2013 has been the best and worst year of my life thus far. The worst being the loss of two prominent women in my life and the best being the passing score which will now allow me to proceed with my lofty career goals and, at least in my mind, finally start my life.
So with this new development my head has been spinning with professional 'to-dos' and I have lists of lists of lists of things I need and want to accomplish in the next week - month - year. While this may sound obsessive and insane to some for a power-girl like myself, I'm in heaven. I have no stop signs in my future and all the lights are green. Well... professionally speaking that is.
There is this whole other aspect of my life which I constantly place in the backseat (or the trunk if the mood fits) that I've desperately been trying to give more attention. If I loved dating the way I love working, well, I'd be an escort (and a good one).
So as I spend each morning reviewing and revising my professional goals, I thought I should spend a little time reviewing my romantic speed bumps and what-not. During this painstaking task I made a discovery; it's not a secret discovery and I'm sure many have lived through it before me but it's my discovery and it deserves a blog. Here goes:
Strong women need strong men. Strong men can settle for pretty much anything with the right anatomy. Strong women are like the O-neg of dating; we can save anyone, but only a match can save us.
I used this analogy to not only review my own past lovers but those failed relationships of my closest, bad-ass girlfriends as well. Same story. Men that are weak-willed will only be intimidated and resentful of strong and ambitious women. Strong men see that same ambition as admirable and inspiring.
I'm sure there's some alternate version of this that my male friends can conjure, but for my purposes, this is the issue most relevant.
I can't say that this applies to every guy that's vacationed at Disney, but I can say that for many this rule of thumb can be played out perfectly. And I don't know how to cure the defect that makes my own reader fail to pinpoint a man's entire persona with only a look, but if anyone has any advice, I'm listening.
Until then, I'll have to continue to trust in the words of my dear friends and hope they keep pointing me in the right direction. And away from the operating table.
5.16.2013
Fifty Shades of Fornication
Yes, I've read Fifty Shades of Grey. Yes... more than once. I've talked before about the appeal of Christian Grey but he's no lone ranger in the world or erotic fiction. He may be the most popular, at the moment, but he's far from the most mesmerizing of the characters I've enjoyed.
So this is the point where I admit that Fifty was not my first, nor my last, date with erotic fiction. I believe it was 2002 that my first Lora Leigh novel fell into my lap and I've enjoyed a number of her and other authors ever since. In my defense, I'm a regular reader of fiction and nonfiction. I don't ONLY read dirty books. But I do love a good dirty book. And it's not just my generation of women that have fallen into this romantic trap - my mother, my grandmother; they both had their "adult" novels, although I'm betting they involved more romance and less restraints than my personal selection...
So what is it that makes these novels so popular among women? Well, romance - duh. I can't even recall the last time a man lead me into a candlelit room with a bed covered in satin sheets and rose petals. And why hasn't a gorgeous man, with a hidden sensitive side, introduced me to my sexual wild child while saving me from a psychopath kidnapper? The majority of these novels are written by women for women and the activities and encounters are mere fantasies. I get it.
The truth is, I don't want plants in my bed because I don't want to clean that up. And I'd rather not be abducted by a psychopath. Period. The novel provides a way to escape the reality and fall into the fiction. Not just the "erotic" but the story as well. The erotic provides a way for women to admit and mentally experience acts and activities they'd never dreamed of much less discussed out loud. For example, some women may enjoy the idea of being strung up naked in a room full of hungry men, or tied to a bed with leather restraints at the mercy of her lover. They may not, however, want to actually live out the fantasy.
Before Fifty, Kegal Balls were just a toy sold at the "sex store" and now housewives use them while they clean the house. (Okay, maybe not, but they should.) Before Fifty a leather crop had no purpose outside the stable, and now many women lay in bed at night and picture their man standing over them in his worn jeans and the brown crop while their hands drift down their bodies...
Fifty brought sex out of the bedroom and into the tea party conversation. Everybody wins. That is until the Mrs. decides Mr. needs to spice it up or sleep on the couch, but at least Mr. has an accessible reference to turn to. (FYI - Skip to Book 2.)
So this is the point where I admit that Fifty was not my first, nor my last, date with erotic fiction. I believe it was 2002 that my first Lora Leigh novel fell into my lap and I've enjoyed a number of her and other authors ever since. In my defense, I'm a regular reader of fiction and nonfiction. I don't ONLY read dirty books. But I do love a good dirty book. And it's not just my generation of women that have fallen into this romantic trap - my mother, my grandmother; they both had their "adult" novels, although I'm betting they involved more romance and less restraints than my personal selection...
So what is it that makes these novels so popular among women? Well, romance - duh. I can't even recall the last time a man lead me into a candlelit room with a bed covered in satin sheets and rose petals. And why hasn't a gorgeous man, with a hidden sensitive side, introduced me to my sexual wild child while saving me from a psychopath kidnapper? The majority of these novels are written by women for women and the activities and encounters are mere fantasies. I get it.
The truth is, I don't want plants in my bed because I don't want to clean that up. And I'd rather not be abducted by a psychopath. Period. The novel provides a way to escape the reality and fall into the fiction. Not just the "erotic" but the story as well. The erotic provides a way for women to admit and mentally experience acts and activities they'd never dreamed of much less discussed out loud. For example, some women may enjoy the idea of being strung up naked in a room full of hungry men, or tied to a bed with leather restraints at the mercy of her lover. They may not, however, want to actually live out the fantasy.
Before Fifty, Kegal Balls were just a toy sold at the "sex store" and now housewives use them while they clean the house. (Okay, maybe not, but they should.) Before Fifty a leather crop had no purpose outside the stable, and now many women lay in bed at night and picture their man standing over them in his worn jeans and the brown crop while their hands drift down their bodies...
Fifty brought sex out of the bedroom and into the tea party conversation. Everybody wins. That is until the Mrs. decides Mr. needs to spice it up or sleep on the couch, but at least Mr. has an accessible reference to turn to. (FYI - Skip to Book 2.)
5.02.2013
Disney Does It Herself
Apologies for the hiatus. Specifically, I apologize to all my fans in Russia. <Shout out to Russia!> When I first began this blog (well, re-began anyway) I had just exited a pretty lengthy relationship and I used this platform as a method to heal. I did heal and I learned an interesting lesson as well:
The Ex and I were together for four years and we were good friends before that. When the relationship ended, I truly believed I was over it, and him, and ready to move forward with my life. I was half right. I was over, and still am "over" the Ex. He's not a bad person but he's not the person for me. That was hard to accept but I did and that's all. Where I went wrong was assuming I was over the "relationship" which turns out to be a different struggle all together. This was not a bad relationship. Obviously it was not perfect, but it was not bad either. No one was abused or neglected. In actuality, we were best friends; confidants; partners. Every decision I made was discussed with him first, and vice versa. Now, I know what you're thinking, 'Disney! How could you be so codependent?' Relax. I wasn't. Dependent is such an overused word. His input wasn't something I needed, it was something I wanted. I loved and respected him. So while I successfully emotionally detached from the person, I failed to grieve the loss of the relationship. It's not easy to go from a partner to a single. Losing a friend is hard; losing a best friend and lover is much more difficult. It's not the person, per se, it's the attachment that I miss. Don't get me wrong, I still make my own decisions and I will for the rest of my life, but I do miss having that person that cares what those decisions are.
That said, the blog was a success. Although I still miss the partnership, I have grieved and, this time, I really am over it. So where have you been, Disney? Well, figuring all this out, for starters, and then figuring out what to do next. I began this as a "comedic dating blog" and I haven't written because I haven't had much to say. Yes, I'm still dating. That area of my life is quite normal, as far as normal goes. I haven't met any truly unusual men (or women) and I have met a couple really great men (not so many women). If these suitors turn into something significant, don't worry, you'll be the first to know.
So, here's what else I have been up to. In case you haven't heard, I lost two grandmother's this month. My only two, actually, and now I am grandmother-less. It's sad and I'm sad, but I accept that this is how life goes. Per usually, I have tried to find the positive in all this. It took a minute, but I think I got it: I want to live. I spent weeks going through my grandmothers' things, reviewing their lives and the one thing I found most common was their ability to live. I haven't been living. I've been going through the motions, breathing in and out, but I haven't been really living. I wrote an entire post on my resolution to think positive but I failed to act on it. So that's what I've been up to - living.
I decided I was to redecorate. I've been sanding and painting and learning all sorts of labor-intensive tips and tricks. I'm a regular at Home Depot. A month ago, I can say I didn't own a toolbox and now I have a full toolbox and I know how to use almost everything in it!
I decided to cook. My mom can't cook and she's quite happy so I figured this wasn't a skill I needed or wanted either. I was wrong. I care more about my health now and I want to know what I'm putting in my body. That means no Big Macs, no matter how delicious.
I go to the gym. I've had a gym membership for years that I failed to use. I thought "being a member" was enough. It's not. I have never lifted a weight in my life. The idea of picking up heavy things just to put them down again seemed insane. Literally, institution-worthy insane. Now, I lift weights (not much weight) and every day I get a little bit stronger.
I hike. I've always loved hiking. I did not love the waking-up and making-myself-do-it part. I still don't adore that part of the process but being at the top of a canyon, in Los Angeles, looking over this big bad city when the sun first comes up has turned into one of my very favorite things. My lil dog loves it too.
I live. Everyday I make an effort to do something outside my ordinary routine. I've spent a lot of time planning and preparing for what I want in life and very little time enjoying what I have. I have time, more than most people anyway. I have freedom, no dependents to worry about yet. I have health and energy that I want to take advantage of, and maintain that as long as I can. Some day I want to have children. And I want to have grandchildren. And I want to be present in their lives so they can enjoy the story of my life as I did my grandmothers. In a nutshell, I'm writing a story. My story.
The Ex and I were together for four years and we were good friends before that. When the relationship ended, I truly believed I was over it, and him, and ready to move forward with my life. I was half right. I was over, and still am "over" the Ex. He's not a bad person but he's not the person for me. That was hard to accept but I did and that's all. Where I went wrong was assuming I was over the "relationship" which turns out to be a different struggle all together. This was not a bad relationship. Obviously it was not perfect, but it was not bad either. No one was abused or neglected. In actuality, we were best friends; confidants; partners. Every decision I made was discussed with him first, and vice versa. Now, I know what you're thinking, 'Disney! How could you be so codependent?' Relax. I wasn't. Dependent is such an overused word. His input wasn't something I needed, it was something I wanted. I loved and respected him. So while I successfully emotionally detached from the person, I failed to grieve the loss of the relationship. It's not easy to go from a partner to a single. Losing a friend is hard; losing a best friend and lover is much more difficult. It's not the person, per se, it's the attachment that I miss. Don't get me wrong, I still make my own decisions and I will for the rest of my life, but I do miss having that person that cares what those decisions are.
That said, the blog was a success. Although I still miss the partnership, I have grieved and, this time, I really am over it. So where have you been, Disney? Well, figuring all this out, for starters, and then figuring out what to do next. I began this as a "comedic dating blog" and I haven't written because I haven't had much to say. Yes, I'm still dating. That area of my life is quite normal, as far as normal goes. I haven't met any truly unusual men (or women) and I have met a couple really great men (not so many women). If these suitors turn into something significant, don't worry, you'll be the first to know.
So, here's what else I have been up to. In case you haven't heard, I lost two grandmother's this month. My only two, actually, and now I am grandmother-less. It's sad and I'm sad, but I accept that this is how life goes. Per usually, I have tried to find the positive in all this. It took a minute, but I think I got it: I want to live. I spent weeks going through my grandmothers' things, reviewing their lives and the one thing I found most common was their ability to live. I haven't been living. I've been going through the motions, breathing in and out, but I haven't been really living. I wrote an entire post on my resolution to think positive but I failed to act on it. So that's what I've been up to - living.
I decided I was to redecorate. I've been sanding and painting and learning all sorts of labor-intensive tips and tricks. I'm a regular at Home Depot. A month ago, I can say I didn't own a toolbox and now I have a full toolbox and I know how to use almost everything in it!
I decided to cook. My mom can't cook and she's quite happy so I figured this wasn't a skill I needed or wanted either. I was wrong. I care more about my health now and I want to know what I'm putting in my body. That means no Big Macs, no matter how delicious.
I go to the gym. I've had a gym membership for years that I failed to use. I thought "being a member" was enough. It's not. I have never lifted a weight in my life. The idea of picking up heavy things just to put them down again seemed insane. Literally, institution-worthy insane. Now, I lift weights (not much weight) and every day I get a little bit stronger.
I hike. I've always loved hiking. I did not love the waking-up and making-myself-do-it part. I still don't adore that part of the process but being at the top of a canyon, in Los Angeles, looking over this big bad city when the sun first comes up has turned into one of my very favorite things. My lil dog loves it too.
I live. Everyday I make an effort to do something outside my ordinary routine. I've spent a lot of time planning and preparing for what I want in life and very little time enjoying what I have. I have time, more than most people anyway. I have freedom, no dependents to worry about yet. I have health and energy that I want to take advantage of, and maintain that as long as I can. Some day I want to have children. And I want to have grandchildren. And I want to be present in their lives so they can enjoy the story of my life as I did my grandmothers. In a nutshell, I'm writing a story. My story.
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