Is A Mother A Safer Bet Than I Am?

There is a horrible story that's been in the NY news lately about a  man who killed an 8-year-old boy who stopped and asked him for directions.  This has spurred many conversations about how to keep children safe. We want kids to grow up with a sense of independence, while also understanding that there is real danger out there...and there's, unfortunately, no fool-proof way to know what danger looks like.  Levi Aron, the guy who killed this dear boy, looks harmless, as far as I can tell. 


I was struck, though, by this letter from a NYTimes reader who advised that parents should tell kids to "look for a mom". 

My first thought was, well, what does that look like?   How would a kid know if a woman is a mother?  So I assume she meant a woman who has kids with her...but then does that include nannies?  


I think hope that what she clumsily was trying to say is that women (not moms) kill less than men, so we're probably a safer bet.  But coming off the Casey Anthony trial, I was struck by the irony of her thinking.  Safety isn't guaranteed just because a woman is a mother. (See Susan Smith, Andrea Yates, Frances Elaine Newton,  ad nauseum).

Ok, so those women all killed their own kids so maybe this logic doesn't apply.  But then  --just to name two I recall-- there's Melissa Huckaby and Genene Jones...moms who, sadly, killed other people's kids. 




So where am I going with this?  Off on a bit of a tangent, but one that circles back to the annoyance I feel at the pervasive belief that there's something about being a mother that's just better. 


So this is a public service rant, on behalf of all my child-free sisters.   I'm just doing my part to chip away at the notion that being a mom, in and of itself, is a higher status place to be. 




Am I the only one annoyed by this kind of thinking?  






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Is the Drink Just The Beginning?

I'm in the airport lounge waiting for my flight and a nice man just bought me a drink. This happens from time to time, as I mentioned in an earlier post, where I wrote about airport lounges as higher-end meat/meet markets, so to speak. (http://www.thespinsterliciouslife.com/2010/12/airport-meetmeat-market.html). This time, I'm not sure if I should be flattered. Coming off of the DSK news spectacle, Newsweek ran an article (http://www.newsweek.com/2011/06/05/hotel-confidential.html) about the way some men use the business trip as an opportunity to indulge themselves in some different nookie...far enough away from home and the wife that they might not get caught. So, this information sorta changes the whole dynamic. While i used to think that business men were just being friendly when they buy me a drink in the airport lounge --you know, we're both away and maybe missing home and interactions a bit-- now I'm thinking they may be sizing me up as the next temporary conquest.


So now I'm thinking is it something about the way I look...my body language...my outfit that makes him think I'm easy, that I'm game for this type of encounter? A prostitute, even? The article implied that there's a whole underground service industry that meets the needs of these gentlemen. I had no idea. (I wonder how much I would charge? Just kidding. I got a flight to catch). NOTE: If you like "Spinsterlicious" and want to be notified of new posts, please (re)subscribe in the box on the right -or- if you have a Google Account, you can click on "Follow Me" also on the right, near the bottom. You'll receive an email each time there's an update to the blog. (It's a new service; if you registered earlier, you'll have to do it again. Sorry...and Thanks) - Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Location:Charleston,SC

You? Or What You Represent?

I received a note from a Reader the other day:  "Have you ever written about telling the difference between whether you really like someone or just like the idea of someone? I'm trying to figure that out." 


I knew exactly what she meant.   A relationship I was in ended earlier this year.  He lived on the opposite coast and it was just too tough to maintain a real relationship with that much distance between us.   He wanted his girlfriend-or-whatever-I-was to live a lot closer.   I actually didn't mind the distance; every get-together was romantic and special because we didn't have to deal with real-life stuff.   So I was a little bummed when he thought we should end it if neither of us was going to move.  (We weren't).  


I was lamenting the relationship's end and my girlfriend said "Gee, I didn't realize you were that into him".  Then it occurred to me that she was right.  I wasn't that into him.  I wasn't lamenting the loss of him as much as I was lamenting the loss of a relationship.  It was the idea of having a beau, not the actual beau.  I recalled that when he and I had that final conversation, I was thinking to myself "Damn, now I gotta start all over.  Looking around, trying on different guys, blah blah".  

So shame on me, because I was definitely more into the idea of having someone than I was into this someone.  And I totally get it when Dear Reader asks the question.  


I think one of the ways to tell the difference is whether when you think about him, are you thinking about him, the way he looks, his laugh, the things he says, memories of times together -or- are you focusing on something else, things he doesn't "own".   If you're thinking more in the abstract like "it would be great to have a man to help me with this…to travel with…to accompany me to this wedding…to talk to when I come home (not that men want to talk to you when you come home), then I think you may be more into the idea of him.  It's any "fill-in-the-blank-guy" to fill the man role.  


I think a lot of women love the idea of a special someone and what that represents to them (and others) more than they love the actual someone…but, whatever.   I think it's important to know and admit the difference, though.


What do y'all think?  How do you tell if you really like someone -or just like the idea of someone?








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My Spinsterlicious Week: 3 Things

I was told by a couple of readers that I should post more about myself; not just what I think about stuff, but what I'm actually doing.  So, here we go:  3 things I did this week.  It was a pretty good week:


1.

On Friday, I had a most amazing dinner at Per Se  one of NYC's finest (and most expensive) restaurants.  My good friend, Benilde and her husband, and my lawyer/friend decided to treat ourselves to what truly was an exquisite experience.  The prie fixe menu is $295 per person (yep), which I thought was kinda ridiculous, but I love new experiences and I love a good story so I figured I'd get both of these if it satisfied and if it didn't.


But it did.  More than satisfied, as a matter of fact.  I went there half-way expecting to be disappointed.  I mean, really, how could any meal for one person be worth $300+?  And while I still think that's a ridiculous amount of money, I must say that we didn't feel robbed.  The views and decor are amazing.  The staff is abundant (we had 4 servers attending to us) and they were really nice.  Personable, helpful, and not uptight, fake, or stuffy like one often finds at expensive restaurants.


I would love to gush in detail about each dish, but I can't. Primarily because I didn't recognize most of the ingredients and to mention the few things I did recognize wouldn't do it justice.  We did joke that we think they made up some of the descriptions.  I mean, wtf is "sabayon" and "coulecot" anyway?  I still dunno, but I like them.  Every dish looked like a work of art and really was delicious.  There was only one dish most of us didn't like, which Cliff decided was "Spam masquerading as chicken".   Everything else was fab, though.  Dinner lasted 4 hours.  8 courses.   And I don't even want to think about how many calories we consumed.  I'm just glad this isn't something I can do all the time.  I'd have to buy a new wardrobe in a much bigger size (and refinance my house).




2.

On Thursday, I went to a dear friend's birthday dinner party.  She invited about 15 of her favorite girlfriends to her house for Mexican food and margaritas.  Lots of margaritas.  We played a "game" in which we each introduced ourselves and told how we first became friends with the Birthday Girl.  It was hilarious how many of our stories began with "Well, I didn't like her when I first met her"...though they all ended with how she's now one of our favorite people.  (People describe me that way, a lot, too.  The "not liking at first" thing).   It was so great being in a room with 15 fun, smart, and interesting women --some married, some not, with and without kids-- and just relaxing, laughing, drinking, and telling stories.  I got home around midnight with a smile on my face.




3.

On Wednesday, I explained to a 52-year-old man why we could be pals/platonic friends -or- he could maybe [insert sex act here]...but not both.  He seemed confused.








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My Knees, My Gut

I started running again a few weeks ago…against doctor's advice.   I was a runner for years and it's the only exercise I enjoy.   I had knee surgery in 2001 and was instructed that running wasn't "helpful" to the situation.   So I stopped; doctor's orders, right?  I was advised to find some other form of exercise that I enjoy that is better for my knees.   I knew that no such thing existed, but I gave it a shot anyway.  So I joined a gym and wouldn't go.   And I bought a bike that I wouldn't ride...except on occasion, but not often enough to be considered part of my exercise regimen.  In fact, once I stopped running, I didn't really have an exercise regimen.  I'd walk just about everywhere, but walking is slow and is really only a bare-minimun exercise, in my opinion.  It's supplemental, at best.


 I don't enjoy any exercise as much as I do running.   Said differently, I hate all exercise except running.   Plus my other (unoperated on) knee hurts anyway.   It hurt all those years when I wasn't running, so what's the difference?  

But what really got me to lace up my running shoes again was my gut.  Not the gut that = intuition.   The gut that was threatening to hang over the waistline of my jeans.   I'm not having that.   I know that the mid-section of women-of-a-certain age tends to plump up as the body goes through hormonal changes.   I already know that.   But I don't like it.   I've never really had a gut before and I'm not interested in making friends with one now.


I'm accepting of many bodily changes related to aging.  I'm okay with my softer thighs, that funny crinkly skin on my underarms, the cellulite on my butt, my not-as-perky boobs.  But the gut thing pisses me off.  I'm drawing the line there.   So I'm hitting the road with my running shoes, iPod, and knee brace.  


If you hear about me in the hospital for a knee operation, just send me some flowers and leave out the "they told you so" lecture.  My knee might be a mess, but my waistline will be intact...like it's supposed to be.






NOTE:  If you like "Spinsterlicious" and want to be notified of new posts, please subscribe in the box on the right -or- if you have a Google Account, you can click on "Follow Me" also on the right, near the bottom.   You'll receive an email each time there's an update to the blog.  Don't miss a Spinsterlicious update!