Music & Lyrics

Lately, I have a new favorite song.  Most of the time, a song catches my attention based solely on the melody.  I become so entranced by the music, the lyrics barely register.  However, with this new favorite of mine, I am noticing—and enjoying—both music and lyrics of the song.

Possibly it's due to the fact that I have been on several more dates with Mr. Songwriter, who has, well...surprised me.  Though his potential had a slow start (despite the fact that his tried-but-true bathroom line actually did work to get a first kiss), Date #2 had only slight weirdness, and Date #3 was pretty wonderful. 

The "slight weirdness" that erupted on Date #2 began with a phone call about an hour before Mr. Songwriter was scheduled to pick me up for a Halloween-themed show he was taking me to downtown (thanks to his co-worker who had passed free tickets around to all his school employees).

Mr. Songwriter:     So I'm not sure if I told you, but I work with my ex-girlfriend, and I ran into her today....  I was crossing my fingers that she wasn't going to the show tonight, but unfortunately she is—and bringing various family members with her.  I didn't say anything about the fact that I was going with you, but now I'm thinking I should have?  I might call her and let her know that I will be there with a female companion...just so she doesn't get upset or anything...so she is at least prepared...?

Was he asking my advice?  Did he really want to know what I—the woman he was taking on a second date that night—thought about how best to protect his ex-girlfriend's feelings?  Reminder:  I've been on a date with this guy once (if that drink-at-the-bar even counts as an actual date).  Other than that, all I know about him is what Big D and Mamasita have passed on about their dear friend.  I remember hearing mention of an old girlfriend living in town that was fairly recent, but I hadn't gotten the impression it was all that serious.  Maybe I was wrong?

But, honestly, even if I was wrong about the degree of heartbreak—have Mr. Songwriter and I reached that level of comfort on the second date where he feels it necessary to share intimate romantic history with me?

I wasn't sure really how to respond—if memory serves me correctly, it was something along the lines of, "uh, okay...," followed by, "you don't have to take me if you would rather go with someone else and avoid the issue."  However, he quickly insisted he wanted to take me to the show, then debated out loud whether he should call her or not to let her know that a girl was going with him, and finally questioned if I would feel awkward or weird being put in that situation.  He genuinely asked if I would feel uncomfortable running into his ex-girlfriend.

Okay, now, I'll be honest...maybe this makes me an unaffected, uncompassionate person...possibly my heart has turned black from my own all-encompassing heartbreak...and maybe this will label me as a senselessly callous person, but...

Why the heck would I care?!?

(...at least I'm honest, right?)

After I hang up the phone, I have to laugh, still dumbfounded and wondering whether I should care about my presence upsetting one of his girlfriends past.  I really just...don't.  At all.  In fact, I cannot comprehend why I should care if Ms. Heartbroken has to leave the show early because she is bawling her pretty little pitiful eyes out and cannot stand to be in the same room as Mr. Songwriter and some chick (me) who, for all she knows, could be his cousin (I seriously am turning into such a bitter divorcée...).

I really wanted to warn him before we left.  This is me, Dumbfounded Divorcée—of course we are going to run into her at the show.  There was really no doubt in my mind that dumb luck would, once again, prevail.  At least it provided extra entertainment for the night:

Mr. Songwriter:     "I think we actually have pretty good seats, from what I—oh, no, slow down, slow down, let these people get ahead—oh! nevermind, she saw us.  Okay, smile and wave, smile and wave... Ugh, she doesn't look too happy....  Oh well, I gave her the courtesy call to warn her—what more could I do?  At least hopefully we're not sitting near her...."

Meanwhile, I'm now convinced that Ms. Heartbroken and Mr. Songwriter must have broken up mere weeks ago after dating for a year or so.  Turns out, this "relationship" ended back over the summer after only six months.  Therefore, at this point I'm thinking—is he crazy arrogant, or is he really just a nice guy?

The rest of the Date #2 was surprisingly enjoyable (not to mention the next few dates that would follow).  Though Mr. Songwriter is not my type—in fact, he is the absolute polar opposite of my ex-husband—we still seem to have this curious connection and chemistry.  While my ex-husband was a ultra-conservative, suit-wearing, financially successful, southern good ole boy, and Mr. Songwriter is an artsy, guitar-playing, tattooed, tree-hugging-democratic dreamer, the conversation between Mr. Songwriter and I is never difficult.  The ridiculously comfortable feeling that we have around each other has been there since Date #2.  The way he seems to know exactly what will make me run screaming away and what is the right amount of affection or attention is simply eerie.  And, just like music and lyrics, our song seems to play in perfect tune.

And, so far, I don't want to stop listening.


Lesson #8 in Post-Divorce Dating:  When your date makes serious second-date mistakes, like acting as if his ex-girlfriends are all scarred for life because he broke up with them, don't give up on the potential just yet—with certain songs, the music and lyrics need to play out a few verses before you start to pick up the tune.

Forever fearless,
Dumbfounded Divorcée

The Teacher Can Still Be Taught

Top Ten* Lessons Learned by Dumbfounded Divorcée during GNO with her Friends:

Lesson #1:   A quick celebratory drink at 5 o'clock always ends up lasting at least six hours.

Lesson #2:   Nights out involving any combination of DD, Chanel, Rowdy, Dolly, Stella, or Faith require a mature and responsible chaperone to be present.

Lesson #3:   When you leave for a trip to the bathroom, you may come back to find a Navy officer in your seat.

Lesson #4:   Think twice before you ask a Navy officer why he is carrying two sailor hats—you may learn disturbing information.  Like, Navy officers who carry around extra sailor hats might be doing so in order to make trades with hot women for various sexual favors.

Lesson #5:   Rowdy is an enabler, but also the best wing-man ever. Therefore, don't ever point out a guy who you consider attractive unless you are entirely prepared to have this information shared with said guy and an introduction with him scheduled to occur imminently.

Lesson #6:   Buy a table full of already-drunk men any drink they desire, and the end result will be 6 SoCo & lime shots for your table and hilarious company for the rest of the night.  Plus an amusing blog post—can't forget that one.

Lesson #7:   When Dolly's husband, Great Dane, drives by the bar where your group is seated at an outside table, only to see his wife surrounded by flirtatious men, Great Dane won't get panicked, angry, or jealous. He'll park the car, order a beer, and sit back to watch the madness ensue.

Lesson #8:   Great Dane is not a good stand-in for a chaperone, even if he is the current front-runner for the Husband-of-the-Year Award.

Lesson #9:   Chanel is a flirting goddess.  Not only did she get asked for her phone number by the hottest male visitor to our table of the night, but he actually called...five minutes after we started walking away.

Lesson #10:   While sharing drinks at the bar, Faith's vegetarianism and Chanel's annual meat-intake rules may result in an intense debate over the ethical killing of cows. Dolly is a star at making her opinion known, in addition to breaking the tension—she deals with it by ordering a burger.

Lesson #11:   Shared hatred for the Florida Gators helps Rowdy and DD make friends with male strangers who become all the more appealing once you find out they say the word "boat" with a Southern accent.

Lesson #12:   When going out to a bar, one should wear a light-blue cardigan. This magical clothing article produces insistent promises by attractive men that, since they are flying back home the next morning, they will schedule a return trip to your city just to take you on a date.

Lesson #13:   Stella's neighborhood needs to be visited more often—but next time, a sleepover also planned in order avoid the 20-minute ride home, thereby giving Chanel and DD far less time to write unintelligible text messages and make phone calls to everyone we think might want to share in late-night pizza with us.

Lesson #14:   Pizza, while enticingly delicious at 1 a.m., does not fare so well after beer and SoCo shots.

Lesson #15:   Finally, no drink could be sweeter, no joke as hilarious, no evening as perfect as the one shared with my friends.  I love you guys to the moon and back.  Let's plan another night out soon!

Forever fearless,
Dumbfounded Divorcée

* — Okay, so I lied. There are 15 lessons, not 10. After sharing an entire blog full of embarrassingly and entirely true tales, I am entitled to one free pass.  So deal with it :-)

Adventures in Face-Licking

I often question whether dumb luck is something that just happens to everyone in this world or if I really seem to attract weirdness like a comic book convention attracts never-been-kissed men who live in their mothers' basements.  I always seem to have these absolutely bizarre encounters, and I have no explanation for why this screwy stuff occurs whenever I'm around.

Todd, Rowdy, and Bear attended the local university in town and get football tickets together every season.  It was my first game tagging along with them.  The weather was perfect, the tailgating was abundant, and the people watching was sensational.  All in all, it was quite the day—that is, until our team started losing. Badly.

Around the third quarter of the game, Rowdy and I finally give up hope and decide to venture on a little excursion to visit with her good friend who works at the stadium—and what a good choice!  Not only does her friend get us into the Club Level seating of the game, but we are escorted into the VIP Club (a.k.a. Party Lounge) of the stadium!  I feel as though we have entered some prestigious night club and half-expect to turn around and see P-Diddy kicking back drinks with the Rock and the Kardashian sisters scantily-clad on the dance floor. Unreal.

So Rowdy and I claim our place at the railing overlooking the field to watch the end of the game while inwardly freaking over the good fortune that has landed us in this very exclusive spot.  Out of nowhere, an attractive, mid-30s guy joins us and stands at the railing next to me.

"Hi there," he says with a huge smile at me.  I smile back, say hi, and then quickly glance back at Rowdy who is giving me a discreet thumbs-up in approval of Mr. VIP's disarming good looks.

Before I can barely turn my head back to Mr. VIP, he has picked up my hand and is now holding it.  I kid you not.  What the heck?  I draw my gaze from his hand holding mine up to his face, and I am surprised that he is simply standing there, smiling broadly at me, his body now completely turned to face me instead of the football game.

"Errr...hi?  How are you?" I ask him nervously, still wondering what exactly to do about getting my hand out of his grasp without revealing that I am a bit freaked out at his unashamed affection with a complete stranger.  I can see Rowdy trying desperately to surpress the laughter that is bubbling up in her, without much success.  I slowly start to pull my hand away, but that only makes him clutch it more firmly.  Yikes.

"Are you nice?  You look like you are nice," Mr. VIP says to me, matter-of-factly, with a serious gaze.

I carefully consider my response.  "I think I am nice.  Are you nice?"

He sighs resignedly.  "I am nice."

"You say that like it is a bad thing!"  For a moment, I think I forget that this conversation is beyond weird and actually react normally to Mr. VIP's dejected comment.

Mr. VIP continues to smile at me.  Rowdy intervenes in an amused attempt to elicit more entertainment from this transaction, reveals that Mr. VIP has season tickets to this expensive part of the stadium, ends up with his phone number and an post-game outing invitation (shocker), and causes this guy to start rubbing my neck at one point, as well.  Creepiness abounds.

"What do I do?!?"  I whisper to Rowdy at one point.  "I mean, he's cute, but come on!!!"

"Shhh, you could get a really awesome date out of this!  Go with it!  He's got to be loaded to have season tickets in here," she urges.

Finally, one of Mr. VIP's friends comes up to inform him they are headed out.  Mr. VIP turns to give me a seductive smile.  "You should come with me," he says to me with a wink.

I think quickly and use Rowdy as my excuse.  "Oh, well, can't...I'm with her.  We came here together.  Kinda a package deal tonight.  Sorry."

Then, Mr. VIP leans in close, gets right up to my face, before he responds: "So both of you come with me—I like the package."

I wish I could say that was the end of that, but unfortunately, Mr. VIP couldn't leave without saying good bye.  He put both his arms around my neck and proceeded to make out with the side of my face.  Again—not kidding.  He actually licked my face, right there in the middle of the VIP Club of the stadium.

Bear:     I'm gonna blog about my date last night. Like, 'we met for dinner, made inane chit-chat, ate food, said goodnight'...actually that would be the exact post lol

DD:     why does this weird stuff only happen to me? i had a guy LICK MY FACE. where do i find these people? gross

Bear:     it happens to everyone

DD:      no really - that doesn't happen to everyone

Bear:     lol, ok that one is just funny. but go to a douche magnet like the VIP lounge at the stadium and people are going to lick ur face! its just common sense

DD:     i'm gonna take a poll. how many people have had their face licked by a stranger. guess what - i bet not that many people are gonna respond yes!

So go ahead—help Bear and I settle our dispute.  Vote below!

Have you ever had your face licked by a
stranger in the middle of a public place?

Lesson #7 in Post-Divorce Dating:  If a complete stranger ever approaches you, takes your hand in his, and smiles at you seductively, get out of there fast and report the suspect immediately to the authorities—he could be a face-licker.  Fight back, America.  Remember—you can make a difference.

Forever fearless,
Dumbfounded Divorcée

Nobody's Perfect

DD:     i met a guy last night :)  a very cute one

Rugrat:     Oo fun :)  not the one u have a date scheduled with already?

DD:     nope that's Mr. Songwriter.  this is a new one - he's a dentist

Rugrat:     Oo la la.  how old?  prior marriages?  kids?

DD:     28, no wives, no kids.  and texting me today :)

Rugrat:     Very nice.  Love him already.  Love the younger guy.  I'm going younger next lol.  so he feels sooo lucky to date an older woman :)

DD:     we'll see - i met him at a bar

Rugrat:     who cares?  Life is supposed to be fun :)  Google him.  Make sure he's a legit dentist - what's his name?

DD:     Dr. Perfect.  And trust me - he's perfect.  it's scary

Rugrat:     found him.  he's a legit dentist.  Dr. Perfect...but can't find a pic yet... have to trust u on that one...

Last night was pure craziness.  I really should know better.  When I get a text message from Rowdy and Zamboni on a random Wednesday night that says, "K's event going on at the martini bar 2nite - must support her - get here now!", I should just mentally—and physically—prepare myself for a night of very little sleep.

The evening started off fairly tame.  The three of us sat at the bar (i.e. perched ourselves attractively in view of all the comings and goings around us), made friends with the bartender (if you haven't learned this lesson yet, learn it now), enjoyed our free martinis (and a few others supplied by our new friend, the bartender), and caught up on each other's lives (i.e. intense gossip session occurred).

A few fun-filled martinis later, Rowdy spots a group of men, appearing to be close to our age, who enter the bar and sit themselves at a table across the bar.  Nudging Zamboni and I, who are seated on either side of her, Rowdy indicates the new direction of her gaze, and, pretty soon, all three of us are checking out the new arrivals.

Rowdy and I completely have the same taste in men, which actually works out well since she is happily married to Todd.  She spots them—I date them (sometimes).  It's a great system.  Zamboni, on the other hand, is at a disadvantage, since she is usually attracted to a different type.  However, Zamboni (the irresistible girl that she is) has snagged herself a seemingly-wonderful guy who she has decided to keep around for a short while now, and things are going great.  Luckily (or maybe depressingly) for me, that means any attractive, non-wedding-band-wearing guys are going to get pushed my way tonight.

"They're pretty cute—look!  That one kinda looks like Matthew McConaughey...a little, at least," suggests Rowdy, and the three of us consider them.  "They are certainly the only ones at this bar function who seem to be under the age of 40.  Date that one," she says, nodding in the direction of the McConaughey-look-a-like.  "You need new blog fodder anyway.  It's been a while since you had a good one."

"But please, didn't we already establish this?  Men don't talk to women at bars.  They will sit over there all night, yucking it up with each other, absolutely oblivious to the fact that there are even women in proximity.  I'm not sure I'm brave enough tonight to walk over there, and—let's be honest, here—I came straight from work.  I ain't lookin' that cute," I point out, indicating my jeans-and-tee-shirt appearance.

"True.  Okay.  I'll take care of it," Rowdy states matter-of-factly as she turns back towards Zamboni, who instantly snickers at Rowdy's comment.

"Uh, oh," Zamboni smiles devilishly, "this is gonna be good."

Uh-oh is right.  Rowdy "taking care of it" can only mean one thing—I should brace myself for the night to get wild.

Within ten minutes, Rowdy scouts out our bartender friend and buys a round of drinks for the guys' table.  Within twenty minutes, Bartender is delivering four vodka tonics to our new prey.  Within twenty-two minutes, sure enough, McConaughey-look-a-like is approaching.  With friends in tow.

"Are you ladies the ones who sent us the drinks?  Thanks so much!  We were just hanging out—we all actually went to dental school together and got together to catch up—and we were pleasantly surprised.  You have to let us return the favor and buy you ladies a round..." he says with a smile.

As you can imagine, the night went downhill (or uphill, as Rowdy would argue) from there.  Zamboni was stalked by two middle-aged men who seemed to have some creepy fetish for being rejected by her over and over again.  Rowdy almost fought with the girlfriend of one of the dentists after she started getting an attitude about us flirting with her man (even after Rowdy pointed out her wedding ring to the overprotective chick).  And, for the rest of the night, Dr. Perfect and I got to know each other.  We sat there, the two of us, engrossed in talking together at the bar amid all the chaos, the dancing, and the madness.

We called him Dr. Perfect because, well—he is.  He's a sweet, successful, funny, interesting, non-creepy, beer-drinking football fan who has a normal job with good hours, doesn't seem to take himself too seriously, and loves the nearby country-western bar just as much as we do.  All of a sudden, Zamboni is dragging us out because it's 1 a.m. and all three of us are working early in the morning, and Dr. Perfect and I still haven't run out of things to talk about.  So the only question now is—

Why is this guy single?

Dr. Perfect and I exchanged numbers that night, he called the next, and we set up a dinner date for a few days later.  Nobody's perfect—right?  I guess we'll soon find out if Dr. Perfect lives up to his name...

Or not.

Forever fearless,
Dumbfounded Divorcée