Archive for the ‘need’ Category

getting turned on

Men love theirs. They are so proud of them. Oddly, they believe women should be excited, interested. Most men seem to think that this is an impressive sign of their manhood to all women. Most women, actually, have little interest. We have seen enough to recognize a bighead is not our style. If you have to flaunt it, we pay little notice. We might have been interested when we were younger. Women re-focus as they mature. What men love to brag about and show off just is not as impressive.
Interestingly, as men age, they seem to get worse. They really want young women to pay more attention to theirs, as opposed to the guys most young girls would date. Again, younger women might be smitten in the beginning, but it fades.
We hear the stories and just shake our heads. What are men thinking? Why do they believe women find ‘this’ attractive? Why do they feel the need to exemplify macho instead of sensitive? Why do they persist in playing with their things to get more attention? Why do they feel a need to show off regardless of their ages? Why do they believe that young women will feel excited at the image of ‘young and virile’ they are trying so desperately to portray?
Laugh if you will. One day the man in your life will probably do the same. Sadly, most do. We can feel pity for the wives. We can feel dismayed at the actions of the husband. We can sympathize with the younger woman who so often is the target of this ‘need’ in so many men. We can try to warn our daughters.
These men disappear for hours, pretending to run errands. Actually, they are hoping women are noticing them; hoping women want them. They do their best to be where the younger women are. Is it ingrained or is it acquired?
They cannot afford to do this but are unable to suppress. They just have to have that new car. Sporty. Hopefully a convertible. They cannot help themselves. Just try to muddle through. Men love theirs.

About Face

I am in my 60’s. Not terribly long ago, a woman told me she ‘bet I used to be attractive’. I can handle that. I DID. Now, I am older. I am not as upset about that, as I am that people are unaccustomed to what we should really look like as we naturally age.

I saw Goldie Hawn on TV today. Face-lift. I remember when Mary Tyler Moore got hers. It broke my heart. I watch some cooking shows. Sandra Lee suddenly looked very odd. Honestly, I thought she had been in a fire. Nope. Face-lift.

As I see women changing their entire facial structure, I question for whom they do this. I used to wonder the very same thing about men who wore toupees. Did they sleep in them at night with the person they loved most? Probably not. They wore that stupid looking fake hair or did a ‘Donald Trump’ every morning for the people who do not really matter. Why is that?

We are the baby-boomers. We are supposed to have more answers than our parents had. We are supposed to be more perceptive. Why in the world are we afraid to be ourselves? Why are WE pretending to be younger than we actually are instead of showing how well we can age? I am perplexed.

I stopped coloring my hair a year ago. I know it ages me. I look so much better with my hair hi-lighted. Now, there is no mistaking that I am an elderly woman. Nevertheless, I AM an elderly woman! I recognize that 60’s isn’t the end of the path but when we start retirement, get our social security and have problems remembering and falling and driving, why should we be trying to look like we are a decade or two younger? If we were acting this way in our 40’s we would seem daft or drunk. If men could really see what a woman is SUPPOSED to look like as she ages, maybe they would stop trying to date women 20 years younger than they should. Maybe. Ok, bad example.

While I am on that subject, why do older men need to date younger women? Everyone knows how foolish they appear. They are trying to ‘borrow’ the youth of that younger woman to appear younger themselves. They are trying to appear more virile. They are trying. Trying. If you need a pill to have more sex than your body can accommodate, you are too old to be having that kind of regular sex. It is not the end of the world. It is just a slowing of a chapter in a section. We all live.

So, as I watch women I have admired throughout my generation, I am saddened. Too many of them have decided they cannot stand to be their age. They are pretending to be of a different age while all of us watch, distressed at how fake our generation is threatening to become. We do our daughters no favor.

Gloria Steinham had it right at one time: ‘This is how I am supposed to look’ or something to that effect. I felt the same way for ages. I let myself be what I was supposed to be. How sad that our society does not. How sad that again, men are telling us we are not ok unless we do ‘this or that’ and sadder still is that women do it to each other. When Marlo Thomas got a face-lift, I was heartbroken. Another woman who is supposed to be secure, brilliant, honest, talented, and beautiful. She used to be.

Yep, I used to be attractive. Looks fade. I hope I have managed to cull more than the skin on my skeleton for the next chapters of my life.

Joan Rivers aside, how often are you disappointed in the women you once admired because of plastic surgery? Plastic: doesn’t that say it all?

daring

It is a nasty time of year. The leaves have begun to fall. The pine needles need constant raking. The rain makes for muddy footprints in the house.

This nastiness has made me begin to think of my abuse.

As I recognize the need to forgive, but not forget, I finally have started to see the fear of the abuser.

He beat me to a pulp one day in New York. We had dated for about 2 years. He drank too much. I could see it coming. I told him I was getting concerned that he might hurt me. He was surprised and honestly stunned at the idea. He told me that he had a tendency to do things to hurt him, not others.

I remained wary.

We got up early one Sunday to go for brunch. He decided to have a drink. It was 8AM. I could not understand the need. That was a warning I allowed to sink into my brain. He wanted scotch before we went to breakfast. We had mimosas with our brunch. We were having fun, flirting. We were in a very nice, well-known NY restaurant.

I saw it happen. His face darkened. He was angry. He began to berate me, taunt me. I sat, still, afraid to move. Then he pushed away, forcing the table onto me, everything spilled onto my dress. He stood, glared, exited.

A man and woman at the next table looked at me. He asked if I was ok. I was dumbfounded. I was in shock. I was disbelieving. I was frightened. I was humiliated. Yet, I assured him I was fine. I got a cab.

I had to return to our apartment. All of my clothes were there, my airline tickets, belongings, money, and ID. When I returned, he was asleep (passed out) and I began quietly packing. I think it was the click of my suitcase lock. He was on me immediately. He screamed, furious that I was packing, calling me names, and hitting me. I fell; I tried to shield myself, without success as he continually hit and pushed and threw me. Finally, I hit him. I hit him in self-defense, almost afraid to hit because as a woman, no one had trained me to hit. I do not even know where my ‘punch’ landed. I only know what happened next. “You hit me!” “How DARE YOU!” he screamed. Then, the beating took on a new urgency. He threw me onto the floor, began to kick, throw things onto me, and kept screaming at me, calling me names. Somehow, I got to my feet, and hit the intercom button on the wall. I screamed and screamed. In minutes, someone was at the door. I got to the door ahead of him. When I opened it, a neighbor and the security guard were standing there. I said, “He is hitting me.” they were speechless. He was a beloved neighbor. A young, upwardly mobile man beautifully dressed, polite. Angry. The woman came into the apartment while I picked up the rest of my belongings. She saw that he had ripped my clothing from me. He had even torn my leather belt in half. I was dressed again, but disheveled and able to leave. Oddly, he was in the shower. She never saw him.

As I think about that time in my life, I have realized how much he resented what I was seeing. “You hit me” “how dare you.” it makes sense to me now. His weakness was an affront. How DARE I see that side of him? How dare I become someone to see the real man? How dare me. It let him know what a little person he was. He was 6’3 and yet smaller than my 5’7 frame. How dare I show him to be so small?

I learned that once a person hits, it will come again. You need out. You cannot trust yourself or that ‘hitting person’. Make plans. Leave.

I saw him once after that. We met in a public place, allowing him to try to convince me it was all ok. It was early on a Sunday morning. I could smell the alcohol.

You can still have fun in life. You just cannot have it there.

You must not dare.

got a system?

We all have them. We need them. Systems are inevitable. I personally believe that men need them more than women do, but that is just my opinion.

Which way does the toilet paper go? I dated a great guy in Ft Lauderdale. He was such fun. We talked one day about how people get caught-up in the way the toilet paper goes on the roll. He and I preferred the tissue to go ‘over’. So, to find out how much it mattered, I began putting the tissue under. I watched over the week as the tissue was mysteriously rotated back to ‘over’. He did not say a word. He just repositioned. I finally fessed up. He did too. He told me that evidently it DID matter to him. He acknowledged that he was ‘one of those’. It was a funny experiment in life. We are not immune.

When my dad had open-heart surgery, he could not drive for a while but had medical appointments to keep. I lived in the same city so volunteered to drive when I could. The first day out, he needed to go to his office. I not only had driven there hundreds of times to see him, I had also worked there when he needed help. I knew the way.

As I backed out of his driveway, he said, “Where are you going?” “I go down the hill.” The hill was a slope that joined the same road. In other words, going up, or going down took you to the very same place. It made me smile a bit. He had been told to ‘stop trying to be in control of everything and stop getting aggravated at the little stuff’. Immediately, he said, “well, everyone does it differently, it doesn’t matter.” That did not fool me a bit. Of COURSE, it mattered. I was connecting to the road in the wrong direction. ‘Systems’.

Part of his rehab was to take a daily walk. I was an early morning walker so I suggested we meet to walk together. He quickly agreed. Walking can be lonely at first.

The first morning, because we were still in fall weather, it was dark when he wanted to do his walk. I normally waited until early daylight but this was his gig and I was willing to bend.

I walked to the appointed spot, knowing my path because I did it daily, but it was still daunting because it was DARK. I actually carried a flashlight. As I waited, I saw his light coming. As he got closer, I realized he was wearing a ‘miner’s hat’ with a light in the brim. Funny but it made sense.

We began our first journey together. As we crossed a street, he moved to a different side. As he moved, he kicked a small rock out of the sidewalk. He was looking everywhere, his little light shining, and our additional flashlights made us obvious.

The next day, I saw his miners cap and flashlight approaching. I had to be there first. You did NOT keep him waiting. It was not worth the reproach. As he arrived, we set off and crossed the small road. He immediately changed sides. He also found a small rock to kick. That was when I knew: system. He had a system already. He needed a system. He would never deviate. Always changing sides at the same time, always finding a small rock at almost the same place, to kick aside. He was back in control.

My parents cannot load their dishwasher unless it is loaded properly, in their way. When you try to help with the dishes, it means having to unload and reload because things are in the wrong place. I understand it to a point. I have become much more flexible about my dishwasher. My parents seem to need to fill every nook before they run the machine. I get that. We were taught to do a full load, to save energy. That was 40 years ago. Now, our appliances are so much more efficient, we can do loads that actually have a bit of space and not lose our retirements. My parents will never accept this. It is their system. Only certain things can go in the top, certain things can go in the bottom, and some things must ALWAYS be washed by hand. Not manufacturers’ suggestions: our parents’ system.

My husband had many systems. When he travelled, he always packed one extra pair of underwear for the number of days away. Carved in granite. I saw it firsthand early on. So, we took a trip together and the very first day, I snatched his ‘extra’ pair. That night he was frantic, looking for his ‘spare’. I had expected that he would start looking when he was down to one or two. Nope. Today. Right now. “Where is my extra pair of underwear?” it drove him nuts. It drove him nuts for 6 days while we were on our adventure. He was so unsettled. He actually began to accuse me of taking his extra underwear, so certain was he that he could NOT have been in error. I began asking if we needed to do a small ‘hand wash’. He assured me that he had enough. He just needed his spare.

The last day of our trip, he came out of the bathroom in his last pair of clean underwear to find me wearing his spare. I thought it was hysterical. It was not funny in the least. I had messed with his system. He still remembers that trip as ‘not good’ and it was all because of the stupid underwear.

I have never known a woman to be this anal.

I empty all the trashcans on Monday because Tuesday is trash day. I do my laundry and I clean my grill from weekend use. Today I will make new hummingbird food and replace the feeders with clean ones. I have already cleaned and refilled all of the birdbaths. I will clean out the fridge and wipe the shelves. I will wind my pendulum clocks. I will test my sprinkler system and walk my land to check outdoor lighting to replace bulbs. I replace the towel my cat sleeps on and I am certain to do my ironing. I have to press because Tuesday is errand day. Wednesday I pay bills and make phone calls. It’s my system.