Tag Archives: single

Guest Post: Mmmm hmmm, I’m talking to you, married men

7 Oct

Our Guest Post today comes from Michelle Fox. And woo boy is she putting some of you on blast! As we get older we find ourselves constantly trying to marry (no pun intended, I swear) our former selves with our current identities. Sometimes, it’s a huge #FAIL. Michelle explores one of those very cases. Now, we all hope we don’t have this guy at home, and if we do, he’s about to be in the doghouse. Take it away, Michelle…

Married men who hang out at bars:  consider yourselves on notice!

I chose to celebrate the completion of some major projects at a few different venues this past weekend.  I had true experiences of fun, freedom, and release.  I met some local and national celebrities, I enjoyed a Les Nubian concert, and I made a few new friends.  What has stuck in my craw for the last two days is the energy I’ve been receiving from married men.

I promise not to get on my high horse, but if you’re going to be married, then be married.  Hanging out at a bar with friends is totally acceptable.  Hanging out at such establishments, with your left hand in your pocket while buying drinks for us single ladies is questionable.  Don’t even get me started on the bachelor that wants to come back to my place for one last night of fun.  Really??

I chose the single life for a number of reasons, but one of them includes the benefit of flirting and playing around with different people.  Again, totally OK to do the same when you’re married, but not OK if you are hitting on me with the hopes of furthering our relationship.
I ran into a co-worker from the past at a downtown establishment on Friday night.  He had two other friends with him.  One friend and I hit it off particularly well, until a bell began to chime in my head.  “Let me see your hand,” I asked.  He looked at me like a deer in the headlight.  Our mutual friend asked me how I knew he was married.  I told him the left hand in the pocket got my attention.  Not OK!

So that scene played itself out to my left.  On my right side my girlfriends had began a “party” with two other men.  Drinks were flowing thanks to the generosity of these male beings.  As I began to ask a few questions, it hit me that the more boisterous of the two was married to a former stylist of mine.  The mood quickly changed once he realized that I knew his wife.  Once again, really??

The last story I’ll share includes a “thank you God” for Facebook.  I attended a wonderful networking event where business cards were exchanged with a number of motivated people.  One of these people happens to be a married man, but I would not be able to tell by the way our conversation flowed, the absent wedding ring, and the inquisitive follow-up email I received.  Sure enough, a few clicks through the Internet produced photos of his children along with a relationship status of married.

The validation one receives from the attention of others can be seductive.  I get it!  I also get the commitment to living authentically.  This is my path, and if you are reading these words, I am guessing it is yours too.  I have no personal judgments on rules that each couple shares for their relationship.  I do have judgment about bringing in a third party without full disclosure.  I am clear that I do not tango with married men.  There are plenty of authentically single men to consider.

So married men, and soon-to-be married men, consider yourselves on notice!  I don’t think my voice on this one is going to get any quieter.

Guest Post: Sick & Wrong? Possibly. Happy? Most Definitely

24 Sep

Today’s guest post comes to us from Jane, a TTTM reader and blogger of Jane’s Infinite Wisdom. To be honest, we don’t know much about Jane other than she has balls of steel. Jane submitted her post to give us a little glimpse into the life less ordinary. Thanks, Jane!

“Don’t be ridiculous. You’ll never get married. You’re one of those people destined for eccentricity, yelling at kids to get off your lawn!”

I don’t remember what I said to my best friend to illicit that response but I do remember it stung enough to be able to recall it nearly 20 years later.

image courtesy of http://engagements.ca

I think I tried to get married just to spite her. I spent most of my 20’s locked in a relationship even though it didn’t feel right and I lived my life as though I was already a suburban mundane despite the fact that he and I didn’t live together, or near one another for that matter, most of the time. Once the proposal happened and the wedding planning began in earnest though, I freaked out. I ended the relationship over the silliest possible reason and walked away with a sigh of relief. Had texting been available back then, I likely would have been one of *those* people. Fortunately, my moral standing was somewhat upheld in that I was forced to do it by telephone.

Continue reading

Meet Exhaustion’s little friend.

26 Aug

The correlation between exhaustion, loneliness, and comfort has eluded me for years. Until Tuesday night, they were mutually exclusive states of being. While chatting it up with Benji after a fantastic meal hosted by Venue and Republic Tequila, which was comfort in itself (nom, nom, gulp), he stated, “You know, when I’m tired, I feel so…vulnerable.” Vulnerable? Like raping him and taking his wallet vulnerable? Or was this about to be a Dr. Phil moment vulnerable? I just wasn’t sure. Then he explained. Continue reading

Guest Post: I’m too old for this shit, too young to go to bed at 8

4 Aug

She’s a Girl with Glasses can’t be the only one out there in this predicament. Wait. Should I use the word predicament? I mean, we non-children-having-some-would-say-lucky bastards may be in the predicament. All I know is I don’t have kids. I’m one of the fucks she keeps referring to that goes out doing cooler things. Or so I think they’re cool. No. They are cool. Right?

Meet Girl with Glasses

A friend asked me the other day what I did on Saturday night. I think he was unimpressed with my answer: drank Diet Pepsi while watching canceled television shows on Netflix Instant Play, at the same time reveling in the silence of my sleeping children. What, that doesn’t sound like a wicked good Saturday night to you?

I never claimed to be the coolest duck in the pond (that designation would clearly go to Donald, because the guy can rock out without pants and no one, over a half century later, has had the nerve to bring it up to him), but I find myself less cool with every passing year. It’s difficult to be cool when you can never leave the house. The odd happy hour invitation or music gig must be weighed against the husband’s work schedule, appointments, how much sleep I managed the night before, whose car has gas, and the most recent time I conned my parents into baby-sitting. My husband works evenings, and so his few nights off a week have to be orchestrated: my time out, his time out, our time home together ignoring each other.

I’ve marveled at my single and childless friends and the amount of time they spend out doing far cooler things than I. I follow them on Facebook, through Foursquare, popping handfuls of M&M’s in my mouth as though I’m watching a movie. “Ohh, they’re at the Meadowlark now! I wonder who’s playing… Nice, after bar snacks the Denver Diner…” It’s both pathetic and reassuring, this night out while I wear my pajamas and take in season two of Veronica Mars for the tenth time. Maybe I’m not out in lipstick and doing that hip wiggle that comes onto me when I get a couple shots of tequila under my belt, but I can predict the photos that will be coming from my friends’ cell phones over the course of the evening.

I’ve never been the most outwardly social person as it is, so I didn’t have much in the way of a style to cramp when my kids came along. I saw all the Buffy episodes on their original air dates. I am a cheap drunk because I mostly never drank in bars. I found a rut and firmly implanted myself in it and– I don’t regret it. I have many friends who are parents, who regularly mourn the loss of their previous lifestyles. I secretly rejoice that I have a firm excuse to stay the hell home on a Saturday night. I can’t believe I’m the only one who prefers the idea of some streaming video, fleece pajama pants and snackfood in a quiet room over bar hopping or a party. I’ve been described as a homebody, but I think it’s more accurate to call me anti-social without the murderous implications. I’m lazy but without the sloth. I’m too old for this shit and too young to go to bed at eight.

I’m excited about next Saturday night. The husband and I save up new episodes of the Guild and watch them together, then he plays video games while I spend the night talking to my best friend, another mother who would much prefer to watch life outside her window than put on her pants and join it. We have our own little fishbowl lives, and dammit if I don’t like my wee treasure chest. Bubbles: mine.

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