GIGI GOES GAGA

EYES WIDE SHUT

All my life I've fallen asleep at the most inopportune and inappropriate times.I can't seem to fall asleep when I'm supposed to, so I do when I'm not. At worst I've missed out on some of life's greatest moments simply by not being able to stay awake.

I've always fallen asleep in class. As a child I seriously considered drawing eyeballs on my eyelids with a black marker and thought about propping my eyes open with toothpicks but fortunately I was either too smart or too chicken to actually carry out my silly plans. In college my communications theory professor got a kick out of calling on me just as soon as she saw my head nod off. By then I had mastered the art of listening while napping so I managed to answer her question every time.

Once I was so sleepy that I snuck into the biology lab, hopped on the long table and promptly fell asleep. At school -- just as I do now at work -- I'd take naps inside my car in the parking lot and inside rooms that aren't being used.

I fall asleep on trips: in a car, bus, train, plane, and boat. I try to stay awake to enjoy gorgeous scenic views -- but then I get too caught up in my reverie and somehow fall asleep to dream of what I've missed. I can fall asleep while driving, even at high speeds -- and it doesn't seem to matter if it's night or day.

My hairstylist wakes me up when he's done coloring, cutting, and styling my mane. "Wake up sunshine," he sweetly says, and I shake off any remaining traces of slumber and admire his handiwork. Fortunately he's very good at what he does so I can trust that I don't wake up to a nightmare. I fall asleep during manicures and pedicures, facials, massages, and even painful facial and body waxing.

I purposely make early morning appointments with my dentist so I can fall asleep to the whir of his drill; he says I'm the only patient he's ever had who can do that. I'm asleep soon after my acupuncturist sticks her first needle into my skin -- and I wake up when she's about to remove the last one. I even fall asleep at my gynecologist's office -- and I'll spare you all the details. Not that I'd know what they are because I'm rarely fully awake when details are being done.

I've fallen asleep during supposedly hot and heavy makeout sessions, although fortunately that's happened only a handful of times. But once I even achieved REM state, because when I woke up I was shocked to see the guy's face in front of mine. Looking back now, it must have been a good thing I wasn't fully conscious (call me mean, but if you were me you would agree).

If there's a greeting card that refers to narcolepsy or even the dreaded tsetse fly, chances are I already have it, thanks to friends who think my chronic sleepiness is funny (OK, it is -- sometimes). As long as they know that if I fall asleep in their presence it has nothing to do with my level of interest in them then we're all good.

The only time I have trouble sleeping is at night, when all the rest in my part of the world is in deep slumber and when I should be. I'd like to think that I get to enjoy what others don't and can't for at least part of the day. My husband knew all of the above about me before he asked me to marry him. Which is why we got our marriage license in Las Vegas shortly before midnight.

Some things, you see, you have to be fully awake for. And I've been dreaming happily ever since.

MOUTHING OFF

Any time I want, whenever I feel like it, I can express whatever I'm thinking or feeling in this ol' blog of mine. Sometimes I regret it the next morning, but more often than not I'm happy to get things off my chest. Fortunately, because I have this ready forum for my thoughts and opinions, I don't normally go mouthing off anywhere and to anyone else. Once in a while, though, I'll read something that stirs me up so much that I'll make the exception and react on someone else's space.

Like today, for instance, I emailed a newspaper advice columnist because I flat out disagreed with how she replied to a reader seeking help. I tried to walk away, I really did, but I felt compelled to say something. First let me say that I don't regularly seek out or read advice columns unless they deal with fashion or beauty topics. Next, I don't often pick fights or even discussions with those whose opinions differ from mine because I think we should all be entitled to our own, period.

I've only written in response to an article or column twice before. The first time was for an assignment in my college freshman english class. The professor had instructed us all to write a Letter to the Editor to one specified daily newspaper. Those who got published received bragging rights and extra points for the class (I did, although I no longer remember what I wrote about). The second time was when a columnist wrote something negative about my father -- not out of spite or malice but because she didn't have enough information to base her opinion on -- and I promptly called her out on it (she apologized). And then today.

Today I happened to come across a letter from a reader whose cheating husband came back to her and was making obvious amends. There was one catch, however -- he no longer seemed interested in having sex with his wife. So she wrote the columnist, listing possible scenarios why this might be the case, and asked for a bit of, well, advice.

The columnist, in a nutshell, told the wife to be grateful that her husband was back and to show him the same kind of tenderness he was now exhibiting. Fine. But what irked me was that in responding to the letter writer's hypotheses regarding her husband's lack of desire for sex with her, the columnist simply asked, "Who knows what men think?" -- without advising the wife to ask her spouse for the answers, to engage him in conversation, to discuss what they both expected now from each other and, in doing so, attempt to restore some honesty back into their fractured marriage.

Instead, the columnist wrote to the wife:

"Despite accepting him back, must everything be analyzed, every hair split, and every action in the remaining years you have together put under a microscope?

That very astute saying “don't look a gift-horse in the mouth” couldn't be more apt in your present predicament. Why not just enjoy his company and the peaceful existence that's happening between you two? Don't you realize how short life is? Why are you making your life shorter?"

In other words: forget about sex until he brings it up again. You get what he gives.

Here's what I think. Sex might not be the most important thing in a marriage -- or in any relationship for that matter -- but it is important as long as it matters to the people in it. This woman's husband strayed outside the marriage and had sex with another woman (or women) so obviously he still feels desire. There is a serious problem, then, if he doesn't feel those same stirrings for his own wife -- especially if she still feels the need to be physically close to him and craves that kind of intimacy.

I don't think it's ever enough to simply stay married for its own sake, contrary to what many might say. I believe in committing to a marriage, to working for it and fighting for it, and for being a true partner to my spouse. I don't believe in ever settling for anything less than what we deserve, especially when we can have what makes us whole. No marriage is perfect, to be sure, and spouses can hurt each other even without meaning to. But I believe in keeping open dialogue, to working things out, to forgiving each other, and accepting each other's weaknesses and imperfections. And, yes, I believe in lifelong, loving sex as long as both are capable.

But this isn't about me, it's about the wounded wife. She had nowhere to go perhaps and, unfortunately, reached out to a newspaper advice columnist in desperation. Only to be told that she was worth only whatever he would give her, even if he was capable of so much more.

And that is why I wrote today. No one should ever be told that they are worth less, or so little.

TOO CLOSE FOR COMFORT

I was just chatting with a girlfriend I haven't seen in years, about those days when we were still in our '20s and did all sorts of things we couldn't ever imagine doing now.

Like the New Year's evening we spent partying at her house -- or rather, her brother's house, where she lived at the time. His wife had so many relatives over that my friend got kicked out of her own room and we had to spend the night in the bathroom. I swear I don't remember any of this, but it's possible I've blocked the memory from my brain. What I do remember, however, is the time this group of guys from UC Berkeley showed up at my apartment looking for a place to stay for the weekend. They were in LA for a student conference, I think, and one of the guys knew were I lived. I didn't know the rest of them, but I let them bunk for the night anyway -- and yes, one of them had to sleep in my bathtub. I'd still bump into a few of these guys occasionally years later and when people would ask how we knew each other, the guys just loved to say, "I spent the night with Gigi the first time I met her." Great.

My friend will never forget the time that she and another girlfriend of ours were trapped in that same apartment of mine while my boyfriend and I were breaking up outside in the living room. He was crying, I was crying, and for some strange reason we went back and forth over all the reasons we couldn't be together -- for the entire afternoon! They seriously had planned to jump outside from my bedroom window -- but both decided to keep their bones intact and stay indoors until they no longer heard any sounds of despair. I, on the other hand, will always remember the time she and I had started dating these two guys and after spending the entire day together we ended up, again, at her brother's place. It was really late at night, too late for anyone to drive home, and because the house was overrun by family once more we froze our asses off inside her garage, underneath blankets, but not really minding the cold. OK, maybe just a bit; it really was quite cold.

Nowadays we'd simply get hotel rooms instead of being so cramped in such small (and undesirable) spaces -- and I would never ever spend the good part of my day breaking up with a boyfriend of just one month.But like I asked her tonight: why is it that things that felt so awful then just seem so much fun now? Ah, but that's the best part of being young, broke, and stupid, 'no?

POKE

Here's what I like about social networking sites: they make it easy to keep in touch and to reconnect with folks I haven't seen or spoken to in years (decades even). One of my good friends says that it's the only "legitimate" way for him to communicate with his female friends -- like me, for instance -- because his wife is the jealous type. He opines: "What's the worst that can happen, after all? Even if I poke you, it's only online?"

Well put, my friend.

But here's why I love them. As of a month ago, there were five persons I hadn't spoken to in a while. I hadn't fought with any them and there was never direct confrontation between us. There was only uncomfortable silence due to various circumstances (for instance, one was an ex-boyfriend from 20 years ago who just never transitioned back to being a friend again). Before sites like Facebook, there were only a few ways to contact someone: write, call (or text), or get in their face. All good options, but so direct -- especially if there's any discomfort involved. And since we tend not to do things that make us uneasy (or risk rejection), it's easy to let old relationships simply lie (and die).

But now I can find people and send them a short, quick message. If they reply, the stalemate is broken. If not, I know there's no interest on their side to reconnect and I can move on, knowing that I've at least tried. Or I can pretend they simply never received my message if denial makes me any happier. Today I'm communicating again with three of the five. I don't know if I'll ever be as close to any of them as we once were, but at least I know it's no longer awkward and that the lines are open again.

Even if there isn't going to be any more poking around.

MULTIPLYING

Some of you might know or remember that I also have a Multiply site where I post my music playlists mainly, though recently I've started using it to notify my friends when I have a new blog post up here -- especially since I don't do it too often these days. I think that keeping identical blogs on two more sites might be too confusing, so I've decided that keeping them complimentary instead would be the better idea.

You'd need to have a Multiply account to access mine, but I tend to keep my playlists available to everyone anyway, not just for my network. My original plan was to be able to do everything in this blog, but still haven't figured how. Until I do, please visit me at my other place to listen to the music I simply talk about here.

Here's my latest Multiply music playlist post:

I missed D's 50th by a few days and still feel absolutely wretched. He's one of my dearest, most steadfast friends, and always thinks of me better than I do of myself. I have nothing for him right now except for this playlist, which tells a bit of our story, and my constant friendship and love. Happy Birthday to someone who always makes me feel like I'm home. You wear 50 well.

Somebody Hurt You - A Girl Called Eddy
Angel Tonight - Leigh Nash
Love Like Laughter - Beth Orton
Thank You - Dido
Love is Stronger Than Pride - Sade (what he still always tells me -- after all these many years -- whenever I mess up.)
Here We Go Again - Angie Stone
All Good Things - The Weepies
Breathe - Lalah Hathaway

To listen, click here.

SEVEN THOUGHTS

Things I thought about this past week, but didn't have enough for a post.

1. When I was 5 I thought my parents knew everything. At 15 I believed they knew nothing. At 25 I realized they knew more than I gave them credit for. Now I see they just did the best they could with what they both knew and didn't know. Just like I do now.
2. This husband's mistress now dares to yell and cuss at the wife because she's discovered the man's too much of a coward to make her stop. Mistresses should know their place if they insist on having a place in this world.
3. While I stopped paying attention: I gained seven pounds, weeds overtook my pot of lovely mums, and I bought a new tube of lipstick -- which I already had. So now I'm paying attention again.
4. I never thought this ex-boyfriend would find my blog for several good reasons. Then one day he had lunch with a friend who knew about it, and so he got to read everything I wrote about my years with him. I'm not sure if he's ever speaking to me again. Sometimes I need to remind myself that this blog is no longer a secret -- although other times I feel liberated to have very few secrets left.
5. When it comes to the small things, I wish people would think about how they can help instead of complain about what's not going right. Complainers whine because they feel like they have no control over their lives. When you ask chronic complainers what they would like to do about a situation they're not happy about, you'll often discover that they have absolutely no idea -- they just haven't thought about it through to begin with.
6. Women do dress for other women. This explains why women try to keep up with the latest in fashion even if guys don't even know what the current trends are anyway. 
7. I've been reading reports that flip-flops hurt the feet. Now all my friends who only wear heels have a good reason to explain why they're simply not buying the Havaianas, no matter how comfortable everyone else swears they are (me included).

Happy Monday!

TWO (NOT) OF A KIND

My bestfriend was on my side of the world for about a month and last weekend we finally got to spend some time together. I flew to San Francisco to meet up with her -- sans husband, because I wanted to focus all my time and energy on her and nothing else. We did meet up with a couple other close girlfriends one evening and did nothing but chat, gossip, and take countless photographs (who knows when we're all going to be together again after all?).

Both girls asked how my bestfriend and I got to be so close when we have almost nothing in common. In truth, we're practically opposites.

She loves to be on center stage (the light loves her, for sure) and I prefer to skulk around backstage. She's active and outdoorsy, and loves sports. The only thing I like to do outside is work in my garden (and only when it's not too sunny and hot); otherwise, I love the cool breeze from a window or the chill of a well-functioning air-conditioner as I'm reading a book or magazine, or writing. She has the most brilliant smile for the camera and at best I have a reluctant smirk.

I love to buy makeup and pretty lingerie; she prefers to buy stocks and property. I like to cook and she prefers to bake. We both love music and although she knows the words to practically every song performed in every major Broadway musical, I don't think she's ever heard most of the stuff I store in my iPod.  She's obsessive-compulsive and, although I'm probably supposed to be one too since I'm a Virgo, I can be pretty laid back. (Except when I'm in full editing mode -- then I can be pretty unrelenting, even for her exacting standards.)

We've never been attracted to the same man (which might be one reason why we're still bestfriends) and she's almost always been irritated by the men I've gone out with (with the exception of my husband -- who gets along famously with hers). I sometimes feel uncomfortable when she wants to talk about sex with me because after all these years I still feel like I'm corrupting her (yes, even if she has two children). Although during a brief spell during our college years she tried drinking and smoking with her sorority sisters -- and though no one believes me, I didn't bother with that kind of stuff. I also didn't bother joining a sorority because I didn't think I'd fit in anyway.

For almost as long as I've known her, she's always wanted to become a mother. I wasn't sure for the longest time if I'd even make a good wife. She goes to Mass every Sunday and is prayerful; I don't and I'm not (at least not in the traditional sense of the word). When she's angry or sad, she cries for as long as it takes and gets it out of her system, while I withdraw and retreat into my own world and come out only when I think the worst is over.

If you saw both of us together you probably wouldn't think we're as close as we are, at least at first (or even second) glance. If you hung around long enough around us, though, you'd notice that we're as comfortable together when we're quiet as when we're talking. Or that although I generally have little patience for kids who are acting up, I sit quietly with her when she tries to calm hers down. And if you really, really knew me, you'd realize that when we're with a group of people, I don't monopolize her time and actually give her all the space she needs to mingle and get to know everyone else. I suppose because I know nothing can ever break us apart, I also know that in the end, having our own lives makes our friendship even more interesting.

You might wonder: if we're so different, then what good are we to and for each other? Well. After being together for just one too-short weekend, I caught myself practicing my smile at the bathroom mirror this morning. And she now has one fabulous bra wardrobe. But we still didn't talk about sex at all; perhaps I'm afraid to discover that she might actually know more about it than I do. Gah -- if or when that time comes, you can bet I'll start singing show tunes all day long. Even if our worlds should turn around and upside down, we'll still be right there with the other.