What's with the Facebook Friends?

I haven’t been doing much updating on Twitter nor Facebook lately. I felt as if I was getting swept up in the documenting of my every move and wasn’t spending enough time living in the moment. Plus, it got annoying trying to keep with friends I honestly didn’t care about anymore. It started to feel like an obligatory waste of time to comment on their status updates, look at their funny photos and answer the dumb quiz "how well do you know so-and-so?"requests.

When I finally decided to reconnect again, I found several pending friend requests to administer. I love getting friend requests. About the time I hit 250 on my list, I figured I’d maxed out. I couldn’t think of another person I cared to get into contact with again. But alas, I’m now over 350 as people still keep popping out of the woodwork.

As I was weeding through the friend requests, a few oddities jumped out at me. This is what I just don’t get about Facebook friending:

• Why do people who don’t know me want to be my friend? I don’t care that we have six friends in common. If we’re not friends in the real world, I don’t want to be your friend in cyberspace. I’ve got enough people to keep up with, much less the ones I don’t know.


• If you send me a friend request, why don’t you write something to me too? Whenever I send a friend request, I always include a personal message. If I bother to request your friendship, that means I do care what you're up to and I would like to catch up. I don’t understand why people bother if they truly don't have a word to say to me. What’s the point?


• Let’s also not extend our rekindled online friendship past the line that the real-life friendship existed within. For example, I got a friend request from a girl with whom I went to elementary school. We were friends back then, but were not friends into junior high or high school. I was happy to reconnect and catch up on those early days via a few back and forth messages. But enough is enough. I don’t want to exert any more energy on a friendship I willingly gave up more than 30 (!) years ago; but she doesn’t seem to take the hint. That’s freaking annoying!


• Then there’s the friends you find again, truly want to put in some effort to reconnect with, but neither of you will go out on a limb to take the next step. I’ve been playing it with a few friends—it’s called the “You Call Me” game. It goes like this: “Hey! Great to see you here! It’s been a zillion years! Call me at 555-1212”. Then the reply message says: “Great to see you too! Kids are adorable. Call me at 444-1313.” And then you never speak (nor write) again.

What about you? I'd love to hear your annoyances with Facebook.

Thanks, friends.

Today, someone called me snobby and elitist in an anonymous comment to my Jealousy & Envy blog post. Wow, that stung…if only for a minute.

Actually, I’m thrilled to receive online feedback because it happens so infrequently. Usually I just get kudos or grief from my readers in person.

I’m not going to defend nor justify my position on this comment. Everyone’s entitled to their opinions both of me personally and my writing. Obviously, this reader has issues with me that have been passive-aggressively addressed anonymously. So even if I wanted to respond personally, I can’t.

But the comment did get me thinking about my group of friends. To be sure, they far surpass a “close knit group of 3”. I do have a circle of girlfriends, some live near by and others are far. Yes, these are “my girls”. My girls are my strength, my rocks, my go-to people. My life is fuller and richer with them in it. I’m positive you know who you are, girls.

You are my source of entertainment and comedy. I love it when you laugh with me. And laugh at me. I love when you poke fun of me and don’t take it too seriously when I tear you up too.

I consider myself very lucky to have a wonderful array of personalities. I love that you are each unique in your own way. I love that we’re very much alike and very different at the same time too.

I love when you agree with me. Sometimes I really need that. But I also love when you completely disagree with me and force me to see the other side.

I love it that even though you live far away, we can always pick right back up where we left off when we talk on the phone. I love that calling & texting enables me to feel like you’re right here.

I love it that we’ve been friends for years and years and our friendship is still very real and relevant.

I love that I can be myself with you. Not Mom or Mrs. Fives, just Tracy. Thanks for listening to me. Even if you’ve heard the same story twenty times. Thanks for going along on this roller coaster journey of life with me in the next seat.

I’m very thankful for all my amazing, wonderful, dynamic, sparkling, fabulous, smart, fun & funky friends. My life wouldn’t be the same without you. I’m fairly confident I tell you how much you mean to me, my friends. But just in case, I can’t say it enough: I love you dear friends.

And to my anonymous commenter, I apologize if I’ve unknowingly slighted you. It was not my intention. And thanks for your concern; I will keep my day job.

My new De-Friending Facebook App

So, now I’m on a tirade about envious girls. I heard a story over the weekend from my girlfriend, Anna, that got me fired up. Anna has a friend, we’ll call her Jane, whom she met through their mutual friend. Anna liked Jane very much, except for the fact that Jane doesn’t like Anna. Anna of course, cannot figure out for the life of her why Jane doesn’t like her. What’s not to like about Anna? She’s fun and kind and seems like a true, down-to-earth, Saturday-night worthy girlfriend. What else can a girl ask for?

After running through all the possible far-reaching scenarios of why Jane could possibly NOT like Anna, we came to the conclusion that Jane is very much envious of Anna. Either that or she’s just a total bitch. That very real possibility aside, envy, as I mentioned in my last post is a lethal green cocktail of wanting what someone else has for yourself.

In her envious state, Jane excluded Anna from a birthday party for their mutual friend. Anna was shocked. For one, she is very close to this mutual friend, much more so than Jane. For two, Anna thought she and Jane were friends too. However she was shunned. After the party, the mutual friend questioned Jane as to why Anna was not invited. Jane replied lamely that she wanted to keep the guest list small. KEEP THE GUEST LIST SMALL? What a bullshit excuse for excluding Anna. Obviously Jane drank from the green well of envy.

Rightly so, Anna was strongly advised to unload Jane as a friend. Because, really, with friends like that, who needs enemies? Jane sounds like a back-stabbing bitch, so why bother keeping her around? A good spring cleaning of crappy friends that bring you down is good for the soul periodically.

Over drinks, we deviously plotted how Anna can dump Jane. Anna asked my opinion of simply de-friending Jane on Facebook. I told her to de-friend Jane was not enough punishment and shame. When you de-friend someone, visibility to your Facebook page just disappears for them. It's not even obvious unless that person looks for you page or your updates. It's just too passive.

Instead, I want to write a Facebook application that ANNOUNCES when you de-friend someone. God knows my Facebook inbox is filled with these mini apps of nonsense…What Color Are You on the Inside? What 90210 Character are You? Are You a Bitch or a Vixen? What Led Zeppelin Song Are You?

I can’t imagine it’s hard to create a mini app called “I’m De-friending You, Bitch!” (IDFYB). To use it, just enter a person’s name. The IDFYB app will announce on your network and theirs that the hussy has just been dropped not only from your Facebook friend status but also from your life (and good riddance!)

The message will then appear as a permanent wall post and be highlighted in the notifications section. IDFYB will also allow you to forward it to twenty of your Facebook friends so they can join the party and de-friend the person too.

To be clear on why you’re adding a scarlet letter to your de-friended friend’s chest, IDFYB will include several check boxes to choose from in which to explain your justification. For example: Hit on My Husband; Too High Maintenance; Not Saturday Night Worthy; Whiny & Annoying; Back-Stabber, etc.

Wouldn’t that be fun? I know as you're reading this, a girlfriend or two that could benefit from IDFYB has crossed your mind....

And in honor of Anna, I thought I’d add a justification especially for Jane. It would go a little something like this: “Anna de-friended Jane for being such a shallow, envious, backstabbing, write-a-check bitch. My Facebook friend list was getting long, and I wanted to KEEP IT SMALL. Goodbye.”

Jealousy and envy

When your close girlfriend shares some exciting news with you, let’s say she just returned from an extravagant vacation in Tahiti, I bet you do the same thing as I do. As I listen to her story, perhaps about details such as the in-room amenities or the expansive view from the balcony, I think how thrilled I am for my friend for having such a wonderful experience. It sounds like such an amazing trip, I wish I could go on that vacation and have that experience too. Damn it, I must admit, I'm a little bit jealous.

To be jealous in that nature is not the same as being envious. I know the two words are used mutually exclusive but I think envy is much worse. And being one of the seven deadly sins, it must be worse if God will kill you for it, right?

Envy is when you see something that someone else has, you don’t like the fact that they have it, you want it for yourself, and you don’t want them to have it anymore. The object of envy can be a material possession, a quality or talentd, an achievement or success, a relationship, or any number of things. In other words, envy is the bitch who doesn’t like you because you are more attractive, richer, smarter, with bigger or smaller boobs, or just have a better life than she does.

Friends can be jealous of each other. We can all admit it. We try not to show it but it’s human nature to desire something someone else has. The key word here being ALSO. When my friend has a wonderful experience, I sometimes want it ALSO. I don’t want it INSTEAD of her. I don’t think I should have it and she should not. I don’t think I deserve it any more than she does. Well maybe I think I deserve it just as much. But not more. Either way, these thoughts may be totally selfish, but it’s hard to control your thoughts.

With envy, the thoughts are usually negative and nasty and lead to bitchy, spiteful behavior. Like not inviting a friend to a party and rationalizing that you wanted to keep the invite list small. Bullshit! You were totally envious of your friend and purposely didn’t include her so she would miss out. So you could have fun INSTEAD of her.

Just the other day, I was told by a friend that she hated me when we first met. She said she was envious of me. That I got all the attention when in fact she wanted all the attention. Does that mean that now that we’re friends, she’s jealous and not envious? I really wasn’t quite sure what to do with that information. Either way, it was an uncomfortable conversation, even for me. My only answer is: don’t hate!

Maybe you disagree with how I use the words jealous and envy, but now you know what I think.

Botox Virgins

I cracked up the other night watching my favorite summer show, So You Think You Can Dance, when one of the judges, Mary Murphy, admitted that she couldn’t make a particular expression because her face was stiff from too much Botox. Ahah! I knew something was off about her, but figured it was just her horse teeth. I spent the next hour fixated on Mary’s face and clearly, she had not only SOME Botox but LOTS of Botox, evidenced by her lack of any wrinkles on her forehead, plus her inability to move her eyebrows.

A few of my friends are already toying with the idea of Botox. Just a little needle above the eyebrow and another minor touch to the lip, they say. Just a small sip of the proverbial fountain of youth. Let’s just TRY it, I hear. But I think that once you try it you can never go back...because using Botox once is like losing your virginity.

I lost my virginity to a boy named Howard. Yes, sadly, he didn’t even have a better nickname, until afterwards when my friends would call him “Howwieee!” I had all the hopes and dreams of a young high school girl-- find true love and have that wonderfully tender moment when we cuddled in each other’s arms and he carefully deflowered me. But by the end of my junior year, I succumbed to hopelessness and hormones and gave it away to the boy who seemed to know what to do and could keep his mouth shut.

It wasn’t tender nor was it wonderful. It hurt like hell and then it was over. All the waiting and romanticizing vanished in under two minutes. And I realized rather quickly that I had just given up my one-and-only chance to ever have a first time again the way I had hoped.

It’s like my favorite saying about having children: Once you have a baby you can’t put it back. Same for popping your cherry and Botox. You only have one time to get it right because believe me, unless you have a bad reaction to sticking live botulism in your face (and that thought alone should disgust and dissuade anyone from doing it) you’re probably going to be hooked and now you’ve got the REST OF YOUR LIFE to continue sticking needles in your face with a nerve toxin produced by a bacteria.

Frankly, for my one friend in particular, I find your interest in Botox quite hypocritical considering what a germ freak you are. You insist on Purelling your hands twenty times a day, gag at a single crumb on the floor and have a medicine cabinet full of cleansing products to keep all those buggies off your counters, skin and children. However, you’re fully willing to inject living bacteria into your face in the name of beauty? Sheesh!

Sorry, I digress. My point is that we’re not old enough to give up our Botox virginities yet. Like my mom would tell me in high school, I have my whole life ahead of me for sex. We have our golden years ahead of us for Botox. Let’s face it: We’re not Hollywood stars (alas, Starr, you’re a star!). A few wrinkles on our faces only indicates a life well-lived. For full disclosure, I’ll admit readily that when my gobbler starts drooping to my boobs, I will be getting a neck lift. But I will stay away from the needles. So please don’t call me a hypocrite.

Top 10 Things NOT to Do on Your Girls Vacation

I just returned from a fabulous girls trip to Santa Fe. Lucky for me, I have another one mid-summer as well with another group. The more I talk to girlfriends who take vacations with their friends, the more I realize there’s a common thread of annoyances among us. Here’s the top 10 things to NOT do on your next girls trip (especially if you want to be invited back next year.)

1) Don’t be cheap. There’s a world of difference between frugal and cheap. When everyone else has bought a round of drinks, don’t decide you’re suddenly not thirsty when it’s your turn. Don’t try and nickel and dime the group either. If you eat out, just split the bill. If you don’t want to spend money on something, such as a massage, then don’t. Just don’t make it everyone else’s problem by complaining you have no one to hang out with while all your other girlfriends are relaxing at the spa.
2) Don’t sweat the small stuff. Whether your group consists of 3 girlfriends or 10, it’s hard for everyone to be happy with every decision the group makes. You may not love the restaurant chosen, you may not be thrilled with the spa times. Someone has made an effort to herd the flock into making a decision. It’s made, deal with it. Furthermore, when it comes to making a decision, don’t say you don’t care and then bitch once a decision is made.
3)Don’t come without cash. No one wants to stop at the bank five times because you’ve only extracted $40. Take out enough money for the entire trip so you don’t have to inconvenience the rest of us. Unless you’re lucky like me and can rely on your girlfriends to be your personal banker. (Thanks Indie & Jackie!)
4)Don’t be passive. No one wants to be in charge the entire time. Don’t be the lazy bitch who lays back waiting for everyone else to make decisions. Take ownership of one piece of the trip and work it out for the rest. Remember, this trip is for you to take a vacation from your real life and party with your friends. It’s not an excuse for you remove yourself from reality and rely on everyone else to take care of you.
5)Don’t talk about your husband and kids the whole time. These are a few of the top reasons we go away with our girlfriends in the first place: to forget about our families and responsibilities for just a little while and to think of nothing else but ourselves. If I have to listen to you yap about them the entire time, I rather stay home.
6)Don’t burden your friends. When I’m on my girls trip, I want to do what’s good for me, when it’s good for me. For as long as I feel like it, without strings attached. So if you’re fried at the pool and I want to catch more rays, just go off alone. Don’t try to convince me to leave with you. We don’t have to be attached at the hip. Thanks.
7)Don’t assume everyone would be potentially good girls-trip comrades. This point goes back to my “Saturday Night Worthy” post. It’s one thing to spend an evening with a girlfriend. It’s another thing to consider sharing a room with her. There’s only so many girls I can even imagine traveling with. If you're not sure if she's girls-trip worthy, include her on your next overnight trip. Don't kill your whole vacation to learn you were wrong.
8)Don’t judge. It’s amazing what you learn about your girlfriends while you’re away. One may hoard the bacon and another may flirt incessantly with cute boys. It’s all part of the experience but probably not what she does on a normal basis. No one needs to hear your critical catty comments. Let her have her fun. Letting loose is what it’s all about.
9) Don’t be high-maintenance. Stop asking what we’re doing next. Stop checking out your hair. Stop asking me if you have the right clothes on. Stop relying on me to help you make decisions. It doesn’t matter what time we finish what we’re doing nor do we need to plan every minute of the day. Relax. That’s the whole point. If you need a formal agenda, feel free to write that up yourself. Just don’t hold me to it.

The last and golden rule is:
10)Don’t tell your other friends how great your girls trip was. Breaking this rule is a sure-fire way to alienate your friends who were not included. Furthermore, when they hear how much fun you had, they’ll expect to be included the next time. The same is true for husbands. Surely your man can live a long, happy life without knowing all the details. Plus, you’re friends probably don’t want you spilling the beans to your husband. I know it can be a hard rule to live by, but just remember the old adage “whatever happens in Vegas…”.

Anyone disagree?

Random Pea-Brained Thoughts

1. I refuse to spend $200 on a pair of jeans unless they make my ass sing.
2. Good news! Apparently, Starr & I are not alone. In times of crisis, women are more likely splurge on shopping sprees than in normal times.
3. Why do we stop being friends with our Maid of Honor? Weren’t these women supposed to be our closest friends when we got married?
4. I hope that Izzy and George are both dead.
5. Planning a girls trip shouldn’t be more stressful than the daily life stresses from which we’re trying to escape.
6. Why is it true that our most high maintenance friends can’t see themselves as that? Having to explain it all the more supports the theory.
7. I admit it, my Cougar blog post was not my best. I hear ya.
8. If I haven’t called in a few days it’s not because I’m mad at you. I just don’t have anything new to say.
9. Computer illiteracy is just as bad as reading illiteracy. Get with the times!
10. I acknowledge my Twittering is a narcissistic habit. Why wouldn’t the world be interested in following my every move?
11. If you have more than a few hundred “friends” on Facebook, you’re just a friend collector to placate your own insecurities.

Wishing you a safe & sunny Memorial Day weekend!

Cougars on the prowl

I've got a cute doctor. He's much older and very good looking. I see him every now and again, and we have pleasant conversations and talk about medical things. But in the back of my mind, I wonder, is he flirting with me just the tiniest bit?

I have another cute doctor. He's much younger and very good looking. I see him every now and again, and we have pleasant conversations and talk about medical things. But in the back of my mind, I wonder, is he flirting with me just the tiniest bit?

When you read my story the second time, do you think differently about me when you now know my cute doctor is much younger than I? Does that make me a Cougar? And at what age does that term come into play? Actually, where did that term even come from?

I looked it up on Urban Dictionary. I found the most highly rated definition was hilarious and probably right on the money:

"An older woman who frequents clubs in order to score with a much younger man...can be anyone from an overly surgically altered wind tunnel victim, to an absolute sad and bloated old horn-meister, to a real hottie or milf. Cougars are gaining in popularity -- particularly the true hotties -- as young men find not only a sexual high, but many times a chick with her shit together."

I wondered, could I possibly be old enough to be considered a Cougar? To me a Cougar is at least in her forties, I convince myself. Then I realize I'm just about there. No, no. I'm still too young. A Cougar must be in her mid to late forties, right? Now I have to look up the answer:

“An attractive woman in her 30's or 40's who is on the hunt once again. She will not play the usual B.S. games that women in their early twenties participate in.”
I have to laugh. Online, you can find tons of websites devoted to hooking up with a Cougar and a Cougar communities for women over 40. Cougars seem to be a pretty hot topic lately. There’s even a TV reality show about a Cougar and a viral video about Cougar Barbie.

So I wonder, when my friends and I check out the cute college boy at the hotel pool, does that make us Cougars? Is it the same thing to look and think, but not act? Or does the woman actually have to pounce and devour her prey to earn the title? I hope so. Then again, I have several Cougars I’m quite close to. So I’m, really not judging, are you?

facebook conversations

I’m having fun with Facebook again. Tonight I had the best conversation with a bunch of my friends, who collectively don't know each other. They read my Facebook update and began a dialog, a virtual conversation with strangers they wouldn't recognize on the street but all connected through me.

Backstory: 7:45 pm. Kids are fed and bathed. Casey's back from his playdate with Rhodie, his canine girlfriend. I realize there is nothing edible in my refrigerator. Decide to order in. Look at take-out menus. Realize there's nothing good because the five restaurants in my area that deliver suck (my favorite Italian joint aside!)

How many times can a girl eat the same five places? I hate it. It's not fair. I wish I lived somewhere that had more selection and better food. I have this thought and decide to update my Facebook status.

At 7:52, I write:
Tracy Friezer Fives: One of those nights I wished I lived in NYC so I could have delicious food delivered.

Then the following conversation occurred responding to my post:
Larry at 8:02pm: But then you'd have to take out a 2nd mortgage - do you how crazy food is in manhattan today? Trust me, stick with the 4:30 early bird dinner specials...

Brian at 8:15pm: It's a little more expensive but it's worth it for the convenience. The food in Manhattan is incredible. You can always have it Fed-exed to you. LOL.

Christopher at 8:22pm: there is no food like Manhattan food. Also you get $ 400 per night for a 2 diamond hotel, $57.00 for a bagel, $70.00 per day to park car.......Having the hotdog vendor serve you from water that has been sitting all day wondering where he /she goes to the bathroom or washes his hands......priceless

Brian at 9:35pm: I just had Filet Mignon, King Crab legs, crab cakes and creme brulee. Mmmmmmm. In Reston, Va. Lora at 10:12pm See you make the best of where you are! Although NY would be a fun trip with you Tray!

Patricia at 10:22pm: I had an awesome meal in NYC just this past weekend - French - funky Lower East Side restaurant. Can't think of a place in South Florida I could get duck for <$20 and an oversized NY strip for $22. Got a slice in Little Italy for $2.50. You can eat cheap and well in NY if you look in the right places. Brian at 10:26pm: Pat, that place across the street from you in the Keys was awesome!! Key Largo Coffee house or something. They loved Casey.

Patricia at 10:40pm: I love that place. Key Largo Conch House. Good to hear you all had a good time down there. Next time we'll go together so we can take the boat out!

Tracy Friezer Fives at 10:42: Had to settle for Chili’s. Next time I’m cooking for myself.

I love this web 2.0 stuff. Fascinated by the fact that now we’re all somehow interconnected to everyone else. Very Kevin Bacon, six degrees and all that. Hope you're having as much fun with it and all the other social media tools creeping into our lives.

What should I wear?

I’m going to a bar mitzvah. What should I wear?
I’m going to Santa Fe. What should I wear?
I’m going to a BBQ. What should I wear?
I’m going bar-hopping for Friday night happy hour. What should I wear?
I’m going dancing on a Saturday night. What should I wear?
My house is burning and I need to leave immediately. What should I wear?

It seems like the “What should I wear” game is one of the most overplayed, exhausting, and intoxicatingly addicting games my friends and I participate in. Every event seems to require at least one of us asking what we should wear. Or what are you wearing? Is jeans okay for a Friday night? Do we have to get dressed up for dinner in at your house? Is sweats acceptable on a Sunday afternoon? Do I have to come to your pool party wearing an actual swimsuit?

When I was a kid, I didn’t care what I wore. As long as it was comfortable. I probably took that mantra to an extreme, and actually got into trouble for wearing my pajamas to school. But it was so much easier then than it seems to be now. Even with a full closet of clothes, I’m in a constant struggle to find the right thing to wear.

Styles change. My size changes. My tastes change. Styles change again. My closet is an ever-evolving rotating door of clothes that comes and goes before I’ve had the chance to get my wear out of any particular item. The absolutely right-now perfect top doesn’t seem to hold up two months from now. The pink cargos went the way of pink flamingos in our front yard. The overalls I loved so much have been donated after eight years of hoping to make a comeback. It’s very frustrating how often fashion changes ever-so-slightly that last year’s version looks so much like this year’s, but not enough to pull it off. I’d rather just chuck it than worry about who’s noticed that I’m wearing “so last years”. And honestly, I care about this stuff as much as the average girl yet it still eats me up.

Plus, I never can seem to get ahead of the fashion and actually have the right thing to wear, so I’m constantly at the mall looking for perfection. Of course, I never find it when I’m looking for it. Only when I’m in a rush or shopping for a gift for someone else.

I try not to kill myself with keeping up with the styles and stick to my tried-and-true favorites. Most of my clothes are my staple favorites that you’ve probably seen me wear a thousand times. They’re like the PJs of my childhood. Three kinds of items are my standard-issue uniform. I can wear strikingly similar black or white t-shirts and never get tired of wearing them. I have twenty variations of the same t-shirt shirt: v-neck, deep v-neck, scoop neck, boat neck, three-quarter sleeve, long sleeve, gathered, cap sleeve…. I should buy an additional color or two when I refresh the uniforms but I wind up moving those to the back of the closet and focusing on my favorites.

I also have my standard issue sweats. They’re shoved in a drawer with eight other pairs, but I always seem to reach for the same gray pair over and over. Now they have a hole right below the knee, thanks to Casey. But instead of tossing them, I’ve decided to roll them up, hip-hop style.

Flip flops round out my third standard-issue uniform. Pink, white, black, red and every color in between. I have flips with rhinestones and flops with bows. I have crystal ones and stone ones and plain ones and denim ones and high heels and low heels and some I have multiple pairs of the same kind. I have a whole basket of flip flops and can wear a pair every day for over a month with out duplication.

What's your standard issue uniform?

My girfriend Lexi

The other day, I had a long conversation with my friend Lexie. I thanked her for being one of my best friends. She’s always there for me when I need her. Sometimes, I rely on her to calm me down when I get all out of whack. I have a tendency to overreact, over-think, over-analyze, over-process, over-over-over everything. Talking to her helps bring me down from the ledge (or cave) I want to jump off of or crawl into. She helps me sort through the clutter and find reason. She reminds me that I’m not Superwoman or Woman of the Year, and that’s okay. She holds my hand when I start to panic that I can’t finish it all, be the best, find perfection, and overcome every challenge I throw in my own way.

Through our conversations, I realized how much I’ve been able to breathe deeper lately and not care so much about everything. Not sweat the small things. In planning my girls’ trip this year, the group is debating where to go. Planning a girls trip should not be so difficult. Usually I care and I care a lot. This year, I realize it doesn’t matter where I go, if I’m with my girls. I’ll even go back to the place we swore off in the first place. It just doesn’t matter because I know I’ll have fun. Lexie, however, was asked to stay home. If she can’t contribute to the conversation, she’s not welcome in it.

Being as laid back as Lexie has wonderfully therapeutic benefits. If you don’t put too much time into agonizing over every single detail, decisions are easier to make. It doesn’t have to be perfect, the best, the greatest. It doesn’t matter so much because it will all be good. Wherever we decide to go. Letting up on just a little frees up quite a bit of stress. Allowing others to help—or take charge of things, even—doesn’t mean it’s not going to get done right, as I always believed. It may not be done just so, like I would do it, but it will get done in another equally good fashion. I sort of like the vacation from it, actually.

Lexie reminds me that life is too short. I have to enjoy the life I was given. The body I live inside. The mind’s space I occupy. The cards I was dealt. She helps me dispose of the unproductive thoughts and focus on what matters. It’s much more productive for me to focus on a few important things at once than endless unimportant things all at the same time. I’ve learned from Lexie to stop fixating on the bad stuff I can’t change and work on the good stuff that I can make great. I’m not saying I’m all the way there yet, but I’m sure trying.

I’m lucky to have Lexie in my life. Hope all of you have your Lexie too.

Lucky me

I’m not easily fooled. I read between the lines and know what you’re hiding. I can read your facial expressions and know what you’re not telling me. You can’t bullshit a bullshitter. But apparently, you can pull a surprise party over on me!

Surprise parties are the best kind of parties. There’s no involvement on the recipient’s end. Everything is handled for you. You get to show up and just enjoy. You get the honor of being celebrated. You get to bask in the love of your friends. You get to dance around like a wild woman and not worry about being judged. You get to sit at the head of the table and make toasts. You’re allowed to get mushy and tell your friends how much you love them twenty times. You get to blow out the birthday candles (Unless your cake has sparklers, thank you very much!). You get to eat a beautiful cake. (Unless someone drops it and then there's a second beautiful cake!) You get to open wonderful surprises in beautifully wrapped bags. It’s a wonderful thing.

The beauty of a party in your honor is while your friends are celebrating you, you can celebrate your friends. There’s no better feeling than in knowing how much time, energy, thought, effort, and love was all put forth for you. I’m so very lucky for my dear, wonderful friends who took the time from their very busy lives to make me feel so incredibly special. I’m so very lucky for my dear, wonderful husband who has redeemed himself from spilling the beans at my 30th birthday surprise twenty feet away from the door. I’m just so very lucky for you, and you know who you are. Thank you.

Hip hop and tics-a-lot

Do you have a personal tic that you subconsciously know you have but never realized others were aware of it? Damn, it’s embarrassing when you finally learn that you don’t do such a good job of covering it up. Or worse, is when you learn that you do it more often than you thought and your girlfriends all see it but never mention it to you. (until it’s time to laugh at you!)

I used to wear glasses on occasion. I should have worn them more often than I did, but I was vein. I didn’t like how they looked nor did I like when they slid down my nose. But more importantly, I didn’t like how they looked. Instead, I wore contacts. However, the contacts constantly dried out my eyeballs. I used to blink often, or stare straight ahead in an effort to fix them. I knew I did it. I just didn’t realize how often I stared bug-eyed at my friends or fluttered my eyes until I was called out on it, while they laughed mercilessly.

Yeah, yeah. I can laugh at myself with the rest of you. But a month later, I gave into Lasik surgery. Of course, now I have the last laugh with my better than 98% of the world 20/15 vision…but anyway, I digress…

So last night, I took a hip-hop class with my girlfriends. I absolutely loved it. It was just as I imagined it would be. The instructor was young, flexible, and amazing. I however, am not. I looked more like a fleshy robot and I didn’t even care. We laughed a lot, both at ourselves and at each other, and I can’t wait to go back (albeit alone!) to the next class.

On the ride home, I was asked why I wanted to learn hip-hop. It’s not like I’m going to bust a hip-hop move on a table at the Greek restaurant, right? No, I explained that I want to learn how to be fluid in my movements. Because there’s nothing fluid about me, except maybe my frequent need to pee. Hip-hop is beautiful dancing to me—plus it’s such fun, not to mention a great workout.

Ironically, the instructor was also Maya’s hip-hop teacher. Furthermore, we’re learning the same routine. So now, I’ll be not only humiliated next to the other women in the class, but I can be shown up by my seven year old. Now I understand why Maya has two left feet. She gets it from me. And we’re left-handed which makes learning the moves all the more confusing and backwards for us.

At lunch today, I shared my experience with some girlfriends. One asked to see the routine and I willingly obliged. The other, who has danced on many tables beside me, laughed about how I always hang my tongue out in some fashion when I dance. It’s a part of my “look”. Ha ha, we laughed, but inside I cringed because you know what? Damn it, she’s right! I guess I was subconsciously aware that I do some weird thing with my mouth—twist my lips and who-knows-what with my tongue. I’m sort of mortified. I think I just make lots of funny faces in case anyone is watching me dance. This way if they think I look hilarious, they’ll also think apparently I think I’m hilarious too. Maybe I do it to distract anyone from actually looking at my body while I dance. Either way, it’s just another tic in a long list of mine that I possess.

Oh, and did I mention I also seem to snap my fingers while dancing too? Maverick shared that nugget not too long ago, while I was dancing around the house. Now you may get the picture why I’m looking for some help.

Vacation calling etiquette

My recent post regarding whether it's okay to call a girlfriend while she's on vacation has received a great response. Thank you! I'm truly enjoying this blogging experiment, doing some writing like I've always wanted to do, and developing my own creative outlet. And as an added bonus, I get feedback from my readers and friends, which I absolutely love. (Even when you tell me some of my posts are bitchy!)

So I have two requests of you, my readers:

Comment on my blog. If you read something you like (or don't!), respond to it. Say what you think. It's a shame when I'm the only one to hear your similarly funny stories. I want to share it with all my girlfriends. You can respond with your name or you can respond anonymously. Just get engaged, share your comments and join my tribe.

Vacation phone calls, or not! Would you like to be called while on vacation? Should I expect that you may be calling me? I just want to know your stance.

Tonight, Jamaica told me, "Definitely not. I will not call you on vacation. My mind will be far away from here!" That's cool. Now I know that unless I'm having a true girly emergency, when Jamaica's away, do not hit #8 on speed dial!

Then, another girlfriend hit me with: "Of course, I want you to call! You think I want to sit around for three days,with my husband, by myself ?"

Here's my answer: If I'm traveling with the family, call away. I can probably use a break from the choke-hold of kids asking me to buy them something else or from the exhaustion of trying to do something fun while the kids are bickering and would have really been satisfied had I just let them play their DS's until their brains melt and ooze from their ears.

But if I'm alone with Maverick, don't bother calling. There's no way I'm answering because most likely, I won't care where my phone is. It's that simple. So tell me, so I'm clear. Do you keep your phone on, fully charged and close by when you're on vacation?

Cosmetic surgery, vaginas & Charlie the Tuna

It seems like there's been a lot of conversations lately about cosmetic surgery and other enhancements. One girlfriend has been gung-ho about trying Botox and/or Restylane. She often bitches about her lines and creases and has several friends who started down the needle highway already. She’s just too damn scared to turn herself loose on that road; but every time she hears another success story, she inches closer to the entrance ramp. I told her I’d probably consider something cosmetic at some point, but I think that once you jump on that runaway train, it’s hard to get off.

I’ve seen girlfriends get good boob jobs and bad boob jobs. Tummy tucks, lipo on the thighs and buttocks. Nose jobs, tattooed eyebrows, collagen injections, face and eyebrow lifts. Whatever floats your boat is cool with me. It’s your body and if it helps your self-esteem, I support you.

But there is a point of too much. If you don’t believe me, spend a day at the Boca Towne Center. Aside of great shopping, there’s an endless stream of overdone women to giggle at. You can see tons of too-tiny waists on lollypop heads with faces sewn back on on too tightly and lips that look like the Charlie the Tuna guy on a Starkist can.

Today, as I was sitting at my desk working on a mundane spreadsheet, I got a hilarious phone call from a girlfriend. She called to share that she just heard a radio commercial for the crowning glory of all cosmetic procedures. The king of the hill. Top of the heap. Hey, number one…

Vaginal rejuvenation.

Say it with me…vag-in-al re-juv-e-nation. Yes, ladies, for several thousand bucks, you can have the procedure that tightens your vagina and perineum to help increase your pleasure during sex and stay young in every way.

I’m laughing now and not sure how to make more fun of it than that. I’m partly laughing at the term, vaginal rejuvenation. It reminds me of another funny vagina word—vaginal dentata, or women with toothed vaginas. Various cultures have folk tales about women with toothed vaginas, frequently told as cautionary tales warning of the dangers of sex with strange women and to discourage the act of rape.

To further that thought, in the bizarre-but-true category, a real product was invented called Rapex. It looks like a female condom, but with one stunning difference: upon penetration, 25 hook-like barbs attach themselves to the skin of the penis, and the device is then transferred from female to male and can only be removed by a doctor. The idea is that the rapist’s pain would disarm him long enough for the victim to get away, and would require him to turn himself in–evidence unmistakable–in order to avoid permanent damage.

Not sure where I was going here, aside of the laughing I’m doing alone at my desk, but consider this lesson on vaginas over.

Vacation from friends

When you go on vacation, it’s usually to escape the headaches and stresses of everyday life. The job, the spouse, the kids, the bills, the carpooling, the traffic, the grocery store…whatever. But what about your friends? Do we go on vacation to escape our friends too? Sometimes, the obvious answer is yes. But if you have a girlfriend with whom you speak to regularly and she goes on vacation, does she really want you calling for the daily gabfest just like when she’s not on vacation?

I encountered this situation recently. I would never think to call a girlfriend on vacation because when I’m on vacation, I like to pretend the rest of the world doesn’t exist. If I want to check in with you, I’ll call you. But another girlfriend called our vacationing friend. I wouldn’t want my vacationing friend to think I was not a good friend if I didn’t check in to see how everything was going. Would I look like a bad friend if I just asked about your trip when you return? Luckily, my vacationing girlfriend called me before I spent another day debating if I should or shouldn't call.

Of course, I missed my friend while she was away. But I don’t know if that’s enough justification for calling. I figured if she didn’t feel like talking, she could let my call go straight to voicemail. But then she’d have it hanging over her head that she needed to call me back at some point and that creates stress. But if I call and she doesn’t want to talk, but answers anyway, I’m still creating stress. Either way, it’s a lose-lose scenario and I’m perpetuating the vicious cycle of why we go on vacation in the first place, to reduce stress.

Unless, of course, she wants to talk while on vacation. Should we clarify up front, before you leave on vacation, whether we should talk while you’re gone? And if so, will you be calling me or should I call you? Maybe we should just text? Or go on vacation somewhere with no cell signal. The rules aren’t clear and clearly vary by girlfriend. What’s your rule? Let me know, so I don’t stress.

Hip-hop-laugh-a-lot

Since I was a little girl, I’ve loved to dance. The house I grew up in had a giant, furnished basement. As a kid, I’d lock myself downstairs, turn the Bee Gees up on the turntable and dance the day away. Sometimes, I’d bring a large mirror down there to watch myself. I’d use an open door to swing myself around on like it was my dance partner. Once, my mother stored a highly polished wood dining room table down there and that became the perfect surface to practice spinouts on my tush like a Dance Fever girl. I’d throw myself down and spin out with an arm raised in the air with the a flourish, ta-da!

I’d sing and dance and put on a show for nobody in particular. But in my fantasy, I was always a very famous, very glamorous, very rich, popular and gorgeous Hollywood starlette who made the crossover from successful films to Broadway to Billboard’s Top 20 Hits. Not to mention my movie-star boyfriend, Tom Cruise!

That’s when I was my happiest. Dancing around like I knew what I was doing, first to Andy Gibb and then Saturday Night Fever and later to Grease, Fame and then Flashdance. Dancing around in the privacy of my own basement (with a very large, appreciative audience in my own mind) always put a smile on my face. I clearly remember feeling flushed and out of breath, as I took a large bow and accepted my standing ovation. It was my way of escaping out of reality and into my perfect fantasy of actually having a gifted dancing ability.

Truth be told, I really can’t dance. I can move my hips and pull off a convincing dance in a crowd. That’s when I’m at my best now. I’m the girl who can shimmy in a chair and look good doing it. But getting up and dancing doesn’t translate as well on my own two feet. I do it anyhow because after all these years, it still feels amazing. Put a few drinks in me, and I’ll tear up a dance floor. Who cares how I look to others if I can’t see straight? Even today, I still dance around the house when no one is looking. I dance with my girls and luckily, they don’t know any better than to laugh at me.

One of my favorite dance shows is “So You Think You Can Dance?” After watching the first season, I got hung up on wanting to learn how to hip hop. Maverick laughed. I’m so klutzy and uncoordinated. How could I learn to do hip-hop well? I showed him my hip-hop moves. He laughed again. So did I. But deep down inside, I really meant it. I WANT TO LEARN HOW TO HIP-HOP. It’s all about exaggerated moves and popping. I think I could do that. Maybe…

So finally, I found an adult hip-hop class. I refuse to get down on the floor and do the “corkscrew” or the “worm-whatever” but I am very excited to learn how to bust a move. Hopefully, I won’t bust a bone. My girlfriends are going with me. I don’t know what that’s going to be like but I can guarantee it will be worth it’s weight in laughter. Maybe I should down a few shots of tequila before I go.

Losing ourselves

As little girls, women dream of a life like Cinderella. Not the rags and housework part, but the dream of meeting our Prince Charming and living life happily ever after. Each of our versions may be somewhat different but collectively, we all wish to find happiness and fulfillment one day when we wed our true love and become a Mrs.

Then there’s other fairy tale of the house with the white picket fence, an adoring husband and two lovely children. Again, the stories we’re fed as children fuel this desire to have a perfect life. How often we sung the song of “…k-i-s-s-i-n-g! First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes so-in-so in the baby carriage!”

Unfortunately, our mothers did not do a proper job of filling in the blanks. Perhaps it was the Mean Stepmother’s story: the one that teaches us that oftentimes, in our quest to fulfill these childhood fantasies of what married life with children would be, we lose ourselves along the way.

We’re so consumed with our work, our home, our husbands, and our children that we squash any sense of self. There’s just no time left in the day for us. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve noticed a wrinkle in the mirror and wondered how long it had been there. God knows, who has time to look that closely in the mirror anyway?

And then after a while, we stop one day, look in the mirror and realize we don’t know who we are anymore. We know we’re “wife” and “mother” and “daughter” and “friend” but we don’t know ourselves.

It’s scary to acknowledge the fact that we let our passions (and ourselves) go. We’re consumed with filling our kid’s day with meaningful activities to uncover their passions but what about ours? We used to be dancers or painters or photographers or roller-skate queens with ambition too. We had dreams and desires. Wants and needs. But we’ve prioritized ourselves right off of the list.

Of course, when we come to this realization, it causes strife with our spouse. He can’t imagine what we’re going through because it’s just not the same for men. But the truth is, we need to find ourselves again sometimes. Take a new class. Schedule a lunch-date with a girlfriend. Read that dusty book on your nightstand. Call an old friend for a good laugh. Go for a run. Make time for YOU!

In the long run, not only is it best for us, it’s best for our kids and our marriages too. So don’t be afraid.

I deserve it!

I’m a good mother, wife, daughter and friend. I commute two hours a day. I work hard at a full-time job with a lot of responsibility. I try to always do what’s expected of me. I often put others needs before my own. I make sacrifices every day for the well-being of my family. I try to be a good person and go above and beyond. I try hard to do all the right things all the time.

So, when I want something, I think I deserve it. It’s my mantra and I want to spread the word. You deserve it! Too often, we women deny ourselves. Why?

Why do we girls wait so long between our night out when the guys get together every single week to watch football?

Why do we watch for those gorgeous shoes to go on sale when the guys just run right out and pick up a new TV or computer or phone?

Why do we have to wait for a special anniversary for that piece of jewelry we want when the guys have no problem splurging for themselves on a boat?

Why do we settle for a 3-day trip around the corner when the guys fly off to another country for a week?

Why can’t we have a kid-free Saturday afternoon just for no reason?

Slowly, I’ve been watching my mantra take hold on my girlfriends and I’m proud. One girlfriend splurged on a new ring and told me she “deserved it.” Good for her! Another girlfriend told her husband she was going out and he was going to babysit because she deserved it. Good for her!

Not that I’m proposing we become spoiled bitches. Not at all. I just hate to see the inequities of how men and women view how easily (or not) it is to make ourselves happy.

When a man wants to run to the store to pick up something he wants or needs, he just says “Honey, gotta run out for a bit, be home later!” When a woman wants to run to the store, she has to make sure the man is going to be home, get approval for the trip, and confirm that he will, in fact, watch the kids. Sometimes, that involves making sure the kids are fed or bathed or sleeping before we women can leave!

Furthermore, when a man goes away, he just announces the dates of his trip. End of story. He assumes that everything regarding the house and children will just magically be taken care of while he’s away. When a woman goes away, she has to coordinate all the kid’s schedules, lunches, homework, carpooling etc before she walks out the door. She usually also makes extra babysitting arrangements too just to give her husband a “break” from his “babysitting” duties. It’s a carefully planned itinerary that sometimes takes as much work as coordinating the Inauguration.

Believe me, we women will do whatever it takes to go away, especially when its for a girls vacation. There’s nothing like the freedom from house and children and work and man. It’s well worth whatever coordination is necessary to escape every once in a while. Why? Because I deserve it.

Rekindling Old Facebook Friendships

The other day I was sent a friend request on Facebook by a woman with whom I went to high school. She fondly remembered me from a class we both were in and even had some lovely photos of my very 80s self, which she happily shared. I found it utterly fascinating that this woman had such recollection of my high school days for which I did not. I actually felt badly that I had left an impression on her and even after a cow-poke to my brain, I failed to form a single cohesive memory of her.

And then I had to remind an old friend on Facebook of all our junior high school antics. Missy lived across the street from me and we spent much of our junior high school years palling around. She didn't remember the Jordache jeans we wore so tightly that it required a hanger through the zipper to close the fly. I was stunned that she didn't recall sneaking my mother's cigarettes and teaching ourselves how to inhale. We did these things together....yet I remembered it and she did not. Maybe I didn't make such a strong impression on my friend either.

The funny thing about Facebook is that all the reconnections we make there remind us not only of how many friends have come and gone in lives, but also that there was probably a good reason we let so many of these friendships lapse.

At first I attempted to rekindle some of the previously important friendships. I felt strongly that the core people I cared about would still have relevancy to me now, even if our friendship existed a dozen or more years ago. But those efforts proved to be fruitless endeavors. Some friendships just died off because of distance or circumstance. Some faded because we went off in different directions. And others were just not people I want to be friends with anymore. It was a sad realization for me.

If Facebook has been “good” for anything, it is for the few strong connections I’ve resparked again and that was worth it. When we’re young, it was all about quantity. Now, it’s all about quality. Every now and then, we’re lucky to find a friend we somehow lost our way with and reconnect in a meaningful way. The rest of them on Facebook are just Web 2.0, social networking cotton-candy. Light and fluffy and not much substance.