how quickly

July 10, 2010

I tell her I am going to watch Revolutionary Road over the weekend. Her response, “It’s frightening how quickly it can happen.”

It being adultery. It’s frightening how a martini lunch with a coworker or dancing with a neighbor can unlock the door for adultery.

The conversation, their marital discontent leads me to say to her, “You said ‘for better or for worse. And this part, this is the worse. And you’ll get through it and it will be stronger. It will get back to the better.”

“That’s the thing,” she says through tears. “He only wants me for the better.”

Weeks later, she discovers her husband’s betrayal.

She’s right. It happens so quickly.

It’s one week when he asks me how he’ll know when it’s over. It’s been bad for years, he says.

I tell him relationships are dynamic, not static. They change. This is the bad part. You’ll get through it, and it will get better.

It’s just one week later when he’s grazing his fingers, just barely touching, my hand. He compliments my shoes. Of course, he compliments my shoes. And I tell him, like I would talk to any good-looking man, that the shoes. Stay. On.

A few drinks, a few songs later, and he walks me to my car. We hug and squeeze, fitting together in that way that only people of the right heights can. We hug too long, but don’t let go.

We lean away to say our goodbye and instead of speaking, we kiss. Because it happens that quickly.

But we stop. He looks at me and says, “You little temptress.” And we say goodbye.

Because it’s frightening how quickly it happens, but the decision to stop, the moment in which to change your mind, comes just as rapidly.


grand gestures

February 19, 2010

When Lloyd Dobler held that boom box up and blasted “In Your Eyes” for Diane Court, I fell for it. When Keith Nelson bought Amanda Jones that pair of diamond studs, I fell for it. Same thing when Jake Ryan pulled his red sports car in front of that church to find Samantha Baker.

Grand gestures. They aren’t desperate, but romantic, not calculated, but passionate.

They also only work in fiction.

He has flown from Amsterdam, basically, for one date. He knows I have no interest in a long distance relationship, but he wants to risk it because he likes the idea of keeping a smart, sexy woman in his life. Over a lovely meal, he explains that even though it has been 8 months since I last saw him, and even though we have not kept in touch at all during those months, I have stayed on his mind. I am the right brain, I am the right body type. And he’s come all this way, for this one date, to explore the possibility of me being Ms. Right.

It is a grand gesture.

It is greatly flawed.

On the pro side. He’s gorgeous, 6’4″, fiercely intelligent. Ambitious, successful.

On the con side. He’s self-centered. He talks almost entirely about himself, asks me nothing about myself. He barely hears the words I am saying, returning most often to whatever thought is in his head regardless of the actual conversation we are having. He also, swear to God, thinks he is paying me a compliment when he says to me, “You have a great childbearing body.” What. The. Fuck?

He doesn’t remember the hours long conversation we shared last summer about our divorce stories. He doesn’t even remember that I am divorced.

And he doesn’t pick up on the social cue of engaging conversation even after I say almost exactly these words, “Perhaps the reason you didn’t remember I am divorced is that you largely talk about yourself and don’t ask me a thing about myself. If you were more interested in me, you might remember the things I have shared with you about myself.” He doesn’t get it.

I ask him what he’s looking for out of life. His answer. First, to find that significant other. Two, to plan for retirement. Three, to start a family.

Oh, my dear man of grand gestures, perhaps if you talked a little less and listened a little more, you would remember one other thing that I clearly remember saying to you on that hot July night months and months ago. I don’t want children.

It is far less romantic, far less passionate, but I will take common courtesy over a grand gesture any day.


The Nose Knows… But Would He?

December 22, 2009

I need help, interwebs.

Many, many years ago, I dated a guy.

He was a good guy, the kind of guy I still occasionally check in with and say “Hey, how are things? How’s your niece doing? What’s new?” and the like. The romance itself is long dead and buried, but I certainly wish him well.

The thing is, he used to wear this cologne. This absolutely MAGICAL, ridiculously-expensive-but-totally-worth-it cologne. It’s like nothing I’ve ever smelled… basically, it’s as if those ridiculous “Axe” commercials came to life.

Yeah. This stuff is THAT good.

SO, it’s been years since I’ve smelled it, obviously, because I am not crazy and didn’t steal any of his to spray on a pillow or whatnot when we split. (This is not a joke. I really didn’t. Though I kind of wish I had.)

And then, this morning, I was grabbing my cup o’ joe at Starbucks when…


Absolutely, 100%, in no way mistakeable… THAT SCENT. That delicious, uber-sensual, I want to eat your face right now! SCENT.

And despite the fact that the man responsible more than slightly resembled Nick Nolte’s mugshot

I totally wanted to climb him.

So my question to you, internet, is this.

How wrong would it be if I perhaps bought a bottle of said miracle cologne for the man that I am now in love with?

I adore the smell, not the ex, after all…


The Dating Game

November 2, 2009

Scene: A stage. Three chairs on stage left for bachelors. Two chairs on stage right- one for host, one for bachelorette. Large divider between.

Host: Ladies and gentlemen, you’ve met our bachelorette. What do you say we meet our bachelors? And heeeeeee-re they arrrrrrrrr-re! Bachelor #1, sum yourself up in one sentence.

Bachelor #1: I’m tall, good-looking and fiercely intelligent.

Host: Excellent. Bachelor #2?

Bachelor #2: I believe Sarah Palin should be our next President and global warming is a myth.

Host: Conservative, interesting. Bachelor #3?

Bachelor #3: I’m pretty flaky and rarely sober, but I love music.

Host: Well, that is our men summed up. Bachelorette, would you like to ask the Bachelors a question?

Bachelorette: Sure. I’ll ask the same question to all of the men. Describe our first date and our first kiss.

Bachelor #1: Well, it won’t really be a date. I’ll call and invite you out to see a band. Get you into a sold out show, VIP section. In the middle of the show, we’ll hop over to another venue to check out another band. When we’re in the car, at the first stoplight we get to, we’ll start making out, and we will keep kissing until the car behind us honks.

Bachelorette: Wow. Bachelor #2?

Bachelor #2: Well, you’ll invite me over to your place and you’ll cook dinner. At some point in the conversation you will be so desperate for me to shut up about my conservative politics that you will kiss me. I’m great in bed so you’ll likely decide to keep me busy there so I’m not talking.

Bachelorette: Ok. Hmmmm. And bachelor #3?

Bachelor #3: We’ll meet at our local bar. Super low-key. And I’ll convince you to come back to my place to listen to the musician I am obsessed with. That’s when I’ll make my move. But I’ll have had enough to drink that we won’t have sex because I won’t be able to get hard.

Host (chuckling uncomfortably): Well, Bachelor #3, it’s not Thursday yet. Maybe you should keep that TMI to yourself. Does our Bachelorette have another question for our men?

Bachelorette: Gentlemen, I’ve been burned in the past by long distance relationships. So, short and sweet, tell me how far away from me you live.

Bachelor #1: 100 miles.

Bachelor #2: 60 minutes. But I don’t mind the driving!

Bachelor #3: You can walk to my place.

Host: We have time for one more question. Bachelorette, what have you got?

Bachelorette: Well, we all have strengths and weaknesses. So, sum up for me, why shouldn’t I pick you?

Bachelor #1: You’ve already slept with my cousin.

Bachelor #2: I think I already mentioned that I want Sarah Palin to be our next President.

Bachelor #3: Well, like I said, I’m a little flaky. I mean I’m single, but I’ve been seeing someone. But by seeing someone, I mean sleeping with them. But we’re not exclusive.

Bachelorette: (Speechless for a moment.) This is tough. I mean none of them are right. Can’t I just keep them all floating around for a bit? Let survival of the fittest work its magic?

Host: Well, of course, you can do whatever you want. In fact, if you wait until next weekend, we have a tall, good-looking 22-year old for you to ask a few questions of! So, ladies and gentlemen, thanks for tuning in and we’ll see you next week!


i adore you.

October 4, 2009

I wasn’t expecting to take you home.

Even though before, I’ve seen you naked, touched you naked, slept beside you naked and more.

I wasn’t expecting you to let your friends all leave without you. I wasn’t expecting you to kiss me at the bar in front of the bartender who knows us both so well. I wasn’t expecting to take you home.

I am so glad you came home with me.

You are so fiercely intelligent. I not only respect you. I adore you.

I know all too well the gazillion ways that we are not compatible. I know I am too loud, too opinionated, too liberal, too tall in my 4 inch heels for you. I also know that when it is just the two of us, all that changes.

The way I talk about sex bothers you. Yet you can overlook that just the night before, I brought a different boy home. My forward nature doesn’t impress you. Until I take my top off and stand on the balcony wearing nothing but jeans and a glass of champagne and we talk. And talk and talk.

I have to make a case for sex. Explain away how this will change the two of us in the future. How it will affect our mutual friends who may or may not know the ways we know each other. I state my case. I win.

I know I have written about you in the past; I know I wasn’t generous or kind. If I could take it all back, I would. In its place, I would write how the way you kiss makes me wet. How when I kick off those heels and we see eye to eye, all I want is for my nakedness to be entwined with yours. The way you talk about my body, the way you appreciate it, the way it responds to you, I can’t help but want you.

We can laugh while fucking. We can carry on an entire conversation during sex. I can smile. Then after, when we’ve found satisfaction and need a glass of water, when I open the drawer to slide on boy shorts, you pull them out of my hand, toss them to the floor and say, “Why put those on? I’m going to fuck you again.”

Oh. My. God.

I don’t want to be your girlfriend. I do want to be your friend.

And I definitely want to fuck you again.


TMI Thursday: That Florida Chick With the Depends Wasn’t So Dumb After All

August 27, 2009

Hi, everyone, I’m Kimberly! I knew I needed to share this, but my own site is no place for it, so here we go…

Ironically, this TMIT takes place on a Thursday about five weeks ago.  My parents were visiting from Arizona and staying with me so we decided to go visit my grandma, my Dad’s mom, before they flew back to AZ.  My grandma just turned 87 so we were going to go see her and take her to out to lunch to celebrate.  Even though my grandma lives only 2 hours or so away from me I never visit her.  I know, I think this TMI may be karma kicking me in the ass, literally.

So, off we went.  FYI, the town she lives in? Is notoriously known as a hub bub for senior citizens, therefore totally lame.  So we get to Grandma’s house and after all the hello’s, we ask Grandma where she wants to go for lunch.  Now, my Mom had warned me that my Grandma really liked going to this super nasty restaurant and would probably want to go there.  She was right.  My Dad tried to convince her that we would take her to the casino, AKA nicest restaurant/buffet in town, and get her a really nice lunch there but she wasn’t having it at all.  Just gave my Dad a blank stare until he realized that she was holding her ground.  So we were off to the super nasty place, but I thought, how bad could it really be?

We pulled up to the restaurant and I shit you not, I thought that it was closed!  It looked all dark and there was not one car in the parking lot. Not a good sign at all!  My Mom just kept saying over and over again how bad this place was, it was open and she really didn’t want to go in.  Finally, we go inside and I instantly knew this was not going to be good.

This restaurant was an American style restaurant run by ASIANS!  Don’t get me wrong, I love Asian food.  But Asians trying to cook American food? Mot so yummy.  I could not decide what to order off of the menu, because everything sounded disgusting.  Finally after everyone else put in their order I decided to go with the same as my Grandma, deep fried prawns and fries.  I figure she’s 87, she eats this all the time and she’s okay so it must be a safe bet.

I slammed the food down as best I could, as did my parents, and we left that nasty joint $70 later.

Here’s a little tid bit of info about me… if I eat something that makes me sick it usually only takes about 45 minutes to cycle through, and this was no exception.  I could immediately feel something brewing, something bad.  So before I left Grandma’s I decided to use her bathroom and drop a few kids at the pool to ease my queasiness.  Have you ever tried to poop when you really don’t feel good but nothing comes out?  That was me.   What did come out wasn’t much and I still felt sick to my stomach. So I thought well, maybe it will be okay once I can relax in the car while I am driving.  Get some fresh air and stuff.

So off we go, I’m driving and my Dad is in the front seat next me.  We are on our way out of town and I am doing my best to ignore the feelings of nastiness brewing inside.  As I am listening to my parents talk about Obama’s health care shit for the 100th time I am getting a little nervous that I may need to make a pit stop sooner rather than later.  Finally I tell my parents to shut the hell up because I can’t take the conversation reruns any longer and I needed to find a bathroom or there were going to be dire consequences.  Naturally my parents are freaking out reminding me that this is a two lane highway, there are no bathrooms or restaurants for at least 20 more minutes.  As if I hadn’t noticed!

At this point I am in a panic.  My stomach is turning and churning something awful, and finally,  I realize that I have one of two choices:  poop in my pants or pull over and pop a squat on the side of the road.  It’s probably not helping that I am driving behind a semi truck with an advertisement on the back of a big juicy burger and four different marinades. At this point my Dad is frantic because I’m pretty sure that he was scared by my facial expressions and the thought of me pooping my pants right next to him.

After what seems like an eternity I finally find someones driveway to pull off to on the side and jump out of the car with a kleenex box in my hand.  Thats right, I said kleenex.  I cant go number three and not wipe!  I ran around the car frantically thinking, oh shit, where in the hell am I gonna go without everyone driving on the highway seeing me take a dump!?  While keeping it together, literally, I direct my Dad to turn the car sideways and park it so I was pretty sheltered from the traffic on the highway.  Finally as comfortable as I can possibly get for this situation, I pop a squat next the passenger front tire and settle in to do my business.  I was pretty confident that my Dad couldn’t see what I was doing, but my poor Mom had a front row seat.  I hope she didn’t watch but I’m pretty sure that she glanced.  My Mom is sick like that.

Did I mention that I was doing the deed on the side of someone’s driveway?  I could see their house sitting on the hill with the living room that was a wall of windows overlooking, you guessed it, the driveway.  I was trying so hard to get everything out before the person that lived there decided to look out and notice someone taking a disgusting runny poop on their driveway.  Though, I was pretty proud of myself though that I managed to keep clean and not get any poop on my clothes.  I finished dropping bombs and then I looked down at my mess covered in Kleenex, it was still pretty nasty.  I felt so bad for shitting on someones driveway I couldn’t just leave it there.  I grabbed a bunch of Kleenex and grabbed at it to throw it in the sticker bushes behind the car.  That’s right I’m polite!

When my poop stop was complete I climbed back in to the car to face my parents.  My Dad could not stop laughing and being grossed out at the same time.  The rest of the ride was an onslaught of poop stories and the like for the rest of the way. At least these stories were way better than hearing about Obama and his healthcare plan for seniors.

Now here is the fucked up part.  As soon as I got back into the car after my incident  I was cracking up to myself thinking that this was a great TMI Thursday and I should tell LiLu.  How great is that I nearly poop myself and I think of LiLu.  Sorry LiLu.  So, so sorry.


TMI Sunday that I’m Sharing on Tuesday

July 28, 2009

Jordan: When did you decide this, at what point did you conclude that you wanted to break up with me?

Me: Jordan, I don’t know that I’d call this a break up.  I mean we’ve been out a few times and have had some fun together but I didn’t think that either of us was that invested.

Jordan: Call it what you want, call it whatever makes it easier for you.  But I still want an answer.  Was it before or after we fucked last night?

Me: It was when we watched that stupid Kevin Costner movie.  I knew that I’d never kiss you like that.

Jordan: Just get the fuck out.

Me: Jordan, we’re at my place.