Felix and other things I am not into

Felix found his way to me, through unexpected channels. He's handsome. Well-mannered. Low-maintenance. Attentive. Sweet. Cleans up after himself. Everything a woman ever wanted in a male.
The only thing is: He's a cat. He's black and white. About 8 years old. He's living on my screened-in porch.
Problem is: I don't want a cat. Much like I don't want many things in my life right now. I am half-heartedly buying a house because I think it would be a good investment. I am half-heartedly on Match.com because honestly, I was having too much sadness and I thought a few good dates would cure that.
Instead, I got involved. I am feeling Felix work his way into my heart, much like Blue Eyes has.
Blue Eyes is fun, goofy, tall, young, curious, deceptively seductive.
And yet, he's not going to be my boyfriend. And he reminds me of my ex in that he's not being romantic with me. He's not sweeping me off my feet. He's, quite frankly, "just not that into me."
I am trying to figure out what I do to attract these men who are not very generous or romantic with me. I am not needy. I am very approving. I am fun. Maybe I need to be more generous with myself? Maybe I need to insist on the highest standard, which is: What makes me happy? And dispense with all the rest?
Maybe.
Felix: That may mean the end to you and me, baby. I just don't want your cat hair all over my furniture and rugs and in every nook and cranny of this old apartment. Call me strange, but I just don't want it. Please understand.
Blue Eyes, I probably like you more than you like me at this point, which could spell adios for us.
So, here's to only doing things that I want to do. And doing them with exquisite focus and power.
Meow.

Everything in moderation

Nuf said....

Booty texts

So, I was really off my game for several months through winter. Getting on Match.com was a sort of proactive, get-off-my-duff move meant to jump start my mojo.

What I find hysterical is that after not hearing from them for months, I got two booty texts this week from 2 of my "paramours" last summer. I mean literally months had gone by without hearing from these cats, and suddenly I'm on their mind?

There are no coincidences, they say, so maybe just moving my energy towards openness again is what brought these sexy guys out of the woodwork.

By the way: Both have great personalities, are smart, are hot and are amazing kissers... Now that's attraction right there. Oh dating gods, please rain down more men like that on me.... Pretty please? With sugar on top? I promise I'll be good...

Why motorcross?

I have been noticing that on Match.com, a lot of men put down "motorcross" as their sport.
Really? Are they off-road motorcycle racers? I find that hard to believe... But maybe it's a hidden element to society that I had been missing. I actually think it's the mostly non-athletic guys saying that, so maybe they think it's hot to put that as a sport, and in so doing, one will miss their beer belly... Hmmmmmmmm....

I digress. Tennis legs was verrrrrry nice, but.... he didn't have sexy tennis legs. Attraction is crucial for Cazadora. She wants some hotness. I want good things for Tennis Legs. He is a fundamentally good person. He will do great things with his life. But chemistry with Cazadora? Flat as an old tennis ball.

My ex was hot... I mean HOT. Curious.

I want to think I like a person for their brains. Sense of humor. Goodness. Spirituality. Not abs and pecs and biceps. Maybe I'm deluding myself. Maybe I can make this stand: Hotness without brains is not my bag, but hotness with brains? Bingo.

Match this

Cazadora had a bad winter. It was sad, cold and honestly, miserable...

But spring and its sultry nights are here. The jasmine is blooming already and making the whole city feel alive and sexy. Sex is in the air. Atlanta's pollen count goes through the roof, and so do the pheromone readings.

It was time to move from "poor me" to "poor them." I have posted my profile on Match.com, and the interest is overwhelming... Don't hurt'em, Cazadora.

I have gotten winks from dozens of men, and they are so different... 27-year-old Kyle -- loves summer and anything he can wear his bathing suit to -- to 67-year-old Duke -- he thought we would just have an "outrageous" time.

The 40 year age difference is overwhelming... and intriguing. Why are the young ones interested in me? My favorite two right now are both 29... I wish I could understand what is is going on in their heads. Truly fascinating that a 38 year old woman is on their wish list.

It's clear why the older ones get interested in me. But really.... 67??? Do I look like I am the Hugh Hefner type?

I tested the waters tonight, and went on my first Match date with"NeNe." I made him go salsa dancing with me... He was such a good sport. He had rhythm and tried all the dances... very nice guy. I hated his cologne though (he applied it with a pressure washer) and I couldn't see us having much to talk about. And there was no chemistry for me. I was thinking of him as my starter date... Please don't tell him I said that. But you know, it was a great start. It was light and easy and just good clean sultry fun.

But there are two others that have captured my eye. And they couldn't have different approaches. Both are 29 and in auditing or accounting. One we'll call Blue Eyes. He has been sending the most seductive emails and sounds like someone that I could really connect with... But, he's quite forward and may just be looking for the hook up. (I am not sure that's such a bad thing, but still, a gal needs to be careful.)

Then there's Tennis Legs. He is very professional and on the rise and he and I have had a lot of fun in the chat room with him. He kept things simple and fun and clean and upbeat, but also clever and and he asked a lot of great questions. I can't wait to meet them both.

I think I could get the hang of this Match thing. Light please!

File under: "idiot"

So... where to even begin on this post... how about just blurting it out?

My ex-husband walked by my place on Saturday afternoon toting his new girlfriend, who, by the way, was wearing a t-shirt I gave him. (Like, oh my God, right?) They were walking across the street from my place. I live at the entrance to a big park. I was sitting on my patio. They waved at me from afar... I tentatively waved back.

That was pretty bad. Dude has a choice of park entrances, but no, has to walk by mine. Clueless, right? (And just as a refresher course -- the ink dried on our divorce less than 2 months ago).

But (just like a bad infomercial) "Wait! There's more!" They initially kept walking, but within a few seconds they turned around, walked across the street, came over to my screened-in patio and he says," I thought I should introduce you guys."

[RECORD SCREECH!!!! NAILS ON CHALKBOARD!!! EAR-CURDLING SCREAM, OR ANY OTHER HIGH-PITCHED, ANNOYING NOISE YOU CAN THINK OF HERE...]

What???????? Really???? Hello, are you from planet Mars?

I couldn't believe what I was seeing -- or hearing -- or feeling. It was like a kick in the gut. A trip to an alternate universe. An ex-boyfriend at your wedding. An former step-mom spoiling Christmas dinner for your Dad. Basically, your run of the mill awkward scene from a Woody Allen movie. All in all, a WHAATTTTT???? is emanating from your shell-shocked soul.

(As background, I had known about this unmentionable one. She is 15 years younger than him, lives in another city and they visit each on weekends. Of course, they met through his job even before we talked getting divorced... Did he cheat? Not sure, don't think so. Kind of doesn't matter at this point. Was she the catalyst for our divorce? I'm pretty sure that most men don't have the nerve to leave their wives unless someone is waiting to catch them and why would he be any different? I knew she would be here for a weekend visit. But never in my wildest dreams did I think he would parade her down my street in a t-shirt I gave him and then up to my patio to INTRODUCE US???? I mean really... What kind of fuckin' idiot is this dude???)

What did we talk about, you ask? What else? The weather. Nice day, sunny today, supposed to rain tomorrow. Seriously. That's all we talked about it. The situation was so wrong.

What I really wanted to say was: Hope you're having fun fucking my ex-husband in the house that I decorated and is all me. Yeah. Enjoy it, you bitch, and him, because I know he can't cook and won't lift a finger to do anything for you. You can have him. Oh by the way, I bet he didn't tell you he has herpes, did he? To him, I wanted to say: I hope she gives you an STD, you mother-fucker. Yeah, something really nasty. Crabs? Syphilis? Whatever, just make it raunchy.

I know. It sounds angry. But I was. Am. I mean really? Why would you want to introduce us? What good can come of this? How dumb are you?

I couldn't even have the satisfaction of ripping him a new one right away because I had to wait for her to leave town. I couldn't ball him out and then have him turn to her for consolation. No. No way was I going to give them the satisfaction of hating me together...

Two days later, though, I let him have it.

Here's what I said when I finally called him. "Did you really think that was a good idea to introduce her to me???"

Him: "It was her idea." (Just like him to throw someone else under the bus instead of taking responsibility.)

Me: Going fuckin' ballistic. "Her idea? Didn't you think about how this would make me feel? Can't you think for yourself?"

His answer: "I did think it was a bad idea."

Me: "Then what the fuck, dude????"

The real answer is: Dude is a selfish motherfucker. One of his own friends has repeatedly asked me why I was with him so long when he is so selfish... Wow. With friends like that, who needs enemies.

In the end, after nearly going insane hearing all his lame reasons why he did think it was a bad idea but did it anyway, I told him to never, ever, ever never walk her down my street under any circumstances or introduce me to her ever again even all streets were blocked, there was a nuclear holocaust, and mine was the only entrance left to friggin' the promised land. I know I can't control a public street, but in this case, it's a reasonable request. I told him we are not friends, and I am not her friend and we are not going on double dates. He said, "I know we're not going on double dates, but I thought we were friends." I said, "No, you are my ex-husband, we are not 'friends.'"

And here's the rub: Every time he sees me, he gets tears in his eyes. And he had tears in his eyes on Saturday, even with this little sassy-assed hussy bitch by his side. What the fuck, dude? You are so weird.

I told him we are done. No more talking, emails, visits for any reason of any kind. Dude, we're done, done, done, done.

You can't be friends with your ex. At least, not when your ex is a clueless, selfish fuckin' idiot.

No nerve

After my liberating "unfriending" binge on Facebook, and while in theory I liked the idea of thinning the pack, I ended up getting less attention from men. How funny, no? Maybe the normal riff raff picked up on the fact that I was having none of their shenanigans. I would argue I also had the winter blahs and probably wasn't being exactly charming or sensual (I am a summer animal). Truth be told, I still feel the sting of the divorce, and I used winter seasonal affective disorder as an excuse to feel baaaaaaad. That was goooooood, I would say. Deal now or forever hold my peace.

When I did finally go out to meet the madding crowd, I met, of course, a 23-year-old. That's a dime and half less than me for those keeping score. He's younger than my last youngest conquest... I'm freaking myself out! Of course, however, he lives here illegally. My big joke is that I am "flytrap" for illegals. I ought to be an immigration agent, because I would catch them all. From any and every country, but of course mostly the ones that speak Spanish or Portuguese. (My trainer, bless his heart, says I catch the young ones because I'm short. One of my dear girlfriends says I catch the wrong ones because I'm too friendly. Short and friendly = illegal foreign young men. Anyone agree with this theory? I just want cool and eligible men who aren't married and schmucky and who hopefully speak English and read the newspaper. Is that so hard?)

Still, he was cute. We met on our birthdays at a night club -- we have the same birthday -- and we danced really well together and all night long. We had several "dates" so to speak after the first night we met (we actually just met up to go dancing).

I was, for a moment, considering having sex with him.

But when the lights came up and the truth came out, I lost my nerve. When I had my chance, I couldn't go through with it. I knew I didn't for one second consider him boyfriend material. I knew that morning conversation over coffee would be limited, and he had never read a newspaper. I wondered if he'd ever had his heart broken. I didn't want to be the first to do that.

He's sweet and sensitive in a very juvenile way. He lives at home with his mom and two high-school aged brothers. He sent me a lot of text messages (still does -- I wonder how long it will take for him to stop sending them... I haven't replied for days). He sent me a text chain mail letter proclaiming he loves me just the way I am. He said he wanted to get to know me better than he knows myself. Wow. See? Heart-breakingly sweet. But how could I potentially hurt that poor little guy?

So, I lost my nerve, plain and simple. Probably men are better at that type of thing. Act first, think of the consequences later. But I had too much heart for that, and not enough nerve. Maybe it's like catching a fish that's just too small and throwing it back, waiting for that bigger catch. One that meets the legal requirements. That must be it... Ahhh, the hunt goes on.

The Power of Expecting More

I took a very unprecedented position today. I voted my inner bitch and unfriended four men on Facebook. My reason? I am worth MUCH more than their sorry asses.

Man #1: Schmucky mojo married-but-a-poet guy. I realized that keeping him in my loop meant a tacit approval of his cheating ways. I knew it also meant feeling falsely close to him, and vice versa... Time to make a stand: if you leave her then call me. If you don't, then don't call me. Until then: Cazadora, out!

Man #2: Gross married guy. This guy several times has commented on Facebook about "what a pretty lady" I am. As background, I've never met him in person and only accepted him as a friend because he's in public relations and we had dozens of mutual friends. He tried to chat with me the other night on FB. So I mentioned, "Hey, aren't you married?" His response: "Oh yeah, I knew something didn't feel quite right here." That's a first class jerk right there. He's in his mid-50s, and has several daughters and is MARRIED. His wife is linked on his FB page. WTF??? Leave me alone, creep. So, unfriended! Boom, boom, pow.

Man #3: Schmucky guy in California who is just kind of a loser. He doesn't even merit a huge explanation, although he was also referred to here on the blog as Traveling Businessman Dude. See ya, sucka.

Man #4: My ex-husband. That needs no explanation, right?

NUF SAID. See ya, wouldn't wanna be ya. Buh bye.

Havana nights

There is nothing like a good dance. Last night I had four great dances.

The scene: A brand new night spot in Buckhead called Havana Club. The premise: Opening weekend, free drinks before 11. Salseros invited by two of the top dance teachers in Atlanta.

The reality: crowded! So, when a dance floor is crowded, it's more important than ever to dance small. And controlled. Some guys may be good dancers, but don't know how to rein it in. But in a crowd like that, you have no choice.

My two favorite dances of the night: Merengue and a salsa with a Puerto Rican dance instructor. He's the dance teacher the teachers learn from. He knew exactly how to dance in the crowd and still express himself -- and he never ran me into anyone else. We had three songs of bliss in the middle of all those sardines.

The other dance? Salsa with my good friend who dances On 2 (basically Mambo). About our third dance, we hit our stride. We danced in a slot right next to tables and other dancers and never hit anything. We had a really good dance connection. We were stopped afterwards to ask if we were teachers. Now that's salsa satisfaction.

Also had a great merengue with a salsero -- he's a merengue expert somehow. It's always fun dancing a goofy merengue after serious salsa. Also had a great salsa with a guy who normally tosses me around a bit much but was able to make smaller movements in this setting, which made for a much better dance. He has great rhythm and moves, and I like dancing with him in general, but this was much better.

It was hot and crowded, but so awesome. Nothing makes a girl happy like wearing a new dress, going to the "it" club, and dancing nonstop. Feet don't fail me now!

My sweet new obligation

I think I am happy.

It came over me very gradually, starting last Thursday when the big D was final. I think I woke up this morning and really felt it. It was this slow, building understanding, like watching the dawn arrive on tip toes. A voice in my head whispering: I am my own woman. I make my own decisions. No one expects anything of me or is relying on me to do anything. I feel it from my head to my heels. A freedom in my body, my mind, my heart, my soul.

I am free.

I have my friends -- but those obligations are so sweet and voluntary and usually fun. I have my family -- but obligations in my family are so few, so rare, and even then, done out of love. I have my job -- but those obligations are my vocation, my passion.

Other than that, I have only myself. My new, sweet obligation: "To thine own self be true." I don't even have pets or plants to distract me from that mission. I am truly my own woman. Free to do ANYTHING and EVERYTHING I ever desired.

With this freedom came a calm. I found out my ex has a girlfriend of a few months -- 15 years younger than him and in another city. I felt so calm about that, and actually relieved and happy for him (I was definitely not upset which surprised even me). I heard from Schmucky Mojo Married Guy. Fine. I can hear from him. Suit yourself. You're still married so what do I care? I heard from very-shy-and-sweet-but-it's-complicated salsa guy. Awww. Gosh. I heard from now-separated-and-maybe-we'll-get-together-when-he-comes-to-town-or-maybe-we-should-meet-in-Miami guy? That sounds right up my alley. He's taking salsa lessons! Yum. I heard from hot-overseas-and-a-bit-horny-but-can't-wait-to-see-you guy. And he's coming to town soon. Oh yes he is. Can't wait for that. Then young Jewish politico wrote and proposed a meet-up. And why not?

It's all sweet. Cool. Nice. And me? Calm. These are a cornucopia of choices. But I am free to choose all of them or none of them or one of them. I am just drinking from a fountain of freedom. And you know what? So are they. They have no obligations either --I am only obliged to honor what feels good and is fun for me and therefore ensures my partner-in-crime is having fun too.

Now that feels so goooooooooooooooood.

So what do I desire? Hmmmmm..... I'll get back to you on that. But I will say, my freedom to choose means the sky is the limit. Watch out birds, here I come.

My last ex-husband post?

So, the divorce was final last week. The night before, my ex came over to my place. We had beer and snacks, and talked for about two hours. We had one of those, "So what did we learn?" talks. What did we learn from 10 years of marriage? About each other? About ourselves? Relationships? Happiness? Unhappiness?

This is what I would definitely call a "closure talk." We each discussed things we did wrong, could have done better, did right. What we miss about each other. What we don't. Why it didn't work out. How sad it is that we are split up. The thing that struck me the most was how much he had to say to me. He was overflowing with things to talk about, from his family and job to current events. It was like he had saved up these things since the last time we talked. When I asked him what he missed most about me, he said it was our conversation. That was quite obvious by the end of the night.

But in two hours, I was tired, we were talked out. When we said goodbye, we hugged and we both cried. But it wasn't a longing, or feeling that we would try to reconcile. It was just a goodbye. A final goodbye to our marriage.

Now, a few days later, I feel the finality. I am not linked to him anymore. We don't have keys to each other's places. His house -- what had been "our house" -- is no longer mine. I have no claim to it, to him. I will shed his last name. Most tangible traces of the last 10 years, erased.

I talked to a buddy of mine who is also separating from his wife after 10 years. They have two little kids. He said it feels like he's Rip Van Winkle -- waking up after a long sleep, and now he's back where he left off when he was 27.

In a way, I agree, But the truth is, I am a better person for having known my husband and been married to him. He changed me, mostly for the better. I hope maybe I changed him for the better. I feel like I know what I did poorly and can improve on for next time. I hope he learned something too.

So, I decided I won't look at it like a lost decade. Instead, I get to find and be myself again. I don't have to censor my gregariousness, control my passion for salsa or not see my friends that he didn't like. I had married an introvert -- I have decided to only date extroverts, and so far, that's been a lot more fun for me. Sometimes, I see through these extroverts, however, why my husband would get annoyed at me. But it's nice not to be relied on to be the life of the party all by myself. And I am stronger now than ever before. A lot of things that used to bother me seem so insignificant now. If I have my health, my home, my job and my friends, all is right with the world. Some good sex now and then helps too.

So goodbye to my ex. Hello to the next. Keep calm, carry on. And all that jazz.

Too close for comfort

I went dancing tonight at Opera, a night club in Atlanta.

You know, when you go to a night club, it's not like you're expecting to find "someone." It's kind of a free thing, where you dance, see who comes up, maybe you dance with that person, maybe not...

Well, here's what happened. Guys would come up to me and my friend, stand behind us and rub their already hard cocks into our backs. One guy even grabbed my hand and put it on his penis, which was hard. What, what? Really? He didn't even know my name. Not cool, horny dude. We ended up calling the whole night, "Dick in the back."

Even when we ran interference for each other, there was a lot of insisting from the guys. There was one guy who was like Velcro -- we couldn't shake him.

The guys were RIDICULOUS. A lot of Indian/Pakistani looking fellows (the most bold, by the way). A few gringos. A lot of African-Americans. In my opinion, not a lot of quality in any demographic.

We had fun, until "hand-on-the-cock" guy. My friend said, "I'm here to save you." I said, "Save me!" so we fled to the salsa room, where the guys were less aggressive. Now that's turning logic on its head. Oops. Bad pun. Anyway...

Lesson? Men who go to Opera have never heard of Maria Callas or Luciano Pavarotti.

Final count down

So, my divorce will be final next Thursday. A few select girlz will be on hand for wine and moral support. I have a taxi service on speed dial. My boss is on notice that I might not come into work the next day. Enough said.

But it's not enough said. This is not a celebration. I'd call it a mile marker. Not good, not bad. Just a place you pass through to get to the next place.

How I feel about it? I guess I'd rather not feel about it. If I stop and think and feel and process and grieve. it physically hurts like hell. My heart, silly heart, is broken. If I don't stop, but stay in perpetual motion, then I don't feel anything. I keep my eyes dry. But it's also like some perpetually awake crack addict that needs to sleep but can't.

Instead, I blog. I blog, therefore I am. I blog, therefore I can express exactly what I feel. I loved my husband and wanted to make it work. It didn't work. That failure bites. I am not used to failure. That sounds ice cold bitchy. The truth is, I love that man and didn't want to lose him, and I didn't want what was once "us" to disappear. We had long ceased to be the "us" I idolized, but I still wanted it to work out. For the sake of "us." Because it was "us" God damn it! "We" were special. "We" were irrefutable. "We" were that once-in-a-lifetime love affair. Were we really? I don't know. But I had believed we were for so long, it became hard to not believe it.

So, I feel sad and alone. I can say he was my best friend for 10 years. Old reliable, really.

I fill my time now with new friends and experiences. Not better, just different. What do I look for? Well, I'm still on the hunt for Mr. Lusty. Mr. Poet? Clearly too ridiculous to be true. Mr. Traveling Businessman Dude? Not making the cut. Will Mr. Right be out there? Is that what I want? Truly, I wouldn't get involved with me if I were all y'all. A girl needs some time to get her head together. But I'd definitely have fun with me. A girl could use a little fun after a 10-year-unsuccessful slog that became a passion-free zone. So, I would say, still looking for Mr. Lusty.

I guess, I will raise a glass next week with the following toast: Here's to 10 years gone, and to 10 years to come. To best friends, and new experiences, and to the best years of my life that are still ahead of me.

I can toast to that.

Cheers.

Cazadora

Schmucky Mojo

So, I had a work conference out of town last week. My mojo was on. It was cold back home, but warm in Conference Town. I brought out my high-heeled, Michael Kors gold knot sandals. They are man-killers. I know this.

I didn't expect the Mojo to hit the minute I walked into the room at the first function, which was a casual evening gathering.

Cute guy, London accent, definitely starts hitting on me. The night progresses. We end up being the only ones at the wings place at midnight. He pulls out the, "So, where are you from, are you seeing anyone and how old you?" line. I interpret to mean... he must be interested, right? That's not just making conversation. Those are targeted questions to gauge a gal's availability and compatibility. It turns out I'm five years older than him. He gets over initial shock (I do look and sound much younger), but is undaunted. He persists.

We text that night and all the next day during class. Flirty texts. I have them as proof.

Things progress. By the next night, we are already making plans to ditch the group and do our own thing. We launch out, away from convention hotel. Find Bohemian part of town. Literally stumble upon a poetry reading (I don't make this shit up). We both instantly look at each other and it's a given we are going in. As we do, he signs up to perform (me, swoon!).

He's amazing. He steals the show. He performs his own work as well as Jaberwocky (remember that?) He's asked to come back the next night to be the feature poet! We leave poetry reading. We find a really cool bar we'd found out about at a coffee shop. On the way there, we meet up with two young kids (one of whom also happens to work at said coffee shop) and we end up hanging out together all night (and the next three nights, actually). I, of course, instantly Facebook friend and Twitter follow one of them (the young, Hispanic gay guy, love him!). My poetry man asks me to dance to the terrible DJ. It doesn't matter the DJ is terrible, we're having a grand time. Poetry man/London accent seems REALLY into me.

On way home, we are laughing, talking. Stop under a wide, clear sky and half moon for a kiss. He comes to my room. We have a little fun (not too much).

At the end of our fun, he informs me that ... he's married.

RECORD SCREECH!!!

Really? You're married? We've been hanging out for 48 hours and now, after a little foolin' around, you tell me you're married? Why tell me at all at this point, schmuck? Why not just keep the game going? Why, after I completely FELL for you ... why, after you seduced me? Why, after we had a really amazing time together?

I can't answer these questions.

I have only one conclusion: It rhymes with FUCK. He's a SCHMUCK.

So, because I'm older and wiser (insert laugh track here) I know my only remedy is: distraction and diversion.

Divert attention: find new crush. Distract self: throw self into work, Facebook updates, whatever other obsession I can find. I actually need to buy a new car. That'll work.

So see? I found my Mojo, but it attracted a bottom feeder. Gee whiz... Hopefully, coming to Cazadora's blog soon, something uplifting... Stay tuned y'all. Until then, beware the Poets with the sexy British accents.

New Year's Fake

Ten years ago last night, I spent one of the best nights of my life with the man I would marry. It was the much-lauded and anticipated turning of the millennium. It was the year we moved from 1900s to 2000s, and there were more than a million people watching fireworks and celebrating on the beach where we were that night.

We had made our engagement official on Christmas eve 1999, also the first night I would meet his entire family (about 20 or more people and I barely spoke the language then).

I was surrounded by an ethereal happiness -- no inkling yet of the troublesome decade ahead for me and us.

Last night, as I brought in the new decade with friends at Atlanta's silly Peach Drop, I was a big fake. I faked being happy. I danced a lot. Had some champagne. Fake smiled for everyone.

This morning, I could do nothing but think of my ex-husband back in his home land with the family I grew to love and consider my own. I wondered if he found someone to kiss as the clock struck midnight. Who was he with? I guess I never felt more lonely since we split earlier this year. New Year's Eve had always, always been our special night. We would never ever sit at home but always went to a fun party or exotic place. Probably my favorite new year's eve was the one when we danced for hours at home, just the two of us, before going to meet some friends. I remember feeling really happy that night.

No offense to my girlfriends, but last night wasn't the same. I hate to start 2010 with a bad attitude, but at the same time, I guess my grieving for my marriage isn't over. Maybe it's hardly begun.

Who knows how long grieving takes when you still love a person? I have tried to be careful about not getting involved with anyone since the divorce. Dating, flirting, other stuff? Maybe. Emotional connection? How could I? I don't think it would be fair to someone else. I think I'm still an emotional landmine.

If this morning -- when I faced my real feelings and wiped that fake smile off my face -- is any clue, then perhaps the worst is yet to come.

The truth is, I do have great hopes for myself for the next 10 years. The truth is, I'm normally upbeat, looking for fun. It's not as bad as I am making it sound, probably. But today, as I reflect back, it's hard not to feel a huge loss and void in my life. Like the last 10 years never happened. Like they are wiped clean from life and I'm back in 1999, right before I met him. A neat and tidy package, that decade, completely spent with him, and now vanished into a black hole. Now I'm back where I was before I met him. A trippy "Ground Hog's Day" scenario when that alarm buzzer goes off and you wake up as if the day had never happened. I guess I get a chance at a "do-over" only now I'm 10 years older. Wiser? That's debatable. Changed? That's for sure.

I'm not in the mood to wish anyone a Happy New Year. Isn't that awful? Instead, I wish everyone truth. Maybe I'll put that fake smile away and just be real. Now that would be a good resolution indeed.

Where is Mr. Lusty?

I went on a date the other night with Traveling Businessman dude. It was a second date and a second chance after we both botched the first one. Complicated, not worth going into. He's the one that I met on a flight and had felt lust for ever since. He has oddly cool gray-blond hair, gorgeous blue eyes, sexy lips. He comes from my hometown, a very small place where neither of us live now, so it was chance that we met at all.

I had high hopes for TBD (Traveling Businessman dude). I think he evoked a sense of place for me. He reminded me of high school boys I always had crushes on. His accent was like hearing the breeze through the trees back home. He just poked some sort of fire in me that I guess I never knew I had smoldering. I have been out of my home state for so long, and I definitely wasn't dating while I was married, so maybe it was just a big giant nostalgic head-fuck to meet this guy right at the beginning of my single life. It made me wonder if I should move back to that end of the earth to be closer to people I know and understand. Maybe I was pinning too many unrealistic hopes on this dude. The poor guy had no idea about all that was going through my head.

If the date were a movie, however, it would get a mixed review. TBD would get a thumbs up for being a fun conversationalist. He's quick witted, direct, funny. Very bright. I would not say he had the manners of good Southern gentlemen, but his etiquette was about what is expected of average guys these days. He checked in with me, made sure I was okay, comfortable. Paid for dinner. Opened the door for me.

But -- and this definitely comes from Cazadora, the lusty divorcee -- he gets a thumbs down in the passion category.

Now I know men and women play by different play books. Girlz are supposed to act coy and unavailable, while guyz are supposed to tone it down and stay cool. I say, this is a recipe for disaster. If both sides are acting disinterested... then no one's ever going to get together. I know I gave TBD good eye contact and smiles, etc. He did the same. We were both interested. He made some moves on me at the end of the date. I was glad to finally kiss those lips I found so delectable. But by the end of the night I could see we were probably better matched as friends than anything more. The level of passion I am capable of feeling outmatched his by far.

After a marriage that ended as a "passion free zone," I am not looking for Mr. Right as much as Mr. Lusty. I want to be kissed passionately and held. I want to know a guy would lose an hour of sleep if it meant spending an hour with me. TBD would probably make a great husband and father, for someone. I mean he was very considerate. I would be bored to tears, however.

It was my second big disappointment over TBD. It's hard to know why he caught my imagination so much, or even made my heart flutter a little bit. And it's hard to turn that off, even when I know, as deeply as I know anything, he ain't the one for me. And I know I barely know him. But I want to honor that deep place in myself that is all about knowing things.

What is a girl to do? I need to find Mr. Lusty.

Fighting the good fight

In nearly 10 years of marriage, my ex and I never had a constructive fight.

We didn't know how. We weren't solution oriented, but instead loved to blame each other for things. We'd get wound up in twists and knots and terrible pretzels, and we could never, ever unwind. I believe a primary reason we broke up was this basic lack of problem solving skills. I definitely include myself in this problem. And I definitely include him in the problem. No blame, just two people who needed more tools in their toolbox, so to speak.

We just had a spat regarding the logistics of our divorce. I have been kind of swept up in the divorce like a hiker in an avalanche. I am finally dusting myself off to make sure I'm alive, to see what's broken and if all of my limbs are intact. I am alive and well, but the ride down the hill was rocky and it hurt.

This week, the ex and I for the third time had the same conversation about something we both agreed to, but now he is angry about. The first two times, I explained to him how he needs to call a therapist, lawyer or friend, because I wasn't the right person for him to be complaining to, as he was complaining about me! I'm no longer his wife. Don't live in the same house. I clearly don't have to put up with that, right? Yesterday, and I'm not proud of this, I just hung up on him. In the middle of his speech. This sucked. We always had an agreement that we wouldn't hang up on each other. I hated doing it. But... I had asked him nicely and politely twice not to rant at me, and he was doing it anyway. Not cool. So, he got hung up on.

Today, I sent him a long e-mail explaining how I am sorry he is upset, yadda yadda yadda, followed by my own logic and reasoning as to why he shouldn't be upset, yadda yadda yadda, plus some other mumbo jumbo about feelings, yadda yadda yadda, and I hit send.

What came back to me was a gift from the Gods, Goddesses, Cupids, whomever. He sent me the best explanation to date -- in our 10 years together -- in a succinct, well-reasoned manner about his feelings. It was amazing. It was sensitive and sweet, but still made his points. He left off the stuff that I had been finding a bit mean, if not demeaning. He acknowledged how hard I worked at the marriage, that I had changed for the better, etc. He admitted he had just given up on the whole thing. These were huge, huge disclosures from someone who made a job of not opening up. My therapist has called him one of the most challenging customers she's had. He had exhibited an absolute refusal to look deep inside himself for answers, at least in her office. It got to the point last year, before the divorce, that the therapist looked at me and said, "You're done!" but looked at him and said, "Let's get to work..." He shockingly agreed to it, but of course, that was never going to happen. And it didn't. Truth be told, our relationship was probably too far gone at that point anyway. If you've given up, pretty much no amount of therapy brings you back from that abyss.

Nonetheless, the things he put in yesterday's email were things I had been hoping to hear from him for ages. Just some acknowledgment that he gave up, that I had worked hard and done everything I said I would and that I possibly could. It brought me an incredible sense of closure. I would argue it was the best fight we ever had. It made me think of the phrase, "Fighting the good fight." I know that has a different meaning, but to me, this was how it felt to have fought a good fight. Finally, a fight that resolved our issues and no one felt blamed. No one lost. Now that's a good fight.

The Law of Attraction

When my husband and I first broke up, and I moved out, I went a bit boy crazy. The funny thing is that I was never boy crazy in high school, college or my twenties. I liked guys, and all, but I really never learned how to turn on my charm and tap into that sweet energy that is female mojo. I had never looked at the world of men as my own personal playground where the game is a sexy round of tag.

Well, I guess I had beginner's luck. I charmed and flirted my way through summer, and had my share of success. Also, ladies, take note: I think a memo goes around once you get into divorce proceedings, because I found more than my fair share of men who seemed to know exactly the state I was in, and wanted to provide "comfort." Hot divorcee is no stigma, ladies, at least in this state. One of my male friends even told me it was okay to go crazy (I was kind of working my way through his friends... not on purpose or knowingly... but stilll!). But he was so sweet about it. He just told me to go crazy for two months, and then stop. "What do you then?" I asked him, desperately. "You go on actual dates and get to know people first," he said reasonably. We both laughed. Definitely good advice. I still had a month to go, he told me then. Well that was a relief, because I certainly wasn't done yet.

What makes me marvel is how in several cases I really was more lured by the hunt than the catch. I felt no emotional connection to several guys who seemed promising at first, but not after we had "intimate relations." Of course, I had two of them like me more after that, but instead the bedroom showed me that it wasn't going to work. I liked them less.

But, in several cases, what happened in the bedroom translated to stronger feelings outside. Even though I wasn't looking for a boyfriend or mate, you can't turn off that part of you that is hardwired to succumb to the law of attraction. My best friend is now dating someone she actively disliked for years. I asked her last night what was the turning point with him? "After we had sex," was her blunt and honest answer. Before they had sex and were just dating, she still wasn't sure she had feelings for him. But the sex was so hot and good, it's translated into very strong emotional feelings. Now they have a very serious relationship in which they really care for each other now, and I note, seem very well-suited for each other inside and outside the bedroom.

I think, however, that there is a part of me that needs that initial spark. That initial knowing. Something in the eye contact. I met a guy on a plane this summer, and I swear I had hardly laid eyes on him before I wanted to kiss him and rub my fingers through his chest hair. What was it about him? I felt like he cast a spell on me. His eyes were beautiful and his lips so kissable. It just did something to me.

He ended up being the one, however, that got away. And he was the one I felt the most feelings for from the outset. He wasn't particularly tall or buff or those things women seem to want. He had a great regional accent -- one that reminded me of home. He had a great sense of humor, seemed wicked smart. But why him and not some of the other guys I met? Honestly, only some naughty cupid probably knows. He's the one I also built up the most expectations around -- around who he was (I still am not sure I know who he really is), around what he might represent for me.

What I am excited about, however, is I may get another bite of the apple. He's coming back for work next week. And after an initial false start in which our wires got a bit crossed, I'm looking forward to seeing him with fresh eyes. To see if I still feel that hooked by those baby blues and that smile. To see what feelings bubble up this time.

You know? I'm open for it to go either way. I really don't think it will take a lot of work if I just succumb to the law of attraction.

Happy Hunting Grounds

So, The Cazadora was off for about two months. There were extenuating circumstances. Maybe I'll go into that later... maybe I won't. Let's just say, the break was a necessary righting of the ship. I hadn't known the ship was off-kilter, but indeed, in hindsight, it was listing...

But the huntress returned with a full arsenal last week, and she had quite a catch. Thursday night, it was RiRa Pub in Midtown, followed by Twisted Taco. The catch that night was an Indian with a hot British accent. I am a sucker for anyone foreign and dark, and who knew that Indians would be on that list. He was wearing fine clothing -- high quality dress shirt, fancy cuff links, every bit the British gentleman. There is absolutely no future with that one, but the flirtation did me very good.

Friday night, I took the good advice of my best girl (who would never lead me astray) and finally sidled up to the bar at French restaurant Anis in Buckhead. We told the owner we were there to practice our French, and he sent us only French-speaking waiters (one delicious example was from Tunisia. Yum.). They told us we wouldn't get dessert if we spoke in English, and we became very obedient! It was so fun how seriously they took our mission. The waiters, who were excellent and patient with us, later introduced us to the entire bar which consisted of delicious French men who also were very appreciative of our efforts in their language. Let's just say, we're going back for French movie night, and possibly New Year's eve.

But here's an observation, made by one of the Frenchies. "Americain men are stupide!" he declared, as he caressed my hand, my check, and kissed my head. My friend and I had commented on how American men rarely make moves on women. It's a wonder we procreate at all in this country. Men here are so shy, timid... They seem to want to know something is a sure thing before they risk anything.

Not so the French (or fill in the blank: Italian, Mexican, Brazilian, Indian). Men from other countries seem much more appreciative of the female form. Femininity. Flirtation. Connection. They seem to get the underlying heartbeat in male-female relations. They don't seem scared or intimidated by it. Instead, nothing ventured, nothing gained, seems to be their motto. It meant so much to me to be appreciated, admired, touched last night in sexy and seductive ways without feeling like those beautiful men had an underlying goal. Of course they do, but they seemed very in the moment and like they knew seduction might take a little time.

My new mission is to get asked out on dates. Hooking up in bars is too easy. It's like eating a diet cookie -- instantly gratifying but completely unsatisfying. I feel lucky that I have already received correspondence via email from one of aforesaid delicious French men. We'll see where that goes, but a polite and respectful email was an excellent start to my mission. It was also all in French! Is there anything sexier?

Let's just say that nothing happened last night, but everything happened. A whole new world opened up to me. Cazadora found very good hunting grounds indeed.

Relax the sphincter

I hit the gym tonight. I love my gym. It's a really funky place. Small. Everyone knows you.
The somewhat unfortunate thing is that my ex-husband trains there too. And there are hot men there -- I mean H-O-T -- (and they aren't even Gay! I know! In the ATL!) But they all know us, so not so sure this will be the best hunting grounds for Cazadora. Case in point. One of the h-o-t men there tonight was training next to me. Kept looking at me. He recently broke up with his girlfriend he's had since high school. I pretended not to notice him. I later figured out I probably just had a really bad panty line he was staring at! I don' think I'm H-O-T enough for him away. Dude is full of tats, and really ripped. A bit immature. Yells a lot as he works out. I mean full-on caveman grunts. I picture him with a girl that looks like a really hot stripper and might enjoy him yanking her around by the hair. Definitely not me. Anyway... I digress.

When I first started there and hired one of the trainers, he told me the all-time funniest thing I have ever heard about working out. I think I was making a very bad effort at doing a dead lift.
"Relax your sphincter," he said.
"What?" I sputtered.
"Relax your sphincter," he repeated.
I couldn't focus for the rest of the night because I was laughing so hard. I literally laughed -- at home, in the shower, in my car, at work -- every time I thought about that for two weeks. I was still with my husband, so we had a great laugh about the "sphincter" that night as we made dinner.

Come along with me now for just a minute. Focus on relaxing your sphincter. But not too hard, you know, or stuff might come out...
My trainer even said that!
But he's so right. Everything in life is better if you relax your sphincter. I mean, you've got to try it while stressing out at work, while fighting with your spouse, while drinking with your friends. Relax your sphincter, and your whole personality changes. You relax, go with the flow, have more fun. Don't you think it would make a really good bumper sticker, in the vein of "Mean people suck"? "RELAX your sphincter." There'd be fewer accidents, more courteous driving, less"rear-ending"... Okay, bad pun. I think I might even vote for a political candidate who used that as his/her slogan. Anyway, it was an endearing moment -- I have thought the world of my trainer ever since. He's real. He's human. He's funny as hell.

He's also tough. He's the one who once put me on a 1,200 calorie-a-day diet. I felt like I was PMSing for two weeks as I tried it. I was grumpy, irritable, angry even. I really felt like I was capable of killing someone for so much as parading a chocolate bar in front of me. I mean, that would have incited murder. And I would have been able to plead "insanity" as I was insanely hungry! I made excuses as to why the calorie restrictions weren't for me. I tried to justify eating more. My trainer was having none of it. Then, about a week into the experiment, I suddenly adjusted to the near-starvation, and the thought of eating more actually grossed me out. Then as I shed pounds (added to me the unhappier my marriage had gotten) I started to really believe in my trainer. Trust him. Basically do anything he tells me to do. On that note, he recently offered to take a field trip with me to find some "special friends." So far, I haven't taken him up on that... I think I can buy sex toys on my own, thank you very much. Nevertheless, I should basically do anything he tells me to do. (Now go thinking he's hitting on me... he's married, two gorgeous kids. His wife and mom train at the gym. Nuf said.)

One time I was working out at the gym, about a year before my divorce, and another guy said a funny thing. He had been seeing me more frequently at the gym. "Hey, are you getting married or divorced?" he asked me. Now that was funny. As if working out and feeling good are not for married women, only those getting ready for the big white dress, or signing divorce documents. But there was a kernel of truth to what the man said. He must have been part Nostradamus.

So right now, I have several goals in the gym. 1) look like I'm 26 again (don't laugh! Relax the sphincter.). 2) Tighten up that booty, belly and any other flab that doesn't belong there. And 3) prepare for a big weekend in which I'll be on my feet a lot, dancing my tushy off. I mean hopefully literally off.

Tonight, it was the elliptical machine for me, followed by the stairmaster. Been using a lot of the medicine ball too. Doing all kinds of fun and weird stretches and exercises. My favorite one is something I am really bad at, and of course my trainer came up with it. You hold a medicine ball, stand on one foot, then move the ball up like you're doing a lay-up, then down and tap it on the ground, then back up again, all while keeping your balance. You're not allowed to tap your other foot for balance. I know! It's not easy! The first time I tried it, the trainer must have thought I had a developmental disability... But I have been practicing! I think I'm up to five reps before I fall over. Next time I do it, and I truly just thought of this, maybe I should relax the sphincter.

So, here's the really embarrassing part, and the point of this whole post. Recently when I saw my trainer, he complimented me on my behind. "I could bounce some quarters off of that thing," he said of my booty. Now of course I tell my "bestie" everything, and we got a big kick out of that one. So next time I posted on Facebook I was going to the gym, she commented, "Go bounce those quarters, girl. Get some!"

Of course, who didn't see these posts the next day, and write, "I see everyone's into the quarters these days." Yeah, you guessed it. The trainer. I was so horrified and embarrassed. Right then, right there, I panicked, wondering how on earth I could save face with that one. Then the words came to my head:
"Relax the sphincter." And what else could I do, really? And, I did hand him a quarter the next time I saw him.