I'm appalled at what we've done to Valentine's Day. When did it become a way for us to make the men in our lives suffer? Why do they feel like nothing they buy or choose for us will do? Why do they feel anxiety at the flower shop, or feel propelled into the jewelry store? It's partially our fault, ladies. And I'm holding the advertising industry responsible as well.

How can we expect them to read our minds? How can they know we'd prefer that tasteful one stone diamond over the flashy smaller stones set in the shape of a heart? We can't, and we shouldn't.

I think we need to first, do away with any expectations of the day. I choose to look at it as a chance for me to share my feelings (which I do a lot of all year round) with those I love. My sisters, my friends, those people in my life that may not feel a lot of love every day, those girlfriends from college who got me through those long nights of talking. I think there is so little love in the world, it can't hurt to just send it out there, with no demands, no expectations.

I find more joy in that which I do than that which I wait to happen to me.

My boyfriend lives in another city. I went through my teen and college years, and then nearly twenty more years before I could actually use the words "my boyfriend". We agreed not to buy gifts for each other this year. Then a basket of expensive chocolates appeared at work for me. From him. My first response was "that stinker!" But he wanted to surprise me. He wanted to do it with no expectations of return. He did surprise me. I took a moment to step back and revel in that feeling. Women say flowers die. They say "oh, I shouldn't eat that candy, it will only make me fat." Nearly every woman I work with accepted a piece of that chocolate when I offered it. Another co-worker told me regretably that she told her husband once not to waste money on flowers. She never got them again.

Men do listen. They remember. We just have to speak plainly.

I just said..."oh, they are wonderful, I love them, and I love YOU".

I saw a young girl with her mother last weekend at the Y. They were walking on treadmills next to one another. She was maybe, eight years old, with a blond bob of hair, and a pink t-shirt. She walked with determined purpose, smoothly and not too fast. My first thought was, what an awesome mom to spend productive, healthy time with her daughter that way, and to teach her good health habits. I love to see parents spending time with their kids, and not just running them through the drive through or taking them to the movies. I love things that create interaction, attention, discussion and thought.

Then the next thought that went through my mind was "I hope that girl doesn't think she's fat!" You see, one does not very often see children on the cardio equipment at the Y. Unless they really are overweight, and even then I think it's only been a handful of times I've seen it in the past four years that I have been attending.

I was ashamed of myself for thinking that, yet proud that I'd had the positive thought first. I miss my own mother, and from the time she died until even now I feel unfinished. I never had anyone show me how to take care of myself, to exercise and eat right, to shave my legs and wear high heels. I am saddened to think there are scores of girls her age that already feel fat. They feel like they are on the outside of the "in crowd" and don't fit in. They are ashamed of changing their clothes in the locker room. They can't find cute clothes in their size, so they give up.

I have come a long way from being that girl, but she still feels a strong jolt every time she recognizes a kindred spirit. I hope she was wrong, though. I hope I saw what my heart told me I saw the first time.

I am sadly remiss in posting to this thing, though I love to write. I haven't been feeling inspired lately.

I wasn't really feeling "into" the whole holiday thing this year, but my beau was here, and he helped me put the tree up. I wasn't feeling sad nor depressed, in fact, accomplished that I had my shopping done, and most things that I'd wanted to make as gifts, made.

I have the best boyfriend ever, and not because he bought me the i-Pod, and not because he let me pick it out, but because he noticed it was like an "old fashioned Christmas" with my whole being sucked into the computer figuring out how to download songs and load them onto this thin silver slick-screened siren.

Everyone around me is sick, or getting over being sick or just getting started being sick. I feel like Wonder Woman, only my bullet proof bracelets are made of vitamin C.

I will enjoy the colored lights on my tree and watch a few new DVDs. Television has been really lackluster as of late. I do know almost every show, bad or good, is likely available for purchase on DVD. Even though they replaced some of the songs on the episodes of Northern Exposure, which makes me mad, I still watch, because it's funny, touching, annoying and does not insult my intelligence.

I have the new Harry Potter, but have not yet finished last year's Stephen King. It's very personal, I almost feel like I'm invading someone's private journal.

I have not exercised a whole lot these past two weeks and I feel off kilter. But also a bit light headed, which is not good around the treadmill.

I will be back into the swing of life next week. For the new year.

I miss my incredibly warm grandparents. I wonder sometimes how I turned out so "normal". But then that begs the question, what is normal, and why would I want to be that?

I like remembering first times. The first time I tried or did things. My beau reminds me that we have many more ahead of us. That is exciting and so wonderful to ponder. Some things we have yet to try, that we will love, just out there waiting for us.

I feel like I ought to be doing something more meaningful with my life. But now that I have attained the all-knowing, much anticipated, even dreaded age of 40, I find myself falling asleep on the couch most nights by 10:00 pm. Waking up at 4:00 am with the TV still on and my contacts in does NOT make me feel accomplished.

I have to adjust my life to coincide with my body betraying me.

Weight Watchers doesn't even work well for me now. I feel deceived. I have to adjust my balance of foods to achieve meager weight loss, and then feel grateful that they let me pay them every week. Bah. I've decided to buy a more accurate scale and try it all on my own.

I miss TV shows I used to tape because I'd want to watch them over and over again.

I spend time with my beau, who even after 5 years amazes me. We spent time in a local casino and had a blast wandering around playing slot machines on the same $20 for two hours. And we laughed and left before we lost our $100 lead.

I am afraid of signs at the casino parking lot that advise not to leave children unattended in the car, and that one can find child care inside. That tells me someone must have done this before.

I am not ready for the onslaught of holidays that approach. I am uncharacteristically NOT feeling into Halloween this year. I'm not sad or anything, just indifferent.

But an Elle Driver costume would ROCK. The nurse with the eye patch get-up. I'm just feeling too lazy to pursue it this year.

I miss board games and card night. I miss people living close and having more free time.

I do not miss my old couch that belonged to two others before me, and was staring to slowly sink into the floor. The new one took a whole lot of trouble to get into my apartment. And it's all comfy and supportive and tall.

So what I think I'm trying to tell myself here, is that I have a lot going on in my life. I need plenty of quiet time to myself, and that it's okay that I haven't saved the world yet. It's never too late. I may even figure out a way people in this town who live in apartments can recycle stuff.

When I was in college, I took a cinema history class. One of the units we studied was entirely devoted to Alfred Hitchcock films. I have always considered myself a movie fan, but that was the first time I understood how to watch a film for themes, camera work, lighting and all that technical stuff. That opened up a whole new way of watching films for me.

The past couple of nights, I have been watching some of these films again on television. Or perhaps for the first time. Isn't it odd how we think we've seen a movie because of all the hype or ads, but we realize we probably never have when we do see it?

What I never realized before at my oh so young and idealistic age, was how incredible the women in these films are.

They are opinionated, they speak their minds, they take risks, they go after what they want, they get into trouble, they are full of faults and charm, they have secrets, they are living, breathing, real live women. And beautiful. And blond. They are sexy and classy, a bit naughty but always ladylike, and smart!

I don't know why that never dawned on me before. I think I hadn't yet seen the way of the world. I hadn't realized yet the difference between the way the world ought to be and the way it really is.

My one question would be, did he portray women as he saw them, or as the way he thought they out to be?

I like to think he saw those things in the actresses or in the women in the stories, or maybe even the women around him.

I tip my hat to Mr. Hitchcock, and while I'm at it, to Mr. Tarantino. Thanks for making films with women that I not only love to watch, but really admire.