Deal Breakers


In stepping back into dating, I realized I had to be more forthcoming this time around. Too many years spent pretending that I could tolerate cigarettes taught me one glaring lesson.

Everyone’s patience runs out eventually. You have to be honest about the deal breakers from the first second, otherwise you’re setting someone up for failure. Usually yourself.

I have a couple dealbreakers. I’m not picky but there are certain things I’ve learned to avoid for everyone’s health and happiness.

  1. Pushover dads. I dated someone who spoiled his kid rotten and made no effort to help parent or discipline because he enjoyed being the little asshole’s best friend more than he wanted to be a father. It was torture. I pride myself on having well behaved children and I’m completely turned off by lazy parents. Bonus points if he’s strict and consistent, but if he’s creating a brat- we aren’t a match. I don’t want to hang out with a bratty kid and I’m not going to subject mine to it either, so this one is dead in the water from the beginning.
  2. Erection issues. Complete failure, premature ejaculation, faulty equipment… whatever the issue- I don’t have time for men who won’t or don’t take care of it themselves.  I hate having this conversation with a man, so if this is something you’re dealing with, call the damn doctor. Don’t bring a noodle to a sword fight. Put a little pharmaceutical steel in your pipe if you need to. I personally need a man who can keep up with me and that’s not an easy feat if I’m going to be completely honest…. so I’m 100% forthcoming about this one.
  3. Hippies. I prefer men artificially scented and fresh haircuts are a huge weakness of mine, so I would only make a hippie very unhappy. I love steak, corn dogs, bullshit processed food and I don’t buy 100% organic. I grow a huge garden which attracts those kinds of guys, but I am not at all attracted to a dirty hippie. I like a beard these days, but only maintained neatly. Rangy hippie beard is not my jam.
  4. Extreme Politics. Either side of the fence is extremely hard to deal with 24/7, and in today’s political climate there are some extremists. I’m a conservative liberal so I fall in the middle somewhere? I don’t want a date to proselytize to me. About anything. Ever.
  5. Stalkers. I use this term loosely but I’m fairly sensitive to too much contact. The good morning gorgeous text gets generic, the goodnight baby text get routine. I answer my phone for about 6 people. I love to leave my voicemail full. Text me if you need me. If you text me 80 times a day, we have a problem. If you show up uninvited at my house, it will be the last time you come over and if you call me more than twice a day, I’m looking into changing my number. Maybe this is on me? Whatever- I don’t need a lot of reassurance or contact. Less is more, lol. Too much is my cue to come up with a gentle break up speech.
  6. Cheaters. I won’t even entertain the idea. Once a cheater always a cheater and I don’t want to relive that bad time, ever again. I’d much rather know there’s a cat in the bed beside me as opposed to wondering where my person is. Being single absolutely beats being with someone who makes you feel insecure.

So puppies and kittens seem to be the safer bet. 🙂

I’m curious to hear what your deal breakers are?


I had a lousy time with Mr. Right last night. I’m not sure what happened but he was awkward and distant at something he invited me to. To add insult to injury…. Incredinope walked through the door and proceeded to give me the ice cold shoulder. I sat there, feeling uncomfortable and out of place, itching to pull my pajamas on and climb into bed… and decided to do just that.

I left.

Without saying goodbye.

I’m at the point that I’m no longer willing to feel inadequate or unwanted. The second that shoe drops, so does my interest and I am only too happy to retreat to the cozy castle I call my own.

No habla red flags, thankyouverymuch. If I learned anything from the last year, its how devastating uncertainty and rejection can be. I will not climb back into that wretched mud puddle.

They both got a piece of my mind via text message and I was in the shower and slipping into my ugliest comfy pajamas in no time. Mad as a hornet, but also very proud of myself.

I hardly slept, and woke up to the realization that I had CrossFit this morning. For the first time in my adult life, I counted the minutes until I could go… knowing that I’d feel a million times better afterwards. My eyes were puffy from crying and I was on the verge of more tears. Walking in to see my darling trainer waiting for me with a beaming smile, almost pushed me over the edge.


N- Hiiiii! We were just talking about you. You’re someone who makes us all smile when you walk in the door. Seriously. You ok? What’s up?

J- I’m really glad it’s a you day. I’m having a tough one.

N- Well let’s go then!


He turns the board around and I see the two words I dread most.

Jump Rope.

Fucking hell. Honestly if you haven’t attempted to use a jump rope since childhood, go get one. It’s the most humbling experience you can have for $5. It turns out, we all should have continued to jump rope since childhood, because it destroys you better than just about any other workout. I could hardly do it my first day. Now I bemoan the weight of my body and jumping it off the ground in time to the hand-held plastic torture device.

J- I told you I was sad, can’t you come up with another form of torture?

N- But you’re getting SO strong and SO good at all these things, I want you to see how much easier it is for you to do. I know you can do it. It’s just 45 second intervals. I promise it will be easier.

For the record: labor pains and jumping rope make 45 seconds feel like the longest 10 years of your life. He was right and it was so much easier than it was before, but it still really sucked. I did russian twists until I thought I was going to vomit, flutter kicks until my ass lit on fire and one arm kettlebell swings to the point my arms and shoulders screamed at me to stop.

He high-fived me and two fat tears rolled down my cheeks.

N- Oh no… that’s not jump rope related, is it.

J- I feel so much better and I’m just grateful and emotional. It’s been a horrible year and this has given me so much of myself back. Thanks for putting up with me.

N- You’re getting stronger, do you feel it?


That’s such a weighted question for me. Physically I’ve never done the things I’ve accomplished in the past two months of CrossFit. I did 78 pushups and 144 kettlebell swings on Wednesday. I still can’t believe that’s even possible for me. The cellulite is disappearing from my thighs at record pace and my ass looks amazing. I’ve only lost 30 pounds but my arms look and feel so much stronger. My posture is improving, my neck doesn’t hurt anymore and the sharp pain in my left elbow is gone.

More than that? My heart feels better. My soul isn’t so shattered. I can sleep again and food is starting to taste good. I’ve grown so much as a woman in the last year by truly falling apart in order to put the pieces back together in a healthier way. I’ve learned to say the hard things and lift the heavy ones. My body is starting to look like the one I lost so many years ago to motherhood.

I’m getting better. Which is why I spoke up today and cleared the air with Mr. Right.

R- Are you mad at me???

J- No, I felt disrespected and leaving was easier.

R-  I was super nervous, I don’t know why. I am so sorry. That wasn’t my intention at all. That makes me sad. Come over, please? Let me make it up to you.

J- Another time… I’m going to take a nap and soak my broken body in epsom salts.

R- I’m sorry baby. It will never happen again.

See? I’m learning from my mistakes and demanding better.

It’s going to be a happy new year, I can just feel it…

….. along with every other muscle in my poor body.




I lost my appetite a year ago. Something about being in love with someone destined to keep on hurting me also stole my love for cooking and eating. Food is love to me and the absence of it in my life left me disinterested in eating more than was necessary to survive.

I didn’t want a steak if the guy I wanted wouldn’t cook one for me. I know that sounds dramatic… but it’s the truth.

I used to bake a blue streak. Homemade marshmallows, ham, crab legs, cookies, cakes and more… I’m a card carrying domestic goddess and feel happiest in panties and an apron. I suppose in the depths of my depression over being so incredibly unsuccessful at winning his heart, I hung up my apron and pushed away my plate.

Miss Fancy has worried about me a lot in this instance. Our bubbly lunches always include her inquiring about what I’d eaten that week. She texts to ask the same. I’ve only been truly honest with her about how little I’ve actually been eating, and frankly if it weren’t for beer, I’d be a size 2 by now. Alcohol is an ugly coping mechanism when you’re already depressed, but those calories have kept me alive this year.

I met my Fancy best girl the day after my incredible date with Mr. Right. Mimosas, football and her pretty face is about as good as it gets. We were laughing and I realized something.

I was starving.

As in… order every single thing on the menu, hungry.

I settled on ahi tacos and inhaled them in minutes. I looked up to see her sparkling eyes and excited smile.


J- I’m starving.

F- That makes me so happy. ♥

Something shifted in feeling happy again and I can’t decide what to make first. I went to return an extremely overdue Redbox movie last night and bought half the grocery store. Single parenthood makes dating a bit difficult, so we had a hot phone date last night while I made clam chowder and baked bread. He was grinning about my panties and cherry apron uniform when he stunned me silent.

R- I want to make you dinner.

J- <swoon> I would love that.

R- You just tell me when. I love to cook. Food is my love language.

Which is when he got his nickname.

Isn’t it funny that I’ve spent a year begging for five minutes of someone’s company and all I had to do was walk away to have an incredible man pleading for a second of mine?

He called this morning and asked if he could make me breakfast after CrossFit….

Someone should probably warn him about how hungry I am…

Derek the douchebag.

I knew when I agreed to this date that Derek was not my current type. I actually picked him for that reason. Let’s be honest… I’ve been ass deep in heartache and begging…. the least attractive a lady can be…. so I didn’t expect this to be a fun choice.

This was a date based on vice, not vision.

I have had a horrifying week full of sore muscles, financial bombs and vomit. My little Dumpling caught the worst of it this week and I’ve been juggling a million nightmares while smiling through feeling marginalized by the one person who can turn my frown upside down.

My stupid car broke down and I had to go pick it up tonight. Three guesses who I called and the first two don’t count.

Already sick to my stomach with nerves over a date I don’t want to go on, sitting beside the reason I have to go in the first place, I fought back tears and was grateful for the dark of daylight savings. He wasn’t paying any attention so it wasn’t hard to just sit silently and breathe through the cold and disinterested side of him. He’s like the moon, shining on me when he wants and never when I do. I’m itching to touch him and he could not be more prickly.. when hot tears break and spill down my cheeks. I brushed them away and bit my lip to stop the flood. He sat silently and I prayed for the minutes to turn into seconds.

We got to the mechanic and I bolted. I didn’t even thank him… and we all know that’s not like me.

Into the safe haven of my car, I absolutely bawled. Great. Puffy, red-eyed glory for my date. That’s awesome. I just wanted to cancel, pull on my ugliest and most comfortable pajamas, and go to bed at 7, with the Dumpling. My date was driving over an hour to take me to dinner, so I needed to pull it together and put myself back together as well.

I flew home, put a pizza in the oven and ran for the shower. A quick 10 minutes and I was blow drying and painting myself into a misleading version of pretty. I clean up well.

The babysitter arrived and I was off to meet my next bad choice.

I’ve been craving my favorite hippy food lately so I took him to a place I don’t usually take a date, in order to eat what I wanted. It seemed like a good idea at the time, but when I walked in and saw a dozen people I knew, I kicked myself.

He was waiting at a table and looked like the only dessert on the buffet. I could see women eyeing him and whispering to their friends.

I really have spectacular taste in douchebags when I’m being shallow.

Derek is 27, 6’5″ and reminds me of chocolate pudding. I got to the table and held out my hand to shake his. He hunched over and kissed my cheek. He reeked of whiskey and we’re in a hippy bar… so I knew it wasn’t recent.

J- Hi. How was the drive?

D- Long.

J- Hungry? This place has horrible service and great food.

D- and no liquor.

This is where I should have left. I should have just cut my losses and gone out the back door he doesn’t even know exists. I’m starving and determined to shake this heartache off, so I ignored my inner voice and ordered my favorite mahi-mahi zucchini wrap.

Awkward silence at the table has me looking around for a lifeline… and there are only nightmares from the past, bobbing all around me. I excused myself to the bathroom and did the unthinkable.

I sent the sober version of a drunk text to the guy I’m suffering through all this bullshit for..

Silence… nothing but deafening silence from him.

I went back and sat at the table while Derek told me how lucky I was to be there. I ate the one thing I felt like I could actually stomach after another week from hell.

I didn’t even cry. (Go ahead and clap.. … because it was touch and go there a half dozen times.)

Our inattentive server brought the check and Derek eyed me smugly.

D- Your place?

Once upon a time, I could have said yes. Ten years ago I’d have been only too happy to ignore his shitty character in trade for screaming orgasms.

Now?? Not in the slightest.

J- Thank you for dinner. I appreciate you making the drive to take me out, but no. I’m not taking you home.

D- Why not? I wanna fuck you.

J- Charming as that is, I’m not interested, but thank you.

D- Your loss.

J- That’s debatable, but ok. Have a nice drive home and thank you again.

I bolted for that beautiful back door that led to my freshly repaired car and the ticket to climbing into my bed, by my own damn self.

Single never felt so good, even if tears are more common than satisfaction.

Crossfit Casualty

Awww…. Fuck.

I’m too honest for my own damn good. I can’t even begin to try to sell this.

I got off the phone with my favorite delicious man and poured myself a stiff triple.

I’ve realized that I need to find a healthy way of coping with the crippling frustration he inspires. Given the choice of pharmaceutical drugs or exercise, I made the brilliant, inebriated decision to commit to 90 days of Crossfit.

I initially blamed the fishbowl of gin. I even admitted it when I went to sign up.

J- It was motivated by gin, vanity, and the stubborn desire to have what I want.

Crossfit lady- You are not alone. I get a lot of registrations that time of the evening! So what are your goals?

J- I lost my entire physical body at 18 when I had a baby. I want that back and I’m an overachiever. I’ll do it. I’m committed. I’m a firstborn, ridiculously stubborn and competitive.

Crossfit lady- That helps!! So do you have a size or weight loss goal, any objective?

J- I just want to like myself again. Or feel good enough. It’s been a long year.

She was stunned. I could tell. Oops. I say shit like that sometimes and refer to it as me slipping and “writing out loud”

Crossfit lady- Stop right there… you are already good enough. I’m excited for you.

Fast forward through bronchitis that made me cancel my first training and I decided after a hard day to just work through the cold and go … ….

Wednesday was my first day.

I was absolutely terrified when I walked in. There aren’t any machines, just friendly faces. I have my own trainer and he’s nice. Not the typical lecherous gym rat guy, either. He’s more like having a little brother teach you how to lose some weight.

I walked in awkward…but also hopeful. I found a healthy coping mechanism and the results won’t suck.

I was picking out imaginary bikinis when my trainer handed me a jump rope.

I’m not lazy. I do everything at my house and in the yard, including grow a half acre of vegetables. I’m not afraid to lift the heavy boxes.

But I’ll tell you what I couldn’t do… LOL… I could not jump rope to save my life. We were both laughing about it when he found me a regular jump rope and everything worked out. Air squats started out fine and ended up torturous. I didn’t think I could do two situps and I did 40. Of all the things that I thought would hurt the most, my abs hurt the least.

My thighs feel like I was in a boxing match with Mike Tyson and he had something against thighs. Walking up stairs makes me feel like tightly strung wire and walking downstairs makes me feel like someone ripped the rug out from underneath me.

I get to do it all again today and as much as I know it’s going to hurt… I’m excited.

Instead of wallowing, drinking or pouting… instead of staying up too late or avoiding people entirely… I’m going WAY outside of my comfort zone because I can’t afford not to anymore. There’s a point that sadness gets dangerous and much like everything else in my life, I have to be my own hero and it’s time to get flying…

It’s a half hour of extreme suffering with a few days off in between. I can do it. I will survive it… and maybe… just maybe…

I’ll feel a whole lot better about myself in the process.