We don't go anywhere with "scary", "spooky", "haunted" or "forbidden" in the title

In honor of Halloween season, I'm recycling my favorite "scary" story...
 
My first warning should have been when my date told me our evening was going to be a "surprise". In my experience, surprising me rarely ends well for all parties involved.

But, I was young - 19, I think - and he was a fun and romantic guy intent on creatively wooing me. So, I thought to myself, "Hey, self, try being spontaneous for once! It'll be fun, right? Right!

- dundundun-

My only hint of what was to come before he picked me up that chilly October evening was when he told me to wear comfortable clothes and walking shoes.

Still, when he proceeded to take us far out of town into the sparsely populated countryside, I have to admit my inner monologue was starting to sound something like this:

Ummm. Okay. This isn't scary or anything. I'm sure he's totally NOT a serial killer taking me to a secluded spot to chop me into tiny pieces. But, just in case I'm wrong, let's just examine the handle on this car door in the event that I may need to jump out and run for my life.

So, I have to admit I was just a little relieved when we turned a corner and came upon a big lighted parking lot out there in the middle of nowhere.

Of course, that relief turned to dread again when I realized we were at a "Haunted Forest".

Now, here's something you need to know about your Auntie Zen, kids: I don't do scary.

I've never worn a scary Halloween costume, I don't watch horror movies; I only rarely read scary books (and then it's only during daylight hours and I usually follow it with a Disney movie chaser to get the ick out); I'd rather roast s'mores than listen to a spooky campfire story; and I've been known to totally freak myself out a la the Blair Witch Project over unidentified noises and shadows in the dark. (By the way, the person who forced me to watch the Blair Witch Project - I'm still not speaking to him.) For heaven's sake, I slept with a night light until I was ... oh, wait, I still sleep with a night light!

And I most definitely DO NOT do Haunted Houses.

So, yeah, you get the idea ... having scary things jump out at me in close quarters is pretty high on my things-I-never-want-to-do list.

My enthusiasm was for this "surprise" date was flagging just a bit at this point.

But, hey, I'm a trooper. I can do this! It will be fun! Right? Right! And, oh! Look! There's not-scary stuff here, too! There's kiddie games and a hay ride and corn maze! I can do that!

I was pondering whether or not I might have preferred the "So I Dated an Axe Murderer" scenario when said date grabbed me by the hand and enthusiastically led me right past the kiddie games and the hay ride and the corn maze and straight to the "Haunted Forest".

Oh, Hell.

Okay. Pull it together, you. Look at the little kids going in there in front of you! If they can do it, you can do it.

Just about then, the screams started drifting out of the thicket of trees.

"Um, so, are you sure you don't want to go do the bean bag toss or bob for apples or ... " I started.

"Oh, don't be scared," my date was the picture of manly support. "I'll be right there with the you the whole time."

More screams. And now, growling noises.

Ohmigawd-ohmigawd-ohmigawd. Self, we do NOT want to go in there, right? Right!

"Or we could go make out on the hay ride!" I said, desperate now.

That almost did it. He paused, but then laughed and handed our tickets to the witch at the entrance. "Don't worry, it's just good fun."

Famous last words.

Okay, self, suck it up. You can do this. Oh, and self, you should maybe not squeeze your date's hand so hard. I think his fingers are turning blue. And try not to think about the dark branches that seem to be reaching out to grab you... or the dark, tight space closing in on you ... or that rustling noise in the bushes ahead ... or that sound like heavy breathing near your ear.

I was pressed up against my date so tightly at this point that you couldn't see light between us - even if there had been light to see. Which there wasn't. Because it was freakin' dark in there. Did I mention I don't like the dark?

Okay, breathe, you can do this. Right? ... Right? Um ...

I honestly could not tell you a single thing about the first 1/3 of that haunted forest, except to say that it scared the bejeebus out of me. Apparently, I've blocked out all of the traumatic details.

But I do know that I was damn-near hyperventilating by the time the werewolf jumped us.

We were coming around a corner when the werewolf leaped out of the bush right next to me - meaty arms raised, sharp claws reaching, pointy canines bared, a deep throaty growl on his bloodthirsty lips ...

Yeah, it was exactly like that.

What the hell do you think I did? I shrieked like a little girl and jumped about two feet backwards - tripping over an exposed tree root in the process and landing on my ass - but not before I heard an ominous *snap* from the general direction of my ankle.

My date honestly did not believe me at first when I told him I was pretty sure I'd broken my ankle. But I guess the screaming and falling back down when I tried to put weight on my leg did the trick. He jerry-rigged a (pretty decent!) field splint and helped the EMTs carry me basket-style out of the thick trees. Then he followed the (probably unnecessary) ambulance to the nearest emergency room. And he sat with me in the exam room and entertained and distracted me while the (definitely necessary) pain meds kicked in.

Ahhhhh, drugs are good. Everything will be okay, now right? Riiiiight.

I still think he only really believed my ankle was actually broken when the doctor showed us the x-rays. But he was still very chivalrous and attentive during the whole evening.

Especially when the werewolf showed up again.

Yep, the young man who played the werewolf at the Haunted Forest actually stopped by the emergency room when he got off of work to check on me. Wasn't that sweet?

I gave him a hug. Of course, I was all hopped up on those really good pain meds by then, so I'm pretty sure I was hugging nurses, doctors, x-ray techs, and anybody else who said a kind word to me at that point.

I think my date was just a teensy bit jealous when the werewolf - who was kinda cute without his mask - gave me his phone number and asked me to call him to let him know that I was okay. There might have been growling. (Please note me NOT making the obvious dogs-fighting-over-a-bone joke here. You're welcome.)

For their part, the Haunted Forest folks sent me a bright orange t-shirt that said "I survived the [redacted] Haunted Forest". (Later, I corrected it by adding "barely" with a Sharpie.) They also sent me some free passes to come back.

Riiiiight.

Believe it or not ... this is not the weirdest date I've ever been on. Or even the only date to end in medical treatment.

Even more amazing? There was a third date with Haunted Forest guy.

But that's another story ...


Still easily spooked,
Zen


How about you? Have a good haunted house (or forest or whatever) story? Gather 'round the virtual campfire and do tell ... 

*Post title from: Scooby Doo

Let's waste time chasing cars around our heads

(Previously posted at Venus vs Mars)

In the before-time, the ZenHusband and I used to do lots of fun things together: Backpacking, hiking, camping, SCUBA diving, music festivals, movies, video games, sporting events, museums ...

But, since the kids came along, we don't have a lot of "us" time. We do a lot of things together as a whole family - and that's great. But, we don't really do many "fun" things together just as a couple any more.

Instead, we trade off - he has time to go do some of "his" things and I have some free time to do some of "my" things.

His favorite hobbies are homebrewing, fishing, hiking, alternative music, video games, disc golf ... throw in a little football and hockey (watching) and the occasional war movie or History Channel documentary and the ZenHusband is a pretty happy camper.

Me? I'm usually happiest when I'm reading, writing, playing with techy stuff, or taking photographs.

I used to think that it was great that we each had our own interests. And, I guess I still do. But, I kind of miss doing non-parent things together, too.

Sometimes it starts to seem like whenever we are together, all we do or talk about is how to juggle work and kids' schedules, or what's for dinner, or did you feed the cat, or can you fix the kitchen drawer, or the car needs washing, or I'll pick up milk on the way home ...

Every now and then, I feel like if we didn't have all of that "family business" minutia, we might just sit and stare at each other and wonder what to talk about; I start to wonder if we have anything in common anymore besides our kids.

And then ...

... then we somehow manage to find a few hours - or even a whole day or two - of "us" time ...

And, suddenly, we remember that, while we are separate people with different interests, we are also a loving couple with more than 10 years of shared history and a lot more in common than just those fabulous, adorable rugrats who call us parents.

A while back, we had a rare two whole days to ourselves. We went out of town to do something "fun". But, more importantly, we had a lot of time to just hang out and talk. Did we talk about the kids? Yeah, a little. But we also talked about books and music and movies and food and current events.

And we talked about the fact that we want to make sure that we don't forget that, no matter how all-encompassing parenting can (and should) be in our lives, we still need to make time to do the "fun" things that we enjoy doing together - just for us - too.

We don't quite know how we are going to do it, but we agree it's important to us to try.

What about you?

Do you and your significant other have shared interests or hobbies? Do you do "fun" things together (without your kids)? Or do you each do your own "grown up" things? Is "couple time" a priority for you? How do you find the time and what kinds of things do you do?

Zen

* Title from: Chasing Cars by Snow Patrol

Zen-troversion

I'm waxing philosophical over at Venus vs Mars today, rehashing my thoughts about introverts and the extroverts who love them.

Stop by and say hi, won't you?
Zen

There's a light (over at the Frankenstein place)

We're gathering 'round the virtual campfire at The Real World: Venus vs. Mars this week to tell spoooky stories.

Mine's up today. Here's a sneak peek ...

My first warning should have been when my date told me our evening was going to be a "surprise". In my experience, surprising me rarely ends well for all parties involved ...

Read more

His, Hers and Ours

I'm over at The Real World: Venus vs. Mars today, talking about hobbies and compatibility ...

In the before-time, the ZenHusband and I used to do lots of fun things together: Backpacking, hiking, camping, SCUBA, music festivals, movies, video games, sporting events, museums ...

Read more

Venus vs Mars: Every Now and Then

I'm over at The Real World: Venus vs. Mars today, pondering the past ...

Sometimes, I wonder what it would be like to run into him somewhere. A chance encounter at the store, on the street, in a coffee shop ...

Read more

Venus vs Mars: Feelin' Flirty

I'm over at The Real World: Venus vs. Mars again today with a new post about flirting ...

Do you flirt?

I think you should.

In fact, I think flirting can be good for your marriage (or other long-term relationship). No, seriously ...

Read more

Venus vs Mars: How I Met Your Father

If you don't know the story of how I met the ZenHusband, you should pop over to The Real World: Venus vs. Mars to read all about it today ... ;)

Road Trip: Venus and Mars

I'm not here today. I'm blogging over at The Real World: Venus vs. Mars ... Won't you come over and say hi? :)

It's a great blog where interesting people come to talk about real relationships.

The comments section can get pretty busy with the back-and-forth on good days, so if you leave a comment, be sure to hit the "subscribe to comments" button so you can follow along and, hopefully, jump back in for more.

When you're there, I sleep lengthwise. And when you're gone, I sleep diagonal in my bed.

My husband is out of town tonight.

I don't sleep well when he's gone.

Oh, where is the ZenHusband, you ask? He's at a Phish concert at Shoreline with friends. That was half of his birthday present from me. The other half was tickets to Phish's three-day festival in Indio over Halloween weekend.

Why, yes, I am the best wife, ever. Thank you. ;)

So, tonight while The ZenHusband is partying in the parking lot and rockin' it in his awesome floor seats, I will be sleeping diagonal in our bed.

Am I the only one who sleeps poorly when their significant other is gone?

Normally, I'm in bed by 10 or 11 and asleep just moments after my head hits the pillow. I sleep soundly. I dream. I wake rested.

But when I'm alone, I tend to stay up much later than usual - reading or watching TV or playing on the interwebs or the Xbox - because our cozy, comfy bed seems so much less inviting when it's empty.

And I sleep so lightly - waking at the even the smallest sound from the kids room or the street - knowing, even in my sleep, that I'm the only one there to take care of things. I toss and turn like I never do when the other side of the bed is full.

It was a little better when we had a dog.

Our beloved Dalmatian, Patch, passed away last year. But, for the eight-plus years before that, I used to let Patch sleep on the foot of the bed whenever the ZenHusband was out of town. I would tuck my feet under his 90+ pounds of doggy muscle and sleep more soundly.

(Shhh! Don't tell The ZenHusband! He's a no-pets-on-the-bed guy. Patch knew he was never allowed on the bed - unless Daddy was gone. And then he'd hop right up in "his" place as soon as I'd go to the bedroom. Smart boy. Geez, I miss that dog.)

Dogless now, I'm more likely to have a toddler wander in for cuddles in the middle of the night. That's okay, too. Just like Patch, they know that when Daddy's gone, Mommy is more likely to let them stay in her bed for a while.

So, tonight, I will make a "fun" dinner for me and the Minions (I'm thinking Mickey Mouse pancakes), tuck them into their beds by myself, and then stay awake in my unusually quiet house until I am too tired to keep my eyes open anymore.

Then I will finally put on one of The ZenHusband's 5 million t-shirts - maybe this one in keeping with the evening's theme. Then I will cuddle up to one of his pillows in lieu of his warm body, and sleep. Lightly.

In the morning, I'll be tired. I'll run around getting the kids and myself out the door without any help. And I'll drink even more coffee than usual to get through the day.

And I'll be all the more appreciative of my ZenHusband when he finally comes home. :)


What about you? Do you sleep "differently" when you're alone?

*Art Credits:
Rift, Phish
"A Woman Sleeping" by Rembrandt

Let's talk about sex

TMI WARNING: If you are related to me, you probably don't want to read this. Yeah, In fact, it's best if you don't. How about if you go read one of these today, instead, yeah?

No, seriously.

Why are you still here? Shooo!





Are they gone?

Okay.

Let's talk about Sex.


It seems like several of my friends - male and female - have complained to me recently about the quality or quantity of their sex lives.

When they do, I always ask the same question: "Have you talked to your partner about that?"

And I'm constantly surprised at how often the answer is, "No".

Newsflash: Sex is not rocket science. If you are in a long-term relationship and having "bad" sex: You are probably at least 50 percent to blame.

No, seriously. Own it, dude.

Because I'm a helper and a giver, I'm going to share a little (not-so) secret with you. So gather round and listen very carefully boys and girls, because this is the truest truism about sex that has ever been written:

Communication is almost always the key to better sex.

What? Don't give me that look! I told you it wasn't rocket science. It's bloody freaking simple: Communicate. Cooperate. Enjoy.

I know. Duh, right?

But, still, so many people don't do it!

I know that I have a tendency to be pretty blunt and up-front - yeah, it's maybe not my most endearing trait. But, I just prefer to come right out and say what I think in most situations and on most subjects.

And that includes OMG s-e-x. I'm pretty open on the subject - within certain social limits, of course. I mean, I don't run around bringing up the subject with strangers (Heh, unless this blog post counts?) or my boss or my grandmother or anything like that.

But with my friends - and certainly with my husband! - there's very little that is off-limits.

If I don't want to talk about a subject: I'll tell you. But if I do want to talk about it, I'm going to just talk about it straight. I'm not going to - if you'll excuse the expression - beat around the bush.

So, I have a really hard time understanding my friends - and, yes, it's mostly (but not entirely) women - who will talk to ME about their sex life, but NOT to their significant other.

Seriously? You're doing it with him, but you can't talk to him about it?!

What's that about?

So, these women (and men, too) are unsatisfied or unhappy or bored with their sex lives, and their SOs are either totally clueless, or, worse, they know something's not right, but not exactly what or how to "fix" it.

Geez, people. Do you expect your partner to be a mind-reader?

Despite what Playboy, porn and romance novels would have you believe - there are very few "naturals" at this sort of thing.

Guys: Girls don't really learn the tips and tricks of how to please a man at college sleepovers in between naked pillow fights. You're going to need to let her know what you like and what you don't.

Ladies: Your man studied long hours just to figure out how to get your bra off. Cut him some slack and be willing to help him out with the activities that have a higher degree of difficulty, huh?

Sex is a team sport and coaching is not only allowed - it's mandatory. And, don't forget, practice makes perfect.

Of course, not all communication is verbal. And you don't have to sit down and have an intervention to make small changes.

A well-timed moan, a guiding hand, a shift of position, or other non-verbal coaching can go a long way to letting your partner know what you like or don't like. As can being more open to his or her non-verbal cues, too.

And after? Praise the good parts. You might be surprised how well a simple "Wow, Babe, I really loved it when you ... " can inspire a repeat performance.

Best case scenario: Don't wait for a "problem" to talk about sex with your partner. Even if you are perfectly happy, it's still a good idea to communicate about these things. Hey, there's always room for improvement, right?

But, if - heavens forbid - your partner is not rockin' your socks off in the bedroom (or on the floor, or in the shower, or on the kitchen counter, or in the backyard ... whatever), please for-the-love-of-Pete: TELL him or her!

Odds are good that (s)he'll want to know. And will be happy to hear what (s)he can do to make things better for you both. And, hopefully, will be eager to share his/her ideas on the subject, too. Because, trust me, you're not perfect, either.

Even if you don't know for sure what you want or need, that's fine. Talk about that and explore new ideas together.

Yeah, okay: You probably do need to be a little less blunt and a little more ... diplomatic ... than I have a tendency to be. So as not to damage any egos. But, I can almost guarantee that just talking about it will help kick up the heat all by itself for most couples.

Thus endeth the sermon.

But, hey, that's just my opinion on the subject. Ladies? Gentlemen? Any dissenting opinions or supporting evidence on the subject?

Felix and Oscar in Love

Inspired by Daddy Geek Boy , who wrote a great post about Compatibility over at Venus vs Mars and then poked a bit of fun at himself over a rare bout of absentmindedness over at his place, unintentionally setting my mind to pondering the two things together ... thanks. :)


I'm a planner, an organizer, a worrier.

My Husband is spontaneous, chilled out, laid back.

Casual acquaintances sometimes wonder aloud why we haven't killed each other. I usually tell them that we only put up with each other for the great sex. ;)

But the people who really know us can easily see that the truth is actually much simpler.

###

When I was pregnant and just after my kids were born, I lost or forgot things so often that I joked that the baby must have been sucking my brains out with his breakfast.

I left my keys in the front door, locked them in my car, even locked them inside the house - with me on the outside. I lost count of how many times I lost my sunglasses and other accessories. Or forgot to put gas in the car. Or remembered to go to the bank but forgot the checks to deposit. Or put the milk in the pantry. I even forgot some appointments - which I never do.

I used to be able to recall exact quotes and complex figures from memory when I was a reporter. Now I can't remember that I need to buy toilet paper unless I've got a shopping list stuck to my purse.

Some days, just after Minion #2 was born, I swear it was a miracle if I remembered to put all my clothes on before I left the house.

This is what you have reduced me to, my darling children.

The result? All those Mommy-Brain symptoms triggered a defense mechanism: I am totally OCD about some things.

Actually, I can't blame the pregnancies/babies for all of it. I've always had a tendency toward obsessive-compulsive organization. It's one of the things that makes me very good at my job ... and, I suspect, somewhat difficult to live with at times.

But after the kids came along, I got better and worse.

I've learned a great deal of patience from my children. I've learned to let go of a lot of control issues. And I've learned a lot about how to not sweat the petty things. (And to not pet the sweaty things, but that's a whole different kind of lesson.)

But I've also learned that when you have two kids under 5 - organization can not only make your life easier, it can save your sanity.

My husband, on the other hand ... well, if I'm: "A place for everything and everything in it's place", then he's: "Oh, I think I set it down around here somewhere."

I regularly come home to find power tools on the dining table, his shoes in the doorway, his lunch ice chest in the middle of the kitchen floor. And you don't even want to get me started on the piling system on his desk.

In his defense, it's not that he's a slob - he does laundry and dishes and vacuums and is actually pretty darn good at helping to keep things clean around here.

It's just that he doesn't at all mind the presence of my arch-enemy: Clutter. (Dun-dun-dun!)

He can walk right by some random item in the middle of the hallway floor for weeks and never even think about picking it up - unless it happens to be something he needs at that moment. Because it just doesn't bother him.

Meanwhile, I'm developing a nervous tic waiting to see how long he ignores it. (Because, apparently, I'm a masochist like that.)

Of course, when I do "commit a cleaning" as he calls it, then he notices. Because he can't find the cordless drill battery he knows he left sitting on the microwave a couple weeks ago.

o_O

And yet, somehow, we've haven't killed each other.

It probably helps that we each knew what we were getting into before we shacked up. In fact, I had one "condition" for agreeing to marry him: I had to be in charge of the "the books". I don't mean in charge of spending decisions; we make those together - I mean in charge of the actual bookkeeping: Paying the bills, balancing the accounts, etc. Because, pre-marriage, my husband's idea of balancing his checkbook was keeping it all "in his head" with an occasional call to the phone-teller to check his balance.

I know. I was horrified, too.

But, the thing is: He was perfectly happy with his "system" before I came along. But - and this is the real key to our "success" in this area, I think - he's also perfectly happy with "my" way.

Because that "it's-all-good" personality that gives the ZenHusband his chill attitude about clutter is the same trait that lets him put up with my obsessive-compulsive control-freakiness.

On the other hand, it's my uber-organized control-freakiness that keeps the lights on around here. ;)

###

So, yeah:

I'm a planner, an organizer, a worrier.

My husband is spontaneous, chilled out, laid back.

He's the Oscar to my Felix, the Ernie to my Bert, the Yin to my Yang.

But, while we might look like incompatible opposites from a distance, the truth is that we're actually complementary - each supplying something the other would otherwise lack.

Yes, we sometimes clash. But, overall, I think we balance each other pretty well. Maybe even make each other better. :)


What about you and your significant other? Do you have "issues" like these?

Pattern Recognition

My first pop culture crush was Han Solo.

No, wait, actually, my first crush was a rat named Justin. But my first human crush was Han Solo. And I'm pretty sure Indiana Jones was second or third on the list.

So, I don't think it's entirely unreasonable for me to blame George Lucas (and maybe Harrison Ford) for my long-term attraction to lovable rogues - the charming tough guys - "emotionally unavailable" I think the kids are calling it these days?

But, while Ingenue-loves-Rogue might work great in the movies, it's hardly ever a recipe for a happy ending in real life.

You can file that little bit of wisdom under "Stuff Zen Learned in College That was Not on the Approved Curriculum List", boys and girls. It's a big file.

Looking back, the self-perpetuating pattern seems painfully obvious. But, back then, I just wondered why every guy I dated turned out to be such a stunning jerk. Now, I see that I really just dated the same guy with different faces a half-dozen times:

- The Frat Boy: Who was killing time 'twixt break-ups with his high school girlfriend.
- The Soldier: Who should have been a sailor, based on his "girl in every port" habit.
- The Cowboy: Who just quit calling and coming around when the newness wore off.
- The Executive: Who forgot to mention his wife and kid back home.
- The Writer: Who wooed with great skill and enthusiasm, and lied the same way.

And then there were all the ones who oh-so-obviously only wanted to get into my pants.

Tinker, Tailor, Rich Man, Poor Man: Liars, cads, manipulators - all.

Is it any wonder that this is around the time I started to develop my "All men are pigs" theory?

Personally, it took hitting an emotional rock-bottom for me to finally recognize that the problem - the pattern - was mine. And so, in a strange way, I will always be grateful to the one who broke my heart the hardest and the last.

Still, it would be easy to blame him - to blame all of them. To label them Bad Guys and leave it at that. But I know, now, that they didn't do it by themselves. I mean, if you stick your hand in the hive, can you really get angry at the bee for stinging you?

Really, I did it to myself. Because, not only did I keep falling for the same "type" over and over ... I was falling for someone who was never real to begin with - an idea, a fantasy, a myth.
My college roommate - a Nice Guy of the highest order - always lamented that, despite what we claim, most women are attracted to the men who treat them like crap. And that Nice Guys just can't compete with that.

I countered his argument with the truism that (most) men want the woman they can't have - until they can have her. And maybe that's why our Prince Charmings so often turn into wolves.

See, Sir Nice Guy and my inner Ingenue had the same problem - but from opposite sides of the fantasy: I was in love with a charming rogue who would never commit to anything beyond "today" and so broke my heart over and over again. And he was in love with a woman who used him as the rebound guy in between her own Bad Boys.

We spent more than one night nursing a bottle of Jack Daniels at our kitchen table, debating the finer points of our theories on the theme of "Love Sucks".

We never did come up with any completely satisfactory answers.

But one thing we did decide in our brilliantly drunken and love-sick ramblings, was that pop culture has to shoulder at least part of the blame.

One night, we lounged on our living room floor (the kitchen chairs just seemed too dangerously high at that point) cursing all of the jerks who had ever broken our hearts, swearing we were "over" them, toasting to our wise epiphany, and damning-to-hell all of those chick-flicks and love songs and romance novels - and especially those insidious fairy tales - that set up such unrealistic expectations about love and sex and romance.

- Wuthering Heights? Drivel.
- Gatsby? A bloody fool.
- Bull Durham? An urban myth.
- Cinderella, Snow White, Sleeping Beauty? Pfft. We don't need no stinking princes.
- Westley and Buttercup? True Love only happens in bedtime stories.
- Superman, Batman, Spider-Man: Type A, emotionally unavailable jerks.
- John Hughes: The devil.
- Jane Austen: A whore.
- Shakespeare: Her pimp.
- Even my beloved Han and Indy were thrown onto the raging bonfire of our anti-romanticism, along with James Bond and James T. Kirk : Cads and bounders, they were. Not worthy of the love of a good woman, thank-you-very-much.

As we tipsily pondered who we might be able to sue for our extreme emotional distress over these pop culture crimes against the heart, we made a vow: No more romantic fantasies for us, we declared, high on whiskey and our own worldly wisdom. We were done with it all. We would be all about the "anti-romance". And we would kick each other in the ass when we needed reminding of that.

Of course, after we sobered up, we both went right back to the jerks who had driven us to drink in the first place.

Sometimes, those epiphanies take a while to sink in, yeah?

The good news, though, is that this little tale does have a happy ending - two of them, actually.

A couple of years after finally hitting rock bottom in her last humiliating heartbreak over Mr. Emotionally Unavailable ... our Beloved Ingenue had healed up enough to take a risk on love again. And, more importantly, she had wised-up enough to pick a man - a real, red-blooded, imperfectly perfect man - who was worth the risk.

And Sir Nice Guy? Well, he took just a teensy bit longer to come to his senses. He actually married his rebounding princess. I know! Look, I desperately wanted to chuck a bottle of Jack Daniels at his head during the entire ceremony, okay? But this was a path he had to walk on his own. So, I just smiled through clenched teeth throughout the whole thing, hoping that I was wrong about her.

I wasn't.

Thankfully, he came to the same conclusion not long after and finally purged her from his life. Today, he's happily married to a smart, good-hearted woman and has two fabulous step-kids.

I'm quite proud of him - of both of us - for overcoming our pop-culture poisoning and finding happiness in our perfectly anti-romantic romances.

And, though he may never read this, I realize now that I owe him a big Thank You.

Not just for being a shoulder to cry on, and a pal to drown my sorrows with, and a big-brother figure to make me laugh or to offer to punch a jerk in the face ... but for being a constant example to me that there were, indeed, Very Nice Guys out there. And they were just looking for Nice Girls to love them, too.

Without that bit of light in the darkness, I might never have found my way out of the woods and into the arms of the Very Nice Guy who I married and still love madly to this day.

So, belated as it is: Thanks, J.

Love you, man. Cheers.

But if life were made of moments, then you'd never know you had one

Sometimes, I wonder what it would be like to run into him somewhere.
A chance encounter at the store, on the street, in a coffee shop.

Would we greet each other warmly, sitting down to chat like old friends about our new lives? Or would we offer smiles that don't reach our eyes and exchange uncomfortable small talk before going our separate ways?

Would we share pictures of our spouses and kids? Or would we just share a private, nostalgic look as we pass?

Would I see the passionate young man, in the middle-aged stranger in front of me? Would he see the care-free girl in the mother of two?

Would his smile still make my stomach do flips? Would he flirt and bring up old times?

Would my cheeks burn at the flood of memories? Would his eyes sparkle at my blush? Would mine brim with tears when the moment was past?

I love my husband, my children, my life.
I wouldn't trade them for anything in the world.

But, sometimes, I wonder.

###

That's what woods are for:
For those moments in the woods...
Oh, if life were made of moments,
Even now and then a bad one--!
But if life were only moments,
Then you'd never know you had one.
...
Let the moment go..
Don't forget it for a moment, though.
Just remembering you had an 'and,' when you're back to 'or,'
Makes the 'or' mean more than it did before.
Now I understand--
And it's time to leave the woods.

~ Stephen Sondheim
Into the Woods

Of shamrocks and lumberjacks

Slainte!
Happy St. Patrick's Day!

St. Paddy's is a celebration trifecta at the House of Zen:

1 - Our family heritage is Irish/Scottish, so it's an excuse to celebrate (read: drink to) that.
2 - The ZenHusband is a homebrewer partial to British brews (another toast to that, please) AND
3 - It's the anniversary of the day The ZenHusband and I first met. :)

Yep, 12 years ago today, this Big Lug picked up this Sweet Lil' Gal at the local saloon ... and the rest is history ... well, sort of. What's that you say? Romantic? Kismet? Fate? P'shaw. Almost never happened.

The Sweet Lil' Gal - that would be me, for those keeping score - was new in town, mourning the recent untimely death of her beloved Dalmatian, and had to work late that night ... so she almost didn't go out that night with her roommate to a local bar-and-grill.

And the Big Lug - again, for those keeping score, that would be The Husband - hadn't really planned on going to that pub that night, either. But he ended up there anyway, having a pint with a pal.

After getting a couple of girly umbrella drinks at the bar (and getting hit on by a couple of nice-but-no-thank-you guys), my roommate and I decided to take our drinks out to the patio to enjoy the unseasonably warm evening and to avoid the more meat-markety feel of the bar area.

We were out there chatting and laughing when I suddenly heard this deep, rumbling voice behind me ask if I he could join us. So, I turned in my chair and saw ...

... a lumberjack.

Seriously. That was my first impression: This tall, broad-chested, dark-haired, red-cheeked, brown-eyed, long-lashed, baritone wearing a red plaid shirt, blue jeans and a friendly smile - He looked like he belonged on a package of Brawny towels.

I said yes.

For the record, my darling Husband tells me his first impression of me was "Nice Rack."

Awww. Innit-he-suhweet?

Anyway, he and his friend (who, a few years later would serve as our Best Man) did join our table and we had a nice chat about work, beer, pets, family, our town, and so on.

That first impression stuck for a while. My roommate would tell me "your sexy lumberjack called" or ask if I was going out with "Mr. Brawny" again. Which, of course, I did.

The first date was coffee (and meeting his beautiful Dalmatian, Patch); the second was a B.B. King Concert, followed by a movie ... a candlelight homemade dinner (Don't worry: He cooked, not me!) ... a day hike in Yosemite ... dinner with his family ... Easter with my family ... After that, it's all pretty blurry. :)

As time went by, we jokingly observed the 17th of each month as our "Monthiversary". Even after we got married, St. Patrick's Day was still our other special day of the year.

Two years ago, we had a chuckle over the fact that we "made it" to our 120th monthiversary.

But today! Today marks 12 years of 12 monthiversaries a year. That's a pretty special milestone, if you ask me. :)

So: Happy 144th monthiversary, Honey. You'll always be my sexy lumberjack. :)

A friend helps you move ...

... a real friend helps you move a body.

That's an old joke a few friends and I have been telling each other for years. But it still always makes me smile. Not because it's the world's greatest joke. But because saying it to each other carries the weight of years of shared memories.

It reminds me of all of the fun (and serious) and joyful (and painful) and kind (and angry) and supportive (and hurtful) feelings and experiences that you share when you've known someone for so many years.

Sometimes, when you meet someone, you feel an immediate connection, a kinship. And those are great and exciting moments. But the best friendships are the ones that are so old and comfortable and familiar that spending time together is like slipping on your favorite pair of old, worn jeans. It just fits. Just right.

Have you ever had one of those friends who - no matter how much time or space is between you - still fits so perfectly in your life and your heart that it's like they were made to be there? The kind you can go weeks, or months, without seeing in person ... but then you just roll right into the conversations as comfortably as if you had talked every day in between? The kind who just makes you feel like you are "home" whenever you are together?

The number of people I actually call "friend" is relatively small. I'm picky like that. :) But I feel very lucky to say that my best friends are of the "old, comfy jeans" variety. I got to spend the day with one of them - and her beautiful family - this weekend. We didn't really do anything "special" - but it was a special day, anyway. It was fun. It was relaxed. It was comfortable.

It was the kind of day that's good for your soul. The kind of day that reminds me never to take those few "comfy jeans" friends of mine for granted. They are precious. And I should remember to tell them so more often.

So here's to "comfy jeans" friends. You know who you are. :)

Scars

I have a fabulous marriage. But, like everybody else, I had "failed" relationships before I made the right match.

Except they weren't "failures". Not at all.

They all ended, yes. And some ended badly. But that doesn't mean they were failures. And it doesn't mean they were wastes of time. Just the opposite, in fact. If it were not for those early relationships, I would not be who I am or where I am today.

I learned a lot about life and love and ME from those "failures".

Some of those lessons were beautiful - like little whispers of happy wisdom laid gently into my psyche. And some tore my heart open, leaving scar tissue that changed my whole perception.

But I'm thankful for both kinds.

I'm thankful for the high school crush who was my first experience with that heart-racing rush of infatuation. He left me breathless and taught me that boys that age are fun, but irresponsible. And that girls that age are over-dramatic. And that love is not really about breathlessness and drama.

I'm so thankful for my first "real" love, who was - before, during and after our brief romance - a true friend. He taught me that love can be playful and tender. And that, when romantic loves ends, it is possible for it to evolve into something even better.

I'm thankful for the college lover who taught me so much about passion ... including the painful lesson that passion alone is not enough to sustain a relationship.

I'm thankful for the ones who showed me my own boundaries - the places I would and would not go for love.

I'm thankful for my platonic men friends. They taught me that not every relationship with the opposite sex has to be about sex or romance. I especially appreciate the few men friends I have with whom I can joke and flirt and be myself without worrying they might take things the wrong way.

I'm thankful for the ones who taught me that sometimes men can be sweet and charming and nice ... and still break your heart.

That's a tough lesson to learn: That not everyone who hurts you is evil. Sometimes there is no "bad guy" ... just very bad decisions.

I think I might be most thankful for the men who hurt me. Who used me. Who lied to me. Who cheated on me. Who betrayed my trust. They helped me realize some of the most valuable lessons of all.

Between them, all of these men taught me balance. The balance between protecting your heart and opening your heart to the possibilities of love. And they taught me to recognize what love IS and what love ISN'T.

And those lessons paid off for me: I am now married to the love of my life and I couldn't be happier.

I could have walked away from these "failed" relationships learning nothing ... or learning the wrong things. I could have become jaded. I could have fostered hatred in my heart. I could have given in to despair or anger. I could look back with regret.

But I chose - and continue to choose - to see the good. To be thankful.

Even for the scars.