Confused Woman!

I decided post-divorce to get up off the couch and try something new.  I love watching “So You Think You Can Dance” so I thought, “Yeah, I think I can dance.”   If those D-list celebrities can manage to move and not look like a complete train wreck on “Dancing With The Stars” why can’t I?”

I looked up Arthur Murray Dance Studio and signed up for their introductory lesson.  It’s basically 25 minutes of sales pitch, five minutes of dance.  Of course, they don’t have any average guy give you the pitch and swing you around the dance floor.  Oh, no.

They had the perfect specimen for my appointment.  He was gorgeous and had moves I’ve never seen in a vertical position.  His name was Enrique.  I was in love.

After three minutes of a pathetic attempt at a salsa, he had me convinced I “showed real potential” to compete and “be a star”.  This could really be attainable, after all, if I signed up for their dance package that cost more than a year’s salary.

I have to admit, it was tempting, but his hotness could not persuade me.  The thought of bankruptcy and standing in line for food stamps in a glitter dress and heels was enough to turn me away.  For now, I’ll stick to watching the dancers on TV while I practice with my “inflate-a-date”.

Well, it’s done.  It’s over.  The judge signed the papers this morning.  Only took twenty minutes.  No crying. No arguing.  Just the facts and the signature of approval.

Of course, it’s not “official” yet until we get the dissolution letter in the mail.  However, to me, the minute the judge signed off and dismissed us, it was final.  What starts out as so promising and hopeful is killed by a formal pen stroke.

We parted at the elevators.  The awkward hug between two exes.  He said, “Thanks for going on this journey with me.”  All I could do is say, “Yep, it’s been interesting.”  He mentioned still being friends and to feel free to reach out for help regarding our daughter at any time.  I nod and smile while I think, “You weren’t there before when you were legally bound to and now we’re not and you’re suddenly going to be there?  Yeah, right.”

I walked away from the courthouse a little numb and dazed, but amazingly at peace.  I’m actually going out the next few nights to celebrate with friends.  The sadness and mourning will surely hit at some point, but for now I’m going to enjoy my new-found freedom and take time to discover myself.  By doing this, perhaps someday I’ll find someone who is truly a good fit for me and not ending up in another lousy, dysfunctional relationship.  Cheers!

We’ve all heard of great sex but how many of us have actually had it?  You may think it’s good but then you find someone else and it’s mind-blowing and then you’re like, “Wow, now this is why people love to have sex!”

Hopefully, you’ve all experienced it.  If not, my condolences.  There’s nothing like it.  Trust me.  I’ve had many times with men that have been pathetic, mediocre, yawn-inducing, and downright comatose.  They’ll ask, “How was it?”, while I’m thinking, “You really don’t want to know how awful it was so I’ll lie and tell you it was fabulous while I’d rather be having a root canal.”

I don’t know what it is about guys, but they all think they’re amazing at it and only about five percent of them truly are.  The rest are in deep denial or watch too much cable.  To them, foreplay is simply stating, “Hey, wanna get it on?”

I’ve now found someone who not only gets it, but is actually good at it and is more worried about me being satisfied than him.  This, my friends, is a rarity.  After years of having not-so-great sex, it’s refreshing to not only have it be fabulous, but to have someone who actually gives a crap about how it was for me.

So, good luck to you all in your search for the next big “O” and just remember if he can’t give it to you, there’s always a six-pack and a battery-operated friend….it can’t get you pregnant, give you an STD, and won’t ask when you can be done so he can catch the last inning of the baseball game.

Yes, I’m an idiot.  Well, maybe not that bad but certainly not good.  In my infinite wisdom (or lack of wisdom since it was late on a Friday night after much beer was consumed) I decided to sign up for a stand-up contest at a local comedy club.

The grand prize is a thousand bucks and I think I’m funny so why wouldn’t I go for this competition?  Because, in my drunken stupor, I forgot I’m SCARED TO DEATH OF BEING ON STAGE!

Last year, I had auditioned and got into the performance troupe at a local improv theater and I was so excited.  That is, until I got on stage.  Even with no audience, I was like a deer in headlights.  It was like my brain was frozen…I couldn’t think, couldn’t speak.  I was a performing train wreck.

So, now I’ve put myself in this situation again except this time I will be TOTALLY ALONE ON STAGE!  What the hell was I thinking?  Plus, with stand-up, people can be brutal.  I just picture the drunken hecklers chucking beer bottles and cheese curds at me.  I’ll need years of therapy to recover from this.

I haven’t decided whether to be a giant puss and bail or take a couple of tequila shots and go for it.  I’m planning on attending an open mike night first and see how other people fair on stage.  If all goes well, fantastic!  If not, at least I’ll be able to have a snack and get drunk on stage as I’m being assaulted.