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digress.
     
    Here’s a little Chickspeak insight for you:
     
    We know you like to look. We get it. You cannot look away from a nice rack. It’s a little like staring at the sun. Or a car accident.
     
    But dudes, don’t push it. If you want to continue to have access to our racks, let’s establish a few ground rules, shall we?
     
    For some, I don’t know, strange reason , when drool comes out of the side of your mouth and your neck twists around like in The Exorcist so you can watch a chick walk all the way out the door, we find it rude. And unattractive. Women are just silly that way.
     
    We don’t like it when you stare at a woman’s breasts longer than the eye-flick rule (and that includes talking to the breasts. Um, up here, dude.). Anything past that and we invoke our right to call a foul. (If you have to ask what a foul is, we have no hope for you and you should just move in with your bachelor, and may I point out surely celibate, brother.)
     
    If you keep looking at that chick’s rack in line at Starbucks more often than you gaze lovingly (damn it) at us, it’s time to seriously rethink our relationship. And by rethink we don’t just mean who gets to keep the Starbucks rewards card. Or our pet goldfish, George Bush XVIII.
     
    If you think we’re being unreasonable, consider this: We women get gypped. The only thing we get to check out on guys is how their tushes look in jeans. That’s it. I mean, it’s nice and all (meh?), but you guys really hit the jackpot when it comes to um, (How shall I put this?) observing the available merch.
     
    But really…is it our job to watch you revel in it?
     
    Sigh. I suppose it is. For example…
     
    (Ooh, cute waiter, nice ass, ten o’clock.)
     
    So, um, sorry, where was I?
     
    ***
     
    *Poignancy Alert*
     
    TIED
     
    I love a good joke. I love writing a good joke even better. But there are times and situations where you just can’t find the funny. I’m usually all about the snark, but one situation last year fell into that latter category.
     
    At first I was afraid to write about it, because, you know, it wasn’t going to make anyone laugh. But I braved it out and posted it (of course with a poignancy alert). To my surprise, the response was incredible.
     
    Turns out I can write about something other than toilet paper rolls (don’t get me started, though).
     
    Having a sense of humor about oneself is so critical. It’s what gets us through our dark times. My ex seemed to laugh and be a generally happy guy around others, though he clearly had his demons.
     
    I rarely believe anyone when they say they’re fine. I know it’s a pleasantry. I know how I feel when I say it. I wish I had paid closer attention when my ex, D, said it.
     
    I struggle with the love I had felt for D. He was a major part of my life, someone whom I thought I would marry, have children with, and build a life. I had invested so much of myself in “us,” when we broke up it took me awhile to figure out how to move forward as “I.”
     
    Fast-forward twenty years. It was ’09. I was happily married with two kids, and then out of the blue D contacted me. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t shaken by him reentering my life. Not the kind of, “we’ve got to run off together” Drew Barrymore/Justin Long kind of movie fantasy. No it was more just… odd. Uncomfortable, I guess. To remember our connection but to not really feel it anymore.
     
    Then when he committed suicide a few months later, I didn’t know what to do with these feelings. Was it okay for me to grieve for a lost love, even though I’m happily married now?
     
    Writing about it certainly helps me to sort things out; well, to a certain extent.
     
    These pieces, the pieces about D, are the easiest for me to write, though often the hardest to share.
     
     
     
    For more background on our relationship, please also read “ He loved me THAT much ,” where I discuss my love affair with D. I truly loved this man,