Marrying George Clooney

i adore women.
okay, well, not all women. some women are foul & cruel & nasty & would steal your man, your woman, your partner – your idea – in a heartbeat. i don’t like those women and chances are those women don’t like me. so, we’re even.
but generally i adore women.
i adore the friendship, the camaraderie, the chit-chatting and profound connection.
i adore women who speak the truth, their truth. not necessarily or always every single small teeny minutiae detail, not every single i told you so, or let me tell you how i feel today kinda truth. i like the truth told just like i like a good meal: put it down in front of me, and let me see if i can swallow it without choking, or getting horribly sick. speaking the truth is very different than sharing every single thought you have about another person with that very person. i.e.: when i say to ken this is all the shit about you that i don’t like, chances are he’s gonna come back with a list as long and alphabetical, and then i wish i had never started the “let me spew all over you today” game in the first place.

but, yes, i adore women who speak their truth.

i adore women who support women without any agenda or bullshit. i prefer generosity when it’s served up with kindness and goodness and love – in other words with a nothing in return expectation.

perfection is overrated.
there is no such thing.
there isn’t one person on this planet who doesn’t have demons, darkness, bad dreams or bad thoughts.
it goes with the territory of being human.
find me a perfect person, and i swear to you, you will find a drawer filled with broken promises, hurt feelings, lost loves, hidden secrets and a stale pack of marlboros or newports.
i told a friend of mine that she was a goddess and she said, oh no, i’m not. and i looked at her, my imperfectly perfect beautiful friend and said, why oh why don’t you think you’re a goddess. and she said, well, amy, i have so many issues and problems and you know… so many bad days.
i grabbed her (gently) by the shoulders and looked her in the eyes and said, oh for god sake, who the fuck doesn’t have bad days and problems and issues, who… who… most everyone is on zoloft or paxil or propranolol (okay you try and pronounce it) and you are a goddess because the definition of goddess is a woman who has problems and pain and suffering and struggles and bad days and awful thoughts and drinks too much on some days and not enough on other days and doesn’t say what she thinks all the time because that would cause too much injury to others and has estranged relationships with family members and didn’t always like her mother and had issues with her father and loved for all the wrong reasons and slept around (a lot) and did quaaludes and smoked hash and loved laura nyro and joni mitchell and whitney houston but never quite understood the appeal of karen carpenter* and wakes up in the middle of night filled with worry and doom and makes the best pancakes and does not, i repeat does not always separate the plastics from the paper in the recycling bin. goddesses eat chocolate and turkey hill vanilla ice cream and sneak cigarettes and say the word fuck often.

a goddess is a woman who gets up every day and says: i’m gonna really, really, really try my best today.

and yes, good goddess yes, somedays just plain suck.

on those days a goddess will slip outta bed, slap on some lipstick, and go and get a mani-pedi with sparkles at any joint that says NAILS OPEN.

* and this is just one Goddess’s opinion… some Goddesses love LOVE LOVE karen carpenter!