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Happiness is free, and thank God too… because unemployment is rather stressful financially.

I’ve had plenty of reason to feel bad. Losing a job I needed to survive, watching people I thought were friends vanish as quickly as the dollars in my wallet and being 86’d for life from a place I’ve worked hard to support.

I’ve been a bitch, but I challenge anyone to tell me they’d react differently if they were walking around in my shoes.

I grew up with The Desiderata on the bathroom wall. At 6 years old I remember reading it every time I brushed my teeth. In high school it really made sense and now? I have my own copy hanging on my own bathroom wall. It’s the foundation of my hippie upbringing, and I find myself swimming in it lately.

I can be wicked hateful, and I arm myself with the details most offensive and use them to my benefit like bullets in my very own verbal arsenal. If I want to kick you where it hurts, you’re going to feel it. I’m one supercilious nightmare when inspired to be.

Which isn’t who I want to be, but who I need to be sometimes.

I take a lot of shit. I swallow a lot of pride. I also return the feeling, tenfold-when you push me too far.

I could ramble on and on with an acid tongue and a thesaurus of hurtful adjectives… but it’s just not who I am or who I want to be.

So they hate me. Oh well. I’m not terribly offended considering the facts on the ground.

So my dear friend is jealous enough to post offensive bullshit on my Facebook wall. Oh well. Jealousy doesn’t inspire me to love anyone, and I’m single. I’m fully entitled to inspire jealousy with absolutely no ramifications and beyond that? I know a man who opens his mouth only to bless me with his kindness and affection. Real words from a real man make jealous insults sting a lot less.

I wish I could say I’m surprised- but I’m not- just like I warned him…

J- You do not want to date me. We’re friends. You’re only going to hate me at some point. Trust me.

Guess who was right…


Being hateful only drags me down to their level, something I’ve worked too hard to avoid in the last year.

So I flushed the hateful crap and took my little mangy hounds on a walk. I picked a bouquet of daffodils for the dinner table and hung the sheets on the clothesline. They’re crispy smooth and smell like sunshine and spring time.

I baked some honey wheat bread… and snuggled with my little mangy trio while cracking out on the first season of The Tudors…filling out the millionth job application. I weeded a row in the garden and planted more potatoes. I have about 15 pounds of seed potatoes left to plant… Good lord.

Hi, my name is Jenni and I’m a vegetable hoarder. I come from a beautiful line of hoarding gardeners- and hey… I absolutely loathe store-bought marinara. I may be a size 5 by the end of summer because the garden is out of control weedy…

Bonus! Free daily workout and veggies too? See how it starts? Too much of a good thing is still TOO MUCH.

I’m a little haunted by the silence and boredom in my daily life these days. I had the best interview I’ve ever had in my life yesterday, dinner and a drink with a dear friend last night and another favorite chick sighting this morning.

I know I’m being redundant… but for all the shitty men in my life? I am surrounded by phenomenal women.

My dear friend Miss Wisdom saved me yesterday with truth. Not bullshit flowery nonsense, but real “Get a grip and take your own advice” sort of words. Love her. Love them all…

It takes a real friend to see you making bad choices or flailing. We touched on the sorest of subjects…

W- Why would you go there, when you know he’s there and you know it stings and you know he’s bad for you.

J- I have a crush.

W- You HAD a crush… why would you like anyone who would treat you so poorly?

That applies to so many people in my life right now, it took my breath away. Perhaps I’m a glutton for punishment? Either way- it’s a thing of the past, and I’m cutting the bullshit out of my life at record speed.

Life is too short, and it’s too beautiful outside. My garden is all the challenge I need at this point, and my favorite flowers sprouted this morning.

Baby Bells of Ireland, smiling up at me and reminding me that everything is as it should be.

Life goes on- and happier when you cut the nonsense out of your life. More than that, it’s even better when you learn to love yourself first and let the assholes fall where they may in the hurricane of figuring out how to demand respect from people.

Or how to tell them to go fuck themselves.

Either way? I haven’t been so happy in months and I made a few hundred bucks today getting shit out of my garage.

Purging at a profit… now that’s the kind of chaos I can get behind.

Yeah I’m pissed off, offended and insulted- but I’m also single, smart & funny as hell. I’m doing what I need to do and remembering who I really am, now that I’m away from the cancerous source of suffering.

Welcome to the chaos of my fancy schmancy new life. It’s scary uncertain and full of potential disaster, but when I sink to the point I use my words to hurt someone instead of to free myself- I become an asshole like the rest of them.

No hate. No haterade… and most importantly?

No haters.

That right there is quite the victory, if I do say so myself.


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For blogging…. regardless of the lame canned excuse I was given, what it boils down to is that the Cunt I’ve had to work under for the past two years played her trump card. She’s known about my blog since I started- and I’ve had to sit on my hands and bite my tongue.

Blah, blah, blah… type, type, type… guess who’s hands are free and whose mouth is open?

Not a good thing when you’re running a business in a glass house.

If they were going to fire everyone that hated her, they’d have to restaff the entire restaurant.

“She’s like the mother of this place” was the line I got.

No. She’s the red-headed step-child we all had crammed down our throats while making a 5th of what she makes an hour. Ever heard of someone making manager wages, writing the schedule, working the best shifts and smoking a half a pack of cigarettes on every 4 hour shift?

I know one.

I called in sick once in 2 years and she had to cover for me on her day off. She had the balls to tell the customers I was sick with a hangover. They told me, saying “She’s such a bitch, why on earth does she work here?”

Good question.

One time in two years I told her I was in the weeds and she flipped out. I’ve never said it since because she’s hostile and will throw something in your face so many times you want to snap.

She’s the server that makes the bussers cry on shift. People complain about her online and to the rest of us.

She’s a walking criticizing hypocritical nightmare- one that I woke up from today and finally realize what a blessing in disguise this is.

I never have to listen to her bullshit again. I never have to acknowledge her ever again and I can wash my hands of the worst human I’ve ever met. I never have to dread walking in to find that she’s covering someone I work with, and I never have to give up shifts to avoid having to work with her again.

I wake up my same self, with a happy heart and a bright future.

She wakes up as Miss Cunt Bag- yet again. She’s facing the same day she’s faced for years. Lonely & alone and destined to stay that way because it’d take a damn fool to sign on to that nightmare.

All in all- I’ll miss my job because I truly liked one of my bosses and all the rest of my co-workers. They’re like an extended family to me…. but.

I’m a single mom, and they fired me without a seconds notice at the first of the month and with no regard to me, based on the fact I didn’t apologize and didn’t take down my blog.

They ushered me in and out with as few words as possible and I saw the writing on the wall…

They’re scared of me. It has everything to do with my blog and nothing to do with my performance- with the text messages to prove it.

This audience is too broad and what I say here- counts. They could silence me and make me endure all the torment that Cunt can dish out while I was working- but they can’t take my freedom of speech away.

Or freedom to blog.

And like I say with any guy I’ve dated- and about the real assholes in my life… if you’re afraid of my blog then you know you’re doing a shitty job.

If you’re afraid of truth, you’re not living it… and if you’re afraid of what I might say? Perhaps you should be more concerned with how you treat people.

When you’re kind and friendly- that’s all people can say about you. The same is true when you’re an asshole.

It’s going to be an interesting day, to say the least. I’ve never filed for unemployment before- I’ve never been fired for that matter.

Cheers… to the future and to never having to take a single ounce of shit from that wretched Cunt, ever again.


My Everyday Fairytale

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For as much as I bitch and whine… I have a beautiful life.

Anything can be better, but when faced with the reality of my day to day existence… I smile.

I miss my son like I’d miss air if I were drowning. I’ve learned to compartmentalize it because there’s simply nothing else I can do. I miss him, I love him, and I respect his teenagehood. I hated my mother when I was his age. I love her now. That’s all I’ve got to say about that.

It’s my day off today, and I woke up late from a divinely delicious dream. I woke up smiling, which I do 90% of the time. Either at my darling girl or at the day facing me. I love my job, I love my coworkers and my tomatoes started to sprout yesterday.

I woke up to a call from my darling Miss Harley which turned into a stomach-aching giggle-fest. Laughing over boys and how silly they are. Laughing at ourselves while we’re at it.

I decided to make myself a latte and sit in the greenhouse with the stack of pages I’ve written so far, and realizing for the first time that it’s not hard to read about my trip to Puerto Rico anymore. I was batshit crazy in love with him, and it was delightful. I don’t regret it or begrudge myself the guilty pleasure.

It was bubblegum ice cream delicious. I’m at my best when I’m in love. You can’t help but have a good day around me when I’m infatuated- it’s a contact high, to put it mildly. I bake cupcakes, I sew cool shit, I knit a blue streak… I garden. I am happiest when I’m in super girlfriend mode. It’s ridiculously codependent, but it’s true.

I’ve kicked my bad habit, sigh… I’ve waved goodbye to Flintstone and I haven’t really checked my internet dating email since one of my best friend’s ex-husbands emailed me to proposition me. I feel a little dirty making fun of someone for my own entertainment. Even if it is incredibly easy. … …. and fun. Chances are good I’m going to do it again. Purely to avoid fully embracing my role as the cat lady in the neighborhood.

I rolled over to a love note from my little red… with a Reese’s peanut butter cup. My favorite…. and how can any day be anything less than perfect when you start it with peanut butter and chocolate. Seriously.

It’s sunny and bright and I have broccoli to plant and a whole day to get a tan. I throw my bathrobe over the speaker and get to planting… in black panties and garden gloves. Welcome to the beauty of single womanhood. I can plant to my favorite music, in my panties with a mimosa and my shiny purple nitrile gloves the Easter Bunny brought me. Life is beautiful.

Randomly deciding to take thai food to school and have lunch with my daughter- a treat for myself and her… and we both are addicted to the red curry. Giggling with her and her friends over the boys being so weird <and resisting the urge to tell them nothing changes in 20 years… this day is perfect with a side of laughter. One of her friends asks me if I’m her sister, lol… we laughed all the way down the hall and I kissed her cute face on a day I ordinarily wouldn’t see her. AMEN.

Oh and just when things are going swimmingly…

A bad habit sighting… and regardless of the horrible way he treats me… I swallow hard when I’m not expecting to see him. They should make a patch to shake a bad man habit… Trans-dermal crack? I don’t know… I hate being betrayed by my body, and that’s what he inspires. I hate it. I’m craving him, I hate that I have to admit it, but it’s true. Is it hot in here or is it just me?

I bolted, drove home and changed into garden gear. Facing the music in the overgrown garden that is the penance I so deserve after abandoning it last summer…well… SUCKS. I’m covering it with landscape cloth to burn off the weeds before I plant. My asparagus is coming up 🙂

The worms are 15″ long at least and things are looking like a beautiful year for a beautiful garden. I’m really truly centered and happy in my giant ridiculously overwhelmingly massive garden. It’s round. It’s beautiful. It’s me. Spending my off time with my feet in the dirt makes me a million times happier than spending them in a bar or on a date.

I poured myself a cocktail, took the price tag off my new wheelbarrow that my mama gave me as an Easter basket… and went out to face the music. Oy…

But… even the worst challenge in the garden beats the worst date. It beats Thomas. It makes me feel better, carves my body into summer hot and makes me smile to my toes.

I have fingerling potatoes planted… Rose Finn Apple and Russian Banana… with more on the way. I planted my French shallots.

I broke in my new garden gloves and broke out of my winter funk. I’m happy. Really, really happy.

I’ve been through hell, and I’ve proven that I should not be the one to choose who I’ll date- so it’s up to my friends from now on. I’m not picking again. I have horrible judgment and horrible taste. I’d rather take a year long sabbatical from men entirely, if given the option.

My seeds are sprouting. My garden is on it’s way. I found 2 newts in the cardboard pile today. I’m so delighted with the simple details that surround me that I don’t feel lonely. I watched a dozen stupid movies this week and slept like a baby. I made the perfect mustache cake. I was a mom hero for the birthday party. My darling MSOK made us all look like a million dollars in big hair, which I’ve found I love.

Life is good… and even without a Prince? It’s a pretty sweet fairytale in and of itself.

I Liebster you too!

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I suck at these awards, so I generally ignore them (sorry, I’m aware that makes me a thankless asshole). I was so incredibly touched by this one, though… so I’m breaking tradition, and participating. (Go ahead… write it down, lol)

Ok so the rules are…. I have to post the award thingy.

Awww it’s my favorite so far. Who is Liebster? I’m an information junkie… so I searched for this wonderful Mr. Or Miss Liebster… and found something even better.

Liebster is a German word that means favorite, beloved or dearest… Oh. My. Somebody likes my blog. Gush.

The rules are pretty simple, I have to:

  1. Thank your Liebster Blog Award presenter on your blog.
  2. Link back to the blogger who awarded you.
  3. Copy & paste the blog award on your blog.
  4. Reveal your 5 blog picks.
  5. Let them know you chose them by posting on their blog.

Anyone who follows my blog, knows it’s been a long fucking month….year… lifetime. I’m waking up exhausted already, heading to work hoping it’s busy because I have bills to pay. I have 2 new emails from more Thomas victims. I refuse to update the total to 19 because I don’t want to. I’m at my wits end and it’s only 9 AM. I click over to read about this award thingy and this is what greets me:

4. Another Beautiful Day in Chaos.  Oddly enough, my old friend <insert sarcasm here> Thomas Murray, introduced me to Jenni’s blog about a year ago.  I came late to her party, and, to be honest, while her writing blew me away immediately, I did not immediately relate to her. She’s younger than me by many years and our lives are very different in many ways.  However, something kept me coming back and what I discovered (along with many thousands of other readers) is an authenticity and vulnerability that is both touching and inspiring.    Jenni holds almost nothing back from her readers and the ensuing intimacy she establishes with them is real and powerful.  It’s no wonder she has the massive following she does.

Blink, blink, blink. Funny how I can write my tail off but in one short paragraph of someone writing about me, I’m struck speechless.

My writing blew HER away? Is that a good thing? I have a massive following? Really? Yikes. I still have no idea why anyone reads any of this. Ok… so panic over praise aside… I have to follow the rules.

1. Thank the person who gave you the award.

That Precarious Gait…

Um. How do you thank someone who gave you back to yourself? I came home from Puerto Rico and she was the first person to email me when I was intentionally diving head first into the rocks, day after day. I was nothing more than a crying broken mess, and she offered me truth to save my spirit. She reached out, across who knows how many miles and years that separate us in age and she dusted me off with the hands of real friendship. She did the searching I couldn’t do. She told me she’d listen any time I needed to just rant or cry about it. She apologized for not telling me what she knew, even though she knew I couldn’t hear it and wanted so much for me to have the fairytale I’d manifested for so long. Like the big sister I always longed for, she stepped in when she knew I needed help, put her verbal arm around me and stood next to me in solidarity when I didn’t know how to stand up for myself. She did something not many people have done for me in my life. She put her words out there. She stood up for me, and for truth and for what matters when it’s all said and done. She’s a woman, divinely and exquisitely female. She goes through the same things we all do, and it’s with great comfort that we read about it because if it can happen to someone so amazing, we all have to know we’re ok when it happens to us too. She’s the woman we all hope we resemble- her blog is simply delicious reading- Enjoy!

4. Ok I already covered 2 & 3… so for the next rule I have to list my 5 favorite bloggers. I’m assuming I can’t pick my lovely darling friend above, so 5 more? That’s so painfully difficult this could take me a week. In this single phase of my life, my blogger friends help ease the silence. They fill my quiet solitary hours with laughter <my own> and make me feel like I’m really not the only fabulous single woman without a light at the end of the tunnel. There are so many of us. Perhaps one day we’ll find the tribe of fabulous men looking for the same light. We are that light… and along those lines, I pick my favorite women bloggers, and damn you TPG for taking some of them, lol….

1. A Bourbon For Silvia. My first blog habit. I love her dearly and I treasure her blog. She the first one to write something that took my breath away. She’s openly sexual and taught me to be ok with being the same. She taught me to write truthfully. Shes dynamic and amazing and a mother and I love, love, love me some Sylvia. I only wish she were close enough that I could leave a bottle of bourbon on her porch.

2. Everybody Wants Some. Ohhhh I love Crystal. LOVE her. I love laughing with her, I love everything she writes and I cannot give a better gift than the link to her blog. Enjoy. You’re welcome.

3. Little Cotton Rabbits. I’ve tried to get one of her damn knit treasures for oh… at least 10 years now. I’ve never been successful, but I absolutely LOVE this woman. I learned to knit because of her. I needed my own bunny and I needed to find peace in my life. I found it through my knitting needles and I knit my baby girl the cutest bunny ever. I love her message, I envy her life and I strive to be more like her. This, ladies and gentlemen… is my mommy muse.

4. Snarky Snatch. OMG my new favorite. I freakin’ LOVE this woman. Her lesson on good head is absolutely priceless and I love a woman that embraces her sexuality with a middle finger flown at the jealous bitches. I love her, I love her words and well… don’t be surprised if you end up in wet panties after an hour on her blog. She’s got mad skills, and I love a sassy girl. Kudos baby- you write like I did before I knew my neighbors and kids teachers were reading. Thank God. I love every syllable. Today’s entry? “Random thoughts I have when I don’t have a penis in my mouth” I rest my case. Go. Read. Enjoy, or better yet? Take notes.

5. I have to break my promise and share my very favorite blogger, who happens to be a guy…. Your Pal Jason. I love this man. I get the whole fan thing when it comes to him because I have a bit of a crush. He’s smart and funny… OMG so so so funny…. and well… I love a man armed with words. Out of the 150 blogs I follow, he’s the only one on immediate delivery and if I had a million dollars I’d pay him to write for me day and night. I ♥ Jason. Awww.

Phew. Done. I followed all the rules- write it down. 🙂

Struck down by his own ego…

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It’s really amazing what you can find with Google.

I found the mysterious Cylie this morning… <snicker> and lo and behold… I found the copyright site Thomas used to protect his entries from January and February- you can find them HERE.

All you have to do is click on the “show blog entry text” link and you can read all of his entries for January, and the 4 he wrote in February.

This is the one he wrote two days before my flight left for Puerto Rico… he even called to wake me up and read it to me after he’d teased me that I need a tattoo that says “Sublime”

Awww, Thomas… I’d say you shouldn’t have… but I’m rather fond of hanging you with your own words at this point.

Better Than Chocolate

Sometimes it’s just about having a truly random post…and this is mine…spilled without an edit…but with a great attitude and I hope it rubs off on your day…
This is what is delighting my ears as I strike a few words across your thoughts :

It is the way to make so many of you weak… chocolate… no worries, I am among you…  I thought about today’s post knowing that we’re all weak for something.  Most of those things are soulfilled…heartfelt…and sometimes a bit painful, yet we are weak…  I embrace portions of what I’m really weak to…
It’s no secret what a good girl can do to me… buckle my knees… her lady-like manners and attention to how she presents herself and the pride she takes in presenting herself in public is the first downfall.  Knowing that it’s a strength of hers and the ability which is ingrained in her thoughts from a young age… personal pride…not pride built into her reactions.  She’s careful…hopeful of how she plows her path.
People ask me what my preference in women are…I’m quick to respond, ” I don’t date women”.  You’ll notice that I refer to all ladies as girls…it’s a term of endearment although some ladies don’t prefer the term, I mean it in the best of ways…  when it comes down to it, we’re all young-at-heart and some of us refuse to grow up.
Today I feel sublime…I feel like I’ve been eating dark chocolate and my tummy is so thrilled for it…  I’m not sure why I feel so at ease, but I’ll have you know I’m strictly low carb and have been for a while…no chocolate…yet I feel that beautiful aftertaste motivating me in good ways…  it’s late and the trade winds are very cool tonight…  my legs are ready already for the next run…
I’m in the most terrific of moods…  all from thoughts about the evening spent thinking of friends visiting soon…and the opportunities that I’ll create tomorrow…
I hope you create a few for you…
Oh if your were hoping for a little bit more with your day, then listen here… inspiration…

Sublime? Why yes, thank you. Yes I am. Sublimely smart and sublimely intuitive. Sublimely tenacious, with his balls in my right hand.

All that chocolate must have gone to his head… you have to be crazy to leave your balls behind.

You have to be straight bat-shit insane to fuck with the whole blogosphere. I’ve teased the morons I’ve dated who read my blog, THEN treat me like shit. Honey… if you have a written example of what is going to happen to you if you’re a douche bag- how bout avoid the one with a thousand-word-a-day platform.

Set that lovely hive down and walk away slowly.

I bite. I sting… and more importantly? I’m holding your balls… so you should be able to feel me shake my finger at you…

Consider my blog the closest thing to a vaccine for douche bags that I can muster up. If they ignore the writing on the screen in front of them? They’re doomed to be the next up for sacrifice.

It’s like the food chain… only funnier. It’s like a stoning… with words.

Ohhhhh Thomas…

These words are equally as intoxicating as when you gave me permission to write about you, carefully.

Yeah you broke my heart, though it may be a bit of my own fault too. When it came to packing I didn’t have room for my common sense. Only faith, hope and love fit in my bulging suitcase.

Newsflash: Money can’t buy class, self-respect or ME, and I’d rather count orgasms than dollars.  I’d rather giggle over a box of Kraft macaroni and cheese with a man who can’t remember my name, any day.

Who am I kidding…they never forget my name. Whether it’s looking back fondly or cursing my existence… they always remember what they were screaming before they really felt like yelling.

Consider me your very own Make-A-Wish trip. Yeah you got to pay for my ticket, but you aren’t actually dying <yet> and it’s high time someone taught you to be a gentleman. I’ve talked to more than a few women who you asked to pay for lunch/dinner/drinks.

Silly old man… we like to offer… but we make fun of you if you ask us to. Gentleman 101, go back to school asshole- it’s never too late for an old dog to learn that trick.

Not to be redundant, but let me pass on a little advice I learned in Puerto Rico.

Caminar con el diablo or… “You walk with the devil”

Take note, you lying, cheating, sack of trash… your shit is about to blow sky high…nationwide media style 🙂

and you can’t say that sweet little homeless man you were so rude to, didn’t try to warn you.

He told you that you were walking with the devil… your ego just got the best of yourself and you thought he was talking about you.


A little advice?

You’d do better to swim out to sea and donate your carcass to the food chain than you would to try to dig your way out of the mess you’ve landed in.

But… here… borrow my shovel.

It turns me on to watch you dig.

My favorite picture from the whole trip… because I look as stupid as I feel over the whole thing. Laying in the sand with my “Pirate” stupid in love and wondering how in the hell I got to where I knew I actually was…

Knowing in the pit of my stomach that he wasn’t what he said he was…just ten minutes after this picture was taken.

He’s a good liar… but he has no stamina. He can tell you what you want to hear… but ultimately we all want to know the truth at some point, and he tells so many lies he never really knows what that is.

He’s a victim of his own arrogance, and a hostage to his own ego. Poor Thomas… beat by a girl… lol 🙂

Nothing but the best for you, my T.

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He liked it when I referred to him as “My T”… betcha five bucks he feels differently now…. lol

I’ve heard from 13 different women in the last month who can say the exact same thing… all headed to Puerto Rico to spend a “magical fun-filled weekend with Prince Charming, aka Thomas Murray” at one time or another.

To date? I’m the only one retarded enough to get on a plane. (no offense to retarded people- whom I adore and hold near and dear to my heart.)  There simply isn’t another word to accurately describe what motivated me to think I was so different that I should, would or COULD be so casual with my safety… not to mention my heart.

I’ve been through hell in the last year. Hell. I’ve written openly about it- and he exploited it. Shocker.

I’ve whined and cried about it. I’ve read a million other blog posts about his scandalous dishonest ass. I’ve heard the ugly details and I’ve seen the emails. I’m officially informed, thank you.

He’s damn lucky I cling to every last shred of my lady-hood… cause I’d post his naked old ass for the world to see if I weren’t so classy… but then he chose me based on the fact.

I should have known when he told me he really disliked his mother. Duh.

The facts on the ground are ugly. The details aren’t rosy. The reality is cold, dark and black. He lied to me. I believed him. That doesn’t make me a bad person, that makes him a predator. I refuse to waste another tear on someone so unworthy- but I’m damn happy to waste another thousand words, just to nail his fucking coffin shut.

Consider this a Dear Thomas… one last epilogue in a sad little life built on lies and vulnerability. Far more than he deserves but then I am listening to the advice my mother has given me on the whole nightmare and I’m giving him back the heartache. His gifts aren’t something I want to accept.

It’s bad enough I had to bleach my eyeballs to get the image of him coming at me to go away. Let me be painfully clear for a moment- I’m used to beauty. I only date the hottest douche bags and I am extremely picky. Do I deserve perfection? No, maybe not… but ask ye shall receive…

This was my first venture into the old folks home- and I will not be making a return trip unless I’m carrying fruit cake and walking with a dozen kindergartners singing Christmas Carols. I believe in charity… just not where my naked body is concerned.

I’d rather shovel snow naked than ever go to Puerto Rico again.

I had to tell his poor wife what a cheating lying sack of trash he really is. Including the bullshit stories he told me about missing having his son, and looking forward to the 8 months he was coming to live with him. Never mind he was 45 minutes away, probably helping his Mama plant the garden his Daddy tempted me with. Some dudes are beyond Jesus- and this guy is their leader. It’s more than being dishonest, it’s pathologically fucked up.

I’ve come home, I’ve done my best to right the ship and mop up the messes. I’ve licked my wounds and fed my bad habits. I’ve reminded myself just why he isn’t worthy of another tear.

Let’s be honest… the world is full of cheating, lying, painfully unworthy, douche bags. FULL. There are few exceptions to the rule and Thomas is by no means anything but garden variety worthless mouth breather. I can categorically tear him to shreds, but the bottom line is, he’s average. He’s a skilled manipulator- but ultimately he can’t maintain the facade and you see what he really is. A drunk old man living on lies and aggression. It’s a waste.

I think he forgot to really read between the lines of the words he capitalized on and took advantage of me with. He forgot to pay close attention to the fact that yeah… some people judge me. Yeah… some people don’t understand… and yeah… that sucks.

But I always have the last word- and I always make it count.

Dear Thomas,

So long, motherfucker.

You really stepped in it this time, didn’t you? You set me up, plied me with sweet sentiments and rum I’m allergic to. You stocked the pond in your favor. You didn’t take one thing into account.

I’m a deadly weapon, and my hair isn’t the only thing that’s bright and brassy.

I’m not afraid of anything. Hurt me. Lie to me. Cheat on me.


That makes you the asshole, not me. I did my part, and I was honest with you, but you were portraying some version of you that you wish you were. I fell in love, but with a myth. The reality was gravely disappointing and uncomfortable at times when I saw people do a double-take when they saw me with you. Awkward…

Most of all, you taught me a big lesson about myself. I can have faith, but I need to be smart about it too. Until I know how valuable I am, I’m a weapon in my own life against myself and against my own safety and well-being. It’s high time I practiced what I preach. If I’d been smart about it, I would have taken a taxi from the airport to the nearest hotel, booked a room, and spent 4 days falling in love with myself and patting myself on the back for caring enough to do the right thing, instead of what’s easy.

That would have been the appropriate choice- and I know this now- thanks to you.

You lit a fire under me with your anger and your judgements. You inspired me to get mad enough to speak my truth, quietly and clearly. You pushed me far enough that I laid your shit bare and exposed you for who you are. Truth is inescapable, and it was bound to catch up with you sooner or later.

You foolish, foolish man… thank you… and you’re welcome.

Just as you taught me some valuable lessons about myself, I taught you the ultimate lesson.

Women are crazy. Good old fashioned bat shit nutcase crazytown,when we think you’ve been lying to us, and if we think you’re cheating? The FBI doesn’t have anything on a jealous woman. By the time we’re done, we’ll know the name of your best friends’ mom in the third grade.

But if our fears are confirmed?

Heaven help you… because only Jesus can save you at that point. Get to church. Drop to your knees and pray for God’s mercy or start shopping for a hit man. We won’t stop until every last sordid detail is exposed and this situation is no exception.

I’ve made a whole new group of girlfriends, and we all have a lot in common… but the one thing that ties us all together?


Perhaps we’ll schedule a ladies retreat to St Thomas, just to bring your truth to your island, as you invited us all to do. Come on Tommy, we wanna see “the compound”. Take us for a run down your 8 mile path on your 5 mile island. Cook us a gourmet dinner on your catamaran.

But first? You should probably introduce us to your wife.

Oh wait… she already knows all about us.

You’re welcome.

xoxo Jenni

The Breeder

Posted on

I’m an asshole sometimes, I totally admit it and I don’t even apologize for it anymore. I’ve been on the receiving end of it for so long it feels kind of nice to return the favor.

I’m hand picking the weirdos and I don’t feel bad about it. It’s funny, and I’d rather write a book about the horrors of internet dating than the book about the King of Douche Bagastan.

In choosing this date, I filtered through the emails clogging my inbox. Some of them are nice… which makes me a little tempted to date a normal one, but I just can’t resist the hilarity of picking the less fantastic options. I’m never nervous on a first date anymore, and when you go into it expecting it to be bad, mortifying or awkward? You can only be delighted when it happens.

This one wins.

Cakegurl, Funny,I hate text-ers! I am in construction so I think that is cool you do projects! I’m sure you would be a distraction. You sound like a hand full, …..But very interesting…..I just want to know where the nun outfit came in out of curiosity? I LOVE GOD!

Clearly the man doesn’t know that I would not be dating if I were a nun. I’m going to run with it. Why not?

I may as well take paper and a pen… because I’m cataloging details the moment I arrive at the restaurant.

I’m exhausted… I was up late drinking & dancing with the beautiful man I have a crush on. My eyelashes are still on from last night, so I throw a quick coat of mascara on, fresh lipstick, a sweatshirt and jeans.

My hair is a bit of an epic disaster at this point- so it’s in a ponytail. I hit my head on something the other night and it hurts to pull it up tightly… pig tails it is.

Can we say little to no effort? Eeek.

I picked him based on his religious preference. He’s one of those Quiverfull weirdos. Short version? They think of children as arrows in the quiver of your life… the more the merrier.

Uh… no. Not for me. I’m a big fan of tearing down the factory to build a playground. My days of gestating and lactating are over. I won’t be contributing further to the population.

This one is weird enough that it’s a coffee date…. mainly because I work tonight and I’m sleepy. A caramel macchiato with a side of zealot.

He walks in and I know immediately that he is being judgy. He shakes my hand and asks me if the drive was ok. I drove 5 minutes to his hour and ten… and I realize I told him I lived in the next city over. Shit… I’m too tired to be doing this today. I’d rather be curled up in my bed, in my jammies.

He asks me the usual questions. What do you do, how old are your kids, what kind of food do you eat and do you attend any religious services?

Oh I’m a nun, my kids are 4 & 6, I’m picky and don’t like anything and yes, I never miss a Sunday.


A text comes in on my phone and I grin and answer… sorry ya’ll but I’ll be damned if I let a weirdo cockblock.

Because he’s gone into religious zealot mode and is detailing his very broad view of family… he’s a huge fan of the Duggars. He thinks birth control is a sin.

I wouldn’t so much as let this guy near my toothbrush if I were fertile. He’s my absolute worst fear. He’s a breeder.


“Fearfully and wonderfully made” comes out of his mouth three times before I start to text back. Awww what. I’d rather flirt with the guy on my phone than the lunatic in front of me. I’m tired. My manners are shot… and I kind of hate men.

Not all men…. just the ones I’m attracted to.

“That’s a bad bruise, where did you get that?” He points to my chest, where there’s a thumbprint bruise. Uh… I realize I’m not really listening to him and he glares at the phone in my hands when I start laughing and send another text.

Ever the willing pain in the ass and with my phone blowing up every ten seconds, I run with it.

I’m spending more time texting than I am talking and he’s barely catching his breath. I keep expecting him to pull a pamphlet out of the briefcase he’s carrying.

Q- How do you feel about a large family?

J- I have one. Seven sisters and one brother.

Q- There are 13 in my family.

J- Wow, sisters, brothers?

Q- My youngest is 2.

Ohhh…. he’s talking about his children.

Wait a minute… hold the fucking phone.

J- 13 children? Holy moly… how many loaves a bread does it take to make sandwiches at your house?

Q- 2 or 3.

I was joking… he’s not.

J- I have two. I will always only have two.

Q- Interesting. It was nice having coffee with you.

At which point he got up, smiled… and left.

oooops…. but….

I played my asshole card and won, lol…

One down, 5 to go…. my gawd internet dating is so fun sometimes….

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