Marrying George Clooney

okie dokie.
full disclosure. (check previous blog….)
the morning was, well, almost fabulous. coffee, NY Times, & yoga class. i had an awful, hideous dream last night, hideous, so hideous i woke up on the freaked out side. there were all these midgets (ok, small people…sorry) and blood, and everything was like in 3D, except not in 3D, and long shots and strange little weird troll folks.
very wizard of oz like without the music and shoes.
so i was in a good mood with just enough bad mood thrown into the mix.
and when i’m in that kinda mood, you have to stay back a few inches.
i know, i know… get to the fucking point.
we – ken & i – come home from yoga class. life is good, except for my neck which hurts like a mofo because of a bad yoga pose, and then ken goes out for a while, and i’m feeling less physically fit as the moments pass, and i return a call, and speak to my friend, and then ken comes home with a dozen roses — YAY — and then i mention something to him that my friend said, and what starts out small & trite, turns into a massive blow out on the fucking highway called life. we get into a huge massive:
FUCK YOU
NO NO NO…
FUCK YOU.
and he grabs the now cut (yes, on the diagonal) cleaned roses, and marches out of the house and says, you don’t deserve these roses, and i say, fine fine, you don’t deserve dinner & sex, and he continues up the path to the garage, and i continue on my path – the internal storm path, and ….
and….and…
a half hour later….
he comes home without the roses, and i swear up & down in my head NO SEX EVER AGAIN BUDDY.
BUT we’re having friends over for dinner tonight, so i storm off and start making the vegetable lasagna, and all the while i’m thinking divorce lawyer, and then ken comes into the kitchen and i tell him, as i hold up the sauce ladle, don’t come any closer or i’m gonna fling homemade red tomato with a hint of basil lasagna sauce all over you. and then he smiles, and he’s so, so, so, so sweet when he smiles, and then we kiss, oh, what a good kiss, and i tell him i’m sorry and he says i’m sorry and then i ask him what he did with the flowers, and he says, i gave them to our neighbor (no names…. i don’t want to disclose TOO MUCH) and i start to cry and the reason i’m crying isn’t that he gave them away, it’s because she would never ever, ever, ever get a dozen roses for valentines day. never. ever. and i thought:
our fight, our fuck you fuck you fight made someone feel so very, very special and loved today.
what a guy.

okay, so happy valentines day.
i’m toasting a few folks today and giving a sentence or two why:

my ken. my sweet funny gorgeous delicious delightful patient husband, for giving me kisses and coffee every single morning.

my amy friedman, for being the swellest most amazing woman and writer (her book the murderer’s house is BRILLIANT BRILLIANT BRILLIANT!!!!!!!!!) and champion of all and everything women-centric and for going the extra mile every single day and for having a heart the size of the universe.

kisses & hugs to my peter werner for being such a good guy, great friend, great father, great husband, great all around buddha-full man, and for every bit of unconditional love.

a tight squeeze for my amy litzenberger, for being the best kisser. and for all. and everything. for listening when i need to talk.

a big hello & thank you to meredith resnick for posting such an amazing interview– yay oh yay — and for making me blush….check it out
www.writersinnerjourney.com

petting bella & lotus for giving me/us so many smiles every single day.

my krista for being such an amazingly generous brilliant gorgeous joyous woman & partner (to brooke) & collaborator (to me).

and debra s. kent for asking me questions that made me seek and dig a bit more than usual and for being such a huge huge treat on a cold friday morning. you made the day sweet.

i heart you all.