A bite out of the Big D

I have taken a bite out of the Big D and I’m not ashamed of it, and you shouldn’t be on my behalf, either. You see, I’ll be 31 in exactly one month and I have been divorced for almost three years. Some of you reading this may have already gone through one, so you can relate, but I wanted to do a bit of a rant on this issue.

Whenever someone hears that I’m divorced, I oftentimes get this eyebrow arch or odd look, like I should be wearing a Scarlet D and I’m asked incredulously “what did you do?” Well, I’m here to say for all divorced peoples that it’s really none of your damn business and I’m not lesser person because of it.

Being divorced carries a stigma – there’s no doubt about it – I’m lazy and didn’t try hard enough. I probably just gave up because “it wasn’t easy” and/or I shouldn’t have married at the age of 24 (though we were still together two years beforehand).

I’m a very private person, and while some real-life friends know part of the story, some know more, no one knows all of it. Only the two people in the relationship know exactly what happened behind those closed doors, and they are under no obligation to share it with anyone – particularly with people they just met. Now, I must say that I do not mind sincere questions of curiosity, but not those laced with tones of accusation.

My standard explanation is: “well, no one, including my in-laws, blamed me for leaving and I’ll just leave it at that.” I tried everything possible and even went above and beyond what many others would have to see if things could work.

The saying is that you should marry the person for who they are today, but you see, there’s no rule that says he/she will STAY that same person you thought you married. Or, on the flipside, things that should change, as a result of maturing and growing older and having more responsibilities, do not.

Behaviors before the wedding can easily be suppressed or even masked, especially if there are other traumatic events going on, such as family members dying, finishing a bachelor’s degree and/or one changing jobs. But, honestly, I shouldn’t have to say that in the first place.

Every time I don’t get that quizzical look from someone who finds out, it’s because they themselves are divorced or they know someone who was completely justified (in their eyes) in going through one. I guarantee if I told you my story, I would fall into that category, but I don't think I should have to, in order to avoid a hasty judgment.

My absolute favorite is when people would say, “at least you didn’t have kids.” Right… because that made it suddenly not painful to go through? Whatever you do, please don’t EVER say that to someone.

I do not plan on going through husbands like Elizabeth Taylor. I hoped that the first time would be the only time, but my sanity was not the price I was willing to pay for it. Look at this way, I probably wouldn't have been able to blog:)

I do hope to get married again, but I think it took my first marriage to realize what really is most important in terms of compatibility. Fortunately, I think one of my greatest strengths is learning from previous experiences, and if that holds true, I know that I have much to look forward to.

A bite out of the Big D

I have taken a bite out of the Big D and I’m not ashamed of it, and you shouldn’t be on my behalf, either. You see, I’ll be 31 in exactly one month and I have been divorced for almost three years. Some of you reading this may have already gone through one, so you can relate, but I wanted to do a bit of a rant on this issue.

Whenever someone hears that I’m divorced, I oftentimes get this eyebrow arch or odd look, like I should be wearing a Scarlet D and I’m asked incredulously “what did you do?” Well, I’m here to say for all divorced peoples that it’s really none of your damn business and I’m not lesser person because of it.

Being divorced carries a stigma – there’s no doubt about it – I’m lazy and didn’t try hard enough. I probably just gave up because “it wasn’t easy” and/or I shouldn’t have married at the age of 24 (though we were still together two years beforehand).

I’m a very private person, and while some real-life friends know part of the story, some know more, no one knows all of it. Only the two people in the relationship know exactly what happened behind those closed doors, and they are under no obligation to share it with anyone – particularly with people they just met. Now, I must say that I do not mind sincere questions of curiosity, but not those laced with tones of accusation.

My standard explanation is: “well, no one, including my in-laws, blamed me for leaving and I’ll just leave it at that.” I tried everything possible and even went above and beyond what many others would have to see if things could work.

The saying is that you should marry the person for who they are today, but you see, there’s no rule that says he/she will STAY that same person you thought you married. Or, on the flipside, things that should change, as a result of maturing and growing older and having more responsibilities, do not.

Behaviors before the wedding can easily be suppressed or even masked, especially if there are other traumatic events going on, such as family members dying, finishing a bachelor’s degree and/or one changing jobs. But, honestly, I shouldn’t have to say that in the first place.

Every time I don’t get that quizzical look from someone who finds out, it’s because they themselves are divorced or they know someone who was completely justified (in their eyes) in going through one. I guarantee if I told you my story, I would fall into that category, but I don't think I should have to, in order to avoid a hasty judgment.

My absolute favorite is when people would say, “at least you didn’t have kids.” Right… because that made it suddenly not painful to go through? Whatever you do, please don’t EVER say that to someone.

I do not plan on going through husbands like Elizabeth Taylor. I hoped that the first time would be the only time, but my sanity was not the price I was willing to pay for it. Look at this way, I probably wouldn't have been able to blog:)

I do hope to get married again, but I think it took my first marriage to realize what really is most important in terms of compatibility. Fortunately, I think one of my greatest strengths is learning from previous experiences, and if that holds true, I know that I have much to look forward to.

Is this art?

Apparently, I've had ass on my mind the past several posts. Last Friday night, I went to this thing at the Honolulu Academy of Arts called Art After Dark. I almost shit when I heard from my friend Mike that Honolulu actually was hosting something art-like for anyone under the age of well…the Jurassic period.

They hosted this “social” for people in their 20s – early 40s that also secondly served as a meat market. Unfortunately, once you took out the men who were there with a woman and those who were obviously gay, the pickings were slim, but that’s okay because I was totally enjoying myself as third wheel to Mike and Keri (Ana and Denise were…where else?… shopping and met up with us for dinner afterward).

It was interesting perusing the gallery that was filled with Asian and European art, particularly with a beer that seemed to “hit” me rather quickly. We all decided we weren’t huge fans of the Asian art, so we migrated toward the German exhibit, the Rice exhibit (showing farming of rice which was also boring), and the typical Europeans that most of you are familiar with (like Picasso, Monet, etc.).

Although I like to look at art, I’ve never really considered myself a connoisseur. I don’t always “get” it, particularly where you see a painting with just rectangles and squares or squiggly lines. I know that art is subjective, but it was kind of cool to walk around with Mike (who loves to paint) and hear why certain pieces/artists were considered pioneers, and that my opinions on the pieces were valid. He told me that someone like Picasso was a master painter at the age of seven, but only when he reverted back to what he considered more “juvenile” forms of shapes/lines, did he become famous.

However, it reminded me of this debate that I remember having about the infamous photographer, Robert Maplethorpe, who caused some controversy with a picture of a crucifix being dipped in urine. It was a particularly brutal debate in one of my classes of the idea of freedom of speech versus being shocking and defaming for the purpose of getting some publicity. Is there ever a line to draw on art – or more importantly – is there a true definition of what can be called “art?”

This picture is also a Maplethorpe. Is that “art” to anyone? While there were some beauties of flowers and even tasteful ones of the human body, there was also one of a woman with a scorpion resting in her bush. Yeah, that one.

While I do support the First Amendment, I have a hard time respecting people that do things just to shock people because I think that’s something just anyone could do. To me, it takes much more talent to please than to offend. But, maybe that’s just me?

Lesson learned

Today, I have been dealing with buttholes all day long, from bureaucratic government types to a buyer's realtor and loan officer who screwed up so badly that it may kill my deal that's supposed to close in 10 days. I'm so tightly wound right now that I think I may shit out a diamond tonight, but hey, at least it's my birthstone. Nevertheless, some of the issues I had to handle today reminded me of a discussion with one of my tenants and the lesson we got out of it.

I have to admit that being a Landlord can often bring in the most interesting conversations with my tenants. I don’t know if it’s me, in particular, or the nature of the job that turns one into a Sam Malone. Tenants come in sharing their life problems and woes – or even an invitation to a sex toy party.

However, there is one tenant that comes in who intrigues me, maybe because I can’t completely read him, and as you know from this past week of the Reverse Comment Whoring, that’s not generally difficult. I’ll call him Tom for this post to protect his identity (though I did inform him I would blog this). Tom is in his mid-30s, never married, no kids, and is a salesperson of a high-end, highly desirable product that is NOT any type of a vehicle.

So, he comes in to pay his rent this month and we’re bantering back and forth, like two people of the opposite sex in their 30s usually do. I can’t remember exactly what it was about, but something Tom said made me ask:

Becky: And, your girlfriend, how is she doing?
Tom (in a disgusted tone): Oh, uh, there is no girlfriend anymore.
Becky (the eternal prier): Why? What happened?
Tom: Well, I went to the Mainland and she just decided to move her stuff in without asking. I was having none of that.
Becky (laughing my ass off): It’s just like that movie, How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days (but at the same time, thinking "what a dumb bitch")
Tom (apparently not as amused): Yeah, well, I don’t think that women can put up with my schedule because I’m out of town a lot, and if I get paged, I have to go – right then, even if it’s in the middle of dinner.
Becky: I see. And now that you’re playing Monday Morning Quarterback, do you think these women that you're referring to were independent enough to have tolerated your lifestyle in the first place?
Tom (thinking): Uh, well, no, probably not.
Becky: So, do you really think it’s fair to generalize the entire gender when you, in fact, made a bad choice to begin with?
Tom (clearly seeming surprised someone would be so blunt): Uhhhhh….
Becky: I know I probably sound like a bitch saying that, but the reason I said it to you, and any other male I know, is that I hate it when I’m the next one up to the plate, and you’re expecting me to act all freak-a-zoid on you. That’s not fair to me. Everyone starts out on a clean slate, as far as I’m concerned.
Tom: Yeah, that's a fair point. (Good man)

Tom came back in the office last week and immediately asked me if I’ve seen the movie, Hitch. I told him that I had and thought it was hilarious. He said that as he was watching it, he thought of our previous conversation and how he needed to point out that not all men are dogs, but they are just always looking for the “right opportunity.”

I told him that while I got that particular point in the movie, I still wasn’t sure how it pertained to making a bad choice and then applying said behavior to the entire female species. I pointed out that we all have to accountable for the decisions that we make, and at the same time, learn from them, so that we don’t repeat ourselves. And especially so that we don’t become so cynical that we block out any potential opportunity that we are supposedly trying to “find.”

Tom explained that it’s not so much that he allows the past to rule his future, but that it definitely made him more conscious. I can see that, and I told him I liked that word, in particular. In order to continue to grow as a person, it’s vital that you learn from your past (both good and bad). But, at the same time, you don’t have to be scared of it so that it hinders you. This doesn’t even have to apply to romantic relationships – but anything.

Now, I’m so curious to see if our conversation makes any difference. And why should it even matter, you ask? Because if it does, then I'm going to treat myself to a shotmellow for giving out advice that actually helps (I got that from Chucklehut Dan where you put a marshmellow in a shot glass and then pour the liquor over it, which is then absorbed and you eat the treat) .

Can I have this dance?

One of the hardest things I've ever had to go through is losing my step-dad, Bob (pictured in the center of the four of us kids), to cancer last October. This picture was taken in August, when we all gathered for what we knew would be the last time before he became really ill. A good friend suggested that I use this blog to release some of that anguish that I still find myself dealing with, as I was not blogging at the time, but I'm not quite ready to go that far.

But, I wanted to share a story that my friend, Ana, recently told me, and then you'll see why it has been so difficult not just losing a dad but also an influential person in my life. Bob was our step-father for 20 years, though he had more than earned the title of "Dad" to the four of us.

When I was at lunch with Ana and Denise a couple of weekends ago (Girls Day Out post), they were inquiring how my mother was holding up, along with the rest of my family. I gave them the run-down and Ana said that her mother (also an Ana) always remembered Bob because of an event that happened in the mid-80s.

Ana's father was under Bob's command in the Army, and there was an Army formal function that they had to attend as one of their bullshit Southern belle type of balls that they loved to have. Apparently, Ana's mother showed up in a dress that was determined to be a little risqué for this type of event, and the tongues were wagging, for the Army Officer Corps the modern-day form of American bourgeois.

Bob, as the commanding officer of the event, went up to Ana’s mother and asked her dance. He told her that he liked her dress and so did his wife.

Ana’s mother said she remembers that to this day, 20 years later, and it was one of the nicest things anyone has ever done for her. And, I’m quite proud of that.

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I already know how I’m going to die, and I’m only 30. It’s going to be in my bed as an old lady, just like Titanic. But over the next 50 years or so, no one will have remembered the movie, because it will never do for me to become a cliché. I will not be invalid at that point, but I will realize that it’s just my time to go, always in control, even at the end.

I will have outlived my husband by several years, though it was something I was prepared to do, even now, before I’ve met him. Just one of those things I was meant to do, along with wheeling my own mother around the old folks’ home, since she was only 20 years my senior and the women in her family live for eternity. I do have other family members who love me and miss me, but they live in different cities and have their own needs to reconcile. The one gray area is that I’m not sure if I will have any children of my own, but that doesn’t really matter right now for the purpose of this discussion.

I already know what I want my epitaph to read – “no regrets.” And, actually mean it.

We only get one shot at life, and it’s our obligation not to waste it. It’s all about pursuing what you want, instead of waiting for others to make it happen for you. You can only play the victim card for so many hands, as everyone has a past. Everyone has had his or her share of problems, and they’re not about to excuse you for yours.

The issue becomes whether you want your past to determine your future, or do you want to chart your own course? It really is that simple, but that doesn’t mean it is easy to do.

Sometimes it’s just a matter of someone handing out advice and encouragement in a way that people understand and believe is within his or her grasp, instead of thinking a rewarding life is for just those kinds of people.

So, how am I one to be able to spew such rousing shit? Well, this is fulfilling one of my goals in life and at the same time, figuring that if I can sling it, then I better be willing to live it.

After all, no one will listen to a hypocrite, and I despise being ignored.

Men and chick flicks

The following took place yesterday between 3:00 - 4:00 p.m.:

I'm at Costco purchasing some prescriptions, when I decide that I just HAD to have the DVD of my favorite movie of 2004 -- The Notebook. I will never, ever stop pimping this movie out to anyone because it's such a great story. It's about a woman who has Alzheimer's and when she's old, the husband reads their history to her out of his... notebook, and it will sometimes bring her back for brief moments of lucidity. And for what it's worth, people who have read the book have said the movie follows it well.

I'm checking out at the register when the bagger, who didn't have to do much to do with my one video, notices my purchase (I'm going to try to type our our local dialect of Pidgin English as best I can):

Bagger: Oh, da Notebook?
Becky: Yeah, have you seen it yet? (I notice the male cashier is listening to us intently)
Bagger: No (in this tone of voice like he would never watch a chick flick)
Becky: Well, it's really a good movie. Your chick will love it and so will you, if you have an open-mind. I know many guys who have seen it that liked it. In fact, I don't know anyone who has seen it who didn't like it.
Cashier (now feeling like he wont' get his testes snipped if he participates): Yeah, brah. I seen it too. It's good. I liked it.
Bagger: Did you cry, cuz?
Cashier: No, I no cry!
Becky: Yes, you did. You know you did. EVERYONE likes this movie.
Cashier (blushing like a teenager caught with a stripper): Okay, I did. It's better than Titanic, brah.
Becky: Hell, yeah, it's better than Titanic. Titanic has cheese. Everything in The Notebook could happen, for real.
Cashier: Yeah, brah. It's fo' real.

So, there you heard it from not only Becky but also the Costco cashier. I was telling my single girlfriends about it on Saturday and they seemed a little concerned it might make them too sad. I said, "Well, maybe, but it doesn't make me sad so much as it gives me hope." And, even if you are in a healthy relationship, it's still worth watching b/c I think it will make you even more appreciative of what you have. You know what I'll be doing this evening.

And, doesn't this pic make you want to go out in the rain?

You have to love yourself first

Yesterday was Valentine’s Day, and it seems to be the marketer’s intention to make single people feel like crap. Well, you know what? I didn’t. Between friends calling, e-mailing or IMing me, I felt loved anyway – and then my cute ‘lil niece comes in with her own flowers. It reminds me of the movie, Love Actually, which showcases all types of love in about ten different storylines.

The marketers have missed the boat on an opportunity to shill junk for the theme of love overall, instead of confining it to sweethearts. So, if they eventually see the light, then you know you read it here first.

However, I do think that the one marketing message that they really miss – and one everyone needs to hear most – is that it’s okay to love ourselves, and in fact, it’s a necessity. It finally dawned on me that I don’t think I was upset yesterday because this is the first time in quite a while that I have truly felt comfortable with myself.

It is ironic how difficult it is for us to accept ourselves, isn’t it? We often start picking apart the smallest things – if only I were smarter, better looking, and funnier, etc. – and then I can find the right person. Or, those changes somehow make you more "worthy" to be loved. But, who says?

Until you can find it in your heart to love your own self and who you've chosen to be, it will be difficult to completely open up to someone else. I have a friend who said that his life is miserable and he just wants to find someone so he’s not alone. My response to him: do you think that love is just a magic pill to fix everything else that’s wrong in your life? You don’t like your job, where you live – and that will suddenly change? I told him that he has to be happy with himself before he can even consider bringing someone else in to “his world.”

I really am okay with solitude -- for now -- because I'm not willing to sacrifice my self-respect to be with just anyone in order to get a Hallmark card. I am looking for the "right" person, not the "next" one. I am the person that I strove to be, and I don’t need Valentine’s Day to validate that for me.

I will admit that I’m not the most confident person in my appearance, but I do believe I have the personality to make up for it. Am I perfect? Not even close, but I am much happier now than I have been in a long time, and quite frankly, am fairly proud of that. This may come across as being arrogant, but I think it would make me a hypocrite to do this post otherwise.

So, with that thought, I leave you with these fine words, which communicate my point much more eloquently (some of you may find it more pertinent than others):

Your task is not to seek for love,
But merely to seek and find
All the barriers within yourself
That you have built against it.

Rumi

My back up plan

My ex-boyfriend from college, David (the one mentioned in the post below), called me while he was driving home from work. What an ironic twist of fate:

David (full of the kind of gusto one only has after work): Hey, Becky, how are you doing?
Becky: Good, but do you realize what day today is? That it's Valentine's Day?
David (in this "no shit, Sherlock tone-of-voice): Yes, Becky, I know it's Valentine's Day.
Becky: Hahahaha! So, why are you calling me, of all people? An ex-girlfriend?
David: Well, I realized I hadn't talked to you in a while, so I thought I'd see how you're doing.
Becky: Oh, see I figured you were calling b/c you read my web page. I take it that you haven't (he said no). Well, I brought back that column I wrote when we first started going out about Valentine's Day and how people on campus were asking if you'd gone to Albertson's for the rose yet.
David (laughing): Oh yeah, and then they'd stop me to ask me about my eyes, too (b/c if you read below, I mention that as something we girls discuss in the bathroom).

So, we talk some more about what's going on with our families, latest movies we've seen (we're both freaks) and whatnot. And then, inevitably we mosey into the topic of dating and David tells me about his latest venture.

Becky: Oh, did I ever inform you of my Master Plan?
David: Uh, no, I don't think so.
Becky: Yeah, see, here's the deal. If we're both still single by the time we're about 45, then you're going to marry me for companionship, medical benefits and a movie-going-partner. I just thought you might want to know.
David (laughing): That's actually a good idea, since we know we at least get along well.

I know you're wondering: then why did you break up? Became a classic case of being better friends than "more than that."

So, then we're talking about how his sister is getting married after knowing a guy for only six months, and David says that he can't imagine doing it that soon.

Becky: Well, that is, of course, until you get the phone call in 15 years that says "it's time we go to Vegas."
David: Okay, well, I'll do it then.

And that, my friends, is how Becky does it (insert Dr. Evil maniacal laugh).

A fun night

Here’s a little crazy going-out story to get you ready for your weekend. Last Fall when my brother Pn and my sister R were still in town after our step-dad’s funeral, we decided to go out on the town and blow off some much-needed steam with a few of my old friends. We went out to this meat market, kind of known for drawing in Squids (Navy guys) called Moose McGillycuddy’s in Waikiki.

My brother, P, just sold his home in Vegas and profited over $100k, so he was buying everyone drinks for the night. As a wine sommelier, he prided himself in being the drink connoisseur and proceeded to try to find me some type of beverage that I could consume without gagging (I don’t like most alcohol, so it has to be masked with fruity crap).

So, we go through drink after drink of me tasting various concoctions from Mandarin Tonics, White Russians, Kamikazes, etc. I settled on my faves of Amaretto Sours and Buttery Nipples (which disappointed P who thought those were “gay drinks”). My girlfriend, Keri (pictured), ordered me two more Nipples in addition to the two I’d already had and made me shoot them – I know she was determined to get me drunk that night.

Well, suddenly, my stomach after that weird mixture of flavors started to gurgle. I knew what was coming next, so I said I was going to the bathroom – NOW. Keri and my sister followed me, and of course, there was a line, so I suddenly retched and puked into my hand, my sister’s hands, Keri’s hands, the walls, and oh yeah, Keri’s feet. I was so embarrassed because I don’t drink very much, and I’d never done that before, or at least in public.

Well, after about 30 minutes, we decide to head out. I don’t think anyone realized that Keri downed all of Reject Drinks in that time frame, so she suddenly turned from being buzzed to highly wasted. We realized this, once she grabbed our friend, Keith, and yanked him across the Waikiki strip, Kalakaua Ave, playing Frogger with the oncoming traffic in her search to find a restroom.

My sister and I followed them to make sure they’re okay, and we lost them. In the meantime, I ran into two of the actors on the now-canceled FOX show, North Shore (one of whom was really drunk). We meet back up with Keith and Keri and we all decide to go for some chow at our local 24-hour places called Zippy’s.

As we are walking to the car, Keri starts swaying and can obviously not walk on her own in her four-inch heels. Mike, her husband, and I have one of her arms around our shoulders to help her walk (b/c of my barfarama, I’d lost most of my buzz at that point anyway).

Suddenly, Keri says she needs to pee. We tell her that we’re almost to the car and it won’t take long to get to Zippy’s. She slobbers out, “No, I need to go NOW.” We keep walking. Next thing, I know, there’s something warm dripping on my feet. “What the hell?” I bark out. Mike and I look down and Keri had dropped trou in the middle of the parking lot and was peeing by squatting on the ground, camper-style.

Mike, my sister and I immediately start laughing, which caused us to lose our grip and Keri fell to the ground in her own piss (not that she noticed). Mike asked my sister to go pull Keri’s pants up, as we lifted her back up, and my sister announces that Keri has “gravel stuck in her ass.” So, my sister pulls up Keri’s pants from around her ankles, only to have Keri…just step right out of them.

So, she’s walking now, in the parking lot, completely buck-naked from the waist to her four-inch heels as if it’s the most natural thing in the world for a person to be doing. I’d never seen my good friend THAT CLOSE before. We were laughing so hard that we could hardly walk her to the car, and then we look up to see the parking lot security guard (fortunately female) also laughing her ass off.

We finally got her to the car, put her across the middle bench seat and needless to say, called the rest of our friends to say we wouldn’t be meeting them at Zippy’s. And, then every time I turned around, I got a nice view of Keri’s white ass. The entire image still makes me laugh out loud when I think of it.

We all need one of those, don’t we?

*Before anyone spazzes, know that I received permission from Keri to use the story, her name and the pic prior to publishing.

Hallmark would be so proud

In honor of Valentine's Day, I wanted to share a column that I wrote 10 years ago (damn, was it that long already?) as a weekly columinist for my college paper, the TCU Daily Skiff. This seemed to go over pretty well, and my poor boyfriend at the time, David (now a good friend), caught a bunch of crap walking around on campus that day...you'll see why.

My most memorable Valentine's Day happened five years ago (now, actually 15). I went shopping with a friend of mine who wanted to buy her boyfriend a present... she chose the ever-popular condoms. We hid the package in case we saw anyone who might recognize us behind our wigs and mirrored sunglasses. We finally reached the cashier, and as she scanned the condoms, we noticed that the price didn't register.

We heard a loud voice, almost as though it came from God Himself, over the P.A. system: "I need a price check on the condoms at register five." Needless to say, I've never bought another package of condoms again (okay, that was a lie).

In honor of Valentine's Day, this column is designed to help out all of you confused Y-chromosomers, who will never understand us Xs. I'm going to share some of those all-time secrets that we women possess. Don't worry girls, I won't spill the good ones.

We never go to the bathroom alone because that the perfect opportunity to talk about YOU. It's too difficult to comment about your beautiful eyes or your nasty outfit in front of your face, so we must excuse ourselves. The reason we despise your eyes drifting to other subjects of our genders is that it makes is feel somewhat inferior. After all, you're in our company, so your attention shouldn't drift. If you feel the need to gaze away, then it says you aren't interested enough in us to stay focused.

We like to buy a CD to listen to that one love song over and over because it probably reminds us of you. Maybe it was during the first movie we saw. Perhaps it was playing on the radio during our first date. One of my all-time favorite scenes is when John Cuzack plays "In Your Eyes" to Ione Skye in Say Anything. We all want that.

Yes, PMS does exist. It's not a myth concocted as an excuse for us to be moody. It's a hormonal change that sometimes causes such extreme cramps that you can't help but be a little less chipper. Guys, imagine a knife jabbing in and out of your stomach for three days. See how cheerful you'll be.

We really can speak to each other without moving our lips. I have no idea why an arched eyebrow can say "Becky, this guy's breath is so bad that it singes my eyelashes." It just does.

There was an article in the Nov. 1994 issue of Glamour called "The World According to He & She." I dare you to count how many statements that you've often wondered about:

She has the hardest time believing: that it really is hard to pick up the phone and ask a woman out; that he can't read her mind the way she can read his; that he simply doesn't see the mess; that he can own the same underwear for years; that if he seems like he's angry and doesn't want to talk, it means he's angry and doesn't want to talk.

He will never understand that: she can simultaneously drive on the freeway and put make-up on without crashing; that just because she has a closet full of clothes doesn't mean she doesn't need more; that she really is full after a salad; that if seems she's angry and doesn't want to talk, it means she's angry and DOES want to talk.

I hope these little insights into the female mind have enlightened those of you who have given up on us. Don't forget that it's never how much you spend on us; it's what you put into it. If any girl isn't appreciative of your effort, then she isn't worth your heart.

A last bit of advice for those of you who have to run to the grocery store to snatch that last decrepit rose: please take the price tag off the wrapper.

HE Said/She Said

I was chatting with one of my fellow bloggers not too long ago. I asked him if I could use the story, and he said I could as long as I use an alias. Feeling a bit sassy, I looked his name up on a porn name generator and Bone Samples spat out, so I'm going to use it.

The first time Bone Samples chatted me up, he said he liked IMing b/c he could meet new people, even females, and it wouldn't cause problems with his wife, since, after all you don't meet. I told him that I've learned that blog parties go on all the time where you meet up and you just include your spouses. But, that's not really entertaining to talk about, is it?

My other response was that it is usually a good compromise as long as you don't start engaging in cybersex. After reassuring Bone Samples that I didn't think he was perving on me and this was merely a philosophical discussion, he relaxed. Let's be frank, if you're going to IM, it's got to be about the good stuff, like Ed telling me that he found a TV movie where boy bands became zombies (I became a fan of his after a zombie post).

How's that for a tangent? Let me get back.

Basically what it came down to is whether cybersex is considered cheating when you're in a committed relationship. Bone Samples (does that crack you up as much as it does me?) thinks that as long as it stays online, and the two never meet up or even talk on the phone, then it's not really crossing the line. At first he said it was like watching porn, to which I quickly pointed out that watching porn is not interactive. He then said it was like calling a sex line or going to a strip club and getting a lap dance.

I retorted that it almost seemed like we were going strictly down the gender lines, and I thought most women would find it offensive that their man had to go to another woman, even online, to get his thrills. I consider cybersex different b/c with a sex line operator or stripper, providing that excitement is just a job for them. They could care less who their customer is -- it remains one- sided. However, cybersex with some random chick is someone who is actively participating in the process, and it is a mutually beneficial situation. Plus, she's a real person with real feelings that could actually show up on your door step and/or boil your kid's rabbit.

What do you think?

And since I know you're wondering, considering his stance on this issue, Bone Samples has not perved on me in any way whatsoever. I got the feeling that even though he theoretically didn't think it was cheating, it was still not something he would do.

Girls Day Out

One of the benefits to moving back to Hawaii 2 ½ years ago is that I hang out with people that I’ve known half my life. Growing up as an Army brat, it was just something I never thought would actually happen. So, I really love it when I get to meet up with two girlfriends, Ana and Denise, with whom I worked at the movie theatres in high school and college breaks. Ana is the one I the middle, and I call her “ay-na” as in her being so “anal” about things needing to be done in a specific way (yes, even more so than me, so shut up!). Denise is “Squirt” to me, as she’s only 5 feet and weighs like 90 lbs. or something like that. Now, their name for me, and it’s oh, it’s so sexy, I tell you. They call me either Bucca or Bux. You know…Becky turned to Bucky that turned to Bux, while Bucca is Becca on crack.

Ana and Denise are my personal versions of Sex in the City, as there doesn’t seem to be any topic that is taboo, and the frankness is on par with how they were on the show. You’re probably wondering who is who? Ana is like Samantha, not in that she’s a whore, but she can be that vulgar. When I first told Ana that, she said “I’m not that bad,” until I quickly reminded her of some of the things she’s said that even shock men. And even bartenders at that. Denise has always been the man-attracter. She’s got that cute Asian-doll-thing going on (which is a big thing in Hawaii) and she’s cool as shit, so you can’t hate her for it. She’s also into shoes, so she is definitely the Carrie. Who am I? The cynic, the one that stands in the background making sarcastic comments… Miranda. Keep the gasps of surprise to yourself, k?

This is a pretty typical exchange whenever we’re at a restaurant or bar:

Waiter walking us through the kitchen (it was Buca Di Beppa)
Waiter trying to check the sections posted on the wall in the waiter hole, and asks us “which section do I have?”
Becky (closest to it): Uh, dude, I don’t even know your name, how would I know?
Waiter goes into waiter hole and then starts this conversation with the other two guys over who’s going to wait on us. It’s going back and forth, as we just stand there like jackasses in the hallway.
Becky: Hey, are y’all fighting in there over us in there?
Ana pipes in: Cause we like it.

So, after a good meal and conversation about our latest man situations, family problems and general frustrations with the world, we go to see Hitch. It’s actually pretty funny, and though it oozes cheese at the end, it’s not enough to ruin the rest of the flick. I did, however, like this one quote Will Smith said in the beginning:

“Life is not about how many breaths you take, but how many things take your breath away.”

Back to us. We go shoe shopping at Nordstrom’s afterward because Ana and Denise are total shopaholics and I’ve got some time to waste, and as we’re browsing, Ana informs me that Denise is checking out some Barbie shoes. I went over there and she couldn’t have said a better description. I asked Denise what in the world she would wear those shoes to and she said “oh to go out or work.” Work? I’m all about the comfort, whether it be flip-flops, hiking boots or sneaks.

There was a problem. The shoe (which I couldn’t even get my clod-hoppers into b/c they’re like a five and I’m a nine) was the only one in that size and it was the display shoe, so it was kind of dirty. I suggested that she ask for a discount b/c, after all, she’d get them dirty as soon as she walked in them the first time. The sales guy is gone FOREVER.

Becky: Hey, what the hell is this guy’s problem? He’s been gone way too long to just be cleaning the shoe. I bet he’s totally sniffing it and licking it, like a foot freak.
Ana: Yeah, just like that Sex in the City episode where Charlotte gets those free shoes for the guy touching her feet.
Becky: He’s probably back there with the security camera trying to get a picture of Denise with the shoes on. Hey, this is a good blog idea. Squirt, let me take a pic of the shoe that’s still here on your foot, and I’ll post this.
Denise: Uh… I don’t know.
Becky: Oh come on, it’s just your foot. Besides, maybe there’s actually a normal guy who's a foot fan that reads my site that you can hook up with?
Denise: Well, I guess since no one will know who I am…
Becky: Oh no, they’ll know who you are. I’m posting the pic of the three of us above it. It’s only fair they get an idea of what’s on top, too, right?


Becky: Damn, this guy has been gone so long; I bet he’s actually jerking off to this shoe. But, I need to go -- I have to go meet Stacy at the Royal Hawaiian.
Ana: Yeah, you better go. But, we’ll be sure to tell you if the shoe comes back wet.

I love my girls.

No brady bunch here

First of all, I'm going to forewarn you that this is a really long, yet really personal post (for me). So, you're not only in for a dime but also a pound.

This is a picture of my three siblings and me (L to R: Rachel, Andrew, Becky, Patrick – yes, all biblical names from our Catholic parents, as I’m really Rebecca). What’s the first thing you think of as you look at this? I’m wondering if it’s the same thing that I've heard all my life:

Are those your “real” brothers and sisters?
Did you guys really have the same parents?
None of you guys are steps?

Oh, and this is my favorite, even if meant as a joke: are you the milkman’s daughter?

I just love being the lone brunette in a sib crowd of dirty blondes (their blondness ranges from dark to light, depending on sun exposure).

This happened again, when my friend Brook was back in Hawaii for a visit with her family, along with her fiance’, Jarl. I showed them this exact picture, which was taken a month earlier when Rachel and Patrick were home for a visit.

Jarl: These are really your brothers and sisters?
Becky: Yeah, why, you can’t tell? You don’t think we look alike (knowing full well we don’t)?
Jarl: Seriously, really? You look like you could be the milkman’s daughter. Hahahaha!

I was really kind of tired at this point of hearing about this from ANYONE, so I decide to fuck with him, despite the fact I really do like him. It was just bad-timing on his part.

Becky: As a matter of fact, Jarl, I might be.
Jarl: Uh… (clearly feeling awkward) … what?
Becky: You know, the milkman's daughter. I’m actually adopted.
Jarl: Are you really? Brook, did you know that? (Brook shakes her head, “no,” not really sure if I’m joking or not)
Becky: Yeah, I just haven’t told very many people about it.

We leave it at that. They came over the next night to watch my recording of Scrubs. Obviously this revelation has caused Jarl some angst, because if it’s really “true,” he feels like an ass for his milkman comment.

Jarl: So, uh, Becky. You were just joking last night, weren’t you? About that whole adoption bit? Because I asked Brook about it and she said it was the first she heard of it, and I figured that if it were true, you would’ve at least told her. I mean, you guys are one of each other’s closest friends.
Becky: Sorry, I can’t pull your foot out of your mouth on this one, Jarl, but I’m afraid it’s true. I am. I just haven’t said anything to anyone because…well, I’m not really sure why. I’m not embarrassed about it, but I guess I just didn’t want people to think I didn’t “belong” where I was or that they’d always think of me as just being an Adopted Kid. But, I bet it will make you think twice before you make another milkman comment again, doesn’t it?

Even though I don’t think the other three look much alike, they at least have the light hair and blue eyes (though all have different shades of each). The only thing that has really sucked about being adopted is the fact that I don’t look like anyone, but I wouldn’t have given it as much thought, if so many people had not made comments without realizing how tactless they were.

Why have I never said anything before? I honestly can't pin it down. Whenever it has come up in the family, they almost seem upset, so I figured it was best not to say anything. I guess I also didn’t want to be considered “different” -- or at least not for that reason. Then, I found out from my Mom that she apparently told me I was adopted from when I was really little, so that I didn’t think it was a big deal (I remember finding out when I was 7).

Now, the inevitable answers to the questions I’m asked every time someone new has been brought in the loop:

My grandfather was my biological mother’s doctor, so he “arranged” the adoption right at birth b/c my parents didn’t think they could have kids of their own (Mom got pregnant with Rachel when I was 2 ½ months old, go figure). My biological parents were young, unmarried, and not ready for a kid of their own.

I’ve never felt like an “outsider” with the family. And yes, comments like “hey, you could actually have sex with your brother and it’s not technically incest” are quite unwelcome:)

Apparently telling your sister that you’re allowed to call people “bastards” because you are one will make her cry and should not be said EVER again.

I have no desire to meet my biological parents. It’s not that I’m upset or anything, but I just don’t need to. I do wish that I at least knew what they looked like, so I can physically identify with someone in this world.

I was lucky in that because of point #1, I was able to get a description of my biological mother’s medical history and found out that although her side is quite obese, they lived rather healthy lives, most of them dying in their old age of heart attacks or strokes. To me, that is the scariest part about being adopted and something that should be included in any adoption records – medical information. For instance, I have a blood type that is unlike anyone in my family and is not that common, in general (A+), so I’m kind of SOL if I ever get sick (except I found out a good friend has the same blood type, too, so yay!). However, the fact that I’m the only one to suffer from migraines somewhat freaks me out b/c I’m afraid I might stroke out at an early age.

Lately, I've also been irritated by various things on TV like "Who's Your Daddy?" or the ER episode that's airing tomorrow night about Kerry Weaver finding her biological mother. The promos are saying something like "how do you talk to a mother who let you go the moment you were born?" or some bullshit like that. So, a woman who isn't prepared to be a good mother tries to give you a better life and that's a bad thing?

I’m sharing this story, which for me is a big deal, so that you don’t make the same mistake with someone else. Jarl is a very nice guy, and I know he didn’t mean to come across the way that he did (and yes, Brook reads my blog every day). It will also be interesting to see how many “real life” friends actually read my page and send me e-mails saying “what the hell?” And, if you are curious, please feel free to ask me any questions.

Now, be nice or no more secrets for you!

Next!

I was going to do a funny post tonight. I had it all typed out and even let my friend, Denise, read it and she said she was “laughing at computer like retard” (her words, not mine). But, that’s not what I need to say right now. At this exact moment. I hope I don't lose ya doing two serious posts in a row, but bear with me, k?

My blogroll consists of all types of people. Some are always funny, some vary their mood, some talk about family, etc. Everyone’s different and that’s a good thing. But the past couple of days, some particular bloggers have revealed some really personal items about their past. Things that when I read them, my hand immediately flew off my mouse in surprise that they would reveal such a personal item, concern that they had to endure it -- and most significantly – a feeling of familiarity.

I consider myself to be fairly private, both in-person and on my page. You may think I talk about a lot, but that’s really “surface stuff” to me, whether you realized it or not. However, I don’t mind reading about other peoples’ problems. It’s your page, and perhaps by reading it, I might be able to say something that helps you or even just encourages you to keep on going.

I must admit that reading these two peoples’ blogs really stirred up some emotions from within. Memories that I never talk about with ANYONE, much less even think about – that is, until something catches me off-guard, like this or even a movie or a book.

I must admit that I have oftentimes posted about relationships from various points of view, but the past day or so, I’ve really missed being in one. I’ve even actually wanted to talk to my ex-husband. Why, you stupid woman, you ask (esp. when he’s one of the several issues)? Because there are only two people that know just about everything there is to talk about these particular items, and they were long-term relationships.

I’ve just never been comfortable talking to friends about these types of problems, or even to my own sister. And, I can honestly say that I have no idea why. Maybe it’s because only a committed guy won’t “one-up” you, or judge you or pity you? Or, maybe it’s because I feel like I only have that "right" to ask someone in that position to listen to that kind of depth? Or, maybe it’s because I’m only comfortable hugging those in that “role?” Or, maybe because, for at least that particular time, that person is “yours” and “yours only” and not scheduling you in-between the latest flavor-of-the-month? I don’t like sharing. At all.

So, for all those male cynics who think women just want a relationship for flowers, jewelry, money and even sex, this is not one of them. I miss the late night talks, I miss the fact that he’d stop what he was doing and listen just because I asked, I miss the fact that he’d tell me it was okay to be angry, and I miss not being hesitant to talk about whatever I need to. At that exact moment. That way, you don’t wind up tearing up, while laying face-down on a massage table because you’ve had the past 45 minutes to do nothing but think about what is on your mind and how frustrated you are because there’s no one to talk to about it. But, for now, this little rant is all I'm comfortable doing.

A good night’s sleep will be so welcome to clear this out, but somehow I doubt it will be that easy. The “laughing at computer like retard” will be next. I promise. I need it.

Staying Fresh

A couple of years ago, I was attending the funeral for the grandfather of one of my closest friends, Brookie, here in Hawaii. I'd just moved back a couple of months earlier and my divorce was about that old as well. I was talking to Brook's mom at the cemetary and she was asking me how everything was going, how did I like being back in Hawaii, etc. (once you leave for college, it's usually things like a divorce that bring one back).

Brook's mom then pointed out that her son, Donny, had several friends that I could possibly be introduced to.

My response: Uh...well... he's four years younger (24 at the time) and I think that might be a little too young for me. You know, the maturity difference and everything?

Brook's mom: Oh, no honey. I didn't mean to date... I meant just to stay fresh.

So, here's to all of us to continue "staying fresh," even if it's with your significant other , and not some young girl/boy toy:)

A smile is worth a thousand words

A smile, particularly one with dimples, is what makes the world go round.

Or, at least my world. I'm putty in the hands of any dimpled man (the face folks, only on the face).

I know many people say that the eyes are the windows to the soul, but I disagree. If I want to hide my eyes, I can. I can change the expression, wear shades, not look at you, etc. However, I cannot fake my real smile, and I've never seen anyone else do it, either. That, my friends, is how you'll know I'm genuinely happy. The "shit-eating grin" doesn't count. Neither does that plastic smile you affix for social functions with small talk.

Think about it. Anyone can look at you with puppy dog eyes to get what they want. Anyone can shoot daggers when they're pissed. Anyone can lift his/her eyebrows when you've said something really stupid. But, a real smile is reflexive, it's automatic, and one of the greatest compliments you can receive because the person who sent it didn't even think about it. Sincerity at its finest.

Could, woulda, shoulda

Have you ever woken up and just feel sad? My dreams are oftentimes so vivid that I wake up with the same feeling that I’d just felt in la-la land. Last night, I dreamt that my sister was moving away and I was really upset to lose her, but I felt that my “lesson” was to let her go. Now, we haven’t actually lived in the same city for 12 years, so I know it was metaphorical to let go of something else that has been causing me some angst lately.

Ironically, I pop in Casablanca, as I’m currently using Netflix in order to catch up on all these old classics that I’d never seen before. Most of you are probably familiar with it, as that scene where Bogey says good-bye to Bergman at the end of the movie has embedded itself into mainstream movie culture. As with my dream, there is an overall theme of having the strength to let go – in this particular case, Bogey not only lets Bergman physically go, but also his past love with her.

I realize this is a typical case of “easier said than done,” but I think that many of us allow our pasts to dictate too much of our future. Too often we dwell upon either thinking that the good can never repeat itself or that the bad will. If we are always afraid of what might happen, we never experience what could.

To fear the unknown or your past is natural, but to let it guide your actions is something to which I just cannot relate (well, okay, for the most part – I still refuse to get in little planes). This can be from the romantic standpoint, accepting a new job, starting a new company or even deciding to start a family.

It’s just been my experience that to just wait around for things to fall in your lap is just not going to happen. You have to go out and grab it, and it’s -- quite frankly -- NEVER easy. If it were, then it somehow wouldn’t taste quite as sweet because its true value would neither be fully appreciated nor understood.

The other side is to have the opportunity actually fall in your lap but to be too afraid to recognize it and/or act upon it. I encounter this myself all the time, but continually take the risk because the new and the different could be better than I ever realized. The gnawing curiosity of might happen overrides the fear of the bad that already has already come to pass.

To think that I have experienced everything there is at the ripe ‘ole age of 30 would be remiss, as it would be to let my past haunt me to the point where I ignore what’s right in front of me. I think of what I would’ve missed out on, and I must say that as hard as it can be, the “juice is ALWAYS worth the squeeze.”