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The Book

With the innocent days of key parties and free love behind us, Not Your Mother’s Playground: A realistic guide to honest, happy, and healthy open relationships is a how-to guide for navigating today’s very different world of modern-day non-monogamy. From swinging to polyamory, it walks readers through the many ups and downs they may encounter along their journey. Samantha injects the honest story of her own open marriage throughout to provide readers with insight, humour, and refreshing personal experience. Whether you are new to non-monogamy or an experienced veteran, Not Your Mother’s Playground is sure to challenge your mind and validate your heart.

CLICK HERE to learn more about getting a Kindle, PDF, or print copy of the book.

The Samantha Script

While searching tonight for dirty photos of myself to put on my new pr0n Twitter … yes, that’s a thing … I’ve found myself getting a little lost in old emails / screenshots from exes of the past. Yes, I save this stuff. I know I probably shouldn’t; I know that my “memory” should serve me well enough, but it doesn’t. And, truth be told, I like having records of things. Even if the relationships ended – sometimes in flames – I like to know that I have those words, those images, those exchanges, saved somewhere.

Even if, yes, they make me sad when I look at them. Even if they put me in a sort of nostalgic, melancholy, floaty, and weird mood. Even if they make me momentarily full of regret and pangs of wanting to reach out to tell them how much I love(d) them and how I wish we didn’t lose touch and how much they meant to me, even if they or I or both of us acted dickishly.

Even IF they make me cry.

Tonight, while searching for those pictures as I mentioned, of course I stopped into an old folder on my external drive. It’s where I store all those photos of people from my past: photos they’ve sent me, photos they took of me, photos I took of them, photos of things we liked, and in later years, screenshots of some of my favourite texting moments. Because I’m a hopeless, idiotic, sentimental romantic, ok?

I found some pretty funny things, like the very first emails between myself and “The Professor” (the catalyst for our open marriage in the first place), and I found some heavy stuff. And then I found a letter that my first non-monogamous love K wrote … to my husband back in 2007. The letter totally freaked Steph out at the time; it started as an explanation of how we met, and then dove right into this guy’s personal history, which went on for a long time; I can understand why it was too much for Steph to handle, and I can also see why it was the best thing I’d ever read at the time.

Then, at the end of the letter, he gets into all the gushy stuff about me. I’ve read this letter countless times in my past (not for many years though, mind you), but I never noticed the thing that was so glaringly obvious to me now.

K basically wrote the Samantha script for all the exes that followed him. I don’t know how to say it without sounding narcissistic, but he’s not the first man to say these things about me. It’s obvious now to me while I fell for him. He hit all the romantic buttons that I never even realized I needed. Then everyone that followed him had those standards to live up to, and most of them did. I found a screenshot from another lover telling me that he’d never loved anyone like he loved me. I have memories of others saying that to my face. I’ve been told on countless occasions that “you’re the first person I’ve ever told that to.”

When I read the letter in its entirety, one other fact jumps right out at me. The Boy (last year) and K were unbelievably alike. I fell madly in love with both of them for basically the same reasons and the same words and the same sensations. They both sent me music and song lyrics and THINGS WITH WORDS. (My heart loves that the most, you know.) They were both ridiculously unique, but both hit those same buttons unlike anyone else except, well, each other. My heart was doomed from the start with the two of them, 6 years apart.

Here’s some things that feel ridiculously self-absorbed and silly to say, but are so true that I can’t not say them: it’s hard to be a safe space for someone. It’s hard to be the girl that’s “unlike every girl” that’s come before for them. It’s hard to be the first person that someone first shares their life-long secrets with. It’s hard to intoxicate someone. It’s hard to be the reason someone can’t think clearly during their work day, gets nothing done, and then spends no time with you later because of all the time they wasted with you in the first place.

Not at the time, of course. At the time, nothing feels better. Replace hard with intoxicating and it’s obvious why those particular relationship connections are addicting to me; why they hit my romantic core harder than anything else; why I find it hard to focus myself on anything and anyone else, besides that person and my husband.

But, as I’ve learned, any relationship where I am such a catalyst in a lover’s life doesn’t end well for me. I get put on a pedestal, while personally insisting that I don’t belong up there. (“I’m just a girl” they’ve all heard me say.) Then when they realize that they like me too much – it’s happened now on four occasions – and just when I’m getting used to and accepting my pedestal position, it’s kicked out from under me, broken in pieces, and my heart is squashed under the debris. A boy said to me recently that he wasn’t surprised that this happens to me, being non-monogamous, that it makes sense that people liked me too much to be able to stay (I know, I know, I sound incredibly full of myself, but guys, I have the old messages, remember?), but knowing that it makes sense doesn’t make it any easier. I’d rather have someone dislike me; it’s much easier to know that I can’t change their minds than that they could easily be convinced to give in to their desires and be with me again, even if our relationship is toxic for their current life situation.

All that being said though … reading this old email to Steph from K has obviously brought up feelings in me. I have to accept the fact that, since I’ve been this person to many people now, that it’s probably who I am or at least who I can be to some. But I also have to accept that not every new lover is going to feel this way about me, and that’s ok too. Not everyone is going to care about putting me on a pedestal, so I certainly should never ever expect it.

Anyway. Here’s a snippet of the message K sent to Steph that caused me to over think this evening. I wish I could go back in time to 2007 and have handled this relationship better. He was a good guy, and he said the right things, and I was too wrapped up in the romance of it all, and too naive and inexperienced, to recognize when I was falling off the cliff with no parachute on my back.

…hey that cute chick smiled back at me, westend_girl huh.  I’m moving to the west.  I’ll email her…blah, blah, blah… you intrigue me…

…wow she responded!?  What the shit.  Ok now’s when I scare her off, I’ll write the biggest, most over-personal email ever (until now).  I’ll make a list of music I like and have at least one artist for each letter of the alphabet.  That’ll freak her right out…

I started to have great communications with Sam, we MSN’d a couple times, and quickly decided to meet.  Frankly I was glad to meet.  I was really exhausted of investing so much effort in online shit and then getting online-dumped.  I have always been into reality.  Realism.  Real.  I love people in person.  I’m horrible on the phone.  I was extremely nervous to me her, however.  It would be my first date in forever.  And the first girl I’d meet from online chat.

We met, I was awkward and timid.  She brought a list of questions, thank god.  And we had fun.  We got along well, and began to talk about more interesting things.  We learned a little about each other.  It was decided, we liked each other.

We had a crazy week and saw each other quite a bit.  It was fast and hard and spontaneous.  It was intense, and open, and wonderful.

When I’m with Samantha I’m with an incredible friend who I can tell anything.  I’m with someone who is sincerely interested in me.  She makes me feel more comfortable than anyone I’ve ever known.  I’ve opened up to her in a way I’ve never done before to anyone.  I’ve told her secrets that I’ve never verbalized or even written about.  She is an incredible person, and you are an incredible person for trusting her to be with me.  The truth is Sam makes me feel like I’m intoxicated; with love, inspiration, joy, lust, confidence, sexiness, knowledge, experience, yearning.  I mean actual physical intoxication.  I’m only now beginning to get a little sober.  There were a couple of days when I was literally drunk on emotion, and sensuality.  I could feel my body like never before, when I walked down the street, I sensed everything.  My heart would beat hard, I would breath heavy.

I can feel the world around me like never before.

I’m going to be confidently vulnerable, and tell you that I am in love with your wife.

And I can’t wait to meet you.

Foolish Optimism

At times when I haven’t written in a while, like now, I find the thought of posting something again slightly overwhelming. Everything has to have a purpose or a point, and instead of just letting myself write and the words flow, I have to write about a specific topic. At the moment I have a list of three topics that I want to write lovely, entertaining, and hopefully informative posts about. But as I sit here with the blank screen in front of me, and my fingers just waiting for further instruction, I realize that I need to get out of that structure and just write.

Just. Write.

I’m sometimes afraid to just write because then you’ll really know what I’m thinking. This site used to be my go to, my safe space for just sharing my inner demons; now that spot has gone to Twitter where, although you can always scroll back and see everything I’ve said, thoughts still pass by in a sort of flash. What I’m feeling now won’t be what I’m feeling in an hour, and that’s made evident instantly. When I write here, there’s much more permanence, and when I don’t have a point, well it’s embarrassing.

Like tonight, I don’t have a point, but I needed to be here. I needed to tell you about the frustrations I’m currently feeling. Like I’m on the cusp of a few great things, and some potential awesome relationships, but everything is taking longer than it should. I don’t want to blog about it because then it’ll be the only thing I’m thinking. And it’s not. It’s just what I’m thinking right now. Gosh, if I only felt one emotion during the day, I’m not sure how I’d deal with it. Anyway, I digress.

Back to the frustrations. Some people are missing in action which has me feeling like I am less significant to them than they to me; some are returning that I’m not sure about; some are revealing sides of themselves that weren’t in the initial offering, and at the end of the day I’m finding my patience wearing thin. I know that life has its ups and downs, and that I can’t expect everything to go from the black hole that was last year to super fantastic awesome town, but sheesh, could we just pick up the pace a little?

I’m always the person to try and make plans with others as much as possible. When I like a person, especially a lover, I want to see them as much as I can. Everyone’s got their boundaries though, and hey, I respect that, but even my undying optimism can take a beating at times when it seems that I’m always the one asking or poking or suggesting times / places / activities. I probably set myself up by always being the person though; the other person doesn’t need  to try because it’s inevitable that I will always (even when I flat out say that I won’t!).

I’d like to think that I’m a pretty simple person to know. If I like you, I’ll tell you, and I’ll do things to help you feel happy. I’ll try and hang out with you as much as we both have time for, and I’ll respect your boundaries around everything – I’ve learned to ask about these much better than I used to.

I just don’t get why it’s so hard. Like let’s do something or let’s not. It’s ok if you don’t want to. Just say so. Or tell me what your expectations are in case they don’t line up with mine. Because it’s possibly they don’t, and that’s fine, as long as I know. But fuck am I tired of waiting. I’m tired of chasing romance and fucked up people. Just. Get. Your. Shit. Together.

And then give me a call, because I’m a foolish optimist who still likes you even when my besties tell me that I shouldn’t. I’ll probably be here. And I’ll probably kiss your face if you’ll let me.

Review: Oh My Stars!

Since 2012, my birthday has always been marked by bum smacks. At every birthday party I have, the faithful and heavy dark wood paddle that I bought at Playground 2011 comes out. It’s definitely a beast and it can leave some beastly bum bruises, that I’ve always been quite proud of.

And then I got the news that I’m not allowed any “contact sports” for at least three months after my pulmonary embolisms were discovered. Which of course, to me, means no kinky stuff. Not that my life is really kinky at all lately (sadface), but this even meant that birthday smacks were off the table.

So what’s a girl to do when she can’t show off her bruises from 34 paddle smacks? (One for every year of being fabulous, of course.) Well, she notices that Ohhh Canada has a lovely selection of less intense paddles that may just work perfectly for her needs. Like this one from Sportsheets.

paddle

It’s beautiful, simple, and just what I need. The three star design automatically attracts me because I love stars (??), but it’s also light and makes a great slappy sound when you smack it. It’s fun to use softly, can be used with more force if you like – not for me though; have to avoid those darn bruises that might clot – and it’s also pretty to look at.

The only thing I wish was different is that the pink layer underneath wasn’t made of paper, and a fabric instead. But perhaps that’s what gives it the wonderful slappy sound, and obviously they wouldn’t be using paper if it would break.

If you’re looking for a less thuddy paddle, and want something fun, sassy, and light, buy this one.

ALSO IT’S SOOOOO PRETTY.

Get yours from Ohhh Canada on-line or in-store for only $26.99!

In One Piece

Falling in love gets me into trouble. I tend to fall for people who are great at describing situations I want to be involved in, but not so great at making those situations a reality. I’ve told myself that I’m cool with just casual things now, that my heart went through enough last year, so just keep everything light and easy, sexy and fun. Maybe it’s that I’m just starting to realize the availability of the guys I’m seeing, or maybe it’s something deeper. As much as I like them both separately, I feel a little lost without being in that external relationship that comes with a side of text message swooning, Facebook constant chatter, or gChat compliments.

I had that with The Boy, and while I’ve learned not to miss him (or at least to say that I don’t in a blog post because it helps me convince myself that I don’t — lies), I do miss that. I miss someone being a hopeless romantic with me and sending me song lyrics that reminded them of me. Steph and I are romantic in our own beautifully consistent cute, married ways, and don’t get me wrong, they are wonderful … but I miss external mutual swooning. I miss New Relationship Energy that goes on for months. And I miss feeling like my other partners and I are meeting for hours in our daydreams, holding hands on amazing adventures, while we’re both actually just taking an “eyes-closed 10 second pause” from our tasks at work.

I really like one of the new boys I’m seeing in particular, ok both really but he’s been around the longest. He makes me pretty swoony when we’re actually talking (which isn’t nearly as much as I’d like), because he’s handsome and dorky and straight-forward and funny and absolutely lovely (sexy too, and a great lover). But while he’s sweet and lovely and makes me feel all sorts of ways, I don’t get the impression that he has any interest in going too far into romance with me. I could be wrong; maybe he wants it in very different ways than I’m used to. A month and a half of dating in my last relationship meant that we’d been talking as much as most people do in 8 months. A month and a half of seeing someone now means that we’ve only had 3 dates and don’t really know much about each other. It’s not territory I’m used to treading.

It’s probably safer, I suppose. All of my in-depth relationships have ended in flames. Casual dating means safety from flames, right? Casual dating means I can keep my head screwed on tight and my heart in one piece.

So how come I still want to play with those romantic knives so badly?

Into The Woods

It’s really easy to float along in life and rarely think about death, if at all. Some people have been lucky enough to avoid loss in their life so the idea of it ending seems removed from their everyday existence, like a thing that happens only on the news or in movies. I’ve experienced enough loss in my life to have an uncomfortable relationship with death. I’ve seen it take all my grandparents. I’ve witnessed my father slowly accepting that his was coming at the age of 54. I’ve gotten the phone call that my step-brother found death at 26. And I’ve had a friend choose death on her own, while conversations of future camping trips hung in my memory like candle smoke.

In the back of my mind, I’ve become strangely convinced that death will come to me one day in the form of one of those diseases we have yet to cure, but still like to run for. My mind generally jumps from topic to topic, like a polar bear jumping to the next piece of ice before the entire thing melts, and every now and then, mortality is the glacier it lands on.

Recently I found myself closer to the Grim Reaper than even my over-active mind could have prepared me for. Let me tell you the story of how I almost died recently, probably.

It started with a bubble bath

This story begins at the beginning of February, the morning after a bubble bath like any other, filled with berry bubbles and providing the backdrop for “surprised-cute-face bathtub Snapchats”. The morning after the soak, I slipped on the bubble residue while getting into the shower. I slammed against the side of the tub ridiculously hard and quickly developed an epic bruise. I won’t lie … I was pretty proud of that bruise, even if it was just on the side of my knee and not on my ass.

Said bruise, 5 days in. It still had a ways to go to reach maximum black.

Said bruise, 5 days in. It still had a ways to go to reach maximum black.

It’s hard to remember the timeline because at first I wasn’t really paying attention, but it was most likely a week or so later that I woke up in the morning with severe calf pain. Used to having random muscle pains or knee pains after an active night’s sleep, I brushed it off. Perhaps I just needed a leg rub, or a bath, or some heat, or a massage on our vibration machine. So I did all of those things over the course of a few days.

And the pain continued. But still, I didn’t really pay much attention to it. It did seem to be accompanied with some strange foot pain, close to the two puncture wounds from a few days before the tub accident, when I stepped on two separate nails within an hour of each other. Perhaps the leg pain was a reaction to that? Still, nothing to worry about, I told myself. I’d had my tetanus shot within the last 5 years. This would go away eventually. Everything does.

Not long after, the shortness of breath took over. It’s hard to say when exactly as it crept in more quietly than the leg pain did. We’d done a bit of research at this point and had guessed that the leg pain might have been DVT (deep vein thrombosis), but it didn’t feel like it was doctor worthy yet, nor did I have any symptoms outside of the pain. The shortness of breath made me strongly aware of the fact that I’m out of shape, as it got worse and worse. I wasn’t able to walk down the street without feeling wheezy after a few hundred metres. Walking upstairs in my own house made me have to hide in another room, if Steph following me, as I didn’t want him to see how terribly pathetic and out of shape I was.

Because of course that’s what the fat kid defaults to. My leg obviously hurt because I haven’t trained in forever and I couldn’t breathe because I was emulating Adam Sandler’s Fatty McGee. “But I LIKE the stairs!” It was easier to be embarrassed about the reasons I suspected I was suffering. (Which, in hindsight, was ridiculous because I live with the most supportive man ever.)

Eventually, I spoke to a woman I work with who suggested that if it continued that I go to the doctor right away. I decided better safe than sorry, but that evening around 5 pm the leg pain stopped. And then it was completely MIA the entire next day and half of the one after that. It was almost like it knew I was taking it in for pokes and prods and was trying to be good.

So I ignored it, and of course it returned and I was popping all the ibuprofen I could to stay on top of it. I knew that eventually I would have to take myself to the doctor; something felt *off*, but I still wasn’t in a mad rush. If I had to go to work, or go out for brunch, or lounge around and finish watching Star Trek: TNG, I was going to do those things first. Walk-in clinic? That could wait another day or two.

Then I had a date. Yes, a real date. With a real live boy, in my house! (More on this later!) As I was giving him the tour of the house, we travelled from the basement to the top floor (to obviously end up in the bedroom, duh). I found myself completely out of breath, but unlike the times when I travel upstairs with my husband and can easily pretend that I’m going into a different room than he is, here was a guy who had never been in my house before. I couldn’t just leave him there, looking at the random artwork in my hallway. So I quickly grabbed a glass of water, and had to pretend I could breathe, before taking him into the bedroom … where he also left me breathless. (ba dum ching!)

The next morning as I walked upstairs after breakfast to have a shower, and found myself wheezing in the bathroom, I thought about that moment with him the night before. I was no longer able to convince myself that nothing was wrong. There was no writing it off as me being out of shape. So I decided to do a combined google search of both symptoms: leg pain in the calf and shortness of breath. When I started to flip through the results, I realized that there weren’t that many things that this combination could mean. I was self-diagnosing myself as having pulmonary embolisms (blood clots on the lungs), and started to cry uncontrollably, the more I saw the words “sudden death” or “fatal” pop up.

That Google search was possibly the most important one I’ve ever made. Definitely more important than “How much cheese can a human consume?” or “Best cat Vine compilation videos”. (Though that one CAN provide lots of entertainment.)

Everything I was reading about pulmonary embolisms suggested that they were fatal. I wasn’t sure if I was going to die that very second, if it was coming soon, or if I’d narrowly escaped it, but I knew I was closer to death than I’d ever wanted to be before. We decided to skip brunch in favour of the hospital. I was shaking and full of fear; nothing that 8 hours in emergency ambulatory care – seeing someone for blood work, then sitting down again; seeing someone else for chest x-rays, then sitting down again; over and over and over again – couldn’t fix.

Honestly, the most torturous part of that first day was having to watch the gold medal hockey game in the waiting room two more times. It took all the magic out of it, knowing the outcome, listening to Don Cherry telling us over and over again who was playing well and who needed work, while a crew of us sat, waiting to see if our medical issues were next to be the most important in the room. I decided that my strategy for mentally surviving the day would be a combo of Steph’s shoulder and social media. I had to share what was going on with friends and family. I never want to be someone who hides illness and death from those I care about the most. If it’s going on with me, no matter how sad it is, I need the people in my life to know. Also, I think it’s important that we allow ourselves the safety to talk about personal health problems without it becoming a big deal. Eventually we’re all going to suffer something. It’s nothing to be embarrassed about and there’s a lot to be said for the healing power of community. (Although I did shy away from seeing people in person as much as possible the following week.)

At the end of the day, when I was at my breaking point, I was finally told that I would be coming in the next morning for my first ever cat scan to determine for certain that I had pulmonary embolisms (Hi-five for self-diagnosis! Not so hi-five for the actual diagnosis!). The nurse injected me in the belly with lovenox, a drug I learned later acts quickly to anti-coagulate the blood before the warfarin pills kick in (which takes 7 days). I quickly bruised on my tummy – I’m covered with post lovenox / blood work bruises still. Finally we went home and ironically, I decided to sit in the tub to think of the overwhelmingday I had just had.

Last week was filled with more hospital visits and mixed emotions. It started with my first ever cat scan and then the confirmation of the results; I definitely had blood clots in my leg and lungs. They were more than likely caused by the trauma to my leg. From the bathtub. It all seemed so unbelievable. I asked the post cat scan doctor in emergency if I was … ok. His face scared me and told me more than his words did. Basically, I was only just past ok. If I had waited much longer, or if the drugs didn’t work … I wouldn’t be ok. The next morning, at 6:45 am, I asked the next doctor basically the same question, and his answer was the same. I had come unbelievably close to not making it. The fact that I decided to come in when I did basically saved my life.

Had I not? I would have gone out for brunch on Sunday. And then probably work on Monday, and maybe Tuesday. Wednesday I would have had a deep tissue massage that I was really looking forward to, and if that hadn’t killed me, I most likely would have passed out at home, while Steph was at work, on Thursday. This fact started to kick in after a couple of early mornings in emergency getting my injections and pills, but really hit me on Thursday when I went to see the nurse pharmacist who will be taking care of me for the next six months or so. There I was, having a perfectly normal conversation about my blood clots and how we were going to deal with them moving forward – something that’s quite simple and not scary at all – on the day that maybe I would have died.

Last week was, as I’m sure you can imagine, a trip. I tried to embrace death with humour, posting pictures of funny things I found in the hospital that made me smile. I tried to talk about death in a very matter of fact manner, to accept it as a possible reality, even though I really didn’t want it. I tried to think about the funeral I want to have, because it’s very important to me that I’m able to plan my own (event planner 4 lyfe). I tried to connect with my online community because I needed them more than ever, and they were there for me more than I expected. I tried to ignore the fact that some people in my life that I thought really cared about me didn’t check on in me once throughout the entire week, while also allowing myself to accept that maybe some of those relationships have changed in my life and I hadn’t realized. I tried to keep a brave face on for daily phone check-ins with my Mum in England, balancing the line between being 100% honest with her about how I was feeling, but not enough to worry her so much that she would spend non-existent money to get on a plane to be with me. I tried my very, very best to keep it together, because what else is there to do?

But sometimes you just have to let go. After a week of holding it together, I found myself at home listening to my iTunes on shuffle; some sad song came on and the floodgates opened. When you get so close to death but then find yourself escaping its grip, you’d think that your reactions would be jubilant and joyful all the time. You expect yourself to feel celebratory because you’re alive, and being alive is pretty damn ok. And yet, here was this emotion sitting on top of my chest that I didn’t recognize. It’s a combination of grief and fear and loneliness, mixed in with ecstasy and relief. It doesn’t know where to file itself away, so it sits on top of the skin and you just have to feel it. You just have to accept the fact that you came this close and that now everything’s the same, yet different.

My bullshit tolerance has vanished. I still fear death, but feel like we have a platonic love and understanding now. Relationships feel different too. I want to bury hatchets of the past and make nice with unnecessary enemies. I want to acknowledge the relationships that need to admit defeat, and save the ones that prematurely thought they were over. I want to tell the world how honesty can heal, and how life is so short and so precious and not worth worrying about in the ways that we do. I want to help people discover the confidence that sits inside all of us and I want to know the pleasure of watching people shed their skins in favour of one that suits them unlike any before.

I want to hug and kiss and compliment the people that matter. I want them to feel unbelievably special when they’re around me, because they are. We all are. You are. In those moments when we feel alone, there are always people going through the same things. There is always someone sitting in emergency, worried that this is the end of their days. There is always somebody new going into the woods.

I’m just so glad that I’m slowly on my way out of them.

<< Addendum: If you think something is wrong with you, don’t wait! Get yourself to a hospital or doctor as soon as you can. What’s a few hours in a waiting room, when compared to possibly dying?? >>

Real Chat. Real Feelings.

Tonight, Steph is going on a first date. He hasn’t had a first date, or actually ANY dates, for a long time. He’s had much more practice dealing with me seeing other people than I have with him. Over the years, it’s been a struggle for me. It’s felt like he’s kept things from me to protect my feelings, but that generally backfires. I want to feel the same love and happiness and compersion for him that he feels for me. When we started this chat this afternoon, I was feeling anxious that I was going to feel upset later. I wasn’t actually feeling upset, but worried that I’d go down the same path that I used to.

But then we shared this chat, which I’m sharing openly with you here. I feel a sense of calm in my heart, that I’m hoping will last the evening, and moving forward. This stuff takes work, my friends, but it’s always worth it in the ends.

Here’s a look into the lives of Sam and Steph.

sam[antha]: feeling a bit anxious

Steph: about you or me?

sam[antha]: about you

Steph: It’ll be ok :)

sam[antha]: easy for you to say

Steph: I’m certainly not telling you not to feel that

Steph: was about to say aww dont feel anxious

Steph: but I dont want to deny you feeling what you feel  :)

Steph: which I ALWAYS do

sam[antha]: i don’t really feel anything, but i’m so USED to feeling things

sam[antha]: that i’m expecting to?

sam[antha]: or i’m anxious about the possibility of feeling things

Steph: ahhh I hear ya

Steph: do you have any questions or concerns about my plans tonight? :)

sam[antha]:   :) I don’t think so. I’ve already brought them up.

sam[antha]: I’m concerned that you’ll like her

Steph: thats a toughie to reply to

sam[antha]: I know  :)

sam[antha]: I also want you to?

Steph: man thats a set of confusing feels right there huh

sam[antha]: I don’t know. The idea of you being with someone else the way I am with other people is the WORST.

sam[antha]: But then … I do it?

sam[antha]: but logic just can’t defeat it. I try.

Steph: also keep in mind I dont have sexy times (with others) the exact same you do. Its not as emotional or heavy

sam[antha]: this is true

Steph: typical guy huh

sam[antha]: that part i never used to believe

sam[antha]: but now i do

sam[antha]: i used to think it was impossible

sam[antha]: and that you were just denying me because of how we are

sam[antha]: but i know that’s not true now

sam[antha]: i guess i just have to keep repeating these things to myself

sam[antha]: i haven’t had the practice that you have, you know?

sam[antha]: i HAVE to repeat things over and over and over

Steph: oh you mean in that’s just how I express myself sexually with us even? Because it’s much more emotional with you for sure

sam[antha]: yes with us

Steph: oh man its not always purely physical I hope thats not what you think

sam[antha]: i know it’s not  :)

Steph: phew

sam[antha]: And it’s better now than it was

Steph: yeah for sure

sam[antha]: It USED to be a lot more like that. at least just for me. Because we were awful together, tbh. Well not awful, but not like we are now.

sam[antha]: I like us now

sam[antha]: we’re really good, and when we’re together, i really really want to be with you

sam[antha]: and you know what? That makes such a big difference

sam[antha]: Feeling like you and i are awesome

Steph: :)

sam[antha]: Ok, actually reminding myself of that is very helpful

Steph: yer makin me tear up over here  :)

sam[antha]: aww

sam[antha]: I’m used to you meeting people before I felt any of this stuff

sam[antha]: and honestly, it was only last year after my breakup / depression that i started to really feel this stuff … and you haven’t dated since then … so…. i didn’t even realize that i was feeling ok underneath

Steph: means a lot to here you say that  :)

sam[antha]:  I’m just so trained to feel a certain way

sam[antha]: Like, I’ll still probably feel a bit squidgey, but there’s a much stronger base for me now

Steph: it’s the confidence in the solidity of our rock that alows me to let you be free

sam[antha]: i’ve never not been confident in us as a unit

sam[antha]: you’ve just often fucked up and i’ve had high standards ;)

Steph: yeah hows about I dont do that anymore k?

sam[antha]: and hows about I don’t assume that you will

Steph: ha deal

Steph: internet shake*

sam[antha]: So now I’m only concerned that she’ll be a nice person and respectful

sam[antha]: and that she’ll like you

Steph: so far she’s been really nice and has mentioned several times that she respects our situation

sam[antha]: it would be good for you to like someone. Everyone’s been so meh for you for so long.

Steph: ha right eh?

sam[antha]: and if it gets you out of the house, i’ll support it for my own dating selfish logistics

sam[antha]: i’m also nervous that all my dating shit will come crashing down, like it has in the past, and then i’ll be left dealing with you dating JUST ONE PERSON and I’ll be additional partner alone

sam[antha]: because i really really do hate THAT

Steph: yeah I dont really want to be invovled with just one either

Steph: so I think I will be active about trying to not get into that situation again

sam[antha]: ok good. That would be nice.

sam[antha]: But obviously not a focus tonight ;)

Steph: of course

sam[antha]: Just please make more of an effort to be more forthcoming with me

sam[antha]: Even if you think it’ll make me uncomfortable. It’s just because I’m not used to hearing you talk about anyone, even friends

sam[antha]: but it’s why i don’t hold back with you, unless you specifically say you’re uncomfortable.

sam[antha]: if you like someone, that’s cute and i want to know :)

sam[antha]: i want to have a chance to feel the things that you feel for me

Steph: you got it

sam[antha]: but you have to let me

sam[antha]: and give me the opportunities

Steph: wow good point huh

sam[antha]: i’ve been saying it, in different ways, for years

sam[antha]: you’ve had practice with all this stuff. I haven’t.

sam[antha]: and vice versa on the other end

Steph: just one of those clicking moments jusst now I guess

Steph: and as long as you know I’ve never tried to hide things. It’s always just been my personality

sam[antha]: I know. And as long as YOU know that my personality takes things still to be like you’re hiding them. We have to meet in the middle.

Steph: oh yeah totally

Steph: wasnt making an excuse; just want to make sure you know it’s never come from a place of fear or shame

sam[antha]: I know it’s not. But I suspect everyone is sneaky and have to try not to do that. You being more forthcoming will help me.

Steph: because yeah! I’m excited about finding out what she is all about and I’m excited about telling you she’s awesome :)

Steph: IF she’s awesome

sam[antha]: haha. Hopefully she will be.

sam[antha]: And it helps that I feel better about my OWN awesome now. I think I never used to as much as I needed to.

sam[antha]: I want her to be awesome. And pretty. And I hope she likes you and that you have things in common.

Steph: yeah youve come a long way, baby

sam[antha]: WE have

sam[antha]: I might put this whole chat into a blog post …

Steph: damn right

Steph: ok!

sam[antha]: Like, just verbatim.

sam[antha]: with a little bit of editing ;)

Steph: sure!

sam[antha]: awesome

sam[antha]: i love you :)

Steph: Phew that works out cuz I love you too :)

sam[antha]: PHEW

sam[antha]: k. Back to work. Say bye before you leave.

Steph: totally will. I’ll text ya xoxoxoxoox

sam[antha]: ok  xo

Secrets From Samantha’s Purse

I can never decide if I love or hate Valentine’s Day. I’m a romantic, right? So I should automatically love a day that focuses on love. But then again, I’m also a non-traditionalist, non-monogamous, celebrate love ALL the time, question-everything member of society, and that viewpoint doesn’t line up with this single day of roses, chocolate, monogamy, and “the one”. Which is basically all that Cupid cares about, you guys.

That, and scoring you the most “romantic” dinner reservation using OpenTable – which is likely next to the kitchen, on a table that needs napkins under its legs.

Anyway, my point? Well, I’m getting to it. I want to tell you about some fun little products to make your Valentine’s Date Night awesome, since I am lucky enough to personally sample many of the goods at Ohhh Canada (life is really hard, you guys). I thought I’d tell you about a few items that I like to always have on hand, whether it’s a special Cupid friendly night, or just a regular ol’ Tuesday with a side of dirty spice. Individually, they might not all seem to suggest a saucy time’s about to happen, but trust me when I tell you there’s a method to my sluttyness.

And here’s a tip, boys and girls. If you and I are out together, my purse falls open, and these things roll onto the floor? Well, you can be certain that I might have my eyes on the contents of your pants. By might, I mean that I do. (Note: the contents of my purse at the end of the night might contain my underwear and some latex gloves I’ve scored from the sex club we just went to, but this post is about making our way to that stage.) ;)

Kama Sutra Honey Dust

I’m not one for lots of traditional “girly” things, and it’s not something I need my girl dates to do for themselves, but personally? I love dusting myself with a generous serving of honey dust in all the right places.

“Mmm, you taste like honey” would normally be a compliment that might have me running for the hills, away from the cheesy PUA trying to get in my head, but in this case, I love it. I’ve been using this stuff probably since I was 18, and will continue to be a faithful honey duster until I die. The raspberry is my current choice … it smells like an adult, sexy version of Mr. Bubble (yes, that’s a thing), and the honeysuckle is a close second. We have a Chocolate Caress demo in the store and, while I still like it, find myself smelling it occasionally because it reminds me of hot chocolate.

Grab yourself some honey dust for just $19.99. Trust me, it will last you a LONG time and you’ve never been so lickably delicious.

Sweet Spot On-The-Go Wipettes

Ok, maybe there’s a bit of a theme here. I know that lots of ladies love to go au naturel with their bits, and that’s amazing and wonderful, but I’m such a clean freak that having these wipes on me before a sex date is the best thing after being able to have a shower. Stuck at work all day and feeling a little blah before your date? A little basil grapefruit or geranium lavender will perk you right up. PLUS they’re pH-balanced just for us gals, and come in so many great scents. Yum, clean!

Grab yourself a bunch and store ‘em in your pass next to your condom stash. They’re only 0.85 each!

Hemp Lip Balm by Earthly Body

I did something dumb last night and went out on a make-out date without this lip balm in my purse. What a silly woman I am, though he made sure my lips stayed nice and wet all evening! While this lip balm is definitely difficult to get started – I recommend making a bit of a dent in it with something like a bobby pin to start with, to make it easy to cover the curve of your finger – it definitely lasts a long time on your lips. It comes in a bunch of delightful flavours that sound made up, but for such a low price, you might as well try one of each, right?

Get yourself coated and ready for smooching for just $2.99!

Skin Body Butter by Earthly Body

This one makes me crazy happy. I’m the girl who collects lotions and butters and always has at least 6 different containers on the go at any time. I happened to run out of just about all of them when I got my hands on the Naked in the Woods scent of this delightful body butter, and wow, what perfect timing. It smells like a spa, with rose, almond, and cucumber oils in it (plus other lovely things), but it really spoke to me because it smells just like a fancy candle I had in my room when I was 18 that made me feel like a grown-ass adult. Plus, it’s great for massages, absorbs easily, and leaves your skin with a fresh smell that lasts a long time. Mmmm.

Run naked in the woods yourself for $14.99!

So, there you have it. While it might not appear at first glance like the obvious sexy stuff you’d expect to find in my bag, TRUST me when I say that these are my guaranteed date night fun items for those of you who want to feel like a lady.

If you want to grab these, and other fun products for yourself, visit Ohhh Canada on the web, or if you’re in Toronto visit us (and once a week, me!) in person at our second floor store at 721 Queen Street West, at Queen and Tecumseh. Plus, there’s still time for some of you to score this stuff at your door before Cupid’s arrow strikes! Check out our shipping deadlines.

Stay tuned because soon I have to review the Lelo Smart Touch Wand, an adorable paddle that leaves star impressions and feels oh-so-wonderfully-perfect, and some organic lube. I better get myself to bed and do a few more … tests.

Happy Valentine’s EVERY Day, kids!

I Have An Addiction

I have a confession to make that seems quite timely this close to Valentine’s Day; I’m addicted to romance.

I’m not talking about red roses and cheap boxes of drugstore chocolates, or last minute gas-station cards filled with recycled sentiments and the stale smell of dust and car grease. I mean the romance that breaks your heart when you notice it, as you catch the sun hiding behind a cloud. Or the kind that causes you to weep tears of joy as you watch young lovers proclaim their mutual enthusiasm for each other. The predictable romance that’s existed for years as my husband leaving my vitamin out for me in the morning. Or the one that makes sure we kiss each other goodnight, every night we are sharing the same bed.

My favourite kind of romance isn’t solely attached to being in love. Some days it appears in a shared moment of admiration with a stranger traveling the opposite direction during rush hour. In certain hours under a bourbon haze, nothing feels more romantic than a dirty rendezvous behind a parked car in a darkened alleyway. Sometimes snow or rain falls from the sky, or the sun hits your face in such a way that can only be described as, you guessed it, romantic. My favourite kind of romance can be found in the saddest moments, or in the ones that you might never notice if you’re not one to stop and smell the flowers. My soul fills with, what feels like, a million emotions when I simply look out of the window before bed to say goodnight to the world. My favourite kind of romance often appears to have nothing to do with the heart at all, though it is always behind the scenes providing a steady, continuous, beating soundtrack. My favourite kind of romance looks at mystery and excitement, searching to find more than what is currently in my vision.

There certainly isn’t anything wrong with what’s in my daily vision. There are many days and nights when I would rather be nowhere else than in the places I know well, with the people I love and/or want to kiss. Keeping things simple. Keeping things grounded. Keeping things predictable. My life growing up brought me across the ocean, and then across the country, and then across the province; I’ve had more than my fair share of exploration thrust upon me, and see no failure in having chosen domestic life for the past ten years of home ownership, instead of traveling across foreign lands on a romantic trip to “find myself”.

Because even in everyday familiarity, I am always searching for the nooks and crannies between the lines, as it is between the lines that I have found myself time and time again. I want to crawl inside these spaces and give them the recognition and attention that they so rightly deserve. I want to pull them out of the shadows, and let people know that it’s ok to let others see past their presentations. Life exists between the lines. Reality exists between the lines.

Romance exists between the lines.

But also, if you look a little further, romance can be found almost everywhere else in front of our faces, in every moment. It’s this realization that has me constantly searching for it, craving whatever emotions are going to hit me next, even if there is a 50/50 chance that I could feel either unbelievable happiness or unbearable sadness in an instant.

The romantic in me can handle it. She craves the feeling of connection, of meaning, of knowing that occasionally things mean more than everybody says they do. She dies a little emotional death when you notice something about her that she didn’t have to share with you herself. When she hears about the things that make your eyes sparkle and your heart sing, or shares in your woes and summertime sadness, it doesn’t matter if you are to ever lie in a bed with her or not, or if platonic is the word you’d both use to describe your relationship. She craves that honesty, that intimacy, and those moments – even if they are fleeting and never to come again – for those moments are what make her clock keep ticking.

Her heart skips a beat when simple song lyrics make you think of her face, her eyes, or her entire way of being. When it’s obvious that she is your muse, nothing matters more than offering you every last drop of inspiration she can possibly muster. Her soul will always be a little restless when it’s not adventuring and risking everything based on a feeling. Because the romantic in me, while simultaneously being led by Vulcan-like logic and a devil’s advocate’s sense of realism, will still always hold feelings in the highest regard. The only difference now, as I head into my mid 30′s, is that I know when to give into my moments of fancy, and when practicality must temporarily rule.

Yet still, underneath any and all semblances of order and logic, there will always be a sparkle that will find its way out, a romantic undercurrent to everything I do. There will always be the girl who looks past the surface of anything you show me, because it’s potential hidden motivations that I’m the most curious about, and even if they don’t exist, I will always have to check to make sure.

I can’t imagine what my life would be like if my heart was in one solid piece. I can easily wish for less tragedy in my past and certainly minimal tragedy in my future, but my emotional journey is the reason I am who I am. And so, it is with a happy, yet bandaged heart that I proudly proclaim my addiction to romance, whether it’s happy or sad, long-lasting or temporary, mysterious or crystal-clear.

If you need me, I’ll be the girl cozied up between the lines, listening to this, and feeling absolutely everything.

My Guest Post for Life Is Sweet

Because I’m sure you haven’t heard me talk about depression enough, here’s a guest post I wrote for Ashley Gibson’s Life is Sweet Project.

http://www.dancingthroughlifeblog.com/2014/02/when-every-day-becomes-chore.html

Learn more about the Life is Sweet project here.

Written & performed by Ashley Gibson
Angelwalk Theatre
http://www.angelwalk.ca/CURRENT_SEASON_lis.html

In February 1998 Ashley’s mom committed suicide. Fifteen years later, Ashley created a cabaret show to honour her mother’s memory. Through a blog series leading up to the sold-out show, Life is Sweet told both Ashley’s story and many others, creating a much-needed dialogue about mental health. The show is an inspirational story about overcoming tragedy and finding the sweetness in life, despite the challenges.

Photo by MJS Photography

In Like a Lion

So here’s something weird. 2014 is, so far, behaving, especially when compared to the shit-show that was 2013.

I knew it would happen eventually. If you’re the type of person that doesn’t settle for mediocrity and at least is trying to make improvements, everything that hits a low eventually hits a high again.

Or in this case, a “not so low anymore”.

I’m under no illusions about change. It’s not as if the calendar year flipped and suddenly the world is my oyster. No, some things are still suck, they’re just not as super suck as before.

To start with, I’ve found a teensy bit of carefree Samantha again. And what I mean by that is, I got incredibly drunk on New Year’s Eve, and had dirty make outs with a 26 year old boy, while my husband passed out down the hallway. I suppose that sounds less romantic than it could, and while I get that having an alcohol fuelled makeout isn’t necessarily the best way to say “Hey, I’m carefree again!”, it certainly doesn’t feel bad in any way.

I don’t necessarily feel as though I’m ready to go all casual makeouts with everyone again though. Not at the moment, at least. I’m sailing strange waters right now between “I am the most confident person you’ll ever know! Look at me flirt with waiters and sing all the karaoke songs and put photos of myself on the Internet in my underwear!” and “Oh my gosh, I know I’m hideous and of course you don’t want to touch me. I am totally the WORST, right??”

I’m working on it though.

In addition to a slight glimmer of carefreeness, not only do I now have one job, but I sort of have three at the moment. One is hopefully leading to full-time, and it’s the gig I’ve wanted for many months anyway, so I’m feeling pretty positive about that. The idea of being able to get out of the house again, despite instantly missing my pjs and fuzzy blankets and Netflix, is a really good feeling for my brain to wrap itself around.

And at the end of the worst hangover on new year’s day that I’ve had in years – a brilliant way to fool myself into thinking 2014 would be awful – suddenly I saw The Boy on my Tinder. Everything you’d expect to happen did; my whole body froze and my heart both sank and lifted simultaneously. I didn’t know what to do. My instinct said swipe right because if I swiped left I’d likely regret it.

Obviously I texted a couple of friends to ask what to do. Not that I hadn’t already made up my mind, but I knew it felt crazy and having someone tell me it was ok to be crazy was very validating.

Turns out we matched. And then we said hello. And I wanted to all caps him at first, saying, “What the fuck are you doing on Tinder? You won’t date me, but you’re on a dating app??” (Turns out he didn’t know that’s what it is or something something.) It didn’t fit with his circumstances and I was strangely angry. But then we found ourselves chatting and suddenly I was getting validation for so many shit feelings I experienced in 2013. I had made assumptions about why he’d disappeared, because it’s easy to lose your grip on reality as the dumpee, and to see that I was still thought of fondly was mind-blowing.

It’s been a week now, and we’ve still been chatting. Some of it has reverted back to old times, falling asleep in bed chatting into the wee hours of the morning, or chatting while at work and listening to all the music he tells me to because that’s his thing and I indulge him because I like dorks.

He’s told me a couple of times that he wants “something” with me, but that something should be less defined than before. And it feels good, but it also feels really strange. Circumstances haven’t really changed. I don’t think he has any more time or availability to give to me. Life will still go on as it has. It will never be what it was, or to be honest, what I really want. I know that already. We went very far down the rabbit hole last time, talking about future possibilities of hypothetical babies and living situations. We said we were in a relationship, couldn’t stop talking to each other, and we said we loved each other constantly.

And now, I feel foolish (especially when talking to him) to have any feelings at all, even if they’re all still there in my heart. I worked so damn hard to get past it, to move on, to get to a stage where I could actually accept a lack of closure and the idea that I would never see or talk to him again, and suddenly “Tada, here I am back in your life!” Jarring barely begins to summarize what it’s like, though I’m not a person to hold a grudge, and would rather have someone I click with around than not.

However, to say that I was hurt deeply by his fading away last year would be an understatement. The logical and rational thing to do – especially when knowing, before we even see each other again, that I can’t have what I want – is to walk away. Is to try and be friends or simply cut ties entirely.

But the heart, nor the lady bits, aren’t very logical. I’ve had intense additional relationships before, but never like this. So I’m trying to make peace with the idea of being happy to have him in my life again, whatever shape that has to take based on both of our limits and boundaries. For the last six months I swore that I would totally be happy if he was just in my life in some form, but now that the opportunity is here, I wonder if I can actually handle it. Part of me wants to try and pretend that I’m getting to know him from scratch; I feel that I can be cautiously optimistic that way, and slowly work on trust from a fake beginning.

He suggested that I not be too effusive when writing this post. That if I appeared to be too full of gushy feelings that you would all judge us and think we’re nuts or something. That suggestion hurt my feelings a bit, that he perhaps thinks that I’m just going to jump right back on the “Wheeeee the booooooy” train to Love Town.

But if you do think we’re nuts a little bit, you’d be right. I AM looking forward to seeing him in person again, and I am thrilled to be talking again, even though it’s very overwhelming. The very fact that he wants to complicate his life by having me in it, that he feels horrible for how things went last time, and that he wants “something” with me, fills me with delight that flies directly in the face of all logic.

It also terrifies me immensely. But that’s what love is, right? Oh sorry, I’m trying to be adult about this, that’s what the unnamed feeling that sort of resembles adoration is like. Right?

And to think. 2014 is only one week in. I feel pretty positive that this year is slowly going to stomp all over last year’s pile of suck, but I know it’s going to be one helluva bumpy ride.