The Dad


Something weird has happened in the space between my eldest and youngest babes. Once upon a time I was one of “The Moms”. The Moms are the group of pajama clad ladies who rush their children to school without so much as getting dressed. There were a few bathrobes, a few hubby t-shirts with leggings and a few scantily clad hotties, (the single moms.) amongst my tribe. We would rush them to school with shouts of “We have to leave RIGHT NOW!” and “Don’t forget your homework!” along with a half dozen “Where the hell is your coat?” We were a tired but grateful bunch. Those beautiful people behind those doors took our babies and made them nicer, smarter and … well… nonexistent until 2:40. Getting them there was insanely difficult, but always worth the grind. We’d chat for a half hour after the bell rang over a variety of coffee mugs and home life stories. I loved being a stay at home mom. Those were the good old days.

Fast forward 15 years…….

Now it’s a group of dads. A lot of them. I counted 6 this morning but I see them every day. They’re the type that park and walk their babies to the playground, then stand around with coffee, shooting the dad shit. Wedding rings aplenty,  these guys are in stay-at-home dad gear. Basketball shorts, hoodies and flip flops. Their uniform may differ, but I know jammies when I see them. They linger after the bell rings and I can’t help but stare. It’s like a pack of Unicorns, in the wild. I would give a kidney for a stay-at-home man.

I had questions and needed answers. As a flirtatious single mother, I know I can get them from these paternal superheros.

J- Do you have to be a dad to join your gang?

D1- Uhhh….maybe?

J- I’m not flirting with you. (unless you’re single…)

D2- Oh then you’re definitely out. What good is a dad that can’t flirt?

He looks vaguely familiar and I can’t put my finger on where I’ve seen him before.

D3- Yeah my wife better not hear you say that or this will be my last cup of coffee.

Dad2 takes a sharp bow and holds his hand out to me as he laughs and stuns me silent.

D2- Pleased to meet you, milady… My name is Dallas and you’re on my Tinder. Any plans this weekend?

It takes a lot to make me blush and I turned a deep crimson with each word he said after Tinder. The other dads were too mortified to make a peep until I burst out laughing and fished a business card out of my purse.

J- You win the day, sir. Do you have a pen?

He digs a purple crayon out of the backpack at his feet and I write my number on the back of it. The dad’s have begun to complain about the fairness of it all and I’m clearly not joining their gang.

but I AM having dinner with a very sweet Daddy this Saturday…

I Don’t.

“Leave his texts on read, leave his balls on blue…put it on airplane mode so none of those calls come through….”  – Cardi B ♥

I’d be lying if I didn’t admit to playing the villain in a few boys lives. I ghost them all.

K- Are you in the mood for something sweet?

J- Nope.


M- Wanna Netflix and chill?

J- No.


C- I’d love to fuck you until sunrise.

J- Damn it, Chad… you make a girl wanna say yes… . … but I have to be up at dawn for work and I quit eating arrogant frat boys years ago.


Sidenote: if your name is Chad and you like to golf, we are not a match. This is the guy who has to repeatedly tell you everything he owns.  <eyeroll> I bet you a million dollars he has a micropenis and can’t golf, either.  Sorry Chad- but really… we both know who’d be changing the tire if you got a flat while we were on a date and as patient as I am- I can’t blow a man who’d let me do that.

I deleted my Tinder and put my headlamp on with a few coats of mosquito repellant. It’s in the high 40’s at night this week so I have a snowsuit on as well. The Tinder notification popped up letting me know I was paid until the 22nd and they were going to continue letting me know every three seconds that someone new liked me. I was exasperated and logged in…

I was a little shocked when I realized that I’d collected three Jason’s. They’re all a lovely shade of stunt double and I’d subconsciously combined them into one Jason. I had messages stacked up from all of them, and went through to see who was more interesting, because a couple of them had to go.

Jason #1 is funny and works hard.

Jason #2 goes to the gym and relaxes a lot.

Jason #3 looks exactly like the man I’m trying to replace.

I unmatched #2 & #3 and messaged back #1… a week and a half later to apologize for vanishing. I can’t wait until this Tinder headache is over.

Which is when Frank showed up.

Not really.

I don’t want to train an old dog new tricks. Not if we’re talking about man skills. If they don’t have the basics by 30, they never will. For some women, that doesn’t matter but for me it’s everything. I need him to be able to chop wood, change his oil, carry my heavy stuff and kill all the intruders. I’d rather have a dirty skilled one than a rich pretty one, any day.

If you see red flags before you see his face, save yourself the trouble and run like hell. It’s the silver lining of internet dating. You can spare yourself a lot of really bad dates with depressingly bizarre people. If he’s crazy and off-putting before I’ve eaten stale bread with him over boring small talk? I’m going to spare myself the wasted carbs.

I’m not at all interested but I’m making an effort and that counts for something, right? I’m wading through the frightful messages and breathing through my frustration.

and canning myself a rainbow of healthy distractions for good measure.


Game Changer

I’m a bit speechless.

We all have that fish who got away, that guy who happens to be the definition of our wishlist. He’s the achilles that kills us, the pretty boy that makes us question what we ever saw in every other man and the one we wanted more than oxygen.

I called my mama tonight to ask her what I could do to help with the benefit dinner she’s hosting this weekend…

and He answered her phone.

McSteamy: Hi. Do you know who this is?

J- Travis?

McS: Nope.

J: Um…

McS: It’s me. McSteamy. I got divorced and moved back to town.

Oh. My. Sweet. Baby. Jesus.

I sent Sober One Kenobe a text asking if she had a sitter she would share and she volunteered. She knows who I’m talking about and we’re collectively gasping. She has dresses and I have butterflies.

I also have the hottest fucking date on earth. … … tonight…. in my mama’s garden… under the light of the moon and beside the prettiest man I’ve ever seen.

Almost 8 years ago to the day… I was in this same boat. 

Pray, y’all. I need a beautiful reminder and this is the prettiest one I’ve ever seen.



Mr. Holy Grail

When this idea occurred to me, I knew it was the equivalent of trading crack for cocaine. I wasn’t going to solve any problems by summoning the devil, but I would certainly curb the habit that’s been crippling and holding me hostage for the past year. I decided to bargain my soul for some peace, there’s really no way to sugar coat it. This isn’t a good idea but you do what you have to do when you’re desperate.

I left him a message last week.

J- Hey. Call me, I need your help with something. <click.>

He devastated me the last time I saw him. I blocked his number for a few years, in fact. He still sends me things, randomly. Pecans from Georgia, beach glass from tiny islands with white sand in faraway seas and the most scandalous underwear I own.

He is my vice parade. A walking, talking list of all my weaknesses because he wrote the menu… go figure.

Calling him is the definition of making a deal with the devil but I’m at that point. I bought a little black dress, a new lacy garter belt, a few pairs of fishnets, a body wax, spray tan and some yarn… just in case.

Sitting at work all day was borderline torture. My body feels so naked after waxing that I’m sure it’s written all over my face. I work with a man so I hope he was just oblivious enough to not notice how awkward I was all day.

I left for a spray tan and started to get sick to my stomach with nerves. Driving home, I burst out laughing because I smell like freshly baked cookies and look like hot cocoa and sex. Everything is pointing towards satisfied.

Everything except the big, huge hesitation I have sitting in my heart like a rock. I brushed it aside and drove to the Air Force Base to pick him up. I don’t have credentials so I waited for him at the visitor center, nervously picking at my fresh manicure. I saw him jump out of a truck in his flight suit, carrying an overnight bag and a bunch of roses. I shook my head at myself for the hell I was walking into for the sake of getting over my favorite man. This is gonna sting. Badly.

I walked to the door and reached for it, when he threw it open, picked me up and kissed my face all over like I do to my children. Laughing with my high heeled feet dangling in the air as he bit my bottom lip.

HG- Babydoll. I missed your pretty mouth.

He winked at me and I died a little at the deal I’d made with Satan.

I must have looked conflicted because he walked me to the passenger side of my car, opened the door and seat belted me in. I laughed and he climbed in and ripped out of the parking lot like Mario Andretti. Fly boys drive like fucking lunatics. Some men should be kept in the air and he’s the king of those men. I plugged the coordinates of our hotel into the navigation system and he reached over, slid my dress up and wrapped a tan hand around my newly brown thigh. I shook my head at him.

HG- Miss me?

J- No, actually… I didn’t.

HG- Keep telling yourself that.

I’m concerned because I’m more annoyed by him than amused or excited. Frankly I’m starving to death after being lazy and throwing some cottage cheese and fresh pico de gallo in a container this morning for lunch. A Brazilian wax makes you question the integrity of your clitoris staying connected to your body and I need a steak after what I’ve gone through to get naked tonight. I’m tired, need a shower and a hangover. Hearing him ramble on about himself makes me wish male hookers were a more readily available option.

We got checked in to the hotel and he jumped in the shower while I fought the urge to quietly leave. He must have felt it because he called me into the bathroom.

J- What…

HG- Come here…

J- I can’t… my tan is still drying.

HG- Talk to me, why are you so far away. Thinking about him?

I’m a horrible liar and he can see the guilt in my face. He laughed and filled his hands with soap, reaching for the monster that hangs between his thighs. This man has the body of a thoroughbred, including the cock of a stallion. It’s my favorite dick and I’d swear it’s even bigger than the last time I saw it. He’s instantly hard and my mouth goes dry. I haven’t had sex since January. This may have been a bad call on my part. I say a silent apology to my vagina, and walk out of the bathroom as he laughs and promises to behave. Yeah, right.

We walked to the restaurant I’ve been dying to eat at and there were more roses waiting.

J- You are too much. Pulling out all the stops, huh? Why do I feel like you’re up to something?

HG- I hurt you and I’m sorry. I’m glad you gave me a chance to make it up to you.

J- Don’t get the wrong idea…

HG- Oh I know you’re only using me for my body. I’m just here to make you feel better. I owe you that. Let’s go dancing and fuck all night. Whatever you want, Babydoll, I am all yours this evening.

J- And that right there is the crux of the problem. I’m sick of being single, eternally. I want a mans dirty shoes messing up my floors. I want oversized t shirts in my laundry basket.

HG- Then why are you still playing girlfriend when you’re such a wife? What happened with this guy? I don’t understand his hesitation.

J- He’s not into me. It was casual and I caught feelings. Typical me.

HG- Well you look incredible and I’d swear you’re aging in reverse, so hang in there kid. We’ll fix this.

A tear escaped and ran down my cheek. He looked horrified and pulled me towards him while I shoved him away.

J- I am not going to cry about this right now. Let’s eat. I’m starving.

HG- Mmmm…. I can’t wait to feed you. I ordered for us, I know you love that.

He pulls my right hand towards him and licks up the center of my palm, up my middle finger and slides it deep into his mouth, sucking hard enough that my hair stands on end as he bites my fingertip.

I wish I wanted to do this as much as I thought I would. I wish I weren’t so hesitant when I thought this would be the magical cure I imagined it would be.

More than anything though… I wish he were someone else. That someone I was hoping he’d easily erase. Fuck. That tear was my heart breaking all over again that he’s not sitting beside me.

HG- It sounds like he’s a close substitute of me. Just missing a few parts and the ability to please you like I can.

I’m fiercely protective of the people I love and I’d cut a bitch for the man I adore. Enough to cock block myself on date night.

J- Ohhhh honey… he’s the man you wish you were. I called you because you have a big dick and the same name… so if I accidentally scream his, you won’t be offended. No offense.

HG- Ouch. You need to eat.

The server sets a beautiful steak down in front of me, cooked perfectly and precisely as I want. I’m enchanted, finally. He knows it and grins broadly at my satisfaction. I was starving and to be honest, exhausted after we finished dinner. I started yawning and he ordered me coffee.

HG- Dancing? Or dessert?

I’m very aware that I AM what’s for dessert and I don’t feel like a loud bar full of drunk adolescents.

J- Dessert.

HG- Let’s go.

We walked back to the hotel and he rambled on endlessly about himself. I wish I could say I kept my head in the game, but my mind was elsewhere. Walking into our room I was hit by the smell of warm roses hanging in the air and went to put them in water, kicking my heels off.

He walked up behind me and unzipped my dress. I stepped out of it and looked to see him holding my heels. Laughing, I put them back on.

HG- Those are new titties. I like ’em. Bigger, huh?

J- Yep… thanks! You’re the first to see them!

HG- So they’re mine now.

J- That’s a negative, ghost rider.

He spanked my bare ass so hard it bounced and I laughed as he pulled me towards the massive bed lit by dim recessed bulbs in the ceiling. Staring at the stark white sheets, I felt heartsick. I realized what I’d been ignoring all day and night.

I didn’t want to do this.

Not at all.

and for the first time in my life… I just went ahead and said it.

J- I’m sorry.. You are probably going to be pretty mad at me… but I don’t want to do this. My head and my heart are just not into it and I don’t want to make things worse.

HG- Lay down and close your eyes. Get out of your head and get in the moment. Let me help you…

In the past, I would have. The good girl in me wants to be agreeable and accommodating at all times.

The lady boss in me doesn’t do a fucking thing she doesn’t want to do.

I walked to where my dress was laying in a pile on the floor, pulled it on and zipped it back up. Kicking myself for walking away from the spectacular erection staring back at me.

He started stroking it and smiling at me. I grinned back at him.

J- I’m sorry.

HG- Me too. You’re in deep this time. I like this new you, though. No hard feelings. Come sleep by me.

J- Yeah, right. I’m going to go home. Thank you for dinner and objectifying me so well. I feel pretty, pampered and healthy. You’re a peach.

HG- You’re really leaving?

J- I am. Take care.


Motherfuck. I drove home in tears, hating that I knew I did the right thing for my own well being and simultaneously kicking myself for the bone-deep loyalty that’s become a real burden in my life.

This man is going to be the death of me or at the very least, the death of my sex life.

Rest in peace, you poor bald, air brushed vagina.

Sorry girl… I tried. ♥


Mr. Spoiled

There’s a little magic in dating the boys you’d never consider. I’m not sure why that is, it just IS. I lose that nervous chaos that threatens to drown me when I’m not excited to go on a date. I’m able to just be myself and experience it for what it is….


Internet dating is the definition of hell. It’s a sea of blind dates, not even selected by loving friends with your best intentions in mind. Oh no… these random weirdos that flood by inbox are all just inspired by a few words and a couple pictures of yours truly. My profile states two absolute things that I cannot negotiate anymore.

You have to hate Donald Trump and love tomatoes if you ever want to see me naked.

Period. Everything else is negotiable.

If I were going to be completely honest though, I definitely have a type. I’m not height specific… because at 5’4″ I can comfortably wear heels with even the shortest of men, the one bonus of having short legs myself. No offense to the scrawny guys of the world but the only lean thing I enjoy is my diet, and even that’s a stretch. Gym rats are douchebags, full stop. I want a man who can appreciate my cooking as much as he does me. I’m not eye color or hair color specific either, I just crave a real man. One who can teach me something and stand up to me. It’s more holy grail than garden variety, which is why I’ve been single for most of my adult life. I’m content creating my own entertainment, paying my own way and taking responsibility for my own happiness.

I’m really good at being happy alone.

I’m also really great at being the perfect girlfriend… something I don’t always appreciate about myself. I tend to get lost in being happy and its been really nice finding pleasure in my own company and taking care of myself instead of the object of my desire. I started dating in the 7th grade and didn’t stop until I turned 37. Thirty years of constant attention and I was over it all. 6 years later, I’ve realized how much peace there is in NOT being part of a couple. I want to be a blessing, not a facilitator and I need to be considered in return. Until I get comfortable asking for that, I’m out of the pool.

But I’m going to date the ABSOLUTELY NOT’S in the meantime, so that I can laugh a little and write a lot.

Mr. Spoiled is a Californian lawyer. He flies in every weekend to spend his off time at his family “cabin” on the lake where I live. I’ve seen pictures. This is NOT a cabin.

My grandmother used to say ” You can love a rich man just as easily as you can love a poor man”… but I don’t find that to be true. I don’t like rich boys, at all. Ever. I find a display of wealth, nauseating. So when I got his email, I agreed and he insisted on taking me to a “cozy little Italian place he found that he knew I’d love.”

Y’all. I live in a small town. There aren’t many new restaurants and if there are, none of them are a secret from anyone. With that same small town in mind, I don’t love city folk that flock here and junk up my life every weekend.

This man is realllllly not my type but it is my favorite Italian restaurant and I’ve got a mean case of writer’s block.

So I agreed to meet him for dinner on Saturday night and went on about my life. Not stressing the impending date because he was weird and I wasn’t attracted to him at all. He started texting me picture of him flying his plane, out for expensive meals, on big boats… etc. I get that it’s a thing for some girls but for me, it’s somewhat insulting.

I don’t have a price tag and all the money in the world can’t buy your way in to any part of me or my life. Period. Hearing a man talk about his wealth, makes me dry and annoyed.

I intentionally arrived late after a dozen whiny text messages from him about the full parking lot. Whiners wait… it’s a rule of mine that I enjoy inflicting.

He was visibly perturbed when I got to the table and met my gaze with a long look at my chest.

Charming. Also just as I expected.

J- William, nice to meet you.

I held my hand out and he half-heartedly shook mine with a limp grip. Oy vey… I didn’t expect it to be that bad.

W- I brought a bottle from my cellar. I figured we should celebrate the night we started to live happily ever after.

(eyeroll) I know some people would be loving every minute of this, but I’m struggling to keep the oyster mushroom risotto I made for lunch, down.


Bubbles do delight me, though… and one sip told me I was drinking farrrrrr outside my price range. Mmmmm…. I wished my best girl were there to share a glass with because I already knew this would not be resulting in a second date.

Our server arrived and smiled pleasantly, when my atrocious date began ordering an imaginary item from the nonexistent menu. I must have looked as horrified as I felt, because he glared and half-snapped at me.

W- What. They have all those things.

J- It’s called a menu because that’s what they make. Can we please have a few minutes to decide?

The server hurried away and he glared at me again.

J- Yeah, no. You need to read that menu and find something you like. My friends work here, shame on you. If you want to design your own dinner, cook it your damn self. They print menus for a reason and pains in the ass like you drive everyone stark raving mad every summer.

Ooops. I can see by the look on his face that he’s not thrilled. Fun. We haven’t even gotten drinks yet.

I ordered a salad and he ordered the same while complaining that they didn’t have deep dish pizza and asking for a comment card. The server smiled apologetically at me and we sunk into the big wait to eat and run. Our salads came out in seconds and that same server winked as she walked away. We both practically inhaled our dinners and were out the door in under an hour. He smiled provocatively at me on our way out the door.

W- My place or yours?

J- Both. I’ll see you later, thanks for dinner!

W- Dessert?

J- Not tonight.

I was home in time to read to the Dumpling and watch a few episodes of The Handmaid’s Tale.

Just what the doctor ordered after an awful date with an entitled brat. ♥