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Health & Fitness

LET'S SPEND THE NIGHT TOGETHER: Sex and the City of Angels

A newly single woman is back on the market in Los Angeles.

     As much as I'd love to fancy myself the new Carrie Bradshaw of California, innundated by a series of Mr. Bigs and Aidans, my post divorce dating life reads more like that of a modern day Lucy Ricardo. Newly single, I was excited by the prospect of feeling those buterflies again, having a reason to get my hair done, savoring the pre-date primping and the post-date instant replays.  I started making eye contact with men at Starbucks, told my friends to fix me up, and eagerly awaited the arrival of my knight in shining armor.

Well, let me tell you, much has changed since 1993, the last time I was on an actual date. That pre-date primping? Way more involved now than a little Max Factor and a set of hot rollers.  I'm not sure if it's Los Angeles, my "advancing" age, the media, or the wonders of modern technology, but the transformation from Mommy to vixen involves spending a small fortune and hours of prep work. Thank you, porn stars, for introducing the Brazilian bikini wax to red-blooded American men. Whoever came up with this mortifying procedure would have made an awesome concentration camp matron. If physical intimacy counts for anything, my awesome waxer Anna and I should be engaged at this point.

The mani-pedis, blowouts, haircuts, highlights, lowlights, eyebrow shapings, workouts, lotions, perfumes, facials and eyeliners are all part of the package.  Truly, all of these things were important to me while I was married, but now they are essential.  But some things still haven't changed for me. I blast Bruce Springsteen and Stevie Wonder while I'm blowdrying my hair, and sip a glass of ice cold champagne while I'm putting on my makeup. It's part of the ritual, and I realize how much I've missed that.

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My first date of the new millenium was with Bobby, a ridiculously good looking man who I met, believe it or not, in the carpool line at my daughter's school. And he wasn't even a dad, just a family friend doing a favor. When he got out of his car to talk to me, I couldn't help but notice his crazy amazing body and boyish looks. The Yankees hat and jacket looked anything but ridiculous on him, especially when I found out that he had PLAYED FOR THE YANKEES. When he asked for my number, I couldn't believe my beginner's luck. A professional baseball player....younger...unmarried and way into me. I really was Carrie Bradshaw. And I really didn't understand why everyone complained about how hard it was to meet decent men in this town. I hadn't even gotten a blowout, and here I was, getting picked up by a Yankee at carpool. I was going to have to give Demi a call.

Next Post: Bobby and the "M" word.  Stay tuned.  :  )

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