Date #2 – Mr. P

So the week wore on with my stomach on the mend.  Almost too many lovely texts and phone calls went back and forth (hindsight: Error #2).  And too much thinking about how I was going to corner him to kiss him again took up an enormous amount of brain power.  (It’s been a really LONG time, give me a break, people.)

Date #2 was a party at his friend’s house where there were lots of lawn games to play and prizes to win.

All this thinking about outfits was wearing me out.  It was going to be hot, somewhat athletic, and casual, but I needed to wear something pretty.  Argh!  For this date, I was much more relaxed so I just went with a little flirty skirt, tee and flips.  It was quite possibly the hottest night on record so thankfully I chose wisely.  I wouldn’t say it was the sexiest outfit on the planet, it was more practical (hindsight: Error #3)  Perhaps bending over in the flirty skirt to pick up the bocce ball 700 times would work in my favor – maybe not.  I planned to sauce it up for Date #3.  But that never happened.  I’ll get to that later.

He picked me up at the curb this time, leaned over to open the door and gave me the over-the-console hug in his car.  Is it just me, or are you feeling the distance too?

We get to the party, meet some of his friends, there are a few people I know as well, so we hang out and start talking and drinking.  This was a little awkward for me because most of these people I know remotely through work.  Most of them know that last year I was pregnant.  And now I show up as Mr. P’s date?  There were some confused looks to say the least.  I had to brush it off and just roll.

He gave me the “I’m going to leave you alone and see how you fare” test.  I think I passed.  I played washers with another girl and had fun.  No biggie.  We played bocce a couple of times, (I bent over a lot to chase the ball) we chatted, snacked, talked some more just to each other and then played our own little solitary game of washers.  I feel like I performed athletically better than I thought I would which I hope impressed him.  Maybe I intimidated him with my athleticism (Accurate assessment #4 – perhaps. At least that’s what I’m telling myself.)  Meanwhile, everyone is literally sweating as if we were on the surface of the sun.  It was miserable.  Then the mosquitoes arrived.

We decided to leave and enjoy the air-conditioning of his car on the way home.  I asked him in.  Of course, for more kissing!  He helped me dismiss the impressionable young sitter.  And we proceeded to kiss.  A lot.  There was some minor grabbing and stuff, (Sorry you had to hear that, Dad.  He did the grabbing, not me.) Which of course made it more fun.  It was so great.  Again.  Great, great, great. And then the classic line.  “I’ll call you tomorrow.”  Ah, we all know what that means, right?


Date #1 – Mr. P

First off, prior to this date, we met once briefly, then another time, some mutual friends got us together at a bar.  [Warning: MY perspective coming up]  It was electric!  He asked me out for three, yes three, events in the coming week.  I was a little overwhelmed by all the attention.  (Not having had ANY for the last several years.  Sorry, Ex-H) I decided to go to one of the three events – the country club dinner dance that wrapped up a 3-day golf tournament.

This decision prompted a couple of shopping trips to find just the right dress, shoes, jewelry, and mindset for the night.  This was going to be my first date in 18 years.  For real.  The last time I had dated, Clinton was president, the internet did not exist except in Al Gore’s mind, and I was wearing babydoll dresses with combat boots, and listening to a whole lot of Hole, Nirvana and Soundgarden.  I had a lot of catching up to do.

My work friends came together to help Stella get her groove back – I raided closets, borrowed hair straighteners, I texted from Victoria’s Secret dressing rooms.  One even babysat for me.  A few other friends texted me before I left to wish me luck.  I felt like the luckiest girl on earth to have such great friends.  Blah blah blah, friends, great – get to the date, woman!

He pulled up, got out of the car and looked seriously hot in his expensive suit.  I could tell I was wowing him with my killer dress, heels and freshly straightened hair.  It was totally one of those slow-mo scenes from a movie.  Kinda like Phoebe Cates getting out of the pool in Fast Times at Ridgemont High, you know?  Minus the red bikini.  Well, wait, with the red bikini…oh nevermind, you get the point.  He opened my car door; it was so proper I almost peed.

Another couple was with us so we chatted while we drove to the club.  Arrived at the club, valet parked, pretended I do this shit all the time.  We strolled through the patio bar, by the pool – where he went ahead and asked me out for Date #2, a concert at Busch Stadium the following week.  Like a once-in-a-lifetime kind of a concert.  I said yes before he could finish the sentence.  The weather was beautiful.  We talked.  I told him it was my first date in 18 years (Hindsight: Error #1) and that he was setting the bar pretty high.  He should have just shown up in shorts and a tee and taken me to the burger place up the street.

He and his friend won 3rd place in the golf tournament.  I was very proud of my date who, at this point, was still essentially a complete stranger.  After passing on the caviar and oyster shooter appetizers, we moved into the dining room for dinner.  Dinner was interesting.  Salad – good, veal – not so much, only because I couldn’t stop thinking about baby cows, dessert – too rich to eat more than three bites.  Good thing the PBJ I had earlier with the kids was sticking to my divorce-diet-protruding-ribs.

After hitting the bathroom a couple of times to breathe, decompress, text my sitter to check on the kids, and adjust my strapless bra, we walked around some more and ended up outside.  The four of us walked outside to the polo field (just like in Pretty Woman!  Minus the hats!) and watched the party from afar.  He told me how great I looked.  I was smitten.  In the back of my head I’m thinking, “he says this to all the girls.”  (Hindsight: Accurate assessment #1) Terrible, aren’t I?

Then we had to leave.  When we arrived at my house, of course I asked him if he wanted to come in and say hi to my sitter (she being the mutual friend who set us up) and her daughters who came with her.  My little plan to get kissed worked.  They were hardly out the door when he planted a kiss on me that made my stomach flutter like it was prom night.  It was so great.  He is a great kisser.  (Flattered, Mr. P? You should be) The great kissing was again, great, but it also made me think “he’s probably great because he’s had lots of practice.”  (Hindsight: Accurate assessment #2) So that was a minor self-defeating distraction.

He left and I texted three of my dearest friends and told them it was the best date ever.  It truly was like a fairytale.  Too good to be true.  (Hindsight: Accurate assessment #3) Oh, and my friend, the sitter, confirmed that her daughters saw the whole thing.  I felt horrible for burning their underage retinas.

Date #1 was a smashing success in my book.

About three days later, the universe’s perfect timing then allowed me to break my 3-year vomit free streak and get the stomach flu and barf alongside my 4-year-old (her first time ever).  That was fun.  Sadly, I missed the once-in-a-lifetime concert he had invited me to, but we made plans for another date that following weekend….

Consider Me Dated

I’m divorced.  It’s been final for about four months now.  Although the path leading up to it has taken almost two years, the actual legal process was very short.  I likely won’t tell the story here.  Only because it’s just done and over with and no longer something I want to keep carrying around like a big carcass that I can’t put down.  My close and even not-so-close friends know the vivid details anyway; why bore you with it all again?  Let’s face it, you are the only ones reading this blog.  And frankly, it doesn’t quite fit into my “moving on” plans.

Post-divorce, I’ve struggled with throwing myself into work, parenting, resurrecting friends I haven’t seen in ages.  Thinking about dating has taken up a little time, but mostly I have been in a place of focusing on healing, licking my wounds and resigning myself to being alone for a long period of time.  Waiting for what, I don’t know.  Stability?  A lightning bolt?  A sign?  A prince on a white horse?  Not likely to all of the above.

However, I did manage to have approximately 2.5 dates, some kissing, some calling and texting, a whole lot of thinking, a bunch of days of no calling and texting and thus more thinking.

This made me decide that it might be fun to chronicle my dating experiences as a 40-year-old-divorced-mother-of-two-children-under-the-age-of-five.  Why the hell not?  I don’t have anything to lose, right?  Except maybe some future dates.

I apologize in advance to the men who will be featured here.  I will try to protect the names of those involved.  Please don’t hate me for doing this.  You know who you are.  My dearest friends know who you are.  So it hopefully will only be mildly embarrassing, and perhaps flattering.  My intention is really just to make fun of myself and my crazy life.  Your role in this is merely as a minor participant and in some cases, a bystander.

Also, I apologize to my ex.  He may be referenced here to get a point across, but hopefully he’ll take it with a grain of salt.  I imagine if he ever gets wind of this, he will likely just be thanking his lucky stars that we are now divorced.  Let me also say that the re-telling of the dates is from MY perspective.  So when I say things were beautiful, dreamy, heart-pounding, that was just me.  I have no idea where my date’s head was.  I’d like to think it was doing the same stuff, but let’s not take liberties here.  Read, laugh (hopefully) and enjoy.  Or at the very least, use this blog to help your Ambien kick in.