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Fashion Over-Saturation

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So, last weekend I went to a restaurant in my neighborhood for breakfast (I live in an area called Century City. It’s actually between Century city and Rancho Park – sort of Century City-adjacent. Ha ha).  The restaurant was called Food. 

Okay – so I am a little weird when it comes to commerce and society. I notice unique things about how businesses choose to promote themselves. I study the sides of 18 wheelers on the highway. I notice the color schemes they choose for the bed of their trucks, and the slogans they choose to use. Some would say it’s because of what I do for a living – marketing and publicizing everyone and everything – but I wonder about these things often.  So, I also notice the trends – for something even as basic as the names of businesses.

For instance, have you noticed for the past eight or ten years now, that the very trendy thing to do when naming a restaurant was to choose one word that described it – preferably something clever?  So, FOOD says it all doesn’t it? Although, one could argue it’s just not that clever.

Not too far from where I live, there’s a breakfast place called Toast, a fantastic steak house called Cut, and another called STK. Even the Japanese have joined the ranks of trendy restaurateurs. There’s Koi, Nobu, Matsuhisa, Katana, etc. There is Fig, Taste, Seed, Casa – oh the list goes on, and these are just the places I can rattle off which exist on the west side of Los Angeles. I’m sure there are thousands.

I think I have a pretty good track record of noticing or at least predicting that moment just before a trend reaches over-saturation. Ask any of my sisters who use to ask me to help them change their decor at home or come up with some new style or whatever. Maybe they were just being nice, but I tend to think it was because in my younger days I always tried to stay ahead of the curve. At my wedding, so many people thought it was absurd that I chose teal poofy bottom strapless dresses. They’d never seen them before. Well, they saw plenty after my wedding, but I was first. HA!  I don’t mean to sound egoccentric or anything.  I’m just giving you some background here.  It didn’t do so much for the longevity of my marriage, but my girls LOOKED MAHVELOUS!!  Ha!  But I digress — again. 

So, with all this in mind, FWC and I were talking about this very subject – restaurants and their short names.  I was stating how you can tell when something is well PAST over-saturation when EVERYONE and their MOTHER has jumped on the band wagon. Here’s a news flash:  The one-word trendy restaurant name, my friends, hit over-saturation long ago.  If you are looking to name your cute little corner of paradise, serving up only the yummiest of baked goods, something like “Dough” – don’t do it, unless it has real meaning — like you plan to charge an arm and a leg for every item as well, and eating there will cost your patrons tons of DOUGH.  I’m telling you that trend is OVER.

As we mused about this very thing, FWC came up with the brilliant and humorous next trend: exceptionally looooonnnng names for restaurants.

He said, “Yeah! The next hot spot will be ‘Our Place is the Best Restaurant Ever [pause], Because [pause] We Serve The Best Food. [pause] So You Should Only Eat Here. [pause] Okay? Okay!'”.

We cracked ourselves up on that one.  But then we decided, people are now trained to the one-word names, and would shorten it to “Okay,” which would be the end of that restaurant. 

They’d say, “Want to go eat at that new place, Okay?” and their friends would say, “Okay!  What’s it called?”  They’d answer, “Okay!”  Which would elicit the response, “Cool.  But. What is the restaurant called?”  

You get my drift. 

But I’d venture to say the trend for longer, more complex restaurant names is definitely on the near horizon, if not already in existence. And I say, GOOD RIDDANCE to the one-word anomaly!  Enough of this simplified life, already. We get it.

The same over-saturation point has happened for those long sleeved shirts that have that sort of tattoo look to them. You know the ones I’m talking about. They sport either an intricate tattoo design, fine art, or are “Indian chakra” inspired (just to name a few styles).  They’ve got everything from Celtic crosses to beautiful women with a third eye staring out at you.  I absolutely love them, and will continue to wear them, because – hey – I like them, and I don’t care if they’re hot and trendy or not. 

I’m not sure where these shirts got their origin, but I remember first buying them up at Nordstrom back in 1999 or 2000.  I remember the feeling of hitting “pay dirt,” fashionably speaking.  I knew I’d be one of the first to sport them, and it was such a thrill.  HA! As a matter of fact, I still have one of those first shirts – a short-sleeved rendition.

Now you can’t go to ANY store without seeing those very shirts, a knock-off , or some interpretation of sorts on the racks.  Even Target and Walmart have gotten into the game.  It’s enough to make Ed Hardy start drawing pencil sketched stick figures (heyyyyyy – that’s not a bad idea)! 

But you see?  That’s what we need!  I know society and trends go in cycles on their own.  People do eventually get sick of seeing the same thing over and over.  Then somehow, even though all we like sheep, who’ve gone astray, suddenly take our rose colored glasses off to take a look around, lay our eyes on all those other sheep in tattooed clothing, and wonder ‘where is the individuality?  why do we all look the same?”, we are still individualists at heart.  So we venture out to find that NEW Ed Hardy type-person, who is a renegade, and goes out on a limb to create some other COOL shirt.  Like maybe plain, solid white tees.  And the cycle starts all over again.

Remember when Michael Jackson donned the one-gloved hand, and suddenly every guy out there (if he had the guts to do it) was wearing one glove, a black leather jacket with an up-turned collar, and patchwork jeans?  Some paradigm shift in the universe had to take place to make that one go away, but it did happen.  One day, all those MJ look-a-likes got wise to the scene, and sought out the next new thing. Thank GOD it wasn’t SPEEDOS!

Okay – so what is the point of all this nonsense anyway, you may ask?  Why, to fill your brain with useless information of course!  Besides, how in the world could I sleep at night if I thought my readers were not aware of when a trend was about to hit over-saturation?  Oh my GOD, help! We can’t have THAT.

But the truth is, I think we should all wear exaclty what we want, never caring whether too many other people are wearing the same thing. We should name our restaurants or businesses whatever the hell we want, and be GLAD we have the freedom to do so. Listen – I do love those trendy shirts, and you will see me wearing them – because they just seem so, well, ME.  If you want to be a true fashionista and only wear what is hot and trendy, then do it! If you want to wear cut-off jean shorts and a ratty tee shirt with paint splattered on it, I’d applaud you. But this whole thing was a simple exercise in the contemplation of trends and how they reach over-saturation, un-kay?  So, don’t get all up in my grill if you see me wearing something passe and making an over-saturated fashion statement!  I know some of you.  You’ll do it.

Now, go out there and have a fabulously trendy, or an incredibly mundane fashion weekend you beautiful men and women! 

Love you people!  Mmmmmmphhhuuuhhhhh!

xoxo,

Ms. Cheevious

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Have a Heart

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In spite of (ehem), I mean, in honor of Valentine’s Day, I’m posting a little something for my single peeps out there.  Yes, I too am succumbing to the pressures of commercialization and writing blogs based on what’s hot. 

Have a heart, though.  I have to do it.  It really IS Valentine’s Day weekend coming up.  Can you blame me?  But since most of my readers tend to be Ms. Cheevious proteges, ascribing to my personal mantra: Enjoying Every Moment – I am posting something for them.  It’s a little something I wrote last year for Be Three – a website for hot, hip, and healthy chicks. My piece was called “Solo Girl’s V-Day Survival Kit.” The wonderful folks at Be Three didn’t post my piece as it was written (they edited it to suit their girls) – and that was their prerogative. So I’m giving you guys the unedited, unabridged, XXX rated version. 

HA!  Just kidding. 

Here’s to YOU – all of you incredible, single, lovely girls (and boys, of course).  If you are new here, welcome!  We are so glad to see you!  And, if you aren’t single, share this with your single friends.  They’ll get a kick out of it! 

I dare any one of you people who are flying solo this weekend to take me up on these survival tips:

Single Girl’s V-Day Survival Kit

Valentine’s Day is just around the corner. Sigh.  It’s not that you’re anti-romance.  It’s that you’re one of 89 million Americans who aren’t “coupled up” this year. Tired of seeing cheesy expressions of love plastered on every form of media known to man? Afraid you might launch into a wild, frenzied attack on the Hallmark shop lady? Stop yourself.  Try these bold alternatives and keep your pink, candy-hearted butt from going to jail:

·         Host an Un-Valentine’s Day Party:  Leave it open to all singles. Themes like As Single as I Wanna’ Be (about the bliss of single life), or I’d Rather Be Single Than with My Ex (an ex-orcising party) will change your opinion of “Love-Day” for good!

·         Eat a TON of Chocolate.  I’m not kidding.  A TON. Test all the theories about chocolate’s health benefits.  Begin eating at 9 AM and don’t stop ‘til 9 PM. Video tape everything. If you come out alive, post your video on YouTube, and proclaim once and for all that SEX really IS better than chocolate. Everyone will applaud your “no guts, no glory” approach, and you’ll get your 15 minutes of fame. Especially if you video tape the sex part (ha ha!)

·         Get out! Take your single friends to all the dating hot spots.  Smile broadly and toast the freedoms of being single in front of all those ball-n-chainers! You’ve always said you don’t have a chance in hell of meeting the perfect guy anyway.  It’s good to be proven right. You’ll also prove to yourself that you’re fine just as you are!

The end result? Pure satisfaction at being “un-coupled” and a deeper appreciation for freedom and friendship.

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Have a FABULOUSLY FREE weekend everyone! 

Love you people!  Mmmmmphhhuuhhhh!

xoxo,

Ms. Cheevious

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Ahhh New York City

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So, I wanted to give you all a recap of my trip to New York city, but the truth is, it was half work, and half Thanksgiving vacation, and I am still trying to piece together what happened in that whirlwind of a trip! I’ll dish more on the shenanigans later, I promise!  But here I will tell you about a little flashback I had while having drinks on this trip at the W Hotel, at Union Square. 

I love W Hotels, don’t you?  So, warm, sleek and inviting.  Only the pretty people go the W.  I guess I am lucky they let ME in! ha!  You know, on a side note, the W Hotel goes down in my own personal history book as THE major influence on current day home fashion.  For me, it was the W that blazed the trail in the simple and refined look of today.  The dark woods, ambient lighting, lounge style, simple sofas and tables.  And the guest rooms as well – with their over-stuffed, high-lifted feather beds.  Those things looked like giant pillows of comfy clouds just waiting to be climbed into and snuggled.  But I digress.

Anyhow, on this most recent trip (when I had my flashback), my friend G-love and I were sitting in the lounge after watching my nephews band “Ruffian Arms” play at a place on the lower east side called Arlene’s Grocery.  I mentioned it to an old friend of mine (an ex), who is/was a band and music artist manager and use to be an exec at several top record labels, and upon hearing that my nephew’s band was playing there (I suppose he thought my nephew might be playing the bar mitzvah of the singer’s cousin’s son, or something), he said in a somewhat surprised tone, “Oh! That’s a GREAT venue!”  So, needless to say I was a proud aunt.  And let me just say, it was AWESOME!  The band takes risks – all the guys dress in stripper red platform, high-heeled lace-up boots, and my nephew wore a black Tina Turner style wig, and some other funky stuff (a carpenter apron with red paint splashed on it, and not much else, I suppose), and the lead singer wore a black sequined sort of one piece swim suit, a big bouffant red wig and a tiara.  But they were SUCH a FUN and talented band.  It reminded me of a cross between the B-52’s and the Talking Heads – then throw some punk in there.

Anyhow, we watched the show, had a couple beers with my nephew, then headed up town to the W.  When we walked in I was transported to another time and day in NYC, when I was at the Blue Fin bar in the W Hotel Times Square.  At that time, I was sitting there having drinks with a friend, minding my own business.  I didn’t think I was looking all that “hot” that evening.  I wore my hair curly, because I was running late, and in order to keep warm, I was fairly bundled up with my jeans tucked into my boots.  All of the sudden a couple of guys stopped by our little corner, the cute one, sitting himself right next to me.  I’ll call him Slick (think ‘Greasy’ – you’ll see why in a moment).

He was quite charming, ole Slick.  And REALLY cute.  We actually had quite a lot in common.  So, we exchanged phone numbers, because one of his “crew” wanted to head out to the next place on their list. 

So, the rest of my trip, Slick and I text-messaged each other, and tried to arrange another time to have drinks together.  He really wanted to see me.  I thought it seemed odd that someone would put so much effort into seeing someone from out of state.  After all, it was New York City.  It’s not like there was a shortage of beautiful women to hit on.  Perhaps it was the challenge of getting a date with someone on a limited schedule.  I dunno.  But it was interesting.

Finally the day came when Slick and I could meet.  He wanted me to come to his place in the West Village for a drink, then go out for app’s and wine nearby.  I texted him that I was uncomfortable doing that – that he might be a serial killer or something, and it just wasn’t something I would do.  He texted me back “nope.  i went to “fill in the blank” Italian market and bought the ingredients to make my famous crustinis.  It won’t keep.  Just give my address and phone number to all your friends.  If they don’t hear from you by 9pm, they can call the police.”  So, guess what?  I went.  Hey I like it when a guy takes control and bosses me around.  HA! 

Slick had a pad that was only fitting for someone like him.  It was REAL slick.  It was three levels, wood floors, was impeccably decorated, with artwork and artifacts, and it had a FULL back yard, with brick planters that wove through the yard, and an ivy covered wood fence with permanent imbedded twinkle lights.  VERY cool.

We had a bottle of wine, and his crustinis – which come to think of it, were just “okay” – they were actually soggy.  All through the night, as we chatted, and he gave me a tour of his place, explaining the artwork, etc. I felt like Slick was just too close.  He was very touchy and feely, which is normally a GREAT thing for me, but this just felt rushed.  We’d walk into a room, and he would try to grab my hand (which I would ignore, and swing my arm away, nonchalantly).  We’d be standing there, while he explained a painting, and he’d touch his hand to the underside of my ass – you know what I mean – right above the top of the thigh (and I would move ever so slightly).  First of all, that’s where all my cellulite is.  Why would I want ANYONE to focus on that area – let alone touch it affectionately – and WHY on earth would I allow some complete stranger to grope there. Ewww.

So, I said to him a couple of times, trying to be nice, and flirty “You are a very familiar person, aren’t you?” To which he would say things like “I think affection is a good thing, don’t you?” Don’t get me wrong.  He was never threatening to say the least.  And he was not that big.  I was a bit taller than him, so I felt very confident I could kick his ass if I needed to.  Ha ha!  It just never even came close to coming up, so it was not a big deal.  I always felt in control, which turned out to be a GOOD thing.

Anyhow – I’ll wrap this up.  At one point Slick started to move into his living room with another bottle of wine, when I strongly suggested, in a sweet, flirty voice, that we go for appetizers and cocktails like we’d planned. So we did.  We walked to one of his favorite places. I couldn’t tell you where or what it was.

We sat at the bar, ordered some more wine and an appetizer, and started to chat.  I don’t really remember much about what we spoke about, but I did learn he was about seven years younger than me.  Ick.  Younger men are just so that – young. I like a man’s man.  I like someone who’s been around the block, knows what he likes, what he’s doing, or at least knows how to put up a good front.  There is nothing sexier to me than someone older than me. It makes me feel protected or taken care of.  Imagine that.  Ms. Cheevious – the wild, adventurous voyeur and fluttering social butterfly wanting to feel protected.  Go figure.  People are complex creatures.  But I digress again. 

Finally Slick said something that was the beginning of the end.  I didn’t know it at the time, but it was.  I think I was asking him about how curious his attraction was to me, and how much effort he was putting into getting together with me, when I was about to leave town.  He said “I just think we could do a lot of fun things together.”  So, I’m thinking, travel, events, movie premieres, what-have-you, but I ask, “Like what kind of fun things.”  Then he said it, and I have to actually CENSOR this, “Well.  (pause) How do you like your BLEEP licked?”

So.

There it was.

The bubble burst.

The guillotine dropped.

My JAW dropped.

I looked at him and said in my very angry and exceptionally LIVID voice (my son’s know this voice – and a few unfortunate employees, and even some friends, sadly), “I CANNOT. BELIEVE. YOU JUST SAID THAT.”  (pause)  “This date is now OVER.”

With that I got up, and walked out.  He said, “Okay.  I can respect that,” as he followed me to hail a cab.  Then of course, knowing that the universe will always return to you what you put out there, I said, “Listen.  I’m a familiar person.  But that is WAY too familiar, and extremely, disgustingly rude.”  and I added, “It’s who you are.  I get it.  But it is NOT me.  Good night.”  And I got in my cab and rode away. 

Later that week he had the gall to text me and say “It was nice meeting you. Keep in touch.”  To which I had no reply.

As G-love and I sat sipping our martinis last week at the W Hotel in Union Square, I chuckled a little inside.  ‘Only in New York,’ I thought.  Then I corrected myself.  ‘No.  Only in my life!’ 

So what was the point of that story?  Well, aside from SHOCK and AWE (ha ha) I guess I am glad for being a strong person, and for the fact the my own self respect and dignity trumped anything that guy had to offer.  I was not wowed by some wealthy guy in New York.  I am quite happy to stay on my own if faced with someone like that as an option.  But believe it or not, I actually know women who will date someone like that even though all the signs are there that he has no ability to treat her as she deserves. Sad.  But you are not like that!  No, you read my posts every week and get empowered to live life on your terms!  Right?  Tell me I’m right, would you?  Ha ha!

With that I will leave you my friends!  As the holidays approach, I hope you have all your priorities in order.  Respect yourself, because if YOU don’t, no one else will.  Be good to your loved ones, the elderly and small children (but not tweens or teens – just ignore them – trust me – they deserve it now and then – ha ha – JUST KIDDING).  It’s the holidays!

Love you people!  Mmmmmmmphhhhuuhhhhh!

xoxo,

Ms. Cheevious

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Blog content copyright 2008, LISA JEY DAVIS a.k.a. Ms. Cheevious 

 

Dahling I love You But Give Me Park Avenue

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Hellooooow my dahlings!  Ms. Cheevious here.  From the Big Apple.  New York City.  Gotham.

I’m here on business and through Thanksgiving.  Forgive me while I am here, because I will be unable to send further dispatches. I’ll have plenty of fun and exciting stories to tell upon my return – and just in time for the Holidays!  Talk about Holiday Cheer!

But before I go, and before the Thanksgiving Holiday, don’t forget:  There are a multitude of things to be thankful for – no matter WHAT your situation.  I am thankful for life, as full and incredibly beautiful as I allow it to be.  For my two wonderfully intelligent, funny and inspiring sons. For my mother, and my sisters and brothers, who continually remind me where I came from, keep me grounded, and offer the unconditional love we all crave. For my friends and loved ones who you’ve all come to know and love as well- Sheila, Stealth, Britt, Fred the Wonder Chicken, Musicality, Ricky, Lucy – and so many more (I can’t even come close to naming them all) who are as close, as friendly, as caring and lovely as they can possibly be, making my life a fabulously outstanding adventure.  And for you!  Without you, there would be no reason for these wild and wacky posts!

Until after Turkey Day, my friends.

Love you people!  Mmmmmmmphhhhuuhhhhhh!!

xoxo,

Ms. Cheevious

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Pillaging, Plundering Pirates… Oh My!

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Avast there mateys!  Be afraid! Be very afraid!  Sit closer together with yer’ loved ones, to protect yerselves.  This post is sure to deliver a mass of sorted tales of mayhem, with plundering pirates lurking in every corner.

Ye come, seeking adventure with a vast array of plundering (and sexy) pirates, eh?  Sure, you’ve come to the proper place.  But keep a weather eye open, mates, and hold on tight with both hands, if you please.  Thar be squalls ahead, and Davey Jones waiting for them that don’t obey!

To learn what the most daring (and sexy) of pirates do to amuse themselves on All Hallows Eve (Halloween for ye lowly scalliwags), read on.  But beware, and sit tight.  If ye are new to this blog, again I warn ye – Beware!

The daringest (and sexiest) of pirates make the pilgrimage to the city of Gold – that is Las Vegas, of course.  They do it to wreak havoc and cause turmoil, plundering and pillaging wherever their wooden (or sexy) legs will carry them.

My weekend with my pirate mates, Captain Fred the Wonder Chicken and the fair pirate wench Britt, was suppose to commence on Friday morn, half past ten.  (Okay – enough with the pirate talk.  Back to reality now!  ha ha!)

We planned to hop in the car, barring any other issues, and drive to Vegas together, laughing all the way, as we plotted and schemed for our takeover of that glittery fortress.

On Thursday, however, Britt had the remarkably brilliant idea of leaving THAT evening and playing until dawn.  FWC and I, being the spontaneous and boisterous sort of pirates that we are, agreed it was a brilliant plan.  Even pirates need to have fun before they get to work.

It started at the the Golden Nugget, where we sexy (don’t forget), yet disturbingly SCARY pirates ransacked, pillaged and looted all the way to our room.  I tell ya, the Golden Nugget didn’t know what hit them! Our final resting place for the rest of the weekend, The Bellagio Hotel, hadn’t seen pillaging like that since the LAST time Fred the Wonder Chicken was in Vegas, and THAT day has gone down in the annals of Sin City HISTORY, I’m sure.

We had an incredible suite with a view that was BREATHTAKING.  I’m sure it was all an attempt by the hotel to get us to behave, but THAT didn’t work!

Room with a view - and what a view…Wonders Never Cease.
Room with a view – and what a view…Wonders Never Cease.

On Halloween night, we donned our best dress pirate wears, and I sat down for some photos.  I didn’t want to do it, but I was the Pirate Queen, and a queen’s job is never done.

Beware the Pirate Queen
Beware the Pirate Queen

Suddenly, Captain Fred the Wonder Chicken grabbed me (he’s so manly for a chicken) and put a sword to my throat.  It was really sketchy there for a minute.  But then I reminded him that we still had a full night of plundering and seeking out wenches to come and play.  That was all it took.

Yikes! Please don't hurt me Mr. Scary Pirate Chicken!
Yikes! Please don’t hurt me Mr. Scary Pirate Chicken!

Though pillaging and plundering was on our minds, our first order of business for the night was to get some GRUB.  And that we did.  We had the most fabulous meal to be had in the Bellagio resort, at their restaurant Yellowtail.  Even Captain FWC ate things he never thought he would.  We seamen and women grow weary of eating fish, and some of us surely don’t want to eat it raw.  But that’s what Yellowtail was all about.  Sushi. YUMMY. It was all good.

So, here’s a question for you.  Where do sexy pirates, once well fed and full of good wine, go to plunder and pillage?  Why to The Bank, of course.  That is the Bellagio’s hot night club.  One of the hottest spots in town.

We took our swords and daggers and stormed the entrance to The Bank, and look at what we found inside:

Hotties at the Bank

The VIP floor was FULL of beautiful, (some scantily clad) people. They corralled them there for the costume contest to be judged later that night.  These girls were trying for the big 10,000 dollar prize (Yep.  These very girls were there!). I think they should have won.  Never wanting to be left out, I scurried down to the VIP floor to dance with them!  The guards to the VIP area wouldn’t let Captain FWC down to enjoy their company as well.  Only women were allowed in, and of course as the Pirate Queen, I was graciously admitted.  Alas, though I enjoyed dancing with these beauties, I had to be mindful of my queenly duties, and save all manner of debauchery for later.

Though I’ve managed to tell another tale of mischief as if it happens every day, I cannot fool you any longer. I’d like to say it’s just another day in the life, but I promise, I am just another “girl next door.”  Only better.

Have a wonderful weekend my sweet things!

Love you people! Mmmmmphhhuuuhhhhh!

xoxo,

Ms. Cheevious

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Friends with Benefits

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So – Did I ever tell you about a funny little incident that occurred right after my twelve year old son moved to New Mexico to live with his dad? 

My son – I’ll call him Graden here – was happy and settling in to his new digs, and I was going berserk. So I flew out to visit my son, using his “back to school night” event at school as the excuse. 

I knew it would go over like a lead balloon – Just when Graden thought he’d gotten rid of me, and was fast on his way to living a happy bachelor existence with his dad, there I was to make sure he remembered what it felt like to have a mom around.

So, I decided to keep it a surprise.  His dad picked me up at the airport, and we were on our way to Graden’s school to meet up with him.  It was also to be my grand entrance into the life of Graden’s new teachers.  Now they were all going to know that – yes – my son has a mom – and yes – she still cares.

As we approached the school, Graden’s dad (my ex-husband) called him to arrange a place to meet.  Graden apparently said he was hanging out with Tanya. 

“Who’s Tanya?” my ex asked. “Is that your new girlfriend?”

All I could hear was the sound of my son’s voice, and my ex’s reply, “Friends with benefits?!  What does THAT mean?” he roared, laughingly.

Thus began the lengthy conversation about what it really does mean to have “friends with benefits” in the eyes and psyche of a twelve year old boy.

He of course said that it didn’t mean anything except to hang out and call each other all the time, and spend time together. That they could say they were “hanging out” and not “boyfriend / girlfriend,” “dating” or “going steady.” 

Okay.  I have to pause here and say that first of all, I am not an idiot.  I think my son really DOES know in his head what it means to be “friends with benefits” – at least in terms of in society and in the media.  If you hear that phrase referred to in a movie or television, you know these two people are screwing around, with no commitment.  I get the sense that my son is pretty savvy that way.

But Graden’s explanation sounded awfully familiar to dating among my own peer group.  I can’t tell you how many thirty-something friends of mine STILL avoid the “D” word (dating) or the “BF/GF” i.d. and say “yeah, we’ve been hanging out.” 

Had I heard that about seven or so years ago – just after my divorce, I would have reacted far differently – probably worried that my son wasn’t learning how to be solid, or committed or caring.  Not so now.  I found my son’s comment quite funny, and was proud that he could be so open about himself and his life.

Now, here is where I am going to get a little controversial. 

I  know.  You’re thinking, ‘Ms. Cheevious? Controversial?’  I admit, it’s a stretch. 

But I’ve always thought I was cut from a different cloth than most girls.  I think having friends with benefits is quite healthy.  As a matter of fact, I have always taken that line of thinking further than most.  For instance, when I was married, I use to tell my husband I wouldn’t mind if he had an affair.  And I meant it.  I just always believed very strongly that men needed more in their lifetime.  They can certainly CHOOSE to be with one woman, but that is another matter.  Men are just different.

Okay now.  All you players out there – I don’t want to receive any HATE MAIL, or HATE POSTS for that matter, from your girlfriends or wives.  My observations and beliefs about male/female relationships are NOT a source of ammunition.  They are just my own personal beliefs and preferences. 

Let me break it down for you: 

I love to be treasured.  I think men like to be treasured as well. 

There is a distinct difference between treasure and possession.  I don’t have any interest in possessing – and I certainly cannot be possessed.  But I also can’t be with someone if I am not respected or cherished – if I am not longed for, or in the heart, or on the mind of that special someone.  There is nothing like that feeling when you care for someone, and they reciprocate.

But I am my own person too.  I love what I do, and I love becoming the “me” that I am from day to day.  I don’t need to feel that my man is all mine. 

The fact is, many women are NOT built that way.  I suspect my son’s friend Tanya had NO real idea what she was agreeing to (I’d be happy to be wrong, here).  In her mind, it probably just sounded cool, or made her sound cool to all the other cool kids. 

The truth of the matter is, most of my lovely girlfriends are very possessive about their men.  And that is OKAY.  It’s what they want!  They want their man, and they want him to want them – in a Wuthering Heights, romantic sort of way.  I don’t blame my girlfriends.  I love them and respect them in all their dreams for their lives!  Hey – I love to be showered with affection and attention, and I love to bestow it!  Who doesn’t?

We humans all start out young and vibrant, then we age, and grow older and wiser, and we hopefully learn to appreciate beauty when we see and experience it.  But don’t forget, all things do come to an end.  None of us gets out of this life alive.  If that doesn’t put an end to something, I don’t know what will!

On the Friends with Benefits note:  I’ve been there, done that.  It was fun and adventurous while it lasted.  Then it ran its course and ended.  I am still friends with that guy (or guys), but we’ve evolved to being just that – friends. Like all “things” that must come to an end, so ended our friends with benefits “thing.”

My philosophy?  I love just enjoying every single moment. Enjoy the people you know, and let them enjoy you. 

Okay – whew!  That’s it for now folks.  How was that for a walk through the philosophical musings of Ms. Cheevious?! Who would have thought a harmless comment by my twelve year old son would take me down this path?! Kids are amazing.

Tune in next time when I tell you about  the Pirates Who Pillaged Las Vegas!  Talk about Treasure! ARRGH!

Have a great weekend everyone!  And LOVE THE ONE YOU’RE WITH!

Love you people!

Mmmmmmmphhhhuuhhhhhhhh!

xoxo,

Ms. Cheevious

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Blog content copyright 2008, LISA JEY DAVIS a.k.a. Ms. Cheevious