Category Archives: Habits

Douchebag Free Zone

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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.

My Everyday Fairytale

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh and just when things are going swimmingly…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

OH…You know you’re a bad boy when….

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Oh. My. Goodness.

I’m going to enjoy every single syllable of this.

Not only that? I’m going to delight, enjoy and giggle over every last punctuation mark. Yeah it’s that good. This is just THAT funny.

This jerk in my life who will never see the forest for the trees. This enigma that keeps me beholden. My very Bad Habit. I wish I knew what it was. I wish I could take another antibiotic as a result of going anywhere near him. I wish it were that easy.

But it’s not. He’s funny, and charming, and sexual napalm to my jet fuel… It’s a meeting of the dirty minds, and we both walk away with bruises, barely conscious and chugging 24 hour energy nastiness… begging our bodies to keep up when our minds are lost wondering what the fuck happened.

The last time I spent the night with him, I went to drop the shoes off I’d borrowed about an hour after I’d left… and the Date Crasher was parked in the driveway. This man has the hottest sheets in town, and talk about being offended. That’s low, even for him. Or perhaps not. Indefensible, in my opinion.

How he never thinks about how it would make him feel if the tables were turned, is beyond me. It’s just wrong. Ultimately he’s a cool guy… and he’s wreaked havoc in my life more than a few times. We get along really well and I like him more than he likes me, lol… that’s the bottom line- and the very definition of why he’s such a Bad Habit.

My dear Fearless friend comes hobbling in, laughing nearly to the point of wiping tears away… and I know I’m in for a story.

F- Dude. Dude. OMG. Sit down… oh you can’t. OH. The Karma Fairy lives!

J- What happened?

F- Somebody stole his car.

She’s laughing and I hear her mumble “The Hoarder”

J- Uh? His, who his? Hoarder Habit His?

F- Yeah….

She’s fighting for air, begging for breath and trying to repeat what she’s heard.

F- Mr. Hilarious’s girlfriend found it at the police station, running with the music on and the doors locked.

Who steals a car and leaves it at the police station?

A pissed off bitch… a bunny boiler… or one of your best friends who know you need to think about the level of douche bag to which you have sunk.

Let’s sit down for a moment and take stock of the “victim”.

He sleeps with multiple women on the same day. He lies convincingly. He’s dishonest, disingenuous and disrespectful after the fact. He’s the boy your mama warned you about.

It’s only fitting that he DESERVES anything that happens to him. He hands out invitations like he hands out kisses and cock rides.

Mr. Hilarious’s girlfriend drives back over and tells them that it’s his car… and everyone is wondering what the fuck happened.

She told me the whole story yesterday and To quote her directly?…. “it’s like the Hangover, 3.”

J- I’m sorry, but that’s fucking hysterical.

A- Oh you should have heard him, it was so funny. Where would he even start to guess? Vagina hoarding has it’s price.

If anything I hope it’s taught him a lesson. There are a lot of people in this town that can afford to leave our keys in the car… he is not one of them. He has a thing for bunny boilers. He has a weakness for blondes…. sometimes two in a day, unbeknownst to them.

Lying to two women is dangerous. Lying to a dozen is masochistic. Add in the boyfriends and husbands of some of his girlfriends and you have a case harder to solve than a homicide.

When you act like a whore, you suffer a few consequences and when you use people and disregard their feelings, you create a lot of stress in your life.

You may as well hand emboss an invitation to the Karma Fairy to fuck with your life…. and she’s known to accept immediately.

Crazy shit happens. If you’re going to be a hoarder, be a responsible one. Lock your car, lol…

Oddly enough, we had this conversation one morning when he was driving me home on his way to work. We got in the car and I saw his keys next to him and looked at him like he was crazy.

J- You leave the keys in the car?

VH- Yep.

J- With chicks that jump fences to crash our date? Are you crazy?

VH- Nobody’s going to take it.

J- Shit. If you can leave your keys in the car, any of the rest of us should be able to, but no. I take them out so that I know, without a doubt, that the car will be there the next day. I kind of like that feeling.

VH- Nah. I’ve always left them in the car.

LMFAO… perhaps not anymore, huh dog? That’s fucking hysterical, and being right never gets old and with how disrespectful he’s been to me? I can delight in his panic a little.

PS… If anyone knows who did it, email or call me so I can get the full story- I swear on a stack of bibles that I will not disclose their identity, but I’d give a limb to write that story.

High five, Karma Fairy…. Good game.

Don’t wake Veruca

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Bad habits are hard to break… and I’m not very motivated to break some of them… Some of them turn me into the bitchy little Veruca I do my best to keep under wraps.

Ugh.

I’m trying… but at a certain point in the day…

I flirt with him.

Hanging out with a few friends for a drink after work yesterday, they talked me into texting him. Ok… it didn’t take much, I admit it. They want to meet him, he extends the invite… and I end up hanging out with him while my girlfriends giggle and text their apology that they can’t make it. I’ve been conned by the girls who know I like the guy. Lovely.

I had to watch the clock so I wasn’t late for my date (more on that later) and spent an hour just laughing with him. Damn him for being fun and funny… he makes being responsible so difficult. He makes me forget how horrible he is for me.

But… my friends that know, don’t.

MSOK- Ugh, I understand you two are perfect for each other- Mr. Man Card and I agree- but he’s just not good enough for you and I really want you to have someone in your life that respects and loves you. NO MORE BAD HABIT!

She has some valid points- and I’m frustrated by the whole situation. He’s supposed to be a habit, not someone I want to be with.

So I drove away laughing, wishing he weren’t such a commitment phobic jerk and hoping that my date was a tenth as much fun.

No dice… and he’s damn cute- the pictures didn’t do him justice… but I need more than cute. I need smart. I need funny. I need sexy. I need an exception to the rule- which is exactly what it says on my profile.

He was nice enough- cute enough- blah. He was ok… but I want a whole lot of heaven with a smidgen of hell, (to quote that douche bag Thomas Murray) just like me.

My date was the type of guy that needs to stop and browse the auto parts store. The guy that watches Nascar. A good ol’ boy. Eeeeek. No. I’m sure he pays his bills and his taxes, I’m sure he dots his i’s and crosses his t’s…

But I’m also sure that tag thingy is still on his mattress… and after working all day I’m yawning trying to pay attention to what he’s saying.

C- Can I buy you a drink?

J- No, I had one after work- but thank you- and don’t feel like you can’t order one.

He did… and another… and another after that. Which is when he started to talk about his ex wife.

C- She’s just SUCH A BITCH. GOD. Sometimes I wish she’d just disappear. Other days I wish I had the stones to make it happen.

Oh goody… a hateful babymama. Thanks for the heads up, cutie.If there’s one thing I will never do again, it’s deal with a nightmare ex that isn’t even mine. No thank you- you can keep that. Been there, done that- and NOBODY wants to read the book I could write about that nightmare.

I made my exit politely- claiming the storm of text messages were urgent and I needed to get home.

I had a half hour before my daughter was home from her playdate, but when you realize you’d rather text someone across town than talk to the cute one in front of you- it’s time to bounce.

Frustrated at myself, I drove home and went out to the garden that isn’t. It’s amazing to me every time I see it in early spring and realize the herculean effort it’s going to take to pull it all off. I have too much chaos in my life these days… I need to bury my feet in a foot of freshly tilled soil and plant tiny seeds. I need my garden to deal with the stress…. but the greenhouse is a close second.

Walking in, kicking off my cute little flats and dropping my clothes off at the door. I have a half hour to get dirty in a nice clean way.

It’s 82 in the greenhouse and sunny, and I have fresh dirt, clean flats and too many seeds to choose from.

Blissed out and warm… one more text comes in.

BH- :-)

Grin. Damn him all to hell and gone- he can make me grin with a silly simple text message.

However… I look at my conversation with him and it looks like a flip-flopped version of the one I have with Mr. Too Nice. I answer with one word. I don’t engage. I back-burner him because at a seconds notice I could have him here. It’s too easy, too demanding and too much exactly what I should be doing. Yuck, who wants that?

Yet I do the same thing with my habit… I send him funny flirty text messages and get one  word responses. It’s nothing more than a one sided conversation. Something that drives me NUTS.

Sober One Kenobe has done her best to retrain me. She’s frustrated daily by my inability to play games effectively. I’m not allowed to respond to him. I’m supposed to ignore him.

MSOK- You can’t listen? What? I know this guy. He mopped the floor with that girl that was constantly on his nuts and he’s still pining for the one that made an ass out of him. Go ahead, ignore my advice, but don’t complain when he doesn’t call.

I’m wayyyyy to much woman for that kind of bullshit. Way. I know too much. I know Flintstone… and if there were ever a guy that’s impossible to beat, it’s him.

A reminder of what I really want from the man in my life. He opens doors. He orders me a drink. He holds hands… and does little sweet things that make my panties fall right off. I can’t wait to see him and I’m determined to make choices with respect to my heart either way. If I never see the guy again- I still need to demand a helluva lot more than a 3 am booty call.

As much as I’d love to take that call. Sigh.

Sober One Kenobe comes over to watch murder on TV with me and I hand her my phone and she shakes her head at me.

MSOK- I’m helping you.

Click, click…. delete.

Pout.

The text messages that I hadn’t deleted… and his phone number…. gone.

Ugh.

I fell asleep on the couch and woke up to my phone vibrating underneath me.

?- :-)

J- Who is this?

?- Really?

Oh. OH. Ohhhhh. Hmmm….

I told him his number may have been deleted and he didn’t respond…. which is when I grew a set.

J- You know what? Thanks for waking me up and disappearing. Here’s a thought, sack up and date me or quit keeping me on the back burner. I don’t like wanting what I can’t have.

Weird… no little smiley face back.

If you’re going to call me at a quarter to four in the morning? You sure as hell better be on your way to make up for waking me up… otherwise that little smiley face is only going to piss me off.

…and I’m still pissed he didn’t eat the cupcake.

Murphy’s Law and Kindness…just another Monday

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I decide to kick the bad habit… I don’t text him. I delete all the old texts.

I turn the page and sink into miserable silence…

I’d already had this talk with my best friends. I’d already acknowledged it was doomed and I needed to cut it out. I already admitted to liking him too much for my own good.

We just get along too well… and it’s too fun & funny. For all the noncommittal crap he presents- it’s pretty damn ideal in the flesh. He gets me. I get him. I’m delighted with him and the person I think he really is, or would really like him to be.

I like him.

He’s bad bad bad for me. Bad. Because he’s my favorite… and I consistently sell myself short and let him get away with murder. Not at all the foundation to build on, not that it was ever an option.

Because it’s imbalanced and I feel it. I have to resist the urge to text him purely because he’s entertaining. I like hanging out with him and he’s smart enough to keep me captivated.

So no. Done. Cut and dried. Finito.

Sigh.

I like the distraction he presents, but I’m done feeling discounted and it’s high time a man jumped through a few hoops to date me for a change. I’m all set. Hands washed. Pout firmly planted but shaking it off to go to work…

and he invites me for dinner.

Motherfuck. Are you kidding me?

I swear… some days God is looking out for you when you don’t even know it… because I’m heading to work and there’s no quickly accepting and showing up overdressed carrying more cupcakes.

Yeah I’m pathetic like that, throw stones. :)

I do my best to ignore his texts… but I don’t have any willpower and I cave more quickly than MSOK would let me. Short and sweetly declined.

Sigh.

It sucks… I’d much rather be giggling over whatever he cooked for dinner, with him. True story.

Work is painfully slow and I’m off early, walking into a cold dark house because my baby is having dinner with Grandma… sit down to catch up on email, approve comments, etc… and find that one of my dear bloggers has blogged about me and all my strength today. Look:

Then I swung by Jenni’s to catch up. She is a stitch-in-your-side-from-laughing type of blogger and through my tiny window into her life she inspires me and gives me hope. She is so full of life, strong and multi-talented and I sincerely admire her determination, motivation and wherewithal to make the most out of life. I want to be more like her. Anyway, in the über funny post He Didn’t Eat the Cupcake she has been spending time with a guy that she knew would never be a relationship, but was still greatly fulfilling sex and began to recognize that she could, and might be, falling in love with him. So, just like that, she decides she will give him up and I see her following through. She is showing me that you are the change in your own life. Her ability to follow through on her words astounds me.

Another post of Jenni’s that got me thinking today was Confession #8042, which turned out to be that she likes hearing the word no. Meaning that the man she settles with will have to be able to hold his own and say no when it is the best thing for him or her. (I know I am paraphrasing, and probably hacking it to bits, so please go read her much more well thought out post for a much better explanation!) Further, the person has to challenge her. He has to make her work for him in the same way she wants to be worked for.

Like her, I am usually only interested in the things I have had to work for in the romance department. Letting me know that I could have you anytime is a sure way to get me to use you and definitely not want a relationship. However, I can’t work at it all the time. I mean at some point there has to be some ease without boredom. She says she always chooses douches, but I think that everyone has just a bit of douche in them. At the end of the post she lists some criteria for musts in the man department and one resonated with me as it is something I have dealt with a lack of in both of my long term, significant relationships: I like to be admired, desired and wanted. I need to feel like my guy loves me all the time and that my body turns him on. I like having sex, and I feel like it is a big part of a relationship.

I was so happy to read that she felt the same because I was beginning to wonder if wanting to have good sex more than twice a week made me a deviant sexually. My current bf has made me feel like there is something wrong with wanting to make love daily and has given up trying satisfying me because he says I am insatiable. I already know I can’t deal with that for much longer but right now it seems like my self-esteem is low enough to be okay with no sex so… I am just letting everything slide right now. Yet another thing I should but don’t act on. Jenni makes me see what it means to have and know your own values and to live in harmony with them. She makes me want to be able to say what I want with conviction.

My goodness. Aww. I’m so flattered. I was literally sinking into self doubt and irritation at the level of love I’m surrounded by that forces me to demand better for myself.

I was having myself a cute little Pinot Grigio/Camel Crush pity party. I admit it.

Words so kind and thoughtful that I don’t even know what/how to express my gratitude. Thank you S…

And screw you Murphy and your damn pain-in-my-ass laws.

Cut a girl some slack.