Category Archives: T

Wishes Granted

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If anyone had told me a year ago that I’d have just about everything I ever wanted by the next year, I never would have believed them.

In fact I probably would have mocked them…. right here.

My life had become something I was trapped by. My choices had cost me nearly everything I cared most about… and it was all iced with a nightmare trip to Puerto Rico in the height of my delusion.

Thomas Murray may be the devil incarnate… but he taught me some HUGE life lessons I’ll never forget, and set me on a different path.

Standing on a pier a million miles away from home with a sinking suspicion that I’d really gotten myself in hot water… hot water so deep I was holding my breath to keep from drowning. I stood alone in my choices and took stock of what my life had become.

Unrecognizable. A nightmare beyond anything I ever thought it might resemble along the way.

A self esteem so low I’d knowingly settled for less than I deserved because I was desperate to avoid the curse of endless solitude. A list of losers plaguing me that had done nothing but cheat, lie and shit all over what was left of me. Not a single good intention in sight.

My first born, lost. All the years of dedication don’t matter for shit if you stop dedicating yourself. Some children are fickle and jump ship when they see it burning. It was my job to keep it afloat and I can’t blame him for not loving me enough to know how much I wanted more than what we had. I hope someday he’s able to remember who I am and until then I love him from afar.

A job that made me sick, literally. Riddled with ulcers and constantly sick, driving to work with nothing but dread in the pit of my stomach… only to sustain myself with shitty fried food and regular post-shift drinking, just to cope. Earning a miserable $3.35 an hour while working the lousy shifts because I refused to kiss the ass of a manager so horrible they should print her picture in text books. Working full time for nothing and no one.

Standing in Puerto Rico, laughing at myself- finally. I woke up. I looked at the old man creeper standing next to me and knew something wasn’t right. I resolved to get my shit together and figure it out. I learned to swim instead of quietly drowning beside the married philanderer busying himself trying to blow smoke up my ass while I narrowed my eyes in shock as I saw the forest for the trees.

I flew home and scotch taped myself back together until the wounds healed. I made changes. I still stumbled, but I was determined to be happy- and to change the things making me miserable.

I reclaimed my self respect and burned Thomas Murray’s house of cards down. I told the truth. I screamed the truth. I tagged him and shared my experience with the many women waiting for his next call, some of whom had been waiting for a decade. I laid a motherfucker bare and made cheating on his wife quite a bit harder. He still stalks my blog. I’ve never heard from him since the shit started to hit the fan and the women came out of the woodwork.

I started to sleep again… sometimes all night long. I quit drinking to mask the pain. I started running again.

I got fired. I deserved to. I called that nightmare manager a Cunt and lost my unemployment along with the worst job I’ve ever had. I acted irresponsibly, for sure- but I also only voiced what everyone else says under their breath. I’m actually proud of myself for having the balls to call a spade a spade. They all say it, I just took responsibility for it. I don’t regret it. I got banned for life and they hired my child. All’s well that ends well, right? I got a new job. I applied for a few, but the one I really really wanted… I got. I fell into a honeymoon of a serving job working with adults that acted like it. I made new friends and lost some too. I learned that some friendships are conditional and if they’re lost so easily- they never really were there to begin with. I bloomed. Some of my favorite customers found me at my new grown-up job, and I started with a raise from day 1. I made more money. I made new favorite customers. I learned to make a mean martini and flourished in an environment that champions my role as a mother as much as my value to them as an employee. For the first time in three years… I was able to call in sick. I love my job so much it will be really hard to give it up.

I went on a date with someone nice. I was so disenchanted at that point I tried my best to get out of it, and went under protest- to be completely honest. I didn’t go to any great lengths… ran a brush through my hair and put some lip gloss on. No makeup. No sexy clothes. Just my favorite jeans and a t-shirt and my bone-deep distrust of anyone with a penis, comforted only by the fact he was a dear friend’s brother. I met my Superman. I sat and ate dinner with a man determined to look me in the face and listen to what I said. I watched him and realized that I had been completely correct when I’d told my friends I couldn’t choose for myself. I fell in love with good intentions, kind gestures and integrity so pure I’ve never met anyone who even remotely comes close to being as good as he is. I honestly wonder if anyone else has ever come close. He loves me and my daughter as his own. He spoils the hell out of her, for all the right reasons. He has the family I always dreamed of having, and a mother who is just like I want to be. He is the man I waited for.

I grew a beautiful garden. I canned more than I’ve ever canned before. My pantry became legendary and I healed my own broken heart while feeding my family. I remembered the things that make me healthy and threw out the things that didn’t. I learned to thrive again.

I quit drinking. I quit medicating the pain I was working overtime to avoid. I’ve dealt with serious depression in facing the loss of my son and all the pain it brings. It’s not easy to wake up every day missing half your heart, but I’d rather talk about it, and give a voice to my pain instead of nurturing a vice. I’d rather spend that time I’d wasted doing what I love so much. I read stories with my daughter. I let her sleep in my bed. We cook dinner together and have been sewing too. I treasure each moment with her because I realize the aching loss of their absence. I pray. I spend more time trying to be a good friend and working to return calls, remember birthdays and be present in the moment.

And then… I got pregnant. :) Superman and I had laughed over lunch one day and he’d gotten suddenly serious.

S- I really want a child of my own. I understand if you don’t, but it means a lot to me.

J- I’d always dreamed of just one more…. but I’m 36 and do not want to be 37 and pregnant. Yikes. I have one in high school and one in middle school.

S- Well then let’s just leave it up to fate.

Out came my IUD… and two weeks later? lol… yep. Pregnant. This very much meant-to-be baby flew right in… and of all the irony… I’m due on my 37th birthday. I’ve never seen a due date, so chances are very good that I will not, in fact, ever be 37 & pregnant.

In the last week, I’ve woken up to tiny taps and bumps from my round stomach. It’s been so long since I felt a baby kick, my first response was tears. I’m so grateful. I’m so humbled. I have a million memories from my son and daughter that make me smile when I think of all the times that went by too fast- and I feel so fortunate to get to experience it all again… and with someone I love so dearly.

Once upon a time, or perhaps a hundred times… I said a silent prayer.

J- I just want one more beautiful child. One more chance to be what I love more than anything- a mother. A blessing of a baby with a man I truly love.

I’ve seen so many prayers go unanswered- or worse- nightmares realized. I’d given up on the hopes it could all be better.

Then I found my faith, found myself and found that when I put my mind to it- even my wildest dreams can come true.

Here’s proof. Our little Parker. A baby sister for my darling Little Red & the son I love so much. A baby made out of true love and endless faith. The tangible equivalent of the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.

Parker16wks

Dreams. Have them, foster them and if all else fails- chase them…

Because fairytales do come true.

Life is so funny…

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I have more time off with my darling Little Red… which means we have FAR less money to spend on fun things.

Like food.

It’s the slow season at work and I know it may get worse, so I’ve been canning like a lunatic doomsayers… but oh well… my pantry kicks ass AND takes names. I look at it and feel like I could qualify for an episode of Hoarders, food storage division.

I look in my pantry and see this… which was 2 weeks and two batches of jalapeno jelly ago.

Not too shabby, if I do say so myself. I could feed an army, or at the very least; my little family.

I had a comment come buzzing into my phone last night, one from the dreaded Thomas’s little girl. I’m heartsick over her reading any and all of the details of my own nightmare with him, but also a little relieved that she’s clearly taken after her mother. I had a horrible father, and though my mother did her best to safeguard my “picker” I’ve chosen poorly more times than I can count. I hope that her unfortunate stumble upon the details will further her resolve to choose someone worthy of such a beautiful girl. My prayers have always included her, but I hope now she knows too that it’s only in defense of the unsuspecting victims that I crusade against him, tirelessly. I hear from a new broken heart on a daily basis at times, and it’s for that reason and that reason alone that I refuse to fall silent.

Phew… all that aside, my life continues to be a source of joy and a fountain of bliss-filled moments that surprise my jaded heart. My boyfriend impresses me on a daily basis, and because of his influence, our lives have only continued to be more and more joyful. I treasure him with my whole soul.

As a result of such a wonderful relationship blossoming, my garden was a treasure trove of veg this year. I’m going to torture all of you with pictures because it’s just too beautiful to keep to myself.

Behold… the fruits of our labor.

I’m not sure who I planted all of this for, yet again… but my freezer is full and my pantry is bulging. Two things that make a single mommy sleep a little easier at night.

Got corn? I sure do! I canned what I could for my darling girl (9 pints!) and gave the rest away. I don’t do the farmer’s market anymore, and it’s been so much more wonderful to share my harvest with my friends and family.

My fingerling potato harvest was truly overwhelming this year. Pound upon pound of rose finn apple, ruby crescent, etc… all safely tucked into my mama’s root cellar for the winter. These will be a pleasant treat in the middle of our snowy cold winter wonderland.

The real reason I grow an acre of vegetables is for the tomatoes, and my rainbow of tangy treasures are simply amazing this season. I’ve made so many batches of marinara and have so many more to can. My flats runneth over, literally.

Black Krim & Speckled Roman, my to favorite varieties. I have roughly 400 pounds left, which will be used for Christmas cases of marinara for my mama and Superman’s mama, who has become a dear friend of mine. Gifts of love come wrapped in mason jars when they come from me.

Tangy spicy sweet Aunt Ruby’s German Green salsa, the best I’ve ever made. This is precisely the reason I spend so many hours weeding, watering and weaving my least favorite bits of yarn into makeshift trellises in the garden. Each bite makes every second worthwhile.

Each pumpkin is like a trophy in my garden, as I’ve tried unsuccessfully to have a pumpkin patch for years. They’re in varying stages of ripening, and are so beautiful I hate to carve them… if it weren’t for my delicious pumpkin seeds that are consumed in minutes after they come crackling out of the oven.

As I wait for the latest batch of jars to come out of the canner, I knit myself into a blissful state of domestic joy. My someday sister-in-law just had the most beautiful baby girl, and I am delighted to have tiny treasures roll off my needles again. I am so happy it’s sickening, I know this. I saw a dear friend today, my sweet Miss Classy- and we planned an evening of homemade soup, good red wine and a night of fun movies and knitting for Halloween. If I never do Halloween at the bar again, I can die happy. The joy of an evening of girl time, my favorite hobbies and sharing the delights of a summer’s hard work in the garden; makes for a perfect holiday. Missing my son doesn’t get easier, but finding joy in the little moments full of my favorite things, makes the season as welcome as can be. When he does come home, and when things are better; I will be the person he can be proud of and recognize as the mama who raised him. I hope that’s sooner than later, but I’ve given up being angry about it. It is, what it is, and hopefully someday will be something more wonderful.

I found him a costume… which is hilarious and perfect and irresistible. My daughter begged me not to buy it, saying he was wonderful enough that he didn’t need the outfit. I bought it anyway. He tried it on, which was cry-until-you-pee-your-pants funny. He has to leave for work before Halloween so he wont get to wear it, but at least he knows that I believe in his superhero status to the point I thought he needed the outfit. He rebuilt my fence last week after the wind knocked it down and I asked him where his cape was… he answered by blowing me a kiss and telling me to get in out of the cold weather. I canned jam with his amazing mother while his brother helped him rebuild my fence… just one more moment made perfect by the most amazing man I’ve ever known. My boyfriend, my superhero.

My momma has this stone in her garden, which is full of a million beautiful flowers. I took a picture the other day when I read it for what must be the millionth time. I’ve reminded myself of who I am this year, and have struggled to become the woman I recognize when I look in the mirror. I’ve fostered my favorite habits and have washed my hands of the bad ones. I’ve been a better friend. I’m a better daughter. I’m proud to say I’m a better mother than the idiot who got on a plane to Puerto Rico and used to send cup-of-noodles with my daughter to school for lunch. Clinging to what makes me different, makes me better, happier and a helluva lot more fun to be around. My happiness makes the people around me, happier.

Happy Fall, my dear friends. I’ve written less and lived more and I appreciate the hilarious emails I’ve gotten begging me to get back to the keyboard. I appreciate the love and support and will probably get more writing done with less time spent in the garden, but I’m not interested in ranting anymore. I’m determined to bring sunshine into the days of the people I love, and pride into the people who love me.

Many blessings & happy fall!

And then there were 30…

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I haven’t been writing lately. I’ve harvested an acre of veggies and have been busy wearing the hell out of my glass slippers. I rarely check my email. I sleep in. I go to bed early. I suppose you could say I’m simply enjoying the seconds tick by as I swim peacefully in my newfound fairytale. It’s been six months since I met my Superman… yet each day is better than the last.

Those happily ever after rumors… are true. I don’t have nightmares anymore; it’s all one big dream about white veils and baby socks. I AM the luckiest woman, ever born.

I find myself wishing I could erase the past two years of my life. If I could find a way to highlight and delete them, I would.

Alas, I cannot- and I would be remiss to do so. I’ve written so honestly because I find that we’re all in the same boat… the difference between me and so many others, is that I admit it.

I admit I’ve failed and I admit I don’t have all the answers. While I’d love to put my judgemental panties on each morning and convince a bunch of strangers that I’m perfectly perfect and an award winning mother, instead I admit that my firstborn hates me and I have a laundry list of douchebags I never should have gotten within an inch of. All of whom you’ve seen me fall prey to.

Ok so in some instances, I’ve ran towards the fire while being totally and completely convinced that someone as nice as I am, could not possibly get burned, AGAIN.

A word to the wise? I’ve been burned every time. A kind soul and a trusting heart render you highly flammable.

I set the world on fire with a heart determined to believe in true love, armed only with a glamorous pair of rose colored glasses and more faith than any woman should be entrusted with.

For a very long time, I failed. For a VERY long time, I had taste bad enough to qualify me as a serious contender in the douche bag Olympics, willing sacrifice division.

Then I got my delusional ass on a plane to Puerto Rico and learned in the hardest way of all. First hand. It’s safe to say I was at rock bottom. It’s fair to say I was lost. It’s honest to admit I was a train wreck. Having been lied to, cheated on, stolen from and disrespected in every way imaginable, I bought the biggest line of crap I’d ever been offered.

Thomas Joseph Murray had followed my blog for years. He’d read of my heartache, my betrayal and my disappointment. He knew how crushed I was and he knew I was ripe for the picking. A ridiculously expensive ticket later, my hair curled and green eyes clouded with hope… I flew away to collect my glass slippers from my prince.

Only to find he was the original prince of darkness, himself.

Fortunately, I was spared a lifetime with a lying con-man, and came home a helluva lot wiser.

You’ve all read the details of my disastrous island adventure, and though I walked away with an interested publisher and a dozen calls from rabid agents… I came home with the most priceless souvenir of all. My self-respect, gift wrapped with red ribbon and humility. My faith was intact, because I truly believe in good men, and refused to watch it end up in a bitter box of thrift store donations scarred by memories of a trip gone wrong.

I threw my favorite shoes away. I tossed every pair of panties I was ever stupid enough to let him touch. I burned the love letters and dumped my perfume down the drain. I did what I could to wash myself clean of the nightmare that is Thomas.

Then the women started to roll in, after I bared my ass and shared my heartache with the world. The women with so much more lost than me. The woman who’d given him 15 years of her life and never knew he was married. The woman who’d sacrificed her chance with a real man and real babies… to sit around waiting for more strategically planned lies. Worst of all? The woman who took his name and slept beside their child while he slept beside me.

God bless the good saint Natalie- who bears a burden larger than the one anyone else has ever been saddled with.

I’m fairly convinced he regrets me most, which is nothing short of a hilarious point my closest friends laugh about with me.

Thomas, Thomas, Thomas…

When you fall in love with a woman’s angry words and you KNOW what a douchebag you are, it should come as no surprise that you will end up on the chopping block at some point. When you lie to a woman with a very public platform, you have to know you’re going to suffer the brunt of the same drama that attracted you to her in the first place.

Well…assuming you’re not evil, and it’s safe to say after now 30 women have come to me one way or another via Google.

Call me naïve, but I am still so surprised each time someone emails me with another heartbreaking tale of deceit at Thomas’ hands. We’re all so eloquent, so beautiful- and so full of hope. We all have so many stellar qualities in common.

Unfortunately, we all have one bad man in common as well.

A few weeks ago I was fighting a bout of insomnia on the couch and a story came on one of my favorite shows. “Who the bleep did I marry” showcased a blogger, named Andie Nash who had her very own Thomas. Simon Reid had lied and cheated her. He’d made an unwitting homewrecker of her as well. She wrote about her heartache and his deceit, and had the same experience I did. Women started to contact her, and ultimately they arranged a little “coming to Jesus” party for Simon, complete with news crews. Andie isn’t stupid, and as a beautiful successful woman, was by no means a charity case.

Simon is simply of the same tribe as Thomas. The lying, cheating douchebag tribe.

The women they conned were hopeful, loving and wanting the same things we all want. A man to love that will love them back, honestly. They all wanted someone to treasure and bless with the beauty of a wonderful woman. Nobody sets out to find a liar. Not a woman alive wants another woman’s cheating husband.

There are bad men in the world, but there are also superhero men who pride themselves on being different from the assholes carrying the same genitalia.

Andie Nash and I have gotten our happily ever after end results to a rocky path we both unwittingly stumbled upon. We’ve gone on and done better and found happiness that’s real and fulfilling. We’re the successful end to a cautionary tale. We’re also a bold reminder for anyone looking to deceive someone. Whatever you do- don’t fuck with a blogger.

Thomas will never darken another day, for me. He’s relocated to the cold Pennsylvania he claimed to loathe, he’s definitely lost the wife who made his home warm and inviting and hopefully his children have turned away from the poor example he sets. It’s safe to assume Simon has felt the same karmic slap in the face. It doesn’t pay to lie, but when you lie to a blogger with an intense following, you’ll find yourself working overtime to cover your ass.

Then there’s that pesky Google… which has really taken the douchebag to task, in my experience. A new email comes weekly, sometimes two…. hell sometimes ten. It always starts with “I’m not sure why, but I Googled his name and found you”. We have an arsenal of tools available that thwart even the shadiest of jerks and any woman who fails to use them will certainly kick herself at some point. The amount of information that hit me upon my return from Puerto Rico was stunning. His wife’s phone number was listed on their vacation rental. She was blogging too, and with pictures he’d sent me from THEIR home. If I’d done my research, I could have found her before I learned the hard way.

Google. Use it. Believe what you see. Inform yourself and set your feet on a smooth path as a result. I don’t share intimate details of my nightmare to torment him; I share them to protect the unsuspecting women in his path who are poised to suffer the same fate.

I have a gold plated vagina card, and I am not afraid to use it. I have an extensive vocabulary and a platform and I will burn a motherfucker’s house of cards down, if need be. I’m a woman, I’m a deadly threat and I’m a wealth of nasty adjectives when the opportunity calls for it. I heard from three women last week that are positively broken by the lies and broken promises that Thomas fed them.

I’ll proudly put on a pair of redundant panties if it means I don’t hear from another devastated lovely woman.

Dammit Thomas, would you fucking quit already? It’s gotten REAL old and I’m not at all amused about having to take off my glass slippers to put my shit kickers on.

Thomas Murray: Happiness is the best revenge

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Every time someone contacts me regarding the nightmare that is Thomas Murray, I laugh a little. I can finally laugh about it. I can finally forgive myself for being so careless with my safety and I can finally shake my head at myself in the mirror.

How could I be so stupid? How could I trust someone without any concern for my own value?

I hate to admit it… but it was fairly easy. I’d gotten to a place I didn’t recognize myself anymore. I’d been broken so deeply I forgot to protect the one thing I couldn’t get back… my life.

I curled, painted & zipped myself into believing I could take risks other people “wouldn’t have the bravery to take”. I was so terribly disenchanted that I took the ultimate leap of ignorance and got on the airplane.

There are a few clear memories that stand out now that I know what a horrible idea it was. The first was the real head-shaking, heart breaking memory of handing my passport to the man in the security line at my local airport.

M- Ohhh Puerto Rico? I’m jealous! Enjoy your trip!

At the time I looked ridiculous, I’m sure. Dressed in a little black dress, heels and blonde curls for days… running on adrenaline because I’d been up all night long with my best friend. Packing and repacking… and still unhappy with what was in my suitcase. Stopping at the book store in the airport to buy Steve Harvey’s book “Act Like a Lady, Think Like a Man”.

The second moment hit me on my last flight, and the one that took me into Puerto Rico. I sat with a couple who’d been married for decades, and they urged me to be cautious and warned me to watch my drink.

C- Be careful honey, Puerto Rico is beautiful but it can be a very dangerous place. Keep your wits about you at all times.

I heeded that advice, and it may have saved my life.

The third time I finally realized I was in over my head, on the phone with my red-headed sister Miss Lovely.

L- Please let me call mom, I’m worried about you and I know she would be too. Please.

I told her to call my mom right before I passed out and fell asleep. I still don’t remember calling her and her memories are what I have to fall back on when I panic over the lack of mine. I talked to her for 3 hours in the middle of the night, and told her we’d gotten in a fight, that he’d hit me and I’d packed my things and left. She said she could hear him banging on the door of my room and screaming at me. I don’t remember any of those things beyond fighting with him, but her recollection matches closely what the hotel has told me.

I came home confused and feeling broken and responsible. He tormented and terrorized me until I went public and told the whole truth. As soon as the pieces started to fall into place, he left me alone. As soon as I called his wife, he disappeared and quit harassing me.

…but just as soon as he vanished…the women started to come out of the woodwork.

I’ve been contacted by women he’s been involved with for the past 15 years, women he’d recently tried to schmooze and other women he had on the line. Twenty two women who’d had the misfortune of being targeted by a con man. What’s the one common feeling every one of us have?

We all feel stupid.

We all feel responsible, to a certain degree- and we all regret him.

We’re all right & alright at the same time. We should have known better- we all should have believed more strongly that we ALL deserved the truth.

I’m just thankful for the lesson. It scared me out of my nightmare and made me face my mortality. The experience spanked me deeply enough for me to catch my breath and remember who I was again.

I love my children and my family more than I loved the idea of having someone love me whom I loved and wanted to spend my life with.

I wanted so much more than to settle for an elderly nerdy wanna-be frat boy. He was so bad I remembered how awful it was to settle for the Dirty Boat Thief. I remember waking up hating my existence. I remember being embarrassed by my partner… I never wanted to go back there.

I wanted more and he was never enough to risk my life for.

His ultimate downfall is that he underestimated our voices and disregarded the facts on the ground.

He pursued me AFTER falling in love with my blog. Hello? I suppose because it covered more than the span of a year, people gave it more credence than some Match.com fling, but just given those facts I should have to wear a big red I on my forehead for at least a month.

He had the audacity to buy me a ticket and con me into meeting him there. I say con because that’s truly what he is. He doesn’t tell the truth to anyone, we all get tiny pieces when he decides to “bless” our hearts with to show us more love than we’ve ever known… because we’re important to him, and he’s not finished with us yet. <eyeroll>

I acted like some sort of prison inmate with no prospects and fell for simple flattery and pretty words. That’s all on me, and I take full responsibility. Definitely not a high point in my life, that’s for sure.

He paid for nearly everything, except for dinner and drinks the last two nights I was there. So all told I got to go to Puerto Rico in February for $300, I got the story of a lifetime in the history of internet dating and just the slap in the face I needed.

I never claimed to learn the easy way, and I try all the time to be a nicer person.

Ultimately I’ve met my Superman as a result of raising my standards, who happens to be the love of my life. I regret every man that came before him. I’m happier than I’ve ever known and I know love deeper than I ever thought possible.

All things Thomas promised I would do and/or have, so I suppose I’m thankful for the reminder that it’s nice to have someone treat you kindly. The charming Thomas Murray quickly morphs into Tommy Boy when you add booze, and unlike the charming dancing Lothario he claimed the infamous “Tommy” was? He’s more like an abusive jackass with no filter.

With my wits about me, I witnessed what I never wanted my life to include. I came home in one piece, but broken and compromised. Surviving it and telling the truth.

Making Friends with the other “Other” women.

Forgiving myself in the process and moving on in my life. Wanting more and being blessed by God, all the angels & saints with the greatest man I’ve ever known.

The Karma fairy gave me new wings, a future to be envied and the love of a lifetime. A man as devoted to wanting my happily ever after as I am his.

That guy I always dreamed existed, is going to be my husband and the father of my youngest child(ren).

All that limitless faith and deep abiding love Thomas loved to go on and on about? I have that and it’s rumored that Thomas relocated to Pennsylvania since all the truth came out . Some ladies were suspicious of him at a singles meeting, did a little fact checking & contacted me.

I never wanted someone like Thomas in my life.

The step father to my children that will love them as his own and set a good example? Yeah… my Superman is as good as Thomas is bad. My life is as blessed as his is cursed.

I have a few dozen new friends, countless women he was lying to now know the truth and I am happy.

I learned my lesson… and I sure hope at some point he’ll learn his.

Until then…

Drink up, Tommy Boy… and know that I have friends in every circle you walk in. Your closest confidants have apologized for your behavior and commiserated with me. The women you’ve spoken to about me have all shared your words with me.  Being young at heart is one thing, being immature is another. It’s time to grow up and be a man. It’s time to care about your own soul and your severe lack of integrity. Carpe Diem… and Cowboy Up.

Just as you treated me, in every way that you disrespected me, my intelligence, my safety and self respect? Just as much as you cared about what you had to offer… I’ve returned that effort. I’ve refused the burden of you in my life and forced you to hold your own truth.

I don’t have time in my life to hate you because I’m loved too deeply and love too much. I have nothing but a smile to offer you, and a little gratitude. Without my trip to Puerto Rico I could have stumbled along in my own misery… and you snapped me out of it. I was scared sober at the sight of the bottom of the barrel and I realized first hand that I really am shallow. I love a bald man better than a hairy one- but not all bald men are created equal and I am not the kind of girl that could handle people mistaking my boyfriend for my grandfather.

You’d be a distant memory if your scandal wasn’t so widespread, and I would have washed my hands of you if you hadn’t continued to harass me. Your own ego got the best of you, and instead of the puff piece you demanded I write… I told the truth and your other targets came out of the woodwork.

So many women in addition to your wife. Shame on you for making all of us complicit in your betrayal.

Surely you can understand then why we’re all enjoying your expose.

All 24 of us… you reprehensible douche bag.

Ohhh and some words from you that were stumbled upon and recognized immediately. You’re a bad apple, Tommy Boy- and I’d be willing to bet my life that’s exactly what Cylie figured out.

You have a team of helpers, as my ticket was purchased under a different name and the same person signed for your package in Saint Thomas.

You’re a bargain basement con-artist who’s had his cover blown and we’re a vibrant group of smart women who ended up a little wiser for the bad experience.

I can’t say the same for you.

Angry.

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I had the perfect weekend with the perfect child and the perfect boyfriend. If anything, he inspires me to work overtime to spoil him as much as he spoils me.

He bought me shoes. Two pairs. Squishy soft flip-flops to ease my sore feet… and Coach tennis shoes to match my purse.

Christ on the cross, I’m going to marry this man if it’s the last thing I do before dying.

S- Baby I worry about your feet, you need to wear good shoes.

Nevermind they’re fucking gorgeous and match my purse. Be still my heart… the man has blown every other man I’ve ever even heard of, out of the atmosphere. Omg they’re shiny even…

We spent a day playing at the local amusement/play park with my darling girl. Go Karts, mini-golf, bowling & laser tag. He knows how much I wish I had the time and money to play with her. It was his idea- and we all had a blast- complete with giggly pictures in the photo booth.

I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket on our way out and saw I had a new email from a friend.

Thomas Murray has resurfaced with his evil manipulative games. My smile died and Superman reached over to run a finger over my frowning lips.

S- Beautiful, why the clouds?

How on earth do you explain the worst risk you ever took, to the man you can’t wait to co-habitate and procreate with? I don’t want him to think I’m a complete moron and I don’t want to sound like an easy target…

But if the shoe fits…

J- Well… long story short… he started reading my blog a year and a half ago- and started pursuing me daily. He woke me up with instant messages every morning at 3, my time. He called every day, he drunk dialed me to tell me how much he adored me, etc. He wrote about me. He was relentless and when he bought me a ticket to Puerto Rico in February, I was stupid enough to go.

S- You don’t have to tell me if it makes you upset.

J- Suffice it to say it was the longest, most confusing and most terrifying 4 days of my life. I learned a lifetime of lessons in less than a week and came home a different person. It changed me, and it made me all too aware of my mortality and the consequence of the risks I take.

S- Is he still bugging you?

Oh boy… how on earth do you cover the almighty hate blog and destruction of Thomas’ carefully constructed mind games with multiple women?

J- Well… actually… I hammered a few nails in his coffin, verbally. I never use anyone’s first or last names. I am incredibly careful and respectful when it comes to my blog.

S- Is that why you call me Superman?

J- No, you ARE Superman… but yes, there may be a few other people who refer to you the same way.

S- Well that’s what he gets for treating you poorly. What happened in 4 days?

J- A lot… unbeknownst to his wife and 19 other girlfriends.

S- He’s lucky you only used his name. I would have put his picture on there too.

… … …

On a perfect day, a bit of douche bag rained on my parade and I’ve been fuming about it since. I went to stay with Superman for the first time last night and he picked up on it immediately.

He dropped me off this morning and kissed me goodbye with a little “Don’t-let-him-bother-you” bite on the neck.

Which is when I really got mad.

I work my ass off, and the scumbag that is Thomas is not going to rain on my fairytale or ever be blessed enough to be a word in my Superman’s mouth.

No. No. No.

I’ve learned to stop accommodating the world in the last month. I burned my people pleaser panties and washed my hands of the assholes in my life that manipulate me with my good nature.

No.

Thomas Joseph Murray, this is where you come to an end in my life.

You crept in like the weasel you are, and manipulated me with nice words and kind gestures. Yep, it was easy… and that’s my fault. It was easy because you’re nothing more than another douche bag in a sea of them. It takes hard work, dedication and a spine to be a real man. I’d introduce you to my Superman but he’s too much of a gentleman to hit an old man… and I’d ask him to beat the fucking shit out of you.

It wouldn’t be too hard, since you’re so full of it. He’d oblige because my wish is his desire.

Each woman that emails me, cries about the fairytale she thought that was. You’re a good con-artist- but you don’t have any redeemable qualities beyond your ability to lie. Any loser with lips and a tongue can pretend to be decent and say what you want to hear. You taught me to wait to see which actions followed his words so I’d know if they were empty or otherwise.

You cheat on your wife, you disgrace the surname of your sons and you’ll catapult your daughter into an early marriage with an unfaithful loser (just like her daddy) just to escape the curse of the name you’ve so deeply tarnished.

I’d say you need Jesus, but even Jesus would flip you off.

Jesus and I have one thing in common right there. This is my last fucking waste of breath for such a weasel.

Fuck you Thomas. Fuck your lies and your cheating and your shmoozy disgusting old ass. You remind me of my grandfather- only he had muscles, a soul and valued his family.

No wonder your mama threw you away like the trash you are, and if only she’d delivered you in a third world country so you never would have crossed the paths of the amazing women you’ve hurt so deeply.

Speaking of crossing paths- you’re welcome. It seems you and Nathan have learned a powerful lesson in messing with me. Perhaps you should steer your victims away from Google if you intend to make any headway.

Call yourself what you will. T. TJ. Thomas. Tommy. Hell you could even own your shit and introduce yourself as Douche Bag Murray… she’d still find my blog.

For the rest of time, or as long as Google outlives you, and I’m not a betting woman but that seems like a safe waste of money- the things you did to me and the other women who’ve found me- will follow you.

You don’t have to own your truth- I’ll do it for you.

You’re welcome. Fuck off and have a bad day.

xoxo Jenni, aka the most lethal mistake you ever made.