Gamine by nature

After a little accident by a former hair stylist, I headed to the Red Door salon in Chevy Chase in search of damage control.

I’d been “growing” my hair the past year to…regain my sexy after a failed love affair. A year ago my ex-boyfriend, who didn’t know me when I had long hair told me that he preferred me with long hair after seeing a picture of me from 10 years ago. His insensitive comment really affected my self esteem. What I should’ve said at the time was that I understood and that I too preferred his picture from 10 years ago and what you see now is what you get! Instead, I did what many women do, I tried to change myself to please him and the relationship ended for other reasons. Since it was never really about the long hair, of course.

Anyhoo back to my story, post hair consultation, the stylist asks “so you want me to give you a cute short hair cut?” I nodded and thought briefly of my dating prospects this year. But then I remembered that before the ex. my pixie hair style seemed to attract more attention.

Later, in the ladies room, a fellow customer said “you have such beautiful eyes! I was staring at you in the other room and saying to myself how I wished I looked like that!” I was surprised and actually looked into the mirror–she was right, my features are enhanced. I left the facility full of renewed confidence, after flirting with the parking garage attendent.

My outward gamine appearance now better matches my free spirit nature.

Sometimes we need to see ourselves through the eyes of another to fully appreciate our beauty and sometimes…we don’t.

My four legged friend

The chairs in my home are multiplying. The last 2 years we hardly had any furniture. Yes, we had our beds and a children’s table and chairs, but that’s it. Along the way, we acquired a patio set (so that we could eat together when the weather was good) and later a sofa and club chair. Why? Because we’d left behind a home stuffed with furniture, compromised decor, accumulated unopened boxes, and memories I wouldn’t accuse of being all that great. You could say I’d become furniture shy resulting in an extremely uncomfortable home in DE. No wonder my perfect children never wanted to go home.

Now we live in lovely new digs in a lovely new city in MD. And as I look around, we also have a lovely dining room set and our sofa set has a coffee table to inspire great conversation. Today, I went to Staples to test ergonomic home office chairs, because a standard room chair simply won’t suffice for the kind of hours I work in front of a computer. Which means that standard room chair will be joining the other standard room chair in my bedroom.

And when I’m in my room, subliminally I’ll start thinking in terms of two instead of one.

Perhaps.

Pineapple and chocolate

I dreamed for years about the perfect bed. I envisioned majestic, luxurious, romantic nights of impassioned lovemaking in that bed. I saved and saved, and then I found it–an Ethan Allen British Classics Montego Canopy bed, California King size. A four poster bed of carved mahogany with pineapple finials, that’d look right at home in the antebellum south. The bed was so big, it had its own wardrobe for linens.

Once lovers experienced it, they’d invite themselves to spend the night. And the next night, and the next. Proposals, marriages, and other longer term relationships were built around that bed. A bed that no longer felt my own.

Today the bed I call my own is a vintage brass and iron bed–Queen size. Dressed in linens and a primal quilt.

In which I feed myself pineapple and chocolate.

Say amore’ Portuguese

I told him I loved him that I worshipped him that with him I was in absolute rapture. It was…Portuguese love a la Teena Marie.

He demurred.

Through the months we made French love and the German love–didn’t hurt, not really. And if I’d been a boy, you could say we made Greek love. But in the end the only kind of love he wanted was English love–you know, Shakespearian.

The kind of love he’d had with her.

In the quiet hours

Everything I focused on this year happened! I was successful with the things I fully believed I could do and those things I didn’t believe I could do–well, I was equally  successful, in not achieving them.

Over the years I’d developed a strange relationship with men–one focused on co-dependency. It’s a role I’m very good at and it’s a behavior that ensured I’d terminate the relationship, after I’ve proved that I’m a victim and the men are perpetrators.

 While I don’t really understand why I choose dependent men, I understand I can model my behavior and set boundaries so that I’ve a better chance at creating more successful relationships, including a more successful relationship with myself.

After reading Lost and Found by Geneen Roth, I thought of how I could change certain tracks in my life story by changing some ingrained beliefs, even if it means making myself very, very uncomfortable. The track I’ll change is the one that says romantic relationships don’t last, or if they do, the people in them aren’t happy, or if they are happy it’s because the people are somehow special.

Despite having had some really great relationship experiences, I’d constantly focused on the bad experiences and sabotaged future interactions. By ignoring the good I’d doomed myself to relationship purgatory. I now realize that to move forward I’ve to replace the bad memories with good ones, daily.

While, it’s true old habits are hard to break, it’s also true that practice makes perfect. I plan to practice in the quiet hours–the first few thoughts in the morning when I awake, and the last few thoughts at night before I sleep.

You know why? Because everything I focus on happens…

Not quite there yet

Lovemaking to me is like getting my food from an organic farm–gourmandizing is sublime.

Sex on the other hand is like getting food from a factory farm–quite bland, and I take a pass on it almost every time.

Boy George once said he’d prefer a nice cup of tea to sex. Now, I’m not saying I can sublimate the urge completely… but I understand.

So…um, are you free this weekend?

Any one who’s ever been in love can attest to the power of attachment. It’s easy to understand, after all our first attachment occured as babies to our mothers. Attachment–a feeling that bonds a person to another creating the desire for repeated interactions with that person, can be a source of intense pleasure, or as in the case of unrequited love, great pain.

 Although this hasn’t been the case for me, a person can also be attached to things. Three years ago, when I relocated from MN, I left behind a house, all of my property with the exception of a few select items (a bed, my children’s favorite toys, and cooking utensils.) Yet, despite a decade’s worth of accumulation, I haven’t missed a thing. Or when I think about the sales process involved in the car I purchased today, and Jose the salesman’s futile attempts to get me to view this vehicle as something other than transportation.  

Me, I’d get attached to people. In the past, I’d experience this intense desire to be welded to lovers,  or cool people I’d just met. I mean like become an integral part of their lives. After all I’m a fixer by nature and I could so improve their lives (while putting mind on hold.) In retrospect, it all seems quite silly and a bit desperate. How draining these interactions must’ve been for those involved.

So nice, this being able to look back detachedly.