Stars Align

There are so few times in a person's life when they can say the stars aligned to make something happen. This was one of those nights. 

Darren texted me "Dress warm --- very warm :-)" which seemed awfully mysterious for a first date. He picked me up in his Jeep, the real kind where the whole top comes off and the doors come off and it's basically like driving around in a tuna can. The stick shift made me incredibly happy (I think that all real men should know how to drive a stick shift and I'm really excited to have someone teach me!) I knew we were going to have an awesome night because as soon as he opened the door for me, Sirius radio was set to the country station.

If there's anything I love more than a firefighter in a truck, it's a firefighter in a truck playing country music!

The January air was biting at my nose, my toes, and everything in between. I dressed in warm layers as he suggested, but I didn't want to closely resemble the StayPuft Marshmallow Man either, so I brought a few extra pieces with me. He smiled and said, 'You're gonna need more than that to keep you warm!" I glanced in the back seat where he'd stashed a few blankets. Where in the hell were we going?

"Do you trust me?" he grinned. I squinted my baby blues at him and scrunched up my nose. "Should I?" I replied with cautious optimism. "Absolutely," he nodded, "I have a precious cargo theory. And you, my dear, are precious cargo." 

With that, he handed me a large mint hot chocolate from DD (yum!) and laughed a little suspiciously. "It's a long ride. Figured you might need that." Off we drove into the darkness.

Let me be clear. I am not someone who likes surprises. I am not someone who easily surrenders control. I am not someone who hands over the reigns to her life. I am not someone who can relax into the passenger seat. I am the driver. I am the planner. I am the only person in charge of me. But there was something about his confidence, his charisma, his strength of character that made me trust him, made me want to sink back into this seat and go along for the ride. Wherever Darren wanted to take me, that's where I wanted to be. 

We drove and drove and kept on driving. We sang along to country music. We both knew the words. We talked about our lives since high school, played some catch up, recalled some memories. We chatted about good times with our friends and who was doing what now. We each restated our total disbelief that the other had been interested and never said anything about it until now. We drove for so long and I was enjoying the conversation so much that when he turned off the highway onto a sandy little road, I almost choked on what was left of my hot chocolate. 

There was no one around. There were no cars. There were no people. There were no lights, not even in the distance. There was nothing around us but the cold, dark, January night, and looking out the window I realized --- he had taken me to the only place on Long Island where you can still see stars. 

"Remember all those layers you brought? Now might be a good time to put them on." I could tell by the smile on his face that Darren was pretty proud of bringing me out here. I know what you're thinking: this is a scene from Law & Order SVU waiting to happen. Normally, I would not be caught dead (pardon the pun) out in the middle of the dunes with a guy I hadn't seen in fourteen years. But the look on his face was more "excited to show her something amazing" and less "can't wait to kill her and bury the body where no one will find it." Thus, I bundled up and got out of the Jeep.

I was shivering despite my layers, and officially looked like a cross between the StayPuft and Michelin men. It wasn't sexy in the least, but Darren jumped down from the truck, took his fireman's coat off of himself and draped it around my shoulders. I looked up at him, my eyes tearing up from the cold, the winter wind stinging my cheeks, when he cupped his warm hands around my face, leaned down and kissed me. It was the gentlest, sweetest, most sincere kiss I can recall in all the dates I've gone on. The cold melted out of my body and his warmth spread from my lips all the way down to the tips of my fingers and the bottoms of my feet. In that instant, he defrosted my heart.

"I've wanted to do that since 1992," Darren smiled down at me, still holding my face in his hands. It was the only part of me not covered by jacket or gloves or scarf or hat. His touch was electric. I needed more. 

Grabbing the blankets out of the Jeep and taking my hand, Darren led us down to the strip of beach off the side of the road. I saw we weren't far off from the lighthouse and only imagined how far out on the island we'd actually driven. Guessing we were on State Park property also made me wonder if we were allowed to be here, but I quickly quashed those thoughts and decided to stop being a goody-goody and just enjoy the moment. 

He spread out a few blankets for us to lay on since the ground was partly frozen. I situated myself on top of them, and he piled a couple more blankets over us. Looking up at the stars in the pitch black night, I felt incredibly small and yet very safe. I hadn't seen stars like this in a long, long time. Maybe since I was a child? It was comforting to know that these same celestial beings were here long before I was, and they'd be here long after I was gone. They existed when Darren and I first met, and now here they were, half our lifetimes later, bringing us back together. He looked up and pointed out a constellation...and then another...and another. 

A fireman who drives a Jeep, sings country music, brings me hot chocolate, gives me his jacket, kisses me under the stars, AND knows the names of the constellations??? This is much too much romance for one girl.

We laid under the stars, talking and kissing and picking out constellations for hours. He had an app on his phone that showed the night sky at the exact time of year at our exact location, so for all those millions of stars we couldn't identify, there was (quite literally) "an app for that." He held me close and knew it was time to go when I started to shiver again, despite my protesting that I was fine. I wanted to stay there all night. I wanted to camp out under the winter sky with him. I wanted to fall asleep to Cassiopeia and Orion and Jupiter and Saturn, waiting for Venus to rise. I wanted to know that his coat and the waning moon were my covers, his arms my protection, his kiss my lullaby.

Darren helped me to the car, warmed it up, and drove us back to civilization, leaving the lighthouse behind. In all my wildest Junior High school dreams, this night would still have been impossible, despite my vivid imagination and penchant for uber romantic tales. He created between us a memory, a moment, captured in time and yet utterly timeless. He brought us out of the past and into the present. The whole ride back, all I could think about was our future.

Beer and Bear Hugs

When a psychic tells you that you're only days away from meeting your soul mate, you listen.

When she says that it's someone you already know but will see in a new light, you listen even more. 

I'm not the kind of girl to hit the bar on a random Wednesday after work, but I was really looking forward to seeing one of my besties who'd been going through a shitty break-up. She convinced me to meet her at the bar for drinks, wings and catch up. Before I got out of the car, she texted me "Oh, and let your hair down. You look so much prettier when it's not up in a ponytail."

I swiped on some lip gloss, blushed my cheeks a little, untwisted my bun, and strolled into the pub. It's a freakin Wednesday. Why on Earth should I care what I look like?

Oh right. Because there's my soul mate.

There he was, clear as day, sitting at a table full of firefighters I knew from around town. We went to junior high together, then separate high schools, but stayed in touch as friends. I haven't seen or spoken to him since 1998. "Kim???"

Oh. My. God. How did he recognize me?

"Holy shit, you haven't changed since seventh grade!"

I wanted to be insulted. Technically, I grew out my bangs, I stopped wearing all black, and baggy sweatpants are now banished from my wardrobe. Plus I like to think that at thirtysomething, I'm prettier than I was at twelve, but he's right. I don't look much older than a high schooler and as my mother constantly reminds me, "Some day, you'll be grateful for the compliment of looking younger than your age!"

Darren grabbed me in his arms and swung me around, the product of beer and reminiscence. "Guys, this is Kim. I had the biggest crush on her in junior high but I was too much of a chicken shit to ever ask her out."

What?!?!?!? "Shut the F up!" I yell at him and playfully punch his arm. "You did NOT have a crush on me. I had a crush on you. For like six years."

"Are you shitting me?" he stares in disbelief. "I liked you practically forever and then you went away to college and I didn't get up the nerve to ask you out. Cause I'm an asshole. That's me. I'm the asshole who didn't ask out the only girl he liked as a teenager."

"Bull shit!" I smile at him, wondering if this is a very elaborate set up. 

"No, it's true." pipes up a scrawny kid at the far end of the table. "He liked you a lot. He was a punk for not saying anything but I had to hear about it. A lot."

Holy macaroni! The scrawny kid is Justin, who I always referred to as Darren's sidekick. They were best buddies in school and I can't believe they still hang out now. Actually, as I look around the table, I count five more guys I went to junior high and / or high school with. Each one throws his two cents in about how Darren talked about me then, and I can tell from the ridiculous grin on his face that he's super excited to see me now. 

"Please, please give me the chance to make up for lost time. I was an idiot back then, but I'm not anymore. I promise. Can I have your number? I'd love to ask you out for real. On a date. With me." 

Awww, he's nervous! Those awkward tall, thin, pale, junior high girl in sweatpants feelings creep up on me and I get nervous too. The entire fire department is waiting to drink their beers, hanging on my every word, suddenly invested in Darren's romantic future which is immediately dependent on me giving him my number. 

"Sure. Yes. Of course." I say as he puts my digits in his phone. "Call me sometime. It'll be good to catch up."

I smile my sweetest smile as he hugs me another one of those big bear hugs boys with too much beer in their bellies are want to give, and I hear him high fiving the crowd as I walk away, suddenly desperate to find my girlfriend and escape to another bar in town. 

"Where the hell have you been?" she pseudo whispers, grabbing her purse as we head out the door. "Sorry I'm late," I casually reply, "I think I just met my soul mate."

Scott Free

His name was Scott.

I feel that it is important to mention upfront that I change the names of almost everyone in this blog to protect the innocent (and more so, the guilty!) There are only three names I've never changed, but I'm telling you right now, his name was Scott.

Although to be fair, he lied about everything else. He probably lied about that too.

We met on the train while I was heading into NYC. I looked particularly cute because I was going in for a date. Technically, I suppose I was going on a series of dates --- speed dating just doesn't get old for me! Still, it's not like I was tied down to any of the men I hadn't even met yet, so why not flirt with the very cute train conductor for 42 minutes?

It was a packed Saturday. Standing room only. Of course it had to be one of the few times I wore heels! Standing for 42 minutes on the train, walking 8 blocks and 3 avenues over to get to the place, walking all the way back, I knew my poor little feet would hate me by the end of the day. Yet even when a seat opened up halfway through the trip, I didn't take it. Scott was fun and flirty and overtly interested in me! I felt my tummy flip flopping around and I knew it was more than just the motion of the train cars.

When we pulled into Penn Station, he'd left the carriage I was in, but one glance up the platform told me he was searching for me too. His head was out one of the little conductor windows, frantically looking up and down until he spotted me. "Hey," he said, a big smile creeping across his face, "I thought I'd lost my chance to talk to you. Was about to work overtime figuring out which train you'd be going back on!"

In a particularly bold move (shockingly unlike my normal self) I pulled out a Sharpie and a napkin to write my name and number down. He made me laugh and feel sexy and I loved that rush. Surely, he was worth taking a chance on?

"Awesome," Scott replied when I handed over the napkin, "I am single and ready to mingle! I'll call you."

"Single and ready to mingle" --- who actually says that??? That's like the cheesiest sentence on the face of the planet. I was starting to doubt my decision.

True to his word, Scott texted me later in the day and we chatted back and forth for a few hours. I'd warned him of my plan to date 25 guys in 3 hours and he promised to come save me if need be. "Anyone who wears boots like those deserves to date a man who appreciates her in them!" he assured me. "Your ass looked HOT in those jeans!"

"Hmmm, I guess you noticed me walking away?" I asked him

"Baby, I noticed a lot of things about you."

I remained undecided as to whether this statement was cute or creepy so I just kinda let it slide. We made plans to meet up the following day. Scott texted me when he'd be available and where we could meet.

The place he chose was a seedy dive bar next to the highway in the middle of a pass-through town. The kind of place I'd driven by a thousand times in my life and never even noticed before. The kind of place you wouldn't necessarily want to stop in and check out. The kind of place men take women who are not their wives.

He was waiting at the bar when I walked in. There were five other patrons spread out around the bar. None of them were speaking to each other, just drowning their lives in lukewarm beers and bowls of half soggy pretzels. The three huge flatscreen televisions were each showing a different sport, and all of them were on mute. The whole scene was eerily quiet. In walks a very tall blonde girl with knee high boots, a low cut sweater, and admittedly tight jeans that make her ass look amazing. All five heads turned, all five men stared, but as Scott stood up to kiss me hello, the other four just sighed and swallowed more Coors Light when they realized I was not up for grabs.

He was already two beers into his evening, positioned at the corner of the bar where he had optimal viewing of all three screens (and possibly me.) We made some polite conversation but it was stilted at best and he eventually offered to buy me a drink when the bartender approached us. I ordered a Cosmo (my usual) and he did some sort of weird double take. Like he'd never been out with a woman who drank anything but beer before. Ever.

"Are you sure you want that? Don't you just wanna grab a beer?"

"I'm sure. Thanks."

The bartender actually seemed relieved to do more than just grab a bottle from the ice chest for once in his day. Maybe it broke up the monotony of loneliness for him. I'll never know. What I do know is that Scott looked at me and my pink drink rather sideways when it arrived, simply muttering "Fancy."

Things I learned about Scott that night:

He was not, in fact, mid-30's as he told me. He was 48 years old. The grey hairs showed through a lot more without his train conductor cap on.

He was not, in fact, divorced as he told me. He was "technically" still married and she still "technically" lived in his house because he "just didn't feel like moving out yet."

He was not, in fact, single and ready to mingle as he told me. He "technically" had three kids he was responsible for raising, including coaching his sons' baseball teams and chaperoning his daughter's high school dance.

*Please note: I am all for dads doing great things for your kids, unless you're hiding your kids. And also, your wife. This is a dick maneuver and I am unimpressed. Sort your shit out.*

By the end of my Cosmo and two more beers for Scott, I'd had enough. He'd turned cocky, arrogant, and uncomfortably forward. He paid the drink tab (I didn't even offer) and said, "Do you wanna get out of here?"

Yes. Yes I do. So very badly.

Scott walked me out to my car and as I thanked him for a nice night (read: deleting his number the moment I get home) he suggested we go home together.

Excuse me???

"I mean, I think we had a great time, and you're really hot, and I don't wanna go home right now anyway. We could grab a place across the street. You don't have to stay all night if you don't want to. There's a room at the motel I put a reservation in for. Just in case. Come on, it'll be fun!"

M-M-Motel? As in, not even a H-H-Hotel? You thought you could buy me one drink at a seedy dive bar and then fuck me in some rented room by the hour to avoid going home to your wife and kids?

Oh honey no.

I'm taking my hot ass home alone thankyouverymuch.

And that is how I got off, Scott Free.

News At 11

This is the story of how you almost saw me on the news. 

You know those women who end up on the 11 o'clock news? The teaser comes on in an ominous announcer's voice: "How a Long Island English teacher seduced her vulnerable teenage student...News at 11!" 

Or "Coming up next, the terrifying tale of a troubled teen beguiled by his beautiful older tutor. Details right after Revenge!"

So here I am out at a networking / dating event having a great time. If you like someone, you write your number down on their paper at the end of the evening, and if they like you, they do the same. Hopefully, everyone goes home with a call list and a few potential dates. It's a great no-pressure way to meet members of the opposite sex and weed out any weirdos in person. 

So I thought. 

The day after the event, I send preliminary text messages to the seven guys who gave me their numbers. (Seven! Hooray for me!) They all write back with varying degrees of interest and availability. (Also, varying degrees of literacy. It's amazing how a person can hold a face to face conversation but then text stupid things like "ur2cute" --- Ugh!)

Anywho, "DJ" writes me back and he is VERY excited to hear from me. He thought I was especially sweet the night before and would LOVE to take me out and get to know me better. Think, Kimberly, think! Which one was DJ? "I'm the guy who was wearing the denim jacket."

Oh right. It's kinda hard to forget an acid washed jean jacket in 2012. Maybe he was being ironic? Either way, we agree to meet at the diner for hot chocolate in half an hour. No time like the present!

I simply don't have the energy to recount the entire crazy-ass-true-crime-novel-waiting-to-happen conversation, but here are some of the highlights:

1) He's the oldest of four half-siblings by three different fathers, none of whom his mother is married to "anymore."

2) His mother divorced his father when he "held her upside down over the stairs and threatened to drop / kill her." He does not speak to his father.

3) His most recent stepfather is in jail for "raping" his mother.

4) His grandmother is no longer speaking to his mother for "accusing" stepfather #4 of rape. The remaining stepfathers were all divorced for similar reasons, none of which his grandmother believes to be true, all of which provide more ammunition for her case against her daughter - she's filing for custody of all the kids on the grounds of mental instability and claims that his mom is "unfit to be a parent." 

5) To escape the madness, he proposed to his high school girlfriend so they could be engaged and run away together. She broke up with him as a result. He still calls her "sometimes, just to be sure she hasn't changed her mind."

6) He is not in graduate school (as he told me) - he's in undergraduate. 

7) He is not 25 like he led me to believe. He's "not quite 21 yet." He is, in fact, 19. 

8) He pays for music school by playing Pokemon in Nintendo tournaments around the tri-state area. His 9 year old sister got him into Pokemon and now he's some sort of expert player and wins money (mostly against other elementary school kids, but some adults) in officially sponsored games. 

9) He talked about Pokemon for approximately 45 minutes.

10) He ended the evening saying how much he desperately wants to get married. Soon. Very, very soon.

To say that I ran away quickly would be a lie. I wanted to run. I wanted to run many, many times. The only reason I survived 45 minutes of Pokemon talk is because it replaced crazy mother / rape / jail talk HOWEVER there was an underlying morbid curiosity there. Could I help this kid? Rehabilitate his life somehow? Take him under my proverbial wing and give him a fair chance at normalcy? A real family, a good education, a stable home environment? 

No. No I couldn't. It's just too darn creepy. It's "News at 11" waiting to happen.

I very promptly came home, deleted his number from my phone, threw all my clothes in the wash, and pretended this date and in fact the whole day had never happened. I refused to text or call back any of the other guys on my list. You just never know who'll want to marry you on the first date. Those are not the sort of headlines I want to make.

Trouble

Alcohol. 

If someone asked me to describe New York City around the holidays, at least for persons over the age of 21, it could be summed up in one word: alcohol.

Sure, there are tourists, and trees, and trimmings, but if you're in New York and you're from New York, chances are you spend the entire month of December running from one crazy party to the other. Upper West Side, Lower East Side, Chelsea, Tribeca, SoHo, so what? There are so many parties to choose from, each more fabulous than the next. And fabulous parties + glamorous dress + open bar = the confidence to talk to the cutest guy in the room.

What else is a single thirtysomething girl supposed to do on a freezing Friday night? It's too cold to go out, too depressing to stay in. The answer? Bulk up on liquid courage in the form of expensive champagne (on someone else's tab, I might add!) and saunter her swinging hips up to the most metro hipster in the room. The guy who makes button down shirts and dark washed skinny jeans look good. The guy who has seemingly effortlessly perfect hair. The guy who started his own business and is already on the top of everyone's "must watch" lists. The guy who makes quiet conversation with a small group of guests, until they all erupt into laughter and you're desperate to know what the joke was. The guy your friends warn you about the minute you walk in.

"Kim, I just want you to know that there's a guy here. He's hot, he's straight, he's single, and he's trouble!"

Trouble??? How much trouble could one guy be?

Of course, this does not dissuade me. If anything, it fuels my morbid curiosity. It entices me to seek him out. A hot, single, straight man is at this party and you're telling me to stay away from him? Challenge accepted. Game on!

I await the opportune moment and casually slide in next to him at the seafood buffet. I smile at him with a little head tilt, a little batting of the eyelashes, a little flip of my blonde locks. I have spent years perfecting the "sweet but seductive" slow, sly, slide of a smile. It's my signature move and it works every time.

"Hi, I'm Grayson. I don't think we've met."

(Like I said, works every time!)

"Hi, I'm Kimberly. No, I don't think we have. I'd remember you." (Smile, smile, bat, bat.)

We exchange a few downtown opening lines. How do you know the hostess? What are your favorite bars down here? What industry are you in? As I reach for a few shrimp to delicately place on my plate (to be eaten later --- there is no sexy way to eat anything covered in cocktail sauce in front of a gorgeous man!) he says, "What? No oysters?"

I felt my skin squirming all around me. The cool, calm, confident Kimberly slipped away, and about-to-be-embarrassed junior high school Kimmy took her place. I wanted to crawl off and hide but I tried to remain in control. "Nah, never really cared for them. Pretty sure they're not delicious."

Grayson smiled my same slow, sly, slide of a smile back at me, batted his gorgeous baby blue eyes, complete with lashes any woman spends all her time and money trying to emulate, and whispered so that only I could hear him...so that I felt like the sexiest, most beautiful woman in the room...so that the two of us were sharing a secret so intimate, no one else in the world could know what he was about to say. "That's a shame. They're supposed to be an aphrodisiac and make everything more amazing in bed."

And then, I swear, he winked. 

Everything inside me melted. Everything inside me flip flopped over. Everything inside me was screaming "Nooooooo! Don't do it!" but I couldn't resist. Those eyes. That hair. The secret whisper. He was so close to me, I couldn't escape. It was like he saw right through me and wouldn't let go. I gave in.

I smile-smiled and bat-batted back at him and whispered soft and low, "Would you show me how?" Ladies, lesson one: Invite a man to teach you how to do something, anything, from holding a baseball bat to driving a stick shift to eating oysters, and you'll have him eating out of your hand. Grayson grabbed a little plate, piled three oysters on it, squeezed a bit of lemon juice on each one, and spooned a tiny dollop of cocktail sauce on each one. 

"I'm giving you three," he said, "in case you like the first one so much that you keep going back for more. Personally, I can never get enough."

Swoon, swoon, double swoon!

The paralyzing fear of putting these sea creatures anywhere near my face was slightly overshadowed by the mesmerizing tranquility of his eyes. "How do I eat them?" I asked, my nervousness growing by the minute. "Just close your eyes, lift it to your lips, tilt your head back, and enjoy. Relax - it'll be a delicious moment for you." Wink again!

I was pretty sure we were no longer talking about oysters. I picked up the smallest shell on my plate, closed my eyes like he said, tilted my head back, and opened my mouth. I felt him waiting on my reaction. I felt his breath hanging in the air, hoping that he would be there for my virgin moment. I felt everyone around us staring at the girl Grayson had cornered by the buffet table, seducing her with seafood. 

I felt like I was going to throw up. 

The oyster did not go down easily. The oyster fought back. The oyster was sticky and slimy all at once. The oyster was not delicious. The oyster got stuck in my throat. The oyster would not be chewed. The oyster did not want me to eat it. The oyster did not want to get me into bed. The oyster was determined to ruin my chances with Grayson. The oyster ruined my life. 

My eyes popped open. I was stricken with grief, humiliation, and terror all at once. A waiter appeared out of nowhere, held a napkin out in front of me, and I spit the oyster out once and for all. Grayson waited a moment before rolling his head back in loud, uproarious laughter - the same kind of laughter that was used to entertain his holiday party entourage earlier was now at my expense. He smirked a mean little Grinch smirk at me and said "Well, I guess that answers that question." 

"Question? What question?" I blurted out, wanting to wipe my tongue clean with the napkin.

"Spit or swallow" he laughed, winked, and walked away.

There is simply not enough expensive champagne to wash down the taste of an oyster, or help you swallow your own pride.

Lesson learned ladies: When your girlfriends warn you about a man you haven't even met yet, chances are - they're right. Don't go looking for trouble, or trouble is exactly what you'll find. 

Blog 365

• • Dearest Readers, 

    
    

    I know I haven't written in a long time (a long, long time) and there are reasons which I'll get deeper into very soon. You should know, however that I've been reading your emails and facebook messages and tweets, and they've kept me going this whole time. I wanted to start this 365 days of writing off with some "fan mail" that really meant a lot to me. 

    
    

    Warning: You may not approve of this message...

    
    

    Kimberly,

    
    

    You're not funny anymore. I am taking you off my newsfeed. I read your blog and at first, it was the adventurers of your dating life, now it seems like your quest to complete yourself with a man. Find happiness in yourself. You could be missing out on chances and opportunities if you focus on being completed by another person. Best of luck to you,

    
    

    Beth

    
    

    Not to worry, I wrote her back!
  • Dear Beth, 

    
    

    You are of course completely entitled to read me or not, although I always appreciate new (and old) followers. Thank you for writing to me with your reasons behind not wanting to read any more, but my life isn't incomplete without a man. I have an amazing family, the best friends a girl could hope to have, a fab job that I love, and I get to pursue some of my favorite passions. Why go on all these dates? To meet someone I could share all those things with. Having a partner, a *real* partner to love and share my life with, as happy as I am, would make me even happier, and my life so much more full. It's not my other half I'm looking for. It's another whole person who appreciates me, teaches me new things, enhances my world just by being in it. I've been through a lot, as so many women have, and the goal has always been to share my stories with all of you - the good, the bad, and the ugly. Some dates are hilariously funny, some days are full of heartbreak. The point is that I don't hide any of it in the hopes that someone can relate to something I write. Maybe it's a guy offering to pay for a hotel room after one drink. Maybe it's the fear of never being a mother. But it's all there and it's all my life.  

    
    

    Love and light, Kimberly

    
    

    
    

    And yet, I get emails (like the following) from readers (like you) on a daily basis. May I just start by saying Thank You.

    
    

    
    

    --- First of all, I love your blog and your writing! There were many nights that I just needed a laugh, and at your expense, I got it :) I know you’ll get your happy ending. You deserve it. Love, Amy

    
    

    
    

    --- Hi, I’ve been waiting on your blog... but no new posts?  I want you to know it makes me feel better though when I read your story.  To know I’m not the only woman going through reject men like this. Yours, Kim in Texas

    
    

    
    

    --- I just wanted to say thanks. I've been reading your blog all day and cracking up!! Thank you so much for writing these and sharing them! It's been an emotional week but your blog is all I seemed to need to make things better! Thanks again and can not wait for new posts!!! ~Shannon

    
    

    
    

    --- I just want to let you know how much I appreciate you and your honesty. Reading your blog I no longer feel alone. I know that I am not the only strong woman that struggles with the same daily bullshit of con artist ex boyfriends and horrible dates. Keep on being true to yourself. You have a fan for life in me. Randi

    
    

    
    

    
    

    I know that I'm not always funny (though there's more of that coming up!) but I am always honest and I always write from the heart. My humor has helped me get through a lot of crazy stuff this past year, and I hope that it's helped some of you as well. Thank You to everyone who has written to me, commented on my Facebook page, tweeted me, listened to me, and come to see my show. You are all collectively the reason I feel strong enough to start this blog again, and turn it into something AMAZING!!! As of now, I will be posting every day. Did you hear that Coffee Lovers??? EVERY DAY!!! 2013 will be our Year Of Love. I can't wait to get this party started and you are all invited! 

    
    

    Hugs and Cupcakes, 

    Kim

    
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

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 me...well...me!

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

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!

Kimberly

Bad Date / Great Story

Solas, NYC

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 woods...at night...by 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

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.

WHY I WANT TO BE A MOTHER

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.