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.
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