2010 – the year that was

She says….

I’m not a particularly reflective kind of person but 2010 was such a momentous year for us as a couple, and more especially, for me as an individual, that it’s important to remember the lessons learnt.  This is going to be a long and rambling post, so get yourself a drink and make yourself comfortable.

Physical distance and emotional distance are two very different things

Mr Rocker and I spent most of the year apart physically but emotionally we’ve never been closer. Taking on the challenge of working in different countries was not something that we entered into lightly and I faced criticism from all sides because I didn’t give up my career to follow him to his work destination.  The reality is that it just didn’t make sense either from a financial point of view or in terms of our long-term goals. It would have meant giving up on our business interests in our country of residence for a contract position in another country.  Our close friends and family also don’t buy into the concept of my career having significance in relation to my husband’s – he is our breadwinner and as such I should follow him.  The reality is that I love what I do and I have very good long term prospects. They chose to see me as selfish when it was a decision made by BOTH of us based on values that are important to BOTH of us. Don’t you just hate patriarchal societies?

I have never felt more connected to Mr Rocker than I have this year and I’ve never felt more loved.  I know enough couples who wake up next to their loved ones every morning to know that I am incredibly lucky. I am loved with a passion that is so fierce and so tender all at the same time. I am proud to say that we do not take each other for granted and that we love our time together.  Yes, others see us as being wrapped up in each other, sometimes to their exclusion, but so be it. I wouldn’t have it any other way.  We have also probably had more sex (mind-blowing and in quantity) than most of the couples we know!  Not bad for a couple that reside in separate countries let alone separate beds!

If you look after your body it will treat you right

I have had an undiagnosed medical condition for many years. The symptoms come and go and whilst we have tried to manage it, and have done so quite well, it has never had a label.  This year a diagnosis has been made after a lucky visit to a different doctor, who immediately knew what I was talking about and viola! My quality of life has improved overnight.

I have spent most of the last 10 years having health issues – I have had episodes of unconsciousness that have been suspected strokes, migraines, diabetic comas, brain tumours.  These “attacks” would be scary, sporadic and no doctor seemed to have a clue as to what was causing them. We became quite matter of fact about them and figured it was just something we had to live with. My new doctor however, during a visit for something completely unrelated, started asking questions about things that were completely unconnected in my mind.  In his however, it all made perfect sense.  I have what is called the “Metabolic Syndrome” and the overriding factor is that I am insulin-resistant.  All these years I have been having blood sugar lows because my body produces too much insulin. A change in diet and I’m a new person. 

If I have one wish for 2011, it is to get out the message of insulin-resistance.  It is a form of type 2 diabetes that is mostly undiagnosed because diabetes diagnosis is based on blood glucose levels.  While my blood glucose levels have always been low to normal, the reality is that my insulin has been dangerously high.  Insulin-resistance results in type 2 Diabetes Mellitis over time as it causes the pancreas to fail and the result is insulin dependence.  By following a strict diet of NO carbs and NO sugar, I have turned back the effects of my insulin resistance and I feel wonderful.  I have no more sugar highs or lows, I have no sweet cravings, I sleep well and I have more energy than I know what to do with (although Mr Rocker tries to help!).  If you think that this condition will never affect you, think again.  I am not obese, I exercise regularly and I had been eating a reasonable diet for many years.  Please, please, please, if you’re having a medical for any reason, ask for your insulin to be checked, not only your blood sugar. It could save your life down the line.

I am also, for the first time in about 10 years, not going into the new year with the resolution to lose 5kgs because I’ve more than kicked that one into touch!  I’m stronger, fitter and healthier than I have ever been. It's tough knowing that I will never eat another chocolate brownie but so be it, some things are worth the sacrifice.

Accepting offers of help does not mean weakness

I am a perfectionist, a control freak and fiercely independent.

This year has been a very trying one professionally as the worldwide economic recession made its effects felt in my industry. It’s been a stressful year and I’ve had to be more focused on work than ever before.  Couple that with the single parenting of two kids, a demanding home and you have a recipe for madness.   Feeling out of control is something I abhor and I have felt like I’ve been walking a tight rope all year.

Our children are awesome kids – bright, well-spoken, achievers.  I would not have made it through 2010 and the kids would not have excelled as they have, if it were not for the influential role that outsiders have played in their lives.  Our friends and business partners, the D’s, stepped up to the plate and not only supported me in my lonely times, but attended school functions, yelled on the sidelines at swimming galas and fed us on a number of occasions where I’ve been working horrid hours.  I could not have made it without their love and support. I have also been dragged to functions on my own that I would not ordinarily have attended solo but they took care of me and I am very grateful for the fun we’ve had although maybe not so grateful for the dreadful hangovers.

Our son had the privilege of a wonderful teacher who became his mentor and moral compass this last year. A truly great educator whose impact on our son has resulted in him being offered a place in a very prestigious school, not underestimating my son’s worth in any way, but the influence of this teacher made a huge difference in our lives.  He understood that although I desperately wanted to be more involved at the school I actually just did not have enough hours in the day. In a school where parental involvement is loudly demanded, I felt under scrutiny for not being more available to my children.  This teacher never once judged me, Mr Rocker or our unusual lifestyle (our living arrangement is not considered normal where we live). He helped us make the best of the year and our son is well on the road to being a fairly decent grown-up.  Thank you, GK – sometimes your standards were scarily high but it was worth it.

Don’t sweat the small stuff

Much of the communication between the Rockers this year has had to be electronic, be it telephone calls, Skype or email.  It’s amazing how distance magnifies every little nuance in voice tone or the written word.  When you’re feeling lonely and miss someone so much that it physically hurts in your chest, every little breath, utterance or silence is loaded.  Learning to look beyond all of that and just accepting that you’re being overly analytical has been a huge achievement for me. Fighting long distance sucks because you don’t get to have make up sex, so luckily we just didn’t fight. A misunderstanding or two, but nothing damaging.

You cannot be everything to everybody

I have spent my whole life trying to be the best wife, mother, friend, daughter, homemaker, employee, you name it. This year I realized that that is just not possible. I strive for significance now. “Will this matter in 6 months?” has become my motto.  If it doesn’t, leave it. Learning to cut myself some slack and when to say NO have been valuable lessons.  There are only three people in this world whose opinions count and they all live under the same roof as me, and share the same family name.

So, all of this being said, what do I want out of 2011?  I want the sacrifice of this last year to have been worth it. I want our businesses to succeed, I want to stare at my man every morning, I want my children to be happy and stimulated at their new school and most of all, I want to add value and meaning to the lives of those I love.

To all of you, I wish you a year where your hard work is rewarded, your love is returned and that you’re able to make your good luck instead of it having to find you. Best wishes for 2011.

The Pornification of Society

He Says...

I was doing what the Rockers call a Facebook Audit a little while back. For various reasons, Mr and Mrs Rocker are not on Facebook though we allow our children to be on there so long as they act responsibly- this to be confirmed by the occasional Facebook Audit which are sometimes immediately precipitated by behavioural slip-ups. As was this one.

We try to enforce strict privacy rules in our house. Rules like- Knock first. Rules like- Stay out of the padlocked box at the foot of our bed. Rules like- You stay outta our stuff, and we'll stay outta yours. Rules like- you act like a respectful pre-teen and we'll act like respectful and trusting parents and not rummage through YOUR private stuff like your Facebook profile. Anyway, our 13 year-old transgressed, big time- or so we were tipped off.

So that prompted amongst other things, a laptop and Facebook audit. The audit didn't really turn much up. The little bugger was able to account for his 283 friends on Facebook. People I had never heard of with completely unfamiliar names, our boy responds with “uh yeah that's Bogdanovich from last year at school, he's just moved back to Tajikistan”. A fact annoyingly confirmed by his sister. 

What the audit did turn up though- a telling revelation that belies something about the pornified society we live in....

Our son is a good-looking boy, tall, well-mannered and a very popular kid. He's had an awesome year at school. Glowing reports, active in sports and culture, well liked amongst teaching staff. One of the culminations of the year prior to heading off to High School was the Leavers Party, which I sadly missed due to my travel schedule. It had a Hawaiian theme. Amongst the decorations at the party was a Hawaiian painted mural photo-backdrop. One of the pictures on Facebook was of my son with a girl on each arm, the name of the Facebook album? “I'm in Hawaii, Bitch”. My blood ran absolutely cold. Have I taught this kid nothing? Now apparently, there is a popular song of that name. But that's no excuse.

I guess it's prompted me to really wake up and consider “things I want my son to know”. I started a bloggy type list a while ago but this little Red Audit Finding prompted me to give it a little more urgent thought.

One of the things on the list, perhaps prophetically was...

“Don't believe Gangster (C)Rap (the “C” in Rap is silent) or otherwise believe that you exist in a world of male sexual entitlement and domination, you're being sold a dummy by consumerism that has a vested interest in the pornification of society. Unless you ARE a gangster rapper or a Saudi billionaire, chances are you'll have to function in a more just and equitable sexual society.”

I'm going to carry on working on the rest of the list. Urgently.

The year ahead...

He says...

What's a Web Log if it doesn't chronicle real life developments every now and then. So allow me to divert from my normal habit of blogging crackpot alternative amateur sociological/sexuality theories.

This time last year the Rockers were bracing themselves for what they knew would be a challenging and pivotal year. It turned out to be exactly that, and then some. Despite the fear, we were fresh-faced, stoic, matter-of-fact, we had to do what we had to do. While I've always travelled extensively for my work, 2010 was set to take it to a whole new level of craziness. We committed to living and working in separate countries. I would commute internationally and spend as much time as possible at home, which turned out to be precious little. Maybe between 2 and 3 nights out of 7 under the familial roof with long periods up to a month away. I didn't even have a set of house keys. I used to ring the bell to be let in for my conjugal visitation rights!

But here we sit, 12 months down the line, having spend a blissful week together. Very much intact. And then some. We not only survived it, we emerged stronger.

Why?

• Trust. This has never been an issue between us. You need it in bucket loads if you're going to spend the majority of your relationship in separate countries. Everybody assumes a travelling businessman cheats. I don't cheat. I think it has something to do with my belief that the Male Ego is The Curse Of The World and my quest to live my life ego-free. It's amazing how good a life that has been. Perhaps we take our trust for granted, we see so many relationships compromised by a lack in that department.
• I always came home whenever I could. My air travel cost an arm and a leg but it was never an inconvenience to go home, only a joy.
• We were protective of the little time that we had together, we especially put up boundaries to annoying aunts and uncles and siblings who wanted to impinge upon our few opportunities to be a proper couple and family. For our efforts we were labelled as “wrapped up in each other”. Cuts me up!
• We stayed in touch and spoke daily, thanks to the wonders of internet and web cams. (And no we didn't do cyber-sex or webcam sex, not for us thanks, our real sex is way to good to settle for some pixelly non-tactile substitute, but we did frequently indulge in some quite risque online chat. Not trashy cyber-sex type stuff, just swapping ideas on sexuality, sex, turn ons, sharing racey web links. We learnt a lot about each other in the process and we look to reap the benefits of that in 2011 and beyond.

That all being said...

We couldn't have carried on for ever. It would have destroyed us eventually.

We have another maybe 6 weeks of the craziness and then a completely new chapter of altogether different craziness to look forward to- New businesses, a major new investment to nurse to profitability and the trauma of sending our children away to school.

Like I said, what's a web log if I can't bore you with life's mundane details now and then?

It's time for Christmas wishes

She says


Yup, it's Christmas time again.  It seems to have caught me by surprise this year. Not that I don't know it's Christmas on the 25th December, but because I have not one drop of Christmas cheer in me.  Gifts have proved a challenge because I just haven't been in the mood to shop - it's hot and the stores are crowded.  I am very envious of those of you who are getting to experience a white/cold Christmas and am definitely putting that on my wish list for next year.  The upside though is bikini's, sun and fun - cocktails and lots of sexy times.  There's just something about being nearly naked, with the warm sun basking on your skin and a sexy man lying next to you, also nearly naked.


So, dear readers, wherever and with whoever, you find yourself this Christmas, may it be a happy, safe and festive one.  May 2011 be filled with magic, laughter and loads of good sex. 


PS. While searching for a suitable Christmas image to include with this post, I found this one under my search for "angels", hope he's the angel that visits you this Christmas! Guys, sorry, this one's for the girls! Don't think he'll fit into the Christmas stocking though...

Pride Politics

She says

You have already heard mention of my status as the Lioness.  Mr Rocker feels far more comfortable with this new label than calling me his Queen Bee, as he has in the past.  He is a remarkable man, and one that I very proud and grateful to call my husband but I do understand his retiscence  considering the killing of the drones and all of that other political stuff. He really does believe that life, love and everything else should centre around women and this is how he lives his life day to day. Which, leads me onto the Lions…

Lionesses enjoy a particularly enjoyable life as far as living in the wild goes.  Yes, they are responsible for tracking and aiding in the hunting but the rewards far outstrip the chores.  We all have chores that we would prefer not to do but hell, that’s life. In order to keep the young fed and the home(pride)life ticking over, we have to deal with the more mundane stuff.  Lionesses do however have the protection and the affection of the king of the wild, the strongest and most majestic of animals.

The sexual politics in the pride are very interesting – the lions fight over the lionesses, who, in turn, will mate with all the males that they deem good potential mates.  This is to ensure continuation of the pride, as the males are less likely to kill the young if their parentage is uncertain.  The continuation of their own bloodline is paramount to each male and they will fight to protect the entire pride including the lionesses and the young.  The females on the other hand play loose and free with their affections and will mate with most, if not all, the males in the pride.  What a wonderful position to be in -protection by all for doing what comes instinctively!

Now, I’m not suggesting that I be allowed to “mate” with every male in my community, but I do question whether monogamy is the natural order of things.  I also know that we are not animals in the strictest sense of the word, but, our physiology is not designed for intercourse for procreation only and you have to allow for intercourse for pure pleasure.  We have these wonderful things called clits and nipples that enjoy sensual attention as well as mammary functions. Why is it that the human female is able to be multi-orgasmic and the human male is not?  The answer is very simple in my mind – so that she can enjoy the attention of more than one male.

Lionesses are known to purr at low frequencies for extended periods of time, whilst lions roar more loudly but less frequently. Tells you something, doesn’t it?

Mrs Rocker promoted from Queen Bee to Lioness

He Says...

The other day I was near the bottom of our property checking on our bees. Neither Mrs Rocker nor I eat honey, but I quite fancied the novelty of keeping bees and getting our very own fantastic wild-flower honey that we are then obliged to give away to mates. Not surprisingly, I think our mates really enjoy the fact that we keep bees more than we do actually. It wasn't long after procuring our bees and beehives that I started to draw parallels between the queen bees and Mrs Rocker and we both quite bought into the idea of my adoration and the analogy of Mrs Rocker being something akin to my Queen Bee (but I'm not fawning or servile in the least in case you were wondering!).  Though I'm a scientist, I'm not a biologist so I know very little about the life and times and zoological intracacies of bees. But Mrs Rocker and I playfully acknowledge that my reference to her being a Queen Bee is something vaguely to do with girls occupying their rightful place in the world that was cruelly usurped by carefully calculating religious zealots for their own benefit. I just know that Queen Bees have a lot of very obedient man-bees being very nice to them, as they rightly deserve.

So there I was, beautiful sunny morning, bees buzzing here and there, making yummy honey just for our friends, when suddenly some reality bee-politics plays itself out before my eyes. Two bees emerge from the hive in some kind of struggle. One is clearly much bigger than the other. They fall to the ground next to my feet and the struggle ensues for about 20seconds. Eventually the smaller of the two bees breaks free and flies back into the hive leaving the larger bee motionless, clearly very dead on the ground. What had been happening evidently was that the smaller bee was stinging the larger bee to death and having duly accomplished its task, went back to its work.

The next time I saw our bee-keeper, I asked him about what had happened down there and he cheerfully informed me that the larger bee was a drone, and that once the drones have served their purpose in life which I guess is running errands and stuff for Queen Bee, they consume too much energy and are generally dragged out of the hive and killed, and this was most likely what I witnessed. Standing there listening to this reveleation from our bee-keeper I started to think about Mrs Rocker's Queen Bee status. The sky darkened a bit. In the distance a dog started to bark. I resolved to speak to her about reconsidering that wholly inappropriate Queen Bee mantle lest I summarily be dragged out of the house and whacked in similar fashion for moving through the refridgerator on occasion like a plague of locusts.

We've resolved that perhaps Lioness is a better mantle for Mrs Rocker to assume. They have an awesome sex life and genuinely seem to enjoy it. And indeed, why wouldn't they?

The pelvis, ah, the pelvis....

She says...

Our fellow blogger, Ladylike Pervert (find her at www.ladylikepervert.com), was lamenting the fact that her Vixen is hiding and her mojo missing.  I feel for her because I, too, often experience these feelings.  Something is just off, you can't quite put your finger on it, but your sexy is missing.  I am however, fortunate enough to work out with the most amazing personal trainer 4 days a week.  Whilst I am more of a cardio, sweat-til-you-drop-and-your-pulse-is-pumping-out-the-top-of-your-head kind of exerciser, I am forced to compromise with my exercise partners and do a few different sessions too.  Whilst I am never delighted to hear that the class is a stretch and tone or Pilates workout, I know that I am reaping the benefits.

You see, my personal trainer is a hot-blooded, passionate woman, who enjoys a good time.  She pushes us to do Pilates and stretch moves that seem like a complete waste of time if you're a make-me-sweat kinda girl like me but the benefit of which cannot be underestimated.  I often walk out of the class horny as hell because my pelvis has had a huge amount of blood flowing through it, my muscles have been stretched, my pubic bone rocked and pointed heavenward for nearly an hour.  That kind of attention has to remind you that one of the most sensitive parts of your anatomy is alive and well and ready to go.  Having stronger pelvic floor has also given me some of the best orgasms of my life. So, a big thank you to my trainer for helping me keep my Vixen fit and healthy.  

Bad-Boys are for Fucking, not for Marrying

He Says...

Mrs Rocker and I are watching with some interest to see whether a cousin in the family is going to marry the Good-Boy she is engaged to after a steady procession of Bad-Boys through her life, together with the associated drama. We think Mr Squeaky Clean is likely to be consigned to the rubbish heap and Ms. Bad-Boy Lover will gravitate back to the passion and drama of racy hooligans.

What is it about Bad Boys to some women (all women?) and why the fatal, unbreakable attraction in many cases?

I think the first Bad Boys were the testosterone-riddled, layabout dark-horse, renegade wayfarers ejected from the next door cave because they were totally useless and too completely distracted by sex to put in an honest days work hunting in the plains. I suspect it was them that pioneered the palaeolithic bone-through-the-nose and the first to fashion a leather jacket from mammoth skin. They get shunned by their clan and before you know it, they're sniffing around another cave and have got all the cave-women hot and bothered and bitchy with each other because they all want to fuck him. I think it's perfectly natural to want to fuck the bad boys. Healthy even. Being an amateur Sociologist, it is my belief that it's part of Big G's carefully considered celestial plan to a) keep the gene pool healthy b) relieve dutiful cave-women from the mundane existence of skinning carcasses all day and tending to shitty cave-brats in the days before nappies.

See, I think Big G meant for girls to fuck the bad boys. But for heaven's sake, think carefully before marrying them. Whether you marry a Good-Boy or a Bad Boy, it's predictable what you're going to get. With Bad Boys- passion, mind-blowing sex, huge arguments, great make-up sex, eternal poverty, maybe even the odd appearance on the Jerry Springer Show. Good Boys- excruciatingly boring dinners at your in-laws, changing your father-in-law's colostomy bag once-daily, (see now that's the advantage of Bad Boys, they don't have parents, they were generally abandoned at birth), balding, probably some portliness, some affluence, being eternally indentured to dropping the snotty spoilt brats at soccer practice in a Volvo Stationwagon. That sort of thing. You can choose.

But for all the corporate polo-playing goody two-shoes out there, learn to accept that your soccer-mommy wife has an eye for the Bad Boys when they come sniffing around the cave. They are genetically programmed to want to fuck them. What to do? Hmmmm. I don't really have a one-size-fits all solution. But I think just understanding it and knowing where it comes (courtesy of this factually-correct, rigorously peer-reviewed scientific blog) will empower you to find innovative ways to scratch that Bad Boy itch. I try, though Mrs Rocker swears blind she doesn't like the Bad Boys. But I keep my dark-side well-stocked with fresh wild ideas. Besides being a good hedge-strategy, it makes for a lot of fun in any case.

Best-laid plans...

 He says...

Though I've never tried, I don't think I would make a very good sex-blogger and my ineptitude at describing mind-blowing sex precludes me from giving the dets on the Hotel Sex Weekend. Suffice to say, the sex was both frequent and hot. The weekend went almost exactly according to plan with the exception that the original good intentions to buy the kids their Christmas presents fell by the predictable wayside. I'm afraid that we hardly made it out of the lingerie and sex shops. Oh, and there were some er... minor complications with baby-sitting arrangements back home. So we heard anyway.

We left nothing to chance in organising the weekend... readers will know that Hotel Sex temperature is directly proportional to the distance from home . A hotel “Across Town” will just about do it. A hotel “Out of Town” is considerably better. The Rockers really went the Whole Hog and hung the Do-Not-Disturb sign on the door of a hotel room in “Another Country”. That doesn't even need inverted commas. We really did. Now that may seem a little over the top but we were quite thankful we did when it turned out that our best-laid plans were chaotically unravelling back at home. If we had been “Across Town” we would have been obliged to abandon the er... abandon. The sleepy blissful peace of the first-morning-after-the-debauched-night-before were shrilly disturbed by our 13 year-old son cheerfully checking in by cell phone to tell us that their baby-sitter for the weekend, our dear, dear friend and business partner, in her valiant attempts to keep them entertained on a Friday night with a massive sumptuous gourmet cook-out (our son absolutely loves cooking) had succumbed to a bad prawn and was hospitalised by ambulance with full allergic anaphylactic shock at 4am, having swelled up to three times her normal size and stopped breathing. First time ever. How lucky is that? You've got to admire the resilience of a 13 and 10 year olds to take that in their stride as they apparently did. They grow up so fast don't they?

Meanwhile, back in The Big Sinful City.... I've never been an ogler of women in sexy underwear. I've never been the type to deliberately flip to the lingerie shows on Fashion TV or drool over the lingerie sections in fashion mags, I've never really seen the point. It's never been important to me whether Mrs Rocker is wearing sexy underwear or not, it hasn't made a difference to how I feel about her. What I have learnt though in the last little while, is how important it is to Mrs Rocker, and how it makes her feel. And that, in turn, makes it important to me. A woman who feels sexy is the most sexy thing in the world. So practically overnight, I've become the world's foremost expert lingerie (and other even racier, lacier unmentionables) aficionado and connoisseur. I can sagely comment on, and knowledgeably appreciate lingerie in the same way that I do fine single-malt Scotch Whisky and am actively encouraging Mrs Rocker to amass a collection of sexy underwear to rival my own collection of single-malts.

My education continues and it shows that a man who has been together with his wife as a couple for 23 years and married for 15 of those can still constantly learn new things about the woman he loves.

During the weekend in the Big Sinful City there was considerable humour for me in watching Mrs Rocker's frustration turn to annoyance and then downright anger regarding the complete lack of man-eye-candy despite the fact that we were in the Place-Of-The-Beautiful-People. The poshest, richest, playground for a thousand miles around. The women were well-heeled and stunning. Plenty to look at and appreciate for me. Absolutely zip for Her. At one stage, she steadfastly refused to move from a perch until she had seen a well-groomed, good-looking man who might make it onto her A-List, walk by. I gamely supported her in her obstinance. But after a very long wait I started to get thirsty. Then hungry. When my eyes started to roll back into my head and I started to babble incoherently and the vultures were wheeling overhead we decided it would be more prudent to head for the nearest pavement cafe, order a bottle of champagne and continue the vigil from there. Eveeeeeeeeentually she was rewarded, but not too long before the bottom of the bottle.

A message we want to put out there... Guys- its OK to be straight AND well groomed. Don't be scared. It doesn't take much and I've learnt thanks to careful coaching from Mrs Rocker and forced subjection to Make-Over TV shows that you can throw away good looks with poor grooming and clueless dress-sense just as much as you can make the best of also-ran looks with attention to detail. Mrs Rocker has slowly pulled me from the abyss of style-cluelessness.

Back to the male eye-candy thing, we were at our favourite Greek Restaurant, the food was fantastic, the atmosphere, electric, the plates were flying and crashing all around us- and in the centre of the restaurant were two swarthy hunky, rippled Mediterranean young men, skilfully executing a well-practiced, very carnal Greek dance. At first look, it was the kind of swarthy Latino-like eye-candy that kept Mrs Rocker absolutely agog throughout our Argentina skiing sojourn a few years back.

“What about those guys for your A-List?” I said.

She gave me a WTF? look, irritatingly pointed back and said “look again you silly, there's TWO things wrong with that picture”.

I did look again, then I slapped my forehead and yelled “Doh!”

I sheepishly delivered a more accurate assessment-

1. too short
2. too young

Mrs Rocker didn't reply, just raised one scolding eyebrow at me which said “Wake up!”.

Hotel sex

She says...


If you read Mr Rocker's previous post, you'll know that we're meeting for a weekend of retail therapy in a nearby city.  You'll also know that we have a thing about hotel sex.  Why, you may think, it's just a different location, the act remains the same. You are right on only one count if you think that way, yes, the location is different, and that my friends, is the exact reason why the act is SO never the same as sex at home.


Hotel sex is the greatest manifestation of what I call the "Madonna-Whore Complex".  You see, when we're out of our home, in a totally anonymous environment, the other roles in my life have absolutely no bearing on who I am at that particular time.  I get to forget that I am somebody's daughter, wife, mother, friend, colleague, boss, you name a role of responsibility, and I am it in my everyday life.  When I get away, I am just ME. The me that can let herself go and behave like a wild woman and say and do things, with Mr Rocker of course, that I would not utter or do in my everyday, responsible life.  It feels so good to be hedonistic and self-indulgent.  I get to have loud, fun, indulgent sex that I can't have in the home that I share with two children.  Our poor teenager would just die of embarassment if he had to hear us doing the wild thing! 


So, dear friends, hotel sex is not about having sex in a hotel bed. It's about a release from responsibility, about just being able to be me, the girl that Mr Rocker loves.  And of course, the sex is likely to be awesome. 

Long-Distance Retail Therapy

He Says...

Believe it or not, Mrs Rocker and I live in a country that doesn’t have an adult shop.  Nil.  Not a single vibrator, porn DVD or sexy lingerie anywhere to be seen.  We are green with jealousy that our favourite blogger, Lady-Like Pervert   (click here to check it out) is the official test-driver of sex-toy product range and these goods actually land on her doorstep, and an added bonus- without a policemen to arrest you at the same time for offending the National Paternalistic Conservative Psyche. We also can’t get sex toys by mail-order because of potentially embarrassing scenarios of being hauled to Customs to explain and release strange goods!  When we get inspired to embark on an X-Rated spree, we have to travel to another country, which is often a logistical nightmare because I am usually somewhere other than Mrs Rocker. (I spend so much time travelling, I enjoy a better relationship with the sniffer-dog at baggage reclaim than I do my own dogs at home).

This weekend, Mrs Rocker and I are going on an XXX-rated retail therapy expedition.  It started off a little more innocently though I swear.  I completely innocently and genuinely suggested a trip to the Big Sinful City to do some Christmas shopping for the kids.  It’s difficult to find suitable stuff where we live in the 3rd World for our beloved techno-savvy pre-teen and teen.   Now before you think how progressive it is that a MAN initiated the Christmas shopping plans and logistics, allow me to explain that this only came about because I completely cocked-up my flight arrangements.  In a valiant attempt to be back in my Work-City for a Year-End Office Party this coming Sunday, I completely painted myself into a corner and stranded myself in the Big Sinful City over a weekend, still some 2 hours flying time short of home.  What to do?  Wallow in misery by myself in the Big Sinful City for a weekend? How about let’s knock the Christmas shopping on the head?  This I suggested to Mrs Rocker, and I think she immediately saw the potential for some Hotel Sex (one of her favs, and mine too, maybe she’ll tell you why one day) thrown in for the bargain, as did I admittedly.  But I swear, it started as a flight-booking cock-up that morphed into a prezzy-hunt for the kids. And then into something else.

But we haven’t quite figured out how we are going to get the adult booty home.  We are both meeting in the Big Sinful City.  I’m flying in from one city, Mrs Rocker another.  Then I’m flying back to where I started, and Mrs Rocker back to where she came from.  Mrs Rocker has to get through customs and immigration of our very conservative home-country.  I don’t have to run the gauntlet of an international border laden with phallic objects and lacey things - at least, not yet.  I am flying an internal route so I have been nominated to take the haul in my suitcase and then later on this year I am likely to drive one of our cars back from the city that I spend much of my time in and I will have to hide the booty in the car.   Will I need to buy an extra suitcase?  A trailer for my car?  We’ll let you know.

You guys in the First World take your mail-order sex-toys for granted!

I hate the word "slut"

He Says...

We need to invent a new word.

In my humble opinion, one of the most maligned words in the English language is “slut”. It’s a word that is held back and only used in the most extreme of circumstances, when somebody reaches such deplorable levels of depravity, specially reserved for that most despised girl in the neighbourhood and office who fucks anything and anyone. A dirty girl, a whore. There is no male equivalent word, “male slut” doesn’t come anywhere near to having the same derogatory ring to it. Men who partake of and enjoy sluts, what do we call them? Nothing really. Just men!

There are few worse insults you can sling at a women, in her face or behind her back. And yet, as I go through life and learn, I think I start to understand that deep, deep down in many women, there is that carnal, instinctive need to be a wanton, uninhibited sex creature. A slut. More or less. To be possessed and to be spoiled and to be treated like an object of lust. To be spoiled by many men at once. Or whatever. Men generally don’t like to think of their loved ones as sluts, and they may even feel threatened by it. Through my own experience with Mrs Rocker, a heady, potent, exciting, sexual buzz is created by having the security and safety of trust and protection to let your loved one explore her slut-instinct. Safely and without fear of recrimination or most importantly- judgement. Freedom of the mind to explore the art of the possible. Mrs Rocker tells me it’s the Madonna-Whore complex.

If the world were a little more equitable, there wouldn’t be any such word as “slut”.

What the hell would I do with seven virgins?

He says...

I fly a lot. Too much in fact. I'm drafting this post on my 137^th flight of this calendar-year. I don't really like flying (which is unfortunate since I do so much of it) but at least if I'm not working on the plane, it gives me time to stare at the clouds and contemplate crackpot theories and oblique viewpoints, some of which find their way to places like this. I worry about stuff when I fly, not the least about terrorism. I worry even more though about the kind of world we live in, when I contemplate some of the motivations and rewards on offer for religious fundamentalist aspirant martyrs.

I know it's a complicated subject, and not to make light of a grave, cowardly and deadly practice which brings so much misery to the world, but it genuinely puzzles the crap out of me that the prospect of 7 (or whatever the number is) virgins in the paradise afterlife can be considered a potential reward for becoming a martyr. I've got no problem with generic sex being part of the incentive. We all know sex sells. But seven VIRGINS? What the hell would I do with seven of those? Frankly, you ain't gonna sell me the deal with even one virgin. I'm not even going to say “rather give me seven hot experienced women who know what they want”, because frankly, a FFFFFFFM group sex ratio, even with experienced women, is just all wrong. It's completely the wrong ratio. Seven dissatisfied women and one smug man? No thanks. (But I'll save the discussion on the relative merits of alternative ratios for another post maybe).

In the mean time, I've got nothing against virgins. Virgins please don't get offended, we all started somewhere. But virgins were meant for virgins. I have major issues with the fact that we live in a world where virgins are considered prize booty for worldly men who should really be fronting-up to the challenge of worldly women. And not just booty for becoming a martyr, there seem to be very dark, questionable and disturbing undertones of the prized status of virgins in many aspects of everyday life. I just don't get it. It's just so fundamentally, absolutely, unequivocally, 100% proof that we live in a fucked up world where men would prefer to own, bully, posses and hide their sexual ineptitude behind uncompromising domination of sexual politics and power. You've been robbed. The woman's voice is drowned out. What do their fairer-sexed martyr colleagues receive in the afterlife? 4 Adonis-like hunks to put them at the centre of adoring, pampering, gentlemanly, sensual attention to all of the many erogenous zones on a woman? Nah. Somehow I don't think that tender tastefully-executed MMFMM groupsex is on the cards for women who die for their beliefs, or even a different hunk every night, one-on-one- if that's your preference.

I wish I had more time to do research into the history of sexual politics in different cultures, because I have a sneaky suspicion that things didn't used to be so lop-sided. At some stage it all went wrong. A monumental, carefully-orchestrated, political smash and grab. The natural order of world was very deliberately subverted by a few very influential men. Women as equal sexual beings were robbed of their rightful place in the carnal sun. It completely bewilders me as to why men, somewhere along the line felt so threatened by sexual equality that they felt the need to screw with the natural order of things. I'll bet they were men with small penises.

Didn't the Pagans enjoy a considerably more even sexual political landscape? I think I'm gonna look into it. 

You've just driven off my list

She says..


Mr Rocker and I each have a list - people we find attractive and whom we could picture ourselves having a sexual encounter with were our circumstances different.  In other words, a really good perv. We can generally choose potential list members for each other and it's a source of much amusement to us both. "He'd make it onto your list" or "what number is she on your list" are common refrains.


Unfortunately, and don't ask me why, there seem to be fewer candidates for my list.  I believe it's because men don't feel that they need to take care of themselves to the extent that women do and as a result, because good grooming is an absolute minimum for me, fewer guys meet my standard.  Luckily for Mr Rocker though there seems to be far more eye candy.  One particular man is way up there, impeccably groomed, well-spoken, intelligent, yummy to look at and adores his wife.  The way a man treats the most important woman in his life is a major point scorer for me.  No matter how good-looking a man is, if he treats his partner disrespectfully, it's an absolute turnoff.


Anyway, back to my Drool no 1.  I was doing the school run this morning and passed him in the traffic.  There he was, driving the most beautiful car.  Now, don't forget that cars are one of my great passions.  I know it's not something that women generally know or care about, but it rates right up there in terms of desirable possessions as far as I'm concerned.  My head is often turned by the sight of a stunning car and having a yummy driver is just a bonus.  I thought I'd hit the jackpot this morning, Drool no 1 and a beautiful car, how lucky could I get?  He was also doing the school run, isn't he a nice guy, dropping his kids at school. We passed in the intersection and I went on my merry way to the office.  A few minutes later however (insert the sound of screeching brakes here), I thought "now hold on a moment here, something was wrong with that picture".


I know what car his wife drives.  It's an old car, seen lots of miles, is a little beaten up.  I don't have a problem with old cars, hell, we have a couple of those ourselves, but, he drives the new car while his wife, who does 90% of the school runs, fetches and carries kids to loads of activities drives a bulky old pickup.  That makes no sense to me.  He drives to his office, parks his car and there it stands, shiny and beautiful, waiting for his return.  His wife meanwhile, has probably spent a fair chunk of her day in her old pickup fetching children, doing the grocery run, fetching his drycleaning and generally getting a raw deal.  Why should this woman settle for second best when clearly she is in greater need of comfort and safety than he is?  Statistically she has a greater chance of being in an accident as she spends more time driving but the 6 airbags in the shiny new model are standing in the parking lot where they will offer her or their children no protection.  What kind of logic is that?  There is no logic, he just wants to be the good looking guy in the stunning car.  Makes me wonder what he's trying to compensate for?


Another couple we know astound me as much.  She is NOT ALLOWED to drive his luxury German sedan, not because she has a bad driving record, but because it's too expensive to fix if she has an accident.  What utter bullshit.  Women statistically have fewer accidents than men.  The bottom line, for me, is that her husband does not find her worthy of driving his expensive toy.  Bet he also doesn't believe that she is worthy of being his equal.  If a family can afford the expensive car, they can afford to fix it , regardless of who breaks it.


So, here's the crunch.  Drool no 1, you drove yourself off my list.  I no longer consider you to be worthy of turning my head because you are disrespectful of your wife, you have denied her the privilege of luxury that would make a huge difference to her quality of life on a daily basis because you're selfish and selfish does not a good lover make.


PS.  I drive the newest and safest car in our household because I spend more time driving than Mr Rocker and I get to enjoy the sheer indulgence of my baby every time I slip behind the wheel.  Guess who is also not a selfish lover?

This is why I love Sting

She says...

"Sting wants to be your sex slave- The former Police frontman wishes he could be an erotic slave in a world run by women. The musician - who is famous for practicing tantric sex - said: "I'll say the standard misogynist thing, I don't like women drivers very much, but I prefer to live in a world run by women. I just take my hat off to a superior form.

“I'm very comfortable with the idea of women being superior in many different fields. The way they navigate the world is something I admire. All this striving for machismo power, it's f***ed up. We'd be better off if it was run as a family. I'd be happy being a sex slave in that kind of society and write the odd song."

He says

This weekend the Rockers found themselves at a wedding. (But only after a major logistical effort to get there given our crazy life. Mr Rocker flies on Friday night from City A to City B in Country C, Mrs Rocker and brood drive from City D in Country E to City F in Country C and then fly to City B, we all meet up at the airport, though Mrs and Brood are 3 hours delayed, then we do the whole thing in reverse on Sunday and we are now once again in separate countries. Such is our life.)

At this wedding, even if I do say so myself, we were quite a fetching couple, we stay in shape without being ridiculous about it, we are well groomed and we dress well.

Without leering or ogling around the venue, I noticed at a stage that I had the immense privilege of having the hottest date at the wedding, i.e. Mrs Rocker. Even the bride exclaimed upon seeing Mrs R “OMG! You are so hot!”. I've learnt over many years, often the hard way, the value and importance of regular compliments to making your partner know that she is the supreme goddess. But now here was a poser- how to break it to her that of all the women in the venue, my wife was the most desirable and would be the most sought-after to have in your bed, and that many men at the wedding would be imagining exactly that. To put it in more basic terms, Mrs Rocker was by far the most fuckable girl there.

This is what I needed to tell her, there was simply no other way to really say it, and in any case I have a sneaky feeling that being the most deliciously fuckable girl in the room is really EXACTLY what women want to to be. In addition to being treasured and looked after, you also want to be DESIRED, but I think that fact is reluctantly admitted to by nice girls.

So to take your girl quietly aside and whisper in her ear the telling facts regarding where she rates amongst her fellow revellers in the fuckability stakes, can be a bit of a risk. But I figured the setting was elegant, there was a warm ocean breeze dusting gently over the tasteful and immaculately laid-out tables and so I figured my stark but elegantly whispered statement would be conveniently padded by someone else's effort at creating a romantic setting. Mrs Rocker took it very well, and I saw her surveying the venue somewhat. While she didn't dispute it immediately, later on she pointed out all the young beautiful girls. What about them?

“Ah, but they're not fuckable in the least bit” I truthfully told her.

“Yeah right”.

“They aren't”

“Yeah right”

And so on. So I tried to explain why young girls are not fuckable from my perspective, and I probably made a hash of it, so I'm trying again...

Why? Because they are too young! Now I'm quite able to appreciate youthful 25-year old beauty when I see it, but I absolutely freeze in reluctant terror at the thought of being responsible for the sexual growth and adventure of a 25 year old and taking that on as a project at this stage of my life. That job is best left to their fellow 25 year-old wet-behind-the-ears rock-hard (yes older ladies, they have their uses, it's justifiable for YOU to shop outside the age group!) eager young men. Let them be blissful in their mutual sexual ignorance. Let them grow and discover together and progress to that delicious sexual awareness and appreciation that hits home somewhere in your thirties. But please, leave me out of it, I've had my turn. Call me a lazy ass, but I really couldn't be bothered to take that project on. How do you convince a 25 year old who's head is still full of what church, mom and the media taught her, that it's okay to question the nice-girl vanilla missionary norms and that clits and lust were given to you for a very good reason? Answer? You don't! You stay away.

To me, it's cretinous to look down the age groups and lust after the barely post-nubiles, stupidly ignoring all the true delights on offer closer to age-parity. The media contention that lusting after nubiles is hard-coded into us thanks to evolution is just a convenient excuse as far as I'm concerned. Chasing woolly mammoths and clubbing them to death was also hard-coded into us, but with the help of the modern supermarket, we conveniently unlearned it. So then why do men REALLY behave like idiots and lust after younger women? I believe it's because we feel threatened by sexually informed and empowered older women. Men would far rather opt for somebody lower down on the learning curve so their sexual short-comings aren't exposed. So next time you see the older, well-to-do man with the younger trophy-partner on his arm - think “Lousy, lazy lover! Good riddance!” When I see it, I don't get envious, I rub my hands with glee at the anticipation that somewhere out there there is another switched-on, turned-on, tuned-in older woman who knows exactly what she wants, but he couldn't give it to her. I'd rather front-up to the bigger challenge of taking on a highly sexual, somewhat hedonistic, sexually calculating, knows-nearly-exactly-what-she-wants sexy thirty-something Mrs Rocker every day of the week.

So that, Mrs Rocker, is why you were the most deliciously fuckable girl at the wedding. Do I make myself clear now?

Let's give the man a place to air his views

For those of you who have been reading my blog and following others where I comment regularly, you will notice that there has been a slight change in the title and description of this blog. 

You see, Mr Rocker is a regular contributor to most of the the same blogs and clearly he has a lot to say - so I invited him to join me and we will jointly write this blog.  Our separate entries will be started by "He says" or "She says" so that you'll know whose opinions are whose. 

I'm very excited about this because it's always great to hear the male perspective on some many issues that affect couples today and besides, I really enjoy his writing style. I'd make him write his own blog but at this stage, our schedules are so hectic that at least this way we both get to write and share our views.  We hope that you'll enjoy this change and keep the comments coming.

Fit, healthy and well-loved

Why is it that we obsess about our body shapes to the extent that we do?  I can't think of a single day in my adult life that I have not looked at myself critically and thought "ooh, these bits need attention" or "man, these arms are flabby", never mind "is my backside really that big?"  


Now, to put it into perspective for those of you who are never likely to see me in the flesh (fully-clothed, I promise) - I am a tall woman by any country's standards, I wear a British size 14 (have no idea what that means to the Americans or Canadians reading) and am certainly not fat.  My BMI has me in the healthy range and I am fit.  By fit I mean that I am able to do (and do, 4 times a week) a full hour's weight and cardio workout, a full hour of high impact aerobics and can mountain bike 25km or walk 30km.  I am also the mother of 2 children and am, unfortunately, nearly middle-aged.


Last night I was at bookclub.  Our members are generally 40+ years old and come from varied backgrounds.  All very intelligent and go-getter kind of women that I am proud to know.  Except for one.  There we are, eating a very healthy and balanced meal, all in very reasonable proportions, a few glasses of wine, when one bright spark refers to myself and the friend seated to my right as "fat people".  Well, I nearly fainted.  Once I had managed to lift my jaw back to it's rightful place and pull my arm down from slapping her and restraining my neighbor, I just stared in shock.  Here is someone who knows me, knows how all the women seated around the table juggle parenting, careers, work travel and relationships, yet she still judges us on the basis of how we look!? 


Is it any wonder then that we girls are so critical of our own bodies?  If people who know how difficult it is to fit good nutrition (as it's more time-consuming that take-out), enough exercise and grooming (who the hell has the time left for regular facials, manicures and hair removal?) into our hectic lives can judge us, what hope is there? If we can't cut each other some slack and be more realistic about women's bodies, how can we expect others to do so?  The world really does seem to only want perfection.  Little wonder that I'm a bit of a rebel....

A weekend away with my blogging buddies?

The writer of one of the blogs I follow wrote a post about a weekend away with fellow bloggers. They had met face-to-face eventually and were going off for a fun weekend which included their spouses.  Sounds fun and I'm sure they had a wonderful time.  

Got me thinking about the blogs I follow on a regular basis and what would happen if we all got together for a weekend. You see, they're mostly from the Mommy blogging-world and tend to have a lot in common.  My blog "pen-pals" on the other hand are from such varied backgrounds that, besides the distances that separate us, I wonder what it would be like to meet you all in person.  One thing's for sure, we won't be drinking tea and eating cupcakes. The other thing I know for sure is that there is bound to be lots of stimulating conversation.  Our profiles are so varied that I wonder if, without the anonymity that we all hide behind, we would have anything in common?  About the only common thread I can find at this stage is sex.  Isn't that exciting?  Far better than shitty nappies and who has how many teeth! 

The Questioning Man

I haven't posted in a while because I've been too busy surfing the web and reading the opinions of others.  It's been such fun and my questioning mind has been so satisfied with what I'm reading that I have hadn't much to question or comment on.


To my delight, I have encountered some great male bloggers - it's fantastic to get the male perspective on a range of topics.  Most especially, sex.  These are not men purely out to get what they want, they have a genuine concern for the women in their lives and feel a responsibility for their satisfaction.  Growing up in a conservative, paternalistic country, this has been an eye-opener for me.  I thought I was lucky enough to catch a fantastic husband, but there are all these other guys out here who think as liberally as Mr Rocker!  What a wonderful world it could be if most men thought like these men.  More women would be orgasmic (hallelujah, Sister), there'd be less abuse and less whining from dissatisfied women.  A win-win all round. Go on guys, keep writing and start a revolution!

The candles will burn out and the chocolate makes you fat.

Let's just get it out there - I hate the media.  Whilst it's all very useful for letting us know what's out there, a lot of what society believes is created and perpetuated by the media.  It has such a huge role in forming societal opinions yet takes no responsibility for it.  The whole skinny  model thing and the way it influences how we, as women, think we should look is just one example. This is a debate that I'm not going to get into right now because I know I will rant about this many, many times in the years to come as I stumble my way through the teenage years with my kids.

The idea of what romanticism is and means in my life is one that I have been mulling over quite a lot recently.  I have always been a hopeless romantic and have always given Mr Rocker a tough time because he hasn't lived up to the standards that I believe he should have.  Where have these standards come from, you may ask?  THE MEDIA. So the poor man has had to listen to me bitch and moan for the last 20 years that he's not romantic enough.  He doesn't buy flowers, he doesn't plan romantic dinners, he doesn't do candle-light unless there's a power cut and he certainly doesn't arrive bearing chocolate.  I really did believe that all that 'romantic' stuff was needed for us to show each other how special the other one is.  Glossy magazines, tv shows and chick flicks portray something very different to real life and I wanted that - if we weren't having the candle-lit dinners and bubble baths, we clearly weren't making enough of an effort. Never mind that we can't comfortably soak in our tub together!  It's not that we're too big, modern tubs are just too damn small!

What a totally stupid cow I've been.  While I've been whining about the way I think we should be behaving, I've totally missed the point.  You see, in all the ways that matter he is the most romantic man I know.  He works damn hard to provide for his family, he loves our children more than life itself and he loves me more than I could ever describe.  I had been looking for all the stereotypical manifestations of what romantic love is about, because that's what I had been led to believe, and each and every day, in countless ways, I am shown how much he loves me. He quietly, gently and unfailingly is there for me.  Through all my tantrums and emotional madness he's my rock and after all our years together he still wants me. No matter how this body is aging, he makes me feel like the sexiest woman alive.   I feel like a goddess and isn't that an awesome space to be in?

Facebook vs Flirting

I have a teenage son and I'm absolutely dumbstruck by how social interactions have changed since I was his age.  Gone are the days of plotting and scheming to get to see the object of your desire, gone are hushed phone calls behind bedroom doors, gone are the tongue-tied conversations between two young people.  


You see, modern technology has robbed our teenagers of all of that. Today, young people have unlimited access to each other by electronic means - social networking, texting and email.  They don't get to long for each other or miss each other's company because the other one is only ever a few keystrokes away.


I think they've been robbed.  I remember the excitement of waiting for the phone to ring each day when my boyfriend would call, being yelled at by my parents for the excessive phone bill and the hushed giggling while he hid from his parents' ears too.  My children will never know how that feels.  They will never know the sheer skin-tingling delight of flirting and longing.  


Electronic communication has a sense of safety to it because it's much easier to write something in a text message or email than to say those words aloud when you're an unsure teenager.  The flip side of this is that cyber-bullying and intimidation is rife.  Hurting each other's feelings is that much easier to do because you don't have to be brave and say the words to a human face.  An electronic screen doesn't cry or crumble when a heart is slowly breaking.  It feels no pain at confidence shattered.


How very sad.  

Okay, so I'm competitive

If you asked me if I'm a competitive person, I would probably say (very loudly) "NO".  Same would apply if you asked me if I'm a perfectionist, although this would probably be said rather defensively.  You see, I tend to see myself very differently to the way others see me.

One thing that I realised today though is that I constantly compare myself to other people.  My DH and I generally leave a social event and start discussing the other people in the car on the way home.  I'm always interested in his opinion and his analysis of situations, people etc.  I have come to realise though that for me, these are not discussions for discussion's sake but more an opportunity to size up all aspects of my life in comparison with others. 

You see, I have an obsession with knowing what the norms are and how I fit into those norms. Am I aging too quickly? Am I thinner/fatter than others? Am I intelligent enough? Am I good enough company? Is she adored by her man? How much sex does she get?  The list is endless. 

The lightbulb moment for me today was one of those in-the-queue moments.  I was in a queue in a store, the lady behind me asked me a question and I turned around to stare into the face of someone I knew many years ago.  It was great to see her after nearly 20 years, we chatted briefly, promised to make contact, as people do, and walked away.

By the time I had completed my business and driven back to my office, I had gone through quite a lengthy analysis of the encounter.  What I had actually done was size myself up against her.  Does she look younger than me?  Does she have a more interesting life?  Is she better dressed than I am?  Then I checked out her rings (surreptiously of course) to see if she had any interesting diamonds.   

The realisation of how ridiculous this is only hit me later in the day.  Why do I do this?  I wish I had the answer.  What I do know is that I am not dissatisfied with myself, my relationships, what I've achieved. I suppose realising that I am competitive is the first step.   Makes me sound like I lack confidence, which is not true.  Maybe I'm just competitive.

Still not ready to accept that I'm a perfectionist....

What is it about dancing?

I have to admit to absolutely and passionately loving to dance.

Not the strict ballroomey kind of stuff, but the hip-shaking, rhythmic, passionate kind.  I would love to learn to salsa but just don't have the time at this stage of my life. 

I cannot explain it other than to say there is something so erotic and sensual about moving in time with another body and of course you get to do it in public without being arrested for indecency!

All that gyrating and hip-swaying is also wonderful for the pelvis and a happy pelvis makes for a very happy goddess. Unfortunately opportunities to dance the night away come few and far between for most of us so when they do it's such fun.  I'm going dancing tomorrow night, best I dust off my shiny black stiletto's....and who knows what will happen later.

Sexy Sunday

Okay, this is not an original idea but I've enjoyed reading the responses on other blogs.  Each week there's a question posed and you can respond, or leave your comments.  This may be a bit risque for some so avoid these posts if you would prefer. 

My reasons for including these each week is not because I have voyeuristic tendencies, but I'd love to have women speaking openly and frankly about their sexuality.  I have been blog-surfing for a good while and while there are lots of blogs out there for moms and single women, there seem to be fewer forums for ordinary, perhaps married, perhaps older, maybe moms, in other words, women like me.  There is so much support for parenting, if you seek it, but very little open, frank discussion about women's sexuality, especially if you're over 25 and attached.  Believe me, if you start talking about sex on the web the weirdo's you get responses from can be downright frightening, so let's start a new trend, send me your comments (create an anonymous profile if you wish) and let's educate women that there's more to them than parenting.

This week's question is:
Things I wish my partner knew about what turns me on, and what doesn't.

This is a tough one for me because it's easy to list the things that turn me on but I don't really have a "that doesn't".  I'm not a specific trigger kinda girl but prefer to be in a perpetual state of horniness.  I love talking about sex and how I feel with my man and can spend entire days being ready to rock.  A big turn on for me though is the element of surprise.  We lead very routine, scheduled lives so surprise would be fantastic, and not necessarily in bed only!  The idea that someone has gone to the trouble to think about you without being prompted and has done something especially for you would definitely send my  pulse racing.   

Turn-offs?  Men who treat their partners badly.  No matter how attractive a man is, if he doesn't treat his partner like the queen bee, I immediately dump them to the bottom of the list of do-ables. There's nothing sexier than a man that knows how to treat a woman well - as his equal and as a valued partner, means he'll know what to do behind closed doors too.

What is a goddess without a god?

Today I was walking behind a man who has the sexiest rear view I've seen in a long time.  Tight ass, awesome, well-toned legs. Awesome in a pair of jeans, took another look, sorry, couldn't help myself.  One of those "ooh, aah, imagine that"-kind of looks.  Realised just how lucky I am.  You see, that awesome rear view is the lower half of my man (the top half isn't bad either, if that's what's going through your mind).  I get to feel that butt and rub my hands over those thighs whenever the whim takes me (and it takes me often!).  I am so grateful that my dh takes care of himself, exercises, keeps his grooming in check without being obsessive.  Now, I know, looks aren't everything, but when they're coupled with a brain and heart like his, the possibilities are endless. 

It freaks me out that if a woman gains weight or maybe lets the grooming slip that society is very quick to use it as justification if her man strays.  We're far more forgiving of a man who is rounder in the middle or badly groomed.  Why?  It's insulting to your partner (whichever one you are) if you couldn't be bothered to keep yourself in the best shape that you can.  I'm not saying be obsessive, I'm saying be realistic.  Love yourself if you want others to love you.  Desire yourself if you want to be desired.

Honey, you really are the god to my goddess.   

The Modern Mom

Okay, I know it's been a while since I posted but life has a way of catching up with you.  Reality tends to bite quite hard at times - juggling it all can require the precision of a knife thrower to prevent the knives from stabbing you one by one. 

I know very few people these days who do not have hectic lives and I have to ask myself if the concept of a breadwinner who comes home every night to the picket-fence, 2 kids, a wholesome meal and the family dog lying in wait, is an an outdated one.  If that is standard to which all modern families should aspire, this family is losing the battle dismally.  Aproximately 70% of the time, a parent is away from home on business travel, the wholesome meals are more of a weekend thing and the kids have learnt to supervise their own homework.  How sad is all of that?  I'm beginning to think that, as my mother keeps reminding me, "you girls just can't have it all".  I, of course, being the rebel, tend to say, "hey, why not?"  It is only at times like these that I think she may be right.  Something has to give.

Will it be me who says "okay, enough" and downscales my career or will it be my husband who compromises on his.  The reality is that neither of us can, either due to financial commitments or because we want to.  The saddest part of the whole debate, is that in 2010, 90% of people will still think that my career should take a back seat to my husband's career. Luckily, he doesn't see it that way.

The guilt that comes with knowing that our children probably don't get the kind of attention that other children do, with their wonderfully child-centred families, makes some days really tough.  Would I change it all for the sake of my children?  Hell no.  I want my kids to realise that nothing comes without hard work and sacrifice.  Especially my daughter.  I want her to know that she can demand to have her own identity and still have a loving family, if that is what she chooses.  My son needs to know that family responsibility beyond providing funds, is his responsibility too. Whoever is free does the shopping or starts the dinner.  No defined roles in this family - maybe only emptying the bin  but even that I'll do if I have to.

Does my non-compromising attitude make me the odd one in society's eyes? Maybe, probably.  But I need my own identity.  It is not good enough for me anymore to be someone's wife and someone's mother.  I need to be me too.  And me works horrible hours, deals with crap a good chunk of the day and isn't available to my loved ones at the drop of a hat.  Me is also fun though, gives it my all in my marriage, with my kids and at work.  Me sometimes has the untidy house, the kiddies birthday gift bought on the way to the party and the less-than-perfect grooming but it's still me.