Bed of Roses, or Tulips, or Lilacs...

This post is for my male readers... 

I am going to try to assist you in understanding the importance of flowers to a woman. 

Read carefully, maybe read it twice. Let it sink in. 

Fresh flowers, to a woman, are quite the gift. If given in the right setting, at the right time, you can earn yourself major brownie points with your lady. Let me give you an example. As you may or may not be aware, us women have a propensity for self-esteem problems. We will never admit this to you but we constantly compare ourselves to other women and, because of this, need to be reassured often that we are loved, that we are beautiful and that we have something to be envied. Having said all that, if you send a woman a large and rather extravagant bouquet to her place of work, she will have been reassured of all of these things and better yet, in front of all of her friends and colleagues.  What woman does not love to be admired and loved publicly? Even those that shy away from public displays of affection secretly yearn for the man who will show up on his steed, proclaim his love and kiss the lipstick right off of her mouth...in front of everyone. It's clearly a fantasy of mine and I am like most women. Trust me. We may have different packaging, but essentially, we all want the same things. To be beautiful and to be loved. We are pretty simple when you break us down. 

Now. Don't you have a florist to call or something?

*Disclaimer* Do not confuse "flowers" with "gift" in general. We do not need you sending us cookie bouquets or boxes of chocolates from Godiva. Yes, we love them and want them but do not NEED them and will wind up resenting you in the very near future when we can no longer zip up our favorite dress. 

Castles Made of Sand

There comes a time when you find a castle washed away right from under foot. Maybe it was expected, the tide came in and took away what was rightfully his. Maybe a flash flood came and took everyone by surprise. Maybe some angry little kid with a chip on his shoulder came and kicked it into the sea. Either way, these are the times when it is our responsibility to help remind a friend that she is still queen of her own castle...her new and better castle. 

Times like these can be scary. They can be uncertain. Rest assured, they can be very lonely. It is up to the queens whose castles are on solid ground to mount up and help strengthen that of those whose foundations are a bit shaky. Whether it be bringing over groceries, calling to check in a little more frequently than usual, overlooking the mess, the stress and the minor breakdowns or just stopping by for a chat, remember that no woman is an island. We all need a bit of help and reassurance when life goes unexpectedly. 

The Magic of Making Out

-Magda. She was a putain. A prostitute. She lived just outside of my town. 

Just by a little bridge. She was not beautiful, but she had this mouth...There was  another world waiting there. But I did not have the money for the 

kissing, only for the... you know

- I don't understand.

- To kiss a prostitute, it costs more.

-That makes sense. A kiss is so intimate. You could probably disconnect
from everything else, but a kiss...Two people's lips together,
their breath, a little bit of their soul. 

All I mean is that a kiss is where the romance is.

-Oui. That is what I thought back then. So the next day, I stole francs
from my brother Antoine. I went back and kissed my prostitute
for half an hour. It was very good.

-Kevin Kline, Meg Ryan (French Kiss)

A kiss, when properly executed, can be the most perfect, exciting, spine tingling experience a human can have. The anticipation alone can set your skin aflame. The look...you know the look, the shallow breathing and finally, the contact. Gentle at first, then heavy, hungry, primal. You are floating. All of your troubles are behind you. It's just his mouth (or hers) on yours in perfect, hot heaven. Making out is probably one of my most favorite past times. It's not about sex (yes, most times it leads to sex), it's about passion, exploration and the need to express myself in a way that words cannot. A kiss can say quite a range of things.

Hello.

I love you.

I want you.

I want you now.

I want you now on the dining room table.

When you find a mouth that truly complements yours, making out can be a religious experience. So here is my challenge to you today. Go. Go now. Find someone to kiss and kiss them good and hard for a long, long time. Pleasure and passion are yours for the taking ladies. Get it and get it good.

Finding the Bliss in Being Alone

Faced, as I am from time to time, with the uncomfortable sensation of being alone in public, whether in a restaurant, at a bar or some other place in which the luxury of a companion would be highly appreciated, I realize the growing need for myself to learn to become comfortable when alone. I have fought my solitude in the past with a book, or magazine or perhaps staring off at some mundane event on the television provided at the bar, however, I have never quite settled into the idea that this was comfortable for me. Now don't get me wrong, I can appreciate the experience of enjoying a perfect old fashioned with no one to interrupt or the joy of dining in silence when presented with a great meal but there is still a level of uncertainty that I can’t seem to shake.

I think one of my most uncomfortable experiences was dining at St. Elmo’s Steak House in Indianapolis. The maitre de sat me in the middle of the main dining room, at a table for four, surrounded with tables full of people enjoying their dining companions. I sat there, quietly, barely enjoying my scotch and wedge salad as I began to become acutely aware of that feeling that I was on display. I finished my meal at St. Elmo's and raced back to the comfort of my hotel room, all the while wishing that I didn't feel like a leper. It is, after all, part of our nature to want to be in the company of others. Part of our nature to want to flee from lonely or uncomfortable situations.

Recently, on a trip to St. Paul, I finally found my stride. I made reservations for a table for one, grabbed a good book and stormed off to face my fear head on. The key this time was in explaining that I was dining alone and in asking for a tucked away table. The hostess escorted me to a very nice booth towards the back of the restaurant. I had a wonderful meal, got some reading done and thoroughly enjoyed myself. I happily devoured my bread with olive oil, my capellini pomodoro, my two (yes two) glasses of champagne then finished off my celebration of myself with a coffee and a lemon custard cake. One thing I did not feel? Fear. There was no one there to judge my eating habits, how slow I ate or whether or not I was a good conversationalist. I realized that it was not the being alone that I was afraid of, it was the fear of being judged for being alone. I actually enjoyed the experience. Looking at it in a much different light than before, it's really is quite the luxury.