Category Archives: Enemies

Eyes wide open…

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2

Worrying about money keeps me up at night. Blech. Yuck. Blah. Nothing is more pointless then ruining tomorrow worrying about today.

But it happens every time, without fail.

So yawn…. I’m sleepy and facing hour after hour of transplanting tomatoes, planting flowers and weeding… an acre. Good grief.

I’m knee deep in thistle when my phone buzzes against my chest and it’s another internet dating email. I haven’t deleted one profile purely to remind myself why it’s NOT a good idea to date strangers.

I fully embrace my finely tuned procrastination skills and today is no exception. I decided to take a break and came inside to check my email.

Only to find this little gem. lol… and by gem, I mean laughable example of self aggrandizing delusion. Maybe it’s Thomas? lol… He’s 36, and a veritable pervert, trolling for nothing more than sex with a ridiculous profile too tragic to publicize. Eww.

“Yo- Ok this is your final chance.. I mean,usually you would have to hit a pawn shop,or a titty bar to find a gentleman of my caliber and standing in this comunity.. And you have repeatedly let this slip away..”

Um. I’m torn. I’m sorely tempted to email him back to tell him to watch me do it again… but this almost requires more. What on earth makes some of these weirdos feel so compelled to chastise me for “letting them get away”? Sorry if I’m just not interested in dating the mayor of Crazytown.

As soon as you sign into these things, somewhere something pops up to let everyone know you’re online. Lovely. The creepers come flying at me with multiple chat boxes in minutes and I accidentally clicked on one. Up pops his nether regions and a message that says…

D- Wanna bang?

Good grief and yuck. No I do not. Ever. In fact I may take a break from sewing the diaper covers I’m working on to go shower. These internet weirdos make you feel dirty WITHOUT even meeting them.

What happens in their lives to make them this way? What is it with men? I swear- my tolerance for douche baggery has officially worn out and I could not be less interested in dating these losers if I were a lesbian.

It only got worse. As I was typing a rather scathing retort to douche bag number 1, two more emails came in.

Apparently someone left the gate open at Asshat Farm this morning, because this guy spent some serious time ranting at me. First two emails from him, one right after the other. Brace yourselves… this guy is going to be on the receiving end of my stress. He asked for it. Look.

W- Hi! Ok right to the point you are. Never seen a profile like yours before. Am I that guy! Are you that GIRL! lol. I thought all you women looked at the pretty flowers and decided who your partner is going to be. About 90% of you women don’t study and do your homework. You all end up picking Canadian Thistle or Knap weed, both have pretty purple flowers but a pain in the butt in the garden! You know what we all have in commen? We are all made of energy, energy attracts same energy. This day and age we want the person to be the right height, right looks, right hair, right eyes, right age! Do you think that energy cares about all that? That is the reason why our society is all screwed up by magazines, TV, and Media. We are programmed to think that we have to have physical perfection and not energy perfection, so do you think your THAT GIRL? You’ll probably be like the rest and say what a jerk I am because I am to straight forward. I can say by looking at your profile and reading what little you have to say and being pissed off, I would bet 10 to 1 odds that you have no clue yourself because all the pretty boys your after run from you, huh? I am older but I have been around the block more then once, you think you can look at me from your energy and heart that we could have the same energy? If not and your eyes have been programmed to only look at the pretty purple flowers, I have to say good luck. If your heart is big, give me a message and lets chat. Woody

W- Oh the other thing! I would never take you out on a date! I would take you to a movie where you can’t ask me about half a billion questions. Maybe fishing, you start talking, I would say shhhhhh your scaring the fish! If you say coffee, I would only laugh because that is a BS way to meet, it is a hit and run tactic. Chew on that and really see if you know what a real man is? Woody

Let me get this straight. All women want pretty flowers and are attracted to knapweed? Just for arguments sake, this is what knapweed looks like:

Um… perhaps it’s just me and my trillion flowers in my big ol’ garden… but I don’t find it pretty- not to mention it’s a noxious weed and hurts like hell if you pull it with bare hands. At any rate… don’t even get me started on thistle, which I combat in my garden every day. Yeah… give me the nasty impossible to kill weed that leaves me with feet full of tiny slivers each year. I want that one.

But… considering the men I’ve dated, perhaps I have been picking weeds over flowers. He may have a point there. Frankly- my favorite flowers have to be flown in, I’m damn high maintenance in that regard. This man is NOWHERE near the tuberose I love so much. He’s more like runty little dandelion that keeps getting choked out by the knapweed.

To make things worse… he’s a Raiders fan. I couldn’t date a Raiders fan if he were a walking sweettalking Adonis. No. I’m a football girl and I hate the Raiders. Yuck. No. I will never understand how these idiots think that insulting a woman or denigrating her character or immediately assuming she’s a stuck up bitch purely because she’s not interested, is ever going to work.

Which is when I get to the line that says it all.

“You’ll probably be like the rest and say what a jerk I am because I am to straight forward.”

No, sir… I’m going to tell you a whole lot more than you want to know about yourself. Right after I mock you on the internet and call you out for the rude little asshole you are, bad taste in football even, ew. Get your man card out, I’m about to burn it.

Oy VEY. This is his everyday attempt? Seriously? He’s busy worrying about weeds and he should be learning how to be polite, or at least take the standard approach and start with less than a novel-long rant about the men that are outdoing him.

Lol… he’s willing to bet 10 to 1 odds that my favorite pretty boys run from me? Huh… I am unemployed and that’s a damn quick way to make some money. I have a right mind to take him up on that bet. What an amazing statement to make with the actual idea that it’s going to illicit a positive response. Someone should warn him he just barked up the very wrong tree. Perhaps my response will have him re-examining his approach. Probably not, but it’s worth a shot.

The second email just defies my ability to be nice. I must insult this man. It’s my duty. He’ll never take me on a date or he’ll take me to a movie or fishing to shut me up? Oh boy… what a gem. He’s right about the coffee though- that’s precisely why it’s a perfect first internet date. Less is ALWAYS more.

A real man… now that was the straw that broke the camels back. He’s not expecting this, that’s for sure.

Dear Woody,

Where do I even start… oh and you’re welcome, ahead of time. Ordinarily I wouldn’t bother responding when I’m not interested but for the good of all single womankind, I’m making an exception.

You seem to equate being rude with being straight forward, so please enjoy my “straight forward” response.

First and foremost, contacting someone for the first time with your mouth full of insults, preconceived notions and criticism will get you exactly what you deserve… the painful truth. I’ll happily take you up on that bet, and with 10-1 odds, maybe I’ll take a vacation with one of those “pretty boys” you’re so threatened by.

Better yet? I’ll buy a sexy little black dress that says “Raiders Suck”. Don’t worry, I’ll be sure to post a picture so you can see what a smart woman looks like. I’ll take special joy watching my Chargers kick your ass this year. Can’t wait.

Men who post pictures of their children on their internet dating profile should be given a free shot of anti-freeze, IJS.

As for dating me? Not only would I not suffer through a cup of coffee with you, if you had the balls to shhhh me fishing? I’d throw your short fat ass off the boat and let you swim back to shore. It doesn’t look like you’d make it. I believe that’s the definition of famous last words. I don’t have a billion questions for you, but you’d need a handgun and chloroform to get me alone in a dark room, even a movie theater full of pretty boys.

As a matter of fact? I am THAT girl. I’m funny, sweet & thoughtful. I am an amazing girlfriend and a great mother.

Better than that? I’m a writer, and your lame, insulting and unsolicited bullshit has been blogged for a few hundred of my closest friends.

I’m the whole package, and you sir, are a douchebag. Go climb back under your rock before you end up drowning on your swim back to shore.

Oh and good luck to you too. Luck is all that could save you, in my opinion. Luck or a nice Russian mail-order bride catalog, a handgun or a successful abduction. I’d suggest you start by paying for it first.

I don’t think you’re a jerk for being straight forward- I think you’re a spineless weasely asshole who likes to belittle women. Being a jerk would be a huge improvement for you. Perhaps you should start with a little counseling and working on your relationship with your mother, because DUDE… this SCREAMS mommy issues.

Have a nice day!

J

Good Lord. I may die a born-again virgin.

Indomitable

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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…

BUT….

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.

Argh.

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You know when something can be hard, and it is? It’s that sort of week. I’m so tired of paperwork I could scream.

My last names don’t match on my social security card and my drivers license… and one of them has to change in order to file my unemployment.

I just need a copy of my marriage license, that’s all. FML. I’ve been divorced for 9 years and the lady says…

L- Just send your original marriage license in, we’ll return it.

Oh… sure… since I know exactly where that thing is. Ugh. I think it honestly went up in flames at the first Nathan Steinbauer roast. My divorce papers wont work, since apparently you have to be a bride to prove your last name. For crying out loud.

8 phone calls and five miles away they have my marriage license at the click of a button. I’ve already torn the house apart a little (or a lot) looking for it.

Deep breath… and thank you Google.  Two dollars and a five minute drive and I have all my paperwork in an envelope and on it’s way. Good grief. I think it was easier to get divorced.

Grocery shopping when you’re looking at the only money you have until you get a new job… is a little scary. This should be a lesson in saving for a rainy day… cause it’s raining and I haven’t been saving.

I’m tenacious and resourceful. It’ll all be ok. I found the best thing first thing this morning that reminded me to quit panicking.

The reality is? I wake up every day so thankful I don’t have to go to work.

I wake up thankful…. and when you wake up thankful to be unemployed? You know you were working the wrong job.

My feet finally don’t sting to step on. My floors are so clean you can eat off of them. My dishes and laundry are done and I’ve started painting.

It’s rainy ugly and I don’t want to weed… but I’ve wiggled my toes into the cold soil once or twice just to calm my nerves. My earthworms are easily 18 inches long… the layer of leaf mulch I put on the garden last fall has really paid off. Now I just need to weed an acre or rent a tiller and get it planted and mulched.

Time of the essence… and I finally have some.

3 20′ rows of golden raspberries to cut back, tie up, weed & mulch with pine needles.

14 fruit trees to prune.

A yard sale or five to throw… and every reason to just load it all in the car and take it to the nearest thrift store for donation.

A 6′ pile of lumber… in desperate need of a fence, but lacking a table saw. Damn it, who knew I’d ever want a table saw? Realizing that I couldn’t cut a 9 ft board by myself anyway.

and I still can’t find the fucking cordless drill charger.

ARGH.

It’s that kind of week, where I have more hours in the day than I’m used to, a helluva  lot of silence and no money coming in. A mind full of panic and doubt.

When the phone rings, and the interviews start rolling in.

I realized I moved a few mountains in finding my marriage license, my mother and father’s social security numbers and getting it all in the mail by 11 AM. Taking little bits of faith from the little victories of my everyday boredom of late.

Celebrating the biggest relief I’ve felt in years with one fresh coat of paint.

The wall the stupid dirty boat stealing asshole ruined in my living room is finally fixed. My mom’s darling boyfriend painted it yesterday and I started to cry when I stepped back and looked at it.

He’s finally gone. There will always be stupid things he did staring me in the face- but this was a big one.

I’d gone on vacation to visit family and he’d decided to drywall it himself. <eyeroll>

The man is the king of shortcuts and half-assed. I was relieved to not be looking at insulation anymore but it was just a nightmare when I looked at it. He’d used spackle from the Habitat for Humanity place on the wall in my bedroom and you could see hay, hair and dirt in it? Nevermind it was over an inch thick in places- and dry.

DBSA- Surprise!

This is an example of life with him. He just can’t do things the right way. He must fuck them up. He must do the one thing that ruins everything. He is literally a bad luck charm.

I had a friend look at it for me and tell me honestly if I should just sand it off and he shook his head in horror and told me it’d be easier to build a closet around it instead. Lovely. So I painted it red like the rest- and someday I may learn how to build a closet or let someone else deal with the disaster he made. Fuckin’ idiot.

At any rate. I asked him not to mud the wall in the living room- in no uncertain terms… and when I went to do it myself- I realized the drywall stuck out a quarter of an inch too far. I called him.

J- Hey. Why is the drywall a quarter inch too big in the living room?

DBSA- Oh… well… when I went to get it I thought for sure it was 3/4″ drywall.

J- so you just bought the wrong size?

DBSA- Yeah, but I already had it there and I can just contour it to fit, you’ll hardly notice.

Yep. Told ya. A real live certified mouth breather. I was so disgusted I hung up… and got out my screwdriver. I got the wrong sized pieces off, and went to buy the right size. It wasn’t hard and I’ve had the drywall up for over a year. After his nightmare Spackle job, I was intimidated.

My mom’s darling boyfriend finished it for me as a Christmas gift, and it’s beautiful. He’s even going to come back and help me trim it out.

In a week that feels absolutely standstill and boring…. I’ve gotten a lot of shit done.

Best of all, I’m finally rid of that damn hippie half-assed construction I was foolish enough to let him do.

A new job on the horizon, a little headway in the garden and an ugly piece of my past, covered with a fresh coat of beautiful pale Tiffany blue paint.

Ahhhh…. finally relieved of the writers block that always results from people I don’t like, reading my blog.

Fuck off if you don’t like me- and thank you to those who do- I appreciate all the emails and the ♥.

Yeah it’s been a hard couple of days… but I quit smoking, I quit drinking beer on a daily basis, and I quit swallowing my pride for $3.35 an hour.

Seems like a good week, after all?

Rain or Shine

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5

I had a much needed light week. I applied for a few new jobs and gave up a few of my hours at work. I swam in the joy of motherhood- which saves me every time. We giggled and rode bikes. We cooked together and side by side when we invited everyone over for dinner. At one point I was breaking the bottoms off asparagus spears and I had to stop and watch her for a moment.

My little princess isn’t so little anymore. She’s growing up…. and it leaves me with a big lump in my throat when I think about it. It’s gone by so fast, and only continues to go by faster.

If you blink- you might miss it. I know people told me that, but I never believed them until I saw it with my own eyes.

She’s so delightful- and we have the best time together… it just goes by so quickly, especially when you add work and school to the equation. I spend my life missing my kids and as the years tick by, it doesn’t get any easier. We had a fantastic week, followed by a dinner party with family that she helped cook. It was one of those full circle weeks, with everything falling further into place.

No dates. No boys. No men. I’m all plants, seeds and garden gloves. I’m a dirty girl in the purest sense.

It’s raining this morning, and I dropped my little darling off for school and kissed her goodbye for the week… and fought tears on the way home. This life half lived is eating at me lately and has made me realize why I date. To fill the empty hours I spend missing them. To do anything but face an empty dark house that still bears the signs of my little red-headed hurricane of art supplies. There’s a tube of turquoise glitter on the bathroom counter. Paper on the table and a variety of pens, pencils, yarn, etc… shoes here and there.

I sat down with a heavy sigh and surveyed the hurricane’s path. I miss her and I owe it to her to figure out how to enjoy my time without her too. She can’t be burdened by being my everything. So I threw on some garden gear and went out, slightly happy for the raindrops which mix nicely with the tears of my pity party. Heavy hearted and overwhelmed by another Monday in the chaos of life, single.

In my life, dirt fixes everything. It’s muddy delightful and I can’t resist the urge to take my gloves off. I like to feel the weeds in my hands. I like the soft cake-y dirt of the rows I’ve hand dug for 4 years. It’s a basic function and exactly what I need to remind me that it’s all just fine. Earthworms and bumblebees and newts. Quack grass and tansy and thistle… I have horrible weeds in my garden but it’s just a process and fairly quickly it starts to reveal it’s beautiful self.

It started to rain so hard it was dripping off the end of my nose and I decided to abandon the dirt for the sparkly clean water I put in the hot tub yesterday. 108* of heaven. Something is going crazy on the hot tub heater and it’s overheating. Hooray.

Icy cold Diet Pepsi, steamy hot water in the early morning spring fog with nothing but seeds to plant, laundry to fold and dishes to put away. Tempted to buy more potato seed… purely because I love digging them and I’m an admitted vegetable hoarder.

A text telling me I’m off the schedule until further notice. Essentially missing the entire work week. Thanks, single mom, that’s how much they appreciate you.

Pull my blog and kiss some ass or I’m fired?

I know when I’m being cornered to quit. I’m not stupid.

Once upon a time I could have been backed into a corner by a bunch of bullies. Once upon a time I would have caved and begged them to let me beg more, if I thought for a moment that’s what they wanted…. but they don’t. The customers love me- and I love my job. I’ll find a new one that respects me as a human being as well.

What would you choose? Sunshine? Or rain?

I choose sunshine, and the freedom of speech for that matter.

I don’t kiss even the hottest bald guy’s ass for $3.35 an hour.

Douchebag Free Zone

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2

It’s been a sunshiney week of beauty and happiness. My cup runneth over and over again… I’ve got my feet underneath me and I’m not inclined to take any shit from anyone anymore.

You’re either with me, or you’re a target. I’ve come to the end of my rope with the opportunists in my life and I’ve booked a one-way ticket out of Douche Bagistan.

I hear the following all the time:

E- It’s gonna take a brave man to date you, because if they fuck up, you slaughter them in a way that makes the whole world laugh at their expense. Penis size isn’t out of the question, equipment failure becomes a snarky detail in a barn burning personal vilification of the unworthy jerk stupid enough to tempt fate to betray you.

Yeah… I suppose? I’m more inclined to think that’s their own bad luck. It’s really simple. Be nice to the nice girl and you wont end up with your failed erection as a joke amongst your friends, family & neighbors… oh and about 22 countries worth of strangers. I don’t want a coward anyway, and if he’s stupid enough to climb up on the altar and offer his douche baggy ass for sacrifice? I’m absolutely going to rise to the occasion for a boy stupid enough to leave me crying in a pool of his personal secrets.

Does that make me a bad person? No… that makes me a dangerous bitch to fuck with.

I’ve mended a few fences and burned a few bridges. I’ve kicked a few asses and I’ve taken a few names. I’ve been pushed too far by someone who deserves a baseball bat to the face and I’ve responded by taking myself out of the game rather than taking my turn at the plate. There are nine innings- and trust me… the hate blog that’s a few weeks away is going to make the rest look like glowing recommendations.

I don’t hate blog women often, but when I do? It’s lethal- and this could be my finest vitriol ever. Truth has a way of burying the guilty deeper than they know how to dig their way out of.

I’ve pulled up my big girl panties, and deleted the Douchebag directory from my phone, with the exception of the really really bad ones… in which case they’ve been renamed “Fuck NO” so that I know not to answer them. There are more “Fuck NO’s” in my phone than I care to admit.

I’ve thrown the douche bag out with the douche. Cheers!!! <go ahead and clap… I’m aware it’s long overdue)

It’s my day off and I intend to make every minute of it as wonderful as the last three days we’ve had. My toe is healing, my heart is happy and I’m so single I could be labeled a lesbian. Maybe I should chop all my hair off and go butch… just to keep them away from me forever. At this point?  A crazy woman sounds better than a man that falls into the “My Type” category.

No casual sex- because it’s high time I wasn’t casual about what I deserve in my life. No dates. No crazy internet weirdos.

Just plain NO.

The raw truth of it is that I kinda sorta fell in love with the very worst douche bag I’ve ever had the misfortune of meeting. I let myself get to know him too well, and liked the person he was to the point that I lost sight of the douche bag he behaves like. He might wake up someday and be decent, but it wont be in bed next to me and I’m far too kind of a person to deal with someone who isn’t man enough to regret that.

It’s my own damn fault for loving a man I nicknamed the Vagina Hoarder. Not only did I go in with open eyes that could see the parade of cars in his driveway? I went back for a second dose of disrespect.

That’s pure unadulterated stupidity on my part. When you repeat history with a douche bag you deserve to get hurt… much like when you act like a douche bag you deserve to have the child of a woman you’ve raked through the coals, twice, in your class someday.

Pity him… she’s not as forgiving as her mama.

I’ve got better things to do than feel bad about a boy that sleeps with girls that are uglier than me. That’s more than a douchebag, that’s a damn fool. Why eat canned tuna for lunch when you had filet mignon for breakfast?

I’m a bright girl- I want a smart man or I don’t want one at all… and the smart man I will spoil to the point his friends hate him?

Would never pick a can of tuna over a perfectly rare steak.