Ask & you shall receive…

We’ve had a bit of turnover in the office lately and I’ve been wracking my brain trying to find a solution that didn’t involve me trying to fit more into an already insanely busy day. Trying to find someone that is honest, reliable and has some amount of skill is akin to my finding a date.

Possible? Sure. Likely? No.

My job involves a lot of sewing and design work. Those are pretty specialized skills and I made up my mind with the last woman that we lost that I needed to find a man to balance the estrogen in the office. He’d have to be strong to offset the intense female hierarchy. Not only did I need to find a man who could sew… I needed to be comfortable teaching & correcting him.

I needed a confident unicorn who could start as soon as possible with little to no training. Awesome. I was actually laughing about it to myself when Sober One Kenobe called.

J- You don’t know anybody who sews, do you?

MSOK- Man Card.

J- What?

MSOK- Yep.

They’ve gotten divorced since we used to hang out and it’s the first relationship that’s gone wrong in my circle of friends that really hit home. I was sure I’d be baking a cake at their 50th, and my heart still aches a little that it didn’t work out. I love her, I love him and I treasured them. It’s really awful when your favorite couple breaks up.

But.

She’s happily committed and cohabitating with her new guy… and Man Card is the Holy Grail of single men. In a lake full of perch… he’s the Kokanee we’re all after.

She was the first excited ex wife to call me, hoping he was the man at the center of my scorching hot blog posts. I don’t know when the idea hit me (or the two glasses of wine) but I asked her for a green light. I’d break a dozen of my own rules in this situation, but not without her blessing. She laughed at me for asking and rolled out the welcome mat.

Is it a bad thing to hire someone you’re attracted to? He’s my favorite guy. I would leave the Dumpling with him and I don’t leave her with anyone. I learned to trust him almost a decade ago.

So, I asked if he’d be interested and he agreed. I made him sew a variety of things yesterday and put him on the spot.

and I am so goddamn proud.

Sometimes, creatively- you are able to just let someone find what works for them. This is that moment. He’s detail oriented and listens. He’s actually really good and I had to send a video to my boss.

Beyond that? (Sorry MSOK).

He’s so fucking hot I’m going to have to get up at dawn to get ready for work and I have no choice but to add red meat back into my diet or he’s going to catch me looking at him like he’s lunch.

Shit…

This is why we didn’t have any men before. I get it now. I opened the door this morning to him standing there in that same flannel shirt and boots I’d been craving, smelling like inspiration and a few thousand words.

Shit just got real…

 

Proclivities

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I’m a fantastic woman. I’ve worked hard at it. I’m funny, sexy, smart and every sort of nice guys dream come true. If only I liked nice guys…

If I’ve learned anything about myself and who I’m generally attracted to? It’s that they’re all grade A Daddy-Issues-typical-Jenni-habit. Five years of celibacy helped, but my preferences haven’t changed much.

Dating your Daddy issues only lands you in one very unpleasant place. Reliving the pain you watched your Mommy suffer through when you were a child. I loved my Dad, but he was a Grade A douchebag when it came to the women who loved him. Never invested, never present, never available. Completely fantastic if you were standing right in front of him…but out of sight, out of mind.

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Remind you of anyone?

Pretty disappointing when you consider that not only was he a terrible, unavailable parent, but he also managed to saddle me with a type that guaranteed my long-term suffering. Thanks a lot, Dad. It makes me feel a lot better about the 12 page truth sandwich I sent him before he died. I hope it stung as much as eternally wanting what I can’t have, does.

Miss Lovely recently gave in and met Mr. Charming; whom we’ve been dying to set her up with for years AND IT WORKED!!!! They’re having a delightful time and have reminded us all that our friends know us better than we know yourselves. Perhaps that’s the key? Life has a way of breaking even the most beautiful hearts and our friends aren’t looking through rose colored glasses when they set us up with other people they adore.

Internet dating has gone from bad to fucking lunacy. I can’t even. Between the instant dick pics or access to the real one… I’m bored. When I consider the choice between the 25 year old I should feel guilty for, or the 60 year old who should be dating women his own age, I’m left asking the one glaring question I’ve asked for the past 15 years.

Why?

Doesn’t it have to add to my life? I have my own home, the princess bed of my dreams and an egyptian cotton habit I don’t have to justify to anyone. If I feel like making Thanksgiving in July… we’re eating mashed potatoes and turkey. If I want to get up at 4:30 and run, I’m running. The little Dumpling can occupy the other side of my bed as often as she likes and I can do the dishes in panties if I so desire. My life is… mine.

I do miss the silly, insignificant accessories that accompany a boyfriend. Big flannel shirts that smell like sawdust and masculinity. Dirty boots. Cologne sitting next to my perfume. Absentmindedly putting his favorite beer in the shopping cart. The things you take for granted and end up missing the most. I can admit that.

I can also fix that.

I threw on my own favorite big sweatshirt, some perfume and my tennis shoes. A run to my favorite playlist, an uninterrupted long, hot shower, followed by a snuggle with the Dumpling in my favorite bamboo sheets.  Relishing how much I actually love being single.

I don’t want to wade through weirdos in a quest to risk this bliss I created.

No thank you, very much. ♥

Isn’t it supposed to be fun?

Forgiveness

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Sorry for throwing out some heartbreaking stuff without warning. I opened my jewelry box the other day and my eldest daughter picked up the fake ID from my week in hell. It knocked the wind out of me a little and she looked up at me with confused eyes.

LR- It says you’re born in 1969. WTF? Why would you ever want that?

I didn’t want to tell her the gory details and she had fresh malice and joy dancing in her face. I told her it was a fake ID, cost $50 and worked. She was scandalized enough to gasp and shake her head at me. Her life is so different than mine and I’m so proud that we’ve been able to protect and shelter her from growing up too fast or being left at risk.

We all make mistakes. Something terrible happened to me, yes… but I’ve done plenty of terrible shit with intention. It all comes out in the wash. Ultimately, some of the worst things have given me the best sense of humor. The dark, horrible shit has made me quite a resilient little lady.

My sister the Unicorn is the same way. We simply were born with too much faith, an overabundance of love to give and faulty brakes. We jump in head first and worry about the depth of the water, afterwards. It usually works out and of all the people I know, her and I are living big and out loud; leaving nothing on the table. A few scars, sure… but I’d rather have a dozen than a single regret.

You only get one life. Who are you trying to impress? Why spend it whiny, bitter or sad? No matter how badly you think you have it, someone out there would give anything for your problems. Life is short. Eat the chocolate & buy the jeans. Wear the red lipstick and kiss that boy. Work accounts for so much of your life that I can’t recommend having a job you love, more. I am really blessed in that area and it trickles down into everything else.

I could count my heartaches instead of my blessings but if I’m going to be honest I’m a little concerned which side would outweigh the other. So why open the door? I’m living a life that I did not expect when I was a starcrossed teenager, but I honestly don’t know how I ever would have imagined such an amazing adventure.

Putting my rape down in words is uncomfortable. I can still smell him. I don’t enjoy the physical memories and I wish I could pack those away with the regrets I so easily decline. It’s a little difficult to forgive someone who’s never apologized.

I did find a silver lining… as is my way.

I’ve gotten over the facial hair hangup. It took me 27 years, but I can say with absolute lecherous joy that I’d give a very healthy kidney for a certain beard on any part of my body.

Forgiveness sets me free & Incredicock sets me on fire. Consider me cured.

Bad things happen to unsuspecting people every day and you can either let it be a moment in who who are, or you can let it define your whole life. I choose to file it away with the rest of the bad shit that I don’t want taking up space that I could fill with joy.

Or beards.

A million little pieces…

Blogging for the past 11 years has given me plenty of reason to feel a little exposed- but more than anything it’s given me a whole bunch of nameless, faceless friends and cheerleaders. The heartfelt emails I’ve received have gotten me through some epic nightmares, the gifts always blow my mind  (especially Candace’s magical granola) and I’ve made some lifelong friends out of complete strangers who happened to stumble on my stumblings..(Sarah of Silvi!! Girl, I’m looking at YOU!).

I still feel like a deer in the headlights anytime someone smiles at me whilst out and about and says…

E – I love your blog. I think I know who * is!

Gasp. Why are you people still reading this? That’s still so foreign to me, which could explain why I’m still too damn candid. At any rate- hi, and why on earth is any of this interesting enough to read? I write for my own cathartic pleasure and to deal with the ridiculous amount of things I juggle in a day. I never really think about people reading it, if that makes any sense at all. I wrote a book I’m too mortified to publish. I’m really shy, if I’m going to be completely honest. I hide it well, but the people closest to me know how incredibly out of character it is for me to be putting my personal life, in print.

I’m a lot better at investing my heart in the wrong place, than loving the men who really have my best interests at heart. I’m not really interested in happily ever after if it means wondering where he is when I’m not there. I had 6 cheating boyfriends in a row and realized that I was the one to blame for caring so little about myself in picking such sad excuses.

I did one thing differently this time in the pool. I only got involved with what, or whom, I’d deemed as my favorites. Absolutely NO chance of a douche bag. Cream of the crop men I’d sentenced to the friend zone. The best of my best.

lol…. Go ahead… laugh. I deserve it.

I think when it comes to my crafting skills, my ability to make even the nicest guy into a garden variety douchebag makes me more villain than superhero. I am incapable of choosing wisely and frankly, being celibate was A LOT less frustrating. Just as you can’t unring a bell… you can’t easily force Pandora back into her box. She’s loud and angry about the situation and I’m running myself into oblivion.

The stats stun me to silence sometimes. I get an occasional nasty comment or puritanical sexual judgement. I delete them. This is my world- and I have every intention of keeping it kind. Sidenote: You can’t make me feel worse about myself than I already have, save your breath. Luckily it’s one click of the “Trash” button and they’re gone. If only it were so easy in real life…

The people who approach me are incredibly sweet and complimentary. They relate to my worst moments and the constant struggle we all face every day. It isn’t easy for anyone and everyone wants more love in their lives. The only difference between you and I is that I put mine in print for a few hundred strangers to read every day. I recommend it, it’s incredibly liberating.

I used to worry so much about what people thought of me, then someone created an “I Hate Jenni” group on Facebook, complete with a profile picture of me kissing the guy I’d had a horrible relationship with, and a link to my blog. Decades of alumni from my high school were invited to like the page. Everyone I knew locally. It was ground zero. Several thousand hits that day, and 3 more days before Facebook would take the page down. January 2, 2011. You never forget those days.

It taught me how little someone’s opinion of me, actually mattered. Even more so, that I’m not that different than anyone else and most people wanted to tell me how much they related. I no longer care what anyone thinks, and if that’s all I walk away with from blogging, then it’s priceless in how that applies to the rest of my life.

You’re here by choice. Don’t like me? Well.. fuck off then.  If you’re here because you don’t like me and you’re enjoying my failures, buckle up. I outdo myself regularly and I have so little fucks to give that I’m going to arm you with my dirty little secrets.

One of the first people to start reading this has always emailed me to ask how I’m doing when I go silent… and I had an email from her this morning.

H- Hey lady, just wondering if the million little pieces of you are feeling loved? Hear a sad sound in you these days and wanted to check in and send some. Kisses. H

Here’s the gift of sharing your journal with strangers. She’s read my thoughts for so long that she’s a physical conscience who remembers how many times I’ve done the same stupid thing and been devastated by the same results. She attached a blog prompt that asks you to dissect yourself a little. I’m in a particularly sad headspace as our missing Uncle’s status has been changed to presumed dead and the search has added cadaver dogs. I adore true crime, but when it hits close to home, it’s different. So along those introspective lines, I’ve decided to overshare. Fun.

A million pieces of me…

* I hate the act of getting up and getting ready for Mass, but after I’ve gone? I feel like God himself pressed the magic reset button on my life. I love being Catholic and am the only one in a huge extended Mormon family. Catholic with Mormon Roots, as my Grandpa loved to say. Also, I’m an atheist.

* I laugh at women who drink white wine. Especially if they mention not ruining their bleached teeth. Good Lord… if there were ever a sign that we won’t get along well, it’s watching a woman drink a beer or glass of wine with a straw. Definitely not my tribe.

* I have two blogs, and a book sitting in my laptop. My Puerto Rican nightmare might never see the light of day, because I feel like a damn idiot for flying 15 hours to be catfished, drugged and terrorized. That loser STILL reads my blog, and that is the ONE thing that will motivate me to publish.

*My children are fairly off topic. If they want to start writing about themselves, they have the right. I am very careful what I share, otherwise. Privacy: we all deserve it. ♥

* I vote- for every election, always. I am very liberal, and a huge fan of the death penalty. I have an adopted gay son and my favorite aunt is black. I have zero respect or time for racism, homophobia or ignorance. Also, if you own a red MAGA hat, you’re dead to me.

* I steal the covers but usually because I want him to be closer to me. Truth be told, I want him to wake up. If you poke me with it, it’s mine. If you’re exhausted and need to sleep, go home. I’m not being rude, but really…drive safely. Along those same lines, I dream about stabbing you in the eyes if you snore and keep me up all night. I’m not sad in the slightest if you leave and go home to sleep (or pollute the silence) in your own bed.

* I can’t watch scary movies. At ALL. I grew up without television and yes… I still have nightmares. I am the original movie virgin. If I told you all the movies I haven’t seen, you’d ask me the same thing a friend of mine always does…

F- Did your parents hate you, or what???

On the contrary… they wanted us to go outside and play. Live our childhood. Be kids and all that good stuff. I grow an acre of vegetables every year, so it all worked out.

*I LOVE true crime. I had front row tickets to My Favorite Murder this fall, and I am counting the seconds until I can go again. #Murderino

* I hate the noise of the television, but I turn it on if a football game is on. I love every single bit of football season. I was a cheerleader for as long as I could be.

* If you overcook my steak? I know you’re not the one. Try as I might to get past it, it’s just the kiss of death. I have yet to meet a man that can cook my steak and I dated several chefs. None of them could do it. How sad is that?

* Nothing makes me happier than seeing Pomegranates & Egg Nog show up in the grocery store each Fall. I buy at least a dozen pumpkins if I haven’t grown them myself. I make the best roasted pumpkin seeds and love the smell of roasting pumpkin in the house when it’s cold outside. Pumpkin spice cookies, pumpkin cream cheese everything… fall could only be better if it were warm outside. My Mormon roots come out swinging in the fall.

* I’m eerily psychic and generally know what you’re going to say to me before you say it. I resist the urge to finish sentences. It makes me uncomfortable.

* When I’m lonely I remind myself to listen to my mom & reread the Desiderata.

M- Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness. Take a nap, then come over for dinner.

I always feel better if I’ve had enough sleep and good company- so I know she’s right.

* I’m allergic to beer. I drink it anyway. Tanqueray is my poison of choice if I’m out- red wine at home. I gave up vodka entirely because it makes me act like an asshole and there are enough of those in the world. Grey Goose turns me into another person, entirely. I’ve issued a permanent ban.

* I took French for three years in high school… and barely remember much beyond Pamplemousse… (which means grapefruit.)

* I miss the Ocean every day. There’s something so much greater than yourself or your struggles when you feel the sea come to life beneath you, reminding you how very small and insignificant you actually are. The nearby lake is a stagnant sort of compromise. I miss seaweed, seashells and uncertainty. Someday soon.

* Loyalty = Love  and  Betrayal = Suffering when it comes to me… but then I suppose that’s not news if you’re reading my blog. I’m a huge fan of the truth because it never changes. With respect to the secrets I carry for my friends? I’ll take them to the grave with me, however…sell me out and I will lay your shit bare- to quote Adele. I’m a priceless friend and a dangerous adversary, which I happen to believe makes me well rounded and my friends, loyal: or at least quiet. Either one works for me.

Ok friends…. your turn. What makes you tick?

Cravings

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Professionally, it’s been a banner month… but with great power, come some ugly responsibilities that have forced me to grow in ways most uncomfortable for me. For a girl who can’t sleep without writing, I have a horrible time saying the difficult words. I hate hurting people and I am absolutely happy to swallow my own heartache to spare someone else. I internalize a lot more now, because I used to be reckless in lashing out with anger or righteous indignation. I’ve calmed down, if you will. I’ve learned what’s worth fighting for and over.

The Dumpling gets the grateful version of my mothering. I was so worried about barking orders and having “good” children with my first two, that they heard far too much nagging. I’m not surprised my son hasn’t come back. I don’t miss that old hag either. I’ve learned how vital it is to chill out and read with her. Even if the house goes to hell and she eats pasta 3 nights in a row. Nobody dies… in fact, they thrive in exactly the way and time frame they should. I say yes a lot. She eats a lot of popsicles and I cave far too often when she begs for crab legs. I learned the hard way how fast and fleeting childhood is and I am treasuring every second of getting another chance to be better, kinder and more involved playing instead of ruling.

I got hit by the worst migraine of my life yesterday. I’m alone in the office for the next two weeks so leaving wasn’t an option and it’s lit up like the top of the Chrysler building. We were exceptionally busy for a usually slow day and it was definitely a grueling push to get it done. My boss came in twice to rub my neck and bring me ice packs while urging me to go but I’m a masochist and can’t leave things half-assed or unfinished. I started thinking and realized I’ve eaten about 600 calories in 2 days and ran for 3 miles last night with a beer.

Maybe not the most healthy dinner, albeit delicious………and definitely the perfect storm for brewing a migraine.

I’ve been fantasizing about steak and barbecued chicken… so I know I need protein. The biggest hurdle to being hungry and indecisive is that I just eat a handful of almonds and ignore the struggle, but I find myself daydreaming about a pound of perfect Wood’s bacon, a rotisserie chicken and a pound of jumbo cocktail shrimp. Talking about food is sexual to a starving woman.

I would do some pretty questionable things for fettuccine alfredo.

I’d consider anal for a pint of coffee Häagen-Dazs.

See what happens when you allow your mind to run wild? Anal is awful, but starvation does weird things to you and I love coffee ice cream. As soon as you open that door and allow yourself to fantasize about the things you can’t have and want, it’s somewhat stunning at how much time your brain can spend torturing you.

Food is easy for me to manage, lately. I make dinner for the Dumpling and a salad for myself. I’ve lost my inspiration to bake. It’s a consequence of being single, as disgustingly 50’s housewife as that is. I’m Catholic, with Mormon roots… practically born in an apron. I’ll tie it back on at some point, but the absence of inspiration is helping my diet, immensely.

A text from Incredicock has me running through the highlight reel at work because I have hours to think. Craving him is a delicious guilty pleasure that keeps me inspired while I’m juggling too much stress. I was doing paperwork this morning when I was hit by the recollection of him biting my lips when he kissed me. I had a full body shiver. Goosebumps. Damn it. It’s difficult to have your body utterly betray you when you’re doing your best to put your celibate, cat lady panties back on. Christ on the cross, the first person to create a pharmaceutical cure to stop these barn-burning flashbacks will top the Forbes 500.

Take. My. Money. Please.

I find myself sympathizing with crackheads, meth addicts and heroin junkies. He’s more habit forming than an opioid and I’m a terrible quitter. I’m doing my very best to knit, run and masturbate him out of my system. It’s not working very well, but I get a solid C+ for effort.

If only I were craving a day of vacuuming and dishes, because I can make THAT happen.

Deal Breakers

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I’m a fickle bitch.

My interest vacillates rapidly, and any delicious idea is one sentence away from dismissal. The moment he brings up his support for Donald Trump, my vagina dries up and I see him as a sad, little mouth-breather and not the present I’ve been dying to unwrap.

I don’t fuck the ignorant.

Along those lines, I’ve been asking the pertinent questions to Big Dick Tom. Could it work? No. He sends me epic videos all day of him strangling the anaconda.

Ugh. This is only hot after you’ve given it to me. Create a craving, then tease my panties off with visual bait. Otherwise, you’re just a basic beater and I’m all set on sexual frustration, thanks.

J- Who’s your team?

BDT- What do you mean?

J- … … …. Do you watch football?

BDT- No.

I need that little wide eyed emoji right now. Or that little face palm lady. This is a big deal. I LOVE football. It’s my very favorite season. The thing I miss the very most about having a boyfriend is spending the day in bed, with the game on. If you haven’t fucked all Sunday while watching as many games as you can find? You haven’t lived.

BDT- U can be my sugar mamma.

Where do I even begin. I’d cut my own legs off before I ever supported a man again. I was recently promoted to Vice President at work and have had to shift some things in my own character to be able to handle things that are asked of me. I’m a people pleaser by nature and I am generally inclined to be pleasant and agreeable, regardless of my feelings. Poor Tom… he met me a few months too late, because I’m not even tempted.

Yaaaaawn.

I hate to be so black and white about spelling, but I just am. I’ve dated ugly, impotent men with impeccable grammar. It’s that important to me. Tom can’t spell, so we will not be test driving him.

One text message from Incredicock in the midst of trick-or-treating and I’m thinking. That screaming “YUMMY” from my phone makes me want him in the worst way. The nun costume I’m wearing only adds fuel to the fire and I have to bite my lip and sit on my hands to keep from begging him to help me take it off. These cravings are killing me.

My phone barks at me, signaling that Tom isn’t going away without a fight.

BDT- Hey doll face. Wanna hang with the big bad wolf?

J- Can’t.

My phone starts barking again. He’s calling. I’m bored enough to answer.

BDT- I wanna fuck you tonight.

J- Phone sex is the closest you’re gonna get.

I realize I’m a bit of an asshole for this…. but I don’t care. His east coast, predatory language is the only thing working for me at this point. I dug my vibrator out and told him to talk to me.

BDT- Cum for Daddy.

Damn it all to hell, do I have to do everything my damn self?

J- Uh… Sorry, I gotta go. I’ll call you back.

Don’t wait by the phone, sugarplum… because nothing at all grosses me out more than my dad being brought up when I’m chasing orgasms. There is NOTHING sexy about that. Vom. Gag. Blech. I had a deadbeat dad, and he’s dead. Thanks for bringing it up, asshole.

I threw a minor temper tantrum, kicked the sheets off with my frustrated legs, got my workout gear on and hopped on the elliptical machine.

Hmph.

Can’t have the one I want and don’t want the one that’s begging. Go figure.

 

 

 

 

 

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When I started writing, I was in the end stages of a long term relationship with a lazy hippie. I had spent nearly a decade trying to love him into being a better man. He really only wanted to smoke pot and day drink, while I had visions of white dresses and one last baby. It came to a fiery end, and I continued writing to keep myself company in my suddenly empty house. Being single was new to me. I’d had a boyfriend since I was 14 and really had no idea how it looked to not belong to someone. I’d lost myself entirely and didn’t even know what I liked or disliked anymore. I distinctly remember someone asking me what my favorite color was, and his favorite shade of blue instantly came to mind. I think it was the first time I had the chance to get to know myself. (For the record, I like purple.)

I collect skills when I’m bored. I learned how to rewire my garage when the old stuff started to short out. I taught myself to knit. Youtube and Google give me FAR too much confidence in not ever having to ask for help. I’ve made chicken wire bean tunnels, built furniture and retiled the kitchen. Currently, I’m trying to figure out how to cover the old brick fireplace in my living room with stone.   It sounds fun, but it’s more like haphazard crafting ADHD.

I did some hysterically funny dating. I was so uncomfortable with myself and in my own skin that I hand picked the weirdest weirdos I could find. I wasn’t uncomfortable if I wasn’t attracted to him, so I got my feet back under myself in the strangest of circumstances.

I learned that I definitely have a type.

Ok, maybe more than one.

I flew 15 hours to Puerto Rico for a first date with a fellow blogger who’d romanced me for a year. It turned out he was a married psychopath. Just because a vacation is free, doesn’t mean you should go. Also, con-men should avoid bloggers. I may be a little too adventurous for my own good, but I have no regrets because it ends up being a lesson either way.

I met the perfect guy. We fell in love instantly and made a beautiful baby together. We broke up just before she was born. We’re friends now, and share her peacefully. He got married right after she was born and they live in a different state.

I stopped writing. I’d had to look at a 4 inch tall stack of printed out blog entries in family court for an entire year. It’s all fine and good to be proud of your blowjob, but do you really want to have to discuss it when your baby’s life is on the line? No. Let me assure you. You do not.

One thing still silences me faster than anything, though. When the stats go shooting to the sky and WordPress chimes at me all day that traffic is booming. Yesterday was definitely one of  those days.

Once upon a time, nobody read this shit. For the first five years, I posted pictures of my children, my house… hell my naked ass is on one of the many that have been set to private. I refer to it as my journal and my friends laugh at me because they’re reading it too.

It still surprises me when the floodgates open and I make a thousand new friends in a day. Especially when new countries show up on the map. This morning it was Bosnia and  Herzegovina.

Hey there… nice to meet all of you! Feel free to introduce yourselves 🙂