Are You Lucky In Love?

I am not lucky in love.  Yes, I am a cupid skeptic, I have heard about all these wonderful love stories, but it is just not in the cards for me.  After two failed marriages, there aren't many who would disagree.

I accept full responsibility.  I am too selfish to be in a relationship.  When I am 'involved,' I pick the wrong partners. I don't cooperate.  I was meant to be single.  It took me a lifetime to figure it out.

I went through the stages of looking for love in all the wrong places- on-line, at clubs, through friends.  Ugh, what a drain.  I just hated putting all that effort into meeting someone special.  I am so picky.  No, I am not a goddess, but the kind of man I want is already taken.

 The good one's always are.

I've met scores of men, alcoholics, love addicts, men with emotional and mental issues.  Whew, the list goes on and on.

It is okay not to have a significant other,  I feel like if I have to try that hard to meet someone special- and not 'settle' - love is just not in the cards for me.

I guess you could say the romantic side of life just isn't a possibility   As far back as I can remember, the men I adored could not reciprocate feelings for one reason or another.

I married for all the wrong reasons.  I settled.  Party number one: He was a professional and it seemed the right time to settle down and have a family.  I told myself that my dreams were unrealistic, and that I had unrealistic expectations for myself.  How could I not want to marry a successful CPA?  He was attentive, intelligent, reasonably attractive.  The spark was never there,  I am talking the kind of spark that is a true soul connection.

Funny thing is, the men I am most attracted to are not necessarily successful, but there has to be chemistry.  Chemistry is what complicates relationships.  It gets in the way of assessing a relationships true value.Very few men have the whole package, chemistry, stability and other qualities that make them lifetime partner material.

This Valentine's Day I am having a little picnic with butter cream iced cookies, cakes, and meatball sandwiches.  I am celebrating the day with co-workers at the office.

I got a mushy card from husband number two, which expressed his undying love for me.  Funny thing is, in the years we were married he never uttered a word about his feelings for me. In addition, I received  two texts wishing me a Happy Valentines Day,one of which sent to me in 'error' but the party left me the following message:

 "Happy Valentines Day to you, whoever you are."  Exactly, that's what I am still trying to figure out.

Chasing Paul

ean-Marie Périer—Polaris

Paul McCartney, London, England, 1966.

My biggest celebrity crush started when I was a wee bit of a girl, at twelve.  America was all about Elvis, Paul Anka, Dion, Smokey Robinson.  I, on the other hand, was ready for something new. I have always loved music, the very first song I can remember was "Cherry Pink and Apple Blossom White."

How's that for dating myself?

 I was also in love with horses, so it is not surprising I spent my weekends riding at Greynolds Park  in Miami, Florida.  All my attention and desire were directed to horses in those days. That was the weekend drill, finish my school work, and make a mad dash to the stables to ride.

 I was soon to be bitten by a new love.

 I was not prepared for how big this love would be when the Beatles were introduced to American radio.  The feeling was indescribable.  It impacted everything in my life from that point on.

I remember everything, the group arriving at the Deauville Hotel, in Miami Beach in the early 1960's.  Their introduction to America on the Ed Sullivan Show.  I could hardly walk for weeks after I made it up to the floor on which Paul was staying.  I found a closet next to their room to hide in, only to be literally kicked out of it by two girls protecting their territory.

A group of girls and myself put together a little band, because we loved them so much. We were called "The Beatle Birds.."

We even got a gig at a local restaurant, "The Place for Steak," complete with press coverage for the night we were going to perform.  While my friends and I were preparing for our stage debut ( I was Paul McCartney of course), it never phased us that we had a major handicap, we played "air guitar."  Of course it was more than a joke, but go tell a twelve year old that is ga-ga over the Beatles that doesn't count.

I was so crazy about Paul McCartney that I used to sleep with a pillow, I called "Paul."  The feeling was so intense that I felt the world cave in around me.  Nothing else ever mattered.  I took on every task with the thought of "what would Paul think of this?"  When other girls were tied to the football player of their dreams, I was tied to my imaginary love, Paul McCartney.

I saw every Beatle film at least 20 times, and still never tire of "A Hard Day's Night."

I have seen every picture of Paul McCartney, from the time I was 12, and have loved everything London ever since.  Because of my devotion to him, I chose to forgo the football players for the long-haired garage band musicians that had won the hearts of the local girls in the 60's growing up in Miami, Florida.

My sister was a flight attendant for National airlines during the 60's.  I found out she was working a charter for a local radio station that was flying a group of Beatle fans to Jacksonville, Florida to see their concert.

My mother, aka "Auntie Mame," was not at all daunted about contacting the station to get me to win a coveted seat on that plane.  

Guess what?  I did get to go to Jacksonville.  But not on my sister's charter plane..  You see, my mother's relentless efforts-knowing no bounds- contacted the competing station.  Never mind, I was going to see the Beatles!

I screamed my guts out when I saw Paul, in fact, I sat next to a gal that had bought him a beautiful ID bracelet.  The Miami Herald reporter covering the story picked up on a comment I made "Linda, he's looking at you," and my comment that she needed to get up to stage and give it to him.  I swallowed my jealously for her affection for my true love.  After all, we both got to fly up to see him, and we were seeing him up close and personal!

A cherished victory at 12.

I have kept a close watch on my celebrity crush, following him through his first love, Jane Asher and onto to his life time love, Linda Eastman. His struggle with her death.  His rebound relationship with Heather Mills, the birth of their child, and the look of loneliness in his face.  I was mesmerized by his love for his family, his beautiful sheepdog Martha; and reveled in the thought, "there by the grace of God go I."  

While I never did meet Paul, like everyone else of the era, we felt we knew him and the rest of the Beatles.

I remember looking at a rendering of them as what they would look like in the 60's and 70's.  I thought to myself, this will never be Paul  He can't age.

And so he has aged, and aged.  But the magic is still there.

Can you believe I still dream about Paul McCartney in different situations in the most imaginative way.  I am talking at least ten dreams a year!

While the crush has waned, I am still amazed that my sub-conscious mind will never let him go.

Perhaps I do have a soul connection with my life time crush, Paul McCartney after all.

Just Say No

You'd think I would be past it, and have taken some ownership by now.  But, I am always stuck for an answer when I am backed into a corner with something I don't want to do-but think I should.

Why can't I just say no?

I have spent the last ten years of my life reinventing myself, doing some personal house cleaning and getting rid of old personal inventory.  However, I still have trouble with those two little words.

Last week, I invited a friend to a family dinner party. We had not spoken in two years, and had recently mended the bridge in our relationship.  My friend was very enthusiastic about coming.  We discussed the menu, the fact she wanted to bring wine and were generally excited about getting together.  When I entertain, I get all worked up in planning the evening.  I want everything to be just perfect.

I received a call late Thursday evening from my friend.  She asked if I would pick her up.  Ugh...I thought, she drives, I am entertaining, why is she asking me to do this?  I felt put out.  So, instead of being honest, I hesitated and said yes.  She went on to explain that she would ask my sister to take her home following the dinner.  When my sister and I talked following the conversation, she told me there would be no room in her car to take my guest home.

I got myself in a pickle, it was overload.

I would be drinking and having to drive my friend back to her house.  So I called her back and made up a story about the fact that the dinner was canceled and could we make it another evening.

 Shame, shame, shame on me!

I am not a liar.  Honestly, but this didn't sit well with me.  What am I?  sixteen again?  Why couldn't I just tell the truth in the first place?  Now, I feel like a ground feeder because I have stooped to the lowest level imaginable, lying about something so trivial.

I have always had trouble with this; at work, with friendships, and then I whimper about unhappy I am having to do something I don't want to do, or something I think was an unfair request.

It has happened throughout my career, when I feel I am slighted or not respected professionally.  Instead of speaking up and saying "this is not okay,' I'd smile and swallow the indiscretion.  I still haven't learned that people respect people that tell it like it is.  Being a people pleaser gets you absolutely no kudos either at work or in personal relationships.

So, as I take a look at that personal inventory, there is still some house cleaning I need to do.
I am going to make a conscious effort to get comfortable with a two-year-olds favorite response:
'no.'