I got this from The Diary of a Sexually Frustrated Husband http://ihaveaheadache.wordpress.com/ and had to share.
1. If you think you might be fat, you are. Don’t ask us. Just get your fat ass in a gym.
2. Learn to work the toilet seat: if it’s up put it down.
3. Don’t cut your hair. Ever.
4. Birthdays, Valentines, and Anniversaries are not quests to see if he can find the perfect present, again!
5. If you ask a question you don’t want an answer to, expect an answer you don’t want to hear.
6. Sometimes, he’s not thinking about you. Live with it.
7. Don’t ask him what he’s thinking about unless you are prepared to discuss such topics as navel lint, the shotgun formation and monster trucks.
8. Get rid of your cat. And no, it’s not different, it’s just like every other cat.
9. Dogs are better than ANY cats. Period.
10. Sunday = Sports. It’s like the full moon or the changing of the tides. Let it be.
11. Shopping is not a sport.
12. Anything you wear is fine. Really.
13. You have enough clothes.
14. You have too many shoes.
15. Crying is blackmail. Use it if you must, but don’t expect us to like it.
16. Your brother is an idiot, your ex-boyfriend is an idiot and your Dad probably is too.
17. Ask for what you want. Subtle hints don’t work.
18. No, he doesn’t know what day it is. He never will. Mark anniversaries on a calendar.
19. Yes, pissing standing up is more difficult than peeing from point blank range. We’re bound to miss sometimes.
20. Most guys own two to three pairs of shoes-what makes you think we’d be any good at choosing which pair, out of thirty, would look good with your dress?
21. Yes and No are perfectly acceptable answers.
22. A headache that lasts for 17 months is a problem. See a doctor.
23. Your Mom doesn’t have to be our best friend.
24. Foreign films are best left to foreigners.
25. Check your oil.
26. Don’t give us 50 rules when 25 will do.
27. Don’t fake it. We’d rather be ineffective than deceived.
28. It is neither in your best interest nor ours to take the quiz together.
29. Anything we said 6 or 8 months ago is inadmissible in an argument. All comments become null and void after 7 days.
30. If you don’t dress like the Victoria’s Secret girls, don’t expect us to act like soap opera guys.
31. If something we said can be interpreted two ways, and one of the ways makes you sad and angry, we meant the other one.
32. Let us ogle. If we don’t look at other women, how can we know how pretty you are?
33. You can either ask us to do something OR tell us how you want it done – not both.
34. Whenever possible, please say whatever you have to say during commercials.
35. Christopher Columbus didn’t need directions, and neither do we.
36. Women wearing Wonderbras and low-cut blouses lose their right to complain about having their boobs stared at.
37. Consider Golf a mini-vacation from you. We need it, just like you do.
38. Telling us that the models in the men’s magazines are airbrushed makes you look jealous and petty and it’s certainly not going to deter us from reading the magazines.
39. The relationship is never going to be like it was the first two months we were going out.
40. Anyone can buy condoms.
AND FINALLY,
41. Don’t rub the lamp if you don’t want the genie to come out.
Sunday, May 31, 2009
What it takes to succeed
“I will NOT be outworked. Period… You might have more talent than me, you might be smarter than me, you might be sexier than me, you might be all of those things. You got it on me in nine categories. But if we get on the treadmill together, there’s two things: Either you’re getting off first, or I’m gonna die. It’s really that simple.” -Will Smith, on his work ethic.
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Attention
Apparently I need a lot of attention. And the funny thing is that this is news to me.
I’d call it more like validation. A word I’m still not happy about, but I’m not sure that it’s a bad thing. I suppose the people who know me say “Yeeaasss! Of course you need a lot of attention,” all the while looking at me as if I’m the only one who doesn’t know this.
I do like to be noticed. I like to be known. I do not want to be famous in a celebrity, look-at-me kind of way. It’s more like an I-am-not-invisible, I-co-exist-with-you-on-this-earth, a-simple-acknowledgment-will-suffice kind of way. I want you to think I am funny or at least amusing, insightful and when you walk away, think somehow positively of me. Memorable, I guess. I strive to be memorable.
But yesterday morning I failed miserably. At 7:30 a.m., on my way home from depositing my older son and his friends at high school, I got pulled over for speeding. Cool. I got a cop’s attention. I live for these moments. I have a recent uniform fetish that needs feeding. So on occasion, I fantasize about big strapping guys in some position of authority that requires them all to wear the same style of clothing – hence the word uniform -- doing interesting things to me. And this was my moment. My fantasy about to unfold. But, I was in my pajamas. And not lingerie either. The old, ugly kind you wear ‘cause no one is going to be looking at you. I basically rolled out of bed and put myself in the car. I was a disheveled mess. Smeared mascara, hair all over the place and unbathed. I am pretty sure I smelled. A fact I still find hilarious. But I was doing 44 in a 30 and got caught. Normally I would have brought my A-game to this episode. Leaned out the car window, flicked my hair a time or two, lowered my sunglasses down the bridge of my nose, smiled and flattered him in some way. Basically, flirted my way out of it. But yesterday, I had no game. Certainly not my A-game. I didn’t even have a C-game. I was trailer park trash bordering on a D- or even F-game. My moment lost forever. So not only did I get one ticket for the 14 extra miles per hour I was doing, I got a second one for not having my license handy. I’d forgotten it. At my house. A block away. Had I had my A-game? The officer would have been more than happy to escort me back to retrieve it and waive that ticket as well.
So still trying to be memorable for that day, I told my husband a story about an experience I had earlier. And he said that while, yes my story was funny; I am funny in a way that when I die I am going to instantly burn for the bad things I say and do. Imagining me spontaneously combust the moment after I die, cracked him up. For quite some time. Actually I think he is still laughing.
Here it goes. While I admit I am in no way altruistic and do not deny a tendency to be mean, I try not to be overtly hurtful. See while I was at the doctor’s office waiting to be seen, I became repulsed by the close proximity of this incredibly old man. Let’s call it what it was – he was decrepit, a walking skeleton with grey crooked horse teeth and skin that was stretched thin over a hunched, feeble frame. Essentially, to my recollection, he was dead but no one had the heart to tell him. And he was almost close enough to breathe on me. Eeeewwww. At first I tried to hold my breath, but when that didn’t work, I got up to move, which coincided with an elderly lady with a walker leaving the office. So I got up and opened the door for her to shuffle through. She said I was very kind. Even blessed me. See? Memorable. My mission accomplished. At least for that day.
I’d call it more like validation. A word I’m still not happy about, but I’m not sure that it’s a bad thing. I suppose the people who know me say “Yeeaasss! Of course you need a lot of attention,” all the while looking at me as if I’m the only one who doesn’t know this.
I do like to be noticed. I like to be known. I do not want to be famous in a celebrity, look-at-me kind of way. It’s more like an I-am-not-invisible, I-co-exist-with-you-on-this-earth, a-simple-acknowledgment-will-suffice kind of way. I want you to think I am funny or at least amusing, insightful and when you walk away, think somehow positively of me. Memorable, I guess. I strive to be memorable.
But yesterday morning I failed miserably. At 7:30 a.m., on my way home from depositing my older son and his friends at high school, I got pulled over for speeding. Cool. I got a cop’s attention. I live for these moments. I have a recent uniform fetish that needs feeding. So on occasion, I fantasize about big strapping guys in some position of authority that requires them all to wear the same style of clothing – hence the word uniform -- doing interesting things to me. And this was my moment. My fantasy about to unfold. But, I was in my pajamas. And not lingerie either. The old, ugly kind you wear ‘cause no one is going to be looking at you. I basically rolled out of bed and put myself in the car. I was a disheveled mess. Smeared mascara, hair all over the place and unbathed. I am pretty sure I smelled. A fact I still find hilarious. But I was doing 44 in a 30 and got caught. Normally I would have brought my A-game to this episode. Leaned out the car window, flicked my hair a time or two, lowered my sunglasses down the bridge of my nose, smiled and flattered him in some way. Basically, flirted my way out of it. But yesterday, I had no game. Certainly not my A-game. I didn’t even have a C-game. I was trailer park trash bordering on a D- or even F-game. My moment lost forever. So not only did I get one ticket for the 14 extra miles per hour I was doing, I got a second one for not having my license handy. I’d forgotten it. At my house. A block away. Had I had my A-game? The officer would have been more than happy to escort me back to retrieve it and waive that ticket as well.
So still trying to be memorable for that day, I told my husband a story about an experience I had earlier. And he said that while, yes my story was funny; I am funny in a way that when I die I am going to instantly burn for the bad things I say and do. Imagining me spontaneously combust the moment after I die, cracked him up. For quite some time. Actually I think he is still laughing.
Here it goes. While I admit I am in no way altruistic and do not deny a tendency to be mean, I try not to be overtly hurtful. See while I was at the doctor’s office waiting to be seen, I became repulsed by the close proximity of this incredibly old man. Let’s call it what it was – he was decrepit, a walking skeleton with grey crooked horse teeth and skin that was stretched thin over a hunched, feeble frame. Essentially, to my recollection, he was dead but no one had the heart to tell him. And he was almost close enough to breathe on me. Eeeewwww. At first I tried to hold my breath, but when that didn’t work, I got up to move, which coincided with an elderly lady with a walker leaving the office. So I got up and opened the door for her to shuffle through. She said I was very kind. Even blessed me. See? Memorable. My mission accomplished. At least for that day.
Monday, May 18, 2009
Holding Back Then Surrendering
These are words in a Keith Urban song called “Kiss the Girl.”
“It's that moment when
You start closing in.
First you're holding back
Then surrendering.”
They stand out to me because I’m writing about exactly this moment. The moment after we’ve denied ourselves and just before giving in. What happens to us: What do we see, hear, smell, taste, touch? What are we thinking when we finally give in to the holding back? And how sweet is the surrender? Is it sweeter the longer we hold back?
It’s an intense experience unequivocally. One we all want to repeat as often as we can, yet if we do, doesn’t the potency wear off? Does the holding back get shorter and the surrendering become less earth-shattering?
The space between holding back and surrendering is a place I want to spend some time. I want to learn all the nuances of this experience. I want to stay there long enough to describe its many facets: emotional, mental, physical and spiritual.
And what’s also remarkable is how hard it is to get there. All sorts of things get thrown in the way. Sometimes you only have one part of the equation; all holding back or all surrendering. Maybe that’s part of the delicacy of the affect? Maybe holding back then surrendering is not a place after all. Maybe it’s just a state of mind.
“It's that moment when
You start closing in.
First you're holding back
Then surrendering.”
They stand out to me because I’m writing about exactly this moment. The moment after we’ve denied ourselves and just before giving in. What happens to us: What do we see, hear, smell, taste, touch? What are we thinking when we finally give in to the holding back? And how sweet is the surrender? Is it sweeter the longer we hold back?
It’s an intense experience unequivocally. One we all want to repeat as often as we can, yet if we do, doesn’t the potency wear off? Does the holding back get shorter and the surrendering become less earth-shattering?
The space between holding back and surrendering is a place I want to spend some time. I want to learn all the nuances of this experience. I want to stay there long enough to describe its many facets: emotional, mental, physical and spiritual.
And what’s also remarkable is how hard it is to get there. All sorts of things get thrown in the way. Sometimes you only have one part of the equation; all holding back or all surrendering. Maybe that’s part of the delicacy of the affect? Maybe holding back then surrendering is not a place after all. Maybe it’s just a state of mind.
Full Immersion
I love the feeling of being completely immersed in a subject matter that it takes over my resting mind as well as my waking mind. I remember the first time I dreamed in Spanish. I was in Spain, Madrid, and when I awoke; I felt like I could go anywhere and do anything on my own in this completely foreign country, and do it relatively effortlessly in their native language.
For the last three nights, I’ve had very vivid dreams. Three nights ago, I dreamt about being with a SEAL platoon on a mission. I was both a participant and an observer. I was among this incredibly knowledgeable, self-sufficient group of guys. We were on patrol, doing reconnaissance. I felt completely in my element and knew exactly what I was supposed to do. I held a serious, kick-ass gun too. And although my cammies were rolled up on the arms and legs, ‘cause I’m obviously smaller than a really fit guy, no one seemed to notice.
Two nights ago, l dreamt I was hanging out with a bunch of SEALs, including my characters. It felt common and familiar as if it were a regular occurrence. It was me, but I was more like one of them.
And last night I spent the last three hours of sleep writing pitch letters about my book to editors and agents. I guess I got some positive responses because by the time my alarm went off, I was preparing for personal interviews and even picked out my clothes down to my tailored black skirt and ironing my sleeveless, white tuxedo shirt.
Let’s hope at least some of these dreams come true.
For the last three nights, I’ve had very vivid dreams. Three nights ago, I dreamt about being with a SEAL platoon on a mission. I was both a participant and an observer. I was among this incredibly knowledgeable, self-sufficient group of guys. We were on patrol, doing reconnaissance. I felt completely in my element and knew exactly what I was supposed to do. I held a serious, kick-ass gun too. And although my cammies were rolled up on the arms and legs, ‘cause I’m obviously smaller than a really fit guy, no one seemed to notice.
Two nights ago, l dreamt I was hanging out with a bunch of SEALs, including my characters. It felt common and familiar as if it were a regular occurrence. It was me, but I was more like one of them.
And last night I spent the last three hours of sleep writing pitch letters about my book to editors and agents. I guess I got some positive responses because by the time my alarm went off, I was preparing for personal interviews and even picked out my clothes down to my tailored black skirt and ironing my sleeveless, white tuxedo shirt.
Let’s hope at least some of these dreams come true.
Thursday, May 14, 2009
The Alpha Male & The Submissive
Never before in my life have I found myself so intensely affected by the mere presence of a particular man that it takes every ounce of self-control for me to remain standing when he is near.
I am paraphrasing here because I can’t find where I originally discovered this statement. It was a comment on a Web site about alpha males and submissives. The author was an educated and self-sufficient woman, completely surprised by her own reaction. I’m an educated, independent woman and I have had this exact experience. I know how this woman feels. It’s why I chose to write about Navy SEALs. I fell in love or lust or simply fell over. It’s the same feeling I still have as I write my characters. It’s the exact feeling I want my readers to have when they read the characters I have created.
Whoever wrote it, elaborates with the following. “The effect is extreme, both physically and psychologically. Primal. Overwhelming. It feels as though the man has almost supreme godlike power, but what it is simply is the power of a real man - masculine power…”
Can you imagine this power? I can. It’s the incredibly sexy power of these real life heros. The burning question is can I write it?
The author goes on to say “I feel totally held by this power. The desire to be taken by this man is so intense that it is frightening. It can be difficult to breathe, or difficult to remain standing, let alone maintain a conversation. Dry mouth, heart beating erratically all over the place, the fear that you might faint, shaking like a leaf, body positively screaming to be taken, a reckless willingness and primal desire to do whatever that man wants.”
Isn’t this the holding back then surrending that's at the heart of all sexual tension?
“The masculine power of this man is felt in every fiber of my being. I’m melting in a white-hot inferno of desire, out of my senses, and so far out of control psychologically that I can't even imagine ever being in control. All I want is to be consumed and totally in his power as if owned by him - totally his, totally submissive.”
And so I got to thinking, about what it would feel like to give oneself over to this feeling e.g. this man. How would I describe it? And does the character have to be submissive? Or is there a midrange to this affect, whereby she can give herself over to him, yet retain her power and control? As I make my way through thousands of words and hundreds of pages, this idea has become my journey and the story of SEAL Master.
Thank you to whomever it was that wrote such eloquent words. If anyone knows her, please pass on my gratitude.
I am paraphrasing here because I can’t find where I originally discovered this statement. It was a comment on a Web site about alpha males and submissives. The author was an educated and self-sufficient woman, completely surprised by her own reaction. I’m an educated, independent woman and I have had this exact experience. I know how this woman feels. It’s why I chose to write about Navy SEALs. I fell in love or lust or simply fell over. It’s the same feeling I still have as I write my characters. It’s the exact feeling I want my readers to have when they read the characters I have created.
Whoever wrote it, elaborates with the following. “The effect is extreme, both physically and psychologically. Primal. Overwhelming. It feels as though the man has almost supreme godlike power, but what it is simply is the power of a real man - masculine power…”
Can you imagine this power? I can. It’s the incredibly sexy power of these real life heros. The burning question is can I write it?
The author goes on to say “I feel totally held by this power. The desire to be taken by this man is so intense that it is frightening. It can be difficult to breathe, or difficult to remain standing, let alone maintain a conversation. Dry mouth, heart beating erratically all over the place, the fear that you might faint, shaking like a leaf, body positively screaming to be taken, a reckless willingness and primal desire to do whatever that man wants.”
Isn’t this the holding back then surrending that's at the heart of all sexual tension?
“The masculine power of this man is felt in every fiber of my being. I’m melting in a white-hot inferno of desire, out of my senses, and so far out of control psychologically that I can't even imagine ever being in control. All I want is to be consumed and totally in his power as if owned by him - totally his, totally submissive.”
And so I got to thinking, about what it would feel like to give oneself over to this feeling e.g. this man. How would I describe it? And does the character have to be submissive? Or is there a midrange to this affect, whereby she can give herself over to him, yet retain her power and control? As I make my way through thousands of words and hundreds of pages, this idea has become my journey and the story of SEAL Master.
Thank you to whomever it was that wrote such eloquent words. If anyone knows her, please pass on my gratitude.
I am a Restaurant's Best Friend
This is true. I eat out more than anyone else I know. In fact, as I write this, I’m thinking about which restaurant I’d like to frequent tonight, despite the fact that I have thawed and am now marinating chicken breasts in Mojo to grill later. My fascination with eating out comes down to two things. I love good food and I love to be served.
While the latter may sound elitist, it isn’t mean to. I love to be served because when I’m sitting at a table in a restaurant confident that the food is going to be good and the service attentive, I can focus my attention on the company I’m with. It’s actually the ultimate compliment to have me return to your restaurant. It means we have established a level of trust that you will meet or exceed my expectations every time we’re together. It’s an exchange of faith on a very deep, personal level.
It’s not that I can’t or don’t like to cook either. I can and do, at least three times a week. I’ve studied microwave cooking, though that may well be an oxymoron, vegetarian cooking, the art of grilling, Chinese, Jewish, Greek and Italian cooking.
Before I had kids I even hosted all sorts of food-related parties. We had flavorful barbeques after softball games and a murder mystery dinner party where I served my very first Coquilles St. Jacques and Coq au Vin. I’ve had make-your-own-pizza parties. We had seafood fests that included, shrimp scampi, clams casino and lobsters boiled alive served simply with drawn butter and lemon. I had a fondue dinners, appetizer-only parties and vodka tasting parties.
And after fly fishing for sockeye salmon in the Kenai River in Alaska (where I slipped on the slippery uneven rocks in the river bed, filled up my chest-high waders with the ice-cold water, screamed like a banshee as my ass froze literally, and had to be helped out of the water to the sound of applause), I hosted a brunch where the star of the meal was the freshly smoked salmon I actually caught.
And given my predilection for restaurants, I am intrigued by chefs too. I’ve written a chapter in Master SEAL where the hero cooks for the heroine. I call him Chefalicious (thanks to @chefalicious on Twitter) for various reasons you’ll just have to wait til it comes out to find out. But I do think there is something really sexy about a man who can cook…just…for…me. I think it’s a similar fascination I have with the SEALs whereby I admire his ability, he has a specific expertise and skill set from which I can learn, he has a unique specialty, discipline and focus. All these attributes add up to my being able to give up control of a given situation, which frees me up to focus on other things…
While the latter may sound elitist, it isn’t mean to. I love to be served because when I’m sitting at a table in a restaurant confident that the food is going to be good and the service attentive, I can focus my attention on the company I’m with. It’s actually the ultimate compliment to have me return to your restaurant. It means we have established a level of trust that you will meet or exceed my expectations every time we’re together. It’s an exchange of faith on a very deep, personal level.
It’s not that I can’t or don’t like to cook either. I can and do, at least three times a week. I’ve studied microwave cooking, though that may well be an oxymoron, vegetarian cooking, the art of grilling, Chinese, Jewish, Greek and Italian cooking.
Before I had kids I even hosted all sorts of food-related parties. We had flavorful barbeques after softball games and a murder mystery dinner party where I served my very first Coquilles St. Jacques and Coq au Vin. I’ve had make-your-own-pizza parties. We had seafood fests that included, shrimp scampi, clams casino and lobsters boiled alive served simply with drawn butter and lemon. I had a fondue dinners, appetizer-only parties and vodka tasting parties.
And after fly fishing for sockeye salmon in the Kenai River in Alaska (where I slipped on the slippery uneven rocks in the river bed, filled up my chest-high waders with the ice-cold water, screamed like a banshee as my ass froze literally, and had to be helped out of the water to the sound of applause), I hosted a brunch where the star of the meal was the freshly smoked salmon I actually caught.
And given my predilection for restaurants, I am intrigued by chefs too. I’ve written a chapter in Master SEAL where the hero cooks for the heroine. I call him Chefalicious (thanks to @chefalicious on Twitter) for various reasons you’ll just have to wait til it comes out to find out. But I do think there is something really sexy about a man who can cook…just…for…me. I think it’s a similar fascination I have with the SEALs whereby I admire his ability, he has a specific expertise and skill set from which I can learn, he has a unique specialty, discipline and focus. All these attributes add up to my being able to give up control of a given situation, which frees me up to focus on other things…
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
The Alpha Male & The Submissive
Never before in my life have I found myself so intensely affected by the mere presence of a particular man that it takes every ounce of self-control for me to remain standing when he is near.
I am paraphrasing here because I can’t find where I originally discovered this statement. It was a comment on a Web site about alpha males and submissives. The author was an educated and self-sufficient woman, completely surprised by her own reaction. I’m an educated, independent woman too. I have had this exact experience. It’s why I chose to write about Navy SEALs. I fell in love or lust or simply fell over. It’s the same feeling I still have as I write my characters. It’s the exact feeling I want my readers to have when they read the characters I have created.
Whoever wrote it, elaborates with the following. “The effect is extreme, both physically and psychologically. Primal. Overwhelming. It feels as though the man has almost supreme godlike power, but what it is simply is the power of a real man - masculine power…”
Imagine this power! The burning question is can I write it?
The author goes on to say “I feel totally held by this power. The desire to be taken by this man is so intense that it is frightening. It can be difficult to breathe, or difficult to remain standing, let alone maintain a conversation. Dry mouth, heart beating erratically all over the place, the fear that you might faint, shaking like a leaf, body positively screaming to be taken, a reckless willingness and primal desire to do whatever this man wants.”
Isn’t this at the heart of all sexual tension in romance novels?
“The masculine power of this man is felt in every fiber of my being. I’m melting in a white-hot inferno of desire, out of my senses, and so far out of control psychologically that I can't even imagine ever being in control. All I want is to be consumed and totally in his power as if owned by him - totally his, totally submissive.”
And so I got to thinking, about what it would feel like to give oneself over to this feeling e.g. this man. How would I describe it? And do I or the character have to be submissive? Or is there a midrange to this affect, whereby we give ourselves over to him, yet retain our power and control? As I make my way through thousands of words and hundreds of pages, this idea has become my journey and the story of SEAL Master.
Thank you to whomever it was that wrote such eloquent words. If anyone knows her, please pass it on.
I am paraphrasing here because I can’t find where I originally discovered this statement. It was a comment on a Web site about alpha males and submissives. The author was an educated and self-sufficient woman, completely surprised by her own reaction. I’m an educated, independent woman too. I have had this exact experience. It’s why I chose to write about Navy SEALs. I fell in love or lust or simply fell over. It’s the same feeling I still have as I write my characters. It’s the exact feeling I want my readers to have when they read the characters I have created.
Whoever wrote it, elaborates with the following. “The effect is extreme, both physically and psychologically. Primal. Overwhelming. It feels as though the man has almost supreme godlike power, but what it is simply is the power of a real man - masculine power…”
Imagine this power! The burning question is can I write it?
The author goes on to say “I feel totally held by this power. The desire to be taken by this man is so intense that it is frightening. It can be difficult to breathe, or difficult to remain standing, let alone maintain a conversation. Dry mouth, heart beating erratically all over the place, the fear that you might faint, shaking like a leaf, body positively screaming to be taken, a reckless willingness and primal desire to do whatever this man wants.”
Isn’t this at the heart of all sexual tension in romance novels?
“The masculine power of this man is felt in every fiber of my being. I’m melting in a white-hot inferno of desire, out of my senses, and so far out of control psychologically that I can't even imagine ever being in control. All I want is to be consumed and totally in his power as if owned by him - totally his, totally submissive.”
And so I got to thinking, about what it would feel like to give oneself over to this feeling e.g. this man. How would I describe it? And do I or the character have to be submissive? Or is there a midrange to this affect, whereby we give ourselves over to him, yet retain our power and control? As I make my way through thousands of words and hundreds of pages, this idea has become my journey and the story of SEAL Master.
Thank you to whomever it was that wrote such eloquent words. If anyone knows her, please pass it on.
Dharmic Mission
I do yoga. I’d like to say my practice is daily, but it’s more like bi- to tri-weekly. However, I do read Yoga Journal and get a weekly yoga newsletter that I, at the very least, review quickly.
Today’s newsletter asked me what is my dharmic mission or righteous duty and provided three questions to prod my thinking. I have been doing this a lot lately, thinking about where I am, what I want and how can I get where I want to go, so this was exceptionally apropos.
Now while I still wrestle with the answers for these questions, I decided to share the three questions here. Hope they help.
1) How do you make use of your passions and talents to fulfill the highest expression of yourself?
2) If you had all the time, money, and energy you wanted, what would you do?
3) If you had no fear of failure, what would you do?
Today’s newsletter asked me what is my dharmic mission or righteous duty and provided three questions to prod my thinking. I have been doing this a lot lately, thinking about where I am, what I want and how can I get where I want to go, so this was exceptionally apropos.
Now while I still wrestle with the answers for these questions, I decided to share the three questions here. Hope they help.
1) How do you make use of your passions and talents to fulfill the highest expression of yourself?
2) If you had all the time, money, and energy you wanted, what would you do?
3) If you had no fear of failure, what would you do?
Mavericks
I’m reading another Dick Couch book on Navy SEALs. This one is The Sheriff of Ramadi. On the cover is a photo of a quintessential SEAL. His name is Michael Monsoor in full, kick-ass assault gear. He died after smothering a grenade with his body that was thrown on the rooftop where they were positioned. He saved his fellow SEALs as well as the Iraqi Army soldiers he was training as part of the Foreign Internal Defense mission he was on. He was awarded the Medal of Honor posthumously for his sacrifice.
Although his act is incredibly selfless and heroic, it is not unusual within the Teams. Any SEAL in his position would have done the same for his brothers. That’s why, as I am reading through Chapter 1 of this book, I felt the need to stop and write. Couch says that before 1970, the SEALs used to attract non-mainstream mavericks who often made the best combat leaders and innovators because they cared more about their duty than their careers. I’d argue that they still do.
Recently I was having a conversation about how our government is no longer representative of the people because each representative is in that position for his or her own personal collection of power, which has now become our national currency.
Now, while I believe there is a lot of greed and “what’s in it for me” going around, I also believe there are still bona fide heroes among us – mavericks – individual dissenters who are the backbone of our country, taking an independent stand apart from everyone else. Granted, given our current self-indulgent climate, they may be hanging back, watching from the shadows, but I sincerely believe they are here nonetheless just waiting for the right moment to act. They have to be.
We’re a country of nonconformists; nearly an entire continent of individualist misfits and malcontents. We’re rebels. We function at our best that way. Maybe we’ve lost our way, which is why were in such deep shit. We’ve let our independence become collective instead of holding tightly onto it as individuals.
Without the rebels and mavericks, our country would just be an extension of England or France or Spain. Our strength is in that we don’t fit the mold. We don’t do what we’re told. We do what’s bold and unconventional. We believe in the impossible. We have to. It’s how we were founded. On an idea. An idea, how ridiculous! Yet here we are, 200-plus years later still striving to do what’s right no matter what the consequences. It’s hardwired into our collective unconscious.
Who knows? Maybe it’ll be me. Writing every day with a single-minded focus on completing another novel and getting it published. Maybe I’ll spark someone’s imagination. Light an internal flame and through my stories of Navy SEALs inspire people to act selflessly, heroically; like mavericks. It could happen. Anything can. I live in America.
Although his act is incredibly selfless and heroic, it is not unusual within the Teams. Any SEAL in his position would have done the same for his brothers. That’s why, as I am reading through Chapter 1 of this book, I felt the need to stop and write. Couch says that before 1970, the SEALs used to attract non-mainstream mavericks who often made the best combat leaders and innovators because they cared more about their duty than their careers. I’d argue that they still do.
Recently I was having a conversation about how our government is no longer representative of the people because each representative is in that position for his or her own personal collection of power, which has now become our national currency.
Now, while I believe there is a lot of greed and “what’s in it for me” going around, I also believe there are still bona fide heroes among us – mavericks – individual dissenters who are the backbone of our country, taking an independent stand apart from everyone else. Granted, given our current self-indulgent climate, they may be hanging back, watching from the shadows, but I sincerely believe they are here nonetheless just waiting for the right moment to act. They have to be.
We’re a country of nonconformists; nearly an entire continent of individualist misfits and malcontents. We’re rebels. We function at our best that way. Maybe we’ve lost our way, which is why were in such deep shit. We’ve let our independence become collective instead of holding tightly onto it as individuals.
Without the rebels and mavericks, our country would just be an extension of England or France or Spain. Our strength is in that we don’t fit the mold. We don’t do what we’re told. We do what’s bold and unconventional. We believe in the impossible. We have to. It’s how we were founded. On an idea. An idea, how ridiculous! Yet here we are, 200-plus years later still striving to do what’s right no matter what the consequences. It’s hardwired into our collective unconscious.
Who knows? Maybe it’ll be me. Writing every day with a single-minded focus on completing another novel and getting it published. Maybe I’ll spark someone’s imagination. Light an internal flame and through my stories of Navy SEALs inspire people to act selflessly, heroically; like mavericks. It could happen. Anything can. I live in America.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Corsets
I’ve been into corsets lately…ever since I wrote the beginning of my second book Third Times a Charm. It’s the sequel to A SEAL in Uniform and begins with Lieutenant Commander Mallory in preparation of his proposal to the love of his life, Sarah Richman, whom he met and fell in love with in the first book, buys her an incredible outfit that includes a Swan Lake-style princess dress, antique crème-colored satin corset and lace-up style high heeled ballet shoes.
The corset has been around in one form or another since the ancient Greeks. At one time, it was even believed that women, who were considered naturally inferior and weak, needed the corset as strengthening to stay erect. As time went on women made their waists so small that they in fact did need help staying up cause their O2 intake was so limited they were known to easily faint. As a result, the look of a small waist became so favored, wearing a tight corset probably played about the same role as full breasts and push-up bras do today.
I love wearing corsets, though I only do so in the house. They are invariably confining and severely restrict my movement. It does cinch my waist and push me up in ways that add a new layer of psychological pleasure to whatever it is I’m doing. I also like to watch myself move in it. I like the way the satiny colors dance in candlelight and blend with the color of my blonde hair and reflect off my fair skin.
So today, after I finish writing the SEAL rescue of the pirate hijacked cruise ship, I’m going to surf online for a corset to dress my character in as a welcome home to her returning hero SEAL Master Chief.
“I’m The Princess Who The Hell Are You.”
Jon Gordon is a motivational speaker and author I heard years ago. He’s since written a series of books and I subscribe to his newsletter. Today his topic was “20 Ways to Get Mentally Tough.” I scanned the list. After all 20 is a lot. While most were good, I really liked the last one. It made me stop and think about the next time I’m in a tight situation, how to act.
“When you’re in a high-pressure situation and the game is on the line, everyone is watching you, remember to smile, have fun, and enjoy it. Life is short; you only live once. You have nothing to lose. Seize the moment.”
The thought of being in a do-or-die situation and smiling ‘cause life is too short, you really do have nothing to lose and you will remember seizing the moment for the rest of your life, pretty much made my day.
I often wrestle with my desire to take action. It comes natural to me. Trying not to do something is way harder. I’m pretty assertive and I’m always cautious not to go over the top. I really don’t want to offend anyone. I just want to get where I’m going…and generally fast. I’ve been accused of needing attention. Being selfish, spoiled and entitled. But I’ve also been called blessed, independent, confident and successful.
My former in-laws once bought me a license plate cover that read “I’m the princess who the hell are you.” Guess they thought -- entitled.
After reading Jon’s quote, all I have to do is remember to smile and have fun. Won’t that be a hoot!
“When you’re in a high-pressure situation and the game is on the line, everyone is watching you, remember to smile, have fun, and enjoy it. Life is short; you only live once. You have nothing to lose. Seize the moment.”
The thought of being in a do-or-die situation and smiling ‘cause life is too short, you really do have nothing to lose and you will remember seizing the moment for the rest of your life, pretty much made my day.
I often wrestle with my desire to take action. It comes natural to me. Trying not to do something is way harder. I’m pretty assertive and I’m always cautious not to go over the top. I really don’t want to offend anyone. I just want to get where I’m going…and generally fast. I’ve been accused of needing attention. Being selfish, spoiled and entitled. But I’ve also been called blessed, independent, confident and successful.
My former in-laws once bought me a license plate cover that read “I’m the princess who the hell are you.” Guess they thought -- entitled.
After reading Jon’s quote, all I have to do is remember to smile and have fun. Won’t that be a hoot!
You Are In My Life For A Reason
I often wonder why people come and go in my life. Have I really asked for them to be there? Or do I have something to teach them? I imagine if they leave and I’m fine with it, I’ve taught them. But what happens when they leave and I still want them to be there? Why do I miss them so terribly? What is the lesson in that? And what about the people you have in your life that you don’t want. How do you get rid of them? I’ve been asking for that answer for years. Is anyone really listening?
I received this via email today. It’s not attributed to anyone, so I can’t issue credit.
When someone is in your life for a reason, it is usually to meet a need you have expressed outwardly or inwardly. They have come to assist you through a difficulty, to provide you with guidance and support, to aid you physically, emotionally or spiritually. They may seem like a godsend, and they are. They are there for the reason you need them to be.
Then, without any wrong doing on your part or at an inconvenient time, this person will say or do something to bring the relationship to an end.
Sometimes they die. Sometimes they walk away. Sometimes they act up or out and forceyou to take a stand. What we must realize is that our need has been met, our desire fulfilled; their work is done. The prayer you sent up has been answered and it is now time to move on. Next!
When people come into your life for a season, it is because your turn has come to share, grow or learn. They may bring you an experience of peace or make you laugh. They may teach you something you have never done. They usually give you an unbelievable amount of joy. Believe it! It is real! But, only for a season.
Lifetime relationships teach you lifetime lessons; those things you must build upon in order to have a solid emotional foundation. Your job is to accept the lesson, love the person/people (anyway); and put what you have learned to use in all other relationships and areas of your life.
I received this via email today. It’s not attributed to anyone, so I can’t issue credit.
When someone is in your life for a reason, it is usually to meet a need you have expressed outwardly or inwardly. They have come to assist you through a difficulty, to provide you with guidance and support, to aid you physically, emotionally or spiritually. They may seem like a godsend, and they are. They are there for the reason you need them to be.
Then, without any wrong doing on your part or at an inconvenient time, this person will say or do something to bring the relationship to an end.
Sometimes they die. Sometimes they walk away. Sometimes they act up or out and forceyou to take a stand. What we must realize is that our need has been met, our desire fulfilled; their work is done. The prayer you sent up has been answered and it is now time to move on. Next!
When people come into your life for a season, it is because your turn has come to share, grow or learn. They may bring you an experience of peace or make you laugh. They may teach you something you have never done. They usually give you an unbelievable amount of joy. Believe it! It is real! But, only for a season.
Lifetime relationships teach you lifetime lessons; those things you must build upon in order to have a solid emotional foundation. Your job is to accept the lesson, love the person/people (anyway); and put what you have learned to use in all other relationships and areas of your life.
Monday, May 11, 2009
Mom's Day After Thought
"The heart of a mother is a deep abyss at the bottom of which you will always find forgiveness." - Honore' de Balzac. Unless she's a Jewish Mom in which case she'll subtly remind you of your faults and take pleasure in it regularly.
Thursday, May 7, 2009
Oban 14-year-old West Highland Single Malt Scotch
Join me tonight for my first taste of Oban 14-year-old West Highland Single Malt Scotch
Tasting Notes
Nose: Rich sweetness and fruits - oranges, lemons and pears, with sea-salt and peaty smokiness.
Body: Full, rich.
Palate: Mouth-filling late autumn fruits - dried figs and honey-sweet spices; followed by a smoky malty dryness.
Finish: Long, smooth-sweet finish with oak-wood, dryness and a grain of salt
Tasting Notes
Nose: Rich sweetness and fruits - oranges, lemons and pears, with sea-salt and peaty smokiness.
Body: Full, rich.
Palate: Mouth-filling late autumn fruits - dried figs and honey-sweet spices; followed by a smoky malty dryness.
Finish: Long, smooth-sweet finish with oak-wood, dryness and a grain of salt
My Muse
The Ancient Greeks had nine muses -- goddesses or spirits who inspired the creation of literature and the arts.
I had one. And like the Albert Brooks/Sharon Stone movie from 1999, The Muse, my muse completely disrupted my life. Turned it upside down…and inside out. Blew out the cobwebs and forced me to question so many of my preconcieved notions. It demanded that I wake up and reclaim my life. Then it took over my mind. I saw myself through its eyes. And I didn’t like what I saw. So I strived to be more authentic. It took great courage. It forced me to reject some attributes attached to me by others. It forced me to stop hiding in the shadows and step into the light. It caused conflict. And pain, but I never faltered.
It also brought me immense joy. Opened up a whole new world for me in music, sex, power & control, social media, technology, mentoring, and the best part, personal and professional networking.
And that experience turned into a book: SEAL Master
I had one. And like the Albert Brooks/Sharon Stone movie from 1999, The Muse, my muse completely disrupted my life. Turned it upside down…and inside out. Blew out the cobwebs and forced me to question so many of my preconcieved notions. It demanded that I wake up and reclaim my life. Then it took over my mind. I saw myself through its eyes. And I didn’t like what I saw. So I strived to be more authentic. It took great courage. It forced me to reject some attributes attached to me by others. It forced me to stop hiding in the shadows and step into the light. It caused conflict. And pain, but I never faltered.
It also brought me immense joy. Opened up a whole new world for me in music, sex, power & control, social media, technology, mentoring, and the best part, personal and professional networking.
And that experience turned into a book: SEAL Master
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