Terrible Heart

Quote from Nora, episode #42 “The heart is where it’s at. It tells us so much about ourselves. It skips a beat when we’re falling in love. It races when we’re scared. It holds our secrets and our hopes.” What does your heart say about you? What is it racing or skipping a beat for? #terriblewritingclub

The Unicorn and I were talking about this yesterday. We’re just…different. She’s in the same boat, regularly enough that she can commiserate over anything I’m going through. We love out loud and hard. Neither of us have any concern over why we should be more cautious or restrictive with our feelings. We don’t speak that language and we’d be miserable if we did. Sure… at the end of the road her and I will arrive at the pearly gates with dents and dings, a few bruises and hearts that have been broken so many times they’ve been duct taped back together. Laughing. Having lived every last shred out of every second of every day. Loving every minute of it, because we don’t know how to love any other way. The high cost of a magical life, well lived.

So many things make my heart race or skip a beat, that I have to make a list: 

My Children. First and foremost, nothing makes my heart skip a beat more than my babies. They are my sun, moon & stars. 

Finding the perfect Christmas gift for someone special. 🙂 I am SO excited for Christmas this year because I have some HUGE surprises planned. My closest friends know that I don’t love opening presents. I kind of loathe wrapping paper and the awkward expectation of it all, but I LOVE shocking the hell out of someone by making a big dream come true. 

The Yarn Store. Hmmmmm, somebody take my card away because I can spend some serious money on string. I think it’s close to a high when I walk into the merino and angora section. I. Want. It. All. Incidentally, I already have it all, so it’s really ok if someone takes my card away before I walk in the door. 

Morning sex. There’s really nothing like being woken up by the man you want. Nothing. In this crazy, chaotic life of alarm clocks,  traffic and stress… God or nature gave us perfect erections, every morning. Letting that treasure go to waste is a crime. Wake HIM up. Do it for me. 

Thread count. Sorry, not sorry. I have a bedding collection that makes my heart skip a beat every time I do laundry. I love good sheets. Fluffy feather pillows and comforters make me happppppppppy. My boss gave me some sort of charcoal mattress topper thingy that feels like a cloud. My bed is heaven before you even add me into the equation. Amen.

Being in love. I think this is a given, considering the topic… but the only one I hesitated on. I am a little horrified at myself when I’m in love, and it’s somewhat uncomfortable to face the frustrating parts of yourself. I can’t explain what happens to me. My Mormon roots come out swinging, and I LITERALLY tie an apron on. I bake, spoil and fuck him into a dumbfounded coma. My jeans disappear and there are suddenly a dozen dresses and heels in the closet. I take the time to wear a garter belt and stockings. I wake him up with a blowjob. I AM that 50’s housewife we all shake our heads at. Sex on heels and grinning at everyone, everywhere. Baking a blue streak. Lemon tarts and marshmallows, and why not make a bunch of homemade gnocchi? It’s a lot. Kind of like your own private hurricane. 

Traveling. So many things make my heart skip a beat when it comes to travel. I love Mexican libraries where I can’t read the pages in the books, and homemade tortillas from the lady I can’t have a conversation with. I realize that I sound like an asshole American, but honestly… not talking is ok. Smile and shake their hands. Hug them. Words aren’t always necessary and some of my greatest adventures have been with people who didn’t speak the same language. I think it’s important to see how the rest of the world lives and loves. It makes you a better person and more grateful for the blessings we tend to take for granted.

Gardening. This is a hard pill to swallow after such a terrible season, but it truly makes me happy to play in the dirt. Homegrown garlic is unparallelled as are ripe heirloom tomatoes. I can’t live without either and nothing quite compares to the release of my favorite porn every year. 

Blowjobs. This is the unsung hero of so many women’s sexual repertoire. Seriously ladies, step it up, because this tops the list of why I am struggling with an Incredicock addiction. He indulges me and I can’t look at his belt without my heart racing. 

Rough sex. Give me all the spankings. Choke me, bite me, and tell me all about it. I apologize for the hearing loss. Feel free to put your hand over my mouth. That does it for me too. 

My Fab Fit Fun box. Call me Basic Becky, because I LOVE this shit. It’s the only stupid thing I do for myself and it ships out four times a year. Buy it for yourself, your wife, your mom… anyone. It’s a wonderful surprise that shows up when you expect it the least and need it the most. Anything I don’t love or use, I give to my lovely daughter and friends. It’s win-win, all the way around. 

Masculine men. Sigh. This should be second only to my children. The only smell on a man that’s sexier to me than cologne, is sawdust. Hot and dirty with tools in his hands, he can have anything from me. Name it, take it… it’s yours. 

Tattoos. It’s been way too long since I got a new one. Nothing compares to needle therapy and I can’t be attracted to a man without them, either. All that plain skin is a sign of a boring soul and uneventful life. 

Elderly couples. We visit the nursing home frequently, and have adopted a few families who don’t have children/grandchildren nearby. They think we belong to them and that’s enough for me. John and Edna are my favorites. He walks with help and she’s quite a bit younger than him. He pinches her on the ass, every single chance he gets. She took his motorized cart away because he kept running into her heels, but he figured out how to roll after her equally as fast with his new self-propelled wheels. She laughs every time, even when he runs into her. He jokes constantly that he told her he’d chase her around the nursing home and now she believes him. They’re good for everyone who has the pleasure of being around them. Edna does squats with me now and John is threatening to start pinching mine, too. 🙂

Old books. The older the better. This beats any porn I’ve ever seen, including my favorite seed catalog. I could sit in an old library for a hundred hours and smile for a month straight, afterwards. Reading is a luxury I don’t make enough time for, but when I am really feeling sad or lonely, a good book is always just what the doctor ordered.

Exercise. Hard to believe, but so incredibly true. I love the muscle screaming, sweat dripping, ass perfecting grind that is my daily workout(s). It saves me when my sex drive threatens to steal every last minute of the limited hours of sleep I have available to me as it is. My arms are changing shape, my jeans are looking goooood  and my panic attacks are gone.  That’s everything.

What makes your heart race or skip a beat? Do you share any of mine?  


Terrible Holiday Letter

My goodness, this has been a hell of a lot harder than I thought it would be. I’m a big fan of checking in with myself and being honest about my struggle, because life is hard for everyone and I know plenty of people who are not comfortable sharing difficult feelings. 

I volunteer as tribute. lol….I’ve actually sent something out like this before, so my family wouldn’t be shocked in the slightest. 🙂

This is a heartbreaker podcast, but you should stop what you’re doing and listen. 

https://www.apmpodcasts.org/ttfa/2018/11/happyish-holidays-iii/

Dear Friends and family, happy holidays!

It’s been a busy year in our household! Little Red graduated and moved into her own place. She’s running a tight ship and has threatened her boyfriend into putting the seat down and bringing home flowers, regularly. I’m so relieved she didn’t inherit the doormat gene. She’s a gorgeous hammer, and I have no doubt that she will do and have anything she wants. Heaven help the man who stands in her way. I’ve realized just how many dishes she actually washed, and desperately hope she moves back home. 

The Dumpling has stopped having screaming temper tantrums, no longer runs to the calming tent and has stopped shouting at the other children. It only took 8000 conversations and an extensive loss of popsicle privileges. Single parenthood from birth has proven to be the most exciting adventure I never imagined. We are a team and I treasure even the most trying moments, of which there are many. It’s a darn good thing she’s so cute and thoughtful. She’s a whole lot of heaven and a smidgen of hell… just like her mama.

Speaking of yours truly, it’s been a fantastic year. Ish. My garden officially died this year, as in: never-happening-again, died. $900 in water for a handful of potatoes, a couple tomatoes and a shitload of beets and gourds. It provided ample exercise, which helped carve 60 pounds off of me, prompting some terrible dates and a freshly broken heart. Though the garden changed, my love for unavailable men, has not. The longer I’m single, the more inclined I am to believe that it’s intentional and more a form of self preservation than masochism.  My professional life has never been better and it’s hard for me to be anything but happy when I consider all the amazing parts that make up my life. I’m a very lucky lady with an amazing bunch of friends and family. I love you, one and all.

xoxo Jenni & the girls. (my boy still isn’t speaking to me.)

Uck. Fun.  

My Grandpa used to send out an offensive holiday letter. It wasn’t funny and rude, he just only included his second round of kids. My mother’s blood would boil and so I began making it a tradition of reading it aloud with a twist. We miss those shitty, inconsiderate letters. 

When I got divorced, I sent one out that was awkwardly honest and everyone loved it. One of my sisters still talks about it. I think we all want to show the world (and more importantly, our loved ones) the rosy side of our lives. We don’t want to “burden” anyone with the sad stuff, even though Christmas really is the saddest time of year for MANY people. Myself included. When you share the real stuff, it lets someone know they are not alone in not giving a fuck about singing carols and hanging up lights. They’re just trying to make it through to January, too.

Life isn’t perfect, but it’s always worth it and changing. Even the worst times don’t last forever.


Sweet Satisfaction

You just can’t plan for some of lifes greatest moments. Some of them just unfold in front of you like the gifts they are. 

Once upon a dark time, I worked in a local burger bar. They paid us $3.35 an hour and the manager was the worst person I’ve ever met in my life. She tormented all of us, customers and employees alike… and I ultimately got fired because she told my bosses about my blog, and denied unemployment because I called her a cunt to my sister and my sister told them. When asked, I admitted it. FYI: sometimes the truth does NOT set you free.

It cost me a sister and a job I loathed. The years worth of lost unemployment stung the most, and it motivated me to get a much better job with a reputable owner and fair labor practices. The same better job that gave me my best friend and led to the successful career I have now.

I most definitely have had the last laugh, but only because I’ve worked my ass off and refused to accept that shitty job as the life sentence it was . I refused to settle, and I refused to allow someone to abuse me every day and those boundaries are what saved me from doing more than the years of hard time I did in that miserable place under that hateful troll.

Now let me preface this by saying that I pride myself on being kind. I go out of my way to be nice, and I’ve raised wonderful children as well. In our family, it’s more important WHO you are, than WHAT you have. I’m all about the content of your character and what you intend to do with it. So it takes A LOT for me to abandon all that to be an asshole. 

Ohhhhhh, but I make an exception for some people. 

I live in a picturesque town full of douchebags and crazy bitches. There are a helluva a lot more normal women here than men, but we have more than our fair share of bad examples of both. I’m not inclined to date because I’m not attracted to bullshit. I’m also very selective when it comes to my friends. It’s the cream of the crop at this point, because I’ve weeded all the drama and dishonest shit, out. My friends are the gold standard. I can’t say the same about the men I’m attracted to, which is why I own a $300 vibrator and not a boyfriend.

I rarely go out, so Saturday was the exception to the rule and I was overjoyed to spend some uninterrupted hours laughing with Fancy & Lovely. I was sort of oblivious to anyone else in the room because I was there to catch up with my girlfriends, not survey the scene or find a midnight snack to help ease the frustration inspired by Incredicock. 

I looked up to see Miss Earthy walk up to our table, flanked by the antichrist herself, Miss Cunt Bag. 

Satan tormented me as my manager for years until she played her trump card and told them about my blog. She’d been reading since the day I was hired but knew they’d panic when they saw the traffic. She then chased my boyfriend and I down in a restaurant a little while later. I’ve had the misfortune of having mutual friends/ending up at the same party as her now and again. We leave. I have absolutely NO interest in her having anything to do with my life. This is one of those golden “Her or Me” situations.

So here it was, that moment… again. Only this time, I’m successful, two martinis deep and lacking a filter.

E- HIIIiiiii!!!!! Hey do you know my friend….

J- Mmhmmm. 

I looked away and when I looked back, she was gone. 

Maybe it was rude. Maybe I could have tried turning the other cheek to let bygones be bygones. Maybe this is something I should try to work on, to be a better & more forgiving person. 

Or maybe she had a big set of balls to walk up to my table and deserved a hearty GTFOH, but I’m a lady and know how to politely tell someone to fuck off. 

Knowing your audience is everything, as is fucking off when you know you’ve been shitty to someone and haven’t apologized. We all know when we’re not cool with someone, or when we’ve done something that warrants an apology in order to rectify the situation.

Those are the only two choices. Fucking off or apologizing. None of this walking up to my table like it’s a second chance at meeting. No thank you. If I didn’t enjoy the first time? You don’t get to fuck me a second. 

 


Grateful

It’s been a really good year for me. In the grand scheme of things, this is that year that life changed. I have a job I love, working with dear friends. I’m appreciated, rewarded and given as much freedom as I need to make motherhood a priority over employment. ♥

My garden was a complete failure this year, for the first time in my life. Nothing did well, with the exception of the water company. The small amount of tomatoes ended up costing about $90 a pound and are currently going bad because I’m too busy to deal with them. I still enjoyed growing them. It was still beautiful and taught me that it’s time for a break. I’m recognizing that working full time and growing an acre of vegetables is JUST. NOT. POSSIBLE. It’s ok to admit defeat and buy veggies from a farmer friend at the market. I’m grateful I have so many friends who will keep the torch burning while I simplify.  ♥

Little Red moved into her own place and became my very best friend in the whole world. Nobody makes me laugh harder, nobody has advice nearly as fierce as hers, and not a soul on the planet inspires me more than my fiery girl. Watching her run a household is fantastic, and hearing regular thanks for all the years of dinners I cooked, sure doesn’t suck. I’m so grateful for her. ♥

The Dumpling is too little to understand how much she completes our family. She’s funny and independent, but still wanders out regularly for a hug. She’s our loving little hurricane. As she gets older, she asks more questions about her big brother and cries big tears about missing him. I know they’ll be close someday because she loves him so much, sight unseen. She is horrified by litter, will yell at anyone if she sees their animal left in the car (regardless of their age) and asks me to buckle her baby doll in with a seatbelt when we take her in the car. She’s extra, and we are so grateful she’s ours. ♥

My sister the Unicorn has become my long distance drinking partner and greatest confidant. She’s the keeper of the secrets. If anything ever happens to me, ask the Unicorn. She knows the fine print and encourages the hell out of me. My dad wasn’t present, but he sure gave me the world in my siblings. There aren’t words to express how lost I’d be without her and how grateful I am that she’s only a call away. ♥

This may shock a few of you. I’ve grown to be really great friends with my Baby Daddy this year. Things ended horribly in a fog of postpartum depression and heartache and things have been pleasant for the last few years, but it’s never been legitimately better since things ended. I made a decision this year that I was going to return any kindness he gave me, twofold. It only made him nicer and kinder and things more wonderful for everyone involved. I called to sing Happy Birthday to him last week and we had a great chat. He’s the greatest guy and I’m really grateful that he’s her Daddy and my friend. We’ve come a long way and I’m proud of us. ♥

I have a best friend like none other. She can say the stuff to me that I need to hear. Miss Fancy is as key to my sanity as wine. I recently tried to sugarcoat a questionable decision I’d made and she stopped me dead in my tracks before I wasted any time trying to justify it as anything other than what it was. I can’t fool her and she gives me it to me straight and still loves me when I cry over it anyway. I could never have raised the Dumpling alone without her help and guidance and I am so grateful that she loves me as much as I love her. Everyone needs a best & she’s mine. ♥

I’m oddly grateful to Mr. Perfection, too. I’d contemplated a dozen cats and a butch haircut and then he was here in all his deliciousness. Bless his cheatin’ heart, he reminded me how much I really love sex and absolutely did NOT want to be a cat lady. I could have done without the broken heart, but hey, c’est la vie. We’re good. ♥

Without Perfection, I never would have rolled those dice with Incredicock and good Lord that would be a tragedy. I’m really grateful for the carnal knowledge I possess as a result of letting myself off the hook for a change. I’m a people pleaser and I hold myself to a few cardinal rules that I don’t break. I broke them all this time and whaddyaknow… it was worth it. No harm sex without strings or drama. No constant barrage of text messages or phone calls. Sexual warfare and a whole new list of favorites. He does exist and I’m damn grateful for the pleasure(s) and the rich fantasy life he inspires both in and out of his presence. Wanting him is enough inspiration to wake me up before the sun and you know it works a little too well when you can knock out an orgasm just saying his name. It’s hot. I’m very grateful.

Happy Thanksgiving, loves ♥ I hope you are surrounded by all the people & things you love most, today and always. 

 


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.