The Joys of Menopause, not…

There I sat, sandwiched between my sleeping BF and a sweet, sleeping elderly lady. Five hours into an 11-hour flight home from Tokyo, we were on the final leg home from vacation. It seemed as if everyone on the plane was asleep, except me. I sat watching a horrible episode of Friends. I was sober, Xanax-free and slightly content, close to drifting off. Then, out of nowhere, I felt intense sheets of heat radiating from my back, neck and butt. Soon, the heat moved through me, and settled in, happily creating a clammy stickiness of sweat throughout my entire upper body. Carefully, I got up and quietly went to the middle of the plane where I could fan myself and cool off. The flight attendant, who spoke minimal English, smiled at me and held her hands out, instructing me back to my seat. I smiled back with a ‘woman to woman’ grin and said, ‘menopause,’ thinking she’d understand. I stayed put and continued fanning myself with a smile. Again, she smiled and held her hands out directing me back to my seat, my forehead sparkling with sweat. I asked for a cup of ice and sat down. 10 minutes later, my hot flash was gone, my shirt was damp, and I was ready for a glass of wine.

At 41 I had a full hysterectomy for medical reasons, leaving me with one lone ovary. The thought of it reminded me of Charlie Browns Christmas tree that had only 1 ornament. At times I feel sorry for my lonely ovary. But like an empty nester, she is slowly but surely getting acclimated to the new environment that is now, all hers. Six month after my hysterectomy, it was confirmed by tests and my OB that I was definitely in Menopause; that was 2 1/2 years ago.

Hot Flashes

These are real. It has nothing to do with a momentary flash where you feel hot and sexy, that is NOT a hot flash. More often they present as a cookie sheet of heat radiating out from your body and over all areas of your back. Mine use to come in sets that would ebb and flow for approximately 5 to 10 minutes. First the massive sauna like back sweating, then the heat would roll up over my scalp and drop into my forehead in the form of a massive heatwave, creating a lovely, clammy, glistening appearance. The biggest downside of hot flashes, in my opinion, is going through all of this sweating and not losing a lb. If I sweat that much at the gym, I would definitely be walking out several pounds lighter. Hot flashes by no means, result in weight loss. I know, it’s a bit of a cruel joke. As of the last four months I’ve been getting them a lot more frequently, but, now that I know what to expect, they are easier to maneuver through. These aren’t as bad as you may think. I DO sleep with the windows open and a fan directly on my body, though (even when it’s only 28 degrees out).

Mood Swings

These are like drinking an invisible bottle of ‘QuikBitch’ that lasts for 1 – to 3 hours straight. You’ll cry, you’ll whine, you might fantasize about punching things, you’ll pick an argument about stuff you don’t even care about, but suddenly makes you crazy. Example:

“Did you wear that shirt just to piss me off, cuz it seems like you did.”

“I thought you liked this shirt, you bought it for me?”

“So now you’re just wearing it because I bought it for you?”

*Partners of menopausal, these aren’t arguments you can solve, just walk away. Menopausals, you will feel like a defeated, pouty child. Menopause may cause massive overeating; moments of feeling overwhelmed and taken advantage of when you hear simple things like, “Can you get that report for me?” You’ll discover you’re out of detergent right before you do a load of laundry, which may result in an empty red jug of Tide being launched, skipping across the laundry room floor at high speed like a bowling ball. Normal, cheesy jokes that come out of your partner or friends mouth that usually results in an eye roll and dry laughter will come will a viscous scowl, furrowed brow and the response, “Are you F*cking kidding me? Did you really just say that to me?” Most of us know PMS, the beast of menopause, which may vary in intensity, is one that is untamed.

 Menopause Mood Swing Hangover

These mood swings will be followed up with what I refer to as menopause mood swing hangover. It usually lasts 5 minutes to 1 hour. It’s the period of time where you first look around at the devastation you just caused in awe, wondering how the hell you did all that destruction in such a short amount of time. It feels like in your mind’s eye, you’re looking at an emotional hotel room that looks like it’s been trashed by Johnny Depp. The mayhem is laid out before you and in somewhat of a fugue state, you apologize, saying, “I don’t know why I said/did that.”

Crazy Periods

Because I had a full hysterectomy, I haven’t gotten a period for 2 1/2 years and never will again. Prior to it though, I had more than my share of crazy periods. Periods that lasted a month, periods that ride around your uteral block, stopping in once a week or every several days just to say ‘Hi’ and piss you off. Then there are the ones that pop up at random like an ex-boyfriend calling for a bootie call, unpredictable and uninvited. My suggestion, iron supplements, if you have excessive periods talk to your OB, though probably normal, the blood loss will cause lethargy, fatigue, possibly irritable sleep, and brain fog. Always good to check with your OB when something changes drastically.

Your New, Schizophrenic Body

Your weight and body will make you feel like a buoy in the ocean, sometimes firm and steady, but more often wobbly, submerged and bloated. Some Natural Herbs and Supplements may work so look into what you’re comfortable with, but the best thing for weight, I’ve found, is simply smaller portioned, well-balanced meals.

This brings me to the moment when my OB filled me in on what may go on with my vagina during the ‘menopause’ phase. She gave me the Menopause 411, but then she said, “If things get to the point where you want to do hormone replacement call me.” I was intrigued by this. I mean, how bad could it be? I figured it was just like turning the lights out and closing up a room you didn’t use anymore and that was that. But then my OB said, “And if things get dry, just call and I can recommend something.” Caught off guard I said, “What do you mean dry?” Without hesitation she said, “If sex starts to feel like razors.” Well, my vagina ran up into my body and hid behind my rib cage like a scared hiker in the Rockies after I heard that. I wanted to close my eyes, shake my head and cover my ears, screaming NO, NO, NO!! It was weird enough when I was 9 and didn’t know anything about periods only to have my mother tell me and my older sister that soon, we would bleed from our vagina. After that I hid in my room for hours and cried. Now I was being told a place that has allowed me quite a bit of pleasure, may at times feel like I am being screwed by the dick of a Mad Max character? Seriously?!?! I love my OB, but I stopped her and said, “Don’t ever say anything like that to me, again.” I wanted to add, “You’ve offended me and you’ve offended my vagina. We’re leaving.” But I didn’t, I stayed. I need her.

The most important thing, give those you are close to, close friends and lovers, a heads up on what’s going on. Secrets suck and it will make it so much easier for all involved when the gifts of menopause DO strike, and they will.

Menopause Preparedness Kit:

*Handkerchief for random daytime bouts of sweating (HF)

*Get earplugs for your mate during mood swings.

*Dress in layers – so you can repeatedly remove clothes and put them back on again.

*Stay hydrated.

*Bags of snickers for your mate to give… or throw at you, when you are acting insane.

*Keep having sex, it’s healthy, just buy a water based KY if you encounter problems.

*Time your outbursts, it will help you to know when they’re on their way and what to expect.

*Naps are good, because sound sleep is never promised

*Wine is delicious, but drink modestly because it may exacerbate your hot flashes

*Same with Coffee, drink modestly because it may exacerbate your hot flashes

~With Sweat & Tears,
Bay

 

That Time with The Ex

I am notoriously bad at actually ending things. Saying goodbye is never the problem, ending it is.

I am not sure why this is. I have moved a lot in my life. I have had the pleasure of having lots of friends come in and out of my life without much drama. But when it comes to relationships, I seem to have this problem letting go.

When that Taylor Swift song “We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together” came out I actually remember thinking, first this is a silly song and second I don’t think I’ve ever been able to say that. Something in my brain, no matter what has happened in the relationship, thinks well maybe it can be repaired. Maybe romance and love will win out and whatever prohibited us from being together in the first place won’t matter.

So here I am well into my 30’s, with this never say never approach to love, some dating history to learn from and an ill-advised ex as a good friend. THE EX. The one that got away. The one that if we had just done it differently. The one that if we had just met a year sooner or three years later. The one that I think about when I am stuck chatting to a lame guy in a bar.

He called me on a Friday around 6. Sadly, I was still in my office. It was weird that he called because we usually just text each other funny jokes or lame things we remember about our relationship. He started asking about my life and talking about us. How great it was when we were together. “Remember that time we….”

Then, and I don’t know how this happened, we were having phone sex. Now normally not a big deal, but he has a girlfriend. One that he is thinking of moving in with and that he regularly proclaims his love for on social media.

I didn’t really know how to feel about the whole thing. The romantic part of me thought that maybe this was us realizing we were meant to be together. If we can’t say “it’s over” after three years, maybe that’s a sign. The other part of me realized that I was still friends with a needy douchebag who kept dragging me back to the past.

Two weeks later we’re talking on the phone and suddenly I light bulb went off in my head. He said something to the effect of “I want to make sure you’re ok after what happened. I didn’t want to lead you on. “ To which I replied, “I don’t have a significant other, you do. Shouldn’t you be the one concerned about what happened?” Honestly, mid-sentence I realized this guy is a loser and I am a loser for dragging myself back into his constant drama and uncertainty. Why on earth am I still doing this?

So I am going to try this new goodbye thing. When I say goodbye to a relationship, I am going to mean it. The romantic, Hallmark movie watching part of me will have to die a little bit but I think it’s for the best. After all, if he doesn’t realize I am the ultimate catch from the beginning, why would I give him the happy ending?

Isabel

Wanna date a professor? Think twice. Some fantasies are best left in the classroom.

Now I have definitely had my share of crushes on teachers and professors. In high school, it was my handsome science teacher. I hated science and he knew it. The beautiful thing was, he tried to help me enjoy science and believe me, I loved all the extra attention, extra explanations, winks, etc. Freshman year of college, it was my English 112 instructor. He was a tall, young, hippy scholar with a ponytail (of course). When he offered the class extra help, I didn’t need it, but you bet your ass I took full advantage, meeting him for coffee to ‘discuss my work’ several times. Junior year, the crush on my 64 year old Shakespeare professor snuck up on me, and before I knew it I was in full on ode’s and sonnets mode for Professor Xavier. I spent way too much time fantasizing about he, who looked as adorable as Frazier’s dad, reading me Shakespeare in a Gazebo, whilst resting my weary head on his lap.

There is just something handsome about the confidence and wisdom that comes with watching a professor do his thing. Everyone knows this, just turn on the radio: The Police “Don’t Stand So Close to me”, Van Halen “Hot for Teacher”, and of course the ever mesmerizing “Art Teacher” by Rufus Wainwright. That last one is apparently in part, about an art teacher he met as an adult, hence, no matter how old we get, the allure never stops. The thing is, crushing on a professor, an actual professor you have for a class, the unattainable, is amazing for classroom daydreams and usually remains safely unrequited. However, in the last 10 years I have gone out with a few professors, none of which I met through school. I have to say, it was nothing like my college day professor crushes. These gents where much more bizarre than I’d expected. I like a confident man, so when they initially said they were professors, it was a major turn on, but that turn on quickly turned into the stuff stories are made from.

Felipe was a handsome, university instructor with a very sexy accent. I was 27 and he was 34. Our first two dates were great; dinner, drinks and goodnight kisses and a little tongue action at the door. On our third date, we went to dinner and then he asked me back to his place for a nightcap. When we got there, he fixed us drinks and turned on techno, which seemed an odd choice for chilling out, but I’m down. He lit a joint and offered me some, but I declined. I’m the type of woman that when I drink too much or indulge in those types of things, I am fully aware of what I’m doing. I’m just not fully capable of saying no when my body says yes. My body and I have these fights all the time. Anyway, he inhaled the joint in one huge movement, and then pulled out a Charles Bukowski book. He read me the poems of Bukowski, standing across from me, to the repetitive thumps of techno. I felt as if I was living some strange Hunter S. Thompson world. Somehow, Felipe managed to chaotically dance me into his bedroom, nudging me onto his bed. He excused himself, then moments later, popped out of the bathroom into the bedroom like a flying Mexican wrester, completely naked. From the foot of the bed, he pretty much frog hopped all the way up to my face. All of a sudden, there was this uncircumcised skin mic dangling in my face. I seriously was tempted to tap it three times and say, ‘check, check, mic check… one, two, one, two!’ I did not speak into the microphone, I was laughing too hard. So hard that I playfully pushed him off and told him it was time for me to go. Our last date was as disastrous as you can imagine it would be, watching Barfly with a guy who was stroking himself over his jeans like a pornstar. I kicked him out fifteen minutes later.

My most recent ‘education’ from a professor’ was a guy I met at a bar last winter when I was in Chicago. We were both getting drinks, started talking, and hit it off. He was dressed edgy, funky and was good looking. He had traveled extensively, and was this gentle speaking urban, eclectic, yet rugged guy. He got my number and we made plans for dinner. For our dinner date, we spent three hours together. Of that time, my voice occupied maybe 30 minutes, and only in random interjections and attempts to excuse myself early right after dinner, all which went unheard. He proceeded to tell me everything I didn’t need to know. He had a history of dating his students, demonstrated his talent of self-indulgent arrogance, and he explained how easy going he was. He told me he liked a woman that wasn’t too clean, that he liked women that were au natural (hairy pits, hairy bodies), and that he likes that ‘natural’ smell they have. Whoa, ok, I get it but the way he worded it sounded way to granola pervy for me. At around hour 2, he proceeded to tell me he hooked up with both dudes and women, but only dated women and didn’t consider himself bi. The implication was that when dating a lady, he’d ask for special ‘extras’. Perhaps my forehead says, ‘will wear strap-on if necessary’, but I promise you, if it does it’s because my friends wrote it on there when I was drunk. There truly isn’t anything wrong with what he’s seeking, it’s just not my thing. In truth, I wasn’t sure why he didn’t just date an effeminate man since his taste seemed to go that way. He was a nice enough man and I greatly appreciate his candor; I honestly don’t think most people are that open. But it was clear and obvious that he was confused about his sexuality and what he truly wanted, versus what he was allowing himself to want. It’s an understandable struggle and I have great empathy for that. The thing is, it certainly was nowhere near what I expected on a second date, plus I have plenty of friends trying to figure themselves out, struggling with their own sexuality and simply trying to live life, who I am happy to support, but taking on strangers when I’m looking for love doesn’t seem necessary at this age.

So, my point is this, if you are thinking about or considering flirting with your professor or a professor you meet at the bar, the library, Whole Foods… give it some true thought and be prepared. They are not all like Colin Firth or Michael Vartan in Never Been Kissed, some of them are kinky ass people. Don’t rule them out, just be prepared for a potentially funky education.

~KIR, I know I will, Bay

 

Garrison Keillor vs. Michael Jordan: Interracial Dating in the Midwest

“Mom, Dad, I just want you to know I’ve met the man I’m going to marry.”

It was 1985 and I had just gotten home from my first day of fifth grade. My Mom looked at me intrigued, “Oh really? Tell me about this special guy.” “Well, his name is Kevin and he just moved here from Texas. He is a really good basketball player and so sweet, smart and friendly. He looks just like Michael Jordan. I think I’m in looove,” I said as I skipped around the living room. “He looks like Michael Jordan?” my mom asked, “So he’s black?” “Yes, and he is soooo cute!” I answered. My mom and dad looked at each other and asked me to sit down. They explained that while they were sure Kevin was a great kid, they would prefer I marry someone “like us.” My mom began to outline the difficulties surrounding interracial relationships but to me Kevin was just… Kevin. His family moved to Ohio in eighth grade, so a marriage there would never be, but I never stopped thinking about what my parents said.

I grew up in Lutheranland: home of Garrison Keillor and the “Minnesota nice”. We were a middle-class, white family surrounded by the same. I was taught to treat everyone equally and to NEVER EVER repeat the few racist remarks uttered by my grandparents over the years. As a child, this all made sense, but as I got older, certain comments made by my parents seem to contradict the very basis of what I was told.

When the 18 year old girl next door got knocked-up, the story always ended in the whisper, “The father is black”. Asians were referred to as “Orientals,” and talking about someone who was gay, always ended with, “But, we don’t agree with that lifestyle.” Don’t get me wrong, I love my parents. They are good, honest, caring people. Racially, they are strides ahead of where their parents were, and instilled in my sister and me the tools to take it even further.

Most of my friends growing up shared the same liberal viewpoints I did, but could we really put them into practice living in Midwestern suburbia?

I went to college in Milwaukee which, in the social sense, was like taking Diversity 101. The real cultural awakening happened when I moved to Chicago shortly after graduation. I remember telling my mom my first job was in Skokie and her saying, “That is a really Jewish neighborhood.” I took this to be more of her subtle racial commentary, but in all fairness, this statement was actually pretty accurate.

Chicago truly was a melting pot of different cultures, races, foods, and traditions I had never been exposed to, and I ate it up with a spoon. Some aspects of this exposure, however, left a bad taste in my mouth. Hearing friends making outwardly racist comments, many of which my “Minnesota nice” ears had never heard before, was uncomfortable to say the least. Was this a result of upbringing? True beliefs? I remember hearing a Caucasian friend refer to a certain type of nut with the “n” word followed with, “I can say that. I had a lot of black friends growing-up.” Does that really make it OK?

Living in a city of diversity also opens up the dating pool significantly. I wouldn’t say I’ve ever necessarily had “type”. If you are nice, smart and funny, you’ve got my attention (being good looking and tall doesn’t hurt either). Initially upon moving to Chicago, my dating pool was made up of mostly Caucasian men. As I’ve gotten older, however, this has changed. And with that change have come challenges.

I met Deon at happy hour. Some friends and I had met for drinks; he was sitting next to us waiting for buddies of his own. We got to talking and he asked if I’d like to go out sometime and I said of course. He was nice, charming, tall, a former Arena Football player, and currently was working with under privileged youths. Oh, and Deon was black. My mom called the afternoon of our date and asked what I had planned for the evening. When I told her I had a date she immediately launched into the third degree: “What is his name? What does he do? What does he look like?” I answered the first two questions and paused at the last. “Um… well… Deon is African American.” Silence on the other end. I hurriedly launched into all the other great qualities he had, but I had lost her. “Well,” she said, “I hope you have a…. nice time.” A month or so later when I told her we were no longer seeing each other I could hear her muffled joy as she said, “Oh honey, that’s too bad.”

A couple of years later, I met Michael. We clicked immediately. He was in his early 40’s, had two kids, was tall, extremely funny, personable, dressed impeccably, owned a house close to me and in general, really had his shit together. In addition to studying for his PhD, Michael also had a prestigious job working for the City of Chicago. He was the full package. OH, and did I mention, Michael was black.

After dealing with the judgment of Deon, I kept Michael under wraps from my friends and family for a while. This being my first “serious” interracial relationship, however, I thought about the challenges my mom had outlined years earlier. Did these still ring true even in 2013?

On our second date, Michael took me to an art gallery featuring an African American painter he had read about on blackartistnews.com. As we were leaving, an older white woman working at the gallery asked us how we heard about the exhibit. Michael said he read about it on the website and in an instant the woman retorted, “Blackartistnews.com? Huh. Never heard of it. I bet there isn’t a whiteartistnews.com.” Michael, without missing a beat responded, “I think that’s actually just called artistnews.com.” In that moment I knew this guy was a keeper, and that ignorance and bigotry was still prominent, despite the year.

As we continued to date I would tell my mom about Michael’s amazing qualities (sans race) and she, in turn would ask questions. Mom: What does Michael look like? Me: He is tall, has dark brown hair and brown eyes. Mom: What is his nationality? Me: I’m not sure we’ve never really talked about it. Mom: Does he have a religion? Me: I think he’s Buddhist? I’m not sure. Ok that last bit threw her a bit but the nationality thing kept coming into play. “How can you not ask his nationality? I mean that seems like something you would eventually talk about?”

After hearing the last question for the 300^th time, and feeling confident in my three plus month relationship, I decided it was time to drop the race bomb. After the initial, “I knew it had to be something like that!” response, my mom was surprisingly calm. I think it finally began to resonate that her daughter wasn’t dating a “black” man, but a man who treated her in a manner she deserved.

When we broke up six months later, I could still tell my mom was somewhat relieved but I felt like we had taken baby steps from that conversation 28 years ago. I know my parents still would prefer I dated someone “like us” but perhaps what is being slowly realized is “us” is who we are on the inside, not the outside. Hopefully these baby steps turn into great strides within my family, our community and beyond.

~Equality Now~
TJ

What is “the perfect mate” anyway? Just relax, love & be merry!

Life’s too short. It’s time to stop looking for and expecting the perfect mate and relax. Something amazing might be right in front of you.

Some people in life are just those people. By those people I mean the people who if they’re single, they just want to be married; if they’re married, they just want a child; if they have a child, they just want a better house; if they get a better house, they just want to lose weight; if they lose weight, they just want to have an affair… The “just’ list goes on forever. The people I’m talking about will just never be satisfied, at least not for very long. It doesn’t make them bad people. I have friends and siblings like this. It just makes life a little harder for them. It’s just different.

We all have just moments here or there, I sure do. If he was just taller, just liked this a little more, just did that a little less; I annoyed myself with my just wish list and stopped cold turkey. The course outlined above is legit, at times, too; good things happen then go to shit or someone cheats and divorce ensues. It’s the nature of the beast. I’m not talking about those folks. The ‘just’ people know who they are. It’s like an addiction. They want to be satisfied, but they can’t. They will almost always default to wanting more, wanting the non-existent perfect.

Roughly two weeks ago, I went to the movies by myself and I suppose I could say, I got picked up. It felt great, it’s been a while since I’ve had a good old fashion, in person pick up. An attractive guy came up to me and asked if the seat near me was taken. I said no and he sat down. We got to talking and in my mind I was thinking, “Ok, if he gets up and leaves right after the movie, he’s not interested. If he lingers and talks to me, I’ll ask him out.” My next thoughts were a flooding stream of what might be wrong with him. I ran through the list of stupid, lazy self-sabotaging demands, simply because I got a glimpse he may not be exactly what I was looking for. Well, he lingered and before I could ask him out, he asked me out. We went out last week, and while it was nice, the romantic chemistry just wasn’t there for me.  He was a nice guy though, and I’m glad I went.

The thing is, I wasn’t NOT interested in him romantically because he was too short, because his hands seemed small, or any other stream of lameness I could have come up. The chemistry just wasn’t there. It happens and it’s ok. Had I not gone out with this less than perfect guy, and the chemistry was there, I would have missed out! I don’t want to take that risk anymore for some shallow, greedy, or even fear-based reason. I do have a type, but trust me, but sometimes the guy we think is our type is the absolute WORST person for us.

I spent five years with the ‘perfectly’ wrong person, waiting for all the red flags to turn white. Red flags are red for a reason. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to meet someone who you are physically and otherwise into, nor is there anything wrong with communicating with your partner to improve your relationship. I’m more so talking about looking a gift horse in the mouth, which I’ve also done.  Sometimes we hang on to stuff that isn’t working too long and let the good opportunities pass us by. I, for one, don’t want to do that anymore.

If you just started dating someone, even if you have been married for decades, when things are good, let them be good. Be present enough to realize it. Don’t raise the stakes higher and higher. Love is not a limbo stick or a pole vault. If it’s good, but stagnant, take a minute to really get to know your partner again. Fall in love with the sound of their voice again, their embrace, the way they’re a horrible cook but how adorable they look trying to impress you. Catch them off guard with that smile. We all know that smile. It simply means, ‘I’m glad you’re the one here with me, even though you’re an ass sometimes.” There’s a great quote that was partially read aloud in the ironically titled movie, ‘Unfaithful’:

“Drink wine. This is life eternal. This is all that youth will give you. It is the season for wine, roses and drunken friends. Be happy for this moment. This moment is your life.”  ~Omar Khayyam

It’s true, this moment IS your life. The time is now. I feel this more than ever, these days. So if you’re seeking perfection in your relationship or mate, take a break, you must be exhausted. If you’re single like I am and seeking a mate for the end of the world, try what I committed to Jan 1^st of this year. Pull a Costanza (yes, as in George Costanza from Seinfeld): I committed to doing the opposite of my usual for a year when it comes to dating. In the process I’ve had my face licked, tried lobster for the first time (yum), gone out with a bisexual guy (a little out of my comfort zone, but not as much as I thought), and well, you read the blog. To the same token, if I want to sabotage a situation with a good guy, I do the opposite and stick it out for a bit longer. If I’m too nervous to go out with the sweet, super good-looking guy, I force myself to go anyway. I turned off the part about worrying what anyone else thinks about the age, race, height, weight of someone I’m out with. I simply go to have a good time. But, BUT, if I want to go out with an asshole a third time because even though I know he’s a prick and the absolute WRONG guy, he’s really hot and funny, I turn him down. That last one simply isn’t worth it. That guy will never be what you’re looking for.

Trust me, it’s not easy. It takes some discipline and self-respect to actually pay attention to our own rules, fears and role within dating and relationships, but it is worth it. Far more often than we realize, there is plenty of perfect enough right in front of us, we just have been too busy looking everywhere else to notice it. So take the pressure off, slow down, something amazing just might be right in front of you. Matter of fact, I’m looking closely ahead right now!

~Bay

“Bro Code” exposed. Buckle up, ladies, it’s harsh.

This weeks guest blogger unveils the rules of the “Bro Code”. His identity will remain anonymous, wanting only to be referred to as, The Sheriff. Your comments welcome. Without further adieu:

The Man Code or “Bro Code” is a term familiar to most women.  It’s usually brought up in casual conversation or in social settings where, more often than not, females laugh it off as if it is some kind of stupid “We are men so let’s give each other high fives and slap asses!” mantra.  I’m here to tell you it is not.  It is very real.  It is a living, breathing, ever-evolving set of rules by which all men must live.  Here is just a small sample.  Keep in mind I am breaking Bro Code by discussing such things – hence the anonymity of this blog entry. I’m warning you ahead of time that you may not want to hear some of these rules, and I accept zero responsibility for ruining your marriage or relationship.  Proceed with caution.

1)      Men must always have their bro’s back.  ZERO EXCEPTIONS.  It doesn’t matter if your man gets into a brawl with the 2am drunken douche at their favorite watering hole or is blatantly lying to you about getting his c$@k sucked by some 2am drunk chick, we will ALWAYS be there to support him in any way possible. Trust me – this happens. Bros always help bros.

2)      Men never reveal the whereabouts of other men.  If your man hasn’t “checked in” with you in what you deem as an appropriate amount of time or he is out a little past bar time, don’t bother calling his bros. Bros know nothing. They see nothing. We know where your husband is. He’s most likely trying to get some time with his bros, hammered at the bar acting like an idiot, or pounding some average-looking skank in the back seat of your minivan – just because he can. You’ll never know and we won’t tell. Deal with it.

3)      Men have an obligation to play wingman.  It’s not always fun and it’s not always convenient, but it is just what bros do. Hypothetical: I’m out with your boyfriend.  He’s bored with you and sick of your bitching and nagging. He decides that he wants to make a move on an attractive woman who is posting up at the bar with her fugly friend.  Bro code states that the wingman has to take one for the team. It is what it is – and sometimes the fugly ones are best. They try really hard and put forth one hell of an effort.

4)      Men never directly interfere with a bro’s family. Wives and girlfriends are off-limits. Sisters are off-limits. Moms are off-limits. Step-sisters, grandmothers, aunts, cousins, and extended family are all fair game. When your husband’s bro is at your 5 year old’s birthday party and suddenly disappears along with your god-mother – there’s a good chance they are in your spare bedroom taking care of business. Don’t bother asking your husband. Refer to rules 1 and 2. We have no idea where he went or what he is doing and we will defend his honor til death.

5)      A woman will never be included in Bro Code or informed of its sacred rules.  I’m putting myself out here ladies. We have the ability to treat women as bros if they earn the right, however she is not to be told the rules of said code. If a woman was in a situation where she was receiving bro treatment and infringes upon a rule of the Bro Code, we will simply inform the bro-ette that she is being rude and disrespectful.  Common courtesy, if you will.

This is just the tip of the iceberg. If all of you wonderful ladies want to hear more about our sacred code, I’m more than willing to share. Just don’t tell your significant other.

Don’t ask, don’t tell,
The Sheriff

This is a man’s world, ah, not so much these days… Let’s call it even!

There can definitely be a double standard when it comes to dating in regards to men’s interpretations of things. Like when a guy says, “Well, men actually have it harder,” well actually, not so much. It’s just as hard for women. I hear men say, “Women can get laid any night of the week.” Maybe by the desperate guy who doesn’t have a job, or Judy’s weird horny uncle, or the guy that’s our would be son’s age who is looking for an education. But you know what guys, so could you, and sometimes… you do. More married men don’t wear their wedding rings when they’re out than married women, so kabing, it’s harder for women simply because we don’t know who’s REALLY available. So let’s stop tallying who has it harder and stop whining, OK guys?

Two days ago I was planning to write about something completely different, then last night I had a first ‘meeting’ with someone I met on online. As we were talking he said, “I think it’s actually a lot harder for men because we’re expected to make the first move and there’s so much rejection. If it’s not rejection, then we don’t even get a response.” OK, I get it. Some guys are still living in the world where they think they are the only one’s feeling pressure to make a move, be it online OR in person. My date spoke of how women expect men to make the first move. I don’t, nor do many women I know. We’re sick of waiting for wishy washy first moves to be made; we make first moves too now. If you haven’t been the recipient, I’m not sure what to tell ya. I’m a single woman in my forties and I have single and divorced friends in their thirties, forties and fifties. If we all waited for the guy we’re eyeing up and semi-interested in getting to know to make the first move, we may never have another date. Seriously, life’s short.

So my date was nervous about making the first move, but I’m not sure why. Considering what I’ve experienced, his attempts couldn’t be any worse than this sampling of first moves men have launched my way online. And for the record, the site I am on is not a Tinder or a Grindr site. From what I know, those are mostly DTF focused sites (Down To F*CK).

“How do you feel about a discreet friends with benefits situation?”

“You’re hot, wanna have sex?” Perhaps I do, just not with THAT guy. And by THAT guy, I mean any guy who approaches me with that as an opening statement.

“Hi.” I almost hate the empty Hi more than, “Wanna have sex?” At least the ‘sex’ guys  are goal orientated.

“Hey. Do you like oral” Oral what, oral hygiene… yes. Oral sex from a stranger… no!

“Do you like younger guys?” Typically, this comes from guys who are the equivalent of how old my grown son would be if I had him at 20. No thank you.

And my favorite… “NO CHANCE.” I think this one came from an ex-boyfriend I broke-up with in May. I laughed; it was clever. I think he created a fake profile to get that final jab in. Good one, ya got me.

All this got me thinking. Over the years I’ve dated guys who have subtly unfolded double standards on me and here I’m just realizing it now. I once dated a guy who, if we had a female waitress, were both friendly and social. Conversely, if we had a male waiter, he was stoic and my same friendliness was interpreted as flirting. Another guy acted very laid back, but had a specific idea of how he wanted me to dress (he enjoyed the showing of cleavage) even though he was a slightly sloppy dresser. Just imagine if women walked around and told their husbands and boyfriends, ‘Hey, it’d be great if you could show a little more cock. Wear those tight jeans I like so much, so I can be proud of you when we walk down the street.” It would make for a really weird world. The last guy I dated, mister suspected “NO CHANCE,” mentioned above, was defeatingly competitive with me. When we did just about anything, he didn’t like it if I did better. I was constantly telling him, “This isn’t a competition!” I recall him saying to me once when we were playing around, “Well, I don’t want you to be stronger than me,” and crap like, “Well if you win, what does that say about me?” Hmmm… it says you’re a pussy for being a chauvinist thinking only a guy should win at a game, and if you lose, your masculinity is at stake. Unless of course, a woman ‘got lucky’. Puke! Women don’t win against men in things because they’re lucky, well maybe once in a while, but more often they win because they simply excel in that particular thing. Not all men are like that, but the dinosaurs out there are annoying.

On the same token, old fashion women, ease up just a little. It’s OK to spoil your guy once in a while; hold him if he’s sad or exhausted, but don’t mock him if he doesn’t like sports, just like you don’t want to be mocked or stereotyped if you DO.

My point is, it’s no easier or harder for men to meet women or be in a relationship than it is for women, regardless of who makes the first move. It’s about putting some fun and personality into it. We all struggle with wanting to be validated, seen as attractive, wanting to win, wanting to give the other the orgasm of their lifetime, etc. It’s equally amazing, difficult, frustrating and wonderful on both sides of the sexual platter. Straight, gay, man, woman: it’s the game of love.

There are two gentlemen I am conversing and engaging with at the moment. One a little younger, very cool, flirty and digs I know a bit about football, am active, yet a flirt and a lady. The other, a little older, doesn’t care about all that ‘gotta be a man’ crap. He’s fully comfortable with himself for the most part and just wants a cool woman to hang out with, regardless of what she’s good or bad at. These are handsome guys; equal opportunity men.

So dudes, if you don’t mind when you take us to the sheets and we take the lead all cowgirl style, ease up and be comfortable with your femininity and masculinity when we’re out and have our clothes on too. It’s not a man’s world, or a woman’s world, it’s a human world. We’ve all got enough BS to deal with. Let’s make love, not war!

~KIR~
Bay