While I was still dating him, my ex-boyfriend's mother gave me a ring, a large greenish turquoise and silver thing from Peru. She gave me a lot of gifts, many that suited me and that I loved (like a white top that I frequently get complimented on). She had immaculate taste for me and seemed to know me far better than her son did. If truth be told, she was probably the one who kept the relationship going after month two. But this ring was a pain. It fell off, got caught on everything, and probably looked too big for my hand.

I know that a bad relationship takes two people and I have "my part" (shaming, non-communicative, etc)...BUT, NONETHELESS, I find it hard to believe that any relationship where the man frequently questions (out-loud) if he's attracted to his girfriend (as if it were my problem) and compares her boobs to those of Pamela Anderson and other man-made creations could possibly prosper longer than three seconds (for those of us struggling with self-esteem...zero for all other women). What can I say?...I have some issues.

I looked him up on MySpace a while ago (in a moment of perverse curiosity) and read in horror that he's now looking for, "Large breasted women who know how to rock and won't be a pain in my ass!" (I have to give him kudos for being direct, though, I can't really imagine that such phrasing would bring the ladies in droves...I hate to be sarcastic, but can you blame me?)

At this point in time, it's all ancient history. It was only a year ago that I was heart-broken and bereft, but it seems like a life-time ago that I was hanging onto threads of slippery hope that somehow this person who I proclaimed to be my "soul mate" (blush) and "the one" (with exagerated air quotes) was "not really" (I'm on a role) a callous creep, but a man defending against deep and fragile vulnerability. Like the stereotypical abused woman embroiled in some domestic violence nightmare, I lived in the fantasy that I was in love with a man who felt things like compassion and love, but who wore a mask of hate...(deep down inside Hitler was sorry, he was just trying to look cool by killing all the Jews). Enraged and embittered, I didn't know how to use anger to protect myself from that which would make any sane woman furious. I was stuck between my fantasy life and a guy who hated his mother. I wish I didn't have such lessons to learn, but thanks to this guy, I don't need to go there again.

So, wasn't I writing about a ring? Oh, yes. Despite the pain involved in this relationship, it was still a connection that felt deep and meaningful. Don't underestimate the power of pain, it's a step above numb and any lonely soul will tell you that at certain times a painful bond is better than no connection at all. So, when it finally ended (a strange combination of excruciating pain and relief), a part of me must have still hung on to some hope. What else would explain why I would continue to wear the ring his mother gave me? It caught on everything and ruined towels and sweaters. It was too big and frequently fell off. "So, what if I lose it?" I rationalized. But I couldn't. It'd slip off and then somehow find me again. It came off at a do-it-yourself car wash and I didn't realize it till I was halfway home. I turned around and found it in the gutter. I found it in stores, sidewalks, and my purse. I kept thinking I'd gotten rid of it, but there'd it pop again. I convinced myself I liked the way it looked. I even had a "New Moon Goddess" ceremony in which I removed the bad energy from it.

Last Sunday night I was salsa dancing and I found it missing. There is one guy I dance with who I always feel is trying to steal my rings. I was having a wonderful night of dancing. Salsa is my new drug of choice. I feel so carefree and sexy. Such great music, so many cute guys, so much joy...(I highly recommend it)...it was late in the night by the time I realized that it was missing. I looked for it, but not that hard. It was more of an excuse to get rid of a particularly annoying dance partner (I'm so much better at letting go these days)...

I have a feeling that if I call the place, they'll have the ring waiting for me. My therapist would say that it's hard for me to feel joy, to feel "expansive." A big cumbersome ring, that's safe and easy. Who would I be without the pain, bitterness and resentment? Who would I be without a guy who told me that I wasn't pretty or attractive enough for him?

It's a little sad to let go of what I once cherished. But I'll get over it...I think I already have.

Just for today, I can let go.

P.S. I had to turn off comments because I was being inundated with SPAM. But, if you have a response, email me and I'll post it.

Contrary to popular opinion, being hot doesn't have everything to do with being young, thin, and endowed with Angelina Jolieish-lips. I mean those things help, don't get me wrong. But the truth is that what, in my experience, really attracts male attention (and this has been proven time and again by myself and my friends) is not giving a rat's ass about it. But in order for this to work, you have to REALLY not give a rat's ass. Not just pretend to. It's almost a mystical experience.

I can be walking down the street with make-up and tears streaming down my face (I was sad), hair unwashed (it was a Sunday), roots totally showing all over the place (I'm having a "hair" crisis), haven't worked out in weeks (I've been sick for an eternity), and wearing my weekend jeans (they are no longer suitable for work) and have guys walking right up to me. This happend to me this past Sunday and I wanted to look at them and say, "Are you out of your mind? I'm not even feeling hot!" Apparently, feeling "hot" isn't all it's cracked up to be either. I can feel as hot as Scarlett Johansen in "Match Point," but that doesn't mean that anybody else is buying it. It's got to be a total and utter state of not giving a #&@! It may possibly come from crossing the line from hopeful desperation ("he's out there, I know just know it!"), to the acceptance that you may never have a loving relationship with a man and maybe that's not the end of the world...in fact, maybe that's a lot of energy that can be put into another areas.

Prolong states of celibacy may have something to do with it as well.

Just for today, I can be scraggly and "hot."

My mom came into town this past weekend to take care of me because my body simply wouldn't heal from whatever virus from hell was/is plaguing it... However, it turns out I just needed was some serious Mom energy. She came and brought all the busyness and food and attention that I seemed unable to muster in my permanent state of bedragglement. I've always prided myself on my independence as an adult, but when the fourth weekend in a row came around that I had to barrel myself into my apartment and "recover," I had to give into my humaness. I've always viewed illness as a character defect and have had a hard time forgiving myself for allowing myself to get sick. I'll apologetically refuse invitations and assure people that I'll be ready to entertain in just a few days. It's kind of sad how much pressure I put on myself.

Thanks to my madre, I think I'm feeling much better. Thanks mom! I love you!

Just for today, my mom can take care of me.

I ended my yoga practice tonight by chastising myself for not keeping my old PPO health insurance (never sign up with an HMO, unless you really want to rely on the random love of chance and cute idealistic doctors...which might be a good reason). I lied in "shavasana" (the point at the end when you sprawl out like a dead person and the point at which I'm the most wound up...why can't we lie comatose in the very beginning when I don't have any endorphines pumping through my body? That's when I really want to do nothing!). Afterwards, I came home and ate one of the Halloween sugar cookies that my "Sex and the City" friend brought over for my dinner party last weekend (I call her my "Sex and the City" friend because she's like Charlotte, Samantha, and Miranda all wrapped up in one package...with a little bit of Carrie). Now, it's my understanding that yoga is supposed to make one more accepting of one self and in touch with the health of her body. Not riled up in a ball of self-hatred and clamoring for sugar. I am very disssappointed. Something's not right. I feel more peaceful after watching two episodes of "Enterouge" and the middle-portion of "French Kiss" at 1:00 am! As every stand-up comic in the 80's used to say, "What's up with that?!"

Just for today, I stand in doubt of the peaceful effect of yoga.

[I just want to first say that I know this site is badly in need of a redesign. It's really starting to feel like the jacket I wore every day in the 10th grade, like it's becoming part of my DNA. It only took me three years to get the short film this site is intended to promote (to people other than "gangbang porn"...gross!), so bare with me (or is it "bear" with me? I read about this expression in an article recently and now I'm more confused...).]

So, why was today from hell you ask? I think the Gods above intended it to be that way. And it wasn't just the constipation (OK, I know I said I wouldn't write about health/body issues anymore, but maybe that's what got me constipated...?!). It was just one of those days that didn't work as a day. And here are just a few highlights:

1) My doctor's office wouldn't accept my new insurance, despite the fact that they accept this insurance and my doctor of many years agreed to keep me on. Why did they not let me see him? Because it wasn't in the system...yet! (Can I rant about beauracracies for a while?...oh, let me finish on my day).

2) The parking kiosk only accepted cash (which I had none of).

3) The parking kiosk ran out of parking passes (after I drove to the nearest ATM and came back with cashola).

4) The girl at the self-check-out register at Ralph's took 20 minutes to figure out how to be her own cashier (we called for assistance twice). I tried to have faith in her, to be on her side, but in the end I just felt like an ass waiting behind her.

On a note of gratitude, I did have a nice talk with my mom, I didn't get into any car accidents, or attract parking tickets, and I didn't die...

Just for today, I can have a bad day.

I just had a long talk with my father. I remember when my father was a traditional man. He did whatever he wanted and if anybody had a problem with it, they were in tough luck. Now he talks about "boundaries" and wants to listen to my problems. It's nice to have a parent who is evolving and working on himself...but a little strange at the same time.

Just for today, I can connect with my father.

I went up to Joshua Tree for the weekend and stayed at a dear friend's rented house. I loved it. I can't find words to describe how the beauty of the desert makes me feel. But I'm a writer, so I'll try. It's like the space between my brain and my heart. It's like empty beingness with a purpose or the faraway look of someone you love who you desperately wish would pay attention to you...( Ok, so I tried).

Supposedly, the Joshua Tree area is a vortex of energy. Something to do with the fault lines and God knows what...whatever it is, it had a tangible effect on me. That and the full moon going on gave me some kind of cosmic jolt that made me do crazy things like drive all the way to the store to buy a toothbrush and then leave it there. I also left my keys in J.Crew, but that's when I was shopping at the outlets (which, by the way, would make anyone crazy, but that has nothing to do with energy vortexes...at least I don't think).

I know why artists and writers go to the desert to create. It's the silent empty space before everything...

Just for today, I can retreat to the desert.

I had another health crisis around something entirely different. However, I'm not going to go into it because I'm starting to date and am realizing the importance of maintaining some aura of mystery (I don't think mysterious women blog about their periods). What if my future husband reads this and gets to know me far sooner than he should? Of course, my (someday) partner will eventually get to know me, but it's important to prolong the discovery process for as long as possible. In my experience, the end result of all relationships is the inevitable conclusion that the other person has "issues" and is essentially weird (compared to what I don't know). I know it's the result of my intimacy issues (and those of the guys I've chosen) and my fear of being "known" and all the stuf that my therapist drones on about (it is her job to be annnoying). Unfortunatley, the "you're a weirdo" phase is as far as I've gotten in relationships, which shows you why I'm still single. I think there's another phase after this in which people who stick it out actually learn to love each other and become higher, more spiritually evolved human beings. So, even if I'm still someone who spends most of her life obsessing about her sinuses, shoes, and how much to spend on lip gloss, I hope to some day develop a loving partnership with a member of the opposite sex. For the sake of that goal, I'm going to refrain from graphic descriptive outpourings about my health issues.

Just for today, I have blogging boundaries.

I bought a leopard print skirt on a whim. It's very slutty. I need someplace to go where I can look slutty (besides work...).

Just for today, I can express my inner-slut.

Hopefully, I'll have my movie up on YouTube in the next few days (the whole service is down right now...damn, free services). I know it's taken forever for me to get with the whole movie uploading program (the shame, the shame...), but better late than never.

Just for today, I can be on my own schedule.