Degrees of Separation

I had no idea that dating when you are separated could be so complicated. The more I try to get around the fact that I am getting a divorce, the harder it is to explain exactly what is going on in my life. It's no longer as simple as status: married, place of residence: NYC. Now I have to give the back-story of my life because none of these elements of my life are defined right now, and none of them are the same anymore. This always proves to be very tricky. I usually make something up on the spot that's colorful, and witty, and little less shocking. The fact that I look about five years younger than what I really am, makes it all the more agonizing.

The second I say I'm getting a divorce eyebrows rise, and they give me that skeptical eye. Inevitably, the questions how long were you married, and why are you getting divorced, follow. The answers to both of those questions are equally embarrassing. Then one of two things happens; the guy either pays for my drink, the pity martini is what I call it, or he finds a reason to walk away. On occasion he actually asks for my number and uses it, but rarely does it go beyond a first date. How serious can you be about someone who is still legally married? It bothers me that even after deciding to end my marriage, I am still defined by it. It bothers me that I will never be single again. It bothers me that I had the perfect wedding, and a painful, short-lived marriage. It bothers me that I am going to be someone's ex-wife, and at the tender age of twenty-six, I will have an ex-husband. My life is on a red light right now, and I am so desperately ready to go. I can't wait for the spring.

Goldilocks

I've been sleeping around so much since my husband and I separated (gotcha! please refer to fact #6 in Ex Marks the Spot , just a little play on words). I've decided to dedicate this entire post to all of the different "beds" I've slept in ALONE. I use the word bed very loosely, meaning the place where a lay my head, not an actual bed. I don't own one of those anymore.

So here goes, my first bed is the couch at my parent's house. It is at least seven years old, moss green, and made of a tweedy, itchy fabric (sorry mom). This has to be the most uncomfortable place to sleep. If I really think about it, it's utterly disgusting to sleep on anyone's couch family or not. This is a place where people place their butts, sometimes for hours and hours on end.

Next on the list, the make-shift "bed" at my brother's apartment. This "bed" was actually not too uncomfortable. It is essentially a leather sectional sofa, with pieces that can be pushed together to form one large square. I refer to this one as my "king sized bed." It was hard as a rock, but I did have plenty of space, and lots of comfy blankets. The best thing about this bed was the location. I actually had my own room, complete with closets and a full length mirror (what else does a girl need). The bedroom was positioned right on the front of his apartment, so it was as cold as a meat locker, hence the reason for so many blankets, but it was my room while I was there.

The best bed, was actually a bed. A nice queen sized bed at the Westin Hotel, complete with lots of pillows and sheets with a decent thread count.

Hands down the absolute worst of all of my "beds" is the one I'm sleeping on right now. The Aero Bed. Who the hell invented this? Every morning when I wake up and slide off the side of this mockery of a mattress, I am so tempted to write Mr. Aero and inform him of how much this bed really sucks! I feel like I have to perform a balancing act in my sleep. I'm constantly in fear of rolling off and breaking my neck since this thing sits so high up off of the floor. The plastic stench is enough to make me want to choke myself, and the first night I slept on it I had a horrible nightmare about a blow-up doll. Goldilocks has nothing on me.

Sincere Lee

The Problem with Potential

We all know this guy. The "really good guy" he doesn't quite have it all together. You're not completely sure about how you feel about him because generally there is something that he does and/or says that grates on your nerves. He's usually between jobs, and still lives at home with his parents. BUT he has a great personality, he's educated, or at least working on it, and he makes you laugh. This, my friends, is the "man with potential." In theory it's always a good idea to keep him in your back pocket, ya know, for those hard times. However, this is not the man that you seriously want to date, if you do, proceed with caution. I've dated at least a handful of them, we all have. In fact, I married him, and look how that turned out.

This is the problem with men with potential. A woman can spend years and years of her life with a man who has potential and he may never live up to it. Next to shaving off all of your hair for any reason other than cancer, this is the riskiest thing a twenty-something woman can ever do. Eventually, we (i'm speaking for all women, the nerve of me) will get sick and tired of trying to motivate him, console him, support him, not only financially, but emotionally. He, in turn, will undoubtedly feel the pressure, and will also get sick and tired of everyone challenging him to do something with his life, or change. For the life of me I can't figure out why men are so resistant to change, but I digress.

It's a strained relationship from the start that will never flourish into anything because neither party will have enough patience, or stamina to keep it going. Perhaps the most depressing thing about dating the "man with potential" is that inevitably, one day, he will get it together, a year, or two, or ten, after the two of you break up, and some other woman will reap all the benefits that we worked so hard for. Now there is one exception to the rule according to Sincere Lee, and that is if you happen to fall head over heels in love with "the man with potential" hang in there, more than likely, it'll be worth it in the end.

Sincere Lee

** This post was inspired by the Single Black Man in NoVA's "My Two Cents" post, check my blog bling.

Is He a Sagitarrius?

I've been casually dating for about a month now, and I have to admit I am slightly impressed with the selection of men out there. The majority of the guys that I went to high school and college with have matured a great deal, and are past that weird looking/acting/smelling stage. I've been staying with my girlfriend in the Northern Virginia/D.C. area. This city has a great pool of young, successful men, and a decent variety of places to have a great first date. I haven't managed to snag any second dates yet, but I'm optimistic. In light of my pending divorce, I am only trying to date men that I am compatible with on more than one level (if you get my drift). So I must confess, I've always been somewhat interested in finding out a guy's sign. I'm not super weird about it, I won't run the other way if you're an earth sign and I'm an air sign, but you get my point. I usually click well with Aquarius, and Aries, sometimes other Gems.
Lately, however, I've been meeting a lot of Sagitarrius men, and pardon my tweeny text talk but, OMG! Everytime I meet someone born under this sign we instantly get each other. The stars align and I swear I hear celestial music. The connection is out of this world. They are all about fun and socializing, but they have an intellectual side as well, which is so damn sexy to me. Most of them love to travel, and are very well read. Sag men also tend to be a real man's man, a little edgy, not too clingy and needy. I'm a girl who loves her space so love of freedom and independence is greatly appreciated. Think John Kennedy Jr., mixed with a little Jay-Z, sprinkled with a dash of Frank Sinatra, and a little Jamie Foxx on the side. I realize that this is beginning to read like a singles ad, so I digress. But I've said all of this to say that I've decided that now, when I meet a man, rather than inquiring about where he grew up, or what he likes to do in his spare time, I only want to know one thing, is he a sagitarrius?

Sparks: Part Deux of Sticky Situations

Disclaimer: I am not in love with this person, this is lust in it's purest form.

I had one of the best conversations with a beautiful stranger last night. It was one of those talks that neither person wants to end. I haven't felt like that since I was like sixteen. We were both equally engrossed in this breezy conversation, which flitted from topic to topic until about three a.m. We shared common interests, and ideals about life. He can appreciate my sense of humour and my sarcasm. I admire his honesty and his ability to articulate his wishes and desires. There was the occasional banter, or difference in opinion, but we both respected what the other person had to say. He was able to challenge my thoughts, and I could keep up with his, just as he with mine. I believe I smiled the entire time we were talking. It was so sexy, so fresh; sparks were flying in every direction. We both knew it wouldn't go anywhere, we are both married. I'm separated, but he is not. I awoke this morning with the biggest case of the "what if's." It was so delicious.

Ex Marks the spot?

I spent the weekend in a hotel room with my ex. As if that isn't mindblowing enough, what I'm about to reveal will rock your world. We didn't sleep together. Now I'm aware that our behavior should be applauded, admired, and all of that. He is mindful of my situation, and although I am getting a divorce, he is respectful of the fact that I am still married. He is surely not like any other guy I have ever met in that regard. But for my sanity's sake, let's assess the facts shall we:
1. He's better looking now
2. He has a better job now
3. His outlook on life is a lot more refreshing and positive than it used to be.
4. I'm more mature
5. I'm still a firm size 4
6. I haven't had sex in about two and a half months; just a sidenote, it's been a while for him as well.
7. His gender: male
8. My gender: female (I'll spare you the other two obvious facts)
The thoughts running through my mind this weekend were x-rated enough to make Jenna Jameson blush. So blog, and any underage readers who may come across this in a google search, please forgive this mildly explicit ranting but, I need to have sex, I need to have sex, I NEED TO HAVE SEX! That's all. Thanks!

Sincere Lee

Sticky Situations

In my quest to find solace in my life as I go through my divorce, thereby a little male companionship; I have found myself in some very sticky situations. Last night, however, proved to be the most unbelievable of all. I went out with my girlfriends for dinner, and made eye contact with this guy at another table. He was extremely attractive, and I'm a bit of a flirt, so I gave him the eye. To make a long story short, after asking him if he was married, to which he curtly replied "no," we exchanged phone numbers. He sent me a text the same night. I was shocked, seeing as how this never happens, and asked if it was okay if I called him. As we began the question and answer session of getting to know each other, he tells me has a confession THUD. "Sincere, I'm married" he says. You could have knocked me down with a feather. I can honestly say I've never felt this way before about anything. It was utter confusion. I then had to fess up as well because I lied and told him that I was already divorced. The weird thing is that after his shocking moment of truth, we proceeded to talk until the wee hours of the morning. I wish that I had an answer for why I stayed entranced in conversation with him for so long, and worse, why I am interested in talking to him again, but I have no clear cut answer. While it is true that I am starved for compelling and intellectual conversation with someone of the opposite sex, among other things,I know that I should not be talking to a married man the way that we were talking. What is wrong with me? I would hate to be this man's wife. And it gets worse they have a son together! (pause for reaction) I don't really feel as if I'm in a position to point fingers, but COME ON! Needless to say I haven't spoken to him today. I probably won't ever speak to him again, but I would certainly be dishonest to say that I don't want to. Two words: resist temptation. Stay tuned.

Sincere Lee

Squared

I was in a particular kind of mood today, and nothing else could cure it, so I got lost in jazz. I found something there and decided to write it down. This is about as poetic as I'm ever going to get.

In theory you are classic and sophisticated.
To the untrained ear, you are erractic, and all over the place;
you are uncontrollable.
There is no true melody to follow, and everytime I tried you went off in another direction.
But I could feel your intensity, your passion was intoxicating; it made my head spin.
I wanted to turn you off, but I couldn't.
As I listened more closely I could hear your song.
At the heart of this song you just want to be appreciated and adored.
I always have loved jazz.

Sincere Lee

Mine

I've never been a selfish person. I was the girl at the lunch table in second grade who would pass out each item in her lunchbox to all of the other kids. Nothing makes me happier than knowing that I have something to share, which is essentially, something to give, and actually presenting someone with it. Lately, however, I have been thinking about what is mine. I have this urgent need to claim something, anything that has been a part of my life in any way. So often I feel like I am grasping at thin air. I used to feel like I had a grip on my life, and the life I envisioned for myself. I shared that life with another person. Now that I have done that, it so hard for me to distinguish between the things that belong solely to me, and the things that are part of a past existence. What is worth holding on to? What should I let go? My life in New York City was so much a part of me, and I'm having to let it go. I feel like I'm giving up my future for the past. It's not completely impossible for me to envision a future here in Virginia. I just always thought a future should feel fresh, and new, unchartered territory; but I've definitely been here before. I can certainly own that.

Blog, please forgive me

I promised myself that I would blog everyday of this year. I am going through an extremely crucial time in my life, and most days this blog helps me to get out all the things that can't say. But today I'm so full, it's all so overwhelming that I can't even begin to find the words to type into this small, square space on my computer screen. It won't fit. It's too much.

Sincere Lee

Who Holds my Heart?

There is a plane landing in about 5 minutes in New York City, and I'm not on it. After much obsessing aboout what would be my next step in my life, I have decided that, at least right now, I am not ready to go back. I have no idea what, if anything, is waiting for me there, besides my soon-to-be-ex husband, and of course I'm in no hurry to get back to that. I cannot lie, I miss my friends dearly, my job was beginning to pluck my nerves, but in a strange way, I miss it too. But these are both elements of my life that I have, or, can find here in Virginia. I've been thinking a lot about the saying "home is where the heart is," and what that saying means to me. If my loved ones are in Virginia, does that mean this is my home? Even if I don't always feel at home here? I love New York City, I always have. I love the noise, the people, the energy, the restaurants, Central Park. My gosh how I heart Central Park! New York and I have a relationship that Virginia will never understand. I've been having a love affair with the city for the past two and a half years. I can't honestly say that I'm ready to give it up and run back to sensible Virginia, or anywhere else for that matter. I've slept around with Washington D.C. a little, but nothing compares to New York. No where else makes me feel the way New York does. I come alive in that city! I'm in love! Now if only I could get New York City to reciprocate that love; my decision would be so much easier.

I'm having a moment

So it's the day before I am supposed to leave Virginia to go back to New York, and I'm not sure if I'm doing the right thing. As much as I love the city, I'm in no rush to get back. My plans are not finalized, I have no where to stay as of right now, and I'm not completely sure that I still have my job. Logically speaking this does not seem like the best idea right now. But what exactly am I supposed to do when one alternative is no better than the other. I have about $17.00 to my name, which is not even enough for cab fare from the airport. I haven't even began to think about how I'm supposed to eat for the next week and half before I get another pay check. New York is a fabulous city, but it can seem like the boogey man when you're broke and homeless. I only have a few more hours left in the day to decide what my next move will be. Am I going to the airport in the morning? or will I stay here another week or two until. . .

Virginia is for Lovers

I just love how each state has a "slogan" or a "saying" that I'm guessing is supposed to embody everything that the people who reside there appreciate about that state. I've always wondered who had the balls to come up with this concept of branding, and whether or not these sayings have any true meaning in the lives of the people who grew up there. I've lived the majority of my life in Virginia, where the saying is "Virginia is for Lovers." As a little girl growing up here I never really thought about it. Now, however, as a young, soon-to-be divorcee,this saying puts a lot of pressure on a girl. It's so exclusive and exact; "Virginia is for Lovers," in other words, non-lovers keep out. In fact that's exactly how I felt upon returning home. If Virginia is for lovers then what the hell am I doing here? I came here back in the early spring to marry a man that I was no longer in love with. How did you allow this to happen Virginia? Shouldn't there be some sort of checklist, or a "Virginia is for Lovers" handbook that specifies the rules for couples who wish to marry and/or start a life here?; a checkpoint at the Virginia State line where the love doctor checks your pulse to measure how fast your heart is racing when the two of you kiss. Okay, maybe I've been watching too many Meg Ryan movies, but the point is, ever since I've been here, I have been totally consumed with the idea of what it means to truly love someone and be in love. I observe couples all the time. I watch their movements, their body language, the way they look at each other. I listen to the way they speak to each other. I have spent the last two and a half months here looking for proof of this place for lovers. While I'm not sure that every person here subscribes to this notion, or has even given it a second thought, the one thing I am sure of is that I refuse to become a cynical, bitter, divorced woman, who doesn't believe in true love.

Sincere Lee

"There are all kinds of love in the world, but never the same love twice"-F. Scott Fitzgerald

Drinking flat champagne

The nervousness has already begun to set in. I am about four days away from facing the inevitable. On Tuesday January 5, 2010 I will return to the big city that I love so very much to face my realities. It doesn't quite feel the way that I thought it would. I am usually running, skipping even, and smiling with giddy anticipation of leaving boring, mundane, typical Virginia, and heading back to Mecca aka NYC. But this time is, dare I say, bittersweet. I am actually a little sad. Virginia has been very good to me. I can't really harken back to any time in my life when I've felt the way that I feel right now; but I imagine it's the way a high school graduate feels when he or she leaves home and goes away to college. The unknown. How am I ever going to navigate this maze? There is, of course, that trail of broken promises, unconfirmed hopes, and disbelief. Before pouring a glass of last night's leftover champagne, I thought of how wonderful it tasted. It was so crip, and light, and bubbly. I was so looking forward to experiencing the exact same thing again tonight. It is flat, but I'm drinking it anyway.