Girl Power and Slasher Flicks


I saw Halloween last night. I am not a movie reviewer, but thought it might be fun and, hey, I have opinions.

To be fair, I am not a fan of horror/slasher flicks and never have been. I’ve never seen a single film in the Halloween franchise (nor Friday the 13th) even though they were at the height of popularity in the early 80’s when I totally fit the demographic for those types of movies. I’ll admit I was curious about this slasher film because I like Jamie Lee Curtis and it looked like she was gonna kick some ass. I am a fan of the “chicks kicking ass” genre. Even so, I probably wouldn’t have gone to see it, but I was invited by a group of ladies I enjoy, and it’s half off popcorn on Tuesdays so, why not.

Here’s my review: MEH.

This review contains tiny spoilers, but if you can’t figure these out beforehand, you’re not thinking…which is okay. Sometimes I do that on purpose, too, so that I can pretend to be surprised with totally predictable formula. But also, much of this was in the trailer – and the trailer is quite a bit better than the movie. That trailer was filled with potential about what that movie could have been.



Maybe if the movie hadn’t held itself so accountable to the slasher film tropes it would have actually been good. Come on, Jamie! I’m sorry, but weak sauce, Lady! So disappointing. This is the best you’ve got? You’re gonna stand with your back up against the door when you KNOW he’s right outside, so he can break through the door and grab you? You’re gonna leave a room full of stupid mannequins for him to hide behind? Or wait, no, I see. That’s right. We needed those to “build suspense” and make it “scary” – because they are WHITE mannequins, just like his creepy ass white face. Also, you’re going to trap yourself in each room, turn by turn, THEN cordon the rooms off with these amazing traps you built. Why the F not just run up and trap off all the rooms, then blast his ass between the bars you so ingeniously installed?

And that spiffy hidden cellar. LOVE THAT SHIT. Brilliant and I would very much like one of these. But, why, oh why, would you keep leaving the remote that opens it right next to it? Also, the dude can withstand being hit at 30 mph by a truck, shot at, and falling from buildings…and you really thought a little old plywood and tile island was going to keep him out.

This movie didn’t do anything to redeem slasher flicks for me, despite my hopes. I don’t like watching people get killed in ever more gory ways, especially people who don’t deserve it. (I won’t deny that a “bad guy” getting killed is not as difficult to stomach). But my problem with these films, really, is they overt misogyny. It’s not even veiled misogyny. The women are killed with particular glee and relish. They are hunted like prey, tormented, and typically we are treated to more detail with their deaths. The men tend to get killed swiftly and with less attention to detail. Yes, to be sure, dudes get killed too, but usually only because they are in the way, not because they’ve been hunted. Quick and easy (though not less gory) death for the guys, and often, we just see the guy after he’s been stabbed. Presumably it’s not as fun to watch a man get murdered by a homicidal maniac. It’s only fun to see his head roll by.

I wanted Jamie Lee to go after Meyer’s ass, hunt him down, lure him in, trap him, beat him at his own game. They didn’t use her nearly enough. Instead she spent a lot of it waiting, powerless in her own “trap” as she ends up being at his mercy. The ending was supposed to be satisfying, as Jamie Lee, her daughter and granddaughter finally get him. That was supposed to be the “girl power” moment. I wanted to be on the edge of my seat, cheering, punching the air and gritting my teeth as they use their wit and power of solidarity to beat that bastard! But, they kind of just got lucky. Yeah, she had a “plan”… sort of. But again, meh.

For my money, I found the ending of The Quiet Place much more satisfying. Now, there’s a lady who is completely out of fucks. She is tired of it and not taking any more shit. She is going to defend her family with everything she’s got. She lures that monster in and kicks his alien ass.

Nowthat was girl power. Unknown-3Unknown-1


What If You Fly…?


Leap Of Faith

An Essay on Hope

So, falling in love and not being psychic? Massively inconvenient.

Totally. Not. Fair.

In the famously viral NY Times article by Mandy Catron (To Fall In Love With Anyone, Do This), she explores the the “36 Questions That Lead to Intimacy” (as presented in Dr Arthur Aron’s Experimental Generation of Interpersonal Closeness: A Procedure and Some Preliminary Findings. )

Question 13 asks: “If a crystal ball could tell you the truth about yourself, your life, the future, or anything else, what would you want to know?”

Not so long ago, I did this experiment with someone I liked. And, yes, we fell in love. (But, full disclosure, I think we were already on our way to in love before we did the questions). I recall my answer to this question was something along the lines of “Maybe it’s better not to know. Maybe it’s better to just discover life as it happens and let things play out as they will.”

Was I full of shit, or what?

Obviously I was all pie-in-the-sky-glowing with new love. And now, I totally take it back. Yes, I want a crystal ball! And yes, I want to know how this all turns out! (I mean, I want to know other stuff too – but I promise I wouldn’t get too carried away with my crystal ball powers. It’s not like I’d use it to win the lottery…too many times…)

Let’s face it, People. Falling in love is a huge risk. It’s scary. Cause no matter how much you love and care for another human, you don’t get a guarantee that they are going to keep loving you back. You don’t even get a guarantee that them loving you back means you get to actually be with them. And falling in love in your 40’s, with kids and divorce and custody and exes – so many moving parts make it particularly challenging to get all the pieces to line up for an actual life together.

The reason those 36 Questions are so intriguing is we all want to be seen – truly seen – and loved for exactly who we are. And yet, opening up to someone and putting your heart out there is terrifying because we can’t know for sure what they see will be what they love. Or, as has been the case for me with a few men I’ve dated, that they will even try to really “see”you.

The man I fell for, I fell for because he sees me. And he sees me because he wants to see me. And I see him. Truly and beautifully. To be seen and loved is nothing short of a miracle.

But, yeah. I still want to see into the future with my damn crystal ball!

Here’s why. I’m officially amazed at two things in life: one, that anyone has more than one baby, especially if you’ve experienced natural child birth, and; two, that we keep risking our hearts after having them pulverized. One bad heart break should be enough to keep us from ever wanting to go through it again. So how do we keep taking that leap? How do we have the courage to let someone in, be vulnerable and open and hopeful – knowing that at any time, that person can choose to walk away?

I think it’s one of life’s great mysteries, to be honest. Love and loss go hand in hand, and yet we continue to put ourselves out there, to hope, to try, to seek for love in a world that offers us no guarantees. In a life where the only thing you can truly count on is change, it’s a brave and courageous leap of faith every single time you offer up your heart. And the truth is, many, many of us carry the scars and build walls out of a desire to prevent feeling the pain of heartache again.

So, as I dare to put my heart out there, I do want that crystal ball. I’m big on self-preservation.

And, yet…

And yet, there must be something in me – in all of us – that knows taking the leap is the only way to live. Right? Somehow the pain of the past isn’t enough to keep me from wanting to go forward and experience love – great love – again. Or, maybe even for the first time.

That thing in me, in you – it’s hope.

There have been times when my heart has been so hurt that I’ve thought, “You know what? That’s it. I’m not doing this again. I cannot risk this again – to hope for love and have it not work out is just too painful and disappointing. I’m done.” But I admit that even as I’ve thought this, I’ve known on some level I’m just being dramatic. I don’t even mean it, even though I’ve wanted to mean it sometimes.

I think that’s why this is one of my favorite poems:

There is freedom waiting for you,

On the breezes of the sky,

And you ask, “What if I fall?”

Oh, but my darling,

What if you fly?

Man, that little poem makes me weep. There is so much wrapped up in those five little lines. There’s fear, there’s pain, there’s hope, there’s promise. Life is in the living.

Take the leap. Love. Hope.



White Knuckle. Open Palm.


White Knuckle Open Palm

Essays on Letting Go

Life is a balance of holding on and letting go.


The great Sufi poet, Rumi. His words have helped heal my heart, give me hope, lead me to clarity, and better understand some of my greatest joy and deepest suffering. Like most of us, when I look back over the last twenty years of my life, I’ve experienced my share of both. I like to focus on the joyful times: my wedding day, finding out I was pregnant with my son and then my daughter, watching them grow into the beautiful human beings they are today. But mixed in with all those happy times, there’s heartache and loss. A crumbling marriage that ended in divorce, the death of my only, very dear brother, and a couple very painful break-ups.


Reading back the essays I have written over the years, clearly the thing I struggle with most is letting go. My readers will know this to be true; it’s a common theme. Basically, I keep writing the same essay over and over a little differently. I’ve written about it so much because I am always trying to figure out how to do it better.

That toxic marriage of mine. Truth is, it wasn’t always toxic. It was happy for a lot of years, until it wasn’t. And I know I was unhappy way before it occurred to him to be. He was just existing. When I finally did let go, it was one of the hardest things I’d ever done – and I had to do it for both of us. He wasn’t ready to let go either. And he didn’t really let go for a number of years.

So, this being bad at letting go thing? I’m thinking I’m not alone. That’s my point with this particular letting go essay.

I think people hang on to things that have run their course, expired, are toxic, quit serving them, no longer make them happy or even make sense anymore because letting go is, in a word, excruciating. The irony is every time you do actually let go, you feel so much better (eventually) I don’t know why we aren’t a lot more quick to release.

I wish we could all just learn to put effort into people who actually deserve it. Don’t waste time on assholes. You’ll be much happier. And at the end of the day you’re only responsible for your own happiness. Forget about the impossible to please people. Let them find their own happiness and leave you out of it.

Usually, not being able – no, not wanting to – let go is borne of fear, plain and simple. Fear of the unknown. Fear of losing what you think you have. Fear of loneliness, loss, pain, jealousy, anger…it all comes down to being afraid. We white knuckle it – holding on so damn tight because we can’t seem to recognize that when we let go we open up to so much more. We get so comfortable in what is we can’t imagine what might be.

Letting go with grace is something I’ll always have to work to overcome. I need to say, though, that this is the cost that comes with a trait I happen to like about myself: I attach to people. If I love you-love you, I love you for real. I don’t go tossing that shit around to just any old Jack or Joe. I also feel things deeply, so I risk getting hurt deeply by letting someone in, and letting someone go.

But, when I look back at all the ways my life has blossomed over the last several years I know I will keep loving the way I love, keep creating the life I want, and keep making room for all that is next. Because there is always so much more ahead than what we leave behind. Open palms.

In the words of another great (modern day) poet, #Atticus:

“Don’t give up now. Chances are, your best kiss, your hardest laugh, and your greatest day are still yet to come.”


Hold On to Let Go


You know how they say that the universe will keep giving you the lesson that you need to learn?

First of all, I don’t know who “they” are, but I bought Oreos today, you guys. And I only buy Oreos on two occasions: when I go camping or when I’m eating my feelings. I am not going camping.*

(*and technically I’m not really eating my feelings either, as I’m openly expressing them here. But I needed an excuse, so please don’t deny me that!)

As readers of these posts may know, I am not famous for my Letting Go Skills. I held on to a dying marriage for many, many years. I still have a bag of folded up notes that my friends and I used to pass back and forth in HIGH SCHOOL. And I have moved an old water softener to 4 different houses and not hooked it up at any of them. That’s painful to admit.

Hoarding tendencies aside,  I think letting go of ideas and expectations is the hardest of the let go’s, and this is my personal albatross. The last six or seven years have given me so many opportunities to let go – of people, of things, of expectations. I don’t know that it’s something I will ever be good at the way some people are. You know how some people – they’re called “minimalist” – never seem to have extra paperwork or mail or too many clothes or shoes or any stuff? They seem to have zero crap lying around. I walk into their space and I’m like, “Ooooooh yesssss”. I would LOVE to be like that. You guys, I am NOT like that. I will likely NEVER be like that.

But I’m not a total lost cause. I have gotten better. I’ve expunged material items (yes, the garage is the final frontier…but I did just post that water softener on Let Go. Not kidding! I mean, look at me let go!)

I’ve let go of toxic people in my life and that’s a GOOD let go. That’s a “what the hell was I waiting for” let go! That’s an F YES let go!

Most importantly, I think, is that I have learned to let go of the idea of what my life “should” look like and embraced my life exactly as it is. And that’s been the best part.

That’s not to say that I don’t still want or long for certain things. That’s not to say I don’t still strive to gain those things. I’m just not as attached to the ideals that once took up so much space in my head.

And that’s not to say I don’t fight back at times. I’m not all Mama Zen, floating perfectly along like, “Oh, you guys, it’s okay, just trust the journey. And here, have some glitter”.Image result for throwing glitter gif

Oh, no. I have to keep reminding myself about that. I have to keep looking back at my life and seeing that all the times I held on super tight to something was usually when I most needed to let it go. I have to keep looking back and seeing how the life I’ve created didn’t just happen because I magically got everything I wanted. The life I created happened because I course corrected along the way. I held on. I let go. I learned. And here I am.

So, yeah, this is a letting go of something I want. The difference is that I see clearly that I can’t have it now and I see clearly that this is okay. I see clearly that all I can do is accept and embrace this path I’m on and celebrate the experience. Life is constantly presenting us with hard choices, providing us with lessons and giving us opportunities to grow.

So, I let go. Let go. Let go.

Accept that “what’s next” is unknowable, but suffering is a choice. I choose not to suffer.

Accept that loving someone really does mean giving them space to follow their own path. I choose to love in spite of not having a guarantee that love will stay. Love and loss are intertwined and that’s a fact.

Accept that letting go is the way to acceptance, and acceptance is the way to peace. I choose peace. I choose to trust.

And I choose Oreos. At least for today. Yeah, I know Oreos are not the answer. Tomorrow, it’s back to camping only, I promise.

*Art Credit:




A Word About Dick Pics


Ahhhh, The Dick Pic. A relatively new tool (ahem) in the single (?) man’s arsenal of … um…courtship strategy.  Or an opportunity for perverts to cast a wider net. Or a novel approach for the exhibitionist. Whatever, but The Dick Pic has become a thing. (ahem)

For those of you who aren’t in the know, i.e. haven’t been in the dating world for the last 10 or so years, you may be wondering, “Why would anyone want to send, or receive, a pic of a dick?”

It’s a fair question.  And I’m not sure I can answer it. But, let me give it my best shot. (…ahem.)

First of all, for those of you who have not dated in the last ten years, do I need to tell you dating has changed? Like – a lot. Texting, Facebook, Snap Chat,, OkCupid, Tinder., Bumble – these things have changed the landscape completely. So when I dipped a toe in the pool six years ago, I couldn’t have known what to expect. I ventured into the world of online dating and I kept it a secret. There was a stigma attached to meeting someone online. It was the equivalent to taking out a personals add in the 90s.

But smart phones and technology put online dating on the Fast Track. The inter-webs have virtually transformed the way we seek and find relationships. There are so many dating apps and websites, the stigma has all but disappeared. “Where’d you meet him?” On Tinder. On Match. Eharmony. OkCupid. Bumble. And that’s just the tip of the iceberg. There are over 7,000 dating sites online, and of the 54 million single people in the US, about 49 million have tried online dating at some point. It’s a massive industry with annual revenue in the billions. (for more amazing online dating statistics, go here)

And not only that, but 17% of marriages in the last year started online, and one-fifth of committed relationships also began online.

So, where do the dick pics fit in? I don’t know why, but some men seem to find it exciting to “show the goods”. Is it a form of harassment? Absolutely. Are these men exhibitionists? Perverts? Predators? Maybe. Hard to say.

I just wonder, do they really think, “Hey, I know! A dick pic will win her over! Wait’ll she sees THIS!”


SPOILER: Not. Won. Over.

I still remember the first Dick Pic I received. I’d been emailing a man from Plenty of Fish. He was nice and seemed interesting, and we decided we’d meet for dinner. We moved off the site and started texting. Here’s what I recall:

Him: Where shall we meet?

Me: How about (Local Restaurant with amazing flatbread)?

Him: *dick pic*

Me: stunned emoji face

Him: Sure, that sounds great. 7:00?

Me: You just sent me a pic of your dick. Did you mean to do that? 

Him: I just thought you’d like to see what you’re getting.


Him: …

Me: I think I’ll pass. I’m afraid I’ll reach out to shake your hand, and…

This wasn’t a so-called hook-up site where we’d began chatting. There hadn’t been any flirting or any reason to think I’d somehow signaled him to send a pic of the goods. It was 100% unsolicited. It was the first – but not the last – dick pic I’ve received over the last six years. There has even been a dick video over skype. That was…neat.

If you do a quick google search of “Dick Pic” you will find a whole culture appears to have popped up around the phenomena. (Okay, I did that one on purpose…) There are sites JUST FOR DICK PICS. It has its own hashtag! #dickpic is a thing! There are Tumblr accounts, Twitter accounts – even a “Critique My Dick Pic” page (I am not including that link. You’re on your own, there). You can find How-To advice (How to Take A Dick Pic That Actually Looks Good), Cautionary Tales (click here), and an app that apparently lets you locate the men sending them, ostensibly to put an end to the unsolicited variety.

A word here about “sexting” vs. #dickpic. There is a difference between consenting adults sending one another sexy texts, which may or may not include pictures or videos, and the kind of dick pic I bring up here. Couples at any stage of dating, courtship, or even commitment may find that technology can enhance their sex life and you’ll get no judgment from me.


For the most part, I’ve handled (I just can’t stop with the puns) the dick pics I’ve received and carried on, not feeling particularly threatened or even assaulted. Over time, it got the point that it wasn’t even surprising. I usually just delete the offender. Or I might say, “Oh, sorry, you sent  a pic but I can’t quite make it out.” Let them worry about what I mean.

But I have to imagine that many women are deeply offended and even traumatized by receiving such a pic. For anyone with sexual abuse or assault in her past this could be a trigger. Not that any of us want that dick pic. But sending out random dick pics for shock value is not just ballsy, it’s an odious use of technology. But I suppose that’s the point for some of these offenders.

And you don’t need to tell me that #dickpic is part of the #metoo conversation. But that’s another post.

So, the moral of the story? If you’re a woman and you’re dating for the first time in a while, you’re probably going to get a dick pic at some point. Or, maybe not. Maybe by the time you read this, the #dickpic will be passe.

I won’t be sorry to see it go.

And if you’re a man reading this here’s the message: if you’re wondering if a dick pic is a good idea? Let me help you out. No. No. No. Never. No. Thank you. But, no.