Finding the G-Spot & The Joy of 3-D Animation

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What Women Never Tell You: The Man's Guide to Sex, Love & Beating the Competition. FINISHED!!

What I got for Christmas, from myself and Marcus, was finishing the final revision of our book: What Women Never Tell You: The Man's Guide to Sex, Love & Beating the Competition.

For most of us I'm sure quality time with loved ones and creating/progress/ growth/accomplishment is more satisfying than material stuff, and that's exactly how I feel today. Satisfied & happy... though I wouldn't have turned down a Tesla or Vitamix blender had one or both appeared this Christmas. But finishing this book we've been working on for over 5 years feels pretty damn good this Christmas!

Here's the beginning of the chapter "She Will Never Tell You What She Wants, But Will Expect You To Know." We thought it was apropos to share for Christmas and the giving season! Subscribe to receive the entire chapter for free!

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http://www.whatwomennevertellyou.blogspot.com

She Will Never Tell You What She Wants, But Will Expect You To Know (excerpt)

Most women actually think they are asking for what they want, and don’t realize they’re about as obvious as a whisper in a windstorm. They give you hints and clues with subtle indicators like winks, head nods, and leaving a window open on the computer, and figure... Well he must know. I gave him all those clues. Meanwhile, most men simply wish the women in their lives would straight-up just say exactly what they want without all the detective work.

Why is this the way it is? Well, it comes down once again to how women communicate and perceive things. You think you’re speaking the same language, but you’re not. Women use a secret language, a covert way of communicating that is full of physical, emotional and verbal subtext and innuendo. The funny thing is that for women, their subtext-laden language isn’t subtle at all. To them it is perfectly obvious, like the nose on your face. They truly think everyone talks this way. This is why women overanalyze and think there is more to what you say than what you actually said. You've heard it before, after you say something very clear and simple, your woman asks, what do you mean by that? They hear subtext and subtlety because that’s the waythey hear as well as communicate.

To you, the man, it often seems as though your woman is just rambling. To a woman, what they said was simple and direct, even when it seems they have not said anything. Remember, they are communicating even when they are not talking. The real rub is that a lot of the time what shemeans is the opposite of what she is actually saying.

For example it could go like this:

You:

Hey babe, Jenny wants us to come over for the pre-game party.

Her:

Why? You know how I hate her.

You:

What are you talking about, you talk to Jenny all the time?

Her:

I don't want to go to her barbecue.

You:

But... You... But she’s like your best friend.

Her:

But that doesn't mean I want to hang with her all the time.

You:

Oh... Okay. So you want…. us… to… not go?

Her:

(giving you a nasty look)

We can't not go, are you insane? You said we would go, and plus that would be insulting if we didn't go.

You:

So... You doooo… want… to...go? You just said you didn't though.... I'm confused.

Her:

(looking at you like you’re stupid)

Just because I said I didn't want to go doesn't mean we shouldn't go.

You

(more confused)

Ok?.... What are we doing?

Her:

(pissed off)

Did you not just listen to me! Let’s just go!

Dizzying isn't it? She is operating on a completely different set of rules...

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Happiness vs Non-Attachment

Recently, I spent 3 days at a Buddhist monastery.

No, I didn’t disguise myself as a Buddhist monk and sneak in. I was actually welcome there by the residential monks to an Introductory Retreat – the first retreat if you’ve never visited before, at the beautiful Shasta Abbey near Mt. Shasta, California.

The mostly silent retreat – mostly because we were encouraged to ask questions during “Dharma Discussions” and communicate as necessary during instruction and invited to sign up for a counseling session with a residential monk – all required the use of our voices.

I have been home for three days. There are two major things coming forward for me to share with you all:

First:

I love spending time in silence. It’s a relief for me in my overly articulated, super-verbal life. (Some might even call me bossy at times!) But I really like silence! Here’s what I wrote about it during the retreat:

“I really like the silent times where I don't talk. The thoughts that will never reach my lips somehow have a clearer, crisper -  pure bell-like quality to them. I didn't realize how the prospect of speaking thoughts (or potentially writing them) adjust them - taint them somehow. As if the intensity with which I think things that might get spoken or written created an unknown tension in my brain. It's a relief."

The fabulous monk, Reverend Mugo, to whom I talked wrote about my thoughts on silence in a kind and eloquent way on her blog with my OK and preserving my privacy. Here’s a link to her blog (url below). I highly recommend you subscribe as I find her blog to be of great spiritual insight and value, not to mention pragmatic, especially for those of us not living full time at a monastery!

http://www.jademountains.net/thoughts-unspoken/

Second:

Non-attachment is the bomb!

            (Am I attached to non-attachment?!?)

But happiness is confusing. Our constitution contains the word, stating every citizen of the United States (save slaves, indentured servants, and indigenous people at the time!) has the right to pursue “life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness” but what exactly is happiness? Surely someone high on morphine, while at the best part of the high, feels happy, right? Some might argue that’s not really happiness, but pursuing and feeling happy can be as goal-oriented, evasive and have a chasing-the-dragon quality, I think. For example, most people would probably categorize me as a happy person; I think I’m someone who cultivates happiness on a regular basis – for me my cultivation activities include meditation, exercise, eating healthy, being myself and spending time with people who embrace me for who I am; in other words, not feeling (or believing) that I need to be other than who I am.

I’ve been having internal dialogues and researching happiness for a while now, but from my experience at the Abbey, I’m realizing that a more non-attached way of being actually leads to what most people call happiness. It may not be as manic (though true happiness really isn’t manic) or exciting, and is likely less obvious. But life’s little annoyances don’t carry much weight when practicing non-attachment. Two examples: Yesterday while in the kitchen, I accidentally spilled some water. In the past I would’ve gotten annoyed that I did this and I know the physiological symptoms of this annoyed state were heighted blood pressure and acid throughout my body (typical physiological stress responses). Yesterday, I basically shrugged, mopped up the water, and moved on. Today, I didn’t have enough toilet paper in the bathroom and realized it too late. Our extra supply is in our overflow storage (bathroom is small), which is outside and about 20 feet away from the bathroom and no one was around to fetch some for me. Being really into personal and excrement-related hygiene would be part of my excuse why I would’ve gotten annoyed in the past. Today, upon realizing I had about one-wipe worth of TP left, said “crap” aloud to no one, and once again shrugged, decided to deal with it calmly (and not beat myself up for forgetting to replenish earlier) and just did what was necessary to remedy the situation.

Non-attachment! What a revelation. And it can be so hard to do this when absorbed in the annoying moment. It’s worth noting that I’ve called myself a “recovering perfectionist,” and I think that was a factor in my annoyance about things that I judge could have been better or perfected.

Now I’m still quite attached to certain things: family, loved ones, friends, healthy food, shelter, fun, relaxation, even meditation! But, this way of being also helps me to acknowledge that losing any of the aforementioned human needs and attachments, like family, shelter and food wouldn’t be as emotionally devastating as they would be were I not practicing non-attachment.

Meditation helps. A lot. Helps me to be in a non-attached way of being. Some call it “seeing things as they are” or “seeing the truth.”

But I’m also not trying to be attached to meditation and am mindfully aware of that as well. For now, I feel it is one of the best tools for overall health and wellness… and for seeing things as they are. Truly.

And that’s the trouble with language. Often the same word means vastly different things depending on person and context.

So, how is it for you? How do you define happiness? Non-attachment? Are you cultivating anything in your life? Does it add to your daily calm contentedness? Who are you? Are you able to be you regularly?

One final thought: Shasta Abbey is one of a handful of monasteries where male and female monks live and train together at their monastery but still practice celibacy. All the monks have shaved heads and wear similar brown robes. As you can imagine, that makes it difficult to reference a monk if one doesn’t know their name. I would smile and laugh often during my 3 days at Shasta Abbey… But during meditation I was trying to stay still and silent, so I'd let the laugh just circulate instead of letting it be audible or sharing it with someone. A common reoccurring thought was that I wanted to call the female monks monkettes or monkess, or the male monks monkers. All those words struck me as funny. I haven’t asked permission yet whether any of these terms are appropriate, so to describe a monk whose name I couldn’t recall, I simply said, the gentle-lady monk or gentleman monk.

Big Break

Every time I read this I cry.


I realize that might sully my reputation as a bad-ass, tough-chic, but what the hell I got permission from my friend who wrote this to share it with you all, so here goes.


My friend in question is the ever talented, enigmatic, pop-rocker, and sick-&-twisted-sense-of-humor-having Augie Alexander. Somewhere between me asking him if I could touch his freshly shaven head - I really did that the first night we met at a San Diego music venue - and recording my first album together over 13 years ago, one or both of us knew this was not a temporary friendship. I plan to have him as my friend til my dying breath. That's how serious this shit is!


(Augie, if this is news to you, too bad. You're stuck with me!)



He gets moments of inspiration, as we all do, and one of the best perks of these moments is being able to share them with friends we trust. So he did. Thanks, Augie.


Here's the letter. He wrote and sent it to me a few years ago, but I revisit it from time to time when I need a reminder or just a little pick-me-up (they're happy tears, people). Would love to hear what you think. Comment below.


One last note before we get to it: If you like what you read, please support Augie by clicking on his name and linking to his website to check out his music and buy a CD.

I had an epiphany at some point in the last 6 months. Since my son was born and perhaps even sooner, I haven’t been playing much music nor have I been recording music. As arguing and tension persisted and seemed to continue to elevate I realized that Jenn and I were separated by overwhelming change. I felt like screaming and did so a few times. Finally one morning, I pulled out my guitar and played two old songs. My voice was out of shape, but I belted them out anyhow and an incredible amount of tension was lifted. At this point I realized. Fame and fortune is the American dream. But I started playing music about relationships and it helped me understand those relationships, heal from those relationships, and interpret my own feelings. I wanted hundreds of thousands of people to understand me. But instead I got a dozen or so people who understand me and one person who stepped forward and said I want to be with you and only you forever. I’m not saying that you should turn down fame and fortune if it comes your way. But I am saying that you touch people when they hear you. You touched me so much I wanted to record you and be your friend for life. Let’s not worry about the people we don’t touch. You have the power to sort out your feelings and thoughts thru music... And unlike many, it sounds good to others when you do. With the exception of RadioHead and a few others, the best music doesn’t appeal to the masses. You are far too deep and diverse for the simple minds of the masses to comprehend. Don’t worry about dumbing down for them. Keep doing what you are doing. We’re listening. You’ve already got your big break. You.

Love,

Augie Alexander

The first rule of martial arts & how to let go of suffering...

Read to the end if you want to know the answer to the titular pondering.


I wish I could take credit for living and writing this. 


Not because I would wish for this experience myself, but because, like our friend Laura Munson, I've been working on ending my own suffering. Believe me, it's been met with resistance from my reactive mind. I've been doing The Tibetan Five and meditating most mornings, and that helps, but still, the stress/suffering still manages to creep in.... despite my best meditation & tibetan-laced efforts to let it go. The result being - I see how absurd my "suffering" is, but still feel distressed.


Does everyone understand what I mean by absurd? I wish I could describe it adequately, but the best I can do right now is: The absurdity of my suffering is that it's usually over something that is NOT actually life-threatening. Student or credit card loans are common ones, as well as: my car has to go into the shop again?!? The basics are actually handled right now. Food. Shelter. Clothing (too much, in fact). Love. 


So why suffer? Well, the best I can tell is it's some malfunction in the computer program. Historically, we've called this ego or reactive mind. While it might be useful for surviving in the wild when a saber-toothed tiger is after you, it doesn't prove especially useful in modern society, where there's a bevy of things to "stress" about, but hardly any that actually threaten our survival.


Funny thing is, the more research I do about health and the state of the world, the more I'm cleaning up my act about how I eat and live. But I don't stress about those things. They're almost too big for my processor, so I stress about the things that appear to be under my jurisdiction. 


Silly, huh?


Anyway, all of this rambling is just mental fourplay for the thing I actually meant for you all to read. My friend Lisa sent this to me two years ago and I was going through old email in an effort to clean up my computer and I came across this article and remembered how much I liked it when I read it. Thanks for sharing this with me, Lis. I have a feeling this will strike a particularly loud chord with some of you married folks out there.


I like it for many reasons, especially that it reminded me how we can actually choose whether we experience suffering or not.


Huh. Yeah, right. Tell that to my reactive mind.


August 2, 2009
Modern Love
Those Aren’t Fighting Words, Dear
By LAURA A. MUNSON

LET’S say you have what you believe to be a healthy marriage. You’re still friends and lovers after spending more than half of your lives together. The dreams you set out to achieve in your 20s — gazing into each other’s eyes in candlelit city bistros when you were single and skinny — have for the most part come true.

Two decades later you have the 20 acres of land, the farmhouse, the children, the dogs and horses. You’re the parents you said you would be, full of love and guidance. You’ve done it all: Disneyland, camping, Hawaii, Mexico, city living, stargazing.

Sure, you have your marital issues, but on the whole you feel so self-satisfied about how things have worked out that you would never, in your wildest nightmares, think you would hear these words from your husband one fine summer day: “I don’t love you anymore. I’m not sure I ever did. I’m moving out. The kids will understand. They’ll want me to be happy.”

But wait. This isn’t the divorce story you think it is. Neither is it a begging-him-to-stay story. It’s a story about hearing your husband say “I don’t love you anymore” and deciding not to believe him. And what can happen as a result.

Here’s a visual: Child throws a temper tantrum. Tries to hit his mother. But the mother doesn’t hit back, lecture or punish. Instead, she ducks. Then she tries to go about her business as if the tantrum isn’t happening. She doesn’t “reward” the tantrum. She simply doesn’t take the tantrum personally because, after all, it’s not about her.

Let me be clear: I’m not saying my husband was throwing a child’s tantrum. No. He was in the grip of something else — a profound and far more troubling meltdown that comes not in childhood but in midlife, when we perceive that our personal trajectory is no longer arcing reliably upward as it once did. But I decided to respond the same way I’d responded to my children’s tantrums. And I kept responding to it that way. For four months.

“I don’t love you anymore. I’m not sure I ever did.”

His words came at me like a speeding fist, like a sucker punch, yet somehow in that moment I was able to duck. And once I recovered and composed myself, I managed to say, “I don’t buy it.” Because I didn’t.

He drew back in surprise. Apparently he’d expected me to burst into tears, to rage at him, to threaten him with a custody battle. Or beg him to change his mind.

So he turned mean. “I don’t like what you’ve become.”

Gut-wrenching pause. How could he say such a thing? That’s when I really wanted to fight. To rage. To cry. But I didn’t.

Instead, a shroud of calm enveloped me, and I repeated those words: “I don’t buy it.”

You see, I’d recently committed to a non-negotiable understanding with myself. I’d committed to “The End of Suffering.” I’d finally managed to exile the voices in my head that told me my personal happiness was only as good as my outward success, rooted in things that were often outside my control. I’d seen the insanity of that equation and decided to take responsibility for my own happiness. And I mean all of it.

My husband hadn’t yet come to this understanding with himself. He had enjoyed many years of hard work, and its rewards had supported our family of four all along. But his new endeavor hadn’t been going so well, and his ability to be the breadwinner was in rapid decline. He’d been miserable about this, felt useless, was losing himself emotionally and letting himself go physically. And now he wanted out of our marriage; to be done with our family.

But I wasn’t buying it.

I said: “It’s not age-appropriate to expect children to be concerned with their parents’ happiness. Not unless you want to create co-dependents who’ll spend their lives in bad relationships and therapy. There are times in every relationship when the parties involved need a break. What can we do to give you the distance you need, without hurting the family?”

“Huh?” he said.

“Go trekking in Nepal. Build a yurt in the back meadow. Turn the garage studio into a man-cave. Get that drum set you’ve always wanted. Anything but hurting the children and me with a reckless move like the one you’re talking about.”

Then I repeated my line, “What can we do to give you the distance you need, without hurting the family?”

“Huh?”

“How can we have a responsible distance?”

“I don’t want distance,” he said. “I want to move out.”

My mind raced. Was it another woman? Drugs? Unconscionable secrets? But I stopped myself. I would not suffer.

Instead, I went to my desk, Googled “responsible separation” and came up with a list. It included things like: Who’s allowed to use what credit cards? Who are the children allowed to see you with in town? Who’s allowed keys to what?

I looked through the list and passed it on to him.

His response: “Keys? We don’t even have keys to our house.”

I remained stoic. I could see pain in his eyes. Pain I recognized.

“Oh, I see what you’re doing,” he said. “You’re going to make me go into therapy. You’re not going to let me move out. You’re going to use the kids against me.”

“I never said that. I just asked: What can we do to give you the distance you need ... ”

“Stop saying that!”

Well, he didn’t move out.

Instead, he spent the summer being unreliable. He stopped coming home at his usual six o’clock. He would stay out late and not call. He blew off our entire Fourth of July — the parade, the barbecue, the fireworks — to go to someone else’s party. When he was at home, he was distant. He wouldn’t look me in the eye. He didn’t even wish me “Happy Birthday.”

But I didn’t play into it. I walked my line. I told the kids: “Daddy’s having a hard time as adults often do. But we’re a family, no matter what.” I was not going to suffer. And neither were they.

MY trusted friends were irate on my behalf. “How can you just stand by and accept this behavior? Kick him out! Get a lawyer!”

I walked my line with them, too. This man was hurting, yet his problem wasn’t mine to solve. In fact, I needed to get out of his way so he could solve it.

I know what you’re thinking: I’m a pushover. I’m weak and scared and would put up with anything to keep the family together. I’m probably one of those women who would endure physical abuse. But I can assure you, I’m not. I load 1,500-pound horses into trailers and gallop through the high country of Montana all summer. I went through Pitocin-induced natural childbirth. And a Caesarean section without follow-up drugs. I am handy with a chain saw.

I simply had come to understand that I was not at the root of my husband’s problem. He was. If he could turn his problem into a marital fight, he could make it about us. I needed to get out of the way so that wouldn’t happen.

Privately, I decided to give him time. Six months.

I had good days, and I had bad days. On the good days, I took the high road. I ignored his lashing out, his merciless jabs. On bad days, I would fester in the August sun while the kids ran through sprinklers, raging at him in my mind. But I never wavered. Although it may sound ridiculous to say “Don’t take it personally” when your husband tells you he no longer loves you, sometimes that’s exactly what you have to do.

Instead of issuing ultimatums, yelling, crying or begging, I presented him with options. I created a summer of fun for our family and welcomed him to share in it, or not — it was up to him. If he chose not to come along, we would miss him, but we would be just fine, thank you very much. And we were.

And, yeah, you can bet I wanted to sit him down and persuade him to stay. To love me. To fight for what we’ve created. You can bet I wanted to.

But I didn’t.

I barbecued. Made lemonade. Set the table for four. Loved him from afar.

And one day, there he was, home from work early, mowing the lawn. A man doesn’t mow his lawn if he’s going to leave it. Not this man. Then he fixed a door that had been broken for eight years. He made a comment about our front porch needing paint. Our front porch. He mentioned needing wood for next winter. The future. Little by little, he started talking about the future.

It was Thanksgiving dinner that sealed it. My husband bowed his head humbly and said, “I’m thankful for my family.”

He was back.

And I saw what had been missing: pride. He’d lost pride in himself. Maybe that’s what happens when our egos take a hit in midlife and we realize we’re not as young and golden anymore.

When life’s knocked us around. And our childhood myths reveal themselves to be just that. The truth feels like the biggest sucker-punch of them all: it’s not a spouse or land or a job or money that brings us happiness. Those achievements, those relationships, can enhance our happiness, yes, but happiness has to start from within. Relying on any other equation can be lethal.

My husband had become lost in the myth. But he found his way out. We’ve since had the hard conversations. In fact, he encouraged me to write about our ordeal. To help other couples who arrive at this juncture in life. People who feel scared and stuck. Who believe their temporary feelings are permanent. Who see an easy out, and think they can escape.

My husband tried to strike a deal. Blame me for his pain. Unload his feelings of personal disgrace onto me.

But I ducked. And I waited. And it worked.
Laura A. Munson is a writer who lives in Whitefish, Mont. 


This thing makes me cry every time I read it.


Funny enough, the first rule of martial arts is: DUCK!


When someone's trying to punch you in the face, DUCK! 


I think this concept is rooted in zen philosophy. Because it's not just about leaving or running away from the fight, but about not participating in the violence. A block or hit to "defend" is still participating in the violence. But when you duck, you're actually staying present, but not contributing to the violence of the situation. 


Violence doesn't really work if there's nothing to push against.


I'm going to try this. A metaphoric duck when life's throwing me seemingly justifiable reasons to fret, worry, stress and suffer. Duck.


Duck!


So, everybody....


DUCK!

For My Girls

Two weeks ago today, my dear friend got married to a man worthy of her love and partnership. I'm so happy for the both of them.

On a stroke of genius, the bride and another one of our girlfriends had the idea that all of her girlfriends get together and share what marriage is all about. Sadly, I was out of town for the event, but I contributed this letter and thought I'd share it with all of you out in the world.

This is dedicated to you, my friend, and all of my girlfriends, and the men who love, deserve and know how to handle us.

(There was a time I would've scoffed at the idea that I needed to be "handled." As I've grown, I've come to realize that every good woman needs to be handled every now and again...just like our men need to be taught.)

For years I’ve been conducting a very un-scientific and half-assed survey on what it takes to have a successful marriage. Looking back I realize those I’ve interviewed all qualify under the following parameters: Married for over 40 years to a spouse with whom they raised children and still have contact and a respectful relationship with said children. Also, they still seem to like and enjoy each other. You notice I said like not love. Without exception, all my interviewees would say they still love each other, but the fact that they still like each other actually seemed more important than love. None of them seemed as in love (the pretty or not-so-pretty side of this type of love) as anyone depicted in movies or tabloids, but they did seem in like. They like who their spouse is as a person, their personality, sense of humor, demeanor, and way of being.

Like is paramount.

For a happy, healthy and successful marriage, there were the predictable answers: Good communication. Never go to bed angry. Make each other laugh every day (one of my favorites). Forgive each other. Say I’m sorry.  But here are some more unconventional and unexpected answers and the people from whom they came:

My dear friend Helen, an octogenarian and mother of four, was married 60 years before becoming a widow. She said having a bad memory and bad hearing were essential to a long-lasting and happy marriage. When I asked her to explain she said, there are some things you just need to forget and some things you just don’t want to hear. Also, the last time I saw her she told me she was happier than she’d ever been at 86! I asked her what she attributed this to and she said, “I’ve forgiven everyone and everything I think wronged me...even myself.” She also said she missed her husband, and might like to have a companion again, but she enjoyed her free time and really enjoyed every day of her life. It seems somehow apropos that she told me this the last time I saw her, and passed-on about six months later, though I miss her dearly.

Kevin’s parents, also in their eighties, said enjoying themselves with and without each other has kept their marriage healthy and happy. They spend time together, sharing at least one meal a day and going often to plays and musicals, but they each take on their own hobbies and activities. A retired physician, Mama Jones started taking singing lessons in her 70s, something she’d always wanted to do. A retired engineer, Papa Jones goes sailing, alone, at least once a week April through September on the Hudson River. Once in a while he’ll take guests, but he’ll go solo as much as he’ll host a sailing tour of the Hudson.

My family’s long-time friends Pete & Jane demonstrated selective hearing in maintaining a long-lasting and humorous marriage. Paul used to joke that Joyce’s hearing was so bad, she couldn’t hear Paul call for her, the phone or doorbell ring, but she’d always hear ice clink in a glass when Paul fixed himself a cocktail.

My parents say that shared values and philosophies about family and how to raise children has kept them together. When my older brother was getting into trouble, breaking-the-law and whatnot, that was one of the most trying times in their lives. But they’d tell him, “We’ll never give up on you...on any of you kids. What you’re doing is not okay, but we love you and will never give up on you.” Supporting each other through that was integral to their relationship lasting all these years . They celebrated 47 years in June – this is the first year I’ve been home for their anniversary in 15 years! They also say laughing and having a sense of humor close at hand has provided much-needed levity and fun throughout their lives and made the trying times somehow easier.

Unbeknownst to me, Marcus has been doing a similar survey for many years. His interviews started out differently, but wound up at the same place. While spending time in the hospital, being the curious bear he is, he wandered around and started talking to the “terminal” patients. He’d ask them: “What’s the most important thing in life?” Virtually everyone answered some form of the following: “family, friends, loved ones, loving people and connecting with people.”

When he asked them to expound, they’d say things like, “I should’ve spent more time with my wife or husband and less time at work.” or “I should’ve spent less time worrying and working and more time with my kids.” or “Family, friends and following your dreams.” No one said, “I wish I worked harder or worked more or made more money.” Not one person.

After that, he’d logically ask them about family and relationships, and to those who’d been married most of their lifetime, he’d ask them what makes a marriage work and last...

One old lady said: “It has nothing to do with love or sex. It has to do more with friendship, like and appreciation, than sex and love. I don’t necessarily want to screw him all the time, but I appreciate the way he looks, and the person he is.

Other common responses were: “Compromise and trust are the most important. You can’t have one without the other...and you can’t have a long-lasting marriage without them both.”

“It’s helpful to get along, but not necessary.”

“Forgiveness & letting things go.”

Seems to me, besides the poor hearing and poor memory, my friends the newlyweds have the foundation for what it takes to make a marriage happy, healthy, fun and long-lasting. You’ve got an in-the-bag kinda love for sure.

I wish you both all the best on the wedding, honeymoon, the pre- and post-parties and festivities surrounding you during this happy transition into married life. I look forward to celebrating many more of life’s events, big and small, with you and your man.