If at first you don’t succeed, skydiving probably isn’t for you..

Nor is dating, but for some reason we keep on trying.. So when we last heard from our intrepid heroine (ok, me) she had just ended her relationship with P, a sweet, albeit emotionally crippled transitional man, blah, blah, blah.. Ok, enough with the allegorical non-sense, let’s jump in shall we?

First, I’m beginning to notice a trend in my writing.. I am only inspired to write when my life turns to shit.. Luckily for my literary ambitions (and not so luckily for my personal life) I seem to be dealing with an inordinate amount of shit on a regular basis..

Upon ending the doomed relationship with P, I dove headfirst into the proverbial sea we’re supposed to find all these other fish in.. And now, a month and a half or so later, I am climbing out, waterlogged and whipped with a sudden metaphorical seafood allergy. Let me recount to you a random sampling of the experiences I have had and allow you to judge for yourself if I should hang up my swim fins and try skydiving..

First, there T-1 was my disastrous online dating experience.. Trust me when I say I am fairly cute and not desperate for a date by any stretch of the imagination but I suspected that it would be best to be upfront and filter out dating partners that are not comfortable dating a woman with kids. Online dating seemed like a fairly safe way to at least eliminate gentlemen callers that consider children to be a “deal breaker”.. As you’ll find out shortly, this was an accurate assumption, even if it didn’t yield positive results... After a few exchanged emails and calls with a very promising gentleman, we agreed to meet for a drink.. I had seen a picture of him and his description was “a youthful 38”., At the face to face meeting it became obvious that the picture was at least 10 years old and clearly it was a typographical error and 38 was supposed to read “58”.. The date lasted a mind-numbingly uncomfortable 15 minutes.. I’d rather have a pap smear at a Guatemalan medical school than go through that again..

Next there was T-2 (an accurate description), a charming New York Italian that I met at the pub one night. Granted, the fact that he flirted with me and obtained my phone number while on a date with another girl should have served as my first warning. We went out 2-3 times, nothing spectacular, but not bad.. The last date we had ended with him kindly telling me that a twice divorced woman with two kids just didn’t really fit into his preconceived notions of Happily Ever After.. I am aware I have baggage.. Hell, I have garment bags and hat boxes, but I think it’s a sad state of affairs that a man would eliminate the chance of getting to know someone on a more meaningful level just because their life doesn’t fit neatly into a nicely wrapped package.. Of course, he did want me to know that his door is always open should I want any “physical companionship”.. How thoughtful of him..

Next on the Merry Go Round of Dating Hell was gentleman I met out on Halloween while dressed as a “Bad Fairy” which involved leather pants and a naughty attitude. During the topic of conversation, the leather pants and other associated activities came up to which I jokingly described having a part-time job as a dominatrix. While he got my phone number that evening I did not hear from him, but did hear from a mutual friend a few days later that he said I was into bondage and was a bit scary.. Oh for fuck’s sake.. It was Halloween you nincompoop.. He was dressed as Popeye but I didn’t think he was really obsessed with spinach, now did I? All I can say is thank God I didn’t go dressed as a pregnant nun..

So, gentle readers, I have come to the conclusion that, at least for the time being, it seems prudent to take a dating hiatus. To this end I am actually heading off on a 4 day beach trip by myself.. Just me, my books, some DVD’s and my trusty Jackrabbit.. Oh come on, just because the well is dry doesn’t mean I’m have to dehydrate, now does it?? Oh sure, I admit this hiatus will probably last until the next cute boy crosses my path or this cycle’s PMS phase has passed but at this time I am not convinced that there is a redeeming quality to 90% of the men I know.. The 10% that are actually worth a damn are either taken, gay, family members, dear friends or I have given birth to them..

And the beat goes on..