Waiting For A Publisher To Contact You Is Like Dysfunctional Dating All Over Again

Today I stood at my window, and looked out, pondering the universe while looking at my watery reflection . Then I leaned my head and sniffed my armpit. Everything seemed fine, but I was worried that maybe I smelled like onions. Or maybe I’m just weird. I returned to pondering my reflection in the glass. I looked normal enough. Whatever. Surely, today they’d call. Because, it’s just like that dude in those Saturday Night Live sketches used to affirm “I’m good enough, I’m strong enough, and gosh darn it, people like me” (even if I smell like onions).

Then Kealoha came downstairs and said: “Tanya, what the fuck are you doing?” Not in a mean way, mind you. In a soft and gentle and loving way.

Ahem.

Here’s why I was staring at myself: last month, a publisher read the first two chapters of my memoir “Popsicle Toes” and requested the whole manuscript. But it’s been over a month and I haven’t heard anything yet. And then last week, I had a speed dating session where I met five major publishers in audiobooks who all professed to find my narration really attractive and gave me their cards. I have followed up with all the publishers (one for my book and five for audio/narration work for other people’s work). I composed emails that I hope made me seem witty, carefree, professional, totally sane, totally reliable and unbelievably talented. And now…now it’s just a waiting game.

And I’m having flashbacks to my single days where I questioned everything I’ve ever said or done on a date, and tried to read into the dude’s perspective. “He said he liked me and I’m not like anyone he’s ever met so does that mean he’s interested in me, or does that mean he thinks I’m schizophrenic? I mean, does he like me or is he just being nice? And why did he breathe when he said…”

Now it’s the same thing, only I’m questioning my talent and how long do I wait before I contact the publishers again, and if I email them again, will I come off as creepy and pushy…but if I don’t email them again then maybe I’m not present in their mind and, dammit, something or someone smells like onions here and I’m going insane, but I’m totally able to handle all of this and why, why, WHY don’t they want me? Aren’t I good enough? Huh? HUH?

Breathe, breathe, breathe.

I’m trying to remind myself that if they’re really, really interested in me, they’ll contact me. I mean, Kealoha filled out an application  to date me so that proves something, right? Except, it took him fifteen years to get to that point, and I really don’t want to wait fifteen years to get my book published or to get a recording gig with another publisher.

It’s time for a big ol glass of wine and to stare out the window again. If it were raining, it’d be even better. I think I’ll make faces like I’m trapped and trying to get out, just to keep the neighbors’ guessing. It will keep me from obsessing over when, or IF, my phone is ever going to ring.

(But they wouldn’t give me a business card if they weren’t interested, right? Right?)

Gah.

On Weddings (more deep thoughts)

WEDDING

This weekend was a weekend of weddings with a heavy side of expectations and disappointments. Now there’s a sentence that will make you want to keep reading. It’s not depressing; I promise you.

We went to a friend of Kealoha’s wedding. Funny thing is, once upon a time, she was friend of mine. In fact, she was a housemate of mine fifteen years ago, in the very house I met Kealoha. She was the owner of the house and the hot tub (from which I emerged wrapped in towels). I lived with her for over a year or so and it was the first time in my teenager and young adult years (I was 22) that I lived in a home that was both beautiful and safe.

She was older than me…I think she was 35 to my 22 and I remember thinking how ‘old’ she was, something I laugh at now. Watching her get married, a peculiar thing happened. I was flooded with happiness for her, but I also felt regret…for ways I’d behaved when we were roommates. In my early twenties I was particularly self-centered. Lots of reasons for that, but a lot of it came down to immaturity. I didn’t understand loneliness at that time, or wanting to find a life partner, and I wasn’t very sympathetic to her wants.

Now, at almost 38, having felt deep loneliness and luckily having found my ‘life partner’ I can look back and think: man, I was an insensitive little turd. That’s right. A turd.

So I attended the wedding as I am now: 37, with my 2 kids and Kealoha and lots of learning under my belt, but my younger self was there too…in how people I haven’t seen in a decade or more responded to me, and that little ghost whispering behind my ear.

My roommate did eventually find love. She married and was happy for a time, and then became a widow. Then she found love again and the couple beamed with good humor and love and warmth. It was lovely. Plus, there was a crab boil afterwards. I don't know. It gave me hope for my girlfriends who are still searching.

It was light and summery and fun….and I just thought for a moment that isn’t life funny, the way it works out. 15 years ago, I never thought I’d have a family of my own, never imagined my life would turn out the way it has. Thankfully, where I’m at now is exactly where I want to be, even if all the details are different than I imagined.

WEDDING ALBUM

Then for father’s day, we went over to Kealoha’s parents for chicken and corn and pie. Mmmm. After dinner and while the kids played over and around Kealoha, his mom and I went into the basement to look at photos. She showed me their wedding album from about 45 years ago. It was actually really interesting. I loved her dress and the bridesmaid’s….and how everyone was just plain young. She pointed out people in the wedding and on the dance floor and told me of their future.

Some of them divorced; some remarried. Some stayed single. Some were gay. Some died early; some died after a long life. Some struggled. Some were happy. Some she never saw again. It’s all very Our Town.

It was all so random…and then I had one of those moments thinking about the wedding we were just at, and the wedding we’ll have in October. How all these people will come together to help us celebrate. For that one moment, we’ll all be frozen in what will be (hopefully) a joyous occasion…and then life will go on. There will be heartbreaks, and disappointments and joy and love and twenty years from now who will be left? And who will be living exactly the life they envisioned they would?

Kealoha’s parents thought they’d be grandparents by now, but they aren’t. I feel for them. It's hard to have expectations and dreams that you have no control over. By this time, I thought I’d have a bestseller and a huge house and a kitchen with an island so big you’d get lost on it. (Actually, that was just a dream, not an expectation.)

I don’t know. I guess what I’m saying is I realized that even though you plan your life out, you never know what’s going to happen. I guess there’s something beautiful to that too. That life will, no matter what, surprise you.

My roommate found love not once, but twice. I’ve found love at 37.

We’ve all grown up, lived, suffered, rejoiced. I find this to be really, really comforting.

That's Right. He Put A Ring On It.

Kealoha and I are getting married! Woohooo! That’s right. We’re going to get hitched. I’m going to be his ball and chain. I’m going to wear curlers and a bad robe and fuzzy slippers and he’s going to mow the lawn wearing tall brown socks and his boxers. It’s so romantic, I can barely even talk about it.  

Honestly, Kealoha is a dream come true. For real. A year and a half ago, I wrote a Letter to the Universe stating the things I was looking for in a partner. If I can find it, I’ll re-post it. The letter is hokey, sentimental, and filled with longing. It was a wish made…and somehow it’s been granted. Kealoha is, I think, my missing piece. He makes all the clichés feel real.

I could go on and on, but instead I’ll tell about looking for the ring. We’ve been talking about getting married for a while. It’s one of the reasons he moved in. We wanted to make sure that we ‘fit’. Both in terms of our lifestyles, but also with being a family.  Maybe he’d find dating a woman with kids overwhelming. Maybe I’d be annoyed with him. Maybe we’d hate each other. Maybe the kids would hate him. The opposite proved to be true. It was all easy. And I still haven’t gotten annoyed with him. So...we decided we were ready to get married. We both want it. We want the party and the symbolic gesture of joining our lives. And Kealoha said he wanted me to have a ring.

The problem was…what sort of ring? Originally, I told Kealoha to look for something and that it didn’t matter. I just said “something not traditional”. I had no idea how many rings were out there. We were sitting on the couch and he mentioned that he wasn’t sure what to do and he was a little overwhelmed, so I grabbed his iPad and said “Let me look” and started my online search for a ring.

There’s like a million things that pop up when you search for a ring. I knew I didn’t want the diamond solitaire. Diamonds to me are more about money than a commitment. Plus, I never know when a diamond is real or not. And they get caught on everything and snag and Kealoha and I decided we wanted to wear just wedding bands…so I wanted a ring I could wear in my right hand once we were married. Something classy like and simple.

I immediately searched for RING and then ONE RING thinking that’d simplify it. This is what popped up with ONE RING.

I pointed to it and said: “This is the ring I want. Can you get on that please?”

Kealoha: “You want me to give you My Precious?”

Me: “Yes. Now.”

Kealoha shrugged and said: “Okay, let me just journey to Mordor first.”

I thought that might take a while so I changed my search. I wanted either an opal or a moon ring. The moon rings, though, were a little weird. And I’m not like a Wiccan or Renaissance woman.

I searched dozens of pages, ring after ring after ring. They were just bad. Gaudy, too big, too small, too many stones. I just wanted something simple and elegant. Something that didn’t suck.

I typed in RING THAT DOESN’T SUCK and got a Facebook page called “Just because I got a tongue ring doesn’t mean I suck dick”. I asked Kealoha if we should join that page. I don’t think he answered me.

Then I gave in and checked Tiffany’s and then Jarrods and then Zales. Muther humper! I was giving in to The Man! I did try to go a non-traditional route though.

And then I found it. As soon as it popped up on screen, I knew it was right. Simple, elegant, I can wear it on my other hand and it’s an opal which reminds me of the moon and the sea and the stars.

Yes I’m getting poetic, but you’ve got to cut me some slack.

Kealoha ordered it for me. We waited….and waited…and went mushroom hunting…and last night he gave me the ring and told me that he loved me and told the kids that he loved them and asked if I would marry him. I said No. That was mean. I shouldn’t have done that. Then I said “Yes”. I keep saying yes. Don’t ask to borrow money from me right now because I’d probably say yes to that too.

The short story is…Kealoha makes me happy. Knowing him, loving him, all that stuff has been incredibly easy. I thought love would be hard work and a fight. I never imagined it could be so effortless.

And that’s truly a wonderful thing. No joke.

Why I Need To Just Shut Up & Enjoy

Yes yes yes. I know I blogged yesterday. But I was grumpy. And depressed. And possibly hormonal. Now it’s a new day and I’m none of those things. (Except I’m probably still hormonal.) I don’t know if it’s because it’s pretty outside or that I went for a run today and wasn’t in horrible pain, or if I’ve finally had an afternoon to my selfish little self. It’s probably all of the above. And my cold medicine has made me very relaxed.

Okay. So I went for a run today in my cute new running shoes in the hopes that my shooting bone-pain in my foot would stop shooting. I put on the soundtrack to Glee (Yes. Yes.  I did.) and started running. Once I got over the oh-god-my-boobs-move-like-juggling-cantaloupes I started to think. Thinking is good. Obsessing, not so good. This thankfully was just run-of-the-mill thinking (with no horrible bone pain).

In my Intro to Literature class we’ve been talking a lot about irony or, you know, the difference between reality and fantasy. So if Willy Loman in a “Death of a Salesman” knew earlier and accepted that he was just a mediocre salesman, an average guy, could he have been okay? Was it his desire to be #1, to be well-liked that ultimately destroyed him?

It occurred to me that the beauty and drama in writing happens not with actions between characters, but with their emotions. It’s the things in life that we want but cannot have, the lies we tell ourselves, the dreams we have that keep us interesting and involved…and sometimes they can break our hearts.

It’s hard to live in the moment and be happy with what you have. My mind is always onto the next thing. Always wanting more, wondering if I’ve made the right decision. Mostly it’s good. It keeps me striving. But in relationships it gets especially tough. If you have an image in your mind of Mr. Right then how can you recognize your friend Harry waiting in the wings? Yes, that’s a reference to When Harry Met Sally. One of the greatest love stories ever. Here are these two people who are perfectly compatible, but they’re so stupid they don’t even realize it. Doesn’t everyone wonder if they’re standing right next to the One, but you don’t see him because you’re looking in the opposite direction?

I don’t know where I was going with this.

Oh, yeah. Reality. Fantasy. Sometimes though if we’re looking so hard for that movie fantasy, then we miss out on the life we’re having. Maybe if we’re looking for Harry we don’t notice the tall, skinny guy in the corner. It’s so confusing. And if we’re always focused on the life we want instead of have, then we don’t enjoy our friends or our jobs because we’re so busy trying to do something else.

I’m really close to an epiphany. Don’t stop don’t stop don’t stop…

Hmm. Not going to happen today.

I probably need to run a little more. It calms me down and helps me focus. I don’t know exactly what I’m trying to say right now except even with all my neuroses and obsessing and questioning, I really am happy with my reality. Today I got to sit in my backyard and read a magazine. How decadent! I got to talk about literature this morning. Tomorrow I’ll have my kids and I’ll narrate an audio book. Tonight I might go see a movie with Biff (he doesn’t know this yet because I just decided). Next week I’m hanging out with my girlfriends and a hopefully a dear friend who likes to talk to me about soup.

Then why don’t I just shut up and enjoy myself for a while, huh?

Awwww, yeah. That’s the epiphany! I need to shut up and enjoy. I’m going to go sit back outside. Crack open a bottle of wine. Sit back and…

It feels gooooood.

Cheers.

A List of My Faults & Yes, I'm Still with Biff

Over the last few days I had several conversations with friends that began with “So, uh, did you break it off with Biff?”

“Huh?” I said each time, truly perplexed.

“Well, I read your blog and it sure sounds like you broke up. You should read it.”

There’s something funny in there with a friend telling you to read the blog you just wrote. So I did read it. Oh. Okay. I see where you could infer that. No. I didn’t break it off. I was ready to. Internally, I had my car keys out and was making all the leaving noises I could: “That was fun. See ya later! Take care!” But then something stopped me. Two things, really. First I talked to Biff again. And secondly, I talked to myself.

I’m not like those circus people, you know half-man, half-woman…with one side looking like Diana Ross and the other just looking like a prepubescent teen with a bad mustache. I mean, I let myself get quiet and I figured out what I wanted. Did I want to give up on Biff because of a few things he said? No. I didn’t. I don’t. And why? Because he’s human. And so I am.

In an effort to be fair, all my blogs and experiences are from my perspective. And while I try to be honest, I haven’t been 100% honest, because who can do that? Here, then, is a list of my faults:

1)         I’m neurotic. I think Woody Allen actually vacations in my brain.

2)         I’m emotional and sensitive. Good things usually, but sometimes it gets me in trouble.

3)         I have Trust Issues. What this means is that I expect people to let me down. Childhood thing. So sometimes it’s easier to break something off first or get all cold and sort of force them to lose interest, than it is to risk getting hurt.

4)         I want to give up gluten because like 4 people in my family have issues with it. They gave it up and lost their belly fat. But every time I decide I’m going to give up gluten, I somehow drive to Kentucky Fried Chicken and eat chicken and biscuits and then have a side of biscuits and then I have biscuits for dessert. When I decide to eat gluten, I don’t want KFC or biscuits.

5)         I’m high maintenance. This is progress actually. I used to be low maintenance which means I did what everyone else wanted me to because I didn’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings. Now, when something doesn’t feel right, I say so.

6)         I’m honest. Is this a fault? It is when socially you’re supposed to keep something to yourself, but you just blurt out your emotions. An example of this is over a perfectly nice dinner telling your boyfriend “I don’t think this is working” simply because you sort of feel that way at that precise moment.

7)         I worry that I don’t know how to make the right decision on anything from choosing the right bra to the right partner in life. I’d really like someone to give me a rulebook. I’m great at rules.

8)         I’m creatively cocky. I like what I’m working on, I like the stuff I’m creating and if someone gives me grief about it, I get cranky.

9)         I’m cranky 80% of the time.

I’m not going to do a #10 because a redheaded vixen told me that 9 is a magical number.

So. No. I didn’t break it off with Biff. Before we made any big decisions, we decided to figure out just exactly how long we’ve been dating. “It was cold when we went out first, wasn’t it?” I asked.

“I’m pretty sure,” he said.

Silently, we counted the weeks together on the calendar. Huh. Six weeks. “That’s it?” I asked. “Feels like longer.”

“I know,” he said. We didn’t mean in a bad way, it just felt like we were more comfortable with each other than just at six weeks. “You really can’t have this serious of a freak-out right now,” he said.

“I can’t?”

“No. It’s too early. See?” He pointed to the calendar. I thought about that. It sort of made sense.

“When can I have a big freak-out, because I’ll tell you right now, I’ll have one.”

He didn’t even pause. He said: “Week sixteen.”

“I can have a big freak-out at week sixteen? Is that a promise?”

“Yes,” Biff said.

That made me smile. That and he mowed my lawn.

That’s not a euphemism people. He actually cut my grass.

Still sounds like a euphemism.

He tended my lawn with care? He trimmed my bushes?

Aw, fuck it.

He made me laugh is reason enough.

Mimosas and Morals -- Mini-Vacay Part Two

Saturday morning of my mini-vacay started with waking up slowly next to Biff. I thought, “Hmmm. It’s awfully nice waking up next to him,” but he couldn’t stay for breakfast. He had to meet his dad in the morning. My morning was spent, then, slowly on my own. I went for a run in the mist and fog. It was only my second time running on my foot. I felt heavy. My body moved in ways I didn’t like. It’s the extra 7 pounds I put on since breaking my foot. If I don’t suck in, it looks like I could be pregnant. Bluh. The run, though, was lovely. I toured the town and houses, imagined getting a cottage someday. Half an hour later, I was back at the B&B in the shower. Then it was breakfast on my own. I grabbed a paper and sat at my own table. I ate berries with cream. I liked the quiet. I actually need solace now and again so I just savored my mimosa and homemade pecan roll.

An hour or so later, Biff came back and met me at the coffee shop where I was working on the next book. (It’s a memoir. I know. I know. But it is.)

We walked the town. Went shopping. I bought a little picture of a cottage surrounded by red flowers. We ate lunch. We took naps. We ate dinner. And at dinner, I had all these thoughts that were coursing through me and they sort of went like this:

What am I doing here with Biff? We’re so different. He hates his job. I love mine. I have kids,  he doesn’t. He smokes and likes American food. I run and have a sick fascination with lentils. He’s skinny; I’m a little tubby right now. He doesn’t want to be married. I do.

Wait a minute! WHAT?

I don’t know how I started the conversation but I said something like “We’re so different. Do you really think this is working?”

He looked dumbfounded. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that I don’t know, you said you never wanted to be married and I have to think about the kids. I mean, if you’re my boyfriend, then I should introduce you to the kids, but what does that mean? I don’t want them to start to count on you.”

And then he said something about the truth was that if he were called on a movie in Prague or New York he’d go. That the truth was that he was a ‘live in the moment’ guy, but he didn’t say he NEVER wanted to get married.

I nodded. What else do you do? “Okay,” I said.

“I’d really like to meet your kids. I’m nervous about it, but I’d like to.”

“I know,” I said. “But you can’t meet them yet.”

The thing is, I’m a mom. And I can’t risk introducing them to someone who lives only in the moment. That’s my truth. And it’s so hard that I can’t just do what I want and live in the moment and not think about tomorrow and tomorrow, but that’s because I’m a parent. And being a parent and being single means there’s a real possibility I’ll spend the majority of my adult life alone.

There was deep awkwardness after the conversation and though we didn’t decide anything, something in me has shifted and shut down. I have let’s say ‘trust issues’ and need very tender handling. The subtext of the conversation, what I heard was “I’m having a great time with you, Tanya, but when something better comes along, I’m out of here.”

It’s okay. It’s sad. But it’s okay. We walked out of the restaurant. “You okay?” he asked.

“Yep,” I said, and smiled.

By 8PM we were sitting in our cramped little room, Biff typing on the computer, me trying not to fall asleep when I blurted the truth I’d been struggling with for most of the day. It had to be said. Best to say it in one breath. “Biff, I’m bored.” I flinched as I waited for him to go on and on about a waste of money and only boring people are boring (like my ex used to do.) Instead he said, “Thank god. I’ve been bored most of the day.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Well, let’s go home then.”

By 8:30 we were in the car. By 9 we were at home. By 9:30 we were in my basement watching Battlestar Galactica. The next morning, we did super fun stuff like go to Lowe’s and lawn work. Biff helped. I loved it. I really did.

So what’s the moral of this mini-vacay? There is a moral, or at least some lesson I learned. I learned that I am not a good fit for a Bed and Breakfast. I want more attention from my vacation. I want a big tub with jets and room service. I want a workout room. So now I know.

But I also learned something bigger. I want to be married again. I didn’t know that I did until this weekend, but the truth is, I do. Talking to Biff just crystallized it. The sad thing is, I don’t know what that means for me now. I have an image of my future husband and he’s crazy about me and we understand each other and we have passion. And he’s a hard worker and he wants to be not only a good friend to me and the kids, but he also wants to be a good role model. He likes my cooking. He doesn’t mind when I don’t wear makeup and I put on my crazy plastic boots to feed the birds or water a plant I neglected for a month. Sometimes he’ll grab me and kiss me just so that I don’t forget that even though I’m his wife and a mom, at the heart of it, I’m also a woman.

This is a surprise to me. I thought I’d given up on that idea of love and marriage, but I haven’t…it’s just changed form within me. I no longer feel like I have to be in a relationship just to be in one. And I know that the relationship I want is waiting for me. It’s just not the time yet. So for now, I’ll simply enjoy my life as it is. And avoid B&B’s at all cost. Literally. They’re expensive.

New Misadventures with Biff OR Why I'm Still Blunder Woman

I’ve been blogging a bit about past loves. I left off at college and I might return to that story, but right now, it’s current dating I’m thinking about. So, at 36, I’m finally dating again. I’ve met men over the last year and had a sorta relationship for a few months, but this is different. This is old school nervousness, sweaty palms, and general stuttering. You’d think that with all my ‘life experience’ I’d be a pro at this.

Okay. If you read my blog, you probably would not think this at all. The truth is, I’m just as awkward at this as everything else in my life. The only difference is that now I can laugh about it.

So, the guy’s name? Biff Turlington. Yeah, that’s right. Biff. Turlington. (No way is that a pseudonym, is there?) He’s not my usual type. I tend to be drawn to dark, short Italian men for some reason. And they’re usually stocky, like they could probably lift dead bodies over their heads and drop them off at the wharf. This guy? He’s tall and thin and equally awkward. A little neurotic. Sometimes pretentious. Funny. (And I know you’re reading this. I’ll expect a list of return compliments.) I won’t go on with the list, but I will say I feel really comfortable with him. Even when I totally make an ass of myself.

Apparently, there are all these hidden dating rules that I’d either forgotten or was just never been clued in to. Take for example the night when we were acting like teenagers (do I need to go into detail?) and there was a pause and I said breathlessly “You could stay over if you want.”

Biff said, “I’ve really got to go. I have to work early in the morning.”

I thought, oh, okay, so I did the most natural thing. I quickly walked him to the door, told him good night and then shut the door firmly so that no passing marauders could bust in to my house.

Days later, I was at dinner with a girlfriend, a lovely red-headed vixen who really could be my sister. (I don’t mean we look alike. She’s cuter than me, but we’re so similar it’s possible our parents dated.) Biff then tells her the story and she bursts out laughing. “What?” I asked.

“Tanya, he didn’t really want to go to work.”

“Didn’t he?”

“No. You were supposed to convince him to stay.”

“Or at least walk me to my car and give me a long kiss,” Biff interrupted.  “Not shove me out the door.”

Really? “But you said you had to work. I was being respectful.”

Apparently, in dating, you’re not supposed to be respectful. See, you make an offer, the guy tries to be polite, and then you attack him. I get it now. Really.

It took me a couple of tries to understand though.

On the day of my potluck, Biff came over to help set up. He yawned and said, “Boy, I’m tired. I think I’ll go upstairs for a nap.” Then he just sort of stared at me.

“Okay. Enjoy!” I said, then I happily went about making my pavlova.

Later I find out that here again was another subtle ploy. He meant to say: “I’m going for a ‘nap’.” Subtext: come upstairs with me now.

Subtlety just doesn’t work for me. I’ve talked to him about it. We now have a secret signal that when he’s following these unwritten dating rules of not saying exactly what he means, he’ll give the signal and I’ll know “Okay. This is flirting.” and/or “It’s time to attack him”.

I can do this. I can totally learn this new way of flirting. And if not, then he’ll just have to spell it out for me. Literally. He might have to write it down, and then I’ll understand it. I told him last night that there was a Lover’s Lane when I was growing up. I never went there but I did give other people directions on how to get there.

Maybe now, I’m hanging out there. I don’t know quite how it happened or what to do now, so I’m sort of just stumbling my way through it, sweaty palms and all.

Fingers Crossed

I’ve met someone. I’ll just put that right out there. And it’s super new and fragile and awkward…but the truth is, I like him. And of course, I don’t know how to handle it.

When you’re a teenager, you sort of makeout whenever you can and in the cover of darkness. Sometimes you have sex. In college you have sex whenever and wherever you can and sometimes you make out. In your twenties you have relationships that sort of erupt overnight like mushrooms, and then somehow become marriages. And sometimes you get divorced. Sometimes you get divorced and you have kids. After that, the dating world transforms. It’s not even a world anymore. It’s a universe…and it’s alien at that.

So this man…he’s smart, and funny, and flirtatious, and cute, and nerdy, and I’m pretty certain he likes me too. At 36 it feels ridiculous to wonder, “Should I call him?” and “Does he like me?” and “If I text him am I contacting him too much?” and then…eventually… “When is it okay to sleep with him?” They’re all ridiculous questions, and all things I’ll figure out if I can talk to him. Which I think I can.

Mostly, I just want time to get to know him. I’d love to hang out and watch movies, cook dinner for him, go out. Finding time between jobs and responsibilities and kids and everything is doubly tricky.

And of course, there’s the real potential of heartbreak. Dating doesn’t usually work out. Someone gets bored or pissed or starts showing you all those dark places they’d been hiding. Then again, what’s considered successful dating? Marriage? I rather like to think that successful dating is where you remain authentically you. You talk. You connect (er…physically, yes, but emotionally too) and that all lasts as long as it can. So if you’re true to yourself you get this daily gift of another person sharing some time with you, and maybe a little bit of their self. For however long you can. That’s success.

And, dear sir, If you’re reading this, no worries. I’ll tell you all this when I see you again. I feel pretty certain that will happen.

And for anyone I’ve pissed off through my fumbling and flirtations, I really am sorry. I haven’t blogged about the dates I’ve been on over the year, but they are rather humorous, so I just might…and I’m sorry for that too. Not to be insensitive, but sheesh, when a guy says he can’t see you anymore because he’s got to go on a weeklong ‘cleansing’ with his guru, well he's sort of asking for it.

And as for this new guy in my life…I’m glad I met you. Be tender. I will too. And everyone else out there who’s been following my divorce and disasters…maybe…maybe after you go through that, you also find something delightful.

I’m keeping my fingers crossed at any rate.

(Coming soon: I revisit old boyfriends from childhood on. Not literally visit them like in "High Fidelity". Just in mini-profiles.)

My Obsessive List of Back-to-Dating Questions

After a self-imposed exile (is that the right word?) of dating, I find I want to do it. Uhm, dating, that is, and not Do It…which is an entirely different thing, but yes, something I’d like to do too.

I’m having a little trouble in this area though. Mostly, it’s my brain. It’s getting in the way. At 36 and divorced and a single mom, I have a whole new list of dating questions and I don’t know the answer to them.

Here are a few:

1) Can I blog about a man I’m seeing if he reads my blog? (If I’m seeing you and you’re reading this, you may want to stop. Seriously.) My blog could prove awkward. A girl needs secrets…and while dating you want to appear perfect and like you always smell of scented lotion. You do not want to come off as neurotic, strange, or possibly obsessive…which are all conclusions you could make about me if you read my blog.

2) And if I blog about dating, can I do it while I’m dating or do I have to wait until months later? I keep envisioning me on a date that’s going really well, so well, we’re on some couch somewhere making out like teenagers and I say “Oh! Hold that thought! I want to tell everyone I’m making out like a teenager!” Then I run to the computer, type away, and then run back.

3) Do I wait for a man to approach me and ask me out or embrace newfound Cougar-within and approach him? And what are the new rules? When do I talk about my kids without making it sound like I want a new Daddy. I don’t, but the kids are an essential part of who I am. Like down to the DNA.

And men my age are usually divorced and/or fresh out of relationships or wounded by relationships. Do I wait until they’re more well-adjusted? Is someone who’s bitter about their ex best to be avoided? Or do I just jump in there and say “Hey! I’m here! Let’s do it!” (Dating, again, people. Not Do It. That’s for later.)

4) Can I date someone whose friend I dated but that was like in college when I didn’t know any better? That’s probably asking for a whole lot of drama.

5) Are all my former students who are now in their thirties off limits still? Because role-playing could be fun. No. That’s off the list. If you’re at my school looking to hire me, I would never NEVER date a student. (Again.)

6) Do I immediately mark off the list anyone who is living with their parents. Times are tough. It’s a new era, and lots of people need to get back on their feet.

7) Could I possibly have a fling? One that doesn’t necessarily mean anything? That would be free and easy, wouldn’t it? A passionate fling on a beach somewhere where I have long hair and a bikini body that makes the gods jealous? (Oops. Just slipped into fantasy there.)

8 ) I just answered my own question. I don’t think I’m a fling type of person. My heart always gets in the way.

And most importantly….

9) How do I stop that heart from getting broken? I’m terrified. Absolutely terrified of falling in love with the wrong person. I’m also terrified of falling in love with the right person.

10) I don’t really have a #10 but I felt like I couldn’t end a list on 9.

So that’s my obsessive list for dating. Who knows the answers to these questions? I could ask my therapist, but he’d probably tell me to just trust myself. I’d rather have someone just tell me what to do and not do. It would be a whole lot easier.

Why We Need Each Other...& A Little Kissing

Last week I tried posting some writer type things. For those of you who write, I hope it helped, at least to know that everyone struggles, gets frustrated, and is a little neurotic. Just a postscript: when I talked about sharing your work, I didn’t mean everyone needed to try to get published. One reader is all you need. Just find one person that you trust.

I guess that’s sort of true of life, and what I’m trying to do. Trying to find one person I can trust to share all those little awkward, wonderful details with.

As for writing…well, I’ve now reached that point where I point where I broadcast intensely personal aspects of my life and blog about it. Why? Why do I do this? My aunt says that the reason therapy works is that they’ve done studies (can’t cite them though) on brain waves and brain activity and neurons are actually strengthened by talking. So by talking to each other, connecting with each other, it actually heals us, makes us stronger.

Maybe this is why I’m so obsessed with the idea of relationships. And love. And dating. And, yes, making out. When we’re with someone, really present with them, we feel more alive. Brain science proves it.

Of course, I could be making all this up, but it sounds good doesn’t it?

So…stay with me here…if connecting with someone heals us, then perhaps the opposite is true. If you’re in a relationship where there is no more communication, no more physical contact, no more being present with each other, maybe this is harmful. Maybe it really does hurt you, and not just emotionally. This is what happened to me in my marriage. I was doing a slow disappearing act. It came from being ignored and not listened to, and I think my little grey cells were shutting down.

Now, of course, I’m connecting all over the place.

Er….Maybe I should reword that.

I’m talking to friends. I’m laughing. I’m asking for help. I post my writing for everyone to read. I go on dates. Sometimes, if I’m lucky (but not that kind of lucky), I may even kiss someone. It all reminds me of how beautiful life is. And ugly. And hard. And painful. And ultimately miraculous.

Life? It’s messed up. It’s hard. And that’s why we need each other. Really, physically, need each other for help.

It’s brain chemistry, really. Or magic.

That in each other we find…well…a kind of peace. And everyone deserves that feeling.

And to be kissed.

Kissing is good too.

Random Thoughts: Best with Depressing Music

I know. I know. It’s bad form to double-post. But the previous post was from writer-Tanya and this post is from whining-Tanya. They are two entirely different people (on good days). My DVD player is broken and I drank too much wine and then waited and took a valium for the dentist tomorrow (per prescription. Don’t worry about the wine. I ate and waited first) and now I feel all wobbly. And I feel old. And lonely. Whaaaahh!!!

*insert pathetic babyish crying here*

Random Thoughts

#1 Two weeks ago I went to Comedy Monday at Dog Story. I’m not currently performing there because organizning and producing the radio plays took too much energy for very little reward. I just can’t keep doing it. So I was there to run box office and to help out. It was a fun night, though people seemed to look through me since I was “Box Office Staff” and not “A Real Person”. And then I was going to stay and do the open improv jam and I looked at all the people staying and they were all in their twenties. A few were in their thirties, but they’re still single and I felt…well….really, really old.

When you’re single, divorced, a single parent, it does something to you. First, it makes you unreliable because there are always issues with babysitters and the kids and family and job obligations. Second, you just can’t seem to shake a constant sense of responsibility. Third, it makes your boobs droop.

So I looked at all the young people and single-no-kids people and I thought “We don’t have a thing in common”. And then I drove home.

#2  I love my house. I love it. My kids love it. And now they’re at their dad’s. He lives, now, a couple of blocks away. His fiancée now answers his phone when I call to talk about the kids. He needed to pick up some things for our daughter and sent his soon-to-be-step-daughter to pick it up for him. And I sat on my deck and had a glass of wine and I thought “Huh. 6 years ago we were married and now I talk more to his fiancée than I do to him.” Our would-be-anniversary was yesterday. The whole day passed and I didn’t realize it until today.

#3 I decided to stop online dating. By stopping online dating and waiting to meet that Special Someone naturally, I’m now not dating at all. And I want to be. I’ve had a few offers from very nice men but I can’t…I just….I need someone who’s my age or older. Who knows about life and struggles.

#4 I miss kissing. I miss lying next to a man in bed and falling asleep with our bodies touching. I miss cooking for someone and adding just a little bit of sexiness into a meal. Food is sensual after all. I miss phone calls and texts. I miss someone thinking about me during the day. I miss daydreaming about coming home to a man and kissing him before he can say a word.

#5 Even food isn’t appealing anymore, though I eat a lot of it.

#6 My pants are tight. My broken foot caused me to gain weight, and though I’m trying to up my activity level, the weight stays on. It’s like a bad memory I can’t shake, because it’s not a memory at all. It’s with me all the time.

#7 I don’t know what I’m doing anymore in my career. I want my teaching to be permanent. I want health insurance.

#8 While life is varied and complex and mysterious, I also wish it weren’t so blasted lonely and hard.

#9 I want to buy a sundress and wear it for someone special.

#10 I want my fantasy life for just a while to match my real life.

I think I’m depressed. I need a good cry. I need to go for a run. I need to make out. I’m not kidding. A good old-fashioned makeout session would cure all of this.

Maybe it’s back to online dating after all. God help me.

Why Zombies, Aliens & Vampires ARE REAL

This week I’m having my students work on their research papers, MLA style. Everyone hates research papers. It must be a universal law. And I for one hate grading them. So to try and make it at least passably interesting, I told my students that their research papers is to make a ridiculous argument and then support that argument. Turns out, their arguments aren’t exactly ridiculous. They’re interesting. Some topics:

Why I Would Survive a Zombie Infestation

Why I Should Be Batman

Why Time Doesn’t Exist

Why The Existence of Aliens is a No-Brainer

Why Anne Rice’s Vampires Could Kick Stepanie Meyer’s Vampires Asses

This has come to be an assignment I actually look forward to reading. That’s why today I’ll make my ridiculous argument (but without the support. I don’t feel like doing the research). I’m going to argue that the following exist: Aliens, Zombies, and Vampires (but I’ve yet to prove that there are any cute, available 30-40-something year old men who want to go out on a date but not meet through the Internet).

Here’s my theory. I think Zombies, Aliens, and Vampires are real. They’re actual people. Really. Maybe they’re exaggerated for movies and all, but the Zombie-essence if you will is real. Zombies are motivated by one thing: hunger. They go after what they want ruthlessly and attack. These are your basic addicts. Maybe it’s drugs they’re addicted to, or power, or sex, or what have you. They have one goal and they want it.

Vampires are a little more tricky. They are also ruled by desire, but for them, they’re a little more sensual. They’re the dark side of our psyche. They want things, yes, but their hunger is kept hidden, in the shadows, and they want a little romance with their desire. These creatures are real people who have saucy quirks, best explored in the cover of darkness, and hopefully with a willing partner. There’s a little bit of ‘forbidden love’ to them and it isn’t actual blood that they hunger for, but intimacy. And then probably a big old sandwich afterwards.

And I think aliens exist amongst us too. And Superheroes. And mutants. These are the people who are eccentric. They’re weird. They don’t follow all the rules. They aren't traditionally pretty or attractive, but they’re smart. They aren’t afraid to be different. They like it in fact, and many times they’re the people who become real heroes, real leaders. Not politicians, exactly, but maybe artists or teachers or, yes, writers.

I could go on and on, I suppose. What I’m saying is all of these creatures are real, in a sense. They’re us. They’re a new category of a common psyche or desire. And they’re everywhere.

Sometimes I’m a zombie, and I’ve certainly had moments of being a vampire. I’d like to be a vampire right now actually, but sort of need a, uh, neck to bite. Right now, I’m more of an alien, drifting along in the universe, finding my own way. I’m certain there are other creatures out there. Why in my class at Kendall alone I have a Sasquatch, 2 aliens, a few vampires, no zombies, and one gnome. I’m sure he’s a gnome, because sometimes just looking at him, I want to put a hat on him and put him in my garden. Gnomes are generally happy folk, and birds like them.

Just thinking out loud here, people. Just thinking.

Awkward Moment with AT&T Guy, Narrated by David Attenborough

Every once in a while, a strange thing occurs in my life. It’s not often, mind you, but when it happens, it reminds me that I am, indeed, alive. And probably fertile.

There are moments when I am transported and suddenly become the star of a wildlife documentary narrated by David Attenborough. This happened just the other day when I was visited by a distractingly cute AT&T guy. Our eyes locked and instantly I heard Mr. Attenborough say: “Look how the female’s pupils have instantly dilated. This is, for sure, a sign of attraction. While the female says inane things like ‘Please. Yes. Hook up my….phone’ the male is keenly aware that she may not be talking about a phone at all. See how his face flushes with red. This is the subtle mating dance of two humans of similar age…and possibly similar histories. Let us observe what happens next.”

Now, before you get excited, I have to go back and set the stage for you.

AT&T guy did NOT show up when I was alone, drinking wine and wearing nothing but a white slip, Blanche Dubois style. Awwww no. He showed up when my ex was there telling me he was going to bring his fiancée to Parent Teacher Conferences because they are a parental unit, even though they’re not married. My kids were running around the house shooting each other with chicken nuggets, and Louis would occasionally grasp my leg and do something that was curiously like some kind of humping dog. “Stop it, Louis. Go do that somewhere else.”

Then entered two young Direct TV installers. They were walking around my house interrupting my ex and I as we had a civil, but horrible, conversation in which my ex told me that I should be seeing a therapist…and then I said: “Hmmm. Really? You really think your choices are all healthy? Let’s examine this. Sometimes, you just piss me off. No, sorry, not you Direct TV, go down to the basement. No, not you, Louis, go into the room. Simone, yes, I love you too. P. Listen to me as I calmly explain how messed up your reasoning is…”

THEN the Distractingly Cute AT&T Guy entered just while I was about to tell my ex that he’s a narcissist. I opened the door. “My, he’s cute,” I thought. He was a beefcake, nice guy type. You know, big guy, but clear blue eyes, speckled gray hair, kind face. “Oh,” I said, “Hi.”

“Hi,” he said.

We stared at each other while David Attenborough cleared his throat and my ex said “And you are?”

If AT&T had had a tie, he would’ve adjusted it. “Oh, I’m here to fix Mrs…”

“It’s Miss,” I said hurriedly, and held up my left hand as proof. Then I looked at my ex and rolled my eyes as if to say “Oh? Him? I’m totally over him.”

So. I finally got my ex to leave, the Direct TV guys to go, and my kids settled down and then I sort of floated into the living room where it seemed to be taking the AT&T guy an awfully long time to install things. Like 45 minutes long. “Is, uhm, something wrong?” I asked.

He was blushing. I could see that. “Man, I’m so stupid, I just typed in your number wrong and it’s right here in front of me and I don’t know what I was thinking.”

Mr. Attenborough knew. “When the male is attracted to a female, all the blood rushes from his brain to his reproductive organs, hence making it difficult to think.”

Then AT&T Guy helped get me connected. To the Internet. Just the Internet. And just as he was leaving he said “Yeah. It’s tough. When I went through my divorce, it took forever to get things changed over.”

“Oh? You’re divorced?” My mind raced frantically. What to do what to do?

“Cool.”

His brow furrowed. Actually furrowed. “Okay then.”

“Yeppers,” I said.

“Okay, if you have any trouble…here’s my card. Any trouble at all.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

“Bye. Thanks for the, uhm, phone.”

“Okay.”

And then he left. Cue David Attenborough: “Ah, it looks as if there will be no mating between these two. They were unsuccessful in their dance. In time though, in time, it will happen again…if the human species is to be successful.”

Yep. Mr. Attenborough is pretty much a genius. And me? I’m still fanning myself, waiting for that next moment…and, of course, the kindness of strangers.

Painting & My Ghost Self

Blogging topics are always tough, unless you want to talk about politics or abortion or Justin Biener. Beiber. Weiner. Whatever. It’s a good thing I’m so self-focused I just talk about myself.

Speaking of myself…

Oh. Bad transition.

So..what’s been happening here as I begin the new novel in my life…anxiety. Yep that about covers it. ANXIETY. I probably should take Valium, or at least give up coffee. Giving up coffee would be a good start, but I have this sneaky suspicion that if I give up caffeine, I may spontaneously combust and/or take uncontrollable naps. Narcolepsy, people. That’s what I mean.

Why the anxiety? I’m moving to my new home. I honestly thought this would be a smooth, delightful transition but it’s stressful. I’m floating in some nether world of no-home-ness. I have all my cooking supplies at the new house, and all my food at the old. My computer is at the old, my internet access is at the new. My furniture is at the old, my specter self is at the new. On top of that I’m teaching, taking care of kiddos, practicing yoga (not really), obsessing, not dating (but dreaming of dating), and trying to rewatch all of Battlestar Galactica by Friday.

Why? Why do I give myself impossible deadlines? Because I’m a freak of nature. And it keeps me sane.

I did have a curious thing occur while walking around on my own in my empty house. I saw the ghost of the person I thought I’d be. She was choosing paint with her husband, and then they were in the master bedroom, and she was wearing a bandana and coveralls…because when you paint, aren’t you supposed to wear that kind of outfit? And they were laughing. And then he came over and he kissed her and she told him to get back work. And then they did. And I imagine they made love in every empty room of the house.

Of course, my reality was a bit different. I turned on the 80’s Weekend music, tried to get the paint can open. It was stuck. Cursed having to do it on my own, then got it open. Then I started painting. By myself. Quietly. It was sad and not-sad. And I was wearing a blue t-shirt and jeans. I admit, I wanted to cry a little. I always thought that I’d share my dream home with someone I loved, who loved me, but real-life novels are not like books: they are rarely predictable.

Later, my sister came over. We sang to the radio, we chatted, we high-fived (just once) and then spent waaaaay too long eating at a Mexican restaurant while drinking a gigantic Margarita for Two. It was not the life or the moment I envisioned, but you know, this real life, although way different from my ghost life, has its beauty too.

And my room? It’s earthy awesome. Perfect for me to cocoon up in…and eventually….cocoon up with someone else too. Just, you know, not my sister.

What the last year has taught me about marriage and love.

This question comes from Laura Michels. She is a fantastic actress newly returned to Grand Rapids and performed in the piece I wrote for the GRAM as well as ‘twelve scenes about loving’. She asks: “What has the last year taught you about marriage and love?”

I had to think about this for a while. I’m still not sure that things happen for a reason, though I do believe that we can get meaning from even the most horrible experiences. So what is the meaning of this year for me? What have I learned?  I learned to find my voice again. I’ve learned what marriage is not, what it shouldn’t be. I’ve learned that I still believe in love, but I’m still struggling with the fear that it might never happen for me, at least the good kind of love. The kind of love that is balanced and, well, kind.

In my marriage, I thought that to keep P. married to me, to keep the family happy, I had to give up on my self.  I mean that. I mean, I gave up on My Self. I gave up on things that made me happy as an individual. I thought being married was sacrificing everything in order to make your family happy. By doing that, I disappeared. I became mute. I was a living ghost. By leaving, I rediscovered that self and now know that though I am flawed, maybe even tragically, or at least melodramatically, I am, essentially human. I’ve learned that everyone is at some point a fuck up. And it’s these flaws that are endearing. Achilles without the flaw in his heel is just another God. With that flaw, he’s vulnerable. He has a heart. He can be loved.

I’ve learned that I have a big heart. I’ve learned that I now know what love is and how to recognize it. It isn’t giving up your self. It’s finding someone who loves and supports you not in spite of your flaws…but because of them.

I’ve learned that marriage should be a partnership. There should be passion, and fights, and times of quiet. There should be support. I’ve learned that a woman has value. She is more than a collection of roles like mother, wife, cook. She is a full person. A person to be treasured. I should have been in my marriage. I was not. I take partial blame because I allowed it to happen.

What I’m still learning is how to be kind to myself. To look at the wrinkles, the silly mistakes, the wonderful blunders I’ve made and to laugh. And there have been nights, alone, in my apartment, where I have turned up the music and I have danced. I have very little rhythm and my body rarely moves the way I want it to, but I have danced. A year ago, I was too afraid to do this.

So. What have I learned? What has this year taught me? That being alone is okay. Loving who I am is okay. Hoping to find a relationship built on trust and compassion and passion is possible. I just have to be a little more patient. I’m working on it. I really am.

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Got another question for me? It can be about anything: serious or ridiculous. I'm blogging all week...if there's an interest. Simply comment here, tweet me, or leave a message on FB. And I'll answer you. I really will.

The Ending I Am Writing

I was thinking, again, how Beth W. said that often my life reads like a novel. This, as you know, is an idea I keep returning to. And I thought, yes, it has the drama and the pain of a novel, but unlike a novel, it just keeps going. Loose ends are never tied, things are never resolved, and complications just keep complicating. Then, on my walk today, I returned to this idea and thought, “You know, we’re all walking novels.” And that sounds melodramatic, but what I mean by that is this: there are events in our lives, transformative events that like a novel, have a beginning, a middle, and an end. So in this way, my life this past year is very much a novel. Now, looking back, I feel that I’ve come to the close of this transformative experience. That doesn’t mean that my life stops; it doesn’t. It means that I’m now entering a new novel, a new time, filled with new characters. But this year, this particular year, I’ll remember for a lifetime.

It began in taking a step that was ferociously brave: to correct the mistakes I’d made by starting my life again. Now, it ends with something quiet, something sweet.

When I look back, I have to shake my head at this year. From running into my husband (just two weeks after I’d left him) on his first date with the woman he would later propose to while they were pushing my kids in the stroller….to the hopeless Christmas I spent entirely alone with a broken foot…to trying desperately to get a house and being told I could not have it. And there was the day when The Friend of the Court told me I would only have $100 a month in support and I left sobbing, thinking I was destined for poverty, only to have a message on my phone from Ruth O’Keefe (now passed away) offering me a full-time position at Kendall. I walked across the street, literally, cleaned myself up in the bathroom and then signed the paperwork accepting the job. And then there was the first man I dated, the mad I treated coldly and unfairly to see if I was still capable of feeling anything. He was followed by a man I could-have-loved, but now I see as only a false kind of love. And there have been times when I cried in my empty apartment because I did not think I mattered, or I was strong enough, or I was smart enough.

Now, though, things are different, and I find that I’m not apologizing anymore for being an emotional person. I look at my kids and they are happy. I have students and a vibrant work life. I am writing and producing my work. And I have friends, real friends that I can talk to and laugh with and share food with. And that house? I signed on that house. It's now mine.

So. If this year were a novel in my life, here is the ending I would write:

She walks into the empty house that has all the things she ever dreamed of: a warm kitchen, a sunroom, nice bedrooms for her kids, and a back yard where she can have a garden and toys and people over.

The house is empty but she can see the things that will be: she can see the Christmas tree in the corner, the turkey on the table. She can hear laughter and hushed voices talking. She can see all the things that will be brought into her house to transform it into a home and, after a long time of searching, she feels, finally that she can rest.

She does not know what will happen in her life in the coming days. She does not know what kind of love and happiness and sorrow waits for her, though she does know there will be all of these things somehow. She doesn’t know anything other than (at this moment, standing in her empty house that will one day be her home) what she has right now is enough. Her life is enough. It’s enough. And in that small word ‘enough’ there is a quiet beauty. So, for now, she simply sits on the bare floor, and breathes, and waits for what will happen next.

My Grumpy Gripes about Dating Inequality

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the inequality of dating. Yeah. That’s right. You heard me. INEQUALITY. And it’s not like I’m going to wave a flag or burn my bra (my boobs are too big to go carefree), I just mean there’s some gender differences in regards to dating that really piss me off.

Now, tell me if I’m right here or just being neurotic, BUT it seems like guys my age (late 30’s almost 40) are looking to date hot, beautiful twenty-somethings. Guys in their 50’s are looking to date women my age. So that pisses me off a bit. Not that I wouldn’t want an older guy, but I sort of want to share a life with someone who’s the same age as me, so that when I make pop culture references to The Brady Bunch or The Electric Company of the 70’s that we both get it and feel connected. So that’s my first gripe.

My second gripe is that I feel this intense pressure to be hot. And not like pre-menopausal hot, I mean, I feel like to date anyone at all, it doesn’t matter if I’m smart or interesting or quirky. On the online websites, it’s all about appearance. The question men think when they look lat my picture is: Does she look like hot enough that she could be one of the gaggle of women on The Bachelor? And I wonder: Is my hair long and straight, nose thin, boobs enhanced and firm, skin pulled, teeth whitened. Am I a Mom Someone Would Like to (ahem)? I am not. I’m short. My hair gets frizzy. I have a big jaw and a defined nose. Big boobs, but they’re all natural, and even my son says he can see my wrinkles. But I am also very bright, dare I say witty, and a mean cook. And I’m not kidding when I say I can cook. I really mean it. But these qualities, they don’t matter.

Here’s the cold, mean truth: I’m not hot enough to get the attention of professional, successful guys. I AM hot enough to get the attention of high school educated, salt of the earth guys.

Not that there’s anything wrong with them…it’s just…I’m not the girl for a man who smokes, hunts, and swears and works in a factory. That sounds horrible, I know, and I don’t mean it to, it’s just I need someone who’s educated and likes different food and travel and reading and music and art. I’m generalizing here, but I think you get what I mean.

It seems like guys don’t have the pressure to be hot if they’re successful and have a job: they have the power in the dating realm to choose whomever they want. And whomever they want happens to be girls named Sera or Denver or Amber and are 22. Girls who are tall and thin and well endowed. Girls that when the men think about them, it’s not their brains they’re dreaming of.

Selfishly, I want a guy I’m attracted to too. Not just mentally, but physically. I feel horrible for saying that, but it’s the truth. So maybe my griping about all these men my age looking for plastic women is really envy. Not that I want a plastic man, I just want a man that I feel electricity with, and I want that to be accepted. All the men who seem to be interested in me sort of look like my dad.

Then again, maybe that’s the reality of dating men in their 40’s and 50’s. They all start to look like your dad. A little disturbing to get hot and bothered over that.

What's Going On...& Words That Make Me Giggle

Usually when I sit down to write a blog, I have some idea of where it’s going to go. Maybe I want to talk about words that make me giggle like an adolescent boy: cheese log, muffin, and, of course, beaver.

But today, I’m just sort of sitting down and writing. My fingers are flying and my mind isn’t quite there yet. There’s been so much going on I haven’t had time to breathe or relax…which is why my body has decided to pummel me with a cold. Seems the only thing  that will slow me down is when I have a broken foot or a chest cold. This cold’s only minor. My voice actually sounds sexy, instead of freakish.

See? Wandering.

What’s been going on? I’ve been on a  few more dates, though I said I was giving up on that. Went to a great wine tasting with quirky characters from Italy. One was wearing a shirt a few sizes too small and had one of those bellies that stick out like a happy toddler’s. He was also wearing enormous glasses. The other Italian sat at my table and entertained us with stories on how carefully he must pronounce the word “Cork” because he has a tendency to leave out the ‘r’, and when he told a woman that he had a ‘cork’ (sans r) in his hand, she looked absolutely pale. That was a good time. Not the, ahem, co*k in his hand, but the wine tasting. Just the right amount of awkwardness. And my escort did a fine job.

I’m still not sure I’m cut out for dating. The problem is that whole loneliness thing. And I really wish I could just fast-forward through the dating process and just be comfortable with someone. I’m so tired of asking men about their childhood, their job, their goals, their travel. It’s driving me bonkers. I just want to sit quietly with someone and be quiet, take their hand, lean against them. Not to mention other things I’d like to do…but….yeah…you sort of have to date before you get to that point.

And the other drama going on has been this house ordeal. I think I’ve come to terms with it. And now, it might actually still happen. I’m whispering quietly for luck. Then there’s taxes, trying to work on my book, putting up a show at Dog Story, trying to juggle time with the kids and a social life and returning to reading. I’m so busy I’ve thrown out commas entirely.

As I was walking to school today, I had a peculiar awareness dawn. I’m actually happy. I am. It’s almost been a year now since I left Pierre, and it has been beyond difficult. I left with nothing, started with nothing, broke my foot, had several major disappointments, stressed about money and work and the kids, felt my heart break over Pierre’s choice to remarry so quickly, felt it break again when I started to fall for the wrong person and then stopped myself, felt intense loneliness, even, at times, utter despair.

But the flip side? The flip side is, I’m finishing up a year as a professor of writing. My book is being published in July. My kids are happy. I’ve reconnected with wonderful friends and made new friends. I’ve laughed more this year than in the past five. I’ve cried more too, but they’ve been good tears…and I find, suddenly, that I’ve done it. I’ve succeeded. Maybe I’m not rich or famous or Hollywood beautiful, but I am living the life I want. The life I deserve.

Hmmm. This is what happens when you free write. Sometimes you realize that that thing you’ve been searching for, that happiness…well, you’ve had it all along.

Application to Date Tanya

After returning to the world of dating mainly by using online dating services, I've decided to pull all my info off the sites and go at this alone. After meeting really nice, great men, I've realized that the process isn't streamlined enough. So here is my idea. I will post an application to date....me. Yes! That's right! Interested parties may fill out this application and send it in. In no way does this mean Tanya is bitter (although she might be), mostly she's just exhausted, so she's going to stop actively looking. She's going to focus on writing and getting her house and finding a permanent teaching position, and finishing her 3rd novel...which she'd like to make into a series. That doesn't mean she doesn't want to date; she does. She just wants all applicants screened first. Here it is:

Application to Date Tanya

Please fill out this application to the best of your ability. You must fill it out yourself. If you need someone else to fill this out for you, then I’m sorry, you cannot date Tanya.

1) Are you currently:

a) Married

b) Separated

c) Divorced

d) Single

e) Separated but still living with ex

f) Separated but emotionally damaged

If you answered A, E, or F, you may not date Tanya. You’re too much work for her. If you answered B, C, or D…please continue with application.

2) Do you have a job and a car?

a) Yes

b) No

If you answered A please continue. If you answered B, please go out and get a job and a car.

3)  Do you currently

a) Own your home

b) Rent

c) Live with your mom

If you answered A or B, you’re doing great! If you answered C, Tanya feels bad for you. Please fill out this application at a later point, when you have moved out of the basement.

4)  Are you supportive of dating someone who is flighty, emotional, talks too much, has big ideas and writes long emails (sometimes drunken emails), and also narrates and is working on webisodes and in her spare time writes novels and plays in which people do, occasionally, have sex?

a) Yes. Love it.

b) I’m a little uncomfortable with this.

c) My mother would be offended.

d) No way.

If you answered anything other than A, then Tanya is not the right one for you.

5)  As an eater, what kind of cuisine do you like:

a) Plain old meat & potatoes for me

b) I’m a vegetarian or vegan

c)  Anything my mom cooks for me

d) I’m an adventurous eater. I’ll eat curry, chicken wings, lentil cakes, whatever. And I’m not opposed to chopping vegetables.

If you answered A, B, or C, it might be hard for Tanya to cook for you. Seriously reconsider filling out the rest of this application. She likes to cook and experiment with whatever she fancies, and she may offend your palate.

6)  Are you dating anyone else?

a) Yes

b) No

c) I’ve been dating someone for a while, but I want to make sure she’s the right one, so I thought I’d date Tanya just to be sure, then tell Tanya that while she’s intelligent, creative, and sexy, my heart belongs to another and I’m planning on committing to her. To the other woman. Not to Tanya.

If you answered B, congratulations! You may now date Tanya!!! If you answered A, please don’t date Tanya. She’s not good with competing, and it makes her feel very vulnerable. If you answered C, go away. Go far away!! Tanya does not want to see, hear, or speak to you.

Thanks for completing this questionnaire. Pleases send your $5 application fee and picture to Tanya at heyblunderwoman@gmail.com . She’ll get back to you once her sister has approved the application.

If My Foot Is Healed, Why Isn’t My Heart Feeling Better?

For those of you who read my blog, you know that for the last eight weeks, I’ve had serious ups and downs (mostly downs) while recovering from my broken foot. It’s been an experience in humility, that’s for sure, on multiple levels…and has now become a story I tell strangers in waiting rooms. “You will not believe this when I tell you…” my story begins.

On Monday I saw the surgeon again. He showed the pretty naked-foot, my bones illuminated before me, and I could still see that slight line that looked a little unfocused. “How do you feel?” he asked me.

“I feel great! Super! Just terrific!” I did talk with exclamation points. I’m not sure if I was trying to convince him or me. Then he pointed out that little chip at the edge of my foot. I didn’t need to see it. I already knew it was there.

“You see, this is the part that’s concerning,” he said. “In this type of fracture, in this bone, sometimes the healing just…stops.”

I probably could’ve told him that too. Over the last year, I’ve done a lot of healing, but part of me has just stopped. I feel stuck. I feel…still…sad, even when I’m using exclamation points. And I don’t want to go on and on about love or the absence of love, but come one, it’s Valentine’s Day almost. Through this year, I left my husband, developed a relationship with a man-I-could-have-loved, said goodbye to him when he committed to someone else, put myself back in the dating scene where it seems that though men have been interested, no one has taken that extra step in getting to know me beyond the surface. My mom says I’m just too beautiful and talented. Man, I love her for that.

Mostly, I worry that there’s something broken in me. Something you need an X-ray to see. A little chip near a healed fracture. A part that won’t heal.

The surgeon gave me some good news. “I’m hopeful,” he said. “You’re healthy. You’re in shape. You exercise. Your attitude about this is good. You can go without the boot, but I want to see you in a couple of weeks.”

And then it’s more X-rays. And maybe it’s surgery. I’m to the point now that if that’s what I need to do, I’ll do it. Anything to be able to walk and run and wear heels again.

I wish the answer was as simple for my heart.