Category Archives: Relationships

Words of wisdom from a loving mumma

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I was going through a bunch of my old papers at mum and dad’s house the other day, and I came across a letter from mum, from 2002, just before I went overseas for 2 years. It was advice mum wanted to pass on to me to help “get me through life”. Reading it, I wanted to laugh and cry simultaneously; laugh because some of it I had taken on, cry because it reminded me of mum as she used to be.

So, in the spirit of sharing loving advice, here are these words of wisdom from my mum, almost 10 years ago:

  1. Remember always think of other people and not about yourself.
  2. Never drop your standards, always put your best foot forward, never dress in a slovenly manner. And always have clean shoes. It is not too late to change.
  3. If you haven’t got something nice to say about someone, don’t say anything at all.
  4. Don’t worry about sex again, it will be wonderful once you meet Mr. Right.
  5. Once you have completed uni (at this stage I had no intention of going to uni!) get a safe job in public service; you will live longer and feel secure.
  6. This is a quotation from Charles Kingsley: “Be good sweet maid and let who will be clever”. Guess this doesn’t make sense to you. In a nut shell I would like to think of goodness as honesty, tolerance, trust, generosity, and kindness, to oneself and others. Remember this through your life.
  7. Don’t let anyone know if you are down on your luck and never boast about good fortune to someone less fortunate than yourself.
  8. Try not to cry in public and never let people know that they have hurt your feelings. (This is old fashioned now, my dad used to tell me this).
  9. From now on be careful who you associate with. If you mix with crows you will crow like them.
  10. If your second toe is longer than your first toe you have profound will and determination. (Boy, is it ever and do I ever!!)
  11. Always go for quality instead of tat and rubbish. You mostly won’t appreciate this at the moment.
  12. I remember already telling you this but never leave home without a change of underwear, you might get caught.
  13. If you look a million dollars you’ll make a million dollars.
  14. Make sure when you complete uni get a job where you go to work in a suit or smart attire.

It was really nice to read this after such a long time, and now, as a parent, I can really understand where mum was coming from. So I decided I should come up with a few pieces of advice for my boys when they’re older. I have a few already under my belt but the rest will have to come slowly, I think.

What about you? What was the best piece of advice you ever received and who was it from? What was the best piece of advice (or worst) your parents ever gave you? What would you want to pass on to your kids?

Life, death and everything in between

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I know, I know, I’ve gone and done the disappearing act again. Well, let me put it to you this way. When I disappear for weeks at a time it’s usually because something big has happened, or I’m having another life shift (I’m really starting to get used to these).

So, my explanation for this disappearance is the very sad death of my dear 95 year old Nanna, and then another life shift. But first, my Nan.

Nan was a strong lady and one of my inspirational people, having raised 7 children and looked after her own parents during a period of no electricity, out on the farm, with no neighbours, while her husband worked all day. Yikes!! She had all her wits about her, though her body was weak, right up until the last week of her life. That was when she began the dying process.

In hindsight, Nan knew she was going long before she went. It was little things we’d all noticed over a period of time but never really put two and two together. The day she began having delusions and ended up in hospital we all realised that the inevitable had probably come.

I made it my goal to be there with Nan in hospital as much as possible over those 9 days. I don’t know why, but I wanted to be there to experience the process. I’m sure it sounds morbid, but all of a sudden I had this fascination with the whole dying process. Enough so that I decided to see what oh wise Google had to say about it.

Turns out there is an actual process and it begins a few months before actual death. There were stages that my Nan had been through, and it turned out that, according to several sources, Nan was in her final days of life. She went from being a normal, albeit slightly immobile old woman to being barely able to speak, unable to eat or swallow, and floating in and out of consciousness. All just like *that* (clicks).

And reading about the dying process really helped me understand and accept what was happening. This combined with my belief of what happens after death, I found all the information almost…comforting. Nan had been waiting for this day to come for a few years, I believe. I mean, what else do you do in a nursing home, really?

I knew that Nan was done, she was tired. We all knew it. She’d seen 19 grandchildren and 9 great-grand children. She’d seen her children born, get married and in some cases pass before her, as well as her husband. She’d spent the last 30 years of her life living on her own, and despite constant visits from her family that must have been a lonely life.

So, 9 days after being admitted to hospital, she died peacefully, on her own, in Werribee Hospital’s palliative care ward at 12:30am on Saturday 14th August. Just half an hour after Friday 13th. Although she’d not been alone the whole time she was in hospital, Nan chose a moment she was alone and at peace to leave this existence. Typical Nan, not wanting a fuss to be made.

It will take a while to get used to the fact that our family of 52 no longer has a leader, our Matriarch, or, as one cousin put it, The Don. Nan was behind every thought and action in this family, even if those thoughts and actions never came from her. She was an enormous inspiration to me, as I would often find myself complaining about parenting…like having cracked nipples when trying to breastfeed number two. When Nan told me she had years of constantly painful boobs from her never-ending breast feeding I shut the hell up and dealt with it.

As for the life change, during this period of Nan’s dying I was again questioning my own place in existence. I’d found alternative therapies, writing and PR but I didn’t quite feel…there yet. I hadn’t quite found my niche. While Nan was in hospital I spent a lot of time talking to my family, sometimes offering advice, sometimes just listening. At the same time, two of my friends were going through an incredibly rough time, and I found myself desperately wanting to help them, listening to their problems and offering advice where I could. And all of a sudden, it hit me. Counselling! That’s what I’ve been put here for, to help people through their life problems. I often find that people I’ve only just met are telling me their problems, so that even they don’t know why they’re doing it. I get this wonderful feeling from helping people, or even just being there for them when they need to vent. And so, as of next year, it’s back to school for me!

I feel so lucky that I’m in the position where I can follow all of my passions; writing, PR, photography, alternative therapies, and now counselling. I plan on making a big difference in this world, and I plan on using all of my skills to do this. I know I’ve found my niche finally, and I have to say, it’s a bloody good feeling.

For my friend

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When the night is dark and lonely,
And you’re feeling scared and cold,
Just picture me beside you
As someone you can hold.
The pain won’t last forever,
You know that this is true,
And you’ll emerge much stronger;
This you already knew.
Tough times don’t last forever,
And yet, tough people do.
You’ll find that feeling once again,
This I promise you.

-Melissa Wallace

Through Shane’s eyes

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Thanks to Talia (fellow weheartlife blogger) I was inspired to do this post…

Isn't he perrty?

1. What is something your wife always says to you?
Do you love me?

2. What makes your wife happy?
Chocolate

3. What makes your wife sad?
No chocolate

4. How does your wife make you laugh?
Being funny helps

5. What was your wife like as a child?
Cheeky

6. What is her favourite thing to do?
Eat chocolate

7. What does your wife do when you’re not around?
Write about me on her blog

8. If your wife becomes famous, what will it be for?
Writing

9. What is your wife really good at?
Writing

10. What is your wife not very good at?
House work

11. What does your wife do for her job?
Writing

12. What is your wife’s favourite food?
Thai

13. What makes you proud of your wife?
Writing

14. If your wife were a cartoon character, who would she be?
Tinkerbell, waving the little wands, with the crystals and the magicalness

15. What do you and your wife do together?
Spend time with our family

16. How are you and your wife the same?
Ummm…we’re not?

17. How are you and your wife different?
In every possible way

18. How do you know your wife loves you?
Because she’s still here

19. Where is your wife’s favourite place to go?
Outside this house

Does true everlasting love exist in real life or only in fairytales?

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I’m a romantic. I love the idea of being in a loving relationship where, even 20 years down the track, you still feel completely into that person. Where you still enjoy spending time with them, you’d consider them your best friend, even your soul mate. Sure, you have your ups and downs, but essentially the love is still just as strong, just as real as when you first fell in love with each other.

But people say that with time this love fades, and it’s replaced by a different kind of love, security and comfort. The only problem is, what if you don’t want that love to fade? What if you’re looking for, longing for, that ever after love, that whole, consuming love. You know. Like Edward and Bella? Only more real, and less….obsessive. Does it exist at all? Do you know of anyone who has been together for years and are still completely and hopelessly in love with each other? How do they do it? Do you believe in true love? Is it naive to think it’s out there?

I read a comment on mamamia once from a woman who’d been married to the same person for decades, and still felt completely into him. She “still got shivers” whenever she looked at him and still saw him to be the “most beautiful person in the world”. To me this means that love does exist. Is it rare? Are there others out there?

Don’t get me wrong. I love my husband. We complement each other, and we bring a kind of balance to our relationship: grounded, stable and realistic on one side; impulsive, adventurous and ambitious on the other. In the bigger picture we compromise so we can both have what we want. We love each other but aren’t gooey and obsessive about it. But we’re so not romantic. Sadly. I’d like to be more so, but hello, where is the time? It is simply that I am his wife, he is my husband. We are together, we know each other inside out, we are comfortable. It’s certainly no fairytale love. But as I said, does that even exist?

Do you ever look at someone and think “wow, they are soul mates”? Do you even believe in soul mates?

Yesterday, I was grateful for…

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Something else I'm grateful for: little things that make me laugh (photo by Shane Wallace)

I’m introducing a new segment, mainly to get myself into the habit of naming ten things I’m grateful for every day. My friend Erin (editor of Real Magazine) says she has been doing this every single day for a few months now and it has drastically improved her attitude to life and helped her put things in perspective.

The fact is that if we focus on the good things in our lives, the bad things become insignificant, and it helps us to keep perspective and a positive outlook.

So, every day I’m going to name ten things I’m grateful for. It might bore you because it will probably stay  more or less the same each day, but I strongly encourage you guys to join in and share ten things you’re grateful for as well.

So, yesterday, I was grateful for…

  1. Not having to do anything so being able to enjoy just being home with my boys.
  2. Having the time to post on here, and putting up four posts!
  3. Discovering some new websites which I love.
  4. Being asked to be a contributor for weheartlife.
  5. Date night! This happens on Wednesday every week (great way to improve hump day) and involves putting the kids to bed early, Indian food, Spicks and Specks, Gruen Transfer, United States of Tara, no computer for either hubby and me, some nice cuddle-time on the couch and then early bed, where I was able to read Breaking Dawn again until waaay past midnight.
  6. Having time to read the paper and surf (do people still say “surf”?)
  7. Being told by my editor that the only thing worrying him about the street mag doing well is that a local paper will try and poach me (probably just words but still a nice stroke to the ego).
  8. Having a husband who puts up with my grumpiness.
  9. Being able to update the “Writing” segment of my blog.
  10. Generally being in a good place with work, the kids and life!!

Do you do date night?

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What do you do for date night?

When you’ve been in a relationship for eight very long and tiring lovely and romantic years there comes a point where a little more effort is required to keep things fresh. Especially when children are involved. It’s important and VITAL to the relationship to not fall into the habit of seeing each other as your children’s mother/father, because remember, we started out as much more than that!!

When I told kindly suggested to my husband that he should do more nice things for me, I nearly lost it when he said “I do!! I do the housework for you!” I’m sorry. The last time I wrote “housework” down as my hobbies and interests was…oh that’s right, NEVER!

Sometimes I have to remind him that I’m not just a wife and mum, that I have an actual personality. So, in lue of celebrating our personalityness I have announced Wednesday to be date night.

Date night is the one night of the week where we are not allowed on our computers*. We put the kids to bed and then snuggle up on the couch together to watch Spicks and Specks and Gruen Transfer. Then we go to bed early (rather than midnight, as is often my case). At least, this is my plan. Tonight is the first one, so we shall see how it pans out.

This suggestion of a date night was courtesy of my counsellor. Yes, I see a counsellor. So what. I believe that problems are better dealt with than suppressed by alcohol or drugs or antidepressants (that is my belief, and I respect other people’s choice of suppressing their problems. Each to their own.) And it took hearing it from someone other than his nagging wife to have my husband agree.

Do you have a date night? What do you do? How do you keep your relationship interesting?

*The issue of relationships suffering because of technology is a BIG one that warrants its own post. In the meantime, please share your experiences and I will tie it in to my post. If you dare!! 🙂

A memory magically interrupted- by Robert Leleux

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I read this story a few months ago on the New York Times website and meant to post it on here but forget. Fortunately it’s a timeless one, relevant now as it was then. It’s a sad story, impeccably written and quite humorous, about the writer’s grandmother who has Alzheimers. 

A Memory Magically Interrupted

“YOUR grandmother has Alzheimer’s, right?” the doctor asked me, scrawling notes into a floppy manila folder.

I hadn’t expected to discuss my grandmother’s Alzheimer’s with him. I was hoping to hear some explanation as to why, apart from her memory, my grandmother’s overall health seemed so mysteriously improved. Her lupus, for instance, had all but disappeared from her blood work.

“Yes, but …” I began.

“Well, there is a theory,” he said, interrupting, “that people with Alzheimer’s heal themselves of their diseases. Because they forget they have them.”

I glanced across the room at my beautiful grandmother, smiling vaguely in her lipstick-pink trench coat. “But you don’t really believe that?” I asked.

The doctor shrugged with an implicit “Who knows?” which I found irritating because I hadn’t flown all the way from Manhattan to Nashville to discuss fanciful theories. I wanted solid answers about JoAnn’s health, and he’d thrown me with his talk of miracle cures.

But by that evening, after I’d driven my grandparents home, I realized that the real reason this doctor had startled me was that for the first time I’d heard someone confirm my experience of my grandmother’s disease. Alzheimer’s has, in a sense, healed my grandmother, and our family.

Despite my family role of bulldog journalist, responsible for sniffing out facts, I’ve always preferred fairy tales to literal truth. And I wonder if that isn’t a better way (in my family’s case, anyway) to approach Alzheimer’s, a malady that for us has had a decided fairy tale ring to it, one of those stories where a beautiful lady is cast under a wicked spell that makes her lose her whole life — only to get it back again, better than ever, by the closing paragraph.

Five years ago, when JoAnn’s Alzheimer’s was first diagnosed, I couldn’t imagine anything less fair. At the time, I composed a mental list of all the people I knew who could lose their minds without anybody noticing, scores of people whom I’d never heard say one original thing. While my grandmother, on the other hand, was the genius of the cocktail party, a brunette version of our fellow Texan Ann Richards, who always seemed poised with a staggering, stiletto quip.

As a young artist in New York, I’d spent years trying to find my voice. When I did, it was my grandmother’s. To this day, I’ve never liked anything I’ve created that didn’t somehow remind me of her. So the fact that my clumsy development and slow self-discovery was occurring just as her decline began felt like a tragic bargain. I was finding my voice just as she was losing hers.

The only certainty about Alzheimer’s is that it’s characterized by uncertainty: There is no definitive test, no definitive diagnosis. But in July several years ago, after undergoing a gruesome but unserious operation, my grandmother began to exhibit signs of the disease. It was as if her anesthesia never lifted.

I now believe she suffered a mini-stroke mid-operation — an event that frequently “ignites” incipient Alzheimer’s — but by the time I formed this suspicion, it was too late to test. So throughout that year, as my grandfather and I accompanied her to a legion of new doctors, each of whom mentioned the possibility of Alzheimer’s, my grandmother grew ever more foggy, sometimes hilariously so.

“The wonderful thing about Alzheimer’s,” she would say, unfurling her arm like Bette Davis, “is that you always live in the moment.”

Like many Southern women of her generation, my grandmother had been a stifled lady prone to fits of drape-drawn depression, medicated with Champagne and Streisand.

“Sad lives make funny people,” she told me when I was 16.

At the time, this remark had just sounded like one more zinger. But eventually I came to consider it the distillation of her philosophy. Humor was the way she had coped with every unpleasant thing in her life, from her long estrangement from my mother, her only child, to the onset of a crippling disease.

But while my grandmother was able to laugh at her decline, her husband couldn’t. He didn’t find anything funny about watching her forget their life together. I think all my grandfather ever wanted was to be left alone with his wife — a goal he’d finally accomplished after more than 40 years of marriage, when they retired from Houston to his family’s Tennessee home.

In this way my grandparents reminded me of the Reagans, one of those couples who are so gaga for each other that there is no room for the kids. It’s nobody’s fault. It’s just that perfect couples rarely have happy families. They have to have children, because they love each other too much not to make something of it. But then, the honeymoon never ends, and who brings their children on a honeymoon? It’s like they always say: two’s company, and three’s an angry kid like Patti Davis, desperate for attention, with a complex about being shoved outside the magic circle.

Except that in our case, Patti Davis was my mother — a Scarlett O’Hara for the silicon age, with a chest as big as her mouth and hair. Between these two genteel Southern ladies, our family became an Old West town: It just wasn’t big enough for both of them.

Which meant that my grandfather, Alfred, adoring JoAnn as he did, not only stopped speaking to his daughter, he even stopped speaking about her, at least with me. Until the day when we were finally forced to accept the fact of JoAnn’s Alzheimer’s and its awful progression.

The more JoAnn forgot, the more often Alfred asked me to visit. And at the end of one of these Tennessee weekends, as my grandfather wound his Buick through the dark hills on the way to the airport, he suddenly blurted, “Sonny, I think it’s time your mother came home for a visit.”

I was too surprised to say anything. Then he repeated, “I think it’s time your mother came home.”

“I’ll make it happen,” I mumbled.

“Good,” he said, tapping the wheel. “It’s time.”

Of course, I had no idea how I would make it happen. Fortunately, my mother — who, for many years, had been no stranger to a Bloody Mary — was newly sober, and I took advantage of that narrow window of Alcoholics Anonymous time before making amends becomes a crashing bore. All that summer, I begged her long distance. I swore that if she would only visit her parents one more time, everything would be different. Finally I played my ace: I asked her to visit them in Tennessee for my birthday in September.

“Damn it,” she screeched. “So now if I don’t go, I’ll be ruining your birthday? Fine. I’ll do it. But prepare yourself for disaster.”

“There won’t be any disaster,” I said.

“Oh, really? Give me one good reason why things will be different this time.”

“Alzheimer’s,” I answered.

For my grandfather and me, having to witness JoAnn’s Alzheimer’s had been agonizing — like watching “The Miracle Worker” backward. Every day seemed accompanied by a new limitation. But for my grandmother, the disease had seemed liberating. For the first time in all the years I’d known her, she seemed truly happy.

Imagine: to be freed from your memory, to have every awful thing that ever happened to you wiped away — and not just your past, but your worries about the future, too. Because with no sense of time or memory, past and future cease to exist, along with all sense of loss and regret. Not to mention grudges and hurt feelings, arguments and embarrassments.

And that’s the fantasy, isn’t it? To have your record cleared. To be able not to merely forget, but to expunge your unhappy childhood, or unrequited love, or rocky marriage from your memory. To start over again.

There had always been an element of existential fury to my grandmother’s barbed wit, concerning her lost time and missed chances. But as her Alzheimer’s advanced, she forgot to be angry. And she seemed healthier, too: her pace quickened, her complexion brightened, her hair thickened. And with my help and her husband’s credit card, even her wardrobe improved. Her transformation was magical and unmistakable.

It was certainly unmistakable to my mother on that bracing September day when my grandparents and I picked her up at the Nashville airport. “Look, JoAnn,” Alfred said, “it’s Jessica.”

“Isn’t that funny,” said JoAnn, before embracing my mother. “That’s my daughter’s name, too.”

My mother forced a smile and shot me a wary look that abruptly softened once we got to the Buick and my grandmother reached for her hand. “Tell me all about yourself, darling,” she said. “I want to know everything about you.”

All through my birthday dinner that evening, JoAnn positively doted on her daughter — beaming sweetly and patting her hand. This behavior unsettled my mother, who afterward made a theatrical production of rooting through the closet in her bedroom.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Looking for space pods,” she said. “Who are those people, Robert? And what have they done with my mother? I keep thinking I must be in a blackout. That I must be drunk in a ditch somewhere, and when I wake up I’ll have the hangover of a lifetime. Because believe me, if that nice old lady had been my mother, I’d never have left home.”

DURING the following week, the starchy blue autumn skies remained clear, and so did the irony. Now that my grandmother had, in a way, disappeared, she was fully present to my mother for perhaps the first time in their relationship. Now that she was all but unreachable, she was finally available. Each evening, as JoAnn scooted close at dinner, my mother found the nearness less nerve-racking.

On the last day, as we were leaving for the airport, my grandfather kissed us goodbye. Soft black cows strode serenely on the hillside. Suddenly JoAnn grabbed onto the lapels of my mother’s jacket, as if she were about to shake her.

My mother looked rattled, but then JoAnn said: “Thank you for coming, Jessica. I want you to know how much it means to me. I want you to know that I know we’ve never been close. And I know that’s been mostly my fault. I’m not sure how much time I’ve got. But more than anything, I want to have a shot at spending it with you. It’s so important. I mean, after all, Jessica, we’re sisters.”

I groaned, then looked over to see my tough mother crying.

“Close enough, Mama,” she said.

Robert Leleux, who lives in New York, is the author of “The Memoirs of a Beautiful Boy” (St. Martin’s Press).

Dating in the 21st Century

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Dating is such a tricky game on its own without adding to it a plethora of new technologies and ways in which to meet, pick-up, and dump people. It has changed so much in the last decade that a new book needs to be written about dating, sex, and technology etiquette.

I haven’t been in the dating game for a few years now (whew!) but even then, I met all my past boyfriends and my husband the old-fashioned way via work or friends. But there has been an influx of dating stories from single girlfriends that inspired me to have a closer look at dating in the “noughties”.

Anonymity is a thing of the past, as you can now “research” the lives of the person you are interested in dating. How many times have you heard a friend say “have you Googled him?” Gone are the days of meeting one-on-one with no information about each other apart from what your friends or colleagues have told you. Jump online and find out what they do, what groups/associations they are members of, what events they have attended, and who they hang out with. Facebook and MySpace also provide ways to check out ex-partners, best friends, and favorite past-times. Now you can be fully armed with all the information you need to know for a successful first date.

But it can go too far. One successful, gorgeous, and single girlfriend told me the hilariously shameful stories of her and her friends and the obsessing that takes over their lives each time a new guy arrives on the scene.
“It’s so easy to become obsessed with Facebook,” she says to me. “I have banned myself from the page of the boy I like because I just don’t want to see the photos, or girls that add him as friends, or whose wall he writes on. It might all be innocent but I have found that when I have checked out his page in the past, I’m like ‘Oh… so that was what you did on your quiet weekend.’” It does have the potential to harbour thousands of cyber stalkers.

Google has stimulated the cyber stalking situation by giving people the opportunity to see where a potential interest lives or works. Now you can sit on your computer and watch their house, rather than sitting out the front in your car, low in your seat with a cap and dark glasses on, hoping to catch a glimpse of them as they leave for their evening dog walk.

The introduction of mobile phones and emails to the dating scene caused quite a change, least of all totally killing the romance. It introduced a new, no-fuss way of breaking up with people via emails or SMS- as if being dumped isn’t bad enough. It also prompted the increase of erotic photo requests via mms, “to keep me warm on lonely nights,” as one eloquent gentleman put it.

If you’re lacking in time to get out and about and meet people through sports clubs, pubs and whatnot, there is a surplus of online dating sites like RSVP, Lava Life, and even one exclusively for rich, good looking people to meet other rich, good looking people.

Research done by RSVP showed that online dating has become one of the most popular ways of finding love, second only to meeting through friends. A survey on dating in the US found that one in eight couples that married in 2007 had met online.
Even the Y Generation has taken the new dating game in their stride. High school kids are no longer satisfied with people from their own school, opting to meet people from other schools via social networking sties. One friend’s 15-year-old sister met her 18-year-old boyfriend on MySpace.

This whole new world of dating seems to be utterly lacking in romance. No longer do you have to suffer those nausea-inducing butterflies the first time you went to call them on the phone- just send them a text instead! Never will you need to sit through those awkward first dates with nothing to talk about- just do a bit of research and you’ll have a whole list of likes and dislikes to discuss! And there’s nothing like a bit of text-sex to spice up an otherwise boring Wednesday night. Just make sure his mates aren’t gathered around taking in every juicy word you write.

It’s funny cos it’s true

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I found a highly enlightening and entertaining article in a blog of Glamour magazine, and thought I would share it with you. It’s written by two guys, Brian Alexander and Michael Somerville, and can certainly provide some insight into the minds of men!
Found at Glamour magazine’s Sex, Love and Life blog

Fourteen things he wants you to know about his body
1. Digging your nails into our back or chest only sounds sexy. Think “massage strokes” instead.

2. We may seem calm and secure, but a compliment from you goes a long way.

3. A tongue around the ear is hot; a tongue in the ear is a wet willy.

4. Joking about kneeing or kicking our testicles is not funny. Ever.

5. Every guy has a spot–a good spot. Ask us where it is and how we’d like you to touch it.

6. “Shrinkage” is real and should always be taken into account when making a judgment.

7. Our toenails: We’re not sure how they got like that, and we’d like to do something about it. Please advise.

8. Prostate exams (nearly) make up for the whole not-giving-birth thing–you’ll see!

9. When it comes to our nipples, most of us can barely feel anything…unless you bite them, and that just hurts.

11. Playing around with our back door can feel good, but good luck getting us to admit it.

12. It is possible to bend the penis too far, cowgirls.

13. Our digestive tract doesn’t work any differently than yours. You’re just more polite.

14. We definitely think your body’s way cooler.

Love Quickie: An emotional affair is worse than having sex with someone else, say 65% of women surveyed.

( article sourced from http://www.glamour.com/sex-love-life/2008/08/14-things-about-his-body