"No Matter What Happens Louise, I am Glad I Came With You"

"I want to talk to you about sex."

This is a good opening line for talking with your child about sex. Preferably this conversation should take place when you have them trapped in a car going at a high speed so they don't contemplate jumping out.  They will still contemplate, but odds are they wont follow through if you are going fast enough.

Keep in mind that talking to them about sex gives them the same feeling you get trying to imagine your own parents having sex.  In their mind if you are talking about sex than it means you may have actually had sex once,  and that is the last thing they want to imagine. 


For me, I have always chosen the absolute most embarrassing and blunt way I could possible.  If we are going to do this conversation we are not going to beat around the bush and no pussyfooting.


Here are the basics I have tried to instill in my children:


Masturbation is A-okay


Do not let anyone pressure you into it.


Do not pressure anyone else into it.


Know how to please yourself so you can communicate that to your partner.(see first rule)


I don't care at all if you are gay or bi, I just want you happy.


Those are the basics.  But how do you explain the smallest of innuendos a person will run across in a lifetime?  How do you explain the difference between harmless flirting and flirting with intention?


Most importantly how to properly convey that sex will always be more intense when there is an emotional connection?


During some girl talk recently it was revealed to me that two people I know were planning on hooking up.  They had been acquaintances some time back but have never had a sexual relationship.  This arrangement intrigues me.  They are both consenting adults and can do as they please.


What I find curious is that they both have agreed it will be a one night only arrangement.  Going in to something knowing it will go absolutely no further than one night seems unromantic and slightly depressing to me.  For all the failings I have had in love, I still believe in love.  I want everyone I know to have the love I have experienced in my lifetime.


I am a very liberal person, and I am not against this prearranged sexual encounter.  I see it as more interesting than anything else.


I have experienced sex without an emotional connection before and while it was fine,  looking back it felt more like masturbation, only with someone else there.


Then there is the age/ life/work factor that can come into play.  I am too old to not voice my desires, I am too busy to commit, and to some degree it has to be quick as usually there are kids that will need a ride, or have been left at home.  The days of lingering in bed taking in my lover piece by piece as if all time has stopped is now an illusion.


In my life sex can begin with a text message and carry on through a day, a week, a year.  Sometimes it comes to fruition, and sometimes not. 


Sunday mornings with The New York Times, laying naked in bed having coffee, talking and making love have been replaced with short interrupted or awkward attempts.


Life becomes more complex.  Days do not seem endless, time has not stopped still.


So maybe a prearranged meeting is not the worst thing.  Maybe foreplay can take place for them in the waiting for the moment. 


I still wonder how satisfying it would be without the emotional connection.  I also wonder how it will end.  A scene from a bad movie where one slips out awkwardly while the other one sleeps?  A conversation while getting dressed that in no way acknowledges what just happened?  A text message hours later saying, "Hey that was awesome."?


If I am lucky my friend will divulge all the details to me, and I will know the answer.


Next time I have one of my children trapped in  the car I will  add to my list of things I want to tell them about sex.  That is,  before we reach a red light and they bail:


Try to be in love with the person.  Make the world stop for just the two of you.  Feel like no one else has ever felt what you are feeling.


And for God's sake wear a condom.

I Stand Before You

It has been obvious to myself and to others that I have been dwelling upon self perception. 

As I move forward with my life, family and career all going going full speed, I have had to take moments to examine the past. More specifically my youth. 

I look back and see so many boxes I was put in.  By myself or by others.  All natural parts of growing up and figuring out who I am. Some boxes had matching decor to others.  Some would cause Sesame Street to sing, "One of these things is not like the others." 

I have kept journals since I was ten years old and if need be I can always whip one out and read my immature handwriting and fel the pathos pouring out.  My daughter and I read some of my poetry I wrote in high school and we could not stop laughing.

Words of undying love written for a person I can no longer even recall.  Apparently I did not die from that one unrequited love.

I was asked by a fellow classmate what I am looking forward to about the reunion, he was wise enough to add what am I dreading.  I told him I am dreading feeling like I did in high school; like I never fit in.  He seemed shocked at my answer and said he always recalled me as being happy and fun to be around.

I also have been in touch with some people that I went to camp with every summer.  That magical summer haven where I did feel like I fit in.  One of my counselors that I spoke to recently said she basically remembers me as being a pain in the ass.  Sounds about right.  I was twelve when she knew me.  Another counselor remembers me as being sweet and cute.  But I was 14 by then, so maybe I was a little less obnoxious.

The one counselor who saw me as a pain in the ass kid, said she still sees me that way and needs to erase that memory of me.  While there are a number of memories I would love to erase, I am loathe to do so.  I would prefer to see the transformations and maturation's of people from my past than cling on to the box I had put them in.

I am going to see my Mom next week, and the issue of memory and remembering my past is now more keenly important to me than it ever was.  I am selfishly worried that I too will go in my Mother's footsteps and not be able to accurately recall my own history.

I am chasing windmills trying to get an accurate view of who I once was.  The more I chase, the more I see that it does not matter.  What does matter is who I am now, and where I am right this moment.

I am going home again.  A place that has not been my home for over two decades.  I have arranged to see old places I once haunted, old friends, old lovers.  Some I have kept up with and see me for who I am today because we have traveled the years together.  I will see people I have not traveled with, and they may look at me as the snotty kid, or the persistent young teenager, or  not notice me at all.

As long as I remain authentic to who I am now, whatever boxes I was once put in does not matter.

Boxes are typically made out of cardboard for a reason.  They can be recycled and made into something else.

Has Anyone Seen My Bra?

It is roughly 39 days and six hours until my twenty-fifth high school reunion.  So far the only thing I have done regarding the scale is stub my toe on it several times while getting out of the shower.

I finally kicked it away, somewhat out of sight.

I have spent hours not on a treadmill, or outside walking, but pondering why I care so much about this reunion.  Why my appearance in particular is what I am focusing on.

I have overlooked any and all accomplishments in my life and all I have been seeing is the negative.

I have a part of me that wants to keep up with the Joneses.  I had thought in my forties I would be a study of self confidence and acceptance.  One of "those" women that people seek out to talk to and meet for coffee.  The wise woman who is comfortable in her skin and mixed matched outfits.

Instead my career has lead me away from that comfort zone, and I find myself sweating over outfit choices and lack of makeup on my days off.

I have come to the point where I actually now keep a bra in my glove compartment for the times I do not feel like wearing one, but am paranoid I may need one, in case I run in to someone.   The added bonus is that should anyone (besides my children) look in the glove compartment and see the bra, I could always fake a wry smile and let them assume I had some illicit affair in my tiny compact car.  That would have been much more believable in my Tahoe.

And seriously if I did run into someone would I say, "Oh my god it is so good to see you, I want to hear everything, just hang on one sec while I run out to my car!"  I doubt it.

It is not a sense of hubris that keeps me from celebrating my own accomplishments, what I do on a day to day basis, is just that; what I do.

I am off to see my mother at the end of this week, which means I will be out of town for a week.  My ex husband just informed me that we will have a meeting tonight to go over the schedule for while I am away and round up the usual friends to help out.  I offhandedly said, "How many people does it take to be me?"
He did not flinch at the question, but took it seriously as if I needed to a list of people to call to duty, "I am thinking at least four."

That does not include any clients that may be seeking me in dire need of a hair emergency.

If it takes four people to fill in one week of my life, there is certainly things there that are being accomplished.

When I go to my high school reunion can I say that I have managed to get the kids to school most days on time?  Or that I have styled hair that will be seen in photographs for years to come?  Or, yesterday when I was working a fashion show on a Sunday I had a moment when I had no clue where any of my children were and furiously sent out a text to several people saying, "Do you have the kids?"

I think it is an accomplishment to not only have no idea where your children are but be able to locate them as quickly as possible.  I think it is a huge accomplishment that after working all morning in a fast paced atmosphere (without a bra because I forgot it in the glove box) to come home and make a decent dinner when there is practically nothing in the house to eat.

I think I should tell anyone at my reunion who asks what I have been doing for the last twenty-five years, that I manage a small company, where there is no retirement plan, but the benefits are excellent.   

I will show up at the reunion no pounds lighter, a bank account that is probably dangerously low, but not  overdrawn (another accomplishment) and possibly even a bra.

But if I do forget the bra, I am full of pride in knowing it will take four people to do what I do on any given day.  I'd like to see a bra manage that.

Kissing and Fashion

Let's talk fashion and love.

I was lucky enough this year to participate in Austin Fashion Week.  It started off by doing hair for a few models for a fashion show.  the show was exciting and I was quickly caught up in fashion fever.

I attended a few of the functions during the week and worked doing makeup for one other event.  The real thrill came last night.  The end of Fashion Week.  The awards ceremony complete with red carpet.

I was not up for any awards, but the owner of the salon where I work, was up for not one but two awards.  She graciously asked me to attend as her date.

As the weekend drew closer I was starting to regret my decision to go with her.  I kept thinking I would rather be home with a cheeseburger and no makeup on than go to an awards ceremony.

I even sent her a last minute text asking if there was anyway to get out of going.  The response was, "No, grab your hair and get over here,"

The glory of being a hairstylist is the constant changing of identity through my locks.  My own real hair is cut short, so to don a wig of long luscious locks for an evening is perfectly normal.

The day leading up to the awards was already an odd one as I had searched down an old friend and found out that her life partner had recently passed away.  I had not spoken to my friend in 15 years, but I have known her and her partner since I was ten years old.

Her partner was my first camp counselor and my friend was my first real girl kiss.  Reconnecting after so long combined with being hours away from walking on a red carpet, was surreal at best. 

As I put on my eyelashes I was suddenly brought back to the summer of the kiss.  The cool air of the Catskill Mountains, the girl sitting next to me, my heart racing.

"Those earrings are bad, and lose the bracelet" snapped me out of my revelry.  I quickly changed but really wanted to go home and relive those summers I spent at this magical place.  I wanted to replay the kiss.  I wanted to write about it.  Instead I was running around the salon in search of the perfect accessory.

Dressed and in the car the cool breeze in my head from the Catskills was replaced by the harsh reality of a Texas summer night.  Why did I wear black? 

We arrived and I dutifully stood behind my "date' taking pictures of her as we approached the red carpet.  Yes, it actually was a red carpet.  Complete with stopping every few feet for pictures from photographers that stood behind a rope.

My boss was a pro.  Not her first rodeo as she has previously won an award at this event a few years ago.  She had her picture taken as I stood back, and then without warning she grabbed me and pulled me in for the pictures as well.

"Damnit why didn't I stick with that diet plan six months ago.  turn, smile, is there anything on my teeth? God I wish I had that camera.  Wow, the flashes really are a bit blinding, please Lord don't let me trip.  Is that man wearing a skirt?  walk, stop, turn to look thinner, smile, yes I am sure there is something stuck in my teeth.  I wonder what editing program they use for their pictures?  Who are all these photographers? Oh that kiss..."

We had reached the end of the carpet, now I could step back and watch everyone else who was behind me that I was oblivious to.  Fashion Diva's of Austin.  Amazing clothes, outstanding hair, a ton of women coiffed to the hilt.  This was no ordinary Awards show, it was Austin, and we may have been in the chicest location surrounded by lights and music and cameras, but it still managed to attain it's Austin flair.

My boss did not win this year, but I truly believed was honored just to be nominated.  Her award being first we relaxed into the evening and watched the rest of the awards in stride.

When the awards for People's choice and Industry's choice for best hairstylist came up, I can not express how much I wanted to see my name up there.  Hear my name called out.  Without warning a drive came in me and I immediately thought, "That will be me next year."

At the after party hands were shaken, names were taken, pleasantries exchanged.  My mind shifted into photographer mode and I walked around taking pictures of the fabulous people.  Yes, they are fabulous. 

Being single made me momentarily sad, as I realized I had no one to bounce comments off of, or hold hands with.

Holding hands brought me back to that summer so long ago.  The touching of hands in a sweet and cautious way that lead to a kiss. 

The curious mixture of where I was standing realizing that half a country away an old friend was grieving the loss of her love.  I have stood in her shoes, and they are not comfortable or fashionable in any way.  I went outside and offered up to the skyline a wish that my friend finds comfort, and that my own feet would find comfort as well, as my shoes were killing me at this point.

I spent the evening in two places at once.  Reliving one evening, while standing in another.  Both evenings very different, yet in the end, both felt like me.

Someday I will write about the award I won, and my acceptance speech.  For now, I write about how one kiss can lead to an award show in a city I never knew existed.

These Boots

In between hot flashes, adult acne, and a daunting countdown to my 25th high school reunion, I have endured summer.

Not that summer is over according to the temperature.  Our hottest days lay ahead still.  The calendar dictates that summer is over as the kids have gone back to school, and suddenly my schedule is filling up with people returning from their holidays.

My clients sit in my chair and regale me with stories of travels far and near.  Out of kindness they ask what I managed to do this summer.

The question always reminds me of that first paper you have to write in second or third grade about what you did over the summer.  Sometimes for me it was as simple as, "I went to fat camp."
Often the paper was filled with stories of hanging out at the lake with my friends, and slathering baby oil all over my skin so I could get as tan as possible.

The smell of coconut Hawaiian Tropic still makes me smile.

Not this summer.  This summer I did not go to the beach, or lay out, or even go to the pool much.  This summer I lost myself and found myself.

Not exactly the thing a client wants to hear, so I usually answer that I worked, and as my kids are older they all did their own thing, which is true.

I however lost a job, found a career, and for a short time lost my identity altogether.

I spent many days and nights pondering who the hell I was.  How did I become the person I was seeing in the mirror?

I dug so deeply into myself that the rest of the world around me became a blur.  I became disconnected not only with myself but with my friends and family, and when I opened my eyes I did not like the place I had landed.

My eyes did open though, and I realized that I spent way too much time trying to figure out who I was then actually embracing who I am.

While contemplating writing a book a friend told me to dig deep.  I related this to another common friend and she said, "That's excellent advice, you should.  What did you do today that took up some time and thought?"

The honest answer was, "I spent over half an hour laying on my bed watching the ceiling fan."

My friend, who happens to be a therapist said, "Not exactly a book I would pick up."

But do I really want to dig deep?  Do I want to go to those places that other people may or may not find interesting?  I spent almost an entire summer living in my head without my toes touching sand even once.

I feel almost like I literally lost myself within myself, and just in the past few weeks I have been able to climb out, look back and say, "Lesson learned."

I found myself and then some.  I found the part of me that knows I deserve good things, the part of me that loves and adores my children and friends and family.  I found a part of me I did not know existed before, a part that has business and networking savvy.  Once I gave this part of me permission to reemerge  it has come out in abundance.

I feel excited again, and more alive,  more me. 

I may be speaking in vague terms because the details are not important.  What is important is tonight I sat on the bed with the kids and talked, laughed and told stories.  I was present.  Completely in the moment.

I may not lose one pound before my high school reunion. I may show up wearing cowboy boots that will be oddly out of place, I may have gray in my hair.  But I will show up being me.  A better me than I was 25 years ago, a better me than I was a year ago, and a better me than I was even this morning.

The part of me I lost was the trusting in myself and my confidence.

The part I found was even more trust and faith in myself and a confidence that I hope is as infectious and sexy as it feels to me.

I may be the fat girl at the reunion wearing cowboy boots, but you can bet I will work those boots unlike any other.  Because that's who I am and what I do!

Eviction Notice

With new found enthusiasm I was over the moon at the idea of learning to love myself again.  Ready to take on this momentous project, and dare I say, the lingering idea of turning it into a book?  Who does not want to learn how to love themselves more?  Best seller for sure.

I see a fit healthy new me that glows with exuberance sitting along side Matt Lauer, (I gently move my long curly hair to the side a litte) "Well Matt, yes it has been a journey, but one that did not require me leaving my children or duties.  Sure anyone could go to India, or Italy [I had to add a dig to other authors somehow] to "find" themselves.  But the truest journey is when you go within.  When you seek love, absolution and forgiveness from within.  I believe that the turning point for me came when...."

Matt interrupts, "That's all we have time for, thank you Amy Evers,  your book "______________" has been on the NY Times Best Seller list now for 32 weeks, coming up next, Do we really have to suffer with ingrown toenails?"

I giggled for at least a day over such scenarios.

I fell asleep starting to make lists of how to go about this, make it a reality.  I could taste it as clearly as the entire tray of brownies I had consumed earlier.

Then I woke up.  Literally.  I woke up and walked to the bathroom and there on my visage were not one but three zits that blossomed to a full bloom while I slumbered.

Really?  ACNE?  I thought I was in menopause.  Okay maybe perimenopause, but all the same, three glorious zits?

Pause.  I love myself remember?  Look again, See further than the acne, look deeper.  Oh My God, that is one long giant ass chin hair!  And it is white.  Just sign me up now for a part time job as Santa in the mall, I am sure by then it will turn into a full beard.  Acne and chin hair.  I am turning into a hormonal teenage boy minus the testosterone.

Taking a moment to reevaluate my situation, clearly the first step to my love project was not going to begin on the outside.

The outside will reflect my inner beauty once I have learned to love and accept my flaws and changes.

 After that trite cliche came to mind, I thought, and how many books were written like that?

This was only day one, did I expect miracles to happen overnight?  No.  But nor did I anticipate acne and chin hairs either.

Gathering up my gusto, I continued on with my day.  Doing all the things I would normally do. The shuffling of children, stressing over money matters, trying not to pick at my zits which I was tempted to name after Great evil characters of destruction.  One was particularly large and could not decide if it should be Voldemort or Judas.

A day ago I was hyped up to claim my life back, to start fresh, to travel within to find the love of myself. Now less than twentyfour hours later I was sitting in line at Jack in the Box thinking of names for my zits.

This was not the plan I had been mentally putting in place.

It has been a few days, Voldemort, Claudius and Cruella have all but gone back from whence they came.  It was a short derailment and learning opportunity that I am sure I learned nothing from as they will annoy me every time they appear.  Perhaps the lesson is not to learn to love everything about myself flaws and all.  Maybe I need to learn how to deal with those things that pop up (pun very much intended.)

I do not want to turn into some sweet little lady who drips with euphemisms and platitudes.  I want my spark.  My feistiness, my fun to return.  That may always involve naming facial eruptions, and cursing at them when I dare to glance in the mirror.

As for the chin hair, I will rip them out as violently as they appear until there are no follicles left to produce.  If I can not reproduce, then my chin can't either.  Those are just the rules around here in the body of Amy.

I may be offer to a wobbly start along this inward journey, but be sure of this, I have started.

the Love Project

In a conversation with a friend I said something sarcastic that hit to the bone.  Sarcasm is my usual defense when feeling cornered.  He replied with , "Well I will go further in life than you ever will."

At the time of the conversation/argument I agreed with him.  "I am sure you will."

But then I started to think about what that means.  To "go further".  Knowing this person it meant monetarily.

I have been there.  I have had dinner with a the captain of the Queen Elizabeth II.  I have had diamonds that could buy a car.  I had a wedding that could have bought a house.  I have bought two houses.  I have had more cars than I can count (tho not at one time).

I have been poor.  I have pawned the diamonds, and sold cars to get Christmas gifts for my kids.

Money is a pain in the ass, when you don't have it.  Or so the saying goes.

But there is one thing more important than money.  It's love.  Yes I know that is cliche and douchey, but also true.

I have been going through some trying times in the last few months and for the most part have not let many people in on it.  Seriously sometimes bitching about my life just gets tiresome, even to me.

Yesterday I made a decision  to focus on love instead of strife.  Be better to the ones I love.  My children, my siblings, my friends, my parents.  That is how the list came out in my head.  After looking at it, I realized someone was missing from this love list.  Myself.

I do not think I have truly loved myself since Eric died.  My identity was how he saw me.  How he loved me.  How I loved him.  I lost that identity when he took his last breath almost 8 years ago.

Now I am faced with gaining back the love of myself.  Becoming the person I once was only better.  I just am not entirely sure how to go about it.

I don't want a big house, or a fancy brand new car.  I have no use for diamonds.

I want to pay my bills, put food on the table and know what it means to love myself again.

When I can do that, I will be free from the lingering depression that has become a part of my identity.

 When I do that I will be able to offer even more love to my children, family and friends.

I hope I do fall in love again someday.  I hope I do get to experience the kind of love where I am accepted as is.  A love that allows me to be strong, weak, tired, scared, powerful, fun, and playful.

Should it never happen again, than I hope to love myself enough to be alone, without sadness.

My daughter is reading a book about a woman who went about a year of claiming happiness.  Even though I have a distaste for the "year memoirs" as I call them, I do like the idea of finding happiness and creating it.

Maybe I need to map out on a conscious level what would bring me back to loving myself, without the need or desire of a partner to help identify that,

Maybe I need a "Love Project."

Maybe this is the idea of something bigger than myself.

let the Love Thyself Project begin!