Sorry for the delay in a dating update, y’all, I was busy because sister got married!!! While we can all agree that she was the most flawless bride, and had a perfect weekend, married an awesome family (“you two go in the corner to cry!”) that the highlight of the night, that clearly everyone is still talking about, was my sick dance moves. Obvi. Anyway, back to me.
Spending so much time with family, I got asked a question many, many, fucking so many times this weekend. How in the world are you still single? And imma like “I dunno, maybe because I don’t use that one filter with fox ears and whiskers as my profile picture? I use one of a lasagna.
So, I did what any mature, well educated, total hot catch would do…. I passed my phone around so that people could view some of the people I am stalking and they find that creepy my potential suitors on their own.
Gentleman #1. This guy is in court? I’m not kidding, zoom in, THERE IS SOMEONE IN A PRISON UNI!!!!!!! Like, as in “Please take the stand you criminal?” court???? Also, I love the warm and fuzzies I get from him… You know, he works at “None of your fucking business.” Immma like, “P.T. let me take you home and introduce you to my family!”
Can you even imagine me with Gentleman #2? He wants to live in a forest and make fires with sticks and shoelaces? Then he wants to do the splits? And eat pie? Oh, shit. I do love pie.
There was this guy, but I told him my mom said no.
Here is the thing, I would love to say that these are anomalies (is that the right word? Or are those a sea creature?), but this is LEGIT what is out there. And believe me, I am not saying I am a catch, and I have super low fucking standards, but I do sort of draw the line at prison eh, maybe I shouldn’t commit to “no prison” . And I TOTALLY draw the line at Teva’s.
Here’s the thing about me. I am kind of a dick. Wait, I don’t mean it that way. Actually, yea I do. Maybe I mean skeptical? Is that being a dick? Idunno. At any rate. I figured that after posting about some of my potential suitors, it only made sense to follow up with some of the completely fucked up conversations that happen, so that you can really understand how why I am dedicating myself to the betterment of cats and therefore will be adopting 12 online dating works.
Now, I should preface this by saying, I just swipe right. I am not going to read profiles ahead of time, I just swipe until I can’t swipe anymore. And then I “match” with people like this:
Look, in real life, if I was actually paying attention and not sedated blindly swiping, I would NEVER EVER swipe on a guy who has better boobs than me in four out of five of his pictures, forgot to put a shirt on. Because honestly, that is really fucking forgetful! But, alas, I do, and I end up with Jeff, the karate kid. Guarantee we have zero in common. Including I don’t forget to wear shirts nearly as often as he does.
So anyway, the point being, now you know, I have no method in my “swipe” other than “Meh, go for it until you have carpel tunnel or run out of candidates.”
Which leads me to the messages I get. Honest to fucking god, I do this to myself, because, (above) I am an asshole.
There was Andy. The guy who totally didn’t use stock photos for his profile pictures, except, yes, yes he did. He also said he went to Stanford, (Man, I am so dumb sometimes, I should have asked him “Real quick, Andy, tell me! What is the Mascot?” because no one would guess it is the flying rabid pine trees.) but his grammar says otherwise. Then, he wrote me a small biography on what he is doing now, INCLUDING, living in Africa, but not to worry, he has figured out the distance. Only thing he needs is my SS#, DOB and bank routing # and we will be ret.to.go.
So, as you can imagine, based off of shirtless Jeff and Africa Andy, I am feeling pretty fucking confident about my candidates! And letmetellyou, my ego was a boosted by this guy. Who in ONE HOUR messaged me FOUR times AND told me I have a nice chin.
lemmetellyou, nothing boosts the confidence the way that “Great chin btw” does. Nothing.
But here is an example of one of the messages I had, that makes me think to myself “Yolanda Squatpump (you don’t think I really refer to myself as “Nara” when I am talking to myself, how fucking lame would that be? I can be any name in the world when I am talking to myself, today I pick Yolanda Squatpump) you can’t rip on online dating and then do the below. It is not indicative of a princess, which you clearly are not are.
So, there you have it. 24 hours in, and I am feeling pretty confident that Mr. Nara 2.0 is not anywhere close to the fucking interwebs and likely doesn’t have a computer in his prison cell due to spring up any time!
So, after a really long hiatus of attempting to date, followed by disastrous dating endeavor, I had a weekend rally of too much rose, tacos, and burnt hamburgers girlfriends telling me to get out there. Look, the former Mr. Nara and I have been divorced so long, that he is getting re-married. I’m still too nervous to meet at an Applebee’s for frozen potato skins. But these chicks reminded me that I could do it!!! I could beat my totally awky social anxiety, stop ghosting dates, and find myself someone who wants a cougar. Whoa. Pump the brakes. No one told me to find someone who wants a cougar…. It is just that when you really try and get yourself out there, this happens.
Let the record state, that the TWENTY FIVE YEAR OLD says “Since I was a kid.” Because you know, now he isn’t a kid. He is a big kid. This was really like 11 minutes into operation “Get the fuck back out there, Nara.” But it had to get better, right? Nope.
I dunno, I mean, maybe I was being too selective? Maybe this is what happens? I need to either decide to be someones cougar, or date a felon? Let’s not act like I am some prize catch here. I’m just your normal day single mom, homeowner, gainfully employed, sort of chubby but pretty funny gal. So, I sent my squad some of the dating pool options.
I never, ever should have led with little hand. I mean, I should know better. But honestly, have you ever seen such a teenie petite hand????
However, you can see where things are going from here amirite?
This went on for far longer than you would ever imagine a few minutes until I showed them some of my other “options”
There was this guy. Who does not work out and is not proud of it. He doesn’t know yet, but he actually does not want to date me. Because it will be annoying for him to be all egg whites and push ups, while I am nachos and netflix. And still hotter than him. I made that last part up.
There was this guy, who 100% just murdered someone and has the gloves to prove it who likes dogs.
This guy, who likes to read and wear glasses.
And last but not least, this guy, who seems to be a perfect fit for me, but he is ignoring my 23 messages to connect, so he must not think we are a good fit, which seems to happen to me a lot.
So folks, here is my request. Take this profile and print it out business card style. Take it with you on your adventures and find me the next Mr. Nara. Peace out dating websites. I gave you 12 hours and you failed me!!!!
I have been reminded quite a bit lately that I have not been blogging. And, ja know, it is true. It’s because I have mostly been snacking, drinking wine and shoveling. And petting my dog. Dear fuck I am a loser. So really, what better day to blog about my love life, than the day Cupid moved the rock and rose from the dead. Wait? Was that this holiday? What the actual fuck did cupid do?
Anyholla. I decided I wanted this blog to be two part (now, let’s see if my ADD allows for that). Part 1. How my incredibly busy dating life has been, and Part 2. My perfect online dating profile.
So, Part 1. The end. No, really. NOTHING HAS FUCKING CHANGED.
Part 2. Lemme tell you married people something. It is REALLY HARD writing an online profile of yourself. You have to “sell” yourself. But thing is, when you are out of a marriage, you don’t always feel super fucking awesome about yourself. Especially when you have been dealt some of the blows I have. Actually even just one. Just get dealt one of mine. Not a gigantic confidence boost. (except the formers new lady, according to sources, looks just like me AND has the same last name. Creepy, or stalky?)
This is what my actual profile says (can’t make this up, but it’s not online now, because I am burnt out from fielding marriage requests from men 15 years younger than me and am just going to work on stalking yoga or something).
Me. Was married for 10 years, but decided online dating seemed more fun. Have a great job, beautiful home and 2 mini-me’s. I’m skeptical of online dating, but having trouble meeting “the one” when sitting at home watching Bravo TV.
You. Must love cheese, bacon, dogs and wine. Be gainfully employed and not live with mom. Be active but not a Spartan. If your profile says things like “Hit me up” or “LOL” I am already annoyed. Gentlemen who have already claimed to be “the one” for me, so you need not apply: someone who asked if I like being slapped with bacon (no), a stripper (like, current, CURRENT stripper), someone who faked a dead wife, someone who sat down upon first meeting and said “My wife went butch, you gunna too?” And many men who are not “technically” single. If you support Trump, I assure you, we are not going to get along.
I mean, that’s funny, right???? Well, seems as though “funny” is not a quality people look for anymore. It also seems as though people don’t like women who own a home and are employed. And eat bacon. And drink wine. Otherwise EVERYONE says “hit me up.” (oh shit, maybe that is why I am always annoyed).
Anyjolla, I decided that I would write what I think my perfect online dating profile would be. Ya know, like the shit you want to say, but don’t.
Me: I dunno, I’ll prolly put some of the stuff from above in, however, here is the real me, lets give it a go.
Was married for 10 years, but decided online dating seemed more fun. Have a great job, beautiful home and 2 mini-me’s. Had my heart aggressively trampled on, but still believe (ish) in happy endings. Want an equal in life. You work, I work, I cook, you do dishes. Want someone to share the great (sunny days at the beach) and not as great (3rd grade recorder concert) with. Want someone who checks their phone in the middle of the night to see if I said “hi” and if I didn’t, you say it, because ya know, you are thinking of me. Want “easy” in a hard world. What does that mean? You understand that my life is chaotic, and even if I am not the fastest to respond to texts, it doesn’t mean I am not thinking of you…. It means, life. You don’t ever ask for racy photos…. Why, because you respect me… And really, who the fuck does that?
You: Understand that I had a life before you, but still want a life with you. What does that mean? I have two people who rule my every being. I never would have guessed I could love going to third grade basketball games, and doing science projects, and reading Octonauts every.single.night. They are actual parts of me (not like my old art teacher who had a sixth finger on both hands, but you know what I mean). You understand that I am a work in progress. Sure, I want to go to the gym more, and be the prettiest, smartest, fastest, but I’m not. And I don’t. And I won’t. Because life. I don’t really watch TV, but always have music on. You should be overly comfortable with a nightly dance party. I don’t believe in electronics at the dinner table. Or lunch table. Or breakfast table. I am right here. But the phone down, I assure you, nothing happened on FaceBook.
So, there you have it, the profile I would like to post, but won’t, because, eh, imma hold out and hope I meet someone in the produce potato chip aisle.
The plan was, just don’t open the door. Isn’t that how it goes? Lights off, no one will knock, but if they do, just don’t open the door. But then I heard my little panther “Dis is my mommy’s house” and I had to answer. I didn’t even have a piece of candy to give my little panther because all along, the plan was, just don’t open the door.
My therapist says it’s ok for everything to still hurt. All. The. Time. He also says it’s ok for me to drink wine and that sometimes I should just go to a hotel and order room service and sleep all day. I really like him.
You read about this feeling of instrumental loss when you get divorced. It is equated to a death. Part of you literally dies inside. Years later I am trying to figure out if I will ever get that part back….. You know, like an iguana tail that grows back….. I don’t know if mine will or if it just died.
My therapist says everyone must think I am always fine, because I laugh about my life, I am honest about it, I just push through it, but there are still days I end up on the floor, crying, wondering who the fuck I pissed off to get here.
Sometimes, I still look at my wedding rings, and think about when we bought our first house, or our second house, or our first apartment. 15 years of it and my entire plan was “Just don’t open the door.” More times than not, I wonder if I will ever move on, or even go on a real date, or if my tail will grow back.
I tell myself all the time that someone had to move on first…. I am generally use to being the first one to get shit accomplished, so maybe that is why it is so hard, but I suspect it is something different.
I joke about it, but the reality is, in comparison, I have it pretty good. When one of the minis pukes and shits at the same time (or, not at the same time) the first person I text is the former Mr. Nara. I wondered with him just yesterday, how it will be when our oldest (slightly vain, already enjoying excessively long showers) hits puberty. I think likely, because when your tail is ripped off, you go back to what you know. But I think too, that because when someone is shitting and puking at the same time, only the other 1/2 of what created that disgusting mess understands.
I am lucky in comparison, but nothing eases the pain of your tail being ripped off other than time. At least that is what my therapist says. Sort of.
My sweet peanut, this is your day. You have patiently waited 364 days to get here. You have told Biggie and I every day that “Ugh, it is takin fovea to be six.” You finally made it. We have spent so much time talking about your party (gymnastics, obvi) and who will go. And you say it so gently “Mom, do I still have fwiends? Because, mom, I go to a new school now.” (you know, like in case I was not aware). We have talked extensively about what snacks will be served at this glorious event (pretzels, apple sauce and cheese sticks). No one loves their birthday as much as you do.
Every year, every single year pee wee, I tell you, Biggie started our family, and you completed it. And still, even in this last year, with so much that has changed, that still remains the same. You complete our mini-tripod. When my heart broke, it is as though you both took one piece and put it back together.
You are our old soul. Just so sweet and kind in spirit. When I remind you all the time to tell me that I am a beautiful princess, you say “But momma, where is your crown hat?” When I tell you that I lost it, or left it at work, you say “Oh momma, I will get you one den.”
You love with your full heart. Every day when I pick you up, you run into my arms, and we race to the car (you somehow win every day) and then we hold hands. Every day.
Every night, when we put you to bed, you ask for brother and I to sleep in your room, not because you are scared, or want a sleep over, but because you “don’t like to be away from us too long.”
Every morning, when I lay in bed with you, you say “Momma, you seep in my bed all night, we so cozy.” Then you suck on your boo boo. I could do without that part.
You are our creature of habit. Same breakfast every morning (banana muffins, apple slices and “cold lellow apple juice”). Same lunch every day (cheese and square “quackers” fruit, gummies). And every night when we get home, you need to relax for a minute with a “cow milk.” You are such a creature of habit, that when we went to Disney this year, you and I rode Dumbo. 14 times in a row.
You LOVE helping. I was painting a cabinet for your play room last week, when you asked if you could help. You sat down with me in the driveway and after painting for a minute or two said “Momma, when do we go get coffee? Like workers do. They get coffee.”
You tattle. The other day, you said “Mom, daddy gives me somefin I yike to drink, and it is lellow.” To which I said “Apple juice?” And you said “No, soda, and daddy says no tellin mommy, so I didn’t.”
You love your brother SO much. I am so lucky to have these two boys, who are so different, yet so alike. You miss him when he is gone. And by “gone” I mean, when he goes poop, you go with him.
You are fresh. In fact, Biggie and I call you “baby fresh butt.” This weekend, you saw that I was walking around looking for something, and said “Momma, what you doing?” I told you that I was looking for Quinn’s blankie, to which you said “Oh, I frew that in da trash, hold my hand and I can take you to it.” So. Matter. Of. Fact.
You are so strong willed. If you don’t get what you want, you will say “Fine, den I goin to bed!” hashtag winning.
You are SO silly. This year, the Y had a “Doggy pool day” there must have been 25 dogs swimming in the pool, and you.
You are SO confident in who you are. Let me re-phrase that, you are so comfortable in who you are being naked. I never thought I would say things like “Dude, put your ding dong away.” so.very.much.
You think you are 25 years old. This summer, after seeing Biggie go tubing once in Maine, you decided that not only would you be doing that, but that you didn’t need an adult. Your papa and I spent a solid day worrying about it, when you just jumped on the tube from the dock and yelled “Hit it, and turn up the speed for dis guy.” True. Fucking. Story.
You amaze and scare me at the same time. You are so determined. You don’t give up when anyone else would have. And when you are working, you say “I got dis.”
Every day, I worry… Am I enough for you and Biggie? Can me, this one person, do this alone? Raise two boys. Alone. And every day, you both remind me, I can, because you do it with me. You have taught more in six short years than I can ever teach you. I have these times that in my heart, you and biggie have always been with me. I don’t remember a day that you were not there.
Biggie and I are so excited to celebrate six with you. Your favorite toys (guys) and your favorite food (pizza, circle kind, that “Da guy brings to da door.”). Happy six my sweet love.
So I really was basically forced decided to take a temporary break from dating. It’s hard A.F. to be honest all those potentially perfect suitors banging at my door all flowers and wine trying to balance your current life, that is already busy and add something new in. Plus, I am a RAGING bitch and I don’t want to share my closet or bed. Ever. So Mr. Nara 2.0 is going to have to agree to wear the same clothes every day and sleep on a cot in the living room (because I am also not moving, see, see how easy I am to get along with!).
But this whole “dating” thing makes you really self evaluate. Look, I know that I am a golden fucking treasure as beautiful as a princess and as rare as a mermaid and someone will figure it out one day might have a thing or two I could work on (for example, I was on a 5:00 am flight the other morning and the woman next to me had fake eyelashes on. I had yoga pants on who’s winning here???? I could OCCASIONALLY step up my A game a bit.)
However, when you find yourself 29 +10 and single (like FUCKING SINGLE), you can’t help but wonder “What is it that I want?” I always felt like my list of “wants” was actually quite reasonable…. For example:
I WANT you to have a job. Why, because I do. I have a good one. You should too. Don’t bitch about it, don’t be searching for a career or figuring yourself out, that ship sailed. Get up, go to work, go home, just like the rest of us acting adults do.
I WANT you to have a life outside of me. Wait. Not like the kind that Mr. Nara 1.0 had, but like friends and shit. Why? Because in my new found single life, I have realized that I need my girlfriends. I need stupid conversations and chick movies. I need to talk about Bravo TV…. I love things that are pretty and painting and sometimes, just being alone…. Sure sure, you go ahead and put those New England Red Sox on and that is great and all, I will like it with you, and cheer for them to get a goal, but I don’t need to love everything you do. You don’t need to obsess over pink paint with me. Deal.
I WANT you to be close to your family. Because I am (close to mine, not yours, I don’t even know yours).
You must like dogs. Not tolerate them, actually LIKE them. This isn’t about My dog (well, obvi of course it is) this is about who you are as a person. No offense, but people who don’t like dogs are fucking weird.
But then, I have come to realize as much as I feel like I have these simple “wants” I am also figuring out what I don’t want. For example:
I don’t want you to be someone you are not. Really, EVERY fucking guy on dating websites is a professional rock climber? And none of you need ropes and pulleys and shit? REALLY????? Because I have NEVER, not ONCE in “real” life met someone who is an avid rock climber.
I don’t want you to be vegan, vegetarian, diet restricted. Why, because I am not. And honestly, people who are like “Does that have kava bean in it, I don’t eat that, I am on a seaweed and kale diet.” Drive. Me. Fucking. Nuts. And I am positive people who eat seaweed and Kale must just fart all fucking day. There is this guy who sometimes works out of my office and he brings in a (large) cooler of deli meat with him. He eats, no joke, like a pound and ½ of salami every time he is there. Know what he does? He farts. Because when you are on some crazy diet like that, that is what happens. I want to be with a guy that I am like : “You want steak and mashed, sweet.” (sidebar, I am DYING for outback steakhouse lately. God I am so fucking pretty).
I don’t want you to have Peter Pan syndrome. I need to be with someone who has been married (because you have learned sharing and can teach me a thing or two) and has kids. And the kids are an ACTIVE part of their life. Why, because mine are. So when I have swimming, football, homework, running noses, I need you to understand. And I will with you.
I don’t want to meet you on a dating website. Why? Because I have come to realize that I don’t believe in it. I want to meet you because you are like “Yep, she’s the one.” Not because you are like “Yep, profile picture #1 is good, #2 looks kind of airbrushed but I’ll meet her for a drink.” And guess what, it is the same like, 20 people on dating websites. I don’t want to be that person. I want to have a story. I don’t really care if it is “We met pumping gas” that’s cool. Know what isn’t “We met on Tinder.” Because I am still waiting to hear about my first tinder, match, bumble success story.
So, Mr. Nara 2.0, let me know when you are pumping gas and I will meet you there (oh, you should also be able to read, because ya know, you will need to read to see this).