Month: April 2014

Girls who read


I came across this video the other day and must have watched it 5 times:

That guy in the video?

Sexy as hell.

Because he’s smart. And kind.

That’s a deadly combination for me. Most anything else doesn’t matter.

I can’t count the number of times I’ve counseled women to develop their minds and not worry about their looks. To take any extra money and use it for education or books or anything that broadens their viewpoints and pushes them to be a better person.

No matter who you are, when push comes to shove, all you’ll ever have is you.

I almost always have my nose in a book, whether it is an actual hard cover book or one on my phone. I prefer the real deal, but it is easier to have 100 books on my phone than in my purse.

If I could spend the rest of my days reading, writing and walking my dog, I would be the happiest person alive.

I’m not texting as much as I am reading when you see me looking at my phone.

Thank God I have an unlimited data plan on my phone. Otherwise my addiction would be difficult to afford.

I don’t want much.

I just want more books.


Married people are not allowed to give dating advice to single people. It’s the law.

I hadn’t seen her in over 3 years, but within 30 seconds of saying hello at a party, she starts in.

“Look, there’s absolutely no reason you should be alone and you know, it doesn’t have to be that way if YOU don’t want it.”

“If I don’t want it.” Oh yes, this was all my fault! Of course! And why the hell is fault being assigned to a problem that doesn’t exit? And how come someone feels they have the right to determine what my problems are?

Sitting on the floor next to Diane, I was in the midst of eating pasta, chicken wings with ranch dressing, sausages and a few other things that I don’t normally eat. Plus I had already eyed the birthday cake and was finishing my first glass of wine and getting ready for the second one. I was stretched out in my killer jeans that made my ass look amazing, along with my black high tops, hair that most women would kill for and I managed to put on a little bit of make-up.

I was stunning as only I, Susan Lewis, can be.

Just like you in your own way. An original, and copies are lame attempts to attain the greatness that is me. And you.

I raised my hand up to her face and said “Shush.”

“No, really, what I’m saying is…”

I snapped my fingers, flattened my hand out again and said “SHUSH!”

Just like I do with Blue when he gets out of line. Just like Caesar Millan taught me.

She stopped talking.

“Don’t make me smack you,” I said and stared at her.

She laughed. “You wouldn’t…”

I snapped my fingers again and pushed my hand closer to her face. “SIT!” I said.

The fact that she was sitting was beside the point. The point I was making was that I was not going to let her talk any longer on the topic.

“I just want you to be happy,” she said.

“What makes you think that I’m not?”

I saw her husband roll his eyes and then smile at me.

I smiled back.

How wonderful for them, that they’ve been so fucking happily married for so long. It’s great. Just…great. But I don’t want to hear it. I know how unhappy most people are and I know what great lengths they go to not show it.

They do not fool me.

But I’m tired of hearing about it. I’m tired of having to explain to people, once again, that I’m fine and not looking and why I’m not.

I’m tired of feeling as if there is a great, big sign on my back that says “Loser because she’s single and middle-aged.”

And why the assumption, or enforcement, that I am defined by whom I’m married to? Or dating? Or sleeping with?

And who says I’m NOT seeing someone or sleeping with someone? Just because I may not have someone by my side every moment of the day doesn’t mean there isn’t someone around.

But why make those assumptions? How come I’m not asked about my business or my writing or what I’m interested in?

So you see, it’s not about dating or marriage. It has never been about that and never will be.

It’s about the perceived value and happiness of me depending on whom I am sleeping with or dating or married to.



I never agreed to that. Ever.

I dropped my hand and smiled at Diane. As riled as I can get, and was, I know that her intent is pure and comes from love and affection towards me. She doesn’t know that I’ve been hearing this for 15 years since my divorce. She doesn’t know about all the failed relationships I’ve had because I refuse to settle or be treated badly.

Or that some of us have made OUR choice and are happy – very happy – with our lives and actually don’t want to change them.

And if my choice bothers or makes others uncomfortable, so much the better.

Just as I will only accept the best that my clients can do, I will only accept the best from others towards me.

Anything else is worthless.

Just because I am flawed does not mean that I am broken and in need of repair.

You see, there’s nothing wrong with me. There’s something wrong with people who think there’s something wrong with me.

And that’s not my problem.


I flipped someone off today and it felt good. Might just do it again.


He looked right at me, smiled and proceeded to cut me off in the parking lot.

I had to slam on my brakes as he ran the stop sign.

And then…he smirked.

The asshole smirked at me as he pulled out in front of me.

I wanted to slap his stupid baseball cap off his head, taser him and then kick his tires.

I didn’t. I don’t have a taser, but if I did…

I honked and flipped him off instead and I made sure he saw it.

He looked at me, his eyes widened and he stopped.

I had to stop or else I was would have rear-ended him.

I waited. He didn’t move, so I put my car in park and opened the door.

He took off.

The son-of-a-bitch took off because he was scared!

Now that felt great.

Sunday afternoon and just wrapping up 7 days of working with no time off. I had just left a friend’s house whom I am helping with his business as is wife and partner is dying. She’s dying and not only is he losing his wife, he’s also losing the one person who helped build up his business from the ground up.

I still had errands to run and was just leaving the parking lot and on my way home for dinner, a quick walk with Blue and then getting ready for another very busy week.

It’s been a long time since I’ve done that. I usually just let people go ahead and be as stupid as they want around me as long as they don’t hit me or my car.

But it was the smirk.

That smirk and he never expected anyone, let alone a woman, to call him out on his shit.

And suddenly, I had the entitlement to flip HIM off. To piss HIM off. I had the right to get mad, react and screw being a nice person.

Nah, no more of that. You look right at someone and purposely cut them off? You risk having a fender bender because you’re young with a big pick-up and think that it gives you full liberty to do that to me? To other people?

You thought a woman would be too afraid to do something?

Bitch, you picked the wrong woman to mess with.

I’m tired of that. I’m tired of some people thinking the world owes them something because they exist.

He was right to take off and be scared.

I don’t know what I was going to do when I opened my car door and started to get out, but I wasn’t going to let it go one more time.

Yeah, I’m a bad ass.

I hate seeing pictures of the house I grew up in.

Because I want to go back. I want to rewind and go  back home and stay there.silverado

It looks about the same, though the retaining wall to the left of the driveway is new. Well, new to me since I haven’t been back in over 15 years.

I could go on and on about all sorts of memories, but that’s boring. After about 30 seconds of it, I’m done and I can only imagine how boring it would be to you, my reader.

I had a wonderful childhood and that’s why I want to go back. Being an adult is highly overrated and I was not cut out to be one. There has been some mistake. I was never supposed to grow up and have to take life so seriously and be so responsible.

It makes me sad because I miss my brother and my Dad. All my family has moved away. I am able to still see them when I make a weekend trip, but I miss being 10 minutes away.

This was the house that everyone came to. If you didn’t have a place to stay,  just come over. Hungry? Always plenty of food. No family? No problem, we’ll adopt you.

It makes me sad because strangers are living in my house and it’s legal. I mean, they bought the house and shit, but still. It should be mine. No, it IS mine but I just can’t waltz in and have dinner or watch TV. It’s illegal and kind of creepy stalkerish.

I want to rewind my life and live it again. I’d make a few changes – For the love of GOD, don’t marry him! Watch it on that teacher, she’s insane and gunning for you. Do NOT go to that party. Stay home instead – but for the most part, I would leave it as-is.

I just miss everyone. I miss my happiness and freedom and the constant and unconditional love that flowed through that house 24/7 for the entire time we were all together.

This is my home and I want it back.

Why I refuse to date short men.

It’s not me.

It’s them.

OK,  not really them.

It’s him. Yeah…him. The last boyfriend. Who was my height.

Now let’s set the record straight so there’s no confusion or assumption.


This is me. The 58 year old “Amazon.”

I’m 5′ 7″ I weigh about 140 pounds, depending on the mood, hormone fluctuations and available chocolate and wine around during said fluctuations.

I am not short, nor am I tall or an Amazon. I’m a perfect height for buying off the rack and having everything fit me. I love my height and always have. I hope to be this height  and weight again in my next life.

I don’t care about a man’s height unless he’s really short. Like super short.

Don’t judge. I’m being honest.

But around my height is fine, give or take.

He knew my height before we met. It was on my now defunct profile on a dating website, along with my picture so every man on the planet could see what I looked like because, God forbid, I not look good enough to ask out.

That would be tragic. Horrible and inexcusable if the goods weren’t worthy buying dinner for.

We met, we hit it off and began dating.

One day he comes by the office to take me out to lunch. I didn’t know he was coming by and was pleasantly surprised. I walked up to him and gave him a hug.

I hugs me back, sort of, but it’s not comfortable. He feels uncomfortable but I say nothing. We walk across the street and have lunch. I ask him if something is bothering him as we walk back to my office.

“Do you usually wear heels to work?” he asks.

Ah ha! This was the first time he had seen me in them. I was taller than him now.

He did not like this. I tried to ignore it but that’s kind of hard to do when you’re looking down at someone and it’s annoying them.

“Well, yeah, sometimes. Why?”

I knew where this was going and there was no stopping it.

“Do you think that anytime you want to wear heels, you’ll let me know ahead of time? That way I can wear lifts or something.”

I immediately think:

What the hell? A man is actually asking me to not wear heels? Is he out of his mind? Does he not know anything about women? Does he not appreciate what an amazing woman I am and that anyone as striking and brilliant as me might come around once in a lifetime? Does he not know that I have NO idea what I’m going to wear until he’s knocking on my front door so how am I supposed to tell him hours or days before? And why the hell should it matter if I’m a bit taller? Isn’t all the relationship crap about a connection and does he really think another woman of 58 is going to come along and look better than ME?

But I say:


I’m a wuss sometimes.

I was afraid my husband might have been a werewolf.



And that’s why I never had kids.

It all makes sense now, right?

Oh shit! Is this out of context for you?

Allow me to clarify.

This is what I said to a woman last week who assumed the reason I didn’t have children was because I must have been traumatized or something. Like something horrible must have happened because I hadn’t procreated – and it’s WAY to late for me to even try – and the only reason it could be that way was because something was wrong. Very wrong. Scary wrong with me.

The thought that it had been my own choice never entered her mind.


Something was wrong and she was bound and determined to find out what it was.

This amuses me. This is not the first time I had told this story but I was very surprised to see that such a young woman thought something was wrong with any woman who did not have children.

Perhaps the fact that she had 3 had something to do with it, but I seriously doubt it. It was my duty, my obligation, to give birth and only some freak of nature wouldn’t do that.

Welcome to my world.

These women always amuse me. I like them well enough as long as they stay over there. You know, way over there where we smile, nod and exchange social chit-chat and make sure not to reveal one thing about ourselves.

No, that would not be good. God forbid if I said something that went against the grain of “what is supposed to be” or “because we’ve always done it that way” kind of bull shit.

“Huh?” she said.

I have to admit to loving the “deer in the headlight” look I get from people when I say something out of left field.

I love myself too much to ever be sad or depressed. It’s fun being me.

“I said the reason I never had kids was because one time, when my husband and I were camping in England, something attacked him. We never saw what it was. It was dark. It sounded like a wolf. We ran to our car and drove away as fast as we could. Since it was England and I had seen the movies, I was never sure if it was a regular wolf or a werewolf and I didn’t want to take the chance of giving birth to half-human and half-wolf baby.”

I waited, sipping my coffee and pretending to tear up. I have an amazing poker face if I can prepare. Otherwise, whatever I’m thinking is obvious, which I hate.

She had no idea what to say or think.

Good because I sure did, but I bit my tongue.

I didn’t say how pissed off I was that her assumption was I was somehow damaged because I had not pushed out another human being from between my legs, that I had made my own personal decision WITHOUT ASKING FOR THE APPROVAL OF HER OR ANYONE ELSE or that maybe it was none of her damn business why I didn’t have kids.

But I didn’t. I didn’t want to say anything about it because I was having too much fun, watching her squirm and slowly come to realize I had just told her to fuck off.

“You’re kidding, right?” she asked.

I sobbed, grabbed a Kleenex and blew my nose.

Was I?

That nosy bitch will never find out.

“Menopause is fun!” said no one ever.




Three things you can’t avoid if you live long enough. Well, actually, you don’t have to live long at all before dying. It could just be a nano-second and then lights out.

But for most of us, we’re living and then we’ll be dead. We will have paid taxes and 51% of us will go through menopause.

Women’s lives revolve around our reproductive organs. Waiting for our periods, ovulating, getting our periods, suffering through said period, pregnancy (sometimes more than once), more periods and then menopause. There are lots of in-between stuff but I don’t want to lose anymore male readers than I have by this point.

This is when a woman stops having her periods and goes into the final phase of carrying a uterus.

Everything has changed. All that I have known, understood and counted on for the last 40 years is gone.

I no longer have the control over my emotions and actions that I had before. I no longer feel hopeful, happy or energetic. It has been stolen from me and I don’t know what to do or where to go to get my life back.

My once flat stomach looks to be 5 months pregnant and any bit of chocolate within a one mile radius is not safe.

I carry a light jacket with me to warm myself up after the hot flash leaves. I’ve never been hot and cold at the same time until now. My sleep pattern is now to make sure the fan is on (it doesn’t matter the temperature of my house), wake-up several times a night, burning up and throwing the covers off and let the cold air pass over me, get cold and pull the blankets back over me and try to go back to sleep until the next bout.

Rinse and repeat all night.

Of course, I have to hit the floor running every morning. It doesn’t matter if I slept or not. Up at 5:30, take Blue for a walk, back home and get ready for work. Out the door and try to maintain my formerly friendly and optimistic disposition when what I really want to do is slap the shit out of everyone person on the planet. Why?


My male co-workers now walk into my office quietly and slowly. Yesterday my boss came in, sat down and said hello

I burst into tears.

Of COURSE I burst into tears.

He said hello, damn it!

He quickly found his “Don’t piss her off anymore” smile and put it into overdrive as he suddenly sat very still. He was as still as a squirrel that has just spotted a hawk circling above.

I bet he even stopped breathing.

I shook my head, wiped my eyes and cursed.


He quietly and slowly shook his head as his eyes darted toward my office door.

The poor bastard was trying to make a clean and fast exit.

Nope. Not gonna happen.

I picked-up a yellow pad of paper and began fanning myself as quickly as possible just as my student arrived for the day. She walked into my office, saw me fanning myself, looked at my boss and then back at me.

“Ummm, so…hey Susan! How’s it going?” she asked as she took one last final slurp of her coffee and set it down on my desk.

Strict rules – no water, food or cell foods allowed in the training room. I’ve been known to grab ringing cell phones from a student’s hand, open the door and toss the phone out into the hallway.

I smiled, wiped my brow and stood up. She quickly grabbed her phone from her purse and handed it to me.

“See? I even turned it off!” and smiled.

She was trying to appease me. She was scared.

She was smart.

I took the phone, placed it on my desk, grabbed her hand and marched us into the training room.

My boss waved as we walked by. “See you later, OK” he said and quickly ducked into his office.

I nodded my head and closed the door.

All I wanted to do was cry. I don’t know why. I just felt like it and had for months. My clothes were tight, I hadn’t slept through the night in months and I wanted a cigarette. I had quit a few months before, but now that’s all I wanted. Well, that and a shot of whiskey.

I assured my student that all was well as I grabbed the pad of paper and began to fan myself again.

Things calmed down, the day progressed well and I looked forward to a long walk with Blue (my dog), a nice dinner and a movie.

All was going according to plan that night until…I logged onto Facebook and saw my ex-boyfriend had a new girlfriend.

A younger one than me.

A younger one than me that his family likes.

His family that didn’t even knew I existed when we were dating.

His family that was tagging his ass all over Facebook about how great she is, how funny she is, how much they like her.

I hate social networks.

Truly, I do. I long for the days when I was clueless, naive and stupid.