Is changing who you are when you date someone really a bad thing?

I remember yelling it out in the middle of an argument, “I DO NOT want to be your camp counselor!”

I was married then, and it was some disagreement we’d had a thousand times over more than a decade together. But it was the first time I’d said that one thing aloud. It was the first time I saw my role in our relationship so clearly.

I had a metaphorical clipboard and it was holding stacks of Post-It note to-do lists and unpaid bills and books on parenting and doctor appointments and retirement strategies and recipes for meals all of us could agree on. I was tired and overwhelmed and the only thing I could do in that moment was blow my whistle. Loudly. And hope that the camper I was married to would step into a leadership role.

That’s harsh, I know. But it was our dynamic. And it was even harsher a year later, well into my divorce, when I realized how accountable I was for promoting myself into the the role of Camp Counselor and then keeping myself gainfully employed there for so many years.

I trashed the clipboard and whistle and dated with the intention of never being the Camp Counselor again.

To some degree, I was successful. However, in shedding my Camp DivorceAMonga t-shirt and plastic friendship bracelets, I didn’t realize I’d be so open to wearing different (and maybe equally as concerning) identities.

I wanted to date different kinds of men, try on who I was with them, see what life was like with a corporate lawyer, a photographer, a much-younger man, someone older. That was good for me, and it stretched out my expectations of relationships. Plus, it was fun. Camp Counselors don’t end up eating a dinner of candy and cheap beer with a 26-year old hipster at midnight. They are too worried about the plan for Sunday morning to stay for the 2 a.m. jazz show at an underground club. Camp Counselors roll their eyes at attorneys on the other side of a pharmaceutical class action lawsuit.

Keep reading here to find out about the men I chose and what they brought out in me. 

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Silversun Pickups drop it on Mitt Romney

It's been a while since I posted about music or politics, but I can't keep my fingers from tapping away as soon as the two intertwine. 

I got a little giddy to read that a band I love I can now love even more. Silversun Pickups, who are connected to one of my favorite bloggy ladies of all time, Grace Davis, issued a cease-and-desist order to the Romney campaign to stop using their song "Panic Switch."

According to Huffington Post, the band's statement includes this gem from frontman Brian Aubert:

"We don't like people going behind our backs, using our music without asking, and we don't like the Romney campaign. We're nice, approachable people. We won't bite. Unless you're Mitt Romney!"

They join the ranks of Tom Petty and David Byrne, who have kindly and legally asked Republican politicians to not use their music without asking permission.

No matter what party you belong to, don't put art out on a national stage for an historical event without doing the due diligence and extoling the respect to ask permission for use. It's not cool. 

Applause to you, Silversun Pickups, for standing up for the integrity of your song and artistic rights. I can't wait to see what the encore sounds like.

Let's all enjoy the song that may have a certain some-candidate's PR folk sweating and spinning right about now. It's always been super liberal to me. 

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Experiments in shoplifting with a kid

I have a beautiful Coach bag my mother bought me for Christmas. The robin’s egg-blue patent leather is crisp and shiny. The logo is small and the bag is not showy, but it’s nice. Admittedly, we picked it out at the Coach outlet, sharply discounted and then marked off even more with a coupon. I’ve always wanted a Coach bag, and so it’s as pragmatic as the luxury of having one will get for me.

I’ve carried it almost everywhere I’ve gone since the snow finally melted and springtime pastels became acceptable again. As lovely as it looks with my nautical stripes and maxi dresses, there’s something wrong.

My Coach bag has a big problem. 

To read what it is -- and the big problem of how people react -- please make one tiny click on over to Sassafrass Says So.

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