Oh Loverboy

So again, it's been a while.  I know, I said it was going to be the last time I had a long break in my blogging life, but some big developments have been happening since my last post, and I can't wait to update you all about it—but not yet!  Today, I have one bad-dating story that has been on the writing block for a while.  His name is Mr. Loverboy—and you will soon see why.

Just when I thought Mr. Black Sneakers had been the nail in the online-dating coffin, I received another interesting profile from Mr. Loverboy—so why not?  I might as well give it one final try.  Can't be that bad, right?

Ha.  Whoever said I was intelligent enough to be a teacher obviously did not consider my decision-making skills when it comes to romance.  Good thing I teach English and not sex ed.

The new profile is Mr. Loverboy's, and we go through the usual eHarmony requirements—stupid questions like, "What are your three best traits?" and "What is the most adventuresome thing you have ever done?" and "What would you be doing on a typical night at home?"  I always cringe and end communication when the potential date sends me a really personal one like, "If I had a bad day, what would you do to make me feel better?"  Honestly, dude, I'm quite sure the man's dream is to hear about foot rubs and sexual favors, but let me knock you on the head with reality, bubba—no respectable girl is going to say that to a complete stranger, even if you have hit the jackpot and found a girl who is actually thinking it.

Qualities about Mr. Loverboy that I learned from online communication were few but interesting:

1. He's from South Carolina (southern gentlemen, maybe?).
2. He's in med school (wahoo!) for podiatry (eh...good enough).
3. He is 36 years old and never married (I'm gonna go with 'focused on his career'...).
4. He has a sense of humor (joking around through online means is always difficult, and he accomplished it).
5. He's well travelled—been to Ireland and very proud of his Irish heritage.
6. He is very close to his brother (loves family, check), exercises regularly (not fat, check), and has several close friends in the area (not socially inept, check).

Well, so far looking good...or so I thought.  After talking via text message and the phone, I uncover some red flags.

First, I get the following message from him:  Do you have a problem with guys with tattoos?

Okay, now don't get me wrong, I have no problem with a guy who puts some design on his arm or a symbol on his shoulder, but is this guy asking because he has his ex-girlfriend's name across his forehead?  A naked woman across his back?  Ink covering more than 50% of his body?  I start to feel a bit nervous.

Next, I get this:  I have a really good feeling about this!  You are so beautiful and so nice!

Sweet...but you haven't met me yet.  Maybe I'm pessimistic when it comes to relationships after my divorce, but I still feel like seeing each other in person is not entirely overrated.

Mr. Loverboy is giving me a bad feeling with his loverboy tendencies.  His text messages are getting pretty flirtatious—for example, when asked what I was doing, and I responded "watching a movie at home," he replied: What are u watchin?  I could hold you close if I was watching with u :)

Should I be weirded out?  Maybe I'm a hopeless romantic, but something kept me optimistic.  Maybe he is really just a NICE guy.  Romantic, even.  Would that be so strange?  There are nice, romantic, loving men out there...right?

Yikes.  My optimism really does sound like idiocy when you see it written on paper.

Date 1:  He picks me up and takes me to dinner.  He asks me out.  He makes the plans.  He picks the restaurant.  Now, maybe I'm too nice, but even despite these circumstances, I do the mock-reach to my purse and make a half-hearted offer to split the bill when it comes.  His response?

"Yeah sure!  That'd be great!"

On the first date?!?  I don't even get the first date paid meal?!?  Wow, this date must have been bad!  Inside, I'm thinking, he must not be planning on seeing me again.

Wrong.  He ninja-kisses me when we get into the car and says he would love to see me again.  I'm still being my annoyingly optimistic self, so I hesitantly agree to give it another chance, but all considering?

Strike 1.

Date 2:  Mr. Loverboy asks me out again, and this time, there is no way I'm paying.  I'm not even going to offer—so there!  Again, he picks the restaurant, and it's expensive.  Oh, well, I tell myself.  I'm not going to feel bad, I'm not going to give in...  As he noticeably wrestles over whether we should order a bottle of wine with his very loud murmurs ("...wow, $80 for wine?  Maybe we should just drink when we get back to my house..."), I get irritated and excuse myself to the bathroom to compose myself.

Okay, he's a med student...maybe he's just poor with student loans!  Stop being judgmental!  I talk myself down and head back to the table, praying that he decided on that bottle of wine because I'm definitely feeling like I need a good, strong drink....

However, while this part of the date is going badly, he is clearly trying to impress me with his little smiles across the table.  It's kind of...sweet.  I'm starting to feel a bit better—but then we get back to his place.

"Want to see my tattoo?"

Oh yeah, the tattoo.  Totally forgot about that one.  I think I manage to give a nervous nod as he takes off his shirt to reveal...

HOLY GEEZ!  There are no words.  Because I'm not looking at a tattoo...I'm looking at the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel.  Literally.

I mean it—this was Mr. Loverboy's back, complete with naked people, and cherub angels, and clouds, and...stuff.  I am trying to keep a poker face, free of all expression.  So. Really. Trying.  All the while, Mr. Loverboy is standing there giving me proud glances over his shoulder, clearly believing my silence means that he has utterly impressed me beyond speech.
Thankfully, it is the end of the date, and I march out of there thinking that's it.  No more crazy dates.  Then Rowdy does a very un-Rowdy thing to do—she sides with Mr. Loverboy:

"Tattoos are a very personal thing.  You said that he told you he got it after his parents died...you can't judge him based on that!  It is meaningful to him, and you will find that with most people who decide to get a tattoo of that magnitude."

Well, now of course, I'm an awful person.  Judgmental.  Heartless.  Cruel.  So I did what each one of you expected me to do all along—when he called to ask me out for a third time, I said yes.  In my head, though?

Strike 2.

Date 3:  Mr. Loverboy asks me over to watch a movie = no money issues.  Great.  I love movies.  However, this movie came with a special preview attraction:

"I know that your birthday is a few days away, so I got you something that I would like you to have..."

"Oh, no!"  I quickly interrupt, "Really, you didn't have to get me anything...I mean, it's only the third date...really."

He cuts me off just as suddenly.  "No, I want you to have it.  It means a lot to me, and you mean a lot to me.  I know it has only been a short time, but I just have this really good feeling about you and me...well, close your eyes.  I want to surprise you."  

I make a few more good arguments, but I am unable to fight him off, so I finally give in and close my eyes.  Mr. Loverboy puts something tiny and metal in my hands.





"This necklace was a very special purchase that I made when I went to Ireland a few years ago.  Inside the necklace is a real four-leaf clover.  I saw it in a store, and I knew that I had to buy it and give it to someone special when the right person came along someday.  And I want you to have it..."









SIRENS!!!!!!  CLANGING BELLS!!!!!  RED FLAGS!!!!!  This time it is not my imagination, I am not being judgmental, and I am clearly being too nice!!!  It's like a promise NECKLACE!

You don't even want to know the excuses I had to make to get myself out of THIS one.  It is way too embarrassing.

Strike 3.  I was out.  And I meant it, too...no more eHarmony, no more uncomfortable dinners, no more failed attempts to find love—no more dating.

Or so I thought.

Lesson #15 in Post-Divorce Dating:  How do you call your loverboy?  Apparently, you don't; the loverboys come at you whether you like it or not.  So instead of calling your loverboy to see if he answers, save yourself from awkwardly rejecting necklaces (and implied marriage proposals), and avoid loverboy-types at all costs.  But the song was correct about one thing—love is definitely strange.

Forever fearless,
Dumbfounded Divorcée

Real Men Use Emoticons

Bursley:     DD!!! My brother's friend is single! (we like him but not his previous taste in women) - and Ben would like to know if you would be at all interested in meeting him? He is a police officer, likes to go out with friends, very social, plays baseball, likes to bike ride of course and golf. He graduated from Lynn U where he played baseball. He is from MA...loves the red sox.

DD:     Are you really setting me up from 1000+ miles away?  That's love.

My old roommate and dear friend from college, Bursley, has a brother (Ben) very close in age who happens to live about an hour away from me, so when I get this text message, I am surprised at how far news of my dating dry spell had reached.

I pass along my number to Bursley so she can pass it on to her brother, who can then pass it on to his single friend (oh, the lengths I seem to go for a date).  A couple days later, I receive my first message:

Hi :)  I am the friend that Bursley's brother told you about.  How are you?

We continue to text back and forth, and, before long, my new friend has earned his name:  Officer Smiley.

Officer Smiley:     That's okay, I understand you've been busy.  Saturday sounds like a great day...I'll call you and we can make plans :)  Do you like sushi?

Officer Smiley:     Hahaha it is a little disturbing to think about eating raw food lol.  I was thinking we could go out somewhere and have a drink :)  you're down south right?

 Officer Smiley:     :)  I can't let you do that lol...besides, I've never been to your area.  One thing- I have no idea whats down there lol. what's a good place to go?

Officer Smiley:     That sounds fantastic! :)  I'm excited!  Ben has told me so much about you.

 Officer Smiley:     :)  Yeah I guess you're right.  Definitely a first for me but I'm looking forward to it.  You seem very nice :)

Count 'em...one, two, three, four, five, six smiley faces.  Okay, I don't judge.  I ask my trusted male advisers about the use of happy faces in text messages by guys to see what they think.

DD:     Need blog help - what is your response to men using excessive smiley faces in text messages?  Like every message?

Bear:     That is just stupid and weird. how old is he?

Todd:     I use them maybe once every thousand texts—with Rowdy.  And that's it.

Great Dane:     Sounds a little strange.  Trying to be cute or something.  Of course, I've been married since texting has come out, so maybe not the best to ask.

 Big D:      :-)  haha!

Determined not to write another guy off before I've given him a chance, we set up our date:  dinner at Bahama Breeze, halfway between both of our houses.

And dinner is actually nice!  Officer Smiley is definitely a very smiley type of person, but he's nice, charming, and pays for dinner...so far, no red flags.  He even insists upon walking me out to my car as we continue to chat.

"Thanks so much for dinner," I say.  "I had a really nice time.

"So did I!  I'm so glad we finally got to meet.  Bursley and Ben started talking you up as soon as I broke up with my ex, and they didn't let up!" he laughs.

Oh yeah, the ex, I think.  I remember something about that.  My curiosity gets the better of me, so I decide just to come out with it.  "Yeah, I heard from Bursley that you had recently been through a pretty bad break-up.  How long had you two been together?" I ask casually, trying not to sound like I'm prying.

He remains silent for a second and then drops the bomb.  "Ten years."

What the...?!?  Ten YEARS???!!!???  Break-ups are difficult after ten weeks, devastating after ten months, but ten years?  I can't even imagine...how long does it take to get over that?  So I ask the next burning question in my mind:  "So, um, how long ago was that break-up exactly?"

Officer Smiley begins to squirm uncomfortably.  "About...two months ago?" he responds without really looking at me, more of a question than an answer.  Like he's trying to figure out whether I'm thinking that he's actually completely out of his mind...or if he's really just that desperate to get laid again.

"Um...okay...wow.  Um, are you, like, okay?" I slowly ask, trying to keep a sympathetic face, not wanting to display the utter disbelief I feel.  I think about how it's been two years since my four-year marriage ended, and I'm only just now feeling okay.

As he opens up about his recent heartache, I hear the usual—"it had been over for a long time" and "it was for the best" and "I'm already over it."  I can't stop my mind from drifting...is it wise to involve myself with someone potentially carrying just as much baggage into the relationship as I am?  I decide not.

But if nothing else, Bursley was right about one thing—the date did have a happy ending because it made me realize that I have come a long, long way since that bad break-up called divorce.  Thank goodness I don't have to go through that again.  Poor Officer Smiley...he has a lot of growing (and possibly growing up) to do in the coming months.

Lesson #14 in Post-Divorce Dating:  How long does it take to heal a broken heart?  There is no specific standard for how long it takes to move on after a relationship ends.  Many people say it takes half the length of your relationship; therefore, beware a man who is in month two of his 5-year plan...lol...wink... ;-)

Forever fearless,
Dumbfounded Divorcée

Five Hours of Fashion Faux Pas: My Date with Mr. Black Sneakers

So I went on a date with a guy wearing black sneakers.

Yep, that's all I needed to say, right?  Black sneakers.  That's as far as I got in my story during Christmas dinner, and it was enough to have cousin almost shoot wine through her nose.

Now the black sneakers didn't look like these:

Or these...

Or even these...

(Yes, even those last ones would have been a step up.)

Until I become more stealthy at taking covert pictures on my dates, I've had to try and find via Google the best replica that I can, and the closest I've come are these:

But honestly, they might have been even worse.

Pair that up with "mom" jeans, and you have tragic.  Then cap it off with an expectation of a 40-year-old man who looks thirty-five, and a reality of a 40-year-old man who looks forty-five, and what you have left is just one really long ass date with that creepy middle-aged neighbor who lived down the street from your childhood home and who everyone thought was a pedophile.

After dinner, a hockey game, and a car ride out of the jam-packed arena parking lot (WOW, long date!), we didn't seem sorry to say good-byes.

No second date happening here.

But then I start thinking...why didn't he want a second date?!?  I'm cool...right?  Surely Mr. Black Sneakers wasn't looking at me thinking: Gosh, look at those flats, so out of style!  And who on earth picked out that shirt?! Wow, doesn't she have a friend who can tell her that hairstyle is soooo '90s...?  What if the past five hours were just as excruciating to him as they were to me?  Sadly, the thought did not even cross my mind until after I watched his car pull away from the parking lot where he had dropped me at mine.

 I did try to ignore the fashion faux pas and get to know the inner Mr. Black Sneakers during our date.   But maybe I'm too judgmental on outward appearances?  Is it wrong to size up a guy based on how they look on the outside, or is it recommended that you sit through dinner, a hockey game, and a car ride before you can veto a second date?

I conclude it was wrong of me to assume that a forty-year-old man in black sneakers would be thrilled to be out, no matter who he was a date with, but I realize that I really did try to keep an open mind throughout our date. I certainly do not want to be a shallow person looking at only inner beauty, but there is something to be said for outward appearances giving you a lot of insight into personality.  Mr. Black Sneakers and I just didn't click, appearances aside, and I believe that first impressions really do tell you a lot about a person—which presents the question:  what does my first impression say about me?

I have never really wondered what my dates think about on their way home from meeting me.  I'm so busy debating on whether or not I liked them, I forget to consider whether they liked me.  Obviously, this guy didn't.  Maybe I'm not as date-able as I think I am...

But at least I won't be the one wearing black sneakers.

Lesson #13 in Post-Divorce Dating:  Never commit to a five-hour date with a complete stranger who you met on eHarmony.  It is not shallow to promise only a drink or coffee before making any further obligations.  Also recommended?  Before the date, ask the guy to send you a full-body picture of himself in his normal attire—and holding a newspaper with the current date clearly visible.

Forever fearless,
Dumbfounded Divorcée

High-School Hangouts & High-Fives (or "My Life is a Seinfeld Episode")

God has a sense of humor.  Or maybe there really is such a thing as karma.  It would figure that my first date following the break-up with Mr. Songwriter would start off like this.  In discussing with my blind date where to meet, I replied, "The time you suggested works great.  As for location, I'm game for anything—I'll leave it up to you!"  And wouldn't ya know, after incessantly making fun of bad dates, especially for callously teasing the Wee Scott about his dating techniques, where does my blind date suggest we go?

The Cheesecake Factory at the mall.

Of course.

How exactly does one dress for a date at the mall?  On a normal dinner date, a semi-dressy, semi-casual dress works just fine, but I feel like a complete toolbag showing up in my dress and heels to go to the MALL.  And as Rowdy commented to me (in between her drops of the phone from laughing so hard), what if the date goes well?  What do you do then?  "Do you hold hands as you stroll through The Gap?"

Yup, that's what I get.  Mom kept warning me that I shouldn't make fun of people on a public forum.  (No, really—she did.)

So as I stand next to a fountain spitting water amongst stone squirrels and gnome-looking things, amidst children running around like screaming hyenas and scantily-dressed tweens carrying bags from Hollister, I wait for my date:  Mr. Mall.

Whoah...  Maybe I should call him Mr. Tall? 

As he approaches (late—a man after my own heart), I am already looking up to him.  I mean, literally, he's got to be 6'4" at least!  He has to bend down in order to greet me with a hug and then takes charge, ushering us quickly into the restaurant.

We take two seats at the bar while we wait for a table, and I glance at the two guys sitting next to Mr. Mall.  No, I am not checking out other men on my date (admit, the one was very cute, and he did start talking to me when my date went to the bathroom, but that's beside the point...).  These two men who are holding down the bar happen to be in my line of sight the entire time; so, while Mr. Mall and I exchange the awkward kind of small talk that can only come from a pair who has obviously never met before, I am watching these guys snicker into their beers as they try not to look as though they are eavesdropping.  Which they are—and they know I know they are watching.  I'm sure my embarrassment is probably upping the "yuk" factor, so these clowns are having a ball.

Once we are seated at a table, dinner goes fairly normally.  That is, until the high-fives start.

Have you ever seen that episode of Seinfeld where Puddy won't stop high-fiving Jerry?  The one where Jerry has to keep going along with it, even though he feels like a moron, because once he finally puts a stop to it, Jerry knows the car deal is off?  If not, watch the first 35 seconds of the clip below, and you'll see what I'm talking about.

With Mr. Mall, I receive high-fives across the dinner table for the following:

1. Playing soccer in high school ("Cool!  I played soccer too!  High-five!").
2. Not doing drugs ("You're so cool...high-five!").
3. Drinking coffee ("I love coffee!  High-five!  Coffee's the best.").
4. Saying something—I totally forget now, it was that unmeaningful—that he thought was very astute.  And I'm sure I've forgotten at least one high-five in this list.  Sigh.

I guess it could be worse—he could have taken me to Arby's.  I am also pretty thankful that the bar clowns did not witness the whole high-fiving experience.  I'm not sure my straight face would have lasted through dinner.

Just a day in my life as an episode of Seinfeld.  At least I didn't need my just-in-case-of-an-emergency letter:

Conversation between DD, Chanel, Mamasita, Rowdy, Dolly, and Stella: 

DD:     Just in case I am never to be seen again, consider this my track-the-bastard-down-and-kill-him letter...or at least a good laugh.  Tonight, I'm going on a date with a guy named Mr. Mall at 7 p.m.  at the Cheesecake Factory.  I don't know his address, but his phone number is 555-123-1234.   All other descriptive info (hair color, tattoos, bad pick-up lines commonly used) will be found out and texted over the course of the night.   If it is anytime after midnight on this same day, please send police, search parties, and ambulances to find me.  In the event that you cannot find me, just make sure my stuff doesn't go to people I hate.  And hug my parents for me.  Thanks. 

Chanel:     Good luck.  I will call you at exactly a midnight if I do not hear from you sooner.  (And then I will call Rowdy.  And then we will drive to the mall to find you.)

Rowdy:     OH MY GOD.  Who else wants to go to dinner at the Cheesecake Factory tonight and watch the train wreck happen?

Mamasita:     If I didn't already have a dinner thing with Big D, I'll ditch the baby with him and go! HOLY SHIZA!  PLEASE keep me posted via text!

DD:     I hate you all.  Is Chanel the only one who cares about whether I might DIE because this guy is a rapist, or a freak, or molests baby kittens in his spare time???!!!???

Dolly:     Of course we care. That's why we all want to show up. For your protection.  And btw, if I weren't out of town right now, I would totally be there.

Stella:     Maybe we could video it and show it as an elearning for bad dating.

Lesson #12 in Post-Divorce Dating:   Blind dates are like a box of chocolates; you never know what you're gonna get.  However, the one piece of advice that always applies?  Never disclose the location of a blind date to your friends unless you want company—or a complimentary home video commemorating the occassion.

Forever fearless,
Dumbfounded Divorcée

To Online Date, or Not to Online Date...

At approximately 2:30 a.m. the other day, I received the following message on Facebook:

"Love is not about finding the right person, but creating a right relationship. It's not about how much love you have in the beginning but how much love you build till the end.. My name is paul martins.... I see your picture and i willl love to know you better ... i am single and i looking for a friend or more meaningful relationship that will leads to marriage.. i need a woman to grow old with .. hope to hear from you soon.. add me on yahoo messenger mrpaulmatins@yahoo.com i am always online there too..."

Did I mention that I have absolutely no idea who this is? 

It is truly unbelievable the lengths that people will now go for love.  Our society has gone as far as spam-dating:  sending out mass messages to random groups of people in hopes that one of those messages will reach a future Mr./Mrs. Right.

Pathetic?  Simply Genius?  I haven't yet decided, but one thing is for certain—most of our society is agressively determined to find "true love". . . or maybe just to find someone for those oh-so-lonely nights.

Whichever.

When I got married, I didn't feel any pressure to "have" someone.  I was twenty-five years old at the time, so most of my friends were still single.  No husband, no kids—no problem.  I got married because I wanted to get married to the person who asked me.  And because we didn't think there was any reason for us to wait.

Now that I am post-divorce, I realize that there does come a time when it becomes difficult being single and living in a "married" world.  All my close friends are married.  Most have kids.  When I log into Facebook, I am bombarded with pictures and status updates of weddings, honeymoons, anniversaries, babies, second babies, and the like.  (I shamefully admit that sometimes I even scroll through the list of "People You May Know," halfway hoping to see some old acquaintance looking sorrowfully unattached.  You know, misery loves company...and a dateable old flame.)  I am met only with profile pictures of happy pairs, smiling and hugging, looking into each other's eyes with adoration.

And so, recently, I have emerged from the cloud of intentional solitude, the joyousness of "no strings," the elation of feeling free as a bird, and instead...felt alone.

Don't get me wrong—this "alone" feeling is GREAT.  Fantastic, even.  Because if I am actually starting to feel sadness at being alone instead of being hell-bent on celebrating my independence like it's a freaking holiday, then maybe I am finally ready to be in a relationship again.

Maybe.  But still, that's healing, right? :)

Now, instead of the "to date, or not to date" question, the new question is how do I find someone to date?  If you have noticed, my bad-luck dating stories have been fewer and farther between lately.  After being set up by practically every single one of my friends and having skulked around the local night scene on several entertaining occassions, I am running out of options for meeting new (normal) people in my city (emphasis on the word normal, if you please...).

And then, because this is the twenty-first century, and due to the fact that I am getting spam-dating FB messages, I am once again reminded of the newest trend in single living:  online dating.

Now I have always been completely against online dating—at least as far as it applied to me.  Sure, I have tons of friends who met their soul mates on Match.com, E-Harmony, Christian Mingle, or J-Date; they went on several first dates, found the love of their lives, were married within a couple years, and all lived happily ever after.  My life, however, has never really followed that fairy-tale plot line, so I'm not incredibly optimistic about allowing the internet gods to control the fate of my love life.

I have had only one experience in online dating, and that story takes us back to the summer before my freshman year of college.  Cue the flashback music...now!

During the summer before I started college, America Online was the country's preferred mode of online communication.  Everyone who was anyone had an AOL screen name and "chatted" with friends, as well as random people.  There was a way for users to search profiles for various information in those profiles, so I had random people chatting with me frequently.  As soon as I was accepted to college, I listed in my profile the name of the college, so, at once, I started to receive chat messages from other incoming students who had "found" me by searching for that school online.

One of random messages came from a guy who was also going to be a freshman that fall.  Let's call him Goofy because I swear that's exactly how I remember him looking—yup, absolutely goofy, but not of the sweet, endearing sort.  Goofy fell more into the creepy sort.

Being the intelligent, street-smart girl that I was at eighteen, I ended up meeting the guy for a date.  He asked me to the movies once we had both arrived at college in September.  First of all, I had to borrow a car and pick him up—though he asked me out, he apparently thought that I would find it terribly convenient to ask one of the girls in my dorm—who I had known for about two weeks, mind you—if I could borrow their car.  Classy of me, I know.  I guess I figured, at least I had a way home should something go terribly wrong.

So, I'm sitting there in the movie thinking, what am I doing on a date with this guy?!?  Not only was he really goofy looking, there was definitely something weird about the way he kept looking at me.  And geez, he did the whole stretch-to-put-your-arm-around-the-girl move.  I mean, really?  I did what any girl would do in such a situation—sat as far away from him as possible, crossed my legs away from him, and leaned forward a bit to show that I definitely did not want his arm around me.  However, Goofy was not too bright.  Right in the middle of the scene in Pleasantville where Toby Maguire's mom turns to color, Goofy leans forward, turns toward me, and starts coming in for the kiss...gross.  After ducking under his arm and sitting the rest of the movie in uncomfortable silence, I vowed that my excursions into online dating had met their disgusting end.

And if that memory not enough to scare me in the other direction, I have Bear's story about the date he met online who gave him full description of her recent abortion—it makes for great dinner-table talk on the first date, let me assure you.

In spite of all the online-dating horror stories, I know that it has proven to be useful for many people.  Maybe it's worth a shot?  If nothing else, maybe I will get some entertaining stories out of it?

Thus, to online date, or not to online date?  That is the question...now, it's time for your answer!

Should DD try online dating?

Forever fearless,
Dumbfounded Divorcée

An Apple a Day

Once upon a time, in a land far away, there lived a beautiful young princess who dreamed of one day finding true love.  She believed that falling in love was something truly special, something that would make complete sense when she was finally lucky enough to have it happen to her.

As this young princess grew older, she met a handsome prince.  The prince was not like any other man she had encountered before—in fact, upon their very first introduction, the princess was struck with a fluttery feeling deep in her heart that told her this prince was something special.  And as the princess got to know him, she realized that the prince possessed every quality she had ever hoped for in her "true love."

The prince and the princess fell in love instantly and lived happily, ever after...

 


PFFFFFFTTTTT!!!!










Okay, I'm just kidding, don't worry—not another depressing blog post, I promise!  But let's be honest—there are just certain things you were absolutely never told about fairy tales as a child.

To start, Prince Charming is a Disney character.  This man does not exist in the real world.

Secondly, even this fictional romantic prince has flaws—like, he is ready to marry a girl simply because she looks hot in a ball gown and has the propensity for dashing off mysteriously while leaving shoes and crap around for someone else to pick up after her.  Leading us with no other conclusion but:

There is absolutely—positively, 100% scientifically-proven, without-a-doubt-nonexistent, impossibly—no perfect man.

And, yes, so glad that you asked—this does include Dr. Perfect.


When I met Dr. Perfect for the first time, I was amazed at his apparent flawlessness.  He had not only good looks, but an interesting and fun personality, similar interests, a sense of humor, and topped it all off with the fact that he was single.  If you remember back to my first post about him, Rowdy and Zamboni were also quite impressed—I believe Rowdy's text to me during the course of that night went something like this:

Rowdy:     Omg I want u to have cute little blond doctor babies... pls date him, I am 2 in love with him for you not to date him!

But then of course, one has to wonder... Why is this man single?

Could it be that he is simply between relationships at the moment?  Maybe he made the decision to hold out for that one right woman to come along?  Did he suffer some horrible heartbreak and now approaches dating with caution?  These would all be acceptable reasons for Dr. Perfect's single-dom.

However, there are also the other questions that seemingly-perfect-guy-single-dom brings forth:  for instance, does he have some severe social disorder?  Does he secretly enjoy playing with plastic Star Wars action figures in his spare time?  Is he the leader of a polygamous cult that requires all members to remain unattached until age 30?  Is he suffering from some incurable disease that causes giant puss-filled ulcers to cover his fantastically hairy back?

(All very valid, reasonable questions, of course.)

My first date with Dr. Perfect was simple.  He called, requested my company at dinner, offered a mutually-agreeable date for said dinner, met me at the restaurant, paid the bill, walked me to my car—and he brought me flowers.  Flowers!  On a first date!  (I told you this guy seemed too good to be true...who does that?!?)  Absolutely no drama, no weirdness, no issue.  Perfect pedestal still standing, and Dr. Perfect standing strong atop it.

But the second date with Dr. Perfect?  Let's just say, it never happened—but not for lack of trying.

Date Attempt #1:  Sunday

Dr. Perfect:     So I'd love to get together again this week...

DD:     I would love that too!  I am only free on Wednesday or Thursday...do either of those work for you?

Dr. Perfect:     I am free all week, so just let me know what works for you.

DD:     Well, either of those two days are good for me...I have plans the rest of the week, but I can do dinner or drinks or something either Wednesday or Thursday—whichever.

Dr. Perfect:     Okay, well, just let me know when you are free, and we'll do something then.

I think there was a small part inside me that started sounding the alarm bells at this point.  I partially felt as though I was on a phone conversation where I could hear everything the other person was saying, but they couldn't hear me.  Didn't I tell you when I was free???

Date Attempt #2:  Tuesday

Dr. Perfect:     Hi, you have reached Dr. Perfect.  I am out being perfect somewhere and cannot take your call at this time.  Leave a message, and I will get back to you as soon as I can.  BEEP!

DD:     Hey, it's DD.  I know we had talked about getting together tomorrow night or Thursday, so I thought I'd call to see if one of those days still worked for you.  Send me a text or something tomorrow during the day and let me know if you want to make plans.

No contact from Dr. Perfect that night or Wednesday.  Well, I thought, he must have just decided he's not interested.  No big deal; it happens.  No one needs to mail me the book He's Just Not That Into You.  I get it:  if a guy wants to call me, he will move mountains to find a way.  Hence, Dr. Perfect threw me a curveball when he texted around 5 p.m. on Thursday evening like nothing had happened.

Date Attempt #3:  Thursday

Dr. Perfect:     Hey there!  R u still free 2nite?  Just got off work & was thinking we should get together for dinner.

DD:     Hey, sorry - I actually hadn't heard from u about it, so I went ahead & made plans with a friend.



I really had made plans, too.  Faith had texted me earlier that day about dinner, so I went ahead and said yes.  I certainly didn't know I'd hear back from Dr. Perfect at the eleventh hour expecting me to be free.  Still, noting the absolute lack of perfect men in the world, I decided to cut him some slack.  Again, we made frustratingly vague plans to hang out that weekend.  But of course, that weekend I spent lying in bed feeling deathly ill and unable to date anyone ... not that I heard from him until late afternoon on Sunday.

Date Attempt #4:  Sunday

Dr. Perfect:     On my way home from the football game—want 2 see a movie 2nite?

DD:     Ugh, I can't.  been sick in bed all wkend.  But I really would love to hang out.  Can we get together this wk?  When r u free?

Dr. Perfect:     Sure, just let me know.  I don't have any plans.

DD:     Great, how bout Thurs. nite?

Dr. Perfect:     Sure, just let me know, we'll do something this wk.

AAAHHHHHH!!!  Why was it so difficult to make definite plans with this guy?  Commitment issues?  Not a planner?  I couldn't figure it out.  When I was out with my girls on Friday night, I filled them in on Dr. Perfect's emerging flaw.  That was when Chanel and Rowdy intervened and hijacked my cell phone for the night, so the text messages between "me" and Dr. Perfect looked something like this:

DD:     Look it's not that hard - pick a date, time, and place.  Then we have a plan.  U can't call me an hour b4 u want 2 hang out.  That doesn't work 4 me.

Dr. Perfect:     A little sassy tonight, aren't we?

DD:     Just telling u how it is.  So u know.

Dr. Perfect:     Glad I know ;-)

Rowdy and Chanel must have been seductively sassy in crafting their text messages to Dr. Perfect from me, because he actually showed up at the bar to see us that night.  And he was as seemingly perfect as always while he was there with us.  And he promised to plan a date for Sunday.  And it went exactly like you think it did.

Date Attempt #5:  Saturday

Dr. Perfect:     You looked very cute last night at the bar :)

DD:     Thx :)  So did u.  R we still on for a date tomorrow?

Dr. Perfect:     Sure.  we'll do smthing.

DD:     What time r u thinking? 

Dr. Perfect:     After the football game.  I'll call.

DD:     What do u want to do?

Dr. Perfect:     We'll see.  whatever

Well, needless to say, "we'll see" just wasn't cutting it for me.  After another few texts of I-need-at-least-a-definite-time-cause-I'm-not-the-girl-who-sits-around-waiting-for-a-man, with him responding with various versions of you-are-sure-being-a-lot-of-work-how-dare-you-want-at-least-12-hours-advance-notice-on-the-second-date, and Dr. Perfect had completely fallen off his pedestal and down into the trenches of all other men in this world. 

I never did figure out why I was unintentionally keeping the doctor away—but I think it's safe to say, it sure wasn't a daily apple.

Lesson #9 in Post-Divorce Dating:  There are no perfect men in this world—only men who are better at hiding their flaws than others—but one should date these men without fear.  Eventually, even Superman has to remove his disguise and reveal his true identity.

Forever fearless,
Dumbfounded Divorcée

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

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

The Set-Up

Step 1:  The Set-Up.

Big D:     I have a guy I want to introduce you to.

DD:     Oh yeah?  Who is it?  Cute?  Nice?  Single, I'm assuming?

Big D:     He broke up with someone not too long ago, so he's recently single.  Mamasita thinks he is very attractive—

Mamasita (shouting in background):     OMG, yes!  he is adorable!

Big D:     He and I went to grade school together—we've been friends for a long time.  He plays guitar and writes all his songs; he still plays, but he's now a teacher at a Montessori school.  Let's see, he surfs, writes fiction—he's a very nice guy.

DD:     Nice, cute, teacher, surfer, and musician?  And a writer?!  Sounds intriguing...

Mamasita (off in background):     Tell her—oh just let me talk to her...

*Various noises, as Mamasita and Big D struggle over the phone*

Mamasita:     Hey—so the last girl he was dating?  He ended it with her because—he told me—that he just didn't see a future for them, so he didn't want to lead her on or waste time on something that wasn't going to last—this is what a nice guy he is.

DD:     Wow.  That—that really is nice.  And surprising for a guy to say that.

Mamasita:     You will definitely like him—and he's hot!

Mr. Songwriter and I met shortly after this conversation at a fundraising event that was planned and hosted by Mamasita and Rowdy.  Conveniently, we had both been invited and were quickly introduced by Big D, who absolutely loves playing the role of matchmaker with me.

Step 2:  First impressions.

Wow.  Definitely attractive...in that mysterious, sexy-voiced lead guitarist sort of way.

Hmmm...he sort of has this artsy-rocker look to him with the dark-rimmed glasses.  Gives off the air of coolness...sort of like he's a bit of a rebel, not too concerned about what others think, and all that "independent" image stuff....definitely interesting.

As the event progresses, we chat and get to know each other, while also mingling with the rest of the crowds and mutual friends who are attending.  I get the usual background information—except his past is not at all what you would consider "usual."  After earning a degree in Creative Writing, he decides to move to Costa Rica to teach surfing lessons.  Then he lives abroad for about a year before he returns to the U.S. for a girl, lives with her in a coastal northeastern city, works odd jobs, plays music, and writes for a while, until he eventually breaks up with said chick, moves back to his hometown, and takes a job teaching.  Definitely not the "usual" path, that's for sure.  I'm intrigued.

As the fundraiser is winding down, I walk out to the parking lot to head for home—and Mr. Songwriter happens to be out there helping Mamasita load some of the event items into her SUV (awww...).  Oh geez, here it comes...decision time.

Step 3:  Extend the evening.

"So what are you doing now?  Do you want to go get a drink somewhere?" Mr. Songwriter asks casually once we stroll far enough away from Mamasita that we are out of earshot.  "Or do you have other plans?"

Other plans now?  Is he serious?  It's 11:00 p.m., and I have a job training the next morning at 9.  If I was smart and responsible (key word there being "if"), I would head for home and get some much-needed sleep.

On the other hand, he's cute, and I haven't been asked on a date for a while...this is the first guy that I've met recently who hasn't had severe social tact issues or isn't just looking to follow me home to "hang out."

But no!  I need to get my sleep!  This training may not be important, but being tired for hours while listening to boring people talk about boring things will be absolutely miserable.  However, he is cute... shoot, did I say that one already?  I am horrible at this...


I make a decision.  Sigh.  I am going to hate myself when that alarm goes off in the morning.

We leave the event and park near my place, planning to walk from there to a local restaurant/bar down the street from where I live.  Despite the late hour, the restaurant is still packed, but we find seats at the bar and place our drink orders.  We talk mostly about work, comparing our students and the fact that, when you are a teacher, your day never fails to include some hilariously-crazy story.

Huh...if seriously famous, I bet this guy would have a whole clan of groupies...he has that husky voice, that quick humor.

Not at all my type...but you know—my type hasn't exactly worked out for me thus far...so maybe? I don't know....


The time passes quickly—we seem to have plenty to talk about, and, to top it off, he certainly makes me laugh with his dry, sarcastic humor—but I'm still not quite convinced that there is that "spark."  However, I can hear Mamasita in my head:  "Sometimes it takes until the second date—that is what happened with Big D and I—give it a chance!"  As I attempt to remain open-minded, I give him a quick glance as we are walking back toward my home and his car, and I notice that he seems to be looking around and nervously fidgeting a bit.

Step 4:  End-of-date kiss strategy.

"Man...I should have gone to the bathroom before we left the bar.  Hmm...think this place is open?  Nope—closed.  Oh well...oh man, didn't even think about it.  Should have. ...," Mr. Songwriter trails off, still looking around as if hoping some place will magically open up at one o'clock in the morning.

HA—hold on a sec, is he really going to pull that card?  What does he take me for?  Some naïve divorcée who hasn't dated in 7 years and doesn't know the new tricks of the dating game? Oh wait...  Okay, so while that might be true, I hate to break it to you, buddy—that bathroom trick ain't "new."

But wait—if I don't let him come up, is that mean?  He is kinda squirming...maybe he really has to go to the bathroom?  Shoot...that pesky little angel on my shoulder is gonna get me once again...


"If you need to, you can come up and use my bathroom, of course," I suggest casually, trying to word the invitation in a way that does not suggest that any funny business should be anticipated after said bathroom trip.

"Are you sure you don't mind?  Really, I will just use the bathroom and leave; I know you have an early morning tomorrow with that training and all," Mr. Songwriter apologizes, sounding genuine, as he follows me into my building.

While he's in the bathroom, I debate the usual end-of-date-kiss debacle.  I am not going to be dumb this time—I'm almost certain a private goodnight kiss is the angle with this whole bathroom routine of Mr. Songwriter's.  The question is:  do I let him?  I'm still not used to this whole kiss-on-the-first-date thing, but it seems to be gaining popularity here in the new age of dating...that, or I'm just dating a bunch of overly-affectionate (to put it nicely) men.

I decide just to go with it—if this is dating in 2010 and I'm single, then I should give it a shot.  And the kiss is, well...nice.  Just nice.  Not sure what that means, but since I'm not really aiming much higher than "not unpleasant," I can't say it is that bad of a sign.  Maybe Mr. Songwriter has some potential?

Lesson #6 in Post-Divorce Dating:  All in all, set-ups are a good thing.  First, step 1 removes the pressure of finding a date; then, step 2 yanks you out of your comfort zone toward someone who is totally not your usual type and whose first impression might have normally had you walking away.  Finally, step 3 allows for dating practice with a safe, mutually-known, and trusted individual.  But watch out for that fourth step—it's a doozy.

Forever fearless,
Dumbfounded Divorcée

Lone Star State of Mind

I know my post-vacation review on the trip with Rowdy to visit CB has been a long time coming, so here it goes—Texas was basically incredible.  It was a much-anticipated, much-needed, and much-deserved adventure.  And of course, without fail, every adventure of mine does not fail to include some sort of entertaining story.  During our one night out with CB and some of his friends, Rowdy and I were fortunate enough to witness a relationship disagreement.  Oh, and not just any relationship disagreement, but a full-out, straight-from-a-movie-screen, ugly relationship brawl.  But I'm getting ahead of myself...let's start at the beginning.

It is Saturday night deep in the heart of Texas.  The bars are hopping.  The drinks are flowing.  The crowds are partying it up.  Rowdy and I are ready for an evening of non-stop fun and excitement—I mean, we're on vacation, right?  CB and his friend Matthew have introduced us to some of their other friends who we are also at the bar, including a guy named Toad.  We find out that Toad's fiancée is at the bar somewhere, too, but we haven't yet seen her—apparently, she is waiting to make her grand entrance.

We've been at the bar for about an hour when CB comes up to whisper something in my ear.  "Hey, I am so sorry, but I'm going to have to leave you for a bit—some stupid slutty girl is telling Toad's fiancée lies about him, and I'm going to try to put a stop to it before it gets out of hand.  I'll be back as soon as I can," CB promises.  I nod and tell him to go, of course—he's got to help his friend.  (By the way, seriously, he really needs to stop being so wonderful...I can only make excuses to myself for so long.)

So CB goes off in search of Fiancée and Slutty, and Toad stays with us, assumedly staying out of the way until things have been smoothed over.  But CB isn't gone for ten minutes when a cute, blonde, livid-looking chick, determinedly elbowing her way through the massive crowd, comes up behind Toad and shoves him out of nowhere.

"Apparently, this is Ms. Fiancée..." Rowdy remarks with interest, as we watch Fiancée start to ream out Toad while he stands there looking pathetically like a doormat.  She is definitely on the warpath.  I look around for CB, but he's no where in sight.

Just as I turn back to the raging couple, Toad finally says something back to Fiancée—which we quickly learn is not the 'something' she was looking for.  She suddenly stops screaming, takes the glass of red wine in her hand, and furiously splashes its contents right in Toad's face.  Then, since that was obviously not cruel enough, she takes a look at the empty glass in her hand—and spikes it on the floor like she's Tom Brady in the endzone, shattering the glass into tiny shards.

Fiancée muscles through the now-staring crowds and heads for the exit.  The worst part though?  Toad, the stupid loser, runs after her—covered in red wine and all.  Seriously?!?

"Okay, first lesson learned, if you ever get a bit crowded or clausterphobic at the bar, I now know how to clear the area around us quickly," Rowdy comments, amused, as we both look at the open space that has suddenly been created around the shattered glass on the floor.  "Second of all, what the hell?  If anyone ever did that to me, I would definitely not be chasing after that person right now.  Instead, I'd probably be getting arrested, and you'd be attempting to sweet-talk me out of cuffs...."

When CB returns, we give him the update, and he hustles off to help put out fires with his friends.  However, aside from that night, CB spends pretty much the entirety of the weekend with us—and I know he didn't have to.  I enjoyed every single moment in Texas—including the very entertaining spiked-glass drama—and I will finally admit:  I very much enjoyed spending time with CB.

There was an unexpected result of my Texas trip...a glimmer of light at the end of the tunnel, you might call it.  A ray of sunshine...a star glowing in the darkness...a sign of healing.  You see, this lone star of light was remarkable to me, not simply because it shone far brighter than others and couldn't possibly be ignored, but because it was the first time since my ex-husband left me that I felt any inclination, any thirst, any desire at all that I might, one day, feel something for someone once again.  Up until now, I have wished for the complete opposite:  I have wanted to be absolutely happy on my own forever.  And out of nowhere, there was a flash—a small second of hope for something different.

I received this from CB when I got back home:

Hey there.  Glad you had fun.  I had a great time hanging out with you.  You made hanging out easy.  It was the best weekend I've had in a long time (despite my obligations to leave you on Sat. and try to diffuse the relationship bomb).  I'm looking forward to seeing you again in [your city next month].

For clarification, I booked the trip right before you came in town (but after we had e-mailed regularly).  I told my sister not to tell you in case we didn't get along for whatever reason, but I was hoping we got along as well as we did, and well, we did.  Should be a fun time.

Now, let's not go crazy; the flash didn't last that long.  It is certainly not as though I've found Prince Charming on his white horse, and suddenly I'm whole again.  In fact, I'm quite sure that Mr. Right could find me, appear to me tomorrow, and I wouldn't know him at all—I'm still too broken to see the forest for the trees.  But the fact that I feel anything at all for CB—even if I have no idea what those feelings are or what they mean right now—has to be a sure sign that healing after divorce is possible.  It's taken me over nine months now to see that lone star of light, but I'm definitely glad that I did.

And who knows?  Maybe a happy ending will happen for me someday—just not yet.

Forever fearless,
Dumbfounded Divorcée