Let Your Man Be a Man

Men and women will never be the same. We like different things. We come together because opposites attract. We fit together and it makes us whole. We get married, or not, and have a family. It’s what some of us do.

Lately, I have been witnessing the birth of a new kind of man- The metro sexual. It’s the dawn of a new decade and it’s getting worse or better in some people’s opinion.

I myself like my man to be a man. I want him to be rugged, tough, able to fix anything, and as unfeminine as he can be. He can’t be power tool challenged, scared to kill a bug, too happy to shop, or look in the mirror more than me.

He is allowed to dress stylish (I’m hoping he needs my help from time to time), cook dinner, and help clean the house. He’s also allowed to have opinions about the home décor, but he should realize he will never win that one with me.

Lots of ladies want their man to be their right hand. I think that’s great and I too enjoy the companionship of mine. However, dragging him to the nail salon for a mani and pedi creeps me out as much as dual facials, wanting him at your Tupperware demonstration and your ladies luncheon definitely exceeds the legal limit of estrogen for any blue blooded man.

If he’s picking out your wardrobe, washing your hair just because he likes to, notices the difference between your baby doll pink and Barbie colored lip gloss, that there is too much for me.

Men and women are not the same for a reason. When you throw on your pink dress and make your man’s button up shirt the same shade with a tie that matches perfectly, you are too much for me.

I do love your energy, and I respect your color coordination. I won’t promise that I’m not laughing inside over you’re his and hers outfits, or wondering what’s going on with your man’s sexuality.

Stop trying to turn your man into your shopping buddy. Gabbing your gossip to him goes in one and out the other. Let him watch football on Sundays while you head to the mall, and be thankful that he may not notice everything you do to your hair, and if you chose a dark blue eyeliner instead of black.

He’s a man! He knows how to fix flat tires, grill steaks, eat wings, check off our honey-do lists, and tell us we’re pretty. He’s going to want to get in your pants as much as he can and he’s going to love you for you if he really does love you.

I have me, myself, and I…and that’s all the estrogen needed in my girlie pink filled world. I want a man to be completely opposite of me. I want to have similar interests, but the ones that are unisex.

When I judge a man I use my father as my role model. He always likes to look good. He would never wax his eyebrows, get a manicure, match my mother’s outfit, choose Dancing with the Stars over football, or call any handy man to do the work he can do better.

It’s wonderful when a man has a sensitive side and will do anything for his woman. If you are in love you should always put each other first. Just remember that in order to be the woman you have to let him be the man.

If you want to be the pretty, sexy diva in the house, then leave him home watching baseball and golf. And, really, isn’t it fun to disagree and pick on each other for our differences? It’s playground foreplay 101!

Just be happy your man loves you and not himself more. If you keep trying to turn him into your little puppet then one day you will. You will be lying in bed feeling his silky smooth legs and they will be softer than yours.

The reasons you were attracted to him are the very same things you are trying to change about him now that he’s yours. Do you really want to turn your man into a Wo-Man?

Come on, ladies! Wise up and let your man be a man. The next time he’s watching football and lying on the couch breathe a sigh of relief! Order up some testosterone driven food, and get your estrogen butt out the door to spend your money and his!

Brussel Sprouts for Spike

Brussel sprouts: Little green balls that I despised. Vegetables at my house were part of every meal. I ate most of them but the green ones sometimes got to me. I was fine with green beans, peas, and even broccoli, but don’t dare put spinach on my plate or come near me with cabbage, and forgetaboutit…no brussel sprouts for me!

I remember many nights sitting at the round table in our kitchen in the corner. My mom made me sit there until I ate my veggies. “They will help you grow strong and healthy.” She wasn’t too terrible. She was willing to give me a pass if I just took a few nibbles. She was gracious but I was stubborn. I REFUSED to give in to her UNTIL the one night her idle threats turned into the real deal.

I was eating a dinner that I had to have because I didn’t like what she was making for everyone else. It was actually almost sacrilegious in our house, but it was a TV dinner…those yummy in my tummy easy peasy boxed dinners. You put them in the microwave and in no time you are on your way to Salisbury steak and some mashed potatoes. I clearly had a lot to learn about food. Somewhere along the way I was at a friend’s house and this is what her mom was serving and I insisted it be on the menu at my house too. My mom was not in favor of this but got one to shut me up.

“Janine, if you don’t eat it all, I’m going to smash it in your face.” That was my mom’s way of insuring she never had to buy one again. She knew that I wouldn’t really like it over her fabulous home cooked meals. Plus, she was playful and my brat brother and cousin were egging her on a bit. I accepted her challenge and felt confident I would show her up.

Half way through all eyes were on me and my instant fake mashed potatoes, and rubbery piece of meat. I felt the heat. The pressure was on and those chicken cutlets, broccoli rabe, and macaroni and cheese they all were scarfing down looked damn good. I being the brat would not be defeated.
I sat in the chair and smiled after every bite. I was a skinny little thing and I was having trouble about a third of the way through. I felt pretty cocky and decided to quit. I was done, finito. It was a TV dinner wrap.

I was sure my mother would not have the guts it took to really smash it in my face. That dinner wasn’t coming near my eyes, mouth, cheeks, and nose. No way. Yes way. Wait a minute, are you serious??? “Moooommmmmm!” Right in the smacker it went! There was fake food in my face. Everyone laughed while I cried. I was shocked, embarrassed, and in disbelief that she really kept her word and followed through with her threat.

Days later this traumatic experience was over and out of my mind. Mom decided to serve up some good food and some bad food, brussel sprouts! Right when I thought it was safe and I was on my way to happy stomach she ruined it again. I did however become a little more creative at finishing my food. My dog, Spike, named by my older brother, of course, became my garbage disposal.

He was a beggar at the dinner table anyway so I figured we would both be doing each other a favor. Every time my parents turned away one brussel sprout was gone. My mom had her suspicions but I think she was feeling bad about the smash in the face incident so she let me slide. She gave her best teeth grinding annoyed parent face and told me to “Knock it off and eat my veggies!” Yeah, yeah mom all done. I actually liked them. Mmmmmmm, mmmmm good I’m gonna grow healthy and strong!

After dinner as we helped her clean the table, I saw a pile of brussel sprouts on the floor. Spike wouldn’t even eat them! How bad must they be when a dog is spitting them out too? I dropped to the floor picked them up and threw them out. My master plan destroyed by a four legged glutton.

Many, many years have gone by since I was served the green balls, but a few days ago I went to dinner at a friend’s house and one of her delicious dishes was made with brussel sprouts. The little green leafed balls of yuck that I once despised were mixed with some tasty pork. There was some pancetta, onions, pine nuts, and rosemary added to the dish. Man, why didn’t my mom think of this twenty-five years ago. It would have been a homerun hit! I left and even asked my friend for the recipe and yes I used it that same week to make my very own.

That dinner flared up memories. I have grown up and without the help of brussel sprouts. Can you believe it? I eat many veggies. I never asked mom to make me a TV dinner again and nor did I ever want one after that day she smashed it in my face. I always ate what was on the table. And, last but certainly not least, I miss my dog. He was a good sport. Brussel sprouts for Spike and no punishment for me. Even though he spit them out he got the green balls off my plate and the parents off my back.


Oh yes, and next time my mother comes for dinner I will be serving the new improved dish of brussel sprouts and if she doesn’t finish it I will be sure to threaten to smash it in her face and follow through with it! Just for old time’s sake. Now, that would be a great way to serve up some nostalgia!

Hallelujah! We Have Seen the Light!

For the past two years I have been looking for the perfect chandelier for my dining room. I wanted it to be vintage, have hundreds of little crystals, and big! This was not so easy to find in my price range. Most of them are a zero too many over my budget. The search continued and in the meantime I kept up the basic builder grade one that came with my new house.

About three weeks ago my mom called to tell me that she found a chandelier for me. Her neighbor’s house was up for sale and they were in need of money, so everything needed to go. She never saw the light but as soon as she heard the word “old” she thought of me. And, the best part, it was only going to cost me forty dollars. That’s not a typo.

She decided to tell the friend of ours that I would take it before I even saw it. No big deal because for forty dollars I figured it was a win win situation. If I hated it I only spent forty and if I loved it, well, then I hit the jackpot.

I went over to pick up the chandelier. When I first saw it I didn’t feel love at first sight, but it was definitely the style I had been looking for. My boyfriend took it down and we went on our merry way. As we drove off I could hear little crystals clickety clanking together and falling to the floor of the car.

When I got home I did some serious observing. It was old and it needed a good cleaning. It needed some replacement crystal tear drops and some new bulbs. It was going to take minimal work at best to make this look new again. I was pleasantly surprised as my boyfriend held it in place so I could see if it fit the style of the room. It actually made the room. I was ready to rehab the chandelier and get it hung.

Two weeks went by and I finally got around to it. My boyfriend and I went to hang it. He actually did the work I just stood there helping him hold it up. Mike said, “Turn on the lights, it’s done!” No light. No grand finale. Yeah, that wasn’t good. So he took apart the base and found the problem. The wires weren’t all connected. Voila! Problem solved. Nope, not really.

As we sat in the very low lighting that was breaking through from the living room and kitchen I somehow pulled the wire all the way through the lamp and we couldn’t get it back in the metal skinny pole.

Both of us were aggravated, but remained patient. We went through a few wire hangers and many, many hours trying to pull the wire through to the top so we could connect the light. Nothing was working. We finally called it a night at one in the morning.

The next day after Mike was up at five in the morning and didn’t get home until nine at night, we tried again. This time we had the proper tool from a friend that’s an electrician. First try, no go. Second, unsuccessful. Third time is a charm!

We sat on the floor again and we just smiled and laughed. You would have thought I just gave birth! We were like two proud parents! It was such a relief. I was overwhelmed with happiness over a chandelier! I laughed out loud and said, “Man! I’m getting old if this kind of stuff makes me this happy!”

The chandelier got hung. We practiced patience, which I have none of, when putting on nearly a hundred crystals that had fallen. It was all back together! I flipped the switch and we had light…eight bright candelabra bulbs blazing in my dining room.

Again, we were proud parents of this vintage chandelier. I added some finishing touches, a few brand new bulbs, crystals, and some miniature black shades. It looks ballroom beautiful in my dining room.

I am so impressed with our teamwork, persistence, and patience. Who says old dogs can’t learn new tricks and who says old can’t be new again? I learned some patience and that old chandelier is new again. You would think I spent thousands of dollars if you saw this grand lighting fixture in my home.

If you ever want to test your patience, try putting all the tiny pieces of a chandelier all back together again.

I must admit it was forty dollars well spent. Ten hours well labored. Two smiles beaming! Eight bulbs burning bright, and with that Hallelujah! We have seen the light!

“The Miracle Medicated Ointment”

I’ve been sick for eight straight days. A summer cold is wrong…all wrong. I can handle the sniffles, the congestion, and the fever in the winter months but when the sun is shining and the temperatures are high but not as high as my temperature, it just makes me mad. I know I shouldn’t be complaining because things could be worse but I want to and it’s my sick pass.

As you can imagine I have had nothing but time to think in my bed. I remember now why parents are the best and being sick as an adult just isn’t the same. People care but you definitely aren’t getting mommy and daddy’s five star treatment.

I’m the kid that got sick if you had a virus and just spoke to me on the phone. Yes, you lived in another city, but some voodoo powers always took over and I ended up with the bug. I had no luck.

When I was little it meant missing school. I hated missing classes. I was a worry wart back then and if I had to miss my assignments I got very nervous. So, my parents would lie to me and tell me they would wake me in morning for school, but they never did. I felt sicker from the anxiety than the actual ailments I was challenged with that day. I was just that kid that didn’t want to disappoint anyone.

Sick days did, however, have plenty of perks. I would wake up to my mother’s lips on my forehead checking for a fever. Her hands would slowly caress my hair as I laid there whining about my sore throat. She would slowly put ear drops in and massage around my earlobes to help them find there way down the canal. In between those much needed naps she would wake me to make sure I took my Tylenol and drank plenty of fluids. She would make sure I had soup and some crackers. She would let me do whatever I wanted because you can’t get yelled at when you are sick. Mommy was my angel.

That same wonderful caring mom turned into Satan on plenty of sick days too. Her devil side came out when she had to give me the ice bath. The freezing cold water on my feverish body was torture. It was shocking and scary for a kid. I always knew that when my temp was high and my mother made the call to my father at work and then to her mother that it was over. If I could have made a run for it I would have but clearly I was not running anything but a temperature.

And, yes, there were times that I got tied up by my brother so my parents could force the nasty pink liquid, Penicillin down my throat. When it came time for the bottle with the child proof cap and the tablespoon was coming at me I was hell bent on taking it. I ran around the house like a chicken without a head. I kicked, screamed and cried like someone was going to kill me. It was my worst nightmare every eight hours on the dot and my older brother’s dream come true as he sat back laughing at my demise. You can imagine that payback was not fun for him. What goes around comes around. A younger tormented sister never forgets.

My father was lucky enough to always come out smelling like a rose. He let mom do all the dirty work as most father’s do. He was gentle and caring. He was soothing and comforting. I was his baby girl and for me he had some secrets up his sleeve or shall I say in his medicine cabinet. Those nights that my nose was stuffy and my head was too he knew just what his baby needed. “The Miracle Medicated Ointment” to the rescue!

It was old and by old I mean this stuff must have been around since the fifties. It was five ounces of old school feel good. It was a soothing antiseptic that came in a little tin. Dad would twist off the lid and put it up to my nose and say, “Breathe it in.” Then he would get a gob of the Vaseline looking ointment and stuff some in the opening of my nose, on my chest, and on my head. It felt tingly, and it felt good. It was like Vicks Vapor Rub on crack.

For those of you in suspense, it’s Rawleigh’s Medicated Ointment. You can’t get it on a drug store shelf and if you can let me know. Please. It doesn’t cure you overnight but it helps and it makes you feel good for a little while. It will put you to sleep and it will clear your congestion. It was my dad’s little miracle and my “Awww, thank God I can finally sleep now” ointment.

When I left my parents house to move out on my own I didn’t take too much from them. I did however bogart the Rawleigh’s medicated ointment. That five ounce tin is fifty years old, at least. It’s been used by our family of four for at least thirty three years. With that being said you do the numbers. If each person had three colds a year or congestion three times that’s twelve uses times thirty-three years, giving us a grand total of 396 uses!

I still have the same tin and it’s still almost full. No kidding and no exaggeration. A little Rawleigh’s goes a really long way. Five ounces is probably down to four.

Yes, I’m an adult and my parents can’t be here to coddle and care for me when I’m sick these days, well, not for the common cold or flu, but they are always there for me. My dad isn’t at my bedside rubbing on the Rawleigh’s like when I was a kid. But, that little tin has been by my side this whole week.

It’s been helping me clear the way my whole life. No expiration date. It’s magic to me how it works and how well it still works. It’s a miracle that has lasted a lifetime given to me by my parents.


It’s traveled different medicine cabinets, nightstands, sofas, and the home I grew up in to the house I call “home” now. It stands the test of time just like the love from my family. It’s an old school cure that will surely be used by my children.

This five ounce tin of the “Miracle Medicated Ointment” has lasted fifty years and may it last another fifty. It was created half a century ago with love and all natural ingredients. When you’re sick there’s no expiration date on love or Mommy and Daddy’s five star treatment. If that can’t help cure your cold and make you feel better nothing ever will.

Does Facebook Ruin Lives?

Technology sure has come a long way. We don’t talk we text. We don’t have reunions with friends in person we do it on the computer. We don’t channel surf on the television like before we surf the web. Life has seriously changed when you get asked out on a first date, dumped, told “I Love You,” or get fired from your job via text message. We just don’t know how to properly communicate anymore. It’s lazy, rude, and ridiculous to always have the newest form of social networking do the talking for you.

I hear so many people say Facebook ruins lives! So many people are cheating on their spouse and significant others because of this internet crazed site. You can look up old flames, old friends, family in far away lands, and old co-workers. You can secretly spy. You can see what everyone is doing in just minutes with their lives. Some people give you the play by play and some people are a little more private. I don’t really care if you are getting a coffee, the morning paper, lunch, napping, or fighting with your man or woman. I just care to read it because it’s “juice.” We are by nature voyeuristic. We are nosey. We want to see what everyone around us is doing. I am guilty of throwing a few cryptic comments to a jerk exe or two in my status headline, but I will never give the over one thousand friends I have accumulated the private details of my personal life. I choose to put up lots of quotes, my latest blog entry, and my pictures. Not my bra size, my phone number, my address, or the invitation to come stalk me while I’m out and about. People, lets use our heads.

Facebook has definitely helped me out a time or two. I caught an ex boyfriend cheating! Yes, cheating. Shocking to find that on FB, right? No, of course not! But, in the end FB lead me to the truth and I caught the lying, cheating man who was living a double life. So, a shout out and BIG thanks to Facebook for allowing us and some “Idiots” to put up pictures on their pages!

I have been hit on by married men, men with girlfriends, and even creepers I do not know too well. I have had some scary people using an alias to re-friend me and take the time to friend about one hundred other friends of mine on their list to make it look legit. I have learned real quickly that people are odd and interesting. Sometimes people are scary and stage five clingers with nothing but your life on their radar. Watch out it could happen to you. There’s people that spy and those that creep. Know the difference in the two. It could be life changing or harmful to you. Don’t be afraid to block someone, if they are annoying you why do you care if you hurt their feelings. Give me a break.

I’ve heard of double marriages and the spouse finding out through facebook that her husband married another woman in Disney World because she found the photos. I bet that Facebook “Photo Album” creation was his worst nightmare! Again, does this mean Facebook ruins lives? I say “No.”

Here’s what happens: A comment gets posted to your wall about how hot you look these days and it sparks the devil on your shoulder. A girl tells you that you are so funny and she loves your updates and you start to look at your “now” girlfriend like she’s boring and doesn’t appreciate you. A married man or woman says that their spouse is never there for them and they want to meet you for lunch just to catch up and talk because it’s been forever. You are in a relationship and your ex boyfriend that you were madly in love with goes from “In a relationship” to “single.” Now, you start to rethink your own love life because maybe it’s destiny and you are meant to be together again. You sit on the computer for hours looking at happy couples and wondering how she or he got her or him and why you haven’t found the one or that’s not your life. And, lastly, you wonder what you would do without Facebook, because lets be real, it’s kind of addicting.


Good things come from social networking too. It’s not bad if you can control yourself. You can see friends that live far away and pictures of their families. You can talk for free rather than having a huge long distance phone bill; you can keep tabs on your family and children. You can network for jobs and opportunities. You can meet the love of your life. You can spread your message to the masses. And, you can not take it all so seriously.

For the people who rip FB to shreds and think it is devil spawned I say “No.” Do not blame a computer site for people’s crazy inappropriate behavior. People need to take responsibility for their own actions and be sensible. If you get caught cheating on FB, you are the problem, not the woman or man who put up pictures of themselves and you couldn’t resist the urge to have them. If you are married and marry another woman at the same time, you are not stupid you need to seek serious psychiatric help. Facebook didn’t make you say “I do” to the other woman when you already had a wife and kids at home. That’s a monumental screw up! Eh?

It seems to me that Facebook doesn’t ruin lives, as emotionally crazed humans we manage to do it to ourselves. Everyone has issues and there’s a title for every outlandish, selfish behavior we can think of nowadays. Again, “No,” just grow up, be smart, stop being selfish, flick the devil off your shoulder, and just act dignified. Stop making poor excuses for your poor actions.

Facebook is not the core of our destruction, we are. Maybe Facebook is making us take a long hard look in the mirror at who we really are and what drives us socially. It’s all about temptation and how you handle it, accept or reject. No website in the world can make decisions for you that lies in your hands. If you look in the mirror and don’t recognize your own face maybe it’s time to deactivate your Facebook and reactivate “The Good Book.” There’s no better account than that one. Maybe that’s the only friend you need and the only friend that can help you.

Cape May turned into “Cape Fall”

Oh what a wonderful time of year….summer. You can walk around enjoying the lovely weather, the beautiful flowers and trees, the sound of the water, and the sun and the sand. You can go to that exotic destination or just head to the Jersey shore like I did. I haven’t been to Cape May, New Jersey since I was a little kid. So, on my most recent trip to the Wildwoods I decided to head to “The Cape.”

As I strolled the walkway packed with stores on each side and an ice cream in hand I was in pure Heaven. I have always had an affinity for the Victorian Era and every old house by the beach here was architecturally perfect in my eyes. The smell of the air and the salt water was mesmerizing, soothing, and rich! I did quite a bit of day dreaming as I walked by the sale signs on houses I know I can’t afford now, but maybe one day. The prices are high but my hopes are too. So, I surveyed the scene made some calls to the realtors and each time I got a good chuckle. I won’t be calling Cape May home anytime soon, but I had fun for the moment.

As the sun faded into the beautiful night sky my boyfriend, Mike, and I walked past a storefront window with a stunning painting of a White Stallion. There in the window of this tiny art gallery hung a magnificent painting that captivated our attention. I have never been so struck by a horse? I was in love. I went into the gallery and fell in love with quite a few more oil paintings, but none like the stallion. I left the store after proclaiming my love for this dominant animal and after begging for the owner to think about lowering the price some. As he called it in his salesman voice, “It’s like unbridled passion.” I hated to admit it, but this money making man was on the money. He knew he had me. I had to think about this purchase so I left with a smile and said, “I’ll be back.”

I was on a little high about to spend some serious money on an oil painting or two…oh yes, two. I also found a beautiful floral print for my dining room. I thought if I bought two he would wheel and deal with me. I told Mike, “I’m going back to get them.” He looked shocked but said,”Whatever you say, they are great and you work hard so buy them.” So, I did. I made my way back into the gallery pretty forcefully and asked him if I bought both what kind of deal would he make on these pricey paintings? He knocked off a few hundred dollars; I asked for more got turned down and then bought them anyway. I wasn’t looking back. They were sold to me! I was happy to spend my hard earned money on artwork that would never go out of style; they are classic, timeless pieces. I left with a huge smile joking the whole time saying, “Only I would come to the beach and leave with two huge oil paintings that I now have to find a way to get home.”

In the days to come I did some more shopping in Cape May. This was my kind of place. I was happy to sort through the trash or treasure in the antique stores. I love to decorate, mixing old with new. I found a vintage dresser and a newer zebra ottoman. Sold to Janine, again! Still, we came with one car, lots-o-clothes, and suitcases! I can’t ever be fashionably challenged, not even on vacation.

We worked out a way to get Mike’s father’s truck to solve all of my shopping problems. We were leaving on Friday so that Thursday we decided to see if we could fit the paintings in the car. We carefully walked out the White Stallion wrapped in plastic and tried to fit it in, but no luck. So, Mike and I decided just to wait until the next day when we had the truck so we had no accidents.

We both turned to head back in the gallery and within in a minute I heard a huge crash and a bunch of “OOOHHHH’S and AWWWWWW’S” coming from the lazy travelers on their vacations too. I was scared to look back because I knew it was my painting and my man. All I saw was Mike wiped out on the pavement and my stallion face down under him! At first I was in shock…no way, seriously did he just fall and on what??? It wasn’t heavy how could they both tumble down like that? Mike got right up and apologized with beads of sweat dripping from his forehead and blood dripping from his foot. I didn’t care about the paintings I cared about him.

“Babe, I think I broke my toe but I don’t care about that, I am so sorry about the painting. You love it and I ruined it.” He did, but I didn’t care. It’s just a material thing. I can’t lie I was quite sad about the entire misfortune, but how could I be mad? The frame was damaged, the painting was scratched badly, and his foot was bleeding. The good news, no hole in the canvas and the owner’s wife is a great artist and is going to try and repair the painting.

The rest of the night Mike apologized and I kept laughing. Not just laughing it off, hysterically laughing about the entire night. After he fell and I realized he was fine, just ended up with a terribly gross cut and some embarrassment as he took a nose dive in front of a lot of people, I couldn’t help but howl at the thought of my brand new expensive oil painting hitting the pavement. Both of my White Stallion’s weren’t so stallion in that freeze frame, slow motion moment.

I made jokes the rest of the trip about Mike’s “trip.” We will always have a funny one of a kind story for that masterpiece that will soon be hanging in my home somewhere. Every time I see the painting I will see “The Fall.” I learned two things about myself this vacation: I am growing up a little more everyday. Material things are replaceable and even if you love them, they aren’t real enough to hold onto in life. Secondly, my taste is changing. I love paintings more than photography and prints now, I appreciate the different strokes of color and the different strokes of life.

Ah, yes, one more thing I’ve learned about myself…it’s not the situations but how one handles the situations in life. Mike was so sad about the accident that it made me realize what an even more wonderful, kind hearted person I had standing with me and next to me. I appreciate him even more now than before. Cape May turned into “Cape Fall.” He fell with my painting and I fell a little more head over heels for him.