Tuesday, April 24, 2007

The "F" word

So this past weekend, I'm out and about at a fab event where I am crushed hard by a fab boy who, as it turned out, was at the event with his wife and young daughter. It brought to mind a fab post by the fab Webmiztris Dawn where she wrote about being hit on by a married bloke now that she is a married lady. All of which got me thinking...

Is it ever okay for married folk to flirt?

As a single girl, I flirt. Often. I flirt with men I know to be married. I flirt with girls. It’s harmless fun and a way to connect socially. I don’t, however, take flirting with the married past innocent fun, or give a girl the wrong impression that I’m interested. A truly momentous plus to being single is the freedom to flirt. That, and you always get the dry towel.

Whether single, married or involved, there’s nothing out of sorts in appreciating or being attracted to another person. It’s what you do with the attraction that matters. That’s human nature, hormones, chemicals and DNA. The problem erupts when lines are crossed.

I typically am hit on more by married men than single ones and, although it may elicit either a chuckle or a “What an asshole” response, I enjoy it. But I wonder how a spouse feels about a flirty spouse. Do the spouses tell?

Is it ever okay for married folk to flirt?

Tuesday, April 17, 2007


The shooting yesterday at Va. Tech won't roll out of me head until I take the time to release some of it.

My stomach dropped when the news came across my cnn.com home page. The same sick feeling I'd had when I heard of gunfire and death in an Amish schoolhouse or the hours 8 years ago this week when I sat in my living room and cried at live, local images of teenagers running to safety, hands atop their heads, past bodies on the grass at Columbine High School.

I grieve so deeply for the students and faculty. It’s hard to watch their faces and look into their eyes as they are interviewed on the news; they are absolutely haunted.

Now comes blame. Parents are calling for the resignation of President Charles Steger and the Virginia Tech Campus Police Chief. There will undoubtedly be lawsuits. Given the shooter has been identified as a Korean national, there could be racial backlash.

In times of tragedy and overwhelming shock and loss, society often turns to blame. We want someone to pay. A token to represent in physical form our grief and hope of redemption. Did victims’ families feel any relief minutes after the death of Timothy McVeigh? It's biblical, an eye for an eye. But the reality is, it means little. The healing rises (in time) from inside and no amount of "making you pay" will change it. I know this first hand.

Mistakes and miscalculations may have been made at Va. Tech, but it’s purely hindsight that provides what some feel is greater knowledge in this moment. The situation unfolded differently to the young men and women, faculty, administration and police on campus Monday morning.

After Columbine, my city was awash in purple ribbons, “Why?’ asked over and over and over. It’s human tragedy, and sadly I knew the “Why’s” would begin again with the next, even more grotesque event. Sometimes there’s no answer to “Why”. Or it’s an answer we don’t have the courage to utter.

We need peace, not blame. Compassion.

Thursday, April 12, 2007

Sign o' the times

My age is showing.

When I read the headline, “Fergie Sends Alanis 'Derriere' Cake for 'Humps' Video” on the People magazine Web site, I thought, "Why is the Duchess of York sending Alanis cakes?".

Took me two days to get it.

Monday, April 9, 2007

Two reasons I must earn more money...

As much as I love my cozy, loft-style town home 10 minutes outside downtown Denver, I want, want, want a little house. Four walls all my own. The dividing walls in my unit (dirty) contain no brick and little soundproof insulation, creating a near constant flow of neighborly noise. Bah-boom. Bah-boom. Bah-boom. With sounds originating from the stereo, TV or in the pipes, it's like living in Poe's "The Tell-Tale Heart".

Panties. Whether purchased from Macy's, Vickie Secrets or somewhere in-between, the quality and grade aren't cutting it. It’s ever-so frustrating to pull on a lovely pair and watch the lace unravel or tiny, stretchy threads explode from the waistband. I must build a better panty portfolio. All clothing, really. The more you spend, the more you save in the long-run, as I’ve learned by black tees that fade to charcoal gray with one wash, or 100% cotton sweaters that stretch to monkey-arm-length while in use.

Think the boss will buy the "panty theory"?

Monday, April 2, 2007

Far from the tree

Due to my usual bout of Sunday night insomnia, I found myself up late watching the premier episodes of Sons of Hollywood, the latest reality-TV offering from the folks at A&E. The premise, twenty-something sons of entertainment “royalty” live together in a wondrous mansion…and the fun and frolicking ensue!

The cast includes Sean Stewart, son of rocker-cum-standards-crooner Rod Stewart, Randy Spelling, son of legendary producer Aaron Spelling and some young-upstart-Hollywood-agent type, born a regular guy, but short and dark with an apparent Napoleon complex (...paging Ari Gold).

Stewart is the out-of-control, in need of anger management character, intent on portraying himself as Tommy Lee, but with less talent or penis (should the show make it past a few weeks on air, there will no doubt be a “very special rehab” episode). Spelling seems the nicest of the bunch, in a doughy, always sweaty kind of way (oh, and for kicks, should you want to see sis Tori’s original, factory issue nose, check out the mug on bro Randy. The resemblance is unsettling).

In spite of the little-bit-of-throw-up-in-my-mouth mess that was the show, it got me thinking about why offspring of the famous often follow said parent into the same arena. I suppose just as a plumber beget a plumber, the choice of career is somewhat affected by the parents and what is known. Sean Stewart is a “singer” and “music producer” (I choose those quotes with all due sarcasm) but would never, ever find long-term success as either. Pop’s semen did not bequeath the boy inherit musical skill, ability and the golden ear. I'm thinking really hard but ain't having much luck coming up with a short list of offspring who've gone on to any sustained, earned success (and no, I don't count either Julian or Sean Lennon in the equation; the legend is too great). Ziggy Marley has a modicum of cred. Stella McCartney, bred of Sir Paul and Linda McCartney, is a well-known designer but, again, is it more due to name or game? I recall one early line that consisted of swimwear in which the crotch was represented by a large pineapple. Even Kate Hudson, brilliant in Almost Famous, seemed to have just that one performance in her.

Perhaps I am clouded by the curse of Paris Hilton.

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