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Ode to Online Dating

2 Nov

I met him online, we chatted for a while

He likes awesome music and knows how to make me smile

Spent hours on the phone with him, like I was 16

Sent him links to songs I like, stared hours at the screen

We spent an awesome evening, playing music at the park

My heart skipped a beat when he kissed me in the dark

I know I barely know him, I should probably take it slow

Instead I just forget myself and go with the flow

My phone hums, my heart skips a beat

It might be the man I’m waiting to meet

He’ll send me a short silly nonchalant text

I’ll read between the lines, and figure out the rest

My phone hums, he wants us to meet

Tonight at the park, my heart skips a beat

I’ll talk about all kinds of things he doesn’t understand,

He’ll play me that song I like, he’ll take me by the hand

I spent the night at his place, I wore that skimpy dress

My face and hair were perfect but my heart was a mess

I know I barely know him, I should probably take it slow

Instead I just forget myself and go with the flow

My phone hums, my heart skips a beat

It might be the man I’m waiting to meet

He’ll send me a short silly nonchalant text

I’ll read between emoticons, and figure out the rest

My phone hums, I check it right away

Been hours since he wrote me last, I’m going insane

I’ll read between the lines, I’ll see what isn’t there

I’ll answer with a winky face, not showing that I care

Days Like These

24 Oct

Red light, and I Love Rock ‘N’ Roll is blasting on my radio. Naturally my head is swaying from side to side as I shout out “so put another dime in the jukebox baby“.

I look to my right, suddenly aware that people may be staring. And indeed, a dark haired bristly faced young man is smiling widely at me. I smile back and shrug my shoulders. I decide to keep singing, staring ahead to avoid embarrassment. I’m enjoying myself way too much to care about what he thinks, but after what seems like forever, I glance to the right, just to check if he’s still looking. And there he is, staring ahead, banging his head and moving his lips…

We are two people at a traffic light, not giving a shit and enjoying a good shout out with the radio. I love it.

And why has my mood so dramatically improved? Well, that’s easy. The morning after good sex is always glittery, magically energized and optimistic. I know I said I wasn’t going to sleep with any more exes, but I totally lied. This is the guy I dated for three months over the summer, and I made sure he knew exactly what the deal was. Man, was it a good deal.

For most of my adult life I wasn’t crazy about sex. It’s not that I didn’t like it, it’s just that I didn’t really understand what the big deal was. My favorite part of it was the foreplay and the cuddling afterwards. That was before I learned to completely let go. Not being yourself is exhausting. I could never let my guard down during sex, be myself, worry about my pleasure and what I wanted. It was all about looking hot from the right angle, hiding what I was uncomfortable with, pleasing who I was with. Obviously it was a relief when it was over and I was rewarded for my hard work with affection and praise (which I should have been getting regardless).

I know in this blog I have a tendency to demonize BD a little bit. It isn’t fair. It’s not like he was never affectionate or warm. It’s not that we had horrible sex. But in retrospect, there was a whole side of me he didn’t even know, and it wasn’t his fault. I didn’t know it either. Now that I do, I love it, and I want to share it. That spicy, flirtatious, giggly gal, that feels confident (most of the time) about her body, that feels entitled (most of the time) to pleasure.

With everything that’s happened in the last two years, I have today a greater appreciation of everything in my life. I love my body for functioning and my mind for calculating, and my heart for loving and for aching, as it is meant to. It’s not that the world is suddenly pink and shiny, some things still suck terribly, but I love knowing that there are days like this, where I can drive home from a deliciously steamy night out, and raise the volume on my radio and sing loudly, giving anyone who doesn’t sing along with me the finger.

Online Dating is Fucking Depressing – Part 2: Having a Kid Together will be Inevitable

17 Oct

I’m not even going to embelish this. This is a direct quote from my chat with hot shirtless guy doing shots and eating M&Ms in his profile pic. Seriously, dreamy. Until we started chatting.

Me: So, shots and M&Ms, yummy 🙂

Him: Hey cutie. What are you up to tonight?

Me: Honestly, just a quiet evening at home, ginger beer, cooking, watching a movie. Quality time with me. What about you?

Him: I’m at the hospital hon. Had throat surgery. Would have loved to cuddle with you and watch a good movie.

Me: Oh man, sorry to hear. Hope you get better soon.

Him: Listen, I’m not looking to play games, I really want to get to know you. And I’m looking for something serious.

Me: OK. Well, since I can tell you value straight-forwardness, I’m not really sure what I’m looking for. Someone to get to know, spend time with and see where things go.

Him: Sure sounds good. We’ll get to know eachother, see how it goes. I’m sure we’ll get along well and move in together, and then if things go well we can have a baby together.

Me: I don’t know if you’re being serious.

Him: Of course I’m being serious. I’m not into playing games.

Me: Oh. Well, I just think it’s a little wierd that we don’t even know each other and you’re taking about having a kid together.

Him: I’m just saying, if things go well between us it’s inevitable that we have a kid together.

Me: Ah. In that case.

Horrible Hookup Haiku

27 Jul

Night, sirens holler

Stupid Hamas, sad and scared

Sleeping with the ex

 

 

 

Hey, I just met you, and this is crazy, but why don’t you drive away that boy I like, creep me out and stick your tongue down my throat?

7 Mar

So in my desperation – I’m not afraid to admit it, it’s been months since anyone’s touched me – I had my second unsuccessful to say the least, attempt at the pick-up-bar scene. Three drinks later, the boy I liked said he was thinking about getting back together with his ex, a guy ten year older than me tried to politely ask for my number, and a creepy yet persistent 30-year-old-divorce-atterny (I kid you not) was giving me tips on how to finalize my divorce and come visit his bedroom while I was at it.

I began by saying I was desperate, and if he had been even slightly less creepy and aggressive, I would have gone with it. But within seconds it was how much he liked me, and how he’d told that other guy – the one I actually liked – to back off, and then the chewing began. The chewing of my lips, like they were a piece of meat, which made me want to ask him to please start treating all of me as a piece of meat and not just my lips. I mean, there hadn’t even been one nice soft getting to know you kiss.

I gave him a false number. That’s the most chicken shit thing to do in the world. Then I left that place and let all the weirdos continue hitting on the few normal people that had come there in order to get over or get back at exes.

 

That Girl

2 Dec

disclaimer

I’ve been reluctant to post about this, because I’ve been reluctant to admit it, but – we’re in therapy again. BD and I, trying to work things out, with the hopes of reuniting and giving our little boy the family we want so much for him to have.

I haven’t really talked much about it, I let almost everyone around me just assume that we’re separated, and on the way to a divorce (I bet they’re wondering what’s taking us so long). The few friends I have told, received the news followed by giant all-caps disclaimers: IT PROBABLY WON’T WORK OUT. NO POINT OF GETTING MY HOPES UP. WE MIGHT AS WELL GIVE IT A TRY, BUT, YOU KNOW, I DON’T REALLY THINK IT’S GOING ANYWHERE.

We have a good therapist. She’s practical and gets to the point quickly, which is good. And things are going well, I guess. We’re discussing moving in together for a trial period in a month or so. If this works out, it’ll be great. I mean, just think of the convenience: First off, having a live-in partner helping me raise my boy, and having that live-in incidentally be his father! There’s the little things – taking out the trash without worrying about leaving Baby at home. Going to the bathroom and, drumroll… Closing the door! Having someone to eat dinner with and spoon with at night. And then, there’s being able to have sex whenever I want, without it becoming a huge project. Only for that to become a consideration, we need to actually have sex, which we’re not, at all. God I miss sex. Sex is the best.

So now I have some down time, since the holidays have provided a short break from work, and BD went on yet another one of his business trips. Time to myself and I have no idea what to do with it. I’ve become so used to working nonstop, I kind of want to work though my vacation, and I can – it’s not that I don’t have stuff to do, I just don’t think that would be smart. I really need a time out.

After taking Baby to daycare this morning I went running, which always makes me feel powerful and sexy and I haven’t done it in a really long time. My running music is horribly outdated, but I haven’t listened to it so long that even Thrift Shop didn’t get on my nerves. When I came back home, feeling energized, I took a nice long shower and was suddenly overwhelmed with memories, little fragments of a winter day, almost a year ago, January 22nd, the day that marks my biographical birthday, the day New Me was born. As the water rushed over my hair, my face, my body, I felt a tingle in my toes as I caught a glimpse of a head of auburn curls, enormous brown eyes and strong arms that used to crush me to pieces and make me feel alive.

But it wasn’t SG I was remembering, it was me. Beautiful, sexy, strong, energetic, creative, vibrant, healthy, happy me. The girl who somehow survived the flood; the girl who camped out on the beach, sipping Breezers all day and returned home with her hair full of sand, and didn’t feel guilty for a minute for leaving her 7-month-old with his daddy; the girl who kissed a guy she never met at a club when she was 10 kilos heavier with post pregnancy weight, but felt hotter than she could ever feel these days; the girl who painted abstract crap and hung it on her wall shamelessly because it meant something to her, and started a blog and wrote 83 posts, consistently, every day, and then every week, and then every other week, but never stopped; the girl who, while raising a baby on her own managed to change her career around; the girl who fell in love, not only with a beautiful, free-spirited red-head, but with her brand new self.

I can’t go back now, I can’t. How could I ever give her up?

But I have. I am. I look back at that girl and I think I must have dreamt her. Just as I dreamt those enormous brown eyes that looked straight into my soul, and those big pouty lips that whispered “I love you” before they devoured me.

My ‘What Is’

15 Jun

bed

I opened my eyes this morning and saw that head on the pillow beside me, naked of those gorgeous red curls which have been chopped off mercilessly when we were apart. Sleeping with heavy eyelids, long auburn eyelashes resting on the top of his cheeks, and those enormous pouty lips slightly parted. It wasn’t a dream. He did come over last night, I did open the door to him in those sexy yet nonchalant pajamas. He did look at me for several long seconds and then pull me into a crushing, overwhelming embrace.

Life, I am slowly beginning to realize, is life. I know that seems trivial. One of the pre-Socratic philosophers, Parmenides, claimed that we can only speak and think of what is “for being is, but nothing is not.” This is my life, this is my what is. I am 32 years old, mother to an incredible one year old treasure, soon-to-be-divorced. I have a close friend, a beautiful, witty, unbelievably caring and giving person who’s putting on a hell of a fight with the big C and learning to allow people to be there for her, as she’s always been there for them.

This is my life. I have a steady job and a less than mediocre income. I have an accountant who flirts with me shamelessly every time we meet. I have a strong backbone and support system of friends and family who will always be there for me in times of trouble. I have great tits, even after breastfeeding, and my body will never be as tight as it used to be before childbirth, or as tight as it… has never been, frankly. But I’m learning to love it as is, to embrace its curves and lushness.

This is my life. I was in love once with a boy, so badly that I lost myself. I wrote a blog post about him and tagged it “rape” and then erased that word, but then edited it and tagged it again. And now I have an ex who wants to get back together, to whom I’m saying a strong, confident “NO”, which has been a long time coming, and a lover whom I’ve chosen to welcome back into my life, who pleasures me in ways I never realized were possible, to whom I’m choosing, for now, to say “YES”.

I don’t know what I want or where I want to go next, but I’m excited to find out.

This is my life. This is my what is. And I love it, even when I hate it. I love its twists and turns, I cherish its gifts, I embrace its painful lessons. I want to feel and experience everything it has to offer me, for as long as it’s offering.