Sometimes, Things Just Work Out the Way They're Supposed To

Last week I mentioned to you guys that I had some plans for this past weekend that could either turn out really good or really bad. Well, it just so happens that it turned out really good. Better than could have been expected. Really. I couldn't have scripted it better myself. And now that I've built it up to be so huge, get ready for the big let down, 'cause it's not really all that exciting.

I saw the ex-boyfriend, M, for the first time in a year and a half. Yup. Sure did. And when they say that happiness is the best revenge... (Or is it looking totally hot next to his sad-sack schlump of a girlfriend? I forget.) ...they're right.

Here's how it all went down. R & M, Facebook friends of mine (of course, right?), who I know from my time with M, invited a bunch of friends to come watch R's band play on Saturday night. I really wanted to go because the whole time M and I were together, R's band never played. They were "on hiatus". I'd always wanted to see them play live. There's is one of the few country albums that M had that I actually liked, rather than just tolerated. (No offense, C.) I RSVP'd knowing that M and his schlumpadink girlfriend would be there.

I spent Friday evening preparing myself, beauty-wise. I got my eyebrows tinted and waxed. I tanned. I had a pedicure. I was determined to look GOOD.

Saturday night, my friend Z and I made our way to the bar. I had filled her in on all the details of course. M wasn't there yet when we got there. R was the first person I saw. I told him I was a little bit nervous about coming and he assured me it would be fine.

A little while later as I was making my way to the bathroom, it happened. The run-in. It's still weird to think that I hadn't seen him since October of 2007. I felt like I had just seen him the day before. He was still strangely familiar to me. Maybe I expected him to seem like more of a stranger? I don't know. And all that anger I felt toward him? Kind of gone. Well, mostly. We hugged. I gave him a kiss on the cheek. He said it was good to see me and I agreed. Because, really, it was good to see him. I told him I wanted to meet his new girlfriend. He was not super excited about the idea, but said "Have at it. She's right over there."

So, what did I do? I pretty much marched myself right over to her and introduced myself.

"Excuse me?" I said. Blank stare.

"Are you Schlumpadink?"

She looked at me like I had two heads. I continued to introduce myself. I was determined.

"I'm Moo."

Still no response from Schlumpadink. (Like she didn't know who I was? Right.)

"M's ex-girlfriend?" I offered.

"Oh." She said weakly.

I went on to explain that I had asked M to introduce us and he had begged off. As this was pretty much a one-sided conversation, I cut it short, wished her a good night and went on my merry little way.

All that unpleasantness out of the way, I proceeded to have a GREAT time. The band was fantastic. We sang. We danced. I got to see old friends I hadn't seen in forever. It was so much fun!

M & Schlumpadink? Not so much. I noticed her glaring at me several times over the course of the evening. M watched me like a hawk. I tried not to let it bother me.

(Can I just tell you though? She really was schlumpy. Stringy blonde hair. Kind of chubby. And worst of all? Or, best of all, I should say. I know for a fact girlfriend is the same age as me and she looks much older. Ha.)

All in all the evening couldn't have gone any better. I made my point. I'm pretty sure M now knows for certain that I am better off without him. And perhaps, that point was also made just a little bit clearer to me as well. The only thing that is bothering me I guess is this...

If I'm such a catch, why is it that he's happily coupled (assuming they're happy) and I'm still single?

P.S. Just for the heck of it, I'm going to let Earl steal a little bit of my thunder here. I couldn't resist. It's just too cute.

What? You mean I shouldn't be in the dishwasher?

Being 36 Rocks, For Reals

I am a firm believer in the idea that every person comes into our lives for a reason, and generally we can take away something good from the relationship, no matter how it ended. (See previous entry. And I still haven't figured out how to make that a link to that entry, but just scroll down. It's there, I promise.) Well, it's been a year and a half since M and I broke up and I still struggle to come up with something good that I got out of my relationship with him. I know. Sounds a bit ridiculous, right? I mean, why the hell was I with the guy for 3 years? Temporary insanity? Deep seated insecurity? I don't know. But! Finally, today, I figured it out.

Are you ready?

M was the first guy I ever believed when he told me I was beautiful. (As I say that, if you could only see me now... Seriously. My hair is all jacked up from being shellacked into a bun for my spinning class. I have a spot of zit cream drying on my chin. My belly is hanging over my pajama bottoms just a bit. I am so totally not hot at this very moment.)

Let's face it, I am a late bloomer. I have only recently developed a makeup habit worthy of a teenaged girl. I absolutely cannot leave Target these days with out purchasing some sort of new makeup. I'm particularly obsessed with finding the perfect mascara. (I'm still somewhat of a neophyte, seeing as I still get tricked into buying waterproof mascara. I hate waterproof mascara. Feel free to leave your perfect mascara suggestions in the comments.) It took me until the age of 36 to come up with a real skin care regimen. (I think I already told you. Spent a boatload of money on it, and the good news is, it's totally awesome. My skin is dewy and fresh.) And, within the last couple of years I've developed somewhat of an addiction to the Brazilian wax.

Now, I know that makeup, dewy-fresh skin, and a waxed coochie aren't what make a woman beautiful. What makes me beautiful, and what surprises me, is that I am just now, in my mid-thirties, starting to get comfortable in my own skin. And it's not just about knowing how to do your makeup or what to wear. It's about knowing who you are and owning it. I finally know who I am. I finally think I am beautiful. I'm sure I would've gotten here eventually, but I suppose M helped me along. Begrudingly, I thank him for that.

All of this comes to mind, as I prepare myself for my first session tomorrow night with my new personal trainer, T. (I'm on this total self-improvement kick, since I quit smoking. I figured with the money I was saving not buying ciggies, I could afford T. He definitely costs more than a weeks worth of ciggies, but not much.)

I've been forewarned that T is going to ask me to name some goals. I definitely have goals that relate to my physical appearance. Hell, I'd like to get rid of the muffin top currently puffed out around my pajama bottoms. I'd like my arms to be more toned (less jiggly) and my butt to be a little bit perkier. (One thing I have noticed with age, aside from crow's feet, is that my butt ain't what it used to be.) But, the more I think about it, the more I realize that not all of my goals are appearance related. Some of my goals are performance related. For instance, I'd like to be able to do 10 regular push-ups (no sissy kind with the knees). I'd like to be able to do at least 1 pull-up. (I have never in my life been able to do a pull-up unassisted.) Most of all, I'd like to make it through an entire workout with T without whining. I'd like to think that the sense of accomplishment I have when I've reached those goals will make me feel even more beautiful than a perky butt! Although, a perky butt sure will be nice.

I Got a Rock

I hate pearls. I mean HATE them. Hate.

It all goes back to M. Of course it does. I'll never forget my first birthday with him. When I saw that little box my heart went pitter patter. Jewelry! He bought me jewelry!

And then I opened the box. Pearl earrings. Blech. I felt like Charlie Brown in "It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown". I got a rock, indeed. (Certainly not the kind of rock I wanted!)

Of course I was gracious. I thanked him and I wore the pearls. And truthfully, back then I didn't harbor the pure hatred of pearls that I do now. It was more of a "They're not really my favorite thing."

That Christmas, M did well on the gift front. I got Ugg boots, exactly what I wanted. And the next birthday I got a really pretty silver necklace with a begonia pendant on it. Yay! No pearls.

The following Christmas I was the proud recipient of not only pearl earrings, but a necklace to match! Luckily, it wasn't like a Barbara Bush pearl necklace. It was silver, with a pendant or something. It had pearls.

And I was gracious. And I wore them.

To be fair, I never did tell M of my distaste for pearls. I've never been one to speak up about that sort of thing. (See Also: every Christmas gift I've ever gotten from my mother.) I don't mean to sound ungrateful, but how do you tell someone that you hate the gift that they picked out for you?

I'm not the kind of person that can thank someone for a gift and then in the same breath ask for the gift receipt so that I can return it. Consequently, I suffer in silence. And then I develop an irrational hate for poor, defenseless pearls.

The last birthday I spent with M I already knew in my heart what I needed to do. My birthday was less than a week before I finally broke up with him. We went out to dinner at one of my favorite restaurants. He brought me flowers (for the first time in the 3 years we dated, but whatever). And pearl earrings.

Intuition

I am pissed. Oh, hello internet. I'm Moo. Nice to meet you. I found out something last night that really pissed me off. I've decided to channel my anger into creativity. Tah dah! A blog. About dating. Really? Yes, really.

It all started on Facebook. Facebook is great. Old friends catching up with each other. New friends getting to know one another. But Facebook has a dark side. Facebook can turn even the most sane of us into virtual stalkers. Reading friends of friends comments. Looking at friends of friends photos. Facebook stalking can lead you to finding out things you never really wanted to know. Last night I found out my ex-boyfriend, whom I always suspected of cheating, did, in fact, cheat on me. We broke up over a year ago, so this should be a non issue, but still ugh. I may have cried. Just a little.

First thing I did? Called my bff.

N said I should bust him. Send the new girlfriend an email alerting her that when she started dating him he was still with me. Begging me not to leave him. Telling me I was the only girl he never cheated on! (Um, really? I don't know that that's something to brag about. And! It wasn't even true.) But, whatever, it's not her fault. And I hate confrontation. And serves her right.

So, here I am. Writing about it. Online.

My friend L said I should confront him. Right. Remember me? I hate confrontation. And what good would it do me, really? There's no consequence in me confronting him now.

So, again, here I am. Writing about it. Online.

I guess the lesson in all of this for me is to trust my intuition. So many times in the 3 years I dated M I suspected he was cheating on me. For Pete's sake, he cheated on his previous girlfriend with me. (I know, I'm a horrible person.) At one point I even found a picture of him with another girl which appeared to have been taken recently. I caught him in lie after lie, and still I stayed. Even though I knew in my gut that he was a cheater, I tried to ignore it.

At a certain point I remember thinking that it was better to be in this bad relationship, constantly suspicious and unhappy, than to be single. I reasoned that it was more important to have bad companionship than no companionship at all. And then it hit me. I remember asking myself one day, "If I were to walk out of my house right now and get mowed down by a runaway bus, would I be able to look back on my life and say that I had been happy?" And the answer was a resounding no. So I dumped him. The next day. Over the phone. Ha. Best thing I ever did. I've been happier in the last year than I ever thought I could be. And now? I listen to my gut.