The Grand Tour

After an amazing first kiss in Bryant Park, Kit & I continued our walk around midtown Manhattan, holding hands and occasionally stopping to stare into each other's eyes. It was all very dreamlike and completely surreal. I felt so safe in his arms, so trusting of this new man I'd only just met but felt like I'd known forever. It did not even register to me that we'd been trekking through the city for almost eight whole hours because my feet didn't hurt at all. I guess that's what happens when you're walking on clouds.

Seeing as we're both totally nerdy, Kit knew that I would love to hear all about the tour he'd recently taken of Grand Central Terminal. He described the architecture, the intricate stonework, the staircases, the statues and gargoyles, the windows, the constellations on the ceiling, even the history of the building, its renovations, and the wartime dormant years. For those of you non-New Yorkers, when you come visit our fair city, Grand Central is one of the places you simply have to see. Actually, even if you're from here, take the tour. It gives you a great insight into one of those places we all take for granted every day. There is so much history here, so many wonderful little nuances, so many hidden secrets unexplored by the general public.

Kit's favorite part of showing me around both inside and out of the majestic train station was my reaction to every single thing he pointed out. I have a tendency to show my emotions very clearly and if I'm amazed or in awe of something, you will *know*. Likewise, if I'm disgusted, angry, hurt or even bored, it's written all over my face and there is no ignoring it. He had captured my full attention and I soaked up all the ambience of the place. There's a secret window on the second floor that still opens and provides the most surprising breeze. There is an archway where you can stand twenty feet away from someone with your back to them, whisper, and they will hear you clearer than a cell phone signal. There is a gorgeous open hall where you can have a wedding reception in the true style of America's Gilded Age. But best of all, there is The Campbell Apartment, a 1920's throwback lounge, classy and elegant and extremely elite. Kit tells me he's always wanted to sit in one of their upholstered leatherback chairs sipping vintage cocktails reminiscent of the Jazz Age but never felt comfortable enough with the dress code to go in. I promise him right then and there that following his graduation in a few months, we will get "dressed to the nines" and enjoy sidecars and martinis and Prohibition Punch. I am envisioning this man in a suit and me in a dress with drinks in hand and a huge smile takes over my face. Yes, the Beaux-Arts decor, Gatsby grand piano and mahogany barstools are stunning but it's Kit that I want to be next to in this place. I've got the feeling he would make anything more special than it already is. Anything at all.

He takes my hand and leads me outside where the nighttime Spring air has cooled considerably. Kit tells me about Tudor City, another place I've never been that he really wants to show me. We cross town headed East on 42nd Street, leaving the bustling center of the city behind us and head up a set of stairs just before reaching the water. Kit takes off his jacket and hands it to me as I'm noticeably chilly but I refuse his coat. He tries a second time to hand it to me, insisting that he doesn't need it as much as I do. Again, I play the stubborn, independent woman I've had to become since my divorce, denying help from anyone I don't ABSOLUTELY need it from, most of all - a man. He smiles at me a third time, shakes his head and wraps the coat around my shoulders saying that he has something extra special to share with me, but not until I stop being stupid. I instantly feel the warmth of his jacket spread across my skin like a comforting blanket, made even better by the fact that it smells like him. I want to curl up inside it and fall asleep right here on these stairs, I'm so happy, but once my arms are safely inside the coat, Kit takes a minute to button me up for extra measure. His soft gaze meets mine as I tilt my head up at him, stunned by how easily I am falling for this man.

Kit gently asks me to close my eyes and while the skeptic in me is screaming, I'm so heavily under his spell at this point that I would do just about anything he asked me to. He takes both of my hands in his own and leads me a few steps down the sidewalk. I am instantly freezing as a very strong breeze comes over us and even with his jacket on, I shiver a little. Kit turns me away from him, stands directly behind me, and puts my hands on what I can only assume is a railing. He wraps both arms around mine in the most reassuring embrace and whispers in my ear, "Open your eyes." I find myself face to face with a perfectly clear view straight down what is arguably New York City's busiest and most recognizable street. 42nd St is wide open in front of me and I can see clear from the water behind us to the harbor on the other side of the island. We are on a bridge above traffic, above people, above the ant's view of the world I'm so used to. We are looking straight down the middle of Manhattan and I am blown away. Kit squeezes his arms around me a little harder and kisses my neck and it takes my breath away. I whip around to face him again and our lips meet and we are kissing and I swear, I am on top of the world.

We kiss for what feels like an eternity on that bridge although I am certain that it was only a few moments. Time ceases to exist as soon as his arms are around me or his lips meet mine or sometimes, even just when we're in the same room together. He checks the time, in total disbelief of how long we've been out together. Eight hours is by no means conventional for a first date (or any date, really) and I don't advocate it at all unless you are so ridiculously smitten with your partner that you forget about time altogether and are both shocked to discover that the moon is out instead of the sun. Yet it doesn't feel like long enough when you've just met the man you feel like you've been waiting your entire life to meet. I know that it's time to go home but can barely stomach the thought of leaving Kit's side. Thankfully for me, he feels the same way.

We walk back to Grand Central to catch our subways but sit for a few minutes on a bench, just to say proper goodbyes. Kit puts his head in my lap and I run my fingers through his hair, telling him what an amazing day I had. He is the middle of saying something super sweet when he begins trailing off and I realize he's fallen asleep. Of all the dates I went on last year, falling asleep is definitely a first for me to deal with. I'm a little annoyed that he's so tired by 9 pm but at the same time, a little flattered that he's so comfortable with me to just relax. I let him lay there for a while and eventually, he wakes and gives me a look that says "Did that just happen?" I smile at him, take his hand, and we head for the trains. Kit kisses me good night with soft lips and sleepy eyes and I wrap my arms around his neck, memorizing him and the moment.

As I head home, my phone rings and it's my best friend. She's calling back from this afternoon when I was so incredibly nervous on my way to see Kit. It feels like a lifetime ago and now I can't even imagine being nervous around him though I distinctly remember wanting to throw up on the train ride in. She asks the standard best friend question when you know someone has just been on a first date, "How was it?"

How was it? How was it? There are no words to describe how it was. There are no words to describe how completely perfect he is and how happy I am and how suddenly optimistic I am about dating and love and relationships and the whole world which didn't make sense until today. There are no words to describe how my life hadn't really started until just now. There are no words to describe the sheer joy in my heart. So I simply tell her what I'm feeling...

He is my happy ending.

Kids in a Candy Store

I exit the subway at Rockefeller Center with enough adrenaline running through me that you'd think it was a tie score, bottom of the 9th, bases loaded, seventh game of the World Series. Which, in my world, it is. I haven't been on a "cup" in five months. I haven't met anyone new in almost half a year after dating 92 losers. A year in the life of 100 Cups of Coffee has been exhausting. Physically, mentally, and emotionally draining. I've had to learn the childhood memories / go-to drinks / food allergies / favorite radio stations of 92 men, not to mention their jobs / where they live / pets' names. After all that, you can understand why a girl needed a break. I'm not complaining, mind you. For the most part, it was fun. I got to go a lot of places I'd never been before, have new experiences, and meet some very interesting people (I'm using the term "interesting" ironically here!) Yet *this* first date is special. This date is with Kit. This date is making me very nervous. Because for once, I really, really like him.

I pull my phone out of my bag and call Kit. We're meeting on 5th Ave outside of St Patrick's but I know that he was at least an hour early and I am perpetually five minutes late to everything. I sometimes wonder what my life would be like if I was ever on time but the simple fact is that punctuality is not in my nature. It's a quirk. Get over it.

He answers with a shaky "hello?" and I smile into the phone. "Hey," I say, "I'm out of the subway. Where are you?" "I am standing by the tulips, anxiously waiting for you to arrive." I smile again. He pauses a moment before asking, "Are you nervous?" I am. Of course I am. But do I tell him that? Do I want him to know how much I want him to be normal? How the whole train ride in I've been nauseas over the thought of meeting him? How I'm secretly praying that he doesn't look like the Elephant Man because I can't seem to wrap my head around the concept that he just might really be as good as I think he is? No, I don't tell him any of this. I just giggle and say "Yes. Yes, I'm definitely nervous. Excited mixed with scared and a dash of hungry." He laughs and says, "Ok, good, now we can be nervous together and that way it'll be easy to relax. Besides, you have nothing to be nervous about. You look really pretty."

I stop dead in my tracks. "Wait, can you see me?" I gasp. He shyly admits that he can. I frantically scan the sidewalk for anyone on a cell phone but this is midtown Manhattan on a Sunday afternoon. I feel wave after wave of tourists wash past me, each one looking at the skyscrapers or the cathedral or window shopping. I try to focus past anyone with a camera or already holding hands with a partner or carrying a small child. Kit is laughing to himself on the other end of the phone and I retort with "What happened? Did you see me and change your mind? Did you realize I'm not as cute in person and you ran? Cause I did NOT come all this way to get stood up!" "No, no, no, no," he reassures me. "Actually, your hair looks great short and you're so elegant, I was worried I wouldn't be good enough for you."

With this, my gaze falls on an incredibly cute boy who has popped out from behind a vending truck. He waves with the phone and smiles at me. It's Kit. I know it is. But I can't talk. I can't do anything but stare. He. Is. Gorgeous.

I clumsily hang up my phone and slide it back into my purse. He stuffs his cell into his coat pocket and grins goofily at me while extending his arms. Before I know what's happening, we're hugging and not one of those crappy, one-armed, pat on the back hugs. A real embrace. I linger there, memorizing the moment - the feel of his wool coat against my cheek, the faint smell of Old Spice on his collar, the way his arms fit perfectly around my waist, the sounds of the cars and people around us. Time stops right then and there and New York City fades away. Kit and I are all that exist. I am instantly lost in him.

I pull back for a second and stare at his face, still in disbelief that I'm here with him and that he's real. He's SO much cuter in person than his pictures online and I wonder how the universe came to send me this man? He appears to be from a different planet than all the other boys I've dated. He seems normal.

Just then, I beam up at him and say with total distrust: "Were you seriously hiding behind a falafel cart?!?!" We both burst out in laughter at the kabob truck he'd used to conceal himself from me and head out across the street. He takes my hand in his and it feels like the most natural thing in the world, like this isn't our first date, like we didn't just meet three minutes ago. All my nerves are instantly calmed and I find myself relaxing into the safety of his palm against mine, our fingers meshing, our skin touching. There is a tingly, excited heat between us I never want to let go of. Not ever.

Our plan was to head over to Saks Fifth Avenue cafe for afternoon tea. The window seats overlook the rooftop gardens at Rock Center and they are truly beautiful. I love knowing these hidden secrets around my city, all those tiny treasures you can't see from the street. Yet Kit says he isn't hungry just yet so I have a few ideas on the back burner. Yes, most of them are ridiculous but he's such a good sport and tells me to lead him anywhere. So I do. I lead him into the American Girl store.

I know what you're thinking. He didn't turn and run away screaming at that exact moment? Nope. He did not. I told him that I had a surprise for him and he just smiled and said "Lead the way." We took the three escalators up (the place is huge) to the historic doll level and I pointed out the reason we'd come in. There is an American Girl doll named Kit. She's a newspaper journalist (at the ripe old age of 9) living during the Great Depression, writing about her family's hardships. He loved it! Was so proud and impressed that he shared a name with this inspirational little girl (even if she is fictional) and really touched that I thought to bring him in here and show it to him.

Then it was his turn to shock me. "These dolls are great. They really give girls an appreciation for history and sports and getting involved in stuff. If I have girls, this is exactly the sort of thing I want them to learn."

I'm sorry. Girls?

"Yeah. it's something I've thought about a lot actually. I want my girls to play with dolls and do dress up and other frilly stuff. But I also want to teach them how to play soccer and tennis and enjoy the outdoors and not be afraid of getting a little muddy. I want them to love music and know how to cook and take them camping and be Scouts."

Um, wow. And how many kids do you want?

Five.

FIVE?!?! ME TOO!!!

I mean, with the costs of raising kids these days and college educations and stuff, I think I could probably settle on three. And I definitely want a boy. But yeah, I think I mostly want girls.

Well, since you have this all planned out, are there any names you were thinking?

Hmmm. Sara. I always liked Sara. Also Catherine and Elizabeth. Actually, Catherine Elizabeth. That's my favorite name.

Ho. Ly. Shit. That's MY favorite name for a girl. Ever. I also like Emily. But no joke, all of my baby dolls when I was little were named Catherine, Sara, or Elizabeth. All of them. Except for Kirsten, Felicity, and Samantha obviously. But the American girls already come named so that was not my fault. PS: Sorry, I was never a fan of Molly.

At this moment, we simultaneously realize that we are picking out names for our future children together within an hour of meeting and perhaps we should go somewhere else. Anywhere else. The following list includes highlights from the remainder of our first date:

Teagschwendner - break it down and it's just a German Tea Vender. We sample several teas and I buy an Earl Grey Lavender and a Cream Nut Brittle. Kit falls madly in love with a Gummy Bear tea, in total disbelief that someone combined his favorite candy with his favorite beverage. We are both in tea heaven!

Lego Store - yes, we are giant children and both love toys. Especially toys from our childhoods. Never let it be said that 80's babies are not a nostalgic bunch! He searches in vain for Batman Legos (which I don't think exist) and grieves upon the realization that they've been replaced with Star Wars Legos and the Knights & Castles collection. We pore over the intricate detail work of the Lego Rock Center display, right down to the mermaid statue, skaters on the rink, tourists with tiny Lego cameras around their necks, and even a construction crew with Lego jackhammers.

Rock Center - we take turns pointing out our favorite spots in the bustling tourist trap, admiring the ice skaters, and sharing memories. Kit snaps a photo of the famous Prometheus statue and makes it the background on his phone. Our first date immortalized in modern technology!

Maison du Chocolat - one of the two best chocolate shops in the city (the other is Jacques Torres) and the smell almost knocks us over when we walk in. It's pure, sweet heaven. I treat myself to a small box of French macarons, This day just keeps getting better and better.

Some random streets - I recall this gorgeous indoor waterfall I really want Kit to see and we wander through street after street looking for it. I cannot quite remember where exactly it is but he gives me the grand tour of fancy places his dad worked when he was a kid and even shows me where his mom used to take them out for Chinese food (apparently Panda Pavilion was *the* place for sesame chicken!) We find some street art on display at an abandoned storefront where a couple of artists are asking everyone's opinion on graffiti as a form of self expression in the city. First of all, you don't want to ask me honest opinion on anything, because I will give it to you! Second of all, Kit and I discuss for a moment and realize that we are both opposed to street art when it ruins perfectly respectable buildings. This team is trying to get NYC to re-appropriate unused lands and buildings as space for art, in an attempt to get residents more involved in their local communities and feel pride about the places they live. Hey - to each their own. The artists give us buttons and postcards to remember the installation and while I'm pretty sure I'll be spending more time admiring French impressionists at the Met than graffiti on a warehouse, I admire their initiative and it did give us something to talk about!

Disney Store - If you haven't figured it out already, Kit and I are acting like overgrown children and having way too much fun doing it! He shows me through the "boys side" of the store, and I show him around the "girls side" of the store. Here's the thing: the very obviously boy's section is filled with Cars, Toy Story, and comic book characters (which I didn't even know Disney owned, but apparently they do.) Throughout this dating process, I have not been able to escape dating men who freakin love comic books and Kit is no exception. Only problem is that I don't get it. I don't understand the obsession with comics. Aren't they for kids? He takes my hand, looks me right in the eyes, and starts to explain. "Alright, you're a nerd, yes?" I nod yes. There's no point in denying it. "And you love history, right? Well, what kind of stories did the Greeks and Romans tell? They told stories of heroes and villains. Gods and mortals. Beings with extreme intelligence and supernatural powers. That's exactly what comic books are. They're tales of good versus evil. When we look back 2,000 years, we find Greek and Roman mythology and that's how their culture lives on. When future generations look at us, they'll be able to see what our values were by the stories we told and so much of our history can be seen through comics." Ummm, wow. Nobody has ever been able to relate it to me like that. It almost makes sense now. Plus, Kit's mom gave him his first comic book when he was six years old (The Green Lantern) because that was her favorite story as a child. It's something they share, a way for him to connect with her even though she's gone. I suddenly have a very soft spot in my heart for this man, his mother, and his love of comics. Then I make him spend time wandering the pink princess section just to shake off all the testosterone I just absorbed! Yay, Cinderella :-)

Toys R Us - right up the street from Disney and hey, as long as we're on a throwback kick, we might as well enjoy every moment of it! Besides, Kit is convinced that they will have the Batman Legos. It makes me sad when he is sorely disappointed, yet again. We have a great deal of laughter in the games section - you would not believe the explicit nature of board game names these days! Maybe it was just our dirty minds (also the name of a game) but there was some suggestive language happening there. It was nice to let our guards down a little and just be playful and tease each other. I think we'd both been on our best behavior, still wanting to impress the other, that when the opportunity arose to be slightly immature, we both jumped on it. There were a few times in the games section that the aisles got particularly narrow and Kit and I were very, very close to each other. I thought he was going to kiss me. I wanted him to kiss me. I cannot tell you how very badly I wanted him to kiss me. He didn't kiss me. Sigh...

7th Avenue - Do you like comedy? Do you like to laugh? Hey, you wanna come see a comedy show tonight? If you've ever walked through Times Square, you have been assaulted by "barkers" on every corner, trying to rope you into seeing a show of some sort, usually stand up comedy, usually pretty awful. Kit and I barreled our way through the barkers, ignoring them whenever possible, coming up with witty and sarcastic retorts whenever they got in our faces. He would way something like "No, I prefer tragedy" whereas I would just start speaking French or Italian, pretending not to understand what they were saying. He held my hand tighter through this crowd, not wanting me to get lost in the shuffle when we were approached by a totally different kind of man who said "Hi gorgeous married people. What's up? My name's Jesse." Stopped. In. Our. Tracks... Married?!?! He continued, "Aw, man, you really got yourself a beautiful wife here. You are one lucky guy. Just look at you. I can tell by the way you look at her that this is your true love. You know how a man just knows when he's gonna spend the rest of his life with a woman? And why wouldn't you want to grow old with her? She's so pretty. Tall, blonde, looks at you with those big, blue eyes and I bet she just melts your heart, doesn't she? How long have you two been in love?" Kit squeezes my hand and says, "Jesse, it feels like a lifetime." Moral of the story: Jesse was a homeless man who'd recently gotten out of jail and rehab, trying to set up a new life for himself, working for a non-profit that offers shelter to people in need who truly clean up their acts. He was simply asking for small donations to keep a roof over his head, clothes on his back and food in his stomach. Of course we wanted to help him out. To be perfectly honest, Jesse could've been selling time shares to the moon and we would've bought one. He will most likely never know that he's part of our story, but Kit and I got married by a homeless man on our first date and if that doesn't lead to a happily ever after, I don't know what will!!!

Stecchino - a gorgeous little wine and cheese bar on 9th & 50th. I took my single girlfriends here for Valentine's Day and we had a blast. Given Kit's propensity for "fancy cheese" as stated in his online profile, I knew this would be the perfect location. I got a glass of prosecco, we split the cheese, nut and fruit platter and ordered a plate of bruschetta. It was all delicious but the best part was the man sitting across from me. We'd been walking for hours already, holding hands throughout the entire city, talking and laughing and now finally, we were sitting down, staring at each other, neither one really believing how lucky we already knew we were. A group of boisterous theater-goers sat down at the table next to us and one lady (who had clearly had some pre-cocktails) said "Oh my gosh, you two are so cute. How long have you been together?" which I couldn't bring myself to answer with a straight face. Kit looked right at her and dead serious replied, "We're newlyweds." That was it. I lost it. I started laughing so hard that I literally honked. That's right. Sounded like a Canadian goose during mating season. Honked. This, of course, make Kit laugh so hard I was grateful water didn't come out his nose. The table of happy patrons thought it was "just adorable how in love [we] were" and laughed right along with us, clearly not understanding the joke. We are on a FIRST date here people. Yet the universe seems to want us to get married. Alright, universe, I can take a hint. Or, in this case, a smack upside the head.

Bryant Park - Leaving dinner hand in hand, stepping out into the world together feels somehow different after our meal. I've only been by his side for a few hours (after hundreds of emails, texts and forever on the phone) but Kit has already wiggled himself into a place in my heart that I didn't even know was open. We head across town to Bryant Park, one of our shared favorite spots in the city and I point out the beautiful apartment my family had there for a few years. It was perfect. The view from the 8th floor overlooked the whole park - the carousel, the gardens, the patio cafe, and the back of the New York Public Library. I loved spending time there and wish more than anything that we still had it now. It's the greatest spot in the city (my humble opinion.) Kit stares at me like I have six heads for a minute before saying "That is the EXACT building I want to live in. I walk by here all the time, promising myself that when I win the lottery or have an amazing job, that is precisely the address I want. And you were there the whole time?" I nod and share with him how happy it made me to be married to a man who worked fashion week because at 5 am, he could just roll out of bed and walk straight downstairs into the tents. I cooked for him and cleaned up after him and would always be ready to massage his shoulders after a long day. Kit took my face in his hands and softly said, "Any guy who gives you up is an idiot. Not just for all the stuff you did but just because you're you. You're amazing. His loss." I closed my eyes for a moment as I felt the tears welling up in them just as Kit leaned his face into mine and kissed me, right in the middle of the park. He still had one hand on my cheek, the other arm wrapped around my waist, pulling me in as close to him as I could get. His lips were soft and sweet and once again, the world just disappeared. New York City ceased to exist and it was just us, lost in this amazing moment together. I felt small and safe and protected by Kit, hopeful about a future together, trusting that there was something truly special about us, and that maybe, just maybe, being with him would help me heal all those hurts from the past. Love lost is painful. Love gained is priceless.

Throw Up

I want to throw up.

I want to throw up right now.

I take one bite of my granola bar and immediately realize that this is a terrible idea. I can't eat. I can't focus. I can hardly sit still. I want to get off this train. I need to talk to someone. Anyone. I take out my phone. I make six phone calls. Nobody answers. Not one person is around to talk me down from the proverbial ledge. What have I gotten myself into? I can't do this. I can't go on a date with Kit. I. Want. To. Throw. Up.

Who is this girl and what has she done with confident Kimberly? The voice in my head sounds strangely like my own yet it is certainly not rational me. Rational me has spent three weeks emailing a wonderful man, seven days texting back and forth, and nine hours on the phone getting to know someone who, as it turns out, feels like I've known my entire life. Conversations are natural and easy. We have fun teasing each other, flirting, taking turns telling stories, taking turns listening. It's this perfect balance where no one leads and no one follows. We just bounce off of each other like old friends. Ok, fine - old friends with monster crushes on each other!!!

Yes, rational me knows that Kit is a great guy. Rational me likes him (a lot), thinks about him (more often than I should admit), and dare I say it - even trusts him. Rational me has put aside all the baggage I've been dragging around from my past, cast off all the doubts and hurts of other relationships (as much as humanly possible) and is looking forward to our first date.

Irrational me wants to throw up, pull the emergency cord on the Long Island Railroad and run away screaming.

We have this perfect first date planned and it's all I can do to keep my nerves in check and my hopes from skyrocketing. You see, I've done this thing in the past where I project my entire future onto one person. I thrust my whole life's happiness into the arms of a virtual stranger, many times before we've been dating for very long. Once, I had our wedding colors picked out before the first date. If you are this girl - and I know that many of you are - please, I am begging you, STOP. Stop doing that right now. You're only setting yourself up for disappointment because the chances are that your man has a completely different vision than you do and my guess is that Maggie Sottero lace doesn't really factor in.

Rather than picking out China patterns and baby names before the first date, I am simply allowing myself to sit back, relax, and enjoy the process. Yes, I've had 92 ridiculous dates with various breeds of loser this year but something about Kit feels different. Perhaps it's our chemistry. Perhaps it's good timing. Perhaps it's our casual approach to dating. This is the first time I'm really looking forward to going out with someone in a l-o-n-g time so there's a lot more gravitas to this laid-back afternoon in mid-town than there appears to be. This is the first date where my happiness *may* be at stake. This is the first date where I have something to lose.

It was about a week before when I had my first dream about Kit. My family and friends will tell you that if I have a dream about you, you should probably heed whatever I tell you. I have a startlingly high track record for dream / reality crossover. This wasn't a scary dream by any means. It was a dream of our first date and I genuinely woke up smiling from it. In my dream, we met outside of St Patrick's Cathedral, moved on to a lovely afternoon tea at Saks Fifth Avenue cafe, wandered around Rockefeller Center looking at the shops and ended the evening with drinks at the Rooftop Terrace on top of the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Sounds simple, yes?

The next day, Kit sent me an email telling me about his mom, who sadly isn't with us anymore. She passed away when he was a teenager and he misses her immensely. It was the first time he shared any real details with me about his life before she died and her favorite thing to do was take him and his younger siblings into the city at least one weekend a month. They would spend their afternoons wandering around the Met, walk down 5th Avenue, duck into St Patrick's - where she'd married his father - and shop at her favorite department store, Saks. In winter, they'd skate in Rock Center and in warmer months, just wander around window shopping and people watching.

Cue Twilight Music here.

You might think that this is a coincidence, and I certainly wouldn't blame you. But I remember sitting there, still with the dream fresh in my mind and reading his words literally sent shivers up and down my spine. I didn't know how to feel about it. How was it possible that I imagined the first day we spent together included all of his mother's favorite activities? There are so many places to go in New York City, so many amazing things to see and do, so many diverse neighborhoods --- how did I envision everything she loved, all of Kit's best memories of her?

You say coincidence. I say sign.

I waited a while before telling him about the dream, but when I did he was equally as shocked and oddly pleased. At first, Kit was hesitant to retrace his mother's steps but changed his mind and asked me to have tea with him at SFA Cafe on Sunday afternoon. It would be his first real afternoon tea service and I was so excited to take him. Or I would've been, if I could shake the feeling that my feelings for him were more real than I'd experienced with anyone else.

Which is exactly how I ended up with my rational and irrational selves warring on the LIRR. Nauseas and nervous and excited and scared and thrilled and terrified and hopeful. More than anything...hopeful.

Ring, Ring

Please don't pick up. Please don't pick up. Please don't pick up.

I am silently praying that the phone will continue ringing and no one will answer on the other end. It has taken all my will power to make the stupid phone call in the first place and dumb as it might sound, I am not entirely convinced that I've actually worked up the courage to *talk* to Kit.

Each ring is a momentary reassurance that there is no one on the other end. That this amazing man I've been emailing and texting doesn't actually exist. That there is some computer somewhere, probably programmed by my sisters and friends, that writes back to my message with the exact answers I want to hear. This computer knows all my favorite things, gives all the right feedback, and has wonderfully flirtatious overtones. You know the guys who invented the Jeopardy computer to beat Ken Jennings? They'd have tough competition with how great my friends and family did building a computer to date me. Move over, Watson. There's a new super genius in town and his name is Kit!

My reasoning is that if no one answers the phone than Kit isn't real. He's still a figment of my overactive imagination. Frankly, after dating 92 losers last year, I'm not at all prepared for how fantastically well this new romance is going. You'd think I'd welcome an awesome guy to go out with. One who doesn't pick his nose or oppose root vegetables or fantasize about science fiction females. Yet you'd be wrong. I am positively petrified of falling for him, which seems to be the way this is going. If he's a loser, he's easy to brush off. No hurt feelings. No genuine consequences. If he's really as good as he's appeared so far, he has the power to break my heart. And there is no way I'll survive that again.

It is so much easier not putting myself out there. So easy to just let go, sit back, and wait for love to find me, all the while subconsciously pushing it away. It's easy *not* opening yourself up to the possibility that there are good men out there, good relationships, partners who don't leave you in tears at the end of every day. I just haven't had one yet, thus Fear creeps in. Fortunately, my good friends Hope and Faith sit patiently on my shoulders just waiting for me to gain enough strength, enough momentum, enough confidence to tell Fear to fuck off.

The ringing stops and the voicemail clicks on. He hasn't recorded a personal greeting so I listen to the standard alien woman urging you to leave a message after the tone. And I do. Deep breath in, deep breath out, record the perfect thirty second voice message. It's fun, it's cute, it's flirty, it's cheerful, it's upbeat, it could not have gone any better. I am smiling the entire time (because people can hear when you're smiling on the phone) and I hang up thanking God I was able to stave off *actual* contact for another day. Phew. Huge sigh of relief.

My phone is ringing. It's him. Shit.

I can't not answer it. I can't. Can I? I mean, I just called him. He knows I called him. He saw the missed call. But he didn't have time to listen to my vm. Which means he has no idea how adorably sexy I am. He hasn't heard my voice. He is heading into this as blind as I just did. He's probably shaking in his boots like I just was. Do I let him leave a message? Do I torture him and wait it out for a few more rings? Make him think I won't pick up then answer at the last minute?

Holy crap, Kimberly - just pick up the fucking phone already!!!

I know, I know, there was a LOT of hemming and hawing away at that decision. I get it. I would've smacked myself upside the head too if I could've. And I will admit that the first few sentences were a little awkward, a little uncomfortable, a little political. Fast forward a minute or two later and we were laughing and joking and talking and teasing each other like old friends. What?!?! What just happened here?!?! Getting to know someone new has always, always been a painful process for me when it comes to meeting someone new. Many a great email / text relationship has been ruined on the first phone call. But this was so easy. So natural. So perfectly friendly and comfortable that I felt like I'd known Kit all my life and this wasn't the first time we'd spoken. He just felt so familiar...in the best way possible.

Four hours later and I was hooked on this man's voice. Four hours flew by so quickly that we both thought it had been an hour - maybe two at most. Four hours is something teenagers do to annoy their parents, it's not how two thirty-somethings talk to each other. Yet that's precisely what we felt like. Giddy, happy, flirty teenagers. By midnight, we were each kinda wiped out and still didn't want to hang up. We ran through the old "You hang up - no you hang up - no you - ok, I'll hang up first - hey, you didn't hang up - neither did you - on three - ok, 1, 2, 3 - you're still here - so are you!" The cheesy factor was exponentially high that night, let's just leave it at that. Also, I'm pretty sure I was smiling well into my sleep.

Suffice it to say that our first phone call was amazing and all my fears were unfounded. Yes, it was nerve-racking at first but Kit brought out this comfortable confidence in me that I didn't even know existed. A month of emails, a week of texting, and four hours on the phone were enough to solidify his place in my mind as the first potential date I was truly looking forward to. A bright future. Who knew?

Is it me?

Is it me???

In all the time my ex husband and I were fighting, in all the time we were separated, in all the time we were getting divorced, the question I would ask myself over and over was: Is it me? Am I the one who destroyed our marriage? DId I fail at being a good wife? Why doesn't he love me? What did I do wrong? What happened to our love? Did I push him away? How did we get here?

Is it me?

It's a well documented fact that I am a perfectionist. I don't care what it is that I'm doing, I want to be good, better, the best at it. I took my role as his wife very seriously. My entire purpose became pleasing my husband. Not necessarily in a medieval times / slave sort of way. Just to make sure that he never needed or wanted for anything.

That was my mistake. He never needed or wanted for anything. I took care of it all. He didn't have to worry about having good food because I cooked all his meals. He didn't have to worry about clean clothes because I did all his laundry. He didn't have to worry about a tidy house because when I wasn't working one of my three jobs, I was fixing up our place, trying to make it home. I always tried to look pretty, even freshening my make up before he got home. I made every effort in bed to keep our relationship fresh and new and exciting. He never noticed any of these things. Not once.

I know that this reads like a 1950's handbook but I have to tell you I was happy doing it. My whole life's goal was to have a wonderful marriage and raise happy children with maybe a career thrown in there and I would feel like a success. If you are a smart, successful, driven career woman with a feminist streak, I truly hope that you can forgive my naivety but life is about choices. I chose to dedicate myself to being a damn fine wife.

Except apparently I wasn't. My husband didn't notice when I made him dinner with leftovers for lunch packed in the fridge. He didn't notice when I came home exhausted from working overtime so we'd have a little money to go away together. He didn't notice that the one thing a woman going that far to please him needs is just the smallest gesture of appreciation. The smallest indication that you see me here and I'm not just part of the ship, part of the crew. Coming out of my marriage, I often said that he thought I was a sofa - something you take for granted because it's there every day. The only time you'd really *notice* the sofa is when it's gone and there's a big, gaping hole in your living room and instead of a comfy cushion, your ass hits hard ground when you go to sit on it.

That was me for him. I was just a sofa.

He didn't even notice when we stopped sleeping together. I'd been trying to make sex and intimacy and romance a priority for so long that it was starting to get embarrassing. I felt like I was always initiating, I was always the one to ask for it. Hello??? Aren't guys supposed to me the sex driven species? I'm waiting in bed for you wearing a red lace bra / soaking in a bubble bath telling you I missed you all day / walking around the kitchen in nothing but an apron - WHY DON'T YOU WANT ME?!?!

And so the questioning began. As our marriage slipped away, all I could think was that it had to be me. It was me he didn't want. It was me who'd failed as a wife. It was me to blame for eventually giving up and walking away because I couldn't take the emotional abuse / neglect / a lifetime of loneliness / the thought of never being a mother. None of my friends had gone through this and my parents have been happily married for almost forty years. I had no one to talk to.

Finally, one night in the Hamptons after 1.5 liters of moscato wine, I opened up to my sister and begged her to tell me honestly - it is me? She said absolutely not. It was him. Any man who would walk away from someone so attentive, so considerate, so loving as I was to him was A) an idiot and B) clearly just didn't want to be married. We were 20 when we tied the knot, what did we know? He admitted that he'd just "changed his mind" after six years. She promised, it was him.

After that, I asked everyone I know - friends, family, casual acquaintances. Y'all are lucky facebook didn't exist yet or you would've heard about it too!!! I had never felt like more of a failure in my entire life and just needed the reassurance that it wasn't me who failed. That it wasn't me who was undesirable. That it wasn't me he didn't want children with. Everybody replied the same way: "Kim, it's him. He changed his mind. That was his choice. It hurts but it's not your fault. It's nothing you did. He just doesn't want to be a husband or a father. That's his loss."

I believed it all for a pretty long time. I wanted it to be true so very badly. He chose not to be a husband and a father. He chose the single life over our marriage. He chose not having children.

Except that he started dating someone within six months of moving out.

And last week, they got engaged.

If she gets pregnant, I just might scream.


And I'm right back to square one. Is it me?

Baby Steps

After three weeks and one hundred five emails, I am so entranced by the man on the other side of the computer that I cannot help but be a little more forward than befits a "lady." I know that we should allow men to make the first move - it's the hunter in them that loves the chase. Yet I went way out of my comfort zone and sent Kit one more message...my phone number. He sent his back within a matter of minutes and I stared at the screen, frozen with fear. I had been so bold in sending him mine, hoping he'd call that I never imagined he'd reply with his own. Now it was a political debate. Does he expect me to call him first? Am I waiting for his call? Should I text instead?

Dilemma.

There are a few times in a girl's life that she should throw public opinion out the window. I bucked expectations by sending him the first message online. I shed my inhibitions when offering my phone number. Protocol be damned - I was getting on the phone with him immediately.

At least, the confident part of me was...

There was still this weak little girl inside me, questioning every move I made. I wanted to be proud. I wanted to be strong. I wanted to feel as forward as I was acting. Someone much wiser than me once said: Fake it til you make it. I don't think I understood that saying at the time, but basically it boils down to acting, dressing, looking, and sounding like how you want to feel. If you act meek and timid, you will feel meek and timid. But if you act, walk, talk, dress, and sound strong, confident and beautiful, then eventually you will feel like the smart, sexy, successful woman you want to be. The woman you want other people to see. The woman who attracts a great man because he can't help himself from falling for her. I want to be *that* woman.

Not wanting to ignore either of my instincts, I blended my fear with my resolve and came up with a compromise - a text message that very simply read "Baby Steps." It wasn't a phone call but it wasn't nothing (I am past the age where I can continue allowing myself to do nothing) and I felt good. I put the phone down with a smile on my face when it lit up with a prompt reply that read "Baby steps :-)"

Yes, we were still hiding behind the safety of modern technology and technically, they were still words on a screen but suddenly, I felt closer to Kit than I knew what to do with. He wasn't just some guy on the other end of a computer. Now he was a guy at a Yankee game, sending me pictures of the view from his seat, the players on the field, updating me on the score and telling his friend he was talking to "a girl" (cue soap opera music here!) He was just as excited to bounce sentiments back and forth with me as I was with him and I loved feeling like a part of his day. Not some figment of his imagination he could return to at night and find waiting in gmail. A real person who he could communicate with a the touch of a button, any time of day.

The texts became more and more frequent. He'd always open with "Good morning, Sunshine" and end each evening with "Good night. Sweet dreams." I filled him in on both the exciting and mundane part of my days. My story got accepted to a national magazine!!! (Exciting.) I'm having pasta with salad for dinner. (Mundane.) I bought a fab new dress for my birthday bash! (Exciting - ok maybe only for girls?) Planted the herbs in the garden today. (Mundane.)

It quickly became apparent that texting with Kit had in fact, become part of my days. Often times, it was the best part. His messages never failed to make me smile, his surprising observations in the world always made me laugh. He comforted and consoled me when I needed it, responding in the manner of a true friend. My phone was rarely (if ever) out of my hand but I didn't feel like one of those women waiting for the phone to ring. I didn't have to be. He'd send me a quick "Just wanted you to know that I'm thinking about you" and my entire face would light up with adoration. Because let's face it: there aren't too many more wonderful feelings in the world than knowing an amazing man is thinking about you and smiling.

Even when you're taking baby steps.

Say Cheese

Loser. Loser. Loser. Do that 92 times and you'll begin to understand why I needed a break from finishing 100 Cups of Coffee. I know that 92 down with only 8 to go seems like it should be easy. It sounds like I should be sprinting for the finish line, just trying to get to the end of this project. Sadly, it's precisely the moment I ran out of steam and needed to regroup. I had stopped seeing the humorous side of dating, the lightheartedness which attracted so many of you to my blog in the first place. I was becoming one of those bitter, jaded New York women I pity and couldn't stand the thought of some younger, cuter girl pitying me. How could I avoid this heinous fate?

Last October, a friend bet me $10 that I'd be in a "serious" relationship by the end of this year on the condition that I stop trying to be in a relationship. Also, that I stop dating anyone and everyone just for the sake of having a date. 100 Cups of Coffee began as my attempt to broaden my horizons, say yes to people I would've normally excluded, stop being so picky and be a little more open-minded. To reference yesterday's blog - it was me deciding to burn The List.

It took me five whole months to get back in the game. One Sunday, I sat down at my trusty computer and figured I wouldn't message just *anyone* on the dating sites. I would look for men who really and truly interested me. Smart, funny, and dare I say good-looking men whom I could at least tolerate a date with, and hopefully actually enjoy it! I chose twelve profiles out of the hundreds I read that day and sent a few emails with all the positive thoughts I could muster. One wrote back.


SophieRose to Kit

The top 5 reasons I'm writing to you are:

1) I'll be honest - I saw your picture in the little bar at the top of the page and thought you were cute. Sometimes OkC actually makes decent recommendations! (Who knew?)

2) I am a writer = I am in desperate need of a good hand massage on any given day. I've taken to getting manicures for the pure pleasure of the mini massage they give you.

3) You mention reading and I'm a huge bookworm. I'm pretty dorky, but I also think I'm a pretty dork!

4) You like "fancy cheese" and I spent no less than 30 minutes wandering the International Cheese department of my grocery store today. It seriously took all my will power to only walk away with Brie, mascarpone, and Havarti dill. (Though I am DEFINITELY going back for the horseradish cheddar!!!)

5) Any guy who lists Love Actually *first* amongst his favorite movies has got to be worth writing to :-)

~Kimberly


Kit to SophieRose

Hi Kimberly,

The fact that you actually put a top five reasons list for messaging me is, in fact, multiple reasons for messaging you back.

First that you broke it down bit by bit is fantastic for a follow up.

Second, that you were dorky enough to do it at all is brilliant! :-)

Third, I am laughing to and smiling to myself reading over your thoughts, and anyone who can make you laugh and smile is always worth messaging back.

1) I think I'm cuter than in the photos, but that's just me. As for okc, they do get things right occasionally. Btw, you're also cute. I like the picture on the bicycle.

2) You're a writer? That's brilliant! What kind of writing do you do? I love to write. I've been putting off personal writing during grad school, as there's already a lot of writing going on. I do love to give hand massages though. I like working with my hands, and though I've not had any formal training, I'm not too terrible at it.

3) You are a pretty dork. I'm kind of geeky/dorky myself. I love to read. I read all kinds of things, normally, when i can get away from textbooks. What kind of books do you like to read?

4) It's true. I'm a cheese nut. I like interesting cheeses, random flavors, and going to cheese and wine bars to sample things. I do the same thing at the local market, but I love going to Murrays in Grand Central.

5) I think the first slot on my favorites list is open to debate, but Love Actually is part of that debate. I adore that movie. I take it you are a big fan as well?

I look forward to hearing from you.

-Kit


Call it sparks, call it chemistry, call it fate, call it the universe, call it whatever you want. I was instantly hooked on this guy. Messages shot back and forth between us, sometimes several a day, each one smarter and funnier than the last. He's got a witty sharpness about him, the likes of which I have never encountered before. He's kind and sweet and sincere and considerate and it doesn't hurt at all that he's absolutely gorgeous. He's even Lutheran!!! He possesses every single quality I wanted in a man and then some. Every. Single. Thing.

So now here I am. One hundred and five emails between us about fancy cheese and wine tasting and books read and concerts seen and favorite restaurants and family ties and childhood memories and dreams of travel. One hundred and five messages about loves lost and hearts broken and faith tested and plans for the future. One hundred and five reasons I cannot stop myself from wanting, once again, to take that leap of faith - throw caution to the wind and meet someone amazing. Is it both terrifying and exhilarating at the same time? Yes, it is. Do I want to throw up? Yup, a little bit. Would I rather be somewhere, anywhere else? No. This is right where I want to be. On the verge of a life. With Kit.

I smell $10 in my future...

The List

When you're a full time writer (as I am) and you have several broken toes (as I do) and are looking for inspiration without leaving the house (as I've been), you turn to the most reliable source there is - the television. Throw a rainy day in there and you have all the necessary evil factors for a Millionaire Matchmaker Marathon. Oh, Bravo channel, how many hours I have lost at the hands of Patti Stanger and her tight dress / hair straight / boobs out cocktail parties. I loathe myself for succumbing to the vortex of mini dates and master dates, but I poured myself a glass of white wine, declared the whole process "research" and plugged myself into the boob tube (pardon the pun.)

While most of the episodes are positively laughable (Hello Kitty girl dates hot plumber) and some are downright atrocious (famous book publisher lusts after fat gay comic), there are a few sweet moments where you think that maybe, just maybe, the matchmaking team finally got one right (hippie surf dude dates Patti's friend from Florida. Beach dates = always romantic.)

The episode that really got me thinking though featured a Long Island girl with a catering business and a list of qualities she wanted in a man. The List is what drew my attention more than anything else. I began racking my brain, trying to think of a single woman I know who *doesn't* have a list of the qualities she wants in a man. Maybe it's just a few mental notes stored in the back of her brain, maybe it's written down in colorful markers on journal paper dating back to her teenage years but absolutely everyone I know has some version of The List. What are we looking for in a partner? What qualities are important to us? What do we NEED, and what characteristics would just be nice to have? What parts of a relationship are the bread and butter, and what parts are just icing on the cake?

As I am rolling all these thoughts around in my pretty little blonde head, Patti takes the bachelorette's list and burns it. She lit the list on fire and threw it in the garbage. What the fuck was that?!?! This woman is forty years old, never been married, has a successful career, lots of confidence, knows what she wants and the Matchmaker chucked it all away?!?! Just as I'm about to get angry on the girl's behalf, I stopped myself and thought about it from the other side: This woman is forty years old. She's never been married. She's so tied to her list that she can't find love because every time she meets a man, she compares him to The List and if he doesn't meet even one little criteria, the poor schmo is tossed aside, nary to be given a second chance.

Dilemma.

On the one hand, I think that lists are super important. Lesson learned from Extreme Couponing is to always hit the grocery store prepared. (Hey, I told you I've been watching a lot of tv lately!) These couponing women have lists, tallies, coupons clipped and compared to store sales, carts at the ready. They are *prepared* in every sense of the word. They don't wander around the supermarket trying to remember if they needed mayo or cream cheese. Hell no. They form a plan of attack, go in, buy what they need, and get out. Frankly, I have been that woman perusing the aisles without a list of what I need and it's always when I'm unloading the car that I realize I forgot the cat food or the sour cream or the toilet paper. Are relationships like this?

What if we entered relationships without a List of qualities we were looking for? If we didn't write down that we want a man who is a decent provider, has an excellent sense of humor, wants a family? Would we end up in a boring, childless relationship with a broke guy? If we didn't admit to ourselves that we want someone older, taller, stronger, would we find ourselves partnered by a 5'1 dude barely out of college, having to lift all the heavy boxes by our lonesome? If we never considered how important manners or romance or adventure are to us, would we find ourselves channel surfing with a futureless couch potato who yells at waitresses and doesn't notice when the sex disappears?

These scenarios scare me enough that I whole-heartedly defend the sanctity of my list. I didn't have one when I was first dating, or even by the time I got married. Perhaps this contributed to my relationships with men who weren't "right" for me. Perhaps it didn't. But it's taken me all this time of being single to figure out what it is that I both need and want, as well as a few bonus point items just for fun. Since I know you're all curious at this point, I'll share a few of the highlights with you:

NEEDS: Someone honest, trustworthy, respectful, appreciative, loving, supportive, faithful, wants a family, good sense of humor.

WANTS: Someone romantic, passionate, communicative, motivated, stable, adventurous, thoughtful, affectionate, Christian.

BONUS POINTS: Someone tall, gracious, creative, strong, has shared interests, loves road trips.

When this list has come in handy:

I referred to the list when my ex-husband told me he didn't want children. Being a mother is in my NEEDS column. Non-negotiable.

I referred to the list when my ex-boyfriend was having an affair. Faithful is in my NEEDS column. Non-negotiable.

I referred to the list when Michael (y'all remember Michael, don't you?) was lying to me about doing drugs. Honest is in my NEEDS column. Non-negotiable.

When lists may screw you over:

If your list details that you want someone 6'1 with medium build and brown hair who went to an Ivy League school, makes six figures, speaks multiple languages, enjoys dogs, reads Bradbury, has dreams of honeymooning in Hawaii, and plays at least two musical instruments.

That is a steep list. Not to say that you won't meet this man. You might. It could happen. Just that you might have to scale back on at least one of your "requirements." What if you meet this amazing man but he's only 5'10? Or can't grasp languages despite his fantastic education? Or can't play an instrument to save his life but has a lovely singing voice? There are actually women out there who will still dump a perfectly great guy because he fails to meet her standards and to those women - like the forty year old career bachelorette on MM - I would say Burn The List.

Moral of the Story: The Millionaire Matchmaker is a demanding, controlling, crazy person but she might just know what she's talking about when it comes to dating. There are certain things that we, as single women, can expect, and certain cases where we might actually need to lower the bar. This is not to say you should date anyone who doesn't meet any or all of your criteria. This is to say that maybe, just maybe, we could give guys a chance. Overlook a few of their imperfections. Not expect them all to be sexy cowboys who look phenomenal in tight jeans and are excellent dancers. (Though that would be nice). Not expect them all to be Nobel prize winning peace advocates or Pulitzer prize winning authors or Templeton prize winning academics. (Though all of these things would be nice too.) Yet I can't help but wonder how I would fare against a man's list and frankly, I never want to find out.

On second thought, the only item on a man's list is big boobs. Score!!!

Older and Wiser

I woke up today and realized I am 30 years old.

Don't get me wrong, my birthday was almost a month ago and I celebrated throughout most of April. I partied with friends, family, and all over facebook. Many of you were kind enough to send me your good wishes and best birthday advice and I truly appreciate all the words of encouragement. Facing 30 was so daunting, so looming in the future for so many years, so talked about amongst friends that I wanted to hide under the covers and just let it pass me by. Seeing as that was not a viable option, I decided to put on my big girl panties and deal with it.

I am no longer 29 years old. I am no longer 20-anything. I am no longer "turning 30 soon." I am 30 and I have to tell you, I kinda like it!

Something shifted in me once I turned 30. It feels like all through my 20's, I'd been waiting for my life to start and now, it finally has. I thought I had set up a life for myself, all before I was even legally able to drink! Being 20 years old seems both like yesterday and a lifetime ago. I remember the moment I got on a plane by myself to cross an ocean and live in a new country where I knew no one and nothing. I remember the shock when I arrived in London and discovered (to my horror) that it was not the land of Peter Pan and Mary Poppins I'd always imagined it to be. I remember being fearless in the face of all this change, so far away from everything I'd known in my life back home. None of it scared me. At twenty years old, I possessed a fearless naivety that the world was not such a scary place. Rather, it was my proverbial oyster, and I could only set eyes on the pearls.

You know the old saying: If I knew then what I know now? I wonder if I would've done it all differently? If I knew that the man I met, fell in love with, married and planned to have children with would someday change his mind, move out, and divorce me - would I still have fallen for him? If I knew that the boyfriend I was so crazy about after my marriage ended would cheat on me and break my heart into a billion pieces - would I still have stayed with him? If I knew that after ten years of living around the world, three careers and two kittens later, I'd end up living with my parents at home - would I have chosen a different path?

The truth is that we'll never know what the alternatives to any of our choices would've been or where they would have led us. So I will stand here proudly today and tell you that NO, I wouldn't change a thing. I wouldn't live my life any differently than I chose to live it. I made lots of mistakes but they're part of who I am and how I got here. Those lessons learned, big or small, made me the woman I am today and it's taken me 30 years to say that I'm pretty proud of that woman. Yes, I'm a work in progress (aren't we all???) but that pride, that confidence is earned now, not just taken for granted.

At 20, I didn't know any better. Yes, I thought I had every answer (don't ALL 20 year olds think they know everything?) but the truth is that I was fearless because I had nothing to lose. My heart had never been truly broken, my life had never been turned upside down, I didn't really know what tragedy was. A decade has gone by and so much has changed. It's much, much harder to be fearless once you've faced the monsters in your closet, confronted your own demons, reached your breaking point. Yet that is precisely what I'm doing. For right now, I once again have nothing to lose. The world is my playground and I can make any choice I want. I can go any direction I choose. This is simultaneously exhilarating and terrifying but I choose excitement over anxiety right now. This is me putting on my big girl panties and dealing with 30.

Ruin and Recovery

In the grand scheme of things, eight weeks doesn't sound like so long. Unless you've been sick, in unbearable amounts of pain, and stuck in bed for two whole months. Then eight weeks is an awfully long time.

I've had migraines for the last eleven years. An attack here, an episode there. But this winter, I was knocked down by one great, big, long, horrible headache that simply would not go away. I laid in bed day after day, sedated by pain killers and sleeping aids, surrounded by only my parents and my doctors, miserable at my own misfortune. It was torture for me to venture any further than the couch for too many hours of crappy tv watching. It was torture just being conscious.

The strange part of me being out of commission was that the world did not stop turning because I wasn't in it. There was no news of my illness in the major papers, no tabloid rumor mills churning. It was lonely there in that bed, all those nights, left to the whims of my drug-induced subconscious. It gave me too much time to think. Here's some of what I came up with:

1) I don't want to sleep alone anymore. Being single has it's bedtime advantages like hogging all the covers, reading with the nightlight on, and no one complaining about your cold feet. You can tuck yourself under the covers with your laptop or reruns of House and a cup of tea with nary a sideways glance from your partner. However, being divorced means that you shared a bed every night with another person for an extended period of time and no matter how long it's been since they relinquished their "side" - it's tough getting used to inhabiting all that real estate on your own. I have done my best to fill up the unused half with books I'm reading, journals I'm writing in, pillows, blankets, and more stuffed animals than befits a 29 year old woman. I'm ready to share my space with a real, live person again. Yes, sleepovers with my sister are fun but they lack some of the more desirable aspects of a co-ed slumber party. (I'll let you use your imagination there.) Suffice it to say that I am finally looking forward to falling asleep in someone's arms, snuggling all night, waking up together in the morning...and everything in between.

2) I've taken care of myself and everyone around me for so long that it's time I learned to let other people take care of me when I need them to. Namely, that while HELP is a four letter word, it's not the vulgar curse I've always thought it to be. As a strong, independent young woman, I thought that asking for help was a sign of weakness. I thought I had to do it all myself, be everything to everyone, be everything to myself. I don't. Standing on my own two feet? Yes. Letting someone strong catch me when I teeter slightly off balance or heaven forbid, fall down? Absolutely ok.

3) New York City has millions of miles of pipelines underground for utility companies that went out of business a hundred years ago, subway tunnels for trains that haven't run in decades, a whole extinct support system lying just beneath our feet. No one knows the extent of what's really down there and doesn't bother exploring until something bursts or breaks. Then it's a repair mission to fix it. The trouble is that we can't put anything new in without ripping out the old stuff and it's a lot of effort. New York is the living city built on top of a dead city, just like the Roman ruins and modern day relationships. We bury what doesn't work or gets outdated and instead of ripping it out, we just pave over it.
I think that Vegas has the right idea. When a casino or a hotel goes under, they blow it up and tear it down, clear away the rubble and start fresh with a whole new structure. We could take a cue from Sin City (and you know I don't say that lightly!) Divorced girls, single girls, doesn't matter - every one of us could do with more than just spackling over the cracks in the walls or putting up a fresh coat of paint. Sometimes, we need a complete overhaul. Demolition is the first step in creation. There can be no rebuilding without ruin. No recovery without wreckage. There will be casualties. It will be messy. But the new, beautiful life we're building for ourselves will be well worth the effort.

Confession: I haven't gone on a "cup" in five months as I was dating someone who asked not to be written about. While that relationship has now ended, it's once again time for me to start over. I am part terrified, part ecstatic to begin again. Equal parts fear, curiosity and excitement flutter around in my stomach and I look forward to sharing the journey with all of you. This time, I will not build on the remains of an ancient civilization. This time, it will be brand new from the ground up. Bigger and better than ever.