The Best Date


It was shaping up to be one of the most uncomfortable Mondays in my life. I can’t honestly think of another one in history that rivals the idea of what yesterday looked like.

I had three cups of coffee… ie: 48 ounces of liquid jet fuel. I decided to run to work early and open up, then zip home to run a few miles on the elliptical machine.

I got everything set up for the day, and rushed home to find a little sanity with my running shoes. Four miles later, I don’t feel like I’m going to have a panic attack and I know it’s going to be a good day.

Just as I was hopping in the shower after my run, I got news that there was a 4-car accident right by my office. I had at least another hour of unexpected time at home.

In the morning.


I ran for the dryer and folded the still warm clothing that would have been cold and wrinkly by the end of the day. I even threw another load in! These are the exciting things I fill my free time with. I was filling the sink to wash the morning dishes when a text came whistling in from Mr. NotCalifornia, asking me what I was up to.

I told him about the accident, and he asked if I’d like to have lunch. I agreed before I could change my mind, and was on my way before I could panic. I’m an overthinker and I hate dates planned a week in advance. Ugh. No. That’s way too much time to obsess.

I got to the restaurant first and faced a whole new date dilema. I wanted a hard cider….but do I look like a derelict ordering a drink at noon? I thought about it before I ordered one. Laughing a little at myself because I’d rather die than tailor what I’m eating or drinking to please a man.. ….

He came in, grinning at me… which is contagious as always. He smiled at my cider and ordered a beer. My cheeks hurt from smiling after I hang out with him. It’s the most I’ve laughed in years, and it’s wholesome. Every time he tells me something new about himself, I have one thought. He’s a unicorn, like me.

He’s kind and attentive to the server. Something that earns epic bonus points in my book. I’ve been on dates with the opposite and it is my #1 dealbreaker.

He’s in his early 30’s, a retired tactical arms trainer with a farm in the country and a deep desire to learn how to grow fruit and vegetables. In other words, a successful hot guy with a gun collection and baby farm animals.

I told you the Karma Fairy loves me.

We laughed for 3 1/2 hours, or until I had to leave to get my little one from kindergarten… still holding the menus we never even bothered to look at.

N- May I walk you to your car?

J- Yes.

My family is full of military men, so I appreciate old school manners, and my new friend has an impeccable set. He walks on the outside of me and when I mentioned being safe walking with him, he said one of the hottest things I’ve heard in a long while.

N- I always have a gun on me. You’re absolutely safe.

I unlocked my door, he hugged me goodbye and thanked me for spending my day off with him.

I’m still grinning about it. I haven’t had so much fun in years and was laughing to myself about it while I made dinner when I got home, when a text from him came whistling in, saying the same and asking when I’m free again.

I was ruling out men entirely… but I kinda like this one.


The Contender

Well shoot. I may have actually made a good choice, whilst wasted. I’m writing it down because it definitely needs to be noted.

Miss Lovely and I were hanging out together, destroying our livers, when we met two great guys. Mr. NotCalifornia and his Pops. We laughed ourselves sick with them, then went to go somewhere else.

Which is when I realized that the moment of truth was upon me. I don’t go out. I will literally NEVER see him again unless I say something and if he hasn’t asked… do I really have the balls to do it myself?

Of course I did. I was knee deep in Kokanee and a dirty martini or two.

J- Sorry if this is forward,  but it was really nice to meet you and I’d like to see you again. What do you think about that?

Instant grin. Phew. He’s supposed to be playing pool, but stops and pulls his phone out.

C- I’d really like that.

Hey, hey, hey… look who hasn’t lost her touch. I have to say, it feels great to be hunted again. I don’t mind stepping up to the plate to swing the bat and ask for what I want but if you’re forever met with silence you have to love yourself enough to give up. Yes it stings, and hurts like hell, but you’re wasting your time and taking an active role in breaking your own heart. I’m complicit in how bad I’ve been feeling. I went and fell in love with a casual situation because I’m not one to be taken casually, but I also learned a powerful lesson about playing a game that I can’t win. No matter how different you think you are if you’ve shown him he can treat you as an incidental plaything, he’s going to. Even if you’ve been friends for a long time. You teach them how to treat you. I fail at that and am suffering the consequences.

So I texted Mr. NotC this afternoon… and he’s delivering baby farm animals on his farm.

Yeah. You read that right. I immediately sent Miss Lovely a screenshot.

L- We’re inviting ourselves over.

This is a whole new kind of transplant. He grew up in the city and wants to live his days out on a farm. One picture of my garden and he’s lighting my phone up. He sees the value in my character and not just my pretty face. That’s incredibly refreshing when I’m feeling so bad about myself.

Just as I suspected though… you have to leave the comfort of your own house to meet people.

Damn it.

It’s some small consolation that I’m still awfully good at it.

All about it.

I’m getting a shiny new set of boobies tomorrow.

I’m scared to death and hoping vanity isn’t my undoing as I walked in to meet my anesthesiologist last night. I’m having surgery in a specialty hospital, and it’s a little odd adjusting to the “business” side of medicine. He opens his office door and smiles warmly.

He’s fucking hot. Like… melt the paint off the walls, hot. Also lecherous as hell. He’s grinning at me like the Cheshire cat and I’m a little unnerved by it. We went through my medical history, any drug related complications and a short chat about worst case scenario, because I’m a single mother and I’m absolutely terrified that vanity is going to land my Dumpling in another state, raised by strangers. Kanye’s mom, y’all.

At any rate, he alleviated my fears and answered a billion questions before stunning me silent.

M- So I don’t usually mix business and pleasure, but you’re beautiful. Would you like to have dinner sometime?

J- Uh… I’m inclined to say no until after I wake up in recovery. Plus you get to see me naked before the first date… which is extremely unorthodox for me.

M- Fair enough. May I have your number?

J- You have it already.

M- I’d like it for personal use.

I don’t even know what to say. It’s been so long since someone actually flirted with me that I’m awkward, silent and blushing. Also? Fucking annoyed. Why, in the name of Christ, is it always the wrong fucking guy?? I’d give a kidney to hear these things from my favorite man and sadly… I don’t think it’s ever going to happen. Sigh…

So I gave him my number and made the long trek home in the dark… to the sound of my phone BLOWING THE FUCK UP.

Doctor M is a passionate overtexter and he is making his interest, known.


Instant response time. I get a half dozen texts before I can send him one back and I woke up to 3 more. I answered a question he’d asked after I fell asleep, and he was there again… wishing me a happy last day with old implants.

Doctor Miles is kicking ass and taking names with his text game.


He tells me his car has a full tank of gas and he could be at my house in an hour and a half.

I politely decline, which sends the texts through the roof. Men can be so predictable. The harder you are to gather, they more they hunt. Wealthy men are not my favorite, but Dr. M can spell AND perhaps he’d make a good crutch to hobble away from Incredicock, on.

I told him I’d consider dinner after I wake up tomorrow, safe & sound. Seems like the best kind of insurance policy and my beloved Miss Fancy is driving me tomorrow, so I know I have protection from any overly excited advances.

Which is when a dick pic comes rolling in.


It’s not a bad dick, its just not the one I want, and I’m not entirely sure I’m comfortable putting my life in the hands of a man who’s taking time away from work to snap some public bathroom porn.

For fuck’s sake.


New Years Eve was my parents anniversary and I have one beautiful memory of this pointless holiday. My mama used to lean over me and kiss me goodnight on her way to meet my stepfather, to wait for him while he worked. He was a chef, and she was the lovely icing on the cake of a perfect life. I distinctly remember being caught up in the magical perfumed fog of her fanciness. She never wore makeup except for that night, and she always had something special and sparkling, on. I loved every bit of her glamorous excitement.

It was not my anniversary and I do not share the same anticipation.

I did so well all weekend, only to crash and burn after he texted me tonight #fail. For whatever reason, I need answers and I’m never going to get them. It sure doesn’t stop me from asking for the umpteenth time, though.

My feelings are hurt and my ego is wounded. He’s a very lucky man that I’ve evolved a lot, because once upon a time, I would have eviscerated any man for half as much suffering.

More directly… I’m incredibly grateful for him.

I didn’t see it coming and I admit I’ve been blindsided by his magical dick and equally satisfying character. I was tipsy fabulous and I still don’t entirely know what happened the night I thought this was a good idea, but here we are… with me crushing outside the lines and asking questions he’ll never answer. Fuck.

So instead of being pathetic and whiny… I need to dust myself off, paint on some red lipstick and set him and every beautiful thing I adore about him, aside.

Regardless of desire, you cannot make a man want you. It’s one of the cruelest twists of fate. Wanting what you cannot have whilst knowing the satisfaction it brings, is the very definition of hell. Trust me.


I didn’t eat all those damn salads, lift all those heavy weights OR run from this beautiful problem so frequently, to lose myself.

I hate not having what I want, but who doesn’t? For the record, hating it doesn’t change a thing, and when you compromise yourself to send those words that are stuck in your throat… you hate yourself a million times more.

Realizing that you put yourself where you shouldn’t have, sucks. Realizing that you pursued putting yourself there again after you knew how bad it stung, makes you complicit. Insanity is defined by doing the same thing twice and expecting different results. I’m not sure how they define doing the same thing for 4 months while still hoping things will be different.



I’ve done so well not texting him. It’s a whole new form of torture I haven’t bothered with before. I haven’t deleted Incredicock out of my phone AND I’ve managed to not horrify myself by caving and begging him to come over. I’ve run miles, sat on my hands and knit a dozen mittens.

A day full of visual foreplay had me biting my lip, raw.

J- My God you smell good.

M- I smell good?


That was supposed to be a thought…. but it fell right out of my mouth. The man is a walking menu of my favorite things and I was so distracted that my filter fell off. I’m drowning in adjectives and praying no more of them escape.

This is some insanely awkward territory.

Home run, slam dunk, touchdown pass…. I only know-go-big-or-go home.  I don’t speak half-assed and I don’t play to qualify or lose.

He’ll lift the heavy things and make my days, visually satisfying. Seems pretty win-win to me.

I walked up behind him when he was sewing and my words died in my mouth at the sight of his neck. Freshly shaven anything in my world, begs to be touched. Christ on the Cross. I stuck my hands in my pockets and bolted for the door.

M- What?

J- Nothing.

It’s been way too long since I’ve had a man in my house. I’m stunned by the physical presence of him sitting at my desk, and wished my elliptical machine weren’t in the same room as him because there’s absolutely no way that’s happening.

3 rounds of Pretty Pretty Princess, Go Fish and The Squirrel game with Baby Sparkle and The Dumpling later… he was done and heading out the door.

I can do this. I can take one for the team and be part of the greater good. Welcome to management and running 30 miles instead of minutes. I was a half hour into my run when the idea occurred. Sorry, that’s a bold faced lie. I wake up every single morning between 2-3 with my legs tied in knots, fighting this idea.

I slowed to a walk and pulled my phone out. How in the world do I phrase this. “Need” feels like too strong of a word. “Want” feels cheap, or at least not in the ballpark of where I’m at.

J- Hey.

She of so many words, has nothing but a solid determination not to beg.

I- Hey.

J- Busy? I need your help with something.

Whoops. I was doing my best to avoid the N word.

I- With what? On my way.

Thanks be to God. I haven’t slept in weeks, I’ve run myself into oblivion and am sick on inspiration. Masturbating like a teenaged boy, with no relief. I do neeeeeeeeeeed him. I dropped my clothes at the side of my bed, kicked off my socks and laughed. I love my life. Hearing his tires crunch in the driveway makes my heart race and my cheeks hurt from smiling. Today is a good day, y’all.

He came in grinning, adding his own clothes to the path I left behind… raising an eyebrow at me. I’m lightheaded. He’s naked and I thanked God, out loud.

One, two, three four… so many orgasms and I still get more. He’s my very favorite ride. (Sorry, Mom.)

Just like that, he was gone again and I was kicking myself for the fresh highlight reel destined to torture me with renewed vigor. I know I shouldn’t. I can’t not. I fall asleep wanting him… wake up craving him and can’t. It’s an intense form of self torture, but the satisfaction outweighs the suffering and I can’t quit him.

So if you need me, I’ll be running it off. Sigh…