Feminism Reversed

All of this independence isn't what it's cracked up to be.

WAIT.... Let me begin by saying that I truly believe women rule the world. Whether it's in the boardroom or the bedroom. Whether it's loudly or stealthily. I believe in paying my own way, having my own business(es), being self sufficient and owning my own uterus. Roar.

But I gotta tell you... I'm exhausted.

I daydream about what it would be like to only have to concern myself with the running of my house (maid driver housekeeper cook nanny), my children (if I had any) and my husband's (if I had one) work and social schedules.  I wonder what it would be like to be a 'kept' woman. Have my rent paid, my daily/weekly/monthly expenses taken care of, travel exotically often, my one job making sure my ass/nails/hair were always well maintained. Available for my sugar daddy every so often like a long awaited treat (or a semi-retired hooker depending on how you look at it).  No roar needed.

Can you tell I'm tired?

Too many real housewives episodes. Too many basketball football baseball player wives shows.  These times don't allow anyone to stay home chillaxing. Running a home (sans maid cook housekeeper nanny driver) has turned INTO a business. My fourty(ish) age will not garner me the type of sugar daddy I envision and I am not the camera ready bottled barbie he envisions. With my luck, I would get the wealthiest but oldest raisin in the world hooked up to a respirator (promising) but fighting to live forever (boo).

Wish I could write this laying down.

These thoughts do come fast and furious during this decade. For if you are in this decade, you were next to me at the front tail-end of the feminist movement/fight/war. The fight for equality for recognition for equal pay for ownership of our body against the tyranny of men since college. Determined to make our mark on our terms. Changing the perception of a what a woman is suppose to do as opposed to what a woman can do.

I'm gonna lay down.

At the end of the day, I am not fooling myself. I know those roads never taken, if I had to do it all over again, would remain untraveled. Daydreaming about the grass possibly being greener is what we all do whether it is professional or personal. You will simply do it a little more often during this decade. Especially when you're tired.

And that movement, that fight STILL exists today (here's looking at you Republican party which ain't no party).  So like any weary determined warrior, I pick myself up, put on my warpaint, gather my weapons, toss back my ale (wine vodka) and run screaming into the fray. ROAR.

 (But sometimes it would be nice to hire someone to do it for me).

xo,
Fabulously Fourty(ish)

Doctor, Dentist, Nutritionist, Internist. Why are they in my life?

The amount of appointments I schedule for doctors is starting to surpass the number of appointments I schedule for my business. Word.

I have always had pretty good health even outside of the drinking, the drugging and the smoking. For God's sake, I was  achingly young and therefore experiencing all of the great stuff that happens with youth: limber limbs, clear glowy skin, full set of shiny non-cavity teeth, almost 20/20 vision, batman like hearing. The only doctor I saw, the only doctor on my speed dial was my GYN. And you know why.

Back then, I could simply pick up the phone, call the nice receptionist, exchange pleasantries (how is your little boy?  yeah, loooonnnggg time no see!), get an appointment. In fact, she would work with my schedule to make sure I got an appointment that worked for me.

Here's how it happens now:

Take off one full work day. Have writing pad, three working pens, computer booted up, a complete list of doctors, telephone numbers and questions at the ready. Have coffee, cigarettes and large pin for stabbing yourself in the palm of your hand. Be prepared to call a few times, scroll through the endless options, finally hit 'O', speak to the overworked gum chewing tooth sucking attitudinal receptionist, be put on hold for years without music, then given an option of available appointments that wouldn't work for Jesus himself.

A sampling:

My dentist only works on Monday/Wednesday/Friday for he has a summer/winter home and really prefers to be there. 

My GYN is only available to probe me on Friday/Saturday for she has a residence in Westchester and really prefers to work there.

My primary care physician, who pretty much works seven days a week, has a reception room the size of a football field and a wait just as long. 

My internist I only met once. Could not pick him (her?) out from a police line up. 

My nutritionist is unattainable and therefore the love of my life. He is a rail thin 108 year old slightly stooped Southern gentleman with the biggest salt and pepper black power afro I have ever seen who always talks to me with a tone of exasperation. 

"I am feeling really light headed and tired." 

"Uh huh. Probably anemic.".

Panic.  "Oh my God, What should I do? What should I take?"

*Exasperated long sigh*

"Eat a burger. Twice a month. See Viola on your way out."

You will need these appointments. All of the mechanisms that are used to keep you upright, seeing, hearing, eating, tasting, smelling, just being fucking human, seem to have an expiration date (surprise). And this decade starts the warranty count down. 

So when your Mother asks if you are dating someone special, say "Yes! And they are all doctors."

xo,

Fabulously Fourty(ish)

Dating. Again. (sigh)

I never thought I would ever have to deal with this topic during this decade. It helps that I am drunk.

You see, I have -well, had- a boyfriend. While we didn't live together, it was a two year daily story of togetherness. His luggage, my luggage, combing the two sets and working in any additional small bags - it was good. For me.

For him, apparently, my luggage was the kind he really really liked; just didn't love.

At first, I laughed. Shocked. Then I stared at him. Had a clear vision of me grabbing his beautiful head and pounding his beautiful dimpled face repeatedly into the car window shield (yes, this happened in a car, after a date, on a Saturday night) until the blood flowed freely and I could leave him for dead. Not because I was heartbroken (that would come very soon later); but because he was making me single. Again. Which means I had to start dating. AGAIN.

I could absolutely positively fucking kill him for that.

Dating in my twenties was beyond fantastic. Men over here, men over there, men everywhere. I had my pick of various litters. Dick over here, dick over there, dick everywhere. I didn't want to marry, didn't even want a commitment. I was a City girl living big in her world career on track watch my smoke. Yeah babee.

Dating in my thirties got a little - and I do mean little- more serious. Had to start setting the foundation for the big 'I DO', for children, for the house (not a two car garage but a condo with a doorman or brownstone with stoop), for the car, for the credit cards, for the ring, for the prestige ('Oh sorry, can't come tonight, the HUBBY and I have plans...').

That didn't turn out too well. Obviously. I have - had- a terrible short fuse and threw them out as fast as they came in. Thought I had all the time in the world. Ha. HA.

Enter this decade and I threw my hands up in the air. Whatever happens, happens was my mantra. And boy did it keep happening. Terrible blind dates (did my friends REALLY know me??); terrible dates I made on my own (did I REALLY know me??); terrible dates I had the common sense to leave ('excuse me, you suck and I am leaving.').

Now...who do I date? As far as I can see, here are my options:
Men younger than me who consider me a 'sexy cougar' while addressing me as ma'am.
Men my age who are divorced and angry. Really ANGRY.
Men my age who want to date women the age of my god daughter (18).
Men in their fifties who find me 'sassy'.
Men over sixty who want to date women my age (the age of THEIR daughters).

I am fucked.

My attraction is to men who are men. Not boys. Not guys. Men who live life like they have no birth certificate. Live, laugh, love, hard, loud with a sense of responsibility, of gravitas when called for, of common sense daily. Men who walk not in front of me or behind me but beside me. And if they are in front, they at least have the decency to hold the door open.

Yes, I expect a great deal. For I am a great deal. 

I realize that while my heart is healing, I am in no position to even consider dating right now. Can't see the trees for the forest. But, I always prefer to tackle unpleasant situations in advance, head on. It physically makes me sick to my stomach knowing that I will be 'out there' again -older, wiser and with a lot less enthusiasm. A LOT less.

But once I stop crying unexpectedly in cabs, on the toilet, when people greet me "hello"... But once I stop smoking cases of menthol cigarettes combined with morning afternoon evening vodka.... But once I start actually leaving my house to see sunlight...I will start taking stock of my (sigh) options. And attempting not to hurl in the process.

There is a silver lining to all of this: As with most things I don't want to do, when I finally do it...it usually turns out to be great.

*Fingers crossed*


xo,
Fabulously Fourty(ish)