Divorce, Drinking and Dating

by Danielle Prahl

  As if that was somehow better. There are two types of people I do not trust in life, those who are team Jacob, and those who just choose not to drink at all. Like, hey, if you are an alcoholic, that’s fine. But saying you just don’t like to, is like saying I’m a tight-wad who doesn’t like to have fun. It’s like saying you don’t like to ever eat dessert. It’s America, my friends. Being an adult is hard enough. I decided to give him a break on that one, though.

  We sat down, and long story short, I ordered sushi and he ordered a French dip sandwich. He didn’t ask me much about myself but proceeded to tell me that he was some sort of genius Mensa type, was on a low carb diet but kept gaining weight, was in between jobs, and had a spending habit. Mind you, he was a software architect engineer or something or other, so his jobs were contract types, and he would surely land on his feet, but it was alarmingly honest. Over dessert, because he had now ruined his diet so he was going all in, he explained that he moved to Newport to find a wife and have a child, and he was in his forties so his clock was ticking. Needless to say, Jim was a very kind and honest man, and I was sure he would find his Stepford wife here no problem, but there was a clear lack of chemistry and he was a few steps ahead. Like, he was at the proposal step. So that was Jim.

  Next, I went out on a date with Don, a man I had seen several times around. He drove a super nice car, not that it matters, but he had good taste and seemed to always be on the move. He was good-looking but not in a super obvious way, and from the small interactions I had had with him, he seemed intriguing. One day when I was walking my dog, he drove by me, literally did a U turn, came back, and said, “I’m sorry, but you are so my cup of tea. Please go on a date with me tonight. God has blessed me with everything that I want except a good woman.” Cue the cheesy music, but hey, why not. I replied, “Don, right? We have met like three times already.” Now cue the face of no recognition.

  He said to be ready by six, and I canceled a friend group date in LA to meet up with Mr. Cheesy. With work and all it seemed to far a drive to deal with. After he picked me up, he asked me what I did for work, and I explained the best I could, because I really had no clue what I did half the time besides whatever it took to live. He showed me pictures of Chris Brown in the music studio and his LA friends, and told me about his company, which made a very popular new gadget that all the kids these days had. I was not understanding, and frankly nor did I really care, because I knew how this worked. He was basically my ex in a different package, an entrepreneur looking for investments, who thought it was cool that he knew lots of famous people that he paid to endorse his product to somehow hopefully turn a profit. He lived fast and would probably die young. Before we even made it to the restaurant, I knew this was a waste of time

  At dinner, he ordered us both a lot of food and ate basically none of it (did I mention he was rail thin?), and left the table so many times that some guys came over from the other table, and asked what kind of idiot I was on a date with who would leave a woman like me alone so much. I agreed, but at this point everything was research and development anyway, so I rolled with it. He left constantly, couldn’t stop moving around, going to the bathroom and taking cigarette breaks every two minutes. It was clear to me that he was G’d up like a motherfucker, and for those of you that don’t know what this means, it is my way of saying the dude had to be railing blow like it was the 80s. He proceeded, when he was actually at the table, to talk about himself and his family and his cool friends nonstop. He asked why I was single, and I said I was dating someone who got into some legal trouble, and left it at that. I felt like he was the kind of dude who probably wasn’t scared off easily. I mean, when an appetizer was a pile of snow, where did you draw the line, right?

  He asked, “You didn’t break up because you don’t like him then, it’s just because he went away?” I hated this question, because it implied that I would wait for this man, because I was so lovesick that I would hang out for 14 years like I was on the cast of Mobwives. “No, there were other things, but yes, that was more or less a huge factor in the breakup.” He kept saying how calming I was and how he felt so on vacation and he could just relax with me. I thought to myself, lucky you, because you are bouncing around so much, I feel like I am the one on crack and I can’t relax for one second.

  He called a friend, who showed up and crashed the dinner. The friend, whom we will call Steve, introduced himself and his girlfriend. They got a sushi roll that they told me the chef just made up for them, and they were going to call it the SK roll for their first initials, because it was where they met. I asked if they were going to have their wedding there, and they both informed me that no they will not, but the restaurant would certainly be catering it. I then asked how long ago they met, and they both responded, “Two weeks ago.”

  Then Steve and my date, the tweaker, proceeded to go outside and have a cigarette together, because he had reached his limit of sitting still for all of, oh, 22 seconds. Kendra, the K in “SK,” told me that it was love at first sight and they both had kids, so she and her daughter had moved into this man’s house the day after they met, and how it was just meant to be. I had a feeling that one of them had done this sort of thing before, and that these things probably ended with one of them needing a restraining order. But my ex-spouse was in prison, so who was I to judge?

  The men came back and this very stable couple went to the bathroom probably five times over the next few minutes. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out what they were doing in there, while we were sitting in a restaurant/lounge. I mean, this wasn’t EDC for goodness sake, what did they expect to do with all that energy besides go home and Ike Turner each other?

  Don introduced me to lots of his friends as “his friend Danielle” and then walked away, leaving me alone with them. A man named Ken, who was clearly my father’s age, said, “You are so beautiful but you are a bit too old for me.” As if a man in his early sixties who spent his nights at a “restaurant/lounge” hitting on girls was a great catch. I think he expected me to have low self-esteem and throw myself at him but I just said “awesome” and walked away. He didn’t like that.

  Don gave me an earful after Ken hit on me, and at this point, I realized he was a complete psychopath. We headed outside for me to wait for my uber, and since I was freezing cold in my crop top dress, he offered me a t-shirt he had in the trunk of his car.

  The next morning, he texted me about what a “wonderful” time he had.

  I responded: “I go on a date with you and all I got out of it was this lousy t shirt.”

  He responded, and I cannot make this up: “Are you a hooker?”

  I choked on my coffee. “Uh, no. But thanks for asking.”

  He said, “Well why would you say that then?”

  I guessed he left his humor at his drug dealer’s house. I didn’t respond. Life is weird, man. Life sure is weird.

  The next day, I had a blind date brunch with a completely normal human being. White-Porsche-driving, good sense of humor, lawyer, and not just any lawyer, but a partner in a firm type, who owned his home and had his life all the way together. He ate great food and was a completely perfect gentleman. Friends of mine, Kristin, and Jim, who set this up, met us down in Laguna for a lovely brunch. Jeff, my blind date, who was a long time, trusted friend of theirs, was easy to talk to, kind, and completely copacetic.

  I realized in this moment that even in my adventures, which was fine for casual dating, maybe I needed to reel it in a bit. After being with those light and airy people, I needed to dial it down and away from the dark underworlds of “The Fig and Olive.” It was time to maybe take a hiatus from my weeks of dating pretty much anything, and spend some time concentrating on what exactly I was looking for in life. I mean, I had experienced the full spectrum, from quiet, to doesn’t drink, to looking for a wife software nerd, to the crackhead in board shorts putting money up his nose.

  A few days later, a wild, older gentleman named Lenny who I’d met a few times an
d was so much fun, texted me and invited me for sushi at a place called Wasa in Newport. Being a sushi lover and thinking it might be nice, I told him I would meet him there. We ordered a roll each and enjoyed a nice lunch. He had ordered a chilled bottle of sauvignon blanc and offered me a glass, and in my current state, who was I to say no? I obliged the kind sir, and, two bottles later, the entire restaurant had been closed for an hour and the waiters were lying on the benches with napkins on their faces, napping before the night shift.

  He explained to me that he was still married, even though he and his wife were separated. He lived in our building part-time and in a bedroom in his home part-time, where his wife and kids continued to live. They wanted to continue this arrangement for the kids. He owed most of his success as a man to his wife, so he was fine with continuing to provide for her, so what was the point in a divorce? I drank more wine. I thought I had heard it all, but I guess I was just getting started. Lenny recommended that I not drive at this point, and using the brain cells I had left, I agreed. I climbed in his convertible Mercedes, and we bumped “Bitch Better Have My Money” all the way to Gulfstream restaurant, where we drank Maker’s Mark on the rocks with orange slices and smoked cigars. This is where things get blurry. However, hanging out with someone who was also in limbo and wanted nothing from you except to have a few laughs, was quite refreshing.

  All I know was my bestie/new roommate ended up feeding me a sandwich and some Advil when I got home, and said that I picked up her dog Lola, and said, “No I can’t, not in front of Lola,” which made no sense. She also said I kept repeating, “My friend Lenny,” cracking up laughing, and never finishing the sentence. Apparently, I went in to her room, asked a question, then went into it again and asked, “Was I in here recently?” And I guess I was concerned about leaving my car in the Wasa parking lot—probably a bad memory from LA—because I texted a bunch of people “I car” or other gibberish. Tom somehow showed up at my house, then valeted his car, and I ordered an Uber because he couldn’t with his Blackberry (I know, who still uses those?).

  He drove my car to a restaurant near my house, ordered me some food, and then took me home. As he was dropping me off and picking up his car, he told me I had been drinking too much lately, and I needed to drink less if I wanted a relationship with him, as if that was my goal in life. I replied that I had been drinking way too much that day, it was true. But it was that or hang myself from my closet coat rack, so if I needed to have a little fun to get through the night, I would. When things calmed down for me, I would scale it back. Give a girl a break. Everything was so serious with him all the time and that was the last thing I needed. Plus, I realized that if I weren’t drinking as often as I was, I probably wouldn’t have hung out with him this long. That may sound extremely rude and unkind, and I don’t mean it to be. It was the truth though, and the truth shall set you free. I needed to set him free as well.

  So, what have I learned so far about dating as a newly single gal in her late 20s? Every man is different, and they still make no freaking sense.

  Chapter 14:

  The Grass Isn’t Always Greener,

  but It’s Still Freakin Grass

  I have learned a lot about men recently. There are the guys who are overly confident, cocky, young, and successful, who think they are better than you and will treat you like dirt. They also talk to so many women that they say emotionally forward things to you like, “Miss you babe,” after your first date. They are way too comfortable after dating 1,000 women every day. Then there are the nerdy guys who never really got a lot of women, but they are now making money, so they think if they buy you enough dinners, you owe them some sexy, sexy time. There are also the 55-plus old guys who go out like it’s their job, either do cocaine or provide it so the young girls will hang around, and are addicted to Lexapro and Viagra. They fuck everything that walks and do not feel sorry about it. They will play the teddy bear role to try and get you off your game, and the minute you fall for it, you will find them at your nearest shit hole bar with the town hoochie straddling them. If you try to keep up with this kind of guy, they will chew you up, spit you out, and then jump all over your regurgitated body. Then, there is the kind older man who has never settled down, clearly because something is wrong with him, and he is emotionally or mentally inept, and is now very lonely and looking for a wife. Not a specific one, just anyone in general. They will be happy to tell you this to your face over dinner.

  I have dated some, all, or a combination of these guys over the past few weeks, and I must tell you, it really pissed me off. Not only do these gentleman think they hold all the cards because they have penises and a credit card, but in general, they think women are out to tie a guy down and that it is their job to duck and dodge it. I have come around not trying to do that, as I was literally just trying to get through my situation. I was lonely. I decided to treat dating like a huge experiment. I realized that I had spent every day for years with my spouse. We only ever spent a handful of days apart. He was my best friend, my business partner, my cheerleader, my confidant. Now I literally had no one. There is nothing like going home to a cold bed covered in dog hair, because your pug is the only physical affection you get these days and you love to cuddle with him.

  I had come to the realization that I was pissed off. I was pissed off that I lost my spouse, and that he lied to me about everything and left me on my own with nothing. And I was mostly pissed, because I didn’t choose this route. I didn’t choose to be in this situation. I didn’t want to be this girl out dating again with these loser guys who think that they are better than everyone and treat you like shit. You have to wade through so much nonsense before you even meet someone you even remotely want to be around. I used to feel like a classy woman and I was treated like one. Now there was no controlling how these people treated me. Sure, I didn’t have to be around them or go out with them again, but some of the stuff people say to a woman is astounding to me, the things they think are acceptable or that you will put up with. I didn’t choose this.

  I also noticed that people treated me differently after hearing my story. The first question everyone asked when they heard about my situation or that my ex and I weren’t together was, “Are you moving home?” or “Are you still in SoCal?” as if I couldn’t live here without a husband. I don’t understand that. I guess it was a valid question, but I was sick of people thinking the only reason a girl could stay in a nice place was if a guy was paying her way to do so. I find that to be completely insulting.

  Our couple friends also didn’t invite me places anymore either. Like, literally. I guess I was not that cool without my sidekick. For business purposes, my associates used to invite us out, but they didn’t as much anymore. H used to be such a good time, so great with people, to the point where I started taking a backseat to him and his exuberant self. I used to be super fun, and I didn’t feel like I was as much anymore, after so many years of accommodating his need to shine. I had to figure out how to be me again. Not the me that I used to be, but the new me who I was now. I didn’t like being alone at night. I didn’t like being alone during the day. The more I was alone, the more I thought. The more I thought, the more depressed I became. The more depressed I became, the more panicked I got, and the deeper I went down the rabbit hole.

  I continued to sell real estate with Paula, and while that had been great, I just felt that I was so out of control of my future. I was not in control of how much money I made. I was not in control of when I worked. If she decided we were stopping somewhere during the day, we were stopping somewhere during the day, which was most days during work. What day was a workday? Every day. I couldn’t plan, I couldn’t schedule. When I asked questions about how the company worked, how I’d like to make more, and how the commissions didn’t make sense, her response was that I needed to work more, maybe get a desk job. Most people wouldn’t have put up with it for so long, but at the time I didn’t have a lot of options. My brain wasn’t working right. I wasn’t working
right.

  I just needed the time, energy, and effort to grow my own business. I needed to do it. I had to do it. I didn’t know any other way. I knew that the people I met through my ex were some of the best, and some were the worst. It wasn’t all bad. He showed me the world. He showed me how to believe in myself (and, yes, eventually doubt myself). I had a glimmer of hope for how I could make life what I wanted. I didn’t have any other options. I saw no other way, and there wasn’t anything else I wanted to do with my life. It made sense to me now that my purpose might be to help other people avoid the situation I was in now. How did I get from point A to point B? Did I need to take the time for meditation, contemplation, and reflection? Sure, I probably did. I also knew that I had bills that needed to be paid, and a lease that was up in two-and-a-half months, so I kind of didn’t have the time and luxury of that.

  Lord, Universe, Dolly Parton? If you are there, please watch over me. I need you now more than ever.

  Chapter 15:

  How to Convince Your Parents You Are Suicidal and Date Your Ex’s Friends

  First off, let’s get one thing straight. I really wouldn’t date my ex’s friends. I don’t think. However, once I had a business meeting with H and his friend who I know pretty well, who brought along a friend named Manny. Now, Manny was not only a strikingly handsome man, but he also was sharply dressed, intelligent, and into nutrition. I was very into nutrition as well, though you wouldn’t be able to tell from my current state at the time. And by that, I mean I hadn’t been caring for myself the way I should. On to that later.