Tag Archives: dating

Goin’ To The Chapel And We’re…

No. Not me. I am not getting married, but a friend of mine (Big Show) is and I voluntarily immersed myself in the sea of wedding stuff. It has been a conversation between Big Show and I for the past month and it has me thinking….is marriage all that bad?

Truth be told, my parents have been together for about 40 years and they are both relatively young (in an old person young kinda way), so they might have another 40 years to go. That’s 80 years with the same person….day in….day out. Their mud butts, their farts, their snores, their laughs, their illnesses, their boogers….80 years. The thought of that makes me sweat and break out into hives.

But the flip side is (and yes, I am officially acknowledging the actual flip side to marriage–ugh) love. My parents love one another. The two recent couples I witnessed jumping the broom clearly love one another. Marriage is complicated, no doubt about that, but if the bond is love….isn’t that enough?

Sifting through all of this wedding crap is fun in a girly kinda way, but in the end when everything is stripped away and it is just the bride and her groom that is where the fun begins. Thinking of it that way doesn’t make it so scary. Could I actually consider marriage again? Mmmmmmm……idunno. That 80 year thing kinda has me spooked. For now, though, I will leave the fluffy dresses and flowers to Big Show. I’ll giggle and sift through a bajillion bridal mags all the while pretending not to be breaking out into hives 😛

~SM

 

What IS This, Exactly?

I am not one for a bunch of emotion. I think these past two years have been the most outwardly emotional I have been in quite some time (or maybe ever). I know what those look/feel like. I know what fear looks like; I know what joy feels like; I know what anger says….but as of late I am a walking cesspool of butterflies and smiles. WTF is that???

I caught myself smiling at the ceiling at work one morning–lost in thought. I found myself battling butterflies and squishy insides one afternoon. I called Brooklyn yesterday and literally screamed in her ear for no reason other than just to get whatever this crap is out. What is happening to me?

I left my car keys hanging in the car door. I left my office keys hanging in my desk drawer. I can barely string together a sentence or comprehend what people are saying because my brain is like scrambled eggs (gosh that sounds good right now…I’m starving…see what I mean…lost focus). My heart skips beats and I swear I blush about 50 times a day. I am a walking, barely talking skin bag full of squishiness and fog.

Even now I sit with butterflies in my belly, floating from one end to another. Do I have some sort of disease? Is it Shingles? I have had chicken pox, you know. Scarlet Fever? The Flu? It’s not crabs because my gentiles don’t itch. And, no, I am not with child–this uterus is on lock down. Perhaps the Zombie Virus is a real thing and my body is fighting it with a vengeance? Whatever is happening, it feels funky but it feels good. I feel like I am floating beyond Cloud 9.

~SM

Young Gun: The Kiddie Mix & Mingle

Young Gun came in knowing I had children. He understood the dynamic of my family life. He knew my rules about coming to the house, and meeting the children. He was patient and kind with it all. Still is actually.  The children understood I would date. They understood there would be phone conversations and dates on kid-free weekends. The children knew I would not bring anyone into their lives or their home with out careful consideration. Everyone understood that separation, for me, was paramount. Soooo why now does it seem like everyone is moving ahead and I am standing still?

When I left The He, I had a long list of rules. I would not date anyone right away. I would not sleep with anyone right away. No one was allowed in my home. No one was allowed to meet the children. (There are more, but I won’t dare bore you with the rest) I have stuck to every rule, except now, things are moving faster and they are changing.

One of the many bullet points in the parental job description is to protect. As a parent, my job is to shield the kids from as much harm as I can. Logically, I know I can’t protect them from life itself, but I can protect them from the mistakes I make. What if it doesn’t work? What if we end up hating each other? What if it’s too soon? What if the kids love him but he doesn’t like them? What if he gets too attached? What if we all get too attached? There is an intricate web being weaved here and I am desperately trying not to get the kids caught.

I suppose it is a mute point, right now anyway. No one is hanging out with anybody just yet. I still have to wrap my head around a few things as it is. When the time is right, when I am comfortable with it enough to consider letting both parties mingle, it will happen. Until then, I just need for the outside to slow down….just a little.

~SM

Changing Status

There. I said it. I have been keeping it close to the chest for a few days now, unsure of the reaction it would elicit (unsure of my own reaction).

It feels strange. Not that anything has changed per say, but just the fact that there is now another layer being added to our–uhh–The Us is an odd fit (saying the word ‘relationship’ when speaking of the romantic variety is hard to actually say…it gets stuck in my throat…it’s a work in progress).

For the past 5 months or so, Young Gun and I have been conversing on a friendly (but a little more than friendly) level. Butterflies, stolen flirty glances, and swift middle school kisses have floated in and out of our pretend relationship for a while. I made sure to keep all options open (as did he) and just simply enjoy the pretend. Funny thing about pretending–if you do it long enough, you are bound to start the real thing.

Quite honestly (despite the apparent inability to say the word ‘relationship’), I am happier. He does not expect me or want me to be anything other than myself. He totally digs my fro, prefers jeans, sneeks, and a naked face over 5″ heels and short skirts, and believes I can do whatever I put my mind to. When I told him about The Marathon, he didn’t double over in laughter for 10 minutes (yes…that actually happened to me before). When my hair is huge & ridiculously fro-ish, he gives me a high five and smiles. When he sees me in jeans and a tee shirt, it is like metal to a magnet. I can say weird stuff or laugh at terrible jokes or drag him to see awful chick flicks and he accepts it all. He constantly reminds me to not open the door for myself or carry things when he is around.  He knows which weekends are my free weekends without me ever saying a word. He is respectful of my children and the space I require for them. I. Am. Happier.

I am still riding this ride one day at a time. I am still just having fun. I am still just keeping pace. I am still putting focus where it is needed. There is no pressure to be anything other than myself; no pressure to do anything other than what I do; no pressure to go where I don’t normally go. He is simple. This is simple. We are simple. And after the long journey I had before, simple (and slow) is just fine by me. Now…about those wedding dresses….(NOT!)  😛

~SM

Valentine’s Day (Where For Art Thou [My] Romeo?)

Valentine’s Day. Completely and totally overrated if you ask me. It is basically men running around buying gifts trying to make up for 364 days of smelly farts, missed timing, and general ass clown guy stuff. Women stand at the ready waiting for said gifts and gushes of Hallmark provoked affection. I hate Valentine’s Day (Grinch style) which is why this year (technically next year since this is December), I plan on joining in the fray (gotta get passed what you abhor, right).  What do they say? If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em? Yea. That. Only I plan on doing it better. I am celebrating alone.

When you go through a break up, the holidays are almost an automatic thought. What about Christmas? What about the New Year? What about….Valentine’s Day?! I will be all alone. No flowers (but he didn’t give them to you anyway), no cards (uh….ok), no presents (yea…another piece of jewelry you didn’t ask for), no dates (dinner and a movie…again)….just………loneliness (cue flat line for death by lonely). I cannot tell a lie, I totally had all of those thoughts, and when I verbalized them to a friend she told me she loved Valentine’s day. “I love on myself extra special that day. I don’t have to have someone else to love–loving me is enough.” Suddenly, finding Romeo didn’t seem so pressing….but I found him anyway.

This Valentine’s Day I will be spending a beautiful evening with Romeo…and Juliet….and a few hundred people. I will be at the ballet–alone and perfectly content with the company.  For a couple of years now I have watched The Atlanta Ballet’s Romeo & Juliet production sell out because I didn’t want to go alone, but this go ’round I refused to be victim to stupidity.

Love is not (and should not) be reserved for February 14th. Duh. We know this. However, it generally is and, because I have entered into a new relationship with myself, I want to treat me the way I feel I should be treated. And a romantic evening, dressed up, enjoying an expensive dinner at a restaurant with cloth napkins to celebrate the commercially decided day of love seems like as good a place as any to start. Oh Romeo. Romeo. Where for art thou [my] Romeo? For starters, he will be on stage dancing in pastel tights purely for my enjoyment. Now after the tights come off…well…that’s a completely different story 😉

~SM

Sex and The Naked Vagina

Brooklyn and I were having our regular girly, whiny text session one Sunday evening when the subject of sex and the holidays came up. It was inevitable I suppose. I’m alone. She’s alone. Its cuffing season and it’s cold. The whining about cuddling up in front of a fire or tv or movie screen with some one of the opposite sex was about to come up eventually. And….so was sex.

When you are married, sex is never an issue unless he/she is repulsive, there are multiple children, or he/she is broken somehow. When you are single, things get tricky. When do you have sex? And who do you have sex with? And what the hell do you do with your vagina?! (Note: I am a virgin, so this does not apply to me, but it applies for those people who are not 35 year old virgins)

Steve Harvey says 90 days at least. But what if he is extremely hot and (or) you are completely drunk? What if it’s winter time and you are lonely? What if he buys you lunch? What if just a nice guy holding the door open for you at the dry cleaner? What if you are both fat and flawed? Is it ok then?

And then there is the vagina. The perfect line on the subject comes from Scandal when Mellie tells Fitz that she “gave up waxing and it’s like 1976 down there”. Just like our legs and underarms in the winter (when we can hide behind tights/pants/sweaters), when there’s no Action Jackson happening the vagina gets a little vacay too…right? So you decide it’s time to Action Jackson with the door-holder-opener guy at the dry cleaner. What do you do with your vacationing vagina? Do you strip it clean? Do you bedazzle it? Do you make furry designs? And (a little off subject) do the wax people see your whole jay? I don’t even like my o.b. down there poking around let alone some perky spa lady.

Once you finally decide to Action Jackson with the dry cleaner guy and show your sparkly jay off, what do you wear? Do you go all Fredericks of Hollywood or nerdy night gown? Does he go to your place or his?

As you can clearly see, I have no answers…just questions (being a virgin n all)…and when Brooklyn and I were trying to sort through the fray, we both ended up with a headache. It’s too confusing to figure out and it’s too clumsy of a thing to iron out in the moment. I threw my hands up in the air and informed her that it was all just too much trouble. Eat pie instead–it won’t call you later or bug you to death.

~SM

Simple Girl or Just Lazy?

worstoutfitever23

So, I have a date on Saturday. It is with Young Gun, who I have been conversing with regularly for a couple of months now. Unfortunately, due to my schedule and his we don’t seem to find the time to enjoy one another’s company often. This weekend, however, we set aside the time to do just that. With that being said, I have a very first-world-problem situation happening. What do I wear?

I am a simple gal. Sweats, ball caps, bandanas, sneaks, GAP sweatshirts, and baggy tees are my thing. Sure I like to throw on the make-up and the heels Monday through Friday for the office show, but on the weekend I take dressing down to a whole new level. That makes me wonder though…is that being simple or is that just being lazy? Does it say I am confident enough to look like a truck driver on purpose or does it just lend a huge helping hand to me not caring about my appearance at all?

When I mumbled under my breath that I would have to find something to wear, YG replied: Honestly, just wear shoes that make you low to the ground, your hair in that cute little fro, jeans and a tee. No need to get dressed up or wear heels or anything. To this I responded: Excuse me sir, but I don’t do that. I dress up Monday through Friday, but the weekends are dedicated to baseball hats, workout clothes and sweatshirts. So…that’s what you’ll get.  According to Tobago and Emily, I am not allowed to do that.

When discussing with them what I should wear, they both adamantly said no to the compression pants and the GAP sweatshirt. Emily emphatically shot down the baseball cap. *sad face* “You’re going on a date!” she said. “Ok, if you have been married to him for 40 years, throw on a hat and sweats, but you haven’t. No hats of any kind.” Tobago said she would hunt me down if I wore workout clothes. *sigh*

When do you know which is which–laziness or simple? And what fashion caters to either one that doesn’t involve yoga pants and holey tee shirts? It is safe to say that I probably won’t rock the baseball hat (although I am highly tempted) and I probably won’t wear my running pants either (even though they suck in my stomach like Spanx). I will probably slip into something plain Jane simple–something where I can sit with my legs open–and enjoy the company all the while wondering if I am just a simple chick or a lazy one. Perhaps I will opt for being just a simple kinda gal who enjoys being comfy with a slight fashionably lazy potential.

~SM

Freestyle Friday: First Date

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Today marks a major accomplishment. I am going on a date. Yes, an actual date with dinner, movies, make-up and everything. I have been on dates before, since the split, and they have been okay. One dude bought me drinks and dinner and we sat talking for hours. Another guy tried to lay his head on my shoulder–ummm, no. This one dude stood me up so I guess that can’t be considered as an actual date, and the last guy made me laugh and feel so comfortable I did not want the night to end. All of those experiences were nice, sure, but nothing is going to beat this.

Nothing is going to beat coming home, slipping into the shower, smelling great and looking better. Nothing will beat jamming to some awesome hype music, waiting to be seated and enjoying dinner. Nothing can beat standing in the movie ticket line, finding a seat, and hunkering down for a thrilling two hour ride.  Nothing beats doing all of that….alone.

Yup, alone. I am taking myself out on a first date. It was not exactly what I was anticipating for my first date. I had actually bought tickets to the symphony but seeing how they can’t get it together (strike situation) going to dinner and a movie (Gone Girl…yay!) is the next best thing.

It is important (so I have heard) to date oneself. I am finding that out. I have never been afraid of doing things alone, but purposefully having my mind set on making plans for me and only me is new. Getting dressed up, treating myself as if I am on an actual date (minus the out loud pleasantries–I don’t want to seem too bat shit crazy) is an entirely new experience. I have actually been excited for it since Wednesday. It has given me a chance to look forward to getting better acquainted with a VIP….me. Can’t go wrong with that 😛

~SM

And Then There Was…

One. And then there was one. In my head, after those words come slip-sliding in my brain, I hear some guy (Neil Diamond maybe?) singing that one is the loneliest number that there ever will be. I am not quite sure if there’s truth in that statement…at least not from where I stand. One isn’t quite the loneliest number…right? You can be lonely no matter how large or small the digit.

After having a men-are-ass-clowns text bash session with a friend of mine (pretty much one sided–she is more mature in those matters), I realized that perhaps not all men suck, but, still, I am not making plans to stick around to find out.

No, I do not intend to go all Gone Girl (great book by the way), but I think it is time for me to simply to shut the door on men until I can stomach them again. Right now I think I am too angry and too simple for any company. I am putting myself in time out. I am taking myself down to the loneliest number there ever will be.

Love is fine. Romance is fine. Dating is okay. Late night phone calls and sweet text exchanges are butterfly worthy, however, this girl has no time to spare for any of it. Maybe later. Maybe when I am done playing catch up to the years wasted–err–put on hold. Maybe when I get bored with myself. For now, though, I am completely over it.

My friend said that I needed peace. She was right. I need peace. Not the om-yoga-Super-Soul-Sunday peace, but the type of get up, no worries, & breathe peace. I cannot possibly cultivate peace with hangers on. The truth of the matter is that love is scary, thus disturbing my zen. Romance is flighty, thus disturbing my schedule. Dating is time consuming, thus disturbing my relaxation. Late night conversations are stupid, thus disturbing my sleep pattern. Sweet text exchanges fall in line with romance only lazier, thus disturbing my day. Certainly there can be no peace found in any of that. It all requires me to make room for someone else and quite honestly, I have no room. My plate is pretty full. Once it’s clean–perhaps I can give it the ol’ college try, but until then….well….you know how it goes ‘one is the loneliest number that there ever will be’ and that is just alright with me.

~SM

Young Gun: Yoga Pants and Boy Stink

Ever decide to go against the grain and find yourself in your Friday cleaning clothes smelling of sweat & boy deodorant stink on a sorta-date? No? Never? Hmmm….Perhaps that’s just me.

Friday evening I found myself at the Old House packing up and throwing away. The plan was not to stay there for hours. The plan was quite simple: pick up kids from school, drop them off at The He’s house, do a little damage for about an hour, hug goodbye (uh…the kids…The He isn’t included in displays of affection), and go home to get dressed.

I had the perfect outfit all primed and ready to go. A cute little gray and black number with my fave pair of five inch black booties would suit the occasion just fine: Me Time. No, I wasn’t celebrating anything really…just a sorta coming up for air is all. A cute dress, some good eye make up, glossed lips, an amazing salad paired with a chilled glass of wine and a comfy bar-side seat was just what the Friday Teen/Pre-teen Child Free Doc ordered.

The He came to the Old House with a packing plan hatched. I had no formal plans, no dates to worry about canceling (just Me Time…sigh) so I stayed and moved and sweated and packed.

By 8:00pm I had worked up a sweat and all of us had worked up an appetite. Off to get food The He and I go. My phone rings and to my surprise its Young Gun. He wants to see me. Now? I look awful, I say. Ok, so, he says. He had sort of a bad moment at work and wanted to hang….with me. Yoga pants, dirty t-shirt and all.

I mentioned the fact that I looked like I had just left a random late night Wal-Mart excursion, but he seemed not to care. Besides, we are just friends and friends see one another in all sorts of get ups. Yoga pants and dirt t-shirts wouldn’t be the worst thing a girl could wear.

I put on the only deodorant stashed away in the car…Kid 1’s Right Guard sport something. The girly smelling Dove I kept in the car had disappeared. I found a practically empty bottle of girly lotion and attempted to cover up the boy stink deodorant. Not a great sorta-date first impression, but it was better than flat out stinking.

The moment I saw Young Gun, the terrible outfit and boy stink dissipated. No, not because he took my breath away in that Nicolas Sparks movie kinda way, but because I felt completely comfortable and accepted. It also didn’t hurt that when he saw me he said “You had me worried. I thought you’d be all tore up….but u still look pretty to me”.

We spent the next hour laughing and talking in the late summer night air. No make up. No heels. No dress. No perfume. No Spanx. Just me. Just little old me, giddy about the pumpkin spice latte and the good company.

With every passing day I am learning to accept myself where I am, how I am, why I am and who I am. And not that it matters much what Young Gun accepts of me or thinks, but that night I felt light….free. For him, in that moment, the bells and whistles didn’t quite matter. All he wanted was company…my company…sweaty tee, boy stink and all.

~SM