Dangerously Candid

I'm afraid of The Zaftig Chronicles, for it has made me a new woman. I have tapped into a part of me that wants to expose the fondest of memories and the most tragic ones as well. This blog entices me to be free.

This morning's post is something I thought I'd never share, but I felt compelled to get it out of my head. It wasn't a post to offer insight into my life, but a release for me. And I want to do more.

Being candid can be addictive. Stephanie Klein has discovered this first-hand. And now I understand the power and healing behind being dangerously candid.

Broiling Alive

Some of you might not be aware of this but Chicago has morphed into the fiery pits of Hell, with atrocious sunburned feet to boot. See, this is why I hate summer, for this exact reason. Why do people insist on wearing flip flops in the sun? I can't tell you how many hundreds of sunburned feet I witnessed just last week alone. Jan managed to drag Diana and me to the beach on Sunday, where we both proceeded to bake and die immediately. Jan didn't care -- he was busy working on his "sex tan." You know, the kind where there's a dramatic tan line around the hips. The Swedes sure know how to tan, don't they? you would think with them being Nordic that they would just burn to a crisp, but no -- golden brown goodness all the time. This weekend, Diana's apartment was a cooling center. We conked out with old Glamours and iced raspberry-lemon tea. I don't know why Diana is afraid to throw away magazines. I swear there is a 1997 issue of Glamour with some supe

Bedtime Confessions II

All I want to do is sit in a scented bath and smoke a cigarette. I don't smoke -- never had so much as a puff of a cigarette -- but that's how I feel. A glass of red wine would also be good right now. I have wine, but it's not the taste or feeling it gives me that I'm after, it's the ambience; it's the effect a glass of red wine, lit candles, a slim cigarette and sudsy bath water that I'm after. It screams single girl having Really Deep Thoughts about life, men, sex, and...yes, love. Do I want to be single? Maybe I enjoy my Wednesday nights alone in my apartment, watching DVDs and thinking of Him. The Stella Artois Man. The Office Man. The Man. So what if I think it's too complicated a thing to enter, He's there waiting to come to me; ready to take my feet in his hands; ready to excuse me to his skill. None of this even makes sense. I blame the imaginary red wine. Do I need to be single? If love comes in a tall package of black waves, olive skin, l

Showing Off...Again

Within minutes of coming to work, I was in His office giving him another eyeful. "I thought about you all night long," He said, while wanting to touch me. I didn't let him. "I'm in your office way too much. People are going to know something," I said. He didn't care. We hugged for a long time; me getting a deep whiff of his sexy cologne. Then we reluctantly separated. "See me before you leave?" I nodded. What's the deal? Is this strictly an office thing? Is this where the excitement lives? Sure it all feels good, but what's really going on here?

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