Confession

I don’t have the answers.

Nor do I know all the questions or always ace the test. I get so many emails from women asking me to help them or tell them what they already know. I know just as little as all of you. I’ve just failed, publicly. I just admit when I’m wrong. I highly recommend trying it.

I don’t know everything.

In fact I know very little but do my best to fake it convincingly. Making a list of priorities helps, but I still get lost along the way when I’m not paying attention.

I fail regularly.

I make a huge effort to avoid the situation entirely, but I’ve been known to make the wrong choice, more times than I can count. (please don’t help) I accept it all because it’s brought to me to where I am today- staring my fairytale in the face. When you strive to be better, good things just happen. When I valued myself more, I ended up chin deep in love and appreciated down to my unattractive toes. When I took the sale sign off that I’d been wearing around my neck, I woke up in the middle of the best dream I’ve ever had, only to realize it was my life. I’m quite imperfect, and I’m loved for my imperfections. For all I’ve ranted and raved the past two years about what we all deserved and how badly I’d chosen… I never dreamed a man could be THIS good.

I don’t feel like an adult yet.

I still call my mom for help. I still wonder when I’ll have all the answers, like she does. She laughed the other day and said “Honey… I love you. What someone else thinks of you is none of your business.  Do you need eggs? Cucumbers? Flowers?” I’m still an asshole kid. I love hearing her messages but I’m a slacker about getting back to her. Sometimes her messages are just a comforting reminder that she loves me. As a mother I know she’s waiting for me to call back. I still don’t. Clearly, I’m still a child.

I’m happier than I’ve ever been in my life.

I feel bad for saying so, but I feel like I’ve really grown up and learned to swim in the happy details that feed me as a person, and not those that feed my insecurities. I’ve learned that alone doesn’t have to mean lonely and being in love with the right man makes you feel like a damn fool for ever discounting the woman he loves. I feel like I owe him an apology for every idiot I ever let take his place. He worries about my temperature, my smile and my soul. He makes me a nicer person and he qualifies me as the happiest women on earth… or at least puts me in running for the crown.  and I could only be happier if I had a crown on. Just sayin.

I love a man deeper than I ever knew possible.

He plans days designed around forcing me to play. He doesn’t let me politely decline to participate. He smiles a smile that sends shock waves through me and he makes me want to be nicer. He kisses me and I picture cloth diapers hanging on the line. It’s as biblical as I can get without making anyone uncomfortable. It’s a love that compels me to define it while I can’t even begin to throw every adjective I have at it. I love him more than I thought was possible and he safeguards the blessing. When I tell him I’m the luckiest girl, I’m not schmoozing him. I’m stating fact.

 

I really didn’t think nice men actually existed.

For all I rambled on and on about “real” men and ranted at the clearly pathetic examples… I had lost faith. I honestly thought they were all the same. Then I met my Superman… and ladies PLEASE… know he exists. My boyfriend is the greatest man I’ve ever known. He helps strangers in the grocery store parking lot. He plays with babies. He really is… super.

I have a huge ego… and my acre vegetable garden is testament to that fact.

In a week? I’ll be swimming in veg. My zucchini patch is just starting to produce. My 300 tomato plants are ripening, simultaneously. My 12 plum trees are just days away. I have knee high basil and 200′ of sweet corn setting ears. I have 15 heads of cabbage I have no idea what to do with. I have zinnias and sunflowers everywhere, and a million buds just beginning to open. I’m humbled by all of it… but damn if I don’t get carried away when it comes to planting this garden.

I love gas station food.

Especially the corn dogs, though I LOOOOVE those awfully unhealthy ham and cheese pocket thingies equally as much. I blame my hippie organic upbringing. I do my best to avoid it and this morning I was reminded of why I should. I bought a corn dog… and it was some sort of chili fan destruction of an already perfect food. I took a bite and it tasted like weird hot-dog laced chili and cornbread. Yuck. But yeah… I ate it anyway. A corndog is a corndog.

I survive on energy drinks.

I feel guilty buying them too- because I used to nag my son about drinking them. I humbly retract my preconceived notions regarding my Rockstar/Monster addiction. They get shit done.

I used to garden with music… now I garden in silence, because my thoughts are deafening.

I snack on peas, weed for hours and work out the worlds problems, in my head. I swear I got more done, faster, with martinis and Top 40, but whatever.

I’m bitter.

I’ve seen the worst of what mankind has to offer. I’ve been the victim of a sociopathic married liar and lived to tell the tale. I remain threatened by him and I’m bitter when I consider how stupid I”ve been and how reckless with my safety. I was destined to be special to someone amazing… how could I have been so stupid or held standards so low? I regret my mistakes.

I love the summer months where I spend little to nothing at the grocery store.

Toilet paper, pasta and pet food…. those are the grocery trips that dreams are made of. For all the friends I have that tell me I’m crazy… I laugh at them having to buy potatoes at the grocery store. I use it as my chance to get caught up on the bills I’m behind on.

I’m jealous.

I never wanted a wedding again until I met him. I never wanted to make an absolutely public statement about my undying love for someone, ever before. So when I see pictures of his first marriage… I go green, and not in a good way. I have my jealous moments and I fail best at those times.

I feel safe for the first time in my life.

I don’t worry about locking the windows and doors when he’s here. I love the smell of summertime at night but I’m a crazily overprotective single mother too. I realized it the other night when I was making my third round of window & door checks. He would protect us with his life, and I sleep easily beside him.

I’m a horrible bitch at times and you will rue the day if you fuck with me.

I’m a nasty little insect when inspired. I openly admit and apologize for it. I forever try harder to be nicer. I don’t always succeed.

I’m an amazing friend

I remember your birthday, and I’ve done this pre-Facebook, for the record. I will fight right beside you, give you my last dollar and take your kids any time you need…but if you cross me I will remember every secret you ever told me, in detail… and I will use them against you if you should make the mistake of doing the same. Trust me- that’s a lose-lose situation. I only like the coolest women, and I have amazing friends. I love them all dearly and I treasure each moment spent laughing with my favorite ladies. Most of my enemies are anonymous.

I’m an even worse enemy.

I recently had an anonymous hater contact my sweet Superman’s brother to flirt with him, then warn him about me. Mmmm… push me and you’ll only see how strong I am. I am ridiculously protective and will make quick work of anyone who would go anywhere near my loved ones. Oh Lindsey Falcon, or whatever your fake name is now- perhaps you should have tried pretending to be a nurse and not a Hooters employee. <eyeroll> Two points for blocking me so I can’t link you to the blog you fear enough that you’re willing to put on your Shady Whore panties.  If I meet you- you should be prepared because…. hell hath NO fury like mine- and I will eviscerate you. Clearly you’re stupid so let me define that for you in English.

Eviscerate: e·vis·cer·ate

verb /iˈvisəˌrāt/
eviscerated, past participle; eviscerated, past tense; eviscerates, 3rd person singular present; eviscerating, present participle

  • Disembowel (a person or animal)
    • – the goat had been skinned and neatly eviscerated
  • Deprive (something) of its essential content
    • – myriad little concessions that would eviscerate the project
  • Remove the contents of (a body organ)

Get your shovel out and keep digging because I need more fertilizer this time of year. My tomatoes are hungry.

I’m human… and trying. I don’t always win and I sometimes cry about it when I lose.
I confess, to you- my brothers and sisters… that I have failed . In my thoughts and in my words. In what I have done and in what I have failed to do.
…..But I always keep trying….

A real Man.

 

Every once in a while, you come across a man that reminds you why it’s worth it. A shining example of a guy who does what he says he’s going to do or dies trying. Faithful, honest and funny, he makes the other guys look bad just standing still.

He’s my best friend’s boyfriend and in honor of his birthday, I’m outing him for being a fabulous enough example that he gives me faith on a week I shouldn’t have any left.

She met him a year ago (or so) and after ten minutes with the two of them you can’t imagine one without the other. She steals the bread off his plate and he steals it back and licks the whole thing. She laughs and steals it back. He’s confident enough to baby talk to her in front of anyone.

R- I love you sho, sho….

C- Sho, sho?

Yeah… sickening and fabulous all at the same time. It’s quite a bit priceless.

He’s one of those real men. Complete with the commercial fishing career. He’s cute as hell, sweet as sugar and the most confident man I’ve ever met. He walks beside her, with his hand on her back or wrapped around hers. He’d flatten anyone for disrespecting her AND he doesn’t mind hanging out with her friends.

He dances with us… (and he might kill me… but it’s just too good not to share)

He’s taken a pretty serious ration of shit for it from his buddies, but in my not so humble opinion, this is the guy we all hope our boyfriend/husband is like. He’ll make you laugh till you cry, protect you with his whole soul and throw down with a little Katy Perry…

Robby Meyer, well done my friend… you give me faith that there are good men in the world, and that when you meet one it’s pretty obvious right off the bat.

He doesn’t have to lie, because he’s living a life he respects and believes in. He doesn’t have to cheat, because he cares about the value of his love and his word. He doesn’t have to, because he doesn’t want to be anything less than everything to my dear friend.

THAT right there- is a real man.

Way to go, Mr. Man-card, and Happy Birthday 🙂

Oh She of so much faith…

I woke up to silence… a tiny furry Yorkie dog sleeping as close as he can get to me without being actually ON me. Kicking the covers off, knowing as soon as my naked foot landed on top of the fluffy cloud of down comforters heaped on my bed, my little Tucker Max would be running for my sparkly red toenails. He loves feet. Especially mine.

Giggling & fighting him from licking my toes as he tunnels under the sheets to follow them, I’m forced out of bed to let him out.

On a soft dusky rainy morning in a sleepy silent house. It’s 65* with a latte and the hot tub beckoning me. In nothing but my new Halloween pumpkin panties that say “Trick me”  and the candy necklace my darling friend brought me last night as a gesture of “I told you so” love. Goosebumps spreading from my neck to my knees reminding me that fall is in the air. Smiling at the seasons. Happy with the perennial details.

I love the little things that mean so much. I love the tiny details that make me happy. The perfect imperfection of my life that keeps me going.

I put a million things away today, I folded laundry for hours. I swept, mopped, dusted and ran for a while. I focused on the one foot in front of the other approach, knowing what peace there is in the details. Clean floors make me smile. A clean refrigerator makes life beautiful. A nail appointment where he takes one look at me and frowns.

N- How’s the love life- uh oh.

J- No bueno. He died a quick death just like the rest of them. Lying, cheating, you name it… same old story.

N- No. You need one nice man. Not bad boy. You are very nice, you are a good woman. You will be happy, not sad.

J- Aww, thanks… but I’m inclined to think it doesn’t exist. I’m more than a little jaded these days.

N- I’m a good husband. A good father. I love my family. You will find that too.

This is just awesome, even my favorite nail guy is feeling sorry for me. Awesome…. he replaces them completely, makes them sparkly and talks me into an eyebrow wax.

So I look like a blonde girl with Asian skinny eyebrows… lesson learned. In fact I think I was born with thicker eyebrows than I have right now.

Still, I left feeling a million times better. Prettier… not so completely offended. Reaffirmed and readjusting to silence between us where he’d been so present before. For the record, the silence sucks most of all. It’s the biggest downside to breaking the addiction.

As a comfort eater from the word GO, I have pizza on the brain, combined with not wanting to cook in my lovely sparkly new pink nails… Gourmet Vegetarian pizza from Papa Murpy’s Take & Bake. With Canadian bacon… because it’s better like that 🙂

A fifth of Goose from the liquor store… because it’s that sort of week. Ohhhh and olives from the olive bar… ever the olive junkie.

I miss him as a diversion. Plain and simple. The reality of him is far different. He’s a snake in a polo. A shark in argyle. An asshole in a nice guy’s costume.

Who knows what or who he is, I don’t think he even knows… and I know precisely the woman I am.

I’m a dirty princess. I weed in designer jeans. I wear gloves to cover my beautiful nails and I get dirty. I garden, I can veggies and jam. I knit. I sew. I paint. I write. I smile you into smiling with me. I dance my feet to hell and gone. I work my ass off. I do more in a day than most people in a week. I juggle more right now than anyone else I know.

I’m fucking exhausted, and gawd dammit I deserve a man that isn’t a douche bag.

I deserve someone worth spoiling equally as much as I deserve to be spoiled. It all seems to be such an imbalance.

So I did what any self respecting faithful princess does…

and I bought myself a pumpkin…. a Cinderella pumpkin to be specific.

My $6 says it’s ok to have faith… and it’s ok to believe in fairytales and pumpkins.

My $6 says it’s ok to continually roll the dice, even though I’m equipped with a douche bag magnet and the odds are stacked against me.

At some point? I’m going to roll the dice and win.

At some point? They can’t all be frogs.

He doesn’t need to be a prince. Just good. Just honest… and worthy of the ridiculously delightful feminine hurricane I am. Capable of keeping up with the tornado of yarn & fabric. In love with my pickled asparagus. Sincere in his words and actions… and inspirational enough to leave me torn between curling up in his arms to fall asleep and getting up to write about him.

He just needs to make me think, make me feel and make me laugh… at myself…

But never at my princess pumpkin, or the heart that believes in the magic of it.

I’m canning ginger peach jam tomorrow… along with white plum vanilla bean… all before work.

More importantly? I’m smiling every time I see my pumpkin, blissful with a side of smug.

What a stupid foolish boy with horrible taste and what a ridiculous crybaby to waste a minute crying over someone who wasn’t even worthy.

Sparkly pink nails are wonderful…but my Cinderella pumpkin fixed everything.

Here’s to the best $6 I’ve ever spent.