Tag Archives: dating

Diary of a Divorce–January 22nd



     So I left you aching to know what became of my new guy, right? The guy who asked me out on New Year’s Eve and who seemed so “perfect” in so many ways. He is the epitome of consideration, kindness, good manners, and loves dogs. He’s 6’4″ tall, which is a nice match to my 5’11” height. He is exactly my age and decent looking, maybe shy a few hairs on his head, but he doesn’t try to disguise it in something hideous like a comb-over.

     What could go wrong, you might ask. The first sign came when I met him with our dogs at the park, had lunch, and went for a stroll on a balmy Southern California day. The conversation flowed, and, most importantly, his dog got along with my two!  But I guess I wasn’t feeling that “spark,” that physical chemistry.  Who can define it?

      Maybe, I figured, it was better all around if I didn’t feel passionate towards this guy. I haven’t had the best luck following my impulses where men have been concerned. Frankly, I think my “picker” is broken. Maybe it would be best to start off slow and let the sexual energy build gradually.

      We went to a movie and dinner on New Year’s Eve. We talked, we laughed, we exchanged details about our lives. So far, so good. He gave me a plant from his garden which he’d put in a beautiful pot. Along with this thoughtful gift, he’d enclosed a card. In it, he said, “Let’s take this slowly and build a solid foundation.” Wow. How many guys do you know who want to take it slowly?

      As we sat talking in his SUV, he bent over to give me a little kiss. Okay, it was awkward. I figured it was the position in which we sat in the bucket seats. Maybe, I suggested, we could try it again outside the car? So we did. And…..it was a wet kiss. One of those tongue kisses where you feel you need a towel afterwards. Ugh…I’m embarrassed to talk about it. It had never happened before. Every kiss with every man prior to this one had been effortless and natural. To make matters worse, my soon-to-be-ex husband is a GREAT kisser. That, and sex, were probably the only areas where we got along fantastically. If only we’d never gotten out of bed.. But I digress.

       I quickly made an excuse that we’d better head home before all the crazies got on the road after midnight. We said goodbye and he promised to call. Soon after I arrived home, he’d sent me an email in which he said he was so excited about the direction we were headed and that he was enjoying getting to know me more and more.

       And then, like a total moron, I did the ego embellishing woman thing: I thanked him a lovely time and told him he was a good kisser.

       What the hell was I thinking????

       Of course, he was thrilled to hear it and wanted to set up another date really soon–at his house. It didn’t sound like the kind of plan where he was trying to lure me into his lair to get laid. He’d actually carefully thought out the date to meet my specifications. He has a scooter and had asked me if I’d like to ride on it with him. I said it sounded like fun but insisted I wouldn’t ride on it in traffic or on the freeway. I suggested going to a canyon area or a more remote setting where I’d feel safer.

        He researched some canyon drives near his home, took a ride around them to find one I’d enjoy, and then invited me to join him. He also invited me to bring the dogs, and we could take them for a walk in a nearby park. Afterwards, he’d make me dinner. All he needed to know was whether I preferred filet mignon or prime rib. What a great guy!

       We were to get together a week ago Saturday. As the date grew closer, I could feel my anxiety building about the “kiss situation.” I even discussed it beforehand with a male friend. Ugh!!! Still, I decided to give him another chance. Honestly, he is a wonderful guy!

        When I drove up to his house, which is fully paid for, I was pleasantly surprised. It is in a beautiful canyon, surrounded by greenery and parks. He had decorated the place tastefully and in style–like those old canyon homes I recall from the ’60’s and ’70’s: fountains lightly trickling water, light effects to set the mood, lava lamps, and hundreds of plants both indoors and out. I felt comfortable immediately.

         We took a ride on his scooter, which is almost as large as a motorcycle, and I felt free and wild. What fun I was having!

         We came back to his house and played a game of stacking lego-like pieces until they collapsed. He offered me a smoothy he mixed up in his blender and then brought out a delicious appetizer. He put on a music DVD which was a concert of Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young. So far, so good. But I could feel my body language signaling him to keep his distance. I was nervous!

         We had dinner, which he prepared and served on cool stoneware. And then the moment came: He said he’d like a kiss…

         So I thought I’d try it with my mouth shut. And???? It…was… wet again. OMG.

         I made a hasty retreat soon thereafter. I knew this was not going to work. Everything about him is wonderful, but I knew I was not about to teach a guy how to kiss. If he can’t do THIS well, it doesn’t bode well for other more intimate activities.

         I discussed it at length with one of my closest friends the next day as we took a long walk with the dogs. She strongly suggested I tell him right away, instead of leading him on. He is a good guy and deserves someone who is “into” him physically.  I knew she was right.

         I came home to find an email from him saying how happy he was and that he was enjoying me more and more as he’s gotten to know me. I knew I had to let the ax fall.

        I sent him an email in which I very kindly and diplomatically explained that I’m not feeling “it” with him and that I know myself well enough to know that this type of thing can’t be forced. I offered him my friendship as I really, really DO enjoy spending time with him, but told him I’d understand if he wanted to blow me off. I offered to talk with him if we wanted to discuss this further.

        Two days passed, and then he called. He wanted to know what had gone wrong. He’d felt hurt at first, and then confused. I’d given him signs that I was feeling as positive about him as he was about me. He kept on digging for answers, and I’m not a very good liar. I asked him if he wanted to know exactly what the problem was. When he said he did, I reluctantly told him about The Kiss. Ugh!!!!

        We evaluated more specifics about kissing than I have EVER before discussed with a guy!!! I tried to explain exactly what kind of kiss turns me on–not such an easy thing to describe. And he…said he wanted to remain my friend!! I replied that I would be willing to try it as long as he understood it would never be more than a friendship. I don’t think you can change those types of feelings. It’s either there or it’s not.

         Only time will tell about how this friendship works out. He has already contacted me a couple times, including enthusiastically calling me to tell me he’d “won” an auction to get a second dog. He was so pleased with how his dog had interacted with one of my dogs that he decided to get his dog a playmate. We have talked about taking all four dogs to Dog Beach really soon.

        I don’t know about how this romantic stuff works, why it is that the guys who are the best guys aren’t the ones for whom I fall. Is it the “Good guys finish last” phenomenon? Honestly, if I could will myself to fall for this guy, I’d do it. We are so compatible in every other way. But you can’t fool Mother Nature. Deep within our bodies, pheremones or some such unconscious phenomena are dictating who turns us on and who doesn’t.

         I keep singing a couple songs: the Everly Brothers “Til I kissed ya” and the Shoop Shoop song. If you want to know if you love him so, it’s in his kiss. That’s how it is.


Diary of a Divorce–October 13th



      Loneliness is a dangerous place to be. It can trick my mind into thinking I need something or someone who isn’t good for me. I know that we women were intended biologically to be the gatherers, but modern day society has pushed us into this newer role of hunter. And this animal has been on the prowl–for relief from myself.

     I haven’t blogged for quite some time. I convinced myself no one really cared to read about developments in my life. After all, I rarely get comments when I do send posts to this site.

      What is lying under the  surface is a general feeling of being out of control and powerless to change circumstances. Most prominently is the advancing dementia of my 93 year old mother. She is great at deceiving everyone with whom she comes in contact, and, more importantly, my extended family, that her mind is just fine. It’s not. For the past dozen years, she’s been obsessed with a neighbor she’s convinced is trying to poison her.  She believes the neighbor is sending ants with poison on their backs into her house and that the neighbor pumps gas into her bathroom.

      She had convinced my son to install a security camera outside of her house to videotape any movements at her front door. When nothing showed up on the film, my mother berated him by saying the camera was defective. My niece then footed the bill for an alarm system which was programmed to shriek loudly should anyone get into her house.  Even with this intricate alarm system, which has never detected anyone in her house, my mother still insists the neighbor is getting in (through the walls?), stealing her property, and ripping her clothing just to devil her.

       Most of the family lives outside the immediate area, so they aren’t around to see how crazy my mother has become. I’m in the trenches, up close and personal. My mother has trashed me and raged against me for disbelieving her delusions. I made the horrid mistake once of going over to check out this neighbor. I concluded she has no issue with my mother. When I told Mom this, she accused me of being in collusion with the neighbor. Now, my mom calls the neighbor my “best friend.” In addition, all her other neighbors, who used to be her friend, are conspiring with the woman to inform her whenever Mom leaves her house.   These developments are so sad and scary. My mother’s mind has always been so sharp. She’s always seemed coherent and aware. It is all a big act now.

       In recent weeks, the paranoia has gotten more and more out severe.  A week ago, she told members of my family that the neighbor had poisoned all her food. She has stopped eating everything but matzos, with a theory that poison cannot infect matzos. Don’t ask.

       So my family has imploded, each member calling me and urging me to “fix” the situation. Although they doubted me and were in denial for YEARS about all the previous developments, now my sister has conceded she and the others “were wrong.”

        I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to handle this sad and frightening situation alone. I am depressed and withdrawn. I want escape from these things I can’t control. Since I can no longer drink or otherwise self-medicate, I’ve turned from reality to….well, these men I’ve been obsessed with on the personals site. None of the guys has worked out so far. The last one, with whom I shared a previous social worker and whom I discussed in my last blog, finally convinced me to meet him. Then, right before we were to set a date, he met with his therapist. She somehow convinced him he had some issues to deal with in his last relationship before pursuing a new one. Okay, no sweat. We haven’t talked since then.

        Message after message has poured in from new guys, none of whom sounded great. The ones who seemed nice and who promised to adore me were physically unappealing. Each of the ones who was attractive had one issue or another that prevented me from thinking they were right for me.

        One guy, with whom I might actually meet this Tuesday, is extremely attractive. The problem? He is not interested in a monogamous relationship and enjoys having many women in his life simulaneously. In effect, I believe it would be a strictly sexual thing between us, if we click.  Maybe that is what I need now, instead of the aggravation and energy required for a “boyfriend” or LTR. Maybe he’d be a “friend with benefits.” Doesn’t actually sound so bad–if I can pull it off.

       So what danger lies in all these developments–besides the obvious condition of my mother???

       I had a brief “relapse” a couple days ago. No, not one involving alcohol. One that involves a soon-to-be-ex-husband whom I allowed, one more time. to become a fantasy. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if he could be here to hug me and hold me and promise me everything would be just fine with mom? He knows the family dynamics. He has a level head. And he could sure help with the financial straits I’m facing by supporting myself. Maybe I should postpone the divorce? Maybe I was too hasty?? Maybe he’s seen the error of his ways, misses me enough, and would reappear as a great guy instead of who he really is.

       We had contact again regarding the filing of our 2011 taxes. He’d gotten an extension until mid-October. It seems that every time we have contact, always through emails, I fall back  into those fantasies.  And yes, it happened again–right in the middle of this mom stuff, right in the middle of my anxiety and fears about putting mom into some sort of an assisted living place. My mother, my daughter, and I went to see one yesterday that had been highly recommended by a friend who’d put his mother there.

      The place was a nightmare. We couldn’t get away from it soon enough. Of course, we ended the afternoon and evening with a screaming fight. That’ how we roll.

       So I got nostalgic for the “good old times” with my soon-to-be-ex. I emailed him that I missed him and those times when we’d laughed at things only the two of us understood. I talked about the music we’d listened to together as we made love so beautifully together. The problem was that I hit the “send” button.

        He is like a drug to me.  The drug called Mark promises quick relief, but instead turns on me with a viciousness reserved for an enemy.  The drug called Mark is highly addictive. This drug plays with my mind, convincing me I need him in order to live. It convinces me that he’s my friend and has my best interests in mind while silently destroying everything I’ve built, all the advances I’ve made in shaking the addiction.

        We quickly moved in our emails from fantasy (“I’ll always love you; I miss you terribly”) to the typical ones that caused the marriage to fail, his accusations that I’m always looking for a fight, that I’m filled with resentments against him, that I hurt him every time he’s willing to share his true feelings with me…and on and on. It’s always my fault.

       Withdrawal from this drug called Mark is a nightmare. It keeps me ill, depressed, unable to cope and questioning everything I believe that is good within me. I begin to think I’m a worthless, weak, mean-spirited human being who doesn’t deserve to be breathe the same air as the rest of mankind. Best to keep to myself, better to shield humanity from my evil ways by secluding myself in the house.

        Oh yeah. I remember at last, after his latest accusations. Wait one minute! I remember that he is not good for me. He is not my friend. He is out to prove me wrong every time. He is a “right” fighter, and I’m always to blame. Oh yeah.

        So I sent him a brief email last night. I told him I’d accidentally slipped into a nostalgic mood. I admitted I’d written that last email when I was lonely. I told him to forget the whole thing. Mea culpa.

       Of course, he responded today with kindness, tugging once again on my heart.  How’s my back, he asked. How horrible about my mother, he empathized. His father had slipped and broken his hip. How awful about our folks.

       No. In the words of the Who song: I won’t get fooled again.

       Maybe this new guy is just what the doctor ordered. Maybe a purely sexual, non-emotional fling is what I need. Anything but that drug called Mark. Anything but having to deal with life on life’s terms, alone. My heart is indeed a lonely hunter today. Like the alleged poison wafting into my mother’s house, Mark is my poison, filling my head with sickness. This time, though, I’m not going to bite.