Preteens: Door Open or Door Closed?

That’s a question every parent is going to have to answer at some point in their life.

With girls age 15 and 13, that question is a lot closer than I want to think.  My girls are the only girls in our neighborhood who are not sexual active, or have a significant other.

But sexually active is a long way from having their bedroom door closed while doing homework with a person of the opposite sex.

Or is it?

Kids are having sex earlier these days than we did.  I graduated from high school a virgin.  I was 18 when I had sex for the first time.  I am hoping that my girls wait that long to have sex, although I am realistic enough to know if they do they will be the exception among their peers.

Britt’s tweet, which was cross posted to Facebook, started a conversation among parents with children around the same age, trying to answer the same question.  The overwhelming opinion was door open if not having them do their homework in a family area of the home, such as dinning room table or living room.

When I was that age, I had a ‘boyfriend’.  And by boyfriend I mean he waved at me when he got off the bus, and would on occasion ask me to join his family for dinner.  We never went anywhere alone, we were never dropped off somewhere.  I am pretty sure I never saw his bedroom until well into high school.  And that was only because he had just gotten home from surgery on his shoulder.

My girls are allowed to go out with groups of friends at 15, and on one-on-one dates when they are 16.  There will be no overnights at my house or his until they are married.  I think that’s fair, but even if the girls don’t agree, it doesn’t matter. I’m the mom.

I have seen teens who have jumped into sexual relationships at a young age.  I have seen kids with babies that were conceived because ‘we were bored, so we had sex’ and they didn’t really understand what they were doing.  The whole “I’m not that kind of girl, I swear” except there they are having sex.

I’m sure Britt hopes, at 12, the is he having sex question is years away.  Right now, it’s just a question of what guidelines, what rules, do I put in place now that I might need later?  Or maybe even, am I jumping the gun? Of course, here I am putting words in Britt’s mouth, but they are questions I would ask myself if it were my girls.

So, what are your rules for dating ‘relationships’ for your kids?

 

Dr. Ruth and the Holiday Gauntlet

I got a text message this morning that said “Will you answer a personal question for me?”

“Fine, yes, I have had sex with another woman. No there is no photographic evidence.  Is that what you wanted to know?”

It wasn’t.

Oops.

Later, I got another text from a different person, “I need some advice.”

Uh, ok, as long as you realize it won’t be worth a damn.

I’m trying to decide between playing the filed and exclusivity.  There are some things I want to try but can’t figure out how to do it.

I’m not sure how to break this to you, women are not lab rats.  That’s what hookers are for. 

I can’t afford a hooker, and the things I want to try involve more than two people. Any suggestions?

I’m sorry, I turned in my membership card to the Women who fulfill men’s threesome fantasies support group just last week.  Sorry.  Play the field. Besides you don’t want to get all caught up in the Holiday Gauntlet of relationships.  No man has ever come out of that alive. 

The Holiday Gauntlet, or Holiday Triathlon, you know that obstacle course that starts at Thanksgiving and runs up to St. Patrick’s Day.

If you’re Single the gauntlet looks like this:

Thanksgiving is a day you can hang with your family and quasi forget you’re single.  They will forgive you that third glass of wine and the second piece of pumpkin pie. Especially if you offer to do the dishes.  (That way you can sneak a fourth glass of wine, or third piece of pie.)  Also, Thanksgiving is when the stores really ramp up their advertising campaigns and the jewelry stores of the world unite to bombard you with never ending reminders that you are in fact single and you do in fact suck and won’t be getting any bling this year. Pass that damn wine.

Christmas is for the kids.  At least that’s what you tell yourself if you have kids.  Watching them open their presents and squee with excitement and rush to hug you and say thank you should distract your for about 6.9 seconds.  Then they are off to text all their friends about all they got, and you are left to throw away all the wrapping paper and curl up with the book you bought yourself, and drink coffee out of the I ❤ Mom coffee mug you kid bought at the school store.  By noon you’ll be ready to rip down all the decorations and throw them out with the wrapping paper.

New Years Eve isn’t too hard to navigate.  For the most part you can go out and risk life and limb to attend any number of NYE parties offered (for a substantial fee) at any of the hotels, night clubs, casinos in the area.  Or you can opt to stay home and watch television.  Believe me, not every channel on television will be shoving Ryan Seacrest down your throat.  But at some point in the evening it will invariably be all over Facebook and Twitter that it’s NYE and everyone in the world is celebrating a new year with their significant other, and you will be reminded that when the ball drops at midnight, with any luck you’ll be passed out.

And just when you think you’ve made it through the trifecta of Holiday Hell, February throws Valentine’s Day in your face.  If the jewelry store commercials, the Holiday music, the parties, and the constant reminders that you’re single have made you want to stab someone, this day will.  And forget trying to forget what day it is. Every fucking woman in your office will be getting an obnoxious ginormous bouquet of roses from their significant others and you’ll be stuck answering phones while they go out to lunch.

Of course the reward for surviving the Singles Holiday Gauntlet is celebrating St. Patrick’s Day!  Bring on the alcohol!

If you are coupled up through the holidays

Fuck you.

The Stages of Dating According to Ms Batman, (that's me)

I have no real authority on this subject at all.  I mean, really, look at my track record, three strikes, I’m out.

But something struck me last night.  Are there stages of dating?  And if there are, what are they?  So, once again, I went to the keeper of all internet knowledge,  Google,  and typed in “Stages of Dating”  Guess what?  There are people out there who have alphabets behind their name that have opinions on the matter.  Of course sometimes I think if you’ve got alphabets behind your name you probably have an opinion on most things.

So, because I wasn’t all that serious about this, I started with The Five Stages of Dating.  I can handle 5.  (also people, hover over the link, the note? Revealing)  The 5 Stages of Dating, according to this website are:

1. Attraction
2. Uncertainty
3. Exclusivity
4. Intimacy
5. Engagement

Ok, that’s fine, and dandy and, well, frankly bullshit.  Sure, to a person with a lot of letters behind their name, I am sure these are what they think are the stages of dating.  From someone who’s recently been in the trenches, let me set this record straight.

1. Chatting on line Let’s be honest, in this day and age, what with people working eleventy billion hours a week, and working on line at home,  it’s easy to meet people on line and get to know them.  Also? Don’t have to do your hair or shave or change out of your PJ’s. BONUS!
2. Hanging out  This happens after spending hours, days, weeks chatting on line and get to know each other.  When you feel you know the person well enough and are interested enough to actually want to do your hair, shave your legs, and wear something besides your PJ’s.
3. Dating  Once it’s been established he has a job, and can afford to take you out to some place besides the park, the zoo, or the nearest coffee shop, you go on a few actual dates.  Dates that include but are not limited to, him picking you up, and going out to dinner at a place that does not have value meals.  It is required that you do your hair, shave your legs and hide your PJ’s.
4. Friending each other on Facebook This is when you’re ready to let him see some of the crazy, although once you friend him on Facebook, you immediately take down all pictures and untag yourself in your friends’ pictures of you looking anything less than stunning.
5. More than dating, but not a full blown couple yet  Yeah, I’m not sure exactly what this means either.    Although I’m pretty sure it includes sex along the way, but I’m not real clear on the regularity of that. Also?  Hair and PJ’s optional.  Shaving legs? NOT OPTIONAL
6. Boyfriend/Girlfriend This is the same as exclusivity, which by the way sounds like a totally made up word. This is when you both agree that you won’t spend your idle time laughing at the losers still on the dating sites unless you’re together and can both laugh at them.  This is when you buy new cute boyfriend worthy PJ’s but continue to do your hair and shave your legs.  What?! A girl has an image to uphold until he puts that ring on her finger.
7. Changing your relationship status on Facebook  Ok this one is tricky.  It’s a public acknowledgement that you two are together and right now that is the most awesome of all things awesome.  But there might come a day when things aren’t so awesome between the two of you and if one of you ends things, then it will also be public knowledge that you two broke up.  You only have to look to Hollywood divorces and break-ups to see just how ugly this can be.
8. Engagement  I’ve heard about this phase, but since I’ve only been engaged once, and that was just because the stick turned blue, (and then it was a short engagement.. 2  months) I don’t know much about it.  Other than I have no plans to ever reach this stage ever again.

With all these hoops to jump through, is it any wonder I’m going to stay single?

 

Rigteously Indignant, yup, that's me.

It's the only picture I could find besides a book I didn't want to promote.

Wikipedia defines Righteous Indignation as follows: Righteous indignation is typically a reactive emotion of anger over perceived mistreatment, insult, or malice.

Last night, I swear Rod Serling was writing the screenplay of my life.  I mean, let’s be honest here.  My life has had more than it’s fair share of the bizzaro. (please hover over that link so you can see what I’m talking about if you’re not going to click it and go read it.)

People, some of my best writing is in the notes when you hover over a link.  Please, to get the maximum enjoyment from my blog, hover over the links. (and if it doesn’t work.. let me know. I’ll cut a bitch.)

So, last night.

I was supposed to go to The Lake after dropping the girls off with their dad for the week.  Ok, I *did* go to The Lake after dropping the girls off for the week.

And when I got there, I stepped out of my car and smack dab in the middle of Bizzaro World.

I’m not going to throw anyone under the bus here.  There is a whole lot of stuff going on that I don’t even know. (Like basically everything).  In a sentence, due to everything going on, I was told I had to leave.  Whether it was or was not my fault hasn’t been determined to my satisfaction.  Ok. It’s not my FAULT, but the drama centered around me, and I don’t know why or how, or what started it, or what the hell is going on.  I just know, that everything I thought I knew going into the weekend came into question last night.

Ok.

This morning, I get up (after driving home at midnight last night) and I’m pissed.  Not at anyone specifically, just at the situation in general.  And at not having any clear cut answers.  Which is the very definition of irony coming from me.  So, I send a few text messages, trying to figure out what is going on, where things stand, blah blah blah.

And basically getting my panties in a wad.

Righteously indignant.

I set about writing a blog post screaming at the top of my lungs (ok, posting in a very loud voice) how effing fabulous I am, and how I am awesome with eleventy billion sides of awesome sauce (inflated ego much?  I know, I can barely walk into my own house.) I was all like, Look dude, I got plans, I got dreams, I got a life I want to live, and I ain’t got time to wait around for you to get your shit together and notice how fucking fabulous I am.  (ok, maybe it was a smidge nicer than that, but clearly not much.  Once I get all wadded panties and shit, I go way over the top.  Yes, really.  Have you met me?)

And just as I’m about to hit publish, and just after I sent him a text that said “Your reservation in my life expires at midnight, either confirm it or lose me forever.”

He texts.

And I feel like a total asshat.

 

Best. Picture. Ever.

So, I saved the blog post to my drafts folder.  I scrambled like eggs to look like less of an ass via text message.  In other words, his simple text took me down a few necessary notches.

Sure I’m fucking Fabulous, and all kinds of awesome, but you know what?  I’m not the end all be all of someone else’s life.  Everyone else is busy living their life, dealing with their drama, their issues, their problems.  It’s not all about me.  While I’m on my soapbox preaching “I’ve got dreams! I’ve got plans!  I’ve got a life and I don’t have time for you to figure out if you want to be in it!” he’s living his life, dealing with his drama, navigating the potholes in the road of his own damn fucking journey.

I had to sit down and think about that long and hard… not all about me.  Since fucking when?

I took a step back and looked at this whole thing and thought “Who the fuck do I think I am?” and if I had gotten that text message from him? I’d have said  ci vediamo più tardi  (Italian for see ya later)  or even baciare il mio culo (kiss my ass).

 

Let’s be honest, I suck at relationships.  I’m the perfect girlfriend… on paper.  It’s that real life face to face shit that gets me all jacked up.  On paper, behind a computer screen, I’m awesome.  I can also hide the crazy.  In real life?  not so much.

I have no real ending for this blog post.  Yes, I know, I suck at endings anyway.  Basically there is no ending because there are no answers yet.  It’s just “it’s up to you.  You know what’s going on there, I don’t.  I’ll wait to hear from you.” kind of thing.

 

I'm not here today, I'm at my OTHER place, You Won't Go Blind

Follow this link to my post over at You Won't Go Blind

It’s been just shy of four months since I got that fateful text message ending my four year relationship with Brian.  Yes, already, four months.

I’m back in the dating pool again. Something I swore I would never do.  Apparently I lied.  I’m back on Dating websites looking for Mr. You’ll do until Prince Charming comes along on his white stallion.  Because we all know that Prince Charming? Won’t waste his time on dating websites.   Wait, maybe I don’t want Prince Charming.  I mean, he’s been married three times already (Sleeping Beauty, Snow White and Cinderella.  Who all divorced him due to his uncontrollable womanizing and Hero Complex. Clearly)

Anyway, in the past four months, I have come up with a list of prerequisites for your dating profile if you want to date me.  I wrote about them over at You Won’t Go Blind.

Please, go show me some love?  I’m not finding it on the dating websites. Clearly.

 

 

Where I decide that revealing everything? Isn't always the answer

I sat down night before last, with my iPod listening to a podcast of my favorite radio show The DGS.  Dave was interviewing a guy, Jason, who claims that he was once gay, but is not anymore.

As I sat listening to the interview when it initially aired, I had questions. Lots of questions.  When I sat down with the podcast and could listen more intently, I found that those same questions were there.  Not questions that I wanted or needed answers to, just rhetorical questions.  So I did what any good blogger does when there is an issue weighing on their mind.

I wrote a blog post about it.

And in the writing of the blog post, at the time, I felt the need to get all honest and all kinds of brave and reveal some things about my past that I somehow thought were relevant to proving my point.

And then?

Mr. Potential struck.

And showed me that people I don’t know, but maybe could might want to know, could find my blog and find out WAY more about  me than I want them to know.  Or at least could find out a whole lot about me before I want them to know.

And there are the people I work with.  I know they read my blog.  I don’t care. I’m glad they do.  But I also have to be aware that some of the things I wrote in that blog post would have garnered me a whole lot of attention from a whole lot of people that would have made me a bit uncomfortable.

In the grand scheme of things, and in the context of the blog post (that isn’t posted, not sure it will be posted) what I was going to ‘reveal’ wasn’t all that important.  It wasn’t something that would make the story better, or prove a point.  It was gratuitous, at best.  Or used for shock value. Neither of which were productive.

Changing my mind set in the dating game

This dating business?

Sucks.

Seriously.  I know why we do this crap when we’re younger.

Because we can.

Because when we’re young, and the guy turns out to be a douchenozzle, or he blows you off, or stands you up, or disappears, or lied on his profile, or the date just sucks we truly believe “Heh, he’s the problem. Not me.”

Now that I’m older, and dating again?

Not so easy to sell myself that same bullshit. Even if it isn’t bullshit.

I haven’t blogged about it, but I’ve made no secret of it on Twitter, that a few weeks (months? really? has it been that long?) I went back to the dating website where I met Brian.  (What? It’s free!)  I’m not looking for my Prince Charming. He won’t be fishing anyway.  But it would be nice to have someone to hang out with so I don’t spend all my weekends at home alone.  Or out on the town alone.  Or drive my friends bat-shit crazy begging them to entertain me.

I made a few quick changes to my profile, added a new picture, and waited without any real expectations.  I didn’t wait long.  Hello?!? New fish in the sea, fresh meat. Everyone’s coming out to check out the new chick.  (Even a couple of girls. WOOt! Everyone wants a piece of me!) A lot of young guys, looking to hook up (ignore), a lot of ain’t-no-way-in-hell guys looking way out of their league (ignore), a few I talked to, but just didn’t feel any real need or want to talk to them on the phone or in person, and a couple I actually talked to on the phone, and a couple I actually met.

One guy in particular had some potential.  His profile had the same sense of humor I have.  I got it. I thought he gets it.  We exchanged a few messages, and then phone numbers.  Our first phone conversation was an hour long.  He’s on Twitter and Facebook (no I never went looking for him).  We exchanged real-life email addresses and emails and a few more phone calls… and then?

Gone.

Radio Silent.

His profile said “I’m taking a break. Good luck to all of you still fishing.”

But nothing to me. No phone call, no email. no text message.

I am not heartbroken over this. I figure this is part of the game.  Maybe he found someone he really connected with.  I wish him the best of luck, truly. But couldn’t he have told me that instead of falling off the face of the earth?

Or maybe he was abducted by aliens.

Or, when he got my real-life email address, he looked at my google profile, which links to my Twitter, Facebook, here, my review blog, and well, from there? It’s just follow the flashing neon lights to find out way more about me than you ever dreamed you wanted to know.

Of course, I figured, *that* had to be it.  That had to be the reason why he fell (or jumped) off the face of the earth.  He read my blog, he found my Facebook page, and my Flickr account, and everything else I have on line…

And ran scared.

Or jumped.

It took a little bit for me to realize how destructive that line of thinking was.  So what if he ran (or jumped) because of what he found?  What he found is a version of me.  Sometimes a cartoon version of me, but still… a version of me.  If he couldn’t handle it, didn’t like it, or was intimidated (yeah, that’s what it was… intimidation) he’s not the right guy.

I was all this on-line with Brian…oh wait, bad example.  That didn’t work out.

Ok, I have a lot of friends who know me in real life, and know the me that is on line and they like both versions of me.  But when push came to shove, when things fizzled, my first thought was “What was wrong with ME?” and it should have been “What the hell is wrong with him?” or “Oh, well, he just doesn’t get me.  Next!”

I had a date this weekend.  With a guy. Saturday night.  And I didn’t drink any alcohol.  (thanks Petron) The date? Almost perfect.  All on my own.  Without my best friend tequila.  And if this one doesn’t work out either?

I’ll be batting about average.

What I AM allowed to say.

I write on line, obviously.  But I have learned over the years since I started blogging, that not everything needs to be on-line.  Since I started filtering what I blog about, (and by filter, I mean actually consider that there are other people involved in some of the stories I tell) I have seen the ramifications of that decision.  I don’t write here, every single day like I used to.  BUT. The quality of my writing has improved.

But I am a writer, and I have to write.  Every. single. day.  So I write a lot of stuff that stays off-line.  Yay for me because I feel so much better once I vent.  Boo for you all because, let me tell ya, you are missing some funny funny shit.

Sorry.

Last night things came to a head with Brian.  We had been talking still.  Yes, I don’t need you all to line up for a chance to tell me just how utterly stupid that decision was.  I get it now.  The details as to what happened are unimportant.  The actual words used in the numerous text messages that were flying back and forth between our phones at speeds high enough to impress our teen aged children is unimportant to the story.

What is important?

We finally found the straw that broke the camel’s back, and we broke that bitch’s back but good.

This morning, when I got to work, because my stupid phone wouldn’t let me do it, I went on Facebook, and blocked him (he had already unfriended me.  He’s fast at that shit) and then?  Removed him, his family, and all common friends from the girls’ accounts and blocked them too.  And before you all get up in arms about me deleting people from my girls’ facebook pages, I don’t care.

It was really about time.  Neither of us could move on as long as we were still connected in any way to each other.  (that? is me being diplomatic.  What I wanted to tell you was all the things I realized last night, but because I can’t block him, or his kids, or his ex-wife, or his friends from reading this…. I will have to *ahem* shut the fuck up.)

I will go this week and roll my cell phone and the girls’ cell phone over from his account to my own account and that? Will be that.  We will be done.  The ‘divorce’ will be final.

And just in time.  I’m meeting someone new next week for drinks.

HA!

I felt like a million bucks.

I know you all are dying to know how the date went.  I’m going to write about it here, in the most general of terms.  This blog is about my life.  The man I went out with last night?  Didn’t sign on to have his life, any part of his life, splashed all over the internet.  So in the interest of answering your questions, and protecting his privacy?  This is the best you’re going to get.

So, last night? Was Date Night.  My first real date in I don’t know how long.  Nervous?  Doesn’t even begin to describe it.

Although I shouldn’t have been nervous.  We’ve known each other for years, but had never dated.  He was nervous too, even though he’ll deny it.

There’s no way to write this without it sounding like a play by play.  First we did this, then we went here, and we did that, we ate, we talked, we walked around Bass Pro Shoppe.  (Shut up. I hate to fish, I hate to hunt, but I LOVE me some Bass Pro Shoppe.  I know I’m weird.)  We went to Dave and Busters. Along with half of Illinois and most of St. Louis apparently.  That place? Was packed.  But what can you expect for a Saturday night?

The date itself? It was delicious steak and mashed potatoes along with a few rum and cokes.  What made it the best date?  He opened doors for me.  Not just the doors to the restaurant, but my door when we got into the truck.  Every. Single. Time.  Opened the door, held my hand, always walked to the traffic side of the sidewalk.  We talked, we laughed, and had a blast.    It wasn’t a fancy date, but I’m not a fancy person.  I’m good with blue jeans, sweater, and stilettos.

He made me feel safe, and special, and like a million bucks.  I mattered.  He told me I’m beautiful, and for a second? I believed him.  He genuinely wanted to be with me.  And that?

Is golden.

Me? I have a date. Who would have guessed.

I have a date this weekend.

There.  I said it.

A little over a month ago, I would have told you this was impossible and would never in a million years happen.

Something changed.  I changed.  My perspective changed.  I saw things in a different light.

And suddenly?  It felt really stupid to hold on to things so tightly that I was not living.

Ok, enough cryptic crap.  Here it is in english.

This break up?  Is not the first.  Not even close.  In fact?  This isn’t even the first time he’s broken up with me around the holidays.  It’s just his thing I guess.  Whatever.

But in the past?  He has always come back around around Valentine’s Day.  Or The Daytona 500.  So, a part of me,  the hurt, uncomfortable, I don’t want to fucking face dating again, part of me held on to some shred of hope that he would just repeat past behavior.

Now, hold on….. I’m smarter than that.

The realistic part of me stepped back and saw that our relationship?  Wasn’t OUR relationship.  It was his.  He called the shots.  He made the decisions.  He made the rules, and held the hoops for me to jump through.  I went along with it.  He held all the power because?  I gave it to him.

I decided that, well, he made the decision to end our relationship.  That was HIS decision.  That gave me my power back.  And sitting around waiting for him to realize he had kicked Awesome to the curb was sitting around wasting my time and my life.

I deserve to have some fun.

I deserve to go out.

I deserve to be treated like I matter.

I deserve to be with someone who *wants*, honestly wants to be with me.

And so?

I accepted a date.

And?

He wants to be with me.

He wants to treat me like I matter.

He wants to know me.  Really know me.

And it is a horse of a different color for me.  It is something I am not even remotely used to.  It throws me off guard, off balance.

But I’ll work through that.

Because?

I have a date.