Having fun being single until one Saturday night...

Hello again. It’s been a while. I’ve been busy… really busy. If your mind is in the gutter after that last line, good! Now, let’s catch up, shall we?

*Note: Photos used to show resemblance. You can thank my mom for the eye candy. She insisted I use photos. *sigh*  

The Spaniard

This is Iker Casillas, goalkeeper for Real
Madrid. Similar smoldering  hotness as
"The Spaniard."

In summary: Remember "The Spaniard?" Of course you do. He was my first post-divorce, um, rodeo? It was hot, intense and short-lived. He was supposed to be in my city for six months, but he was re-assigned and sent back to Europe three months early. We promised to keep in touch, and we did, for a while.

The issue: Long distance relationships are hard and this wasn't really a relationship. It was never going to be. He was only supposed to be in my city temporarily so there was never a future. Between his work travel and mandatory immigration travel (he had to go back to Spain every 90 days) and my own travel schedule, it was hard to keep up. Throw in a batch of new guys that I was meeting locally, and it became harder and harder to keep in touch.

End result: To this day, I’m thankful that I met him and I’ll never regret our time together. After all, he helped to kick-start my post-divorce dating life. But he was in another state, and at times in another country. What’s that saying, absence makes the heart grow...no, wrong one. Out of sight, out of mind… Yup, that’s the one. 

The Cop

In summary: From the beginning, fireworks. Intense fireworks! The first time he touched me (his hand brushed my elbow), sparks flew and we both knew it. And he was hot! OMG, he was hot!

The issue: There were a few issues, but the biggest one was his need to be in control. Then one night at dinner, it hit me. He was just like my ex. It suddenly became hard to breathe. I found myself looking for the nearest exit. As hot as he was (and damn he was hot), I couldn’t get away fast enough.

End result: We finally had it out. I called him out on his bullshit and constant contradictions. In so many words, he said it was his way or the highway. It was over. Did I mention he was hot?

The Stalker

Yes, these Derek Jeter eyes! Doubt
Jeter is a stalker though. 

In summary: Green eyes, Derek Jeter-esque eyes to be exact, good looking but short at least for my taste.

The issue: He was like “chicle” (Spanish for gum). As in “chicle” stuck to the bottom of your shoe.  Text messages every day at 6:01 a.m. followed by a text pic of himself around 6:30 a.m. No, not those kind of pics. These were of his face… at work, driving, etc. Plus he wanted to take me home to meet his mom – in another state – and wanted our kids to meet. Um, no… Hell no!

End result: Blocked his number. He called from a new number. I blocked that one, too.  

The Banker

In summary: Ugh, this one is tough because he was a really nice guy and good looking. But he was looking for “the one.” I mean he was really looking for “the one.” I think a lot of guys say that because they think that’s what some women want to hear (the exception being yours truly), but this guy was really looking for the next Mrs. Banker and he wanted kids. I was honest with him from the beginning. I wasn’t looking for a relationship and I definitely wasn’t looking to get married (ever again!). And it would take a medical miracle to get another kid out of me. But we got along really well and had similar backgrounds.

The issue: He was looking for a relationship that would eventually lead to marriage that would eventually produce some kids. I wasn’t.

End result: We wanted different things, but we stayed friends.

The Young Gun

Different face, same abs.
And an excuse to use yet
another gratuitous
William Levy photo. 

In summary: Just looking at him makes you say, “Oh… Hell… Yes!” Ladies, that’s how gorgeous this guy was. But he was only 25. And my rule is: If I’m old enough to me your momma, I don’t need the drama. I knew immediately that he was out of my age range when he first approached me. And I was very surprised when he did, plus I was in a mood, as in, “I only play with the big boys” kind of mood. So I patted him on the shoulder and said, “I only play with the big boys.” I forget to filter myself sometimes. Anyway, this comment made him even more persistent. Tempting…

The issue: The age, of course, but it gets even better! Come to find out, this young, gorgeous specimen of a man worked at the same place as my ex. In fact, he was, on occasion, my ex’s supervisor. Are you freaking kidding me! What are the odds?

End result: I said no to the eye candy because really, who needs that drama in their life. I had found a peaceful, serene balance in my life since the divorce and getting involved with this guy – even for recreational purposes – would possibly disrupt that balance. And remember Karma? Well, she’s still a bitch. 

The Quasi Co-Worker

This isn't him, but it's pretty damn close.
The first pic he sent me showed more,
um, down below. Again... Rawr!

In summary: Another young gun, but not quite as young as the one above. Not young enough to be his momma, but I don’t shit where I eat. Tempting, very tempting, but I declared him off limits to my head and to my libido. Although, I kept the text pics of his washboard abs that he sent me. Rawr!   

The issue: While we didn’t work for the same company, we ran in the same circles and he was close, too close, to a few of my employees. NFW!

End result: We’re friends. He’ll flirt with me privately via text when we run into each other, but I squash it every time. Then I walk away with an “Mmm hmm, I still got it” pimp walk and attitude. 

The Soldier

In summary: Good looking, great sense of humor, but a little short. I like ‘em tall, remember? But we always had a good time. We were the same age, had similar tastes in music and we both loved to dance.

The issue: There was no spark, no passion, no umph! And he never really stepped up. What I mean by that is he never demonstrated that he was really into me, and that’s OK. As it turns out, I wasn’t that into him either. If we went out, cool. If we didn’t, I would go out with someone else or with friends. Example: We were supposed to go out one Saturday night but, eh, it just didn’t happen. I ended up going out with a friend who introduced me to her friend and well, everything changed that night. You’ll understand as you read on…

End result: When he finally decided to step up, it was too late.  

The One?

In summary: I was dating, having fun and meeting new people (read = meeting a lot of guys!). And then one night, a friend drags me to a grand opening of her friend’s business. And there he was: the owner, her friend. Truth be told, he wasn’t my type, but he was tall (just like I like ‘em!). While I knew he was checking me out and asking my friend about me, I didn’t take him too seriously... Until 3 a.m. when we were still on the phone as he tried to convince me to have dinner with him. Why did I need convincing? Because I was dating at least four other guys at the time. In fact, I was supposed to be on a date with "The Soldier" that night. But there was something about him... 

The issue: Well, none so far… Unless you consider being completely head-over-heels in love with each other an issue. 

End result: Neither of us was looking for a relationship. We were both perfectly happy living the single life. But when you can't wait to see each other even after spending the weekend together, can't keep your hands off each other and start making long-term plans, then you know it's more than just a fling. Six months and counting. To be continued…  

So my ex-husband cheated on me. Now what? We’re already divorced.

When I left my marriage two years ago, I was not short on reasons to do so. The mistreatment of me and my kids, the lies that led to our financial ruin and the lies, lies and more lies.

Now it appears I can add one more to the list: Infidelity.

I recently found out that my ex-husband cheated on me during our 17-year marriage.

Whoa, wait, wait, wait… Let me back up a little bit… He cheated during our engagement. And then he cheated after we married.

It was common knowledge at his workplace. People in his office were practically taking bets that he’d never really make it to the altar.

Speaking of people in his office… You know where I’m going with this and you know who “the other women” were.  

What a cliché this has turned into.  

I won’t go into details on how I found out, but the lead was legit and it led me to the truth.

So my ex-husband cheated on me. Now what? We’re already divorced.

Do I confront him? Do I go take a Louisville slugger to his car and go all Carrie Underwood? (Sounds very therapeutic so I may roll with this one...)

Do I hunt down the women (yes, plural) and confront them? (And say what? “How dare you mess with an engaged/married man who was once mine but he turned out to be an asshole so I divorced him!”)

I can’t really explain how I feel. There’s some numbness but then there’s this faint yet annoying pain. Yet I feel this considerable hole. An emptiness perhaps? Or my gut telling me, “I told you so, stupid.”

I wish I had the words to really describe this. I think it would help me to better comprehend what I’m feeling because I don’t understand it myself.

I saw him today for the first time since knowing this. At first glance, I felt as if I had vomited in my mouth just a little bit.

When I realized my face was hurting from scowling so hard, I decided to take a different approach.

I straightened up my posture and pushed my perky boobs and tight ass to the heavens (I’ve been working out), took my daughter by the hand and said, “C’mon sweetie… Let’s go home.”

Related link:

8 Reasons Not to Contact his Mistress

*Note to readers: I originally wrote this in my journal a couple of months ago. I was uneasy and unsure about sharing this. But ya’ll know about my spring fling with the Spaniard so what the hell, right? 

Part Three: My Date with “The Spaniard”

“Babe, I have some bad news,” he said, his eyes still amazing, but now somber.

The bad news was that his company was reassigning him to another project. He would be leaving for Europe in a week. Instead of three months, we had seven days.

The only silver lining to this news was that he was expecting to be reassigned to project two states away; however, it wasn’t definitive. But with any luck, fate would bring him back to my time zone. 

We talked about how we could still each see other once he came back to the states. 

“Guapa (Beautiful), I’ll fly out to see you first,” he said. “This isn’t goodbye.”

He then continued to list all the ways we could stay connected – phone, text, email, Skype. Gotta love technology!

But I’m a realist and a bit cynical so when the loud, cranky voice in my head said, “Mmm hmm… We’ll see… Ya… Whatever,” I wasn’t surprised.

What was this anyway? We’ve only known each other for a couple of months, he wasn’t my boyfriend and this wasn’t a relationship. Or was it? The woman with no game (that would be me) didn’t know what to make of this.  

Then for the first time in my new post-divorce life, a soft, sweet, little voice in my head said, “You know, it’s possible. You could see him again. It could happen.”

Meanwhile, the loud, cranky voice replied: “Aw, she thinks she’s going to see him again. She’s so naïve.”

As we kissed goodbye that night, he held my face in hands and said, “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

I was tempted to ask why he was thanking me and for what, but I’m learning how to shut my mouth, especially in moments like these.  Instead I chose to enjoy the moment and his hazel eyes .

When my mind wanders, it takes me back to this moment. The look in his eyes (remember, they’re amazing!) and his graciousness.

So we had seven days and the countdown was on!

FATE, THY NAME IS BITCH

A funny thing about fate… She can be a real bitch.

Three days later, I was bed-ridden with the flu. Every single muscle ached, I couldn’t move, I couldn’t talk. My throat was so swollen I couldn’t even take a sip of water. When I finally crawled into my doctor’s office, my fever had hit 102.

The diagnosis: Influenza, Strain B.

Recover time: 10-14 days.

Number of days until “The Spaniard” left: 4.

@#$% fate!

Our plans to see each other at least one more time before he left for Europe were crushed.

My window to see “The Spaniard” before he left the country was shortening. But I was determined to get better in time to see him before he left, even if we only got five minutes.

But it didn’t happen…

SAYING GOODBYE… VIA TEXT

The night before he left and since I still had no voice, we texted furiously, trying to say whatever we had left to say to each other before midnight. Yes, midnight, just like frickin Cinderella. Since he was leaving the country, his U.S. cell phone was set to be shut off at midnight.

By 11:58 p.m. my fever was spiking and I could barely keep my eyes open until I got this text…

“Babe, thank you for everything, so glad you came into my life. I’m going to miss you very much, guapa, and your sexy curves. We will see each other again, I am confident. Te mando un beso muy suave (Sending you a soft kiss).”  

Then at 11:59 p.m., I got his final text…

“We will meet again, guapa, I’m sure of it. Un beso …”

I mustered just enough strength to write, “Me too, babe, me too. Besos (kisses)…” but I may have been too late. To this day, I don’t know if he received my last message. 

By the time I woke up the next morning, he was gone.

Part Two: My date with “The Spaniard”

So there we were making out like a couple of teenagers in front of his place. And it felt goooooood!

I had long forgotten what this felt like, to be completely aware of every sensation in your body is absolutely breathtaking, especially when you’re making out with a hot Spaniard. Your heart is racing, your entire body is tingling and your knees feel like noodles.

“What are we doing?” I ask, as we momentarily untie our tongues. 

“Well,” he says, “Let’s talk about it.”

At this point, talking is the last thing on my mind. But hey, can you stop kissing my neck so I can concentrate? On second thought, as you were.  

As he continued kissing my neck, I quickly process the situation.

Standing before me was a man who actually wanted to communicate and have a two-way conversation about what we were about to get into. And it was blowing my mind!

“We’re both adults,” he said, still embracing me. “You know how I feel, and here we are, in this moment.”

Then he continued…

“But it’s up to you, wherever you want to take this, it’s your decision, and I’m OK either way.”

Needless to say, we never made it to dinner.

Never, and I mean NEVER, has a man appreciated my body with all its curves – curves that I felt I had been cursed with – and all its imperfections like he did. Sensing that I was self-conscious about my tiger stripes (and I don’t have a lot of them, but, hey, they’re there), he ran his fingers over them and said: “Hermosa” (Beautiful). 

After not having dinner, we talked. Not once, not even prior to this night, did he ever ask me about what caused my divorce. For whatever reason, this struck me as curious. When I asked him if he wanted to know what happened (I know, I know, I’m a mood killer), he said…

“Lo hecho esta hecho. Lo que paso, paso. Todo lo que me importa es donde estamos ahora, en este momento.”

Translation…

“What’s done is done. What happened, happened. All that matters to me is where we are now, at this moment.”

I found this so incredibly sexy that I wanted to kiss him. So I did. Which lead to…

WHAT AM I GETTING INTO?

You may be wondering what he was doing in the U.S. in the first place. I won’t go into too many details, but he works for a company with several offices in Europe. A major U.S. company contracted his company to work on a project, which is how homeboy ended up in my hood.

So I went into this knowing that he wasn’t here forever. This, whatever “this” was, wasn’t forever. He would eventually be going back to Europe in the summer. And I was OK with that. This was my first dance, my first post-divorce rodeo. (How’s that for a visual!) I’d been divorced less than a year and I wasn’t looking for forever.

So if this wasn’t forever, what was this? I think as women we tend to want to put labels on things. I know I do or at least “the old me” did. Looking back, I don’t feel that this required a label. “It is what it is,” I told myself.

But where do we go from here? What’s the protocol? Where’s the “Divorcee’s Guide to Post-Divorce Sex with a Hot Spaniard Who’s Only in Town for a Few Months?”

Not having the least bit of experience in this arena and since homeboy was so into communication, I asked him: So how do we handle this?

“Let’s keep it simple and see where it takes us. Let’s enjoy it while we can… enjoy each other, enjoy every moment.”

Damn, I think my panties just fell off again…

I know for some women, knowing a guy will only be around for a few months could be a deal breaker. For me, it was perfect!

Let me explain…

After being married for 17 years, I was truly enjoying my new life and independence. I was not in the least bit interested in a committed relationship. Dating? Yes. Companionship? Why not!   

I had a game plan. Keep it simple, drama free and just have fun!

REALITY BITES

As he caressed the small of my back, we calculated how much time we had left (three months) and talked about some of the things we wanted to do: Drive up north for the weekend, visit some local wine bars and check out an upcoming art festival.

This all sounded great. But reality hit when we talked about my schedule. I was only available every other weekend when my little one was with her dad. When she’s with me, I don’t go out. My time is her time. He said he understood, and that we still had plenty of time.

We continued to see each other, my schedule permitting. My daughter’s visitation schedule with her dad was basically my “Viva España” schedule. So when she went to her father’s every other weekend, guess where I was? 

When we met for our date one Friday night, there was some sadness in his eyes. As he stood there embracing me, my face was nestled his chest and I could feel his heart racing. I knew something was wrong. He finally looked down into my eyes and said…

“Babe, I have some bad news.”

To be continued…

Part One: My date with “The Spaniard”

I have no problem in admitting I was nervous. I had butterflies. My hands shook as I texted my mom and a couple of friends of my soon-to-be location. I was on my way to a coffee date, my very first date of any kind since I was 15.

There I was, driving, hands sweating on the steering wheel, as I thought about the age difference: a forty-mumble-mumble-year-old woman about to meet a guy 10 years her junior. Ridiculous, I thought. How could he be interested in me?

We had been talking for over a month with him routinely asking if he could take me to dinner. And me, the novice, making excuses to him and to myself as to why I wasn’t available. Still questioning how he could be interested in a woman my age.

When I pointed out our age difference, he said, “It doesn’t matter to me so why should it bother you?” Touché. He added that he had no idea how old I was until I told him and thought we were around the same age. (Note to self: Unless asked, shut your damn mouth.)

On paper, he had the goods, plus he was from Spain (bonus points). Smart, educated, employed and smoking hot. But I wasn’t feeling it. No connection. No spark. No fireworks. When I think back to this date, I realize now that I was extremely nervous. So nervous that I don’t think I could have made a connection with anyone, not even William Levy.

Gratuitous William Levy photo

Mmm, William Levy… Ahem… Where were we?

As our coffee date came to an end, I remember noticing his eyes. I mean, I really noticed his eyes. I don’t have the words to describe his eyes. I wish I did, but I guess some things aren’t meant to be shared. That’s my only explanation.

As he walked me to my car, I caught him looking at me. In other words, he was checking me out. And he was smiling. That’s when the butterflies kicked it into high gear, which kick-started the stupidest conversation inside my head.

“What is he looking at? Did I sit on something? What am I doing? OK, we’re walking and we’re walking… Wait, where are we going? Oh yeah, my car, he’s walking me to my car…” 

MAPQUEST… GOOGLE… ANYONE… ANYONE… BUELLER?

At this point, I’m lost. I don’t know what to do. I’ve never been in this position in my adult life. Help!

Out of nowhere, this street-smart chic’s voice pops in my head: “You’re a grown-ass woman. Just chill, girlfriend… Tranquilo (Calm).”

As we start to say good-bye, I remember that at the beginning of our date, he welcomed me with a hug and a small peck on each cheek (very European, right?) so I was expecting the same gesture.

“OK,” I say to myself. “This is it. Hug, peck, peck, and you’re on your way.”

But instead of hug, peck, peck, he went for it. He went in for the kiss, but he was greeted by my cheek. I was caught completely off guard so when I turned my cheek, it looked like a deflected kiss, as in, “Thanks, but no thanks.” 

Trivia question: Who has two thumbs and doesn’t know when a guy wants to kiss her? 

How was I supposed to know homeboy was suddenly changing the game on me? What was I thinking? Glad you asked. Here it is…

“Damn, I think he’s embarrassed."


“Damn, I haven’t been kissed in a long time.”


"Damn, I’m old.“

As I drove home, I gave myself a virtual pat on the back for getting “the first one” out of the way and was pretty sure I’d never hear from him again… until I got his text message a few minutes later.

“Just to let you know, I had a very nice time, you have a beautiful smile, would be nice to see you again. Un beso (a kiss).”

Still, I was trying to make sense of it all. Did he “turn my crank” as my aunt so eloquently put it? I told myself and my inner circle that he did not. Thinking back, I was too nervous to allow myself to enjoy this. And I saw myself as too damaged to deserve it. 

But I got over it… 

We continued talking and texting over the next few weeks with him asking to see me again. Meanwhile, I was conflicted about whether or not I was ready for another date or if I wanted to see him again.

It turns out I did so I accepted his dinner invitation. We agreed that I’d pick him up and we’d drive to dinner. He’d made the reservations.

(Note to readers: Remember, he’s from Spain, doesn’t know his away around which is why I picked him up. Not that I have to explain myself!)

He greeted me. Oh yes, he greeted me. He walked up and without hesitation, pulled me to him and kissed me with such passion that my panties almost fell off by themselves. In my head, I could only hear one thing, “Oh shit.”  

To be continued…

Booty Calls and Other Advice from Mom

My mom is a dirty, old lady. It’s true, she really is. I thought I’d tell you up front so the following will make more sense. 

You see, ever since I dipped my toe into the dating pool, my mom has been full of advice. For starters, she’d prefer I dive into the pool instead of my rather cautious approach. In her eyes, I’m acting like I’ve never seen water.  

On any given day, her comments can range from “Just have coffee with the guy” to “Will you just do him already!”

Yup, that’s my mom!

Recently after my first ever coffee date (Happy now, mom!), I reported back to my inner circle which includes my mom, my aunt and just a few others. Knowing they were anxiously waiting to hear the details, I sent the message to the place where I knew they’d all be hanging out… Facebook.

“Ok ladies, had my first coffee date tonight (the Spaniard). It was ehh... But I'm proud to have finally gotten ‘the first’ out of the way even if it was just coffee. Next! (LOL)”

The following is the conversation that ensued. Enjoy if you can keep up…

Mom: “Oh, just go out with him again, give it one more chance.”

Friend #1: “So no go huh? Too bad, at least now you know, and you got the first one out of the way.”

Friend #2: “Europeans, ewww! Send me his pic.” (After receiving the pic) “Girl, he’s f----ing fine!!! Just do it already!”

Me: “My mom thinks I should give it one more coffee date, but there was no spark, at least not for me. Yes, he’s from Spain and our conversation was almost 100% in Spanish and he’s educated and he’s lived all over the world… Sexy right? But I just wasn’t feeling it.”

Aunt: “Yay (for getting it out of the way), some of those super perfect guys make you wonder, ‘So why are you still single?’ You need to look for what turns your crank.”

Me: “Yay, I got it out of the way, right? I guess I’m realizing what I like and don’t like. So the journey continues…”

Aunt: “Today, looks don’t matter. I like a man that is willing to drink a beer and watch boxing (or MMA) with me, BBQ when the family is over and accepts each and every one of this unique group that is my family. Don’t settle, mija, you have lots of time. But don’t be blinded by looking for perfection either. I bet Prince Charming had stinky feet.  LOL!”

THOU SHALL MAKE THE BOOTY CALL FIRST

Somewhere along the way, the subject turned to sex. More specifically, booty calls. And that’s where mom (ahem) dominated the conversation.   

“Make sure YOU make the booty call. If he makes the booty call, he’ll want to stay over and expect you to make breakfast. We can’t have that.”

My reaction to mom's booty call advice.

Me: “Mom, you’re scaring me.”

Mom: “Just laying down the groundwork… laying down the rules.”

Aunt: “You are so wise.”

Still disturbed by the conversation, I took mom’s advice to Twitter.

Me: “Advice from Mom: Make sure YOU make the booty call. If he does he'll want to stay & expect u to make breakfast. We can't have that. #Help!”

@JustWithMe replied: “Make breakfast? That’s crazy talk.” 

ONLINE DATING

While my mom doesn’t discourage online dating, she says it definitely wasn’t for her.

Mom: “I gave up online dating after I realized we never got past the first meet because I didn’t sleep with them.”

[Side note: My mom is the biggest freak I know so I’m finding this somewhat hard to believe. However, she’s been in a committed relationship for almost 10 years with a wonderful man.]

Aunt: I never tried online dating. Couldn’t cough up the cash for a chance at meeting Mr. Right when I needed things like electricity (kidding)… I’m re-evaluating the whole booty call thing.”

It was at this point that I tell them that getting schooled on booty call etiquette but my mom is kind of disturbing and I may need to talk about this with my therapist to which my aunt replied…

“If it made it to the couch, it was definitely worth it.”

Enough about what my mom has said, let’s take a look at some of things she’s done. 

Like the time she took my oldest daughter (her granddaughter) shopping and ended up at a store where she purchased edible chocolate body paint. My daughter, who wasn’t more than 12 at the time, asked, “What’s that for?” To this day, she regrets asking.

Is this really all true? Sadly, it is. My therapist doesn’t believe some of these stories. I’ll have to take mom in for show and tell one of these days.

RUNNING WITH THE BULLS?

As for “The Spaniard,” I took my mother’s advice and saw him again...

And again…

And that’s all I’ve got to say about that. 

My first dating blog... And I'm not even dating

Trying to write a blog about dating is kind of hard when you haven’t actually been on a date. So I took the next logical step to learn more about dating in the 21^st Century. I turned to Al Gore’s brilliant invention, the Internet, now known as Google.

Google “dating advice” and you’ll net 13.8 million results. Apparently everyone and their mother, including mine, is an expert.  

When I was married, I was oblivious to the outside world. Aside from a few reminders from a few (very few) single friends, I had no idea people still dated. I knew people “facebooked” and “tweeted” but dating? The word wasn’t even in my vocabulary.

Fast forward 17 years and I’m now divorced. What the hell am I supposed to do with myself now? According to everyone and their mother, I’m supposed to be “dating.”

On a daily basis, the word “dating” can be heard in almost every conversation that involves yours truly.

Are you dating yet?

Why aren’t you dating?

Don’t you think it’s time to start dating?

For the love of God, will you please start dating?! (My mom can be pushy sometimes.)

I eventually ended up at one of my favorite websites, huffingtonpost.com where I read a dating article by Sophie Keller. Keller’s article suggested a few questions for women to ask while on a date as a way of getting to know him better. Keller, in addition to being a life coach, is the author of the “How Happy Is” book series.

While I appreciate Keller’s contribution and attempt to help the rest of us single suckers, I don’t think she’s asking the right questions. In my world, these are softball questions that any man (or woman, at least this woman) could easily dodge with bullshit answers and easily just tell a woman what she wants to hear.

Why, yes, I LOVE scrapbooking!

I watch Sex and the City all the time!

I love cuddling after sex!

In the spirit of full disclosure, I’ve yet to go on a single date. Not even coffee? Not even coffee. However, I’ve been hit on, dirty-danced, flirted with and introduced to several men over the last several months. And based on my conversations with these men, I’ve come to the conclusion that Keller’s questions need to be revised just a skosh.

Keller’s Question: What would you say is your biggest passion in life?

Revised Question: How many hours a week do you spend playing video games?

Keller’s Question: What would you say you are best at?

Revised Question: WHAT did you say you were best at!?!? <Grabs purse, runs out of Starbucks>

Keller’s Question: Which household chore do you enjoy doing the most?

Revised Question: Do you help your mom around the house? (Because he lives with his parents)

In her article, Keller adds: “The more that you know about each other, the closer you are both going to feel. And, without doubt, he is going to be thrilled that you made the effort to jump in to his world a little bit.”

I would love to meet a guy who doesn’t mind a woman digging into his psyche a little bit. It’s like an excavation where the goal is to find that diamond in the rough – aka Mr. Right – but ask these questions and you might just keep coming up with rocks.

I know what you’re thinking. “You haven’t even been on a date so how can you criticize the questions?”

Recently, a potential suitor suggested we get to know each other better and wanted to take me out on a date. Here’s a sample of our conversation…

Me: So what do you do for a living?

Him: You sure ask a lot of questions.

Me: So you’re unemployed...

Next!