Mr. Quirky and I in front of my old apartment complex where we shared our first kiss

One of the odd side affects of working from home is that the lack of daily interaction with co-workers makes me extra chatty.

It didn’t take much, really.

Tonight on my nightly trip to the grocery store (why can’t I learn how to do this once a week?!), I recognized a woman from my old apartment complex. Despite the fact that I never once exchanged words with her while we lived under the same roof, I felt compelled to say hello. (See previous statement about being extra chatty.)

She recognized me.

We both had dogs and often passed on the sidewalk, or in the parking garage.

Without much else to discuss, I asked her if she still lived there. She said that she had recently moved in with her boyfriend. I shared that I was married in February.

We congratulated one another.

“It’s so nice to be out of there, isn’t it?” she asked me.

Well, I hadn’t really thought about it that way. I really loved living in the complex, especially the days I shared the apartment with roomie. The pool, the proximity to the Plaza, the beautiful fountains and view from the patio…

But sure, I thought, it is great to be in a house again. And even better to share my home with Mr. Quirky.  I mentioned that I lived there after a divorce and despite some crazy management issues, it was a wonderful place to enjoy my single days.

“Exactly!” she said. “I was married for 27 years. I moved there after my divorce too! It was a great place to rejuvenate and find myself.”

Suddenly I felt warm and tingly. (And no, it had nothing to do with my close proximity to the wine section.)

I couldn’t have said it better myself. “A place to rejuvenate and find myself.”

Isn’t that the key to moving on after divorce? Isn’t that the reason that despite such a horrific and jarring end to my first marriage, I’ve been able to sink cozily into the institution once again?

On my way home, I thought about what it meant to “be out of there.” Being out of there means I’m out of the dark early days. It means I have a wonderful husband to laugh with and spend my days with. It means I will never have to go back “there” again.

I really did find myself in that apartment. I found Queen of Quirky (and not just the blog), I found my love of cooking, I found a dozen wonderful friends including DD Girl and Roomie. And most importantly, I found Mr. Quirky.

And even though I live in a house with a couch on the front porch, (Will someone please come take that darned couch?! We moved it to make room for my new office.) I’m happy to be out of a place where I needed to rejuvenate and find myself.

I guess I am really glad to be out of there.

The McChristmas (Tree) fight of 2009.

A battle of traditions. And a quirky couple who had to merge two very different traditions. Specifically ornament traditions.

You don’t mess with me when it comes to ornaments.

<—- just look at those beady red eyes. I’m holding last year’s ornament.

THE ornament given to me by my mother each year.

Thematically gifted for each year that passes.

See? That ornament has a picture of the Country Club Plaza on it. Which is where I moved after my divorce. (Because I had always wanted to live near there. And because I could. And why wouldn’t I?)

Isn’t my mom clever? (Truth be told: she had to regift that ornament from her own tree because she looked high and low for a Plaza ornament but couldn’t find one. But STILL. It’s the tradition that counts.)

Every year. I own an ornament symbolizing every year of my life since seventh grade.

The moose playing volleyball? Eighth grade. Only I didn’t play volleyball. I um, didn’t quite make the team. But I was the manager and that is a VERY important roll….

Backpack? No, not Kindergarten. It was my senior year in high school. (Because every high school senior caries a backpack with a bear and a pencil in it.)

Corvette with gifts? I think even my mom will admit that one was a stretch. But it was meant to symbolize 2000. The year I graduated from college and struck out on my own as a reporter in Rocky Mount, NC.

But let’s not be selfish here. It’s not like my mom won’t give one to the fiance each year. This is the tradition that keeps giving.

And so, I had visions of our first Christmas tree. Decked with white lights (the only acceptable lighting in my opinion) and the lot of my sentimental ornaments.

It would be so sweet. And as the years passed, we would add to it with the ornaments collected together.

My vision was brought to a screeching halt.

Someone else had an ornament tradition. 10 years ago, a young 20 year-old bachelor decided he would enlist his buddies to help him deck out his Christmas tree.  So he did what he did best: he threw a party.

And invited all of his friends to bring him an ornament for his tree.

Oh, they brought ornaments. Every year. (hmmm….notice anything familiar?)   Some more “appropriate” than others. Most very funny and light-hearted in nature. Many hand-made, including the beloved McRib ornament. Crafted so cleverly from several boxes of the elusive McRib.

It was time to set a date for the 10th annual ornament party and we had a big problem.

How could we put my sweet little moose playing volleyball on the same tree with McRib boxes? These two traditions just weren’t going to work. We needed a solution.

Him: Well, why don’t we pick from the best of my ornaments and then put yours on too?

Me: OR, we could have a special tree for the “adult” ornaments and then have a family ornament tree?

Oh, that didn’t go over well at all.

He heard: Your ornaments are crap and need to be separated.

And so the fight began. Somehow, I missed his first offer to compromise. (I’m a little silly about listening at times.)

All I could think of was how could we manage years and years of both traditions? And what about when we have kids? Some of his ornaments might not be child-friendly. And I wanted to be sure there was room (in our lives) on the tree for children.

He persisted.

I persisted.

He threw up his hands and said we’d cancel the party.

But that’s not what I wanted. I just wanted a compromise (remember, I didn’t quite catch that first offer.)

Tears were shed.

I told him not to cry.

I’m just kidding. It was me.

And finally, in a moment of clarity, I suggested that we take the best of his ornaments and all of mine (because there are many more of his than mine.) And he laughed because it’s exactly what he had suggested in the first place.

And I ate a little crow, but it’s ok.

Because we figured out how to merge two very different traditions. And, at the same time, offering a hard-core challenge to our friends (because mine are invited too.) May the best ornaments win a permanent place on our tree.

So bring on the McRibs this year. I’ll be happy to place the best of the best right next to my little moose.

Part II

Part III

Sidebar

Boyfriend. Was I really ready for this?

Our worlds could not have been any different.

I lived in a gated community on the Plaza with a pool and fitness center. My apartment was small, but tidy. I prided myself in stuffing a few of my antiques into the living room and keeping dog hair off the couch. It was cozy.

He lived in a sprawling mansion with two boys. I would later refer to the house as the Man House. Because that’s what it was – a giant house filled with boy things and usually the opposite of tidy. And holy cow you did NOT want to use the bathroom there.

As someone who had been domesticated for nearly the past six years of her life, the man house was crazy foreign to my previous life.  And so were the inhabitants – both living and well… 

Not living.

Yes. Action figures.(Do NOT call them Action Men.) Hundreds of them.

They stared at me from the bookshelves they stood on. Their little beady eyes penetrated my skin. Was I woman enough to share this new boyfriend with them?

I said yes.

Yes, to wanting to see where this would go. Yes to juggling strange sleep schedules. Yes to meeting new  and often unique friends (living). Yes to table top game cards, action figures and comic books. Even yes to that freaking gross bathroom.

But mostly,  yes to this guy I was starting to fall for.

So a summer of sleep deprivation, bar-hopping in Westport, Rock Band playing, movie-watching and road tripping began. I couldn’t have been happier.

But my life wasn’t completely clean of the divorce. Around July the little bits of communication that I still had with my ex-husband got really ugly. Things were said that upset me. Then I got upset for getting upset.

But I’m so happy, I’d say. Why is this bothering me?

It bothered me because it should. Because as much as I was starting to fall in love with the boyfriend, there were still some messy emotional issues I had to face. I didn’t want to. I wanted to dive into this new thing with my whole heart and soul.

But was that fair to the boyfriend?

Whatever. I loved him. He loved me. We told each other that on the night of July 3, 2008.

The next morning on my way home from the man house, I wrecked, totalled my car.  The boyfriend was amazing. He arrived at the scene in minutes. He went to Winsteads and picked me up a butterscotch milkshake.  He held my hand through the process of dealing with insurance and the decision to get my old car that was sitting in my old garage running again instead of buying something new.

It was starting to feel like a relationship. I could depend on him. He could depend on me. We were a team.

And then, without warning, I hit the panic button.

We were at a concert with friends. Suddenly I started to feel like I wanted to cry.

For no reason. Like I was about to have a complete and total meltdown.

I left. I told the boyfriend I needed to home. To my home. Not the man house where I had planned to stay. But my tidy little apartment with my nice furniture and cute candles and snuggly pajamas. He was supportive, a little worried but not concerned. It was probably just PMS, I had told him.

By the time I got home, I was in the throws of an anxiety attack. But why?

Was I not just 20 minutes ago out with friends having fun?

I called Dawn. She was down the street at another friend’s condo. Come over, they said.

I put it all on the table. My doubts, insecurities, the pain of the divorce, the recent harsh things that had been said, this fast-moving, free-falling relationship I had embarked in.

They listened.

And then they asked me another question that I wasn’t quite sure how to answer: Are you ready for this?

I thought I was, but…

To be completed.

Part II

Sidebar

I looked up at him from the flowers, a little bewildered.

Doyouwannamakeout?

And as my brain translated his mushed together words, I remembered our conversation about kissing before the first date.

Um, sure? I’m a relatively hip, cool 30 year-old chick, dating multiple men, making out with strangers … why not kiss this red-headed boy before I kick his butt in skee-ball?

I leaned forward and our lips touched (this is weird, really weird) and we started to kiss (this is good, really good).  And then the kiss was over, and I was still standing there, holding a bouquet of flowers looking at this date of mine whose lips I had just been locked with.

What was his last name again?

He opened the car door for me. I didn’t know what to say, so I blurt out something about how he looked like his picture. He laughed, closed the car door and got in on his side. I pulled a gift out of my purse – a weird little pickle statuette that I thought he would find funny.

The ice had been broken, gifts had been exchanged, but there were still first-date nerves kicking around randomly  in my stomach like me trying to keep up with a kick-boxing class. 

We chit chatted all the way to Dave & Buster’s. He was easy to talk to, even if he was little hard to understand at times.

Understandably, he wanted to know why a seemingly normal [attractive, successful, talented, outgoing, smoking hot, sexy...oops, I inserted those.] woman such as myself ended up divorced at age 30. I promised him the story over dinner.

He listened as I told my story while we enjoyed beers before our food.

He shared that he has been in several serious relationships, recently ending a 10-month romance with a live-in girlfriend. 

I kind of already knew that, since I had stalked him on Facebook. Her profile was public and I had also checked her out – tall, blonde,  attractive and seemingly into all the same things he was into. She was also a foodie – someone who I thought would be a good friend to have.  She kind of seemed perfect for him, but what did I know? I couldn’t be intimidated by his past, just like he couldn’t be intimidated by mine.

Dating was so weird.

Besides, I was still trying to force myself to have fun and not get tied down. So while I was enjoying our date, I was trying not to map out our future.

But with him, everything was so easy.

After dinner, we loaded up some Dave & Busters game cards and hit skee-ball. True to my promise I beat him. (Aside from that game and one fluke game of Trivial Pursuit, it stands as one of  the only times I beat him at anything.)

After an hour or so we had enough tickets to claim some prizes in the ticket redemption shop. What to get, what to get.

When you are on a first date, these decisions matter.

We discovered a pair of battery-powered whirly headbands. Dork-dom to the Nth degree. Awesome. We wore them out of the restaurant, holding hands with stupid plastic headbands buzzing above us.

But my heart was buzzing louder.

Have you ever been on a first date and you just.wanted.it.to.be.over?

This was not that date. With the kiss out-of-the-way, and more kisses during dinner and games, there was no anxiety, only a really strong attraction that was growing and growing. Oddly, it felt like a third or fourth date.

Even though it was well after 11 p.m. on a Sunday night, I couldn’t get enough of him. He took me to his favorite bar in Westport. We had a drink and more conversation. Then, he saw some friends, “c’mon I want to introduce you!”

Woah. Introduce me? On the first date?

After I met several people, he took me to another bar where one of his two roommates was working. Later, the roommate referred to me as the Alyson Hannigan chick. (This became the inspiration for my Band Camp Girl Halloween costume that year)

At some point, I had to go home. He came with me and we talked and kissed way into the wee hours of the morning. (Nothing else happened. It was PG rated. Ok, maybe PG-13.)

The next morning, exhausted, deliriously happy and bed-heady, I walked him down to the front gate. We kissed again as the elevator opened and out walked hot neighbor.

Hot neighbor who was so gorgeous that I often lost my ability to form sentences when I was around him. Hot neighbor who was a lawyer, worked out regularly, kept a great tan and was super sweet. Hot neighbor who could feasibly still think I was on the market and had never seen me with a boy.

I could care less. “Hi, [insert hot-neighbor's real name],” I said. “This is  [KCFilm Guy.]”  Another kiss and then I was back upstairs to get ready for work.

That night, I had several friends over for a dinner party I’d been planning for a few weeks. I invited KCFilmGuy to stop by if he wanted to, after dinner. It was past 9 p.m., and any normal night I would consider cleaning up my kitchen and heading to bed after a few glasses of wine and a good meal.

But KCFilmGuy wanted to know if I wanted to come to his place and see a movie.

So began a week of absolutely no sleep whatsoever.

KCFilmGuy had a job that started after noon each day. My job started at 7:30 a.m.  I began to feel the effects of my sleepless week.

I wasn’t sure this was going to work out. I really needed my sleep and it seemed KCFilmGuy never slept. At 9 p.m., he’d only been  home from work for an hour or so and his evening was just getting started. At 9 p.m., I had already run a few miles, taken a shower, watched a few shows, eaten dinner and was thinking about bedtime.

But love is a funny thing. It keeps you going, even when you otherwise would be falling asleep at your computer during the day.

What were we doing? We had spent every night together since our date. And when we weren’t together, we were texting. This was so very different from the sporadic but reliable texts and dates I experienced with the other guys I had been seeing.

And speaking of them, what was I supposed to do about them? It was clear that I really, really liked KCFilmGuy, but I was trying not to settle down with anyone. And they were both really great guys. Was I ready to tell them good-bye?

I hadn’t had a chance to figure out the answers to these questions. I was just so tired and happy and confused…so, I put off thinking and decided to live in the moment.

But sometimes, you are confronted with a choice when you least expect it.

It was passed 1 a.m. on Thursday night. KCFilmGuy had made me a late dinner of  his famous tuna casserole (I didn’t have the heart  to tell him I  made tuna helper the night before and also had leftovers for lunch, so the last thing I wanted to put into my mouth was more tuna.)

We were talking on his front porch – we had really lucked out in that we only lived 1.5 miles away from one another – and then he presented something I wasn’t quite prepared for.

“I was thinking that I don’t want to date anyone else. I really like what we have here and I want to see where it can go.”

To be continued…

Part IV

Call me a Match.com conservative, but I would typically respond with a wink back to my winkers. Put the ball in their court and see if they could string a sentence togehter. (You would be so surprised at the level of writing that was out there.)

There was something different about this one. I took a gamble and sent a note.

Within a few hours my phone vibrated, alerting me to a response.

He  had me at cheese. Specifically one of four question in his first e-mail to me: cheddar or Swiss?

I love a man who can talk cheese. I responded with a  diatribe about the intricacies of cheddar and Swiss with the moral that Swiss often gets stuck between wilted lettuce and soggy tomatoes and cheddar gets all the glory.

Ok, so boy could write, boy was attractive and boy spoke cheese, but there were still lingering questions. He was 28. I was 30. Why had he winked at me? I could tell by his profile that he was only interested in women up to 30. Had he not seen that I was pushing 31?  He claimed in his first note to me it was a moot point. But I had to press the issue…

Thanks for squashing my insecurities about being 30. I feel old often, but I think it’s because I re-entered the singles scene and find myself out until 1 a.m. with 23 year-olds who don’t yet want to saw their feet off at the end of the night when wearing a killer pear of stilettos. They also don’t go home and smear on Oil of Olay nor do they have five different kinds of sunscreen for different parts, but I digress…

Yeah, way to be sexy, Stephanie…

Back and forth we went. Witty banter at its finest. I grew more ridiculously happy with each e-mail that was exchanged. For some reason, I wasn’t holding back with this one.

Soon the e-mails moved to texts and became more frequent. Two days after I received the Match.com wink, I was laying out by the pool, exchanging texts with KCFilmGuy, and my phone rang.

It was him.

After letting out some Jr. Highesque squeals, I clicked the green connect button.

“Hello?” (As if I DIDN’T know who it was.)

On the other end was the fastest talker I had ever heard.

“Idecideditwouldbeasiertopickupthephoneratherthankeeptexting.”

<blink. blink.>

Huh?

Eh, go with it. So he talks fast. Big whoop.

Two hours later, I was flushed with sun and infatuation. He  asked me on a date. It was Friday afternoon. We would go out on Sunday. The plan was to hit up Dave & Busters. I thought it was the most genius first date ever. (Later, I learned I wasn’t the first girl he’d taken there, but whatever. I was the last. That’s what matters.)

We talked late Friday night and again on Saturday night. I have no idea what on earth we could have discussed in all that time on the phone, but new relationships are so exciting.

There is one conversation I will never forget. In fact, I will probably be 95, sitting in a rocking chair, embarrassing my grand-kids with the tale of the make-out talk with Mr. Quirky.

Ah, making out. Love it. And during my Crazy Time, I may or may not have instigated making out with random guys. It was harmless, usually in public and always when drunk.  Good times.

Two weeks before I met the fiance, there was a very legendary make-out incident with a stranger in Virginia. It was fantastic.

It turns out, KCFilmGuy also liked to make out with virtual strangers. It was kind of his shtick too.  As a self-proclaimed nerd, he enjoyed flexing his confidence and approaching girls with a single question, “wanna make out?” Some responded with horror/walked away, but sometimes it worked. He wasn’t trying to take these ladies home, he simply wanted to enjoy the contact of kissing an attractive woman.

I liked his style and his confidence.

We exchanged stories.

Then I made the comment that it’s weird that people wait until the end of the first date to exchange a kiss. Why not get it out in the open? I mean, really, there is no sense in going on if the kissing is bad. We all know that.

The conversation ended there. The tension was building and the date was 24 hours away.

D-Day – I went to the pool, picked out my outfit and dinked around online. Nothing terribly special. I was nervous, but more excited than anything. There were certainly not worries of running out of conversation points.

I wore a sheer short- sleeve sweater with a shimmery silver thread and silver wedges with good “butt” jeans.

He was the first guy I had met on Match.com that I allowed to come pick me up at my apartment on the first date.

(Side note: I later found out that he found my apartment the day before so he wouldn’t be late to pick me up. That could have gone either way on the creepy scale, but seeing how things worked out, I now find it adorable.)

My phone rang. He was outside. I scratched Gertie’s head and told her to be good, grabbed my purse and was out the door.

He was unmistakable standing outside my gate. Slender build, red curly hair, freckles, charming smile. I saw a bright mix of flowers in his hand.

I swung open the heavy iron gate and he handed me the bouquet.  Awwww…while I was looking at the flowers, I didn’t quite catch his question, “Wannamakeout?”

To be continued…

Part III

Sidebar

Part IV

<==== Here I am in 2005 — right around Valentine’s Day to be specific. My ex-husband and I were going to enjoy a night on the town and a free room at the Marriott downtown that I had won at a work event.

I thought I was reasonably happy back then. Life was pretty predictable (or so I thought.)

I had no idea that only four years later I’d be channeling my inner goddess of truth…

I never really thought of myself as a super hero before.

I never really had to.

But things happened and like many women who suddenly find themselves faced with a very different truth than the reality in which they were living, I had a choice – pull myself together or don’t.

The latter didn’t seem like a very productive option.

And just a month after my separation, I decided to test the dating waters and joined Match.com on a whim, hungover one Sunday morning after a night out with the best girlfriends on the planet.

I figured I could always bail, if the waters got too weird or rough, but why not? After all, my soon to be ex-husband had already more than moved on (and in with)  his relationship. Why shouldn’t I?

Well, we all know there were probably a few good reasons why I should have waited a tad bit longer, but look, doing things the “right” way isn’t exactly my story. Besides, if I had waited, I might not have been around at the right time to meet my now fiance.

But I wasn’t quite ready for him yet…I needed to date. You know, casually date for a while.

And so, I sent my friend Kristin a text telling her that I just signed up for Match.com. Was I crazy?

No, she responded. Absolutely not.

I love Kristin because I knew that was going to be her response, and that’s probably why I asked her and not my more cautious, logical friend, Jessie.

Selective advice seeking, folks. I’m good at that.

Wierd.

Match.com was a weird and wacky place. But still, a fun place for someone who is testing the waters of dating after seven years of being off the market.

Soon, I found myself on my first date. We met at The Blue Koi, one of my favorite restaurants in Kansas City. I was dog sitting for my friend D who lives just around the corner.

As I was standing there waiting for my date, my stomach felt like it was in my toes.

“This is what it must feel like before one jumps out of a plane” I sent that text to Jessie and Dawn.

What was I doing here?

I hated all the other people sitting at the tables. They were all probably married, I thought. They didn’t have to stand here and wait for a strange guy to come in and then wonder if they would have anything to talk about and ohmygodwhatifhekissesme?!

I was seconds from walking right out the door. This wasn’t worth it. I wasn’t ready to go on a date.

But soon, this guy walked in and smiled at me. Thank GOD he looked like his picture, maybe even better than his picture.  Nice eyes. Nice smile. And we didn’t run out of things to talk about.

That was my first date after separation. There were more, of course. With him. With others. I was a wild woman – dating multiple men.

I had to fight my urge to want to get serious with the guys I liked. I fought the temptation to angst over texts unresponded to and get overjoyed by texts I did get.  When I started to try to imagine a future with each guy, I would get right back on Match.com and respond to my many “winks” and e-mails.

Sure, there were moments of weakness when I would gleefully tell my co-workers how big my crush was on so and so. They would roll their eyes at me.  But seriously, I’d say. He’s sooooo cute. Just look at this text he sent!

No, I told myself. This is fun time. Don’t get serious. I clung to my copy of  Crazy Time like it was my Bible.  The book told me that it was ok to feel and act a little crazy during my separation, and even up to two or three years after my divorce.

Oh crap, I thought. Would it really take that long to feel normal again, I wondered.

I knew none of the guys I was dating were “right for me.” Sure, they were good guys, but was I really going to be happy with a landscaper by day, soccer coach by night who was still playing the field at age 37? Probably not. And it was painfully obvious I did not share his love of hunting.

And the very hip and attractive 40-something salesman who was legally separated from his wife but had no divorce date in site? No, not really a good idea, Stephanie.

I’m going to pause and say, I’m so so glad I didn’t have any children. This story would not be the same if I had. I know I’m one of the lucky ones – lucky to get out of a worthless marriage of five years without spawn, lucky to not have that lifelong connection with my ex-husband and lucky to only have the responsibility of a needy Vizsla Lab mix.  I admire my friend Ms Single Mama and all the other single moms out there who weren’t so lucky.

When I wasn’t going on dates, I was enjoying my new apartment, reconnecting with old friends on Facebook (I never had an account when I was married.) and, trying to blog about my divorce without upsetting the settlement process with my ex. Needless to say, I was very careful what I posted here.

I was starting to really enjoy life. Sure, I was really, really sad sometimes. And there were a lot of “firsts” of being back on my own.

But these were part of the healing process.

And then one day, I got a call from my attorney that the divorce was final. It was the weirdest feeling. And a celebration with friends was to be had. (Truth be told, I had my fire engine red party dress ready to go at the drop of a hat.)

And the very next day after a night of wine and many toasts to my future, this guy calling himself KCFilmGuy a self-described “nerd with social skills” winked at me on Match.

He had red hair and a charming smile.

His profile said he loved the Muppets and The Princess Bride.

I had to know more….

(To be continued.)

Part II

Part III

Sidebar

Part IV

[Editor's note- after I wrote this, I realized my title was a little too close to The Pioneer Woman's From Black Heels to Tractor Wheels title for her love story with the MM. Completely unintentional, of course, but a correction worth making. ]

 I’ve been mulling some things around in my head for a while and debating whether or not to talk about them here. But I’ve always said that if my story can help just one person, then it’s worth putting myself out there…

I’m in the middle of reading 52 Fights, a book by my new friend, Jennifer at Unplanned Cooking. In the book, she is raw and honest about the reality of her first year of marriage. The stories she shares are hers, but the truths about combining two different lives into a family are universal.  It has its challenges. That’s for sure!

I’m not going to lie. For me, on the edge of getting married again, the fear of failure is on the peripheral. When I let myself go to a bad place, I can hear the voice of my ex-husband in my head telling me hurtful things about myself — “You’re selfish. It’s all about Stephanie.” “You are crazy. loco.” “You are such a [insert expletive here.]“  and then the stinger – one of those things said in the middle of the divorce, purposely to hurt me – “You know you’ll get divorced again.”

And anyone who has ever been divorced will get this – you  let yourself go back  there in your head sometimes. You let the negative self-talk take hold.  It’s not right. It’s not fair. It sucks. But you do. You must work toward not letting the past control your present and future. And you know this.

I’m not perfect, but anyone who knows me, knows – I’ve worked really, really hard to move past the pain of the divorce, the sense of failure it brought to me and all the lies. Lies. Lies. Lies.

I’ve embraced truth. (Ok, so I lied to get a piece of cake, but you know what I mean.) And I found a guy who is about as truthful as it gets. Sometimes his “tell-it-like-it-is” style makes me giggle. Like when he once told Roomie that a new haircut looked fantastic and much better than the old way she wore her hair. [hand smack on forehead...]

I’m going to be really honest here. I didn’t mean to fall in love again so soon. Every book warned against it. Every expert said, watch out! Old habits will quickly return, patterns will resurface. And sometimes, in my relationship with the fiance, I can smell those old patterns of co-dependency, putting my needs before his, non-communication…and so on.

But I fight it. And I work on myself [almost*] every day. *We all know there are days where you lay around and don’t work on anything but sitting on your butt.

What this comes down to is loving myself, staying true to myself and being ok with some failure. What this comes down to in my relationship is communication, support for the other person,  trust, allowing the other person to fully thrive as themself and loving them for who they are,  being ok with some failure and a sense of humor. 

The other night we had an argument. He gets angry when I go into defeatist mode. It’s his biggest struggle with me. (Some day, I’ll share with you about issues I have with him, but this is about me today.) I get really negative sometimes, like there’s no water in the glass negative.

And in that fight, the fear crept in.  The voices swirled in my head. I tried to stay in the moment. What this discussion was about. Focus on communication and resolution.

He told me how he would like us to resolve the issue at hand. (He is such a good communicator, I must say.)

I wondered if he could live with me if we didn’t resolve it.

Like could he still love me, even if I wasn’t perfect. Even if I was selfish and negative and whiney?

I needed to know that he could still love me. Codependency crept in.

I love myself. I need to do this for myself.

We finished our discussion on a good note, but in the back of my head, there were underlying issues, related to the argument that I needed to figure out.

The next day, I made some mental adjustments, took action toward a positive change and resolved some of the conflict that I was bringing into my own life.

This wasn’t about him. This was about me. About my journey. And when I work on myself, our relationship only benefits from that work.

Later that night, I told him about my adjustments and the steps I took to better myself. Because I love myself. And I’m lucky enough to have found someone who loves me too — and yes, just as I am with no changes. (I knew that, but that stupid divorce doubt tried to rear its ugly head.)

And so, while I’m at odds with some nasty national statistics about divorce rates for second marriages, I know the following things are truth:

• I will get married again on February 27 to the love of my life.
• I’m so glad I met him, even if it was “too soon.”
• Marriage can be tough, and you have to work at it. But it’s worth it.
• Not only am I loved, but I have a support network that is outa this world.
• I can only change myself and not him. And I am responsible for loving myself. This love will help me better love the fiance and make our love stronger.
• I trust him with all my heart and do not doubt him. Our mutual trust makes us stronger.
• I am a work in progress and not perfect. Our marriage won’t be perfect, but when it’s not, we will communicate and laugh. Because that’s all you can do sometimes.
• The glass does have some water (or wine) in it. And when it comes to my relationship with the fiance, it’s over flowing.
• I’m kicking my divorce demons in the balls and saying to hell with the lies. 
• He doesn’t complete me (because I don’t believe anyone can), but I am sure lucky to have him sharing my life with me.

 Those of you who are married, what are some of your secrets to success? Those of you who are divorced, how have you moved past your demons and would you get married again? Single friends, what is your take on marriage and would you do it?

Whatevs. It’s cool.

Y’all can just make fun of me and my silly little blog all day long. I’m actually flattered that you took time to come and read it. You must have missed me.  

Had I known you were coming by, I would have sent you my greetings from Kansas City. I hope all of you are well. 

Meanwhile, thanks for stopping by. Come back whenever you want, and you really should try this mushroom cream sauce. It’s just that  good.

After a horrific day which involved several lenghty calls to the North Carolina DMV that won’t send me another copy of my car title without trying to get me to pass an emissions test IN North Carolina. (My car isn’t making it to North Carolina and once it gets there, it sure as heck isn’t passing any tests.) Then, come to find out there are some back taxes from 2003 that were never paid on the car (While I take full responsibility for my part in not KNOWING these taxes hadn’t been paid, I had some choice words to say about my ex-husband) in addition to a car that we used to own in 2003, but was totalled in 2006 (ish?) So that was fun.

Time for some bourbon, wine, cream, mushrooms and pork, eh?

The recipe is perfect. Elise Bauer  is a really talented recipe developer.

I bet she doesn’t catch things on fire in her kitchen.

The only modification I made was I used panko instead of homemade bread crumbs, as suggested in the comments. I may have overcooked the pork chops a tad, but I’m still getting used to my gas stove and oven.

The fiance wasn’t complaining as he scraped up the last bits of mushrooms in cream on his plate.

As you can see, I served it with some steamed green beans with fresh garlic, which I just tossed in a little butter with salt and pepper.

You must make this recipe. It might change your life, or at least put you back in a happy place.

Elise’s picture is far superior to mine, so go right now and check it out.

P.S. Fire & Wine night has been moved to Thursdays now - so I think I’ll try to have a regular Fire & Wine night Friday recap.

We also caught a funny/touching movie  with our friend Steve. The weather in Kansas City was so beautiful that when I suggested grilling out after the movie, the fiance didn’t hesitate a beat when he emphatically agreed that yes, that was a fantastic idea.

And it was. 

I couldn’t help but think of that movie, later, because it dealt with cheating. In this case, you kind of wanted to support the cheating because you thought the wife’s spouse had been cheating on her. But do two wrongs make a right?  Is cheating ever ok? No, I don’t think it is, but is there a gray zone? Is everything black and white?

In my story, my ex cheated on me at the very end  and the beginning of the demise of our marriage. No, it doesn’t make it ok. No, it was totally wrong. But it is what it is.

For me, it was the catalyst to walk away for good. No matter how much he begged for me back, or tried to question the integrity of my actions, I knew that I could never trust him again. 

For me, that act was the beginning of a whole new life. A life filled with freedom and new words. See, I couldn’t bring you Queen of Quirky under my old marriage. My ex thought it was tacky to blog, to share your life with “strangers.” Yes, he supported my blog when it was only about running, but to write about life, love and  truth was wrong on too many levels for him. 

When I lost my marriage, I found my voice. A writer by nature, I discovered myself again. And once I had found the woman inside myself, I knew I was ready to find someone to share this amazing woman with. 

From day one with the fiance, he has not only supported my blog, but encouraged it. He knows it is an expression of my heart and a piece of what is inside of me. 

Tonight, he came over for a bit and we fell into a couch laughing together, landing upside down over the back of the couch. It was ridiculously silly and it was probably my favorite thing from the entire weekend. Us, upside down over the back of the couch, wondering how we were going to get right side up. 

Earlier in the evening, I was hanging out at my pool with several young couples who happen to know I have been married before. We were joking about prenups and the guys were teasing their wives about how they should have made them sign one. 

One of the husbands stopped and looked me in the eyes and asked me, “So are you sure this time? Is he the one?”

And without a doubt, I looked at him back with a big ‘ole grin on my face and answered, “Yes. He is the one.”

And he will be the first and only Mr. Quirky.