Greetings faithful readers and newbies alike! So, last week you got a feel for what may unfold here in The D Files. You’ve had a glimpse at the cast of characters that were in the previous edition and those who are going to pop up along the way. It starts off as a juicy, chocolate-covered, mystery-laden story of sex, lust, disappointment, and despair. It also taps into what makes us, as women, unique and connected, and hopefully winds up restoring our faith in what makes us strong and able to keep striving for our dreams!

Keep up with who’s who and what’s happening each Tuesday. Once you are hooked, be sure to let your girlfriends know about it by sharing the link with your address book, your Facebook friends, and your Twitter followers. Be sure to keep up with the story, because some real twists and turns are going to happen very soon. (Hint, hint)

As far as what’s going on right now in the real world, it has FINALLY stopped snowing here in Philadelphia. We’ve had over fifty inches already this winter and I have had it. I am ready to book a flight to Miami and do some sun worshiping. If anyone has a condo or a timeshare that has an ocean view, email me and let me know if I can use it. I am SOOOOO over all of this white winter weather! UGGGGG!

On another note: Is it just me? Did anyone else have numerous jaw-dropping moments while watching the winter Olympics last week? Some of those women (and men) are just absolutely incredible. I was amazed at how tough they are, and it has inspired my workouts at the gym. I am working so much harder in spinning class, and my kickboxing class is no longer kicking my butt. These women inspired me, bringing back memories of my childhood and being inspired to ice skate by Dorothy Hamel. I am glad I still have that spirit in me and hope that you dig deep and challenge yourself in ways that you didn’t think were possible. You can do it!!

Now onto this chapter of The D Files: It is summertime, and it is about the support and nourishment of women and womanhood—about bringing one of our own children into our adult group of friends and ensuring that our circle of trust remains relevant and strong. Of course, there are sexy men and some tense moments, but nothing we can’t handle, even if it is by the skin of our teeth.

Read on, and be sure to send your questions and comments to me at help@letlettyhelp.com

(As seen in True Romance magazine July 2009)

The D Files

Never Send a Man to do a Boy’s Job

By Letty Livingston

This wasn’t just a getting all gussied up for one of our girlfriend’s birthdays, it was a dress-to-the-nines occasion, as one of our very own was bringing her daughter out for her first night of legal drinking and debauchery. More importantly, she was going to be officially joining our group.

Yes, Lisa’s baby-girl was turning twenty-one. The simple fact that Angelica wanted to come out and celebrate her 21^st with her mom and her mom’s friends was astounding. Angelica and Lisa, [Lisa, you may remember from last week’s D Files, is my friend who has been diagnosed with a slew of mental ailments.] have a terrific relationship—now. It wasn’t always like that. Lisa is DDG (drop dead gorgeous) and looks more like Angelica’s sister than she does her mother. This, you might imagine, was a problem when Angelica was a tween and she was trying to find her own feminine identity. But as Angelica matured through her teens and Lisa exorcised her demons, and her shrinks prescribed new cocktails of psychotropic drugs, the two formed a strong bond.

Angelica looks more like her father, who looks like David Bowie. She has fair hair and fine features. Her eyes and her height are what she inherited from Lisa, who has the most piercing purplish eyes and stands just a couple of inches under six feet. Lisa is all southern—southern Italian that is; she has olive-colored skin and deep, dark brown hair. Jaws drop when she walks into a room. Men want her, and women want her to stay away from their men.

Most of us have been friends for a lifetime and have known Angelica from the time she was in Pampers. It was mind-boggling to think that she was now going to be coming out with “the girls.” It meant that she was now officially old enough to be out on her own. It also meant that we were entering the age bracket that included empty nesters. Honestly, our clique has women who range in age from thirty to Lisa, who is the eldest at forty-three.

We used to think we were still current on what’s hot. We always had someone in their twenties in the clique to keep us fresh, but last year when Yoko turned thirty, we started to feel a bit—dare I say it—old. But now we’ll have some fresh blood, a new perspective, and she is going to be sworn in on this night.

The swearing in ceremony took place at the Racquet Club. It is a very old-money social club in Philadelphia. Some of us are members; all of us go from time to time. We had a room reserved and there was a round table with candelabra in the center. The candles gave an ominous glow, and we set a serious mood by not speaking as we filed in and took our seats. Lisa dimmed the lights and finally sat completing the circle, and we all joined hands. Angelica looked puzzled. But she soon understood why we were so solemn.

I cannot divulge the oath that she swore, but the gist of it focused on the fact that women are a distinct species, different from males. We have our own perspective and we are pack animals by nature. We thrive when we are part of a pack of other women who are goal-oriented and have our best interests—and the interests of the group—in mind. Our group believes in fidelity, fearlessness, femininity and fabulousness. We can help one another be the best damn woman she can be by being there as a trusted support system for each other.

Angelica now knows that she has the undying support of twelve very special women and that they are relying her on just as much. After the oath was sworn, the lights were brought back up and a waiter delivered a bottle of champagne. Angelica had the honor of popping the cork, the waiter poured, and we all toasted to her future.

Dinner was French and fabulous. George Perrier’s Le Bec-Fin does an old-world dining experience where the food and service is impeccable. There are now thirteen in our clique, and seven of us are married. Marital status notwithstanding, the subject of men always comes up. Angelica asked what we thought about our waiter. Bea said she thought he was a gargoyle. Lauren said that he was hideous. To be fair, he wasn’t so ugly that the sight of him would make your food taste bad, but the guy was far from being easy on the eyes. Angelica snickered and said she kind of liked the sexy-ugly thing—but she wasn’t into old dudes.

The table exploded in an uproar. (And Le Bec-Fin is not the kind of place where a table has an outburst.) The man had to be thirty-five tops. Old? Hardly. But that is the taste of reality that we, as a group, need. To a twenty-one-year-old, thirty-five is o-l-d. Angelica looked pleased with the results of her statement. She said that she would bring us ladies back to reality.

Now, we don’t think of ourselves as a bunch of thirty-somethings out on the town trying to hook up with every pair of tight trousers that walks by, but we are a group of social women who are out in the city for lunches, dinners, events, and the occasional drink with a chaser of debauchery. So, I guess, just because we don’t fancy ourselves to be the Philadelphia version of the cast of a beloved television series, it doesn’t mean that others don’t see us this way.

We left Le-Bec for PURE, deciding to walk. Walnut Street, in Rittenhouse, at this time on a hot Saturday night in the summer, was buzzing with people. There were the al fresco diners at the numerous restaurants sitting at café tables while pedestrian traffic perused the portion sizes on their plates, and then there were people who were heading to one of the many bars or nightclubs. A group of power brokers who looked like they’d been partying since happy hour stopped and let us pass. One guy was particularly conspicuous. “Sexy-ugly?” I asked Angelica. “That’s it.” she said wryly.

PURE is one of the city’s hot spots and it has a VIP section. VIP in Philly means that you get bottle service and don’t have to stand at the bar to order a drink. In cities like Los Angeles, New York and Miami VIP sections are filled with celebrities. In Philadelphia, if you can afford it, you get to be a celebrity for a night.

We had a table reservation for 11 o’clock and made it there just in time. A table for thirteen hot ladies is going to get a lot of attention, especially when it comes loaded with the obligatory seven bottles of booze. That’s the deal—there’s a two-bottle minimum on a table of four to six people. So, when I made the reservation for thirteen, they made me buy five bottles; they threw in two.

The VIP attendant who originally arrived at the table to pour our drinks looked to be about the same age as Angelica. Her skirt was nearly nonexistent, and her top showed so much cleavage that one could see the glimmer of her nipple ring. She was smoking hot, but I was not having it.

I spoke to the manager, and a tall, lean waiter replaced her. His black jeans were snug, and suffice to say, he filled them in in all the right places. He too looked to be about the same age as Angelica, but this time it was perfectly fine, and so was he. He was earning his tips by politely bending over to pour our vodka tonics and Manhattans. He also knew enough to call you “miss” or “sweetheart” when handing you a drink. There were no ma’ams at this VIP table—not tonight.

PURE has approximately a thousand-person capacity and the VIP holds about two-fifty. Tonight the fire marshal would be on-call. The place was packed with mostly happy, sweaty party people. Men of all ages shuffled in and out of our immediate vicinity. We all love to dance, so there were very few moments when we were all at the table at the same time. When I happened to leave the dance floor, Angelica and Lisa were at the table and there were a few guys sitting with them. One was really model-hot and was sitting in Angelica’s personal space. She was not impressed, and after he said that he had never done a mother and daughter together, his time was up and I politely asked him to leave.

I thought he’d be a prince about it, but instead drama ensued. He spat a few choice expletives and started to get in my face when a nice man from the next table stepped in. This gentleman was in our age category, and he must’ve thought his formidable size would intimidate the skinnier nuisance. But he was wrong. The model guy pushed the big guy over. He may have tripped or fell, but either way he landed on his butt. This caused all the men sitting at his table to stand up and come over. I thought an all-out brawl was about to erupt.

From all of the hoopla appeared our young waiter. He slipped one hand under the skinny, rude guy’s arm and the other on his throat. He lifted the man off of his feet and promptly removed him from the VIP section and out of sight. The men from the other table settled down and the manager had scantily clad girls pouring complimentary drinks in the matter of minutes.

As for our table, the young waiter reappeared about half an hour later. Last call had already been announced by the DJ and some of our clique had left. Lisa, Angelica, and I sat quietly, sipping our final drink, and the waiter asked if he could take a seat. He liked Angelica, and it showed. I mean, come on, not only was he dreamy to look at, but he had just vanquished a fearsome foe in honor of this young lady.

He whispered a little something in her ear. She whispered back. He smiled and nodded and said “Of course.” Then she asked Lisa and me if we were going to after-hours, and we both shook our heads “no.”

“I’m going to go with Paolo.” She announced.

“Okay, I’ll see you there,” he said and disappeared into the thinning crowd.

The three of us raised our glasses and once again toasted to Angelica’s future. Then we all laughed. I had to ask what she whispered in his ear. What was it that he said “of course” to?

Angelica said she asked Paolo if he had ever kissed a guy before. I was taken aback a bit. “Really?” I asked her.

“So hot.” Angelica replied. “So hot.”

Lisa laughed and said, “Like mother, like daughter.”

That’s when I remembered Lisa’s life-long thing for David Bowie. I laughed too.

——————————————————————————————-

I will still be answering my readers’ questions, so send them, along with comments on The D Files to me at help@letlettyhelp.com. All submitted material is considered for publication and all names are kept in the strictest of confidence. Come back next month for more of The D Files. Read more of my work at: http://letlettyhelp.blogspot.com/, http://fixmylove.com

©MMX Letty Livingston ~The D Files are intended as inspiring and engaging sources for advice and not alternatives for therapeutic intervention, should it be needed. All names have been changed to protect the identity of the people mentioned herein.

“I love my husband but I find myself constantly imagining making love to someone else when I’m with him.”

“Sometimes I pretend I’m a single woman. I have friends that don’t even know I’m married and have three children.”

“I’m happy I became sick, because if I never did, I wouldn’t see how important life really is and I would have never changed my ways.”

“I love my best friend. I know we can’t be together but I don’t think I’ll be able to get over him because we have such a great connection—I’d rather love him and be frustrated, than find someone else and not feel so great around him.”

“My mother is so evil, sometimes I wish she would get sick and pass away so I wouldn’t have to deal with her anymore.”

“Every Thursday I tell my husband I’m going to see a therapist, when really I’m having private yoga sessions with a hot male instructor.”

-Anonymous Confessions

Inside the True Romance gift set ($60), you’ll find a fragrant product for each part of the bod. Bath bombs (really fun to watch fizz before your eyes and over your body) and emotibombs (meant for sharing), a delightfully rose-scented yin-yang shaped soap, a heart shaped massage bar with a chocolate center, shower gel,  and a honey flavored lip balm.

The shower gel included is their Flying Fox, with ingredients said to help PMS: honey and jasmine. Combined they smell great and give you a sense of well being and soft skin.  But men like it just as much as women, so you and your guy can share. And it can also double as a shampoo!

And the lip balm is Honey Trap, made from Shea butter, olive oil, honey, beeswax, white chocolate, and vanilla for ultra-kissable lips. Truly addictive!

Check out other great products from LUSH, like their version of a Pumice Stone (body butter with tiny pumice stone pieces) called Running To The Embassy, $11.65, and worth every penny!

Then, make your foot extra smooth and moisturized with their amazing mask for feet! Put Volcano Foot Mask ($20) on your feet, wrap your tootsies up in plastic bags or cling wrap, wait 20 minutes, and rinse.  It’ll bring you from flats to sandals weather and back again. You’re dry heels with thank you!

One afternoon my brother-in-law came over to borrow our car in order to go out with his friends. Much later on in the night, a phone call from my father-in-law woke us up. My brother-in-law had been in an accident and was taken to the hospital. My husband went to the hospital to see him. I stayed home with our two small sons who were sleeping, oblivious to what was happening. Upon his return, my husband sadly informed me that my brother-in-law had passed away on his way to the hospital. I felt a sudden sadness upon hearing the tragic news and quietly remembered him from the first time I met him. I knew that I was going to miss him terribly. I felt a void in my heart that began to hurt.

All the students from my brother-in-law’s high school attended his funeral, as well as many other friends of the family and relatives, making the procession to the cemetery incredibly long. After an emotional day, we retired for the evening in hopes of much needed sleep.

In the wee hours of the morning the day after his funeral, dogs barking from the surrounding orchard woke me. I felt a sensation on my nose, as if someone had tweaked it, and my nose got icy-cold even though it was a warm night. I turned on the light and woke my husband. I told him that someone must’ve been outside because the dogs had been barking loudly. I also told him that my nose felt ice-cold. He touched it and was amazed at how cold it felt.

“It’s your brother coming to say good-bye,” I told my husband.

I felt better knowing that he came to tell me that he was all right where he was. Although my brother-in-law has been gone for quite some time, it seems like it was only yesterday that I last saw him. He remains in my heart to this day.

—Josie Ruiz, California

If you’ve ever bought a smoothie while you were out, you know how expensive they are. Invest in a sturdy glass blender (the kind where the steel blades don’t come out) and you’ll have better than smoothie shop quality smoothies. Not only will it pay for itself, but you’ll know how fresh the ingredients are and where you got them!

INGREDIENTS:

1 banana

1/2 cup of frozen or fresh red raspberries (or strawberries)

1/2 cup of frozen or fresh black raspberries (or blueberries)

1/2 cup of fat -free yogurt (plain or strawberry)

And if you used fresh fruit, you’ll need a 1/2 cup of ice

DIRECTIONS:

Blend the banana, ice, raspberries, and yogurt for about 60 seconds. Cut up a few raspberries, small enough to fit through a straw, and put a few pieces at the bottom of the cup. Now pour the smoothie in. Finish at the top with more pieces and enjoy.

For those of you keeping up with the D Files in True Romance magazine, here is Bea’s backstory about her estranged child (supplement to the April 2010 issue)

Bea was calm and even-toned as she recalled the story of how she was lied to by Tyler when they were married. She was playing the good wife, staying home after shaving his back, as he went to shake his moneymaker for lewd and lascivious women. He came home disinterested in sex but smelling like one would imagine a whorehouse would. She talked about how she cried for Tyler to try to get her pregnant. She so wanted a baby with him. He didn’t want one. He always told her she was not old enough to be a good mother.

When Tyler left and never called, she was frantic. She didn’t sleep for a week and had her brother-in-law Guido, who was a NYC detective, look into it. Guido found Tyler in the matter of a few hours. He was at the gym, at the clubs, and at his regular tanning appointments. It was as if he was living life as usual except for coming home to Bea. Guido also found out where Tyler was laying his head at night. He reported to Bea that Tyler was shacking up with some hotshot lawyer’s daughter, in New Jersey.

The news shot through Bea like a lightening bolt. She fell into a state of shock and despair. She began showing up to work late and was in a zombie-like daze. Her boss, a tragically odd and strangely handsome multimillionaire, didn’t want to see Bea in such pain. She told us how he put her up at the Four Seasons in the city and sent her for massages and limo rides to and from work. He began treating her like a princess, which helped her feel a sense of self-worth again.

Then one Friday night, her boss showed up at her suite at the Four Seasons. He was drunk and so was she. He was tired of his life as a dad with two kids and having a wife he was with for the last twenty or so years. Bea was so sick of feeling alone. She let him in, they ordered champagne, and undressed each other. They remained there for the entire weekend—eating, drinking and pretending that they were okay together. There were no empty condom wrappers. Bea admitted to wanting to get back at Tyler. She would show him. She was old enough to be a mother. She didn’t need him. She had a millionaire now.

Bea had moved into an apartment on the Westside in the short span that Tyler was away. When he came back to their home on the Eastside, all of her stuff was gone—closets bare, drawers left askew and with nothing in them, pictures removed from frames, and an unforgettable stillness. Her new place was way out of her league—well, unless it was rent-controlled. But even then, the building was the home to A-list actors and celebrities and some of the cities’ biggest names in the restaurant business.

For a couple of months, Bea and her odd millionaire lived in a state of manufactured bliss. They played house and made love on every square inch of surface area. They went to the Grammy Awards, red carpet openings of new nightclubs and restaurants, and flew to Europe every weekend in his private jet. They lived life in the clouds. They were both afraid to put their feet on the ground; for fear that reality would surge back to them with a vengeance.

After three months of dreamlike luxury and a day after Bea told her millionaire that they were going to have a baby, she was served with a restraining order. She wasn’t to come within 100 yards of her now estranged lover. The locks were changed on the apartment and the doorman had her belongings behind his desk, waiting for her. She called her job, and even her away message was changed. She was out of a job, a home, and out on the street at 19 years of age, in a city that ate up even the strongest of our breed.

She headed east, to her not-so-old nest where Tyler was still living. She buzzed and was let in without questioning. She got out of the elevator and her heart was in her throat. She didn’t want to go back, at least not like this—homeless and pregnant with another man’s child. She pressed the L button and went back down. She wasn’t going to swallow her pride.

Once in the lobby of her old building, she opened her mobile phone and called a friend of her wealthy ex. He was an older man who always ogled Bea, and she knew he had various real estate investments around the city. She was in luck; he answered his phone and was happy to assist as long as Bea knew that she’d have to scratch his back too. Within an hour, she was lying on an overstuffed mattress in a huge apartment in Battery Park. It was an artist’s loft—three thousand or so square feet of the sweetest space in the city with an unobstructed view of the still-standing World Trade Center.

She lived there for a month. She could hardly stand the smell of the old guy who owned the place and visited a few times a week to pick up the “rent.” Then a neighbor introduced her to an Academy Award-winning actor who owned a good deal of real estate in Tribeca. So, she packed her bags and spent some time on the arm of an ostentatious actor. She dodged paparazzi and used only back doors to enter and exit buildings. When her baby bump got too big, the actor’s handlers thought it would be detrimental to his career if she was found to be living with—not to mention sleeping with—this world famous man.

This is when she admitted to calling Tyler. They met at Time Café, and it was tense. She knew she wanted her old, simpler life back. She liked—no, strike that—loved money and all that came with it, but she also loved Tyler and the small, not-so-complicated life they once shared. She told him what had happened. They both made their apologies and then she dropped the question in his lap. She asked if he’d take her back, if he were willing to start anew with her and her baby. He said no. And just like that, they were finished.

Unbeknownst to Bea, Tyler had filed for a divorce. He told her that the papers were being mailed to her grandmother’s home in Philly. She said he did this because no one knew where to find her and that he knew she’d show up at her grandmother’s eventually. A light bulb went on over her head—the idea of moving to Philly sounded wise.

She said goodbye to Tyler and spent a couple more weeks in New York City ensuring that her connections with the rich and famous were intact, and then she hopped on an Amtrak train and showed up at her grandmother’s home in Center City, Philadelphia. Betsy already had a room set up for Bea. She knew she’d show up.

Divorce papers weren’t the only legal documents waiting for Bea. There were a couple of other envelopes, with the names of some noteworthy law firms on them, sitting in a pile. Bea was now seven months pregnant and wasn’t fairing too well. Her OB-GYN told her that bedrest and good eating was all that was important right now and that the less stress the better.

So, Bea let her grandmother Betsy take good care of her for six or so weeks. She didn’t open any of the mail that waited for her. She didn’t want to be divorced when she delivered her baby, even though Tyler would not be listed on the birth certificate. And she couldn’t have possibly imagined that anything that pressing would have found her in Philly.

Catch up with Bea in the April 2010 issue of True Romance!

Hollywood’s biggest day of the year is this Sunday. Here are celebrity snapshots “before & after” style. Holy makeover!

Click here to see Brad, Angie, Demi & many more! Courtesy www.sixwise.com

I’m really into rock climbing, but my boyfriend, Jason, is afraid of heights. I thought our relationship was doomed. However, after seeing my passion for the sport, he started taking climbing lessons and worked on getting over his fear. Now, he is just as into climbing as I am, if not more, and we enjoy challenging ourselves on new courses together.

—Amanda Harris, Ithaca, NY

We all know that women have come a long way since the 20’s and on, but what about this past decade?

Equality Now, a non-profit international human rights organization dedicated to political, social, civil, and economic rights for females, has published a list of discriminatory laws in 1999 from 45 countries in order to address legalized honor killings, a woman’s right to a divorce withheld, as well as her right to say no to her husband.

Because of that publication, progress has been made!

In Algeria, wife obedience is no longer legal. In Costa Rica, Ethiopia, Guatemala, Peru, and Uruguay, rapists are no longer exempt from punishment if they married their victims.

In France, it’s now legal for a woman to work at night.

In Haiti, Jordan, and Morocco, there is no longer an exemption from penalty for men who murdered their wives and/or female relatives in certain circumstances (i.e. honor killings).

India, Malaysia, Papua New Guinea, Serbia, and Montenegro, Tongo no longer legally allow marital rape.

Kuwait has now granted women the right to vote.

In Latvia (near Lithuania), women are allowed to work overtime and travel for work during pregnancy and one year after childbirth.

Mexico no longer has a legal restriction on the amount of time a woman has to wait in order to remarry after a divorce or widowhood.

These are all wonderful victories for women on both the Eastern and Western Hemispheres! Let’s remember all the women who have risked their lives to make the world more equal for the next generation.

What woman has inspired you to promote equality?