Ego

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It takes a special kind of man to sit comfortably in the crosshairs of my blog. I make a point to not get involved with anyone that knows me well enough to know about it. It puts me at too much of a disadvantage when they start reading. I’ve learned the hard way by thinking it wouldn’t matter. It always has.

The worst of the worst , work overtime to manipulate it. The absolute worst guy I ever dated, manipulated every syllable until I bleached him out of my life. He knew if he came to see me, I’d be word vomiting his ego back into the stratosphere before he got back to his office. He also was the only one who’s ever loved a solid hate blog. I wrote about his failed erections. He was furious, but he made a point to drive over to spank me, because he wanted to read about it.

The best one was determined to be a good guy in print. I wasn’t that into him and he was on overdrive. He sent me pretty shoes, cheeky panties, a pretty pink Coach bag… and on and on. He would have kept on buying, purely for how much he loved to read about how much I loved my new panties… until he read about me putting them on for a date he wasn’t taking me on. Nice guys turn crazy when they read how lukewarm you are about them. Disinterest hooks them just as deeply as it does us.

The hottest one, lived to outdo himself. He referred to my blog as personalized porn, and he did research on ways to stun, surprise and satisfy me. He counted my orgasms like goals and left me drowning in adjectives and shaking from the highlight reel running through my head. What began as a revenge fuck, ended up being a hell of a hard habit to break. Still the only man who has ever made me tap out. Bless his smoking hot soul.

The biggest monsters learned the largest lessons. Nathan still has to explain why he’s such a liar and I cock-blocked Virgin Islands with the truth until he begged me to stop. I set most of the content regarding both of them to private because I don’t want to be defined by my biggest mistakes any more than they do.

My friends will tell you that I’m one of the nicest people they know. They will also caution anyone not to overlook the flip side. I rise to the occasion and put in overtime to outdo my conquests. Same goes for when they’ve decided to be an asshole. When I hear them whine and complain about how they hate and want me simultaneously, I know that my work is done. I’m not a bitch, I’m just a big fan of Karma.

However they inspire me to feel, will be returned to them, tenfold. I’m the ultimate investment until he’s a douche bag, treating me poorly; whilst reading my journal.

At that point? He becomes a verbal target and I unpack my bag of his deepest insecurities for a few thousand friends and strangers to read and laugh about. It’s all fun and games until it hurts, huh boys?

Mr. Grey is not a subscriber and will not be reading. Something that absolutely delights me for a few old fashioned reasons. I don’t know what he’ll be wearing on our date Sunday, because he hasn’t read what I hope it’ll be. He’s attentive without knowing I want him to be, responding to my texts within minutes unless he’s in court. He actually apologizes if he’s away from his phone and doesn’t respond, promptly. That still surprises me. Confidence is one of the hottest things a man can show you and it’s the definition of masculinity for me. He doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t play stupid games and <gasp> even communicates. With words I occasionally have to look up…<quadruple swoon>.

For the most part though? It’s really fun to see what he does without reading the cliff notes…

Smart.

Every now and then, you have to check in with yourself. You need to take stock. Do inventory. Get your shit together, if you will.

I had to do that this morning when I saw the horrifyingly confusing messages I sent Incredicock, along with his equally confused responses.

One thing is very clear, and it takes zero sobriety to comprehend. I would like him to take his clothes off, post haste. All the days in all the lands, I prefer him naked; and fucking me. That’s all. This is the guy you can justify working 90 hours a week for. No baby… you stay home and sleep in. I will support us, and you can support me. Later.

Sadly, he’s a forever soft no and it’s pathetic that I’m even asking. I’m trying my best to avoid a boyfriend and my FWB is the biggest cockblocker in my life. If I end up in captivity, I’m going to blame him, publicly.

Mr. Grey is descending on my pond and the lake around here has never seen a shark like him before. I’m concerned. I see the stats on my blog spike and know I have some rabid local readers. I’m worried one of you will mention our poly-amorous date. I’m taking him to my best friend’s restaurant on Sunday.

I’m kinda making him my boyfriend. I’m fucking panicking at the thought.

I text the one that can satisfy my needs and he’d rather chop firewood and do chores.

#motherfuckingpause

If he would rather do housework or laundry than fuck you? He never wanted to, to begin with. You weren’t a booty call, you were a hit and run. He fucked his ex-wife’s best friend because he could and you were willing, and just because you knew him to be a good guy with her, does not mean he will be with you. As much as you love someone, they can become someone else entirely when you begin fucking them. It’s painfully true.

I’m just as sorry to be wrong. Probably twice as sorry, today.

Glasses

My little Dumpling is reading and we spend many hours sounding out words. Many. So when her teacher pulled me aside, I didn’t expect what she said.

C- I think she needs glasses. She strains to see and rubs her eyes a lot.

I looked over where she was playing and began to worry. It’s funny how you can completely miss something until someone points it out. My mind started to mull over every detail of the last 5 years. How in the hell did I not know?

I picked her up that afternoon and started questioning her.

J- Do your eyes hurt? Can you see my face?

D- What are you talking about? I can see your head but my seat is behind yours, mama.

I tend to panic a little when something is potentially wrong with one of my babies. My son was born with a rare eye condition and we spent his first year in scary pediatric ophthalmologist hell. I’m aware this is routine for people who wear glasses.

I’m just one of those lucky assholes with perfect vision. It breaks my heart that I have it and she doesn’t.

She does not share my sorrow. She counted down the days to her appointment and marched in with glee. Her initial exam was difficult to watch. The Dumpling is blind as a bat. She could pick out one or two letters correctly, but even at 2″ tall, she struggled. I fought back tears, feeling like the worst mother in the world that my poor blind child has just been stumbling around in a blurry world.

That glee she rode in on turned to horror with a few well placed eye drops to dilate her eyes for the exam.  She climbed into my lap, buried her face in my chest and sobbed.

D- I don’t want glasses anymore.

Out of nowhere, the Long Island Medium of eye wear appeared.

LIM- OH HONEY!!! DON’T CRY! LET’S PICK OUT SOME GLASSES!!!!

Dr.- Full time. She’s nearsighted with pretty serious astigmatism. If she were just nearsighted then she’d see clearly up close, but with her degree of astigmatism, everything is blurry.

Thanks doc. I didn’t feel horrible enough yet. I do now.

The spikey haired screamer is handing my Dumpling a pile of pink frames. Oh no.

LIM- OHH LOOK!!! PURPLE?

D- No thank you.

LIM- HERE! TRY THEM ON?

D- No.

She’s specific. She’s half shielding her eyes and frowning quietly at anything less than shocking pink. She will not even try another color on. Her patience is running low with the excited saleswoman.

D- Can we be done?

I love kids. I wish I had the balls to say the same.

LIM- I SAVED THE BEST FOR LAST!!!!

Fuck.

VB Ada

She runs over and grabs a sparkling pink pair of frames from the top row of kids glasses. I know to stay away from the top row in the store. Regardless of where you are. It’s just as deadly at the liquor store as it is shopping for glasses. I see the tiny one sit up straight and grin.

Fuuuuuck.

She slips them on and flashes my own naughty grin back at me.

D- I want theeeeeeeeeeeeeeese.

Of course she does. She’s my daughter. Her father is equally as bad. We are absolutely doomed when she’s a teenager. I shoot a murderous eyebrow at the Long Island Medium.

J- Do I even want to know? Let me guess. They’re the very most expensive, aren’t they?

She smiles, guiltily and nods her head yes. Fucking awful lady. My patience is draining from my already strained face.

LIM- They’d run around $400 with lenses.

J- Absolutely not. We’ll take the $150 version and call it good. Thank  you.

I picked the Dumpling up and carried her back to the waiting room, where she gave me hell.

D- But I don’t want those. I want the ‘spensive pink ones.

J- Sorry love, we’ll find them somewhere else for less. That’s wayyyyy too much money for glasses. That lady is a jerk for showing them to you.

Yeah. I hope she heard me.

We went back for her exam after her eyes had time to dilate and I honestly can’t even put it into words. Seeing her take the test again after he’d fine tuned the lenses to correct her vision, was amazing.

The letters started to get smaller and she started to guess faster. I watched them shrink on the screen, heard a giggle catch in her throat… and I bawled. I can hardly wait for her glasses to come in. It’s going to be really amazing to see her see everything again for the first time.

That damn woman followed us out, shouting at the Dumpling that she had  14 sleeps until they were in. I could see the confusion on her face as I pulled her out the door.

D- 14 sleeps? I want to go to school.

J- Don’t listen to that woman. Two weeks and your glasses will be in.

D- WHAT?? That’s the whole reason we came here.

J- They have to make them for your eyes. Patience is a virtue.

D- I’m patient for those pink ones.

J- Damn that woman.

D- POTTY TALK!

Life with a five year old co-pilot is hilarious. I’m awfully excited to see what she thinks when she finally gets to see the world around her. ♥