Deciding to date – how I got there…

Back in August when I decided it was time to date there were several motivators. I’d been looking for my own place and engrossed in moving while working for about four months. My friends had been great, but I was tired of getting the “ohmigosh, what happened?” response or having to go through the latest story of drama/conflict/sadness with my ex. Those months where you are separating and trying to hammer out an amicable agreement while not losing your mind over who gets the colander that you got for a wedding gift in the late 80s? Yeah, those are tough. Add to that, our son was in the process of moving to college as well. At some point, my ex and I both had a defining moment at the same time: the realization that we weren’t just separating and maybe working on things, dating, having some personal reflection time and maybe coming back together stronger and happier. No, we were heading towards divorce. Seriously, we both realized this at the same time and both decided to change our Facebook status to “single” instead of “separated” on the same day. I decided independently without realizing that he had done the exact same thing about 5 hours earlier. Huh. So there you go. One definitive moment that permanently altered a 25-year relationship and opened the door to so much possibility.

I felt like I needed to get out and experience my city, socialize and meet new people. I was ready to get away from the “team Mr.” and “team Mrs.” friends or those who really were trying to stay neutral and kept asking how the kids were doing or whether there was any chance we might get back together. Also, there were a fair number of folks who pretended to give a shit just because they wanted the scoop on any potential dirt. I was ready to be a little bit selfish and stop talking about the past, the separation, the ex, the kids…I was ready to focus on ME. And my vagina.

No, seriously. The ex and I had settled into a nearly sexless existence. Including the separation time, by August we had only had sex one time in nine months! I am a very sexual person and less than once a week is a challenge for me. Less than once a month is absurd and we’d been there for a long, long time. I wanted to have sex. I wanted to have a man in my bed – especially since I went to all the trouble of moving it and setting it up and all! This was only one part of the “do stuff for me” resolve that I was working on, but it was a big one.

So where does a 42-year-old, recently separated mother whose body walks the line between “curvy” and “morbidly obese” start? I mean, where do you go? Is that safe? Will they like me? Will I like them? Where do we go if we want to hook up? Do I bring them to my place? Will they rob me? Will they stalk me? Will they leave the seat up? What about going to their place? Is that safe? Will they lock me in their dungeon of pain? Will it be clean? Are there hidden video cameras? Do I bring my own condoms? Is that slutty or just plain responsible? Will I be turned on? Will it suck? Will it HAPPEN??? God, it needs to HAPPEN!

Time to make some milkshakes and bring all the boys to the yard…

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