GIGI GOES GAGA

TEN YEARS AGO

It was 10 years ago this month that my ex-husband and I decided to divorce. Our marriage lasted five years, and I've been married to my (second) husband for about six-and-a-half years now. The numbers don't really mean anything because it seems as though the passage of time has always depended on how much I paid attention to it. Those five years, let me tell you, were the longest period of my life. I'm sure my ex felt the same.

But going back to those days and weeks a decade ago. For a while there I was walking around in a daze; I can't describe it still, it was like being trapped in fog with zero visibility and trying to find my way to the clear with numb hands. Despite this being my decision, one I initiated with so much clarity and finality, I was so hopelessly lost after the fact. I don't think anyone really intends to get divorced, much less make plans for it the way you would prepare for your own passing, even if both are about death in a way. Or at least the end of a life as you know it.

I remember one afternoon lying in bed in our guest room as I often did then, staring outside the window at the pool, at the ceiling, and at the hallway just outside the door that divided us now. The phone rang and it was my friend Eleanor. Well, she and I knew each other because we had mutual friends, but we'd never really exchanged confidences or even had dinner out together, the way friends normally do. But she called me anyway because our friend Meg asked her to. El had gone through her own painful divorce a few years before and was doing great now, and our friend thought she might be able to put me on solid footing. As my friends know, I tend to withdraw into myself when I probably need them the most; I've just never learned how to ask for help.

The details of our conversation are hazy now, but I remember thinking immediately afterwards: I can do this -- even if she didn't candy-coat anything at all. She gave me the stark truth of the fight I was in for, but more importantly she gave me strength and hope. All the doubts I still harbored started to fade away, and certainly the guilt along with it. After we hung up, I got out of bed. I bought a few books regarding getting a divorce in California and started looking around for a lawyer to draw up the paperwork.

My ex-husband and I never did fight during our divorce proceedings. I was done fighting by then and all I wanted was my peace; my guess is that he felt the same, too. So I finally got my peace, which I've had for the last 10 years, the fastest-flying 10 years that I've ever known.

AND THE SHOE DROPS

A few weeks ago I went for Happy Hour with a friend I used to work with. She'd just broken up with her boyfriend and was still smarting from the events leading up to the end, and I wanted to hear all about it.

I remember when they had first started seeing each other. She told me about their first few dates as we hustled stocking racks and racks of newly-baked bread onto shelves early one morning and she was still feeling both scared and exhilarated, as many people are during the early stages of any relationship. None of her previous ones had really worked out well for her, and she was afraid it would be the same this time around again.

"Don't agonize over it," I kept saying. "This is the time you simply enjoy the ride and have fun." Almost every relationship often goes through the same trajectory: at first it simply soars upwards while the couple is still giddy over the newness of each other. Then it hits a few bumps when issues arise and then it dawdles a bit, sometimes even loses a bit of momentum. If the couple decides it's worth the work, they give it another strong push and off it goes again. Eventually, hopefully, it hits its stride and moves along at a steady pace, occasionally interrupted by bumps and stops and thrusts and jumps. But the beginning is always the stuff love songs and poems are made of, and should be enjoyed to the hilt.

Not that I always thought so myself. I was just talking to another girlfriend this morning, someone I haven't seen in more than a decade. She had just exchanged email messages with this guy I once had a short-lived relationship with a long time ago and she was telling me all about it. "Why did it end again?" she asked out of the blue.

"Eh, it didn't last too long anyway," I said dismissively.

"Yeah, I remember that," she replied. "But it seemed really intense while it lasted. You guys used to make me sick."

"I don't know about that," I quickly disagreed. "There were always so many girls in his life, you know. I thought I was just another."

"Nope," she said. "He used to tell me that he loved you. I told him he was joking because he never talked like that about anyone, but he said he really did."

"I never knew that," I said quietly, and then added,"Bastard cheated on me, remember? So I dumped him quick."

"Yeah," she said. Then after a slight pause: "But I also remember something was wrong, he said. You got cold, it was like you weren't in it all the way."

"I wasn't," I admitted. "I decided to be really careful because I didn't want to get hurt. I knew there were always girls in and out of his life so I guess I was always just waiting for the other shoe to drop."

And so it did.

JUST GOT LUCKY

My husband and I have dinner once a week at this neighborhood Italian restaurant near home. They serve delicious Milano-style food at fair prices, and I can't wait to try items in their ever-changing seasonal menus (although I always order the polenta appetizer with brown butter, fontina, and sage).

Tonight's meal was especially good and as we hopped back into the car, I smiled at him and said, "You know I'm really glad we decided to give this place a try. You know how picky I am about Italian food." And I am, really. Now I've never been to Italy and don't know how Italians prefer their food to be prepared, seasoned, and cooked -- but I know what I like. I don't like tomato-based sauces that are too bitter or too sweet, for starters. And I don't like cream-based sauces that are either runny and bland or too rich and thick. I also like my pasta al dente, and not too soft. All reasonable requests, surely -- but not so easy to find around here unfortunately.

"You're picky only about Italian food? Ha!" my husband laughed in my face, mocking me.

"OK maybe not just Italian food," I gave in, perhaps a bit too easily. "But especially Italian food is what I meant." And then I thought I'd say something sweet, just to knock him off his feet a little. "I'm also picky about husbands," I purred.

"No -- you just got lucky with me," he said flatly.

Gah, sometimes I hate it when he's right.

EX

I helped my friend move into her new apartment many years ago, long before we ever thought we'd settle down in any one place long enough to unpack completely. She shared the space with two girls, and I hit it off with one of them immediately. She was a real character, and such a babe – feisty, flirty, funny, and oh-so fierce. She wore the shortest skirts and the teensiest tops, and to prove that she always dressed this way she opened up her closet for us to see. Not one thing, I swear, was more than 17 inches long. At first glance it looked like she had hung nothing but baby clothes because there was so much space between the rod and the floor.

As we sorted and unpacked, my friend whispered to me a secret. Her new roommate in the tight outfit was actually a he, or at least used to be. She didn't know for certain if she had undergone sex reassignment surgery, but the tattletale who in turn had told her this didn't think so. The only thing they knew for sure was that she took hormone medication regularly.  There was nothing overtly masculine about her except her lithe boyish figure and perhaps a hint of an Adam’s apple (only if you were really looking). Otherwise, she truly was all-woman.

That evening the guy I was seeing came over to pick me up. When the doorbell rang, the roommate let him in because the rest of us were moving stuff around in the bedroom. At first we heard stunned silence and then loud expressions of delighted surprise. When I walked over to the living room the two were locked in a warm, friendly embrace.

And that was the day I met my guy’s ex.

If I didn't know what I had just discovered, I might have been a bit jealous; now I was only perplexed. Nothing made sense to me at first, then eventually some of it did. Although my man was a charmer with rock-hard abs and muscles in all the right places, I’d highly suspected that his tales of sexual conquests were nothing but mere boasts. Once he told me about an ex-girlfriend whom he discarded simply because none of his friends approved of the match. He didn’t tell me what exactly they didn’t like about her except they believed she wasn't right for him and certainly not good enough. He also said she had been devastated by his betrayal and that he felt sorry for what he had done. But perhaps sensing my alarm he explained that he was young and immature then and added that despite his feelings of regret he had no intentions of going back to her and that was that. Later he also revealed that she was his “first" and tossed in a few details I really didn't want to hear at the time, and certainly not since the day I met her.

So now as we all stood around I looked at my new acquaintance, the girl he had hurt once – the girly-girl who wasn’t always so – and closed my mind to the torrent of new questions and all the too-obvious, too-vivid visuals that begged for some kind of explanation. I never told him what I knew after we left the apartment, nor ever asked him to explain how certain things could have happened between them as he said they had -- not for his sake, but for hers. You see, not too long afterwards I found myself in the living room of that same apartment again, bonding with my new friend over stories of how our guy turned out to be such a jerk after all. And we talked like two girls conspiring and giggling, just like girls often do. Just like we were after all.

MOUTHING OFF

Any time I want, whenever I feel like it, I can express whatever I'm thinking or feeling in this ol' blog of mine. Sometimes I regret it the next morning, but more often than not I'm happy to get things off my chest. Fortunately, because I have this ready forum for my thoughts and opinions, I don't normally go mouthing off anywhere and to anyone else. Once in a while, though, I'll read something that stirs me up so much that I'll make the exception and react on someone else's space.

Like today, for instance, I emailed a newspaper advice columnist because I flat out disagreed with how she replied to a reader seeking help. I tried to walk away, I really did, but I felt compelled to say something. First let me say that I don't regularly seek out or read advice columns unless they deal with fashion or beauty topics. Next, I don't often pick fights or even discussions with those whose opinions differ from mine because I think we should all be entitled to our own, period.

I've only written in response to an article or column twice before. The first time was for an assignment in my college freshman english class. The professor had instructed us all to write a Letter to the Editor to one specified daily newspaper. Those who got published received bragging rights and extra points for the class (I did, although I no longer remember what I wrote about). The second time was when a columnist wrote something negative about my father -- not out of spite or malice but because she didn't have enough information to base her opinion on -- and I promptly called her out on it (she apologized). And then today.

Today I happened to come across a letter from a reader whose cheating husband came back to her and was making obvious amends. There was one catch, however -- he no longer seemed interested in having sex with his wife. So she wrote the columnist, listing possible scenarios why this might be the case, and asked for a bit of, well, advice.

The columnist, in a nutshell, told the wife to be grateful that her husband was back and to show him the same kind of tenderness he was now exhibiting. Fine. But what irked me was that in responding to the letter writer's hypotheses regarding her husband's lack of desire for sex with her, the columnist simply asked, "Who knows what men think?" -- without advising the wife to ask her spouse for the answers, to engage him in conversation, to discuss what they both expected now from each other and, in doing so, attempt to restore some honesty back into their fractured marriage.

Instead, the columnist wrote to the wife:

"Despite accepting him back, must everything be analyzed, every hair split, and every action in the remaining years you have together put under a microscope?

That very astute saying “don't look a gift-horse in the mouth” couldn't be more apt in your present predicament. Why not just enjoy his company and the peaceful existence that's happening between you two? Don't you realize how short life is? Why are you making your life shorter?"

In other words: forget about sex until he brings it up again. You get what he gives.

Here's what I think. Sex might not be the most important thing in a marriage -- or in any relationship for that matter -- but it is important as long as it matters to the people in it. This woman's husband strayed outside the marriage and had sex with another woman (or women) so obviously he still feels desire. There is a serious problem, then, if he doesn't feel those same stirrings for his own wife -- especially if she still feels the need to be physically close to him and craves that kind of intimacy.

I don't think it's ever enough to simply stay married for its own sake, contrary to what many might say. I believe in committing to a marriage, to working for it and fighting for it, and for being a true partner to my spouse. I don't believe in ever settling for anything less than what we deserve, especially when we can have what makes us whole. No marriage is perfect, to be sure, and spouses can hurt each other even without meaning to. But I believe in keeping open dialogue, to working things out, to forgiving each other, and accepting each other's weaknesses and imperfections. And, yes, I believe in lifelong, loving sex as long as both are capable.

But this isn't about me, it's about the wounded wife. She had nowhere to go perhaps and, unfortunately, reached out to a newspaper advice columnist in desperation. Only to be told that she was worth only whatever he would give her, even if he was capable of so much more.

And that is why I wrote today. No one should ever be told that they are worth less, or so little.

SECOND CHANCES

If you've been visiting this blog long enough you'd know that I believe in second chances; in fact I believe that it's never over until it's really over, when you're no longer around to keep trying. While you live, you've got possibilities. Sure, they might be different from the ones you had when you were younger, but they exist nonetheless.

Another thing I know is that we should never let someone else's fears dictate how we lead our lives, even if that person is only full of good intentions. It's hard enough to conquer our own fears and move past them, but because we can't control someone else's trepidations, it seems only foolish to let theirs control us instead.

I remember a long time ago when dad advised me against having one "too many" boyfriends or even dating "too much". He said girls who did were doomed to become old maids because no man worth marrying would ever want to marry them. I didn't listen to my father, obviously, especially because he used the detestable phrase "old maid". And not only did I get married to a good man, but I did so twice.

Now while I don't think that this is what my dad hoped for either, my point is that I didn't allow his fears to become mine. Besides, what's too many? What's too much? As far as my dating history is concerned I will use the answer Andie McDowell's character gave Hugh Grant's in Four Weddings and a Funeral: "Less than Madonna, more than Princess Di -- I hope." (Note: she was referring to the princess' stats before she married the prince, not afterwards. I hope.)

I know that some folks think that because my friend got divorced then she's failed -- even if she tried so very hard to make her marriage work but chose to get out of a humiliating situation that would have eventually destroyed her. I'm also aware that there may be those who think she should now simply concentrate only on being a mother and deny other aspects of herself. Her children, by the way, are clearly my friend's main priority -- but I don't think they should be her only one (and thankfully, neither does she). Because what would her becoming invisible then teach them about the value of their own lives? And when the day comes that they no longer need her, would that mean that she has nothing left to live for?

Life isn't simple, it's true. Consequences rarely work out according to strict "If....then" terms we've worked out in our heads. What's worked for me might not work for you, there just isn't a sure-fire formula for anything. The only thing we know for sure -- that I know for sure -- is that if we keep trying, we'll keep failing. But we'll also learn how to fail less and succeed more. The only thing we need to fear is fear itself. Especially fears that aren't even yours but someone else's.

The third thing I know for sure is that a chance is something you make, not just take. If you sit around idly waiting for a do-over, it may really be over for you instead. So go find them, they're there, even if they might not look the same as you remembered. Who knows, maybe they're better? You certainly won't know until you try. Or try again.

BETTER THEN THAN NOW

Over coffee, about a week ago.

She: God, if there's one thing I regret it's all the time I wasted on those bad relationships. I must have been so insecure to have put up with with all that. We're talking years of my life I can't get back!

Me: I hear you. Sometimes I wonder what the hell I was thinking, too. Although I did luck out once in a while and had a few good men.

She: Well, good for you -- because I sure didn't.

Me: Eh. When it happened it was a case of right guy, wrong time anyway. But usually it was just the wrong guy. Sometimes I think that if I'd spent the same amount of energy on myself and my career instead of trying to fix all those awful relationships, I'd be much further along in life than I am now.

She: Me too!

Me: But we can't think like that, we just can't. I really believe that you and me, we had to get that out of our system. We obviously thought we needed someone else to fix us, so we could become whole or complete or something. And maybe it's good that we did that when we were younger and got it out of the way already. Because maybe if we didn't do it then, then we'd be dealing with that crap now. Because we had to do it... sometime.

She: You really think so?

Me: Yeah, I do. We're so done with all that shit. And anyway, everything we did then brought us to where we are now, right? Besides, to really appreciate the good, I think you gotta know what bad is. And we know BAD for sure.

She: (Laughs.) We sure do!

###

My girlfriend and I, we've just cried too many tears over boys who weren't even worth a sniffle. Like that one of hers who kept leading her on even when he already had a fiancée (and then he had the nerve to try to booty-call her a couple of times when his wife was pregnant!). And that one of mine who made all these grand plans for us, like about moving in together, as soon as we started dating -- and then promptly got cold feet because he said we were moving way too fast even if he seemed to be the only one pedaling.

When it came to relationships, I just couldn't get it right. For instance, I turned down a golden opportunity to become an exchange student in the U.S. for a year because I didn't want to leave my boyfriend. Three years later I then left someone I loved quite deeply because I didn't want to make the same mistake -- and wondered for many, many years afterwards if I should have stayed instead. I once committed to a relationship because the guy was really, really nice and I didn't want to hurt his feelings (yes, I actually did this -- only to find out the "Mr. Nice Guy" act fooled so many of us). Then I wouldn't commit to another guy because he was "too" nice and ended up crying on his wedding day.

My friend and I, we have stories we're too ashamed to even think about. But we can either keep beating ourselves over our mistakes, over all that wasted energy and time, or we can simply be grateful that we made them when we were still resilient enough to bounce back. Again and again. And now we're so much stronger; we know better.

Or at least, we're not crying anymore.

THE KISSING BANDIT

When I was about three, my mom used to tease me about being a kissing bandit. Apparently I'd go around kissing everybody in sight (am afraid to think of what the singular indefinite pronoun "everybody" comprised in my case, really). Of course, I still love to kiss -- the only difference is that since my toddler years I've become much more judicious. Oh, and of course, what's also changed is precisely how I like to kiss these days.

On the plane ride back here to Los Angeles, I began reading Elizabeth Gilbert's excellent Eat, Pray, Love. It seemed only too fitting: to explore a book about self-discovery and travel just as I was doing the same. I quickly discovered that it was like I was deep in the author's mind, or that she was connected (nay, stuck) to mine. Except for the part about traveling to Italy, India, and Indonesia (which someday I plan to do anyway).

For instance, the perfect description of a large part of my romantic life can be read almost word-for-word on page 65. And on the page prior, the line that sealed my conviction that I was reading the words of a kindred soul.

Of course I do miss being kissed because I love kissing. (I complain about this so much to Sofie that the other day she finally said in exasperation, "For God's sake, Liz -- if it gets bad enough, I'll kiss you.")

So there, I love kissing, and I make no apologies for it.

But I confess, a bit shamefully, that in my head I've categorized the boys I've known into "good" and "not-so-good" kissers. OK, some were even really bad. I admit, though, that what constitutes good and bad is a personal preference: someone whom I think is a terrific kisser might not be perceived the same way by another girl. (Although I highly doubt it; I have few convictions and this happens to be one of them.) Still, I'd never know for sure unless I gathered a fairly large group of girls together who have all kissed the same man and took a poll to see how much or how little we agree (the scary thing is I could probably accomplish this easily -- I've known some indiscriminate kissing bandits myself through the years).

Let me tell you: there are kisses I've replayed in my mind for seemingly forever. After all these years I've forgotten many things, even important or crucial pieces of information unfortunately -- but some kisses I'll never truly forget.* From that moment of anticipation to that of slight hesitation to that first, soft touch of the lips -- I know every nuance of each moment too well. A great kiss, mind you, actually begins before the kiss itself -- a few well-chosen words uttered in the right timber of tone at the perfect moment can melt me to the core before I'm completely lost in exquisite joy.

Such a kiss envelopes me without devouring me, explores but does not intrude. It makes my heart flutter and my toes curl. It's not afraid yet isn't too aggressive; it pauses and proceeds and pushes in turns. And when it's just like this, I feel like I can kiss the boy forever; it's perfect as is, on its own, and isn't merely a precursor of delights to come. (Although if it is, it can be a pretty auspicious one.)

I knew from the beginning that I'd have to kiss a few frogs before I found my Prince. Luckily for me, a few managed to get my feet floating off the lily pad in the meantime. A fair exchange I'd say, considering there were a few toads I had to kiss along the way.

*Although as a married woman, my memories are now strictly for informational purposes only -- to aid me for when I finally write my book or simply another silly blog post like this.

BE KIND: DON'T REWIND

A good friend of mine is at the tail end of a relationship -- the point when you both know it's over but can't seem to let go quite completely, at least not just yet. So a few weeks ago she unintentionally hooked up with an ex who was in town for the weekend from all the way across the country. He's gone now and she's trying to sort out how she feels. (Does she or doesn't she feel guilty? Did she do this to kick herself into gear and shift her present relationship from not-really to not-at-all?)

F: Part of me wishes I feel awful about what I did but I don't. I don't really feel like I cheated on J. I should feel guilty, I know, and I'm trying to -- but I just don't feel so bad.

G: Is it because you've felt for a while that the relationship was really over but sleeping with S just confirmed it?

F: Yes, but it's not just that. It's because I was with an ex. I mean, I would never sleep with someone new. Now THAT would definitely feel like cheating.

G: Oh God, I think I know what you mean. Because with an ex it's just like rewind and with a new guy you're hitting the record button. You're committing to something new.

F: YES!

G: It's easier to delude yourself into thinking that you're simply having a flashback moment...

F: Because you've done the same exact thing before -- the only difference is the timing.

G: (Quickly pondering over implications of entering a time machine and being hurtled to years back. If you chose to sleep with an ex at the exact same point when he was still your present, would you be cheating on the current guy you were with before you went back in time?) Ugh, this is so wrong on so many levels. We are going to hell, for sure.

F: See you there, sister.

Don't worry: for the most part, I do know right from wrong. Cheating is cheating, however it's explained or justified. (I will confess, though, that regarding the time machine scenario I'm not too sure. Just another example of how new technology is always accompanied by unique ethical and moral dilemmas.)

Yet I do understand why my friend feels the way she does, as much as I fully empathize with her struggle to get her head straight and do the right thing. You see, between divorcing my ex and meeting the man who is now my husband, I met up with someone from my past. After years of no contact between us, he picked me up from work and took me out to dinner. After a few initial moments of uncertainty and awkwardness we found ourselves talking and laughing freely again. The evening ended with a tight, at-first grateful, embrace and then segued into what seemed to be hours of passionate kisses. Everything about it -- how he smelled and tasted, the feel of his hands, the rhythm of my heartbeat -- was all too familiar. It was like I was transported back to then, when I didn't know where life was going to take me or where I would choose to go.

But the magic of his kiss, I later realized, was not in remembering the uncertainty of the past but in understanding the clarity of the present. I already knew that he and I couldn't be together and why and I had no desire to go through that all over again.

The past is a familiar place, even a comfortable one. But the comfort often comes from knowing how the past has led you to the here and now. If you hit the rewind button because you think that it might change the ending that's already been written, then perhaps you didn't learn anything at all from the experience. It's as pointless as asking all the same questions when you may already have the answers.

As for my friend -- well, she already has her answer. She only needs to realize that her past should not be the thing to propel her into action. It ought to be her future.

GIRLFRIENDS

I have a handful of girlfriends -- all who have absolutely nothing to do with one another. Their only common denominator is me, and if I gathered them up and sat them at my dinner table it would probably take a while before the conversation started to flow. Considering they are all intelligent, interesting, gregarious, and funny, I find this a bit puzzling. One would think we could form some kind of group and get together on weekends and special occasions at the very least. But we never have and perhaps never will.

All through my life (the majority of which was spent in an all-girls Catholic school), I've never liked being part of a crowd; when I was I'd always end up splitting off from the rest and go off on my own. I never chose to join a college sorority, even when asked to, and still now at work I'm not part of any clique or lunch group. (On the other hand I've joined student and community organizations but only because the whole point of being together was about the work or the cause.) I've always had a handful of close friends whom I'd spend time with separately, one at a time, and if you were to ask them to describe who I am, you would most likely receive different answers depending on whom you asked.

There was a period which lasted for a few years while I was in college when I preferred to spend time with my guy friends instead, whom I then found much less complicated. With a boy there was no competition, no fighting, and no dealing with moodiness. And because I grew up with no brothers, they gave me insight into how men thought and acted when there were no women around (even if I was -- though I thought of myself as "one of the guys"). The only downside, however, is that usually there came a point when someone would want to cross over from friendship to a romantic or sexual relationship and then it could get a bit awkward, even yucky. When it didn't, it would be good for a while and then we'd realize it wasn't working out; after we'd figure how to disentangle ourselves we'd discover things between us could never be completely the same again even if what we had now still wasn't quite bad at all.

When I became a bit older, after I'd gotten married (the first time) and was focused on my career, I realized I needed my girlfriends after all. Only they could understand what it was like to be a wife and climb the corporate ladder as a woman; only they knew what it was like to sometimes want to be married and single again at the same moment, or not want to go to work because you were on your period and cramps were killer.

Although I still have my guy friends, I have to admit that something inevitably changes whenever someone gets married. For instance, when I did, they all disappeared in an flash and no longer phoned or showed up at my door (they didn't think my husband would think it was cool for them to still be around). When I became single again and then they got married, the same thing happened, too, even if their wives had no issues with me.

My girlfriends, however, are still here, the same way they've always been. I can express the different sides of myself with each of them and yet feel like I'm still totally being true to who I am, and I never have to worry about being judged even when they tell me what they think I'm doing wrong. Sometimes we don't hear from each other for months -- and then when we're together again, we can pick up where we left off in a heartbeat. I can admit to them things I can't even bear to think about, if only to stop myself from acting on them; if I mess up they help me put things back together again.

Birds of a feather may flock together but we don't, at least not collectively. But if you want to know who I really am, get to know all my girlfriends. What you discover may not make any sense at first -- but then again, that's me.