Sheryl Sandberg, Lean In and Listen

What Women REALLY Need . . .

Sheryl Sandberg's book, Lean In . . .misses some valid points.  It might be a good read for those of us who have social supports but not for the 50% who have only themselves to rely on.  Lean In and ask for more work, for a raise, for more responsibility?    

            Last night, my youngest of six, Matthew, saw me working on the computer.  "Mom," he said. "Can I make dinner for you?"  I smiled.  But I'm grinning wider now—he's part of a new generation of men and women who have taken on nontraditional roles without balking and squawking.  He's part of the solution, groomed by my desire to earn a PhD in Psychology and have a career.  Remember that old TV show, Queen For a Day?  For you younger ones, women would compete for the crown and the ermine cape.  One winner was woman whose house burned to the ground. She moved her entire family into the backyard shed, wove beds out of pine boughs, gathered dandelion greens, and fed them small game caught in a noose, fashioned out of an electrical cord.  She won a barbecue grill for her glorious of multitasking.  They took that show off the air, deeming it too indignant to women.  Well, they ought to bring it back because I deserve that title—and I'm not alone. I want Martha Stewart herself to crown me.

            As I wrote this and had a good laugh, my husband David poked his head out of my computer and said, "What we really need is King for a Day."  I looked at my king, the poor guy whose mother garnished his plate and needed to be reprogrammed by his wife-who-wanted- a-career, and knew there was a grain of truth in what he said.  There is our first quandary—we need men or partners just as much as we need to meet our aspirations.      

            Our second dilemma is what women want and need may not be the same thing.  While my oxytocin-wired brain summoned babies (I'm a mom to six), my intellectual side needed stimulation.  Perhaps if I were back some 10,000 years ago with my cave sisters I might have had some female company.  I might have been debating, inventing some new method of weaving rushes, or leaving my babes with a friend while I dug up some fresh roots.  Sadly in today's world, sisters, mothers, grannies or friends are not there to reinforce our social needs—which are different from men's.  We're wired for comradery and cooperation rather than competition and contest. 

            Our folly might be discarding  those needs and attempting to circumvent them.  We're also wired to worry.  It might have served our cave-sisters well but not us.  Thinking about raises and job opportunity when you have babies in daycare?  Ha!  It's made all the more terrible by the fact that we have little choice in the matter; we live in an economy where not working is some sort of shame.  Most of us come home to waiting laundry piles, and hungry men—not necessarily hungry for food.  To add insult to injury, we're expected to Martha-Stewart our lives in our spare time.  One year I carved twenty five tiny pumpkins to hold the Thanksgiving soup, and that was before I collected flora and fauna for the centerpieces.   No Betty-Croker-in-the-box for our generation.  Had Martha been born in the late sixties, we might have been embroidering our bras, not burning them.

            Have a laugh now because the rest of it is poignantly sad.  American women are among the most depressed and stressed in the world. "Role-strain" is what we call it—and we need to admit it before we try to tackle the problem.  In the 1990's, a PhD student, teaching for pennies, I was accused of breastfeeding my newborn in the classroom—by the male chairman of the Psychology Department!  It was untrue, but such sentiments have hardly gone away.  The pull to "mother" will not wane until the pull to "father" meets it with equal force.  With men earning at least 20% more than us, the tradeoffs are not in our favor.  While many European countries provide stipends to parents who need to parent, today's woman faces a quandary; leave and parent, or stay and hold on to one's position.  Yes, while that job might still be waiting, chances are you'll lose seniority, accumulated six time, raises, and respect.  Women who leave for more than a few weeks are castigated as the Benedict Arnolds of the workplace, their minds thought lost in the world of diapers, bottles and teddy bears.  I've had friends who've been on that cliff, holding onto their positions with their fingernails as their eggs rotted.  "I don't know when the right time is to get pregnant," said my thirty- nine- year old executive friend. 

            No wonder we take the crumbs we're offered, and don't lean in.  We're caught between thinking we don't deserve it or worrying that any added responsibilities to our pile might just Jenga that tower.  The male patriarchy (yes, it's alive) is not going to fess up to its complicity.  And it also means that most of our life-partners have to take on additional responsibilities.  Ours was a balancing act, dividing up the chores, yet reserving time for one another, no matter what.  This brings this conversation to a happy note.  When men take on that task, they raise children who understand those roles.  Those children will one day be executives, CEO's, and wield the power to shift our strain, equally.  

            I looked at my husband, the man who let that screaming baby suck on his nipple until it was purple while I was taking my doctoral qualifying exams.  I'm going to crown him King For a Day—tonight.    

Dawn Marlena Hopper, PhD 

What Do Men Want?

Today I met a friend for lunch with a copy of my book on men—a book jammed packed with their love stories.  For one hour we discussed my ideas.  The woman at the next table felt my very words were an insult to her ears.

She went militant on me.  I tried to calm her.  But when she called me a crazy religious zealot and an affront to all women who fought for women's rights I went "Gloria" on her.  I lived in a women's commune in the mid-seventies!  Burn my bra?  I cut a huge hole in the ass of my jeans and let my checks spill out.  I fought idiots at Planned Parenthood.  This wasn't the first time I got that reaction and it won't be the last.  I love men and because I love it doesn't negate the fact I love women.  SO I'm reposting Dr. Helen Fisher's blog that gets to the meat.

For centuries Americans and people just about everywhere else, have believed a lot of things about women that we now realize aren’t true.  Among them, the credos that a woman’s place is in the home and that aging single women—long called spinsters—are sad misfits.  Decades of marches, articles, books, law suits and national, regional and local discussions have finally uprooted these and many more wrong beliefs about women.  This national survey furthers that cause.   Indeed, it shows that women seek more independence in a partnership than men do.

But I have long wanted to bust myriad myths about the other half of the human race–men.  Single in America does it in spades.   This national survey clearly shows that men are just as eager to marry as women are; 33% of both sexes want to say “I do.”  Moreover, men in every age group are more eager than women to have children.  Even young men.  Among those between ages 21 and 34, 51% of men want kids, while 46% of women yearn for young.  Men are less picky too.  Fewer men say it is  important to find a partner of their own ethnic background (20% of men vs 29%  of women said this is a “must have” or “very important”); and fewer say they want someone of their own religion (17% of men vs 28% of women said this is a “must have” or “very important”).   Men are also more likely to have experienced love at first sight, as well as open to introducing a date to their parents sooner.

Perhaps most impressive:  In a committed relationship, men are less likely to say they need personal space (58% vs 77% of women); less likely to want nights out with friends (23% vs 35% of women); less eager to own their own bank account (47% vs 66% of women); and less likely to want to take a vacation on their own (8% vs 12%).  Remarkably, men under age 45 are also more willing  than older men and women to enter a committed relationship with someone who has everything they were looking for in a partner, but whom they do not find sexually attractive.  And just as many men under 35 believe you can stay married to the same person forever (84%). http://blog.match.com/2011/02/04/the-forgotten-sex-men/

Sorry, we are not from other planets.  Dr. Dawn Hopper

Desperation on Line: For Women Only!

Regarding my  last post-- It took another few mistakes and some time alone for my dear friend to settle down that desperation cue.  Unless you are in an exclusive relationship avoid these cues men can easily pick up on.  These go for online  dating- before you meet. The first vibe a men and women center on is the picture. That's a fact. Neither of you would be in any contact unless you found each other attractive-based on that picture. Now begins that dance, the one of emails, texts or phone chat- before the meeting.  It's ass backwards.  The meeting can throw it all off.  But that's another story.  You see, when we get that ping, the email, the message it charges up the reward centers of our cortex like a pin-ball machine. All the "what-if's" rage.  Anticipation can lead to desperation. Here are the signs: 

·        Calling, emailing, or texting way too much, always answering their texts or responses quickly.  Your words should equal his minus a few.  In other words answer his texts with the same amount of words no more.   You should NEVER initiate any texts or communication unless it is to cancel a date.  Don't play the "I accidentally texted you." ploy.   Men like what they can't have and what is unavailable.  I've seen this undermine many women. Men have lay-dar, the ability to sniff out a desperate woman who'll have sex with them- no strings attached.  By the way 57% of men have sex on the first date. It better not be you! I swear I'll crawl through the Internet to slap you with the stupid stick.   

·         Speaking about texts, or phone calls, limit them to a time length-as in a few weeks. . Catfishing and pretext relationships are accomplished through hooking the other person and leading them on.  It's also a method that is left for losers- what I mean by that is once someone is wooing their first choice, they like to keep other fish hanging on their lines. A back up plan.  My cousin THE DON of DATING does this. He racks them up like beer in the cooler. Don't be the back-up.  Refuse the role.  You need to meet as soon as possible.  Meeting changes the dynamic- dramatically.  Give it no more than two weeks.  "What?" you are saying.  Yes- two weeks.  If he can't meet you face to face you simply ask when he will be available and suggest that he contact you then.  If you are afraid you'll lose him by having a boundary, question your desperation. By the way there are a hundred reasons why you should not enter a pretext relationhip.  That's another blog.

·         When he calls you don't answer so quickly.     

·         Unless you have met do not sit on the phone for a long period of time.  Your mind will tend to weave itself a fantasy that might not be as good as the real thing.

·         Never ever allow any sexual conversation to occur. That will get the stupid stick too.  You can make money for doing that shit- tell him to go go call 1800jerkoff.  Hang up if he begins any sex dialogue.  By the way here's the line (from THE DON)...So what are you doing now? He'll ask this at night when you're laying in bed.  "I'm sitting next to my brother, the cop, watching TV.  Don't fall for the "What are you wearing?" either. 

·         Never reveal any personal dilemma's nor allow him to.  Catfishing requires that the hook reveal some common dilemma they both face.  Anyway, it's not a good sign if he or you complain about facets of your life before you even met.

·         Never ever say that you'll cancel plans so you can meet him.  "Oh, I have a wedding to go to but I think I'll just cancel that so we can meet!"  Are you crazy? Only desperate women will cancel an event to meet a man. 

·         Desperate women give him every contact bit of information, the home phone, emails, work number.  Nix that.

·         Do not go over your dating history with him.  It's none of his business and if he asks, having never met you, he is a control freak or he's fishing to see what a desperate bottom sucker you are.

·         NEVER berate your ex.  Women who are still frothing over a past love signal desperate.  They are basically saying they need to be preoccupied by a new man.

·         Never tell him when your last relationship ended.  "Oh, I broke up with my boyfriend last week."  You are telling him that you cannot stand to be be alone for seven f---king days.  Now that is desperate. 

·         Keep you tone of voice light and happy.  Please don't make sexy talk or cutesy talk.  

·         Never ever tell a man you feel connected to them unless you have been seeing them for some time.  Yes, there are women who begin the phone and texting relationship and actually tell men that they feel a connection. To what? You only have some pictures and some words- incidentally words that are designed to entice you. That's what we do, we put our best foot forward and seldom tell people about the job we just were fired form,  our debts. . you get it.  You can't connect to someone you don't know- if you think you can, get some help. 

·       Never discuss the future with a man you have not met!  I had a friend who asked a man to consider going on a trip with her, a trip I was going on—and they had never met! 

This is important.  Many men derive a satisfaction from just the phone connection- and I'm not talking about sex.  Instead of having a real relationship they think they can connect to others and form a false belief that they are having dating and having a connection when they twiddle their fingers on a keyboard, or on that other thing, the one between their legs.  That might be all they need to be satisfied for a few hours.

In addition I will share with you one other point.  For many men the texting allows some comfort with the initial period of 'getting to know someone'.  There are great men out there but there are a lot of pussy hounds too.  men know that women are ultimately the choosers.  In other words you are the gatekeeper of your vagina.  The pressure to woo and win is daunting for most men.  I tell you to keep is short, friendly and sweet for another reason--don't lead him on. If you met before you construct some crazy fantasy (which happens) the less chance you'll bruise an ego. In the real dating world we first meet and then find common ground.  That is the way nature intended. That's why you need to know my rules- they are based on our nature- and science.  

Dr. Dawn: On line dating rules and Boundaries

Boundaries.

Rule number one.  The most sacred rule of all: boundaries.  You need boundaries.  Without them you compromise yourself, values and worse you send out the signal of DESPERATION.

Women appear to have much more desperation when looking for love than men.  If there is any cue that can bite you, it's being desperate.  Nothing men like more than a desperate woman and a woman with low self-esteem.  It attracts the worst. There are blog sites that train men how to find a desperate woman out there. 

Desperation can bring out the worst.  It leads us to wear the too tight dress, revealing too much cleavage, coming off to sexual and nixing the chance to find that commitment switch.  Being the girl next-door is probably the most powerful tactic you can take in finding Mr. Right.  One of the biggest mistakes women make is in amping up their sexuability too soon.  Good men want wholesome women who will be fabulously sexual with them and only them. If you don't agree go into therapy or become an escort.   

Let me tell you about what my friend Tara did.  She is probably one of the most beautiful women I know.  She had one goal: to find love. For the next year I watched her fumble and bumble her quest with at least twenty different guys.  For the sake of parsimony I'll narrow them down—I want you to see how attachment style feeds off of desperation.  It you looked up that word in the dictionary her face would have been plastered to it. 

            At the time of her divorce I was a teaching at a small college and I introduced her to Rob, a clam handsome divorced father of two.  I knew him well, he came from a wonderful family and had strong values and was looking for exactly what she was; a loving partner to spend the rest of his life with.  He was secure, came from a close knit family and they hit it off.  She'd call me each day and tell me of their wonderful conversations and how quickly they found shared interests and that connection.  But a months into their connection I sensed something was wrong.  

            Driving some 60 miles each way to his house, she was there every day and had practically moved in. "Don't you think you're moving too fast," I asked her.  She thought nothing of it and waylaid my fears.  But soon after he called me to tell me that he had to cool it all off.  "She's a great woman, but she is too over powering.  I think she needs time to figure out what she wants," he said to me.   The next weeks were spent weeping into my pillows and accidentally texting him.

            Her next plan was on-line dating.  After hundreds of profiles she found Barry, he looked good, had a great job and relayed that he was seeking a long-term relationship.  Barry however was our dismissive type; he was already forty and had never been married. All his vibes told me he lived to fly solo and had little need for a real relationhip—one that required real interaction—because for the next weeks they texted compulsively, chatted on the phone all night and there was still no meeting.  I had no doubt he was a pretexter- my term for those people who form on-line attachments and never move beyond the surreal world of texting and sexting because it satisfies them.  Finally she wrangled a meeting out of him.  When she stopped over before her date I was shocked.  She stood in a revealing dress, too blond, too overdone and raged desperateness. So can you guess what happened?  His picture didn't say that his head was far too puny for his body, that he had a weak chin and small female-like hands.  Nor did it say I hate desperate women.  Before they even ordered the entrée he fled the scene.  We had another week of crying and self-loathing. 

            Even approaching that desperation thing was impossible.  Next was Mr. Preoccupied—Nate. The desperate meets the desperate.  Nate was handsome and giving and soon I named him Mr. Velcro.  That name—preoccupied—it means they are preoccupied with getting dumped. When you are afraid to lose in the game of love, you tend to do one thing; wind your way into that target's  life.  He whined and wined her—practically moving into her house. He had no career to speak of other than worshiping the various women he had loved, or professed to have love.  I listened to his syrupy sweet anthems each night, and watched her walks around my house like a deranged Fellini character, in a bra and thong. I wanted to vomit.  

       Way too fast is how these relationships work because desperation feeds off other desperation.  It took some shocking realities to lift the veil; he was an alcoholic, had a criminal record, was living off his mother's credit card, had no real job aspirations and the house he supposedly lived in?  At forty, he had 8 college aged roommates.  Her puppy dog turned into a monster. 

            Now that we've described it, my next blog will detail the signs.

In the meantime tell yourself you are worthy, he needs to prove himself- not the other way around.  Men need to compete, to woo and to work for our love.  THAT IS SCIENCE my dears.

Anything worth having is worth working for- the principle of effort justification.  Google that !     

ONLINE DATING: Ok cupid, make me a match with those plenty of fish over fifty or Christian Mingle me with eharmony for a Jdate with chemistry. Yahoo!

ONLINE DATING: Ok cupid, make me a match with those plenty of fish over fifty or Christian Mingle me with eharmony for a Jdate with chemistry. Yahoo! 

So confusing!  The scientific truth is that there is little reliable research.  I just read a book review where some woman conducted her own experiment and delivers her say on the matter, without any  scientific reasoning behind her common sense rules. What she did was to dupe 90 women into thinking they were dating a man, profiles she created.  She catfished them all and her lack of ethics in doing this makes me question anything she might say. 

"I also wanted to learn everything I could about my competition. So I created profiles of 10 male archetypes and spent a month as these men, interacting with 96 women, researching their methods and scraping data from their profiles."  From http://www.cnn.com/2013/01/22/living/online-dating-amy-webb/index.html "Data, A Love Story: How I Gamed Online Dating To Meet My Match," By Amy Webb, to be published January 31 by Dutton.

OMG, are you kidding?  I've got a lot to say about algorithms used by dating sites.  Unfortunately dating-sites are not keen on giving anyone access to what they know.  But there are scientists in Universities, real ones, who number crunch and pick through the BS.  In the next series of articles I'm going to tell you the truth. I only hope those women she catfished come forward and those sites investigate. Anyone could be out therecould be pulling an "Amy."  

I'll give you the second rule: Identify the person. Try to date people in your area.  Google their names.  If you don't see their names anywhere, be suspicious.  If you find a job listing, call, ask for them and listen to their voice- just to make sure of their gender.  Speaking about gender try Gender Genie on Google, you paste some interaction in and they spit out the gender of the writer.  

If you cannot dig up this person on the internet - don't go on.  More about this later but this leads to the best way to identify--meet as soon as possible.   

The first rule?  Have boundaries.  That means getting rid of desperation, that is your worst enemy and perhaps the most difficult to tackle. Keep on dating!  Dr. Dawn Hopper  

  

Are MAN-TIED? Manti T'eo and Lennya Kekua—it's not so unusual . . . In online dating? Are you kidding?

Are You MAN-TIED?  Manti T'eo and Lennya Kekua—it's not so unusual . . . In online dating?  Are you kidding? 

"Manti Te'o acknowledged to ABC's Katie Couric that he maintained the illusion of his dead girlfriend in the weeks after he received a call claiming that Lennay Kekua and her death were hoaxes,"

according to a CNN article.

http://www.cnn.com/2013/01/23/us/teo-hoax-abc/index.html"

Of course, this could never happen to you, right? WRONG!  Every time you are ONLINE led on by someone who's connecting with you, texting, calling, and causing you to move into high hopes and big expectations, you're re MAN-TIED.  Oh how our imagination works! It's supposed to when we want to fall in love.

Take Kate.  Educated, good-looking, independent woman friend.  Mr. X responds to her profile.  They appear to hit it off.   Kate has been looking for MR. #1 for a while. Lots of dead ends, goofballs, idiots, liars and some rebuffs. Some desperation.  She's quite happy when this one seems on be on track.  But Logical Kate knows logically it's nothing more than a connection.  What she doesn't know that she'd more delighted than she may know. Her brain is in need of a good boost of happy neurotransmitters. They rush out and make her happy but they are not done with her.  Her reward center, the one that is connected to love, sex and desire is switching on.   

Kate and Mr. X begin texting one another.  Back and forth they bat cute comments and quips.  "We're so much alike," she says to me at dinner.  While she is thinking she might have just discovered her other half, I want to bleat, "What do you except?  Do you think he'll tell you he doesn’t like romantic flicks? 

He's in Panama digging the canal and they can't yet meet.  He's collecting insects for a research project.  He doesn't like the phone.  Her comment, "He's an intellect." My thoughts?  Can't make himself available, travels a lot and bugs, the bug thing is a turn off.  "Does he know that you call the exterminator for fruit flies?"

               

Three weeks go by and she has callouses on the finger tips. X is wonderful, considerate, and funny.  She's imagining his home, the smell of the blueberry pancakes she knows he's cooking.  She pulls up his profile and tells me to read a line she's intrigued by.

               

"I like the ordinary, I find consolation in the ordinary events of the day, a butterfly on a flower, the morning dew on a blade of grass—oh war is not me!"

"He's deep; he doesn't seem to need a lot to make him happy." Here is what I hear.  Ordinary.  Who doesn't appreciate the simple things?  And who the hell would say "I like the complicated things in life.  And that war thing?  Where did that come from?  Day by day imaginary boyfriend grows larger than life and they're imaginarily traipsing through her mind and imagination. Suddenly Walt Whitman-Alan Ginsburg is going on hikes with her; she'll bring brie and wine.  He likes Pinot Noir.  "I'm going to take X to the nature conservatory, what do you think?  "There's the new art exhibit in town, German Expressionism.  I felt like Munch's The Scream, and I did.  "This guy isn't real—you've never met him!" 

It's week four.  Suddenly X's opinions matter.  "So today, X, said that there is going to be a wheat shortage in Italy and the price of pasta will soar."  as a consummate Italian, normally a pasta-world-crisis would pull me out of a deep sleep.  I look at her. "Since when is X a part of your opinions?  

"You know, we’ve been talking for over a month.  It's like we've been on thirty dates."

"If you had really been on thirty, dates, made it to thirty dates, you'd be having great sex, wonderful meals, holding hands and spooning as you planned moving-in, a honeymoon or a vacation.  You'd know his family, kids, and all his nuances. 

               

Nuances?  Yes, the shit that can make it our break it.  The throat clearing, nasal spray he just have to use—and God forbid the wandering eye. 

'Wandering eye?"

"My friend Bunny dated a guy with wandering eye. She couldn't tell from the camera shot, his eye had a three second fix point but then it would move off to the side. She had to take Dramamine just to follow his conversations. 

"Whew, you got me worried." Said Kate. "I was thinking about the other wandering eye, you know the kind of guy who can't focus on you and as you're talking, he looks off and follows some bouncing ass across the room.

"Oh, he had that too, In fact I think that's how got it—eye torsion, he was the worst cheat." 

Week five.  Imaginary boyfriend is stalled in the amazon.  No contact for three days. I was waiting for him the send her the ransom note looking for money.  I packed her and her vodka up and we went to my house for the weekend. An artic storm hit and the power went out.  She sat in my snowbound car charging the phone and waited for her imaginary boyfriend to respond. 

"I sent him five texts today and he hasn't answered!  Do you think that's too many? I mean after all he could be kidnapped, he could be sick, I'm just concerned."

"No you're desperate." 

My friend was man-tied.  Her emotions were Shanghaied.  It could have been deliberate; he could have been pranking her.  Or he could have been living out a pseud relationship just to have semi-phone sex and a feeling he was really dating.   Dabble-dating, a form of flirting.  Anytime anyone amps up your amorous expectations and doesn't come through you are Mantied.   T'o-ed. 

RULE: Keep texts and emails brief, unemotional, light and to the point.  Unless you want an imaginary friend, you need to meet.  If they can't, you ask them when they think they will be back from Mount Everest, the golf tour, digging in Egypt and say, "I will contact you again when you are free."  Don't stray.  Don't be weak.  Don't succumb to keeping even a light contact.

 Why would you do that-desperation?  You think he'll find another love if you snap the chord.  Well, consider this a test.   A serious guy will want to get down to business sooner than later.

Did friend ever meet him?  Yes.  After months imaginary boyfriend showed up.  He had a voice like Mr. Rogers.  Yes, the Mr. Rogers.  The man with the Kids TV show.  And he was wearing a cardigan. 

Love and Hurricans and Tropical Storms. Sandy is coming

It was November 9, 1965 when the black-out happened.   No storm, just no power and nine months later, babies.  The legend was published in a series of three articles in the New York Times where doctors reported that they saw an increased birth rate after that week of hell.  Five years later it was debunked by  love-skeptic,  J. Richard Udry, who claimed he saw no statistical surge in screaming women in laboring.  He was so wrong.  It takes up to one year to get an egg and sperm to shake hands.  He forgot that back then there was birth control.  I know—I babysat plenty of people who had condoms in their nightstands, making a side business of harvesting their crop—it was better than weed.  I lived in a time where you might have to produce a marriage license or have your parents phoned if you tried to purchase one of those things.  But that's another story.  

Some twenty years ago there was the October snow fiasco.   Then I lived through Irene. 

Hubby didn't take it seriously so we never prepared.  By the time we realized this huff-and puff might be true, we had to battle torrents of rain to the local  Piggly-Wiggly.  No candles left I was left to use my Jewish-Italian-Hispanic resources—I knew the international aisle.  Amidst the Kosher soups, the bags of beans and boxes of pasta my hands knew where to reach,   Rokeach and Manischewitz Yahrzeit candles—to honor the dead, then Maria Mother of God greeted me between the Allessi Risotto and Colavita olive oil, followed by San Lazaro nesting next to the rice and Amanida Ajo Blanco- a Spanish white garlic.  I grabbed that garlic along with the tall yellow glass candles.  A hundred dollars later I had light.  That's when I learned what the term WATT meant: one candle equals one watt, unless they are kosher —those ingenious Jews know that white wax reflects more than yellow, blue, green or red.  Leave it to them to come up with a perfect small candle that lasts 24 hours and in the end gives you a shot glass.   

Then it hit.  We were trapped by the private road that showed us what being cut off from the world was really like.  Crazed with e-withdrawal, no power, cooking formerly frozen steaks on the barbi in the garage, eating canned goods I thought were only good enough for the poor, re-reading dog-eared novels, watching my Benz float away, my roof come off, crapping on a dry-wall bucket, drinking water from my tub, I began to go crazy.  Hubby was worse—there were no video games, baseball, football and Arnold Schwarzenegger movies to capture his attention. 

I did what and any normal person would.  Using the grill  I made a chicken dish using the risotto, an entire head of parsley and Spanish garlic I met earlier.*  I broke out the whiskey and wine, followed by the three year old weed found in my kid's knapsack.  OMG, weed is so much more potent nowadays.  We lit the fireplace and hunted down the old scrabble game now missing half the tiles.  I managed to place "frenzy" in my first hand.  He got "now" off my N.   I responded with "you" leaning off his Y.  And then he placed "uck" beneath my F. 

I was stunned, which is a strange perception when you're high.  Do you know it?  It's when half your brain is saying "wow man, isn’t this cool," and the other side is panicked and screaming,  "OMG-you shouldn't have smoked this shit."  Suddenly I realized why I gave up on pot.  But David came to my rescue.  He tenderly kissed my mouth and smiled, revealing his parsley checkerboarded teeth--confirmation that I was a great cook.  What more could  Jewish, Italian and Spanish woman want?  So with San Lorenzo summoning his power of everlasting endurance, The Virgin Mother smiling, and Jewish spirits dancing on the walls, I slowly settled on that scrabble board and did what Dr. Urdry said was a myth.  An hour later, my ample ass embedded with tiles that spelled frenzy, now, and  fuck I was tempted make the words  "fun,"  "funky," "zen," and "rock." 

Now it's Sandy.  Again, he did the same thing- poo-pooed the storm.  But not me.  After buttoning up our Woodstock house I assembled a horde of saints and Jews to back me up, with some wine.  The glass and wax is gleaming on my kitchen island, waiting for the power to go and the power to come—to learn again what's important. 

Yes I'm scared.  But the scrabbled cubes are lost and the only letter I might assemble are on keys!   So write.  dawnmhopper@gmail.com

* Lemon-garlic Chicken- (Really Italian)

I should know, I live in Italy half the year.  Don't get scared by the ingredients.   First, slowly begin to sauté a lot of chopped garlic (the whole thing head)  in olive oil, making sure you don't burn it.  Add an entire bunch of chopped up parsley.  That parsley will actually fry and transform into something you never thought parsley could be.  (Think of great sex with a really nice man).  The rule is that you don't want to burn the garlic or the parsley. Set this aside.
Now you need the chicken.  You can make this recipe with any kind of chicken.  If it's boneless breasts, salt and flour lightly, it in olive oil and butter.  Pieces can follow the same rule.

 After they are browned, put the chicken in a baking dish, followed by the garlic-parsley mix and squeeze a lemon over all of it.  Bake at @350 until you are sure that chicken is done.  Boneless breasts are done very quickly.  Cook risotto or pasta and top it with our garlic-chicken.   Now top the entire dish with a ton of grated Romano cheese.  Make sure your lips are olive-oiled  and you have plenty of parsley in between your teeth as you kiss.  My husband has fished out that green for me.