Category Archives: Blogging

Life is so funny…

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I have more time off with my darling Little Red… which means we have FAR less money to spend on fun things.

Like food.

It’s the slow season at work and I know it may get worse, so I’ve been canning like a lunatic doomsayers… but oh well… my pantry kicks ass AND takes names. I look at it and feel like I could qualify for an episode of Hoarders, food storage division.

I look in my pantry and see this… which was 2 weeks and two batches of jalapeno jelly ago.

Not too shabby, if I do say so myself. I could feed an army, or at the very least; my little family.

I had a comment come buzzing into my phone last night, one from the dreaded Thomas’s little girl. I’m heartsick over her reading any and all of the details of my own nightmare with him, but also a little relieved that she’s clearly taken after her mother. I had a horrible father, and though my mother did her best to safeguard my “picker” I’ve chosen poorly more times than I can count. I hope that her unfortunate stumble upon the details will further her resolve to choose someone worthy of such a beautiful girl. My prayers have always included her, but I hope now she knows too that it’s only in defense of the unsuspecting victims that I crusade against him, tirelessly. I hear from a new broken heart on a daily basis at times, and it’s for that reason and that reason alone that I refuse to fall silent.

Phew… all that aside, my life continues to be a source of joy and a fountain of bliss-filled moments that surprise my jaded heart. My boyfriend impresses me on a daily basis, and because of his influence, our lives have only continued to be more and more joyful. I treasure him with my whole soul.

As a result of such a wonderful relationship blossoming, my garden was a treasure trove of veg this year. I’m going to torture all of you with pictures because it’s just too beautiful to keep to myself.

Behold… the fruits of our labor.

I’m not sure who I planted all of this for, yet again… but my freezer is full and my pantry is bulging. Two things that make a single mommy sleep a little easier at night.

Got corn? I sure do! I canned what I could for my darling girl (9 pints!) and gave the rest away. I don’t do the farmer’s market anymore, and it’s been so much more wonderful to share my harvest with my friends and family.

My fingerling potato harvest was truly overwhelming this year. Pound upon pound of rose finn apple, ruby crescent, etc… all safely tucked into my mama’s root cellar for the winter. These will be a pleasant treat in the middle of our snowy cold winter wonderland.

The real reason I grow an acre of vegetables is for the tomatoes, and my rainbow of tangy treasures are simply amazing this season. I’ve made so many batches of marinara and have so many more to can. My flats runneth over, literally.

Black Krim & Speckled Roman, my to favorite varieties. I have roughly 400 pounds left, which will be used for Christmas cases of marinara for my mama and Superman’s mama, who has become a dear friend of mine. Gifts of love come wrapped in mason jars when they come from me.

Tangy spicy sweet Aunt Ruby’s German Green salsa, the best I’ve ever made. This is precisely the reason I spend so many hours weeding, watering and weaving my least favorite bits of yarn into makeshift trellises in the garden. Each bite makes every second worthwhile.

Each pumpkin is like a trophy in my garden, as I’ve tried unsuccessfully to have a pumpkin patch for years. They’re in varying stages of ripening, and are so beautiful I hate to carve them… if it weren’t for my delicious pumpkin seeds that are consumed in minutes after they come crackling out of the oven.

As I wait for the latest batch of jars to come out of the canner, I knit myself into a blissful state of domestic joy. My someday sister-in-law just had the most beautiful baby girl, and I am delighted to have tiny treasures roll off my needles again. I am so happy it’s sickening, I know this. I saw a dear friend today, my sweet Miss Classy- and we planned an evening of homemade soup, good red wine and a night of fun movies and knitting for Halloween. If I never do Halloween at the bar again, I can die happy. The joy of an evening of girl time, my favorite hobbies and sharing the delights of a summer’s hard work in the garden; makes for a perfect holiday. Missing my son doesn’t get easier, but finding joy in the little moments full of my favorite things, makes the season as welcome as can be. When he does come home, and when things are better; I will be the person he can be proud of and recognize as the mama who raised him. I hope that’s sooner than later, but I’ve given up being angry about it. It is, what it is, and hopefully someday will be something more wonderful.

I found him a costume… which is hilarious and perfect and irresistible. My daughter begged me not to buy it, saying he was wonderful enough that he didn’t need the outfit. I bought it anyway. He tried it on, which was cry-until-you-pee-your-pants funny. He has to leave for work before Halloween so he wont get to wear it, but at least he knows that I believe in his superhero status to the point I thought he needed the outfit. He rebuilt my fence last week after the wind knocked it down and I asked him where his cape was… he answered by blowing me a kiss and telling me to get in out of the cold weather. I canned jam with his amazing mother while his brother helped him rebuild my fence… just one more moment made perfect by the most amazing man I’ve ever known. My boyfriend, my superhero.

My momma has this stone in her garden, which is full of a million beautiful flowers. I took a picture the other day when I read it for what must be the millionth time. I’ve reminded myself of who I am this year, and have struggled to become the woman I recognize when I look in the mirror. I’ve fostered my favorite habits and have washed my hands of the bad ones. I’ve been a better friend. I’m a better daughter. I’m proud to say I’m a better mother than the idiot who got on a plane to Puerto Rico and used to send cup-of-noodles with my daughter to school for lunch. Clinging to what makes me different, makes me better, happier and a helluva lot more fun to be around. My happiness makes the people around me, happier.

Happy Fall, my dear friends. I’ve written less and lived more and I appreciate the hilarious emails I’ve gotten begging me to get back to the keyboard. I appreciate the love and support and will probably get more writing done with less time spent in the garden, but I’m not interested in ranting anymore. I’m determined to bring sunshine into the days of the people I love, and pride into the people who love me.

Many blessings & happy fall!

And then there were 30…

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I haven’t been writing lately. I’ve harvested an acre of veggies and have been busy wearing the hell out of my glass slippers. I rarely check my email. I sleep in. I go to bed early. I suppose you could say I’m simply enjoying the seconds tick by as I swim peacefully in my newfound fairytale. It’s been six months since I met my Superman… yet each day is better than the last.

Those happily ever after rumors… are true. I don’t have nightmares anymore; it’s all one big dream about white veils and baby socks. I AM the luckiest woman, ever born.

I find myself wishing I could erase the past two years of my life. If I could find a way to highlight and delete them, I would.

Alas, I cannot- and I would be remiss to do so. I’ve written so honestly because I find that we’re all in the same boat… the difference between me and so many others, is that I admit it.

I admit I’ve failed and I admit I don’t have all the answers. While I’d love to put my judgemental panties on each morning and convince a bunch of strangers that I’m perfectly perfect and an award winning mother, instead I admit that my firstborn hates me and I have a laundry list of douchebags I never should have gotten within an inch of. All of whom you’ve seen me fall prey to.

Ok so in some instances, I’ve ran towards the fire while being totally and completely convinced that someone as nice as I am, could not possibly get burned, AGAIN.

A word to the wise? I’ve been burned every time. A kind soul and a trusting heart render you highly flammable.

I set the world on fire with a heart determined to believe in true love, armed only with a glamorous pair of rose colored glasses and more faith than any woman should be entrusted with.

For a very long time, I failed. For a VERY long time, I had taste bad enough to qualify me as a serious contender in the douche bag Olympics, willing sacrifice division.

Then I got my delusional ass on a plane to Puerto Rico and learned in the hardest way of all. First hand. It’s safe to say I was at rock bottom. It’s fair to say I was lost. It’s honest to admit I was a train wreck. Having been lied to, cheated on, stolen from and disrespected in every way imaginable, I bought the biggest line of crap I’d ever been offered.

Thomas Joseph Murray had followed my blog for years. He’d read of my heartache, my betrayal and my disappointment. He knew how crushed I was and he knew I was ripe for the picking. A ridiculously expensive ticket later, my hair curled and green eyes clouded with hope… I flew away to collect my glass slippers from my prince.

Only to find he was the original prince of darkness, himself.

Fortunately, I was spared a lifetime with a lying con-man, and came home a helluva lot wiser.

You’ve all read the details of my disastrous island adventure, and though I walked away with an interested publisher and a dozen calls from rabid agents… I came home with the most priceless souvenir of all. My self-respect, gift wrapped with red ribbon and humility. My faith was intact, because I truly believe in good men, and refused to watch it end up in a bitter box of thrift store donations scarred by memories of a trip gone wrong.

I threw my favorite shoes away. I tossed every pair of panties I was ever stupid enough to let him touch. I burned the love letters and dumped my perfume down the drain. I did what I could to wash myself clean of the nightmare that is Thomas.

Then the women started to roll in, after I bared my ass and shared my heartache with the world. The women with so much more lost than me. The woman who’d given him 15 years of her life and never knew he was married. The woman who’d sacrificed her chance with a real man and real babies… to sit around waiting for more strategically planned lies. Worst of all? The woman who took his name and slept beside their child while he slept beside me.

God bless the good saint Natalie- who bears a burden larger than the one anyone else has ever been saddled with.

I’m fairly convinced he regrets me most, which is nothing short of a hilarious point my closest friends laugh about with me.

Thomas, Thomas, Thomas…

When you fall in love with a woman’s angry words and you KNOW what a douchebag you are, it should come as no surprise that you will end up on the chopping block at some point. When you lie to a woman with a very public platform, you have to know you’re going to suffer the brunt of the same drama that attracted you to her in the first place.

Well…assuming you’re not evil, and it’s safe to say after now 30 women have come to me one way or another via Google.

Call me naïve, but I am still so surprised each time someone emails me with another heartbreaking tale of deceit at Thomas’ hands. We’re all so eloquent, so beautiful- and so full of hope. We all have so many stellar qualities in common.

Unfortunately, we all have one bad man in common as well.

A few weeks ago I was fighting a bout of insomnia on the couch and a story came on one of my favorite shows. “Who the bleep did I marry” showcased a blogger, named Andie Nash who had her very own Thomas. Simon Reid had lied and cheated her. He’d made an unwitting homewrecker of her as well. She wrote about her heartache and his deceit, and had the same experience I did. Women started to contact her, and ultimately they arranged a little “coming to Jesus” party for Simon, complete with news crews. Andie isn’t stupid, and as a beautiful successful woman, was by no means a charity case.

Simon is simply of the same tribe as Thomas. The lying, cheating douchebag tribe.

The women they conned were hopeful, loving and wanting the same things we all want. A man to love that will love them back, honestly. They all wanted someone to treasure and bless with the beauty of a wonderful woman. Nobody sets out to find a liar. Not a woman alive wants another woman’s cheating husband.

There are bad men in the world, but there are also superhero men who pride themselves on being different from the assholes carrying the same genitalia.

Andie Nash and I have gotten our happily ever after end results to a rocky path we both unwittingly stumbled upon. We’ve gone on and done better and found happiness that’s real and fulfilling. We’re the successful end to a cautionary tale. We’re also a bold reminder for anyone looking to deceive someone. Whatever you do- don’t fuck with a blogger.

Thomas will never darken another day, for me. He’s relocated to the cold Pennsylvania he claimed to loathe, he’s definitely lost the wife who made his home warm and inviting and hopefully his children have turned away from the poor example he sets. It’s safe to assume Simon has felt the same karmic slap in the face. It doesn’t pay to lie, but when you lie to a blogger with an intense following, you’ll find yourself working overtime to cover your ass.

Then there’s that pesky Google… which has really taken the douchebag to task, in my experience. A new email comes weekly, sometimes two…. hell sometimes ten. It always starts with “I’m not sure why, but I Googled his name and found you”. We have an arsenal of tools available that thwart even the shadiest of jerks and any woman who fails to use them will certainly kick herself at some point. The amount of information that hit me upon my return from Puerto Rico was stunning. His wife’s phone number was listed on their vacation rental. She was blogging too, and with pictures he’d sent me from THEIR home. If I’d done my research, I could have found her before I learned the hard way.

Google. Use it. Believe what you see. Inform yourself and set your feet on a smooth path as a result. I don’t share intimate details of my nightmare to torment him; I share them to protect the unsuspecting women in his path who are poised to suffer the same fate.

I have a gold plated vagina card, and I am not afraid to use it. I have an extensive vocabulary and a platform and I will burn a motherfucker’s house of cards down, if need be. I’m a woman, I’m a deadly threat and I’m a wealth of nasty adjectives when the opportunity calls for it. I heard from three women last week that are positively broken by the lies and broken promises that Thomas fed them.

I’ll proudly put on a pair of redundant panties if it means I don’t hear from another devastated lovely woman.

Dammit Thomas, would you fucking quit already? It’s gotten REAL old and I’m not at all amused about having to take off my glass slippers to put my shit kickers on.

Fall Harvest

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I’ve been a busy little bee these days, with the pantry to show for it. Growing an acre of vegetables comes with it’s challenges, and I’ve tied my pretty cherry apron on this week to become reacquainted with my inner pilgrim.

Chicken vegetable soup, which damn near drove me mad after an hour and a half of the pressure canner whistling at me. OY! There’s a reason I don’t can more veg & meat- but it’s SO nice to have healthy home-cooked meals for my little darling to eat while I’m at work. Keeping your eyes on the prize is a necessity when it comes to canning.

Homegrown and home-canned green beans are right up there with lobster, if you ask me. Greenbean casserole with these babies qualifies as an edible orgasm. My gawdddd good, and they seemed like a walk in the park after the chicken soup. I’ve been wrapping my bean plants in the garden with my favorite sheets for the past week to stave off the frost that keeps threatening to end my bean-canning bonanza. Wish me luck and I’ll be pickling them in no time :)

My new canning recipe of the year… marinated mushrooms. My darling Superman loves all things spicy (shocker, lol) and I added a whole unseeded jalapeno in two jars, just for him. This amazing super-hero of a boyfriend of mine works out of state from October-May and I’ll be crying the blues in no time, missing him. Until then… I’ll can my love for him so he has some homegrown i-love-you food to take with him. 5 pounds of mushrooms… 6 pints of goodness. I hate to admit it… but they’re from Walmart. The high temptation of low prices, and all that…

I work in paradise, selling sushi. It’s right up there with my favorite job ever- and she’s my favorite boss. I feel so blessed… but I have a confession. My favorite thing on the menu, is our wontons. Simple cream cheese & green onion wrapped in wonton and well… fried. The plum sauce is amazing… and when I eyed my ripening plums, the wheels started turning. Thank heavens, because this stuff is intensely good and takes a crazy long time to make. 6 tiny jam jars full of goodness destined to be re-created. Wow is an understatement, and I simply must share this with the people I work with (and love so much).

It’s not all a rose garden, right? Canning potatoes is a fucking pain in the ass, don’t believe anything else you read. I spent an entire day peeling, washing, BLECH. I ended up with 7 quarts of overcooked potato chunks with at least a one inch layer of mashed potato silt at the bottom. Not only are they ugly, I have no desire to open them. My mama has an old fashioned dug-into-the-side-of-the-yard root cellar, and I think the rest of the tatos are heading there to wait out the winter. It’s simply not worth the work after you’ve tasted the plum sauce.

Strawberry white plum vanilla bean jam. Just the list of what’s in this glorious jar of heaven should make your mouth water. It’s so good I should be arrested. Nuff said.

Same thing goes for this ridiculously tasty spread. Ginger vanilla bean peach jam. I picked the peaches that made the juice run down my forearms and drip off my elbows. The peaches that smelled like every summer memory I treasure. I diced tiny bits of pungent ginger and scraped the treasured centers of three vanilla beans. This jam is right up there with your favorite summer songs. It takes you back to the moment you fell in love with the man of your dreams, the day you got accepted to the school of your choice and the magic of the first sunflower blooming in your garden. It’s love, in a jar. You’re welcome. ♥

Pickled sugar snap peapods… purely for my darling MSOK and Mr. Man Card. I’ve never tried them, I’ve never wanted to, and it’s simply a case of over-canning. I had vinegar. I had peas. I couldn’t not love my favorite friends with something they love. It’s just my nature…. plus they look pretty in my pantry :)

I had more basil than I ever expected this year… and made a dozen batches of pesto to stock away in the freezer. I’ve won contests and stuff… my pesto kicks ass and makes my darling girl the happiest little sweetheart on earth. She’d eat pesto every day if I let her, and this year…. I could. ♥ Ok maybe every other day…

Nothing cures what ails me, quite like a ripe heirloom. My uncertainty… my heartache… it all eases just a little at the sight of these ripe beauties showing me; yet again, that I can indeed have it all. This little rainbow to save me from my garden of hard work and stress… I know what a ripe Brandywine globe feels like in my hand. I know the real meaning of “no added preservatives”. They taste like sunshine, true love and success. I’ll be canning salsa and marinara as soon as they ripen. I haunt them with my Instagram app.

There in the soil I found a heart. My heart. My sense of purpose. I laughed when I found it, and walked directly to the house with the most pure example of my love I can give. I found my Superman, made him close his eyes and open his hands. He opened them and beamed the smile that makes my stomach tighten, at me.

S- Ohhhhh it’s a heart. Beautiful, that’s so cool. Do you want my help?

J- No. I just wanted you to have this. Hungry?

S- We can’t eat it… we should at least wait to show Little Red.

He thinks about my daughter too. He suffers through the typhoon of tears my son’s absence creates. He’s a band-aid on my broken heart, the one that holds it together so it can heal.

My Superman makes me the Superwoman I was always destined to be.

In a week that has me heartbroken beyond my wildest nightmares, horrified beyond words and resigned to a different future, I have what I always needed most.

Hope.

Peace.

and love in the purest forms.

A job I love, with a boss I adore like a sister. A view from work that defies explanation.

A group of friends that treasure me as much as I treasure them.

The man who redefines men, my happily ever after.

The daughter I can’t wait to see, who is treasured by the masses and reminds me every day that I’ve done a damn fine job as a mother.

The mother I always wanted, with all her quirks and hippie delightfulness, she has made me the woman worthy of the beautiful life I have, and I am happy, loved and successful.

I have faith in myself. Faith in my abilities to provide what I can’t afford to buy and the abounding faith in a love I only dreamed possible.

Regardless of the overwhelming loss of my son, of the loss of a few great friends… I’ve clung to what truly defines me and I’ve found myself when I’d become so lost.

I’m gardening. I’m canning. I’m knitting.

I’m smiling, I’m laughing and I’m righting the wrongs in my life. Paying bills, raking leaves and giving a jar of jam to the water man as he comes every month.

I may not have it all figured out and I may not be where I want to be yet….

But at least I have a pantry full of proof that the effort is worth the reward. ♥

Thomas Murray: Happiness is the best revenge

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Every time someone contacts me regarding the nightmare that is Thomas Murray, I laugh a little. I can finally laugh about it. I can finally forgive myself for being so careless with my safety and I can finally shake my head at myself in the mirror.

How could I be so stupid? How could I trust someone without any concern for my own value?

I hate to admit it… but it was fairly easy. I’d gotten to a place I didn’t recognize myself anymore. I’d been broken so deeply I forgot to protect the one thing I couldn’t get back… my life.

I curled, painted & zipped myself into believing I could take risks other people “wouldn’t have the bravery to take”. I was so terribly disenchanted that I took the ultimate leap of ignorance and got on the airplane.

There are a few clear memories that stand out now that I know what a horrible idea it was. The first was the real head-shaking, heart breaking memory of handing my passport to the man in the security line at my local airport.

M- Ohhh Puerto Rico? I’m jealous! Enjoy your trip!

At the time I looked ridiculous, I’m sure. Dressed in a little black dress, heels and blonde curls for days… running on adrenaline because I’d been up all night long with my best friend. Packing and repacking… and still unhappy with what was in my suitcase. Stopping at the book store in the airport to buy Steve Harvey’s book “Act Like a Lady, Think Like a Man”.

The second moment hit me on my last flight, and the one that took me into Puerto Rico. I sat with a couple who’d been married for decades, and they urged me to be cautious and warned me to watch my drink.

C- Be careful honey, Puerto Rico is beautiful but it can be a very dangerous place. Keep your wits about you at all times.

I heeded that advice, and it may have saved my life.

The third time I finally realized I was in over my head, on the phone with my red-headed sister Miss Lovely.

L- Please let me call mom, I’m worried about you and I know she would be too. Please.

I told her to call my mom right before I passed out and fell asleep. I still don’t remember calling her and her memories are what I have to fall back on when I panic over the lack of mine. I talked to her for 3 hours in the middle of the night, and told her we’d gotten in a fight, that he’d hit me and I’d packed my things and left. She said she could hear him banging on the door of my room and screaming at me. I don’t remember any of those things beyond fighting with him, but her recollection matches closely what the hotel has told me.

I came home confused and feeling broken and responsible. He tormented and terrorized me until I went public and told the whole truth. As soon as the pieces started to fall into place, he left me alone. As soon as I called his wife, he disappeared and quit harassing me.

…but just as soon as he vanished…the women started to come out of the woodwork.

I’ve been contacted by women he’s been involved with for the past 15 years, women he’d recently tried to schmooze and other women he had on the line. Twenty two women who’d had the misfortune of being targeted by a con man. What’s the one common feeling every one of us have?

We all feel stupid.

We all feel responsible, to a certain degree- and we all regret him.

We’re all right & alright at the same time. We should have known better- we all should have believed more strongly that we ALL deserved the truth.

I’m just thankful for the lesson. It scared me out of my nightmare and made me face my mortality. The experience spanked me deeply enough for me to catch my breath and remember who I was again.

I love my children and my family more than I loved the idea of having someone love me whom I loved and wanted to spend my life with.

I wanted so much more than to settle for an elderly nerdy wanna-be frat boy. He was so bad I remembered how awful it was to settle for the Dirty Boat Thief. I remember waking up hating my existence. I remember being embarrassed by my partner… I never wanted to go back there.

I wanted more and he was never enough to risk my life for.

His ultimate downfall is that he underestimated our voices and disregarded the facts on the ground.

He pursued me AFTER falling in love with my blog. Hello? I suppose because it covered more than the span of a year, people gave it more credence than some Match.com fling, but just given those facts I should have to wear a big red I on my forehead for at least a month.

He had the audacity to buy me a ticket and con me into meeting him there. I say con because that’s truly what he is. He doesn’t tell the truth to anyone, we all get tiny pieces when he decides to “bless” our hearts with to show us more love than we’ve ever known… because we’re important to him, and he’s not finished with us yet. <eyeroll>

I acted like some sort of prison inmate with no prospects and fell for simple flattery and pretty words. That’s all on me, and I take full responsibility. Definitely not a high point in my life, that’s for sure.

He paid for nearly everything, except for dinner and drinks the last two nights I was there. So all told I got to go to Puerto Rico in February for $300, I got the story of a lifetime in the history of internet dating and just the slap in the face I needed.

I never claimed to learn the easy way, and I try all the time to be a nicer person.

Ultimately I’ve met my Superman as a result of raising my standards, who happens to be the love of my life. I regret every man that came before him. I’m happier than I’ve ever known and I know love deeper than I ever thought possible.

All things Thomas promised I would do and/or have, so I suppose I’m thankful for the reminder that it’s nice to have someone treat you kindly. The charming Thomas Murray quickly morphs into Tommy Boy when you add booze, and unlike the charming dancing Lothario he claimed the infamous “Tommy” was? He’s more like an abusive jackass with no filter.

With my wits about me, I witnessed what I never wanted my life to include. I came home in one piece, but broken and compromised. Surviving it and telling the truth.

Making Friends with the other “Other” women.

Forgiving myself in the process and moving on in my life. Wanting more and being blessed by God, all the angels & saints with the greatest man I’ve ever known.

The Karma fairy gave me new wings, a future to be envied and the love of a lifetime. A man as devoted to wanting my happily ever after as I am his.

That guy I always dreamed existed, is going to be my husband and the father of my youngest child(ren).

All that limitless faith and deep abiding love Thomas loved to go on and on about? I have that and it’s rumored that Thomas relocated to Pennsylvania since all the truth came out . Some ladies were suspicious of him at a singles meeting, did a little fact checking & contacted me.

I never wanted someone like Thomas in my life.

The step father to my children that will love them as his own and set a good example? Yeah… my Superman is as good as Thomas is bad. My life is as blessed as his is cursed.

I have a few dozen new friends, countless women he was lying to now know the truth and I am happy.

I learned my lesson… and I sure hope at some point he’ll learn his.

Until then…

Drink up, Tommy Boy… and know that I have friends in every circle you walk in. Your closest confidants have apologized for your behavior and commiserated with me. The women you’ve spoken to about me have all shared your words with me.  Being young at heart is one thing, being immature is another. It’s time to grow up and be a man. It’s time to care about your own soul and your severe lack of integrity. Carpe Diem… and Cowboy Up.

Just as you treated me, in every way that you disrespected me, my intelligence, my safety and self respect? Just as much as you cared about what you had to offer… I’ve returned that effort. I’ve refused the burden of you in my life and forced you to hold your own truth.

I don’t have time in my life to hate you because I’m loved too deeply and love too much. I have nothing but a smile to offer you, and a little gratitude. Without my trip to Puerto Rico I could have stumbled along in my own misery… and you snapped me out of it. I was scared sober at the sight of the bottom of the barrel and I realized first hand that I really am shallow. I love a bald man better than a hairy one- but not all bald men are created equal and I am not the kind of girl that could handle people mistaking my boyfriend for my grandfather.

You’d be a distant memory if your scandal wasn’t so widespread, and I would have washed my hands of you if you hadn’t continued to harass me. Your own ego got the best of you, and instead of the puff piece you demanded I write… I told the truth and your other targets came out of the woodwork.

So many women in addition to your wife. Shame on you for making all of us complicit in your betrayal.

Surely you can understand then why we’re all enjoying your expose.

All 24 of us… you reprehensible douche bag.

Ohhh and some words from you that were stumbled upon and recognized immediately. You’re a bad apple, Tommy Boy- and I’d be willing to bet my life that’s exactly what Cylie figured out.

You have a team of helpers, as my ticket was purchased under a different name and the same person signed for your package in Saint Thomas.

You’re a bargain basement con-artist who’s had his cover blown and we’re a vibrant group of smart women who ended up a little wiser for the bad experience.

I can’t say the same for you.

Confession

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I don’t have the answers.

Nor do I know all the questions or always ace the test. I get so many emails from women asking me to help them or tell them what they already know. I know just as little as all of you. I’ve just failed, publicly. I just admit when I’m wrong. I highly recommend trying it.

I don’t know everything.

In fact I know very little but do my best to fake it convincingly. Making a list of priorities helps, but I still get lost along the way when I’m not paying attention.

I fail regularly.

I make a huge effort to avoid the situation entirely, but I’ve been known to make the wrong choice, more times than I can count. (please don’t help) I accept it all because it’s brought to me to where I am today- staring my fairytale in the face. When you strive to be better, good things just happen. When I valued myself more, I ended up chin deep in love and appreciated down to my unattractive toes. When I took the sale sign off that I’d been wearing around my neck, I woke up in the middle of the best dream I’ve ever had, only to realize it was my life. I’m quite imperfect, and I’m loved for my imperfections. For all I’ve ranted and raved the past two years about what we all deserved and how badly I’d chosen… I never dreamed a man could be THIS good.

I don’t feel like an adult yet.

I still call my mom for help. I still wonder when I’ll have all the answers, like she does. She laughed the other day and said “Honey… I love you. What someone else thinks of you is none of your business.  Do you need eggs? Cucumbers? Flowers?” I’m still an asshole kid. I love hearing her messages but I’m a slacker about getting back to her. Sometimes her messages are just a comforting reminder that she loves me. As a mother I know she’s waiting for me to call back. I still don’t. Clearly, I’m still a child.

I’m happier than I’ve ever been in my life.

I feel bad for saying so, but I feel like I’ve really grown up and learned to swim in the happy details that feed me as a person, and not those that feed my insecurities. I’ve learned that alone doesn’t have to mean lonely and being in love with the right man makes you feel like a damn fool for ever discounting the woman he loves. I feel like I owe him an apology for every idiot I ever let take his place. He worries about my temperature, my smile and my soul. He makes me a nicer person and he qualifies me as the happiest women on earth… or at least puts me in running for the crown.  and I could only be happier if I had a crown on. Just sayin.

I love a man deeper than I ever knew possible.

He plans days designed around forcing me to play. He doesn’t let me politely decline to participate. He smiles a smile that sends shock waves through me and he makes me want to be nicer. He kisses me and I picture cloth diapers hanging on the line. It’s as biblical as I can get without making anyone uncomfortable. It’s a love that compels me to define it while I can’t even begin to throw every adjective I have at it. I love him more than I thought was possible and he safeguards the blessing. When I tell him I’m the luckiest girl, I’m not schmoozing him. I’m stating fact.

 

I really didn’t think nice men actually existed.

For all I rambled on and on about “real” men and ranted at the clearly pathetic examples… I had lost faith. I honestly thought they were all the same. Then I met my Superman… and ladies PLEASE… know he exists. My boyfriend is the greatest man I’ve ever known. He helps strangers in the grocery store parking lot. He plays with babies. He really is… super.

I have a huge ego… and my acre vegetable garden is testament to that fact.

In a week? I’ll be swimming in veg. My zucchini patch is just starting to produce. My 300 tomato plants are ripening, simultaneously. My 12 plum trees are just days away. I have knee high basil and 200′ of sweet corn setting ears. I have 15 heads of cabbage I have no idea what to do with. I have zinnias and sunflowers everywhere, and a million buds just beginning to open. I’m humbled by all of it… but damn if I don’t get carried away when it comes to planting this garden.

I love gas station food.

Especially the corn dogs, though I LOOOOVE those awfully unhealthy ham and cheese pocket thingies equally as much. I blame my hippie organic upbringing. I do my best to avoid it and this morning I was reminded of why I should. I bought a corn dog… and it was some sort of chili fan destruction of an already perfect food. I took a bite and it tasted like weird hot-dog laced chili and cornbread. Yuck. But yeah… I ate it anyway. A corndog is a corndog.

I survive on energy drinks.

I feel guilty buying them too- because I used to nag my son about drinking them. I humbly retract my preconceived notions regarding my Rockstar/Monster addiction. They get shit done.

I used to garden with music… now I garden in silence, because my thoughts are deafening.

I snack on peas, weed for hours and work out the worlds problems, in my head. I swear I got more done, faster, with martinis and Top 40, but whatever.

I’m bitter.

I’ve seen the worst of what mankind has to offer. I’ve been the victim of a sociopathic married liar and lived to tell the tale. I remain threatened by him and I’m bitter when I consider how stupid I”ve been and how reckless with my safety. I was destined to be special to someone amazing… how could I have been so stupid or held standards so low? I regret my mistakes.

I love the summer months where I spend little to nothing at the grocery store.

Toilet paper, pasta and pet food…. those are the grocery trips that dreams are made of. For all the friends I have that tell me I’m crazy… I laugh at them having to buy potatoes at the grocery store. I use it as my chance to get caught up on the bills I’m behind on.

I’m jealous.

I never wanted a wedding again until I met him. I never wanted to make an absolutely public statement about my undying love for someone, ever before. So when I see pictures of his first marriage… I go green, and not in a good way. I have my jealous moments and I fail best at those times.

I feel safe for the first time in my life.

I don’t worry about locking the windows and doors when he’s here. I love the smell of summertime at night but I’m a crazily overprotective single mother too. I realized it the other night when I was making my third round of window & door checks. He would protect us with his life, and I sleep easily beside him.

I’m a horrible bitch at times and you will rue the day if you fuck with me.

I’m a nasty little insect when inspired. I openly admit and apologize for it. I forever try harder to be nicer. I don’t always succeed.

I’m an amazing friend

I remember your birthday, and I’ve done this pre-Facebook, for the record. I will fight right beside you, give you my last dollar and take your kids any time you need…but if you cross me I will remember every secret you ever told me, in detail… and I will use them against you if you should make the mistake of doing the same. Trust me- that’s a lose-lose situation. I only like the coolest women, and I have amazing friends. I love them all dearly and I treasure each moment spent laughing with my favorite ladies. Most of my enemies are anonymous.

I’m an even worse enemy.

I recently had an anonymous hater contact my sweet Superman’s brother to flirt with him, then warn him about me. Mmmm… push me and you’ll only see how strong I am. I am ridiculously protective and will make quick work of anyone who would go anywhere near my loved ones. Oh Lindsey Falcon, or whatever your fake name is now- perhaps you should have tried pretending to be a nurse and not a Hooters employee. <eyeroll> Two points for blocking me so I can’t link you to the blog you fear enough that you’re willing to put on your Shady Whore panties.  If I meet you- you should be prepared because…. hell hath NO fury like mine- and I will eviscerate you. Clearly you’re stupid so let me define that for you in English.

Eviscerate: e·vis·cer·ate

verb /iˈvisəˌrāt/
eviscerated, past participle; eviscerated, past tense; eviscerates, 3rd person singular present; eviscerating, present participle

  • Disembowel (a person or animal)
    • - the goat had been skinned and neatly eviscerated
  • Deprive (something) of its essential content
    • - myriad little concessions that would eviscerate the project
  • Remove the contents of (a body organ)

Get your shovel out and keep digging because I need more fertilizer this time of year. My tomatoes are hungry.

I’m human… and trying. I don’t always win and I sometimes cry about it when I lose.
I confess, to you- my brothers and sisters… that I have failed . In my thoughts and in my words. In what I have done and in what I have failed to do.
…..But I always keep trying….