Dating My Ex-Husband

Yeah, you read that right.

The X and I decided that it would be a good idea to try dating one another throughout this separation. To see if there is still something here. To see if we could find that one tiny spark buried beneath the hurt, anger, and indifference. To see if dating one another would be that little puff of oxygen that could feed that spark and return it to the flame that it once was. We have both changed so much over the past 10 years, exponentially so in the last year alone. I don’t think that either of us recognizes the other any longer. But we are both clinging to hope that maybe, just maybe, the people that we have become could love each other like the people we used to be.

So on Friday we had our first date. And it really felt like a first date. I came home, showered, and got all dolled up in the hopes that I could make a good first impression. After all, they say you only have one chance to make a good first impression. I suppose that also applies to re-dating your ex-husband. I was full of nerves and my stomach fluttered like butterflies. I was overcome with anticipation of seeing him again, but for the first time. Like any other date, I wondered if we’d have chemistry? Would we have anything to talk about? But also feared that this would truly mark the end–that my first impression would be my last. That he wouldn’t like me any more than the last time we said goodbye.

We met for drinks. Him, a martini. Me, a dark and stormy. I ordered the caprese salad. He ordered the beef tar tare.

One of the things that The X didn’t like about me while we were married was my picky palate. I’m simply not adventurous when it comes to food. I decide by looking at something whether or not I want it on my taste buds. It used to drive him crazy the way I would turn my nose up at anything that looked weird to me. So when he asked if I wanted to taste his tar tare, I said yes. He spread a little bite on the bread, sprinkled it with salt, and then sprinkled it with pepper despite knowing how I despise pepper. I gave an inch and he took a mile. But I smiled and silently accepted his dare. I knew it was a test and all I had to do in order to pass was the put the tar tare sprinkled with pepper in my mouth and swallow it. Somewhere, in the deep recesses of my mind, I think I thought that this one bite of raw beef would make him like me again.

I tried to like it. I really did. But I failed when he handed me the napkin in which to spit it out.

The plan was to have a drink and a light meal, go see a play, and then grab drinks afterward. So from the bar, we headed to the theater. The play we saw was called The Last 5 Years. This is the synopsis:

The show follows two timelines:

Cathy begins at the end of her marriage and relationship with Jamie

and ends with the moment following their first date.

Jamie begins with the first date and struggles forward through the relationship.

Jamie and Cathy rarely appear or participate in each other’s scenes;

only as silent objects, props for a focus, or to provide a hint of what once was, or could have been.

The Last 5 Years asks many questions:

Why do we fall in love?

Why do relationships fail?

Why do people grow apart?

Does success for one mean loss for the other?

Suffice it to say that this might have been the worst idea I’ve ever had. Of course we both took something away, but the take-away wasn’t nearly as enlightening or progressive as I thought it might be. Instead, we were both left with an overwhelming sadness over the demise of our marriage. Could I have been more understanding? Could he have been more supportive? Or was it the other way around? One line in particular really caught my attention–“Why do I have to lose because you can’t win?” As we sat in the small, dark theater and watched a fictional version of our marriage unravel right before our eyes, that one simple line seemed to sum everything up. But, really, in the end it just makes us both losers. No one wins because we no longer have each other. It’s just so sad.

We both cried quite a bit during the play. There is one scene on their wedding day (the only point in the entire play where the actors are on the timeline) that really touched us both. We sat there, hand in hand, as we watched ourselves in the actor’s faces say ‘I do’ and share their first dance as husband and wife. The tears were unstoppable at this point so we both just let them fall. We both expected to feel was a sense of grieving for what was, but in the end we were simply left longing and wondering where it all went wrong.

By the time the play was over, I was entirely too emotional to go out in public, so we headed our separate ways. Me, to our empty home. He, to who knows where. That night I cried my eyes out over the immense sadness that riddles my heart. I sobbed for the profound loss of something that I have always held so dear. But in the end, I felt a flicker of hope that maybe this isn’t over after all. If there is still something there to feel, then maybe there is something there worth saving.

For now, however, we’ve both agreed to let him plan our second date. Perhaps something that hits a little further away from home….



I Found A Cure For the Mr. Teacher Blues

His name is Mr. Professor.

I met Mr. Professor this past Saturday, but we were both out with other people. The entire evening I was distracted by his intensity, imagining what it would be like to get my hands on him. Little did I know, he was thinking the same exact thing. He texted me the following morning to tell me so. Well, he told me that and so much more. We ended up texting back and forth most of the day and making plans to hang out just the two of us.

When I say texting back and forth, I should probably expand upon that and tell you that these texts mostly outlined the things we wanted to do to each other. Now, I’ve never been a huge fan of sending dirty texts…well that’s not entirely true. I’ve always been a fan of receiving them, but I’ve never been good at replying to them. Suffice it to say that this guy found a way to bring that out in me. I’m a lover of words in every sense, so using them erotically gets me in a way that few other things to do. Mr. Professor has a way with these words which should really come as no surprise. And I quote:

I’m a poet. Fucking poetically means ‘fucking is a dirty poem.’ Words are the sexiest things there are. So few know their erotic power during sex.

And did he ever follow through on that promise.

He started by cooking me an amazing dinner–lamb soup with rice (cooked properly) and spinach sauteed with garlic. It was the yummiest meal that I had in weeks. And it was just a prelude to all of the yummy things that would soon follow. An hour of tension building with sweet kisses, hand holding, and light touching and teasing. Getting to know each other–our backgrounds, where we come from, what our families are like. Laughing, sighing, and creating a need for one another that only the other could satisfy.

One thing lead to another, as these things often do, and alas we were in his bed getting to know one another on an extremely erotically charged level–one that I’m not sure I’ve ever experienced before. But by the time we moved on to round two, I was quite familiar with this particular brand of sex. Quite familiar with my desire to want it again.

I shared with you that I know I have a thing for teachers, but Professors??? Who knew? The power, the intelligence, the sexiness of imparting knowledge is almost more than I can handle. But I will admit that what turns me on the most is knowing that he is standing before a room of undergrads who are all thinking the same way about him. I’m positive that there are at least a handful of students that he teaches that want to get their hands on him, but I know (with smug reassurance) that while they are fall picturing him naked, he’s attempting to control his fantasy of having sex with me. I know this because he told me so. I know this because he told me he had to think of nothing but my hands yesterday lest he not be able to handle the anticipation of the thoughts that were attempting to take over.

I will definitely be doing this again. And again.

2013: Get Growing

2013 is shaping up to be a promising year for me. I’ve already learned so much about myself that I didn’t know 3 short months ago. My 2013: Get Growing List is coming together very nicely. And I’m pretty sure that this summer is going to be epic for many reasons.

  • My kick-off to summer officially begins on April 27th with the Charm City Folk and Bluegrass Festival.  It makes me so proud to have such great music right in my own backyard and I can’t wait to show my support for my favorite city and the talent that it holds.

charm city

  • Then I turn the big 3-0 the following day. I haven’t made any plans for this milestone just yet. I’m still coping with the bitterness that I am feeling about it. Not so much because I’m separated, childless, and turning 30, but more so because I threw The X a super awesome 30th birthday two years ago and I wasn’t expecting to have do it again for myself. I thought he would be the one planning the party and demonstrating his love for me. Instead, I am in the process of accepting that this year is about celebrating myself and demonstrating the love I have for the wonderful person that I am. Even if that acceptance includes having to throw my own shindig.
  • May 11th is the Baltimore Color Run which I will be running with my awesome team members and gaggle of best lady friends, Rapid Thigh Movement.
  • The following weekend, my team and I will be doing the same run, but in DC.


  • June 18th I will be seeing The Postal Service, one of my absolute favorite bands!


I’ve never really been to a festival quite like this before. And I’ve decided to go alone. Three days of great music, meeting people, and camping. In a tent. By myself. I have no doubt            that it will prove to be one of the best adventures of my life. I know quite a few people that are going and I will more than likely hang out with all of them, but in the end, this trip    is for me. It’s for me to dance, camp, and have way too much fun. But it’s also about me being alone in a crowd of thousands.

  • At the end of July will come another big adventure for me. I’m flying (on an airplane!!!) all the way to Seattle for my sister-friend’s 30th birthday. It should be known that the reason this is such a big deal for me is because flying is my #1 fear. Fear actually doesn’t even begin to describe it. Flying is a phobia of mine, but I’m ready to shed myself of that. I want to have the whole world at my fingertips, not just places within reasonable driving distance. Come July, this will no longer be an issue. Promise.
  • Pretty much as soon as I get back from Seattle, a few of my lady and I will be seeing the Lumineers in concert. It will be third time that I get to see them; they have a special place in my heart as so many summer 2012 memories were made with the Lumineers playing in the background. They were (and still are) the soundtrack to a very important time in my life. A time wherein so many things were changing at a rate so imperceptible that it’s really only in retrospect that those changes are visible. The Lumineers are my seismic shift.
  • Then to end the summer, I will be running the Dirty Girl Mud Run. Something that I have ALWAYS wanted to do!

And then it will be over. Then it will be time to start making plans for 2014: The Year of My Baby…but more on that later.

Songs To Get Divorced To

“This is Not A Song” — Islands

If Penny rolls away
I will have lost everything
In many subtle ways
I already don’t have anything

I hate to watch you go
Nick if you ever learn it never shows

And this is not a song
So why do I find it so hard to move on
Feels a crime to be cryin’ for this long

In upper atmosphere my head comes loose
And in the free fall I can feel the blues
I hate to watch you go
Nick if you ever learn it never shows

If this is just a song
Then why do I find it so hard to move on
Feels a crime to be cryin’ for this long