Spending the weekend around death isn’t what I’d call relaxing, but it does make you think about life. I headed up to Maine for the funeral of my friend’s brother. I ended up hanging out with her college roommate, while our mutual friend was spending time with her family and doing all the things you do to try to deal with an undealable loss. (I think the worst part of wakes and funerals and all of the rituals is that they can’t really do that much for the grieving process. They’re necessary, but in the end only time helps when you lose someone.)

Anyway, so my friend, her college friends and I are all the same age, and it’s an interesting age overall. Over a few glasses of wine, the college roommate and I compared notes on mistakes we’ve made with men (or they made with us) and the choices you make now. I think that now more than any time in my life I feel like I have choices and that I am in charge of myself. A lot of what we talked about was the drama inherent in bad relationships (the fights, the silences, the jockeying for position, late night calls, jealousy, excitement, quote-passion-unquote), versus the relative peace we seek now. We have both been lucky enough to meet men now who are more grounded and treat us well. Actually, it’s probably not luck. For me, I think I am better prepared now to have a relationship without all of the hysteria, and I have the confidence to expect and appreciate being treated well. It was fun to compare notes, though, on the before and after and the new guys, who never seem to make a big deal out of anything.

It’s probably small to discover that sharing is a worthwhile endeavor.

In fact, if I were to have a friend who isn’t 40, I might tell her to relax a little about external symbols. You could always end up with incredible payback on your tenth anniversary.

On a lighter note, M. just told me something I’m still laughing about. It’s a private joke but a good one. Life might not be so bad if you know someone who can make you smile.

And, here’s a short list of what I now look for in a man:

no hitting (OK, that’s not new)

no belittling

no hassles

no insults

no making me feeling like being with him is a favor

ability to converse with me

ability to converse with people I introduce to him

ability to cope with grown up scenarios

ability to laugh

ability to laugh at himself

ability to tolerate my chronic lateness

ability to appreciate the many wonderful qualities I suspect I might possess, even if I don’t know what they are

kindness

respect

And, if he’s cute with good hair and an Ivy education, that’s all bonus.

By the way, I figured out why I’ve dated foreign men. I’m too much of a pussy to be an actual expatriate. I mean I should be drinking coffee in some smokey European cafe, criticizing Bush, planning the revolution and generally feeling superior. But, damn, I like a good, hot shower. I woke up in a hotel room with clean sheets, a coffeemaker, a complimentary Sunday newspaper, a room service breakfast by way of Friendly’s, home of the Caramel Fudge Brownie Sundae. Fuck the revolution, when I can get French Toast delivered to my room. America and convenience, it’s almost worth the Bush administration’s drive to erode our Bill of Rights and regulate the “shit” out of us.