New Year's Date

Besides wishing for the standard love, peace and hap-penis, I have a New Year’s resolution. I’m going to go on more dates than last year! That should bring my ambitious dating quota to 3. And I’m talking Man-dates.

Don’t let my low dating numbers fool you. I’m perfectly dateable. Really smart, really cute, really desirable, good family, not materialistic, savvy with money, athletic (some would say “skinny”), fun yet serious, employable but not employed, experienced with kids and adults and cats but not dogs – what’s not to love?

Could it be the tattoo on my forehead that says, “Divorced! I’ve been rejected! Now I’m hurt and vulnerable! Don’t you fuck with me!” ? I should really have that tattoo removed. Then maybe I could go into bars without men scrambling under their barstools and stooling in general.

Last year I spent the fateful NYE at home, fireside, computer on lap, alternating between legal briefs (no, I’m not in law school, and it wasn't underwear briefs), final fake flirtations with wasbund (who shortly thereafter wholeheartedly ditched me to quickly cohabitate with my old crusty colleague), and simultaneously wondering why Knives didn’t want to spend time with me (being my “boyfriend” and all), yet he went to a party with acquaintances he hadn’t seen in 10 years. I felt truly special and loved.

Seriously though, besides 3 dates, I have a couple sub-NY-resolutions:

·         I want to be the best person I can be. Wait...that’s way too broad.

·         Forget getting in shape. I already am.

Don't get burned in love!

·         Being a good mother and not pulling all my hair out in one day, or anyone else’s?

My son suggested no more wet farts during dinner. For himself, that is.

How about - go to the beach, read and drink a glass of wine every day?

Wine is good for the heart.
I have a really nice, big one of those. Try it.

What about yours?

Holidates

I think the hardest thing about being divorced is the holidays. What? You thought holidays were already stressful? Oh no, my dear friend. You haven’t the faintest idea.

So your kids - YOUR kids - wake up on Christmas morning in another woman’s house. Her “Santa” traditions are impatiently explained to your confused children. Lavish, expensive gifts replace good ol’ fashioned parenting and intact families.

Your relatives are over 3000 miles away. And you are court-ordered not to travel out of state. So you spend Christmas Eve alone, hearing the loud, annoying clink-clink of wasbund and Botox Beotch’s dinner party toast, all the while trying not to wish too hard that your boyfriend will leave his wife.

Sound fun yet? It gets better.



There's a gaping hole in my life

Custody exchanges take place at McDonalds, in the pouring rain, 2 hours late. The police are called, and AAA has to jump start your car, which has died while you are waiting. The kids are hungry and haven’t eaten. You thought wasbund was a cook? Not anymore. It’s McDonald’s drive-thru for Christmas dinner!

Grave times

So if you thought your holidays were a wee bit stressful, crowds at the mall a bit too much, cooking taking all your time – have a go with me. I’ll trade places with you ANYTIME.

Hap Pee Holidates to you, too.