A funny thing happens when you listen.

Living in a small town full of people reading your journal tends to illuminate any secrets that people would otherwise have no trouble keeping. This blog is quite the invitation to share details, and my inbox is full of scandal.

Sidenote: I only share my own. If you wanna start airing dirty laundry, start writing. I have enough lessons to learn without shining a light on someone else’s shortcomings.

The same holds true for stalking the man I want.

I don’t.

Once I realize he’s shopping in different departments, I put his ass on clearance and move him out of my way. No Facebook. No Instagram. Hell, I even delete them off my Pinterest if applicable. Sure, I can’t see the Tilapia that took my place, but his ass doesn’t get to reminisce over mine OR see the Anaconda warming his side of the bed.

I don’t fuck around when I feel unwanted. It is the shortest road to hostility and silence with me.

New car? Don’t care. New job? So what. Date with that new girlfriend? Yeah I’m not even going to know.

Wellllll…. that’s not necessarily true.

My inbox is going to catch fire almost as fast as his pants should, were there any real justice in the world.

Miss ******: Hey. Just wanted you to know a few things. #Details

Mr. ****: He’s boning *****. Call me. 208-597-****

and on, and on, and on. I don’t have to lift a finger to get the backstory, and you KNOW you’re getting the inside scoop when his dudes start to tattle.

Dudes will unapologetically swoop in on their friends’ territory and worry about the fallout later. I could publish a list. 🙂 Y’all are shameless.

The real joy comes from being unaffected and disinterested. While I appreciate knowing what I knew in my aching heart, I really don’t want details and I really would rather keep forgetting him than having salt poured into freshly healing wounds.

But thank you… for the clarification and list of names.

I feel particularly armed this morning.

Good Morning, Gorgeous.


This is new.

I’ve been single for a loooooooong time (approximately 5 years) and way back then, nobody sent good morning text messages.

Now it’s a thing… and it starts early.












It’s already too much work, if I’m going to be honest. I haven’t had a date with James yet and Ike is solid gold eye candy and not much else. Pretty boys are fun to look at, but that’s usually as far as it goes. He’s 6’4″ and probably 300 lbs. CUTE as hell, but equally as wholesome. We had lunch last weekend and he licked his lips when I met him. Don’t get me wrong… I’m a full fledged heathen in the right circumstances, but first impressions are everything and I quit dating fuckboys in my thirties.

Don’t date a real woman until you’re a grown man. We know instantly. Men are like ice cream, after a while, you recognize a few flavors.

  • That one tastes like hurt feelings. He’s instantly sexual with you, asks you to come to him AND will only make you feel bad about yourself in the long run. He’ll benefit from this, not you. I swear to God if I ever taste this one again, I’m joining a convent. Sorry Ike. 
  • This one tastes like I’m going to have to change my phone number and hang up some NO TRESPASSING signs. James, pump your breaks dude. I’ve had to silence him on my phone after he wished me a good morning at 5:30 on Saturday morning. Those are emergency ONLY hours, right? He sent me 37 text messages yesterday. I sent him 4. I was home by 5 but told him I was working late so that he’d stop blowing up my phone. His last text was at 11 at night, asking how my day was. Gah.
  • Mmmm… that one tastes like East Coast disinterest. I sure don’t mind being called “Doll” and his minimal text messages are enough to get me to agree to a date. Scott’s educated, and successfully self-employed with a bunch of cool toys. He wears a tie every day, which still does it for me. He’s also a narcissistic asshole, which sadly… also does it for me. I’m going to spare myself the eventual headache and not date Scott.












  • Eeek…… This one tastes like a criminal. Trayvonne is lovely to look at, but can’t leave the state. Hard pass, pretty boy. I already learned that lesson. Nobody is so attractive that you should join them in their legal mire. Good relationships begin with healthy, available people. No habla ankle monitor. 

Dating is rough, and absolutely no fun at all when your heart isn’t in it. I’m past comparing my dates to the man I wish were sitting across from me, but there’s a certain sadness that’s sunk in as a result.

I hate to ghost them all, but that’s looking like what’s going to happen. Sorry, not sorry. There are different rules for Tinder boys and I’m more annoyed by their presence than pacified by it.

I don’t want a babysitter, I want Incredicock. I don’t want a good morning text message, I want a man across the dinner table from me and in my sheets, otherwise what’s the point? I’m over it.

No more swiping left or right. No more texting. Either he’s sitting at the table or he’s not. My patience for these virtual boyfriends has run out.

Because I have a favorite flavor. I want the one that tastes sweet, makes me laugh and leaves me wanting more. The one who’s physically, mentally and emotionally available.

…and won’t text me at 5 in the damn morning on Saturday.