Category Archives: Temptation

Easter? No thanks.

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5

It’s been too long of a month… and it’s only the 4th. My son’s birthday is looming and I’m in a tailspin as a result. How do you face a day that you’ve both anticipated and dreaded for what feels like eternity? What do you give the child who hates you? Your beloved firstborn who is filled with nothing but animosity for you?

Money works, right?

It coincides with Easter… which also happens to be the first one I’ll be spending alone since I became a mother at the ripe old age of 18.

Chocolate eggs? No. Deviled eggs? Gross.

Give me a fluffy tail and a set of ears… and perhaps a pair of egg print panties. I’m bailing on the whole holiday.

Frankly, I’m disgusted with so much I’d only be a buzz kill anyway. I’m exhausted, I’m not sleeping and I’m running on feet that are cracking and bleeding from the shitty shoes I’m in love with. Ouch. The fanatical pedicure I got did not help… it feels like I’m walking on glass.

I don’t like my sheets, I can’t get comfortable and I’m so disgusted with myself for even venturing down the Bad Habit path I could vomit. Once a hoarder, always a hoarder. I keep hearing the same quote wind in and out of my head…

The definition of insanity is doing the same thing twice and expecting different results.

I’m fucking miserable. There. I admit it. I miss my kids. I miss this being the week to dye eggs and knit shit they could care less about. I have the cutest bunny on my knitting needles and absolutely no reason to even finish it. I have hours in the day I should dedicate to sleep and not much more. I have a trillion and one things to do and absolutely no desire to do a single thing. It’s official… I’m depressed.

So… No. Fuck you, Easter Sunday… and all that you imply, demand and represent. I was raised by Atheist parents… let’s face it- the whole thing is a stretch anyway. I have a healthy imagination, but even I struggle with the whole resurrection thing.

I believe in a few solid things…

I work Saturday night and will be able to actually sleep in Sunday morning. For the first time in 18 years. I want to kiss my children’s step-mother for that.

I’m not having an Easter party for the first time in a decade. Amen. Triple Amen. I can track dirt in and out of the greenhouse all week and nobody will die, or give a shit for that matter.

The only way to kick a Bad Habit is to know in your soul that you deserve so much more than to be treated like so much less than you are. The guy deserves a lot of things, but I am not one of them.

I have absolutely no idea how to write a screenplay. None. I have equally as much desire to learn…. but so far? My peanut gallery is weeping with joy over my Puerto Rican nightmare chronicles….

… oh…. my…. and then there’s the good karma that comes with being so vulnerable.

I take it back, God…. because my darling Flintstone is potentially flying in on Sunday to be my very own Peter Rabbit to the very hot playboy bunny I morphed into after pulling out the dress ups.

Go ahead, put your judgey panties on while you shop for shit your kids don’t want and wont notice. Hate me while I kick my work clothes off, shave, shower and slip into my ears and tail.

This bunny is gonna get some Flintstone in her basket, and even finding the gold egg doesn’t come close to that.

Happy holidays y’all… eat a few foil wrapped treats for me…. I prefer mine wrapped in a tie and cuff links. Mission accomplished, and may peace be with you.

And also with me.

xoxo

Don’t wake Veruca

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4

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.

Flintstone Returns

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Once upon a time… I met a nice guy.

Two years ago and at the absolute low point of my self esteem, after just breaking up with my loser boat stealing dirtbag ex, my sister descended to try to help pull me back up on my feet.

K- Come on, put some makeup on, I’m taking you out for a beer.

J- I’m sorry.

K- QUIT apologizing for everything, OMG I could kill that guy. Get dressed, that settles it.

We went… and I am so glad we did…

Lo and behold, in the midst of my favorite bar, I looked up and saw a man who was definitely not a local. Tall, handsome & ironed… with pretty shoes on even… and a sharky smile to match. He made a beeline for me, sat down and charmed me right into a date the next night… and the next night… until he had to leave town, coincidentally- on Mother’s Day.

For the first time in my life, I was spoiled rotten. We laughed and lost track of time over chocolate and wine at my favorite wine bar… sigh… it was amazing- and I haven’t had a date since that held a candle to it.

The last night he was in town, I invited him over for dinner…. and overcooked the shrimp. Damn it. He walked in smelling like heaven on earth, carrying a bottle of my favorite wine.

Anybody who knows me will tell you I’m a sucker for little thoughtful details. I have a jewelry box full of diamonds that don’t catch my attention… but the cork sitting next to them from that bottle, always makes me smile.

That weekend was a step outside of my life. A jump off the cliff of my norm and my first experience with a completely wonderful man. He’s amazing… he just doesn’t live here.

I’m kind of lost for words to describe it appropriately- so let me just be blunt. I could be faithful to this man for the rest of time for a variety of intimate reasons, hence his nickname. Mr. Flintstone… he’s by no means, a caveman.

I woke up on Mother’s day irritated. He was leaving and it was back to the mundane grindstone. I got up and ducked out quietly for a run. Grinning at his truck in my driveway.

20 minutes, a quick one… in case he woke up and I was gone- but enjoying the sparkling sunny spring morning so much that I couldn’t be grouchy.I whipped up some strawberry shortcake for breakfast and climbed back into bed with a smile where a frown had been earlier.

He left that morning after kissing me goodbye and telling me he’d call… and drove away and out of my life. Damn. Damn. Damn.

What a man. Phew… he left an intimidating set of shoes to fill, and nobody has come close since. I changed my number a year ago, and lost touch with him after a while. Let’s face it… it’s amazing to actually meet Mr. Right- but when he lives in another state, it’s just not that feasible.

Fast forward two years… and my post about Options, complete with a poll. Fancy schmancy weeding out of the weirdos… curiosity got the best of me and I included a write in choice too. Most of the written in votes were for my bad habit… but one made me really laugh.

1 vote for Mr. Flintstone… and a comment too. Well, well, well… whaddya know… lightning struck and here was my favorite whirlwind guy, back and going to be in town soon.

Gulp.

He mentioned trying to get a hold of me, and asked if I’d changed my number. I gave him the new one and sunk into texty deliciousness.

F- So is your internet dating blog a front? Still can’t believe you haven’t found Mr. Right.

J- Mr. Right doesn’t live here.

F- Well here’s a man’s point… there are some women that you have a fucking incredible sexual experience with but don’t want to hang out with, then there are women that suck at sex but are fun to be around, then there’s you… the best of both worlds.

J- I may have to quote you on that…

F- Reading your blog cracks me up. I find myself sitting in bars and looking around at women, listening to you…they are looking for a good man yet they are letting some dumb ass BS them.

J- The world is full of douche bags.

F- If nothing else comes from this, you are a beautifully well rounded woman that deserves the world. I’d rather explain in person… but you definitely set an unbeatable standard.

Danger Will Robinson… pretty words are my Kryptonite.

But… every once in a blue moon… or when lightning strikes… there’s an actual nice guy, who’s also tall, funny & thoughtful.

The fish that got away…happens to be swimming back.

Mr. Flintstone returns!  He’s precisely the man to remind me that there are good men in the world, or at the very least… one.

This should be interesting…

Life is funny…

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Tuesday nights at work should remind me to behave myself, because I know very well what hell is like and I don’t want to end up there.

To quote a favorite co-worker.

L- I hope someone asks me someday how I helped my community or gave back. I can claim my years of volunteering my time every Tuesday.

J- Personally, I think when you go to hell, it’s Trivia night, every night.

People are horrible tippers for Tuesday Trivia. It’s just a given- and we all just grin and bear it. There are perks to it every now and then, but for the most part? It’s fucking awful.

If I can talk anyone into coming down to play it’s a huge bonus. HUGE. Watching my Bad Habit walk in last night was a mixed blessing. I’m doing well kicking it but I only have so much resolve and I really like the guy. Not to mention he makes me fidget and blush like a teenager.

He sits down and smiles and I avoid looking at him. Ever meet somebody that looks straight into you and can see your thoughts? Yeah… he’s that guy and I’m not responsible for what’s kicking around in my head when he smiles at me.

I’ve learned my lesson and I’ve learned what my limits are. I know precisely what I HAVE to do… it just doesn’t really coincide what I WANT to do. Life is funny that way.

Unfortunately the key to being truly happy is demanding more for yourself and this is no exception.

I’d be lying if I said I was ok with him being nothing more than a weakness or a vice, which is why it’s a habit that has to go. Bad habits are one thing… life patterns keep you who you don’t want to be and going where you don’t want to go.

Liking this man is bad for my health, plain and simple. It doesn’t help that he was written in 7 times in my little poll yesterday, apparently I’m not alone in reluctantly letting go.

When I wash my hands of a difficult situation, I wash them once. Pout.

The baby is with Grandma and the house is dark and empty. The dogs are asleep and I’m frustrated at my own maturity and resolution… and a text comes chirping in…

and I caved…. and I went… and I giggled and allowed myself a tiny bit of a habit. Just TV… just him… just funny and….

Fuck.

He pulls me in close to him and laces his fingers through my hair… FML… it’s late… we’re tired… and I know where this is heading…

and I got my shoes on and went home. Holy shit, write it down. I may have gotten a tiny bit of a fix but I did not fall off the wagon.

AND….

I threw my cigarettes away.

Who has two thumbs and is kickin’ ass and takin’ names these days?

Oh just lil ol’ me….

Just planting tomatoes and washing dishes… doing laundry and taking the trash to the dump kind of glamor.

I need a distraction and I’m not seeking it. Hooray me.

I drove home, poured myself a glass of wine and sat down to deal with blog-land.

One name, written into my poll yesterday… and an email from my favorite date.

Mr. Flintstone. <swoon>

He might be coming to visit…. and it’s not even my birthday.

Good things come to girls that have faith and enough raw determination to keep trying…

Tall, dark, handsome and thoughtful…???

Yep….sounds good to me.

He didn’t eat the cupcake.

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9

He smiles at me and my panties are wet from the look in his eyes. Damn… I can’t wait.

He’s my favorite bad habit… and it’s the strangest thing because I actually like him, though I’ve learned to compartmentalize my feelings for him. He wants a 21 year old pain in the ass, and I’m a 35 year old woman… go figure.

He looks at me and my girlfriend sits down next to me.

T- Do you want me to drive you home? Wanna get out of this?

J- Nope, I sure don’t.

She laughs and shakes her head and I should probably shake mine along with her, but I’m just pleased I put my knitting down and came down for a drink. I was only having one, but Mr. Man Card is heckling me when he notices the guy that wont leave me alone and a lovely (and rare) bit of chocolate that’s doing his best to convince me.

R- Go getcha some chocolate.

Now I love him for telling me to, because he’s telling me in his discreet way that I’m making an ass of myself with my bad habit. I get it. Time to wash my hands and flip him two fingers, instead of just one.

Some men just aren’t capable. I get that. Some aren’t ready to see the forest for the trees.

Because if one more damn person says “It would be perfect” or “You’d be amazing together” or “Get over your issues, if you’re going to have a boyfriend have the one that is JUST LIKE YOU!!!” I’m gonna snap.

Full metal jacket sort of snap. I’ve had it.

In no time I’m in the tank with him, thigh deep and biting my lip to keep from peeling off layers…

Tipsy fabulous and too bold.

J- Take me to bed…

H- Yes ma’am.

and my hand is in his and he’s pulling me inside, into his bed and into the torture I’ve been craving all night.

Fingertips burning into my skin, teeth buried in my neck and the mouth I’ve been avoiding staring at all night… is on my lips, wrapped around a nipple or even better…

The man that burns his name into my skin with his hands, his mouth and his outrageously fantastic… personality.

I mean it. The man owns the map to the wordy girl.

But when I call him a bad habit, I’m minimizing the severity of the situation. Perhaps it requires antibiotics to get him out of my system?

A mutual friend said it best…

S- It’s too perfect. I don’t get what his problem is but be careful. He’s easy to fall in love with and determined to not like you.

It’s true. He’s too nice. He does little sweet things that most men overlook. He’s thoughtful to the point you notice it.

and I’m kicking this bad habit right now, otherwise I’m gonna fall in love with him and he is absolutely not the guy.

I usually cut and run before he wakes up. I don’t like the messy details of using him for sex. I tried to date him before and ended up hating him intensely. He’s categorically unfaithful. Always. He’s on the path for a woman to cheat on him and destroy his heart… because he’s due the lesson and he needs to know the cost of his actions in order to want more for himself.

Trust me, that Karma Fairy is a bag of cunts… I’ve paid for my indiscretions a million times over.It is not worth it to move through life as a weapon, indiscriminately harming people. Karma’s not a bitch, she’s a cunt.

But last week I was delighted with him… and baked him cupcakes. His favorite, because I pay attention. They were amazing, and I took them to work and they were coined “Pure mouthgasm” and I was delightfully satisfied, no strings attached.

Getting to his house I find the cupcakes in the fridge… after he told me he ate it yesterday.

Yeah no. I’m nothing if not predictable and this is no exception. I’m fuming when he comes in and he slips right into nice guy mode. We laugh for an hour and fall asleep tangled into a pretzel of arms and legs.

Which is when I woke up… and looked at him… and realized I have the strongest douche bag magnet, in history.

Because I adore him, and I like hanging out with him, and I’m asking for pain and suffering, and he’s not even my type. I’m kissing a man with facial hair… (go ahead and gasp).

So I’m taking off my predictable panties… and I’m committing myself to absolutely NO MEN. PERIOD.

I’m kicking my bad habit… because he deserves it… and because maybe it’ll knock some sense into him.

Either way- I’m chuckin’ up the deuces…

Oh my sweet favorite bad habit…

Good luck on your search for the perfect 21 year old girl that wont burn your house down watching you cheat on her. Good luck with that. I’m serious… because I know that’s what you want.  I actually mean it. I actually hope you find her… because you my dear Hoarder, are a national treasure.

There’s really only one way to say it. It’s been real. Or thanks? You were a little offended when I high-fived you this morning, but I meant it baby- good job… well done… high five.

You make me laugh like a teenager and you’re intimidated by me and it’s hot.

BUT.

One thing occurred to me today and set the last nail in your coffin.

I could get hopelessly hooked on you to the point I can’t see another man in the room.

You watch Jeopardy. You cook. You’re a behind the scenes porn star.

You’re bad for my heart, and just like the nasty cig habit I’m quitting, I’m quitting you.

I’ve loved enough douche bags in my time, and there’s no telling how badly you could hurt me.

I can forgive a lot… but you didn’t eat the cupcake.

xoxo J