Friday, February 27, 2009


Okay, so this totally blows.

I just started a new blog and now I have to end it already. I have a stalker. Evidently my former username is the #1 search term directing *someone* to some of YOUR blogs. So, that, to me, means that this same person (whoever could it be?!) probably is running searches for YOUR NAMES (i.e. my lovely and talented readers who leave comments!) in order to locate my next blog. Um, this one. And he'll probably continue to run searches on YOUR names to find ANY blog I create for a while, until he finds something better to occupy his time. So, once again, I'm not going to be posting for a while, and maybe at some point I will start another blog, and email you all to let me know the scoop.

Crazy how this isn't really that different than the time my mom found my journal and read it and asked me about the things in it, forcing me to stop writing from ages 16 to 28. I hope YOU, stalker, are happy. This is my only creative outlet and for the second time in my life it's been ruined for me. Thanks. Thanks a lot. Now I'll be forced to turn my angst inward and start carving my arms or something.

Okay, sorry, that was out of line and totally inappropriate. But I'm fucking pissed. And suddenly aware of how fucked up my life is. Fuckity fuck fuck fucking FUCK.

WTF Is Up With Me And Fire Alarms?!

A few weeks ago I had a really weird night with Software Guy. It was our third date, and two of my girlfriends and I had met up with him and two of his friends at a trendy-disguised-as-dive bar in downtown Denver. You know, it used to be a dive bar before all of the ritzy condos went in around it and turned it into a trendy place where the same old bartenders bitch about how no one cool ever comes in anymore?

I should preface this by saying that on our second date, he accidentally told me he loved me. Oops. Um, yeah. It was super awkward. He was really wasted and just got out of a 7-year relationship, so I chalked it up to late night drunken confusion and accepted his explanation that that's not what he meant to say. Then told him to please stop talking - the attempt at rationalization was just making the whole thing worse.

So that kind of skeeved me out, but I figured I would give him one more chance, that the random expression of love was an abnormal thing for him - and met him at this bar.

Again, he's totally wasted. At this point, I am realizing he's been totally wasted on all three of our dates so far. Hello red flag, nice to see you again. We have some drinks, he's pretty funny, and I agree to go back to his place. We kiss a little and AGAIN he starts with the drunken confessional emotional talking. He is really digging me, he thinks we should be exclusive, he doesn't want me to see anyone else, blah blah blah. AWKWARD. I told him I actually was seeing someone else, and maybe we should talk about this later, at which point he got kind of butt hurt. I thought about going home at this point, because I could tell he was obviously high maintenance and rebounding and that this probably wasn't really going to work for me right now, but (against my better judgment) agreed to stay the night when he asked.

I had been asleep for about an hour when the fire alarm went off. The flashing lights, pulsing noise type of fire alarm. He didn't move at all. I lay there for a while, wondering what I should do, and eventually it stopped. I was woken up four more times that night by the fire alarm, and once by him flailingly smacking me in the face and offering up the sleeptalky explanation "sorry, I was just texting my friends about how fucking cool you are." Nice. He didn't remember the fire alarms or the sleeptexting at all the next day.

The next morning he apologized for the drunken confession and asked if we could just pretend that convo never happened. I said sure. In my mind, because I sort of believe in synchronicity and karma and all that other bullshit, I was thinking the fire alarm was a sign to me to get the fuck out of there and not go back. Alert, alert, this isn't going to work.

THEN, I went to the gyno this morning to get my annual physical. I've been thinking in the interest of not having any random babies I should probably go back on the pill. So while I am there, in full spread-eagle-most-uncomfortable-moment-of-the-entire-physical mode, the fucking fire alarm goes off. What are the odds of this? Like I'm not already super tense and nevous and full of adrenaline already. GREAT timing. The doctor says to ignore it and we will finish the exam, and I say okay. Then someone comes and starts pounding on the door about how we need to leave! I mean, for the record, while you're having your annual exam is totally not the greatest time to be startledly jumping at loud and surprising noises. Gah.

So now I am wondering, if fire alarms really are all symbolic and shit, what that one was trying to tell me? Don't take birth control pills? Don't be banging anyone anytime soon? Or just avoid the gyno from now on? Or, I'm totally open to the idea that a fire alarm is just a fire alarm, you know.

Thursday, February 26, 2009

I've Finally Discovered My Bitterness

I've been wondering when the bitterness sets in. You know, that angry, irrational part of divorce that makes women turn into men-bashers and/or depressed and pathetic homebodies? I saw my mom go through it. I've seen other (usually older) women go through it. Pissed that they can't live in their own homes anymore, that they have to sell their cars, that they are stuck with the kids most of the time, that the men their age want 20-year-olds.

I've been lucky. I still have the house (of course, it's a rental), I still have my car, he's not asking for any money from me, we don't have kids, and so far, the actual divorce process has been pretty smooth and amicable. I've been out with two 26-year-olds, a 31-year-old, and a 37-year-old, and they were all super chill skater-type dudes that were easy to date and deal with. I joined for a free trial and got so inundated with email that I got overwhelmed and didn't respond to any, canceling my trial two weeks into it.

Everyone kept telling me my time was coming, that at some point the shiny newness of being so suddenly unencumbered would wear off, and I would realize that divorce sucks.

But most of the time, the lack of the previously-almost-constant tension and stress that surrounded my home life was enough to keep me going. The feeling that I was finally free to be myself, and not constantly trying to meet some unattainable and unknown "standard," kept other, potentially more negative feelings at bay, or at least overruled them when they came up.

But I have found something that completely, totally, and I have to say, irrationally, pisses me off.

Talk of weddings and babies.

I am unfortunately at the age where a lot of my friends are getting married and/or having their first/second kids. I'm going to be honest and say every time I see a facebook status message or a blog post about ordering flowers, picking bridesmaid dresses, finding out the sex of the fetus, or how so-and-so finally went pee pee on the potty, I want to vomit.

I know it's incredibly selfish of me. I know also that I should be celebrating the milestones of my friends and family, that children are precious, weddings are sacred, and all that other bullshit.

I actually went through my facebook roster the other day and deleted a bunch of people that were not close friends who regularly post status messages about their babies. I am soooo going to hell. I just can't take it. Having kids was one of the things that I wanted out of my marriage, that I was hoping and planning for in the near future, and that I feel was unfairly taken away from me without anyone asking me what I thought about it.

It's interesting to me that this is the thing that bothers me the most, so far. I wasn't particularly in a hurry to have kids when I was married. I kept thinking, we will do it when the time seems right. And it never did. Which is part of the reason we are no longer together. But as I've started to date again, and seriously think about my future, the concept of my future kind of scares the shit out of me.

For example, I am not sure that I want to get married again. Ever. Before I got married the first time, I trended towards "it's an archaic and no-longer-necessary legal institution that was created to control women, and I want no part of it." I'm not sure what biological switch flipped when I met my first husband, but it was tangible. And overnight change, literally. I changed my name and everything! Ohmigah. Who was that girl? The issue of the name change was one of our worst fights, and in retrospect, one of the many times a chunk of my soul went missing and I should have said, "sayonara."

But even more difficult for me to face is the prospect of being an old mom. I'm 29 now, and while I know the conventional wisdom is that I have a good 5-6 years before I have to "worry," the fact of the matter is I don't want to be an old mom. I wanted my first kid by 30 at the latest. Of course, there were a lot of things that I wanted to be different by 30.

Then there's the looming concept of having to have, um, a father for the nonexistent kid. I was recently dating a really nice, really hot, really successful software dude that loved to snowboard and had great taste in music, movies, etc. He took me on crazy-expensive dinners and called and texted me regularly. On our third date, he mentioned that he NEVER wanted to get married or have kids, and it was an instant turnoff. Never? Really?!

And as much as I really like the current person I am seeing, who knows if that will work out long term, you know? Realistically, how likely is it that you will end up in a real relationship with the first person you had any "real" interest in after your divorce? I think to myself, even assuming this guy and I were to go on to become something "real," most people date for what, 2-3 years before getting married or doing something as crazy as having a kid...which puts me at 32, 33 before I can even consider it. And again, that's assuming I only date this dude and don't end up going through you know, the breakup, nursing my broken heart, spending time alone for a while, complaining to my friends about the lack of decent men, meeting guys that seem cool but two months later AREN'T, joining again, hiding my profile again, and then maybe, maybe, maybe finally meeting someone else...and starting all over. Not to mention how many, many people get a year or two into a relationship, or even to the "will we or won't we stage..." only to discover some as-yet-unknown yet dealbreaking aspect of the other's personality....yikes.

This is where I usually start to feel a little panicky and/or ill, a) because I can't believe I just thought that far ahead about someone I am dating, ew, and b) I am imaginining myself pregnant at my 40th birthday party, bloated and sober while my friends dance on tables and frolic in the grotto pool. Wait, what?! Um, yeah.

So there you go. I found the thing that I'm bitter about. That I'm angry about. Someone took my sperm donor without asking me first.

I know, logically, that it's highly likely I will go on to meet someone else, someone better suited for me and better suited for um, actually living with me and being my partner and a father to my nonexistent kids. I've read the statistics that most people (I want to say it's in the 70's, percentage-wise) actually remarry within 2-3 years of a divorce! That seems crazy to me - of course, right now, the concept of marriage seems crazy to me. And, honestly, I don't think marriage is a prerequisite for childbearing. I never have.

Besides, I guess if it doesn't happen, I'll just travel a lot. Get some fake boobs. Spend a lot of time at the gym. And continue to hit on 26-year-olds. It's working for me so far.