Ordinary Gal Blog - "A Picture's Worth?"

A few weekends ago, my friends and I went to our favorite Beacon Hill bar. I had already consumed a couple drinks and was feeling great. Sadly, though, my liquid-induced euphoria did not last long. It was quickly replaced by nausea, and not the kind that comes from alcohol poisoning.

I'm not naive; I understand that people cheat on one another. But there's something almost mythical about infidelity: it only occurs to other people, not to you or people you know. You read about it in Cosmo or Elle or any number of women's magazines, in the Dear Abby letters. You see it in the movies, or on TV in reality shows like The Real Houswives of...Wherever. But somehow it's an act you avoid thinking about as it pertains to your own life, kind of like death. Intellectually, you know both happen, but as a matter of self-defense perhaps, you convince yourself that it won't happen to you. Is it no wonder, then, that we're always so shocked when we hear about it?

As I made my way through the aforementioned watering hole, I noticed a man sitting at the bar, his arm around a cute brunette. They were laughing, hugging, and touching...agh, young love! Upon closer inspection, however, I realized that the man was the husband of an acquaintance of mine, and, as I'm sure you've guessed by now, the cute brunette was not my acquaintance. A double-, triple-, quadruple-take confirmed that it was, in fact, my acquaintance's hubby.

For our purposes here let's call my acquaintance "Sarah." Sarah and I went to high school together; we weren't close friends, but we occasionally hung out. She lived in my neighborhood. We both liked to play tennis. After graduation, we lost touch. Years later, Sarah became a high-powered stylist/fashionista in NYC. She married young - a couple years after college to her colleage beau. Her husband was gorgeous and wealthy. And they lived what seemed like the most fabulous life in Manhattan. We became friends on Facebook eventually, and I used to spend hours pouring over their pictures: cheering each other on at marathions, surfing in Hawaii, tanning on the beaches of God knows where. And the clothes, my God, the clothes!

So you can imagine my shock and disappointment when I saw Sarah's husband with his paws all over some other girl. I ran over to a guy I knew who also knew Sarah and Mr. Wonderful. "Did you know that this was happeneing?" I inquired, sick to my stomach. "Yeah. I know, it sucks, but what can you do?" he replied. Apparently, Sarah has no clue about Mr. Wondeful's abhorrent behavior. I'd be surprised if she did know - you can't fake a smile in pictures that well. And since he has an apartment in Boston that he stays at often, there is probably no way she'll ever find out.

I learned an important lesson that night. The happy faces and good times you see in pictures are sometimes just an illusion. You never know what goes on behind closed doors. Sure, I've learned this on TV and in the movies, but it's only when you see it up close and personal that it really hits home. Do not be envious of that which you see, because sometimes it's a big, fat, fabulous lie.

I just noticed on Sarah's Facebook page pictures of a recent outing. Once again, she and her husband were the picture-perfect pair - all smiles, fabulous outfits, perfect figures, and the glamourous life of Manhattan. But all I could see was Mr. Wonderful's hands around that cute brunette in my favorite Beacon Hill bar.

Ordinary Gal Blog - "When Lovers Go Poof!"

Check out my latest published essay:

http://www.boston.com/bostonglobe/magazine/articles/2009/09/27/when_lovers_go_poof/

Ordinary Gal Blog - The Best Age to Get Married

I was listening to the Curtis Sliwa radio show last night while preparing for bed. One of his guests was a 26-year-old dating/relationship "expert," though one wonders how much of an expert a woman (or man) can be at 26. Nevertheless, they were discussing a recent study about marriage and divorce. According to the study, the optimal time for marriage is between 24 and 26 - a marital sweet spot, if you will. Naturally, the findings surprised the thrice married Sliwa, who countered that he would NEVER recommend getting married before 30. This is something I wholeheartedly agree with, perhaps because I'm 31 and not yet married myself. But the common wisdom on this would be that before 30, you're taking time to find out what you need, who you are, to solidify your career, etc. Plus, we live longer nowadays, so, aside from that fucking biological clock dilemma, what's the rush? To marry before 30 in today's world is often a recipe for divorce disaster, some say. I firmly believe that I would not have been ready to marry in my 20s, but the study does make a salient point: the older we get, the more stuck in our ways we become, the less willing we are to compromise. Which is why the study says that 24-26 is ideal - the time when you are not too fixed in your habits and behaviors (and maybe not yet jaded by life) but also mature enough to handle committment and all that comes along with marriage. I couldn't find the link to the study, but I did find this article that lists some interesting statistics about marriage and divorce, and one that bolsters my and Sliwa's POV that divorce is less likely for those marrying after 30.

http://www.calmdivorce.com/divorce-rate/

But, in the end, who the hell knows what makes a marriage work. Perhaps, as I wrote in a recent blog entry, it's all a fucking crapshoot.

Ordinary Gal Blog - "Newlyweds Bliss"

I bumped into an acquaintance the other day. I'm friendly with both him and his wife. The last time I saw them was at a small gathering - they were telling me about the details of their impending wedding, which happened over Labor Day weekend. I recently saw the pictures of the event on Facebook. When I asked him about the wedding, his eyes lit up. And this was impressive because he had sunglasses on. You could just tell, that underneath his shades, his eyes were sparkling. When I told him how beautiful his wife looked in the photos, he could not stop gushing about her. "She's absolutely perfect," he said. My heart melted. It's the kind of statement you hope will one day be uttered about you by an adoring husband. Sigh.

Ordinary Gal Blog - "Blessings in Disguise"

Over the course of the past two weeks, I have single-handedly lost my credit card, my prescripion eyeglasses, my house keys, my car key, and my mailbox key. I'm not sure why I've been such a space cadet as of late, but, needless to say, it's been frustrating time. (Anytime you have to deal with a car dealership, life pretty much sucks.)

But you know what I realized? All of these recent lapses have actually been blessings in disguise. Let me explain.

My credit card was getting to the point where you could no longer read the signature on the back strip. Countless retail people were telling me I needed to get a new one because stores/restaurants/etc. are not supposed to accept cards without a signature. Granted, all of them did (though some gave me grief), but the bottom line is that losing the card forced me to get my ass in gear and get a new one.

My eyeglasses disappearing has been a huge pain, but it has forced me to make an appointment with the eye doctor, since you cannot buy new prescription glasses unless you have a current prescription from a doctor. Mine expired three years ago, and I have been dreading going to the eye doctor because of that pupil dilation test they have to do. So I've been putting it off again and again (and everyone knows how important it is to have regular eye doctor visits!). But I can no longer delay, because I need glasses to drive comfortably. I scheduled my appointment yesterday.

My keys. They all were on the same key chain, and I'm still trying to figure out a glass-is-half-full scenario for losing the mailbox key and home key, but regarding the car key...I have been procrastinating for a while now about getting my oil changed. I am thousands of miles past the appropriate oil change mark, obviously not a good thing for your car. I called the dealership because I need to get another car key made, and while it's going to cost me 50 friggin' dollars (you cannot be serious!) for the key, it's really a blessing because now I will be at the dealership to get my oil changed.

Moral of the story? Shitty things happen in life, but sometimes they happen for a reason, and sometimes it's better to glean the positive things that come out of these shitty situations. My absent-mindedness and subsequent loss of important items has forced me to finally get that new credit card, to finally get my butt into the eye doctor for a long-overdue eye exam, and to finally bring my car in for a long-overdue oil change.

Ordinary Gal Blog "Merrily We Go Round"

Oh goodness...I just found this pitch in my files. I sent it to an editor who edits a relationship column in a prominent publication. I wrote it over two years ago. It's amazing how much has changed since then (i.e. I'm now single again and back in the dating world!).

FROM 2007:
I was strolling through the Boston Commons the other day and ended up walking next to a couple that was most likely on their first or second date. I could tell by the line of questioning, the nervous fumbling, the blushed cheeks, and the sense of rapture that engulfed both man and woman that they were new acquaintances. Though I felt a tad guilty for eavesdropping and for observing their interactions with one another – the casual elbow touch, the synchronicity of their walks – I couldn’t help but follow their route along the park. The undeniable truth was that I felt a brief yearning to be in that situation again, and, for a few moments, I tried to live vicariously through this couple’s budding romance.

Memories of me in similar situations flooded my head. I remembered when Jonah and I nervously embraced on our second date, with all the bells and whistles of a passionate first kiss; I remembered the pit-like feeling in my stomach when Peter pulled up to my apartment in his convertible on a warm summer evening for our first dinner outing together; I remembered the excitement I found in primping myself as I prepared for my dates with Zach, and Ben, and Jeff, and all the other boys who courted me. As I recalled these long ago dating experiences, I became resentful for a few short moments towards my boyfriend, "J", of a year and a half. Surely, he's been an incredible presence in my life, but it was as though he had taken something away from me by committing to me.

Eventually, three was a crowd, so I parted ways with the blossoming lovebirds. As I watched them continue their promenade down Charles Street, I thought back to my first date with J at West Street Grille. He was kind and gentlemanly and patient and an amazing listener, not to mention, quite cute. And I remembered the sentiment I had when we said goodbye to one another after chatting for a couple of hours: I knew I wanted to see him again. Then I remembered the butterflies that came with our second and third dates, the way he leaned over me as my back was to the wall and grabbed my face to kiss me. I remembered how good it felt to finally feel stable and settled and comfortable with someone who knew everything about me and, scarily enough, stuck around.

All men and women undoubtedly deal with this reconciliation: We give up our desire for the roller coaster because we hope to find long-term happiness on the merry-go-round. Indeed, upon settling down with someone, those anticipatory feelings of excitement slowly come to a simmer; predictability boils in its absence. But what we learn is that while we may someday miss some of the thrills of the single life, we eventually yearn for the safety and comfort of commitment.

Ordinary Gal Blog - "What's Luck Got to do With It?"

What makes a relationship work?

Damned if I know, but that was the question I posed at a recent social gathering comprised of (self-proclaimed) happily married forty-, fifty-, and sixty-somethings. As the only single attendee, I was curious to find out what married couples thought.

Their theories ran the gamut. One woman contended that it’s all about similar interests; another said that having separate interests is better. One of the men argued that shared values is what’s most important. But how would that explain success stories like Mary Matalin and James Carville, and Maria and Arnold, one attendee joked. My mother posited that many people end up with a mate with whom they can heal old childhood wounds. A lady sitting next to her believed that this kind of connection is a recipe for disaster. One of my favorite answers of the night came from a polite, little British chap who explained that, inexplicably, he has always loved just being around his spouse – he could be sitting in a room with his wife for hours, not uttering a word, not even interacting, and still know that this is the woman he is meant to be with. A man nearby countered, half-jokingly, that not always being together is what keeps the flame burning bright. My father, a pragmatist at heart, didn’t offer much to the conversation, except for the occasional ribbing. But I do recall once, years ago, when I asked him what drew him to my mother, he responded: “It was nothing earth-shattering: we had fun together and she laughed at my jokes.” (They’ve been happily married for 40 years.) But the night of the gathering, one man said that when the earth moves, I’ll know it’s right. By night’s end, I was dizzy and more confused than ever.

Ultimately, though, what I took away is that nobody really knows what makes a relationship work. For every theory offered, there was a counter-theory, and I could think of multiple now-defunct couples that proved ALL the theories wrong. Ultimately, there is no right answer. So whether it comes down to similar or dissimilar interests, repressed needs, shared values, time spent together or time spent apart, good old-fashioned fun, or a 9.5 Richter-scale connection, maybe it’s, as one attendee blurted out towards the end of the evening, “all about luck.”

Ordinary Gal Blog - "A Vivid Dream"

I’ve always been fascinated by dreams. What can we uncover about ourselves based on the dreams that we have? If you haven’t read about lucid dreaming, look into it. It teaches you how to control your dreams, to ask questions within your dreams (so if someone is chasing you, turn around and ask why they are chasing you). My dream from last night was so vivid and so exciting and so terrifying, all at once. I am still not sure what to make of it but have been told to focus on the feelings within your dreams (what emotions and feelings do you remember experiencing) and then try to compare those feelings to ones you experience in waking life. Last night’s dream was, no doubt, rife with symbolism, and I experienced feelings of excitement, aliveness, dread, terror, and panic…now I just need to try to connect all of the dots! Here’s the dream:

There is a long glass wall with compartments in it. The wall is outside in the middle of a field. A few people and I are looking in the compartments of the wall for something – trying to stir up excitement, an adventure. We find nothing of consequence. At the end of the wall, we open up a door; inside is a female mannequin split into two. We also find 2 pairs of shoes in my size (6 and ½), one of which is beautiful ballet flats. I exclaim: “I’ve always wanted a pair of ballet flats.” I think of stealing them right then and there, but that’s too obvious, so I decide to wait and come back for them some other time. The rest of the group leaves. It’s now me and one other non-descript woman, and we are sitting in front of a large, wooden chest in the middle of this field. We’re yelling things into the box, asking if anyone’s in there? Finally someone responds, “Hi, ladies, I’m Joseph” (not sure that was the name). We start talking to the young boy – we deduce it’s a young boy by the sound of his voice. We ask questions, almost competing with one another. I ask how long he’s been in there. He says a while. I ask him why he is in there. He said he was ridiculed by others and forced into the box. I said I was sorry that this happened to him. But oddly, he seems fairly content in there (he’s looking up things on the Internet), but he does want out and we want to get him out. Suddenly the cops arrive – they are in cahoots and don’t want anyone knowing about the boy in the box. Then a huge war breaks out. Chaos is everywhere. People are screaming, running. Some people have guns; some do not. People are being shot at. I shoot my gun at people, but the bullets come out like a slo-motion spraying of little wisps of nothing (almost like the slo-mo bullets in the matrix, except they are harmless). I start to run because I notice a group of bandits noticing me. They start to shoot at me, but I am avoiding their bullets by weaving and bobbing. They are finally gone. I start to climb what seems like an unsurmountable hill; I see a few other women below me also attempting to climb the hill. I’m in the lead, though. I want to get to the box. I get to the top, and I see a young man with a gun. I shoot him – this time the bullet works, and it hits him. He is on the ground in pain, gasping for air. He gets up, though, and I hide behind a rock. He points his gun at me. I pop up from the rock to fire at him, but again the bullets come out like a harmless spray. I am screwed because I am out of ammo. He walks over to me, menacingly, and tells me I’m in trouble. I am standing there terrified, knowing that I am about to get shot. But suddenly I am able to wack the gun out of his hand. We struggle to get to it, but he gets there first. He picks it up and aims at me. I wack it from his hands again. Then two young kids appear from nowhere (one boy, one girl). The boy picks up the gun. We both do our best to persuade the boy to give us the gun. The boy chooses the man. Somehow, though, I wack it out of his hands again. I yell at the boy to pick it up and shoot the guy. He picks it up and shoots the guy in the foot. The guy falls to the ground, writhing in pain. I ask the boy why he gave the gun to the guy in the first place, and he said he knew him and felt compelled to give it to him. The guy is still in pain and is yelling. I make a break for it, but he keeps latching on to me. I get away, but he claws at my pant leg and foot and keeps dragging back in. I finally get away for good.

That’s where the dream ends. Begin analyzing…now…

Ordinary Gal Blog - "Sanford Says"

Wow. South Carolina Governor Mark Sanford. What is there to say? I'm not exactly sure where I stand on this recent development. On the one hand, marital infidelity seems unforgiveable to me, but on the other hand, after reading the emails between him and "Maria," I get the sense (and it's really impossible not to) that there was a deep, passionate love between these two star-crossed lovers, and ultimately, don't we all deserve that? Of course, I also have to wonder if the very fact that the reality of them ever being together - slim to none - is the very thing that lulled both of them into a fantasy-type love. It's easy to put someone up on a pedestal and project a perfect love onto that person when you know you can never be with them. It's easy to fall in love with a person who represents a fantasy, because it is just that. Real life and a real relationship...that's when things get tricky, when love is obscured.

But Sanford is rather poetic in his emails to Maria; they engage in a sort of romantic communication that harkens back to the old days, that is, the days of my grandparents, when love letters flowed like water and phrases like "fill my heart with" and "I will dream of you tonight" were used proudly and often. He also touches on the issue of unconditional love - something I wrote about in a blog several weekends ago. I have copied one of his emails below. It was taken from The State, and here is the link to several of their email exchanges: http://www.thestate.com/sanford/story/839350.html

From: Mark Sanford
To: Maria
Subject: RE:
Date: Thu, 10 Jul 2008 00:24:54 -0400

Sweetest,
It was indeed a long day. I am most jealous of your salad under the palm tree.
Three thoughts in one note now that I have a moment. One the travel schedule is about to get real busy (and this distresses me for the way it may well make it more difficult to get your notes over the next few weeks), two unfortunately all the feelings you describe are mutual, and three where do we go from here?

One, tomorrow leave at 5 am for New York and meetings. Will think about you on its streets and wish I was going to be there later in the month when you are there. Tomorrow night back to Philadelphia for the start of the National Governor’s Conference through the weekend. Back to Columbia for Tuesday and then on Wednesday, as I think I had told you, taking the family to China, Tibet, Nepal, India, Thailand and then back through Hong Kong on world wind tour. Few days home then to Bahamas for 5 days on a friends boat for the last break of the summer. The following weekend have been asked to spend it out in Aspen, Colorado with McCain — which has kicked up the whole VP talk all over again in the press back home.

Two, mutual feelings. I have been specializing in staying focused on decisions and actions of the head for a long time now — and you have my heart. You have oh so many attributes that pulls it in this direction. Do you really comprehend how beautiful your smile is? Have you been told lately how warm your eyes are and how they softly glow with the special nature of your soul. I remember Jenny, or someone close to me, once commenting that while my mom was pleasant and warm it was sad she had never accomplished anything of significance. I replied that they were wrong because she had the ultimate of all gifts — and that was the ability to love unconditionally. The rarest of all commodities in this world is love. It is that thing that we all yearn for at some level — to be simply loved unconditionally for nothing more than who we are — not what we can get, give or become. There are but 50 governors in my country and outside of the top spot, this is as high as you can go in the area I have invested the last 15 years of my life — my getting here came as no small measure because I had that foundation of love and support so critical to getting up in the morning and feeling you could give and risk because you already had a full tank of love in the emotional bank account. Since our first meeting there in a wind swept somewhat open air dance spot in Punta del Este, I felt that you had that same rare attribute. Above all else I love that inner beauty about you. That gift of yours is going to make a tremendous difference in (The State deleted sons’ names) life — and in anyone’s life who is blest to be touched by yours — you need to rest very comfortably in that fact. As I mentioned in our last visit, while I did not need love fifteen years ago — as the battle scars of life and aging and politics have worn on this has become a real need of mine. You have a particular grace and calm that I adore. You have a level of sophistication that is so fitting with your beauty. I could digress and say that you have the ability to give magnificently gentle kisses, or that I love your tan lines or that I love the curves of your hips, the erotic beauty of you holding yourself (or two magnificent parts of yourself) in the faded glow of night’s light — but hey, that would be going into the sexual details we spoke of at the steakhouse at dinner — and unlike you I would never do that!

Three and finally, while all the things above are all too true — at the same time we are in a hopelessly — or as you put it impossible — or how about combine and simply say hopelessly impossible situation of love. How in the world this lightening strike snuck up on us I am still not quite sure. As I have said to you before I certainly had a special feeling about you from the first time we met, but these feelings were contained and I genuinely enjoyed our special friendship and the comparing of all too many personal notes (and yes this is true even if you did occasionally tantalize me with sexual details over the years!) — but it was all safe. Where we are is not. I have thought about it and in some ways feel I let you down in letting these complications come into a friendship that I hope will last till death. In all my life I have lived by a code of honor and at a variety of levels know I have crossed lines I would have never imagined. I wish I could wish it away, but this soul-mate feel I alluded too is real and in that regard I sure don’t want to be the person complicating your life. I looked to where I often look for advice and counsel, and in I Corinthians 13 it simply says that, “ Love is patient and kind, love is not jealous or boastful, it is not arrogant or rude, Love does not insist on its own way, it is not irritable or resentful, it does not rejoice in the wrong, but rejoices in the right, Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things and endures all things”. In this regard it is action that goes well beyond the emotion of today or tomorrow and in this light I want to look for ways to show love in helping you to live a better — not more complicated life. I want to help (one of Maria’s sons) with film guys that might help his career, etc. I also don’t want you walking20away (sic) from some guy (I take it the younger guy you mentioned a t dinner) because of me — and what we both have to see as an impossible situation. I better stop now least this really sound like the Thornbirds — wherein I was always upset with Richard Chamberlain for not dropping his ambitions and running into Maggie’s arms. The bottom line is two fold, my heart wants me to get on a plane tonight and to be in your loving arms — my head is saying how do we put the Genie back in the bottle because I sure don’t want to be encumbering you, or your options or your life. Put differently, given I love you, I don’t want to be part of the reason you are having less than an ideal week in what sounds like a cool spot.

Lastly I also suspect I feel a little vulnerable because this is ground I have never certainly never covered before — so if you have pearls of wisdom on how we figure all this out please let me know ... In the meantime please sleep soundly knowing that despite the best efforts of my head my heart cries out for you, your voice, your body, the touch of your lips, the touch of your finger tips and an even deeper connection to your soul. I love you ... sleep tight. M

PS. I will make it a point in NY tomorrow to drop by a store and get that movie I promised to send your way ... I am encouraged to know you will not keep it beside the bed least we have tangible evidence of two pathetic figures missing each other far too much to live a few thousand miles apart!

Ordinary Gal Blog "The Imago Theory"

What do we think about this theory? I'd say it's spot-on.

We all think that we have freedom of choice when it comes to selecting our partners. But regardless of what it is we think we're looking for in a mate, our unconscious has its own agenda. Our primitive "old" brain has a compelling, non-negotiable drive to restore the feeling of aliveness and wholeness that we came into the world with. To accomplish that, it must repair the damage done in childhood as a result of unmet needs, and the way it does that is to find a partner who can give us what our caretakers failed to provide.

You'd think, then, that we would choose someone who has what our caretakers lacked. If only that were so! But the old brain has a mind of its own, with its own checklist of desired qualities. It is carrying around its own image of the perfect partner, a complex synthesis of qualities formed in reaction to the way our caretakers responded to our needs. Every pleasure or pain, every transaction of childhood, has left its mark on us, and these collective impressions form an unconscious picture we're always trying to replicate as we scan our environment for a suitable mate.

This image of "the person who can make me whole again" I call the Imago.

Though we consciously seek only the positive traits, the negative traits of our caretakers are more indelibly imprinted in our Imago picture, because those are the traits which caused the painful experiences we now seek to heal. Our unconscious need is to have our feelings of aliveness and wholeness restored by someone who reminds us of our caretakers. In other words, we look for someone with the same deficits of care and attention that hurt us in the first place.

So when we fall in love, when bells ring and the world seems altogether a better place, our old brain is telling us that we've found someone with whom we can finally get our needs met. Unfortunately, since we don't understand what's going on, we're shocked when the awful truth of our beloved surfaces, and our first impulse is to run screaming in the opposite direction.But that's not all the bad news. Another powerful component of our Imago is that we seek the qualities missing in ourselves that got lost in the shuffle of socialization. If we are shy, we seek someone outgoing; if we’re disorganized, we’re attracted to someone cool and rational. But eventually, when our own feelings—our repressed exuberance or anger—are stirred, we are uncomfortable, and criticize our partners for being too outgoing, too coldly rational, to temperamental.

Taken from: http://gettingtheloveyouwant.com/articles/an-introduction-to-imago

Ordinary Gal Blog - "Letter to Me"

In true Brad Paisley fashion, if you were going to write a letter to you when you were a young teenager, what would you say?

I've thought long and hard about this. Sure, there's tons of stuff that would have been nice to know back then, like if you're going to take your mom's car for a joyride with your friends when you're 14, make sure when you're done to reposition the seat to where an adult would sit. This knowledge might have spared you countless hours of parental lecturing. Or, that your heart would most certainly heal from your puppy love crush (oh boy, was he dreamy!) in 10th grade. Or, that downing multiple Long Island Iced Teas in the span of 20 minutes is never a good idea. I could go on and on and on and on.

But then again, upon further consideration of this whole letter idea...how the heck would you know these things unless you went through the experiences? And how would you learn about the virtues of resilience, perserverence, and determination unless you failed? Sounds utterly cliche, but you have to learn life's lessons, sometimes the hard way, to get to the next step. And you know what...I'm not quite sure the steps ever end. At least, I hope they don't. I never want to stop learning.

Ordinary Gal Blog - "Say what you need to say"

"Take all of your wasted honor. Every little past frustration. Take all of your so-called problems. Better put them in quotations. Say what you need to say. Walking like a one man army. Fighting with the shadows in your head. Living out the same old moment. Knowing you’d be better off instead. If you could only say what you need to say. Have no fear for giving in. Have no fear for giving over. You better know that in the end, it’s better to say too much, than never to say what you need to say again. Even if your hands are shaking. And your faith is broken. Even as the eyes are closing. Do it with a heart wide open. Say what you need to say." - John Mayer

Ordinary Gal Blog - "The Dying Art of Listening"

There are many things at which I am not good. But one thing I do pride myself on is being a good listener. It's a skill that I fear has gone by the wayside, in this heady day and age of technology. It's like our country has one big collective case of ADD. Our cell phones and Blackberry's (aka Crackberry's) ring constantly; TV's are EVERYWHERE. The omnipresence of these technological distractions and others has no doubt affected our attention spans. It's rare nowadays to have a conversation with someone without them looking away or being easily distracted. When I listen to someone, I look at them. I nod. I acknowledge what they have to say. A woman can be easily seduced by a man who is a good listener.

A few years ago, I sat on a student speaker committee at the school at which I work. We were tasked with choosing finalists who would then deliver their speeches in front of a voting audience of fellow MBA students. The winner would read his or her speech at graduation. The student who won this particular contest was named Paul. He had an incredible story and none of us were surprised when he was selected as the winner. I found his speech in my work files and am including it in this blog entry, as it speaks directly to the importance of listening.

"For those of you who do not know, I am up here because I won a competition within our graduating class to write a speech designed to model those featured on the National Public Radio show, "This I believe." It is ironic because I'd never heard of or listened to this, or any other radio program. I never listened to the radio because I was born profoundly deaf.

What do I believe in? In addition to my beloved Boston Red Sox, I believe in many things. But on the day of my fifth graduation of my life - counting kindergarten – I believe more than ever that one of the most underappreciated gifts of all is the power of listening. May it be with one’s ears, eyes, mind, or heart, I believe that the ability to listen defines one’s opportunities for personal happiness, professional success, and a more harmonious and prosperous society.

From colleagues to competitors, from superiors to subordinates, from teammates to neighbors, our ability to work and play, -- and more importantly -- to lead, depends on our ability to listen. Listening to one another enriches us all with knowledge, common understanding, and mutual respect.

Ironically, the very first book my parents read when they found out about my deafness was, “Learning to Listen,” a book for parents, like mine, who raised their deaf children with a groundbreaking method called auditory therapy. That's a story for another day, but this afternoon, with gratitude for all those who taught me to listen, I urge us all to celebrate our ability to listen. It is the most powerful tool that each of us can take into the world beyond Babson.

In closing, I thank the Babson community – the administrators and my professors and classmates – for helping me become an even better listener. I also thank my parents for making it possible for me to stand up here and address you all. I also thank them for giving me two of the best pieces of advice I've ever received. My dad always said, "Listen to your mother". And my mom now says, "Listen to your wife!" And, but not least, I also thank my wife, who also has a profound hearing loss, for being the greatest listener I've ever met.

Thank you all for listening."

Ordinary Gal Blog - "A Kodak Moment"

I was sifting through some of the pictures I had taken over the past few years during assignments for the Boston Phoenix, a paper for which I freelance write, and I came across this one. I covered the annual Boston Veteran's Day Parade, and more specifically, the Veterans For Peace group that was protesting. This man and I chatted for a bit, and while I disagree with his use of the flag as agitprop, I do think it's a fantastic photo.

Ordinary Gal Blog - "Words from Wordsworth"

"Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart." ~William Wordsworth

Sage advice for all the writers out there.

Ordinary Gal Blog - "Wisdom from Ms. Montgomery"

"Marilla, isn't it nice to think that tomorrow is a new day with no mistakes in it yet?"- Lucy Maud Montgomery, Anne of Green Gables.

I have gotten in the habit of saying this every morning when I wake. It always makes me feel just a little bit better, especially when I'm upset over something. Actually, I recite the line that Anne says to her teacher Miss Stacey, in the film adaptation; it's virtually the same, but rolls off the tongue a little easier: "Tomorrow is always fresh with no mistakes in it." To which the elder cautions, "Well, with no mistakes in it yet." As if to say, it's inevitable that the mistakes will come, that we will stumble, that we will make poor decisions, and perhaps it's best to recognize this. Perhaps it's what we do when we fall that is most important. How do we pick ourselves up? How do we move forward? How can we learn from our blunders? How can we prevent ourselves from going down the same mistaken pathways we've meandered before?

Ordinary Gal Blog - "The Timeless Art of Mass Producing Pheromones"

I guess the nose really does know. Here is a Web site that sells various pheromone-related products. Obviously the goal is to attract the opposite (and same) sex. My one (OK, I have more than one!) reservation about this idea is that once you run out of the cologne/perfume, your natural scent will be exposed, and whomever you've managed to woo with your pre-made pheromonal concotion will now quite possibly be utterly repulsed by you and have no idea why. So...if you're thinking of ordering, probably best to order in bulk.

http://www.love-scent.com/article_info.php/articles_id/5

Ordinary Gal Blog - "To Tell or Not to Tell"

I ran into a friend's ex-boyfriend last night while I was out and about playing on the streets of Boston (i.e. drinking copious amounts of alcohol). This particular ex caused my friend a ton of heartbreak, and it was with much reservation that I actually engaged in conversation with him when he started talking to me. To my surprise, he went on (ad nauseum) about how awesome and "hot" my friend was, how he missed her, how he still turns his head when a white BMW passes by him on the street. Of course, this is precisely the type of thing one wants to hear from an ex who has caused them a lot of pain. To know that they regret giving you up and not treating you well is surely validating in some sort of cruel, ironic way. My first thought was, "I have to call her and tell her everything!" But when I woke up the next morning, I decided against it. She's so happy with her current boyfriend that to hear about an ex who, for all intents and purposes, mind-fucked the shit out of her, is still pining away for her, is really just pointless and unproductive. A mutual friend agreed that she did not need to know. It's a funny thing, though, about exes: when you break up, it's as if they don't exist anymore. You somehow convince yourself that they aren't even living, breathing. And then when you do hear about them, you're reminded that they are still out there, living life just like you, meeting new people, experiencing new things...all without you. And how bizarre to think that you once knew every intimate detail of a person's life, and they are now a complete stranger. I think Keane sums this up pretty well in their song, "We Might as Well Be Strangers."

Ordinary Gal Blog - "Perception is Everything"

Fascinating...

http://news.yahoo.com/s/livescience/20090424/sc_livescience/denialcanbringmaritalbliss

Ordinary Gal Blog - "An Unfinished Essay"

I just came across this unfinished essay in my files. Wow. I wrote it when I was 27.

Like Mother, Like Daughter?

My mother used to pride herself on her sleuthing skills. Her eyes used to sparkle whenever she talked about uncovering a secret, or getting to the bottom of some domestic mystery, like the OJ Simpson case, which she followed religiously on Court TV (she took copious notes and made maps of the murder scene), or the mysterious poop on our lawn. (She once devised a stakeout mission to uncover the culprit. OK, so it turned out to be our next door neighbor’s dog, and we were on a lot with only their house, but c’mon, a stakeout mission? Hilarious.) Sometimes I used to wonder: if marriage, child-rearing, and domesticity hadn’t been her main priority in life, would she have ever considered pursuing a career as a private investigator? Perhaps a stint with the FBI or CIA would have suited her.

Instead, she chose a traditional and familiar path, a road well-trodden. It was the path of her mother, my grandmother. It was the proverbial path of the housewife: a world in which the man brings home the bacon and the woman cooks it.

My mother’s adeptness at sniffing out secrets is at once something I have admired and detested. My senior year of high school, I hosted a kegger at my house, while my parents were off enjoying the foliage and tending to their farm animals at their house in Vermont. Before their return, I spent hours cleaning every nook and cranny: I vacuumed; I scrubbed; I picked up every cigarette butt within a 500-foot radius. So you can imagine my surprise when my mother discovered my mischievousness by finding a tiny, yellowish spot by the hot tub – the stain immediately roused her suspicions. After analyzing, prodding, smelling, and even tasting the sticky blemish, she cried out in fury, “Someone’s been drinking malt liquor!” Luckily, I had a sympathetic older brother, who was of drinking age, and he graciously played the role of the sacrificial lamb while I sheepishly played dumb. I never dared have another party – my mom was too smart and too skilled a gumshoe for me to ever get away with such debauchery again.

As far as the job of mother is concerned, Nancy did a pretty good job. What she lacked in tenderness, she made up for with devotion and selflessness. I believe my parents had a good marriage – they both appeared content in the roles they played with one another and with me and my brother. Though she swears she wouldn’t have had her life play out in any other way, I can’t help but wonder if she ever coveted passion and excitement outside of home and hearth instead of looking to her husband, who was charming and hysterical and intelligent and successful, and children, who pursued paths that she never did, to provide her with validation and purpose. Was she really content sacrificing her entire being for her family? Did she have dreams beyond “I do” and diapers? Why didn’t she do anything with her degree in library sciences, investigating books the way she did her daughter’s secret parties?

Once, when I was a young twenty-something living in Boston, independent and free yet conflicted and confused about my life and its inevitable trajectory towards adulthood, I sought answers and support from her. I rarely went to my mother with these types of concerns; we existed together on a very superficial level, restricting our conversations to the weather or the latest political news. When I finally mustered the courage to speak to her about my escalating mid-life crisis (and those pesky panic attacks that came with it), she responded without the tenderness and empathy I sought. By the end of our uncomfortable conversation, she said with a sigh, “Neel, it’s my time now.” By this comment I deduced one thing: she could no longer be bothered by the role of mother because she, too, was lost. Tired of giving and providing for her children and family, my mother had simply decided it was finally time to focus on herself. I was angry and hurt by her reluctance to help me in my time of trial, but there was nothing I could do.

My mother’s quest for self-realization got me to thinking about how I had arrived in my own crisis-mode. Who was, Nancy, the woman, beyond the role of Suzie Q homemaker, and how had her life decisions affected mine?

Growing up there seemed no right answer. I was bombarded with so many mixed messages and conflicting notions of what it meant to be happy and excited. On the one hand, I was raised in a somewhat insular environment in which my mother’s greatest hopes were for me – her only daughter – to marry, have babies, and follow in her domestic footsteps. This is what she knew; it’s what her mother knew; and her mother’s mother knew. She never asked about my jobs. I guess she never really cared all that much. But on the other side of the laundry machine, there was the outside world, the burgeoning feminist culture, female liberation. And Sex and the City episodes that were telling me the key to happiness was through a career, independence, and casual sex.

As a young woman, I took these two conflicting ideologies and came out somewhere in the confusing middle. My mom went to college to get her MRS degree; perhaps she thought I might do the same. But all I got was a lousy B.A. Sorry, mom! And while I was always gainfully employed post-college, often with prestigious companies, I never really had passion for what I was doing, nor did I know where I was headed. Superiors at work would always ask, as they’re programmed to do at year-long reviews, where I wanted to be in five years. My fellow female colleagues always had visions of career grandeur, of climbing the corporate ladder, but I was always meek by comparison. “I don’t really know, exactly,” I’d reply. Sometimes I’d make something up, just so I could avoid their judgment, scrutiny. Shouldn’t all women in the working world have ambitions and want to make their way to the top? I know that’s what they were thinking. But I didn’t really care, not because I hated working, but because of this indescribable magnetism of another life, the one that I knew my mother thought destined for me but one that I wasn’t sure why I was supposed to want.

I was terribly confused by all this noise. If I threw myself into work and career where would that leave my love life? And since I was convinced that a fulfilling career couldn’t bring real happiness, I deduced that a man could. I’d never find excitement in the world, unless I met a man, who could fill me up, who could make me whole. I could only be validatedthrough marriage, and by having babies. And so, while I had jobs and functioned quite well in them, I placed a ton of emphasis on finding a man, sacrificing desire for promotion for the desire to find connubial bliss. The result was mediocrity on both fronts.

One would think that a woman who is plagued by the pressure of finding a man to sustain and fulfill her, well, that she’d be a serial monogamist. But the truth was that I was incapable of sustaining a long-term, intimate relationship. I ran from intimacy and chased after the unattainable guys, the ones who played women the way Yo-Yo Ma works away at his cello – fast and furious. And always, always, I was disappointed by these men, usually because they had no desire to commit to me. Without the drama of men of such character, where would I find excitement in my life – certainly not my career? I found purpose in attempting to seduce guys and became addicted to the feeling of fleeting romances and the lure of Mr. Bigs. Though I considered myself something of a prude, I was the quintessential Carrie Bradshaw. And in true Carrie form, I had to ask myself: Were both the traditional culture and the feminist culture failing me?

A few years ago, my parents and I were at a squash tournament dinner party (both my father and I are squash nuts). We were sitting with a couple about my parents’ age – the man was in my father’s draw, and his wife, a Peruvian firecracker who I could barely understand, was there to cheer him on. My mother, a firecracker in her own right, and the Peruvian lady began discussing marriage and the role of woman within and outside of that holiest of unions.

Amidst the hullabaloo, my name was called out – I was to answer their questions. “When you get married and have kids, Neel (notice the “when” not “if”) do you think you’ll continue to work or will you stay at home?” my mother inquired. “I-I don’t know,” I replied. The Peruvian then looked at me intensely, cocked her head, and said (and this I could understand perfectly), “Neely, NEVER give up your career, without your career, you are nobody, you are nothing. You will always regret it if you do.” “No, no, no, Neel! A career will never make you truly happy,” my mom squealed, her arms flailing about, like a monkey who just had its banana stolen. Back and forth the argument went, an agreement to disagree it’s only moment of relief. A few years later, I heard that the Peruvian woman got a divorce.

I’ll never forget that heated conversation, and the way that woman looked at me, and the way the words came out of her mouth, and the passion with which she felt her sentiments to be true.

THIS IS WHERE I STOPPED. There's so much to add, so many things I've learned over the past four years, and yet, I've so much more to figure out. That's the best part of self-discovery: it never has to end.

Ordinary Gal Blog - "My Past in Boxes"

This past Sunday, I drove home to the suburbs to hang with my parents. Instead of easter egg hunts (we're Jewish!), we went on a hunt for homes in Lexington, MA. My brother and his wife are looking to buy a house there, and my parents have been a tad overzealous about helping them find a place. In any event, that is neither here nor there, because the real reason for this post is to relay my experience walking into my old bedroom. When I got home, my mom was out getting groceries, so I wandered about the homestead trying to figure out what had changed and what had stayed the same. Eventually, I found myself in the room I had spent the better half of my childhood, teen, and college years. The place where I had cried, laughed, made love, made videos with my friends, talked on the phone for hours at a time about absolutely nothing, made mixes (the old school way - high speed dubbing!), wrote in my diary (usually about boys - oh my goodness...the crushes, the puppy love, the heartbreak, the joy!), and engaged in countless other activities.

Now, I really don't go home very often - maybe a few times a year - so I am usually expecting changes to be afoot. My mom, who has endless hours of idle time, busies herself by redecorating or just moving things around. Years ago, when I went home for a dinner, I walked into my bedroom and was shocked to see it had been given a complete makeover. Everything (on the outside) was different. Still, my closets and desk drawers remained filled with all of the mementos, letters, diaries, trophies, photo albums, etc., etc. that I had collected over the years. My mom had yet to touch these things, and so, in some sense, it felt like the room was still a part of me.

On this most recent occasion, however, when I entered the room, there were two HUGE moving boxes sitting by the closet. In them contained every single possession I had amassed during my halcyon days. It was really quite disturbing, actually. My memories, metaphorically speaking, were being packed up, shipped away, erased. I immediately started rummaging through the boxes. When you come across these kinds of items from your past, a feeling at once raw and surreal washes over you. Yes, you experienced all of these incredibly awesome moments and some are still quite vivid, but there is still something fantastical about it all, as if somehow those things never happened.

My first instinct to this mutiny betrayed upon me by my mother was rebellion! I was going to take it all home with me, because my past means something, gosh darnit. It has to! It must! The Amherst Student newspaper full-page editorial on my tennis team's national championship - how could that just be unfeelingly stuffed into a carboard box? The photo album from my tennis trip to Europe - how can those pictures just be thrown away? My high school Senior Day t-shirt - how can I let go of something so meaningful? All of these things, this stuff...that's ME...that's how I spent over 20 years of my life. I started collecting a pile of the things, the stuff, that I wanted to take home with me, as in home to Boston, and told my mom I'd need a big bag to carry it all in.

Then, my parents and I went on our field trip to Lexington and looked at houses for sale for over three hours. Afterward, we went to our favorite restaurant in Waltham (the Chateau), sat at the bar, had dinner and drinks, and played endless games of Keno (I won a $1). When we got home, I immediately dug for my car keys in my purse and bid adieu to my parents. About 15 minutes later, as I was driving home, I realized I had forgotten all those things and stuff. And I thought to myself, "Neely, just let it go." I knew that eventually my mom would put everything I had planned to take back into the boxes, and that the covers would be taped shut, sealed.

Admittedly, I am a sentimental person. Always have been. I often reminisce with friends about the past, about the laughs, the pranks, the senseless debauchery we engaged in during our high school and college days. I am bound to my past, as we all are. But, really, what good does it do to hang on to all of that stuff? Why do I need it? Is it because I get the sense that if I don't have the tangible things - the things you can touch and see - to remind me of my past, it's like it never really happened at all? Maybe. Ultimately, I do think it's important to remember your past (I had a great childhood, for all intents and purposes), because you can learn so much from it, but I also believe it is important to move on, let go of the things you once held dear, and forge ahead. Live in the present moment.

“There is no past that we can bring back by longing for it. There is only an eternally new now that builds and creates itself out of the Best as the past withdraws.” - Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

Ordinary Gal Blog - "Serendipitous Moments"

Serendipitous moments really are the best. And I've finally been able to put my finger on why that is. It's not because of some pie-in-the-sky, romantic belief in destiny or the stars aligning perfectly. No. It's because when things happen serendipitously, you have no expectations of what that moment or experience will be like, and are therefore more likely to be amused by what unfolds. Think about how many times you were disappointed by something or someone you had high expectations of. How many times have you built a night (think: New Year's Eve) or someone (a new suitor) up in your head. Inevitably, the night and the person don't (can't possibly!) live up to those expectations. But when serendipitous moments occur, all you have is what is happening in that very moment. There are no preconceived notions of what it should be. It just is. The experience unfolds naturally.

My ex and I used to fight about this. I am the type that typically has expectations, not because I'm high-maintenance or anything like that, but (perhaps naievely) I like to get excited over people, situations, parties, etc. To feel excitement is to be alive. I think to myself: God, what a bore life would be if you didn't get enthused about stuff. Jason was the exact opposite. He never had expectations about things (well, not never, but rarely), and was therefore rarely disappointed by what life gave him. He would always say to me: "If you have no expectations and things go wrong, then you can deal with it better; if things go right, then you will be pleasantly suprised." It seemed to me, at the time, to be a pretty lame way to go through life. But Jason was a very smart guy, certainly wiser than me in many respects, despite being two years younger. Once we watched a segment about the Dutch people (on CBS' Sunday Morning). The Dutch are considered to be the happiest in the world. Why is this the case? Because, according to them, they don't live life having expectations.

I think I am coming around to this POV.

Ordinary Gal Blog - "Improving Oneself"

I love this quote:

"If you want to improve, be content to be thought foolish and stupid.” - Epictetus

Ordinary Gal Blog - "Different Planets. Same Universe."

Yes...men are from Mars; women are from Venus. Obviously, there are stark differences between the way men and women think and communicate. Nobody is contesting that (minus Betty Friedan and her cronies). But I was thinking about this subject the other day. While the sexes will always remain somewhat puzzling to one another, deep down, aren't we all longing, yearning, pining away for the same thing? Could it be that we are all searching for someone who will love us unconditonally, someone who will, surely, celebrate our strengths, but also wholly accept us, especially when they discover our weakness, our foibles? The last people we remember needing this kind of love from was mother and father. But as we grow older, we come to realize their love was never truly unconditional - there were strings attached! We wonder: should we not grow into the person they want us to be or see us becoming, will they withdraw their love? We get the sense that they very well might, and so we do what we can to retain their love. But it is not nor ever was wholly unconditional. And so perhaps we search for someone who will help us recapture this childhood dream. If we can look at the opposite sex through these lenses, perhaps they will not seem so perplexing and intimidating after all. Ultimately, we have this in common.

Ordinary Gal Blog - "Keep On"

I go for a walk, along the Charles River. It's a brisk, winter day. I leave my apartment and set a quick pace. My trusty companion - my Ipod - is by my side. I turn it on and choose a great song to get me started on my journey. Yes, this is good. This feels right. And then I realize the battery is dying. There's a knot in my stomach, dashed hopes. Should I turn back, and recharge? Fuck it. I continue moving forward. I pass through the Public Gardens. The wind picks up, inducing tears, whipping my hair across my face. I cross the bridge to the promenade. The anticipation of how many songs I can get through is killing me. I walk faster, faster, as if quickening my pace will somehow halt the immutable laws of electric storage. I'm practically jogging now. What will I do if the music stops? Will I be heartbroken? Lonely? Lost? How will I continue my walk? Should I play it safe and just turn back? I keep moving, inspired by the runners and cyclists whizzing by me, like determined worker bees on a hunt for pollen. The air is so cold but it feels good. Refreshing. Encouraging. Suddenly, the music stops. Silence. I am alone. My companion, whom I depended on, is gone. A faint memory. But ironically, I am more in tune with myself now, with my surroundings, than I was when the tunes, the melodies reverberated through my ears. I pay attention. I listen. I learn. I keep moving forward, curious and excited to see what's beyond the horizon.

Ordinary Gal Blog - "I Love Words!!!"

Seriously, I just can't get enough...the following is from today's Word of the Day email. The word is "onerous." I just love the subtle differences between similar words, and the idea that careful thought should go into the words we choose to use. Hmmm...maybe that's a lesson in life, not just when it comes to writing.

"Onerous," which traces back to the Latin "onus," meaning "burden," has several synonyms. Like "onerous," "burdensome," "oppressive," and "exacting" all refer to something which imposes a hardship of some kind. "Onerous" stresses a sense of laboriousness and heaviness, especially because something is distasteful ("the onerous task of cleaning up the mess"). "Burdensome" suggests something which causes mental as well as physical strain ("the burdensome responsibilities of being a supervisor"). "Oppressive" implies extreme harshness or severity in what is imposed ("the oppressive tyranny of a police state"). "Exacting" suggests rigor or sternness rather than tyranny or injustice in the demands made or in the one demanding ("an exacting employer who requires great attention to detail").

Ordinary Gal Blog - "Chivalry in an Elevator"

There's something exhilirating about a man in an elevator waiting for and encouraging the seven other women also in the elevator to exit first. I know it seems odd to get so frothed up about something so trivial, but it's these kinds of moments that remind women of being women. And, frankly, there's no better feeling. In this day and age of gender equality, it's nice to know that we are still the fairer, gentler sex, and that men enjoy treating us as such.

OrdinaryGalBlog - "Wisdom from Miss Marianne"

"It is not what we say or how we feel that makes us what we are. It is what we do. Or fail to do."
-Miss Marianne Dashwood, from Andrew Davies' adaptation of Jane Austen's Sense and Sensibility.

Ordinary Gal Blog - "Paul Blart"

Forget the financial crisis and the war in Iraq. You know something is very wrong in our country when the #1 movie is about the wacky adventures of a mall cop.

Ordinary Gal Blog - "The Single Young Male"

Several months ago, I posted an article by Kay Hymowitz, a truly talented writer who contributes to City Journal (city-journal.org). It appears her specialty is writing about sex and dating within today's culture. The article that I originally referenced was about the effect of Sex in the City on young women around the world - a "New Girl Order" as she puts it.

Now I see she has written about the SYM - the Single Young Male - in a piece entitled "Child-Man in the Promised Land," a piece that, apparently, elicited a fury amongst, who else, single young males. I found her piece to be a fascinating commentary on the 21st century twenty-something man (boy?). Also below is a second article from her called "Love in the Time of Darwinism," a "report on the chaotic postfeminist dating scene, where only the strong survive." This second piece was essentially inspired by the reactions of men to her Child-Man piece -legions of guys wrote in to express their anger at a "culture that disses all things male" and because "marriage these days is a raw deal for men." The latter article gels with some of the things I have espoused over the past few years: the feminist movement, in some ways, has backfired on women and is to blame for female discontent in certain areas, namely dating; and women need to hold themselves accountable to some respect - we have reaped what we sowed.

These pieces are worth a read:

http://www.city-journal.org/2008/18_1_single_young_men.html

http://www.city-journal.org/2008/18_4_darwinist_dating.html

Discuss.

Ordinary Gal Blog - "Edmund Spenser"

Of things unseene how canst thou deeme aright,
Then answered the righteous Artegall,
Sith thou misdeem'st so much of things in sight?
What though the sea with waves continuall
Doe eate the earth, it is no more at all:
Ne is the earth the lesse, or loseth ought,
For whatsoever from one place doth fall,
Is with the tide unto an other brought:
For there is nothing lost, that may be found, if sought.

- a short passage from The Faerie Queene; Canto II; by Edmund Spenser

Ordinary Gal Blog - "Rock of Ugh!"

Hooray, feminism!

http://www.vh1.com/video/play.jhtml?id=1601165&vid=325656

Ordinary Gal Blog - "Me, Myself, and I"

Spending time alone is highly underrated. Many people are not good at it, preferring instead to find solace in the noise of others. But what I've discovered is that when you are alone, when you are without the distractions of others, you are your most authentic, most vulnerable self. You can learn so much about yourself by being alone. Furthermore, I'd argue that spending time alone makes you a better companion to others.

Oddly enough, though, it's never been easy for me to be silent in the company of others: I should be saying or doing something, because how can you be in someone's presence and not have to perform? How can you just "be," the way you are when you are alone? I've had to work on this part of me. It's something I learned a great deal about in my last relationship: that it is possible to be loved or appreciated by another even in the silent moments.

Ordinary Gal Blog - "What Every Couple Should Still Be Doing in Their 90s"

This is a picture of my grandmother and grandfather on the dance floor at my brother's wedding. Three months later, he died. I wrote about him in another post, but just came across this picture the other day. He was just shy of 93 when I took this photo. My grandmother, who is still going strong (despite a litany of aches and pains) is now 90. She and and my grandfather were soul mates. At lunch one day, while talking about relationships, she said to me: "The most important part of a marriage is sexual compatibility." I nearly spit out my soup - the idea of her and my grandpa knocking boots wasn't exactly a pallatable subject. I said "give me a percentage." She replied, "80%." Damn, grandma!! As you can see, they still couldn't keep their hands off each other, even into their nineties.

Ordinary Gal Blog - "Affairs for Everyone - What Scarlet Letter?"

I was listening to Opie and Anthony the other morning, and during one of their commercial breaks I heard a very disturbing advertisement. "Life is too short not to have an affair," said the man's voice. It was an ad for a company called Ashley Madison - a Web site for married people who want to have "discreet affairs." Now, I have heard about this site before, on some news program (perhaps Dateline NBC?), but this was the first time time I had actually heard an ad for it. I understand that people have affairs, and, as the argument goes, at least this way there is some sort of screening process and an honesty about one's circumstances. But I can't help but feel a bit ill that we've gotten to the point where we are, in a sense, glorifying infidelity. It also got me to thinking: What's so difficult about marriage that leads so many people to cheat? Tell me - what do you think? Below is an article that appeared in the Boston Herald about the company and the controversial ad:

http://www.bostonherald.com/news/regional/view.bg?articleid=1131732

Ordinary Gal Blog - "Learning From Your Mistakes"

The other day I attended a speech at the college where I work. The presenter was talking about how to manage change in your life. She passed around a poem that has really stuck with me. She said she thought Chapter 1 signifies your teenage years, Chapter 2 your twenties, Chapter 3 your 30s, Chapter 4 your 40s, and Chapter 5 your 50s. Perfect! Only another 20 years until I have it all figured out...

AUTOBIOGRAPHY IN FIVE SHORT CHAPTERS
by Portia Nelson

I
I walk down the street. There is a deep hole in the sidewalk I fall in. I am lost ... I am helpless. It isn't my fault. It takes me forever to find a way out.

II
I walk down the same street. There is a deep hole in the sidewalk. I pretend I don't see it. I fall in again. I can't believe I am in the same place but, it isn't my fault. It still takes a long time to get out.

III
I walk down the same street. There is a deep hole in the sidewalk. I see it is there. I still fall in ... it's a habit. my eyes are open I know where I am. It is my fault. I get out immediately.

IV
I walk down the same street. There is a deep hole in the sidewalk. I walk around it.

V
I walk down another street.

Ordinary Gal Blog - "Mystery Ruins Game for Men Everywhere"

VH1's The Pick-up Artist is hysterical, but men everywhere are NOT laughing so much. True, the book The Game (which discussed the underground society of pick-up artists, including it's leader Mystery) was an instant best-seller among the neo-maxim zoom dweebies (credit: The Breakfast Club) crowd who had zero luck with the fairer sex. Still, though, most women had never heard of the tome. Now, because of this TV show, we are privy to your secrets, gentlemen. Just the other night, my friends and I were out on the town. At our first stop, I was encountered by a guy who came over because he was "taking a poll." His question: Who lies more, men or women? Of course, we took the bait and fell right into trying to answer his question. And just like that, he was in. At the next bar, another guy comes up to me and asks THE SAME QUESTION. It was at that point, I realized this was a routine, eaten up and spit out by men in order to approach women at bars. It's one thing if you think a pick-up routine is somewhat inorganic, but when you know it's 100% contrived, it makes you less likely to take a guy seriously, especially if you later find out it came directly from a TV show. So...anyway, the next night, I was watching the Pick-Up Artist on VH1. The contestants were practicing "openers" to "sets" (a group of women you want to approach), and lo and behold, what was one of the canned openers? That's riiiiiight...Who lies more, men or women? The art of picking up women has been ruined for men because of its ascendancy into the mainstream. Sorry, boys, you may just have to resort to an old stand-by: "Hi, how are you?"

Ordinary Gal Blog - "Theo and Levi?"

Is it me or is Levi the long lost brother of Theo Epstein? But Levi supports Palin, obviously. And Theo supports Obama; in fact, he was in my condo library a few months ago stumping for Obama. He mentioned that all the Red Sox players were Republicans, but he was the sole Democrat. Go figure!

Ordinary Gal Blog - "What Glass Ceiling?"

This has been the most exciting Presidential election - or national event, for that matter - that I have ever been engaged in since I was eligible to vote (12 years ago - cringe!). The energy out there is palpable; you can cut the tension between Obamites and McCainites with a knife. This was no more acutely evident than at last night's VP debate. A few friends and I went out to a bar - yes, a bar - to watch the showdown. I felt like I was at a viewing of the Superbowl: it was rowdy, exciting, and nervewracking. People were jeering, cheering, sshusshing. Clearly, Palin was out to prove herself, and I think she passed the test. She didn't make any real blunders and came across as an everyday woman, a Washington outsider. It was evident, though, that Biden was much more relaxed. But my God, that image of Palin holding her baby (which I'm sure was planned, but who really cares) almost made me cry. Talk about breaking through the glass ceiling: this was an image that I am guessing resounded with millions of women. Here's a lady who just spoke to 50 million people in what was probably the biggest political event of the year (dubbed as "must-see TV" by one of the papers), and then minutes after the debate is over, she enters mommy mode, holding her newborn on her chest, patting its back tenderly. Wow. What a woman.

Another thing I notced last night was the misogyny that still exists in so many men. Guys were shouting out such epithets as, "Slut; Whore; Blow me, Palin." And, of course, there was the ever-popular "Palin's hot." I mean, really? It was quite disconcerting, to say the least.

Ordinary Gal Blog - "Dickens"

"Heaven knows we should never be ashamed of our tears, for they are rain upon the blinding dust of the earth, overlying our hard hearts."

-Charles Dickens, from Great Expectations

Ordinary Gal Blog - "The Cos Commits"

Wow...what a powerful speech by Bill Cosby. A friend forwarded this to me recently, and I was just absolutely blown away by the Cos' candor.

http://www.americanrhetoric.com/speeches/billcosbypoundcakespeech.htm

Ordinary Gal Blog - "Romancing the Nerds"

I know you have a million questions swirling in your head right now, o reader of my blog. So let me enlighten you:

http://thephoenix.com/Boston/Life/68056-Night-of-the-living-geeks/

Ordinary Gal Blog - "Seven Years Ago"

Seven years ago we were attacked. There are moments in history that are indellible. People remember exactly where they were when JFK was assassinated. I remember like it was yesterday where I was on 9/11. I was between jobs (read: unemployed) at the time, living in the North End. I was sleeping late that morning, because, well, frankly, I didn't have anywhere to be. At about 10am the phone rang, awakening me from my peaceful slumber. It was my brother; he told me that he was watching the most devastating thing, to turn on my TV immediately, because, impossibly, two planes had flown into the twin towers. I jumped out of bed and sat in disbelief as I watched the news reports. How could this be? It was only a week later that I found out a tennis acquaintance of mine had died in one of the towers. I still think a lot about 9/11. I think about Lyndsey and what she must have gone through, the terror she must have felt. But my brain often stops me from going too far - its defense mechanism, I guess. But one of the things that I still think about to this day was that Lyndsey was me: a regular 23-year-old woman who was just going about her usual day. Why her? It's days like today when I am reminded to stop myself and say: Every day is a blessing.

Oridnary Gal Neely Blog - "No words"

I have no words. I am without words:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ow8_pCPfhDk

Ordinary Gal Blog - "One question...that's all"

Is male chivalry dead? Talk amongst yourselves...I'm veklempt.

Ordinary Gal Blog - "The Hills and Random Thoughts"

There's no doubt The Hills has become a phenomenon. Like millions of others, I have tuned in religiously to watch the lives of Lauren, Audrina, Heidi, and Whitney. I have been sucked in. But, as I wrote in my last post about the show, my patience is starting to wane. Last night's fourth season premiere was mediocre at best. The problem is, the premise is starting to get old. And the dramas for each character are starting to get monotnonous. Heidi and Spencer are fighting (big surprise); Lauren is annoyed with friends (really?); Audrina is torn between friends (shocking!). I'm sick of Lauren's annoying flirtatious smile, and her f--- me eyes. Audrina's blank stare is starting to irk me. Spencer is a whiny housewife, who never seems to have a job (do any of the boys on this show work?) It's the same old song and dance. There's nothing new to offer viewers, just the same old tired plot lines. And because it's reality, even to a small extent, they can't force the cast to go in jnew directions, though I have no doubt they manipulate a good deal of the show. But they don't have complete control over these kids' lives, so they can't necessarily write in new story lines, just to suit the audience's growing boredom (the way they did in, say, Bev Hills). So I suspect there will be more of the same drama - catfights, Heidi and Spencer going at it, possibly deciding to break up but always getting back together, hot boys and girls with vapid personalities and stunning looks. Just once, can they have a conversation about the upcoming Presidential election? Or do we need to leave that to the Hollywood blowhards like George Clooney et. al.?

In other random observations: I have been wondering about breaking world records in the Olympics. As I watched the swimming, it seemed that a new record was always being set. So I was thinking: Will there ever be a time when the record can no longer be broken? I know it's always by three hundreths of a second or something infitesimally small like that, but what about in 500 years? Are men and women literally going to turn into fish? Also, what's with the body suits? Now, some people cover practically every inch of their body? I imagine in 500 years, they will be wearing the swimming equivalent of a baby's onesie!

Oridnary Gal Blog - "Romantic Love"

Every day I get a "Word of the Day" sent to me. In these emails, a word is defined and then used in a sentence. Today's word was "spoony": 1. Foolish; silly; excessively sentimental. 2. Foolishly or sentimentally in love.

One of the example sentences was the following: So when your fervor cools, you think that this suddenly familiar and lusterless partner couldn't possibly be the one you're destined to be with; otherwise you'd still be all spoony, lovey-dovey and bewitched.-- John Dufresne, "What's So Hot About Passion?", Washington Post, February 9, 2003

The title of this article from which the word spoony was taken intrigued me, and so I googled the article. It turned out to be a very captivating personal essay about love. I found the below passage to be particularly thought provoking.

"Nothing is quite so breathtaking as romance and courtship; nothing is so intoxicating as being new to someone, as reinventing yourself, as sharing the marvelous secret that the two of you are the center of the universe. (Romance is not wanting to know the truth.) I loved falling in love, longed to be swept away. At once, my drab, ordinary (and so most terrible) life would acquire meaning, significance and direction. Everything about the grand passion is so unexpected and deliciously ecstatic. But, like youth and beauty, it is transient.

The sad and undeniable fact is that passionate romance -- the crush, the infatuation, the affaire de coeur, the amour fou -- cannot be sustained. Eventually the brain tires of pumping out all those endorphins. The real world intrudes. You need to eat, make a living, set your feet on solid ground. The two of you are no longer new to each other; the pursuit is over; you are mutually captive. Now what?

Romance, it turns out, thrives on absence, on unrequited emotion, on trouble and suffering. Its essence is uncertainty. When you're desperately smitten, you may be enthralled, enraptured and beguiled, but you are not happy. Romantic love is undone by happiness and by proximity. If Isolde had not been betrothed to King Mark, then Tristan could have married her, and we would have had no high tale of love and death. (Would literature vanish without infidelity?) When passion simmers, two things can happen. If you believe in romance (and when I say "you," I mean "I"), you probably believe there's only one person in the world for you, the aforementioned soul mate. So when your fervor cools, you think that this suddenly familiar and lusterless partner couldn't possibly be the one you're destined to be with; otherwise you'd still be all spoony, lovey-dovey and bewitched. And so you move on to satisfy your love tooth with the next sweetheart.

What you don't yet realize is that no lover can live up to the lover in your head, that every romance fails except as a prelude to abiding love, which is, in fact, your second choice, your alternative to flight. Romance is thinking with your body; love is thinking with your heart. Romance is anyone; love is someone. We need romance to make us feel alive, but we need love to go on living. Romantic love is meat to the teeth of time. Abiding love endures."

The entire essay can be found here: http://www.johndufresne.com/What's%20So%20Hot%20About%20Passion.htm

Mr. Defresne certainly gives one a lot to think about when it comes to matters of the heart. What do you think about his assertions?

Ordinary Gal Blog - "Moving On"

"If you love someone and you break up, where does the love go?"

Considering my night last night, this line from Sex and the City was very apropos.

Ordinary Gal Blog - "Political Hypocrisy"

My alma mater sent the below article through their e-news updates, as one of their current professors is quoted. It's an interesting take on moral hypocrisy and self-leniency. Here's an interesting paragraph that discusses why hypocrisy is used politically (because Lord knows, all politicians are hypocrites):

"Politicians are hypocritical for the same reason the rest of us are: to gain the social benefits of appearing virtuous without incurring the personal costs of virtuous behavior. If you can deceive even yourself into believing that you're acting for the common good, you'll have more energy and confidence to further your own interests -- and your self-halo can persuade others to help you along."

For the full story go to: http://www.nytimes.com/2008/07/01/science/01tier.html

Ordinary Gal Blog - "How to Not Become Boring"

I found this graduation speech, published in The New York Times, on June 29, 1980, to be particularly inspiring. Thought I would share with all 10 people who (I think) read my blog.

A Thought a Day Isn’t Enough
By Wilfrid Sheed

When I was, say 20, I thought I was a pretty bright and interesting fellow, although I was much too polite to show it. And I wondered why people, of say 40, were not twice as bright and interesting and so on up the line. A few, very few, of them were. Most of them seemed to get a little bit duller every year. They had fewer and fewer things to talk about—who are you going to vote for, how about those Yankees, etc. Their minds actually seemed to have shrunk and they preferred the company of people in the same boat, fellow dentists or morticians, who would never bring up anything new. This meant that there was either some dreadful biological law at work whereby old age sets in on the very day you leave campus or else there was a massive national act of laziness, of just giving up, performed every year at this time. Only later when I tried it myself did I come to realize how difficult it is to remain alive when nobody’s watching and making you. Because we have this quaint custom of getting all our education over with early in life, we find ourselves fussed over excessively for 16 years and then just like that abandoned and left for dead. This process is known as graduation, and welcome to it.

Of course, only in extreme cases do graduates become dull immediately. I’ve seen some of them do it on the way out of the final examinations, but usually the first little gray hairs of the mind don’t begin to show for 10 years or so. At first, new jobs, marriages, relocations, etc., are stimulating enough. You don’t need books or new ideas for a while. So you learn to live without them and you learn all too well. The world of work actually encourages this narrowness if you let it. Outside interests only slow you down in the rat race anyway. So the professional world becomes a kind of Franz Kafka mansion where the rooms get spiritually smaller and grayer the further up the stairs you go, and this is known as promotion.

You start out in a large bright space with lots of friends and lots of windows to look out of, but the windows are removed one by one so you can concentrate better on your work until you reach top management where you live, to judge from the conversation, in almost total darkness. Since this is the exact opposite of the way it looks, because the offices actually seem to get bigger, many people sometimes go right to the top without knowing what’s happening to them. I have met some quite prominent businessmen who had less to say for themselves than New York taxi drivers. Perhaps that’s too high a standard but these people hadn’t read anything or heard of anybody outside their own tiny world in years and years. Even their politics were simple-minded. They would be ashamed to know so little about football. I don’t read novels they say—clank, there’s a window gone. I never get to the movies, theater, or opera.

As my father used to say about people who don’t read poetry—neither does a cow. I should add that I’m not just talking about businessmen but about doctors, lawyers, the works. In every case, they claim that the pressure of work is walling them in. Yet in every field you’re likely to find that the very best people do miraculously make time for books and the arts, and it’s the second-raters who don’t. So time isn’t the real problem. The problem is character. Character, once upon a time, referred exclusively to work. It can also be applied to play. It requires willpower to stay playful, to keep your mind open. It takes character to stay alive, and it is not only between 9 and 5 that people age. There are plenty of unemployed bores who work at it around the clock. Whenever you find yourself repeating the same thoughts in exactly the same words, you’re jogging along with Father Time and gaining. Listen in on any barroom or even executive lunch and you will find people eagerly looking for ways to say the things they said a million times before. If you pull something new on them, they will look stunned and then drag it back somehow to their old turf. “As I always say” is their motto, and did you ever find yourself using this phrase yourself? You are in the club. And the next generation will be thinking, how did he get to be so dull?

The fact is that staying intellectually alive is very hard work. They made you do it in school, so you did it. But now that nobody’s making you do it, you’ll probably stop. Nobody marches you into the bookstore anymore, so you stop attending as with church. After all what do books know anyway? You’ll learn from life itself. But your particular life would fill no more than one slim volume in a library, and all around it there would be oceans of life in the other books. A book is just a stranger talking brilliantly; he’s probably better company than you’ll meet in a saloon. After all, he’s usually sober and giving you the best hours of his day and he’s forcing you to look at things in a new way and face new experience. It’s no use saying, “As I was saying,” to a book; incidentally, the fact that I happen to be in the book business myself has nothing to do with all this, nor the fact that I’m counting on this generation to keep me in cigars and caviar. You can read other people’s books if you insist. I’m sure equally impassioned cases can be made for music and painting, and there’s no need to quarrel.

An educated European assumes, often to my own embarrassment, that a college man will at least know the names of the world’s leading composers, painters, architects and what they’ve been up to lately. So, since a patriotic note is also appropriate to these occasions. I call on you simply as Americans to stop being the Mortimer Snerds of the Western world, the Fred Flintstones, and to pick up your hem of the Western tradition. It is not too late to recover from your rotten educations, not the one you got here in this excellent place, but from the tube and lesser schools. Simply read a book. If not today, well at least by the end of next year. And if you repeat the dose often enough, you will have done more to stay young than all the jogging and golfing put together. And not just stay young. You will have pulled that one-in-a-million trick—growing up. And you will be twice as good 20 years from now as you think you are today.

Wilfrid Sheed. the writer, delivered these remarks, excerpted here, upon receiving an honorary doctor of laws degree recently from Southampton College of Long Island University.

Ordinary Gal Blog - "Perserverence pays off"

It has taken me nearly two years to have my personal essay on overcoming a fear of flying published. For a while, I thought nobody was interested in reading about my story. That was hard for me to believe, though, because it's such a great tale of conquering fear - something I would think to which many people could relate. Still, I couldn't get it published. So I then decided it was because my writing wasn't good enough.

In any event, I FINALLY GOT IT PUBLISHED! Thanks go out to Kara Baskin, editor of Lola Magazine, a Boston Globe publication, who finally believed in me and my writing. It's only 1,200 words, but it's a real accomplishment for me. And it's a lesson in perserverence. If you live in the Boston area or in the burbs, pick up a copy of the July issue. Who knows, maybe my essay will inspire you to overcome your own fears...

In other news of perserverence: I am having a small article published in Boston Magazine, for which I interviewed well...you'll find out (August issue). Thanks go out to the fantastic editor of the City Journal section, Jason Feifer, who, after rejecting about 20 different pitches of mine, finally gave me a chance.

Ordinary Gal Blog - "It Was My Idea First!"

OK, so I know there's nothing new under the sun, but I'd like to challenge that notion just once. I'm pretty sure I was the first person to write about the comparison between the Sex and the City characters and the Golden Girls foursome. A few years ago, I was writing for an online women's magazine called nuts4chic.com. I wrote an article about the power of friendship; in it, I referenced the parallels between the two hit shows. I came home this past Saturday at 3:00am, after a night full of drinking, and turned on the TV. The Chelsea Handler show just so happened to be on. Two guests were explaining how the four characters compared to one another; they were saying the same things I said in my article. Now, I'm not accusing anyone of stealing my idea, but it stinks to think that I was really on to something, that I could have written about this years ago via a much bigger medium than on an inconcsequential Web site. Now, all of a sudden, there is a frenzied attempt by major press outlets (LA Times, Associated Press, etc.) to write about the similarities between the two shows. Woe is me...

Below is a link to my article - you will see at the bottom it says "copyright 2005," which just goes to prove that my ingenius observation came before all of the current hullabaloo. Beware, the writing is very amateur - I want to cringe at the amount of times I use the word "and."

http://www.nuts4chic.com/nuts4chic_UK_Lifestyle_Thank_You_For_Being_A_Friend.htm

Ordinary Gal Blog - "Random Thoughts"

A few things:

1) I just noticed that someone searching for "girl being humped by silver back gorilla" somehow stumbled across my blog. Ooookayyyy.
2) I know a promised a few posts ago to never see a mainstream Hollywood film again, but I caved and saw Indiana Jones 4. I loved the trifecta, so I couldn't help myself when the fourth one came out. Seriously, Steven Spielberg and everyone associated with that production should be ashamed of themselves. It was one of the worst movies I've ever seen and a terrible injustice to the first three brilliant movies.
3) Mario Lopez on America's Best Dance Crew is a dope. I've never seen someone try so hard (though Hillary Clinton comes to mind) to affect a hip-hop accent when speaking to the audience. Give me a break! This was Slater for God's sake, now he's practically speaking Ebonics.
5) Later today, I'm interviewing a big Hollywood star for an article. This is a first and I am very nervous. Breathe, Neely, breathe.

Ordinary Gal Blog - "The Sex Effect"

I just read an interesting article about the effect Sex and the City has had on ordinary women's dating habits. It actually starts out by relaying a 14-year-old girl's story (she's now 22) about losing her virginity and her consequent mission to sleep around. To some extent, she blames Sex and the City.

http://abcnews.go.com/Entertainment/story?id=4895398&page=1

Also, a few posts ago I linked to a WSJ review of a new book entitled "Sex and the Soul." The book focuses on young people's experiences with sex on college campuses. It makes me wonder if watching episodes of Sex and the City has affected their decisions about sexual activity. After reading Sex and the Soul, I would bet it sure does. Reading the ABC News article only affirms these suspicions. Anyway, I ended up writing my own review of this book for the Boston Phoenix. Check out the article:

http://thephoenix.com/article_ektid61545.aspx

Ordinary Gal Blog - "Move Over Tyra!"

In a long ago post, "I Want To Be Famous, Too" I wrote briefly about my erstwhile ambition to be a supermodel. Things never worked out: after I had to dole out hundreds of dollars (well, my parents did) to have my picture taken (boy was that a scam), I realized that I was not what the modeling industry was looking for. And my dream of becoming the next Tyra Banks was set aside for more realisitic albeit less glamorous goals, like going to college and entering the rat race. BUT, in the past couple of days, I've made some real strides in the modeling industry (snicker, snicker). I became friendly with a few Boston designers, and when I told them I used to want to model and still had a hint of yearning lurking inside me, they asked me to model some of their clothes. Jackpot! My first gig was on cable access TV...yes, that's right, move over America's Next Top Model, here I come. The show is called Style It Up - it's a weekly cable program filmed on location at the Boston Neighborhood Network (to those living in Boston: if you've never watched Boston cable access - Comcast 23 and RCN 83 - seriously, you're missing out. It's hysterical. I'm kind of addicted to it now. Most of the programs feature African-Americans, and it's a peek into their culture, which I'm finding out is a lot of fun. Most of the people on the featured shows are feisty, hysterical, opinionated, and irreverent.

Anyyyywayyyy, click on this link and scroll down to the bottom to where it says "studio taping April 2008." Fast forward through the video to minute 16:00 and you can see me work it. http://styleitup.net/SIUTV.aspx

My next gig was at an informal fashion show at a restaurant/bar in Boston. Now the money and endorsement deals were really starting to roll in (hardy, har, har - seriously though, if a plus-size model named Whitney can win ANTM, why can't a 5'4", average looking 30-year-old be the next face of Chanel?). See picture above. I'll admit the styling didn't work: the purse didn't work with the dress, and the dress didn't exactly flatter my frame, but the hair and makeup was fantastic.

Finally getting to do something about my modeling dream was a thrill, but it sort of made me realize how I'd never want to be a model for a living. I wandered the room of people in my fashion attire, but found myself more interested in the discussions I was having. Since I'm a writer, I'm always looking for ideas, and I guess I just realized that modeling was such a hollow profession. There's no substance. It's just about standing and looking pretty, which is fun in the moment I suppose and perhaps a small ego-boost , but the reality is it's a very limiting field. OK, OK, I know I was only doing small-time stuff and the supermodels (.0000000000000001% of the modeling population) make lucrative careers out of being a pretty face (look at Tyra and Heidi), but I guess I'd much rather be a mediocre-looking writer who has something important to say than a run-of-the-mill model who doesn't have have anything important to say at all.

Ordinary Gal Blog - "The Hills is Losing Steam...Like, Kind Of"

The problem with The Hills is that its concept is predicated on the notion that what we are watching is real life - that is, the way life is for about .02% of the U.S. population. Many of us who watch the show fantasize about living like the main characters (gorgeous people everywhere, stunning clothes, fabulous hair, yadda, yadda), and perhaps that's why we tune in - to live, if only for a few moments, vicariously through Heidi, Audrina, Lauren, and "There's phlegm stuck in the back of my mouth" Whitney. But the concept has betrayed us. The first few seasons, we took the bait - hook, line, and sinker. We believed that what was being portrayed was absolutely real. By the second year, our confidence was starting to wane. By the third year, the show became larger than itself, and viewers began to realize that the only way a TV show could be entertaining enough to support such vacuous characters (I'm still waiting for someone to say something truly intelligent about politics, world affairs, something of substance) was if the entire production was completely manipulated - and I have no doubts it is. OK, so maybe there's no script, but every move made by the cast has become contrived, set up by producers to create the drama that viewers want to see. This trickery hasn't stopped us from watching, but for me, something has gone missing from the show. Without that air of authenticity that I once believed in, I'm finding myself less intrigued and more annoyed by each episode. Sure, I'll probably still continue to watch when season four rolls around, but I don"t have to like it!

Ordinary Gal Blog - "Hooking Up or Down?"

I just read a Wall Street Journal review of a new book entitled "Sex and the Soul." It touches on many things that I have espoused over the years, much of which stems from my own experiences within today's ubiquitous "hook-up culture." Here is the review:

http://online.wsj.com/article_email/SB120943338777251553-lMyQjAxMDI4MDM5MDQzMzAzWj.html

Ordinary Gal Blog - "A Liberating Experience"

Here I am dancing like the hippies of yesteryear, at Dance Freedom, a Cambridge-based dance and music experience that has been occurring since 1968. I wrote about my visit for the Boston Phoenix (http://thephoenix.com/article_ektid59877.aspx). Also pictured is one of the Dance Freedom veterans. Gotta love it.

Ordinary Gal Blog - 'Britney and the Pope"

Seriously, something is wrong in this world when Britney Spears is considered by Time magazine's internet poll (i.e. determined by YOU) to be more influential than the Pope!

http://www.time.com/time/specials/2007/0,28757,1725112,00.html

Ordinary Gal Blog - "Getting Older...And Wiser"

I never thought I'd see the day when I would be saying to myself and others: "When I was a kid, life was so much simpler." I mean, I'm only 30 and I'm already starting to sound like my mother (grandmother, even) for goodness sake. But you know what, we all turn into our parents eventually, no matter how many times we swear we won't. It just happens. But seriously, I worry for the youth of today. I was just listening to a segment on ABC news about a Website called JuicyCampus.com. The site encourages college kids to post things about one another. Rumors spread like wild fire across campuses. "Stacy is the biggest slut on campus; Dan is gay; Matt has an STD." And so on and so forth. Of course, anyone can say anything about anyone no matter the veracity of their statements, so in other words, you piss someone off, they can go rant about you on this Website and then your reputation is forever scarred. In my day, trash talking was simply spread via word of mouth. In any event, I just get the feeling that young people have to deal with so much more bullshit than I did back in my day. It's hard enough being a teen or a young adult; now kids have to contend with the dangers of the Internet. In my day, life was so much simpler.

Ordinary Gal Blog - High School Reunion

I just discovered a show that is pure genius: High School Reunion. It airs on TvLand. They bring back a slew of high school classmates, put them in an exotic location for a few weeks, and let the drama unfold. Each classmate is characterized by their high school persona - the popular girl, the jock, the pipsqueak, the dork, the bully, etc. Most are single or divorced. It's categorically hysterical to see 40 year-olds come together and resort to high school behavior. Even in the romance department, it's like watching a budding pubescent relationship. The popular girl and the pipsqueak fumble and bat lashes, anxiously awaiting that first kiss. Finally, the pipsqueak moves in for the kill. Then, on last night's episode, a new classmate enters the house - the dork. But they set up his arrival in a rather funny way. The bully is put on "detention" and is sent to wait out front of a food mart, but he has no idea why he's there. Then a Cadillac pulls up and out steps a plump man in his 40s - the dork. He walks over to the bully and confronts him about an episode that occurred during their senior year. The dork was walking into a food mart, and the bully, flanked by his girlfriend and another friend, was coming out. They acidentally bumped into each other and all hell broke loose. The bully proceeded to pummle the dork. Afterwards, the dork completely withdrew from all things social. So the guy says that after that incident his life took a turn for the worse, and he has come to the reunion for an apology. It's just amazing to see how affected people are by events that happen in high school.

In other drama, a now-divorced couple and former HS classmates have to exist in the house together. What split them up? The guy's best friend from high school had an affair with his wife. Guess who pulls up to the house in a Cadillac? The former best friend. Drama ensues.

Genius, I tell you.

Ordinary Gal Blog - "Hollywood Movies Suck"

That's it. I'm done. I'm absolutely done with Hollywood movies. I will only watch foreign films from now on. I saw the worst movie I've ever seen this past weekend. It's called Vantage Point and stars Dennis Quaid, among other notable actors. Please spare yourself from this monstrosity. What's even more depressing is that people around me commented how they liked the moive after it was over. I guess I'm a movie snob, but Hollywood really does dumb its movies down a lot now, which is a shame for me because I like the whole movie-going experience. This movie was so bad, I couldn't help myself from groaning every five minutes. The dialogue, the acting (though not horrendously bad), the plot, the theme, the political posturing and lecturing. Blech!

I did enjoy There Will Be Blood and No Country for Old Men, so perhaps not all hope is lost.

Ordinary Gal Blog - "Heidi Hating"

OK, I admit it: At first, I wanted to curl into the fetal position, to have my mommy tell me everything was going to be alright.

How could someone release such an embarrassment without knowing on some level that it was going to be lampooned by millions of people? I'm talking of course, about Heidi Montag's new video for her single "Higher." But it does have its merits...let me explain.

I compare it to a bad-good movie. You know, the kind of film that is so embarassingly awful that it's actually kind of good, or at least amusing. Take Showgirls (i.e. Elizabeth Berkeley stars as a dancer/stripper trying to make it in Vegas), for example. It's so mind-bogglingly bad that it's actually kind of fun to watch. It becomes a parody of itself - while it fails at being serious on every level, it unwittingly succeeds in being comical. The acting and dialogue is so horrible, it becomes addictive to watch (i.e. when I see it's on TV, I usually tune in because I am continuously fascinated by how dreadful every aspect of it is). Montag's video is a bad-good video. It's so mortifying that it becomes entertaining.

And the truth is, the song is not THAT bad - certainly no better than a Paris Hilton jingle. In fact, I thought it was kind of catchy...I even found myself humming it a few hours after hearing it for the first time. Technically and creatively, it's crap, but it kind of grows on you, no?

Ordinary Gal Blog - "Flavor of Yuck"

My furoughed brow is in danger of becoming permanent. What, you may ask, has me in such an agitated state? I recently saw a promo for Flavor of Love 3. Dear God, please have mercy on our souls, our cable companies know not what they do or those who suffer as a result of their programming choices. OK, OK, I know I don't have to watch, and believe me I won't. But the very fact that VH1 has even shot a third season of such a horrendous show is worthy of reproach. It would be one thing if babymaker Flavor Flav was semi-attractive (at least then I could maybe stomach his presence in some respect), but he's not. In fact, I happen to find him 100% physically repulsive. I'm not just talking Hugh Hefner repulsive, as in I can't imagine making love to an 80-year old man; I'm talking Flavor Flav repulsive, as in shuddering I'm so grossed out by his whole aesthetic - the way he looks, the way he talks, the way he dresses. Yuck. Excuse me while I go barf now.

Ordinary Gal Blog - "30 Reasons the Women's Movement is Backfiring"

I'm appalled. As if there weren't enough debaucherous images already on the Internet, a Facebook site, calling itself 30 Reasons Girls Should Call it a Night, has not only surfaced but has also made national headlines. Check out the following article:

http://www.foxnews.com/story/0,2933,309778,00.html

I'm guessing the women's movement is cringing over this latest debacle of a Web site: young women proudly posting pictures of themselves puking in toilets and in compromising positions. The overarching attitude of these girls certainly has feminist overtones: "if men can get drunk and puke their brains out, why can't we?" Well, you can! But when did doing those kinds of activities become synonymous with empowerment and liberation? The women's movement is backfiring. Now, instead of men objectifying women, women are objectifying themselves and equating doing so with gender equality. They are literally making fools of themselves, but prefacing their actions by claiming female empowerment. This is not what the feminists were talking about in the 60s and 70s; their message has been betrayed by our very own sex.

Ordinary Gal Blog - "He went Bardem on me!"

I will now coin a new phrase. If you intend to use it in your own discourse please give credit where credit is due and let your companions know that it was an Ordinary Gal named Neely who was the originator. You should, if proof is desired, refer them to my blog.

If you saw the movie No Country For Old Men you were, no doubt, as disturbed as I was by Javier Bardem, the psychotic murderer on a hunt for a suitcase full of money. He will go down as one of the great cinematic villians of all time. It seems fitting then that his name be memorialized. As in:

"Dude, he was fucking crazy, he went Bardem on me."

And there it is. Should this new slang sweep across the internet like wild fire and find its way into the lexicon of the American public, I will feel quite proud. And perhaps I will increase my blog's paltry readership - currently, an average of 5 people check in each day.

Ordinary Gal Blog - "I Love/Hate New York"

New York City is a tough place.

I've been traveling to the Big Apple to visit my boyfriend, Mr. J.R., ever since he moved there a few months ago for a job with a hedge fund. From a traveling standpoint, some of my first forays into the city have been fairly disastrous. Damn, what a pain in the ass it is to get around that place! On my most recent trip via train, after pulling into Penn Station (don't even get me started about traveling by bus, which I will never do again), I wandered about the station trying to figure out how the fuck to get to the subway. Admittedly, I'm a directionally-challenged ditz, but still, it's pretty damn hard for a visitor to accurately navigate the complexities of the subway system. Finally, I figured out I needed to get on the E train. Lugging a heavy backpack and a large suitcase (the latter of which was, thankfully, on wheels), I made my way to the correct track. After dragging my suitcase up and down several sets of stairs (with most of the verile, young men passing me by without a second glance - though I will admit, there was the occasional good Samaritan who offered to help), I congratulated myself for finding the E train. Only problem was, the train was being disabled because there was a sick passenger. So off I went to try to find another train. Where the hell are the elevators? My back was starting to kill me. I kept wondering how handicapped people traveled the city's subways - do they even attempt to do so? Eventually, I stumbled onto the correct train and found myself packed in like a sardine, and having to endure some horrid smell.

I got off on the wrong stop, of course. The train was too crowded for me to uncrumple my subway map, and everyone around me either didn't speak English or was a visitor from Texas. Ugh! So I get off on the wrong stop for fear of the train wisking me off the island and out to one of the burroughs, and with my back already screaming for mercy, I drag my suitcase up another gazillion flights of stairs. I now had to walk another gazillion blocks to Mr. J.R.'s office (because there wasn't one damn taxi that would stop for me or that was empty), so I could get his apartment key. But the next problem was lurking: the crowds. My God, the crowds! I've never seen sidewalks that packed - people everywhere, herds of men, women, and children. We were like cattle on those sidewalks, being prodded along by the frenzy of the flow. And just as I was lamenting my lot in life and the harrowing situation at hand, a young girl in a wheelchair rode by me. Dear God! Shame on me. Here was a gal, in the prime of her life, paralyzed and happily navigating the sidewalks of New York. And there I was, complaining about what at that point seemed like petty, trivial stuff. New York's a tough place because there's always somebody worse off than you to give you a metaphorical smack in the face, telling you to stop feeling sorry for yourself and to suck it up. No pity parties in NYC.

New York's a tough place. Not only is there always someone worse off than you to make you stop whining and realize how good you have it, but there's always someone better than you to make you realize how mediocre your life really is. Think you're a good writer? There's someone better in New York. Think you're a good artist or musician? There's someone more talented than you in New York. Think you're a top-notch lawyer? There's someone gutsier and more obsessed with the law than you in New York. Think you're the #1 socialite? There's someone nipping at your heels and overtaking your status as we speak in New York. Think you're having a good hair day? There's someone with shinier, more perfect locks than yours in New York. Think your new $200 handbag is fabulous? There's someone with the latest Chanel it-bag walking in front of you in New York. There's always someone prettier, smarter, more talented. There's always someone with better clothes, better ideas, and a better apartment. A better life. It's hard to be content in New York City.

I also understand now why everyone is single in Manhattan. After spending some time out and about in the city, I am astonished at how many good looking people there are. The bars and restaurants and shops are teeming with hotties. Is it no wonder that people complain about New York's impossible dating scene? Who would want to settle down with one person when there's someone hotter, smarter, wittier, and more talented waiting in the wings? The choices are endless - the temptations overwhelming (and as Oscar Wilde once said, "The only way to avoid temptation is to yield to it"). The dream/fantasy (more like the illusion?) of finding perfection, that perfect mate, is alive and well in New York. This is all, of course, a red herring. Perfection in a partner doesn't exist, no matter how many times you kid yourself into thinking so. Most rational people understand this notion. But I can see how New Yorkers and only New Yorkers might think otherwise - they live in a place like no other. It's a very tough place.

Ordinary Gal Blog - "The Hills Have Eyes"

My obsession with The Hills is slowly beginning to wane. Yes, I'm 30 years old and fully admit to a love affair with the hit reality show featuring LC and the gang. I'm not sure where my infatuation stems from - teen nostalgia, boredom with my own monotonous life, desperation to find a replacement for Beverly Hills 90210 - but I've been hooked ever since Day 1.

However, lately, I've grown weary. Ever since the rumor mill started churning out claims that the show is fake, I have begun to lose interest and respect, though I still do watch (but the season finale was the first time I've ever felt like, "Yeah, I could skip watching this and not have a pulmonary embelism for missing it"). So, apparently Heidi doesn't work at Bolthouse, Lauren and Whitney don't really work at Teen Vogue, Heidi and Spencer don't even really live at their shared apartment, etc., etc. The first season had me at "I'm living way too extravagantly for my age." The second season, ok, I started to wonder. And the third season has solidified my suspicions. And for some reason, I'm having a hard time putting the fakery behind me - it's almost as if the show has become tainted. I was sold a false bill of goods. How many times are characters going to accidentally go to the same places; how many times do I have to watch a facial expression that probably doesn't match up with the real dialogue that was spoken. It's all just getting a bit tired, stale. Thoughts?

And by the way, does anybody else find the two after-show hosts (Dan and Jessi) absolutely nauseating. Good God, MTV, what were you thinking? They are not even remotely funny. I guess I'm not the only one who thinks their annoyingly saccharine performance is enough to induce a small vomit session:

http://canadianpress.google.com/article/ALeqM5jGijHvmv1bjKj7wbk2r1wo07119Q

Ordinary Gal Blog - "Beat it, BET!"

I was in the midst of a lovely stroll on the Upper East Side in New York City with my boyfriend, Mr. Just Right, who recently moved to Manhattan for a job (don't even get me started about the difficulties of the LDR), when I happened upon a small protest rally (for some reason this happens to me a lot). One of the demonstrators handed me some reading material. Don't worry, this wasn't your typical, lame agitprop that completely neglects the truth of a situation in order to carry out the ralliers' agenda. No, this group's agenda and their promotional material is worthy of consideration, at least in my humble opinion.

The group is called The Campaign for Corporate Responsibility in Entertainment (www.enoughisenoughcampaign.com). Their purpose: to protest the commericalization, marketing and distribution of content that degrades black women and portrays negative steretypes of black and Latino men as pimps, players, hustlers, and thugs. They are also focusing on corporations that sponsor and advertise on media outlets that promote this content.

Bravo!

Bravo to African-Americans for standing up for themselves - this is exactly the type of leadership and chutzpah this community needs. Forget Al Sharpton and his misguided and unproductive campaigns that only create mass hysteria and fuel bigotry (and score him publicity, by the way), and forget Jesse Jackson, who stands against prejudice but at the same time calls New York "Heime Town" - in reference to Jewish residents.

These 15 or so protesters (carrying signs such as "BET doesn't desribe me" and so on and so forth) are your average, everyday, black citizens of America taking matters into their own hands, in precisely the way it should happen. The images they protest against are so harmful to their communities and to American society in general - these are certainly the types of things blacks and whites should be concerned about.

Every Saturday, the aforementioned group will march at 65th street between Lexington and Park Avenue from noon-3:00p.m. One of the resident's of this neighborhood is Phillippe Dauman, the CEO of Viacom.

For more information contact 914-636-7440 or e-mail them at: EnoughIsEnoughNYCCampaign@hotmail.com.

Ordinary Gal Blog - "Choosing the Perfect Word"

Here's what I love about writing: When putting your thoughts into sentences, you are required to select the words that most perfectly reflect your intended meaning. Sounds quite straightforward, right? However, this is where it gets tricky (and fun!): Many words mean the same thing but have subtle differences. Therefore, a writer must always choose wisely or risk losing credibility. It can be quite agonizing at times. Take the following group of words for example: mollify, pacify, appease, and placate.

They all mean “to ease the anger or disturbance of,” although each implies a slightly different way of pouring oil on troubled waters. “Pacify” suggests the restoration of a calm or peaceful state, while “appease” implies the quieting of insistent demands by making concessions; you can appease appetites and desires as well as persons. “Placate” is similar to “appease,” but it often indicates a more complete transformation of bitterness to goodwill. “Mollify,” with its root in Latin “mollis,” meaning “soft,” implies soothing hurt feelings or anger. - Taken from Merriam-Webster's Word of the Day (to all you wordsmith wannabees out there, you can sign up for this fantastic feature at: http://www.m-w.com/word/subscribe.htm).

Ordinary Gal Blog - "Sex and the City Goes Global?"

I recently read a fascinating article by Kay Hymowitz, in which she expounds on a growing, worldwide appeal for the female lifestyle made famous by Sex and the City. As Hymowitz puts it, a "New Girl Order" has been established and is fast on the rise. New York City may have been the original breeding ground for the thirtysomething, career-driven, single female, but the ethos of this newly emerging group has, as Hymowitz explains, caught on like wild fire globally amongst the fairer sex. While Hymowitz touches on the positives, she also discusses the harmful implications (population decline, economic downturns, etc.) of this new and likely-to-stay trend.

Check out these statistics from her article:

• Demographers get really excited about shifts like these, but in case you don’t get what the big deal is, consider: in 1960, 70 percent of American 25-year-old women were married with children; in 2000, only 25 percent of them were. In 1970, just 7.4 percent of all American 30- to 34-year-olds were unmarried; today, the number is 22 percent. That change took about a generation to unfold, but in Asia and Eastern Europe the transformation has been much more abrupt. In today’s Hungary, for instance, 30 percent of women in their early thirties are single, compared with 6 percent of their mothers’ generation at the same age. In South Korea, 40 percent of 30-year-olds are single, compared with 14 percent only 20 years ago.

For the entire article, which I promise is quite interesting, visit: http://www.city-journal.org/html/17_4_new_girl_order.html

Ordinary Gal Blog - "Saying Goodbye"

My grandfather's heart failed him at 92. He was a tremendous man - a good husband, a loving father and grandfather, an accomplished golfer, and a world-renowned physician. He regaled in telling stories about his practice and his time serving in the Armed Forces during World War II. He was a very humble and patient man. I have many fond memories of him, and I will miss him dearly. People say he lived a good life. He did! But it doesn't really make it any easier to bear the thought of never seeing him again, or listening to him talk about the "good old days," or watching the O'Reilly Factor together, or playing golf on Cape Cod together. The picture to the left was taken about a month ago at my brother's wedding - I think he must have waited for the day because two weeks later his heart stopped beating, hopefully content and ready to say goodbye.

Here is his obituary, which my father wrote, published in the Philadelphia Inquirer.

Mortimer B. Hermel Radiologist, 92
Mortimer B. Hermel, 92, a retired radiologist and professor at Jefferson Medical College, died Sept. 22 at La Posada, a lifecare community in Palm Beach Gardens, Fla.

Dr. Hermel joined the radiology department of Albert Einstein Medical Center in Philadelphia in 1948. He later was on the faculty of Hahnemann Medical College and from 1963 until he retired in 1976, he was a professor of radiology at Jefferson Medical College of Thomas Jefferson University. For almost 30 years he also maintained a radiology practice in Center City.

The author of more than 70 scholarly articles, Dr. Hermel pioneered the use of X-rays to detect cancer of the breast in the 1950s.

He earned a bachelor's degree from the University of Pennsylvania and a medical degree from the State University of New York Downstate Medical Center in Brooklyn. He interned and completed a residency in radiology at Mount Sinai Hospital in New York.

During World War II he served in the Army as a medical officer with a calvary unit in the Pacific. He rode his own horse while caring for the wounded on New Britain, his daughter, Nancy Steinberg, said.

He loved to tell stories of his Army experience, she said. His favorite was the account of his attempt to discover a birth control drug. When he learned that the native women on New Britain were eating a jungle plant to prevent pregnancy during the agricultural season, he sent a sample of the plant stateside for analysis. Unfortunately, the sample was confiscated and destroyed by the U.S. Department of Agriculture, which feared contamination.

He was an exceptionally warm and gregarious man, his daughter said, and delighted in his family, friends, bridge, travel and golf. He was a longtime member of the Philmont Country Club in Huntingdon Valley.

Since 1941, Dr. Hermel had been married to Zephie Pomerantz Hermel. They lived in Center City before moving to Florida after he retired.

In addition to his wife and daughter, Dr. Hermel is survived by two grandchildren.
A memorial service will be held Oct. 20 in Palm Beach Gardens, Fla.

Ordinary Gal Blog - "John Edwards - A Cheat?"

DID JOHN EDWARDS HAVE AN AFFAIR ON THE CAMPAIGN TRAIL?

Oh goodness...look what the National Enquirer is reporting about pretty-boy John Edwards. I know it's not the model of exemplary journalism, but they did break the Monica Lewinsky scandal. Check it out: http://www.nationalenquirer.com/john_edwards_cheating_scandal/celebrity/64271

If you're an Edwards supporter, and this breaking news turns out to indeed be true, would you still vote for him?

Ordinary Gal Blog - "Steve Jobs - A Writer's Muse?"

Steve Jobs' graduation speech to Stanford's graduating class of 2005 has provided me with a lot of writing fodder. This is a great speech - if you've never read or heard it, I encourage you to do so. Here is a link to it on You Tube: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D1R-jKKp3NA

After you've listened to the speech, I invite you to read one of my published articles that was inspired by his words:

Connecting the Dots
Maybe our past relationships and experiences help us connect the dots later on in life and love. Steve Jobs' from Apple Computer thinks so.
http://www.nuts4chic.com/2006/nuts4love/Joining_The_Dots/nuts4chic_UK_Love_Joining_The_Dots.htm

Ordinary Gal Blog - The B-word Strikes Again

In an August entry (Don't You Dare Call Me the B-word), I wrote about my disdain for the b-word, as in the word "Bitch." This word is everywhere nowadays - just turn on the TV and you're likely to be bombarded by it. A recent Isiah Thomas kafuffle (see links below) surrounding his usage of this word, makes me feel my aforementioned essay (which, by the way, was rejected - along with my 15 other submissions - by Esther Haynes of the now-defunct Jane magazine as a piece for their Back Stories section) is certainly relevant. While I don't advocate curtailing our freedom of speech by banning the word, I do think we (men and women) should take on some element of responsibility in trying to eradicate the word from our everyday discourse. If you listen to the way women throw this word around, especially on reality TV shows (which is probably a pretty good indicator of how the word is used outside of the boob tube; hence the name reality TV), you'd think it was as common a term as "woman" or "female." It's nauseating. It's sad. It's depressing. And now, Isiah Thomas is saying that it's okay for a black man to call a white woman bitch but not a black woman. How about this novel idea: Do not call anyone a bitch!

http://deadspin.com/sports/bitch,-he-said/isiah-thomas-is-smooth-with-his-corporate-sponsors-299164.php

http://deadspin.com/sports/isiah-thomas/isiah-thomas-is-a-cunning-linguist-301042.php

As we see from Isiah's rather lame self-justification, it's simply ridiculous to say that it's okay for some people to use the word and for others to not. Langauge is a public domain.

In other news regarding the b-word, according to a recent New York magazine (the 8/20/07 issue) Approval Matrix, a hierarchical guide to taste as decided by the editors, New York City Council's attempt to ban the word bitch falls into the Highbrow/Despicable axis. Again, I'm not for the ban of any word, but I do see merit in promulgating the notion that certain words can be unhealthy for and unproductive to society and because of this harmful effect, we the people, need to do something about it. As I assert in my essay, "it starts with one person."

What do you think?

Ordinary Gal Blog - "Pitch-perfect"

I walked outside my apartment building a couple weeks ago only to find a small demonstration occurring in front of the Four Seasons hotel. When one of the protesters handed me a flier, I read through it and then, as most people who are handed fliers on the sidewalk do, walked to the nearest trash can to throw it out. But then a thought occurred to me: Maybe this would be interesting to write about; at the very least, it was a pitchable idea to send to area publications. It just goes to show you, you never know where you'll find a good story - I pitched the Boston Phoenix, a left-leaning alternative weekly and they bit. Here's the article (it was in print and online):


http://thephoenix.com/article_ektid46852.aspx


Enjoy!

Ordinary Gal Blog - "Mazel Tov!"

My brother got married this past weekend. Here is a picture of Mr. Just Right and me walking down the aisle. He's not Jewish, but everyone had to wear yamaka's. It kind of makes me giggle to see him in one. And there is my brother, Randy, and his now-wife, Danna. The whole ceremony was pretty emotional for me - just this idea that our family is changing, our parents are getting older, etc. I think change in general has always been difficult for me.

Ordinary Gal Blog - "Not So Bubblelicious"

I'd like to propose a new ballot item for the state of Massachusetts: No disposing of chewing gum on public streets; if one is found disposing of chewing gum on public property, monetary fines or jail time will be enforced.

Seriously, why can't people properly dispose of their gum? Is it too much to ask that they look for a trash can? Or, if someone is dead-set on being a vandal, can they at least put the gum in the wrapper before dirtying public property? Ok, the latter half of that sentence sounds ridiculous, but the point I'm trying to make is that finding someone else's bubble gum all over your shoe(s) is one of the most disgusting things ever, only second to then having to peel it off with a toothpick (or in my case last night, a bobby pin), at which point your nostrils are assailed by a minty odor. At this point, the image of said gum smacking around in someone else's dirty, bacteria-infested, disease-ridden mouth pops into your head and is enough to induce a small amount of vomit or at the very least a small dry-heaving session. Then, because you've spent 20 harrowing minutes peeling it off your brand new squash sneakers and are literally on the verge of a panic attack, your boyfriend is forced to take over the mission (that's love for ya!), which ultimately fails anyway because there is no possible way of removing all traces of said gum.

Did you know that in Singapore there is a ban on chewing gum in public. AND, the punishment for any act of vandalism carries a jail sentence and caning! That's right...CANING! Now that is certainly a punishment befitting the crime. Don't you think?

Ordinary Gal Blog - "Sex at 70? AND A Poignant NPR Commentary"

On the way home from work today, I heard a story on NPR about the latest research findings on the sexual habits of older Americans. I was convinced that my parents fornicated just twice in their 35-year marriage; once to create my brother, the other, five years later to create me. Apparently, new research suggests that a lot more hanky panky is going on between the sheets (or perhaps outside of them in this day and age of sexual audaciousness) with the elderly set crowd. I found the article on the NPR Web site and have pasted it below:

http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=13872703

Following this discussion, writer/blogger Julie Zickefoose blessed us with her very thoughful commentary on marriage: its delights, its enigmas, its initial rosiness and its ultimate trajectory (or demise - perhaps that's a bit harsh, though) towards wanness. It's a message at once reassuring and depressing. If you've followed my blog, you're quite familiar with my own fears regarding marriage (see fears about marriage label). Ms. Zickefoose hits on many of the reasons why I fear matrimony; but she also assuages these fears and offers a silver lining to the storm. Listen to her poignant commentary here (click on "Listen"):

http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=13872703

Ordinary Gal Blog - "Panty Party!"

So the latest search phrase in MSN that pulled up my blog address was:

"ordinary girls that want you to look at there panties"

Yowsa!

I think that's probably more suited for Slip's blog...

Ordinary Gal Blog - "Into the Rough"

A couple Saturdays ago, my boyfriend, Mr. J.R., and I decided to go golfing. We were both excited to enjoy the warm weather, one another's company, and some good exercise. We weren't worried by the ominous clouds in the distance, though perhaps we should have been.

I won't deny that I am a very compettive person. Having been a successful athlete all my life, I can't help that I hate to lose or that I happen to be good at most sports. Some men feel threatened or turned off by the very idea of "losing to a girl." But not Mr. J.R. Since the day we met, he has been refreshingly laid back about losing to me now and then in sporting events or games; perhaps it has even endeared me to him. Whenever we'd play golf, I usually emerged victorious - only by a stroke or two. And he never seemed too bothered by it; he'd even boast about my skills to his friends and family.

So why was our most recent golf outing a complete debacle?

I guess the truth is that deep down, a man’s ego is often very closely connected to his physical prowess. While men often confess that they find an athletic woman to be very attractive, even sexy, they are usually (there are exceptions, of course) emasculated when a female’s athleticism becomes superior to their own. Even in 2007, many men aren’t prepared to deal with this reversal of gender roles, not even Mr. J.R.

This all became abundantly clear to me on that ill-fated Saturday, when I realized that what I thought was just a friendly match-up between lovers was really an all out grudge match. Sure, we bet dinner on it (the loser had to cook a dinner of the winner's choice), but I wasn't taking the compeititon too seriously. Apparently, Mr. J.R. was. I offered him a mulligan when he hit a hideous slice off the tee, giving him the opportunity to forget his first ball and redeem himself. He took a second drive, but I wasn't aware that when he scored the hole, he had included a penalty shot for his second tee shot. At the next hole, when my tee shot fell short, I said, "ok, I'll take a mulligan and now we'll be even." My next shot was just about the most beautiful drive I've ever hit. Smiling from ear to ear, I began to walk to the well-positioned ball. But suddenly Mr. J.R. sniped, "Well, if you win, make sure to put an asterisk next to your score." It was at that moment that I realized this was serious business. And I realized that all of those other times he seemed not to care were just smoke and mirrors. He cared. A lot.

Instead of playing my mulligan, I played my awful first tee shot and let my anger fester to the point where I almost walked back to the car. The remaining six holes were filled with dirty looks (mostly on my part) and awkward silence. In the end he won, and even though we weren't speaking on the ride home I could tell he was beaming on the inside over his win. "I just wanted to beat you so badly," he finally confessed, breaking the dead air between us. "I tell my friends you beat me and they just can't believe it," he continued.

Thankfully, we were able to laugh it off in the end. But that is definitely the last time I will ever compete with Mr. J.R. Lesson learned.

Ordinary Gal Blog - "Girly Men"

This article gives a whole new meaning to the term "girly man."

http://news.yahoo.com/s/afp/20070808/wl_uk_afp/britainsciencemen

Ordinary Gal Blog - "Men: Can't Live With 'Em, Can't Live Without 'Em

I just came across this listing about men - it's absolutely hysterical. The site says that the list possibly came from a Rita Rudner routine:

http://funnies.paco.to/content/view/102/2/

Which one resonates most with you? For me, it's #23. I recently experienced something similar with Mr. Just Right (my boyfriend) and plan to write more in depth about it, once things are less hectic.

Ordinary Gal Blog - "A Writer's Fear of Failure"

For any writers who read this blog, I wanted to share an article I came across on Writer's Digest.com. It's an account of a famous writer's rags to riches story and her constant battle with self-doubt and fear of failure. I think she has some pretty good lessons to share and certainly gives any writer (like me), who must grapple with the ever-present reality of rejection, a major self-confidence booster.

http://www.writersdigest.com/articles/picoult_trytryagain.asp

Ordinary Gal blog - "Popularizing a Meme and a Blog"

It's been a while since my last post - my apologies to anyone who checks in regularly. I've been involved in several writing projects, which, to the detriment of this blog, have been a priority for me. I'm amazed at people who find time to update their blogs on a daily basis. I wish I were able to do this; alas, I'm finding it increasingly difficult the busier I get with other writing assignments. Plus, I don't want to just write about fluff; after all, do people really care about the boring minutiae of my life? Probably not. That's why I want to try (try being the operative word here) to only post things that might be of real interest to readers. So please don't abandon me yet.

In this installment, I wanted to republish a couple how-to pieces that I recently read about in Wired magazine. This post is for all you meme-o-maniacs and die-hard bloggers out there. The August issue of Wired is chalk full of great how-to tips on just about everything - I recommend you pick up a copy (though I don't subscribe to Wired, I randomly started receiving issues in the mail).

Here's what the mag has to say (verbatim) about populartizing a meme:

1. Find a phenomenon. The trend you identify should be nascent, a little ineffable, yet somehow undeniably part of the culutre.

2. Come up with a catchy name. Ideally, it should be a portmanteau - a combination of two existing words.

3. Give it a homepage. Your name needs a place to do business. Throw up a shingle, start a blog, and update daily.

4. Generate buzz. Write comments on other people's blogs and name-drop your meme. Sing your meme to acoustic guitar accompaniment and post it on You Tube. A press stunt involving base jumping and/or nudity can't hurt.

5. Plug it. You're s spokesperson now, and a spokesperson is never too busy to talk. Answer every email and accept every request to speak on a panel. If the New York Times rings, answer all their qiuestions. Ditto The Des Moines Register and Peoria Linux Monthly.

6. Pretend you've never read steps 4 and 5. Affect an air of great reluctance when talking to reporters and on the speaker circuit. Rephrase: "I'm not looking for publicity on this, but..."

Here's what they have to say (verbatim) about "getting a boost in the blogosphere:"

1. Be first. Your odds of getting props plunge in direct proportion to how late you enter the conversation.

2. Humor is an effective weapon. "Being a smart-ass will get you further than being smart," says Slashdot founder Rob "CmdrTaco" Malda, with perhaps a trace of sadness.

3. A clever turn of phrase, confined to a single sentence, is most admired. Bonus points, of course, if you can work in a Simpsons or Idiocracy reference.

4. Witty Innuendo? Yes. Outright puerilty? Negative. Digg and Slashdot readers fancy themselves more sophisticated than the meatheads who tormented them in high school.

5. Understand the audience. On Slashdot, you'll get no love for trashing Macs, Linux, or the Nintendo Wii, no matter how clever your argument. On Digg, slag medical marijuana and defend the Bush adminsitation at your peril.

6. Provide vital info if a cited article lacks it (and link to your source). Everyone appreciates a commenter who can point out the foibles of the mainstream media (like how they're always reducing complicated issues to short, bullet-pointed lists).

Both lists taken from Wired Magazine, August issue, 2007.

Ordinary Gal Blog - "I Ain't Gonna Stop 'Til I Get To the Top"

Well, it's official: Technorati has positioned me as blog #1,145,499. That's a big step up from the 9 million ranking I had a few months ago. I also have 1 "Fan." I don't know who you are or even if I can even see who you are, but let me extend a debt of gratitude to you for your vote of confidence. When I'm a famous columnist and author someday, I'll dedicate my work to you.

Onwards and upwards...

Ordinary Gal Blog - "What Do You Think?"

A few months ago, I submitted an essay to JANE magazine's "Back Stories" column. This column purported to showcase essays from ordinary women (though more often than not, they had essays from famous authors, TV personalities, and celebrities - how's an ordinary gal supposed to compete with Arianna Huffington for goodness sake...jeez.). Notice that I use the word 'purport' in the past tense - it's because Conde Nast is saying sayonora, auf wiedersehen, adieu, and farewell to JANE. Their August issue will be their last. Looks like I won't have a chance to redeem myself (I've submitted at least 15 different essays to that column; all have been rejected).

Anyhoo, I submitted the below essay (which is now part of my blog), entitled "I Want to Be Famous, Too," to Deputy Editor Esther Haynes. She responded: "It's not surprising enough."

http://ordinarygalneely.blogspot.com/2007/05/ordinary-gal-blog-i-want-to-be-famous.html

What do you think? I may be a bit biased (ok, well, blatantly so), but I happened to think it was quite funny and a good fit for Back Stories - it had the same irreverent, cheeky tone that the column's other essays posseseed, and it was the kind of topic that I thought most JANE readers could relate to. Looks like the magazine's audience wasn't relatiing to the magazine anymore - apparently, readership and ad sales had plummeted over the past couple years. Too bad, the column was a great idea and an opportunity, if even a very small one, for no-names like me. Boo-hoo!

Anyway, I'll be looking forward to your thoughts on my essay!

-OGN

Ordinary Gal Blog - "Diamonds Are Forever"

Hey all,

Check out this FAB contest:

http://aslipofagirl.blogspot.com/2007/07/slip-of-girl-right-hand-ring-bling.html

Slip of a Girl is sponsoring a contest (deadline: August 13) to win a diamond necklace - all you have to do is put pen to paper (or more likely, fingers to keyboard) and write a little somethin'-somethin' about what a diamond ring symbolizes to you. Please see the link above for more info on submission rules. Oh, and one more thing, you may want to tell your significant other about the contest before you submit; if you win the necklace, he may think you're keeping a sugar daddy on the side... :)

Good luck!

Ordinary Gal Blog - "Another Blow for Marriage?"

Seriously, this is depressing: If I have to read one more article discussing the pitfalls of marriage, I'm going to convert to Christianity and sign up at the local nunnery. The article below discusses a recent research study that, to make a long story short, finds marriage to be a life-draining way of life; according to researchers, it appears the spark lasts for about three years and then, poof, boredom sets in - divorce or complacency being the only remedies. I discussed my own fears about marriage in "Wedded Blisters" and certainly, when I read an article like this it reinforces those anxieties. I don't think there's a person out there who doesn't have some fears, if even the smallest concerns, about tying the knot, but I have to wonder, are our fears continually fueled by these types of negative-slanted stories? Why the heck can't the New York Times print an article front and center about the happiness and peace marriage brings into people's lives? Is it simply sensationalism? A catchy news story that sells more papers? A liberal agenda?

http://coaches.aol.com/love-and-sex/feature/_a/the-shelf-life-of%20bliss/20070702152709990001

All you married people who read this blog, I want to hear from you! Please read the article and leave your comments. I'm looking forward to your candor.

Ordinary Gal Blog - "Proactively Pursuing Hollywood"

I'm sorry, but I have to laugh when I see the Proactiv commercials - you know, the ones that feature a gorgeous celebrity endorsing the popular acne medication.

They lament about how they once had horrible pimples all over their face and the camera then zooms in on a celebrity photo, pointing out said pimples. But instead of seeing any serious acne issues in these photos, all we see is a tiny, tiny zit the size of a pinhead. Sometimes, I don't even see anything. It's quite funny, really.

It's great marketing, having a celebrity come down to "normal people" levels, but frankly, I'm more swayed by the pictures of real men and women who go from pepperoni faces to clear-skinned beauties. What's more, I know these people aren't getting a million bucks to rave about the product. And even if the celebrity endorsers do use the product, they're probably all having daily facials and constant dermatology work, something we plebians can't afford to do. Just my two cents on the matter.

Ordinary Gal Blog - "Tag, You're It"

Well, thanks to Slip, I'm learning a whole lot more about this world they call blogging. Actually, Slip and Gracie have helped me a great deal. So, now I know what it means to "tag!" Apparently, the proper etiquette is to post my own seven responses - as in, seven things about me that you might find interesting. Here goes:

1. I was a pretty decent athlete back in the day. In college, I was the Division III NCAA National Singles Champion (tennis) - translation: the #1 player in the country out of all the Division III schools. Ok, enough bragging.

2. Did I mention I am extremely humble?

3. I know every Seinfeld episode like the back of my hand. That show is pure genius.

4. I'm a struggling freelance writer (though it's not my primary job - I'd be homeless if it was) who has pitched Jane magazine's "Back Stories" and Skirt Magazine's personal essay section at least 15 times each - I have been rejected every time. Can't an Ordinary Gal catch a break?!?!

5. It took me 28 years to say "I love you" to a man, my current boyfriend (aka - Mr. Just Right), and to actually mean it. I said it twice before but was inebriated beyond belief both times.

6. I am a hypochondriac.

7. I love debating politics and was a political science major in college. I don't care what side of the spectrum you're on - liberal, conservative, socialist - I just love to discuss the issues facing our world.

Now, I'm supposed to tag 7 people, but I only know a few bloggers out there who haven't already been tagged, so I'll do my best and add to this meager list over the next few days: Roughly Speaking, Wine with Lunch

Ordinary Gal Blog - "Shameless Self-promotion"

Ok, so I just officially nominated myself for a few different categories in the Blogger's Choice Awards. I found out about this contest from A Slip of a Girl who has also been nominated. I know it's lame, nominating myself that is, but I guess in today's world, self-promotion is a way of life. Plus, I'd like to think that a lot of the things I write about will entertain and enlighten others. If you like my blog, vote for me! (God, I sound like I'm running for Congress). Cringe.

Here are the categories I put myself into:

Ordinary Gal Blog - "Niche Dating on the Web"

Online dating has taken off over the years, losing much of the stigma it possessed back in the early to mid-90s. Indeed, finding your soulmate on the WWW is no longer considered weird or lame or desperate. In fact, there's a matchmaking site for practically everyone nowadays, creating what one might call niche dating. I guess it makes sense because you're narrowing the playing field to people with whom you have things in common.


There's dating sites specifically targeted to Christians (e-Christian-Dating.com), Jews (http://www.jdate.com/), gay people (http://www.gaycupid.com/), cougars (http://www.gocougar.com/-- for the definition of a cougar, please refer to my article: Call of the Wild), millionaires (http://www.wealthymen.com/), the athletically inclined(http://www.cyclingsingles.com/ or http://www.singlesoftennis.com/), animal lovers (http://www.datemypet.com/), liberals (http://www.democraticsingles.com/), and the latest addition to the fray, a matchmaking site for country folk (http://www.farmersonly.com/). And those websites are just the tip of the iceberg.

The next thing you know they'll have a dating site for vampires - wait a minute! http://www.vampirerave.com/

Here's an article from Radar magazine that discusses a few other oddball niche dating sites...who knew that finding love and herpes at the same time could be just a click away! http://www.radaronline.com/features/2007/06/online_niche_dating_sites_jdate_1.php

Ordinary Gal Blog - "Hollywood High"

The truth about Hollywood is that it's a microcosm of high school - the cliques, the juvenile behavior, the fleeting romances, the corrupted seniors, the sophomoric sophomores. We oooh and ahhhh over Lindsey Lohan's latest drunken antics, the countless short-lived, shallow relationships, and the neverending gossip mill because it reminds us of our own drama-laden years. When I look back on my high school and college days...well, let's just say I did a whole lot of partying (from hometown rippers to Amherst College keggars) and had a slew of horny beaus.

In any event, Hollywood High School is alive and well. Here's how I see the cliques and the high school administration playing out (I wish I had their high school photos!):

The Jocks ( D. Duchovny, M. Perry, The Rock)







The Senior Burnouts (B. Spears, N. Richie, L. Lohan)







The Wannabees (H. Montag, S. Pratt)








Class Clowns (G. Clooney, J. Black)







The Richies (B. Davis, B. Jenner)






The Brains (J. Stiles, F. Savage, N. Portman)







The Alternatives (A. Lavigne, J. Leto)






The Hotties ( J. Simpson, J. Duhamel)







The Politicals (A. Joile, B. Affleck)







The Innocent Freshman ( D. Fanning, H. Panietierre, J. Lynn Spears)








The Wise Guidance Counselors (R. Redford, J. Fonda)







The Principal (M. Freeman)








Any other suggestions?

Ordinary Gal Blog - "Daddy Doppelganger?"

I found this article on Yahoo!

http://news.yahoo.com/s/livescience/20070613/sc_livescience/womenprefermenwholooklikedad
Apparently, researchers found that women prefer men who look like their fathers. They took a bunch of ladies who had negative relationships with their dads and another bunch of women who had positive relationships with their fathers and then had both groups look at pictures of various men.

The findings? "The women who had reported positive relationships with their fathers were much more likely to be attracted to men resembling their fathers. On the other hand, women with bad dad relationships did not find men who looked like their fathers appealing."

I had a positive relationship with my father; in fact, I rather idolized him in many ways. So I cut out pictures of my father and of my boyfriend, Mr. Just Right, and placed them side by side.

What do you think? Any resemblance? :) Mr. Just Right is on the left, Dad is on the right.

Ordinary Gal Blog - "Goodbye, Jimmy Choo"

Before I met Mr. Just Right, I was something of a serial dater. While there was a certain charm to this lifestyle, a sense of power I savored from perfecting the art of seduction, I can’t deny that the uncertain nature of dating had its drawbacks.

Above all else, my single friends and I complained most about the gnawing and gut-wrenching insecurity over the other shoe – as in, our fears that it was always going to drop. If we started dating a guy whom we really liked, we seemed to always be on edge about something going wrong. Countless times we’d call one another crying about our love story gone wrong – “He just stopped calling” or “His job is transferring him” or “He’s a commitment-phobe” or “He’s having a quarter-life crisis” or “He doesn’t want kids” or “He’s getting back together with his ex.” We could never just relax and be in the moment because we were always worried about dear, little Jimmy Choo. To our dismay, relationships could never just work out the way we wanted them to.

But as I’ve gotten older and perhaps a bit wiser, I’ve learned an important truth: The other shoe never stays firmly in place no matter what stage of the dating world – single, committed, engaged, married – you’re in. It’s a seemingly obvious observation, but somehow it gets lost in the dating mentality shuffle. Indeed, we used to believe that once we were coupled up, we’d somehow be spared from life’s many relationship curveballs. Nothing could be further from reality.

I recently attended a fundraiser for a former tennis coach of mine. As a kid, Jerry was one of my favorite instructors. Always smiling and always passionate about his job, he made learning tennis fun for countless youngsters. I was friendly with one of his daughters, whom Jerry was very close with. In fact, he was close with all of his children and his wife happened to be his high school sweetheart.

Several months ago, Jerry became paralyzed as a result of a spinal abscess. He was relatively young and he was healthy; this wasn’t supposed to happen to him. It was a total fluke. When I saw him at the fundraiser, his once cheerful demeanor was wrought with sadness, a sort of bittersweet nostalgia washing over him as he watched others play tennis in honor of his life. Though he tried to put on a happy face, I could tell he was in emotional hell. And understandably so. This man’s life was forever changed. His entire career was about being on his feet – it’s what he loved to do – and now, he was paralyzed from the waist down (and not yet able to move his arms well either).

And there stood his wife, by his side, loving her husband as though nothing had changed since high school. Stroking his face and kissing his cheek, she was the living embodiment of the phrase “in sickness and in health.” And it put a lot into perspective for me. I read about these kinds of stories all the time (a husband and wife staying by each other’s side despite horrible tragedies or accidents), but when you see it in the flesh, before your very own eyes, it has a much more tangible and profound effect.

The other shoe is always prepared to drop – at any moment, at any stage of a relationship. So, even though it's easier said than done sometimes, let’s try to live as if the sound of our Jimmy Choo's hitting the floor is just a normal part of life - just one of many curveballs that we will undoubtedly have to face and deal with throughout our lives.

Ordinary Gal Blog - "A Low Point on Reality TV"

Cable television programming has absolutely reached a low point. Seriously, I'm on the verge of barfing all over my keyboard. I was clicking through channels a few moments ago when I came across the latest season of the Simple Life. I once saw an episode from the first season. Unimpressed, I chalked it up to just another dumb reality show. But the series has sunk to a new low; what I ended up watching today was the most ridiculous and pathetic crap I think I've ever seen. I'm almost ashamed to be human, to be in the same species as the human beings that decided to produce such pointless drivel, and the show's two nit-wits stars - Paris Hilton and Nicole Richie.

I'll admit, the premise of the latest season seemed fairly harmless: Paris and Nicole go to camp. Ok, I get it: two socialite LA girls roughing it in the wilderness, dealing with bugs and frizzy hair. Whatever. But, it turns out, the camp they are to spend time at is no ordinary summer camp; no, it's something far more exploitative -- a fat camp.

Susan Powter, of "Stop The Insanity" fame, is one of the leaders of the camp. When she meets Paris and Nicole for the first time, she tells them that they're going to help fat people learn to eat right and to get healthy. Can you hear the sound of me banging my head against a wall? Aren't these the same two people that equal a combined weight of 100 pounds? No matter how many times Nicole Richie says she doesn't have an eating disorder, it's almost impossible to believe her when I see pictures of her shoulder blades and ribs practically popping through her skin. Maybe she doesn't have a disorder, per se, but if she has any sort of eating issues or problems, it's flat out irresponsible to put her with a bunch of people that are struggling with their own weight disorders. These are people who, for all intents and purposes, are struggling to live.

Next up: After meeting the campers, Paris and Nicole get to help a clinician perform enemas. So, you've got 500 pound people lying on a table as Paris and Nicole are instructed to spread apart the campers' ass cheeks. Then they are to lube up the campers' anuses. This is the most embarassing thing I've ever watched. I almost kicked in the television screen as the two nit-wits laugh hysterically and simultaneously turn away in disgust at what they're doing and undoubtedly, at these people's buttocks. After several close-ups of various flabby asses, all I can think of is how embarassing it must be for these overweight pawns to show their private parts on national television. The icing on the cake is when the campers have to clear their colons (i.e. take shits) in front of Paris and Nicole. I wonder how much E! compensated these poor souls to take part in such senseless debauchery?

Later that night, in one of the cabins, we watch as Paris and Nicole try to defeat the entire mission of the camp by plotting with the campers to get pizza. Ugh!

The E! Channel executives should be ashamed of themselves. Paris Hilton and Nicole Richie are an embarssment to young women everywhere. I don't care how many times these two lament about unfair name-calling or teasing. "People don't really know who we are," or "Once people get to know us, they really can't believe how different we are from what the press puts out there," they'll often say in an attempt to prove they're not shallow or dumb or snobby. But it's pretty difficult to believe them. After all, these are the kinds of shows they choose to do; these are the images they choose to present to the world. Moreover, listening to the two of them talk is like listening to nails on a chalkboard and doesn't say much about their respective intelligence levels. "Goodnight, bitch," Paris says to Nicole or Nicole says to Paris (I can't even distinguish the two of them anymore) at the end of the episode. For God's sake, show us some substance; don't just go after a quick buck if you want respect and admiration.

Yes, I know, I watched the entire episode, which might make me something of a hypocrite. But honestly, it was more out of complete amazement. Don't get me wrong, I'm all for guilty pleasure TV, but subjecting oneself to this show is more like guilty torture - and somehow, I withstood 30 minutes of it. Maybe they'll force Paris to watch her own show in prison - a punishment far worse than 24-hour lockdown. I'm guessing Dostoevsky would concur.

I know I may sound harsh here, but I can't help but get angry when I see shows like this. I get even more angry when I realize that the E! Channel execs are laughing all the way to the bank. And sadly, so are the two nit-wits.

Ordinary Gal Blog - The Cutest Wedding Proposal

The Wall Street Journal ran a story this morning about couples who put their wedding stories online for all to see. They featured one twosome in particular - Chris Tuff and Julie Augustyniak Tuff, who, it turns out, I actually know. Well, not personally, but I do know of the Tuff family. My friend, Stephanie, and her family, were good friends with the Tuff family growing up. The five brothers attained legend status for their good looks and charming personalities.

So, apparently, Chris Tuff proposed to his girlfriend while jogging down the street. As you will see from the You Tube video, he fakes a sprained ankle. His concerned fiance-to-be leans over him to see what is wrong, and suddenly, he pulls out a ring (as he's down on one knee) and proposes.

The entire thing was caught on videotape; it's just about the cutest, sweetest proposal I have ever seen. What can I say, I'm a sucker for an unsuspecting proposal. Check it all out here (you may even get a few goose bumbs - I did!):

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CcCxIHrxliY

Their wedding site is at:

http://www.doublemintwedding.com/

Blogwatch Profile

I am a contributing writer and editor for this website: www.nuts4chic.com - an online women's lifestyle magazine based in London (200,000 hits/month). Check it out! My blog is featured in the Blogwatch Profile:

http://www.nuts4chic.com/Blogwatch/Neely_Steiberg/Neely_Steinberg_Blogwatch.htm

If you have an interesting blog and you want to be featured in our Blogwatch Profile, email me at neely@nuts4chic.com.

Ordinary Gal Blog - "Don't You Dare Call Me the B-Word"

As a young girl, I can remember on more than one occasion fleeing to my bedroom, ripping open my diary, and releasing my rage onto the pages. “She’s being a total bitch!” I would often write, a sweet sense of relief washing over me as I put pen to paper. I never dared dream of actually verbalizing those words to my mother.

Sometimes, I would declare the B-word softly, under my breath, as I watched Alexis Carrington Colby manipulate and deceive her fellow super-wealthy compatriots on the popular, nighttime soap opera Dynasty (which, by the way, I was addicted to).

In high school, I came into quite a different acquaintance with the term. My girlfriends and I were friends with a group of boys known as “The Soccer Posse” (in deference to their devotion to our high school’s successful soccer team). The Soccer Posse was the typical gaggle of popular, teenage guys – horny, rebellious, and arrogant. Our senior year, the boys had all the girls in a tizzy when they started writing the acronym B.A.S.B.H.T everywhere – their Trapper Keepers, notebooks, lockers – as though it was a posse member rite of passage.

Bursting with curiosity, we spent hours attempting to decode the strange phrase, always to no avail. But eventually, after months of constant badgering, one of the boys caved. The acronym stood for “Bitches Ain’t Shit but Hoes and Tricks,” – lyrics from a Dr. Dre song (featuring Snoop Dogg and some other gangster rappers) called “Bitches Ain’t Shit.”

This is what they had been so secretive about during our entire senior year? Not only was it the dumbest, crudest, and most hypocritical song for them to be idolizing – the majority of them were completely whipped by their girlfriends – but their glorification of the words was hurtful to all of us, their so-called female friends.

That was 14 years ago – a far cry from the days in which the word’s original meaning (dating back to about 1000 in the Old English written record) referred to female dogs.

Fast forward to the present. Instead of endeavoring to stamp out such horrible language, such pernicious objectification of women, such vulgarity, we have gone in the opposite direction. While curse words such as “fuck,” “shit,” and “asshole” are still considered, for the most part, obscene, the word “bitch” has actually become more fashionable than ever before, as much in vogue today as fanny packs were in the early 90s; it’s now very rarely censored on television broadcasts or otherwise. (Though I’m at a loss to understand why shit is considered more offensive than bitch.)

Indeed, bitch is now used so ubiquitously within popular culture – radio, television, the internet (is anything not ubiquitous on the Internet?), and in magazines (there’s even a progressive women’s glossy called Bitch) – that we’ve become anesthetized to its usage and meaning. The result seems to be a society with a growing propensity for potty mouth language and a profound disrespect for one another.

After a few minutes of watching young women on reality TV fire the word out of their mouths, like verbal diarrhea, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out the term has indeed become an established part of our youth culture. “Who do these bitches think they are?” “Those bitches are going to pay,” “That bitch doesn’t know what’s coming to her.” What’s even more interesting (bizarre) is that when it’s not used in the pejorative sense, it’s often used to convey feelings of adoration or camaraderie – “Those girls are my bitches.”

The word bitch is also used often in the lyrics of rap (Dr. Dre’s song was unfortunately, just the beginning) and even mainstream pop songs. It’s considered “artistic expression,” though sometimes it’s bad enough that we slap a parental advisory label on the packaging. I understand that the word is meant to entertain, but I fear its usage and the derogatory context with which it is most often associated, has far more dangerous secondary consequences. It pits women against women; its aggressive undertones may very well serve as a catalyst for violence against females; it teaches our youth that the word is cool: if Snoop Dogg uses it to describe the fairer sex, so should they.

Of course, male rappers certainly don’t have the monopoly on the word. Just listen to lady rappers like L’il Kim who uses the word ad nauseum in her song “Queen Bitch” (caution: lyrics are disturbing). She wears the term like a badge of honor, all the while shoving her boobs in our faces and yapping about how sexual promiscuity is synonymous with female empowerment. I’m not sure that’s what the feminists had in mind – shouldn’t the world focus on our brains and talent?

When did we start having such a lack of respect for one another? Whatever happened to addressing someone with dignity? What about using kinder, gentler words like woman or lady or female or girlfriend? Or are we simply comfortable with becoming an insult culture (think: MTV’s Yo Momma)? I hope not.

I know she might not be hip or edgy (she’s certainly a favorite with soccer moms across America), but I happen to agree with Oprah on this one. Her mission to eradicate the word bitch is a noble and important goal. I join her efforts in asking – nay, challenging – every woman who reads this to put a moratorium on using the word in her own discourse. If you hear a friend use the word, tell them about this article; tell them it’s their duty, as a woman, to respect their fellow females and themselves; tell them it starts with one person.

Don’t let Dr. Dre trick you, too, into thinking it’s okay.

Gracie links to my "Wedded Blisters" entry

Gracie from Blushing Ladies blog links to my "Wedded Blisters" entry (see below). Check out her thoughts on commitment and marriage.

http://blushingladies.naughtyblog.net/2007/05/happily-ever-after.html

Ordinary Gal Blog - "I Want To Be Famous, Too!"

Being unknown is so passé. You’re nobody in today’s world if you’re not entering the public domain in one way or the other. “Do you have a MySpace page?” a colleague asks, as if it’s a prerequisite for living in the 21st century.

Jumping on the obscurity-to-celebrity bandwagon feels much like the days of high school peer pressure (“Everyone’s doing it!” echoes in my ears constantly), and the fear of being left behind or seen as insignificant impels us to do whatever we can to be a part of the cool clique. The truth is that I’ve been swept up in the craze like the rest of society, vying desperately for a chance to show the world that I’m special and different.

Over the past several years, I’ve tried my hardest to get in on a piece of the action – to be known, to be watched, to be gossiped about, like the reality stars of The Hills or the rags to riches bloggers (Zoe Margolis) or the internet phenom vloggers (You-Tube’s Brookers and Geriatric 1927). The only problem is, everybody IS doing it, and apparently, no matter how much I’ve tried, there isn’t any room for little, old me.

My first attempt at fame and fortune was to pursue a career in modeling. Unfortunately, I was several inches too short and a few perfect features away from being the next Cindy Crawford. Of course, that didn’t stop some fledgling modeling agency from pumping up my ego while at the same time sucking my wallet dry. I spent a year after that fiasco still convinced that I could fight my way to the top of the industry, unwilling to accept my mediocrity in the looks department, in the same way that American Idol rejects are at a loss to believe their voices are horrible, but I soon came to grips with the reality of the situation and turned my attentions elsewhere. Thankfully, I’ve had enough sense to realize I’m not what they’re looking for on America’s Next Top Model.

Next stop: Reality TV land. My first two audition tapes for The Real World were a disaster. Unfortunately, I forgot to include contact information with my first tape, putting just my name on the label, as if “Neely” was the equivalent to a Cher or Madonna – they’d know where to find me if they wanted me. Poor lighting and sound quality on my second tape, not to mention the fact that I had absolutely nothing interesting to say that would distinguish me from other candidates, like an anger management problem, an eating disorder, or a strict Mormon upbringing, certainly contributed to my demise.

Clearly, filmmaking and mise en scene weren’t my forte; so when I heard that The Real World was coming to Boston for live casting, I nearly wet my pants. It would be the perfect opportunity for me to charm the casting directors in person with my semi-interesting background and mediocre looks.

With hundreds of other hopefuls, I stood in line, clueless as to why I was waiting and what I was going to say when in front of the camera. Four hours later, it was time for my close-up. When I got to the front of the line, I was told that the casting process was not an individual camera interview but rather a group discussion with one casting director at a table of ten people. When we sat down, the casting lady asked each of us to answer the following question: “What have you done that your parents don’t know about?” This was it, my one shot to impress The Real World gods. I should’ve told the guy next to me to shut up or thrown a chair or told the lady I thought she was lame or at least come up with an outrageous answer – surely, that would have labeled me as a rebel and therefore worthy of a callback – but the only thing that dribbled out of my mouth was, “I had a kegger once when my parents were away.” And just like that, my delusions of celebrity grandeur came face to face with the real Real World: My third rejection was a clear indicator that I wasn’t special, that I was very, very plain.

But defeated I was not. ABC’s The Bachelor was next up. I figured I could kill two birds with one stone – become famous and find love at the same time. After filling out the application and laboring over which photo to send, I prepared myself for Bachelor stardom – maybe I’d be the next Trista Rehn, I secretly hoped. But a couple weeks later, I had fallen for a guy in a gorilla suit at a Halloween party and, in an instant, my fantasy of finding love on TV took a back seat to a more logical choice: hoping I found love at a noisy, dirty bar with a simian wannabe. Fast-forward two months – I was single and The Bachelor application deadline had passed, making my reality TV dreams yet again a tragic nightmare.

Finished with artificial reality shows that had absolutely nothing to do with reality, I couldn’t help but lick my chops when a local Boston production company was auditioning young adults for a scripted reality show that would be a parody of The Real World. Jackpot! Auditioners were asked to deliver a 30-second monologue about the craziest Real World character they could think of. I decided to pretend I had OCD and was terrified of germs – with all the communal sex and puking that occurs in the house on that show, I thought my choice was pretty damn hilarious. I wore a pair of golf gloves (a la Jack Nicholson in As Good as it Gets, in order to get into character, you know, like the A-listers do) to the audition and delivered my monologue with such perfection that I was convinced I’d get the part. Two weeks later, I got an email saying I was not what they were looking for, but they’d keep my name on file in case something else came up (read: you’ll never hear from us again).

Since television didn’t seem to be in my future, I turned to a more accessible medium – the WWW, specifically, MySpace. You Tube was far too technologically advanced for me, so I figured the next best way to chase my dreams of celebrity would be through blogging. I had been freelance writing for a couple of years and was hoping MySpace would launch me and my blogs into the world of book deals, syndicated columns, and television and movie adaptations.

After setting up my account and researching other people’s pages, I sadly realized I was not destined for MySpace fame. While I wrote a profile, posted a picture, and started a blog, I only had one friend – the guy who founded the website (Tom), who is apparently everyone’s friend – and no idea how to design, develop, or publicize my page. I managed to attract a few randoms (I’m now up to 35) to be my “friends,” but I still felt very, very lonely.

And so, after years of failed attempts at stardom, I had resigned myself to commonness and anonymity. I felt like that proverbial last kid to be chosen in gym class: Nobody wanted me. Maybe fame wasn’t my calling; maybe it wasn’t all that and a bag of Cool Ranch Doritos. But just as I was on the verge of giving up the dream, of discovering that perhaps celebrity is nothing more than a red herring, my wishes came true. Time Magazine selected ME for their Person of The Year award. That’s right, little old me, Person of The Year.

Well, me and 6 billion other people, but I think my prospects are brightening.

A Slip of a Girl: On Getting Pap Smear Reunion Parties

"Slip" links to my post. Check out her thoughts on my idea! Dare to dream...

A Slip of a Girl: On Getting Pap Smear Reunion Parties

Ordinary Gal Blog - "I Have a Pap Smear Dream"

I have a pap smear dream.

MLK Jr. once had a dream about white and black people uniting. He inspired change in a country full of injustices.

I have a dream, too; maybe it’s not nearly as important for the survival of our great nation, but it’s a dream nonetheless. I dream that one day, the OB/GYN experience doesn’t have to be so awkward and uncomfortable. I know it may sound ridiculous and completely impractical, but just hear me out.

Here is what I envision:

When arriving at the doctor’s office, instead of a hectic environment full of rude receptionists and constantly ringing phones, you step foot into a peaceful sanctuary, filled with the calming smells of lavender and cedar. The office is dimly lit; candles are sprinkled throughout. Upon checking in, you are escorted to a changing room, where you can slip into a cozy, terry cloth robe and some slippers. A private bathroom filled with the intoxicating scent of lilac is waiting for you through another door. A ledge in the bathroom presents you with several decorated, opaque cups, which you will use for your urine sample (because this doctor’s office knows how icky it is to a. look at a collection of your own urine and b. hand this newly-warmed container over to the poor nurse, who has to look at different people’s urine all day). You are then taken to the Waiting Room of Tranquility where you can sip on tea or water while listening to the sounds of Enya. A couple masseuses wander through the room, inquiring if patients would care for a quick foot, hand, or shoulder rub before their examination. Eventually, your name is called, and you are escorted to the examination room. In this area, you are able to choose from a variety of peaceful music, before settling yourself in the plush examination recliner (think: Lazy-Boy). Lest you be concerned: The recliner is covered in 1000-count Egyptian sheets that are obviously changed after each patient. The walls are lined with pictures and photos of lush landscapes and pictures of Buddha – you may even get the urge to start doing some yoga (there’s a meditation/yoga mat in the corner, in case the fancy strikes you). By the time the doctor comes in, you are completely relaxed. You kick back in your recliner as your OB/GYN asks the normal round of questions. When it’s time for the actual exam, you hoist your feet into two luxurious, fur-covered braces. Upon completion of the exam, you are presented with various aromatherapy oils that you can slather on your skin while asking your doctor any remaining questions.

No more in and out 20-minute visits; no more loud waiting rooms; no more staring at a puddle of your own urine; no more cold, hard examination table with a crunchy paper lining that sticks to your ass; no more ill-fitting paper robes; no more uncomfortable waiting in the exam room where you’re subjected to drug charts that tell you about the side effects of prozac and other anti-depressants; no more iron stirrups with oven mitt covers.

I know what you’re thinking – this gal is out of her mind! But before you nay-say, check out the below hospital in Ontario, Canada called the Shouldice Hernia Centre. To be sure, the cutting-edge hernia medical techniques and reputable doctors are central to the hospital’s success, but certainly another factor is the environment in which people come to stay for their operations. See picture above and below:

In 1953, Dr. Edward Earle Shouldice purchased a beautiful country estate in Thornhill, and the Shouldice Hernia Centre at Thornhill was born. AMERICAN MEDICAL NEWS has this to say about the hospital: “The house that hernias built, is a converted country estate which gives the hospital a 'country club' appeal."
Can you imagine going in for surgery but feeling more like you’re a character in a Charlotte Bronte novel, headed to Thornhill for a visit to the countryside’s pre-eminent doctor?

As the website (http://www.shouldice.com/) states: “As you enter the stately tree-lined drive to Shouldice Hospital, you will likely pass by groups of individuals ambling along in their housecoats. Chances are that these patients had their hernias repaired the previous day."

Regarding the post-operative recovery process, the website elaborates: “By the following morning you will be participating in a gentle exercise program along with other patients. Steadily, you will gain confidence in your hernia repair. For your enjoyment you will find a billiard room, shuffleboard table, TV lounge, a common area to play cards, and a beautiful solarium for lounging and reading. Outside there are 20 acres of landscaped grounds to stroll about, including a putting green.”

Former patients gush over their experience (and it’s not like they’re getting their nails done – they’re having hernia operations!)

"I never felt so much at home so far away from home." RAYMOND DONOVAN-NORTH BERGEN, N.J.

"Never did I think that I would write to a hospital and tell them how much I enjoyed my visit, but I find myself doing that very thing. It took me a year to get the courage to have my hernia repaired, but my fears were all unfounded. And the food was excellent." ROBERT C. COLE-ROCHESTER, NEW YORK

Apparently, many years ago, a group of patients so thoroughly enjoyed their stay that they approached Dr. Shouldice and asked if he would sponsor an annual reunion.

Mike: Hey, Jon, what are you up to this weekend?
Jon: I’m headed to my hernia operation reunion. I’m psyched!

Ok, ok, so I realize that my pap smear vision will NEVER materialize, but can’t a girl dream?

Ordinary Gal Blog - "The Barnyard Club"

I’m not ashamed to admit that at 30, The Breakfast Club (directed by filmmaking genius, John Hughes) is still one of my favorite movies.

In the final moments of the film, Brian Johnson, the brainiac and “neo-maxi-zoom-dweebie” of the group (played by Anthony Michael Hall), explains in an essay some simple but profound truths (communicated to the audience via the voiceover technique) to Principal Vernon:

“Dear Mr. Vernon: We accept the fact that we had to sacrifice a whole Saturday in detention for whatever it is we did wrong, but we think you're crazy for making us write an essay telling you who we think we are. You see us as you want to see us: in the simplest terms, in the most convenient definitions. But what we found out is that each one of us is a brain, and an athlete, and a basket case, a princess, and a criminal. Does that answer your question? Sincerely yours, The Breakfast Club.”

By the movie’s end, five teenagers, each from different cliques and backgrounds, who are forced to spend an entire Saturday in detention together, discover that they all share common fears and insecurities. That they are much deeper than their respective stereotypes let on. That they are not as different from one another as they had originally thought.

This past weekend, I believe I experienced something similar. My high school girlfriends and I got together for a reunion weekend in Willaimstown, MA at our friend’s boyfriend’s house, which, strangely but quite amusingly, was filled with all sorts of crazy stuffed animals (cows and pigs and sheep and alligators and platypuses). It was 48 hours of conversation, games, food, laughs, tears, and stories. Granted, we were all part of the same social group in high school, but quite surprisingly, we discovered that our current-day perceptions of one another were often false. We found out that we’re all scared, no matter how many of us appear to have it together; we’re all confused about where our lives are headed; we’re all a bit puzzled about who we are as people, as women, as would-be mothers, as would-be wives, as lovers, as friends. We all grapple with the push and pull dynamic of career versus childrearing and the consequent societal judgments that are tied to either choice. We’re all afraid of making mistakes and wrong turns and poor decisions.

As detention comes to a close in the movie, the Breakfast Club members express concern that they will return to being strangers; that they will never speak to one another again. The sentiments were indeed the same with the girls; we hugged goodbye as we each headed back to our respective lives in different cities and states, perhaps only to be reacquainted with one another at our next reunion.

But regardless of what happens and how little we may speak to one another between now and then, connections were made, re-built, and solidified, our preconceived judgments torn down by the bonds and reigniting of friendship. No matter where we go or who we become we will always have Williamstown.

Sincerely yours, The Barnyard Club.

Ordinary Gal Blog - "Call of the Wild"

Pandemonium erupted across Boston a couple summers ago when a gorilla named Little Joe broke out of the Franklin Park Zoo. Luckily nobody was injured and residents of the surrounding area could breathe a sigh of relief upon his capture. However, a reliable source had informed me that the city was once again under attack by a wild beast. This time around, the deadly animal just so happened to be a cougar. In fact, hundreds of thousands of them were roaming the streets. Turn to your right and you might see one. Turn to your left and there goes another one. Ok, ok, enough tongue-in-cheek. Let me explain.

During my single days, about a year or so ago, I was acquainted with the term “C.I.T.” I was chatting with a guy at a popular bar in Boston’s Beacon Hill neighborhood. We were talking about relationships and more specifically, why older men seem to go for younger women. Naturally, he was a 33-year-old dating a recent college graduate, so I gathered that his elucidation on the subject was merely a way for him to justify his own cradle-robbing behavior. I told him I thought it was nonsense: Older women (defined by him as late twenties/early thirties) are more secure with themselves, more worldly than their younger counterparts; instead, men looked at us like ticking time bombs waiting to explode – biologically and emotionally speaking.

I was all worked up, my panties in a bunch, when my bar acquaintance decided to add insult to injury. He first questioned why a “hot girl” such as me was still single and then joked that if I didn’t get my act together, I ran the risk of becoming a C.I.T. one day. Not having any clue what this peculiar acronym stood for, I inquired. A “Cougar In Training,” he replied. He then went on to explain that a CIT was a single woman in her late twenties/early thirties who came to bars and sat with her other single friends in their late twenties/early thirties and waited for their prey (single men). At some point in your mid 30s if you were still single and going to bars to meet men, you had graduated to full blown “Cougar” status. I wanted to hurl.

Considering I was wearing my new Catherine Malandrino top, I decided to keep my rising chunks at bay, choosing to storm off instead. I was incredibly angry and disturbed that such a term existed. Frankly, as a woman in her late twenties, who still loved the bar scene, I was irritated that I was becoming this woman that men joked about. I know I shouldn’t have given a shit as far as what men think – that’s what this day of female liberation and girl power is all about, right? But I couldn’t help feeling insecure and insulted; after all, who wants to be the butt of a joke?

The next day I woke up quite disheartened. The comments from the previous night’s outing had me quite flustered. But it dawned on me that there was a terrible double standard at work. Shouldn’t there be a term for the male equivalent? If men can dish it out, can they take it? Where was the witty retort that I so desperately needed when my annoying bar acquaintance informed me of this awful, new man-speak that was apparently, sweeping the nation?

So, in the interest of proudly aging and single women everywhere, I took it upon myself to find an appropriate animal that I felt could truly represent that token older guy at a bar hitting on anyone with an XX chromosome. You know who I’m talking about. At first I settled on the “praying MANtis,” but I was soon informed that the PM is infamous for the female biting off the male’s head after mating. I then stumbled upon the Elephant Seal (ES).

Apparently, the less dominant males are restricted to the fringes of a colony and continually try to gain access to females. Furthermore, females will release an audible “bawling” sound (much like the groan of displeasure that my friend lets off when approached by the human version) when a non-dominant male tries to mate with her. With their large, wrinkly, blubberish bodies, resembling that of an elephant’s trunk, and their elongated head appendages, capable of producing extraordinarily loud roaring noises, especially during the mating season, I knew that I had found the perfect creature. Jackpot! Finally, we cougars of the world will have the perfect comeback for all those dirty seals out there.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to retreat to my den – my fur is starting to itch and I need to go soak my paws.

Ordinary Gal Blog - "The Yin and Yang of Relationships"

The yin and yang concept certainly applies to dating and relationships.

A small and seemingly insignificant moment from last summer stands out in my overly-analytical brain: As I was walking through the Boston Commons, I noticed a man and a woman reading separately but lying next to each other on the grass; calmly, he placed his hand on her delicate thigh. It was a small signal of affection for his girlfriend, but the act spoke volumes to me.

Relationships have such capacity for beauty and peace and love and joy – this strange man’s simple gesture of placing his palm on his lover’s leg triggered these sentiments. I watched with envy as she continued to read her book and he his, understanding full well the comfort and harmony that existed between them and knowing that that dynamic was something I desperately wanted in my own life but hadn’t found yet.

I had always heard stories about kind and loving boyfriends or husbands, but for many years, I wasn’t prepared to engage in relationships with men of such character. I had always dreamed about what beauty meant in a relationship but had never experienced it.

But even though I had never experienced it, I knew beauty was in that man’s hand because I had only allowed myself to be subjected to ugliness for so long. I’m not talking about being in physically or emotionally abusive trysts – thankfully, I've avoided that. But I do recognize that for years, I only pursued the ugliness of unhealthy, dead-end relationships. I chased after men that didn’t want to be with me; I tried to get them to want to be with me, often times, forgetting why I wanted to be with them in the first place; I pined away for men who manipulated and disrespected me; I lost myself in the hunt. But in retrospect, I'm glad I experienced those things.

As trite as it may sound, we may very well need to confront the bad and the ugly before we can not only recognize beauty but also allow ourselves to experience it. My current boyfriend, Mr. J.R., shows me the kind of beauty I've been searching for all my life but had been too scared to let in.

Dictionary.com states that the interaction of yin and yang “influences the destinies of creatures and things.” Perhaps we can bring some sort of understanding and acceptance then to the pain and heartbreak in our romantic lives. If we are in the midst of or have ever felt relationship grief, perhaps we can see the silver lining – that we’ll never allow ourselves to experience the ugliness again, that we want beauty, that our dating destiny can be positively affected by the dynamic of these two forces. Indeed, the yang (the good) can only be realized through experiencing the yin (the bad). Without one we would not have the other.

Maybe one day YOU will be fortunate enough to feel the warmth of a man’s palm on your own lovely limb and know that you’ve finally achieved beauty in your life.

Ordinary Gal Blog - "Wedded Blisters"

After watching an episode of Everybody Loves Raymond, in which the show’s main character, Raymond, yet again gives us reason to avoid married life, I flick around and come across The Real Housewives of Orange County – five women with fake breasts and love affairs with money instead of their husbands show us what life is like inside a gated community. On another channel, a promo for Chris Rock’s latest comedy, I Think I Love My Wife, flashes on the screen only to be followed by an episode of Married with Children, the sitcom that created millions of runaway brides and grooms. One last ditch effort to find something uplifting about marriage is thwarted by a preview of next week’s 'Till Death, a show about what else, a dysfunctional marriage (indeed, reflected in the sitcom’s title), starring the fomer co-star of Everybody Loves Raymond.

I turn off the television, drained, demoralized, and convinced I’m never going to get married.

It’s true that marriage is becoming a thing of the past. Ok, well, not completely, but a recent US Census Bureau report did find that marriage has ceased to be the predominant living arrangement for US households. With shows like the aforementioned, depicting marriage as this energy-sapping, miserable way of life, where husbands have to practically beg their wives for sex and wives feel like they’re not being validated enough by their husbands, I can see why.

Indeed, one of the most prevalent places that we observe the uncertain nature of wedded bliss (more like, wedded blisters) is through the media. There’s the constant attention on the failed unions of Hollywood – where divorce seems to be de rigueur ; the public knows all too well that when a celebrity couple ties the knot, divorce and bitterness are not far off. Public images of animosity towards one another are then shoved in our faces, from the rags at the supermarket to the gossip shows (and even legitimate news programming) on television. We see before our very own eyes, the bliss that once existed between two people turn into hostility and bitter court battles. Of course, Hollywood is Hollywood, where sky-high egos (often, a quality incompatible with marriage) are as common as boob jobs, and we thus know better to not compare ourselves to the people of LA-LA land. Nevertheless, the media focuses so intensely on these failures that we in turn, can’t help but wonder if our own lives are destined to follow the same path.

But what about this daily bombardment of television shows and movies, depicting marriage as the root of all evil? The truth is that these comedies and films play off of real life, and we know this to be the case because we laugh at their humor. We laugh because we recognize truth. People love shows like Everybody Loves Raymond because a depiction of an average guy dealing with the daily struggles of marriage is true to the way it is outside of that rectangular, silver screen. Unmarried couples may not entirely relate to the humor but they understand that this is what they’ll eventually encounter once they walk down the aisle. Are we destined for the same path as Ed and Peggy Bundy, we wonder.

So we turn off our televisons, looking elsewhere for signs of encouragement, only to be bombarded by another reality check on the state of marriage today: the nation’s divorce rate, which towers over us at all times, giving us very good reason to doubt that we will escape the odds.

And just when I begin to convince myself that married life and babies may not be for me, that I don’t want to become another statistic, my brother calls with the news that he’s engaged. And I witness the happiness and excitement that comes with the plans for their future together. It might not last, they’ve got a 50/50 chance of survival, but they show me that they’re willing to go the distance.

And the prospect of their union impels me to believe that marriage with the right person is worthy and important despite the distractions in the media and despite my deepest fears of failure.

Comments? Email me at: comments@ordinarygal.com

Ordinary Gal Blog - "The Birth of a Blog"

The beginning of a blog is like the beginning of a relationship: So much promise, so many possibilities. Of course, the potential for failure in both blogging and romance is an undeniable truth that writers and lovers take into careful consideration when determining if their efforts are even worth it.

After having spent the majority of my life as a single gal (though I am now, at 29, in a relationship with a great guy, who will henceforth be known as Mr. Just Right), I have come to learn a few things, one of which is that having too many expectations about dating can be disastrous. I am now applying this outlook to my blogging ambitions. Frankly, with a gazillion blogs out there, my chances at success are slim, but that doesn't mean I shouldn't pursue my passion of writing, right?

In relationships, we endure failure after failure, rejection after rejection, but if we are brave enough, we push past these disappointments and continue our search becasue the pot at the end of the rainbow is enough of a reason to risk the journey. But that brings me to my next point: The pot at the end of the relationship rainbow would be equivalent to what in the blogging world? In other words, how do I define success when it comes to this blog? A book deal? Editors from JANE and Glamour and the New York Times' Modern Love column knocking down my door? A flourishing readership? The truth is that I don't know.

Not knowing the answers has always driven me crazy as far as matters of the heart are concerned. How do I know if he's the one? How do I know if I'm in love? I've searched far and wide for answers to my questions on love and dating -- self-help books, the internet, therapy, and friends and family. But none of them have given me the answers; deep down I've always known the answers can only come from within me. The answer to success in this blog and with my writing career is also something that can only be defined by yours truly. And for the first time in my life, I've resigned myself to not knowing and to seeing where my heart and passion take me.

Of course, the similarities between blogs and love don't end there. In relationships, especially at the outset, we are hesitant to open ourselves up to our suitors -- how much personal information should we divulge, will we turn them off by what we tell them about ourselves? I have struggled with the very same thoughts for this blog. Will I be comfortable sharing the intimacies of my life with the rest of the world? Will I be brave enough to be vulnerable? But as the great writer, editor, and teacher, William Zinsser, once said on an NPR interview, "Writing is about having an honest transaction with the reader." So, unless I'm honest, I'll never be great.

I can't help but worry though. I recently read about a blogger named Kathy Sierra, who received multiple death threats and horribly disgusting emails. Is some ex-boyfriend going to come after me if I write about them here for all the world to see (maybe I'll take advantage of that "names have been changed" option)? Will my parents (if they ever decide to get a computer) be angered by my candor, if I choose to talk about my relationship with them? Will Mr. Just Right be hurt by my choice to discuss our relationship on this website (which he currently does not know about but will probably soon discover)?

I'm looking forward to seeing where this experiment will take me.

Comments? Email me at: comments@ordinarygal.com