Divorced Kat Swipes Right and Finds Love Again

My one-year anniversary with Rick is tomorrow, which inspired me to write a long-overdue blog entry about my love life.

In 2014, I was at peace with my divorce and ready to find a relationship. Who knows, maybe I would even find love!

After my divorce, I really had no clue about what I wanted from a relationship (other than sex, meaning I wanted some). I dated a mix of men, ranging in age and education and profession. With each man, I gained new insight into what I did and did not want from a relationship. But alas, nothing lasted more than a couple of weeks.

2015 started off promising with Ryan, but he did not want a relationship -- with anyone, period. Blue and single again, I wasted a few weeks seeing Mike, a charming but spoiled d-bag who ultimately just wanted to get laid.

(I believe there's nothing wrong with just getting laid, but I was not looking for just that anymore. I wanted heart.)

A few weeks after ghosting Mike, I was definitely bored and a tad discouraged with dating. However, I still had Tinder on my phone because it's free and a good way to pass the time when standing in line at Target. Out of millions of profiles featuring stupid bathroom selfies and poses with tigers, I swiped right on Rick. He looked cute and normal and he did not have a urinal in his photos.

He later messaged me, "Hello Kat!"

I thought, meh, OK, why not? We chatted through Tinder for a bit, then he asked me to continue the conversation over a drink.

I thought, meh, why not? I agreed to meet him on Monday night for a glass of wine.

I have written before about how you rarely know when
you're in a moment that will change your life. 

This was one of those moments:
I had no idea that I was about to meet the man I would fall in love with.

From the moment we met on April 27, 2015, we were intrigued by one another. I was immediately drawn to his openness, warmth, and honesty. Despite our respective histories of dating flops, booty calls, and heartaches, we both felt something different this time. I think we both believed that the potential for something real was worth risking getting hurt.

I am grateful everyday for our bravery to go after love.

It has been a year (my second longest relationship, behind only the one with Max) and we never run out of stuff to talk about. We are open about absolutely everything, from our past indiscretions to our future aspirations. Rick values my opinion and truly cares about what I have to say. He is still making me laugh and blush just as much as he did a year ago. He makes me feel incredibly sexy and beautiful. And holy shit you guys, I am having the best sex of my life! (Yes, better than The Incredible Sex!) From my heart to my mind to my body, Rick handles me as if I came with an instruction book. So cool.

But sometimes he makes me mad. Unlike in my past relationships, I permit myself to argue with him. Once it's over I am amazed at how good it feels to let myself express those feelings and have him hear me out. (I always used to keep those feelings bottled up nice and tight!) We learn what we can from the argument and move on. No grudges, which is kind of miraculous because I'm awesome at holding grudges.

When Rick holds me,
I close my eyes and caress his skin,
smell his scent,
feel his breath.

I'm content.

I think, this is it. This is love.
This is what everyone wishes for.

(Did I love my ex-husband? Yes, of course I did, and he loved me as best as he could. But frankly what I felt with Max was never like what I feel now.)

And, while Rick and I have been falling more in love everyday, I have been falling for someone else too: his daughter.

For many years, I have not been sure about motherhood. I knew I loved kids, but did not know if I was cut out for such a high-stakes responsibility, especially if I were to go it alone.

Lucky for me, Rick's 10-year-old daughter and I have gotten along incredibly well right from the beginning. I love the role I am playing in her life. Coupling my own opinions and experiences as well as research (The Career Girl's Guide to Being a Stepmom; Love Him, Love His Kids), I am working with Rick to shape my role as his child's potential stepmom. I am so excited (but rather terrified too) about this unexpected move into (step)motherhood.

Like her father, Rick's daughter tells me she loves me and wants to know when the heck I'm going to marry her dad. (All in good time! I tell her.) I don't know how I got so lucky to be compatible with both the man and his daughter.

The best thing about my adoration for Rick and his daughter is the authenticity. I promised to stay true to myself in my next relationship, and I believe that all three of us are being ourselves. Amazing how being true to myself has led to the most awesome love I could've hoped for -- but never expected!

So what is next for us?

I hope we get married. (Can you believe I'm saying this?!)

I hope to officially become a stepmom.

I hope that we create a home that is disciplined but forgiving, honest but considerate, orderly but flexible.

...but I must insist on patience.

I do still have those lingering divorcee fears ("I was wrong once, what if I'm wrong again?). I recognize that it'll be a huge change for all of us to officially live together. And especially since there is a child involved, we need to extra careful that marriage is right for all of us. But I am confident in myself and my love with Rick that we will thoughtfully find the best path for the three of us.

As I reflect on one year with Rick, I am so very blessed to have the love that Rick and I have. It only took 35 years, one divorce, dozens of lame dates, and one life-changing swipe right to find it.

From Happy Hour to a Lap Dance: How I Earned My Hangover

It started off innocently enough. On Friday after work , Yoshi, Connor, and I were going to happy hour at our neighborhood bar.

“Now, Yoshi, I only want like one glass of wine. Two at the most. Not our usual happy hour turns into staying out until 11.”

But do you think I’d be writing about a typical happy hour? Of course not.

One glass of wine turned into three. Oh, and there was some tequila. (The tequila wiped out poor Yoshi early.) By this point, my empty stomach and boozy head was up for anything.

Connor gave me a sly look.

“Want to go to a strip club?” 

I had never gone to a strip club, but I have always thought it could be fun under the right circumstances. My conservative, sexually mute ex-husband would never, ever have would have participated in something so sexually overt, so I never bothered to ask.

Going to a strip club on a random night with my friend and two of his buddies – were these the right circumstances for my strip club experience? Conditions were not totally ideal. I was in my work clothes; let's just say I wouldn't have picked a cardigan for the occasion. Also, I have been told it’s best to go see strippers with someone you’d want to get it on with later, but there was zero chance of that with the guys I was going with. No matter. You know how I answered Connor.

“Sure, let’s go!”

We grabbed some sandwiches then off we went. There I was, 35-years-old sitting the middle seat of a cab with three guys in their 20s. Going to a strip club. Because WHY THE HELL NOT.

As we walked in to the club I was excited but kind of nervous. I had absolutely no idea what to expect. 

Would it be skeevy? 

Was it weird that I was going and without a boyfriend/special friend? 

Was I going to feel ugly/fat/unsexy?

The answers turned out to be: no, no, and no! The place was remarkably not gross. It was pretty clean and the clientele mostly looked like normal guys. There were a handful of women, and they looked pretty normal too.

We took our seats next to the stage/walkway thing, right by the pole. (Wow, so stripper poles are a real thing?!) Connor handed me a gigantic pile of ones. I guess I had a confused expression on my face, because he felt the need to state the obvious.

“Kat, you tip with that.”

Oh, right. That.

With a couple of dollar bills in hand, I started watching nearly naked women strut, crawl, and pole dance. (I kept thinking of that Wyclef song, Perfect Gentleman.)

I turned to Connor, my eyes huge. “Holy shit! Look at her ass! Her legs! How can she do that in those shoes? I did NOT expect the women to be so hot!”

He grinned. Silly, naïve Kat!

I stared at the strippers. I stared at the patrons. I was utterly un-subtle about the entire experience, but I couldn’t stop! There was so much to take in.

At some point, I was told it was time to go to the VIP room. (Good thing I trust Connor, because I was so buzzed with booze and amazing people watching that all I could do was follow his lead.)

Next thing I knew, I was getting a lap dance from a beautiful Eastern European woman. 

There’s no doubt that I’m straight, but damn. She was insanely hot and it was a full contact lap dance. (But dammit, I was going to be going home alone!) I was too shy to get really into it but I have to say, I really enjoyed the experience!

After my lap dance, I took a moment to just look around this so-called VIP room. 

I have never seen anything like it. The room was electric with erotic energy. Gorgeous women were on top of men of all shapes and sizes, grinding, dancing, giving bedroom eyes. I was just fascinated. My sexual experiences have been at least somewhat private, and here were all these people getting themselves warmed up for who knows what.

It’s been almost three years since my ex-husband told me he was not attracted to me and I realized I had to get out of my sexless relationship. I guess I still have moments of shock that the world is indeed full of men who are comfortable with their sexuality and are not afraid to express their desires.

And thank goodness, because that is HOT!

At closing time, we hopped in a cab and headed back downtown for the food trucks. As we stood in line for gravy fries, I marveled at my totally unexpected evening. We started at my old reliable watering hole, then ended up getting a lap dance, and now we were back where we started getting snacks.

Walking arm-in-arm, Connor and I walked/stumbled back to our respective homes. I collapsed into bed. It had been a hell of a night.

The next day, when I was lying in bed hideously hungover, I kind of didn’t mind. I had earned this hangover! My hangover was the price you pay for a night of a new experience – one I never would have had if I were still with my ex.

What is a wild post-breakup experience you had?

Why Did I Have Sex?

Me. Me. ME!!!!!!!!!!

My pal Yoshi openly stalks my Twitter account and is an avid reader of this blog. So when I was tacky enough to tweet Thursday morning that I’d had sex, I knew Yoshi would want the pre-blog scoop.

Friday night, he had cooked dinner for me and our other friend Summer. Summer is a mom, so after we’d polished of a bottle and a half of wine and the clock struck 10, it was time for her to take off. I knew what was coming: wine and sex talk!

Yoshi poured more wine for both of us and without missing a beat, he said:

“So, Kat. You had sex.”

“I sure did!” I took a swig of wine and smiled at my friend. 

This was not enough of a response for Yoshi. I just liked messing with him.

“With Steve?” he probed, slightly irritated that I wasn't dishing the gossip.

“Yup,” I replied. Then, it was quiet for moment.

“Why?” he asked simply.

Dammit, Yoshi, I wasn’t expecting that question. I don't know if anyone has ever asked me why I had sex!

I thought about it.

Wednesday night, I had gone to Steve’s apartment. I showed up in my finest Mickey Mouse t-shirt and yoga pants. Steve was wearing an FDNY t-shirt and mesh shorts. Yup, we totally dress to impress.

The plan was to just hang out and watch Sharknado (it amuses him that I don't have cable so he recorded it for me). But it was a beautiful night, so we sat outside on his balcony and just talked. About writing. About our professional dreams and disappointments. About porn. About family. Even a little about dating. (Yes, he knows I'm dating other people.) We hardly touched each other as we spoke, I think because we were really listening to each other. Meanwhile, his absolutely adorable dog circled our feet, hopeful for attention. I freaking love that dog.

I was so... comfortable. This guy really respects my mind (and he tells me that I’m hot, so bonus points for him). In that moment on the patio, I looked at Steve and had a flash of “this guy totally feels like my boyfriend.”

And then I looked at his cigarettes. Ewww.

I heard him say he’s “exhausted.” I hate that word and he uses it a lot. Seriously, unless you have an infant or work manual labor, you’re not exhausted. You’re just not. 

I remembered how rarely we see each other outside of our apartment building – that's right folks, we haven’t really gone on a proper date after two months of talking, texting, and hanging out!

Uh, yeah, newsflash, Kat: Steve is, rather unfortunately, unlikely to be my boyfriend.

But… shit, you guys. He’s cute, he's smart, he thinks I'm hot, and he’s a damn good hookup. Oh, the temptation.

He asked me to sleep there. I agreed. Even though I still get weirded out by sleepovers, I felt so good sleeping beside him. It felt right.

We fooled around a little that night, and he actually said at one point, "I wonder what the angel and devil on your shoulders are saying right now." Creepy, right?! (My answer was that both were telling me to have fun!)

And in the morning, we had sex. 

And I was right! We had hot sex!  Hot morning sex!
How the hell was I ever in a sexless relationship? SEX IS AWESOME.
And yes, we used a condom, duh.

(By the way, for all I love to talk and write about sex, I hadn’t had sex in awhile! My last new sexual partner was Aaron back in February, and otherwise I’d only had Incredible Sex with Jason a few times in late May and early June. I was kind of due to get laid, right?!)

I left Steve’s place with morning breath and that stupid "I GOT LAID" smile plastered across my face. No weird emotional stuff. It was fun, I like him as a person, but it felt oddly uncomplicated.

So, back to Yoshi’s question. Why did I have sex with Steve?

“Because I felt like it and I wanted to.”

Sometimes that’s really all there is to it.

Your turn, dear reader. Think about the last time that you had sex. Why did you do it?

See also: 20 Reasons Why People Have Sex.

My Great Debate: Should I Have Casual Sex?

This face will totally help me get laid.

Wow, for the first time, since I started my blog, I didn’t write last week. I was too weirded out by the possibility of Carl or his informants reading it.

The bad news is that Carl proved himself to be no different from any of the other 27-year-olds I’ve gone out with. The good news is I can go back to writing whatever I want!

And this time I mean it for really real: 

NO MORE GOING OUT WITH 27-YEAR-OLDS.

I want to tell you all about my time with Carl and the extremely abrupt ending, but I promised him I wouldn’t write about him. Unfortunately for you, dear reader, I keep my promises.

Instead, I’ll tell you about Steve, the 44-year-old in my building. (I was going to put him in the Friend Zone this weekend if things progressed with Carl. Good thing I didn’t do that yet! Single girls need options.)

To Screw or Not Screw, That Is The Question

So, while Carl and I were talking/dating/whatever you call it, I was still talking to Steve. In fact, over July 4th holiday weekend, I spent a lot of time with him… including sleeping at his place and him cooking me breakfast. (My FAVORITE meal! And no one cooks me breakfast!) 

Our very open rapport continued, included me telling him that Jason, the Incredible Sex, sent me a shirtless selfie at 10 a.m. while I was lying in Steve’s bed. Ummm, isn’t that the kind of thing you shouldn’t be telling a guy whose bed you're lying in? Anyway, given the openness, it didn't take long for the conversation to turn to sex. 

Not surprisingly, Steve wanted to have sex with me. (Well, actually, I do still find it a little surprising when men want to have sex, and more specifically, with me. We can thank my ex-husband for that baggage.) You guys, I really, really, REALLY wanted to have sex with him. But dammit I'd told myself not to! 

Enter the Angel / Devil on each shoulder,
each shouting very convincing points in my ears:

Screw: Hells yeah. Ride him.
He’s cute and he’s already skilled at other things in the sack.

Don't Screw: Carl has been texting while I’m with Steve. I like Carl too. I’m being shady.

Screw: Carl and I are in the "talking" phase. We've only kissed.
I can do whatever I want (at least for a little while longer!)

Don't Screw: I promised myself that I’d wait for a relationship to have sex.
(Why oh why did I make that dumb promise?!)
I don’t think Steve will end up being my boyfriend, so not sex-worthy.

Screw: Well, if he’s not going to be my boyfriend anyway, having too-soon-sex isn’t possible and therefore can’t wreck anything, so might as well get it while the getting is good!

Don't Screw: Crap, did I shave my legs today?

Screw: Steve and I connect on some pretty deep topics of conversation, so that makes the sex less cheap.

Don't Screw: If he’s so willing to have sex with me, does he have casual sex a lot? Does he have every STD I ever read about in
 Seventeen magazine and then Cosmo?

Screw: Who the hell am I to judge, I had some casual sex in my early 20s. I miraculously dodged the STD bullets. Maybe he’s clean!

Don't Screw: I haven’t had sex since February with Aaron. Stick to your principles!

(But… I’m lying. I guess I have to count the Incredible Sex I had with Jason in late May and early June. I know, I know, I know! I’m supposed to be staying away from him! And I hadn't had sex with him since January!
But… I don’t know, I was bored and I had no prospects when he started contacting me again. In a two-week moment of weakness I had some sex with him but then stopped.
This confession is how I’ll know which of my real-life friends read this – they are texting me right now saying, “Kat. Jason?! WTF. Cut it out!!”)

In the end, I stuck to my promise to not have sex with Steve. BORING and not that satisfying. Ugggh, I hate having principles!

When was the last time you turned down some ready and willing sex?

See also: 8 Reasons Why Divorced Sex is So Much Better Than Married Sex.

Dyeing My Hair Pink and Reviving the Incredible Sex

Sowing My Wild Oats

Nine years ago this month, I got so drunk that I blacked out and had sex with a stranger. 

I woke up the next morning and he was gone (what was his name?). My apartment was an incriminating, disgusting mess with the telltale signs of my booze-filled romp. Miraculously, I hadn’t been mugged or killed. I had a raging hangover and was late for work.

I was ashamed of myself.

It wasn’t the first time I’d done something that reckless and irresponsible. For all the ways that I was living a very conscientious, calculated, and careful life, I would sometimes almost rebel against my own good judgment with a night of boozing and screwing.

That literally unmemorable night occurred a week or two before my 25th birthday. I decided it was time to clean up my act and start dating the kind of guy who had the potential to meet my parents. Yeah, my standards were that low that I needed to actually declare this intention for my quarter-century birthday.

And what do you know? Max and I got together the night of my 25th birthday party.

Putting Away My Oats 

Max was so sweet, so clean cut. He was smart, articulate, and a major rule follower. Again, not that I was some rebel living on the edge of society, but I certainly had my share of stories that starred Kat the Bad Decision Maker. Max didn’t have those. I felt safe with him, but I also felt I needed to behave myself.

I wanted to be a grownup, one who was good enough for Max. He was super conservative in how he conducted himself. Maybe he was a little square for me, but maybe that was good for me. I told myself that I’d met the right man at the right time so I’d cut it out with those idiotic blackout nights and get myself on track with the perfect guy to meet my parents. 

I used to say about us, “Some people need to sow their wild oats before they can settle down. I had to sow my oats.  Max has no oats!"

I used to smoke cigarettes in my teens, and in my 20s I only smoked once in awhile when -- you guessed it! -- drunk. Max hated smoking, so I promised him I’d stop (and I did). Needless to say, he’d never touched pot (he lied to me initially and said he had and later admitted he’d never smoked anything), so I promised him I’d stop (and I did).

As time passed, I still hung out with my friends and all that, but I toned myself down. Maybe it was my getting older, but honestly, I think I just didn’t want to feel judged by the man I loved so much. If Max was with me at a bar, we always left earlier than I actually wanted to. Not that I had many opportunities to smoke pot, but I declined.

I wanted to be a good girl, which included being very tame in the bedroom -- even though I wanted to be "a lady in the street but a freak in the bed," in the wise words of Usher. Max wouldn’t share anything about what he wanted sexually. I quickly learned that expressing my likes and dislikes made Max rather uncomfortable, so I mostly stayed silent – which eventually became a theme of our relationship.

Sowing Some New Oats

Fast forward to 2013.

Kat is truly, truly, truly outrageous!

This weekend, finally tried out a look I’ve been dying to try – I had two streaks of Jem-pink hair dye applied. When my hair is down, you don’t really see it, but when it’s up, it’s very obvious. It reminds me of playing with Manic Panic hair dye like Angela Chase in the early-mid 1990s, when I dabbled with purple, pink, and blue. (Blue was a bad idea. It looked great for a week or two then turned grey.)  It's just a bit badass -- but still acceptable for my corporate job -- and I absolutely love it.

When my wonderfully gay hairdresser revealed his work, two thoughts came to mind:

1. Max would hate this look. 
2. Jason would love this look. Yes, Mr. Incredible Sex himself.

So… yeah. Jason came over. (He loved my hair.) I promised I would tell you if I went back for more Incredible Sex, and I have. It’s actually been really nice because I get some attention from Jason, I get off, and then he leaves. No sleepovers, no telling me he loves me, no baking brownies. Oddly, given our history, it’s remarkably uncomplicated; we’re friendly so even though we really are using each other, it’s fun. We openly have said that this once-in-awhile thing can only work until one of us starts dating someone else, then it’s off, no questions asked. Works for me, but I know most of my friends will not approve. 

[This is the point where the worried/disapproving friends will start texting me, "Kat! Jason?! WTF!!!"]

Awkward selfie!

Tonight, Jason smoked some pot out the window that faces the apartment building I lived in when I had that awful blackout sex night. I marveled at how much things seemed to have come full circle. I live alone. I’m having casual sex with a guy who will never meet my parents. I’m around pot again. My hair has pink streaks like it did in 1996 (except now I paid $90 for it and back then I applied it myself with an old toothbrush).

But, here’s the difference. I’m not 24 years old. I now have nine years of living and crying and dreaming and loving, so I’m not the same person, even if I’m kind of reverting back to some of the old behaviors from before my marriage. My life just got too damn serious with Max in general and as the marriage fell apart, and then even more so as we had to do grownup shit like mediation and selling a condo. I think I have earned it to act a little stupid – but in ways that still allow me to respect myself in the morning. 

And my hair is so awesome.

After your divorce, did you find yourself reverting back to old behaviors? Any regrets about how you acted?

See also: In Favor of Casual Sex.