Happy Easter!
In many ways this feels like an obligatory blog. I don't want it to be quite that way. Maybe I have more to say than I realize.
Work is dragging me down. I am definitely terminated and will no longer be employed by my school district past June 1. Showing up everyday and putting on my 'happy face' just gets harder and harder. While I can accept what's happened on the surface, with each passing day I become more and more confused as to why I was one of the few who was let go.
My ego is so wrapped up in all of this, there is no simple way for me to 'not take it personally'. It affects every personal realm of my being, including the livelihood and wellness of my children. I am angry. For a while, I've put off talking to my boss about things, trying to squelch the emotion and move into a spot of neutral acceptance, but the longer I attempt to do that, the more embittered I become.
I sent an email late last week asking to speak with her about the lay off. While nervous and anxious about the prospect of facing her, I must have some answers, even if I am leery that they will be honest.
Job hunting is mentally exhausting. I search and search and my current skill set leaves me empty handed. My goal, thus far, has been to apply to two per week. Better get on that later today.
As for my love life, well...I continue to be committed to repairing things with A. This morning, the image of Dorothy and Oz came into my mind. I awakened at 4 a.m. and realized I needed to set out the boys' Easter baskets. I shuffled through the living room in the dark, retrieved their hidden stash of goodies from the pantry and sequestered myself in the laundry room to assemble the baskets. Sorting through each boys' pile of goodies, I felt extreme happiness. In that moment, in the wee hours before dawn, while each of my boys (including A) slept soundly, I realized there was no other place in the world I'd rather be. Dorothy knew what she was talking about when she said "There's no place like home."
We are tentatively moving ahead. I know A needs space and time and that patience will be my biggest ally during this transition. He still loves me, of that I am certain and deep down I believe there is a chance for us. I must wait and just let things be.
It seems bizarre, but I find myself able to just 'be' like never before, especially as it relates to us. Our friendship is strong and secure and that brings me joy. Our family is tight, weaved with years of love and devotion and there is immeasurable comfort in that reality.
As I was driving home from work the other day, it occurred to me that I haven't talked to S in ages. It hasn't even crossed my mind. The thought that I could, at any time, reach out to him if I so desired gave me such a feeling of power and success. I can but have zero desire. Finally, I feel free.
So, despite my job situation, I still feel blessed. I feel a level of contentment I haven't experienced in quite some time. No, I feel more than contentment. I feel, at last, peace.
This is a Happy Easter indeed.
In 2010, I turned 40 and spent a great part of that year figuring out some serious stuff in my life. Newly 42, I'm still on the path of discovery but feel I've come quite far. This tiny space is my save haven, one of the only places I can come to work through my worries, fears, exaltations, and endeavors. Thank you to those who've helped me along the way and those of you who stop by to read my crazy thoughts. Enjoy!
Sunday, April 24, 2011
Saturday, April 9, 2011
Finding Forty, Day 311; Why?
For a while now I've been thinking of a particular subject for this next blog. It was going to be about the perks of living alone, like eating Baked Cheetos at midnight in bed, never having to do laundry, or being able to talk OUT LOUD to yourself and not worry if anyone hears you.
But the more I thought about those things, which truly can be great in the moment, the more I realized they don't make me as happy as I thought they would.
I want mashed potatoes and meatloaf. I want grey sweat pants and thick socks. I want morning breath and bedhead. And I want those things with A.
Something happened to me recently. Were I a character in a movie, there'd surely have been a scene where I hit my head on the bathroom tile or drank a strange potion from a glass vial, but I can't figure out the moment when my universe as I know it altered.
I just know it did.
Suddenly, the things that are the most important to me in life are the little things I neglected and forgot about when I started down that forsaken path a few years ago.
I want a hand to hold. A body next to me in bed. Someone to share the newspaper with on Sunday morning.
I want to bicker about what we watch on t.v. and what we want for dinner. I want to look at him from across the soccer field as he leans over and whispers into our son's ear and know he's mine.
I feel so stupid for not knowing how loved I was.
So, I type this, wrapped in a towel, sitting on the floor of my closet in my new apartment.
The Cheetos are in the kitchen, the laundry patiently waits in a pile, and I can say anything I want, as loud as I want.
Today, into the empty cavern of my very own place, I say out loud...."Why?"
But the more I thought about those things, which truly can be great in the moment, the more I realized they don't make me as happy as I thought they would.
I want mashed potatoes and meatloaf. I want grey sweat pants and thick socks. I want morning breath and bedhead. And I want those things with A.
Something happened to me recently. Were I a character in a movie, there'd surely have been a scene where I hit my head on the bathroom tile or drank a strange potion from a glass vial, but I can't figure out the moment when my universe as I know it altered.
I just know it did.
Suddenly, the things that are the most important to me in life are the little things I neglected and forgot about when I started down that forsaken path a few years ago.
I want a hand to hold. A body next to me in bed. Someone to share the newspaper with on Sunday morning.
I want to bicker about what we watch on t.v. and what we want for dinner. I want to look at him from across the soccer field as he leans over and whispers into our son's ear and know he's mine.
I feel so stupid for not knowing how loved I was.
So, I type this, wrapped in a towel, sitting on the floor of my closet in my new apartment.
The Cheetos are in the kitchen, the laundry patiently waits in a pile, and I can say anything I want, as loud as I want.
Today, into the empty cavern of my very own place, I say out loud...."Why?"
Sunday, March 27, 2011
Finding Forty, Day 298; Moving Forward, Looking Back
The pink slip was delivered on Friday morning. In truth, it was a white piece of paper that I signed and I didn't cry during my meeting with my principal.
Tears flowed later, throughout the day and into the night, but I still find myself hopeful. Something will turn up or present itself. Things will work out.
A week ago, we discovered my middle son had lice. If you've ever had it in your house, you know how exhausting the process can be to safeguard everyone else and rid the area of the pesky parasites.
I stayed around to help A with everything because it truly is daunting. I spent a great deal of time at his house this week and we have entered into a very interesting situation. We are the best of friends.
More and more, the stronger I get, I see him clearly for who he is. He isn't perfect, but he's the closest thing I've ever found.
Recently my sister told me that our dad (who divorced my mom after 27 years of marriage) confessed to her that he wishes he'd spent more time focusing on the good things in his marriage to her than the bad. He said that he has spent his life searching for perfection and realizes now, on the brink of 70, that it's not out there.
I don't want to be him.
A and I talked all day yesterday about us, our past, our future. Imminent is our declaration of bankruptcy. I'm ready for that, even though I don't like it. I hate the dark cloud hanging over my head.
I don't want to divorce him, yet...if ever. I'm not hoping or even wanting to reconcile full force at this time, but I do like that we are able to spend time together one on one. We don't touch, hold hands, kiss or have sex, but there is a level of intimacy that feels amazing.
We are both in financial ruins, having to start over in our respected professions. Something about being at that spot together brings the past two years into sharp focus.
I would love to move forward and rebuild with him. I know that is scary and I know that my last blog was about loving someone else.
But over the past few weeks and especially as I deal with being laid off, I see what unconditional love looks and feels like when it's directed at me.
There is beauty in A. How I overlooked it shocks me.
I'm not rushing back. I'm saying that I am seeing things more clearly and seriously contemplating. I also know that I hurt him horribly, possibly beyond repair, and he may not want me in his life as anything other than a friend.
And if that's the case, then I will feel honored to be there.
Tears flowed later, throughout the day and into the night, but I still find myself hopeful. Something will turn up or present itself. Things will work out.
A week ago, we discovered my middle son had lice. If you've ever had it in your house, you know how exhausting the process can be to safeguard everyone else and rid the area of the pesky parasites.
I stayed around to help A with everything because it truly is daunting. I spent a great deal of time at his house this week and we have entered into a very interesting situation. We are the best of friends.
More and more, the stronger I get, I see him clearly for who he is. He isn't perfect, but he's the closest thing I've ever found.
Recently my sister told me that our dad (who divorced my mom after 27 years of marriage) confessed to her that he wishes he'd spent more time focusing on the good things in his marriage to her than the bad. He said that he has spent his life searching for perfection and realizes now, on the brink of 70, that it's not out there.
I don't want to be him.
A and I talked all day yesterday about us, our past, our future. Imminent is our declaration of bankruptcy. I'm ready for that, even though I don't like it. I hate the dark cloud hanging over my head.
I don't want to divorce him, yet...if ever. I'm not hoping or even wanting to reconcile full force at this time, but I do like that we are able to spend time together one on one. We don't touch, hold hands, kiss or have sex, but there is a level of intimacy that feels amazing.
We are both in financial ruins, having to start over in our respected professions. Something about being at that spot together brings the past two years into sharp focus.
I would love to move forward and rebuild with him. I know that is scary and I know that my last blog was about loving someone else.
But over the past few weeks and especially as I deal with being laid off, I see what unconditional love looks and feels like when it's directed at me.
There is beauty in A. How I overlooked it shocks me.
I'm not rushing back. I'm saying that I am seeing things more clearly and seriously contemplating. I also know that I hurt him horribly, possibly beyond repair, and he may not want me in his life as anything other than a friend.
And if that's the case, then I will feel honored to be there.
Sunday, March 13, 2011
Finding Forty, Day 284; Ugly Truths
When the rain is blowin' in your face
And the whole world is on your case
I could offer you a warm embrace
To make you feel my love.
When the evening shadows and the stars appear
And there is no one there to dry your tears
I could hold you for a million years
To make you feel my love.
I know you haven't made your mind up yet
But I would never do you wrong
I've known it from the moment that we met
No doubt in my mind where you belong.
I'd go hungry, I'd go black and blue
I'd go crawlin' down the avenue
No, there's nothin' that I wouldn't do
To make you feel my love.
Though storms are raging on the rollin' sea
And on the highway of regrets
Though winds of change are throwing wild and free
You ain't seen nothin' like me yet.
I could make you happy, make your dreams come true
Nothing that I wouldn't do
Go to the ends of the Earth for you
To make you feel my love.
When I began this blog, I vowed to be honest, for better or worse, in all its ugly reality.
Tonight's blog is hideous. Two years ago tonight, I began my affair with S. In the steamy cab of his truck, I leaned over and kissed him.
It wasn't our first kiss.
At 18, on a graduation trip to Acapulco, I leaned over to him in a club and began kissing him. There has always been something about him that drew me in, held me captive.
Now I feel I'm a prisoner. I can't escape the feelings I have for him, the love, the laughter, the foolish, impetuous dreams I created.
And it makes me feel so incredibly stupid. He doesn't want me. He lied to me. He told me horrible, beautiful things and then took them all back and still I pine for him.
Why? How?
I want it to end, to go away. I want to have a heart transplant, a lobotomy, something, anything to move past this ridiculous longing.
The emptiness, so hollow and aching, I try to fill with hobbies, work, interactions with friends.
And I know I'm not the first to ever have a broken heart. But I feel so alone in this at times.
I feel so stuck. I want to be free of him, of all these feelings, and I just don't know how. Isn't there a recipe for this? A timetable? I feel desperate.
Ugly truths, be gone.
Like him.
And the whole world is on your case
I could offer you a warm embrace
To make you feel my love.
When the evening shadows and the stars appear
And there is no one there to dry your tears
I could hold you for a million years
To make you feel my love.
I know you haven't made your mind up yet
But I would never do you wrong
I've known it from the moment that we met
No doubt in my mind where you belong.
I'd go hungry, I'd go black and blue
I'd go crawlin' down the avenue
No, there's nothin' that I wouldn't do
To make you feel my love.
Though storms are raging on the rollin' sea
And on the highway of regrets
Though winds of change are throwing wild and free
You ain't seen nothin' like me yet.
I could make you happy, make your dreams come true
Nothing that I wouldn't do
Go to the ends of the Earth for you
To make you feel my love.
When I began this blog, I vowed to be honest, for better or worse, in all its ugly reality.
Tonight's blog is hideous. Two years ago tonight, I began my affair with S. In the steamy cab of his truck, I leaned over and kissed him.
It wasn't our first kiss.
At 18, on a graduation trip to Acapulco, I leaned over to him in a club and began kissing him. There has always been something about him that drew me in, held me captive.
Now I feel I'm a prisoner. I can't escape the feelings I have for him, the love, the laughter, the foolish, impetuous dreams I created.
And it makes me feel so incredibly stupid. He doesn't want me. He lied to me. He told me horrible, beautiful things and then took them all back and still I pine for him.
Why? How?
I want it to end, to go away. I want to have a heart transplant, a lobotomy, something, anything to move past this ridiculous longing.
The emptiness, so hollow and aching, I try to fill with hobbies, work, interactions with friends.
And I know I'm not the first to ever have a broken heart. But I feel so alone in this at times.
I feel so stuck. I want to be free of him, of all these feelings, and I just don't know how. Isn't there a recipe for this? A timetable? I feel desperate.
Ugly truths, be gone.
Like him.
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Finding Forty, Day 279; Waterfalls
No news is good news, they say. In my case, no news is just no news. The pink slip hasn't arrived. It looms overhead like a huge, dark cloud ready to burst at the seams. I can don my purple Wellies, have my umbrella in hand, but the inevitable drenching will come.
It's the week before Spring Break, so I have to confess that it is hard to get motivated to do much of anything professionally. My mind is already on vacation.
R is flying in from Chicago and a few other friends are gathering to enjoy some much needed time together. We have been sending a flurry of emails to and fro, back and forth, discussing everything from accessories and clothes to where to eat out and what to do. It's so exciting, I can hardly stand the wait.
The other cloud in my mind, though, is that the "anniversary" of when my affair officially began with S is at the end of the week and I keep fighting the urge to drop into dwelling on that time in my life. For 15 years or so, he traveled here during this time of the month for a tournament and I keep wondering if he'll be here this year. Last year he skipped, because of everything that happened with us, so I'm just going to assume he won't be here this year either.
I know I shouldn't even entertain such thoughts, but it's hard.
So, there is good and bad. Happy and sad.
Life, I suppose.
When I think back to all those years I lived just coasting down the stream, never having to give thought to anything other than a pesky bug buzzing in my ear, I'm overcome with the urge to either laugh or cry.
There is no coasting now and it seems the rapids come harder and stronger with every passing day. If there is a waterfall somewhere down the way, I almost welcome it. At least it provides a change from this worrisome, hectic, exhausting pace.
It's the week before Spring Break, so I have to confess that it is hard to get motivated to do much of anything professionally. My mind is already on vacation.
R is flying in from Chicago and a few other friends are gathering to enjoy some much needed time together. We have been sending a flurry of emails to and fro, back and forth, discussing everything from accessories and clothes to where to eat out and what to do. It's so exciting, I can hardly stand the wait.
The other cloud in my mind, though, is that the "anniversary" of when my affair officially began with S is at the end of the week and I keep fighting the urge to drop into dwelling on that time in my life. For 15 years or so, he traveled here during this time of the month for a tournament and I keep wondering if he'll be here this year. Last year he skipped, because of everything that happened with us, so I'm just going to assume he won't be here this year either.
I know I shouldn't even entertain such thoughts, but it's hard.
So, there is good and bad. Happy and sad.
Life, I suppose.
When I think back to all those years I lived just coasting down the stream, never having to give thought to anything other than a pesky bug buzzing in my ear, I'm overcome with the urge to either laugh or cry.
There is no coasting now and it seems the rapids come harder and stronger with every passing day. If there is a waterfall somewhere down the way, I almost welcome it. At least it provides a change from this worrisome, hectic, exhausting pace.
Thursday, March 3, 2011
Finding Forty, Day 273; Pink Slips and Hope
As ever, time has passed and changes, so many changes have come about. My dalliances with the young one (I referred to him as 'the kid') only lasted a few days. Like fellow blogger Kate says in the comments below, fit and cute only go so far. I couldn't get over his horrible spelling and grammar on his texts. I also couldn't get over his tongue!
Being 40 has it's ups and downs, but one of the perks has been that I finally am able to recognize what I like, don't like, and more importantly, have the courage to say so.
When I would kiss 'the kid', I could not stand the way his tongue felt. It was huge and thick and soft and mushy. I kept trying to overcome my distaste for it, thinking that perhaps it would reap other benefits elsewhere, if you catch my drift. But my 40 year old self remembered how important kissing is to me and knew it would always bother me.
And then something else happened.
Last Tuesday, the same day as my last blog, I found out that my position at work is being eliminated. While I haven't received the official pink slip, it's a well known fact in my district that with the massive budget cuts that need to be made, all probationary teachers will be let go. Probationary contract status, for me, means I am a new hire. I am finishing up my second year in the district, the last little bit of my probationary contract, and got caught in the crossfire.
I am a good teacher with a Master's Degree, but I will have to go. My performance has never been substandard, I've never been reprimanded for anything, never placed on a growth plan, but I am out. I understand that the district has to implement a plan that is fair for all, but it almost feels fair for none.
You can imagine the shock, the fear, the numbness I felt, particularly on that Tuesday night when I first found out. 'The Kid' didn't even say he was sorry when I told him. I think the words he texted back were 'Shut up!' I knew he meant 'get out of town' or 'no way', but I wanted more of a shoulder to cry on than a passing glance. I just didn't have the energy for him. Oh, that and he didn't get my Mrs. Robinson joke. Please!
I can handle just about anything, but as you longtime reader's know, I am handling many things right now. Pending divorce, pending bankruptcy due to the failure of "A"'s business, and now this.
Mostly I'm just tired. Exhausted. Cannot find the strength to even begin to know how to move forward.
I spent a few days crying.
I broke down and called 'S' who was sympathetic and nice, but comfortably sitting in his office, getting ready to go home to his wife, who would be coming home from her job.
Anger poured through me as I realized how his life had changed not one iota, while mine seems to be unraveling at the seams.
But then I stop and ask myself...is it really? Maybe all of this is a gift? S can go on with his life, with all of the same problems that existed when our affair first began, never dealing with them, never facing adversity of any sort.
I have to believe that in the end, I will come out stronger, wiser, more worn, but with a patina that shows my value.
Maybe this is an opportunity to reinvent myself or become even truer to who I've always wanted to be? Maybe I find a job that combines writing and fashion and music or any combination of all of the things I so love? Who knows?
If I stop and dwell for too long, the fear creeps in. If I lay down to rest, I worry I might not have the strength to even get up. So, I do my best to keep moving forward.
When I feel this way, I think of Mary Tyler Moore. Forgive me if I've shown this already on my blog.
I'm gonna make it after all...
Being 40 has it's ups and downs, but one of the perks has been that I finally am able to recognize what I like, don't like, and more importantly, have the courage to say so.
When I would kiss 'the kid', I could not stand the way his tongue felt. It was huge and thick and soft and mushy. I kept trying to overcome my distaste for it, thinking that perhaps it would reap other benefits elsewhere, if you catch my drift. But my 40 year old self remembered how important kissing is to me and knew it would always bother me.
And then something else happened.
Last Tuesday, the same day as my last blog, I found out that my position at work is being eliminated. While I haven't received the official pink slip, it's a well known fact in my district that with the massive budget cuts that need to be made, all probationary teachers will be let go. Probationary contract status, for me, means I am a new hire. I am finishing up my second year in the district, the last little bit of my probationary contract, and got caught in the crossfire.
I am a good teacher with a Master's Degree, but I will have to go. My performance has never been substandard, I've never been reprimanded for anything, never placed on a growth plan, but I am out. I understand that the district has to implement a plan that is fair for all, but it almost feels fair for none.
You can imagine the shock, the fear, the numbness I felt, particularly on that Tuesday night when I first found out. 'The Kid' didn't even say he was sorry when I told him. I think the words he texted back were 'Shut up!' I knew he meant 'get out of town' or 'no way', but I wanted more of a shoulder to cry on than a passing glance. I just didn't have the energy for him. Oh, that and he didn't get my Mrs. Robinson joke. Please!
I can handle just about anything, but as you longtime reader's know, I am handling many things right now. Pending divorce, pending bankruptcy due to the failure of "A"'s business, and now this.
Mostly I'm just tired. Exhausted. Cannot find the strength to even begin to know how to move forward.
I spent a few days crying.
I broke down and called 'S' who was sympathetic and nice, but comfortably sitting in his office, getting ready to go home to his wife, who would be coming home from her job.
Anger poured through me as I realized how his life had changed not one iota, while mine seems to be unraveling at the seams.
But then I stop and ask myself...is it really? Maybe all of this is a gift? S can go on with his life, with all of the same problems that existed when our affair first began, never dealing with them, never facing adversity of any sort.
I have to believe that in the end, I will come out stronger, wiser, more worn, but with a patina that shows my value.
Maybe this is an opportunity to reinvent myself or become even truer to who I've always wanted to be? Maybe I find a job that combines writing and fashion and music or any combination of all of the things I so love? Who knows?
If I stop and dwell for too long, the fear creeps in. If I lay down to rest, I worry I might not have the strength to even get up. So, I do my best to keep moving forward.
When I feel this way, I think of Mary Tyler Moore. Forgive me if I've shown this already on my blog.
I'm gonna make it after all...
Monday, February 21, 2011
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.
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.
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