Seven sexless months into my separation from Sam I found that the saying “necessity is the mother of invention” is more than a meaningless cliché. 

I’m at my friend Heidi’s and my daughter Lila is shadowing Heidi’s son, George. Lila adores George, who is 3. So George and Lila jump off chairs and laugh, George in his blond hair, Superman boxers, Buzz Light Year shades and nothing else.

Heidi and I are at the table, steam rising from our teacups. Heidi makes a mean cup of green tea. And she used to sell sex toys.

She was a rep with one of those companies that hosts in-house parties, like Tupperware, but with vibrators and nipple nibbler cream, instead of airtight leftover containers.

Somewhere in her house is this box of lonely, untouched sex toys, and I’m a separated single mom and I haven’t sex in seven months. I lean forward. I need that box.

I’ve been asking for months. Where is that box, girl? And, she’s stumped. She knows she put it somewhere... back of a closet, behind her husband’s guitars... but where?

Didn’t she see those capital letters forming over my head when I spoke: WHERE? (By “where” I was saying “urgent.”)

It was almost time to get Roxie on her way, but I was not leaving empty handed.

“You need to find the box,” I say, and now I say “the box” and we both know what I’m talking about. “I’m going to rip your house apart, girl. Seven Months. It’s been seven months,” I say. “Seriously, I’m going to rip the walls out to find that box.”

She says, “Oh my god, I forgot to tell you. I found it!.”

A pause.

“Oh my god. Seven months. I’m so sorry. That’s so long.”

In the back corner of the closet is a pretty pink case with white polka-dots, filled with black satin bags that are stuffed with vibrators.

The date went well. Very well, in fact. He seems to be a nice, honest, sincere, smart, and fun guy. Note that I said, "seems to be," because up until now, I wasn't really sure that such an animal existed. I guess I'm still not too sure.

I will say that if I had met him before the “Levi Fiasco” I would have jumped right into this. I would have gone along with the giddy feeling. I would be gushing to all of my friends.

After Levi, I am much more guarded. Now, I can't really feel around all of the walls that I've put up. It's going to be hard, I think, to trust someone again.

I remember falling in love with Levi, and how much fun it was. How euphoric it all felt. How ready I was for it.

I think about it now, I talk to my friends about it now, and I know I'm not ready to do that again. What is "falling in love," anyway? I guess it’s the "falling" part that scares me. Generally speaking, falls are not good. Generally speaking, one hurts oneself in a fall. I know that I couldn't once again deal with the devastation that comes when you lose someone you love. As a result, I worry that I'll never feel the absolute euphoria of giddy, happy, love again.

So for now, I'm just going to take it easy: remain cautious but also try (and try, and try) to relax and enjoy myself. I'll let you know how it goes.

It's 2 am. He's still not home. Why am I still here? Why am I still so pissed? Why am I even contemplating leaving one more message on his turned-off cell phone? So that I can record my fury, my angst, onto that little microchip in cell phone cyberspace for posterity? Lord knows he'll never listen to it. He'll hit '7' to erase it the second he hears, “OK, now, where are...”

Twelve years of marriage and it's come to this. He's not home because he'd rather be somewhere else. With someone else. He denies it but my 'wife radar' is in good working order. I'm sick of picturing who she might be. That's not even the point anymore. It's ABW: Anyone But the Wife. If I tell my girlfriends, they'll all just tell me to leave him, to throw him out. My therapist will again urge couples counseling. Tried that at Year Eight. Lasted the requisite six sessions, with promises to “renew," “refresh,” “re-purpose.” You know the drill.

Make more traditions. Make more efforts. Make more love. Thanks, Ladies Home Journal. Thanks Kathie Lee and Dr. Ruth and Shania Twain. I see it's worked out so well for you.

I could just lie here in the dark. I could start trawling the Internet for a lawyer. I could call that guy from the econ summit, that guy from that party three months ago: “If you're ever free on Thursday nights...”

Or I could go downstairs. Get a jump start making the kids' lunches for school in five hours. Or get the hockey gear loaded in the Tahoe now. Save me a few steps in the morning school hustle. Instead, I swallow an Ambien and knock myself out, just as I hear the car in the driveway. Tomorrow with the lunches and hockey skates. Tomorrow with the confrontation, or the ignoring – I’ll figure it out then, when I sit on the train in my suit from Loehman's. Maybe I'll start shopping at Saks again, like I did before the two kids.

I appreciate all of those who seem to be committed in their efforts to finding me a man, but could you help me find a job first?

I am saying this because — well, let’s face it — I feel as if I’ve been pushed to.

More times than not, I have had people ask me in some form or another when I planned to start dating. Now that I am finished with school for the time being, many people see this as a time for me when I should to get back in the saddle, find a man, and ride him off into the sunset. But I would rather prefer to have a steady job rather than a steady beau.

But I am left to wonder, why do so many people place such a premium on being in a relationship – even at the expense of self-fulfillment?

It just seems irrational — and irresponsible — to try to land a boyfriend before landing a job. Would you splurge on a luxury vacation before paying your rent? I think not. So why waste time looking for a mate rather than look for a job?

Human beings are social animals. I know this — I’m a sociologist. I also know that there are basic human needs that we all have that need to be met, should we want to feel complete. Referring back to Abraham Maslow’s pyramid schematic, says that one would see that safety and financial security actually come before relationships and sexual intimacy. What I want to know is; why then do friends and acquaintances worry more about my romantic life than my professional life?  And when did the flip occur? Why is it that so many people seem to place the need of being fulfilled by others over self-fulfillment? Does it seem less embarrassing (or more interesting?) to say “Have you finally met a guy?” than “Did you finally find work?”

I have a date this weekend — a real date, with a seemingly normal person who is also my age. And it wasn’t just, “So what are you doing tonight?” He asked me out days in advance. I can't remember the last time I've been asked days in advance. I actually don't think I ever have! I am positively giddy.

I met him a few weeks ago, at a meeting. We were both standing outside the building and he just walked over and introduced himself. I was stunned that a rather attractive man was talking to me, so I fumbled and stumbled like an idiot for the entire conversation. I pretty much thought it was over right there. Then I ran into him again, the next day, at a picnic. This time, I only stumbled like an idiot for about an hour. The good thing is that we talked for four hours. The bad thing was that I left without getting his number, and without giving him mine. I felt like a dope. But I ran into him, again, at a Farmers Market. It was 8:30 in the morning. I had just fallen out of bed. I was lugging my son around. And I hadn't even had my coffee. I heard someone yelling my name from across the street. I turned around and there he was. We walked around the market together, had coffee, played with my son, and he even showed me where he lives. This time, I made sure to give him all of my numbers — home, cell, office — and my e-mail. Then I got to sit around and wait for him to call. It took a week, but he did.

The thing was, I was so insecure about it all. I really need to work on that. I know from my own experiences that insecurity is one quality, or rather flaw, that is totally unattractive.

So yes, I have a crush — haven't had one of those since high school! I'm so nervous and excited for our date on Saturday, I'll be sure to let you all know what happens.

Dating after divorce can be a wonderful new beginning, but everyone approaches it differently. Below is a list I came up with to describe various divorced gals dating styles I've observed over the years.

Ladies, you will find that you may fit in to more than one category. Some of you will even transition back and forth between categories at any given time. Let me know if I've missed any. Gentlemen, which of these gals have you dated?

Hopefully this will help you understand better who might be sitting across from you the next time, too.

Damaged Daters You don't trust anyone anymore with your heart. You've been burned. You are not so quick to jump back into another relationship, but you go anyway because you think you are supposed to at least try. Your cynical vibes smell defensive and stink up the room. Wear extra perfume.

I Don't Care Daters You are not interested. You're energy is focused elsewhere. You need time to to find out who you are. You go just because someone's very nice but you really don't care, but you don't let him know you don't care. He doesn't pick up you don't care so he calls you again and you go again..even though you don't care.

I Just Want To Sleep With You and Not Really Talk to You Daters Your hormones are swinging and you're going to try and act the way you think some men act, and just use someone for sex. You want this person to treat you like they care about you, even though you don't really care about them. You are loving the fact that you never expect a call, and call them when they least expect it. Woo Hoo!
Sneaky Daters -You don't really want anyone to know who you are dating or where you are going. You go out of your way to find "out of the way" meeting locations and rely heavily on GPS. You are shady with family and friends who suspect you are 'seeing someone" but have no idea who. This can go on for years.