Something always tickling my heart when i heard, read, and think about it... Maybe because I meet so many 'dark' side, the sadness, and downhearted on my patients... I WANT TO SHOUT HOPE TO THE WORLD!

Hope was personified in Greek mythology as Elpis. When Pandora opened Pandora's Box, she let out all the evils except one: hope. Apparently, the Greeks considered hope to be as dangerous as all the world's evils. But without hope to accompany all their troubles, humanity was filled with despair. It was a great relief when Pandora revisited her box and let out hope as well. It may be worthy to note that in the story, hope is represented as weakly leaving the box but is in effect far more potent than any of the major evils.

Its not easy to switch yourself on 'Hope' mode. Especially when everything around you seems so dark and unseen. You even can not see yourself. Many times I feel that I can't stand it anymore. I can't do it anymore... Many times I temped to yell the word ITS ENOUGH! I won't do it anymore, I can't do it anymore. There's no way I can get through this... There is no hope for this!

Friends... my companion of the journey of life... The good news is: There is hope in the Lord.  But sometimes the image of God seems so blur to us. Sometimes (even every time!) we need God with flesh and 'form'.       In my case, He always did. He sent me angels with flesh and 'form'... through people around me, the books I read, the songs I heard, every email I received, even my dog sent me the message of hope. Hope is everywhere... cause Hope is a believe in a positive outcome related to events and circumstances in one's life.

The problem is: we can't see it. And even though we seen it... maybe we decide NOT to see it! And then sunk again in the comfort 'pity' of yourself. Get up every one.. smell the flavour of hope around you... and in every beat of your heart. One of my dreams is to make at least one book publish international, the book that can bring the message of hope to humanity. But with my 'sucks' English... I can't see there is hope to make that dream come true. But today... this is my first writing in English. I decide to be embarrassed and taking a step! Because I know... there is hope on myself! Yeaaahhhh...

And maybe your problems now is not about making a book. But the point is the same. What makes you feel desperate right now? What makes you think that you're not good enough, you can't do something, you can't be healed, you're not worthy on something (or somebody)? And those make you drown deeper and deeper, you can't even say a word.

Friends, we're created  with an image of God. And that image is perfectness. The devil keep saying to us that negative and pathatic words to us. And that make us think that we can't do this and that! But that doesn't change the reality that we are still perfect in Gods eyes. And with the perfectness, we CAN do so many things in life. We CAN be healed, We CAN do our works, We CAN achieve our dreams, We CAN get up from our sins and walk in God's grace. Not by might, not by power, but by the spirit says the Lord!

As the Greeks considered hope to be as dangerous as all the world's evils, the evils will do anything to make the hope disappear in our life. Don't let the evil take away the hope from you!

Ask the strength and grace from our Lord Jesus Christ, Stand for yourself, decide to make your life meaningful, be responsible of your life and spread the hope that you have within to bless other people. Our life is too short to abandoned with despair.  Life is too beautiful to be ignored. You CAN get through all with Jesus...YES YOU CAN! THERE ALWAYS BE HOPE IN YOU! The hope and the strength you can imagine yourselves.

yeaaahhhh... I will end this 'english' article now! (*fffyyuuiiiihhhh... *) now I am proud of my self... hahaha...!  I finish my first article in English. For you who knew me, you all know how bad my english is! And yes... I am taking a step... don't care about the grammer, don't care about anything... (humiliating myself) just spit it out and all the Glory to Him that makes me brave and give me a gut to do this... hehehe... Haleluya!

Don't get me wrong.  I'm grateful for all the fun we've had this summer and I know how fortunate I am to be able to share those special moments with my kids.  I guess I'm just REALLY looking forward to sharing the special moments of fall with them.   With socks, shoes, long pants, and no bugs.

So instead of listening to me talk today, lets just look at a pretty.

Another crown, this one for my niece's daughter's fifth birthday that we're going to on the weekend. Hence the 5. We'll see how the weird aunty with the un-socialised children turning up with a handmade gift goes down, shall we?

The first (and any subsequent) person to point out that the K isn't strictly speaking right in the middle? Gets a punch in the nose.
On the house.

Have a happy sunny day...

Yes, they are quite desperate.

(Lost my head again and feeling blue. At least I know it's temporary.)

Man. I can set my calendar by all this premenstrual shit. Unfortunately when I feel GOOD (a day or two after I get my period) I go into denial about how freaking awful PMDD feels, and I think "Oh, that wasn't so bad; I'll just wait and see how it goes. Maybe I won't need my pills next month!" And then I forget all about it, and I don't even notice the darkness sneaking up behind me.

Now where are those goddamned pills. Might as well start taking them now because let's see: Yup: I barely lasted 12 days before the sound of a ringing phone put me into a panic again. God dammit; how can I date complete strangers when the PMDD-addled paranoiac inside of me reacts to strangers as if they were The Enemy trying to KILL me? I might as well hide my dating profile for the next two weeks.

Don't get me wrong: Even when at my PMDD worst I love the people ALREADY in my life as much as always; in fact I cling to my memories as if they were a lifeboat and get all pouty when they don't reach out to me. It's the strangest thing: I get reclusive during the two weeks before my period and isolate myself from the people that I love . . . and then cry because I am lonely. I want a hug. I want to cuddle and be silly and laugh at stupid jokes and forget all my troubles, but I'd rather die than reach out them on my own. It's so fucked up.

1.      to be a full-time Ben & Jerry’s taste tester

2.      to work  at a panda ‘daycare’ center in China

3.      and….

to be the full-time girlfriend to this piece of man meat. I came across this wonderful picture yesterday while searching the interwebs…..

Enjoy.

Such beautiful scenery and I’m not talking about just Venice!

I still can’t get over it was 20+ years ago when I used to watch my future boyfriend on Facts of Life. Yes, I really did. Every Saturday night. I thought he was cute even back then – and yes, he had a mullet. But it was the mid 80’s so who really cared right?

I’ve sent out the appropriate resumes so we’ll see what happens!  J

When one of my jobs comes through, I promise you’ll be the first to know!   

Photo courtesy of The Associated Press

But the way Granny says pianissimo doesn't mean quiet, voume-wise. It means subdued, flat... to extend the musical analogy, it's a little like using the piano's damper pedal. Poor Granny has every reason to feel this way at the moment, having just lost my lovely Grandpa in July. This loss, and the other loss which brings a difficult anniversary in July, and other personal matters, have combined to make this summer somewhat on the sighing side Chez Bokker.

The last few days have pushed me a little further towards the edge (I mean like the edge of glumpiness, not the edge of anything dramatic!). The fast turnaroud film I made this week, in addition to feeling a little bit ill, in addition to G being properly ill (he's hacking away in the kitchen as I type, but I still didn't relieve him of washing-up duties, mwa-ha-haaa) , in addition to having an enjoyable bank holiday weekend in which I nevertheless didn't achieve anything, in addition to the tried n tested lady's excuse- hormones- have all left me feeling decidedly pianissimo and somewhat liable to weep suddenly.

I've know depression; some of my student days were spent plodding around campus with self-indulgent tears rolling down my cheeks in time to Otis Redding on repeat on my discman. Good times. And I've known deep grief and trauma.

This is neither of those things, thankfully. This what the yankee-doodles among you might call "a funk". This is like looking at the world from a fish tank, darkly (and temporarily).  No biggie.

Just a pain in the bum.

I got my pacemaker checked this morning.

The fact that I have a pacemaker will come as a surprise to any of you who thought I picked the name "Tinman" because of some July Garland fetish, but there you go.

Someday, perhaps on the first anniversary, I'll tell the whole story of the seven scary months it took from first being part-man, part-conscious to finally being part-man, part machine, but for the moment it is still a Tale for Which the World is Not Yet Prepared (or, I'm not, anyway).

I got it checked after six weeks, and from then on it's twice a year, so it hasn't been checked since February. When they put it in they said (a) that because I'm thin, it might be visible (and it is - if I hadn't picked Tinman18 I could have gone for The Man With Three Moobs), and (b) that I might be able to feel it turning on - no kidding there, it blips so hard it stings sometimes. Because I can feel it, I know how often it comes on, and have been quietly alarmed at how often that seems to be.

So I was a teeny bit worried when I went back to Cardiology in Vincent's this morning (the guy at the desk said "do you know the way?". "God, yes," I answered). There I met the lovely Áinle, who greeted me by name. (By the way, when I do write about all this I will be full of praise for the doctors, nurses and other healthcare people I met during the whole experience, they were absolutely wonderful).

Áinle was the one who had checked my heart monitor last January, and who had read the print-out and then uttered those words you never want to hear in a hospital - "I just want to show these to someone". It would be exaggerating to say she'd then run out of the room, but she certainly hadn't slouched out, & she'd then returned with four doctors.

Anyway, this time was much more comforting. She hooked me up, turned on the machine, and then played with the settings to test the workings, so that I blipped, stopped and then blipped again at her command. I couldn't really complain - after all, it's been a long time since an attractive young blonde has toyed with my heart.

And she said I was fine. I asked about the number of times it seemed to be on, and she told me my own

heart was doing 99 percent of the beating (back at work, my glass-half-empty boss said "so the pacemaker's doing one percent? That's a lot of beats", but I was too pleased to rise to that).

So that's my day. I'm still ticking over. Everything is ticker-ty boo.

Ai grija de ma-ta care te-a sters la cur cand erai mic.Ajuta-l pe tac-tu care a muncit si munceste ca tie sa nu-ti lipseasca nimic. Ai grija de fratii tai pentru ca ei sunt cei care n-or sa te tradeze niciodata. Fute-i in gura pe toti fraierii care iti intorc spatele imediat ce nu mai au nevoie de tine.

Sa-ti pese doar de cei care au facut totul pentru tine fara sa astepte nimic in schimb, total dezinteresati.Sunt prea putini,depinde de tine sa-i gasesti si sa le oferi atentia meritata.

Prea multi prosti gresesc astazi.Nu realizeaza care persoane au prioritate in viata lor si astfel se trezesc singuri.

Spune "NU".Nimeni nu merita ajutorul tau.

"Ajuta si vei fi ajutat!" e un MARE CACAT.

[caption id="attachment_362" align="aligncenter" width="240" caption="100 Things To Do Before You Die "][/caption]

 

While munching on a brie and ham bagel over breakfast in the gym café this morning I came across this story in The Independent that Dave Freeman had died.

Freeman was the American advertising executive who co-wrote the book 100 Things To Do Before You Die.

He died, aged just 47, in a freak accident having only completed half the adventures he wrote about in his book.

The book details 100 must-see places and events in the world. They range from running with the bulls in Pamplona, Spain to the obscure, including the National Hollerin' Contest in North Carolina, and Australia's annual Nude Night Surfing contest.

I read the book a few years back while I was on holiday in Morocco. It inspired me to brave my fears and have a go at windsurfing in the resort I was staying in. During the first and only lesson I slipped on the board, hit my head, got knocked unconscious and had to be saved before I drowned. So, not a great success!

Most of Freeman’s list isn’t achievable to the ordinary person - such as taking a voodoo pilgrimage in Haiti or discovering a comet. But I still love the spirit the book instils, it’s so easy to get caught up in everyday life and not really focus on anything too out of the ordinary.

It’s touched me that Freeman died at such a relatively young age, he wasn’t very old or ill. He just slipped and hit his head.

It’s made me more determined to put right my Someday Syndrome and while I think it’s impossible to live every day like it’s your last it is possible to set yourself some goals that require that bit more effort and will enhance your time on this planet.

Finally, in the words of Freeman himself - "This life is a short journey. How will you make sure that you will fill it with the most fun, and that you visit all the coolest places on earth, before you pack those bags for the very last time?"

Why look! It's Edward Scissorhands in the DVD player. Now that movie makes me smile. From Dianne Wiest's nurturing mom + Avon lady to Johnny Depp's mournful Edward along with Tim Burton's lovely direction, it's such a great movie.

Two, actually:

1) One compact fluorescent light (CFL) manufacturer who dictates that Power Factor Correction technology NOT be put in American CFL light bulbs; and

2) One owner of your local electric company who'll quietly continue to charge you for your Apparent Power Usage as though you were using regular light bulbs, while telling you it's charging you by the kilowatt hour . . . and then pocket your savings.

And how, pray tell, do they pull it off? Aw, here, go look, then come back when you're good and mad:

Are CFLs Designed to Make Us Pay More on Our Power Bills?

I am especially annoyed by this particular "Red Pill" because I cut my kilowatt usage in half by switching to CFCs and my electric bill is STILL double what it was last year! No WAY have electric power costs quadrupled. Not even in my spendy corner of New Jersey.

I know how I'm dealing with my anger at being ripped off: I wrote my electric company and making an appointment for an in-house assessment. Then, God and my townhome association willing, I'm finally getting off the grid one step at a time. So far I've invested in the following, and they were ALL very affordable:

"Juice" Rechargeable batteries ($40); solar flashlight ($7, Jack's Tool Shed), solar battery charger ($26. LA Liquidators), Smart Solar programmable solar globe ($39); solar cooker ($20); MIPO battery charging panel for my cell phone/MP3 (was $80, on clearance for $13). All found at Amazon.com

I bought a few of the solar globes; they're plastic and portable and can pass for indoor lighting if I program them for white/yellow light. I can let them soak up the sun during the day and bring them in the house at night. I have unplugged over half my lamps and appliances because they suck energy when plugged in, even when they're turned off. I've turned down the thermostat on my hot water heater. I will keep my eyes peeled for the best deals on solar power generators, because if I can run my computer on the sun I WILL.

I'm starting to pay attention to the free and open-source energy movement. It behooves us ALL to learn as much as we can about alternative energy, but we need to do it ON OUR OWN. Don't expect the mainstream media to spell it out for you! The Powers That Be (PTB - and a pun!) stand to lose BILLIONS in profits once we finally figure out how to do without them for good. Consequently the PTB will do ANYTHING to suppress this information and keep you from taking advantage of it, at least until they find a way to hook you into an alternative energy grid and make you pay through the nose for solar and wind power that should be FREE (after the delivery mechanism pays for itself). Forget The Grid if you want to save money: GET OFF THE GRID! WE HAVE THE TECHNOLOGY! Resource wars are the mechanisms by which the PTB stay in control of whole countries and cultures, so I say we ought to get off our butts and DO something about it. Imagine! If we all could power our homes, our cars in our lives with free (or cheap) energy just THINK of all the things we could do with the money we save! Like shoes! OK maybe we all have enough shoes, so howbout pet food? Health care! College for our kids? Wouldn't that be grand!

(Fortunately many people are WAY ahead of me on this, and they BLOG! YAY!)

Its page length is comparable probably to War and Peace and Gone With the Wind. And those are only first editions!

What am I talking about? Well of course the annual fall edition of Vogue magazine – duh!

This year’s September issue tips the scales at 798 pages. The biggest yet. (which begs the question of why they didn’t add two more pages and hit the 800 page mark.)

Nonetheless I spend about two hours carefully thumbing through each glossy ad, article and paper perfume sample.

I love it!

I also noticed a trend for this year. Over the years, actresses have taken over the world and now the pendulum is swinging back in favor of model centered ads.

Most importantly this year’s issue highlights the return of the 90’s supermodels. It was almost like time stopped: Linda Evangelista, Shalom Harlow, Christy Turlington, Amber Valletta, Claudia Schieffer, Kate Moss, Heidi Klum, Naomi Campbell…the only two noticeably absent were Cindy Crawford and the French President’s new wife. (Must have very important first lady duties whatever they are.)

I also see fashion as art. And the accompanying pictorials are just an extension of that realm.

I have thought many times of being a fashion photographer…creating something.

Someday my friends, someday.

But it must be spring, I feel it in my toenails.

Although my toes are not a strictly reliable judge of seasons, as they occasionally turn red during winter too, if they're really lucky.

But there's other little signs...

Like my boys being whisked away for an after work evening wakeboard / sea biscuit last night

Or the daffodils they picked from the side of the road for me on their way home from a trip to town with Dad.

B4 is a boy after my own heart. The other week at my parents' house, as we all were leaving my nephew picked a wee violet out of the garden, sniffed it, and declared his love of violets. I said to him, meanly, "You know you just killed it." (Yes, I am a horrible person.)

I don't remember if B4 was there and heard this or not, but as he proudly handed me my bunch of roadside daffodils, he told me that Daddy had pulled over to pick them for me and added matter of factly "so now they will die".

Huh. So that is quite a buzz-kill then, hey nephew?

Still more spring-like signs -
like my boys bathed in sunshine beside an open door to play, instead of Daddy's Winter Refrain of "Shut That Door!"

Can you *taste* the concentration?

Like that childhood summertime staple, of making wee homes for wee critters outside...
B4 woke up with a sore foot this morning, needing to be carried everywhere. All together now - "Awwwwwww".

After much (much much) bleating on his part, and threats of squishing the darn thing on mine, I finally agreed to help him check on his pet slug.

Apparently last night he'd made a slug house for it - aka the ice cream container on the patio.

I lifted it up and found B4 had it all set up - leaf for a bed, dirt for a pillow, and a weed for a midnight snack. Aww.

But wait, there's more. Shocking of all shockingness - those poor poor veges I dumped in a pile of clay in the middle of winter? They're actually growing! I am as shocked as you are.

Yep, there's bits of growingness all over the show. See those lime green baby leaves a'sprouting?

Exciting times.

Spring is all good in my books.

Revin cu poze.

(Image by Ken Meyer Jr.)

Granted it was Monday night, but I missed him. We kissed hungrily, but then I interrupted our passion with a "Wait! Where's my salad?"

Scorpio laughed. "Hey what's the rush? Eating and running?"

I pouted. "I'm hungry. Feed me."

He patted the seat beside him. "Come sit with me."

I feigned imperial exasperation. "Honestly. What does a woman have to do to get a meal around here?"

"Shhh. Love me."

(Milan salad: A delicious chop of iceberg, tomatoes, red onions, eggs, crumbled bacon and shrimp.)

(The cat that ate the canary?)

***************************************

The Nine of Cups

The vibe of the Nine of Cups is that of the cat who ate the canary . . . but be careful what you wish for. This card stands for pure indulgence and self-satisfaction. At the physical level the nine of Cups is a sign of delight in all the senses: Sights, sounds, tastes, feelings. This card encourages you to seek out pleasure and enjoy your body in every way.

This is a card of great success, especially material success. It represents triumph, victory, and financial well-being. The enjoyment of good personal relationships, love and friendship, as well as comfortable material circumstances are indicated.

This card reflects happiness which is either health, finances, work, luck, love or relationship. Your desires will be fulfilled, and this fulfillment will bring with it much satisfaction and contentment. This is the traditional wish card, so whatever the querent desires here can be theirs - however, everything does come with a price, and they should be careful what they wish for because they are likely to receive it!

Achievement, satisfaction, wishes fulfilled, self-indulgence, happiness. The Wish Card. Excellent social life. Parties, good friends and fun. Good health, happiness and popularity. Fulfilling relationships, ease of communication. Contentment.

(See Manuel Seabra's leopard photos)

It's rather nice to sit back and relax and listen to this. No commercials, lots of options for seeing what's going on -- NPR cuts out lots of speeches, but I can catch them on the streaming video, yet if NPR has something fun to talk about, I can mute the video.

I hope Michelle does a great job. I love listening to her talk. She's not going to be a bland First Lady, that's for sure.

Update: she delivered a wonderful speech...and her daughters are too cute.

At least sports wise.

Within a span of three hours I watched a Dodgers-Phillies baseball game, Bills-Colts football game and the Olympic Games closing ceremony.

Life could not get any better than that. I watched the first two games at a sports bar in south Reno on giant side-by-side screens. Heaven.  

I ordered a glass of white wine to extend my viewing pleasure experience even more.

Afterwards, I watched the closing ceremony on a small TV at home, but hey, I still got to see it….

By the way what was the deal with Leona Lewis’ mic? Couldn’t that have been checked beforehand? Or even during the performance? Anywhere during….

And poor Jimmy Page, age has caught up with him. Still is a badass, but the gray hair – sad. On the other hand, getting older is now somewhat fashionable – just ask Madonna.

Every two years I, along with millions of other Americans make a point of watching the Games. I feel as if I am a part of something special, a worldwide camaraderie.

I don’t want to be somewhere the next day and hear, ‘do you see Michael Phelps last night?’ and not know what that person is talking about.

I’ve always viewed the athletes’ bodies as works of art. It’s the artist in me; I can’t help it. It’s art in motion.

And of course, the best example of this point I think would have to be Michael Phelps.

I emailed this picture to my mother when I stumbled across it. It’s beautiful – I mean really look at it. The veins in the arms, the muscles…. not in a sexual way, but view his body as art for a moment.

This is what I think an athlete should look like. What’s even more amazing to me is we all (basically) have that body too.

I was also mesmerized by the divers’ bodies.

But what I could identify with the most was the women’s gymnastics team. Yes, when I was younger I wanted to be next Mary Lou Retton. (Shows my age huh?)

I learned the vault, bars, floor and balance beam. I enjoyed the floor the most, I think because I was on flat ground the entire time!

Balance beam scared the crap out of me since it’s only like three inches wide. I liked the vault, but you need to be careful to make sure you hit your mark – all while you’re still running.

I didn’t get far in my training, I couldn’t reach the high bar, so my parents and I decided I should quit.

And since I already touched on the ’84 Olympics – what was the deal with all the commentators coming from that specific Games?

Rowdy Gaines (who I don’t remember), Dwight Stone, Tim Daggett… stop it!

And does anyone know what happened to Mary Decker? It’s the only thing I think of when I watch any women’s track events.

And my last point from the ’84 Olympics, (and this may be the most amazing thing of all), my parents still have a working RCA VCR from that year! We bought SPECIFICALLY so my dad could record the Olympics. It cost us $600. But it still works.   

Guess some things do get 'better' with age.

Images: Getty

 The Clarence hotel in Dublin will always hold a special place in my heart.

 It is, without doubt, the best hotel I’ve have stayed in. And, as an added bonus, it’s also in my favourite city in the world.

I love Dublin and have visited the city almost every year since I was 18-years-old. I’ve done every tourist stop (with Trinity College, the Dublin Writers’ Museum and Dublin Castle still remaining firm favourites) and stayed in some wonderful hotels, in particular The Shelbourne.

But it is The Clarence that always makes my stay that extra bit special. The first big draw for staying in the hotel was that it is owned by Bono and the Edge - and a U2 fan like me just couldn’t resist.

But it’s more than the U2 links or even the five star luxury, couple with what is rated as one of the finest restaurants in Ireland, that make it so appealing.

It’s the little things that make it special - the doorman who will hand you an umbrella as you walk out into the rain, the little thrill you get each time you get in the lift and have to put your key in to get to the top floors.

There’s also the (rather disconcerting at first) experience of the feeling that someone has been in your room  while you've been out every time you return. The chocolates and strawberries have been re-stocked and your dressing gown and slippers changed.

It’s a little slice of luxury. The “turn-down service” that can’t be faulted and the occasional celeb that you bump into. On my last stay, it was Dennis Hopper who very politely asked to borrow my Irish Independent at breakfast.

The Clarence for me is the best boutqiue hotel I've stayed in, although a trip to Rimini last year saw the DuOmo designer hotel, with its floors made of sponge and outlandish rooms, come a close runner-up.

The reason for the extended praise for The Clarence today is that I’ve just received an email from their PR department inviting me for another free stay. As you may have guessed, it hasn’t taken any arm twisting for me to say YES, YES, YES!

Alhamdulillah praise to Allah, ramadhan sudah di depan mata, semoga kita semua bisa melewatinya dan bisa kembali lagi ke fitri.

Sebelum memasuki bulan suci itu, maka ijinkan diri yang sangat kotor ini untuk mencoba membersihkan dari dosa-dosa yang sudah tak lagi terhitung banyaknya. Oleh karena itu permintaaan maaf yang sedalam dalamnya atas semua salah dan dosa yang telah di perbuat, baik yang sengaja ataupun tidak. Maaf untuk semua kata, perbuatan, dan segala tindakan yang tidak berkenaan ataupun yang talah menyakitkan hati.

Semoga pintu maaf masih terbuka, dan maaf yang diberikan bisa menjadi jalan amal yang tiada tara.

"So was that the best ten seconds of your life or what?"

" . . . I guess."

"I'm not usually like this."

"Mm?"

(20 minutes pass)

"So was that the best fifteen seconds of your life or what?"

(me, giggling)

" . . . My god. I thought I'd do better the second time."

"Don't worry, it's the story of my life."

"Did you come?"

"Phhht!" (giggle)

"Didn't think so."

That's the thing about men, and the reason why Samantha on Sex and the City was such an obviously fake character: No woman with the turbocharged sex drive of a Samantha would even put up with, let alone enjoy, a series of first time sexual encounters with a string of strange men. I don't care how good looking they are.

Why? because 99% of the time with a woman - OK, 99% of the time with ME - a first time sexual encounter is a complete throwaway.

Relatively (and generally - YMMV*) speaking when it comes to orgasms men come too quickly and women come too slowly. Women are more likely to spend their grey matters bringing about their orgasms, while men are more likely to focus their mental efforts on preventing them; i.e., saying the alphabet backwards and such. Whole societies have emerged from this one simple difference between men and women. As a result women make men jump through hoops for sex for a very good reason: We want to make sure a man is going to stick around long enough to make us happy, in bed and out. We also want to be sure that we feel like letting him try.

Many a man has mused that if he woke up one morning with the body of a beautiful woman he'd do two things: 1) Stare in the mirror and masturbate all day and 2) fuck like a weasel anything that moves. Well guess what, guys: No you wouldn't! If you had the body of a woman sure, you'd spend much of the day staring in the mirror, anxiously seeking out your flaws and trying to fix them. And sex? After a handful of sexual disasters with One-Minute Wonders you'd become just as picky as the rest of us. Think about it guys: The appeal of a one night stand evaporates when you realize that 1) The whole encounter starting from nekkid is likely to last 5 minutes tops, and 2) the odds of your getting off from it are about .01%.

For a woman, step two after the throwaway first time sexual encounter is to 1) decide whether or not a man is "trainable" (so to speak) and 2) if she even wants to bother. It might seem odd that the quality of the first-time sexual encounter rarely plays into this decision, but be glad for it: If we ladies used "Skill In Bed" as the yardstick by which we measured a man's sexual or relationship potential, most men would never get a second chance!

Personally, I measure a man's potential by the intellectual, emotional and physical chemistry that we enjoy before, during AND after sex, however long it lasts. The assessment begins from "Hello" and doesn't end until the kiss goodbye. And - seriously - it's something you can almost never fake.

So, does Mr. Redford get a second chance? I'm still thinking about it, just not too hard. We'll see how things go.

*YMMV= "Your Mileage May Vary"

]]> http://johnandnan.wordpress.com/?p=103 Sun, 24 Aug 2008 19:59:52 +0000 Nan http://johnandnan.wordpress.com/?p=103 I'm an impatient person when I'm sick - sort of whiny and miserable. On Tuesday afternoon I didn't feel so good. I didn't have my usual enthusiasm for my exercise video Tuesday after work. No really, usually I'm enthusiastic about that. By Wednesday I knew I had a cold. Intellectually I know that the only way to get over a cold is for time to pass. But like I said, I'm impatient. I want to feel better now - you know, the way I felt when I was taking for granted that I felt healthy. Sadly, I can't take time off from work to have a cold. So I started ramping up my usual illness strategies - orange juice, some of that mucus-buster stuff, soup, no exercise, lots of sleep. But alas, it's not instant. Again, with the impatience. I devoted this weekend to the business of getting well - no outings, no shopping, no exercise, no household chores. Some of that "no stuff" can be relaxing all by itself. But when coupled with illness, well, I'm just sick and listless - not relaxed.  I found some coping mechanisms that helped me feel better this weekend and I'll add them to my collection of cold-smashing tactics. Number one, guaranteed to help me feel better - John went to Sen Friday night to pick up Tom Ka Gai soup - spicy, yummy, very encouraging of um, drainage. Other good things - kleenex, many hours of "The Wire" and "The Closer", foot soaking/pedicure, reading magazines ("The Sun" and "Tricycle"), making Erin's recipe for Gallo Pinto. Things that didn't work so well - yogurt, chocolate chip cookies, paying bills. Best thing to do for a cold - let time pass. Then, appreciate it when I'm feeling healthy again.

--Nan