Yeah, I know, these are two items that do not belong in the same sentence, and I will admit I am not proud of this post what so ever, but I guess I have thrown pride out the window with writing this blog anyway.
When I first got divorced, I remember feeling like I would walk out of the courthouse and into the arms of another guy. We would date, he would help me to lick my wounds, and he would fill the empty spot next to me in bed. But the days following my divorce filled my heart with a hollow lonliness. There were no guys standing in line to help me or take my pain away. My phone did not ring and I fell asleep with a broken heart and a tear stained pillow.
I thought it was important to have someone fix me. I thought that I needed to have someone take the focus away on all the pain and guilt I felt. It never occurred to me that this was something you cannot shove into the back of your sock drawer and pull it out when you are ready to deal with it. I needed to take this pain head on and brush myself off and move on.
That is where church came in.
Someone told me after my divorce "if I was single, I would join a church where they have single groups." I envisioned a group of 50 somethings in a dimly lit room eating spaghetti dinners off of paper plates. All the guys dressed in short sleeve dress shirts and ties. The woman wearing dresses with the crocheted collars and short permed hair. I would walk in and view the food table where a punch bowl set and a 1970's coffee pot complete with sweet and low.
"that is NOT what those groups are like" my friend told me. You can choose the age group you want to attend and everyone is really nice.
I still imagined I would walk in the room, silence filling the room, and standing at the door saying "hi, my name is Sarah, and I am second time single". In unison they would all say "hello Sarah."
I don't know why I associate being second time single with being an alcoholic, but it is how I feel.
But, I took my friends advice and started looking at churches. I decided that my adolescence had it's fill of catholic churches, so I would choose something a bit less like a pep rally with the "stand up, sit down, stand up, fight fight fight" (I of course added that last part, we did not fight) I found a church that was a completely different denomination, mostly due to proximity to my house, amount of parking and it was accross the street from a 7-11 which has the best coffee. I am sure God would not be happy that I am choosing a church based on how close it was to the jelly filled donuts and hazelnut coffee, but whatever brings you closer to him is acceptable in my book.
I arrived early on the first day of church (shocking I know) and signed my son in for the day care. The computer printed a sticker and I slapped it on his shirt like a contestant on the price is right. I dropped him off with Mrs. Cleaver and headed into the church. Where did I sit? I didn't want to pick a spot that belonged to the "every sunday's" family or the "donates chewing gum" couple. I picked a spot toward the back of the church and pulled my journal out of my purse and began to write. This is usually my nervous reaction, to pull out my journal and begin to write about my feelings. The church begins to fill up and I realize that every type of person is in this church. Old, young, bored, devoted, you name it. One thing I did not see was any single people.
Sarah, did you go to church to pick up guys?
NO, I didn't...well, I just guess that, this is kind of the place that...YES I DID. OK!! I FIGURED IF I CAME HERE I WOULD MEET A NICE GUY THAT WOULD PICK ME OUT OF THE CONGREGATION AND ASK ME TO GO TO BRUNCH AFTERWARDS THAN WE WOULD JUST FALL IN LOVE.
I told you, I am not proud of all the moments in my life. But there I was. Dressed to the nines in my Sunday's best. Clutching my journal and scanning the crowd for hopefulls. The church was nice. There was a band, which was more than I can say for my Catholic school days. In my church, it was a 90 year old nun playing an organ and 17-6 year olds screaming "and he will raise you up on eagles wings" at the top of their lungs. My church had hard wooden pews and there was never any heat or air conditioning. This church was like the playboy mansion of churches. (is that a sacraligious comparison?) The seats were cushioned, the bibles did not have crayon colored pages, and you could move in your seat without disturbing the entire church. (creek creek)
When you get to the point of the mass where the priest/pastor tells you to greet the person next to you, I shook hands with the couple next to me, waved at the gentleman accross from me and froze. Everyone knew each other. I was obviously the new person. People were creaking their knecks to see who I was. Whispering behind their bibles at each other and pointing my way. The pastor looked at me and said "ok, who do we have here? I hide behind my journal and hope by some miracle he is talking about someone else.
Ok, that last paragraph did not happen, but after the greeting, I sat and observed the people in the church. The pastor had a lot of interesting things to say, and after the mass I felt much like I do after a work out. Revived, inspired, moved....I went to pick up Sam and his 22 pictures of God playing with goats and lambs, and we headed over to the 7-11 for our donuts.
I continued to go to church as often as I could. It was about a month in that I found they had a divorce support group. I signed up and attended their tuesday night meetings. I also found a single mother's support group that met DURING church so I stopped going to the masses all together and just attended the meetings. There we sat, in a circle, some of us at different stages of our divorce than others. All of us clutching our styrofoam cup of coffee and nodding at each other's stories as if to say "I hear you."
These groups each had something to do with my healing. I did not stay with them very long for my own reasons, but they did help me feel better. I would suggest anyone that is dealing with pain in their life to seek out the help of a church first and foremost. It is a start, and a good start at that.
Since my feeble attempt at meeting a guy at church did not work (shame on me, I know) I decided to start being more social. I had one weekend night to myself and thought it would be a great idea to start hitting the bar scene in search of guys that were there for the same reason as me. To have a meaningful relationship with someone and pursue our dreams together while challenging one another in our quest toward happiness.
Yeah, I know,....right.
I found myself going to a bar that I had been to before that I felt comfortable with. I chose a place called Docs, a bar that was also a restaurant close to my house. Before I went out, I would get ready just as I would get ready for a date. Do my hair, my makeup, the whole nine yards. I would park the car, check to make sure I looked presentable and then walked into the place with an air of confidence like I belonged there. I would find a booth that I could spread out in and pull out my journal, order my beer and begin to act like I was writing.
One night, I was sitting there minding my own business, tapping my left hand on the table so that everyone could tell I was not married and over hear a guy make a comment to me.
"what cha writin' there little lady?"
I have never had anyone call me little lady, at least not in the last ten years.
I look up and a large man at the bar, probably graduated the same year as my father, is looking over at me and resting his beer on his belly. GREAT!!! Out of all the guys in this bar, I get approached by The Gordans's fisherman and his pabst blue ribbon.
"uh, nothing much, just writing."
He swivels his barstool around, revealing a pair of woolen socks and bib overalls. "what kind of writin?"
I am now just trying to be nice but kind of irritated that this is the type of guy that thinks I attract. He is visibly older than me and not my type at all. I try my best to get my bitch on, but realize that once again I am too nice and smile at him politely.
"I am working on a book."
"oh yeah, what kind of book?"
I glance over at my cell phone sitting on the table and hope with all the power inside of me that it will ring and deter this guy from trying to talk to me. It sits quietly next to me and does not make a peep.
I look at him and say "I am writing a book on how to date while you have std's." He silently stares at me and then after a few minutes breaks into laughter. "yeah, ok. I bet that will be a best seller."
As if the Gods have answered my wishes, my server comes along and blocks my new admirer like a LA Laker. I begin to shoot questions at her about the menu, the year the bar was built and what type of flooring was in here. (see, something good came out of the clayman.)
The older gentleman gets the hint and swivels back around to fondle his drink coaster. I slip the server my credit card and tell her to meet me by the door. Like a magician, I make my way to the door and vow to never return.
Another night I had made plans to go out downtown with a friend. At the last minute, she cancelled and I thought, well, you are all dressed up, why don't you go out? I drove down to a busy bar on fourth street and found a place at the bar. The bartender met me immediatley and asked me what I wanted to drink. "absolute mandarin and tonic." I shouted. The bar was busy and filled with people that only consumed ice chips and altoids. The guys stroked their ties in nervous gestures and the girls were showing more valleys than the state of California. I looked down at what I was wearing and I thought I obviously should have done more planning since two people asked me for menus and another guy asked me where the bathroom was. I apparently appeared to be the bar manager and quickly pulled my purse onto the bar so as to say "I don't work here." The bartender was nice, but obviously felt bad for me so he kept coming over and asking me if I wanted another drink. After about three drinks, I started to feel woozy and realized that my designated driver was in no better shape than I was...considering we were the same person. I decided to order one more and yelled to the bartender, "can you put more tonic in this one?" The bartender came over and looked at me with a puzzled look..."oh, you wanted TONIC in these? I was just giving you absolute mandarin."
I was tanked.
I wandered to another bar after that. A dance club. Now I ask you, how many girls can actually stand in line at a dance club and feel good about themselves going in alone? Well, I did it. I stood in line and held my head high. I walked in and sat in the corner looking at the gyration nation and wondering if I could ever relate to any of these people. "look, someone's mom is here." I could imagine them saying. "is that the manager?" as they point my way. I decided that this was a joke and a waste of my time and grabbed my purse and headed out the door.
The only good thing about going out by yourself is you do not have to search for your friend who is either on the dance floor whooping it up to Lady Gaga or at the bar talking to some guy who she "swears she knows from a friend of a friend of a friend." I just walked out.
My last goal of being single was to go out to dinner by myself. Not to a fast food restaurant or whole foods, but a make reservations and get all dolled up, hold a menu, drink a bottle of wine, by yourself kind of restaurant. I curled my hair, put on mascara, and made my way to the restaurant. I picked this little place in Hyde Park that had rave reviews. When I arrived early (c'mon people, this should not shock you any longer) I sat at the bar and had a glass of wine. The hostess sat me at a table in the corner and handed me a menu. The waiters swooned over me, the bus boy was at my every beck and call, and the manager even came over to speak to me and ask me how my dinner was. "who is that girl in the corner by herself? She must be in town on business. " I could imagine what the other diners and staff were saying....I was in my element and overly impressed by the service and the food.
When I got home, I started thinking about how wonderful everything was, and how dining alone was not as scary as I thought it would be. It only occured to me while I was lying in bed, why they were all so nice to me.
THEY THOUGHT I WAS A FOOD CRITIC.
Here is this mysterious woman, drinking wine, taking a bite of her food, looking around, writing notes in a notebook. It all made sense now.
I make a mental note to continue dining alone as much as I can. If anything, I can make believe I am a food critic writing for a food blog and guarantee myself some really great service.
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Saturday, February 5, 2011
the bucket list
When I was going through my divorce, I had a bucket list of things I wanted to do when I was single. Ask any woman that is married and she will tell you that she dreams of an apartment far away that she can disappear to when she has had too much and do nothing but drink wine and watch chick flics. She would say that it would be clean, that only the things she wanted in the fridge would be there, that there would be no tonka trucks to step over, no sippy cups in the sink and the television would actually block out spongebob squarepants. She would have only the music playing on the radio that she wanted, not Kid's bops or the Wiggles. Her closet would only hold fabulous comfortable clothes and all the mirrors in the house would distort her to appear she lost ten pounds.
I had a bucket list of all this stuff I was going to be when I was single. I would have to buy a planner just to keep up with all the fun things I had planned. Yoga on Mondays, pottery on tuesdays, cooking class at whole foods on saturdays and date nights penciled in like tic tac toe games. Someone would say "what are you doing on thursday night" and I would pull my planner out of my oversized purse and perch my kim kardashian sunglasses atop my head, push my long brown (and full) curls over my shoulder and say "let me check." I was going to be tan, thin, fun and fabulous. Looking back, I have no idea why looking like Britney Spears was in my list of to do's, but for some reason I envisioned myself a size two, wearing a halter top and those dangly silver bracelets.
I thought being single would be amazing. I thought I would leave a major imprint in the single world and guys would be knocking on my door asking me out. I would be asked out in the grocery store, the dentist office, the gas station, work..you name it. I would be like a "where's waldo" in the dating world. Men would be searching for me far and wide and wanting to wine and dine me.
But I was not fabulous, I was not amazing. The only imprint I left on this world was the ass print on my couch. My fingers were worn and callused from hours of fondling the remote control and texting my assistant manager. There was so much building on my second time single bucket list, but nothing was getting crossed out.
So, one day I decided to change that.
I decided that I would go on at least one date a week. No matter if I felt there was a connection or not. I would become a serial dater. I would log onto their dating profiles prior to meeting them out and practice their likes and dislikes in the car as if I were auditioning for a play. I would say their name five times in the car on the way there so as not to forget who it was I was meeting. I would NOT use phrases like "so are you the one that likes to play chess or do you like to hanglide?" This kind of comment not only gets you in trouble but makes you appear to be either unable to retain information or just a plain slut. I prefer to stick to the former of the two. If you accidentally make a statement that does not refer to them, or if you call them by the wrong name you can say any of the following phrases and cover your ass.
"oh, that's right, you don't have the three kids, I am thinking of the sweet husband and wife I met while volunteering at the children's hospital earlier this week."
"shoot, that's not you that played football in college, I am sorry, I was watching so much ESPN today, I just must have football on my mind."
"you don't work at Dell? Oh that's right. I was thinking of that other guy that broke up with me because I just wanted to have sex all the time."
any of the above will get you out of an "oh shit" moment.
I began to keep notes next to my computer about guys that I had been talking to and who not to answer. In the beginning, I would take the time to enter the new guys information into my phone only to find myself deleting it days later. Now, I simply have a contact name of "DOW" for "Date of the Week" and I change the numbers as needed. I also have a "do not answer" number in my phone for the mattress tapping Dougs of the world. Now, in any given day, I will get a text message from a guy and have to scroll back to see who in the hell it is I am talking to.
In other words, it is all mere entertainment.
And that is how you have to look at it. I really was putting a lot of faith into this whole on line dating thing. In the beginning I felt like I would meet the man of my dreams online. I was going to be one of the success stories where the couple is laughing and washing their car together. Stopping only to embrace and kiss while they laugh and the slow motion spray of water showers their love that was created by two people tapping away on a keyboard. It worked for them, why wouldn't it work for me?
I am not giving up hope yet. I know that the people I have gone on dates with, though they have not been the right one, have each taught me something about myself. I have gone on dates with guys that have introduced me to nothing but a great restaurant which I now frequent on my own. I have gone to movies with guys that I normally would not have seen and scored a giant box of sour patch kids which was later used as a bartaring tool with my child. I have gone to bars that I normally would not have even stepped foot into, only to find myself there months later with girl friends, staring at the table where we once sat and held hands. Yes, there is a lot you can take away from all these dates. You just have to open your eyes to WHAT each of them brings you, not WHO it brings to you. In the last three years since my divorce I have found that I hate Tai food, love live music, and would give anything to continue that feeling you feel five minutes before he walks in the door.
The most important thing I have come to find since I became second time single, is that I am not afraid to be who I am. I have tried to step into a hundred different costumes, thinking "this is going to be the person I want to be." Only to find that it doesn't feel right and I end up disappointed that I forced myself into something I was not.
Take the Dell guy. I was with him for about 5 months, and he was a bike rider. He had them all over his garage and had helmets and those little gay ass bike shorts that made me question his sexuality. During my relationship with him, I purchased a 400.00 bike because he said it was the kind I should start out with. (The last bike I owned was pink and had a basket in the front and little tassles on the handle bars.) That 400.000 bike now sits in my kitchen, leaned up against the wall, and stares at me like a bad reminder of my relationship with him. I do not ride it, I do not want to ride it, it makes me run out of breath and all sweaty.
Another guy I dated was a big runner. I decided to pull out all my wickable shirts and started dressing like a runner when I knew I might run into him. I would wear my hair in braids with a bandana and carry a stop watch in my pocket "just in case I wanted to get a few laps in". My new shoes that I bought while with him never got used, so I would stand in the driveway and try and scuff them up to appear they had been on the trails all week. I stocked my fridge with gatorade and replaced my writing mix on my ipod to read "10 minute mile workout" mix. He did not need to know it included songs by Norah Jones and bach for book lovers.
Needless to say, I was trying to be someone I am not. And now, I am proud to say that I am who I am. No more bike buying, road running, tai food eating for this girl. I will stand up for what I want and for what I like.
Yes, the bucket list sits on my fridge, like a relentless reminder of what I hope to be. But really, the right guy is out there for me. And he will love that I still wear my maternity bathrobe, that I have shirts in my closet that I bought in high school, and that I go to bed at 8:30 on most nights.
Until then, the bucket list will continue to grow in size, and I will continue to figure out exatly who this sarah girl is...second time single and all.
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I had a bucket list of all this stuff I was going to be when I was single. I would have to buy a planner just to keep up with all the fun things I had planned. Yoga on Mondays, pottery on tuesdays, cooking class at whole foods on saturdays and date nights penciled in like tic tac toe games. Someone would say "what are you doing on thursday night" and I would pull my planner out of my oversized purse and perch my kim kardashian sunglasses atop my head, push my long brown (and full) curls over my shoulder and say "let me check." I was going to be tan, thin, fun and fabulous. Looking back, I have no idea why looking like Britney Spears was in my list of to do's, but for some reason I envisioned myself a size two, wearing a halter top and those dangly silver bracelets.
I thought being single would be amazing. I thought I would leave a major imprint in the single world and guys would be knocking on my door asking me out. I would be asked out in the grocery store, the dentist office, the gas station, work..you name it. I would be like a "where's waldo" in the dating world. Men would be searching for me far and wide and wanting to wine and dine me.
But I was not fabulous, I was not amazing. The only imprint I left on this world was the ass print on my couch. My fingers were worn and callused from hours of fondling the remote control and texting my assistant manager. There was so much building on my second time single bucket list, but nothing was getting crossed out.
So, one day I decided to change that.
I decided that I would go on at least one date a week. No matter if I felt there was a connection or not. I would become a serial dater. I would log onto their dating profiles prior to meeting them out and practice their likes and dislikes in the car as if I were auditioning for a play. I would say their name five times in the car on the way there so as not to forget who it was I was meeting. I would NOT use phrases like "so are you the one that likes to play chess or do you like to hanglide?" This kind of comment not only gets you in trouble but makes you appear to be either unable to retain information or just a plain slut. I prefer to stick to the former of the two. If you accidentally make a statement that does not refer to them, or if you call them by the wrong name you can say any of the following phrases and cover your ass.
"oh, that's right, you don't have the three kids, I am thinking of the sweet husband and wife I met while volunteering at the children's hospital earlier this week."
"shoot, that's not you that played football in college, I am sorry, I was watching so much ESPN today, I just must have football on my mind."
"you don't work at Dell? Oh that's right. I was thinking of that other guy that broke up with me because I just wanted to have sex all the time."
any of the above will get you out of an "oh shit" moment.
I began to keep notes next to my computer about guys that I had been talking to and who not to answer. In the beginning, I would take the time to enter the new guys information into my phone only to find myself deleting it days later. Now, I simply have a contact name of "DOW" for "Date of the Week" and I change the numbers as needed. I also have a "do not answer" number in my phone for the mattress tapping Dougs of the world. Now, in any given day, I will get a text message from a guy and have to scroll back to see who in the hell it is I am talking to.
In other words, it is all mere entertainment.
And that is how you have to look at it. I really was putting a lot of faith into this whole on line dating thing. In the beginning I felt like I would meet the man of my dreams online. I was going to be one of the success stories where the couple is laughing and washing their car together. Stopping only to embrace and kiss while they laugh and the slow motion spray of water showers their love that was created by two people tapping away on a keyboard. It worked for them, why wouldn't it work for me?
I am not giving up hope yet. I know that the people I have gone on dates with, though they have not been the right one, have each taught me something about myself. I have gone on dates with guys that have introduced me to nothing but a great restaurant which I now frequent on my own. I have gone to movies with guys that I normally would not have seen and scored a giant box of sour patch kids which was later used as a bartaring tool with my child. I have gone to bars that I normally would not have even stepped foot into, only to find myself there months later with girl friends, staring at the table where we once sat and held hands. Yes, there is a lot you can take away from all these dates. You just have to open your eyes to WHAT each of them brings you, not WHO it brings to you. In the last three years since my divorce I have found that I hate Tai food, love live music, and would give anything to continue that feeling you feel five minutes before he walks in the door.
The most important thing I have come to find since I became second time single, is that I am not afraid to be who I am. I have tried to step into a hundred different costumes, thinking "this is going to be the person I want to be." Only to find that it doesn't feel right and I end up disappointed that I forced myself into something I was not.
Take the Dell guy. I was with him for about 5 months, and he was a bike rider. He had them all over his garage and had helmets and those little gay ass bike shorts that made me question his sexuality. During my relationship with him, I purchased a 400.00 bike because he said it was the kind I should start out with. (The last bike I owned was pink and had a basket in the front and little tassles on the handle bars.) That 400.000 bike now sits in my kitchen, leaned up against the wall, and stares at me like a bad reminder of my relationship with him. I do not ride it, I do not want to ride it, it makes me run out of breath and all sweaty.
Another guy I dated was a big runner. I decided to pull out all my wickable shirts and started dressing like a runner when I knew I might run into him. I would wear my hair in braids with a bandana and carry a stop watch in my pocket "just in case I wanted to get a few laps in". My new shoes that I bought while with him never got used, so I would stand in the driveway and try and scuff them up to appear they had been on the trails all week. I stocked my fridge with gatorade and replaced my writing mix on my ipod to read "10 minute mile workout" mix. He did not need to know it included songs by Norah Jones and bach for book lovers.
Needless to say, I was trying to be someone I am not. And now, I am proud to say that I am who I am. No more bike buying, road running, tai food eating for this girl. I will stand up for what I want and for what I like.
Yes, the bucket list sits on my fridge, like a relentless reminder of what I hope to be. But really, the right guy is out there for me. And he will love that I still wear my maternity bathrobe, that I have shirts in my closet that I bought in high school, and that I go to bed at 8:30 on most nights.
Until then, the bucket list will continue to grow in size, and I will continue to figure out exatly who this sarah girl is...second time single and all.
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