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.

It's that time of year again

It’s that time of year again. You know what I’m talking about.  Every radio commercial now has a Christmas song playing in the back ground.  I swear there is a jewelry store ad with “Away in the Manger” playing in the background.  Seriously?  When did the Sweet 8 lb 6 oz baby Jesus sell out? There are hundreds of pieces of paper laying around the house all of them titled “My Christmas Wish List” and all of them with a list of at least a dozen different things each of the girls wants.   And yet, whenever anyone in my family asks them “What do you want for Christmas?”  Their standard answer?  “I don’t know.”  Or worse yet?  “Clothes”.

Of course it’s this time of year I start looking for places to sell my soul to pay for the items the girls want for Christmas.  Although there isn’t much of a market for a slightly over used 42 year old beat all to hell soul.  Surprisingly.

I am almost afraid to ask for anything this year because lately so many things have been going my way, I’m afraid to overtax the system and crash the Good-Things-Fairy.  Not that I’m superstitious or anything.  (Knock on wood).

A few months ago (Like back in April) a promise was made.  A promise of a ring. Of course there was the whole take care of a few things, blah blah yada yada.  At the time I glossed over the take care of a few things, and rushed right on through to THE ring.

Turns out, he was pretty serious about that shit.

Know what? Apparently so was I.

Only I didn’t know it at the time.

Taking care of my legal issues?  Done.

Find a better place to live.  Done.

Due to an agreement with the girls’ Dad this week, I will be financially able to stand on my own two feet if I am really careful with my money.

That was another thing on the list of things that needed to be taken care of.

I don’t know where this is going.  I’m just rambling here.

The point I’m getting at, I think, is back in April I would have gone through the motions, checked things off the list, whatever it took to get to that damn ring.  Somewhere along the way?  The ring became minor.  I got the satisfaction of living my life, making a good life for me and my girls.  In the process of making a better life I found some pride, some self respect.  All of which you would think I would have already had at age *cough*42*cough*.   Apparently not.

Last night Tate cheered at her first game.  Last night I saw myself in the roll of cheer mom.  I never thought I would be one of *those* moms and yet, here I am.  And I couldn’t be more thrilled.  I was so proud of her last night.  (I am pretty damn proud of all three of us to be honest.)  She has games Monday and Tuesday this next week, and that means our nights are going to be busy. Really busy.  And I relish that.

So, Christmas… my girls have their wish lists scattered all over my living room.  On my wish list?  I sort of got it already.

Normal

Yes there is a custody battle looming large on the horizon.  It makes me sick. I could list chapter and verse about why the girls should stay with me.  I could write War and Peace about my relationship with Slug.  I could write The Godfather about Slug and his history.  I won’t.  Not here.  Because The Enemy reads this and The Enemy doesn’t need anything to report back.

But this isn’t about the custody battle.  This is about the comments that have been left here for me, about me.  While I appreciate the support and encouragement and the offer to round up some of the nastiest mud this side of the Mississippi (and that’s some nasty shit), I feel as if I am somehow deceiving you.

See, to be honest, the girls have not had a normal life.  Ever.  Our life with their father was traumatic for all of us. Their life since then has not been normal either.  Uncertainty, fear, upheaval, changes; it’s been a mess.  I am not proud, and I am not the only reason their life has been this way.

But I’m trying to be the reason it’s changing and becoming normal.  It’s been a battle, and apparently it will continue to be a battle.  See time in jail doesn’t make you the most eligible person for Parent of the Year.  It’s a pretty huge strike against you. There was an eviction in January too that is another strike against me.  The truth of the matter is simple.  On paper, I don’t look like a good parent.  On paper I wouldn’t grant me custody.  In real life, I’m a great mom who finally gets it. But really, is it going to be enough?

This summer while I had some time off (between jobs) I got to spend some time, a lot of time with the girls.  Once I found a job, and they started school, I still managed to be home until they got on the bus and shortly after they got home.  I even managed to have one day off a week.  It was then that I began to get a clue.  It mattered to them that I was there.  Their faces lit up when they saw me standing on the porch waiting for them to get home.

Then I realized it mattered to me too.  Their faces weren’t the only ones lighting up.  My heart beat a little faster, my step had more spring, and I found myself watching the clock on those days, to be sure to be waiting on the porch for them to come home.

The girls are on the honor roll at school, bring home A’s and B’s.  They both have perfect attendance; they both have been student of the week or month.  They are thriving here.  They have friends, real friends.  Tate has been to her first party, and is dying to attend her first dance. They are well known and well liked at school.  Everyone knows them, and everyone clamors to be around them. I have a hard time walking with them because of the thongs of kids swarming around them.  They are happy here.  They love it here.

They are normal.

They know that when they go to bed that night they will wake up in that bed the next morning. They know that when they get home, I’m not far behind them.  They know that on payday we will go out to eat.  And they know that if they don’t understand homework, I will sit with them and work it out together. They know that there will be no fights, no drama, or at least nothing more than the normal sisterhood squabble. They laugh, they play.  Their bedroom walls are covered with posters of The Jo Bros and Miley Cyrus, just like any other preteen in America.

For the first time in their entire life, they are normal, and happy and safe.  And it does my heart good to see them finally having the life kids should have.

I can create the persona I want to project here on my blog. I can be the girl who has her shit together.  I can be a warm loving witty strong courageous woman trying to raise two daughters in the face of adversity and despite their father’s desire to prevent me from doing just that.  But the truth is, I don’t always have my shit together.  On paper and according to Slug’s cunt of a lawyer, I am an unfit unworthy mother who doesn’t deserve her children.  As if he’s really a better parent.  Of course, he can be charming and loving and caring and concerned.  For about 6 months.

But I’m not going to wage the battle here.  I’ll find the grace to keep my head up, and I’ll stock pile the mud to sling, should the need arise.  Just know that the person behind the blog isn’t all that the person on the web wishes she was.  I will admit to my faults and my shortcomings.

After all, I am normal too.