Hey jealousy

One of my favorite songs, the Gin Blossoms' "Hey Jealousy," came on the radio the other day as I was driving around doing mommy errands.

As I sang along, it got me thinking of a conversation Sara and I had the other day.

She asked my why I still flirt even though I'm dating Sean. She wondered if I did it to "make him jealous."

That's really juvenile behavior. I flirt, he flirts because even though we're dating, we're not dead! We still look at others, we engage others — and we trust. I'm not interested in a relationship that puts artificial limits on the other. I know my own boundaries, and I trust he knows his. We'd have a much bigger problem if we didn't.

But it made me think of the jealousy I've experienced and that I've seen among my friends. I thought of what the big porn star and her new hubby told me over dinner when I asked them how they can make their marriage work — no jealousy, they said.

But, because I think way too much, I wondered: Can jealousy ever be a good thing in love?

Some people who know of such things say, yes.

I stumbled upon a post by Paul Dobransky, author of "The Secret Psychology of How We Fall in Love."

"There is a very subtle distinction about jealousy that will help you keep a relationship that's healthy and leave one that's not," he says.

Now in dating and relationships, men and women can differ in what adds what you may call passion to their jealousy.

Because of gender instinct differences, men are passionately jealous of that which can raise up their status among men: things like status symbols, leadership positions, money, and the admiration of women. Women are passionately jealous of that which can give them a feeling of belonging, being "normal" or harmonious.

Both in men and women, this kind of "jealousy" is a good kind — it indicates masculinity or femininity, and is an INSTINCT, not something that can be eradicated or pretend it isn't there.

So when we deny what we feel or what our partner feels, it creates unnecessary tension, right?

Adam Phillips, author of "Monogamy," tells Salon a similar thing, that without jealousy in a relationship, our partner can become invisible:

Oh yes. I think there's no way around sexual jealousy, nor should we be trying to find one. I think that jealousy is inextricable from passion. What may be possible, though, is to have a different internal relationship to jealousy. Or it may be possible to bear jealousy in a less vengeful way. That, I suppose, would be one of my ideals here. Not that we would cease to be jealous, but that we would be able to bear jealousy. And that would mean really being able to acknowledge that other people are independent of our desires for them. Just like we ourselves can love and desire more than one person, so can the people we love. Now, this may be too hard an ideal. But it seems to me preferable to the alternative.

I love that: "other people are independent of our desires for them. Just like we ourselves can love and desire more than one person, so can the people we love."

Think how powerful it is to understand that about ourselves and our partner. And yet, I can see how that might make many of us feel uncomfortable.

And both of them seem to include jealousy as part of passion — and isn't it often passion that seems to slowly bleed from long-term relationships? Hmm.

How do you handle jealousy?

Do you think it plays a healthy role in a relationship?

Do you accept that your partner may feel love for more than just you?

Would your partner accept that of you?

Single, but not alone

There are two kinds of single — alone single and lonely single. The latter is something we all feel from time to time (but shouldn't make a habit of it because even our dearest friends will tire of our moaning and groaning), the former is something we need to accept (or, ideally, embrace) if we're ever going to make it solo (regardless of whether we want to be solo or not) — the quirk-alone type of single.

But misery loves company, er, well, I mean we singles can help each other by swapping stories, sharing insights and making each other laugh (well, except the females among us, evidently!)

Now, like CamperWorld or some big box store — or maybe even the Mall of America (which scares the hell out of me) — we can find it in one place.

Two really smart bloggers — Dad's House (aka David Mott) and Single Mom Seeking (the lovely and talented Rachel Sarah) — put it together, and I'm happy to be a part of it. I like reading what other single parents have to say, and Lord knows I like to dish out the advice, too (although perhaps it's a case of do as I say, not as I do).

Of course, the truth is, single parents aren't really alone; we have kids, and they fill every nook and cranny of our home, thoughts, dreams and anxieties. Even if you have 50 percent custody, it's a 100 percent job.

And, the group is on Facebook, of all places; if The Kid knew what I was up to, he might truly make me a lonely and an alone single by moving in with his dad full time. Bad enough I have to share his breathing space and the physical space of our house without invading his cyberspace, too!

Still, please mosey over to the group, and maybe join in and connect. It just feels so much less lonely that way.

Does this relationship make me look fat?

"Kat, I need to come over right away. You home?"

"Yeah," I said to Mia, alarmed by the tone of her voice on the phone. "Are you OK?"

"Um, I, um, I'll see you in a few minutes."

I was worried, expecting her to show up in tears with bags under her eyes. Instead, she looked great in that feminine full-faced I'm-in-love way.

"What's up?"

"I need to use your scale."

"What?"

"Mine's broken."

"That's it? You came all the way over to my house to use my scale?"

She didn't answer, but I'm not even sure she heard me. She was already in my bathroom.

There was a bit of a commotion, and then she spoke. "Crap!"

"What is going on in there?" I asked her, half confused and half freaking that The Kid had left the bathroom a mess.

"I gained five pounds!" emerging from the bathroom looking slightly disheveled and clearly distressed.

"Oh for goodness sake, Mia. Everyone's gained five pounds — even me. We're post-holiday, remember?"

"No, no, no, it's not just that. Rex and I have been, well, we're struggling."

“I’m sorry, honey. Sean and I have been, too,” I said quietly in sisterly unity. Not only do women get their periods in synch, but sometimes it spills over into their love life, too. “But that’s not why we’ve both porked out.”

"Of course it is!'

"What do you mean?"

"Remember when you and Rob were breaking up and you lost all that weight?"

"Yeah," I sighed. "I felt terrible and everyone told me how great I looked. Go figure!"

“Well, that’s what’s happening now. We’ve each gained weight as an insurance policy in case our romances break up and we aren’t able to eat. It’s nature’s way of protecting us — at the same time that it's making us look hot for the next guy.”

I looked at her, slightly dumbfounded — admittedly, not my best look. But just as I was about to tell her how ridiculous she was sounding, I realized as weird as it was, she just might be on to something.

Could it be that relationships are the root of our fatness?

It's kind of a cliche that women befriend two guys — Ben and Jerry — when their love life is in the pits.

But studies say that women pack on the pounds or lose them depending on what's happening in our relationships.

We tend to look our best when we're looking for love, which is important because, like it or not, how skinny or fat we are affects a gal's marriage prospects and social mobility more than it does for a man.

But once we start dating — what with all those Frappuccino-quaffing Starbucks quickie online dating meets, trying-to-impress-you fancy restaurant dates and let's-order-Chinese-in-and-watch-a-DVD dates — we gals add about 15 pounds. Move in with your sweetie and it's more like 18 pounds. Get married and suddenly you're packing an extra 24 pounds. And, not surprisingly, if one spouse becomes obese, the other spouse is likely to get fat, too.

This is a very good reason to stay single.

Then, when we're hitched and we should be ecstatic that we're having sex whenever we want, we start getting all freaked about how fat we've become and then we don't even feel like getting it on — let alone how all that extra weight messes with blood flow.

Honestly — the promise of great sex is being wasted on heavy married people!

But just last week, researchers said that women's brains may be the reason we get so fat. Evidently, when we're faced with our favorite foods — say a Dagoba 59 percent dark semisweet chocolate bar — we just can't stop ourselves the way men can.

So, I’ve come up with a diet that is easier and cheaper than any South Beach Diet or Jenny Craig system could ever be. I’m calling it the Kat Wilder Healthy, Happy and Hot Diet because you not only will look great, but you’ll be saving yourself a lot of man trouble, too.

Do daily: Flirt, look for love

In moderation: Dating

Eliminate: Living together — it rarely leads to a successful marriage, almost half of which end up in divorce, anyway. Plus, you’ll be saving all those pounds.

Now, if it’s too late because you’re already married, you have two options — start having lots of sex, which burns off about 53 calories if you can make it last a half an hour, or get a divorce.

And if you do get a divorce, please make it soon — there are going to be a lot of skinny gals out there looking for love.

Is the date cooking or cooked?

There are a few things we gals have learned about men — whether by observation and experience or osmosis from other women or media. We know most men don't get women's obsession with shopping, shoes and fashion, our ability to cry over seemingly nothing, our gossiping, or our need to talk about "the relationship" (or maybe even our need to talk, period!) So smart women keep those sorts of things in check around men.

But I've wondered if there are some things we gals do that send messages to men to which we're oblivious.

Not too long ago, a friend made dinner for a man with whom she'd gone on two lunch dates (he paid for both). Then he didn't call. 

OK, granted, he might have just not been into her. But I wondered about the dinner.

"Do you think cooking dinner was too intimate too soon?" I asked her.

"It was a quick, thrown-together meal and I was heading out after, anyway. Plus," she shot back, annoyed, "women sleep with men on the third date!"

She had a point. But as I told her, "That's different because men always want to sleep with women."

At the time that I asked her that, I didn't realize that I actually had an opinion about it, but I guess I do. That's because I think cooking for someone is a very intimate thing, an expression of love (for lovers, friends and family) — much more than throwing together a few ingredients and making it look pretty on the plate.

I'm not the only one.

When former New York Times food columnist Amanda Hesser met Tad Friend, a writer for the New Yorker (whom she later married), she struggled with the implications of cooking for him the first time, as detailed in her book, "Cooking for Mr. Latte: A Food Lover’s Courtship, with Recipes":

“First meals are intimate ... It’s an entry into the way you think, what you’ve seen and know, the way you treat others, how you perceive pleasure. Dinner guests can see by how you compose a dinner if you are an ungenerous hothead or a nurturer, stingy or clever, fussy or stylish.”

But maybe that's just how we romantic foodies think about it. Maybe it's just in Ms. Hesser's head and mine.

Does making dinner for someone need a three (or four- or five-)-date rule?

Are there other things women do that may send messages to men that we women don't "get"?

Are there things men do that may send messages to women that men don't "get"?

Divorcing Mother: When your mother lets you down

What do you do when your mother is a disappointment? It’s not especially something you see covered in blogs or writing. Mothers are supposed to be practically perfect. Hold on, that’s Mary Poppins…
Sadly, I’m at the point where I’ve had to throw my hands up and admit that my mother has been a disappointment. This is not new information. In fact, when I left home for university back in 1995, it was mostly to escape her and the small town mentality that she represented.

When I was a child, she was quite wicked. Nothing I could do was ever good enough. She frequently compared me to a cousin (who ultimately ended up mostly failing at life), and had an endearing habit of beating us with wooden spoons when we got out of line. I distinctly remember wooden spoons actually breaking as the blows rained down on me.

Things changed after I went to university. It wasn’t commonplace in the extended family to go to uni, so it was a matter of pride that I’d got in. But not so much the notion that I’d moved away from home.

And eventually my mother effected an image shift from being bitingly cruel to being this dotty old grandmother figure. If you’d met her after I went to university, you’d have encountered a slightly vacant woman who seemed to thrive on embarrassing her son. And that was fine for many, many years.

The serious bit

Everything changed last year within a couple of months of my father dying. If you’ve been reading this blog for any length of time, you’ll be familiar with the story.

Sadly, things quickly turned to crap. In hindsight, if I was able to go back to the graveside and tell myself one thing, it would be “Run. Run like hell.”

I’m not gonna go into the whole mess of a situation that arose. A family member (my sister) began acting out in a big way and caused a whole lot of trouble. I spoke to my mother and other sister about this, and urged them to deal with her behaviour. They didn’t, and she continued to cause problems.
The bottom line is that the person in question was becoming dangerous, and for the protection and safety of my family, we decided that we couldn’t visit my parents’ house in future. I’m not saying this lightly – ‘loose cannon’ doesn’t even begin to describe my sister. I could tell some horror stories, but that’s not the point of this post.

This decision – corroborated by doctors, solicitors and even a bereavement counselor I briefly consulted with – was not taken lightly. But it was met with hostility from my mother, who had slowly reverted to the bitter, sharp tongued woman I knew growing up. She alternated between feeling sorry for herself and being hostile towards me for taking this decision.

I’m painting a very vague picture here, but that’s a deliberate decision on my part. I couldn’t convey in a handful of paragraphs the pain and frustration my mother and sisters caused in the wake of my father’s death. It made an already sad situation needlessly worse.

The letter

So I wrote her a letter. She – and my younger sister – had taken to filling up my answerphone with messages asking us to get in touch. For the last fortnight. But the damage had long since been done.
Tellingly, these were not messages to say “We messed up. Sit down and talk with us and we’ll try and work this out.” They were “Poor us, how did we end up with this awful schism in our family?” And my answer – delivered in glowering mutters to the answering machine – was “Because you did nothing to stop a bad situation becoming worse. You simply pretended it wasn’t happening and then allowed the troublemaker back into your life without dealing with her.

I decided to write a letter. That letter said we can’t be a family anymore. You let us down. You let me down. And somehow you still don’t acknowledge your own part in the events leading up to this. You’ve let someone disrupt your family for 20 years. Someone who actually pushed my wife down stairs when she was pregnant and punched her own sister in front of two toddlers over a remote control.

I won’t expose my children to that ever again. And I can’t forgive my family for allowing those events to unfold and cause the pain that they did. You know what it is? I can’t look my mother in the face again for the betrayal and hurt that she caused. And yet she still perceives herself as a victim of circumstance, which makes me even angrier.

Why I’m writing this post

I’m sorry this post is so frustratingly vague. My reason for writing it is that the vastness of this episode in my life overshadowed everything else.

There have been events in my life that I want to write about, but I needed to get past this. Bloggers out there will understand that I needed to exorcise the demon before I could move on. This was a horrible, stressful, painful time in my life, and it hurt me more than I could ever express in one post. There’s a book’s worth of material in this. One post could never do the last year justice.
So I’m writing this to draw a line under a horrible chapter in my life. It’s over. It might seem harsh and melodramatic to tell your own mother never to call you again, but sadly it’s necessary.
On the plus side, there’s nothing like nastiness and adversity in others to make you realize how much you love your wife and children. They’re really been the most supportive and loving people over the last year, and I’m so glad to have them around me. The next post will be a glowing post about the children, I promise…

Top 10 Booty Texts You Should Never Send a Guy

Whether you’re the sender or receiver, it’s pretty hard to avoid the Late Night Booty Text these days. We’ve already shared ways to compose a good LNBT, but here are the top ten we hope you never send a guy.

10. My friends and I are going out for a big Mexican dinner. Can I stop by after? Steer clear of ever mentioning your grande order of beans and cheese; he’ll likely be mucho turned off.

9. Wanna have a sleepover? Most guys have been tricked into a night of cuddling this way, so you better make it clear you’re not interested in sleeping.

8. I wanna get you in the back seat, windows up, that’s the way I like to f*ck!!! When you can’t think of anything else to say, don’t turn to the lyrics of the rap song blasting at the club you’re in.

7. I neeeeed to see you tonight. I promise I’ll make it worth your time! Try to be a little more Debbie Does Dallas and a little less Debbie Does Desperation.

6. You can just come over here to watch the game! If you don’t know a thing about football and are just planning to tackle him when he walks in the door, he’ll be annoyed he ditched his friends.

5. I want to pole dance … you come over and bring the pole. An actual text suggested by Cosmo. Sorry, but we beg to differ until you find a guy who can read that without LOL-ing.

4. OMG drnuk to much. Get ovr here b4 I puke. We’ve already talked about slurring your texts, but this takes it to a whole new level.

3. I’m all alone waiting for you. Come over and bring a friend. Whoa, there, sister! You can’t just propose a threesome via text message.

2. I’m naked and cooking bacon for you. The way to a man’s heart might be through his stomach, but that’s just way too much pork.

1. My boyfriend just left but I’m still horny. Want to come over? TMI! At least have the decency to take a shower and pretend he’s not getting sloppy seconds.

What’s the worst LNBT you’ve ever sent or received?

Sometimes All You Really Need Is A Cat

Living single can mean freedom and excitement, but it can also mean loneliness.

Yearning for a companion, but not a mate?

A pet is a great option.

At 12 years old, I had it all planned out. I would marry at 18, have my first kid at 19, second by 21, live in a house in the suburbs with a dog named Benji, and have bitchen’ hair. I didn’t know who I would marry and make beautiful babies with but I was pretty certain he would closely resemble Jake Ryan from “Sixteen Candles” and drive something sporty. I would be a stay at home mom, write mediocre poetry about life and Corey Haim, and make a kick ass manicotti.

Fast forward 22 years and the only thing I have in common with my childish aspirations is my bitchen’ hair. So, what happened?

https://mycped.tamu.edu/eportfolios/56656/_/Single_and_Happy_During_the_Holidays

https://arizonawet.arizona.edu/users/sam-brown

https://www.open.edu/openlearncreate/course/view.php?id=4460

To put it simply, life happened. Somewhere along the way, I realized I wasn’t that big a fan of the Porsche 944, I couldn’t make a decent manicotti to save my life, and had I married at the tender age of 18, I more than likely would have become a statistic, not a stay at home mom.

And I’m okay with that.

This is not the part where I tell you how fabulous it is being single. This is already known. This is not the part where I blame all the men in my life for making me fall short of my early goals. That is just an excuse. This is the part where I tell you it’s okay to be single but it’s also okay to get lonely. That despite the freedom and excitement being single affords me, sometimes I wouldn’t mind having someone along for the ride to tell me just how bitchen’ my hair is.

So, I got a cat.

You read that right. I’m one step closer to becoming Crazy Cat Lady. Another couple rescue cats, a few blue highlights and some baby powder/violet discount perfume and I’m set.

Getting my kitty is the closest I’ve come to commitment in almost a decade. If anything, I enjoy her company more than that of 95% of the men I’ve previously encountered. She’s never lied to me or been dishonest. Although, if she had, I wouldn’t have understood it anyway, since I don’t speak Meow. Yet.

https://www.open.edu/openlearncreate/course/view.php?id=4458

https://iu.instructure.com/eportfolios/28970/_/4_Things_To_Say_To_A_Woman_While_On_The_Treadmill

https://canvas.elsevier.com/eportfolios/5928/Home/Booze_Broads_and_Brawls__Drinking_a_DealBreaker_

And she’s very clean. Bathes constantly. With the exception of her slight fascination with the toilet paper roll and stealing my ice cream, we’ve become wonderful roommates.

I could go on and on, but I’ve got to go. She has informed me that it’s time for bed. If I don’t listen to her, she’ll wake me up at the crack of dawn by trying to bite the mole off my back.

So, until I meet someone who doesn’t snore and likes their women with a little crazy, cuddle time with a feline during Modern Family isn’t too bad. Sure beats having to watch football with Minute Man or Booger Boy.