Joy in Packages: Lust Edition

Dear Internet,

These are somethings that have made me very happy lately even if I only get to look at them from a far...

1. Put this dress on.  Gather up your girlfriends.  Dance all night.
2. Every girl needs to feel a little like Barbie sometimes.  Even though we all know you're waaay prettier than she could ever be.
3. A perfect bag to lose your sunglasses in.
4. Paris.  Food.  Love.  Enough said.
5. The Red comes highly recommended by a fabulous gay man.  And who am I to argue with that?  Plus it makes jeans and a t-shirt so much classier.
6. Track 7 is particularly delightful.
   

Love,
Sara

Finding Joy

Dear Internet,

There's a line in the poem that inspired this blog that I often overlook-"At times Joy is elusive-she seems to disappear even as we approach her."

Joy has been elusive for me these past couple of weeks.  And I've been hesitant to write about it because this blog is supposed to be about the good things.  The wonder.  The happiness.  The joy.

But that lack.  That slipping through my fingers.  Is just as much a part of my journey as the times when I'm, "in love with life, all of it, the sun and the rain and the rainbow."

But I tend to think you won't like me.  Or you'll stop reading me.  If I tell you about the rain.  What I forget is that sometimes it's the rain that connects us the most.  Gives us permission to fall apart a little.  Cry.  Scream.  And be ok about that.  Because maybe if I am brave enough to tell you about how I fell out of joy.  How I didn't take down my Christmas tree until February.  Or wash dishes for a month.  Or ignored phone calls.  Or wrestled with whether I should go back on my anti-depressants.  You'll feel a little less alone.  And joy can come back in somewhere for someone.

And really isn't that what this is all about?

So, Internet, I had a shitty month.  It happens sometimes.  But, thankfully, Joy, "wait[s] for us.  Her desire to walk with us is as great as our longing to accompany her."

If she's left you, know that you'll find her again too.  And in the meantime, we'll all be here waiting and cheering you on while you find your way back.

XO,
Sara

Blushing and Bashful

Dear Internet,

Wow!  For the first time in a long time I'm speechless.  I'm rarely speechless.  I have red hair and a voice you can hear over ambulance sirens.  Quiet isn't something I often do.

But being mentioned by Maggie just floors me.  I don't know what to say.  Because I'm just going to go ahead and put it out there-that woman amazes me.  Girl crush doesn't even begin to describe it.  I admire her and the things she does for other women.  She's incredible.  And to have her link me.  And to have all you click over here.  Well that just tickles me pink.

Had I known you were coming I would have freshened up, made some sweet tea, and put out some snacks.  But my apology for not being prepared will have to do.  

I love you Internet.  And I love all the good things you do.  You're the greatest.

XO,
Sara

Making My Way Back

Dear Internet,

I had a Christmas tree in my living until last Sunday.  That's right.  A Christmas tree. 

Turns out I was depressed again.  Not debilitating.  Straight-jacket.  Kill myself depressed. That would be too easy.  I could just be committed and get it over with.

But no, what I struggle with is much more subtle than that.  A pull the covers over my head.  Hide.  Cry about commercials depressed.  A depressed that masquerades as being tired and cranky and a burnt out graduate student.

A depressed that I don't even notice until a friend comes over and says, "Why the fuck is your Christmas tree still up?"  And then suddenly all the avoiding phone calls, huffy exchanges with my colleagues, disaster of a house, and excessive Sex and City watching makes sense. 

Oh right.  This.  Again.

And then I have to dig myself out.  Wash the weeks old dirty dishes.  Hang up the clothes.  Call everyone back.

Take down the fucking Christmas tree.

Tell you I missed you and that I'll be back soon.

Love,
Sara

Helpful Hints

Dear Internet,

Let's talk about sex, baby grammar, puncuation, and appropriateness.  Which in my book gets you one step closer to sex because it turns me on when a man can string two sentences together and is polite enough to use spell check.  And I don't think I'm alone in this.  So here are some helpful hints for those of you who online date like I do:

1. If you reread your email before sending it and the words, "I'm a poet and I didn't know it," come to mind you should hit delete and start over.  You might find your ability to rhyme lass with something other than ass charming but chances are all you're going to get is laughs.  And not in that with you but at you way.  Not the first impression you want to make.
2. Fishin.  Hutin.  Readin.  Are not words.  Go ahead and add that G at the end.  It makes you seem more sophisticated.  In fact, let's just go ahead and spell all words correctly.  If you have any questions about that there's a friendly little helper you can use-spell check.
   
3. Are you on adult friend finder?  Ok, then send that seven point outline of what you want to do to her shoes.  If you're not then keep that one to yourself until you're a couple dates in.  Fantasies, desires, wants, fetishes, are not appropriate topics to lead with.  If I wanted to be hit on like that I'd just wear a low cut top and go to a bar.  But part of why I pay for a profile is so I don't have to deal with creeps like you.  Keep it somewhat classy until I get to know you a little better.  Then feel free to let your freak flag fly as high as you want. 
4. Do not use your profile to vent about your ex.  We've all had bad breakups but we're here now trying to find our match.  Let it go.  And if you can't then maybe you should take your profile down until you can. Because that tirade you went on about cheating makes you seem like a crazy person.  And crazy people don't easily get dates.
   
5. Post a picture.  Answer all the questions.  The truth is going to come out eventually anyway.  Might as well just find the courage to be up front.  Saves a lot of time and heart break in the long run.  Plus, it's better assurance that you aren't trying to hide a third eye or serial killer past.  And if you want to meet in person I've got to feel like you're safe.  Knowing what you look like helps with that.

And yes these are all based on real life experiences.  I'll have to tell you about them sometime because aside from being kinda sad they are funny.

What did I leave out?

Love,
Sara

I am a Woman, Hear me Bitch

Dear Internet,

If you know me from my previous blog and I know some of you do.  I see my stats.  My referring sites.  Then you know over there I was pretty open and blunt about my dating life.  Maybe even a little too confessional.  Here I've really tried to rein that in.  Out of respect for the other involved parties.  For privacy. Discretion.  And a myriad of other moral ideals.  But I'm having a hard time keeping my mouth shut because some pretty craptastic things have happened to me recently in that area of my life.  Things that have made me pretty disgruntled.  Disenchanted.  Depressed.  About modern dating.

This study only added fuel to that fire.  Really, girls?  Really, boys?  Frivolous sex and porn.  That's what I'm competing against?

Sometimes I hate the feminist movement.  Can't stand Sex and the City.  Am annoyed by MTV.  Because part of what they've all tried to tell us is that modern women should behave like men.  Should have multiple sexual partners at once.  Should do sex without love and commitment.  And that if we don't.  If we can't.  Then we're weak.  Then something is wrong with us.  And I'm not sure I'm ok with that.

To me feminism is not about denying female qualities in favor of more stereotypical males ones.  It's about being a woman.  Reveling in that.  Delighting in that.  Celebrating it.  Because it's a hell of a lot different than being a man, but it's just as valid.  And I shouldn't have to down play my nature to be considered equal.

Different can be equal.  It just takes more work.

And I think we do that work a great disservice when we try to pretend love, and relationships, and marriage isn't important to us.  When we try to be one of the boys.  Because really that's not how we are wired.  And if you don't believe me just read this book.

I don't think it's less than to want.  To desire.  To expect.  Commitment.  Love.  Devotion.  A house.  A picket fence.  And 2.1 children. 

I think it's less than to settle for less than.  To give it up when what you really want is love.  To be ok letting a guy be in when it's convenient for him.  But out when it's not.

And sure I'm more than this.  I have an education (a damn good one).  And a career.  And talents.  And hobbies.  And some of you are ok with the frivolous sex.  Or don't want the children.  And that's fine.

But to me a full life is sharing.  Is being caught.  Because I'm a damn good catch. 

And it takes a hell of a lot of courage to admit that.  To say-not only do I want to be loved.  But I fucking deserve it.  And I won't act like I don't just so you'll sleep with me.  I'm better than that.  And worthy of more.

But those are just my two very angry cents.  I know you have your own.  And I love that.  Because that's what equal is about.  Letting people be different and being ok with that.

XO,
Sara

Holding Up My End of the Deal

Dear Internet,

I'll never forget when I rounded the corner and saw you standing there flipping through the racks of sheets.  It was the prettiest I'd ever seen you.  You looked happy.  Comfortable.  Something that hadn't happened in months.

You smiled when you saw my face.  Said you knew it was me because of the way I walked.  You showed me your freshly painted nails and new wig.  Then made me tell you which ones I thought best matched the curtains.  Would be the softest.  Because you couldn't stand the idea of cheap and scratchy being the last thing you felt.

You laughed and joked.  And told the checkout girl when she complimented your hair, "It's a wig, but Lord knows I paid enough for it I'm calling it my own."  

I remember that day because I was able to briefly forget.  You weren't a woman with cancer.  You weren't dying then.  You were just someone shopping on a random Tuesday in June.  Someone buying toilet paper and dog food.  Like regular people do.

You would have been 57 today.  So, I bought a cake and made some chicken salad.  I'll watch To Gillian on her 37th Birthday tonight.  And I'll whisper to you-Do I tell you enough?  Do I tell you too much?

And I'll wish you were still here so I could tell you at all.  So, I could meet you at Target and pick out new dishes.  Or buy deodorant and shampoo.

XO,
Sara