GUEST POST: how to say the hard stuff OR not even in the face of armageddon

This is Chris

My dear and very wise friend Chris, who has been reading my blog since its beginning (it is the very source of our friendship) and helping me work through the muck of life, love, and spiritual growth, wrote this beautiful guest post for us today. It was inspired by my post A Heart's Gamble, and I am so happy to share his insights here.

Enjoy...

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I once spent two and half years working up the clarity / confidence in my choice to tell a woman that as much as I loved her, deeply, profoundly loved her, I was not truly happy in the relationship with her because she and I wanted different things out of life, or at least to live in ways that did not bring me closer to her.  It was *excruciatingly* difficult to commit my future to that path, of ultimately living without her in my life.  The (many!) times I thought about it and what it would mean... and what could I possibly be thinking that I would give up all the extraordinary times we had together in hopes that I would somehow find something "better"?  What kind of fool did I think I was?!...  I waffled.  I tried all kinds of things to make it work, to contort myself for us to fit better -- and I know she did a lot of that too on her end, for sure.

I had numerous conversations with friends and family along the way to sanity check myself.  My best friend gave me lots of wisdom and a broader perspective.  My brother gave me a lot of practicality, but empathy all the same.  Nevertheless, in terms of the positive benefits my suffering could bring to the world, my mom was the most interesting one to talk to about what I went through.  My dad had divorced her only after 20+ years of marriage counseling and trying and trying... and trying.  They just weren't right for each other.  She gave me, in her own way, a woman's perspective of being on the receiving end of a serious breakup, and I gave her, much to my tangential happiness, a perspective on what a man's side of instigating such a breakup could be like.  That it was hard.

The reality is, I have been unskillful with women.  I have done and said the worst possible things at the worst possible moments.  Usually things I thought were innocuous and sometimes took me years to realize what a horrible thing I done to that poor woman's psyche.  I certainly hope they have recovered well, and at least learned something useful from my horrendous mistakes.  I myself have learned a great deal from my "failing big" and am very, very enjoyably much more skillful now, but even now I still have no strong knowledge of how to handle situations where really deep feelings are involved.  Hell, even when incredibly superficial feelings are involved on both sides: how do you, compassionately, tell a chick you know just came over because she was horny, "btw, I don't want you to sleep here tonight, can I get you a cab?"  Sometimes there's just no easy way to say some things.

So, how, in what was unquestionably the most serious relationship of my life to date, how could I possibly know the right thing to say, to express my real feelings, to be heard and understood that I had my own needs, but that they did not correspond with what she wanted (to remain with me)?  It hurts me deeply to hurt women.  I *love* women, I love taking care of them, treating them well and making them feel safe and comforted.  But as I am a monogamist, I can not do this for all women for all time...  The women I take some time with to explore and see how we fit, learn about her -- and learn about me! -- well...  Statistically, there are going to be more breakups than lifelong relationships that result.  But I remain nevertheless anxious that even after the hurt, somehow, *somehow*, I can find a way to impart to each one the knowledge and certainty that I cared so deeply for her, want her to be profoundly happy and wish with all my heart that a better guy for her than me shows up just around the corner.  And all the while I feel as though she is going to hate my guts no matter what I say, no matter how hard I try -- especially if I am actually _honest_ with her about my feelings, god forbid!

I do not begrudge the women of the world their bar hopping in the aftermath, telling their friends -- or random strangers, or the very next guy they hook up with for a night to forget... -- any stories they can think of that paint their ex-men in the worst possible lights so they can all commiserate on how men are scum, or at least that particular one.  But by the gods I wish it was not so.  Holy fuck I wish there was a way to demonstrate/share/empath the struggle and pain and frustration that goes into the desire to find an, honestly, _better_ happiness -- but still acknowledging that it was indeed a happiness before with that woman.  To know that a woman I cared so deeply for, and gave so much of myself to, that she would remember me fondly and know that I do still, until the end of all days, care for her, in a different way, yes, but deeply care all the same.

When my mom, over time, came to acknowledge that I was clearly greatly concerned about the happiness and well being of the woman I was contemplating leaving behind, she developed at least a hint of appreciation for what my dad went through.  That was so hopeful for me, that at least one woman saw that the guys who do/say these things to them are not cold heartless sociopaths who were lying about their feelings the whole time they were having these intimate moments prior to the uncomfortable conclusion, but rather human beings going through a struggle of their own, to find their own way in this confusing world and trying their damnedest to do the best they could with the skills they had at the time.

And it's not just the super intense moments.  The whole dating game is ripe with opportunity to hurt each other as we gradually shed layers with each other.  (And sometimes not so gradually -- thankfully!  I have cried my own eyes out over such times and am so, so, so immensely grateful to have had those experiences.)  We are all unskillful at times and we are all trying to find happiness in our own particularly selfish (but not in a bad way!) /individual ways.  I want to live in a world where we all recognize this of each other, and can respect our "opponents" in the battle of the sexes, especially from skirmish to skirmish as wounds are inflicted.  Forgiveness, compassion, understanding.

I would rather spend my life looking for a relationship that is truly satisfying for me, even if I never find such a creature, than settle for "almost but not quite" and then spend the rest of my life wondering what it would have been like to experience the satisfaction I knew I truly desired.  I will never stay with someone who wants something that is not what I want to offer, or offering less/other than what I know it would take to truly satisfy me.  Along the way, I will break hearts, including my own, and I hope that, at least for me, all the women I encounter are able to see and value my own attempts to do the right thing, even when it conflicts with their desires and thereby causes them pain.  

Eternally pursue that which brings you joy (and learn better every day what that really is!), perpetually operate from the assumption that hope is worthwhile even when it seems pointless or impossible, and, please, constantly look for the best in everyone on your path to real satisfaction.

May you, ultimately, find peace.

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*Note from the author regarding the title: I have always planned for my own blog, agonizingbliss.com to title articles twice, once somewhat obviously, and the second a seemingly nonsensical reference at first that ultimately relates to what the article turns into.  This particular second title is somewhat unfortunately a bit obscure, it requires quick googling for those who are not already very familiar with the source material, but it is _extremely_ profound when taken in context and is very apt for the material.  A suggestion to google it after reading might be worthwhile. You should read the graphic novel it comes from, although it is a substantial commitment to do so -- it would take a day start to finish, basically.  A very very profoundly moving day.

Unable To Find 12th Woman Of The Year, BBC Crowns Panda Instead

Faces of 2011 (Pic:BBC)

In a move that is sure to go down in adorable bear history, the BBC has named a female panda named Sweetie one of its female Faces of the Year. 2011 was either lacking severely in girlchievements or a banner year for lady pandas. So what was Sweetie's glorious achievement that elevated her, a bear, over that of all female humans who did stuff?

She got off of an airplane in Scotland, to great fanfare. That's it. Hooray for Sweetie the panda, woman face of the year.

Not only is a bear deemed to appropriately fit the "woman" category, the rest of the list will leave people who were hoping for a progressive set of female movers and shakers disappointed. Sure, it includes Michele Bachmann, who, for all of her frothing, hateful votemongering, is at least a politician, and Dilma Rousseff, the first female President of Brazil. But the list also includes Charlene Wittstock, a woman famous for almost not marrying a prince, a very wealthy Spanish duchess who married a younger man, and Pippa Middleton, a woman famous for being related to a woman who married a prince. We've also got two sexual assault victims on the list— Eman al-Obeidi, the Libyan woman who was dragged away from reporters while trying to tell them she'd been raped by Gaddafi forces, and Nafissatou Diallo, the woman who accused Dominique Strauss-Kahn of trying to rape her in his $12 zillion per night hotel room. And then there's the US Marine who successfully asked Justin Timberlake to go to a dance with her.

All in all, more than half of the BBC's "Faces of the Year: Women" are rape victims, princesses and thereabouts, or bears.

We really can have it all, ladies. Girl power.

News by Jezebel

Read current news at http://bbc-cnn-worldnews.blogspot.com

How great sex can help you live longer

Great Sex

Everyone knows that good sex feels fabulous at any age. But what’s not as well known is that a regular roll in the hay can also add up to eight years to your life expectancy.

Not only that, but the more orgasms you have, the longer you can expect to live.

Regular sex improves hormone levels, heart health and brain power and revs up your immune system – so you can hold on to your youth while you enjoy yourself.

Aim for orgasm

It’s not just the amount of sex you’re having that counts when it comes to adding years to your life – it’s the quality, too. One study discovered that orgasms can increase the body’s infection-fighting cells by up to 20%.

Even more impressive is the fact that regular orgasms make men twice as likely to live into old age as those who don’t have sex and women to live up to eight years longer.

Having an orgasm ­floods the body with mood-boosting ­chemicals and promotes relaxation, as well as bonding ­couples emotionally.

Several studies have shown happily married couples are likely to live longer than singles or those in negative relationships.

And it’s not just the men who reap serious benefits.

Women who have two orgasms a week are up to 30% less likely to ­develop heart disease than those who don’t enjoy sex.

Years added: Up to eight

Cuddle up

Cuddling isn’t just an ­enjoyable aspect of good sex – it also helps to release the ­“bonding hormone” oxytocin, which has been linked to life expectancy.

Babies and even animals that are deprived of this hormone, which is triggered by positive touching, often fail to thrive.

Research has found that oxytocin can dramatically boost longevity and people in relationships are less ­vulnerable to chronic diseases and depression.

Make the most of it: Even if you’re not in the mood, a cuddle can trigger a rush of oxytocin and make you want to get closer – but only with your beloved, as it is produced in greater quantities with a familiar partner.

Years added: Seven

More, more, more!

It really is a case of use it or lose it and ­having sex at least once a week will keep your hormones, heart and brain in top ­condition. And the more you have, the better the ­benefits. Men who have sex three or more times a week reduce their risk of heart attack or stroke by 50%.

It’s largely a myth that sex can trigger heart attacks, but if you’re worried, don’t over-do the aerobics and you’ll still get the benefit of powerful relaxation ­hormones. Feeling happy and positive about your life can also add years and regular sex ­releases “feel good” endorphins at any age, as well as easing stress.

Make the most of it: Have a “sex date” once a week. It doesn’t have to be at bedtime – try it if the kids are out on ­Sunday afternoon or by sneaking home at ­lunch.

Planned sex means you’ll look forward to it more and you’re more likely to ­prioritise it if it’s in the diary.

Years added: ­Up to two

Cook up a storm in the bedroom

To enjoy good sex, it helps if you’re in the mood – which ­is why brain chemicals are ­so important.

A lack of desire, once you’ve ruled out illness, tiredness, or other issues, can be down to a reduction in one of four brain ­chemicals – dopamine, acetylcholine, GABA and ­serotonin.

To get them up to speed again, certain herbs and spices can help. For dopamine, which enhances mood and confidence, try basil, black pepper, chillies, cumin, garlic, ginger and turmeric.

Acetylcholine helps improve alertness and focus so try ­­all-spice, basil, peppermint, sage and thyme.

GABA, a natural antidepressant, is found in alcohol – but just one or two glasses of red wine will do the trick.

Serotonin boosts happiness and ­relaxation so try turkey, bananas and chocolate.

Make the most of it: Cook up a light vegetable curry served with saffron rice (also a ­libido booster) to get yourselves in ­the mood.

Years added: Up to 10

Stay fighting fit

An infection isn’t likely to carry you off in your youth, but as you age, flu and ­respiratory infections can become a huge health issue. Luckily, sex can help to protect you.

A US study found couples who have sex up to twice a week have higher levels of antibodies – which protect the body from colds and flu – than people who enjoy less bedroom action. So while getting your five a day is important, it may be even more useful to get your two a week.

Make the most of it: Cut down on excess boozing, which weakens the body’s defences. Instead, go to bed an hour earlier and this will help to fight off ­the flu.

Years added: Up ­to eight

Work up a sweat

It’s common knowledge that exercise helps keep you fit, improves circulation and muscle tone and staves off the ­ageing process, ­but going to the gym can be hard work.

So it’s good news that sex provides almost all the same benefits as regular exercise, without having to hit the treadmill. It increases circulation and metabolism and burns about 30 calories for 20 minutes of reasonably active sex. That means in an hour you’ve burnt off a glass of wine or a couple of biscuits.

And when it comes to good bone health and avoiding osteoporosis in later life, it’s equally good news.

Middle-aged women who have ­weekly sex have been found to have twice the bone-protecting oestrogen levels of those who don’t.

Make the most of it: Keep sex fun by switching positions. If you always do it in missionary, speed up your heart rate by going on top for a change.

Years added: 10

Put your heart ­into it

Cutting down on fat and giving up smoking is great for your heart, but not always fun.

Sex, on the other hand, is fantastic for your heart – with none of the dull, boring bits.

And it’s not only women who benefit in the heart stakes.

A study last year by the New England Research Institute showed that having sex twice a week can reduce the risk of a heart attack by 45% – and if that’s upped to three times a week, it’s ­down to 50%.

This is thought to be down to ­endorphins, which can help ­neutralise stress hormones.

One study suggests that a powerful orgasm is equivalent to a shot of Valium and works immediately as a relaxant.

Make the most of it: Give each other a sensual massage to help stress melt away. Lots of stroking and intimate touches will soon put you in the mood for more, all the while releasing all that built-up tension.

Years added: Up to 15

Sex for survival

Most people’s holy grail of health is cancer prevention, so it’s good to know that regular sex might be instrumental in protecting both men and women from the Big C.

According to one study, women who have regular sex may even lower their risk of breast cancer, while further ­research from Nottingham University suggests that sexually active older ­men are less likely to develop ­prostate cancer.

And there’s plenty more research to show links between intimate sex ­and decreased stress levels and ­cancer protection.

Even if it involves a good giggle, you’re helping to dramatically decrease the effects of the stress hormone cortisol, which has been linked to the ­development of certain cancers.

Just 15 minutes of fun between ­the sheets every day can ­increase your life expectancy – so why not head ­for the bedroom and double up ­your ­pleasure?

Make the most of it: After a tense week at work, cuddle up in bed with a funny romantic comedy and a glass of red wine (known for its ­cancer-fighting properties) to make sure you’re ­extra relaxed before ­finally ­getting down to business.

Years added: Eight

News by Mirror

Read current news at http://bbc-cnn-worldnews.blogspot.com

Nearly 20% of women in the US are raped, study reveals

Rape Case

Even more women, estimated at 25%, have been attacked by a partner or husband, the Centers for Disease Control said.

The findings form part of the first set of results from a nationwide study surveying sexual violence by intimate partners against men and women.

More than 24 people a minute reported rape, violence, or stalking, it says, with 12 million offences reported.

Experts at the Centers for Disease Control (CDC) described the results of the first year of the National Intimate Partner and Sexual Violence Survey as "astounding".

Among the key figures included in the survey's findings were:

    * more than one million women reported being raped in the 12 months prior to the survey
    * more than six million women and men were a victim of stalking
    * more than 12 million women and men reported rape, physical violence or stalking by an intimate partner over the course of a year.

Lifelong hurt

"People who experience sexual violence, stalking or intimate partner violence often deal with the effects for their entire life," said Dr Linda Degutis, director of CDC's National Center for Injury Prevention and Control.

Many of those attacked experience rape or sexual assault in their early years, with almost 80% of rape victims suffering their ordeal before the age of 25.

Some 35% of women raped before they were aged 18 were also raped as adults, Dr Degutis added.

Among the effects measured by the study, Dr Degutis said, were increased fears for safety and incidents of post-traumatic stress among victims.

Clinical conditions including asthma, irritable bowel syndrome, diabetes, frequent headaches, chronic pain and difficulty sleeping were also more likely in women who are raped or subject to assault.

There were also clear findings about the incidences of attacks on men and observations about health impacts on men who suffer rape or sexual assault.

An estimated one in 71 men has been raped at some point in their lives, the study finds.

Almost 53% of male victims experienced some form of intimate partner violence for the first time before the age of 25. Some 25% of male rape victims were first raped when they were 10 years old or younger, the findings show.

News by The Telegraph


Read current news at http://bbc-cnn-worldnews.blogspot.com

My Friend Marina

A measuring system that can accurately describe how much Marina Nacamuli means to me does not exist.

She is my dearest and oldest friend. When we meet someone new in each others lives, she knows I love to tell them that she has been my friend since we were four years old. I love to say that because it's how I let everyone know that she is part of who I am.

Marina likes to play jealous. It is one of her defining traits. She is possessive of her friends, because she loves them very deeply. But, and I know that on some level she knows this, she does not have any real motive to be jealous with me. No one will ever mean as much to me as she does. No one can compete with her. She is one of the most important people in my life.

When I got my heart broken once, I collapsed onto the streets of Midtown, started to cry uncontrollably, and I called Marina. I don't know where she was or what she was doing, but she was by my side within fifteen minutes. That is the kind of person Marina is. She will drop everything and go anywhere to be by your side when you need her. Her love for her friends is palpable.

Marina often asks me to edit something, or write something, or be part of a project. She created a fan page for me on facebook, she comes to watch all of my plays, and if I ever need help with any creative project, she's right there for me. She roots for me, and she believes in me. This is something that touches me very much and I am infinitely grateful for.

We grew up together, we created worlds together, we tried to learn French together, we started liking boys together, we've traveled together, and we've made New York our homes together. Life has kept her near me, and she is constant in my story.

She knows everything there is to know about me. Our friendship is extremely special, but I often take it for granted. When I have moments like today, where I celebrate her, I am present to what a rare gift such a friendship as this is, and I am moved to tears.

Today is her birthday, and she is in Europe. I can not physically be with her, I can not even give her a gift, but I want her to know that she is everything to me. I love her so much that words, which always come so easily to me, evaporate as I try to do justice to how much she means to me. I state the facts of our friendship in hopes that they speak for themselves: it is her 26th birthday and it is the 22nd anniversary of our friendship. It is with absolute certainty that I say that though those are a significant amount of years, they are just a fraction of what we'll look back on at the end of our lives.

Ma, I do not know who I would be without you, and I do not ever want to find out. 

A teacher of mine once asked me, "Do you have a best friend?" And I answered, "Yes, I have always had one, and I always will. My friend Marina."

Minha querida abu, te amo muito.

Happy Birthday. 

Compartmentalizing Women: Response to Wombat

As I read Wombat's post today, "Never Look a Gift Babe in the Brain," I got really really angry. As he relaid how men compartmentalize women, I felt my stomach turn. Although I know he probably meant it much more lightly than I took it, I found it unsettling and offensive. Here's my response.

I've heard people say, "Compartmentalizing is just what men do. It's how their brains work."

Well. I think compartmentalizing women is not only sexist, it's cowardly. Especially in this day and age. If you keep a woman in one compartment- say, the "not a girl you bring home to mom" compartment, then you absolve yourself of the responsibility you have over her feelings. If you established that this is "just" about sex (I'm still trying to figure out what about sex is so "just"-y, but okay, that's not the point right now), then you're off the hook- if she develops feelings it's her fault and she has no right to hold you accountable for them. How convenient! And if you're with a woman who is "girlfriend-material", well then she better live up to those expectations, always. If she does something that's "un-girlfriend-material"- say, fantasize about being a naughty nurse or wear a skirt that's too short for someone who's in a relationship to be out wearing- then you get confused and start wondering if you really love her.

I have touched on how limiting it is for women to be compartmentalized in my post "Sexuality of a Woman." But I'll say it again: Compartmentalizing women is an ILLUSION. That woman at the bar who's wearing a skimpy dress and goes home with you on the first night- believe it or not- that woman still wants to be loved. And that woman you can imagine being the mother of your children- that woman still wants to be fucked. And both women are capable of playing each others roles. We choose- or shift instinctively- who we want to be for the different men we meet, usually based on who they let us be. We either put on the "good girl" act or we unleash the "bad girl". We rarely let both co-exist because we know that men compartmentalize us. (Not all men, and not all the time- I am aware I am speaking in general terms here- but I'm responding to a particular train of thought.)

Men and women have brought up that women also compartmentalize men. "He's a jerk, I don't wanna date him." or "He's dating material." To which I say, guilty as charged. We absolutely do that. The difference is that the guy who sleeps around does not usually want to be seen as "dating material" or wish to fit into that category in any shape, way, or form, whereas the woman who sleeps around is rarely happy to remain in that category forever. Even Samantha in Sex and The City settled down with someone in the end, and it was always pretty clear that her rejection of intimacy was the survival technique of woman who had been hurt too many times and couldn't come to terms with denying her sexual self in order to be seen as datable. There doesn't seem to be a male counterpart who struggles with these things in the same way. Similarly, even when women compartmentalize, it is mostly a defense mechanism against being compartmentalized first.

Categorize women and you are limiting who we are.

Let us be ourselves, all of ourselves, and we will grow.

And I bet you, too, will feel much more like yourself, encounter a new sense of empowerment, and find much deeper happiness and pleasure.

Sounds like a good deal to me. Why don't you try it out?

Infidelity

A friend of mine recently sent me an email about cheating. She had just heard someone recount their stories of infidelity and was extremely upset by it, and was wondering why she was so upset, being that the infidelity did not even directly affect her. Although I am not innocent on the subject- or perhaps because I am not innocent on the subject- I knew how I felt about it and why she was probably so upset. Since other people have also asked me to write about this topic, here are some of my thoughts on cheating.

First of all, let me clarify how I define cheating. I think my friend Chris best described it when he said, "It's less about what actions are taken and more about how the other person will feel."

When two people have made an agreement to be exclusive and one person develops an interest in another and acts on it- be that kissing, dating, or having sex- without clearing it up with the person they are committed to, I call that cheating. If there was never an agreement made regarding exclusivity, then I don't call it cheating. Irresponsible and unkind behavior, maybe, but not cheating. Also, I don't consider looking at other people or fantasizing about people other than the person you're with cheating.

Someone recently said to me, "What they don't know can't hurt them."

To which I say, Bullshit.

In a nutshell, cheating is not cool because its essence is rooted in lying. And all lying does is limit space to grow, since a relationship post-cheating-and-not-telling-the-truth-about-it is then between two people who have two different ideas of what their relationship is. The party that's been cheated on is now living an illusion, and the cheater can only focus on keeping up that illusion.

If you're going to cheat, then at least be honest with yourself about what you're doing and the potential damage you might be causing.

I have taken part in an infidelity- big time, in a way that affected an innocent third party. I was in love, and I thought that justified my actions. I knew that what I was doing was wrong, but I was too blindly in love to really consider it. He was the one who had made a promise to someone else and he should have known better, but I was no child and certainly never entertained any illusions about just how much responsibility I was holding over someone else's feelings. I knew what I was doing. And when eventually we had to stop, not only was I heart-broken, but I was then haunted by my guilt. It took a lot of therapy, meditating, writing, yoga, crying, and creating to move past this huge disappointment and forgive myself. Although I learned and grew because of how much love existed between us, I would not do it again. I hurt someone, tremendously, and I hurt myself just as much in the end.

I also had a brief fling with a friend's ex-boyfriend. He was her first love, and although they had broken up three years prior to my hooking up with him, I knew it would hurt her. We thought about never telling her. She was a dear friend. But I didn't want her to have any illusions about what kind of a friend I am. That action made me a shitty, flawed friend, and I respected her enough to let her choose whether she wanted to forgive me and keep the friendship or not, so I told her. She was really hurt, and I am still recovering from it. She never spoke to me again. I would not do that again either. I had to do it, so that I could learn, and so that I could see that I am capable of majorly fucking up (I have this problem where I try to be the perfect friend/girlfriend/daughter/sister, etc. and it does nothing but destroy me). But it was a lesson that came at a very, very high cost.

I've actually never been cheated on, so to speak. I was in an open relationship for a while, so I couldn't call it cheating, but I remember really hating the fact that he slept with other women. I've also been led on about what a particular situation I was in was really about- one of those, "I wasn't lying, I just wasn't telling you the whole truth" kind of things. It hurt me deeply, and I learned that I don't think it's right to shut off the part of ourselves that wants to love someone so much that we won't be with anyone else, because the thought of that person getting hurt is not worth any fuck in the world.

I certainly believe that love can end and that people want and fall in love with other people, and that there's merit in honoring those feelings. I also think that different couples can have different arrangements, and that with honesty and awareness, it's possible to create a relationship with rules that suit both people's wants and do not necessarily follow society's morality rules. I'm an advocate for honesty, all around. I much rather hear, "What we have might not be working, because I'm developing an interest in someone else," than live in the illusion that everything is okay and we're still in love and loyal to each other so as to avoid a conversation about someone's potential infidelities. I also believe in forgiveness and compassion. I don't think someone who cheats is a bad person, incapable of truly loving someone, or inhumane. I don't think someone who forgives a cheater is weak. We are all capable of hurting each other, and we are all capable of realizing it and overcoming it.

Over the course of all these lessons and mistakes, I've learned how I aspire to live: If I'm in love, I don't cheat. If an agreement is made that says we are exclusive, I honor it. I value loyalty and respect, even though I do not believe human beings are 100% monogamous by nature. I think our inner animals want to fuck all the time, and not just be with one partner.

But we're not just animals. We are humans with consciences, and we must honor that part of ourselves too.

The most beautiful thing about being a human being, I think, is the ability to care for others. Care so much that we take in their feelings before acting upon our desires. Cheating, in that respect, is a violation of our humanity. It says, "I am going to pretend not to care about another person's feelings. I'm going to do this even though it will hurt someone else, and then I'm either going to feel guilty about it, or I'm going to justify it until I feel nothing." There's nothing sadder than shutting off a part of ourselves so as to get away with or go through with something.

As humans, our ability to care for each other and empathize is what sets us apart from other species. Our awareness of each other's pains and our power to cause it or prevent it gives us an understanding of infidelity and lying that other creatures don't have. To dishonor this is to hurt our humanity and limit the possibilities we have for love and respect.

Although I feel quite clear about this, people are constantly presenting me with scenarios that seem to challenge my thoughts. In the end, nothing is black and white, wrong or right. But if we can be honest with each other, then I think that's a good place to start.

What do you think?

Masculinity vs. Femininity

"Be aggressive. Really strong. You know, tap into your masculinity."

If you're an actress or if you have ever played a sport, you've probably heard something like that and know what I'm talking about. As soon as I hear that, I get uncomfortable. Mostly, I get uncomfortable because it works. I channel in whatever socially constructed understandings of masculinity exist in me and I am suddenly more aggressive. My voice drops. My shoulders tense just slightly. My hips roll forward. But why, I ask myself, do I need to be told to be more masculine in order to come off as aggressive and strong? Clearly, if I can do it, then those qualities do not belong solely to men. Hm.

Yes, women can be aggressive and strong too. But not only are those qualities that are normally associated with men, they are of greater value when they are present in men. When we say of a woman, "She's really aggressive," we don't usually mean it in a completely positive way. We're not likely to get rewarded for punching someone- we'll probably get labeled as crazy if we do that. But an aggressive man is just being, well, manly.

Now, women have a lot of nice qualities associated with them too. Sensitive. Nurturing. Emotionally Open. Loving. But here's the thing: AGAIN, when those qualities are displayed in men, they are valued more. When we say, "He's so sensitive and nurturing," it's most likely a compliment. Whereas in a woman, very often, even qualities associated with femininity can be seen as a negative. For example, I read an article the other day where a working mom said something like, "If I dare to say I have to leave a meeting because my kid broke his arm, I get glares and eye-rolls. If a man says he has to leave a meeting early to watch his son's little league game, he's met with oh, how cute!" We usually get rewarded, actually, for "overcoming" our feminine traits- for leaving our kids at home and going to work, for detaching ourselves from commitment, for becoming immune to sex, and the list goes on. This does not apply, however, to more practical aspects of "being a woman"- it's still okay if we do all the cleaning and cooking and wear push-up bras, for example. A woman can be the CEO of a company now, but it's better if she does it in heels, never yells, and, when her husband volunteers to feed the kids one night, she rewards him by wearing a school-girl outfit the next time they have sex.

So when do we win?

I don't actually have a problem with aggression and physical strength being masculine traits and sensitivity and nurturing being feminine traits, I think that's pretty much in accordance to our human nature. The problem, for me, is that certain traits are valued more than others, especially in men, and we don't acknowledge that every human being has both masculine and feminine traits within them, in varying degrees. A woman who is a boxer but still wishes to be attractive to men shouldn't feel like she has to overcompensate for her aggression and physical strength by wearing loads of make-up and covering her bulky arms. On the same token, men shouldn't be given an award every time they do a house-hold chore or know the name of a flower.

It seems that there's a whole lot of focus on getting us in to the man's world. But how about valuing a woman's world? If house-cleaning paid as much as investment banking, men would learn the tricks of the trade quite quickly, I'm guessing. If you've never read Gloria Steinem's famous 1978 article, "If Men Could Menstruate", you should. I highly recommend it. In it, she says, "Whatever a 'superior' group has will be used to justify its superiority, and whatever an 'inferior' group has will be used to justify its plight."

So, ladies, here's my suggestion: How about we start saying, "Yes! How great that I get to feel something for the men I sleep with." and "It's amazing that I actually want to stay home and raise my kids! (And yes, I should get paid for it)." and "Oh, I don't want to start a bar fight, that's what makes me awesome."

Because maybe if we start to value some of our feminine traits, the rest of the world will eventually follow suit.

What do you say?

Image from "Porn for Women" http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3171/2884131572_92796377ed.jpg

The Hopeful Cool One

We've all heard, at some point, the famous (male) words: "Just don't expect too much of me," later echoed with, "What do you honestly expect from me?" Usually meaning, Don't develop feelings, don't start wanting a commitment, I'm warning you now so that I don't have to be held responsible for my actions later.

What we ought to respond is, "Well, you know that it's actually not possible for me to control what I feel and expect, so what you're actually asking from me is that I pretend that I don't feel anything for you or expect anything from you, even if I do, so that you don't feel bad about using me for sex and company."

But do we ever say that?

No.

Instead, we say, "Cool."

Because that's what we want to be. Cool. And you know what? It's fucking stupid. We know we're not cool at all. We play it up, act all detached, wait the obligatory four hours before answering a text, shrug when he asks if we mind if he goes to a party without us, pretend we're not the commitment-type, but inside- unless, and this is important to note, for there is an unless: we're in love with someone else, deeply heart-broken, or really jaded- we're not really cool with not developing feelings and not expecting anything from the men we date.

We all read or watched the movie "He's Just Not That Into You". We're too self-aware and too educated about men, at this point in Herstory, to fool ourselves about a guy's emotional availability. When our mothers were dating, they had to take a lot more risks. A guy could get away with a lot more. A girl could think, "Oh, he hasn't called me because he's visiting his Grandmother or, like, at war."

Nowadays, girlfriend, you know that if he didn't reply to your text within 45 minutes, he's probably not interested in more than your booty- people text during funerals now, no one is busy with something where they don't have access to their phones for over 45 minutes anymore. And we know that when a man says he doesn't want a relationship, we should take his word for it and, as Cassandra O'Keefe once said, "Run like the wind. You want to save something? Save a whale. Save the rainforest. Don't try to save a man."

So we have no excuse. And that's the most disturbing part. We, the most educated generation of women, are still choosing to lie to ourselves and play it "cool".

I can, of course, relate this to a recent event in my own dating life. I've been engaged in a text flirtation with a guy for about two weeks now, and he texts me extremely sporadically, and has already given me excuses like "I'm busy with work" and "I'm hanging out with friends", and I've already vowed to stop replying to his texts about 14 times, but every time he texts me I get super excited and wonder if he's finally going to ask me out. It's ridiculous! I want his attention simply because I don't have it. I've felt like I'm 12 and trying to get the most popular guy in middle school to notice me when he was already dating the popular blonde and only called me when he needed help with his homework (and by help I mean I would give him the answers to everything). I finally decided to do something about it today, and I texted him, "So you wanna meet up sometime or just text me for another 7 months?" To which he replied, "haha. I absolutely want to meet up with you. Tell me when and where." (You're probably thinking- as I was- oh, so he was interested all along! But not really. I mean, think about it, what else was he gonna say? Men don't tend to say "nah, I'll pass" when a woman asks them out. They usually figure that at the very least they'll get a boob.) We then proceeded to set a date. After the whole interaction had occurred, though, I sat thinking to myself, "So this guy has been kind of a jerk, I've been getting the wrong vibes all along, and my way of settling it was by asking him out? Golly Moses. Women are stupid."

Why do we keep doing this to ourselves, and can we stop?

As I write this, I think, I should text him and cancel the date so that I can end this blog post with my triumph over my stupid neediness and inspire other women. And, in my inability to do so, I am given the answer as to why we keep this up.

Hope.

I hope he won't be a jerk. I want to give him a chance, because the pay-off that could come from him actually being a great guy is worth the cost of a bad dating experience. I want to take the risk that maybe beyond his virtual actions, this guy might be really really nice, and we might like each other. Because at the end of the day, what I want most of all is to find someone to love who will love me in return, and that's really hard to find, so I gotta give some odd balls a chance, hope for a seemingly douchy guy to turn out rather sweet, take some risks, or I may miss my chance.

And you know what? I'm cool with that.

I accept comments on my new blog design too....

A Tribute to Sex and the City

The series had already ended when I was introduced to the four fabulous manhattanites and the show that changed television history. I wasn't interested in the show when it was aired, it seemed vulgar and silly. I thought it wouldn't speak to me, I thought I was too young to really get it. I was actually going to be one of those people who never watched a single episode of Sex and the City.

But then, at 19, I went through a devastating break-up. And as I told the story of the relationship over and over again to different friends, I kept hearing, "Oh my god. You're totally like Carrie! He's your Big!" I started to get a little annoyed. I didn't want my personal life compared to a TV SHOW. Especially since, by the way they were all saying it, I had clearly made some bad decisions and was being compared to a lunatic. I decided I would most definitely never watch that show.

But, one day, amidst a wave of depression while visiting my friend Divya, a sex and the city-devotee, between drinking Godiva chocolate liquor and eating baked cheetos, I was convinced to give the show a shot at cheering me up. The very first season was popped into the dvd player, and we started with the first episode, which happens to be when Carrie met Big.

Before I knew it, I had watched the entire first season in one sitting and was hugging the couch cushion intensely, my face bloated and pink from laughing and crying and gasping.

This is amazing, I thought, I can identify with these women so much it's insane. I've only known them for about four hours, and I already love them. I want to know more. How were they allowed to do and say these things on television? And what is Carrie wearing? Oh my god, where's season two?

I didn't get to watch season two that night, but I came back a few weeks later for it. And over the course of the following six months, I would watch every single episode of Sex and the City at least once. I was completely converted. I had never expected men and women of the world to allow a show that exposed, with such exaggerated honesty, these truths about women:

1. We think about sex. We talk about sex. We like sex.

2. We don't all want to get married. Some of us may, in fact, get allergic reactions to wedding dresses. But then, we may change our minds. Just don't try to change our minds for us.

3. We eat.

4. We fart.

5. Yes, we do analyze everything men say, do, and think, and we take it all personally.

6. Having babies is hard.

7. We can be independent and still be insecure about whether a guy's going to call us or not.

8. We like the wrong guys.

9. We hurt the nice guys.

10. We can be friends with each other.

Those are just a few. Sex and the City normalized so many things that the CRW (Committee for the Repression of Women) had controlled and thwarted for centuries, no wonder it spoke to women of all ages, around the world, for years. The show was a hit because we, women of the world, needed it. We were thirsty for something that spoke to all of us, whether we were dying-to-get-married-Charlotte's or psycho-dramatic-about-relationships-Carrie's or sarcastic-and-cynical-no-bullshit-Miranda's or horny-as-rabbits-Samantha's, or a combination of them, or all of them. They were us, and we loved them for their courage and their honesty.

I am, of course, bringing all of this up because I saw the second movie two nights ago. And I have to say, I loved it. Not only the movie, but the whole experience. I got dressed up- pulled out the Dolce & Gabbana and the Prada, met three girlfriends for cocktails (I had a champagne cosmopolitan, yes I did), bought chocolate and popcorn, and sat in a PACKED movie theatre on the upper west side with another hundred or so groups of dressed up women who were doing the same thing. It didn't even matter if the movie was good or not, we will always want to know what those four women are up to, we want them to live forever. We all had that in common at that movie house- we had been changed by Carrie, Charlotte, Miranda, and Samantha. They nursed us from our break-ups, brought us closer to our own girlfriends, started new friendships, indulged our passions for shoes, helped us discover what we really wanted from men, and told us that being dramatic, crazy, needy, sexy, powerful, romantic, horny, successful, confused, lonely, indulgent, silly, feminine, and forever hopeful was OK. Oh, and Carrie alone told us that wearing the most outrageous outfits around manhattan was perfectly OK too, changing New York City's boundaries for fashion permanently.

The girls were received with loving, open arms all around the globe, because we still need them. We still want to know what to do with our relationships, even after we're married. We want to know if anyone else thinks motherhood is insanely hard. We want to know that it's okay to wear purple and yellow. We want to know what to do when we run into our ex-boyfriends. And, of course, we want to watch women bonding over fabulous meals and searching, together, for the truth about love and relationships.

I hope they keep making movies, because I will always love those four fabulous women and cheer for them. They are icons and, to me, they are an immortal source for the study of women, love, sex, relationships, friendships, family, and, of course, myself.

Me, at the movie theatre, about to watch Sex and the City 2.

Bringing Down Princess Days

I don't get the whole "TREAT" yourself to a salon day. The whole "Be a Princess For a Day": get waxed, get a mani-pedi, get your hair deep-conditioned for three hours, get your eyebrows tweezed, bond with your girlfriends over nail polish trends... all while reading useless gossip magazines, and all for only $200!

Seriously.

I've been doing all that stuff for over a decade now, and it has never felt like a treat nor did I ever feel like a princess. It felt more like an expected obligation and I felt more like a slave.

I tried to like it, I did. Because I felt I was supposed to. All the women around me were always looking forward to their vanity days, and women are expected to brag about how they like to "take care of themselves"- it's supposed to equal self-love, so I played along.

But there was something wrong with the picture.

I had one of these "salon days" today, for example. I avoid them nowadays, but eventually, if one wants to look *socially* acceptable at important social events, one has to go through the primping parade. As I lay on the waxing table with my right leg on my left shoulder and waited for my Iranian waxing lady to unkindly pour the hot wax on the back of my right thigh, holding my breath as I anticipated the next step, I thought, "Well. If this is a Princess' day, I don't ever want to get promoted to Queen status." After the never-comfortable-always-painful waxing session, I was nice and smooth, as is expected of women. I did, in fact, feel like I fit in to society just a little bit more, just by having less hair on my body. Great.

Next: mani-pedi. They make it sound like so much fun, "Oh! Get a bunch of your girlfriends and go get your nails done!" Because of course! That's the safest way to get women to bond! Keep them focused on their vanity. I personally always find it quite boring, to sit there and not move too much so as to not fuck anything up, reading about how Sandra Bullock is following Madonna's and Angelina's footsteps as she adopts a black baby post-getting-cheated-on, feeling rather elitist, while a lady- sometimes kind, sometimes miserable- digs out my cuticles and files my nails so that they all look the same and make everyone else feel more comfortable- another woman under control, mission accomplished. And why yes, I do start to feel like my inner animal is a little more tamed, like I probably won't yell at anyone today. I mean, how could a young woman, so nicely waxed, smooth, and with such well-behaved nails actually raise her voice or demand anything? No, no. This young woman that is coming forth speaks softly, smiles, flirts, and eats only lettuce.

I don't get my hair or eyebrows done anymore, but if I did, that would be approximately another four hours of Princess Time, of taming and controlling, of willing me into being a well-behaved girl- a role I know all too well.

I walk out fairly exhausted from all the primping and forced interactions, but looking like what I'm supposed to look like. That's what I went in there for, after all.

People ask me what I did today, and I tell them, and they're jealous of my Princess Day. I want to say, "This was a Princess Day? If I were a Princess I'd ban salons from my kingdom. I'd ban beauty standards. I'd rather spend my day fertilizing soil for corn to grow on."

You may have caught on to the fact that I'm a little bitter about all this. I'm bitter about all the money, time, and effort I spent in order to look like something I have been told to look like. I'm bitter about the fact that femininity looks like a tamed fragile delicate little hairless puppy.

And most of all, I'm bitter about the fact that I'm still doing all this stuff.

I realize I'm starting to sound like an angry feminist, but I'm really starting to think more women should be angry about this.

At one point, I just did all the vanity routine without questioning it. But NOW, I question it, I disagree with it, I am completely self-aware as I go through the motions, but I STILL do it.

Why?

Maybe because, let's face it, sometimes -most times- complying is just easier than rebelling. We all get tired, we all want to fit in and be told we're pretty, we all want love and intimacy, and having hairy legs and uneven nails doesn't really seem to do a damn thing except turn people off.

Decades of feminism and here we are, self-aware but doing the same things we've always done.

For a while, women defied the standards of beauty. Short hair, no bras, no waxing, and other such physical rebellions that paralleled the actual changes they fought for: equal pay, value for housework, fair divorce laws, protection against sexism and harassment, etc.

But it's a difficult a battle. How do we get Vogue do to a spreadsheet with women who have not waxed or gotten their nails done or plucked their eyebrows? We can't even get them to do a spreadsheet with women who are above a size -4. And how do we get men to understand the illusion they buy into when they prefer women to look/act like meek shaved lambs? We can't even get them to take responsibility for having sex with 13-year-olds.

It's hard and it's up to us and there's no formula for us to follow. As Naomi Wolf wrote in her book, The Beauty Myth, "A century ago, Nora slammed the door of the doll's house; a generation ago, women turned their backs on the consumer heaven of the isolated multiapplianced home; but where women are trapped today, there is no door to slam. If we are to free ourselves of the dead weight that has once again been made out of femaleness, it is not ballots or lobbyists or placards that women will need first; it is a new way to see."

And what is this new way to see?

I don't know, but maybe it starts with undoing the little myths, like the "salon day = princess day" myth, and the "femininity is soft and small" myth. So maybe we still get waxed and get our nails done, but let's be clear about why and what we're propelling by doing so. The wrong things have been on pedestals long enough. Let's bring some of them down.

Let's bring down Unhealthy Beauty Standards.

Let's bring down Days Lost to Vanity.

Let's bring down Women are Soft and Small.

Let's bring down Women Enjoy Suffering for Beauty.

And, please, let's bring down the damn Princess Days.

Mother

People who see me with my mom now usually think we have the perfect mother-daughter relationship. We do, in fact, have a great relationship nowadays. We are very close, and very loving towards each other. When we're together, I can't go a day without kissing her cheek, pressing my nose against her face, squeezing her hand, or cuddling next to her on the couch. She is incredibly supportive of my career and my life-style, taking on tasks like helping me find the right belt for a character I am playing or finding 10 lamps for a play I'm directing as though they were of life-and-death importance- because, to me, they are, and she recognizes that. When I started grad school she came to live with me, under the disguise that she was taking English lessons, because she knew that in order for me to fully take advantage of that first year, I wouldn't be able to have a job or worry about house-hold chores, so she lived with me- cleaned my apartment, cooked my meals, packed me a lunch every day, did my laundry, and stayed up with me at night as I discussed all the breakthroughs and breakdowns I was experiencing during that year. I was 21 years old, but I needed my mommy, and she was there for me. As a result, I excelled as a student, benefited fully from my education, and grew incredibly as an artist. Recently, I took on directing and producing a play, and without hesitation she stepped up to help me with costumes and props, running around cities looking for the most impossible things, spending days sewing, and putting together collages of every image I gave her. Let me just add to that- my mother had never been involved in any theatrical production before in her life, she knew what to do simply by watching me do what I do all my life.

But it wasn't always like this. Unfortunately, like most teenage girls, I hated my mother. I mean, I thought she was the devil. If I trace it back, I think it started when I was 13. I came home from my first experience "going out at night with friends" and had a hickey on my neck. Well, my mother had not raised a daughter to come home with hickeys on her neck. I wasn't really allowed to go out again for about three years. If I was, it was an exception, and I was thoroughly checked when I got home. Naturally, I thought she was overreacting and overprotective and did not understand me at all. I blamed her entirely and solely for my parent's disastrous marriage and the consequent war-zone that was our house-hold. I did not understand her fearful and explosive behavior. She did not understand my obsession with acting and did not know how to be supportive. She wanted me to be a journalist, and when people asked her what I was good at, she'd say, "Writing. She's going to go to school for journalism." Needless to say, that pissed me off and hurt me immeasurably. She was always telling me to go on a diet or fix my hair differently, since she placed an abnormal amount of importance on looks. I always thought she felt I was ugly, and it made me shut down from her completely. We simply didn't understand each other, and our communication throughout my entire adolescence was pretty much limited to fighting. If we weren't arguing, we weren't talking. And with my mother, arguments turn to fire. She once broke the mirror behind my bedroom door because she slammed the door so hard while we were fighting. The mirror, by the way, is still broken. She also sneaked into my room, read my diaries, went through my things, and prohibited me of keeping anything in locked compartments. I actually used to dread coming home from school, and got involved in as many after-school activities as I could find, sometimes spending up to 13 hours at school a day. I didn't want to be home, I didn't want to be near her, I did not understand her, and I was absolutely certain that would never change.

At 17, I graduated from high-school, left home, and moved to a different country for college. It was the time in my life I had been looking forward to for years, and the relief I felt in being out of my house, away from my mother, was instant.

And it was then that we started getting along.

I got sick a lot that first year in college, and, guess what, I started missing my mother. Although I had friends who took care of me, and started to grow my own feet to walk on in the world, I missed her. We started writing each other letters. I started to share things about my life in college, and suddenly I felt like an adult talking to another adult, and that relationship of equality turned out to be what we needed from each other. She came to visit me after I'd been gone for three months, and things were already very different. I had grown up. She made more sense to me. And she started getting more comfortable talking to me about herself, about her life, about her marriage, about her relationship to me. And so I started to understand my mother a little bit at a time.

A real shift happened when I came home for the first time after being away, for christmas break. With some distance from the home I'd been raised in, I was able to see the love and care that resided there. And one night, I don't remember why, I found the college essay that had gotten me accepted to Sarah Lawrence and read it to my mom. It was about my journey through theatre and what it meant to me. When I finished it, both my mother and I had tears in our eyes. She had never understood how much theatre meant to me because I had never told her. She may not have known what theatre and acting were about, but she knew what love and passion were about, and she was able to piece together how much I need and love what I do. She became my number one fan that night, and never turned back.

As a teenager I had envied my friends who had great relationships with their moms, who could tell them everything, who called their moms their best friends. But now I'm grateful for everything I had with my mom. The rough years showed us both that we could love each other through anything, even our opinions and judgements of each other as people. The friendship we have now was something we had to work for and build slowly, and we are therefore able to appreciate it.

There are still bumps. We disagree on trivial things like what "cleanliness" is, and then heavier things like what "beauty" is. She is not the type of person who sugarcoats or hides what she's feeling. If she thinks I need to lose weight, she says so, even if I tell her I don't need to be stick-thin to be happy. If she doesn't approve of how I keep my apartment, she won't leave me alone until I make it look like what she thinks is presentable (impossible standards). I can't tell her everything about my romantic life, she's still very protective of her children's hearts. She's still married to my father and it's still pretty much a disaster, but I have learned that people choose their lives for their own reasons, and there isn't much other people can do about it once they've made up their minds.

But we know each other now. We appreciate and understand each other. Our love and friendship rises above those bumps, and we learn something new about one another every day.

I do see my mother as a queen, because all mothers are queens, but even more importantly, I also see her as a human being, because all mothers are human beings, and if we learn to love them for it, they are honored.

Bitch

I have been thinking about the word Bitch a lot lately. In general, I see it as a negative word- even when used playfully, I feel it is rooted in anger. More specifically, rooted in anger towards women.

So I've spent a few hours tracing my own personal history with the word. I can not remember the first time I heard the word, but I remember it becoming a familiar part of my vocabulary in the 7th grade. It seems like that was the age and time for cursing to become popular, and I started saying words that didn't feel comfortable in my mouth because, well, everyone else was saying them. As I sought to sound like my peers, I was also practicing the common teenage act of defiance. Saying "Fuck this shit," in reference to my algebra homework seemed to defy something, something that remained ambiguous, but I think it had to do with the feeling of obligation that pre-teens become aware of and instinctively resent. Obligation to do well in school, obligation to make our parents proud, obligation to take certain classes we have no interest in, obligation to fit in- so much overwhelming obligation, coupled with an equally overwhelming desire for independence, and suddenly rebellion seems extremely appealing. Since most of us were not about to drop out of one of Latin America's most expensive schools or run away from our parent's mansions, cursing seemed like a small way of showing the world, and ourselves, that at least we were in charge of our language usage.

I had a click of girlfriends at that time, and we used the word bitch quite often, usually lightly, but sometimes in reference to some girl who was dating a guy we had a crush on (How dare she! Bitch.). But eventually, as we got closer, I think we all sensed it was too heavy a word to use with each other and, although we never talked about why, we sought to make up a word that would sound more playful so that we could use it loosely with each other. We came up with "Slitch", a combination of Slut and Bitch, and eventually created our catch phrase: "Slitches Rule!". The word felt truly playful, and because it was ours, it felt rooted in love, not hate.

But Bitch would come back to me, in college. I think I really learned to curse comfortably in college, actually. It seemed like everyone at Sarah Lawrence was angry about something, and since we were a bunch of hippies who weren't going to go around punching each other, cursing was a particularly delicious- and necessary- outlet. I was doing so many things that felt outside of my comfort zone, cursing seemed like just another to add to the list. At one point I even bought t-shirts for me and my housemates that had the word BITCH printed on them- thinking, I imagine, that if we wore the word, it was ours, and no one could do us harm. It seemed to work for a while. I thought I had the word under control, I thought it was my weapon.

Then my little brother became a man, and went to college and bonded with other men. And in their world, which I have been exposed to only a few times, all women are referred to as "bitches". Even in casual conversation, "Tell the bitch we'll be right there." They are comfortable with it, and it seems to be integral to their male bonding time. Such conversations are probably not meant for me to hear, but I have heard them, and their use of the word Bitch, over and over again, in reference to any woman in any situation, started to make the word feel like their weapon, and started to make me feel like I didn't have Bitch under control at all. My reasoning for this is that their use of the word is stemming from hatred and anger towards women, making the word a violent gesture that is capable of doing great damage, and this is frightening to me. I don't want men hating women.

I talked about this with a friend last night, and he kept asking me why I don't want men hating women. It forced me to think about it, and I realized I don't want men hating women because it kills the possibility for beautiful, rewarding, and fulfilling relationships, where both parties' visions of life are expanded. When men are supportive and understanding of feminist points of view (and when women, too, are willing to take in men's perspectives), an opportunity is born where two people can really communicate, learn, and grow.

I realize that my being bothered by their use of the word Bitch has more to do with me than with them, but, and I also said this to my friend last night, I don't want to not be bothered by men calling women bitches. Aside from the fact that I can't help it- it bothers me, period.- I want these young men, and all men, to respect women and to be open to women's worlds. While it's important to acknowledge the hatred that may live inside us, I'm a believer of doing so with consciousness, so that others are not harmed. Being open to another person's view of the world has usually opened up my own understanding of myself and, on the same token, when someone else is willing to see my perspective, I also grow. So when I hear young men calling all women bitches, it breaks my heart, because as far as I know, there are no possibilities for real communication when hatred and anger are present. Love and respect create space, whereas hate and disdain, without awareness, create only limitations.

As always, I am an advocate for love and awareness. My request today is this- Please, to anyone this reaches, think twice before you use the word Bitch again, know that it is a weapon, and while a weapon can be vital for survival, it can also do a lot of unnecessary harm.

A Tribute to Women

I am blessed to have had many powerful, talented, incredible, generous, beautiful, intelligent, and loving women in my life. What better day to honor them than today, International Women's Day? Since there is too much to say of each one, I will write about only one thing they've each contributed to my life, though I am sure they know their values are immeasurable.

Thank you to....

My mother, for forgiving me for being a completely impossible teenager who hated her, and thus allowing us to become best friends as adults.

My godmother, Valderez, for watching all of my plays and coming to all of my major events, even when she couldn't understand a word of it.

My Aunt Susie, for never questioning and always supporting my dreams, sharing my love for literature and art, and helping me to believe I am worth everything I dream of.

My Aunt Vera, for holding me when, at 13, my mom caught me kissing a boy 7 years older than me in front of a church, and telling me I hadn't committed a sin.

My much-more-than a cousin Gugs, for all the times I made her act out little plays with me for our parents, even though she didn't want to- and for making up countless imaginary worlds with me, over and over again.

My cousin Ju, who took me to watch plays and movies- gestures that made an unbelievable difference in my life.

My cousin Fer, for pulling me aside when I turned 15 to tell me the truth about drugs and sex.

My cousin Grazi, for making me watch "Free Willy" every time she babysat me and therefore helping me develop empathy for whales.

My paternal grandmother, Baba, for letting me do her make-up when I was a child, and then for never washing it off afterwards but rather wearing purple eyeshadow on her nose when she went to the grocery store and proudly saying, "My granddaughter did my make-up today."

My maternal grandmother, Alzira, who I never met, for raising my incredible mother.

Marina, for a 20-year-friendship, for reminding me of who I really am, and for letting me love her.

Melissa, for 16 years of letters.

Tati, for my childhood. I'm sad we've lost touch.

The BSG's (BackStreet Girls), you know who you are, my middle-school "click", for holding my hand through the hardest years of a girl's life.

Marina B., Diana, and Manu, for sitting with me in lunch for four years of high-school.

Gabi, for my first back-packing through Europe experience, an unforgettable trip.

Maria, for nights of chocolate milk and french fries with mayo at the pub in college, and for all the times you took care of me when I was sick.

Starsha, for your contagious smile.

The women at Brebner, for a year that taught me more than I was prepared to handle.

Divya, Preetha, and Andrea, for a summer through Turkey and Greece that I will never forget.

Olivia, A.J., Kate, And Kioko, for being wonderful housemates in Andrew's Court 10 and teaching me that women CAN live in harmony.

Laura, for Top Girls.

Fan, for being my mother in college.

Gina, for the times we did share. I'll forever regret losing your friendship.

Moe, for reminding me of my roots.

Ker and Ash- I have to put you two together, because the three of us are like a trio of beauty and talent, for so many conversations at starbucks' around new york that simply changed my life.

Deema, for your talent and drive.

Rena, for unforgettable memories in Extremities.

Thesa, for your grace and courage.

Susan M., my teacher and friend, for being a brilliant teacher, and for seeing me.

Susan A., for, quite simply, teaching me to act.

Regi, my Italian love, for bringing out the feminist in me and for teaching me to cook.

Sal, for never judging me.

Whitney, for trusting me.

Julia W., my internet friend, for being so open and friendly with someone you've never met.

Ellen Burstyn, for giving me the book "Forgiving your Parents".

And to some women I've never really met, but who have had a huge impact on my life,

Gloria Steinem, for writing "Revolution From Within", and for making it ok for 'beautiful' women to be feminists.

Meryl Streep, Kate Winslet, and Cate Blanchett, for inspiring me over and over again.

Eve Ensler, for writing "The Vagina Monologues".

Ruth, my diary, whoever you are, for hearing my soul's cries all of my life.

And for every woman who has touched my life in any way, I am grateful.

Marriage & Kids & Life's Equations, Oh My!

In exactly four months I'm going to turn 25. Ok. No big deal so far. I mean, it's the quarter-life birthday and I'll officially be in my mid-twenties, but it's not exactly a big deal. And in New York City, it's certainly no big deal to turn 25. It's no big deal to turn any age here, really.

But I'm Brazilian and I'm a woman. And I'm single. Very single. So single I haven't shaved anything in over a month. (I know- TMI- but I have a point here). And that thing is starting to happen- that thing that all women loathe, that thing that makes us avoid family gatherings and picking up the phone altogether- that thing is: people are starting to ask the questions.

Actually, let me be really specific. People are starting to replace the questions. "How are you?" is now "Why don't you have a serious-boyfriend-soon-to-be-fiance?", and "How's your career going?" is now "When are you going to produce off-spring?"

Being happy, single, and in pursuit of professional success is about to stop being charming. I mean, it's all good, but you know, I should be dating someone. I should be moving in with someone soon. I should be showing someone that I'm very good wife-material so that he'll propose and we'll have a wedding so that everyone can know that he married me before doing the absolutely most important thing in this whole ordeal: impregnating me before I turn thirty.

Yes, even in the year 2010, even after women have fought for centuries for their right to be seen as more than just baby-makers, that is still what is expected. And even though everyone knows I'm a feminist, even though everyone knows I have a passion that drives my life, even though I am not even twenty-fucking-five, that is still what is expected of me.

They may have even stopped saying it as much, they may have made TV shows and movies around the world about women who are over 30 and still single and possibly even happy about that, but things haven't really changed. Yes, it is theoretically and practically "Ok" now if you're a woman over 30 and single and childless and doing things that are still completely about you. But when a woman gets married and has babies before she turns 30, she suddenly feels like she belongs in society. Society looks at her approvingly, people treat her differently, there's a certain relief: one more woman in the world has fulfilled her duty. It doesn't matter if she ends up divorced and her children end up fucked up because their mother was unhappy- she still made it, she crossed the finish line.

So when we turn 25 we have a choice. We can give in to our need to belong (and we all have that need, there's no use pretending we don't), and look for a reliable responsible mate with whom we can get married to and have children with in the next five years.

Or we can say fuck fitting in to the conventional mold, fuck society's expectations, fuck my family's questions, fuck it all, I CHOOSE ME. It sounds empowering. It sounds kind of wonderful for someone like me, who wants to live life exactly as I wish to and never because I'm supposed to do anything. I don't really see the appeal of a five-year-plan being: marriage and kids. I want my five-year-plan to look something like: get a lot of acting work, learn another language, travel to at least five places I've never been to, throw dinner parties for my friends, write more, read a hundred new books, look into getting a doctorate, start a book club, do more yoga, meditate daily, flirt with more strangers, learn more about wine, draw, paint, and dance every week.

But there's a little problem with the equation: I care about what my family wants for me. I want to have kids, and I want my parents to be able to watch them grow up. I don't want to give my mother a heart attack by getting pregnant out of wedlock. I would actually much rather answer, "Yes, I'm madly in love and in a relationship with someone I'd like to have kids with one day" than "No, I don't have a boyfriend and I'm ok with that right now." The latter statement is not false, but I can't pretend I don't want to able to say the former someday, and maybe even someday soon.

As the infamous tv show "Sex and the City" showed people around the world: It is fabulous to be a glamourous single woman over 30, until it's not and all you want is a man to settle down with. In the end of the show, all those gorgeous, smart, funny, financially successful, sexually free and happy women had settled down with a man, and were happy to do so. And I actually think that was somewhat realistic. In the end, we don't want to go to nightclubs and hip restaurants every weekend with our single girlfriends for the rest of our lives. We can still do that, of course, but isn't it nice to also have the option of staying home with your significant other, or going to the restaurant you always go to with them, or even going to that new nightclub with them? If we're single, we don't have that option. We can stay home alone, we can go out to eat alone, we can go to museums alone, and all of that can be great too, but we have one less option in our lives, and that is the option of sharing our lives with someone we love. And, in my opinion, it happens to be one of the most delicious options in the world.

So, society's pressure + wanting to make my family happy + desire to find someone to love and share my life with = planning to get married and have kids within five years. But wanting to live my life without ties + pursuing my dreams + enjoying my life alone = planning to not be getting married or having kids anytime soon.

It reminds me of when I learned in math class that 1/2 + 1/2 = 2/4, which was simplified to = 1/2. It seems I have to choose either one whole equation or the other, because if I try to take half of one and half of the other I won't end up with a whole. I can't get married and be single, I can't have kids and not have kids, I can't be with someone and be alone at the same time.

A very problematic set of equations, I would say.

Problematic because, well, I simultaneously want it all and am not sure I want any of it. Sounds like a Quarter-Life-Crisis, doesn't it?

What I know is that I'm going to turn 25, I'm going to have to deal with social expectations, with questions I don't want to answer, and with my own uncertainty regarding my future. This will never stop. On the heels of my 30th birthday or my 60th birthday I will be dealing with doubts and pressures as well, I'm sure. I know that I am affected by these things but I am aware that thinking about them ultimately changes or influences nothing. I can't know what's going to happen or if making a decision about what I want would even matter. All I can really do, it seems, is ease my way into the unknown and, like most 25-year-olds, hope that life will figure it out for me.