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.
Sunday, March 14, 2010
Thursday, February 4, 2010
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.
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.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
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!
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!
Monday, January 25, 2010
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.
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.
Saturday, January 23, 2010
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.
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.
Saturday, January 16, 2010
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.
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.
Friday, January 15, 2010
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
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
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