Lipstick. Stilettos, and Play Dates

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Life of the sexy crazy single mom

No girl spends her youthful nights, huddled under the night sky wishing fervently upon bright lucky starts to grow up and become…..(drum roll)…..a single mom. No young woman anticipates the day she’ll watch a second line stretch across the pregnancy test…alone. And not one sister on the committee of womanhood longs for the day that her man leaves or is kicked out because he is hurting the family more than helping. But guess what? Cow dung happens!
Life can easily put you in an unnatural situation; that is, the rearing of a child on a team of one. Many mojitos later, and you’re still wondering: “how in the hell am I going to manage?” There is bills, toys, dating, more toys (watch your feet, those toys do major damage), PTA meetings, co-parenting drama, or no co-parent at all, and maintaining your sanity and individuality all to be juggled in one. A circus act indeed. While it may be tempting to climb up a hill of brownies and jump down into a pool of alcohol, it is important that you keep your head together. Is it fair? Heck no! And to those people who dare to undermine the job of a single mother, take on two jobs for the pay of one and see how quickly you jump on board (or off a roof). So now that we’ve established that single motherhood is ridiculously hard, we’ve got to figure out a way to excel at it. You know, come out alive, and homicide-free. I love to say, “If there is a will, there is a way.”
Lipstick:  As a single mother, you have got to preserve your “pretty.” Wake up a half hour ahead of your planned schedule and pull out the make-up bag and curling irons. This won’t be easy, especially if you already traded in precious sleep hours to do the family’s laundry. You may not be able to do it daily, as unforeseen occurrences pop up in motherhood as often a zits on a teenager’s face. But do it as much as you possibly can. If you ever want to be successful in the dating world (which brings me to my next point), you must respect and showcase your femininity.
Stilettos: As a single mother, you have got to slip into some sexy shoes (and/or other sexy items). Get “sex-ified” (I’ve mentioned this in earlier posts). In all honesty, a lot of men place single mothers at the end of the dating totem pole because of issues that arise with parenting (and “baby-daddy” drama). Do we really want to keep ourselves on the bottom with bland clothing and boring personalities. I know there is a badge of honor that comes along with saying “My kids are my life” but in more honesty, they are not! They will grow up, meet their husbands and wives and leave you in a house on a hill with cats. Lots of cats!!!! I am not asking single mothers to bring random guys around their children, as that can be downright dangerous, but I am daring you to get out and date. Being a single mother is not a sentence of eternal loneliness, it is a path of life.
Play dates: The kids deserve to have fun too. Of all people involved in single-mom-dom, the children bear no fault. Every week, set aside special time just for the children to participate in play dates, museum visits, ice cream stops, etc. Set up male role-models to play an active role in your children’s lives. I’ll say this with simplicity and intensity, “You cannot be a mother and father to your children.” It is too hard on you and it robs the children of opportunities to bond with a male figure. If you don’t believe me, check “down under” to see if you carry both “parts.” If you still don’t believe me, wait a couple of years and watch the issues your children present with, due to a lack of a male role model in their lives.
In single-motherhood, you will need a strong support system, a heck of a wardrobe, and a bottle of rum (but only for those really hard days). Go ahead and live the life of a sexy, crazy single mom, fabulously!

The Perfect Date

I’ve always imagined the perfect date to be a borrowed page out of a romantic movie script. Some rich and undoubtedly handsome gentleman lays out a series of instructions for his beautiful girlfriend to follow. He directs her to a spa, where cool cucumbers peel the stress away from her eyes. He assembles a team of fashion experts to pick out “the perfect dress” made specifically for her curves. Hands work feverishly at her tresses, nails, and toes. To kiss the makeover off, the most seductive shade of red is painted along her lips. The male character then whisks his beauty off into a night of good food, dance, and pure magic.
And Cut!
Of course that is a scene out of Hollywood. I’m not Julia Roberts and the last time I checked, “Richard Geres” aren’t exactly hanging out by my door (I’m talking Pretty Woman people!). So….what consists of the perfect date for us regular folk? I know a lot of men have given up on constructing the perfect date because they are either 5 years deep in a relationship and don’t see the need (shame on you) or living it up in the “wham bam, thank you ma’am” era (shame on you too). We have got to reintroduce romance into the dating and relationship world. Pop culture may not glorify spending all your time and efforts on one person but it sure as heck beats waking up next to a complete stranger, wondering if you remembered to wear a condom the night before.
So lets discuss the perfect date.
The perfect date is a memorable one. It is one of those dates that you’ll think about many years down the line, in between sips of lemonade.
One version of the perfect date is to experience something totally new for the both of you. Not only does this add excitement and anticipation but it cements a memory of something just the two of you shared. There is nothing like sharing a laugh together about the time one of you almost fell during horseback riding.
Another way to set the perfect date is to borrow a page from childhood. Participate in a nostalgic experience such as carnival rides and cotton candy. Seeing your love interest in a different light (an innocent one) can add to the ways you appreciate and love that person.
The final two ways to sew up a perfect date are polar opposites of each other.
One way is to plan a perfect date. Your loved one will see the effort you put into the planning of the date and you will feel proud to see your hard work unfold. The little black dress, and dinner with drinks followed by a show, will always be a classic. Even if you are low on money, sending the kids to grandma’s and cuddling up for horror movie night would fit into this category.
The last version of a perfect date is my favorite. In my experience these dates have always been the ones to remember. Spontaneous dates. Those dates that you go on in the middle of the day or well into the night just because the mood strikes you. This category doesn’t even have to be an actual date. Just two people madly in love or “in like,” living in the moment. Get off the couch and climb out of stranger’s beds. There is actually a life out there waiting to be lived. The perfect date is waiting to take place. Go on now, you can do it.

Lies, Sex, and Caution Tape (stories are fictional)

Enter if You Dare

Mars: Spiked stilettos and cranberry juice; crimson passion bursting through restrained desires. The bed felt familiar but the curves before me took unpredictable turns. My anxious hands danced to a new tune. I could feel my heart throbbing, stopping, moaning, cringing, and stopping once more as fear and excitement pulsated through rhythmic bodies. In a land of opportunity, I allowed myself to do what felt right for me.  

Venus: Frozen cubes of a broken heart floating lifelessly in a bath of alcohol. The sting feels nice against my throat. One look into his eyes and his body screamed out “the secret.” It was evident in his new look, impure and dark, obvious in the overwhelming stench of cheap perfume. Our disconnected hearts were riding down opposite sides of Love Boulevard. In a world of feelings, he chose betrayal as the perfect gift for me.

Infidelity in relationships is as common as a seasonal cold. In fact, 57% of men and 54% of women admit to infidelity (emotional and/or physical) in any relationship they’ve had. 36% of men and women admit to having an affair with a co-worker. 74% of men say they would have an affair if they knew they wouldn’t get caught. 68% of women also admitted their willingness to engage in a consequence-free affair. These astronomical percentages blatantly spit in the face of monogamy and the very purpose of being in a relationship to begin with. While it is true that most affairs are not planned, it doesn’t appear that committed people are doing a heck of a lot to prevent innocent attractions from developing into lustful trysts. The single counterparts in the affairs are also to blame. Instead of perceiving the affair to be a nod to their non-existent self-esteem, they could attempt to empathize with the person being cheated on and anyone else indirectly involved. It is true that some singles may not know they are apart of an affair, but the ones who do are just as guilty as the adulterer.  I have developed a pre-cheater’s checklist guide which is a set of questions that one should ask themselves in the event of a blooming attraction for the “other person”.

•   Am I doing anything to put myself into uncomfortable spaces with the “other person?”
•   If my significant other were present, would I behave in this manner?
•   Is this “other person” enough to replace my significant other, and not just fill a minor deficit?
•   How will I feel immediately after the affair?    
•   How will I feel if my significant other discovered my actions?
•   What would I do if a child resulted from this affair, or a sexually transmitted disease?
•    How might this affair come back to bite me “where the sun don’t shine?”  

It’s simple, think before you cheat.

*Stats taken from: http://www.infidelityfacts.com/infidelity-statistics.html

Poetic Wednesdays

In Philly, it’s a rainy Wednesday night. The sound of the soft rain dancing against the window makes for a perfect relaxing night. Unwind with some poetry, a glass of wine and smooth music before you retire to the bed. Peace and Love.

   Music

Music, the symphony of notes connecting me to my inner child

Reversing my steps towards the day of my birth into this world

Looking through a frosty window at a much younger version of me

Amazed at the sight of lost innocence and unadulterated hope

I can see my father oh so clear, his angelic silhouette is cleansed of all poisons

Joined in a dance with my mother, her body is perfumed with pure joy

Careless Whispers pulsate rhythm waves throughout their joined bodies

It’s everything that defines my character, the core of my complex-layered heart

I look in on my sister, dressed in fuzzy pajamas, fully clothed with happiness

A less sexy dance between us girls as we spin around to the groove of music

Savory scents of supper warm the cozy home with feelings of love and security

And now I’m locked out and wanting to be there so badly

The residue of my true joy is in the traces of old time melodies

I trace my fingers along the pane of their window, I want them to let me in

I wish they could see that my spirit is locked behind their doors, locked away in the past

I can hardly breathe, my heart is gasping for familiarity and a sense of belonging

The hours of tomorrow stole the pleasure of yesterday from me

Despite the yearning to revisit moments that define my life, I must move on

There are weak moments, contemplations of sacrificing my blood to find the lost me

Those times where I frantically dig the soil away from those buried memories

Those tireless attempts to breathe existence into past times that are dead now

My family has parted from me, my heart has parted from my mind

It is a suicide of my joy

But music reminds me that I once existed, and I was whole    

Forgotten Tears (inspired by movie "Precious")

Dear Mama, can I cry too? When the souls of our home bellow in pain, does God only hear you?

Cause I cry. I cry too, but with no one to answer, God must only hear you.

In the presence of the moon, you wallow in a deep stupor, as your tears drown the pain surrounding you.

Blinded sight and tear stained eyes never seem to notice that daddy’s left your bed.

He pours you the bloody death of my innocence, while you stumbled to the blues in a solo dance.

A trance, provoked by thick curls of sweet smoke, calling you to a window of escape.

Worlds away, I lay, screams muffled by razor threats, fears choked with familiar hands.

I cry, hoping my tears swim towards your compassion, your awareness, your ability to give a damn.

Yet you never answer, or refuse to, cause your blues grow louder to the creaking of my bed.

I imagine you in your finest silk, loving daddy the way you used to.

So I pretend to be you, cause that’s the only way his thrusts make sense.

Pain, disgust, pleasure, guilt, fingers of emotions prod at my sanity.

I cry mama, I burn with anger as you let this happen.

I look up at the night’s dark blanket angry with God too.

The stench of whiskey hangs heavy above my lips.

I yearn for a taste of your distorted reality, a taste of daddy’s selfishness.

Cause all I can think about is how sorry I am for what daddy has done to us.

To me.

To you.

Mama.

I cry.

For you.

For me.

Can I?

I look up at the stars sparkle like shiny diamond gems.

It’s the only thing alive in that dead black sky.

Has to be, because mama I cry too.

But it seems that God only has ears for you.



Ice in my Mojito

It was like a scene out of the Old West, as my partner and I stood before each other armed with a slew of profane words and reddened eyes. The kitchen was overcrowded with our bruised egos, and overheated with our hot tempers. The only cool thing in our presence was the cup of ice that we were so passionately arguing over. I imagined chunks of frozen water cracking up against the hollow space between his ears.  The look in his piercing eyes made me feel that he was having some harsh fantasies of his own. There we stood, chests heaving, anger rising, and patience falling. War was imminent, set into motion by an 8oz cup of ice. The clock raced past time, screeching its way towards midnight. At 11:59, I had a thought. If one of us were taken away this instant, would we be relieved, feeling vindicated in this “Cold” war, or would we yearn for another moment to share a cozy space in time? This question made me think a little deeper. If this shall be the last time I would ever look into his eyes, would he have internally said goodbye to a crazed woman who was too stupid to love freely? I started to think of our better days when butterflies danced around my stomach, and anticipation eased out of my nervous palms. Ice didn’t matter so much then. Sure it cooled off a nice glass of lemonade but it wasn’t important enough to be the “other woman.” Across the country, behind the drawn curtains, I wondered how many lovers were fighting over “cups of ice.” In other words, the minute distractions that means absolutely nothing in the end. But today, nothing was everything as the ice indicated a deeper issue, separating lovers. The coldness before us represented an unwillingness to put aside our egos and work together as a team. In some houses a cup of ice is a cup of lust, selfishness, financial distrust, or a kryptonite of their choice. It’s all the same because it presents an equal opportunity to kill love. When the clock struck 12, suddenly, that cup of ice meant nothing more than a barrier between two lovers.