GIGI GOES GAGA

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.

POKE

Here's what I like about social networking sites: they make it easy to keep in touch and to reconnect with folks I haven't seen or spoken to in years (decades even). One of my good friends says that it's the only "legitimate" way for him to communicate with his female friends -- like me, for instance -- because his wife is the jealous type. He opines: "What's the worst that can happen, after all? Even if I poke you, it's only online?"

Well put, my friend.

But here's why I love them. As of a month ago, there were five persons I hadn't spoken to in a while. I hadn't fought with any them and there was never direct confrontation between us. There was only uncomfortable silence due to various circumstances (for instance, one was an ex-boyfriend from 20 years ago who just never transitioned back to being a friend again). Before sites like Facebook, there were only a few ways to contact someone: write, call (or text), or get in their face. All good options, but so direct -- especially if there's any discomfort involved. And since we tend not to do things that make us uneasy (or risk rejection), it's easy to let old relationships simply lie (and die).

But now I can find people and send them a short, quick message. If they reply, the stalemate is broken. If not, I know there's no interest on their side to reconnect and I can move on, knowing that I've at least tried. Or I can pretend they simply never received my message if denial makes me any happier. Today I'm communicating again with three of the five. I don't know if I'll ever be as close to any of them as we once were, but at least I know it's no longer awkward and that the lines are open again.

Even if there isn't going to be any more poking around.

SEVEN THOUGHTS

Things I thought about this past week, but didn't have enough for a post.

1. When I was 5 I thought my parents knew everything. At 15 I believed they knew nothing. At 25 I realized they knew more than I gave them credit for. Now I see they just did the best they could with what they both knew and didn't know. Just like I do now.
2. This husband's mistress now dares to yell and cuss at the wife because she's discovered the man's too much of a coward to make her stop. Mistresses should know their place if they insist on having a place in this world.
3. While I stopped paying attention: I gained seven pounds, weeds overtook my pot of lovely mums, and I bought a new tube of lipstick -- which I already had. So now I'm paying attention again.
4. I never thought this ex-boyfriend would find my blog for several good reasons. Then one day he had lunch with a friend who knew about it, and so he got to read everything I wrote about my years with him. I'm not sure if he's ever speaking to me again. Sometimes I need to remind myself that this blog is no longer a secret -- although other times I feel liberated to have very few secrets left.
5. When it comes to the small things, I wish people would think about how they can help instead of complain about what's not going right. Complainers whine because they feel like they have no control over their lives. When you ask chronic complainers what they would like to do about a situation they're not happy about, you'll often discover that they have absolutely no idea -- they just haven't thought about it through to begin with.
6. Women do dress for other women. This explains why women try to keep up with the latest in fashion even if guys don't even know what the current trends are anyway. 
7. I've been reading reports that flip-flops hurt the feet. Now all my friends who only wear heels have a good reason to explain why they're simply not buying the Havaianas, no matter how comfortable everyone else swears they are (me included).

Happy Monday!

GET REAL

I am so outraged at this moment, I can't find the words. All I can say is: you have to be really, really paranoid to see terrorism everywhere you look. You must be really full of hatred to want to stir up more hate. The real terrorism, in my opinion, is the hate and fear that you create and wear as a weapon to further your own interests. It's a fringed, paisley scarf -- that's all it is. But now you use it to malign all Arab men everywhere -- whatever their beliefs may be. That's racism, by the way.

And here is the wicked, dangerous scarf that you believe symbolizes murder and terrorism:


So what, maybe you think happily-newly-wedded Pete Wentz supports terrorism, too?


And I thought we were already done with this idiotic scarf business. Even Laura Bush certainly hoped so.

I hope scarves like this fly off the shelves, sell by the millions, and are worn everywhere you look. Just so you know that your kind of terrorism will not be tolerated by REAL freedom-loving people everywhere.

I'm thinking of getting this one. Cute, don't you think? Gah -- I know I shouldn't let these things get to me, but stupidity usually does. And especially any kind of hate-mongering, which is nothing but downright evil.



*Photo credits: The Huffington Post (Rachael Ray); People (Pete Wentz/Ashlee Simpson).

KEEPING INSPIRED

Sometimes I think it's easier to feel inspired during a tough period or even a crisis then it is when everything's normal. For instance, during the four months that I was trying to get back on my feet, it was like I was in intense training daily. I'd wake up thinking: today is another step towards victory. And I'd go to sleep reminding myself that anything was possible if I only keep the faith. When I found myself doing something I didn't want to, I'd reassure myself it was only temporary and that I'd learn from the experience.

These days are mostly about routine now, although I'm certainly not complaining. I go to work and get paid for it. I like my workplace and the people I work with. I don't feel stressed out these days, although I can't say I'm bored either. And yet I have to remind myself to stay positive and not simply take my days for granted. I suppose no one can possibly feel stimulated every single day, although sometimes I suspect very successful people do.

So now it's up to me to find some inspiration in the routine and mundane, and then discover something I can be passionate about. I do have my share of real problems, things I need to deal with, and I try to keep them in check. So the one thing I'd like to focus on -- through all the good days, bad days, and even ho-hum days -- is the attitude of being grateful for what I do have.

At times I ask myself: is this all there is? Shouldn't I strive to do more, have more? I start worrying about whether or not I've fulfilled expectations -- my own and those of others. Then I look around and discover that life is only going to be as good as I choose to think it is. I've decided not to compare mine to others who have it better or worse; it's all (my) perception anyway and not necessarily reality.

There are more things I want to accomplish -- perhaps it goes hand in hand with wanting to be a better person. But tomorrow I'm going to get up and look forward to a normal, regular kind of day. After all, an exceptional life, a life well lived, is made up of those kinds of days, too. I've got to remember that extraordinary can often mean finding the extra in the ordinary.

REAL BEAUTY

The last few couple of days I've been thinking about authenticity. Am I being true to myself, honest with myself? Because unless I can answer in the affirmative, then I'm not being real with anyone else either. My friend W and I were just discussing this last night: it's simply too easy to rationalize what we want, especially when what we want isn't in line with what we say we want. This is how we find ourselves doing things we're ashamed of: we deny to ourselves that we're capable of the unthinkable.

Trying to live an authentic life is just too difficult these days. We can create idealized personas online, not to mention completely false identities. Instead of trying to deal with the world we live in, we can invent our own. And even if we choose to live in real life, we can fake almost anything; we can erase the facial lines we've earned, shave off a bit of the nose, swell our lips, raise our eyebrows. We can create sculpted abs, leaner thighs, inflated boobs, and fuller butts. I mean, think about it: we all live in an age when "reality shows" aren't real at all and when the line between scripted and unscripted gets hazier by the day.

Today I saw a photograph of a 98-year-old woman who passed away on Monday. Before I read the accompanying text, I was already struck by her amazing face. I had no idea who she was but she looked so kind, yet so brave, and so profoundly wise. And as I stared into her eyes I thought: I want that face. I want to EARN that face. Then I discovered who she was -- and exactly how kind and brave and wise she was, and why her face revealed all of that.

This woman, Irena Sendler, saved 2,500 children from the Nazi Holocaust, smuggling them out of the Warsaw Ghetto. She was caught and tortured repeatedly yet refused to give up, and she never stopped her life's work. And despite all that she'd accomplished, she didn't like being called a hero because she always felt she'd not done enough.

I'll never measure up to the woman she was; that much about myself I already know. But tonight I sit here and think that while it's not wrong to desire to be a better, or at least different, version of myself, I need to be cautious, to be mindful about always wanting the change instantly. In real life, it takes time to develop, to grow, to become better, perhaps even to become our true self.

What I've learned through all this time, through all these many years, is that everything that's real takes time and effort. What's real can be painful, embarrassing, humiliating, and ugly. But there's also deeper beauty in the real. I want that real kind of beauty.

But I also know that deep inside lies that part of me who wants it now.

KEEPING IT REAL

Just recently a very good friend told me he's gay and that he's "finally come out of the closet." I suppose I'd been expecting the news for years even if I'd never given it any conscious thought. "C'mon I bet you've known all along," he said. And he was right -- I think I knew it the day I met him. I never knew for sure because he never talked about being attracted to anyone, male or female, and he might have even mentioned an ex-girlfriend.

See, the way I saw it, whether he was straight or gay didn't matter to our friendship. And even after knowing for certain, I still feel the same way; his news has not redefined our relationship. To me nothing much has changed; he's still my friend, not my new gay friend. I'm not expecting him now to suddenly drag me off to a Bette Midler concert and then force me to sing show tunes with him while we're driving over there, you know? And if we're planning a trip to the Barney's Warehouse Sale it's because we discuss this every year without fail. If anything is different I would wish that he feels freer, that he can breathe easier knowing now that he's well on his way to living authentically. That he's now keeping it real.

But what I wish for much more is that my friend didn't have to come out of the closet at all -- I wish there had been no reason for him to have ever hidden in the first place. I've just never understood the hate and intolerance that forces good people to curl up inside themselves for protection; no justification I've heard or read has ever made sense to me. None. Ever. And I can't empathize with those who keep coming up with these reasons -- excuses -- to marginalize, ostracize, and dehumanize other people.

I don't feel and think like this because I have a friend who happens to be gay. What I've always known is that when we allow society -- individuals and institutions -- to decide who is worth more or less, we run the risk of one day being devalued as well, for simply being born who we are.

 

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.

CHEAP TALK

Here's the thing I love most about being at this stage in my life: No more excuses.

For practically my entire life I felt like I had to either defend myself or deny myself. Either I was too aggressive or laid-back, too focused or too mercurial, too wild or too strait-laced. I was either overdressed or underdressed, too serious or not serious enough, too clingy or too detached.

The whispers that used to concern me the most were those accusing me of being easy (and I'm certain I don't have to explain what this means). When I was a college freshman, my well-intentioned distant cousin walked up to me and said, simply, "You know, PDA is just not preppy." I thought he was kidding; no one actually took The Official Preppy Handbook seriously, right? Apparently, this guy did. Then at a house party soon afterwards, he got busted for making out with his girlfriend inside one of the rooms by the host's mother. So not preppy.

So when I switched colleges (several times) and later became a campus student leader, I took great pains to hide my relationships and even my sexuality. I didn't date my classmates, in fact not anyone who attended the same school -- and certainly not anyone connected to either. I was frequently asked why I was such an ice queen. The answer was that I didn't want to undermine anything I was trying to do. And so, in a way, I lived two different lives.

But now, these things don't bother me. Maybe they should, but they just don't. If anyone accused me of being easy, I'd even agree, just to throw him or her off. I'd say something like: "Well I am! I'm a nympho, didn't you know? I'm totally addicted to sex! In fact, I prefer the kinky, perverted kind -- the dirtier the better. Got a problem with that?"

Yep. When you've battled your worst fears, over and over again, and not just survived but thrived, it's easy to ignore stupid things like gossip or idle talk. Unless you're a politician or a celebrity, I suppose, when public image is everything. But I'm not either -- and will never be. And talk is cheap, but I'm not.

The best part about getting older, I've found, is that because the window ahead becomes smaller and smaller, the last thing you want to do is cover it up. Especially because the view only becomes clearer; so much the better to enjoy it.

SMILE!

Twice this week already customers have thanked me for simply smiling at them. This actually happens to me quite a bit but I'd never really given it much thought before. One incident in particular, however, still stays with me after all these years. I was working at the DKNY store in the Beverly Center and I greeted a beautiful, sophisticated customer as she slowly walked in. She looked around a little bit and before she left the store she came up to me and said softly, catching me by surprise:  "Thank you for your smile -- I really needed that today." When I looked into her eyes it appeared as if she were on the verge of tears. I felt a tiny choke in my throat.

I thought about the kind of day she must have had before she stopped in, hoping that nothing was seriously wrong in her life. Just as I had lifted her spirits, she had touched mine too, and after all this time I wonder if she's okay now.

This may surprise a lot of people I know, but I am actually pretty shy. Oftentimes I don't quite know how to approach someone, much less have any idea of what to say. The only thing that keeps me from coming off as aloof or indifferent is that I smile at people all the time -- so much so that an ex once confessed to me that he used to think I was an airhead before he got to know me because on campus, he said, I had a permanent grin on my face.

In a way, I've realized, my smile has been my armor all these years. I've hidden a lot of pain and hurt beneath it, even unbearable discomfort and deep insecurity. But it's also been my weapon: with it I've disarmed many who've been armored up as well. Now I find that at its most powerful, it's a simple gesture of kindness. There are so many folks out there who need to know that their existence means something, that their very presence is appreciated. And a smile in their direction says all that and so much more.

Sometimes, as I've found over and over again through the years, it's all you need in order to make a difference in someone's life. Including your very own.