Aliza Sherman: She Knows Social and Mobile

the unbearable lightness

I have noticed that over the last year,
young men don't really look at me anymore.
Not in the way they used to, checking me out,
up, down, breast, ass. I am now the invisible
woman. I am now officially a middle aged
female.

I was getting comfortable with my body softness
and my gray hairs, realizing that I've entered
another phase of my life and accepting it.

Then I decided to get back in shape and color
my hair again. I thought I'd look more
professional (younger) and polished (younger).
It did the trick from a business standpoint, but
I could still walk down the aisle of a grocery
store and not get a second look.

I've never been a raving beauty but I do know
I have an interesting look and a decent body.
And I've never used my looks deliberately,
maybe subconsciously, sure, but not on a
conscious level, to get what I want.

I still think I look pretty good for my age.
People say I look younger than I am - a lot
younger, like a decade younger.

But there's less of a spark to my lifeforce.
I think there is a mellowing to that spark and
young men no longer feel me or see me when
I walk into a room.

Part of it, too, must be that I'm finally in a
relationship that is so right, so positive, that
I don't put out that signal, that smell, of looking
for someone, of being available.

I've been thinking about this new invisible
existence and how I can wear sweats and
a baggy turtleneck and ratty shoes and go
anywhere and not be noticed. I've been thinking
about missing that electricity, that sexual
zing that comes from realizing some young
man is checking me out.

I keep talking about young men because I think
older men are checking me out now - but usually
much older men and it feels creepy, not
exciting, to me.

The other day, I went to buy a six pack of beer
and just fantasized that the young man at the
counter was going to card me. I wanted him to
card me and then I would say "I'm old enough
to be your mother" because it appeared to be
true, and I just wanted to savor that moment of
being mistaken for being so young and then
turning out to be so much older. He didn't card
me. Didn't even give me a second look.

But then yesterday, I stopped off at a restaurant
in Colorado to get something to eat on the way
back home from an appointment, and the waiter
who took my order - a young guy, maybe in his
late 20s - gave me that look. At this point, I know
that look because I never get it anymore.

Zing. Electricity.

He was giving me that look and asking me questions
about myself. What do you do? (I said I teach).
Do you come to this restaurant often? (I said no).
I found myself hiding my ring slightly, just for a
moment, because I have learned that men do
check out women's fingers for rings.

But I wasn't seriously interested in him at all.
I would never even consider going for someone
else. Not even for a moment.

At this moment, I wasn't thinking "I want to be with
this guy." I was thinking "let me bask for just a brief
moment in this superficial adoration." Bring it on.

My man adores me. He worships me - he tells
me this. I love it. I feel confident and loved in
his presence. Totally accepted for who I am
and as I am.

I'm talking about a different thing. This is total-stranger-
has-no-idea-who-I-am-and-never-will-but-curious-
about-me-and-checking-me-out-and-giving-me-
that-lingering-look. Sigh.

I walked out of that restaurant feeling lighter,
prettier, younger. Feeling that spark, that
brilliant lifeforce, just glowing.

Women and Guns

Listening to NPR in the car, and Talk of the Nation,
one of my favorite shows, was on. I heard them announce
Caitlin Kelly who wrote the new book
"Blown Away: American Women and Guns." Caitlin had
interviewed me for the book and included my story
about being held up at gunpoint (NYC, 1994) and buying
my gun (Sig Sauer 9mm) in one of the chapters.

I hurried home, turned on the radio and proceeded to
speed dial TOTN. And lo and behold, I got through!
I told them I was one of the women featured in the
book and they put me on the air right then. Who knows
what the heck I said - I'm afraid to listen to it - but
Caitlin emailed me the next day and seemed pleased
about it.

You can listen for yourself:

TOTN: Interview with Caitlin Kelly about Women and Guns.

You can also read my essay about being a gun owner at:

Babe in Gunland

living in a box

Sometimes, I feel like days go by and I have
no idea what is going on in the world. I sit at
the computer and work - writing, submitting to
contests, working on client projects, checking
emails - and I work until dinnertime then often
after dinner. Or I try to stop my obsessive
work habits and spend quality time with G.

Haven't read the paper, haven't watched the
news, have caught snippets of National Public
Radio in the car but feel like I'm not sure what
is happening in the world around me.

Sometimes, I feel like I'm living in a box,
pulling the lid over my head and hunkering
down in the dark where it is safe and warm.
That's my excuse.

women writers resource

for those who haven't ventured there yet,
I'm accumulating some great resources
for women writers at my other blog
WriterGirl.

Stop on by and check it out.

weave a tale, spin a yarn

great new site debuted today!

check out FRESH YARN.

Online salon for personal essays from the
Hillary Carlip, multimedia-preneur extraordinaire.

crazy americans

those crazy americans - relegating Fantasia, LaToya and
Jennifer to the lowest score corner and ousting Jennifer.
What?!?

We're worried its a black thing. Too many white people
voting.

The judges thought it was a popularity contest
but who is voting for Carrot Top with the weak vocals
and Miss High School Drama Queen? I say the grandmothers
and grandfathers who are gripping their telephones,
anticipating the moment the voting lines open.

A friend thought maybe it was the baby thing with
Fantasia - America not digging the single black mom
as "Idol" material.

I think we are overanalyzing this. I think we need to
get a life.

dragging out american idol

I have to admit, I'm still obsessed with American Idol.
But hating the way they drag out the Wednesday
night show with cringe-worthy performances and
yada yada yada. Get on with the freakin' program.
Just tell me who is toast!

Then torture their poor ass by making them sing
one last time after they have been told they are
a big fat loser.

Yeah, that is entertainment. Another 22 minutes
to go before we get some satisfaction...

check email, check email, check email

I am looking for a new book agent and have sent
out some email queries to potential agents and am
under the delusion that someone is going
to respond to me today.

Of course, I prepped myself for the false thrill of
an autoresponder (which I did receive from one).
It said that I would hear back within 3 business days.

Two of the agents were referrals from my most
recent book editor, so I'm hoping that will have
some pull.

I've been incognito for the last few years, fleeing
New York City to escape a frustratingly fruitless
relationship (ie. no children - he didn't really want
them although kept saying "not yet, not yet.") to
drive around the country for a year (RVgirl.com).

Then fleeing NYC again in 2001 when I couldn't
bear to be there anymore after September 11th.

I've been relatively hidden in the wide open plains
of Wyoming, haven't published a book since 2001,
but do make a little income from freelancing gigs
for magazines.

So, I'm ready to break out again. I've got a solid
proposal (another chick issues book: this one
about miscarriage), and I'm willing to do the
damn horn tootin' if that's what it takes.

(look at me, look at me, toot toot, toot toot)

Now I sit pathetically avoiding work, yet again,
blogging, reading other people's blogs, and hitting
my spam blocker button to see if anyone has
responded to me yet.

At least I've showered. I was lamenting on my
other blog (warning: not for
the feint of heart) that I have been opting to blog
instead of shower lately. Luckily, I work from home
and do still shower before I leave to meet with
clients. But blogging is just so much more rewarding
than showering. Cleans out the insides. Clean as
a whistle.

I'm also trying my hand at writing contests and
fellowships. So far, I've won a first place free verse
contest ($50) and was shortlisted for the annual
Warren Adler fiction award but didn't win the
prize (-$1000). Damn it.

I'm going for a biggie this week - the Wyoming Creative
Non Fiction Fellowship ($3000). Wish me luck!

Okay, back to checking my emails.

I'm over it

What was that - 3 minutes? If someone ever
cares to explain what a TrackBack is - in
plain English - I'm all ears. Until then,
I've just wasted another few minutes
on my blog and said very little about anything.

Oh what joy it is to blog today.

I repeat, what the hell is TrackBack?

Okay, that didn't work. I return, defeated, to the
TypePad manual and will attempt to follow directions.

Bear with me on this madcap adventure to
solve the mysteries of life...or at least of
TrackBacking.

Life Avoidance, Take 3.

what the hell is a TrackBack?

I have been trying to figure out what the
hell a TrackBack is. Even read the TypePad
manual but it is greek to me at the moment.
I've never been very good at reading technical
manuals. I never read instructions. This is
why I didn't cook for the first 20 years of
my adult life. Because I either could not
understand the directions, understood but
could not properly implement the directions
(1 tablespoon instead of 1 teaspoon) or
simply hated reading the directions.

So back to TrackBacking and blogging,
I was just wallowing in boring self-pity
and clicked over to one of my fellow blogger
sites (Bloggers I Know) and there was
a post on Tom Watson's blog about me.
Freak out!

I found this link under "TrackBack URL for this entry" -
http://www.typepad.com/t/trackback/642852.

Well, I guess I'm about to find out what
a TrackBack is...drumroll, please...

blog avoidance

I have nothing interesting to say. No pithy remarks
about the current state of the world. No sassy stories
from my past or present. I'm just experiencing
blog avoidance.

Maybe it is actually life avoidance through blogging.
I should be writing 15 articles, working on 5 client
projects and submitting my writing to contests,
applying for fellowships and working on my
next book.

Instead, I blog. Even when I have nothing to say,
I reach for my blog like a security blanket. I think only
one person reads this blog, but you never know.
Someday, someone else will happen upon this
little media spout and feel like they've found a friend.

A boring friend, at that, but a kindred spirit nonetheless.

shock and awe my ass

for those of you who have never seen Henry Rollins
speak, just do it. He is the man, the myth and
the legend rolled into one. What does he do?
Rant and rave about life, war, society, human
nature. He is funny, articulate, funny, angry,
funny, short, funny in an intelligent way.

G. and I went to see him at the University of
Wyoming where he only made one mention
of Matthew Shepherd in the context of
discussing homophobia in the context of
talking about gay marriage and insisting that
if you don't agree with a gay couple's right
to get married, you are WRONG.

How can an aging punk rock "singer" frontman
for Black Flag have the same or similar views
to me, a .... what am I anyway?

Am I a Navy Brat, ex-New Yorker, non-degree
holding, liberal chick?

Am I a borderline Jewish but non-religious,
never want to get married but happily "engaged,"
nearing 40 ie. middle aged, trying to have
a baby female?

I've never tried to define myself.

But back to Henry. It is all about Henry.

His upcoming dates:

April 17, 2004 - San Diego, CA - 4th & B
April 18, 2004 - Las Vegas, NV - House of Blues
April 20 , 2004 - No.Dartmouth, MA - Univ. of MA
April 21, 2004 - Colchester, VT - St. Michael's College

His publishing company where you can
buy his books:

http://21361.com/intro.html

One of my favorite parts of Henry's rants
was talking about yet another of Prez G. Dubya's
malapropisms - in a speech, he talked about
"unleashing the compassion of our religious
institutions." Henry went on for the next 20
minutes giving us examples of unleashing
the compassion and how terrifying that could be.

I'm not going to give anything away. He's too
brilliant and fast talking for me to even begin
to convey his words and sentiment.

Just go see him if you have a chance. Buy his
books. Give that old punk rock icon a chance.

I got the music in me

For as long as I can remember, I've loved
to sing. Growing up, my sister and I would
sing songs from musicals on every family
road trip. I got to sing the female parts
because I could hit the high notes, and
poor Leah was relegated to singing the
guy parts. She always seemed to resent
that.

I sing in the shower, I sing when I'm
doing the dishes, I sing loudly in the
car. In high school, I sang in musical
productions and even had the lead roles
in Shenandoah and Cabaret.

But I've never pursued it professionally.

A few years ago, I sat in a hotel lounge listening
to a singer/songwriter perform with an
acoustic guitar. In addition to a few original
tunes, he sang all the classic 60s and 70s
songs that you always know the words to
and that conjure up a memory or two.
(http://www.michaeldegreve.com)

I'd go to see him often, at least once or
twice a week, and we eventually became
friends. One day I asked if I could sing
a song with him as a going away present
to a friend of mine who was going away
to graduate school.

Skeptical at first because everyone always
asked to sing with him, he invited me to his
home to rehearse a song. We chose Leather
and Lace. He let me sing one night, and I
couldn't stop shaking. Later that night, after
a few drinks, I tried again, and I felt a lot
more confident.

Then he began inviting me up to sing with
him anytime I showed up. We eventually
worked up Norwegian Wood as our warmup
tune, following it up with Leather and Lace,
Crystal (another Fleetwood Mac tune) and
then he let me sing Landslide solo.

This was a dream come true for me. I sang
at least once a week with him and cherished
every moment. Six months ago, I moved to
the next town over, far enough away that I have
not been back to sing. I'll be going this weekend
and am nervous about singing after all
this time. Maybe it will be like riding a bike.

I'm not the only singer wannabe. A journalist
I know at USA TODAY also has aspirations of
song and has written several ditties about
the tech industry. Check him out at:
http://www.kevinmaney.com.
Let him know I sent you!

I told him we should start a band and that I
could sing harmony. Hey, you never know...

life in the non-war

My friend Margie called me early yesterday morning
from a phonebooth at a campground in California
in her pajamas. Her daughter Whitney, 26, is in
Germany and just found out her husband who
was scheduled to return home this month was
suddenly and unexpectedly deployed to Bagdad.

Good thing we aren't still at war.

When she and 500 other wives gathered at the
Army base to find out more - like when were
they going to be back since they've already
been there for the requisite year - they were
told "be brave" and "your husbands are soldiers"
and basically "keep your chins up."

Good thing we aren't still at war.

Supposedly, the men had already broken down
equipment and some had made it onto a flight
back home, but Whitney's husband (of 5 years,
father to their 4 year old daughter) hadn't
boarded his flight home from Kuwait. He was
headed into Iraq.

Good thing we aren't still at war.

Supposedly, some of the wives are in psychiatric
wards at hospitals oversees, unable to cope with
the pressure of not knowing on top of the year
of pressures without their husbands at home.
Sure, the Army had said their husbands' terms
would be "1 year or until the completion of
the mission." How long has it been since the
war "ended?"

Good thing we aren't still at war.

This isn't a story about the wives of soldiers
going off to war - I mean overseas. This is a story
about how none of us really know what is going
on over there.

But it is a damn good thing we aren't still at war.

Isn't it.

non-wars and other lies

I sure am glad we're not at war anymore.

slideshow memories

Blogging is like therapy.

There, I've said it. I haven't been to a therapist
since my first year in New York City (1987).
Can't remember now why I went.

In fact, can't remember much about my
past. I never have been able to. I describe
my memory like a slide show that is missing
a lot of slides.

I see glimpses, scenes, remember half a conversation,
see someone's face and can't quite place the name.

I'm not one of those people who can remember
the names of kids I went to school with or even
teachers I had. Maybe one or two, but out of
35+ years, that isn't much of a memory.

This is what my memory is like. I'll try to remember
kids in school...

Kindergarten - Kurt. He was a cute boy, olive skin,
dark hair and eyes. Spoke with a slight speech
impediment. I seem to recall him "saving" me
from boys on the playground who were trying to
get me to look inside a can containing worms,
trying to stuff my face inside of it. He stopped them.

4th grade - Mr. Walden. My favorite teacher. Almost
the only teacher I remember except I do recall a
tall, dark-haired man who was my 3rd grade teacher
for 1/2 year - Mr. Snyder. I was skipped from 2nd
grade to 3rd grade in one year. I remember writing
him a note...what else?

but back to Mr. Walden. Silver hair. He had us compile
all of our school papers from the entire year and
artwork that he had us do regularly and bind everything
into a hardcover book - our school year in a book.
He also loved dance, and he'd teach us all kinds of
dances. I only remember the Mexican Hat Dance.

7th grade - My best friend was Patricia Cooper. I called
her Patty Lou and she called me Liza Mae. We secretly
played a make believe game where we were aliens
from another planet. My alien name was Gillian.
I had a stick I carried with me through the woods
called Nimrod - it had special powers. Patricia and
I would run through the woods behind her house,
exploring, having alien intergallactic adventures.

She swore me to secrecy - never to let anyone know
about our game. I never told anyone. Later that
year, she said she didn't want to be my friend
anymore. She said this in front of other girls, ones
she decided to be friends with instead of me.
I think she said I was too clingy or too weird,
something negative.

9th grade - I went to Milton High School for a year
in the panhandle of Florida. All I remember is
being told the Ku Klux Klan had burned a cross
on the school yard the year before and walking
around the outdoor campus looking around corners,
fearing that black students would hate me because
I was white.

11th grade - I remember that I stopped eating for
a long time and lost a lot of weight. I had just
started dating a little. A guy from college, Noel,
took an interest in me and would come to my
high school to visit me. He'd sit with me and try
to get me to eat, making me sandwiches and
trying to feed me.

Eventually, I think my dad said something about
my not eating, maybe something about hospitals
and needles or maybe I just read that in a story
about anorexia. I started eating again out of
fear of needles. By that time, Noel had moved on
to an older girl at my high school. I was far too
innocent for him.

Why are my memories so slight and disjointed?
Sometimes, I feel like my life didn't actually
happen. Is there any proof that it did?
Sometimes, I can't find any proof at all.

girl...interrupted

Last week, I heard about Audrey Seiler, the
college student who was missing from the
University of Wisconsin in Madison. I remember
thinking that she probably wasn't really missing.

The next day, I was reading the morning paper
and saw that she had been found.

I said to G. "I think she was faking. I think this
whole disappearance was faked."

He thought that was a weird thing for me to say.

I even said I thought her first attack from behind
a few months earlier was faked, and I stood up
from the breakfast table and showed G. how
she could have bashed her own head against
a wall to make a bruise or mark.

My only reasons were because it seemed odd that
they searched the area before and didn't see her.
And that she hadn't been raped or brutalized in
any way. The paper described her condition as
"dehydration and exposure."

I don't know why I doubted the veracity of her
story. I just did. Okay, maybe something inside
of me thought "Smart girl, nice girl, disappeared,
ran away, couldn't cope, something else happened."
Those were the thoughts in my head.

A few days later, the truth comes out. She staged
her own disappearance.

As experts began talking about how some people
lie about dire events as a cry for help, I began to
see why I knew what she was doing. One word
kept ringing in my ears each time an expert
explained how this could have happened:
Overachiever.

I've been there, done that. Overachieving, being
too perfect (or trying to be), having expectations
of yourself that are far higher than even the most
critical, demanding people around you. There is
no escape. You don't want to kill yourself, but you
really want a way to get out of it.

Back in school, I could have used some time
away. I would have liked to have disappeared.

Today, I'm damn glad to be here.

Clips:

Police 'puzzled' by disappearance of UW student

Missing Wisconsin student found

Police: Student says she was abducted at knifepoint

Police release sketch in missing student case

Police stop short of calling abduction a hoax

Lawyer: Student accused of faking abduction receiving care

Student returns home after abduction hoax

bachelorette no. 1

My girlfriends and I are watching The Bachelor
this season. We've watched it before, including
when it was the Bachelorette with Trista (yes,
I picked Ryan to win at the very start even
though the others liked Charlie) and the
Bachelor with Andrew Firestone (I liked
Tina Fabulous but others loved Jen who "won.")

There is something so perverse about watching
this show. I have never seen so many seemingly
intelligent women throw themselves at a man
before. They are shameless and pathetic.

But I love watching them.

We didn't watch the last Bachelorette - whats
her name was too boring.

Right now, I'm almost 100% certain that the
"spy" is Katie. I just can't believe they would
have pulled that "I said the wrong name" crap
with some innocent girl. I think that is why
in the previews everyone is so shocked and
hurt when they discover the spy's identity.

Because I bet everyone will be oh so sweet
to poor, unwanted Katie, the reject who
so pathetically opted to stay in the game
versus preserving her pride and leaving
like a real woman.

I like this show. I can be even cattier than
with American Idol where my heart actually
does go out to the poor singing souls. But
with The Bachelor, I have no mercy. These
people are ridiculous. And I love being
ridiculous along with them by watching the
game unfold.

the bellybutton curse

I swear there is this bellybutton curse on American Idol.
Any female who exposes her bellybutton during a
performance, sings like a beached whale.

I'm not kidding.

The first girl, Leah, to get bumped off had an exposed
midriff which clearly made her nervous and her voice
go haywire.

Camille, who was just booted off this last time has had
her bellybutton showing every time and she just got
worse and worse. I know if she had covered her
bellybutton just once, she would have sang on key.

Watch out for the bellybutton. The next one to show theirs
will tank.