first entry

first entry
what not to do in heels:So here's my deal: recently moved from DC to Santa Fe. A move from one side of the country to another, and also a move from being very much part of a couple for the last 6 years to newly single, and hence, not knowing what the hell to do with myself on Sunday mornings. Almost 30 years old. Haven't been single since I was 22. It's so akward. I feel like Bambi trying to walk again-in heels, I might add. It just feels so silly sometimes-the idea of putting yourself out there on the market, like a piece of chicken-and I do not have the latest expiration date on the shelf. I mean, one could definitely reach behind me and get the fresher, newly stocked chicken-although, I'd still probably have the highest heels-at least in this town. The worst part is, when one forgets how to do something (like date and flirt), one attempts to observe what other singles in similar positions are doing-not talking about sexual positions here, people. Except this town is CRAZY-or maybe I'm finally getting OLD. I don't know what I've been missing the last six years, but women in the age bracket right below me (early 20s) are so much more...how do I say it...well, they'll just jump right in, if you know what I mean. They don't even really have to like the guy that much. Now, I've found that this also allows them not to get so attached, although how this is accomplished is completely beyond me. Women these days are as tough as nails-I mean, we're talking titanium coated. Now I am starting to say about women what I used to say about men: I just don't get how they do it.So, needless to say, I haven't really ventured too far into the single Santa Fe world..yet. I thought I was getting ready to step out on the field of battle, but then I made the horrible discovery that two married women I know have these husbands who cheat on them-probably with multiple women. I've definitely been in retreat since then. I mean, if that's what happens after marriage, what the hell is it all for, Alfie?Unfortunately, the one attempt I've made thus far towards a human of the opposite sex has left me confused and clumsy. I asked this guy-who is very funny and cute and cool-to go out with me on a couple of dates. He seemed interested enough. But then I blew it-I called him too much-or at least that's the only thing I can come up with. I mean, there really should be a service out there that coaches you about how to get back into dating if you've been out of the loop too long. You know, sends you emails reminding you that it's too soon to call, put the phone down. Maybe a breathalizer phone-one that can smell desperation on you breath and cuts off the call.And now I have to fall back on the wonderful, "it happened for a reason" adage (which really means, I screwed the pooch and there's nothing I can do about it now) . I mean, he was a Gemini, after all. I should've fled for the hills after I learned that, but no. Instead, I sat my butt right in the middle of the road. Roadkill. That's what I've reduced myself too. I mean this literally folks. The day I blew it with cute funny guy, it threw me so off balance that I literally fell in my 3 inch heels onto the middle of the road in front of Evangelo's, tearing my new favorite banana republic pants and spilling my starbucks latte. But why am I telling you this-you probably saw me do it, like everyone elso on the street that day. And the saddest part is that this is long before the addition of sex into the equation. Can you imagine what would happen after? Oh good lord. I'll keep you posted.