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!

Please subscribe to the blog so you can get special deals on the book and receive exclusive excerpts of chapters here. (Remember to confirm your subscription! You will receive an email from Feedburner, please click on the emailed link to confirm your subscription.)

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...

For more, please subscribe to our blog (top left side of this page).

You will receive this whole chapter for FREE and exclusive excerpts and DISCOUNTS when the book is released! We plan to publish a digital ebook by February 2015. Happy Holidays & Happy New Year!!

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.

Golf is better than sex..... & Beware of text messages

My Dad said this to me the other day...

"I think your Mom might be having an affair."

WTF?!?

Dad, what? 

Background: My parents have been married for 45+ years and they still love, like and enjoy each other. For real. Recently my Mom went to their vacation home in Florida solo and they both seriously missed each other! How cute is that? I was highly doubtful that my mother was having an affair.

Dad, what makes you think that?

He continued, "because I found these text messages on the cel phone that said I love you and Meet me later."

He handed me his samsung flip-phone so I could look over the text messages to see who'd been sending secret love messages to my mother.

I couldn't find anything in the in- or out-going text message mailboxes. (Side-note: My parents never text to me. The one time I sent my Dad a text message to show him how it works, he looked at it and said, "how do I delete this?")

I asked him to show me where he found these so he took the phone back for about 30 seconds, found what he was looking for and handed it back to me.

The very top of the list of text messages that indeed said I love you and meet me later said Message Templates.


Hahahahahaha.

Truth is, my parents are too old to have affairs. No offense intended. But ask anyone who's had an affair - from what I've seen, it may be exciting, but it takes a lot of energy and is a lot of freaking work. My parents would rather golf, from what I can tell.

Andre Agassi is now Open

How reading about tennis made me a tennis fan

I just finished the Andre Agassi book Open. It actually got better than the first third I had under my belt when I wrote the last blog about it, Love & Hate. Drugs & Rebellion only a few days ago.

Agassi, and his ghostwriter J. R. Moehringer did something difficult, though not impossible, and it is something essential for the captivating portrayal of a compelling life's story. And I must note here that by life's story I mean Agassi's professional tennis career, since his life is far from over, and I suspect, his best, most personally significant years are still taking shape as his school and family grow and mature. This essential thing is simple, but not always easy to accomplish. I suppose it may be the same reason fans cheered for Agassi all those years he played. With Agassi's Open, throughout moments that make you groan with the knowing that only a spectator can have as he throws tantrums and subjects himself to self-destruction and loathing; throughout experiencing stories of his poor decisions, poor judgment, and poor self image, you still root for the guy. 

I literally cheered aloud at some of his wins, laughed at his life's idiosyncrasies, and wept during his most poignant personal triumphs. His brief summary of his speech at his wife Stefanie Graff's induction into the Tennis Hall of Fame had me wiping my eyes so that I could see properly to continue reading. I was delighted every time he spoke of their courtship, and read the majority of passages about the Stefanie and Andre love story to Marcus. Like any good voracious reader in love in my own right, I relate their story to my own with my love Marcus. The way our lives lined things up for us to meet reminds me of Stefanie and Andre.

Relate-ability is another essential in the telling of a compelling life story.

My hunger for this book is especially impressive considering I'm not even a tennis fan. Well, I didn't used to be. I was honestly riveted by the retelling of tennis matches, which I hardly even understood at the beginning of the book because tennis was still somewhat a mystery to me (Those Brits love to make things more complicated than necessary - it's a British game, right?)  Marcus helped to explain the rules and mechanics of the game, and I started watching highlights of old matches online. I may even try playing. An alarming proposition as it's been the retort I've joked about for years when people scoff and say, is there anything you can't do? Tennis, I often say. I'm a terrible tennis player.

Also, the part that inspired my previous blog, about him hating tennis and the drugs and rebellion of his youth. While the first third of the book had me hooked and contemplating, finishing the book has given me a wider lens. I'm reminded of something I shared with a female friend the night before her wedding. I said, You're choosing this man to marry. That's as powerful as love and commitment and romance. Choice. You choose him. I believe she used it in her vows. I said it partly out of support of her finishing the writing of her vows, and partly out of my own fascination with how people come to the point where they know they want to marry and at that moment I realized choice is the primary ingredient of that milestone in a person's life. Flour to life's sweetest cake.

The last third of the book illustrates a man who still may "hate" tennis, but is choosing his life and his job of playing tennis as part of what his life is about and part of what gives him power - to open his school, have the notoriety to gain attention and funding for said school, and support his family. Also, it seems, it's what he knows how to do best, and sometimes that's stronger than hate and professions of hate, especially when we come to a point in our lives where we choose the thing we thought we hated most.

I'm inspired most by his school, since it's been a lifelong dream of mine to open a school. Marcus' too. It seems this is something we will do together, somehow, someday in the not too distant future. My parents are both teachers, retired, and as Agassi's dad valued tennis (and greatness and competition) above all else, my parents valued teaching and education and choice above all else. I'm lucky they both taught with less urgency and a softer tone than senior Agassi did with Andre and Andre's siblings.

How funny that my next trip to Vegas will likely include a trip to Andre Agassi College Preparatory Academy. Heck, my next trip to Vegas might be all about a trip to AACPA. I've never gambled in Vegas, despite over a dozen trips for work (largely as a reality television producer for Rehab - party at the Hard Rock). My Texas Hold'em and Blackjack playing has largely taken place with friends and at local Los Angeles casinos. Strange, I know, but the gambling in Vegas is so blatant and unapologetic, I'm instantly turned off. Like those old suitors who came on too strong. I never responded well to overly aggressive men, and Vegas feels that way to me about gambling. So it's settled. A visit to Agassi's Academy is in my near future.

Clearly, this book inspired me.

If you like to be inspired, read this book.

Thanks to Andre Agassi, his children Jaden and Jaz for inspiring him and giving him reason, to Stefanie for saying yes, to all the players in the book, and to J. R. Moehringer, for weaving the stories so beautifully. I feel so tremendously grateful for good books and good stories. Thanks to my parents for that. Another enormous gift my parents bestowed upon me, among many, giant, innumerable gifts.

More Interesting Katie Strand World Posts

• Farts
• Love & Hate. Drugs & Rebellion.
• Occam's Razor - It's a Life & Faith Principle
• If Richard Pryor had a period...
• If you're prone to nudeness...
• Hello, my name is Temple Grandin.
• Blog tease, yelling to no one & the secret to long...
• My Addendum to "Choose a Job You Love...
• The Primal Diet & Running
• Chop Wood, Carry Water, Do Taxes
• The male member revealed
• Play with the Girls
• How to tame the psycho hose beast
• Oh boy, that's a good question! or How to Deal with the Census
• These boots were made for walking
• If I were a Ninja, I'd wear these shoes
• How my friend Sally became the new First Lady
• My Boyfriend has Autism...Maybe
• Raw Primal Papaya Custard - The Nectar of the Gods
  
• And All the Cows Said Moo!
• If you were John Mayer, you would too
• Tiredness - Varieties of and unforeseen side-effects
• Foreplay is overrated
• Food should be As God Intended or Why isn't everything we eat organic?
• Yelling - One of the Highest Forms of Compassion
  
• The Cove - Louie Psihoyos' Oscar speech & a guide on how to create change...
• My Favorite Things...Arrabiata Recipe - Fresh, Organic, Vegan or Primal
• My Favorite Shows on Television...or how David Duchovney & Jesus are likely Good in Bed
• The Hawaiian Islands and Washington D.C.’s sand-paper circle-jerk about Health Care
• My Buddha has Termites...A Lesson in Infinite Joy
• The One-Date-Wonders!
• I had to learn SIGN LANGUAGE when I moved to Los Angeles
• Guys can make a game out of anything
• Hello? The power of CONNECTING and how technology has changed things
• Popping the question is better than porn!
• Bravo, Stephen Colbert & Co! and your Olympic Vancouverage
• Songwriting is like SEX
• Born To Run by Christopher McDougall - Inspiring a inspiring all of us to be more in the FLOW
• A moment of silence for all the plastic surgery ca...
• Ricky Gervais should be the new Simon on American Idol
• Muscle SURPRISE! The key to physical, mental & emotional fitness
• I think my boyfriend's a snake...
• Release... Sweat & Power
• MY FAVORITE THINGS! - Vibram's Five Fingers
• Dick Morris... How do you sleep at night?
• Rusty DePass, Gorillas, and Obama, oh my!
• Michael Jackson - Troubled Genius

New Music
&
Posts 

at
Katie Strand Music

• To Make You Feel My Love
• Please Don't Leave Me
• Going To California
  
• Come Back
• Home