Dating after divorce is not fun. I met my ex-husband when I was 17, got married when I was 23,
separated at 28, and the divorce was finalized when I was 31. Guys never really asked me out in high school, I don’t regret that. I had the best time with my friends. Having water balloon fights, throwing Elijah Wood parties just so we could have cake, watching all six hours of the BBC “Pride and Prejudice” with vintage Colin Firth. My high school days were full of theatre and happy memories. But at the end of four years, only having “dated” one guy for barely a month, that seeping doubt began to creep in. What’s so wrong with me that no one wants to date me. The first week of college, my ex husband asked me out. I said no. I didn’t want to go to school and just be someone’s girlfriend. I dated one other guy, for about a month. And that was fine. After a year and a half, my ex-husband and I got together. It was the midwest. I had a boyfriend. There was validation in having found my person. When things fall apart and no one really did anything wrong, it hurts. You’re left reeling. I had only ever dated two other guys before him, and for a little over a month. Dating wasn’t my strong point. When you’ve been married, you’re supposed to do things for that person. Spend time and grow together. And when that sort of comfortability is compromised. Out in a big city, dating and casual sex are like a foreign language. I was a virgin when I got married. And here I was at 28, having only been with one person. All of my friends and coworkers were having casual sex and dating around. I’d go to parties, and just practice talking to men. It felt weird. I couldn’t bring myself to go home with them. The first time I semi-drunkenly kissed a guy at a party. I froze, immediately went home and sobbed. I’m in my 20’s, the prime of my life. I should be having fun. Since then there have been a few guys. Nothing super serious. But my low self confidence with men usually leads to my self-sabotaging the possibility of a relationship. And for a long while I’d promote the “I fly solo” theme out there. Because being vulnerable and letting someone new in is scary as hell. Starting your dating life at 28 is a doozy. But I gotta keep growing. Keep on pushing to open myself up to the possibility of love. While it doesn’t happen very often, the guys I’ve gone out with give me lots of hilarious stories . There’s the guy who lit up TWO joints on our hiking date. The guy who kissed me, barely touched my boobs, then immediately came in his pants. To the guy who for the first time I thought might go somewhere, only to have him text me out of the blue that he was getting back together with his ex-girlfriend. Those guys aren’t my person. Some people don’t have one person, they have many. My family, my friends, and coworkers. I’ve grown so much by being independent over the last five years, finally being comfortable being alone and being with myself. Over the course of the last year, I’ve learned to let go on dates, and just enjoy the experience. I’m now growing into the powerful force I’m meant to be. And maybe that scares some men, but it hopefully will lead me into the direction of someone just as independent as me. Who gives me plenty of room to be myself and gives me that authentic need for freedom so we can both realize our full potential. And if not, I’ll just keep on being awesome. Author Kate Orlando has performed in It's Personal On Stage and will be joining us again this summer for the Fringe show: Los Angeles. We are thrilled to have this lady be apart of It's Personal and THE PERSONALS.
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Behold her:
A woman, getting older Growing bolder Instead of colder With two strong shoulders Beneath a head swirling with things I told her: That being alone and being sober Turn you into a female soldier The first to admit her needs don’t include a man to fit her For the sister glitters without a mister Wants no other to need or complete her Her independence is transcendence And no one person’s entrance could possibly end it Or so I told her Then one day She swayed Because her knees were weaker The days tasted sweeter And as if it had been eager to meet her - Love greeted her And in just a moment Her heart burst wide open She found that it had her feeling Like someone peeling back the covers Who then discovers That the world has secret colors And she was just now able to see them Now, behold her: A woman, growing younger Filled with a new and lovely hunger That will make her fight through rain and thunder To simply watch her lover slumber They say that age is just a number And if that’s true Then growing up Is merely showing up To the possibility Of falling, headfirst, into opportunity And perhaps maturity Is understanding life will treat you brutally And just as often beautifully To lean into that lunacy Is to be behaving humanly Maybe love is that confusing dichotomy? So behold her: A woman, timeless, on the rise. A belly full of butterflies A heart of easy compromise Sunrise dawning in his eyes Moonlight resting on their thighs She needs him, but she needs him not Love simply isn’t what I thought - Truly a better endeavor Than I was ever taught. So I did not plan it And I may not understand it But by god I now demand it Author We hope you enjoyed this beautiful piece written by Anna Snedden. I appreciate my vagina. I do.
This thought kept going through my head as I used the bathroom in the Vegas airport during my layover cause damn it, I appreciate my vagina. I do. I was flying solo, which meant I was getting drunk solo, which led to ordering Burger King solo. And, then I realized, I'm a goddamn champion. And, it's because of my vagina. My vagina keeps me sane. If my vagina's healthy, I'm healthy. If my vagina feels good, I feel good. If someone messes with my vagina, I’ll fuckin’ kill you. But, it didn’t always used to be that way. I didn’t always appreciate my vagina. There was a time when I hated my vagina. I grew up in a house with 3 brothers. My mom took incredible care of us- we’re very close- but anything pertaining to, or in mention of the vagina was off limits. Not because my mom was being neglectful; it was because I’d rather get my leg gnawed off slowly by an army of angry mice than to have to look at a simple, hand-drawn diagram of my fallopian tubes. Ew. I got home from school, and my mom said, “Emily”, and waved me into the kitchen. I sat down awkwardly on a stool at our island table, like omg, what is it mom. She scribbled something onto an index card and slowly slid it in front of me. It was a very simply drawn picture of a uterus. The f*ck is wrong with you?! is what I wanted to say. Instead, I looked up with an expression of full on hatred. I don’t know if you’ve seen a tiny, prepubescent girl in the shape of a twig turn into a raging baby alcoholic, but I’m pretty sure that’s exactly what happened. I’d been successfully pushing off this conversation since my grandma bought me a bra for christmas when I was 9. The f*ck is wrong with you?! My mom quickly rattled off the briefest explanation as to what a period is, and why I will want to kill myself. She did this because she knew, based on past experience, that she had about 5 seconds before I got pissed and started throwing shit, and bolted for the closest door or open window. I didn't wanna talk about it! I don’t know if it’s because I wasn’t used to talking about female stuff, or because I just wanted to be one of the guys, but I felt super weird about it. My mom eventually resorted to getting one of those period books about Sally accidentally getting period blood on her gym uniform and having to ask her friend to borrow a tampon. It was in one of those books that I learned how to put in my own tampon. It was also in one of those books that I learned my boobs might not fully develop until the age of 18. I had time. However, I did have a slight change of heart once my friends started getting their periods, and marking their calendars. And then I was like F*ck. When am I gonna get mine?! Oh, I got it. 4 years later. Then I got braces, almost simultaneously. Then some kid in Chemistry said I had hairy arms. High school was good. At this point, I wanted to know more, more than just the basic period stuff. More about my vagina. But, for some reason I still couldn’t talk about it. Then college happened, and ya know, ya get drunk. And you eat mcdonald’s sitting on a curb, and ya pass out on a couch next to a hairy dude wearing a pair of fairy wings. You maybe kiss a girl for the first time. Maybe you like it, maybe you don’t, maybe you’re too drunk to know. Then you start to see this guy, not the hairy dude, another guy, a cuter guy, and you have sex. For the first time. And, you make him wear two condoms at once just to make sure. And, then after two periods and 3 pregnancy tests, you still think maybe you’re pregnant because you “feel” like maybe you’re pregnant and it doesn’t matter that 3 tests came back negative or that now you’ve had 3 periods. But the worst part is, you feel dirty. And not in the good way. And then he never texts you back. That’s when I started talking. I just, I needed some answers and there was no way in hell I wasn't gonna talk to my mom, so my roomie- my best friend - became my therapist, and my own instant pocket comedian. She’s the best. Things got better, and I started to appreciate my vagina. When I got older, the subject of my vagina was later replaced with finances. I still won’t talk about em, but I’ll talk about my vaginaaa all damn day. Author Here's another weird piece by Emily Dorsett. I can say that because I am her. Enjoy. Oh Veggie Burger,
How did you entrance me? Mere seduction of my need to feed Especially on a day I couldn’t eat meat Such a feat, I never thought would occur Taste buds on overload, hyper drive, what a blur To think I avoided your presence I was self-sentenced to life, as a carnivore Especially thinking back, before all this Memories of my youth Long have I knew Of my food habits Rigid, safe guarded Never would a garden touch these lips Never would greens and oranges and reds Breed romance onto my eternal menu Only tried and true foods Would pass my tests, and just as all of the rest of my days I would find ways to bypass the change, the new So was I afraid of you? Was I afraid of what I could become? A predator becoming docile A lion? No; a goat Grazing on the landscape Hopping freely, dancing till sunset One I hoped would happen for me As I grew and matured My horns sharp, my hoofs overworked To prove my existence to this world Change became inevitable Greener pastures The more foreign fields I would graze Others like me could see the quality That makes me, me Smiles all around So easy to come around to the new Of wanting to fit in So change once again rears it’s ugly head If I were to relate, my palette would be redesigned Recalibrated, revolutionized Against my better judgment So reluctant in my attempts Such weird, hideous looking foods before me So lewd as they, my friends, viewed Eyes rudely glued as I tried eating these foods Hopefully they understood how I excluded so much before How dare they attempt to woo me? Collusion aside, nowhere was safe for me to hide From them, I would renew myself Bravely included in their shrewdness Guided, no longer fighting it Giving in, growing up Factually enticed by the tastes My face red, with anger and embarrassment Anger for the time wasted Embarrassed of my past omissions It was now my mission To reach for the new To grow I must bestow my head, my horns Humbly to whatever comes before me On a mountain, beyond the lakes The unknown awaits Such as what I just ate on my plate Oh Veggie Burger I whisper my thanks to you A new chapter can begin As I finish you and order myself another Such an honor to find you After all these years, system reset Safe to say, on that particular day On life, not quite full yet. Author Andy Quintana is one of our core-members in our live show. We <3 Andy and his veggie burgers. |