Nice do!

Help! Austin's being attacked! The last few times I have been out and about, odd looking men abound. Am I? Could I be? Is it true that I am getting old, and no longer appreciate the new looks?

It's not really the women. In fact, I think they look just fine. Normal typical Austin fare. T-shirts, wow maybe a trendy t, and jeans. But what is wrong with these boys?

Have you noticed the nice new - ok by now, it is kinda out, but I do live in Texas - mod haircuts? AHH - they kill me! No idea what I am talking about? Think about the old Beatles haircuts. It's the English thing. And I am thinking that an English man, might pull it off. A Texan named Josh wearing tight jeans (and no doubt his hips are smaller than a woman's size 6), a cute punk belt which matches the one I am wearing, and vans is hardly my idea of a masculine man.

I realize that not all women like big strong men. In fact, my dearest friend's mom prefers gilrie men. I don't get it. And in this case, I can't imagine a man spending more time on his hair than I do. Do they shop together for Kusco Murphy hair creamy? "Hey Dillon, check out what your hair can do with this stuff?"

Another oddity happened the other night. An invasion of short men. Not short like 5'8 or even 5'4, I'm talking about 5'2 short men. And not just one or two. It was about 10 short men. Like a little short party. They were adorable, cute as can be. But is it a support group all out together? I'm not sure. I have nothing against short men - in fact, some short men I find really attractive. However boys, a whole gaggle of you doesn't make a couple of you look taller by default. It makes you look like a spectacle.

One more irritating point: when you see a girl at a show, obviously into the music, please don't talk to her while the band is playing. A couple of "hey that's pretty cool"s and maybe a "hey can I buy you a beer" is fine. Telling me about your seven sisters and brother and the details of your current job, is not what I had in mind when I went to hear music that night.

I guess after being married for a while, I forgot what's out there. Freighting enough, I can see why it keeps some people married. Do not despair - I will figure out the right thing to do for me. Even if it means complaining about men for the rest of my life. In the end, boys are too much fun and I'll get over it.

OUCH - I'm wrong!

Ahh, the joys of Fat Tuesday. Well, actually not so much. I am the type of girl who prefers her drink at a bar Friday nights, Saturday or Sunday during the mid afternoon, and say any given Tuesday. Saturday nights are too crowded for me, and seeing my favorite bars turn into Euro-trash heavens repulses me.

So, said friend Cal and I decided on an early venue last night for a cocktail. We went to a favorite spot and ordered up a gin. Gin. What to say about gin? Well, I suppose this story will speak for my emotional state while consuming one of my favorite liquors.

After a couple of drinks, Cal and I are talking about sex. Always seems to come up, doesn't it? At first it's just a joke and then it seems that one of us, wanting to exploit our friend of the opposite sex, wants their opinion on certain aspects of the topic.

About mid-way through the conversation, anal sex comes up. By this point the bartender, a "friend" of mine, is now sitting at the bar engrossed in the chatter. So, it's me and two men discussing the topic at hand.

My opinion is pretty clear. I've never done it, but if I was going to commit to it (the whole experience), the boy's going first. If he can handle it with something that approximates his size - then we'll talk. Unless you're willing to step up to the plate, I'm not playing.

Easily understood by my guy friends. Nothing new. Most women probably feel the same way. Moot point, right. Well it should have been!

Bartender friend decides he would do it in a minute and has found the perfect girl. What? No man has ever gone past the "oh, I see. Guess I understand your point there". It usually ends the discussion and me and my parts are safe.

Not so much this time. He's fine with it. Perfect. Tells me that I've been meeting the wrong men. Cal and I are a little shocked. What guy confesses to that, much less in front of another man? It could be that the three of us had been consuming shots. Still, I'm a little surprised.

In fact, he makes me want to retract my offer. Last night when I got home, and was laying in bed I started thinking about it. Okay, what if I tried that line - man accepts - then what? Would I really want to be with a man that likes that?

I'm not saying there is anything wrong with it. I'm not saying that men can't like it, or that it makes them gay. I'm wondering if I could find a man like that attractive, and still think of him as a man. A manly man. Because every time I see my bartender friend, I'm going to be thinking of him bent over with something extra going on. Yuck!

Shots are bad.

you're going to do what?

Miss Suzanna, the sex therapist, has a vastly more intriguing job than I do. On top of it, it upsets her mother. How glorious! Even at 30, I still love to get my mom reved up over sex. I guess that Suzanna is about 45, so the thrill must always be there.

I had a couples appointment with her yesterday afternoon. To my slight surprise, she was moderately dressed up. Suzanna usually wears pants and a shirt. Pretty ordinary and basic. Yesterday she was wearing a white criss-cross shirt, black pants, black boots, and a beautiful red garnet necklace. The necklace was the give away that something was going on in her life. I immediately asked about it, and what a perfect opportunity to deflect from my problems.

As it turns out she has an interview with a reporter for the local news. She also let on that her publisher is keeping her swamped with sex pieces right now. (Literary pieces that is) Evidently there are several breaking stories regarding the good old fashion past time. Who knew? And who knew that Miss Suzanna is highly regarded?

So the interview she was doing was on vaginal plastic surgery. WHAT???? You're kidding me! My first thought as a straight woman, is that I haven't seen that many to compare mine too. Ok, I saw a few at an all nude bar. I don't think I looked closely at anything that night. And the occasional Playboy.

She thinks this is the problem. That women are comparing themselves to stereo-typical pictures in porn magazines and then feeling the need to alter themselves.

That would never occur to me - well, not to alter that part of my body. Sure, I have plenty of girlfriends with breast jobs. Some went bigger, some went smaller. A few of them did it for self-esteem, a few because they had no self-esteem. But at least you see them! This surgery, who is going to see that? Unless you are in a specific industry, I hope it's only you and your lovers. So who cares? Do men really care about this?

Do women care enough about what men think to alter this? What's next? I just seems to me that if you are doing the right stuff in bed, that should be the last thing on his mind.

I think these women (unless it's a case of functionality) should forego the surgery and take sex lessons from someone. Make those men blind with passion and move on.

Going, going, gone

I started out the weekend strong. Dinner with hubby was fun. After a couple of glasses of wine, admiring the beautiful belly dancer, and delicious understated food we headed off to a upscale hotel bar for after dinner drinks.

I guess I have two comments so far. If you have ever felt chubby, slightly overweight, or even fat; go see a professional belly dancer. You will learn that beauty does not come in one size and shape, made for all, designed by men, and perpetuated by women. These women are gorgeous, despite pot bellies and heavy thighs. In fact, those might be the human qualities that make them so intriguing.

Comment number two revolves around hotel bars. Why are hotel bars so fun? Is it because with any luck you will never run in to any of the people there again? Is it where the seedy people go? Is it due to the temporary feel that everything has. This chair? Yes, it is beautiful. Plush leather, beautiful craftmanship. Next week it's the dumpster for that guy, as a hotel guest on a drunken rampage ruins it with his spurs. (Yes I live Texas and no - I have never seen anyone wear spurs,but it wouldn't surprise me).

It appears the Amaretto got to my head, and I'm sure the wine didn't help. In a rather exhausted way I asked to go home. My husband, always the gentleman agreed without hesitation.

Now I was nervous. I had to do it. I had to kiss him. Ahhhh, the stress. I know it seems weird, and I don't have a problem kissing men at all. Just him.

So I quietly got out of the car as we pulled up to my apartment. Looking down the whole time. My mind racing in circles.

And then I did it. I made a teenager look good. It was horrible, strange, and pathetic. I am one of the most sexual people I know, and yet when I am with him I turn into the snowqueen. I forgotten how he kissed. How weird is that? This is my husband, and I forgot how he kissed.

It's times like this I look at my life and wonder what movie I am watching. Who is this person? And then the worst thing I could do, I did. Immediately following the kiss I nervously blurt out, "Suzanna made me do it!". Am I five? What the hell was that? Perhaps I could have followed it with, "I wrote you this note, please check the box that indicates how you feel about me". Ridiculous.

I apologized, relayed to him that Suzanna had really just pointed out that I need to take more risks in our relationship. That I was following her advice, and it is what I wanted to do. He understood, I think.

In the end, I am still baffled. How could it be that at one point in our relationship, my clothing caught fire while we were in the midst of sex and we didn't realize it until the fire alarm went off (I was fine, thank you); and now I can't even imagine wanting to see this man in my bed. I think I may be way to gone to pull this back together.

','<$BlogItemNumber$>',w<$BlogItemNumber$>,'http://randomthoughtsofasnowflake.blogspot.com/','1','<$BlogEncoding$>');" title="Click to Comment!"> Comments-[ comments.]

Comments-[ comments.]

Tonight's the night?

Tonight is really not the night. Tonight is a replacement night. Six years ago I went on a date with my husband. We dated for a couple of years in high school, and then ran into one another seven years later at mutual friend's party. After a month or so of conversation, we went on our second first date.

Valentine's day is the anniversary of that date. However, due to a marathon it was put-off until tonight. Not such a good idea in one aspect, as we are separated, but it works.

Well due to conversations with Miss Suzanna, I'm suppose to lay one on him. Wow. How different. Haven't kissed the man in over a year. Haven't slept with the man in over a year. And still, I'm married.

So, tonight is the big night. How's it going to be? Awkward is my guess. Nerve racking. Bizarre. I'm scared to death! I just don't know if I can ever see him in that light anymore.

According to Miss Suzanna, this is suppose to help me make my mind up one way or another. If I can't I can't. And divorce is where we go. If we can, I will be the luckiest woman in the world.

Guess all we can do is wait and see.

Suzanna knows' best -
February 19, 2004

You know that quote, "you get what you pay for"? Well do you really? I went to see my favorite (ok only) therapist yesterday afternoon. I've been seeing Miss Suzanna since April of last year. She's an intelligent women, one of the best therapists I have worked with, and extremely poised in all situations.

Yesterday I was feeling a little irritated about going to see her. Some days I just don't feel like working on things. Regardless I decided to go and sit there in silence for as long as possible. Juvenile? Yes. Am I paying this woman over $100 an hour for her services? Of course. So why waste my money?

Well, you don't always get what you pay for. So I sit there. Looking a little aloof, and lost. She's staring. I'm jostling around, obviously uncomfortable with my little game. She keeps asking the same question, and I just broke. I don't even think I got 30 seconds in. The pressure was just too much.

And it didn't end there. Next thing I know, she decides its the day to push me. Get me out of my comfort zone, and suggest I try the "impossible" in my life.

She asks me what I thought was an appropriate step. Let's just say that I said the equivalent of holding hands. Her response? "Ok, what about making out".

Gee, let's see. Did she hear me? Since when did holding hands become a full on contact sport with people licking each other? Ok, I admit. Holding hands is not even a step really, and I need someone to call me out or I wouldn't pay her for it.

Yet, there are days that I want to look at her and say, "You know Suzanna, let's talk about you - maybe your pants or your haircut would be a good place to start". Let me sit in the all knowing chair of self righteousness. Why not? I know the right things to do, I just don't do them.

I know I need to try harder, but I'm comfortable. So in the end, did I really get what I paid for? A lecture from a bad haircut? Yes, admittedly I did.

I'll take her stinking advice and let you know how it turns out. And with a sigh, I'm out.

Excess and underneath

Do you ever feel like you have so much at your feet? Too much of everything, and then when you really look - you have nothing?

I have a million post-it notes laying around my desk. A flurry of little yellow memory joggers, scattered about. Call H for birthday, call t & k for engagement, call s for an appointment.

Yet in my excess of colored triggers, I am reminded that I have no memory. Which is why, of course, I need the scraps I depend on.

It's a simplified version of how I feel right now in my life. Too many friends that I don't consider friends. Too many lovers, but no one to love. Too much family, when I want to be alone.

Interesting how on the exterior, it looks like so much. Yet on the interior there is really so little.

just a little test