Love everyone but stay safe

Friday morning, I went out to the park across the street from my apartment where I always run. But this time was different. There was a man sitting alone on a bench. In spite of the warm humid air, he was wrapped in a blanket.

"Are you okay?" I asked "Do you need help?"

He looked back with saucer-sized eyes and continued to rock backwards and forwards.

I wanted to help. So I jogged over to the police station in my building and pointed the man out to the policeman getting on his motorcycle. I wanted to stay safe and I wanted the man to be safe, too. The policemen took him somewhere, hopefully safer for everyone than the park bench next to my building.

That day, my best friend told me what happened to her, and it has stuck in my mind since. She was on her way to Yom Kippur services. It was about dusk and a women was walking dangerously close to traffic in a busy road, so my friend pulled over and asked if she needed help. The young women's waitress uniform even had her name on it, so she looked harmless. The women seemed upset, so my friend asked if she could take her to her family, a friend or home.

As the women got into the front seat, my friend looked into the back to her three teen and pre-teen kids' mouths gaping open. Speechless.

The women started talking about her boyfriend. My friend drove and listened. Eventually, my friend, a divorced mom who left the father of her children because he was an abuser, asked the women if her boyfriend ever hit her. The single girl said yes. My friend kept driving and said she would not take her to him. Instead, she dropped her off at a church where she could get help.

When my friend and her children reached the temple, she turned around and reminded her kids to never ever do what she just did. They missed most of the high holiday service, but something tells me the rabbi would have been okay with the reasons.

As a single girl, who was married to an alcoholic and a man full of insults and violent threats, my passion is a local place that helps families affected by domestic violence. I don't do as much as I should, but I'll try to do more as I get better myself.

Whatever it takes, stay safe.

Love to the single girls,
Addison

Lost Saturday

There were such ambitious plans for today. Clean my apartment. Catch up on work. Invoices. Quarterly taxes.

But I woke up at 8 a.m. The first time. It was still dark out and the rain put me back to sleep. I woke up again at 9 not feeling very motivated. Then a brunch invitation - the first excuse to not start my to-do list. And it started my mouth watering for Eggs Benedict and the mimosas I've been missing since my friend was in town. Yum. Brunch got me showered and dressed; a huge accomplishment on our first rainy fall day.

That's what  I told myself.

By the time I got home from brunch, it was time for my afternoon Bobbi Brown makeup appointment at Nordstrom. Important stuff. Over an hour and $200 later, I was made up for a night out and equipped with my new Extreme Party Eye Palette. Now I just needed the extreme party.

And the leather biker jacket I'd been wanting.

Maybe Nordstrom would have the perfect one. Right at the top of the escalator. The first one I saw was the one I wanted. Of course. The June leather biker jacket is mine now. Who has time to shop all over town anyway?

But it was 5 p.m. My apartment still needed cleaning and work wasn't done. But a nap sure felt good to sleep the damp chill off before going out for the evening to catch up with my favorite friends.

Some may think Saturday was lost. This single girl says no. It was a me day, and I'm feeling good.

Wishing sweet and sexy dreams for all the single girls,
Addison

A peek in my drawer

I opened my top dresser drawer a few weeks ago and it made me laugh. It's a drawer I open so often I don't really look inside anymore. I hadn't stopped to notice how funny it might appear to a nosy guest who stops to explore on their way to the bathroom. Since my place is a loft, everything's just out there. My dresser's about three steps out of my living room.

It's my favorite drawer and the one I open most often every day.

This drawer is home to my makeup, brush and comb on one end. But on the other end, the drawer holds a lot of other must-have, life-saving single-girl possessions.

One is my Khar PM9 pistol on the right side of the pic. It's the smallest, lightest weight firearm made, with a small grip that fits my hand. It's perfect for a single girl to carry without weighing down her purse. And I carry it legally since this single girl completed training and passed a shooting test, a background check and written exam to get a concealed handgun license. It's one way this single girl stays safe.

Next is another life-saver, a handful of Black Ice ultra thin and Trojan Sensitivity BareSkin condoms. Are these the best? I don't know. There's ultra thin, ribbed, textured. Then there are colors and flavors. I stand in the store so confused by the choices that I end up closing my eyes and grabbing a box. Selecting condoms is worse than shopping for shoes at Nordstrom. Somebody tell me the best ones. Please! 

Then there are my birth control pills. I love these pills. Well, as much as you can love any pill. These are the generic brand of Seasonique. What single girl needs to have a period more than four times a year?

And last thing in the pic worth mentioning, in the white satin pouch, is my Lelo Gigi vibrator, with a ten-year guarantee, five modes that work beautifully inside and out, with a partner or alone, in deep rose, of course. It was my first, and I went straight to the top - one of the most enjoyable hundred-plus bucks I've ever spent. Just make sure it doesn't turn on in the carry on in airport security.

When I moved out of a house into my 900 square foot apartment (that I love by the way), a lot of stuff had to go. With only nine drawers in my whole place, like what you see here, everything I kept I use. Getting rid of junk and extra stuff I'll never need to touch again was so liberating. Now this single girl isn't tied down. I travel light and can pack and move wherever and almost whenever I want.

This single girl is free in many ways and loving life.

Love to the single girls,
Addison

Is someone eavesdropping?

Yesterday, one of my clients, who happens to be a good friend, told me  as of Monday she doesn't have budget for the PR work I'm doing for her. Her company's fiscal year closes Sunday and she has to find budget to cover the work elsewhere. She felt bad.

I felt relief. I had been searching for how to tell her the company is almost impossible to work with. And right now I need the time and a vacation much worse than the money.

But someone must have been listening in. In the last 24 hours, I've gotten two new projects. Both are short term and will likely be just what's needed to fill in until my friend finds the bucks to pay for me again.

But I hope not.

I have longed for an alone getaway to a dreamy beach somewhere since I moved out of my ex's house in March. I need to feel sand between my toes again, like Zac Brown Band sings in Toes.

The workload break was going to give me time to sneak away. I want to visit Playa del Carmen or Tulum or Cabo San Lucas or any other places you can recommend. (Comments are welcomed!) The sea air and sounds of the waves will clear my mind and give me the energy to get through the upcoming holiday season.

I need to get away. To unwind. Take a break from work. A brief pause from friends, but probably not from you. I need help forgetting.

Because I can.

I'm a single girl and can go and do when and where I want. There's no asking anyone's permission or coordinating schedules. I've been procrastinating, but now it's written down. It's here in black and white, and you all know, so it will happen.

Single girls are free. Free to put our toes in the sand, snow or wherever we want our toes to be.

So do it and enjoy.

Love to the single girls,
Addison

Dude, time for a therapist

One of my very best friends gave me some valuable advice. She said never be friends with a married man. I think she's right.

One evening a couple of weeks ago, a group of us hung out at the pool, then we met back up at the pub later and played pool. (Speaking of games, that's one I'd like to get better at.) Among the group was a very nice man who needed a friend. He needed someone to listen, and maybe even to share a little life wisdom to remind him of his options.

He's married.

While we were playing pool, he started talking. His marriage was troubled. He wasn't happy, and he told me his wife had cheated. More than once. The worst part, she was in the hospital at the time, and he just couldn't leave her now. That evening, he was taking a break from being at her bedside.

Then he walked me home. He talked some more and I listened. Then he kissed me and wanted more. He wanted a break from being married.

"I can't. You're married," I said. "You have some choices to make, and I won't be the one to make things even more complicated."

He nodded and kissed me again. I told him I would be his friend but that's all. Then he left.

This is hard to say, but he wasn't looking for a friend. Something must go through men's minds.

"Well, if she listens so easily, she'll fuck that easily, too."

No, I didn't mean that! This is a really screwed up form of intimacy. And where does it leave a single girl?

What's difficult is that I do care. I empathize too easily and want people to be happy. I want him to be happy. But it's not an open invitation into my pants. If a married or a single man needs a therapist, then I'll treat them like a patient.

"Time's up," is what I'll say next time.

In hindsight, it was the right decision because I haven't heard from him since. I would have been a one-night solution to his life-long problem.

Time's up.

Love to the single girls,
Addison

Shots

I just got back from taking my friend's dog for a walk (isn't she a cutie!). On the way to my bank, we ran into a couple of friends at a neighborhood restaurant. While he went back inside to get his laptop, she told me she had just walked down the street and he had three more shots in the fifteen minutes she was gone. It was 5:10. A time most people are still at the office with only dreams of happy hour.

I've seen him in this scenario dozens of times, and she's almost as bad. Together, they're toxic. He told me he loved me about five times in the few minutes we talked. It's hard to not love him back. At the same time, my heart breaks.

Drinking is a tough topic for me. I'm no teetotaler by any stretch, but my first husband is an alcoholic. He was the guy everybody liked. Handsome, Marlboro Man look. Happy. Good natured, well most of the time. While we were dating, we lived a very social life with friends and drinking almost every day. After we married and things calmed down a bit, the drinking didn't. He started before I got home from work and passed out on the sofa by eight o'clock every night. Rum with a splash of Diet Coke was his poison.

I only saw him sober for about an hour every weekday morning, Saturday mornings and Sundays. He was typically on the sofa all day on Sunday, but just not passed out. Then he started hiding the bottles from me. I may have been young and naive, but I wasn't stupid.

I was married to a stranger.

He blamed me for his drinking. I knew it wasn't my fault but it still crushed me with guilt. Anyone who's ever been close to an addict knows what I'm talking about. Divorce at that age was hard. I had to learn to cope again and not blame myself.

I don't know where he is today, and I still don't enjoy rum. It leaves a bitter taste in my mouth and a burn in my heart.

A lot of people drink a lot of alcohol around here. It's part of the singles scene. And shots area usually what puts them over the edge. And there's rarely only one. People have told countless stories about the interesting places they woke up and didn't have a clue how they got there. Outside. Inside. With a penis drawn on their forehead. Wearing women's clothing. And they laugh at themselves when they tell the stories. Then there's "If he doesn't remember, did it happen" that will never happen again.

"Life's too short not to remember," I told someone recently.

"I have plenty of time to remember," he responded. How does he know?

Please think twice before you drink that shot. Over time, it can hurt the people who care about you as much as it will hurt you.

Love to the single girls,
Addison

It's all just a game

A group of us at the pub played games recently. I mean real games. We sat around the table on the patio and pulled wood pieces from the tower and tried to keep it from toppling down. It's not so easy after a couple of drinks.

When games deal with real people instead of wood blocks, they can make everything topple over for good. Friendships, jobs, romantic relationships can crumble over just a few words if people get caught up playing games.

I suck at games. If I like someone, I tell them. If I want more or less, they know. Straight from me. No guessing. While games may be fashionable, I just can't hide the truth. If it's not hurtful, I say what's on my mind. And it's usually not a surprise since they can probably read it on my face anyway.

Sometimes brutal honesty stings, like when I got the let's-keep-what-we-did-last-night-between-us text the other day. Or was that a game?

Either way, I needed to hear that one.

A few weeks ago over lunch with the really beautiful (inside and out on first impression) South African man I met at the bachelorette party recently, we talked about this very thing. He said he doesn't like the whole "I can't call or text too soon" or "don't respond before tomorrow" strategy. If he wants to see someone, he lets them know. I had five texts from him by the time I got home the night I met him. Now I hope his lack of contact is because of his long trip to Europe and not lack of interest. Or is it a game.

There's man I know in the neighborhood who's mastering his abilities as a player. A couple of weeks ago, he invited me to a professional luncheon. Then he uninvited me. I found out later he also invited a women I introduced him to. Mind you, I presented her to him as a good professional contact but a pain in the ass otherwise. He was still interested. I'll probably never know if she went to the luncheon with him since I hear completely different stories from each of them about their mutual game playing. I don't trust either of them. But honestly, who cares?

Back to real games. That night on the patio at the pub, we also played "Never Have I Ever." Now this game is definitely not just an ice breaker. It would tear straight through a glacier. Talk about skipping over the games, now I know who's done a threesome, who does and doesn't give head and who's been with two different people in the same day. Wow. Now if I could only remember everyone's names.

Sometimes I might stick my foot in my mouth to avoid the game playing. The truth is what I do best. Someone told me it's a Capricorn trait. I wish it was an every-zodiac trait.

Single or not, we all deserve the truth.

Love to the single girls,
Addison

Let's get a few things straight

A few people I know read this blog. If you know about it, it's because you're an important part of my life. Because you're my friend, and I trust you.

Everything you read here is true. Unfiltered. It's what I see, hear and do in my life every day. I write what I feel and how what happens affects me and the people I care about. There are no names mentioned to protect people's privacy.

But if I write something about you, I would never write a word I wouldn't say (or haven't already said) to your face. One-on-one. Between us. No one knows who I'm writing about unless they witnessed it happen in the first place.

Writing this blog is therapy, and deepest thanks to you for listening. As a writer, this is the easiest way for me to express my real self. It helps me through the baby steps and the marathon this new single life presents. It's a window into my soul. I hope my experiences help you deal with situations in your life - or at least bring a smile.

One of my dear friends does the same thing on Socialcam. Others draw or paint their thoughts and feelings or write songs and music. I believe it's important to express yourself in some way. Keep it to yourself or share like my friend and I do. Make time for it if you can. You might be surprised what new dimensions of yourself you uncover.

Please add comments to the blog when you have a thought, idea, story or experience to share. You can comment anonymously. I'd love to hear from you.

Love to the single girls (and boys too),
Addison

Cigarettes and altruism

There are only certain things people will ask a perfect stranger for - directions, the time, a cigarette and a light. Why are being lost and smoking the two things people feel most comfortable talking to almost anyone about?

I'm convinced the best way to stop smoking is to carry an almost empty pack. As smokers who go out without their own bum them one by one, there will be none left to smoke. That is, unless some other altruistic soul comes along to share.

They can pick from Camel, Marlboro, Black, Silver, Smooth, Blue, Platinum, Turkish Gold, Crush, Bold, Turkish Royal, menthol or regular. But if it's free, people smoke what they can get.

And don't forget a lighter. Since smoking's not so PC these days, bars and restaurants don't have matches like they used to, so someone always needs a light. Why would a smoker leave the house without a lighter? It's like a single girl going out without lipstick. Knowing people are consistently unprepared, a very generous friend in my neighborhood always goes out with two lighters. One is for himself and one is to give away. The ultimate in altruism.

Of course, one of the oldest and greatest intros to another smoker is asking for a light. Remember the old B&W movies with the femme fatales like Rita Hayworth and Brigitte Bardot batting long eye lashes as the handsome Clark Gable-type lights her up? They were such sex kittens. Pick-up line or altruism?

I'm not a smoker unless you count the two clove cigarettes I smoked a couple of weeks ago. (Read Clove cigarettes, sunshine and fucking rainbows for that story.) However, I think responsible adults should be able to make their own decisions. If they want to smoke, then they should be able to. As someone who's new to the singles world though, I can never date a smoker. It's not a socially charged statement. I have asthma, so being around a smoker all the time would be suicide. But I don't mind being around friends who smoke at all. Most friends are polite smokers, and I can easily handle it in small doses.

I wonder though, with all of the health warnings about smoking, does sharing a smoke really help fellow man? Is it altruistic? And girls, kissing a non-smoker is so much more delish. Am I right?

Love to the single girls,
Addison

Finding my inner bitch

This morning, I talked to my good friend and lover who lives halfway across the country. It was a deeper talk than usual and one we needed to have. Since my divorce, he's slipped slowly out of my life. He's been busy. Stressed. Absent.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I'll do better."

"I don't want apologies, I just want you back," I said.

The couple of good friends who know about our relationship think his absence is a good thing. They think I should move on. But I'm not ready. He was there for me. He knows the real me because I can be her around him. And he's the best lover. Ever.

My friends think I deserve better because I'm his secret. Still. Even though I'm now a single girl.

My best girls tell me I shouldn't be anyone's secret. They tell me I'm too nice. Men meet me and see a vulnerable target. An easy hookup.

Ouch.

But it's true. I saw it last weekend. After an intellectually and physically stimulating night with a friend, I got the I-enjoy-my-privacy-so-whatever-happened-last-night-has-to-stay-between-us text. (Read Laugh, live, love and labels for the story.)

Ouch. That hurt.

From today on, I'll be nobody's secret. Ever.

There's nothing that should make anyone want to keep me a secret. And if they do, fuck 'em. And if I can't tell the world about a guy, I'm not sharing anything with him but hello . . . then goodbye.

I'm tired of hurt. I don't want to give and give and never receive. I did it during my marriage, and I'm doing it again. No more nights with men who don't remember. No more texts about keeping things private. No more secret encounters.

Starting today, I'm finding my inner bitch and using it at will.

It's going to be hard. Being a bitch isn't my nature unless someone really pushes me to the edge. I don't even know how to be a bitch. But my friends will help. They'll tell me when I'm being too nice. When I need to say goodbye. It's what I need make that vulnerability go away.

No single girl should be anyone's secret.

Beware of the bitch, and don't say I didn't warn you.

Love to the single girls,
Addison

Laugh, live, love and labels

Over the weekend, I spent a lovely evening and morning with a friend. We sat on his sofa drinking wine, talking and listening to music until after 5 a.m. I fell asleep on his shoulder and awoke to his kiss and the sunrise. He carried me to his bed and we stayed there until after noon.

Just now, we traded texts about what a nice time we had together. And then I got the text. The I-enjoy-my-privacy-so-whatever-happened-last-night-has-to-stay-between-us text. Yes, that goes without saying.

But it was a beautiful night not a dirty little secret. While I completely agree with him, seeing the words hit me.

I have no idea how relationships work anymore.

If you've been following my blog, you know the single thing is new. It's been a struggle to enjoy life again, and I do now. Every day. I love hanging out with friends and meeting new ones. A few of them are in relationships, but they are relationships I don't understand. Some are each other's homeboy-homegirl, some see each other occasionally, some all the time, and one hooked up and became a "relationship" on Facebook on the same day.

Then there's my weekend secret. Whatever you call it.

But they all do the same thing. No matter what they call their relationship, they hang out together with groups of friends at the pool, at the pub or wherever. What defines their label? Is it how often you have sex? Is it exclusivity? How do you know the difference between  being a friend with benefits a homegirl and a girlfriend?

I don't regret what happened over the weekend. He introduced me to two bands I've never heard before - a Spanish group Chambao (I'm listening to as I write) and Pink Martini from America. He laughed at my innocent honesty, and my body turned him on. I enjoyed and very much needed the intimacy. He stimulated my mind and my body, but I'm certainly not ready for a relationship of any label.

It's all part of learning to laugh, love and live again.

Before I left my husband, I used to listen to the song called Dance Again by Jennifer Lopez, and it gave me hope. It still does.

The song works so well since she was learning to dance again too. The video starts out:

Always remember . . .

You will live

You will love
You will dance again.

She's right. I will and I do. And it's worth it even if I don't understand.

Love to the single girls,
Addison

Damn girl!

The other night, I want to a club to hear a fun band and visit my friend, their star bartender. And I want alone. When I first got there, I was responding to a Facebook message, minding my own business, when a man walked up.

"I hope you're looking at porn pictures," he said.

"No, but I am looking at a pic of my friend ironing naked."

His eyes got big like he didn't expect that answer. When he looked at my phone, he believed me. The shirt my friend was ironing was just in the right spot to cover the most private bits.

Then he did a walk-around. "Damn girl. You're looking good."

I smiled. "Thank you. I'm going to get a drink." The man is a coach at a local private school. I hope he doesn't do that for his students!

Then it happened again this weekend. Are they just repeating the "damn girl" from the song Sexy Chick? Can they be a little more original?

Okay, as a single girl, I'm comfortable going out alone. I can leave when I want and crawl into bed. Alone. See, it keeps me out of trouble. And anyone who loves clothes as much as I do and busts their ass exercising should be able to wear things they look good in. I'm covered. Always. And you've read how I feel about bras and panties.

But when did a "fuck me" sign come along with wearing a sexy-ish outfit? I say "ish" because I was just wearing black skinny jeans with a fitted knit top that first night. This weekend, I had on the dress. The Dr. Who TARDIS dress. The most daring dress I've ever worn.

I'll confess, I'm flattered when people - men and women - say nice things about my clothes. One of the neighborgood girls called me a sexy bitch. (I think that's a good thing?) And I just got back from lunch with a handsome male friend. As we were getting into my red sports car, a man standing outside the restaurant said to my friend, "Hot woman. Hot car. You're living the dream, man." I think it was the outfit.

But I dress for me. Because I love chothes. And shoes, too. They help make me happy.

So single girls, if you and your mirror are okay whith your favorite outfits, wear them with pride. Let the massas say "Damn girl," and smile and say "thank you." Then move on. Be beautiful for you - not for anyone else.

Love to the single girls,
Addison

Where does your groove go and how the hell do you keep it?

My favorite former neighbor, who's also the most beautiful mermaid I know, visited the old neighborhood for Oktoberfest the other night. She was my first new neighborhood friend and still just beams energy wherever she goes. She saw old friends and met some of my new ones during her visit. We had a blast.

She told me there should be a movie called "How Addison got her Groove Back." She clarified by saying "not to say you ever lost it, but your energy is so powerful right now."

These are the nicest words I could imagine hearing at this point in my life.

My groove was gone. Extinguished. It needed some kind of major explosion to revive it.

But it's back. Really. Between finding my independence again as a single girl and doing all of the things I love, my groove came back. I run, write, work, and hang out with friends. And I try new things. Today I ran my first 5K, and in less than 29 minutes. These things and more are how I keep my groove. Even on a bad day, there's always something amazing. At least one thing to be happy about.

I have one very dear single girlfriend who's struggling now to keep her groove. Most of her family is across the Atlantic. Her boyfriend lives in another state, and her best friend and former roommate recently went completely psycho on her, so she's had to move twice this year. She's on the right path to keeping her groove, but she really wants one thing. Wrestling will make her happy. WWE will light up her groove again.

Another of my amazing friends is so used to fighting to keep her groove she's mastered it. Between her drama-filled family, useless ex-husband (and father of her three kids), living in two states and over-demanding, underpaid job, she'll just kick your ass if you come anywhere near her groove. Just try it.

I'm not convinced grooves actually go anywhere. They either exist or don't. They don't take vacations. Someone can drown a groove in a millisecond, but getting it back's up to you. And it usually takes something pretty drastic.

I'm not giving up my groove for anyone. Go ahead, try to take it away again. You'll have me to answer to.

Love to the single girls,
Addison

I already want a divorce

I want a pretend divorce from my pretend marriage. To me, my new pretend husband is boring.

Please don't get me wrong. There's really nothing not to like about him. He's kind, polite and rarely says a cross word. He has a good job. And he listens, which is a dramatic improvement over my real ex.

The man is physically appealing. He's tall, has nice hair and is in good shape. For god's sake, he passed up a chance to model when he was younger.

If I've totally lost you, got back to I'm sure to read about our sunset wedding.

My new pretend husband is never in a hurry. He's a master at chilling out when he wants to. I consider this a good trait and one I'm trying to get better at myself.

Everybody gets along with him all the time. He never says anything anyone might disagree with. For me, this can be a bad thing.

I need mental stimulation. I need discussion. What turns me on is a man who will take a stand and take part in a smart, interesting fair debate. Then I really lose control when he sweeps me up in his strong arms and give me a big kiss since I won. Of course.

I need passion. Passion even greater than the touchdown in the last 20 seconds that wins the game for your favorite college or NFL team. Passion that makes two people tear each others clothes off in a trail starting at the front door after all that mental stimulation. Your eyes locked to theirs in daylight or darkness. Passion that leads to the messiest, craziest most exhausting sex you've ever had. The kind that brings an undying closeness and makes your legs like rubber bands. Literally.

Being pretend married was fun during the three weeks it lasted. We laughed and joked together and got to know one another better, and I feel like I made a friend. While nothing's been said, I get the feeling we agree we're better real friends than pretend mates.

Love to the single girls,
Addison

Porn, sushi and tampons

My friend called after lunch yesterday in hysterics over what happened at one of her favorite hole-in-the-wall lunch spots. With a restaurant full of people enjoying their sushi, the TV on the wall played Mexican porn. Patrons didn't seem to know what to say or do. The owner, an elderly gentleman, clearly had enough hearing loss to miss the moans coming from the girl bouncing on the man on the screen.

Luckily my friend was dining alone, but she could hardly stop laughing. I admit, lunch would have been awkward, especially if she'd been on a business lunch.

Her experience made me think for the first time as a single girl about how I feel about porn, and here are my initial thoughts. I've never had a problem with porn in moderation, unless it severely clouds judgment or gets in the way in a relationship.

Porn provided my first instruction on sex. One of my first boyfriends and I used to rent porn vids just to learn what to do. That was back when they were a bit more tame.

But who wants a porn star in their bedroom while they're making love - especially with some of the way out there sex fantasies you find in movies now? I want any moaning to be live. My ex used to want to watch blow job DVDs while we had sex. I hated it, and he knew it. He always made me feel like I gave a blow job like a 12-year-old. Oddly everyone since says I give amazing head. Either my ex is dead wrong or the others are just being nice (not likely the case based on the reactions).

I guess it depends on expectations. But it mostly depends on how much you care for and respect your partner. But if I wanted the latest Jenna Jameson wanna-be in my bedroom, I'd invite her myself.

A few yeas ago, my ex asked me something that really weirded me out.

"How far do you have to stick your fist up your pussy to take out a tampon?" he asked.

"None, dumbass," I answered. The man has been on this planet for decades and all it took was a bizarre porn video.

I still haven't quite recovered from either of these scenarios. So, as a single girl now, I'd like to go out with men who don't have much time for porn. The ones who'd rather experience it live. The ones who want me to be the star.

Love to the single girls,
Addison

There can only be one pussy in my house

It finally hit me. My cat, Lucy, doesn't like other women besides me. Single, married, divorced, young, old. It doesn't matter.

She only likes men.

That means there can only be one pussy in my house. Well, I guess two including me.

Lucy stretched out on the floor right in  front of my 6'8" male visitor and let him pet her. She pranced around in front of another and talked up a storm while he stroked her. And she draped herself across another's stomach while he slept in my bed. He was sleeping it off and probably didn't even notice though. (You can read If he doesn't remember, did it happen? to learn about that unforgettable evening.)

But girls are a different story. When my best friend arrived the other day, Lucy met us at the door but shot upstairs after about 30 seconds of nervous kitty chatter. What a little bitch. She stayed under the bed the entire two days my friend was here except for creeping out to visit the kitty box while we were out - exacly why my friend calls her Lucy-fur.

This is the same cat that my divorce-day sleepover guest said would cause problems with men (When one door opens, another closes for the scoop on that forgettable night). Come to think of it, I don't think Lucy liked him. Smart pussy; I didn't either.

I hope Lucy keeps being a picky pussy and points out all of the bad ones. My girlfriends will tell you I definitely can't pick 'emon my own! God knows, we all need some help from a pussy sometimes.

Love to the single girls,
Addison

Back to the grind

If you've been reading my blogs recently, you know my best friend was in town for a couple of days. But today's back to the grind.

No more sleeping in. I wanted to lounge around this morning before a fancy cooked brunch. My mouth was watering for another mimosa. Instead I had the usual coffee and fruit before my morning jog. Yawn.

It would've been so fun to help my friend perfect her novel manuscript again. And hang out and talk crazy girl gab with my good neighbor friend I rarely get to spend an afternoon with. Then wash down delish leftover green bean casserole with yummy Bloody Marys (that my friend had to shake in a thermal travel mug since I have almost no bar shit!). 

But I had four conference calls, wrote a news release and traded countless emails to get shit done. The friend who was visiting is back home preparing for an evening client meeting and my local friend is back behind the bar making drinks for fun-starved surburban folk. Yawn.

Guess we have to work so we have money to play.

As the work day winds down, I really want a cocktail and to plan the evening out. Where to eat. Who to eat with. Our next dose of fun. But I'm looking over the list of other work I absolutely have to do tonight to catch up.

Yawn.

But I am pouring a cocktail. Because I can.

I love my job. I adore being my own boss and working from home. But spending time with friends recharges me. It's what helps get me through the days and weeks with a smile. Good friends help keep me happy, and I can't wait to do it all again.

Love to the single girls,
Addison

There were 3 men at my place the other night

And they were all Eagle Scouts, the highest Boy Scouts of America ranking.

My best friend was visiting and a group of us ended up at my place for after-dinner drinks. The day before, she experienced her first Boy Scout hike with her youngest son. Boy Scouts are new to her, she asked the group if anyone had an opinion about whether being a Boy Scout was worthwhile. As a divorced mom, she also wanted to know if it would help her older son since his dad's such a bad male role model. They all said absolutely yes.

Then one said "I was an Eagle Scout." Another said, "I was an Eagle Scout, too." Then a third said "Me too."

Two hours later, we were still talking about Eagle Scouts.

Each told such good stories about how being an Eagle Scout helped turn them into men. One told how, as young a teenager, he teamed up to plan menus for multi-day campouts. With a set budget, they had to buy the right amount of food for everyone - or suffer the consequences if they ran out.

The most my ex would do in the kitchen is throw a frozen pizza in the oven.

They learned wilderness survival, cooking, carpentry and how to fix things. They got experience being a leader and part of a team. They even sewed on their own badges. And they followed the motto, "be prepared."

Most men who can't do half of these things as adults much less before they hit 18, so I'm adding Eagle Scout to my list of nice-to-have requirements for men I date.

What a strange coincidence that out of some 1.5 million Eagle Scout Awards granted in its 100 years of existence, three were in my house. And there are two others among the same group of neighborhood friends. While these guys may not be perfect (and who is?), the three at my place agreed they're much better men after earning Eagle Awards. One got all of his male influence from Scouting since he grew up without a dad and one said he wouldn't have survived the drug-filled path he started down before getting involved in the program.

Wouldn't it be fabulous for us girls if they would add how to be a compassionate lover to the list of badges Eagle Scouts can earn?

Love to the single girls,
Addison

Monkey do, dump monkey

The other night I walked by the pub on my way home and a couple of friends invited me to join their table for a drink. It started out kind of strange when my friend, who was sitting next to his girlfriend, also my friend, complimented my "Daisy Dukes." (very conservative ones, I promise!).

Even though things started out a tad bizarre and I didn't know the other three guys, we had interesting conversation - where we're from and what brought us to where we live now. Later in the conversation, the guy I know made some very direct comments about me and my body.

Right in front of his girlfriend.

Then he turned around in his chair and started rubbing his leg against mine.

Right in front of his girlfriend.

She didn't seem to react but it creeped me out. That was my cue to leave.

The next day, the while scenario bugged me. I mentioned it to one friend who knows them and one who doesn't. Both had the same reaction. What a douche bag.

It's always harder to see bad behavior from within a relationship than from outside, but it's something I'm working on. And I trust my friends to point out the really egregious stuff. They promised, and I trust they will help keep me from ending up with another douche bag. In the mean time, my heart goes out to my friend, and I hope she dumps this monkey soon.

Wet paper towel test

The day after my divorce was final, I traveled to my hometown for my high school reunion. Since my best girlfriends blew it off, I said, "What the fuck," and went. Alone. I had a blast, and I looked and felt fabulous.

An old acquaintance and I ended up talking. He's separated and doesn't live far from me. We joined some others at a dive bar afterwards, and I drove him back to his hotel. We shared a brief goodnight kiss and I left.

Once we got back home, he texted, called and, as an avid concert-goer and HUGE Journey fan, he invited me to his like twenty-fourth Journey concert. I love me some Journey too, so I said yes.

Then the texts started. Lots of them. Here's a sample with the grammar and spelling corrected (can't help it, I'm a writer).

"Hello beautiful sunshine! I wanted to make sure you had a wonderful week!  I have your Journey ticket so Don't Stop Believing. Just maybe if you're in town next week we could meet after work for beverages.

You really rock! I remember in high school thinking how pretty you are and wanting to get to know you, so when I see that picture from high school I remember. But wow, now you're beautiful! Looking forward to seeing you and explaining how I've tried to be better now than that crazy guy you probably heard about from school! LOL!" 

We did meet for drinks and had a good time rehashing high school stories and who was and wasn't at the reunion. And a week later, we went out for dinner, a movie and to hear a band. We ate at a restaurant where my good and very wise, beautiful friend is a bartender, so she got a chance to observe and to talk to him. As soon as my date stepped away to the bathroom, she said two things. "Why is this your credit card?" and

"He's a wet paper towel."

I agree. There were no fireworks on my end, and I had a vision of a wet paper towel the rest of the evening. But we had good conversation and I enjoyed the night.

Then more calls and texts came. Lots. 

"You're even more beautiful in person. Thank you for an awesome evening . . . You really made my nite rock! You are incredible! Listening to Journey In The Eyes of a Woman. That's you!"

"If I'm the last to tell you today you're incredibly beautiful and you rock!!!!!"

Okay, I'll stop. You get the picture. Pretty over the top, huh? He hyped the concert for weeks. "3 weeks 'til Journey" "Aren't you so excited!"

We ended up not going to see Journey. He got himself stuck out of town helping a friend.

Wet paper towel.

By missing Journey, I got to go to my friend's bachelorette party, so I'm a happy single girl. And, although I'm still learning, I'm starting to get the hang of doing my own wet paper towel test.

Thank you to my friend for this wisdom and the many laughs over this. You know who you are. xo

Love to the single girls,
Addison

Sexy or naked?

Over the last week, I've run into a young women I barely know a couple of times. The first time, I was playing pool at the pub with a friend and getting his great coaching. She strutted in and joined the game.

I couldn't help but notice her button-up shirt that wasn't very buttoned up. And no bra. She seemed to enjoy draping across the pool table to flaunt it. You know, she had to get the tough shots. 

A few nights later, she joined a table of friends and me at the same pub. She was also dressed the same - shorts, button-up shirt, undone to her tummy, and no bra. No mystery. No intrigue. Her girls were exposed - nipples and all. People stared, then they talked about her when her back was turned.

Somehow the group's conversation turned to underwear. She told us her bra comes off as soon as she walks through the door from work.

"I hate bras," her probably late twenty-something braless self said. "At my age, I don't need one."

What the fuck? At her age? "I don't either," I said. "My breasts look great without a bra, but bras are super sexy."

She didn't get it.

"It's like a guy who goes commando," she said.

Now she's asking for it. Wearing a bra and my sweetest smile, I said, "But they zip their pants."

She left without a word and came back later. Buttoned. But I saw her through the window as I was leaving later that night. She was playing pool with some guy. Unbuttoned and flaunting her girls over the table again.

To me, hanging out at a bar dressed - rather than half naked - is more about self respect than showing off how fashionable, daring or sensual you are. Some outfits are perfectly fine to go braless in, but if any words resembling "truck stop ho" or "trailer trash" come to mind, it's time to re-evaluate the ensemble.

We single girls have so much more to offer than tits.

I'm tempted to point out to the women that our handsome pool partner walked me and my covered breasts home after playing pool that night, and not her.

Love to the single girls,
Addison

P.S. Since I posted this a couple of weeks ago, I've noticed this woman's a bit more covered and even wears a bra sometimes.

Flaky is a characteristic you only hope for in croissants

My mermaid neighbor who moved out recently invited another neighbor to celebrate her upcoming marriage at her bachelorette party. The neighbor responded that she would be there - order the t-shirt, count her in for the party bus and for the dinner reservation. I asked her the day before if she was going and she said no. She wanted to hang out with her boyfriend all weekend - no plans, just hang out (and this boyfriend situation is definitely the subject for a future blog).

Another friend had just finalized her divorce and needed a little cheering up. I suggested girls' night and she said "I'd like that." We agreed on Saturday, I texted her that day to firm up plans but never heard back. Guess her new boyfriend cheered her up.

Girls really can be the worst - especially when they have a boyfriend and start blowing off friends.

What the fuck? Have they eaten their manners? If so, it's good they're so flaky - maybe the taste will be better.

Being dependable is even more important for us single people. We depend on our old friends to get through the breakups. Then, when we're newly single, many of our friends are new ones. And when fresh from a breakup, we're more fragile.

Trust is important, not just in romantic relationships, but in friendships too. We single people need to be dependable - especially with each other. When we say we'll do something, we should. Always. A true friend would rather hear no than be blown off. If someone blows you off, you're alone.

One of my best friends is coming for a visit this weekend, and I can't wait to see her. She's one I can trust without question. Always. Next time you see your best friends, give them a hug and tell them how much you appreciate them. Besides, they're the ones who will be by your side when the boyfriend isn't.

Love to the single girls,
Addison

Clove cigarettes, sunshine and fucking rainbows

The other day, I spent the late afternoon and well into the evening lounging by the pool with friends. One of the girls was talking about her retail job at Best Buy that she's not terribly happy doing. Her boss wants to promote her into management but told my friend she needs to improve her attitude and stop socializing with the other employees.

Then my friend said something that struck me. "It's been nothing but sunshine and fucking rainbows with me since that conversation," she said. It took a conversation with her boss to change her state of mind. Now she can make it through each day of her current situation.

For me that evening, a sweet aroma changed my state of mind. While we talked by the pool I caught a familiar fragrance that overpowered the BBQ cooking on the grill.

"What's that smell?" I asked.

"Clove cigarette," my new friend said.

My eyes got big, and my smile got bigger.

"You want one?" he asked.

"I don't smoke."

"You want one?" he asked and reached into his sleek Djarum Black clove cigarette pack.

"Okay."

I savored every puff of that one and the next. I was back in college again. Loud music and parties. Staying up all night and sleeping away the weekend days. Carefree. I smoked each one down until my lips burned. I wanted to stay in that state of mind as long as possible.

Then I realized that evening I had created a new state of mind.

Love to the single girls,
Addison

What they say about grass . . . well, it's true

Last night I met a group of writers for happy hour. During two separate conversations it came up that I have a new life. The word divorce opened the door for both women to share their unhappy marriage stories.

Each is handling their situation in vastly different ways. One has two kids at home and her husband travels most of the time - both significant reasons why they're still together. She's already suggested that if he meets someone he cares about to not pass up the opportunity for a new relationship. The other woman is terrified to leave but has no reason to stay.

Then the night before I met a man who's in the same situation. His wife has cheated on him multiple times, but can't leave her now since she's in the hospital fighting a chronic illness.

Both women have kicked their husbands out of the bedroom and the two women and the man are extremely unhappy. They're smart, nice and attractive people who hate their lives. Every day. But they're afraid of what's on the other side.

Everyone's lives and motivations are different, so there's no magic answer. But all three noticed how happy I seem. And I am. Every day.

It took more than three years to gather the strength to leave my ex. Letting go was hard, and I was petrified. The first night I slept in my new place was the most peaceful night I'd had in longer than I can remember. The first day I felt like a kid again - like a huge weight had vanished. Life's too short to spend a single day unhappy. And it doesn't matter what anyone else thinks.

The other side is beautiful, green, sunny and full of hope. And trust me, there's more fun to be had than anyone can ever imagine!

Love to the single girls,
Addison

If he doesn't remember, did it happen?

This one's a little difficult to admit. Okay, it's terribly embarrassing.

The other night, a friend and I went out together to hear a band. It's the evening I mentioned in Saturday's post, Be Selfish Sometimes. You Deserve it. He and I danced and had so much fun. Then we came back home and walked to a couple of local bars. I got tired and left, but when I got home, my phone wrang. It was him.

"You left me," he said.

"But I said goodbye."

"You left me. Can I come over for a glass of wine?"

""You should go home," I said.

"I'm coming over."

He did.

When he got here, the glass of wine turned into wanting to "cuddle." Cuddling turned into . . . well . . .. In the morning, he asked me if we had sex.

I was devistated he didn't remember.

He walked and talked just fine. He was persistant. He said all the right things - all the things I wanted to hear. How do you know when someone's too drunk? 

I never want to be forgettable again. But if he doesn't remember, did it really happen?

On the bright side, since we're already friends, he at least remembered my name.

Love to the single girls,
Addison

P.S. In the morning he also shared with me that he never wants to go back home to New Jersey. He worked in the Twin Towers but was off that fateful day. On this 9.11, I remember all who were lost and am thankful for him and everyone else who survived.

xx means Dos Equis, right?

The other day I posted a message that included "xx" on a good friend's Facebook page. Afterwards, we were talking about the post.

"You're talking about beer, right? It just means Dos Equis," he said.

"No, those are kisses," I said.

Oops. Awkward.

I wonder how many of our other text symbols are misunderstood. Smileys, frowns and other facial expressions accompany so many of our texts. How many people confuse mustache :-{ with sad :-(? This one could be bad.

And :-ll? Yeah, I'd be angry just trying to find the right character on my phone. And how many people can find %-} to say they're intoxicated when they're in an intoxicated state?

There are a terribly huge number of <3 on Facebook. Are these all really intended to be love hearts or perhaps just a tad of an over reaction? If my love is strong enough to use a <3 on Facebook or in a text, I think I'd rather just give them a big hug and kiss. Live. Or at least by phone if they're far away.

So type carefully when you use symbols. And don't forget to show that same emotion when you see the recipient next. Nothing replaces the intimacy of real touching.

And in case you're wondering, Elvis 5:-) and popcorn **** have their own symbols.

<3X to the single girls,
Addison

Be selfish sometimes. You deserve it.

Last week, a waiter and friend from my neighborhood's sushi restaurant bought me a cocktail. He had stopped off to treat himself to a drink at the pub after a long day at work. We had a really good conversation, and he said something very wise.

People have to love themselves first.

We pointed out several people in the pub who don't appear to have that love. We talked about how it affects them - their ability to be a friend, a lover, a responsible adult.

His wisdom made a lasting impression. I'm a pretty together person and always think I love myself. That is until something happens like letting my friend hit a weak spot and giving in when he wanted to stay with me last night. Not so smart. Things like this make me realize there's a way to go.

Like me, many people - mostly us girls - have been in relationships where their partner beat them down emotionally. It's been a struggle to love myself again after so much. So long.

Part of the struggle is in the mind, and since I'm not a shrink, I won't even attempt to write any psycho-babble about that. Another huge issue that doesn't take a wall of degrees to know is realizing it's okay to be selfish sometimes. We don't always have to do for others. As a treat to myself I had a massage yesterday to wrap up a draining work week. It's my third this summer, and I'm hooked. I lose myself in it for that hour-plus. My phone stays in the locker and time doesn't matter. It reminds me I'm worth it.

It's important to make time to be selfish. It may be a mani/pedi or buying a hot new outfit or adding a day to your next business trip just to relax. It could also be quiet time at home - making your favorite comfort food (mac & cheese or green bean casserole come to mind) or curling up in your nightie to watch a good movie or sleeping in until noon. You deserve it.

Time is valuable, but you are priceless.

Love to the single girls,
Addison

We should all act more like dogs

The other day, I was about three-quarters finished with my jog in the local park. I was tired and sweaty and wanting to quit when I saw a dog roll over on its back. Then it wiggled around in the cool grass while the owner just stood there yacking on her phone and looking bored. (Maybe she's single and should read this blog.)

Every time I see dogs headed out for a walk, they're eager. Our furry friends have no dread. They're always ready and happy for the experience they're about to have. They run and play, chase squirrels and stop and scratch when the urge strikes. They don't have to live by most of our strange human rules.

They don't care what anyone else thinks.

Pups aren't worried about their next deadline at work, the argument they just had with their boyfriend or what they'll wear on their date with the new, hot guy this weekend.

They live to play.

I know we humans have responsibilities - the most important one being putting food into the dog bowl, of course. Commitments shouldn't prevent us from letting loose and having fun though. Maybe it's just dancing when you hear a favorite song - wherever you are - or running when you know you're not supposed to. Or doing a cartwheel or somersault or anything else that makes you feel like a kid again. Walk around with a smile that makes people wonder what yummy thought you're having.

We all need a little more free-spirited happiness in our lives. You may even find it's a little bit contagious. For just a moment that day in the park, I was tempted to wiggle around in the grass, too. Maybe next time I will.

Love to the single girls,
Addison 

Can an orgasm get a better reaction than a touchdown?

Last night I watched an NFL football game season-opener with a group of friends at the local pub. While I enjoyed the game, I was even more fascinated by the crowd. People who are typically low-key and quiet jumped up and yelled at the TV. With every first down, fumble or field goal, there was fist pumping, clapping, yelling. Their faces showed sheer delight with every chicken wing consumed. Each touchdown drew passion. Passion like I've never seen from some of these folks.

And I was relieved.

I was particularly relieved to see passion from my new pretend husband, who's always nice and fun but so laid back I had wondered if he had an ounce of passion in him.

He does have passion. Lots of it.

Watching their reactions made me wonder if people show the same or even more passion during other life pleasures. I always love a good game, but nothing can replace an amazing orgasm. That's where I like to show passion.

At the opening of this football season, the reaction to the game sets the bar for passion. The challenge will be getting the same, or even better reaction, with a good orgasm. Is this an unrealistic expectation:? Is trying to reach this bar a setup for failure?

I don't know the answers, but it sure will be fun trying.

Love to the single girls,
Addison

Sometimes an ear is all a friend needs

One of my dearest friends who lives way too far away just called. Between her job, boyfriend, kids and ex, she's constantly pulled in a zillion directions. So hard she's about to break. Then her phone won't dial. She didn't want advice; she just needed someone to listen.

The same thing happened over drinks the other night. A friend had a particularly rough breakup recently. Now his ex-girlfriend is playing the blame game with him. It brings him down and he can't avoid her since they're neighbors (Top reason for not dating neighbors!). He didn't expect me to have answers, he just wanted an ear.

My ex-husband was so addicted to news commentary TV shows that any conversations we had at night were limited to the length of the two-to-three minute commercial break. If I said something, it turned into drama. He would punch the remote pause button, get in my face and say, "okay, let's talk." "Uhm, never mind," was my typical response. Who wants to talk in that scenario? This is one of many reasons I'm a single girl now.

Life is so fast now it's difficult for many people to spend quality time with friends. Then when it does happen, some people do two or three things at once. Others yack on about themselves and forget they sometimes just need to stop and listen.

And then there's Facebook, Twitter and texting where people toss short groups of words or pictures out. But it's just one way and so impersonal. In fact, another friend apologized several times last night for venting on Facebook. He was frustrated. I wish a friend had been there to listen. Is this what's replacing a good, old-fashioned heart-to-heart conversation?

If we were better friends, would people cut back on their drinking, be less likely to cheat on their partners and have less casual sex? Maybe an intimate conversation would help fill the emptiness they're trying to fill with booze, lovers and hook-ups. Perhaps they just need someone to listen.

Next time you're with a friend, ask them how they're really doing or how their day was. Better yet, call them up and ask them to meet you for a Starbucks, lunch or a drink. Then shut up and listen. While you're at it, give them a big hug.

Love to the single girls (and boys too),
Addison

For God's sake, let go

Over the Labor Day weekend, a new and very generous friend took a group of us out for an incredible, fun afternoon and evening on the lake. We had such a blast sharing new experiences like getting married. You can read all about that one in yesterday's post, I'm sure.

And we inner tubed. The captain tried and tried to throw each of us off the tube. He weaved from side to side. We bounced and flew over the wake. The water slapped our bodies every time we hit. Hard. The two girls who sat in the tube (I'm one of them) were thankful for the serious wedgie that kept even more water from being forced into our vaginas and other places where lake water is never welcome. While the boys flipped over on the biggest waves, it took an awful lot of tossing around to throw the only other girl off.

And I never would let go. The ride was too much of an adventure, and I didn't want to fail.  

It's taken a long time for me to understand how important it is to let go and even longer to admit I have an impossible time doing it. Letting go of a friendship, a job, a client, a quick fling, a lover, a marriage. It's hard to let go, and I never want to fail.

I'm starting to learn letting go doesn't always mean you or anyone has failed. More times than not, it's simply time to move on. Go separate ways.

As I sit here typing, my butt truly aches. That lake water gave me a beating, and I should have let go. A short crash, water up the nose and the water beating would've ended.

When the pain hits the next day, you regret not letting go.

Love to the single girls,
Addison