How many married couples do you know that have a solid foundation, and that you think will stay together? Of my close friends, I feel like there are quite a few who married someone that they will stay with forever. However, the crowd that I see in the country club/Portland Maine Housewives scene...it is a dismal forecast, indeed.
I think it's the age-old problem; marrying because things work out, because you found someone that can give you some sort of security or stability, because you both wanted to have kids, because a mutual dream of yours is to own a house on the Cape or a timeshare in Cabo.
When you leave out the respect, the excitement, the love and good old-fashioned romance, you get something that fizzled out with every argument. You can't argue with someone you have little respect for, and expect the argument to accomplish any true release and communication of feelings. Eventually, those arguments will leave you frustrated. You will not feel like you released tension. You may not even feel like making up by making love.
You build a life. Whether it was a couple of years, more than a decade, or the most recent that I've heard, forty years, you have a life that is intertwined with someone else. The demise of the first marriage is usually inevitable if you are missing the afore-mentioned love. Even those who have had affairs, it is usually in the hopes of finding a false love, a passion. Lust is then confused for that giddy, new-love feeling.
Does money complicated this, as I've seen so many more cases of affairs and divorce in the country club? Or, is that a coincidence?
Monday, August 17, 2009
Monday, August 10, 2009
Reminiscing the Early Years
During the time I was 21 to about 25, I worked part-time bartending and waitressing at a local bar in downtown Portland. I chose to do this when I moved to Portland because I knew that this would be the best way to meet and greet a fabulous crowd in my new city. It worked. I knew the bartenders and doormen at every establishment frequented by the "cool crowd." I was in the back room hanging out with the local bands during and after their gigs. When I went into the new, hot restaurant there would be an amuse bouche sent to the table when I sat down.
My girlfriends, the few, select beauties that worked at the bar with me, would join me every Tuesday for our version of Ladies' Night, fondly dubbed Titty Tuesday. We would dress up in fabulous, flirty, summer dresses and our best heels. We would start with dinner somewhere, usually The Wine Bar. Then we would make pit stops to get cocktails at any bar worth showing your face at. Gritty's, Boru's, Bull Feeney's, Una. (At the time, Una...now I would put a toe in there; it is completely trashy.) After a night of enjoying round after round of cocktails, we would inevitably wind up at a bar more known for it's hip hop music and dance crowd, rather than class. We had achieved a level of "tolerance" for the crowd at the Old Port Tavern and they knew us by face. The DJ, who was there every Tuesday, would see us strut down the stairs of the entrance and stop the music. "Iiiiitttt'ssss Titty Tuesday!" He would growl into the microphone. The crowd would cheer. Some, because they were aware of our existance, others because they were drunk and it sounded like something worth showing appreciation for. The last night we graced Old Port Tavern with a Titty Tuesday was the night a wasted co-ed mistook the DJ's announcement as a request and peeled up her shirt and bra to expose her breasts. That was it for us. We were not about to tarnish our reputation with anyone having any other expectations than that of our company. I have a firm belief in the imagination being more sexy than reality, and prefer to maintain that air of mystery.
Titty Tuesday did fade away, as we all launched into our adult careers. Getting up early on Wednesday morning put a damper on all of the free beverages we enjoyed Tuesday evenings. Reminiscing, though, there is not a better way I could have spent my Tuesday evenings for so long; with the best posse of friends a girl could have.
My girlfriends, the few, select beauties that worked at the bar with me, would join me every Tuesday for our version of Ladies' Night, fondly dubbed Titty Tuesday. We would dress up in fabulous, flirty, summer dresses and our best heels. We would start with dinner somewhere, usually The Wine Bar. Then we would make pit stops to get cocktails at any bar worth showing your face at. Gritty's, Boru's, Bull Feeney's, Una. (At the time, Una...now I would put a toe in there; it is completely trashy.) After a night of enjoying round after round of cocktails, we would inevitably wind up at a bar more known for it's hip hop music and dance crowd, rather than class. We had achieved a level of "tolerance" for the crowd at the Old Port Tavern and they knew us by face. The DJ, who was there every Tuesday, would see us strut down the stairs of the entrance and stop the music. "Iiiiitttt'ssss Titty Tuesday!" He would growl into the microphone. The crowd would cheer. Some, because they were aware of our existance, others because they were drunk and it sounded like something worth showing appreciation for. The last night we graced Old Port Tavern with a Titty Tuesday was the night a wasted co-ed mistook the DJ's announcement as a request and peeled up her shirt and bra to expose her breasts. That was it for us. We were not about to tarnish our reputation with anyone having any other expectations than that of our company. I have a firm belief in the imagination being more sexy than reality, and prefer to maintain that air of mystery.
Titty Tuesday did fade away, as we all launched into our adult careers. Getting up early on Wednesday morning put a damper on all of the free beverages we enjoyed Tuesday evenings. Reminiscing, though, there is not a better way I could have spent my Tuesday evenings for so long; with the best posse of friends a girl could have.
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Moving Over Battle Lines
There is a logical explanation for the time between my last blog and this one....My husband and I just moved to the next town over, Falmouth. Falmouth is where most of the circus-freak drama goes on, so here I am, over the battle lines. And by circus-freak, I mean the most absurd cases of adults acting worse than any 10 year old I've met. And that's an insult to the 10 year olds.
Before I dish, let me squeal about my new house for a minute. My husband and I moved from a cute, small house, perfect for the two of us, in an adorable neighborhood in Portland. Now we have a massive, 5 bedroom house with almost 2 acres of land, surrounded by trees. All this space, does in fact mean that we are hoping to expand our family. Nothing thus far, but no fear, we'll keep working on that.
Now, onto the adult-children of Falmouth. Alright, alright...I'm exaggerating by including all of Falmouth in that statement. It's one in particular that I speak of right now, and she's our old friend, Lisa. Lisa is still going after Natasha. Lisa wants to kick Natasha to the curb and then put a Nine West outlet heel in her kidneys. Lisa recently went to someone at the country club and complained that Natasha was spreading rumors about her. Were I the recipient of this complaint I would have replied with, "Who cares? Grow up." But apparently this sort of atmoshere is the perfect place for the narcissistic, immature types. Her complaint has been registered and Natasha may be called in front of the country club's "board of governors" and potentially have her own membership revoked. Ridiculous. I offered my husband's services, as an attorney, to give legal representation during this process. I'm hoping he goes into the board meeting and gives a great 1-liner like, "I think we can all agree that this is pure hogwash." Something Paul Newman would have said.
So, Real Housewife lesson for today is: If you have an adult approach you with a completely infantile request, please do not entertain these fancies at all. Just counter with, "Who cares? Grow up." Some people need to learn that it is not all about them.
Before I dish, let me squeal about my new house for a minute. My husband and I moved from a cute, small house, perfect for the two of us, in an adorable neighborhood in Portland. Now we have a massive, 5 bedroom house with almost 2 acres of land, surrounded by trees. All this space, does in fact mean that we are hoping to expand our family. Nothing thus far, but no fear, we'll keep working on that.
Now, onto the adult-children of Falmouth. Alright, alright...I'm exaggerating by including all of Falmouth in that statement. It's one in particular that I speak of right now, and she's our old friend, Lisa. Lisa is still going after Natasha. Lisa wants to kick Natasha to the curb and then put a Nine West outlet heel in her kidneys. Lisa recently went to someone at the country club and complained that Natasha was spreading rumors about her. Were I the recipient of this complaint I would have replied with, "Who cares? Grow up." But apparently this sort of atmoshere is the perfect place for the narcissistic, immature types. Her complaint has been registered and Natasha may be called in front of the country club's "board of governors" and potentially have her own membership revoked. Ridiculous. I offered my husband's services, as an attorney, to give legal representation during this process. I'm hoping he goes into the board meeting and gives a great 1-liner like, "I think we can all agree that this is pure hogwash." Something Paul Newman would have said.
So, Real Housewife lesson for today is: If you have an adult approach you with a completely infantile request, please do not entertain these fancies at all. Just counter with, "Who cares? Grow up." Some people need to learn that it is not all about them.
Thursday, June 4, 2009
Kids First, Claws Second
My fellow housewife, Natasha, and I went to a fundraising gala at a local country club last week. The benefit was for Kids First; an organization that supports families with children who are going through a divorce. The organization is wonderful, and many of the attendees were there because they know of the program on a personal level.
Of course we were there for the kids. We dutifully completed our laps around the tented patio where the silent auction items were set up. We played the game (like Ebay, I said) where we staked out our favorite items and waited until the last second to make sure we "won." That's how I describe it on Ebay as well....if you consider paying money "winning." I did win a gift certificate to the restaurant where I got married. Natasha racked up gift certificates to a lot of the fabulous Old Port restaurants, so we are planning our nights out to scribble some red on the town.
Of course we were there for the kids. We dutifully completed our laps around the tented patio where the silent auction items were set up. We played the game (like Ebay, I said) where we staked out our favorite items and waited until the last second to make sure we "won." That's how I describe it on Ebay as well....if you consider paying money "winning." I did win a gift certificate to the restaurant where I got married. Natasha racked up gift certificates to a lot of the fabulous Old Port restaurants, so we are planning our nights out to scribble some red on the town.
Meanwhile, I am beckoned quite earnestly by a woman I have never met. Good Lord, she was a little on the ditzy side; but friendly. If I were to think about it as a knowing and cautious housewife should; I might think that she uses her ditziness to pass the underhanded comments out in an unsuspecting manner. Let's call this peach, Mary.
One more character you will need to get acquainted with more than once is Lisa. Lisa is the nemesis. The trashiest thing you have ever seen step foot in a country club. Fake ta-tas, fake lips, everything pinched, pulled and poked (insert own bad joke here). Bleach blond bob on a (rumored) cocaine-induced skeleton look. Of course, it helps if your only source of diet is nose candy. (Allegedly.)
Ditzy Mary made an airy comment about Lisa being very skinny when Lisa bony-elbowed her way in front of the silent auction table for the cosmetic enhancement gift certificate. Lisa saw Mary conversing with Natasha and myself and must have decided that was reason enough to pull out the claws on unsuspecting Mary. In the middle of the live auction, while the auctioneer was taking a minute to make an emotional, personal testimony to the benefits of the Kids First program, Lisa met Mary in the hallway and gave her the old acrylic nail in the face. Lisa threatened Mary that she better not call her skinny anymore...
Really?? I would have kissed the woman and taken her along on the next family vacation. Aaahh, now that reminds me of another story about Lisa that I will save for another time.
And before I bid you adieu tonight...remember, sometimes we need to make it about the kids, not the claws. Save it for the blog.
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
Bravo, Portland
What do you think of when you think of Portland, Maine? Fabulous housewives? Maybe not the bronze, golden girls of OC. Not as many connections to the family as New Jersey. Still searching for the fabulous gay friends that accompany the ladies of New York. Our BoSox caps aren't as grand as les chapeaux belonging to Atlanta; but I did see some creative hats out at the Jr. League Kentucky Derby party.
It comes down to this: the group that I associate with are classy, cultured girls who will make an interesting time out of an outdoor adventure, a night on the town, a French movie at the art museum, bubbly on the couch, bridal showers and travels. In the end it's all about being fabulous. Of course we want to hear about a little drama. I'll be happy to fill you in.
It comes down to this: the group that I associate with are classy, cultured girls who will make an interesting time out of an outdoor adventure, a night on the town, a French movie at the art museum, bubbly on the couch, bridal showers and travels. In the end it's all about being fabulous. Of course we want to hear about a little drama. I'll be happy to fill you in.
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