The Run In.

The other morning I happened to stop by my local Dunkin Donuts for a wake up wrap (don’t judge, I like a good wake up wrap and I had no food in the house!).  I was happy, jaunty even… strolling in with my new-to-me skinny cords, wavy hair and fresh from vacay glow when I took notice of the tall dude at the end of the line.

My eyes narrowed. Is that….???

I did a double take and looked away.. there’s no way that’s Southern Boy*.  I took in his appearance, the work boots, the way he stood. He was wearing a hat.

Crap.. this is directly around the corner from his work. Double crap, he’s starting to look around.

I look away nervously and do a quick self-assessment. Please don’t say anything to me.  

I feel awkward.  Really awkward.  Things had ended weird and I do NOT want to make any contact. AT ALL.

He orders.  I hear his voice.  Oh it’s definitely him and also, not as healthy as you made yourself out to be with the 2 Boston Cremes buddy.

He pays and before he can move away from the register, “Can I help you, Mam?”

I walk up quickly, swing my hair to the right (to cover my face, I guess.) and place my order.  Please don’t talk to me!

He turns and looks at me, I can feel it.

I look straight at the cashier, smile and pay for my order.

Before I can walk to the end of the counter to pick up my wrap, he’s gone.

I sigh with relief. Maybe he felt awkward as well.

 

 

*I owe you the explaination of what happened with Southern Boy.. it’s coming but as my ego was a little bruised with that one, it’s taken longer than expected to write.  I’ll link it up soon.

 

 

 

 

Guest Post: What’s Your Number?

In the movie What‘s Your Number?, Anna Faris goes on a quirky romp through the past 20 or so guys she’s had sex with (oh, a *relationship* in the movie…) because she’s convinced one of them is her “one true love”.  Nope, turns out its her male slut of a neighbor, Chris Evans.  Spoiler alert:  they end up together.

We’re not all lucky enough to have Chris Evans be our slutty, attractive, charming male neighbor who we can be madly in love with at the end of 106 minutes.

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But let’s not fixate on the predictable ending to this romantic comedy, let’s talk numbers.  At some point, we’ve all done the “think-back” and tried to figure out just how many guys we slept with.  Okay, for some of us, it’s not that tough to figure out.  For others, it’s an exercise in futility.  Sometimes names (first or last) are optional.  Just like clothing.

In the movie, Anna’s friends are appalled at her 20 guys.  I’ve never felt like a “Samantha” so much in my life until I got to witness their scripted reactions.  Let’s just say I’ve got her character beat.  Which, when you do the math is really only sleeping with less than 2 people per year for the past however many years.  I don’t think that’s a huge deal.  I also put a lot less thought into whether or not I’m going to sleep with somebody than most girls probably do.  I do what I want, when I want, and with whom I want at the time.  There’s not really too much more to it than that.

However, it just so happens I was at a dinner with some of my guy friends recently and they started the think-back conversation.  I stayed quiet.  While I don’t feel the need to justify my number to anyone, I feel that in an actual conversation, I would end up defending myself.  Even though I don’t want to.

Why is it that guys get to brag so much about their numbers and girls have to make excuses?  I refuse to talk numbers with anyone I’m dating, because I don’t care about theirs and they shouldn’t care about mine.  What do you think–is knowing the number important?

 

XoXo, Collette

the aftermath…

Sorry for the freak out the other day. This has been an interesting weekend for me.  Along with the news that ex is in love with a leprechaun  came a very serious stomach virus/infection that has rocked my world, sent me to the hospital and left me hibernating in my house for the past few days.

With lots of down time and lots of time to process in between bouts of feeling like I was going to die, I’m left feeling some peace and a bit of advice for all of us.

Own your life. 

Own who you are, who you love and your mistakes. 

Make amends to the people you hurt. 

Be honest with those that you love.

But above all other things, OWN your choices.  

That is ultimately what I take away from this journey.

A Letter to the Mamas

Child’s birthday party that I wasn’t invited to:  Oh, sorry Stella, I only invited the people with kids. OR I didn’t think you’d want to come since you don’t have any children.  This has happened to me.  That sucks.

“So what’s going on with you? What’s new?  How’s dating?”  my friend Jill asked, after a lengthy monolgue on breast feeding in public.  I had listened attentively.  Nodded my head at the right moments.  Added my input on different occasions.  But I had listened.  Her  3 month old had been remarkably quiet during the conversation and her 5 year old was running around in the background.  Now it’s my turn to share and BAM!  3 month old is screaming…. 5 year old is hungry and Jill has to get off the phone.  “Look, Stella, I gotta go.. the kids..” Jill says.  “Yeah sure.” I answer, “No problem, just call…” she’s already hung up.  We don’t talk again until 3 weeks later, when I call her back.

“Well,Connor is writing his letters and singing his ABCs” Syllvia said, we all sat down at the restaurant for a girls’ night.  “That’s so great! ” Agnes replied, “Bella started right around the same time”… the 7 of us sat around the table.. eatting, drinking, laughing.. and sharing stories about our lives.  All are moms, except me, so most of the stories deal with babies and toddler and preschool. When it’s my turn, I realize 2 of my friends have tuned out to continue their very important conversation about teething strategies and I’m 100% sure that the look Syllvia is giving me reeks of pity.  But I share anyway about dating and travels.  Embelishing some of my stories to make them funnier and chopping some stories shorter cause I can tell I’m not holding all of their attention.  I wonder if I’m just getting the pity listen so they can go back to their more important conversations.  I finish my stories quickly, get a squeeze of reassurance from Kelly and then the topic turns back to, Kids.  I find myself zoning out a bit after the realization that no one seems to care about my life at all.

“You’ll understand when you’re a mom.”   “You don’t get it because you aren’t a mom.” “It must be nice to get to travel/sleep in/get your nails done… I dont’ have time!”

Dear Mama Friends,

The preceeding situations have been embellished (a bit) and names have been changed to protect the not-so-innocent but adored, women in my life… but they’ve happened to me.  And you need to know that they don’t feel good.

First things first, I adore you.  Each and every one of you.  If I didn’t, we wouldn’t be friends.  And your children, I love them as well! I love to see their photos and hear about their milestones.  I listen when you complained about feeling fat and tired.  I bought you cute things off your registry and offered to take photos of them when they finally arrived.  We went on pedicure dates together, cried about infertility treatments/miscarriages and laughed when little Connor said, ” Shit” as his first word.

And then, I see you post things on the internet about how us childless women don’t get it, or you don’t invite me to little Joe’s 2nd birthday party— ya know, because I don’t have kids or you don’t call me- EVER and I’m tired of having to read that shit and not having the opportunity to respond.  So here it is:

I get it, despite what you think, I do.  You’re a mom now.  I know you’re busy.  I know you have these amazing little humans that you are now responsible for and your time is not your own anymore and just because I’m single (again) and don’t have children doesn’t mean I can’t understand that or that I don’t want to hear about it.  I can and I do… but I’m going to ask you to keep a few things in mind:

Just because I don’t have children doesn’t mean I’m not busy. I also have responsibilities.  It doesn’t mean my life is all glamour and shopping sprees. And it doesn’t mean that my time is any less value than yours.  Yes, we are using our time differently, but I’m not making judgements about yours.  So please refrain from making judgements about mine.

We’re friends.  And friendship is a two way street.  I listen to you and all of your stories because I’m your friend and I care about you.  If you’re my friend, than you should also want to do the same thing for me. You don’t have to call me every day or every week.. but you should want to call me or see me.. if not, maybe we should rethink this friend thing.

I matter. My life, though different than yours, matters. Ask about me once in awhile… without me just having to volunteer the information.

Not having kids does not make me selfish or a bad woman.

No, I’m not a mom.. but I’m human and am capable of emotions like love, loss and sacrifice.  So yeah, I might not be on the same playing field as you, but I’m the fucking queen of empathy and that comment is condescending and hurtful.. no matter how you meant it.

And on a personal note, FUCK YOU!! Cause I wanted to BE you but getting a divorce sorta threw a giant fucking wrench on those plans which I try despearately to put aside for the silver lining of all the other good things I have in my life. When you say these things/act this way…. it cuts straight through and I have to restitch myself back to together.

So to all my mamas…please be a little more gentle with your single and/or childless friends.  We have feelings too…

 

Love,  Stella

And this is the final dissappointment…

or…

it’s the day I’ve been waiting for.

Complete closure from my divorce.

My ex is gay. And in love with his “friend”.  The one who he went on vacation with, multiple times, over our last year together.  The one I allowed to stay at our apartment for a few nights because he was having housing troubles. The one he would “fall asleep” with at the docks…

I knew.. I knew this. I really did and I let him convince me otherwise, over and over again. I doubted myself for so long…and we ended that with no closure for me, none at all.

And it’s finally come, not out to me, but to his family who have kept me in their hearts enough to want to contact me and let me know.  And I am every shade of gray that you can imagine. There is so much anger and hurt that I don’t even know how to process it at the moment..so I’m just all over the place, but as one of my best friends reminded me today, ” He always disappointed you, right from the beginning but this is it though, Stella.  It’s the final disappointment.  He can’t disappoint you anymore.”

So here’s a mix of all that’s in my head and heart today…. excuse the stream of consciousness, I’m not reediting.

I wasted 7 years with someone who made me feel completely unattractive on a regular basis AND made me feel like it was my fault (that I actually was unattractive).  I went to therapy to battle my self-esteem issues.  Spent much more than my share of nights crying in bathrooms and cars… Not the mention the money I saved and spent on a fucking wedding!  When in reality.. it was just that he wasn’t into pussy.  And he’s just figuring this out now? Or he’s just finally brave enough to admit it all now and own up to it?   You selfish, egomaniacal prick.

And why didn’t I deserve this information? A conversation? Why didn’t I rate a conversation? It’s the least he could have done for me and didn’t.  He let me go on feeling like a crazy lunatic and I wasn’t.  I wasn’t.

And he cheated on me… he was clearly having a relationship with this dude while we were married…luckily we weren’t having sex or he could have really put me in a bad place. Although it also explains some things about his health issues.

I want an annulment.  Can I get that?

The final proof, the final disappointment.  Can this all just be over now?

 

A break.

I’m taking a break in the online dating scene.

To be honest, I’m busy and this online thing is like a second job. Too much research, too little pay off.

I’m tired.

I’m sorry I’ve been quiet.  I’m starting a lot of posts and just not finishing them right now… anyone else go through the dating blahs?  How do you get yourself out of them?

And don’t say sex… cause I tried that. It didn’t help.

 

What makes you feel sexy? Music Edition

I did a lot of driving this weekend which means my IPod and I got to spend some quality time together. In the course of my shuffling, I happened upon this:

There’s something about this song that oozes sexiness to me. I want to swivel and sway and sing this to someone, in my super sexy voice, during a sunset on a beach. Not that I’ve given it a lot of thought or anything….. 🙂

For one of my best friends, it’s this song:

And it got me thinking, what makes you feel sexy? And isn’t this a great subject for the blog? So let’s start with the subject that brought this up to begin with… music. I doubt Barry White and Marvin Gaye are making all of you feel your sexiest.. so what is? Share in your comments below! We’d love to hear from you!

You’re not Alone

Elizabeth Gilbert, Author of Eat, Pray, Love

Elizabeth Gilbert, Author of Eat, Pray, Love

QUESTION OF THE DAY: HAVE YOU EVER REGRETTED NOT HAVING CHILDREN?
A dear soul on this Facebook page asked me this the other day, and I thought I’d make the answer public.
The simple answer, blessedly, is: No.
The longer answer is that I have come to believe there are three sorts of women, when it comes to questions of maternity. There are women who are born to be mothers, women who are born to be aunties, and women who should not be allowed within ten feet of a child. It can be a tragic situation (either personally, for a family, or for the community at large) when a woman ends up in the wrong category, based on her true nature. Women who long for children but cannot have babies suffer enormously, as we know. But children who are born to inadequate or unprepared mothers also suffer enormously (and their mothers suffer, too—trapped in a responsibility that they can neither meet or enjoy).
Those of us who are natural-born aunties are luckier. We love children, we enjoy children, but we know in our deepest marrow that we are not supposed to have children of our own. And that is absolutely fine, for not every woman in history needs to be a mother. Now, listen—if you put a baby in front of me, rest assured: that baby is gonna get cuddled, spoiled and adored. But even as I’m loving on that beautiful infant, I know in my heart: This is not my destiny. It never was. And there is a curious rush of joy that I feel, knowing this to be true—for it is every bit as important in life to understand who you AREN’T, as to understand who you ARE. Me, I’m just not a mom. I create in other ways. Having reached a contented and productive middle age, I can say without a blink of hesitation that wouldn’t trade my choices with anyone’s.
Meanwhile, as you can see by this photo (where I am shown sitting at my desk, creating in the manner in which I was meant to create) I got me some cats. I got a dog, too, but cats are really good for lady writers without kids. Cats can get themselves bathed and dressed in the mornings, while you are working on your book, and you never have to drive them to school. Also, they are excellent and exacting editors.
Blessings to all, and thanks for asking! Liz
** copied and reposted from Elizabeth Gilbert’s facebook page.