Finding Forty, Day 264; Cougar

I'm laughing as I begin this entry, which can only be a good thing for me.   So rarely has humor found it's darling and beloved place in my words this past year, I welcome tonight's blog wholeheartedly.

I'm cracking myself up because of the situation I find myself in recently.   Here is my story and I'm sticking to it.

One of my best friends is a co-worker and is divorced.   Although I am not officially divorced, my marriage has been over for a while as most of you know.

Two weeks ago, my friend, F, called to see if I wanted to meet her for a drink at local restaurant/bar.   It had been a long, hard week, and I thought a glass of wine sounded great.   We met at the bar and before long, it was swarming with men.  We had fun dancing and flirting, but nothing more.   It was a work night for goodness sakes!

Fast forward to last Thursday night and we again met for dinner, great conversation, and drinks.   We started at a different place, one that was more sports bar oriented.  I won't lie.   We dress cute when we go out together and make a formidable pair of MILF's.  We are 40 and 41, each have three kids, and still look pretty darn good.   I mean, we aren't sure to get hit on or 'picked up' every time we go out, but we rarely have no bites.

This particular night, a beefy guy in a tight t-shirt was checking her out.   It's so obvious when a man is interested.   If you miss their glance your way the first time, you are sure to notice it one of the next 20 or so repeats.   She sort of likes that Ed Hardy style, so it was amusing.

We also had a pudgy,  high-tech worker in Dockers and a button up shirt who could hardly contain himself.   We politely smiled, but gave no welcoming looks.

Then, as we were finishing our nachos and beer, a group of young guys walked in and as they passed us, one visibly checked me out.

I tend to find F prettier than me and am fine with her getting more attention, but this was interesting.  She immediately said, "Oh, he likes you."

I just laughed because as I glanced at him, he looked like a kid.

A while later, I saw him walking to our table and he bee-lined right for me.    He told me he and his friends were leaving but that he wanted to introduce himself.  He said I was beautiful and asked where I'd be later.   I threw out a few places and smiled as he walked off.

Later, F and I joked about how we'd never have been able to pick him up anyway because neither one of us had our car seats with us.

We laughed a bit more, went to get my sister and her friends who were in town on business, and took them to the restaurant/bar we'd been to the week before.

Lo and behold, when I walked in, I immediately spotted the guy from the bar earlier in the night.   He beamed and me and said, "I KNEW IT!  I knew you'd be here.   My friends wanted to go home and I made them come here because you said you'd be here."

I won't lie.

He's cute.   He's young.   He's fit.  

My mind raced.  Surely he's drunk and looking at me through beer goggles?   There must be something really, horribly, desperately wrong with him.  

I'm not ugly, but I'm not THAT great.  Really.

He chatted me up a bit, with me giggling like a school girl and blushing.   My sister kept saying how much he looked like my twin nephews who are 19 (eww), but in all honesty, he really does.

I finally had to ask how old he was, fully expecting to hear him say 20.   When he said he was 28, I wasn't sure if I felt relief or queasiness.

It finally came time to tell him my age and as you all know, I deal in being as upfront as possible.

"Forty" I answered sheepishly.

His eyes popped wide open and he said, "No way!   How old are you REALLY?"

Well, suffice to say, he hasn't had a problem with my age.

We had our first date this morning (yes, it was a breakfast date) and are having another one tomorrow.

I haven't dated many 28 year olds, oh wait, I haven't dated any, but he seems really genuine and nice.  He hasn't made any sexual moves on me and is content to talk to me and tell me how great I am.

I have smiled and laughed all day long.

Sometimes I think my life couldn't be any more ridiculous if I actually tried for it to be.

Just before starting this blog, I googled "cougars" to see if I truly fit the description.   In some ways, yes. I am 40, almost 41, while he is only 28.   That 12 year age difference puts us pretty darn close to Ashton and Demi.  

There is actually a website, www.dateacougar.com, where people can go to willingly and readily and hopefully enter into such relationships.   The women call the men "cubs"!

When I think about the fact that he was born in 1982, I just laugh.    What in the world would he want with a woman like me?

He constantly tells me I am beautiful, so I plan to let him discover my "National Geographic" breasts (see one of my early blogs) and my "Okavango river delta" stretch marks on my belly all on his own.  No point in giving away all my secrets.

Actually, with all of these African savanna references, maybe I am a cougar after all?

For now, I plan to just go with the flow and enjoy this smile that has crept upon this middle aged face of mine.

I better sign off.  I have a breakfast date to prepare for.

Finding Forty, Day 257; Nine Days

My, my, how time flies.  

The past 9 days have been a whirl-wind, a roller coaster, a ride, to say the least.

In nine short days I've traveled with my girlfriends for a short, but adventurous get away.   Discerning folks might have even unknowingly viewed me on VH1 as I was a "casted audience member" for the Pepsi Fan Jam concert that aired the Thursday before the Super Bowl.

I was in Dallas to see my favorite band, but I also go to witness snow.  Big, fat, soft flakes fell from the heavens  above to the icy earth below and made this romantic girl wish she had a warm hand to hold on to.

She didn't.  Unless you count my own hands as they met between my thighs to find a bit of warmth.

The weekend brought a let down of colossal sorts.  It's very hard to bask in the glow of your favorite rock star and then be thrust back into reality within hours.    Add to that the fact that your future ex husband loaded your kids into the Suburban to head out of town for a family birthday gathering while you were left home alone and the truth can definitely weigh heavily on the heart.

As the weekend hit it's peak, I realized I was also getting sick.  

Sunday found me in bed, alone, puffy eyed, red nosed, crying inconsolably feeling like I had made the biggest mistake any human being had ever made.    A is a REALLY NICE GUY and I felt like I'd walked away from potentially the best thing I'll ever know.

A was sweet and sympathetic to my plight, but firm in his belief that we are doing the right thing.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Okay, I can remember when I was on board with that.

Monday brought my new after school job.   Yes, I found a new job on Craigslist.  I am a "homework assistant" for two brothers three days a week, every OTHER week.  I could not do it weekly, but the bi weekly nature of it makes it do able.   So, I work a full time job as a teacher and then go and do this new job.  

It just so happens though, that this new job coincided with my apartment move in date.

It was a bit anti-climatic to get my apartment key, zip through the apartment for five minutes, then dash off to help a 5th grader convert improper fractions.

But I keep thinking of the money I am making and how it might help go towards our family beach trip this summer or dinner next week.

My budget is yet to be determined and I feel as if I am stretching things to the absolute.

Today brought forth a vaginal ultrasound and a mammogram which is always an experience in and of itself, and now I sit, tired, stinky, and still living out of heavy duty sized garbage bags and moving boxes.

I have no furniture, no organization scheme, no money, no man in my life (save three very resilient, beautiful boys) and here I am.

The wrinkles under my eyes and above my upper lip remind me of the journey I've been on for some time now, perhaps my whole life, and there is a bittersweet feeling I get when I look upon them.

I'm happy, deep down, because I know I will be alright in the end.  But I'm sad, and the sadness is deep.   It's a heavy hearted feeling that just won't seem to go away.

I don't look forward to sleeping on my air mattress alone tonight.   Thank goodness I still have Hippo.

But tomorrow is another day and soldier on I will.

Nine days, so much life lived, so much accomplished.   Sometimes my own fortitude surprises me.

Finding Forty, Day 248; The Lion

This morning, again, I awoke from a tremendous dream.  As my mind's adventure ended and my eyes popped open, I slowly began working through the details of the story that had been playing out in my state of slumber.

The first thing I remembered was a lion!   Not any lion, but the most majestic creature I'd ever seen.   In the dream, I could speak to the lion, with and without words.   It was as if, at times, our minds were one.

The lion and I were in love.  We shared tremendous passion for one another and anguish at our alternative states.   

In the dream, the lion could be human as well, but only for very short periods of time.   Eventually, in the end, his animal form would have to dominate.

But we shared such intimacy and I was so unafraid.   I would reach right into the lion's mouth, I would nuzzle into his wild, exotic mane, I would bestow him with kisses and caress his sinewy body. 

With his eyes and the inner voice only I could hear, he expressed to me how deeply he loved me and how soon he would make the transition, forever, to his human form so that we might be together forever.

And I believed.

Until I woke up.

As I laid in bed, thinking about that dream, wondering why in the world I would journey there in my mind, a metaphor slowly came to form.

I did love a lion once, still do.   His magnificence was more than I could bear, I was captivated, mesmerized.    He told me he would come to me, leave the wilds and live with me, but never did.

I should have never expected or asked him to.   

 How could a lion ever be human?

 

Finding Forty, Day 240; Flipping Pages

Seven days pass, a lifetime, a nothingness, a blur.

I am happy tonight.   Adele is soulfully singing to me through my ear buds.   It's not yet 10 p.m. and I'm snuggled into my bed (alone) and feel content.

The original apartment plan fell through last week, so I spent the greater part of Saturday apartment hunting.  Not being a communal dweller for over two decades, I was dejected and overwhelmed most of the day.   Finally, as I grew wearier by the minute, I asked the locator to take me back to a complex we had looked at earlier in the day.   Originally, I felt it was just a hair out of my budget, but then it hit me that the apartment came with a washer and dryer (full size) in the unit.   When I factored in the cost of buying those either new or used, I could justify the cost of rent.   Yes, I will be strapped, but hopefully soon A will be gainfully employed and can again help with our family's finances.

The boys are excited.   The amenities are appealing to them and the apartment is about a mile from their house.

  I shed tears on Saturday as I got cash from the ATM to get my money order for the deposit and application fee.   I called A, one more time, to confirm this was truly in our future.   Again, yes was his response.

At the complex, as I answered all the standard questions I texted him to see if he would be my emergency contact.    My rock in my time of trouble, he's always been.   He was the reason I was able to push through, literally, all three of our kids' births without any pain medication.   If I  knew he was in the room, I felt safe.

Now I'm leaving him in his own room, his own walls as I strike out on my own.   It's scary, sad, and exciting all at once.

When I think about walking through my newly cleaned apartment in early February, I know I'll cry, but I'll also laugh to myself at the craziness reality of my 'new chapter', as my best friend R says.  

I'm an avid reader.   Voracious, all my life.  New chapters have always been exciting, especially in the books that grip me.  

I can't wait to flip my pages.

Finding Forty, Day 233; My First 15 Minutes

Half past right
The house is empty still
 Yet you are here


Unlaced running shoes
Discarded in haste
Guard the front door


Your damp towel
hangs forlornly
From the rod in the bathroom


Your aftershave wafts through the bedroom
Giving tell tale witness
To your passing presence


How can I miss you so
When you've only just gone?


I emptied my bedside table and my chest of drawers this morning.  I have four Rubbermaid bins packed, as well as two wicker baskets.

I found a sheet of notebook paper and scribbled on each side were two poems I'd written for A.   I don't remember when, but I do recall why.

This is why I'm immobilized, fearful of what's next, grieving deeply what was.

Days pass
One night melting
into the next
New dawn
Time tick tocks forward


Yet somehow within
the blur that was yesterday
is today and will be tomorrow
You remain constant


With a steadfast smile
and a love untainted
You are my homing angel
My refuge


Our love, once new and emergent
Now wears the patina
of a well adored relic
And occupies a special
niche in my heart


Here's to a lifetime of love
and ever afters


Happy Anniversary

Finding Forty, Day 233; Linger

Once, after S and I made love,  I felt immediately shy and embarrassed by my nakedness, my body, my vulnerability.

  We were standing in the bathroom and he turned me towards the mirror, held my hands down by my side so I couldn't grasp to uplift my breasts or try to cover the tributary of stretch marks adorning my belly.

"Look into the mirror," he said.  "Look at you and how beautiful you are, all of you.  All of you.  You need to open your eyes and see the truth."

 I awoke this morning sometime after 5 from a dream about him.   Lately, when he enters my dreams, I feel a sense of urgency to garner his attention, to keep him around, to get him to stay.   In the dream today, we somehow ended up sitting at a table and before me were piles of envelopes, cards, a project.  As I sorted through the goods, I saw a packet for an upcoming run.   Running was something we shared, loved to talk about and even did together twice.   In the dream, I wanted to invite myself to do the run with him and then realized he was already running with a large group of friends and family to raise money for a charitable cause.   He had handwritten many letters and envelopes to try to solicit donations and interest. Below the pile of running information I also found birthday party invitations for one of his niece's.   Apparently he and his wife were going to host a party for her at their house.   I got up to go find him a bag to hold all of his things and by the time I returned, he was gone.   My dream ended with me scanning the parking lot for his red truck, which obviously, was nowhere to be found.

Maybe dreams are just dreams.   Perhaps they are just random, weird, thoughts that bind themselves together in the darkness of the morning and the corners of our minds.

Yet I can't help but wonder if I'm not still standing naked in front of that bathroom mirror, afraid, insecure, frail and this time, the person behind me is simply me.  I am holding myself up, lifting my chin, looking straightforward at the emerging person before me and saying, "Look at you.  Look at the truth, see things for what they are."

What the truth is is a person who is lonely, but not alone.   Somehow I need to make the switch to embracing alone, but letting loneliness fall by the wayside.   Somehow I need to see my truths for what they are, the good, the bad, the ugly, the real.  

Today I won't be immobilized with fear.   I will take the advice of well meaning supporters and start small, 15 minutes at first.   And when those seconds have ticked by, I will reassess and try to add on another 15 minutes.  I won't even worry about which task to tackle first, I'll just work and do and be.

I'm not at home in front of the mirror just yet, but I'm not afraid anymore to just cast a sideways glance and maybe let it linger a bit longer than before.

Finding Forty, Day 232; Tides

I have a friend who calls me Forty.  I like pet names and my favorites are Lou and Sweet Pea, but I'm not getting called those much anymore.   I never thought of myself as "Forty", not even on my birthday last May, but today, as I read the title of this blog, I finally felt the impact of what this journey has been all about.

Finding me.

And have I?  

That question brings a silly smile to my face.   No, I haven't found me, am not anywhere near that as best I can tell.

What I am discovering though, are all the things I don't like or that don't work for me.   It seems I mostly realize all of this through trial and error, with great emphasis on the error part.

I've made so many mistakes, particularly in the last few years, you'd think I'd be mortified and barely able to slink out of my house.   But what good would that do?   The best I can do is own up to them and do my damndest to just let go.

You can't take a mistake back.   There isn't a way to undo what has been done.  All you can do is acknowledge and move on, breathing deeply, steadily, and then do your best to not ever make that same mistake again.

I'm a slow learner and I know it's not because I'm stupid.  I think I just have a very hard time accepting reality, for better or worse.

So, where does Forty find herself today?  

On the one hand, I feel strong and hopeful for something, although I cannot explain or verbalize what that something might be.

And yet, I'm immobilized with fear and apathy.    I think I'm moving into an apartment on February 1.  I will be sub leasing from a couple who need to move out.  The lease term will be 9 months, which seems sufficient time to see what's around the bend.   But I've yet to really hear back from them and begin working on ironing out the details of the lease.

 I can't get motivated to pack a single box, to sit and weed through the contents of my past life and decide what stays or goes.    The task seems insurmountable and I'm not sure how I will ever find the fortitude to push onward.

And so I sit and look for furniture on Craigslist, or surf the internet looking at 2 bedroom condos in the hopes that buying might be a better alternative for me than leasing in a huge apartment complex.

Sometimes I check out divorce sites and start trying to make a list of what all needs to be done in that area.

I've tried playing with my finances to make a budget.

But then I get this overwhelmed, exhausted feeling and my throat feels like it's closing shut.   My eyes well with tears and I find myself escaping into music, or food, or mindless t.v. or conversation with the nearest set of ears around.

I've always been scattered, never able to truly focus on a linear set of tasks.   If I think of the big picture, I shut down.

I know I can break things into smaller tasks, but I don't even know where to start.

And I haven't even begun to think of what needs to be done with our personal finances.    

I look at A and wonder how the hell we got to this point.  

So, how to figure out what I want?   I guess by continuing to compile my list of don't wants, to keep moving, doing, thinking?

I'm not really sure.

I feel like I've gone from blessed to messed.

Surely, at some point, the tides will turn.