Looking For the Dark Lining...

Or Waiting For the Other Shoe to Drop

It has finally happened. I have met someone. A real, live, charming, kind, funny, smart, witty, nice, passionate, compassionate, successful man.

We have been dating for just over a month and we spent the better part of last weekend together. I was convinced I'd get tired of him. I didn't. I was convinced he'd get tired of me. He didn't.

I am away on business this week which gives me ample time to think and sabotage this new relationship.

I caught myself this morning - searching for negatives - either in him or in how I feel about him. I am not dying here without him - not really missing him, though I do think it would be more fun if he were here. So I ask myself, if I'm not missing him I must not be that into him.

But my heart still jumps when I see a text from him. Or an email. And I still get nervous when I call him.

It has been so long since I've allowed myself to fall for someone I apparently don't know how to do it.

So I am talking myself off the ledge. Talking myself into looking at the positive and not freaking out if he checks the dating service still, or if it takes an hour to reply to an email. As a good friend told me - men do not do or say things just because - generally when they do or say them, they mean it. So if he is showing that he likes me (he is) then he does. And I need to let it go at that.

So, as Cowboy Mouth sang - let it go, let it go, let it go!

Take care, dear readers.

Stop Yelling At Me!!!!!!

My faults are so loud. In my ears, all the time. Why aren't you thinner? Why did you cut your hair? Why did you buy that? Why are you wearing that? Why isn't your house cleaner? Why isn't your car cleaner? Why? Why? Why?

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I can't hear myself over the din.

We get overwhelmed. No one takes stock of their positives at any regular interval.

Life is funny. And not usually ha! ha! funny - more like the whole classroom of third graders mocking you funny. Not that I would know...

I got back in touch with a sorority sister through facebook (yes, the diva uses facebook). And it shocked me how much we were alike. OK, full disclosure, she's 6" with adorable dimples. I'm shorter. And no dimples. Except for the ones on my ass and I don't think they count.

I am constantly amazed at the baggage that women carry. It is like being at the airport - we all carry the same bags. Check the tags, girls, they all look alike.

And this realization makes me sad.

The more women I know, the more women that open up to me, the more women I open up to - the more I love these women. The more I see myself reflected in their eyes. The more I see we are going through the same stuff. The more I want to reach out and rescue or connect or open up and say - look, I'm hurting, too.

But what moves me most is when someone says they look up to me - that they see in me a "success" story of sorts. I don't know what to say to this. I've worked hard, tried hard, cried hard. But I'm still here (as if there was a choice) and I keep going forward and I keep believing there is something great out there for me.

And I've looked up to things about each of these women. They are smart. Smarter than me. They are self-aware. More so than me. They are strong. They are resilient (the thing that I think most men underestimate about women - you will NOT break us). They love without requiring reciprocation.

In short, women are amazing.

And I am proud to know and be inspired by these women. And if you are reading this - you have inspired me. And to the extent I may have inspired you - wow.

Take care, dear readers. I love each of you.

I'm Just A Girl Who Can't Say No

I'm in a terrible fix!

Great song. And quite fitting for tonight.

Here I sit, sipping an affordable American sparkler (the economic downturn has even hit your diva) waiting for yet another date to pick me up. I put on my favorite zebra striped peeptoe wedges and flashed back to a memory.

It was 16 months ago. My very first post-husband date. I bought these shoes specifically for the date. I was thinner (we won't say how much), hair was longer, and I was not as good at dating as I am now. I remember my hand shaking as I took a sip of my French champagne (ahhh, life pre-recession). This was a true first date - met him on match.com. In the beginning there were several first dates and rarely a second. Either he was not what I was looking for, or vice versa. For this guy I was not what he was looking for - which was fine because looking back he reminded me a lot of my ex-husband.

But here I sit, in the same shoes, drinking the same type of drink (if not the exact same) waiting for another man to pick me up. This is a second date. Also off match.com. For the record, I have not been on match.com since late January/early February. But it took us a very long time to meet in person (2 weeks ago). I am not nervous about seeing him. I know my conversation will be fine. I am not worried too much about what he thinks of my looks. They aren't what they were 16 months ago. I've gained weight. Would I like to change that? Yes. Am I working to change that? Yes. Am I going to change that in the next 40 minutes? No. So I am not going to worry about it - too much.

I have more second dates now. More third dates. More men that actually start to care about me. That, my friends, is when it gets really scary. I keep saying I'm opening my heart but I'm not really. I think I'm just looking out the peephole. Maybe I'm opening up but keeping the chain on the door. All I know is flinging it wide is terrifying me. Making me stutter forward when most women would run toward some of these men.

Or maybe I'm caught up in my own metaphors.

Take care, dear readers. I'm in my lucky shoes.