ten-year-old I was consuming
roughly 400-500 calories as a “snack.”  Now I will only eat the peanut buttery goodness at the assigned holidays of my youth or when I am on a road trip.
The food gives me comfort, reminds me of my first taste of freedom.
Pizza:  I had a whole post about pizza.  The first reason I
avoid pizza is because I worry about diabetes.  I have told you all I was pre-diabetic and I still have to watch out.  The second is because I can never seem to get full on pizza.  I think I go into some kind of metabolic amnesia when it comes to carbs.  Carbohydrates never fill me off and they seem to set off this vicious blood sugar cycle of ups and downs.  If there is pizza in the house, it is gone.  Just for the sake of irony, it was by pure coincidence that my ex-husband worked a second job as a pizza delivery guy when we first started dating.
Pasta:  I have the same problem with pasta as I do with pizza.  I will eat until I am just about ready to burst.  This is also a left over issue from my childhood.  Pretty much I should stay away from traditional Italian dishes altogether.
Count Chocula and other sugary cereals:  This is definitely one of my earliest binge foods.  Cereal is almost always in the house when kids are around.  It was a food I could fix for myself and eat and eat and eat and no one could tell.
If I had one bowl, I wanted four.  Let’s do the math.  One little binge of 4 bowls of cereal is approximately 480 calories.  And that is if you go by the serving size on
the side of the box which if you are binging, you are not exactly measuring.  I started the cereal thing when I was a latch key kid in the fourth grade.
To this day I hardly ever eat any kind of cereal because of the bad
memories that each bowl brings to mind.
Grocery Shopping:  I love grocery shopping, but I do not think that is necessarily a good thing.  When I feel frightened or insecure whether that fear is conscious or sub-conscious, I like to go to the grocery store.  I do not go to the store to by junk food either.  That is a late night spur of the moment walk (drive) of shame.
I like to wonder the aisles meal planning or thinking of all the good
food I am going to feed my loved ones, or pick up a box of hors douves and
fantasize about the next “impromptu” get together I would have at my
house.  I also fantasize about whatever latest diet I am on and buy accordingly.
Then I fantasize about the new body and new life I would have after the
successful completion of said diet.
Bored/Lonely:  This is when the “grazing” behavior starts.  This
is the mindless eating and snacking that can go on all day.   I am bored and/or lonely, but usually bored because I am lonely.  This was my typical day
when I had a very boring office job: I just have a granola after breakfast,
then maybe a 100 calorie pack cookies or a piece of fruit about 10 o’clock,
then about 3 o’clock I get the munchies bad and I will either have a protein
bar or pretzels. If I did not have those at my desk, then all hell would break
loose and I would hit the vending machine for a 440 calorie cinnamon bear claw
warmed in the microwave for 35 seconds for maximum warmth right before it went nuclear and the icing was like lava.  Then I would have whatever snack or bit of lunch in the car on the ride home.  I would cook a healthy “light dinner” either
before or after a workout, and then I would have a late night desert of a low
calorie ice cream bar, yogurt, or nuts.  Yeah… that is a lot of food.
Anyone else in this boat?  Grazing is the toughest habit to break
because it is the kind of behavior you barely notice.  You are never really full but you never allow yourself to get really hungry either.
Angry/Depressed:  This is the binging behavior one envisions when they watch Oprah or see “documentaries” which I think are sometimes exploitive of the very obese.  This is where I just tear into whatever is available in the pantry/refrigerator.  I am so ashamed about what I have put in my mouth over the years.  I have eaten dry ramen noodles straight from the packaging sprinkling the spice packet on top.  Who does this?  I have eaten raw cake batter.  I have mixed it up, eaten it with a spoon, ate until I wanted to vomit and then never baked what was left over and poured the evidence down the sink.  The next time I would go to the store, I would replace the cake mix so no one was the wiser…except the waist of my pants.
In these “textbook binges” I would just eat until the pain went away.  I would eat until whatever hole I had in my heart be it disappointment, loneliness, self defeat,
rejection, failure, whatever the cause, I would fill it with food.  And you know what?  It worked.  Not all those who binge or drink heavily or take drugs because they WANT to destroy themselves, at least not actively.
People binge, drink heavily, and take drugs because they want to feel something differently than what they are feeling at that moment.  That
moment is so dark, so awful, that any little pleasure, no matter the long term
(or in the case of drugs and alcohol short term) costs you just want to feel
better.  Food made me feel better. Even bowl after bowl of cereal would scrape the roof of my mouth, my teeth felt like it was coated with a film of sugar and my jaw hurt from chewing was better than whatever emotion I was feeling at that moment.
All that food eventually would fill my stomach up until I could not eat
anymore or my blood sugar would spike and I would feel calm.
I would eat until the emotional turmoil would pass.  It was as if I was caught in a storm of emotions and binging was the brief sunshine whisking clouds away.  But really, that momentarily calm was just the eye of the storm because the guilt and shame would set in.  When I was still bulimic, this is when I
would make myself vomit, take a bunch of laxatives (and I mean a lot, like 3-5
at a time 2-3 times a day) or I would exercise like a fiend or some sort of
combination.  I did not enjoy vomiting and only did it in extreme cases of shame or bloat.  I have had only the occasional bout of purging in the last few years as an adult.  Mainly working a “day job” where bathroom accessibility was an issue and
living with a spouse that would catch on to the purging put an end to the
I still binge from time to time, but not like when I was an adolescent or in my early
twenties.  Now, I graze thoughtlessly and if I really feel like binging and eating something really bad for me, it would involve a trip to the store.  I do not
have much snack food in the house either.  Pretty much everything I have is ingredients.  If I have to go through the effort of fixing something to eat even if it is canned soup, this is enough time for my bad mood to pass.  If I really want junk food, I would have to get in my car, drive to the store, and then go up and down the
aisles looking for junk food and having to consider my actions and their
consequences.  This is also enough time and forethought for the mood to pass.
This is my way of self management.  But of course, this makes living with me challenging.  Living with my diabetic dad and stepmom has
not been a huge issue because they cannot have snack food around either.  Also the guilt of eating “their” food is pretty decent deterrent.  Besides, around
them I might be depressed or angry, but I am not lonely and I can talk to
either one of them about what is causing the emotional upheaval in the first
place.  Living with my ex-husband was bad.  Before he went on this massive and
very restrictive Atkins diet, he would eat cookies by the sleeve and just have
all kinds of junk around.  He liked food and I believe has developed a bit of a warped body image now that he has to attract other males, I did not witness him seriously binge eating.  However, there were times that he would get a
pizza just for himself and eat the pizza all night and play video games.  That can’t be healthy.
Now I find myself spending much of my time with a man that
has similar eating issues to me.  I will admit to gaining 10-15 pounds in the five months or so since I have moved down here.   It is hard to tell who is a bad
influence on whom in this relationship.  But the end, I only have myself to blame for my behavior and I am the only one that can change it.
11/19/2019 9:40:00 AM
Why do crushes get such a bad reputation?   Sure, they are heart breaking, gut wrenching, and soul crushing monsters of disappointment that can make you worry about your own attractiveness and even self-worth for years, but that doesn’t mean we can’t learn from them.
I was a late bloomer, to say the least.  Sigh… let’s not even talk about how emotionally and physically immature I was compared to my classmates.  In fact most of these “crushes” I had were in high school.  This crush phase was so innocent and fruitless that it was more on par with what most girls my age went through in middle school.  My kind of high school crush was more one of admiration rather than desire.  I don’t even really wanted to “go out” with them.  I had no idea what people did on dates.  I imagined dates were a lot like “hanging out” only with hickies.  I had no idea.  Yes, there was one boy in particular that I guess I “desired” but even that was purely theoretical.
My first “crush” I guess was in the fourth grade.  This is the first time that I even noticed boys existed let alone had any value.  I remember I liked a boy who rode my bus.  I liked him because he was cute, whatever that meant, and he was smart, in all of the enrichment classes and I remember he had one of his stories posted on the teacher’s bulletin board with a big red “A+.”  Perhaps that is what impressed me the most.
Junior high I barely attended and would really rather not recall a single moment of that hell.  Let’s move on.
The boy I remember liking the earliest and the most after my first crush on the  “A+” kid was someone in the band.   We had many shared activities including choir and church.  How a band geek from church could get me so hot, I still do not know.  If I were honest with myself I believe that my fantasism for Christ was really my love for this boy.
He was like Jesus to me, and the Devil.  My sin and my salvation.
He was like Jesus to me, and the Devil.  My sin and my salvation. I would lie down my life for him.  Sell my soul for just a kiss.  I sought for his attention like pilgrims seek enlightenment.  Oh, how I prayed that he would just talk to me, touch me, make me real.  Save me from the sin of desire.  A thousand sins of the heart and in the flesh I committed alone in his name.
Every other girl I knew liked him too.  He hit puberty light years before any of the other boys.  He had a hairy chest and could grow almost a full beard in the tenth grade.  For some reason, my fourteen-year-old self found this irresistible.  He also had nice broad shoulders and a low singing voice.  He was also shorter than me.  I was pretty tall, I guess I still am, but this was not a detraction.  I just wanted to be near him but wanted him to not be intimidated my height (or size) and this is where I cultivated the practice of standing up straight from my torso so I’d look sophisticated (and supposedly thinner) yet I’d cock one leg out to the side and bend one knee to appear shorter.  I find myself still doing this from time to time.  It was won my absolutely no favors, only the left heels of my shoes wear out faster than my right.
I “loved” this boy, or as much as a one-sided teenaged love can be.  He
could do no wrong, I would defend him to the death even though I knew he was, at times, unkind to other girls when he’d spurn their affection, but he never once gave me any hint that there was a even a glimmer of hope we’d ever be an item.  It did kill me when he dated a neighbor of mine.  She was thin, blonde, and beautiful.  I could hardly blame him.  I’d choose her over me too.  It was hopeless, and therefore pure and untainted by experience.
To this day, almost twenty years later, I still love him.  I have met him a few times in the recent past and he still makes my heart skip a beat.  The first few minutes of even the most casual meeting I find myself finding it hard to believe.  The first time I met him after a ten year absence he was with his girlfriend.  She looked just like me.  It pissed me off.  She was tall, dark haired, a little heavy and thick in the thigh.  We both were even had similar jobs.  I felt betrayed. All this time I loved him.  I was married at the time, but still.  If I knew he were into chubby girls….   I wondered if I did have some kind of influence on him in some way.  I hope I influenced him a little when he so impacted my young life.  I still measure love and attraction based on the model of my love for him.
When we have talked as adults in flashes I remember when my love for him would keep me up at night exploring my body in the dark of my room feeling the delight of my body, the thrill of the thought of him mixed with Midwestern church-girl shame.  But now, as adults, still knowing that “Us” will never happen, what once was love now feels more like nostalgia,  He also says that I am the only girl he “never messed up with.”  He was a bit of a player for a time.  He had the kind of face and swagger that could let him get away with it.  He needs his image to remain pure in at least one girl’s memory.  It is for both our egos that we do not muddy that image with too much experience.
One of my first novel efforts was about teens growing up in an Evangelical church.  He smiled shyly and asked if he was in it.  I did not lie. He already knew he was.  Sometimes I wonder if everything I write is for or because of love.   I asked him if he thought he would
be the villian or the hero.  He said, “Why not both?”
So that is what he is.  Villian, Hero, Romantic Lead, Object of Affection, the mold in which I fashion all my futures loves.  And he knows it.  And now the world does.  And I don’t care.  Never be ashamed of love.  Even when you are in love all on your own.  There is always something to be learned.
My other crushes were less defined at required fewer criterions.
There was the boy who played the guitar and seemed really into recycling, before it was cool.
I liked one boy in my homeroom for almost an entire afternoon because of the way his “Lollapalooza” t-shirt stretched over his broad, manly shoulders.  He was on the wrestling team and played football.  I am quite certain he was unaware of my existence even though he was only a locker or two down from me for seven years.
I liked one boy because he was nice during chemistry lab and we’d write up the notes for our other “partner” who totally skated by based on the notes we wrote up for him.
I remember my heart fluttering a bit when one boy was kind of being an asshole once in class, but he did it with such panache’ I couldn’t help myself.
I fell pretty hard for one troubled young man because he was wicked smart, very funny, but had a dark side that I thought I was special because I imagined I was the only one who knew.
I had crush on one boy because he had beautiful eyes and had the coolest “Luke Perry” side burns.  Almost every other girl in my class would choose a certain basketball player as “the cutest boy in school”, but for me, it was ole’ blue eyes.  He was also so relaxed and sure of himself.  God, he was cool.
That certain basketball player never really did it for me.  Don’t get me wrong, he was beautiful.  You could check off from a list of every quality of standard of American beauty for this boy.  And I’ll tell you what; time has been good to him.  But to me he was a real person.  We had some classes and certain other activities in common so he wasn’t an ethereal object like the other boys.  He spoke to me and didn’t pretend like I didn’t exist.  He was a really, really nice guy.  In fact, if I remember correctly, he even thought I was kind of funny and I helped him with his homework although he could totally do it on his own and he never asked.
Like the basketball player, once they talked to me, it broke the spell.  I didn’t like just their looks, obviously.  Seriously, there were no real criteria of looks although most of them were of average too very high intelligence.  Dumbass “bad boys” never did it for me and they still don’t.
I really liked the idea of them.  I idolized them in my head and even some of them when I meet them as adults, except for a few noted exceptions; they still make my heart beat a little faster. It is funny.  I have met a few of these boys as men and they will still make me blush, stammer, and get all weak in my knees just as they did back then.  And let me be clear and this is not trying to be gross or anything.  This blushing and stammering is not arousal at all.  I really was not and AM not sexually attracted to them.  I didn’t see them that way at the time and even though we are all adults, I still don’t have any feelings deeper or more substantial then admiration.
Some of them have gained thirty or forty pounds, maybe their hair is thinning or completely gone, it doesn’t matter.  My heart still races and I don’t want to look at them in their beautiful eyes for fear they will read my every thought.  Of course, they are grown men now and know when a woman is attracted to them, even if it is in a girlish way.  It is like I am afraid to look at them directly or it will have some kind of opposite Medusa affect and instead of turning into stone I will melt into mush.  Yes, these guys still have this power over me.  But really, most of them are really nice and it is me who gives them this power.  They do not wield it or may even know they have been given such a power.  But they could both wound and win me with a word.
Because none of these crushes have come to fruition they can remain in my memory like postcards from destinations I will never visit with a “wish you were here” inscribed across their broad manly chests encasing their un-won hearts.  I find myself writing them into my stories here and there.  Maybe it is so close to that person they could sue if I were to ever be published and weren’t careful to mask their identity.  More often it is aspects of different guys making up a mosaic that I fashion into my own romantic interest.  Maybe a character has beautiful eyes, great sideburns, a broad chest, who plays the guitar, tells jokes, and is a chemist.  Who knows?
These crushes, these series of unrequited loves helped shape my idea of what
I really wanted in a man.  After I had my first “real boyfriend” when I was 19, my crush phase kind of ended.  At that point, I decided I wanted to be loved back.  I decided I was worth it and pining for someone who will never love me back and give me even a measure of my attention or devotion is a waste of time and can be a bit demeaning.  And that is okay for a teenager.  The teen years are custom designed for discouragement and humiliation.
But as an adult, I am really worth knowing and worth loving.  If I am worked up over a guy to make me melt, his heart better be melting too.
11/15/2019 10:28:00 AM
Sometimes you can’t control your body functions.  And if you’re lucky no one is there to witness it or notice.  But that wasn’t the case a few weeks ago.  My evening started with a date with AD33.  We decided to have wings and beer at Buffalo Wild Wings.  Since she was driving, I was planning to have a couple extra drinks.
Our time at Buffalo Wild Wings was very uneventful.  We enjoyed a few good laughs as we were people watching.  There was the guy 2 tables over that looked like Fire Marshal Bill from In Living Color.  And of course there were a couple guys who were hitting the punching bag in the corner to prove how much of a bad ass they were.  Most of the time we played trivia and drank beer.  Overall it was a good time.  We spent about 3 hours there.
AD33 was ready to come back to my place to get some Swirl Love.  It was about midnight when we arrived at my place.  We had one more drink for a night cap and got naked.  AD33 and I have always been on the same page sexually and this was no different.  Once we were both satisfied, we feel asleep.  I’m not sure what time it was, but it was late.  Shortly after AD33 woke up to say, “opps… Sorry!”  I sat up with a puzzled look on my face and said, “what the hell are you talking about?”  She said, “I farted in my sleep and it woke me up.”  I couldn’t help but laugh.  If she had, I would’ve felt it (or so I imagined).  We were spooning and her butt was against me.  She didn’t think it was funny, but it was too late.
Once she drifted back to sleep, I couldn’t sleep.  I wasn’t sure if that was a warning sign of what was about to happen later in the night.  About a hour later she woke up again and said she had to go home.  She couldn’t sleep well.  After talking for a few minutes, she decided she was leaving.  
After she left, it made me wonder if this has happened to her before.  Maybe she trying to avoid something worse.  I know that we all have involuntary body functions that we can’t control, but I don’t remember this happening with another woman.  I don’t remember hearing another woman have gas while in bed.  Was it the wings and beer?  Or was it something more?
Anyone else have a similar experience?  Was it my laughter that made her self conscience?  Or should we just avoid the wings and beer combo?
11/15/2019 5:53:00 AM
Let’s face it; humans as a species are easy.  How hard is it to get someone to have sex with you?  Yes, I understand that it is generally easier for women. Women generally have to turn that shit down.  It is like we have to dodge dick on a daily basis being forced to duck and weave through all the lines and offers like the schlong slalom.  Seducing another human being even getting them to like you is not that challenging.  I am great at “making friends” with American guys.  Perhaps too good.  But falling in love?  That takes a little romance.
Here are some romantic gestures that really work on Ms.
Charlotte Jay and if it works on me, it is likely to work on other women.
– Opening doors. I know, it is silly.  I have lived
in the South for a few months and am already spoiled.  Yes, I can open the car door on my own, but if a man walks around the car door to open it for me, that is great.  I am too impatient for him to open the door to let me out.  That is just excessive.
– He lets me have a bite of his meal.  This is so key to me.  First of all, what he orders tells me a lot about what kind of person he is.
Does he order something healthy, spicy, or exotic?  Does he try something new?  I have this untested theory that if a man is experimental at the table, he might be experimental in bed.
I don’t know yet.  All I know so far is that I find picky eaters to be annoying and therefore I have never gotten far enough to test this theory.
He picks me up at my house.  This is NOT recommended for on-line daters!  If a man picks a lady up at her house and interacts with her family, roommates, or dog for a few minutes before taking her out shows that he sees you as a lady with a community that cares about her and to whom she is accountable.  This might make him think twice before “stealing” her away or question is non-noble intentions.
 When he looks into my eyes.  Not in a creepy way, but he just looks into my eyes hoping to get some clues to the mysteries of my soul.  On dates, men often look at my mouth (or my breasts).  This is NOT necessarily a bad thing.  I want a man to find me attractive.  There are problems if he does not at least steal a glance once or twice, trust me.   I hypothesize that they look at my mouth imagining what it would be like to kiss me, or have more naughty thoughts like how my lips would look wrapped around their cock.  That is all well and good, but all women have lips, some are nicer than others, but no other woman has eyes or a soul like mine.
– Little gifts, notes or gestures, not huge extravagant presents.  I love little sweet texts and little notes.  Notes and love letters are a lost art in this digital age.  Little gifts would be an icy Diet Mountain Dew that is my favorite, or a fountain Diet Coke with a splash of Coke or better yet just a bit of cherry flavor that you can get convenience stores like Speedway and Tom Thumb.  If he gets my
coffee order right: Venti latte, 2% no sugar or flavor Or Iced coffee, cream no sugar or flavor, or dark roast coffee with 2 or 3 creams.  Candy could be tricky if I am dieting or something, but hardly anyone has asked what my favorite candy is.  Bonus points for any man that would ask.  Flowers for no reason as long as they are not excessive.  Some little gift that made you think of me or remind you of a moment we shared.  Sigh…. That would be lovely.  Getting a chewy bone or a toy for my dog would be nice too.  She is too old for rawhide, I wonder if a man would care enough to know that.
– Expensive gifts are NOT a good idea for a girl like me.  First of all, it makes me think you are trying to purchase me. Also, there is the stench of desparation to a man that buys expensive jewelry to early in a relationship.  DON’T FALL FOR IT and DO NOT feel obligated to the man.  If possible do not accept the gift.  I have made this mistake.   It also sets up some kind of expectation or reciprocal situation I would make me feel uncomfortable.  HUSBANDS can buy expensive gifts like jewelry. Boyfriends, stick to lattes and chewy bones.
– Walks in the park or the beach.  I know that is so lame “If you like pina coladas, and getting caught in the rain,” thank you Jimmy Buffet.  First of all, pina coladas are great and so are margaritas, but lattes or smoothies will work on a “light weight” like me.  Getting caught in the rain with the right person can be kind of fun, even sexy.
If you walk on the beach or in a park, you might accidently brush up
against each other, hold hands, or just enjoying the simple beauty of the earth with the right person can be magical.
– Road trips. I have not been on a good road trip with anyone for years.  I have driven cross country with my dog, but
it is not the same.  A good road trip could be with a friend or family members can be fun as well.  My brother and I travel well together.  But an actual road trip with a boyfriend or with at least a spark of romantic potential, sigh.  The heart can dream, right?
– Not only how he touches me, but how he does not touch me as well.  Ladies, do you remember a time when a man was making out with you and did not just “go for the gold” or try to get whatever he can get but instead respected your body and waited to be “invited” to touch you? Wow, what would that feel like? You know when you are friends with a person and there is that electricity between the two of you and how you might casually touch them and then jerk your hand away because you felt that jolt of attraction you were not ready for?  That is divine, is it not?  That electricity is not just for
virgins, it is for anyone who is open to falling in love again.  A good lover, the right lover, will make you feel like a virgin ala’ Madonna circa 1984 in how they make you feel like you have never been touched.
– He respects that I have a life outside of him.  I was on a date once and I had to go to a writer’s club meeting and instead of being all greedy and encouraging me to stay with him for his pleasure which he could have talked me into especially if I thought I would lose him if I left, he made sure that I got to my writer’s group on time because he knew it was important to me.  Perhaps he was secure that I would come back to him.  He valued the parts of my life that made me “me.”  That is a man who knows how to love.
– He will rub my tummy and/or back when I am crampy and does not pressure me for sex. I have been informed that some other black women turn into evil beasts at that time of the month and every bit of unpleasantness that is usually suppressed in their nature comes out because she can “blame the hormones.”  I venture that she is probably a bitch 365 24/7 and she just pulls out all the stops. I am not saying I am an angel.  I have been known to complain and be lethargic, but it is ovulation is such a magical time, I just wait it out.
11/11/2019 12:05:00 PM
“God help you are an ugly girl, but too pretty is also your doom, cause everyone has a secret hatred for the prettiest girl in the room.”  – “32 Flavors” Ani DiFranco
I was not a cute baby.  Come on people, you know that not all babies cute.  You know it, society knows it, even the baby’s own mother knows it.  I looked like my father when I was a baby, which would have been fine….if I were a boy.  I had fine light brown hair that was more or less fuzz on a round head, chubby cheeks, and way too intense light eyes that belong on any child.  To top it off, I had a profound speech impediment, kinda big for my age, socially awkward and a little defiant.
All that is different is the speech impediment went away.
As a child, whether it was true or not, I believed I was rather masculine looking.  My mother, in an act of nothing short of cruelly cut my hair short when I was about six making matters that much worse.  I have not forgiven her to this day.  Not only did I look even more boyish, I missed out on all the grooming rituals young girls engaging in like braiding or even holding back a friends long hair at the drinking fountain.  I was the only girl in my class with short hair.  There are pictures so I did not imagine this.  I believe this just compounded my social isolation.
Teen years did not help.  I was a “late bloomer,” shall we say.  Even to this day that term seems embarrassing and euphemistic.  I was also overweight but not in a womanly, shapely kind of way.  So yeah, boys didn’t really like me.  This was okay, I suppose, because I was so emotionally and physically immature that I did not really like boys that much either.  I guess I liked them in a theoretical kind of way like way one thinks they might enjoy the Caribbean but have never really visited.  One might listen to reggae music, see people return from cruises with tans so the Land of Boys did exist, I just had never been there and as far as I was concerned was a mythical and mysterious as Shangri-La.
Here’s the thing.  And if I believe the flattery of my classmates, I think it is true.  I look about the same I did in high school.  If anything, I am about two to three sizes smaller than when I graduated high school.  Where most people have gained 40 to 50 pounds since high school, I have lost it, but I am hardly thin.  My skin is clear, very few lines, not a lot of skin damage, and Lord knows I have not had any children to wreak havoc on my body and accelerate gravity in any way.  I tease that is just Mother Nature’s way of tricking some unsuspected sperm donor into believing I still have a few more years of beauty and fertility left to sire and heir.  At least I keep my hair dresser in business by covering up my roots lest my graying hair gives me away.
So, what is the benefit here?  What is the upside of social isolation and lack of experience with the opposite sex.
I am still trying to figure that out.  Even coming out of a 12 year marriage, I am still rather innocent, “sweet,” and woefully ignorant of men.  I believe that this makes me a danger to myself and others.  I am the weak and wounded of the herd and men can smell fresh meat.  This is going to get me in trouble.
But if you have never been pretty, you can hardly mourn the passing of that beauty.  If you were not a pretty teenager, you don’t mind if you don’t look like a teenager anymore.  If you were a size 24, (God, I hate to see that in black and white, much less on sewn in my jeans) you think you look pretty hot as a size 18.  Here is another thing I did not realize.  Men in their 30’s (and up) are less concerned with a little extra pounds as much as the attitude that comes with it.  I have never learned how to be unapproachable.  If a man says I am beautiful, I want to believe him.  This is a good and bad thing.  I might have to start to be more selective.
In earlier entries I tease that all that time without a date gave me time to develop a personality and a sense of humor.  And yeah, if people care enough to look past it, they see that some of those jokes can be defense mechanism.
I might not have been a cute kid, but I do believe I am a beautiful woman.  Please don’t hate me for thinking that.  Yeah, I am tall and “built like a brick shithouse,” whatever that means.  I think depending on the connotation that might be complimentary.  I don’t know.  The thing is, I guess you can’t miss that which you have never had.

11/11/2019 11:44:00 AM
I was originally working on a piece titled “What I Want in a Boyfriend, Circa 1993.”
But alas, I had no boyfriend circa 1993 and therefore would have been per fiction.
Maybe it was a good thing.  I say that now, but at the time when I was 17/18 years old, it was all I wanted.  Or all I thought that I wanted.  But not really.  Like many teens, I was ambivalent on the subject.  I wanted a boyfriend, kind of.  I wanted to be be wanted and “loved” (whatever that meant) but I didn’t want him to get in the way too much.  I didn’t want him to cramp my style or take me away from my friends, time to myself or become the giggling mass of dinginess and servitude  some of my friends at the time had become once they got boyfriends.  To me, they were a hot mess of hickeys and hormones held together with a three word phrase, “I love you” that made all their sacrifices of the mind and soul worth it.  But perhaps I am giving them too much credit.  Maybe there wasn’t that much mind and soul to to sacrifice.
I know I sound like sour grapes about it now.  But, really, maybe it was a good thing that I didn’t have a boyfriend.  I had all that time to study, work on myself, go out and have fun, and one always needs time to cry oneself to sleep.
Of course, I am exaggerating.
At one point in my formative years, I would have  loved to make out to Pearl Jam.  I thought that  “Ten” playing in the car CD player in the front seat and making out on the backseat would just be so ideal, so romantic, so deep and meaningful.  I did not date a boy who had his own car until I was 21 and he was 24.  I ended up marrying him.
It is a good thing I never fulfilled that dream of making out to “Ten.”  That album was so critical to the molding of my young self and, not to be too grandiose about it, but it did influence who I am today.  If I had made out to “Ten,”  and some boy who would have broken my heart, because seventeen year old hearts are meant to be broken, it would have forever tainted that album for me.  Track 2 I would have remembered an awkward fumbling in the dark.  By track 6 he is leaving me at a party and talking to some other girl.  By track 10 I am devastated and would begin to hate the boy and Eddie Vedder by proxie for making me remember.
And that would be a travesty.
Eddie Vedder might have been my first love.  His songs and lyrics made me think about what it would be like to be an actual person.  To be confused, angry, upset, but with hope and passion.
I remember the line from “Alive” second verse that really influenced my early views of what I thought sex was or what I thought it could be.
“Wow, she walks softly. Across a young man’s room. She said ‘I’m ready for you.’  Well, I don’t remember anything to this very day…. except the look.”
That verse showed me that a girl, no, a woman, is not just the object of affection, but can own her sexuality, but intimacy decisions on her own and she can be an actual participate, if not initiator of sex.  Mind blowing, huh?
I actually had an “Elderly Woman Behind a Counter in a Small Town” moment a few years ago.  I ran into randomly an old crush of mine.  Amazingly, as if out of a scene of my very own novel, every heartbreaking crush, every tingle he gave me with just his smile, even how he smelled filling my body and heart with such ache and longing came flooding back to me.
“I swear I recognize your breath.  Memories like fingerprints are slowly raising. Me you wouldn’t recall, for I’m not my former.. its odd when your stuck upon the shelf.  I change by not changing at all….But I just want to scream HELLO!  My God it’s been so long never dreamed you’d return but now here you are… and here I am….”
And no… even though this moment was rife with romantic tension, like before, like always and forever, it was one sided and this man will never love me.  Not like I loved him.  And perhaps it is just as well.  I no longer hold a flame for him… perhaps just a” candle of thought to light his name.”

11/11/2019 7:49:00 AM

"They're infiltrating our world."
"They who?" I asked Sara, wondering if she had suddenly developed a sixth sense and was seeing aliens or, worse yet, dead people.
"Men? I thought it already was a man's world -- who's world are you talking about?"
"Kat, it's 2:30 on a Wednesday and look at all the men out and about.
I looked up and down San Anselmo Avenue, where Sara and I had stopped to window-ogle and have a latte after biking out to Nicasio. She was right. No matter where we were that morning, there were men parading around in the world that generally belonged to stay-at-home-mommies. Not in suits, either, but in Lycra on bikes, in T-shirts with strollers and Labs or balancing grocery bags in one hand and a screaming toddler trying to break away from the other.
"Wow. The newly jobless, you suppose?"
"Probably. And the about-to-be divorced."
"Sara, what are you talking about?
"It's the 'Little Children' Syndrome."
"I haven't heard of that. Is it like the Peter Pan one?"
"No, like the book. Todd's the cute stay-at-home dad and none of the moms on the playground trust him except Sarah, who ends up screwing him and he almost leaves his wife for her even though his wife's a hottie and Sarah's not."
"Sara, it's a novel! It's made up."
"It doesn't make a difference. Guys mulling around with kids in the middle of the day are like cleavage on a woman. Everyone notices it, and a certain percentage of the population wants to play with it."
"That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard!" I said a little too loudly, evidently, as a few people on the sidewalk gave me a much wider berth than was called for.
But I had to wonder if Sara was onto something.
A lot of women melt at the sight of a man out with his children having daddy fun, which is always more rambunctious, messier and noisier than mommy fun. It's like emotional porn for us. We especially feel that way if we have a hubby or an ex who hasn't measured up to our vision of what "Good Dad" looks like.
"Look at that wonderful daddy who adores his kids and wants to be with them on his day off," we think. "What a lucky wife he has. She's probably out having facials and nips and tucks and spending ridiculous amounts of money on outfits she doesn't even need instead of spending a glorious day with her gorgeous, loving family. She doesn't even deserve him!"
And if he's a single dad, well, that's sexy. Most single moms I know want to date single dads because they "get" what single parenting is all about. We imagine he's more emotionally available and less self-absorbed because having kids changes you that way. So we're all ready to become Instant-Stepmom -- Poor guy, raising kids alone; he needs someone to look after him!
Can't say the same for single moms, though.
Yet if we see him every day at the typical mommy places, that's a very different thing.
There are about 159,000 stay-at-home dads. Given the current economic crisis, the number is probably increasing.
But the midweek afternoon world is a mommy's world. If women suffer discrimination in the boardroom, SAHDs suffer discrimination on the playground. Most SAHDs and dads who work from home say they're excluded from mommy activities. Women feel uneasy about having a man in the midst of their playground gatherings, where the kiddies play and the mommies mostly bitch about their hubbies' failings. Can't do that if there's a man around.
Still, if a lone dad ventures into mommyland -- and if he happens to be cute -- he'll have a gaggle of flirty moms around him in no time. That's why the hubbies don't like SAHDs either; they don't want some wanna-be "stud" hanging around their women even if they believe he's a wuss for staying home doing "women's work."

And a lot of women feel that way, too. Because we're never really sure if a man will be happy at home. On top of that, we'll be judged for not staying home and taking care of our kids.
But as a chick magnet, you just can't beat a devoted daddy cooing at his babies. Tell that to the pick-up artists!
Gals, do you find dads sexy?
Ever hit up on one?
Would you want your hubby to be a SAHD?
Guys, do you like being a SAHD, or would you want to be one?
Do women flirt with you when you're out with your kids?

11/6/2019 10:10:00 AM
I never heard of Joan Hunter Dunn until Thursday, when she died.
It could be that no one else would have, either, were it not for a chance meeting.
And, then, as they say, the rest is history.
Dunn was a caterer in Britain's Ministry of Information when in walked poet John Betjeman (whom I'd never heard of before Thursday, either). He was so smitten with her beauty — a wholesome beauty with sparkling eyes, even features, a wide smile and a dimple in one cheek, according to the Associated Press — that he immortalized her in his most popular poem: "A Subaltern's Love Song." They were never lovers, but were lifelong friends.
"She induced in him a feeling of happiness and well being that permeates through a lot of his work," John Heald, chairman of the Betjeman Society, said. "She was certainly his muse as far as that poem was concerned — he rather liked attractive women."
The idea of a muse is an interesting one; Wombat of Kiss 'n Blog posed the question, who is my muse? not too long ago. A few of us called him to task on it, though, because he seemed like he was looking for someone to do his grunge work, or perhaps a wife. (and they're not one and the same!).
But I wondered if a muse — "a source of inspiration," according to to Merriam Webster dictionary — wouldn't make a great wife, or a husband, for that matter. Because when you think about it, shouldn't your partner be "a source of inspiration" or, as it was for Betjeman, a person who induces a feeling of "happiness and well being" (and that's very different that being responsible for your happiness and well being).
After my divorce, when I started to clarify for myself who I am and who I'd want to be with, I realized that the love I seek is one that expands me, challenges me, makes me be a better person. And now, I'll add, inspires me.
So, I thought that would be a cool thing to a put out there in the online world, and then I came upon this and this.
It's hard to be a muse nowadays ....
Do you want your partner to be a muse, too?
11/6/2019 10:08:00 AM
One of my favorite songs, the Gin Blossoms' "Hey Jealousy," came on the radio the other day as I was driving around doing mommy errands.
As I sang along, it got me thinking of a conversation Sara and I had the other day.
She asked my why I still flirt even though I'm dating Sean. She wondered if I did it to "make him jealous."
That's really juvenile behavior. I flirt, he flirts because even though we're dating, we're not dead! We still look at others, we engage others — and we trust. I'm not interested in a relationship that puts artificial limits on the other. I know my own boundaries, and I trust he knows his. We'd have a much bigger problem if we didn't.
But it made me think of the jealousy I've experienced and that I've seen among my friends. I thought of what the big porn star and her new hubby told me over dinner when I asked them how they can make their marriage work — no jealousy, they said.
But, because I think way too much, I wondered: Can jealousy ever be a good thing in love?
Some people who know of such things say, yes.
I stumbled upon a post by Paul Dobransky, author of "The Secret Psychology of How We Fall in Love."
"There is a very subtle distinction about jealousy that will help you keep a relationship that's healthy and leave one that's not," he says.
Now in dating and relationships, men and women can differ in what adds what you may call passion to their jealousy.
Because of gender instinct differences, men are passionately jealous of that which can raise up their status among men: things like status symbols, leadership positions, money, and the admiration of women. Women are passionately jealous of that which can give them a feeling of belonging, being "normal" or harmonious.
Both in men and women, this kind of "jealousy" is a good kind — it indicates masculinity or femininity, and is an INSTINCT, not something that can be eradicated or pretend it isn't there.
So when we deny what we feel or what our partner feels, it creates unnecessary tension, right?
Adam Phillips, author of "Monogamy," tells Salon a similar thing, that without jealousy in a relationship, our partner can become invisible:
Oh yes. I think there's no way around sexual jealousy, nor should we be trying to find one. I think that jealousy is inextricable from passion. What may be possible, though, is to have a different internal relationship to jealousy. Or it may be possible to bear jealousy in a less vengeful way. That, I suppose, would be one of my ideals here. Not that we would cease to be jealous, but that we would be able to bear jealousy. And that would mean really being able to acknowledge that other people are independent of our desires for them. Just like we ourselves can love and desire more than one person, so can the people we love. Now, this may be too hard an ideal. But it seems to me preferable to the alternative.
I love that: "other people are independent of our desires for them. Just like we ourselves can love and desire more than one person, so can the people we love."
Think how powerful it is to understand that about ourselves and our partner. And yet, I can see how that might make many of us feel uncomfortable.
And both of them seem to include jealousy as part of passion — and isn't it often passion that seems to slowly bleed from long-term relationships? Hmm.
How do you handle jealousy?
Do you think it plays a healthy role in a relationship?
Do you accept that your partner may feel love for more than just you?
Would your partner accept that of you?
11/6/2019 8:50:00 AM
There are two kinds of single — alone single and lonely single. The latter is something we all feel from time to time (but shouldn't make a habit of it because even our dearest friends will tire of our moaning and groaning), the former is something we need to accept (or, ideally, embrace) if we're ever going to make it solo (regardless of whether we want to be solo or not) — the quirk-alone type of single.
But misery loves company, er, well, I mean we singles can help each other by swapping stories, sharing insights and making each other laugh (well, except the females among us, evidently!)
Now, like CamperWorld or some big box store — or maybe even the Mall of America (which scares the hell out of me) — we can find it in one place.
Two really smart bloggers — Dad's House (aka David Mott) and Single Mom Seeking (the lovely and talented Rachel Sarah) — put it together, and I'm happy to be a part of it. I like reading what other single parents have to say, and Lord knows I like to dish out the advice, too (although perhaps it's a case of do as I say, not as I do).
Of course, the truth is, single parents aren't really alone; we have kids, and they fill every nook and cranny of our home, thoughts, dreams and anxieties. Even if you have 50 percent custody, it's a 100 percent job.
And, the group is on Facebook, of all places; if The Kid knew what I was up to, he might truly make me a lonely and an alone single by moving in with his dad full time. Bad enough I have to share his breathing space and the physical space of our house without invading his cyberspace, too!
Still, please mosey over to the group, and maybe join in and connect. It just feels so much less lonely that way.
11/6/2019 8:17:00 AM
"Kat, I need to come over right away. You home?"
"Yeah," I said to Mia, alarmed by the tone of her voice on the phone. "Are you OK?"
"Um, I, um, I'll see you in a few minutes."
I was worried, expecting her to show up in tears with bags under her eyes. Instead, she looked great in that feminine full-faced I'm-in-love way.
"What's up?"
"I need to use your scale."
"Mine's broken."
"That's it? You came all the way over to my house to use my scale?"
She didn't answer, but I'm not even sure she heard me. She was already in my bathroom.
There was a bit of a commotion, and then she spoke. "Crap!"
"What is going on in there?" I asked her, half confused and half freaking that The Kid had left the bathroom a mess.
"I gained five pounds!" emerging from the bathroom looking slightly disheveled and clearly distressed.
"Oh for goodness sake, Mia. Everyone's gained five pounds — even me. We're post-holiday, remember?"
"No, no, no, it's not just that. Rex and I have been, well, we're struggling."
“I’m sorry, honey. Sean and I have been, too,” I said quietly in sisterly unity. Not only do women get their periods in synch, but sometimes it spills over into their love life, too. “But that’s not why we’ve both porked out.”
"Of course it is!'
"What do you mean?"
"Remember when you and Rob were breaking up and you lost all that weight?"
"Yeah," I sighed. "I felt terrible and everyone told me how great I looked. Go figure!"
“Well, that’s what’s happening now. We’ve each gained weight as an insurance policy in case our romances break up and we aren’t able to eat. It’s nature’s way of protecting us — at the same time that it's making us look hot for the next guy.”
I looked at her, slightly dumbfounded — admittedly, not my best look. But just as I was about to tell her how ridiculous she was sounding, I realized as weird as it was, she just might be on to something.
Could it be that relationships are the root of our fatness?
It's kind of a cliche that women befriend two guys — Ben and Jerry — when their love life is in the pits.
But studies say that women pack on the pounds or lose them depending on what's happening in our relationships.
We tend to look our best when we're looking for love, which is important because, like it or not, how skinny or fat we are affects a gal's marriage prospects and social mobility more than it does for a man.
But once we start dating — what with all those Frappuccino-quaffing Starbucks quickie online dating meets, trying-to-impress-you fancy restaurant dates and let's-order-Chinese-in-and-watch-a-DVD dates — we gals add about 15 pounds. Move in with your sweetie and it's more like 18 pounds. Get married and suddenly you're packing an extra 24 pounds. And, not surprisingly, if one spouse becomes obese, the other spouse is likely to get fat, too.
This is a very good reason to stay single.
Then, when we're hitched and we should be ecstatic that we're having sex whenever we want, we start getting all freaked about how fat we've become and then we don't even feel like getting it on — let alone how all that extra weight messes with blood flow.
Honestly — the promise of great sex is being wasted on heavy married people!
But just last week, researchers said that women's brains may be the reason we get so fat. Evidently, when we're faced with our favorite foods — say a Dagoba 59 percent dark semisweet chocolate bar — we just can't stop ourselves the way men can.
So, I’ve come up with a diet that is easier and cheaper than any South Beach Diet or Jenny Craig system could ever be. I’m calling it the Kat Wilder Healthy, Happy and Hot Diet because you not only will look great, but you’ll be saving yourself a lot of man trouble, too.
Do daily: Flirt, look for love
In moderation: Dating
Eliminate: Living together — it rarely leads to a successful marriage, almost half of which end up in divorce, anyway. Plus, you’ll be saving all those pounds.
Now, if it’s too late because you’re already married, you have two options — start having lots of sex, which burns off about 53 calories if you can make it last a half an hour, or get a divorce.
And if you do get a divorce, please make it soon — there are going to be a lot of skinny gals out there looking for love.
11/6/2019 7:55:00 AM
There are a few things we gals have learned about men — whether by observation and experience or osmosis from other women or media. We know most men don't get women's obsession with shopping, shoes and fashion, our ability to cry over seemingly nothing, our gossiping, or our need to talk about "the relationship" (or maybe even our need to talk, period!) So smart women keep those sorts of things in check around men.
But I've wondered if there are some things we gals do that send messages to men to which we're oblivious.
Not too long ago, a friend made dinner for a man with whom she'd gone on two lunch dates (he paid for both). Then he didn't call. 
OK, granted, he might have just not been into her. But I wondered about the dinner.
"Do you think cooking dinner was too intimate too soon?" I asked her.
"It was a quick, thrown-together meal and I was heading out after, anyway. Plus," she shot back, annoyed, "women sleep with men on the third date!"
She had a point. But as I told her, "That's different because men always want to sleep with women."
At the time that I asked her that, I didn't realize that I actually had an opinion about it, but I guess I do. That's because I think cooking for someone is a very intimate thing, an expression of love (for lovers, friends and family) — much more than throwing together a few ingredients and making it look pretty on the plate.
I'm not the only one.
When former New York Times food columnist Amanda Hesser met Tad Friend, a writer for the New Yorker (whom she later married), she struggled with the implications of cooking for him the first time, as detailed in her book, "Cooking for Mr. Latte: A Food Lover’s Courtship, with Recipes":
“First meals are intimate ... It’s an entry into the way you think, what you’ve seen and know, the way you treat others, how you perceive pleasure. Dinner guests can see by how you compose a dinner if you are an ungenerous hothead or a nurturer, stingy or clever, fussy or stylish.”
But maybe that's just how we romantic foodies think about it. Maybe it's just in Ms. Hesser's head and mine.
Does making dinner for someone need a three (or four- or five-)-date rule?
Are there other things women do that may send messages to men that we women don't "get"?
Are there things men do that may send messages to women that men don't "get"?