Sideways

I think with the departure of The Postman, including the self-immolation of my vacation and the resultant $235 charge from JetBlue for exiting stage left, I am officially Burnt Out on Dating. I know, I know, I have said it before. But this time, I mean it. I don't even crave it. The thought of going on one more bad date exhausts me. I tried it one last time about a week ago. Much like a life-long smoker might take a puff on a discarded butt months after quitting, I went out with a not-very-promising suspect for dinner.

He looked like he was once a good looking man. But at whatever his age is now, clearly not the age he claimed to be, he was at best worn around the edges. The discussion over dinner about his not one but two forms of Hepatitis did not help. I am not judgemental about people. This alone would not rule him out. But he kept saying over dinner, "I wish I could have a drink but my liver couldn't take it!" Yeah, I am way too much at the top of my game to go down this road.

So instead I sent the email excerpted below to a select group of gal pals (sorry Levent). I can only hope the bottle of wine will act like the uncorking of a genie from the bottle. As it says in The Secret, "Your Wish is My Command."

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When I got divorced 4+ years ago, I treated myself to a trip to Italy. It was truly the most fantastic vacation of my life. Part of my trip included a tour of a vineyard and winery where I bought some of the most incredible Italian wine I have ever enjoyed.

I saved one bottle - possibly the most expensive bottle of wine I have ever bought. It was about 70 Euros 4 years ago so you do the math. I vowed to save that bottle to share with the perfect man who undoubtedly would come into my life in short order. After all, this whole divorce thing is going to be FUN! It's going to be like going to DISNEY WORLD! Why, it should have only been a matter of weeks before someone rode in on that white horse, corkscrew in hand, to uncork both the wine and my happy ending.

As I recently eyed the dusty bottle in the sideboard of my dining room, I sighed and wondered if I would have a chance to enjoy this wine before it turned to vinegar. How long can you keep a bottle of wine like that, anyway?

Then, a thought occurred to me. There is not much point in waiting for some stupid guy to come along to bring me happiness. One of the unintended happy outcomes of my dating disasters and delights of the last few years has been the support, laughter and shared stories with you all. So fuck it, I said to myself. I'm going to host a dinner party for the girl friends who have been so supportive.

And we're going to open that bottle of wine and toast to what really matters - friendship through thick and thin.

And this is just for you. No stupid men allowed. :)

And for those of you who will hem and haw and wonder what family, work or significant-other commitments you might have on tap preventing you from coming, I would challenge you to ditch them because this is going to be a good one.

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So far there are 5 of us attending. Two regrets who are ironically enough going to WEDDINGS the date of the dinner. And one who is going to her husband's father's early father's day fete (hello - did you read the part about ditching your husband this once?). Have fun with the in-laws!

This blog photo is of me and my girlfriends from Italy. We drank Limoncello in the wood-fire hot tub outside our villa. I can only hope the dinner party in Madison is half as much fun.