Tag Archives: alone

Pissed: Parking and Dining Alone

Wall Street

Wall Street

My Ex-Husband had pissed me off again, with a modified Nanny text that illustrated the fact that the  inconvenient visitation schedule is my obligation to uphold and his option to ignore.

I’m sick of it.

To the inevitable comment that “at least he seems them, ” I refer to   Misplaced Praise of a Father is Not Good Manners.

The whole thing sucks.  No other word for it.  Well, there are other words but that’s the one I’m going to use.

I was pissed.  Actually,  I don’t even want to talk about it.  There are so many things wrong right now and I have so very few acceptable or advisable or helpful responses or resources.  I’m exhausted and overwhelmed.  Five kids ain’t no joke.    Yes, sometimes things get to me, despite my blessings.   I’m human, and often treated like much less.

Holly Hunter plays a divorcee in Living Out Loud.  Excellent film.

Holly Hunter plays a divorcee in Living Out Loud. Excellent film.

To cool down I went for a drive.  Well, I drove and parked.   First I parked at the kids’ school, then the grocery store parking lot, then the bank lot, then on the street outside of a pizza joint.  When I remembered that I hadn’t eaten in almost twelve hours I figured food would help my mood.  Since I was alone I figured I could treat myself to  dinner at a diner.   The diner would be open for another hour and a half or so and there were some people still there so I went on in.

I took a booth for comfort.  No reason to perch on a stool when there were so many empty tables available.   I was thankful no one I knew was there.  I was not feeling like small talk.   Overhearing one waitress complaining that she was so tired and that her shift was just too long and another waitress  complaining that she’d only made $9 the whole day, I made a mental note to leave a decent tip.

I enjoyed the quiet, the children can be, let’s say, over-stimulating.  (That sounds so much better than saying my offspring can be a pain in the ass, don’t you think?  Don’t worry, I’ve withdrawn my application for Mother-Of-The-Year.)

I ordered and resumed my texting and tweeting.

When I looked up all the other patrons had gone.   I was the only one left.    Basically, the restaurant was staying open just for me.

I took dining alone to a whole new level.

Typical.

Just typical.

I ate quickly and gave a fifty percent tip on a cheap meal.  I was calmer by the time I got home.

Just  me with . . . NO ONE!!!!!!  I mean it.  Nobody at all.   Whatever.

See also I AM Here!  I Am Here!  I Am Here!  Said the Nanny

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I Went To A Dinner Party Alone

Carrie, without a date at a wedding in Sex and The City

Carrie, without a date at a wedding in Sex and The City

If you’ve read my previous post, “You Don’t Have To Bring a Date, Come Alone.  Come Alone.  COME ALONE!”   you know that I was alternatively stressed, concerned, pissed and kinda bummed by the repeated suggestion that I come alone to a dinner party.   Here is the update.

Yes, I went alone.   Yes,  and as I predicted, it was fine.

Let me set the scene.   It was at a private  home, more like an estate.  The night was beautiful so everything was set  outside –cocktails and  hors d’oeuvres for an hour, then a buffet dinner at tables around the pool.  It was a catered affair with gorgeous centerpieces and decorations all in pink and white, to celebrate Cheryl’s being cancer free.  Guests were also encouraged to wear pink,  and on behalf of those who did, Cheryl would donate money to Cancer research.  Everyone had on some sort of pink.    It was a really classy affair, with around fifty guests.

Okay enough with the back drop, this is how it played out.

  • I walked in alone.
  • I was greeted by Cheryl who immediately introduced me to, let’s call her, Regina, who was the ONLY OTHER SINGLE PERSON THERE!
  • Cheryl informed  the group I was standing with that Regina and I were seated at the same table –because we were THE ONLY SINGLES THERE!

Awkward? Yes.  Appreciated?  Yes.   It made sense, actually.

  • After Cheryl made the announcement that Regina and I would be dining partners, Regina joked, “But we’re not a couple!”

Of course I took that opening to add, “Well, the night’s young.”   Ha ha ha, the Tears of a Clown.

  • Then, someone noticed, not me, that one of the ladies standing in my group HAD ON EXACTLY THE SAME BLOUSE I DID!  The same pink,  jeweled halter top.

I swear, that has never happened to me before.    We laughed it off.  She said she’d picked hers up in the islands, Martinque, I think, while on vacation.

Where did you get yours?”  she asked.

And me, being painfully truthful, admitted, “At a consignment shop.”

At a consignment shop.

Let’s review, shall we?  She got hers while on an exotic island vacation.  I got mine at a thrift shop.

There are two things wrong with this:

One:  I admitted I was wearing a used shirt.

Two:  I thought the beauty of buying at a consignment shop was that you were less likely to get something that someone else has!  I mean, seriously?   It was the only top like that in the store, of course.  Indeed it was the only top like that I’ve ever seen.   Oh snap, I guess it’s because I don’t vacation in the islands, or vacation at all.  Crap.

Wait, there’s a third thing wrong with this — WE WERE WEARING THE SAME SHIRT!

Eventually I made my way away from this group and my shirt twin to some familiar faces.  As Cheryl promised there were a couple of couples I knew because they had kids the same age of mine and who are in the same activities.    One was the same couple who, at the graduation party, had walked away from me.  But this time they  were very talkative and friendly.   The husband reminds me (and my kids) of McDreamy on Grey’s Anatomy.

McDreamy from Grey's Anatomy

McDreamy from Grey’s Anatomy

And we did the suburban parent thing and talked about our kids, college applications, etc.    The other couple introduced themselves to me as if we’d just met, which was weird, since I’ve been running into and exchanging pleasantries with this couple since our senior kids were in the fourth grade.

  • In discussing their children’s college application process, the couples shared that their children blamed them for having not gone through any hardship about which they could write about on their essays,  “Oh yes, she’s mad because we’re successful and not divorced and she has had what she needs.  Can you believe that?  Yes, we’re sorry we’ve given you a good life.”    I couldn’t even summon up the Tears of a Clown to respond to this particular topic, as I stood between the two couples.   Though I did discover that one of the women had not gotten into the college I went to.  Score one for me.  Empty victory, because she was being nice, damn it.
  • Cheryl had hired a professional photographer  and also took pictures herself.   The couples were asked to pose together.   I was asked to pose by myself.   Regina was also asked to pose by herself.   Yup.
Carrie, being photographed without  a "Plus One" in Sex In The City

Carrie, being photographed without a “Plus One” in Sex In The City

When the party moved to the assigned poolside tables,   I sat between the McDreamys and the only other single person at the event, Regina.   I discovered that Regina was divorced with children and in the midst of downsizing so we talked about the whole downsizing, moving, process, etc.   and I chatted with her and the other couples about our kids, etc.     I think the people (and by people, I mean couples) on the other side of the table may have been interesting, but the centerpiece was too big to talk over.   They must have been listening to our conversation, however,  because in the buffet line a woman asked if I was a professional organizer because I seem to know so much about it.    Ha!

No, I’m not a pro.   But yeah, I do.  I know a lot about it.  I know a hell of a lot about moving and downsizing . . .  but I digress . . .  

My hero, Matt Paxton from Hoarders

My hero, Matt Paxton from Hoarders

And that was that, except that at some point someone said,  I think it was Regina, “I heard someone else here has on the same top, is that true?”  And I, of course, helpfully, pointed her out.  My shirt twin was at the next table, as it turns out.  I added  that, “Well, I had wondered if I’d be dressed appropriately.  Clearly,” gesturing to my shirt twin, “I am.”   Ha ha ha, Tears of a Clown.

The party wound down,  I left when everyone else did.   It was nice, fine, a lovely affair.  It was the kind of party I used to like to look at from a distance, “Oh look, rich people are having a party!”  And then I’d drive or walk by to try to catch a glimpse.   It was good to be more than a fly on the wall, or a nosy neighbor, or a creepy stalker.

But, as to the whole “Come Alone!”  thing — no, Cheryl did not have an ulterior motive and play matchmaker for me, unless, of course, you count Regina.      And yes, I was fine without a date.    As far as I could tell, and based on Cheryl’s comments, all the other couples were married.   It was not a casual date kind of party.    It still would have been okay to have brought a date, but it was okay without.

This does not mean, however, that I will forever go to these things alone.   Nope.

Just Me With . . . a shirt twin, a lady dinner date, and a new career as a professional organizer. 

P.S.  Cheryl actually did a great thing by having assigned tables, especially when there are only a couple of singles and  some guests who don’t know many other people.  I didn’t have to walk up to a table of couples and ask if I could join them or wait by myself for coupled up strangers to sit with me.  And at least I wasn’t seated with my shirt twin.

From "You Again"

Sigourney Weaver and Jamie Lee Curtis from “You Again”

You Don’t Have To Bring A Date, Come Alone! Come Alone! COME ALONE!

A Dinner Party Invitation

A Dinner Party Invitation

I’ve been invited to a dinner party. A fancy sit down dinner party with a cocktail hour preceding it.  It’s a happy occasion, celebrating the wife’s successful battle against cancer. I still remember her tearful message on my voice-mail, canceling her son’s lesson because she had found out she had cancer, “I  just want to see my boys grow up,” she’d said.

But after multiple surgeries, radiation and chemotherapy treatments,  she’s been cancer-free for ten years, hence the party. I’m not usually invited anywhere, let alone a society-like dinner party. And even though I often avoid social settings, I decided that  I would go.

The pink  invitation was addressed to me,  “and Guest.

Huh.

I immediately started to think of who I might bring, though no good choices came to mind. It was a bit of a stressor, still, I fantasized about what it would be like to bring a smart, well-spoken man who knows his way around a dining room table.  My old college friend (with seldom used benefits)?  No, too complicated.   As I was pondering my situation, I eventually checked my voice-mail.  Cheryl had called to make sure I’d gotten the invitation.  She was afraid I’d gone away on vacation and would miss it.   She added that  she didn’t know whether I was seeing someone or had someone I take to events like this but she wanted me to know that she’d be happy to see me come alone.   She said I should feel totally comfortable coming alone and that would be just  great.  They’d just be thrilled to see me, and I could come alone.

That was nice.

She wanted to make me feel comfortable about COMING ALOOOOONE.

Remember Steve Martin in the classic "The Lonely Guy" ?

Remember Steve Martin in the classic “The Lonely Guy” ?

I delayed in responding.  I’d recently attended her son’s graduation party alone and though it was nice, I was a bit uncomfortable and felt very conspicuous.   See I Almost Crossed One Off of My Bucket List of Men to Do.

As I continued pondering, a possible potential date came to mind — a man I’d met through group therapy. He’d recently quit group so it was completely appropriate (if freaking weird) to see him outside of the therapeutic context.   I was going over in my mind how I’d introduce him.   “We used to work together,” sounded plausible.   (Yes, we worked out our tortured psyches, but no one need know that part.)   It would be weird, maybe too weird,  since he knows much more about me than a casual friendly date would need to know.   But he’s a smart guy who, I have no doubt, would be able to talk to the people at this dinner.   I tweeted a random query about it to my friends who live in my phone about whether that would just be too weird.  I received a response that  I should just go alone because being single is awesome.

There it was again, “Go alone.

Suddenly I felt that it was some sign of weakness that I even considered bringing a companion.

In the end,  I left a message for Cheryl saying that yes, I would love to attend, but that, “As it looks now, I’ll be coming alone.”   I guess I just wanted to leave the door open, even just in my mind.

Shortly after, I happened to be outside when Cheryl drove by my house (in her very nice Jaguar convertible).  She stopped and exclaimed how thrilled she and her husband were that I would be coming.  Then she elaborated.  She said she thinks it’s  just great for me to come alone, that she was single for a long time and she became so tired of bringing someone she’d have to entertain.   She started going places alone, she explained.  “I can’t tell you how many weddings I went to alone.  I’m just like you.  It’s better not to bring just anybody.  If it was somebody special, sure, but there’s no need to have to entertain somebody else.  Plus, there will be plenty of people you know. Some of the folks from the graduation and The Martin’s and . . .”  She proceeded to name  couples.

The one couple I did, in fact, know, but  I’ve ever had any meaningful conversations with them.  At the graduation party they extended a warm hello and then walked around the pool hand in hand.  I can’t fault them for that, I  mean, it’s not their job to entertain me.

Then Cheryl said —  again,  “I’m just thrilled you’re coming and I think it’s great that you’re coming alone.

Crap.

I know she meant well.  I do not fault her at all.   But it had an effect on me.  I abandoned any thought of bringing an escort.

But why wasn’t I encouraged to bring a date?   This is a dinner party!   It’s not a wedding, Baptism or Bar/Bat-Mitvah.  For family religious ceremonies it doesn’t really make sense to bring a rent-a-date. Those occasions are sacred and there will be pictures that the family will look at forever — and I don’t want them looking at a picture of my random date and think — “Who the hell was that?”

But a dinner party?    Why not bring a companion, even if he’s not someone special?

I know why.  It’s the new black.  It’s the new black for women to go alone.

Well,  it’s not so new for me.   I’ve done it for years, both before and after my divorce.  See, ” The Night I Became Cinderella” and “The New Walk of Shame for the Single Woman, Going Out Alone.”  My ex-husband hated going anywhere. I could get him to go to my work formal once a year and that was about it for those kind of events.    Other times I went solo and told people my husband had to work.  After we had children, I would just say my husband was home with the kids.    So for me,  I’ve done the new black.  For me,  it would be the new free to go somewhere with a man.

I’m sure it’ll be fine.  I’ll talk to people.  I’ll be my own designated driver and won’t drink.  See,  “My Kids Think I’m an Alcoholic.”   I’ll be prepared to be seated with all couples.   But truthfully, sometimes that’s just not festive.   See, “I Went To A Wedding Alone.”  Yes, as Cheryl pointed out, I would have had  to entertain a date, but he’d also have to entertain me.   If the couples are uncomfortable or just not gregarious I’d know I’d have someone to sit with.   Let’s face it, this isn’t a get together with old college chums or a girls night out.   It’s a sit down dinner party in the wealthy suburbs, and all that that implies.

Correct me if I’m wrong, but being single  means I can have a date if I want, right?  Isn’t that the bonus of being single?  Choices?  Options? — Even if the options put me outside of my comfort zone?  But according to Cheryl, my only logical and fiercely independent option seems to be to go, bravely, alone, yet again.

Damn it.   I’ve been out of the game for so long now I’m not even allowed to have a partner — for anything!

Humph.

In the end, even  though the invitation originally said I could bring a date, the multiple congratulatory comments persuaded me to RSVP for one.   ( I chickened out.)

I needed Cheryl to say, or for me to say to myself,  “You can go alone, but it’s fine if you want to bring a date, or companion, or whoever.”    Oh the sweet freedom — to bring  a male friend, or gay male friend, or hell,  a paid male friend (not that I could afford that — heh heh heh).

But because of the new black, it has been made abundantly clear to me (in my warped mind) that I should  go alone.  So I will.

Humph.

Screw the new black.   Next time I want someone to walk in and out with,  and know who I’ll be sitting with ahead of time.  Yeah, yeah, I can go alone, but I don’t have to, damn it.

Oh well. Maybe I’ll get lucky.  Or maybe Cheryl is planning to fix me up with one of the older men of means who is similarly unattached.

Just Me With . . . no date, boldly going where no man has gone before . . .  or with . . .  at least, not as my date, anyway. 

Star Trek

Star Trek

The New Walk of Shame For The Single Woman — Going Out Alone

On Twitter I dubbed it “The New Walk of Shame for The Single Woman — Going Out Alone,”   though  there’s nothing really shameful about it.  It’s just not something that I want to be so  . . . obvious, or frequent for that matter.  But of course it is what it is.

Still,  as I walked out of my house in the ‘burbs, wearing  a little black top,  jeans and heels on a Saturday evening right before nightfall, I felt the little ick.  Perhaps under cover of darkness I would have felt differently.   After all, I was just going out.  I wasn’t turning tricks or anything.  (Ironically, even prostitutes are usually getting into a car with someone.  Not me.  Solo all the way.)  Still, I felt weird, exposed.

In the first place, I hadn’t felt like going out at all.   I was exhausted and frankly, tired of going places alone, tired of driving.   I  also hadn’t been sleeping well and had forgotten to eat — again.  See, Confessions of a Skinny Mom.  Additionally, I tend to be “melancholy”  (sounds so much better than clinically depressed) and it’s hard for me  to get out —  yet that is exactly  what I must do, or so I’m told.    Plus, I really hate driving  and this was going to be about a thirty minute ride.   On the other hand, had I stayed home, well, there may have been tears or  chores or nothing special, followed by  guilt and anger for the tears, chores or nothing special.  See Weekends Off.  I would have beaten myself up  for not going out on the one of two nights a month when the kids are gone and when this time,  coincidentally– luckily,  there was actually someplace where I could go — alone.  Oh yeah,  there was a whole carnival fun house of competing emotions going on my head.  So I forced myself to go out.  This again is where it is helpful to have people with you. When required to meet someone or when a friend is picking you up, you can’t bail.   That little voice that says “just stay home”  is naturally squelched.   But when going out alone, well, a woman can change her mind at the last minute.  A woman’s prerogative.  No one would be disappointed, no one would be left waiting, no one would be the wiser.  I confess that I have driven myself places, or attempted to drive myself places and gotten lost, not found parking, etc. and ended up turning around and going home without ever having left  the car.  This has happened, more than once.

Carrie, minus a “Plus One”

On this particular night I got the ick walking to my car.  It probably hadn’t helped that I’d just watched the Season Five Sex And The City Episode where Carrie does not have a “Plus One” for her big book release party and admits to loneliness,  Charlotte admits to not liking the sound of  talking about her divorce and Miranda avoids telling a man she’s become a mother.  All three of those hit home for me.

So as I walked to my car to go out, my feeling was somewhat reminiscent of the traditional  “Walk of Shame” home that a woman makes  in broad daylight, wearing the same clothes from the night before.  That look screams: “You had somebody last night, you were doing something all night, but  now you’re on your own, and everybody knows it.”

Marshall, Ted, and Barney enjoying the day of Halloween traditional "Walk of Shame" in How I Met Your Mother

Marshall, Ted, and Barney enjoying the day of Halloween traditional “Walk of Shame” in How I Met Your Mother

I felt  like the walk to my car in daylight and heels  screamed:  “Single woman,  all alone and trying to get some action.”   It’s my own paranoia, fueled by the fact that I’ve been known to “people watch,”  and I know that if I saw myself going out like that in daylight —  alone on a Saturday evening— I’d say,

I wonder where she’s going?

I just wanted to get in my car as quickly as possible.

I realize that the fact that I play music gives me a huge advantage for going out alone.   Music provides me with  night-time activities,  like jam sessions, or going out to listen to  other musicians I know play, where I can have a really good excuse for being alone, even in bars. This particular event was a jam session/fundraiser for a music studio run by a guy I’d gone to school with many years ago.   I’m on his mailing list and get impersonal invitations all the time.   I’d never gone before.  I’d never really seriously considered going.   But this was going to be the night that I would actually go, damn it.   I felt obligated —  not to him — but to me.   It was a timing thing.   It was a night I could go, and a place to go.

The studio was at a  location I’d never been to, in the part of the city where I’ve gotten lost more than once.  But it is a new world now.  I wasn’t really traveling alone, not anymore — now I had my new best friend Miss GPS, who right now is a  very polite British woman.  Let’s call her Emma.  Emma  tells me when to turn and when to “take the Motorway.”  I programmed Emma and she guided my journey.  Once I “reached my destination” and parked, I checked in with my Twitter friends, who were giving me the thumbs up for going out alone.

Okay.  Lipstick on, glasses off.   Valuables (meaning Emma) hidden, car locked.  I retrieved the entry code for the security door from my email invitation and was ready to go.  Following the prompts, I entered the code on the door.   Unfortunately,  the call went directly  to voicemail, which was full!  Crap.   No one was answering to buzz me in.  I tried again, repeatedly.  This is when having someone with me might have been  helpful.  You know, someone to complain to, bounce ideas off of . . .  someone to make me not look so stupid.  I mean, picture it, a woman alone, dressed for  going out,  in an iffy neighborhood, standing in front of  a building and —–  no one is buzzing her in!

Tragic, I tell you. Tragic.

I went back to the safety of my car.   Safe, that is, from the public humiliation of being  rejected by a security entry door.  I was about to tweet about my epic  failure of the night and go home, when, out of the corner of my eye I saw that someone had opened the door.  It was my Knight in Shining Armor (or, more accurately, some guy in a Lucky Brand Jeans Tee-Shirt)!   Yay!  Someone had been sent  down to let me in!  My calls were not unanswered!  I was not going to be left alone in my car to do the drive of shame back home.  I was going in!

The Lucky Brand guy whom I’d never met showed me upstairs in the not completely renovated warehouse type building, walking me down  long narrow hallways of exposed brick.  We took the freight elevator up.  I wondered for a moment whether I should have told someone where I was going so that if I were to say — go missing —   my loved ones  would have a general location  to give to the police for questioning.   But no worries, I safely entered the studio, full of people who were not scary.   I panicked for a split second when I didn’t see the only guy I  expected to know.   But he was there, and when he saw me, he gave me a hug and said,

“What a nice surprise.”

First part of  my mission had been accomplished.   I had arrived, alone,  albeit slightly overdressed.   But I was there.  Doing the visual room check it appeared that most people came with someone, of course.   Some were couples, some were related, some were friends.  While the people were open with introductions,  they mostly  talked to each other. I immediately joined the jam, avoiding the standing alone awkwardness.   When I wasn’t playing I parked myself in an area to watch and listen (and where, by design, I didn’t have to talk).  One other good (or bad) thing about music events is that a person can be there  and never really have a conversation at all and, more importantly,  the lack of  conversation is not so obvious.    This makes my attendance “minus a Plus One”  a little less alone, and it  comes as quite a relief to my road dog, Ms.  Social Anxiety, who is often with me, even if no one else can see her . . . bwa ha ha ha.

In the end, though, I  got out of the house, out of my neighborhood, and stepped out of the box (a different type of music, even played a different instrument for a little while).   Plus, I do love music.  And it is absolutely true that music brings people together without any talking at all —  it breaks down both language and more importantly for me,  social barriers,  and really,  how cool is that?

My English Electronic Friend Emma and I returned home safely —  under cover of darkness.

Just Me With . . . no shame after a night out, alone.

And I got hit on . . . Where Did I Put My Fake Boyfriend?