Glimmer

This story of love and patience and understanding melts even my heart... something to inspire as the new week starts and a new Spring begins.

Fickle

So, dear Blog, I've been cheating on you with Facebook. Or FB, as I affectionately call him. FB was just so new and exciting - I felt ALIVE with FB. Sob. But I swear, I thought about you all the time. Ok, some of the time. I got addicted to FB; it's like crack for nerds (oh wait. that's Star Wars).

Anyway, I'm back. Don't be frightened.

I'm a big girl now!

I watched Juno the other night, finally. Really liked it. But there was a scene that got me thinkin, which doesn't usually produce good outcomes. The scene was where Juno tells her stepmom that she hung out with the guy who made up half of the couple who were going to adopt Juno's baby, and that he was really cool, played guitar, etc. The stepmom then says that it's not right to hang out with a married man and that there are rules.

What are these rules? Where can I get a copy?

Other than a glib thought that, in 2008, a woman should be able to be friends with anyone she wants, including married folks regardless of gender, I've never really thought about the propriety or impropriety of friendships with those in marriages or serious relationships. When I was a preteen, I remember my mom saying that proximity breeds desire. I thought that was just old-woman-crazytalk back then, but now I think there's something to that. Think about interoffice romances, the boss doing his secretary, Jim and Pam, Dwight and Angela. Think about Jaime Gumm: We covet what we see every day.

Now that I'm in the most mature relationship of my life (mature as in we are both trying to act unchildish, not mature as in we are both approaching middle age, for Christ's sake), I no longer act like the cool girlfriend (Mental Note: blog about that later). I see that it's necessary to be vulnerable, to express emotion, to let the other person know I appreciate him and think about him. And I found all this out when I met pretty much my equal in this relationship. He can be as hard-to-read and aloof and fiercely independant as I am. A good friend of mine characterized our early relationship as 2 icebergs colliding. Yikes. But now we both talk about our hopes for this relationship and about each other. It feels like a new & different place for me, but it's warm & comforting too.

My New Job Status

The other day I met with a woman who wanted me to represent her son, who is currently being held pending trial, for a misdemeanor assault. She was Greek and didn't speak English; her other son was also in the room and he translated. I asked her all sorts of questions and then she asked me if he could be locked up for good. She was crying as she asked that question. She didn't want him to go to jail; she wanted him to get psychiatric help. Of course the answer to her question was "no" but it really makes me think about a mother's love for her child.

This guy stole from her, pushed her around some, and has put her through a lot of grief while he accrued a long list of arrests. And yet the thought of not being able to see her son reduces her to tears. I'm sure the cynics among us would say that she didn't raise him right, or she's being dramatic. I can't think that way. As much as people in general tend to annoy me, I do see potential in people, a capacity to hope for better things. The day I start hating people in general is the day I will no longer be a proper mother to my girls. It is also the day that I will buy a gun. Just kidding.

And when it came to my fees - the part I hate the most so far about practicing law - the woman pulled out a white envelope and handed me cash, telling me to take care of her son. No pressure there.

Father's Day

Yesterday, my dad came over to my house while my girls were at their paternal grandparents' house. He came over bearing tools and the capability to help me tear out my kitchen cabinets. I saw him at the front door and I was sort of shocked at how little my dad looked. Short, slim, old. Briefly, I felt sad, but brushed that feeling away like a cobweb in my face. It was the first father-daughter time we've had in decades, probably. We worked in silence, me taking out the cooktop stove, him taking out the garbage disposal and sink plumbing. He liked my supply of tools in my Bucket Boss organizer. He also said that I do good work on this sort of thing for a girl; these are both great complements from my dad, so inside I felt all shiny.

When my girls came home, Char had made a card for her dad, who she did not see. I don't know what he was doing, but he didn't visit with the girls. Maybe there was an emergency in the dog food aisle. She also took $1.00 of her allowance, made her granddad take her to the store, and bought her dad one of those chocolate-covered cherries wrapped in red foil, the kind you can buy just one of, near the cash registers ("Because Daddy LOVES those!"). I can't bear to look at the card, because I know what's in there. Every year, Char makes a card for her dad, and on the inside is a drawing of her holding hands with him. There are birds flying all around, the sun is happily shining, and bees are buzzing around. My heart breaks for her every year.

Manic stuff

I'm getting a little manic right now as I pack for PR. Just 10 minutes ago, I saw that I was wiping the kitchen floor with a paper towel. Also, every trashcan in the house has been emptied and all the laundry is done. When I'm done packing, I'm going to go through the house and unplug all the unused electrical appliances. And there is a note on the mailbox that indicates all overflow mail should go in the plastic box provided, directly under the mailbox.

I tried on my bathing suits today so I could steel myself to the horror. My ass looks hideous, more jiggly than I've ever seen it - ever. I know I'm my worst critic. And my critic says, "Work that ass OUT!" Blah.

I tucked my little girls into bed at my mom's house tonight, gave them big hugs and kisses, and told them I was going to PR to scope it out, so that we can all come together next time. I miss them already.

I need some sleep. That's what the beach is for...

Does it need definition?

What is cheating?

Last week, I had lunch with a guy pal of mine and, of course, we discussed the whole Spitzer-hooker thing. Then the conversation evolved/devolved into what cheating means: Is a blowjob cheating? What about phone sex? What about going to a strip club?

He had a very loose definition of cheating. He said sex with a third party involving emotions is definitely cheating, but here are things he said were either NOT cheating or was noncommittal about: hiring hookers, getting a handjob from a masseuse, phone sex with a third party, getting a lapdance, talking dirty with someone face-to-face.

And I felt like an old lady, because I was unable to say, flat-out, that X,Y, and Z is cheating or A,B, and C is cheating. I said, and still believe, that even holding hands (hear me out) with another person could be considered cheating, because cheating goes to your state of mind. I think that an act that would be a dealbreaker for some would be no big deal for others.

So what is cheating, to me? Ok, if I asked my boyfriend what he did last night, and he did something with another woman that he is afraid to tell or uncomfortable about telling me, then he cheated. Period. To me, the deciding factors are his state of mind, his intent in acting as he did, and whether he could reasonably have believed that he was keeping the loyalty and trust between us intact.

And, while the meaning of cheating is not black and white, the effect of cheating is, in my book. I cannot abide disloyalty. I know me, and if I stayed with someone who cheated on me, I would never be able to respect his decision-making capacity, and would always question his devotion, his word, his promises. I don't need my significant other to call me twice a day or always include me in activities with his friends, but what I do need, and will not bend on, is that he keep the promises he makes. And if or when there comes a point where he can't keep a promise, then he needs to tell me before he acts, so that at least I will have a valid decision to make in the relationship.

Blahblahblah.