Saturday, December 8, 2012

Spice on Stage

Kimberly Spice live on stage!!!

Dear Blogger Peeps,

First of all, you guys rock like there's no tomorrow. This page has changed my life in countless ways. Nevertheless, I am a writer, so I shall attempt to count them.

You all have given me the confidence to believe I can do anything I set my mind to. You've inspired me to chase my dreams, ALL of my dreams, no matter how wild and crazy they might seem at the time. You've encouraged me to follow my heart and trust my gut. You've changed the way I see myself, from this sad, pathetic, lonely, divorced girl in search of someone to love her, to this strong, empowered, motivated woman who loves herself and is sure that someday, a man will come along who sees me - all of me - exactly as I am - and loves me for all the things that make!

So it's only fair that I come out from behind the computer to show you who I really am. Getting up on stage in front of a standing-room-only crowd was scary enough. Knowing that the performance would be recorded and put on YouTube absolutely terrified me. But the feedback I've gotten so far is incredibly positive, so here is the link. You can see my clip from Bad Date / Great Story where I recount the dangers of dating anyone around the holidays, enlighten you on all things Star Wars, and generally act like my crazy self in front of a ton of single people on Manhattan's Lower East Side on a fun Friday night.

THANK YOU to everyone who came out to support me, and for those of you in the NY area who missed it, I've been asked back for their February show. And as y'all know, I hate Valentine's Day, so this is gonna be right up my romantic alley! (Wait, that sounded dirty...never mind!)

That all being said, I kindly ask you to A) watch the video B) comment here or on my facebook or on my twitter and C) share with your friends. You all mean the world to me. Thank you for changing my life.

Love and nerdiness,
Kimberly Spice

Thursday, November 29, 2012

Bad Date / Great Story

So I realize that not all of you may follow me on Facebook (you should) or on Twitter, (again, you totally should!) but for anyone who just happens to stumble across this page in the Blogosphere, I will be performing live on stage TONIGHT - Friday, November 30th at Solas in NYC's Lower East Side. Show starts at 7 pm and tickets are $5 at the door.

It's stand-up meets storytelling meets my real life and there will be some other incredibly awesome people there telling their awful dating stories too! See? You're not alone in this crazy singles world. Other people date guys who throw up and try to kiss them too, I promise. Actually, I sincerely hope that hasn't happened to anyone besides me. It was just too terrible.

But plenty of other girls have heard their dates say they moved to China (insert any other far away destination here) or that the guys were separated from their wives (read: still married and probably living together. In fact, she's likely only away for the weekend) or that they've been stood up at the last minute by someone they really thought liked them (although if you met online, that "person" might not even exist in real life, so don't be *too* disappointed, ok?)

Fact of the matter is, dating is sad, it's pathetic, it's hopeless, and it's funny as hell. So come see me and some other really awesome people in Bad Date / Great Story. Links with info are attached. Can't wait to meet you all out for a drink afterwards. Please come say hello <3 p="p">
Thanks y'all, and wish me luck!


Bad Date / Great Story

Solas, NYC

Wednesday, October 31, 2012

Magically Ever After

All our dreams come true if we have the courage to pursue them - Walt Disney

In the past three years (I can't believe it's been that long!) I have gotten to know so many of you amazing readers. Even more special, you have gotten to know me. You know my ups and downs, my ins and outs, my wants, my needs, my can't-live-withouts. You know my dating disasters, my triumphs, my setbacks, my heartbreaks, and my joy. You know my friends, my family, and even my cats! Today, I would like to dedicate a very special blog to a very special reader...who became an incredibly special friend.

We started out as pen pals, as I have with so many of you. What began as comments on my blog turned to messages on facebook, turned to texting and then phone calls and then notes / cards / care packages in the mail and finally, weekend trips up to her house. People thought we were crazy, like an online dating couple who agrees to get married before they've met in person! But we knew we were destined to be besties for life and I'm not afraid to tell you she's totally my evil twin!

Sara knows just about everything there is to know about me and loves me anyway. Aside from my mom, my sister Kat, and my bestie Bella, Sara is the person I run to when the shit hits the fan (as often happens in my love life.) She scooped me up off the sidewalk when I was devastated by Hurricane Kit. She baked me cake bites, got me drunk, and took me to sing country karaoke at a dive bar in Rhode Island one Wednesday night, just to recover from the loneliness. She texts me at all hours of the day with photos of her kids, her cakes, even her running times. She's a happily married mother of three tiny children and frankly, I don't know how she does it.

Sara quite literally runs on Dunkin.

She shares my obsession for all things Disney, chocolate, and afternoon tea. She doesn't judge me when I fall asleep with a box of Thin Mints instead of a man. She knows that dark place in my heart where I worry that I'll never be a wife or a mother, occasionally soothing my fears away with girl talk and gossip, but more often than not, smacking some sense into me with a much needed reality check. Sara would take a baseball bat to the knees of anyone who hurt my feelings. She will go 50 Shades of Crazy on any person who dares mess with her babies. She's the kind of friend you want in your corner, the one who will fight for you, support you, encourage you, and love you until the end of time.

Basically, we're soul mates.

I still find it hard to believe that Sara and I met because she married the first man I ever loved. He unwittingly brought us together and is still terrified of the two of us in the same room. (The first time he saw us snuggled on the couch, eating mint chip ice cream and watching Dancing With the Stars, he called us the Axis of Evil and promptly walked out of the room!) We look like polar opposites with my baby blond hair and big blue eyes, tall and chubby and pale as a vampire in sunlight. She is equally tall but has jet black hair, often with a pink streak through it, a lithe runner's body and full sleeve of tattoos. Sara is a bad ass version of me and I cannot help but envy her unapologetic sense of fierceness, love and loyalty.

Through this blog, we became friends, and through this blog, I hope to repay her kindness and generosity.

Sara and her husband Ben have a dream. They've been training for weeks, months, years to run a marathon together. I tease her that the only way I would ever run is if I was being chased...through the a monster...with a knife...on fire! She felt the same way, but a 5K, 10K, and half marathon later, she wakes up at the crack of dawn every single morning to train for the full 26.2 mile race. She's gotten her friends into running. She's gotten her husband into running. She's even gotten her 7 year old son to run the Color Race with her and he loved it!!!

Sara is an inspiration to so many people and now her dream is to run the Disney World marathon in January 2013. With three kids, a husband, a home, and the worst economy in the history of our lifetimes, they cannot afford the plane tickets down to Florida. They're budget crunching this trip by forgoing hotel rooms and sleeping on couches at friend's homes. They've got family lined up to watch the little ones for the weekend, and they've already registered for the race, but they need a little help getting to the start line. In three years, I have never asked you amazing readers for a dime, let alone a dollar, and I still wouldn't ask, but this isn't for me. This is for the girl who reads and comments on every single blog I write. She has supported me, nudged me, comforted and consoled me the whole way. If it wasn't for her being one of my very first fans, I can't even say for certain if I would've kept going with this project. She and so many of you reading this are the reason I write at all. I know you're out there. I know you have the biggest, best hearts on the planet. I know you all struggle with your own personal situations and I'm asking that you take the time to focus on making someone else's dreams come true, just for today. It takes 5 minutes and $5, $10, $20 to push her a little closer to the finish line.

Sara has committed herself to helping me run towards my dreams with arms wide open. Won't you please join me in making her wish come true? Let's send her and Ben down to Disney and watch them MAKE MAGIC HAPPEN!

Making Marathon Magic

A thousand thank you's!!

Love and Hugs, Kim

Friday, October 5, 2012

By Any Other Name

It's official. My ex husband has a son. The baby boy is named after his father.  Instead of being born on what would have been our nine year wedding anniversary / three year divorce anniversary, he was born on the one year wedding anniversary of his parents.

Or in my world, the night my girlfriends took my out drinking until four o'clock in the morning. Sometimes, a girl needs a Cosmo...and keep 'em coming.

Countless readers have written in to me with wonderful words of support and encouragement. Some of you have offered to take me out for drinks, some of you just tell me to hang in there, and one lovely woman offered me her kids! (I guess they're more than she can handle!) But the most common thing I've been told is that I should "Just Do It" - meaning, have a kid on my own.

I have thought about it, the single mom option. My very good girlfriend is freezing her eggs, seeing as she isn't using them until she meets her dream man anyway. Why waste them in the meantime? But could I really go through with it? Head to a sperm bank? Procreate with a stranger? No, I don't think that's how I'd want to raise a child, always wondering whose baby he or she really was. What the dad was like. If I'd ever run into him at the grocery store.

Instead, I figure that there are so many amazing babies born every day into a world where their parents can't support them, and those children are given up for adoption. I'd much rather love a kid that already exists and needs someone to care for them. In this hypothetical situation, I imagine myself in an orphanage like Annie or Newsies, except with much younger kids, all waiting for a nice lady to bring them home, brush their hair, make them cookies. I imagine all the good parts of parenthood, the tucking in to bed at night, the singing of songs, the trick-or-treating. I know there are harder parts than these, all night fevers, hamsters dying, algebra homework. Somehow, in the end, I'm pretty sure that they all equal out though, and hopefully, when you look that small person in the face, you'll have the overwhelming sense that it's all worthwhile.

I am not saying that I'm going to do the single mom thing right now. Gonna give myself a little more time for that Knight in Shining Armor to show up. But in the meantime, I wrote the earliest stages of this essay.


I was born Kimberly.

My dad calls me Kimmy.

My little brother couldn't say K's when he was little. To this day, my big, tough, military brother calls me Timmy.

In 1988, I insisted my name was Stacey. In 1989, I changed it again to Dawn. My mother stopped letting me read the Babysitters Club.

In summer camp, I earned the nickname Peaches, after both the smell of my shampoo and affinity for Snapple iced tea.

My high school friends still acknowledge me as Kimba, for the cat I was named after.

College brought with it sorority sisters, and my pledge name: Cookie. One smart cookie, one tough cookie.

The pre-school children I teach call me Miss Kimberly.

The Sunday school children I teach call me The StoryTeller.

I have been called daughter, sister, niece, cousin, teacher, mentor, friend. But to this day, no one has ever called me Mommy.

Friday, September 28, 2012


Third grade, recess, the playground... Dodgeball.

One by one, the kids get picked to be on Steven's team or Michael's team. One by one, they get a red flag or a yellow flag, showing that they are part of something big, something special. One by one, I hear everyone's name get called until they are all on the field. Every kid but me.

I am last to be chosen. Again and again, I wait and watch, hoping, praying, begging for someone to pick me. Maybe this time, Justin or Roger or Randall will be a team captain and they'll choose me to be on their team. Somehow, some way, I have to get on the red team, or the yellow team, I don't care which team but please God somebody pick me!!!

I happen to know that Stevie and Michael (or at least their wives) are reading this blog and I'll start by saying "I forgive you." But please know that in second, third, fourth, fifth, and sixth grades, I hated you. You never chose me first for dodgeball or kickball or flag football. In fact, you never chose me at all. You got stuck with me as a last resort player, waiting it out to see who'd have to pick me versus who got the kid who picked his nose with his undershirt (and ate it!) during the game. Y'all know who I'm talking about, and I'm really insulted I got grouped in like that.

Point being, I could've been a great player. I would've been awesome, given the chance. But all anyone saw was a nerdy girl who always had her face in a book and no dirt on her shoes. Sure, kids flocked to me during the spelling bee or when they needed homework help. But dodgeball? I might as well have been taking a nap.

Becoming a mother feels a lot like being back in elementary school. I'm waiting to get picked for the marriage & motherhood team, hoping and praying that someone will call my name. Sure, I have my preference of who I'd like to play with, but at this point, it's starting not to matter. I watch my friends get called up, one by one, and all I want is to be on the field with them. I don't care if I get chosen first or third or thirty-third, I just want to get in the damn game.

People say "it happens when you least expect it" or "you can't hurry love, you just have to wait." What no one admits is that they're terrified the game is being played without them and they could be left sitting on the sidelines, waving the team flag. Think about your girlfriends. Who is single and wants to be dating? Who is dating and wants to be married? Who is married and wants children? These girls are just like me, playing dodgeball with their lives, just waiting to hear their name, waiting to rush the field.

I'm starting to wonder how I can start my own team. Perhaps, with this blog, I'm doing just that.

Wednesday, September 26, 2012

Falling From Grace

There is nothing funny about divorce.

Alright, that's probably not true... But dating is hilarious and it's fairly easy to write about. Divorce is hard and sad and finding the humor is pretty tricky. I know I've been writing about dating throughout this blog, and all the ridiculous adventures I've been on, which you all love to hear about. But I'd be remiss if I glanced over the part where I'm single at 31 because my marriage did not work out.

Several readers have asked me how this project got started, why am I different from any other girl trying to find love in the big city. The truth is, I might not be that different which is exactly why I'm so relatable. Sadly, there are a million other girls like me all over this country. Girls who thought they'd met their match, found their prince, and were living their happily ever after. Only years later (in some cases - months later) to discover that this life, this marriage, this husband was not at all who or what they thought they'd signed up for. Maybe he was an alcoholic / workaholic / cheater / loser / insert awful adjective of your choice here. Maybe he was all of the above. Maybe he was none of the above and you just grew apart, life happened. Maybe he changed his mind about wanting children and you found yourself ten years after you thought you'd be a mother, writing a blog about how you're not a mother.

No? Just me then.

I'd also be remiss if I did not add on to yesterday's blog that I did, in fact, join a sorority in college. After not getting accepted into the three national sororities at my school, there was a local chapter that welcomed me with open arms and open hearts. My sisters are still some of my closest friends despite years and miles between us. My big sister, the girl who truly adopted me, is getting married in December and I'm thrilled and honored to attend her wedding. We've all moved on, some have moved away, but there is an unbreakable bond between us that we will share forever. A decade and a half ago, I made a promise to strengthen and uphold our sisterhood. Kinship, love, and pride. It's not just a slogan, it's a way of life. It's letting those other girls know that I have their backs. Always have, always will.

How does this relate to motherhood? Because I know what it's like on the other side. I know that there's a big, wide world of women waiting to welcome me once I have a baby of my own...and not a moment before. There are stages of friendship, no matter how close you are to another woman, no matter how long you've known her. When one of you gets married, it changes things. When one of you has a baby, it changes things. She develops new relationships with other mommies out there, because she's going through things you can't possibly relate to, and frankly, might not want to hear about. All she can talk about is nap schedules and feeding times and poopie diapers. Is she really going to confess her breastfeeding tales to a girl who was out at a club last night? Not likely. There is an unspoken boundary between mommies and non-mommies that just doesn't get crossed. It's not that they don't want to tell you about their new life. It's just that "you wouldn't understand."

Those are my least favorite words in the English language. "You wouldn't understand. You're not a mom." Well, someday, I might be, and then maybe I'll get it. Whatever these women are talking about, I WANT IN! I want to know what it's like. I want to be a part of it. In the military, they recognize men by rank: Private, Captain, Major. Women recognize each other by title: Single, Wife, Mother. There is always something to aspire to.

Some of you have no clue what I'm talking about. You think I'm bitter and jaded and jealous. I'm not. Those of you who are still waiting for to meet your husbands, or for your husbands to be ready to have kids know what I mean. I do not begrudge anyone their happiness, as one reader commented yesterday. I simply want my own happiness and I've been waiting my whole life to find it in marriage and motherhood.

Why tell you all of this now? Well to start with, I couldn't talk about it before. It was easier to tell you funny dating story after funny dating story because there were no consequences there. Going out with a guy who cracks open his Darth Vader piggy bank is hysterical, but I'm hoping that hasn't happened to anyone else! How many of you can tell me you ended up on a date with a man who threw up and still tried to kiss you? Or put you on the phone with his mother? Or burst into tears when you told him you didn't get butterflies on the date? Or picked his nose and then wanted to hold your hand? Or was a one-armed Cuban prison guard?

I sincerely hope that NONE of those things apply to you! But chances are you (or your mother, or your sister, or your friend) is divorced. Maybe she's divorced and dating. Maybe she has kids, maybe she doesn't. Maybe she's turning 30, or even 40, wondering why and how she is supposed to start all over. Maybe she's scared to death and just knowing that someone else has been through the same things is helpful. I know that not every girl is willing to put her Dear Diary online for the whole world to read. But I am. You don't have to like it. You don't have to agree with it. I'm not writing for anyone else these days. I'm writing for me, because I know that if I'm going through this, someone else is too. If I've made just that one girl feel better, made her laugh, talked her through her tears, then it's all been worth it.

Tuesday, September 25, 2012

Motherhood...and Other Sororities I Didn't Get Into

If we were going to party like it was 1999, we'd have to start with Sorority Rush Week.

My college had four sororities on campus, three national and one local. I didn't know the difference at the time, but it became blatantly obvious the minute I started Rush Week.

The first group didn't like what I was wearing (little white sundress with blue flowers on it) and they made fun of me while I was still in the room. The second group asked what my dad did, if my mom worked, how much money we had, what my future career plans were. I clearly didn't meet their high monetary standards, and couldn't have afforded the dues if I wanted to. The third group didn't like that I was so involved with other organizations around the school. Theatre, student programming council, student government, Habitat for Humanity, Take Back the Night, and a whole slew of others. They also didn't like that I had a steady boyfriend for over a year. If I was going to party with them, I needed to be single and dedicate myself entirely to sorority happenings and not other clubs. 

This feeling was all too familiar. I'd been a cheerleader for years, but when I switched to a different high school, I didn't make the team. I tried out for kickline instead, and after several grueling weeks of splits and kicks and learning routines, I was rejected from that squad too. I got heavily involved with theatre, but I wasn't selected for the Repertory Company or the Select Choir. My heart was broken a million times over for all the lofty dreams I'd set my sights on, never to reach them. 

Funny how those memories creep up on you, a decade and a half later. Watching the cheerleaders on game day walking down the hall in their bright green pleated skirts, bouncing ponytails and sparkly eyeshadow elicits the same reaction as seeing them all these years later with their baby carriages and husbands in tow. This new sorority for a different age taunts me with all the things I'll never have, all the places I'll never go, all the secret handshakes I'll never be privy to. Those same friends who flaunted their shiny black and white saddle shoes now rub their smug motherhood in my face while I pine for my younger, more fertile days. How I wish to join their ranks, pledge that oath, drink the toxic elixir. What I'd give to ponder Baby Bjorn versus Ergo carriers, pushing my pram through Central Park, making my own organic baby food. How many times do they meet up at Gymboree or the playground, toting their little angels along with a cappuccino and a croissant, idling away the hours of innocent childhood and friendships forged. 

I do not know the password to get into this party. I do not have a key to this club. I do know that I applied for membership for years on end, and every month the form would come back to me with a huge red sign saying REJECTED. I am not a mother now, nor do I know if or when I ever will be. 

One by one, I watch my friends learn the secret handshake, drink the Kool-Aid, don the uniform, and join the sorority of Motherhood. Maybe I am wearing the wrong outfit. Maybe I don't have enough money. Maybe I don't know the right people. Maybe I didn't sell enough cookies, earn enough patches, memorize the motto. Maybe I didn't jump high enough, tumble fast enough, yell loud enough. Maybe there just aren't any spots left for a new girl to join. But maybe, just maybe, I'll try again next semester. 

Friday, September 21, 2012

Keep Paddling

I would like to punch September 21st in the face.

Every year, without fail, September 21st shows up on my calendar. And every year, it is all I can do to survive the damn day. I thought about getting on a plane and heading west at the start of the day. I figured if I went far enough, I'd leave New York on the 20th and get back on the 22nd, missing the day entirely. Since that's not the most practical idea I've ever had, I considered hibernating under the covers for 24 hours and coming out when it's over. Short of that, I am trying to honor the past while not living in it, and looking towards my future with hope.

Yes, the future is uncertain and yes, the past is daunting, and yes at times the present sucks. But our time is what we make of it. I'm allowing myself to indulge in this little pity party for about five more minutes before I kick my own ass and move on with my life. It's a lot harder than it sounds. I should know - I've been trying to manage it for years. I'm sure I've made a bigger deal of today in my head than it really is, but when you're the attached, invested, emotional person I am, you can't help but take everything to heart. I can't stop myself from imagining what today would have been in an alternate universe. Surely, the world I'm living in now is far more surreal than anything that could've been hiding behind Door #2.

September 21, 2001: I met John.
September 21, 2002: We moved in together in London.
September 21, 2003: We got married.
September 21, 2004: We got our own house in the English home counties.
September 21, 2005: We moved back to New York.
September 21, 2006: We realized we were struggling as a couple and took a vacation.
September 21, 2007: We talked about a "trial separation."
September 21, 2008: He served me with divorce papers.
September 21, 2009: Our divorce was finalized.
September 21, 2010: I wrote a blog wondering where my life was going.
September 21, 2011: I wrote a blog, thinking I knew exactly where my life was going.
Dancing in the Rain
September 21, 2012: He and his new wife are expecting a baby. Today.

The world works in weird ways. Sure, we planned to get married on the anniversary of the day we met, but we sure as shit didn't plan to get divorced that day too. He's also not the malicious sort of man to serve me with those papers on our anniversary. I'm positive it was just when the process server got around to delivering them. (He tried again the day before Christmas, and ON Valentine's Day.) I also fully believed that my life had changed for the better last year, that I was finally on my way to breaking through the chains of the past that had held me back for so long. I was moving on in life and even more so, in love. I had a brand new relationship that I admit, I was kind of counting on to work out. When it didn't (a mere 48 hours later), my whole world crumbled again. Add that to John getting re-married within two weeks and you can picture the bottom-of-the-barrel self confidence I suddenly possessed.

What if we'd never gotten divorced? What if we'd tried harder? Paid more attention to our marriage and each other? Spent more time talking and listening and loving and less time working and fighting and playing video games? What if we'd made our relationship the priority instead of shuffling it in with all the other daily grind bull shit? What if we'd really, truly sat down and dealt with each other and the issues we faced, instead of sweeping them under the proverbial rug? The world may never know.

What the world does know is that John came home one night, after a long day at work and a long night at the bar, and confessed he no longer wanted children. We'd struggled with a lot of things before this came up, some little stuff, some big stuff, but none of it was a deal breaker. Not having kids was a definite deal breaker, and he knew me well enough to know that. We had baby names picked out. We'd talked about having children together for as long as I could remember. The very first night we spent together, I recall with perfect clarity his arms around me, whispering in the dark, "I can see our children in your eyes." Picture that in a British accent and tell me you wouldn't have fallen in love with him too? But there was that same accent, more than half a decade later, ripping away from me the very dream he'd planted in my heart, in my mind, in my life. He was taking the possibility of a family off the table and no matter what else we'd endured together, we would never be the same again.

And now, three years after the fact, his new wife is about to pop out a bouncing baby boy, on what would have been his nine year wedding anniversary with me. As Alanis Morissette would say, "Isn't it ironic?"

I sit in Starbucks now, same hazelnut chai latte I've been drinking throughout this blog, torturing myself by sneaking peeks at his wife's website. I know it's a mean thing to do, but I cannot resist the sadistic temptation to find out if she's in labor yet. Wondering if he will forever have to live with our wedding anniversary as his child's birthday. Desperate to know if he ever thinks about that 2 a.m. conversation in our kitchen, next to the Wedgewood plates he bought me for my birthday, half a bottle of white wine unfinished on the counter, dinner dishes still in the sink, the smell of lemons and lilies heavy in the air, the last night we would ever spend in bed together. The last time we'd ever see each other outside of a court room. The five minutes it took him to cancel out our relationship, undoing everything we'd worked for across two continents and six years. Will this date, forever etched into the fabric of my mind, stick with him as it has with me?

Some people say it's the worst thing you can do, remembering an anniversary that is better off forgotten. It's not because I miss my ex-husband. It's not even because I miss my marriage. It's because for those few years, I thought that I was the happiest I would ever be. I thought I knew what my life was about, and who I was sharing it with. Now that everything is a mystery waiting to be unraveled, the only thing I can be sure of is who I'm NOT anymore. I'm not his wife. That was a huge part of who I was. I found comfort in my identity there. Now I'm left re-inventing myself. I can be anyone or anything I want to be. I can see myself not just for who I was, or even who I am: I can look forward to who I want to be. I get to decide that. Not my ex-husband. Not anybody else. John, our marriage, our friends, our families, our wedding, our life together will always be a part of who I am. He shaped me in so many ways, whether he knew it or not. And tomorrow, when September 21st is over, he may wake up and be both a husband and a new father. But I get to be something even better. I get to go on being ME.

My mom gave me a card today. It's a cat in a rowboat that has sprung a leak. (The boat, not the cat.) The card reads: Some days, you just have to keep paddling.

Dedicated to all the amazing women in my life who have gotten divorced and not only survived, but thrived! You are more loved than I can express. And for you women who are going through it now: you are stronger than you give yourself credit for, and I promise - it gets easier. Never be afraid of your feelings, and let your girlfriends get you through it. Remember: Boyfriends (husbands) come and go but girlfriends are forever. Keep paddling!

Saturday, March 24, 2012

Fans Take Over

You might have noticed from my Facebook and Twitter pages that lately I’ve been asking an awful lot of questions pertaining to dating and relationships. They are by no means random. Every one of them was spurred from a man that I met or a dating conundrum I was in. As this project passes its second year of existence (thus taking over my personal life completely) I’ve been forced to re-examine many of my outlooks on life, love, and relationships. I have said from the start that I began 100 Cups of Coffee to learn about myself - what I want, what I don’t want, what I’m willing to settle for and what I can’t live without. I can safely say that I now know myself better than I ever did before because I’ve taken the time to ask these questions and really, truly reflect on the answers. I have not glazed over any passing thoughts. Rather, I’ve given them the respect they deserve with honest contemplation. I have taken no experience for granted, but appreciated each one, however insane they may appear at the time. Every date, every man, every question leads to a lesson learned. 
But today is not about the questions I’ve asked. It’s about the answers YOU want to know. For 24 hours, I allowed readers to take over my blog, asking me anything and holds barred. Here are some of my favorites:

Kelly: Why so many questions?????
If two heads are better than one, than 3,200 are much better! I’m not ashamed to admit when I don’t know what to do. Life is a learning curve. How better to equip oneself than getting the opinions of 13 or 29 or 55 other women who are in my shoes, have already been where I am, or who may follow in my footsteps and need some guidance along the way!

Janice: How old are you?
I will be celebrating the first anniversary of my thirtieth birthday in one short month! Seems like only yesterday I was turning thirty but I have to say, this has been a very eventful year, full of twists and turns I could never have predicted. I am very much looking forward to whatever 31 has to offer!

Dolores: So what do you look for in a man? Do you have a specific look or is it just that "something" that catches your eye?

Looks-wise, not particularly. I don’t care what color hair or eyes he has. I don’t even care if he has any! (Ummm, hair. Not eyes. I think a man with no hair can be sexy. A man with no eyes would be freaking weird!)

I will tell you that I’m 5’9 so I “prefer” a man who is taller than me. There is something so reassuring about a man wrapping his strong arms around you and feeling safe and small inside of them. Plus, short guys are harder to dance with.

I think that the thing that catches my eye most is his personality. Do we click right away? Is there instant chemistry? An undeniable attraction? A deeper connection? If so, any man can be sexy. I don’t judge. 

Unless Matt Bomer is available. He is SO my type!!!

Celina: Have you ever had sex on a first date?
Definitely not, but I like that you went right in for the scandalous! Of the 97 Cups so far, I’ve only kissed five and slept with one (being Kit). I know this makes me sound like a prude but believe me, I am a girl that loves to kiss! I think that both kisses and sex should be reserved for someone special though so I tend to hold that back until I’m sure he’s worth it. If you’ve read this blog at all, you know that most of them are not!

Krista: Have you ever been forced to pay the bill because he refused?
There was one guy waaaay back in the beginning of this blog that I met for an afternoon date. I brought a gorgeous picnic basket filled with goodies from the Italian market. Bread, olive oil for dipping, hard cheeses, nuts, salami, marinated olives, pastries, and sparkling lemonade. It was delectable. That was my contribution. His portion of the date was taking us for mini golf which was $7. We finished our lunch, walked over to the golf course and he pulled out his wallet. He said “I only have a ten so I can pay for me and half of you.” HALF OF ME??? What the fuck is that? Which half did you want to pay for asshole? The top half of me that will be swinging the club at you or the bottom half of me that can’t wait to run away?

Bridget: Have you ever gotten up and left right in the middle of a date just because it was that awful?
I have been on some truly awful dates. Dates that other people would have run away screaming from long before I did. I held out whenever possible mostly for the sake of the blog. When things got really bad, I just kept saying to myself “Writing material, writing material, writing material...” and I could stick it out. The only time I took my mother up on her offer of a rescue call was the guy who had:
  1. smelled my hair when we met
  2. a receding hairline 
  3. bifocal glasses 
  4. four layers of clothing on 
  5. nothing to talk about besides work 
  6. had only moved out of his parents house at the age of 33 
  7. never left his own town and had no clue where I lived which was only ten minutes away 
  8. thought that cooking a hamburger on his own made us “food compatible” and my personal favorite 
  9. wrote a cheat sheet on his hand so he would remember all the things he wanted to talk to me about. 
Hi Mom. Rescue call please???

For the whole date, read here: Cheat Sheet

Courtney: Can you have passion and get along with someone on other levels? 
Ab-so-freakin-lutely!!! Actually, it would scare me more if you didn’t have all the things you wanted in one person. Do you have to compromise in relationships? Yes. You do. You have to compromise watching Dancing With the Stars and the Hockey play-offs. That means DVR’ing one show and watching the other live. It does NOT mean compromising who you are and what you want out of a partner. You should be intellectually, spiritually, AND physically compatible with your boyfriend / girlfriend. If any of these things are missing (and none is more important that either of the others) the relationship will not work. There should be a balance. Balance is one of my keywords!

This is not to say you can’t have great sex with someone you have mediocre conversations with. You can. It’s also not to say that you can’t have great conversations with someone you have very little interested in sleeping with. Again, it’s possible. But imagine how fantastic it would be to find a man you can talk to, laugh with, and who gives you the most incredible orgasms of your life. That’s the perfect combination to me. 

This man --- and he does exist --- should be a great friend, someone who intrigues you, someone who gets your jokes, someone you can learn from, someone who makes you want to be a better person, someone who can be trusted, and someone who makes your knees weak with every kiss.

Charlene: Where is the weirdest place you got asked to go?
In the past week I got asked to go out on two first dates. One to (wait for it)... Walmart ... and another to a funeral in another state!
Ps: I didn't go...all I could do was shake my head and walk away!
I attended a date’s friend’s baby’s Christening on a first date. His entire family was there and he didn’t want to be the single guy at yet another party so he asked me to come along. We had a very nice time and I definitely thought there was something more there but I got sick at the end of the night (new medication mixed with too much Chardonnay and not enough lunch) and we haven’t spoken since. I called him the next day to apologize for not feeling well and say what a nice time I was having before then but despite his chivalry and incredibly gracious nature in taking me home from the event, he didn’t ask for a second date. That sucked. 

Kimberly: Quick questions - 1. How do you read "your story"??? I've seen you mention Kit and get the general idea of what happened, but do you have it written somewhere on your blog or here? I would love to read it and be able to share it with my single friends.
If you want to read about Kit & I dating, go to May through August 2011. If you want to read about us breaking up, pretty much anything in September / October sums up that experience. There are A LOT of missing pieces. I was so busy being in love that I barely blogged over the summer but the Cliff’s Notes version can be found on my Facebook page from that time period (if TimeLine lets you scroll back til then?!) I also didn’t blog about the break-up nearly as much as I could have because I was hurting and healing, but it will most likely turn into a book of some sort after this project is over. I’m really glad you and your friends can relate to everything I went through. You are just the sort of ladies I’m writing for!

The first Kit entry is here: Say Cheese

2. When you've gone through something like that, do you suggest some sort of counseling or just getting "back in the saddle" as soon as possible?
In answer to your other question, I definitely suggest taking some time to heal your heart. I wrote a blog fairly recently that I dedicated to four of my girlfriends who were going through bad break ups around the same time I was. There is not necessarily a universal twelve step program for getting over a relationship but you must must must take the time to mourn. A break up is like a death. There are stages of grieving and you’ve got to allow yourself to go through all of them. In my honest opinion, if you try jumping out of the frying pan into the fire, you’re only going to get burned.

My answers to recovering from a bad break up: This One's For the Girls

Bambi: So have you figured out why men cheat and lie?
Men cheat because they can. They lie so they don’t get caught.

Friday, March 2, 2012

Punishment for Men

Dear Kim, 

I recently read your posts about Leap Day and the traditions of a woman proposing marriage (or in this case, a date) to a man. You calling up Mike and asking him out on a date was so inspirational for me. I was really proud of you for mustering that much courage and just going for it! Your journey has been an incredible thing to watch and I love reading the stories you tell, be it about heartbreak, joy, doubt, faith, tears, trials, trust, hope, love, or just good old fashioned craziness. You've moved me to ask out my own Prince Charming (here's hoping he says YES!) 

I was so impressed with your tenacity that I wanted to investigate the folklore further on my own. You'd be shocked at what I came up with!

There was a series of 13 postcards published on Slate depicting lady's proposals dating all the way back to 1907. Women who took part in custom had all of Leap Year to do so, not just the day. That aside, they were often ridiculed, publicly shamed, and persecuted for their brazenness and audacity at asking for a man's hand. If a woman so much as asked a man to dance, she was instantly made the butt of the town jokes, having everything from her appearance degraded to her character questioned. These women were considered the worst sort of desperate. Look at some of the postcard descriptors:

Marriage is a raw deal for men no matter the appearance of one’s potential bride. 

Any woman with a strong personality probably also has a face like a troll.

The notion of marriage as punishment for men...

The practice of allowing women to propose marriage not only emasculates men but also dehumanizes them. Apparently, what women really want is for their husbands to be glorified house pets.

Leap-year-proposal postcards enforced a double standard by valorizing bachelors at the same time that they depicted unmarried women as undesirable. 

Leap-year-postcard artists often drew women resorting to violence in their attempts to get a man to marry them and showed women as bigger, stronger, and more forceful than men. “These domineering women were commonly depicted as unattractive aggressors.”

A woman who asks for what she wants: the ultimate boner-killer.

I'm just wondering what your take on all these postcards and captions are, being a woman who is clearly not afraid to take charge and ask for what she wants?

Thanks for sharing your exceptional writing with the world. Keep at it! We're all rooting for you, 


Dear Katherine,

Firstly, thank you for reading my blog and for the kind words about my Leap Day experiment. It wasn't easy getting up the courage to ask out a complete stranger, but I must admit that I probably had the best experience anyone could hope to have in that situation. Mike was fun and witty and charming to talk to. He made me laugh and was so easy going that I knew asking him out was the right decision. I can't say that I'm quite so brazen in person. I've never just walked up to a man I didn't know and asked him out on the spot! (I did sneak my number into the back pocket of a cute guy at a club once. Could not bring myself to talk to him. Was a chicken shit back then. Am much braver now!)

I think that I just kept telling myself: What's the worst thing that could happen? He says no? So what? I don't know this guy from a hole in the wall. He might like me, he might not. But I'll never know unless I take that chance. The reward is always worth the risk. You've got to put yourself out there. You simply have to. 

Oh, and please let me know what happens with your date! I think it's great that you're making a move. Be confident. Be strong. Be fun and flirty and interesting. Asking someone out is NOT a sign of desperation. It just means you're a woman who knows what she wants and there is nothing wrong with that!

As for these postcards, I really had to allow my blood to stop boiling before I could respond. For them to say that a woman who knows what she wants is a boner-killer?!?! Who are they kidding? Ask ANY guy who he enjoys being with in the bedroom and he'll say "A woman who knows what she wants!" We are a decisive bunch who can tell you what we're looking for and how to give it to us. That just means we never have to fake it!

"Forceful, domineering, unattractive aggressors..." is the most ridiculous line of bull shit I have ever heard! Think about all the female friends in your life. Perhaps some of them sat back and waited for men to approach them. Perhaps they entertained the idea that love would just fall into their laps. Perhaps they thought that the only men they deserved to be with were men who wanted them first, made the first move, and they are entitled to that opinion. I am a woman who runs at life with arms wide open and that includes embracing love. If there's a man that catches my eye, you can be damn sure I'm letting him know. That doesn't make me unattractive. That makes those other girls wimps!

I think that the caption about bachelors being valiant while unmarried women are undesirable is positively hilarious. There are plenty of undesirable people in this world, but whether they are married or not has little bearing on that fact. 

Marriage being a "raw deal" or "punishment" for men is complete and utter bull shit! There are multiple studies that show married men benefit from longer lives, better health, greater financial security, better sex, and overall greater happiness compared to their single counterparts at every age! Marriage (in my opinion) is the thing that keeps men sane. Ask just about any middle-aged guy (even the ones who complain) and chances are he wouldn't have a clue what he'd do without his wife...and he likely never wants to find out.

This brings us to my favorite of these quotes: Any woman with a strong personality probably also has a face like a troll. I promise you that I do not now, nor have I ever lived under a bridge, guarded a castle, or eaten a small child. For men, a woman's beauty is her strength. For me, a woman's strength is her beauty.

There's a reason it's 2012 and not 1907 anymore. These outdated notions of female helplessness are long gone. It's amazing the difference 100 years makes. I wonder what people in the next century will think of us?

Happy Dating, 


Thursday, March 1, 2012

A Mike of My Own

There are very few things I am certain of in this world. I'm not certain what hair color looks best on me. I'm not certain I will ever lose those extra twenty pounds. I'm not certain my books will get published, my apartment will ever be clean or I will learn to make minute rice.

I am certain that I am supposed to marry a man named Mike.

(No pressure, right???)

This might sound crazy to you. How can someone know the name of the person they're supposed to marry? If we all knew that, wouldn't we only date people with that name? Well, that would make sense but it's not always so easy. Not everyone gets the completely trustworthy information I got from a 100% reliable source: a gypsy woman in Little Italy.

I know, I know, where else would I learn this sort of detail about my future life? Doesn't everyone get their palms read by street corner gypsies? If not, you should be! Best $5 I ever spent.

Ok, fine, the cost factor aside, here's what happened: I was walking down Hester Street in Little Italy one summer night with my boyfriend (please note, we're going back several years here.) We had just gotten hazelnut gelato at Cafe Bella Ferrara and as I'm kind of a clutz, we were not holding hands. I have the innate ability to create messes everywhere I go. Throw melty, creamy desserts into the mix and I'm a walking disaster waiting to happen. We were walking and talking and approaching this lady who was sitting at a small makeshift table on the corner of Hester and Mulberry. She smiled up at me and asked if I'd like to have my palm read. I showed her the ice cream cone and she said, "That's ok, you hold it in one hand and I'll just read the other." I was hesitant but she promised it would be quick.

Right off the bat, she astonished me. She knew about some of the crazy dreams I have and my connection to relatives who've passed. She knew the struggles of my divorce and the strain it had put on my faith. She knew how close I was with my family and how I'd already changed careers at such a young age. Basically, she was spot on about my past.

Then she looked at me kinda sideways and told me not to worry, there was love in my future as well. "Your husband's name is Mike," she said profoundly. "How do you know that?" I asked. "I can see it right here in your hand," she showed me, tracing the M with her pinky. "M for Mike."

"Any chance it could be Mark?" I questioned. (Mark being my boyfriend at the time.)

"No, it is definitely Mike," replied the gypsy calmly.

"Any chance it could be Matt?" demanded Mark. (His best friend is Matt and we've always had a flirty chemistry.)

"No. It is definitely not Mark and it is definitely not Matt. It is Mike. The man you will marry is called Mike." She said it as thought she were explaining the difference to me between black and white. This is just how the world is and that's all there is to it.

Mark stormed off down the block.

My face fell. I was confused, crushed, and now had an angry boyfriend and a melted gelato cone. "I don't know any Mike," I half-heartedly replied with my face towards the ground. She tilted my chin up towards her sparkling eyes, looking right at me with the intensity of age old wisdom. "You will," smiled the gypsy.

I paid her the five dollars and threw the remnants of my dessert in the trash. I wasn't sure which had faded faster: the ice cream in the heat of that August night, or my faith in the relationship I had with Mark that he would someday be my husband.

Fast forward two weeks and a shocking phone call later. My four best friends in the world are all sisters and I love them dearly. Cindy, the third in the bunch, called home to say she'd eloped with her boyfriend to Tennessee. She was thrilled to tell us she had married Mike. Young and in love...I remember those days. They have a beautiful little boy now, my sweet, smart, incredible nephew, whom we affectionately refer to as Baby Mike. Despite his starting pre-school this week, I will likely call him Baby Mike for the rest of his life. He's just too cute.

The oldest sister, Suzy, also surprised the hell out of the family when she met, dated, became engaged to, and married her Mike in a span of only nine months. She'd waited her entire life to meet someone like him and I have to say, he gets my vote for world's best husband any day of the week and twice on Sundays. Mike would stop the world for Suzy if he could, and I'm fairly sure he's tried on several occasions.

Then there is Kat whose best friend is called (can you guess?) Mike. They have a very strong connection and a supportive, loving relationship. There is no doubt in my mind that given the right chance at the right time, Kat and her Mike would have made a great couple. Only time will tell with those two!

The youngest of the sisters is only fourteen. I'm waiting for the day she calls me from high school to tell me about her first boyfriend who, I'm 98% certain, will be called Mike. Let's not rush her!

This sisterly bonding over Suzy's Mike / Cindy's Mike / Kat's Mike / Baby Mike left me feeling very excluded. As such, I was motivated to write the short story A Mike Of My Own (which I'm debating turning into a screenplay) about four sisters who all try to set their fifth sister up on date after date with nice guys like John, Roger, Bill, Bob, Dan, and Ken. After meeting so many men, they finally introduce her to --- who else??? --- Mike!!! Sister #5 (aka me) falls madly in love with "Mike" and they go on to live happily ever after. Except that the girls know his real name...and it isn't Mike. Did Sister #5 fall in love with the man? Or the name?

Call it my obsession with The Importance of Being Earnest if you want, but when Gwendolyn says "It has always been a girlish dream of mine to marry a man called Ernest," I know exactly to what she is referring. Of course, there are plenty of good and decent men in the world who are not called Ernest (or in my case, Mike) and I may live very well with any of them. Still, it seems to me that the only real way to prove the gypsy prophecy true or false is to find a Mike of my own and see if he is, indeed, worth marrying.

I am trying to keep my expectations low for my Leap Day date with Mike, the traveling pirate. In fact, I may begin to refer to him solely as Captain Jack Sparrow to keep those high hopes in check. It is not the name of the man I wish to fall for, rather the character of him. Let's just hope that his character is earnest!

Wednesday, February 29, 2012

Leap Day Miracle

I am definitely kissing this guy on the first date.

Ummm...sorry. Maybe I should start from the beginning???

This week has really gotten me thinking about my last few dates. This project is coming to a close and I've only got a couple of "cups" left. What could I do to spice things up? (Pardon the play-on-name.) Then it hit me: LEAP DAY.

As I explained in Married, Gay, or Dead yesterday, Leap Day is the one day every four years when - according to British tradition - a woman can propose to a man. But who would I propose to?

After scouring my friends and family for prospects, only ONE person could give me the name and number of a "great single guy" in his thirties. I thought for certain all hope was lost. What if I called this guy and he said no? My brilliant plan of asking out a dozen guys looked bleak at best. I was certain there was no hope for a Leap Day Love in my future.

This morning, I woke up to a message from a dear girlfriend I haven't seen in a while. We're theatre pals from our improv comedy days. She gave me the name and number of a fellow improviser friend with the provision that he's leaving for Paris for a week but would enjoy being asked out before he goes.

Oh great. The memories of the guy who "moved to China" to escape a second date with me have not faded from my memory. I shudder at the thought of another man who might put an ocean or two between us rather than involve himself in a romance. Still, I have no other truly promising options, so I make the call.

One thing you should know about me: I have a weakness for any man named Mike. Those who read this blog two summers ago will recall my extreme disappointment with the first Michael I dated, but I refuse to allow his loser-dom to taint my belief that I am destined to be with a man named Michael. (That's a blog in and of itself.) So when Jess said, "My friend Mike is game for the asking" I knew that I was calling him no matter what!

First of all, I'm exceptionally grateful that Jess had given him a heads-up that I'd be calling. Didn't want to blindside the poor guy! I introduced myself on the phone and his voice quickly picked up into a smile and I felt like he was incredibly glad (if not surprised) to hear from me! I'm guessing it's not every day that a random girl calls and says "Hi, you don't know me but I want to go on a date with you." Actually, if that does happen to you every day, Congrats and please tell me what you know that I don't!

We got into a fun, light-hearted, interesting conversation about his work flying around the world and my work on the book. We chatted about our favorite spots in Europe and how New York would always be home. He made me laugh more times per minute than I could have dreamed and I was instantly at ease with him. Mike felt like an old friend on the phone, not some guy I'd never met.

Life has a funny way of working itself out sometimes. Mike was one of the actors in a play Jess wrote last year that I attended. His humor and charming good looks made him wonderful to watch and it was strangely comforting to know "we've already been in the same room together," as he put it. Makes us feel less like strangers and more like friends who just haven't met yet.

Have you ever experienced a moment so surreal you're not entirely sure you're really in it? Like being in a dream world but you know you're awake? I was driving to Starbucks to write this very blog and had called Mike from the car. My plan was to call, chat, ask him out and get it over with as quickly as possible. Ten minutes max. I arrived at the home office in those ten minutes, parked, and stayed on the phone with him for a half hour longer.

The rain pouring down on my windshield looked like a movie set. It was cold and wet and miserable outside, but in my car, with Mike's voice in my ear, my laughter ricocheting around the seats, I was warm and toasty and completely happy. We giggled like small children about our favorite Disney movies. He can speak French and wear huge boots and stomp around like Gaston for me anyday! He offered to break out the Jack Sparrow vest on our date so we could play pirates which almost had me in a When Harry Met Sally diner moment. The only thing I adore more than Disney princes are Disney pirates!!! He's got the same silly sense of humor that I do and I felt all the nerves melt away as I relaxed into being my ridiculous self with him.

Then it came time to pop the question. The nerves kicked right back in! I knew it was dumb. We'd already been on the phone for thirty minutes. I had no reason in the world to think for a second he'd say no. But I had to say the words. I had to ask him out on a date.

"So, Mike - aka Gaston - aka Captain Jack Sparrow - I was wondering, upon your return from overseas adventures, would you like to go on a date with me?"

"Yes. Hell yes. Let's do it!"

HUGE sigh of relief! He did not hesitate in the least with his enthusiastic response. I felt this crazy smile come over my face. One of those ear to ear grins you only see in cartoons. We made a date for next Tuesday when he gets back from Paris. I'm planning our date (a million ideas pinballing around in my brain) and I'm trying SO hard not to count the minutes between now and then. I've gotten my hopes up before. I've put all my eggs in one basket. I've counted my chickens before they've hatched and I am NOT doing that this time. We are going to take it slow, have a good time, and enjoy the hell out of getting to know each other.

But you can be damn sure I'm kissing him on Tuesday.

Tuesday, February 28, 2012

Married, Gay or Dead

There is a hilarious book from The Sweet Potato Queens entitled Every Man I've Ever Loved is Married, Gay, or Dead.

It's a financial planner with recipes, but that's not the point.

The point is that I cannot, for the life of me, find a straight, single guy to date!

Not. One. Guy.

I posted on my personal facebook page, my 100 Cups of Coffee facebook page, and twitter, as well as sending a text message to twenty of my friends that I want to ask a guy out tomorrow. In keeping with Irish tradition, a woman may "propose" to a man on Leap Day (February 29th) which occurs only once every four years.

For more information, just watch the movie Leap Year. It stars Amy Adams who is cute as a button so you'd want to watch it anyway. Oh, plus the super adorable guy she falls in love with is pretty easy on the eyes... Just saying.

Sorry, where was I?

Oh, right. Leap Years! According to English, Scottish, and Irish lore, a woman may propose to the man of her choice only during a leap year. If he refuses her hand, he owes her a payment of one hundred pounds (roughly $158 today). If he cannot afford the hundred pounds, he may grant her a silk gown and a kiss.

I don't know about you ladies, but I'm in dire need of some extra cash, or at the very least, a new dress. Not that I'd mind the kissing either!!!

That being said, I'm certainly in no rush to propose marriage to a man (hell, I don't even have a date this weekend!) but I would like to propose coffee. Dinner, maybe? Perhaps flying kites in the park or messy ice cream sundaes or mildly satisfying phone sex --- SOMETHING! I don't really care what at this point. All I know is that I need to get my head back in the game and I want a real person to play it with.

I figured that if I had a personal recommendation from a friend, the quality of male candidates would be higher. Frankly, I can't get much lower than the guys I've met online this year. Picks his nose? Check. Mommy complex? Check. Never left Brooklyn? Check. Cracked open his Darth Vader piggy bank to pay for our date? Checkmate.

Seriously, where are the single, straight, smart, successful, funny, cute, tall guys in their thirties with good educations, great families, and a desire to settle down???



Or Dead.

Alright, alright, I hope they're not dead. But it seems to me upon closer inspection that all the good guys, the guys actually worth having, are already taken. This boggles my mind. I know plenty of amazing single women in their thirties. Ladies with careers and apartments and cars and friends and hobbies and they are interesting and witty and most of them are incredibly beautiful. These girls are a dime a dozen. I know because I'm one of them. Yet find a man with a job??? A man with his own place??? A man who meets the bare minimum of qualities we're looking for and we fawn over him like he's some great catch!

Wow, he paid for the movie tickets? Swoon! He held the door open? Swoon! He walked you to your car? Swoon!

Where the hell is romance in all of this? Why aren't we being the ones who are courted anymore? I got an email from a guy online the other day that read: "Do u shave?"


Here's what's wrong with the world today: This Leap Year tradition is supposed to empower women to take charge one day every four years. Sadly, we've taken charge every day for the last forty years because men aren't men anymore. They're cowardly. They're chicken shit. They realized that we now outnumber them so they don't have to put the work in anymore. They make no real effort to court us! There is no wooing.

Whatever happened to wooing?

I said to my mother earlier, "Why can't I just find a nice, normal guy who enjoys cooking and snuggling and being romantic and taking road trips and dresses nicely and has great manners and is generous in bed and takes me out dancing every once in a while?"

My mother replied, "Because those men already have boyfriends."

I fear she might be right. All those ladies I asked? They can't think of a single, straight guy to send my way. But if I'm ever in need of a gay boyfriend, they can definitely hook me up!

Single, straight men of the world, I implore you to come out of hiding. Valentine's Day is over, there are no more major gift giving holidays for at least ten months! You can date freely and without cause for concern about your precious wallets. Women today aren't asking for much. Maybe you take us out to dinner every so often. Maybe you let us meet your mothers. Maybe you share control of the remote every other evening. Maybe you just say YES when one of us fantastic ladies asks you on a date every four years. Because if you don't, please know that I am always in need of a new dress and a kiss.