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Category Archives: Truth

Recovered Shitter

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In my rapid descent to dating hell, I went through a bartender phase. As you can imagine, it did not go well.

Bartenders are a rough bunch, and Mr. Hmmm was no exception. He was sober when I met him, and very well spoken. Beeeeeautiful, black, built and bald. My absolute favorite, and a Holy Grail in my small white town. He created quite a stir.

He had a weakness for farmers… and I certainly can hold my own. He was charming, smart and funny. We went out a few times and then he shit in my bed.

Game Over. Gross. I would have taken the horror to my grave if I hadn’t been approached by another woman in the bar one night, to tell me she’d gone out with him the week before and he’d shit in her bed. True story.

Imagine the hilarity that ensued after reading an article my dear Beautymom sent me.

I’m really happy he’s in recovery. It’s one thing to be a drunk. It’s entirely another if you’re going around shitting yourself  and defiling Egyptian cotton.

Dear Lord, please let me die a happy, single old lady; in a house full of cats.

Whole

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broken

I talked to a friend today about feeling broken. It’s human nature to take things that hurt, personally. If I know one thing well, it’s disappointment.

I really have been through hell the past two years. Hell… and I’m talking about the hardcore bitch version of hell, not the painted-on-hands princess sort of idea of what hell may be like. Envision having a bad day, a few hundred times over… That was me. Resiliency had become my uniform. I’d perfected the art of accepting anything and expecting nothing.

I’ve stepped up to the plate again and again after being blown out of the water and devastated by another bad experience. I left plenty of baggage behind while continuing to search for love and happiness. The problem with love and happiness is that it isn’t hiding, and you can’t find it. The problem with real honest-to-goodness committed love is that it has to find you.

That quote that says “Women who chase men, only catch the slow ones”? That’s the gospel.

I’ve come to the conclusion that the problem lies with me and who I choose if the pattern is always repeating. I see a charming snake of a disinterested cheater/liar smile at me and now know that my racing heart is the universe telling me to RUN. My taste is bad so I am choosing to no longer sit at the table.

Some men are equally as vulnerable as we are. Shitty women are just as poisonously bad as shitty men and there are some scary bitches that could make a sympathetic victim out of the biggest douche bag. I know a few… and one in particular came to mind today. I’m reminded again that some men experience the same things we do. They have soft spots, tender feelings and just as much desire as we do to love someone. We need to be just as careful with them as we want them to be with us.

The women that talk about their husband like he’s the best thing since sliced bread? They’re married to one of those nice guys. They’re loved by a healthy man who safeguards her happiness as much as his own. That’s all it takes. I know some very happily married women. It’s awesome and I’m proud. I point to them when I teach my kids about what marriage should look like.

Unfortunately and more often than not… nice girls end up loving the guy who can be the biggest asshole while simultaneously making her feel the most unwanted or insecure… and nice men end up loving the black widow sort of entrails-eating women we don’t like either. Ask any woman. We all know a woman who’s skeletons make us feel SO much better about our own full closet. I may have done some crazy shit in my time, but I know a few women who’s secrets make me blush and that’s saying something.

What it really boils down to is this: there are some really bad people out there. There are some really great people too. I know a few men that give me absolute faith in their gender. My happily married friends are inspirational.  My baby sister loves and is adored by, her husband. I know the finest women.

Sadly enough… if you don’t play the games, you lose the war. It’s tragic, pathetic and unavoidable.

The world is full of broken people but if you’re attracted to people who break you, you need to love yourself enough to be alone until that changes.

Feeling broken sucks and unfortunately there are people in the world who approach love like a contest, a lottery or a war. Save yourself. Just say no to anyone who doesn’t have the best intentions where your heart is concerned.

I’m healing from the disappointment of being wrong, again. Until I can have faith in men again and believe I could love one that tells the truth, I’m ruling out men entirely. I brought a whole bunch of baggage with me this time and I’m blissfully happily single as a result.

Relationships are supposed to feel good and add to your life and that’s not my experience anymore. I’d rather take another walk with my baby. Catch a movie with my teenaged daughter. I’d rather sew the baby a quiet book to play with and learn from. I’d rather plant my garlic.

Basically I’d rather love the people who love me back and not waste any of the time I could be spending with friends on someone who isn’t making the same investment.

I’m single, but I’m whole- not broken. I’m alone, but not lonely. Finally smart, but not naive.

Join me 🙂

The little things they fail to mention…

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In the midst of the painfully uncomfortable parts of pregnancy, there are a few things they fail to mention in the millions of parenting books I’ve borrowed from the library. Most of these details are old news since this is my third baby, but one of them is completely new to me.

Graphic dreams.

Sigh. I’ve had some WILD dreams the duration of my pregnancy, beginning at 16 weeks when I had nightmares of accidentally cooking kittens every night for a week. I was sick over it and finally sat down with my midwife and confessed in horror.

J- I accidentally boiled a kitten in my sleep last night. I was so mortified when I woke up I could hardly look at anyone.

M- It’s completely normal. When you’re pregnant, you wake up in the middle of your REM sleep cycle and you wake up frequently so you remember more of your dreams. The increased estrogen only makes them more realistic.

So I tried to chalk it up to nocturnal insanity brought on by the increased estrogen of growing a baby girl. Until I hit about 20 weeks and started having graphic sexual dreams. Constantly. Trying to shake them was of no use, and this was by no means a vanilla sort of experience.

A quick 15 minute nap turned into skin tingling torture by way of his teeth and misuse of kitchen utensils.

I woke up a dozen times in the middle of the night with beads of sweat on the back of my neck, having escaped from the restraints I’d been tied in… by a friend of mine.

Yeah… oops… they’re never with my boyfriend- and never from experience. I’ve never dated or so much as kissed the poor victim at the center of my unintentional fantasy life. He’s the most respectful guy I know and I would die, die, DIE… if he knew what my subconscious has made him do. The jealousy I deal with from my baby-daddy is already unbearable and I don’t dare add another name to his list of friends I’m not allowed to have. I’ve tried everything to shake it… but as soon as I close my eyes… there he is again.

He told me once how tired he was and I know I turned fifty shades of red just thinking of the long night he’d had at my house, while feeling wholeheartedly guilty and incapable of controlling or curtailing it.

His voice sounds strange in my ears anymore because he’s said some unbelievable things to me in the last 6 months, lol…

My midwife does her best to comfort me while assuring me it’s completely normal. She suggested I Google it so I could see what she meant, and sure enough… I am not the only one.

I do what I can. I watch murderous television and children’s movies. I try my best to put it out of my mind, for fear I’ll make the situation worse. I’ve only told a few of my closest friends who laugh mercilessly and beg for details.

He’s smiling and I’m not pregnant. He’s swinging a spatula at me and I’m breathless and giggling, trying my best to stop smiling while he chases me through the house with the best of carnal intentions… ignoring my shrieking laughter. Gahhhh make it stop!

My poor perfection… the dream guy who extends his already ridiculous hours into my subconscious acrobatics routine nightly while being none the wiser.

I can’t complain too much… it sure beats the heartburn and insomnia… but I may never be able to look him in the face again after last night.

Jealousy is the ugliest color.

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hifromtheyarden

…….. and I love green. I have beautiful green eyes that I have blessed my children with. My fabulous redheaded Grandmother passed them to me, along with her innate ability to spot a lie carefully wrapped in good intentions… or bad.

I am not one to fuck with and I am not one to question.

Once upon a time, I wasn’t the most faithful girlfriend or wife for that matter. I broke promises and vows without a second thought. I didn’t feel guilty because I had no respect for myself or my integrity. I worked overtime to learn the hard way and paid the ultimate price. I went through every bad scenario you can imagine and some so awful I’ve had people question their legitimacy after I blogged about the horror.

If I learned anything in failing so consistently, it’s that I’m pretty fucking successful when I set my sights on something I want. I began to look at men like my very own box of favorite crayons. I like the dark colors best… Silky smooth and untouched by my playmates. Give me a brand new box of crayons and color me happy. I perfected the sweet smile thrown from lashes lowered and curled with the knowledge they granted me. I can smile the one I want into submission. I know it. Knowing it makes it that much more successful.

Beyond the packaging I’d carefully perfected to entice my prey… I’m smart. I listened. I paid attention. I exploited their weaknesses to my benefit and counted their broken hearts like trophies. I damaged the besotted and was further compromised by the disinterested.

I sold out.

At the end of the long dark road, or at the bottom of the barrel rather, I found myself waking up next to the Vagina Hoarder. Something so simple as him setting my earrings on the night table beside a bed made with sheets so scorching hot the air conditioner couldn’t compete with the rotation of unsuspecting women… his kindness made me second guess myself and wonder if he really could be different? Perhaps one nice guy had slipped through my douche bag radar? He wasn’t my type. He wasn’t my favorite color. He was the broken ass stubby neon orange crayon at the bottom of the box that everybody leaves until all the rest of the colors are broken and thrown away. He was the conquest I could not conquer and the war I couldn’t win.

Jealousy got the best of me and I will never regret anything more than that bad orange crayon.

In learning my lesson the hardest of ways, I moved on and found a great counselor. I never wanted to find myself with a handful of the colors I hated most… and I was exhausted by my failures.

I met someone who was legitimately nice to me, and decided that I should be nice to me too. I learned to treasure the parts of myself that made other people respect me- not the superficial things I wasn’t proud of that purely made them want me. I learned my value and taught the people in my life to value me too. I turned a page. I took a breath. I calmed the fuck down and quit acting like the Queen of Crayons.

Everyone is entitled to burn through a box- but at some point we all have to learn to throw broken shit away. Crayons are a dime a dozen… what you do with them can result in priceless works of art or bullshit scribbled doodles.

When you take a long hard look in the mirror and don’t like what you see? It’s up to you to change it. Get your hands dirty and plant something you can watch grow if you don’t know where to start and need inspiration. Be a blessing in your own life and it all just gets easier.

Jealousy makes you ugly. Jealousy is a purely personal emotion that can destroy relationships, ruin your self esteem and create situations you cannot escape with the best of intentions.

I’m currently overwhelmed by the insecure jealousy of my partner and it depresses me in ways I can’t convey. At a time I should be doing nothing but embroidering tiny Q’s on miniature tshirts and planning for the birth of my dreams… I’m center stage, watching someone ruin their whole life & future based on a couple misguided insecurities. My friends have become a target, my relationships with people who would shovel my snow and help me tie my shoes are criticized and questioned. I am under fire and smiling in the face of a future I didn’t envision and understand people may criticize me for.

I worked too hard to be surrounded by people with knives pointed in my direction. I have faith in the progress I’ve made and the miles I must go before it gets easier. I have it all because I have faith in myself and the strength of my integrity.

My dreams have a way of going up in flames. My best intentions are often misunderstood.

But fuck with my children and the people I love and brace your jealous insecure self- because as zen, sweet and peaceful as I am these days… I am, at my core- your worst fucking nightmare when you forget who I am.

Question the people who love and help me, and you’ll learn what it is to have your motives questioned. Push me to protect my children and you will envy Salman Rushdie and his unending fatwa.

Like my mama always says…

Careful when you give someone an ultimatum… because they just might take it.

Sigh. I’m tired of being disappointed in the people I’m supposed to be able to have faith in.

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.

The Douche Bag That Wont Quit

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They say a picture is worth a thousand words… and I’d say it’s true in this case.

I really didn’t want to fight with the sociopath that is Thomas, ever again… but if he isn’t going to go away? I will happily rise to the occasion, but it annoys me that he’s interrupting my fairytale. I’m too happy to hate blog. I’ve met the man of my dreams and I’m floating inches off the ground, humming love songs and baking something I hope Superman’s mama will like. I’m in love- and watching my whole life make sense. I’ve never met someone so perfect for me and I’ve never been loved like this.

To have a moment darkened because of the sociopath that is Thomas, pisses me off. Just when you think it couldn’t get any worse, it does. He sinks lower and one more woman comes out of the woodwork.

To date, twenty women have contacted me having either been approached and wooed or worse, having had long term relationships with him. To say he juggled women is to say Houdini enjoyed magic. He charmed us, complimented us… then cut us down like grass, treated us as if we were easily expendable and created a sense of urgency in changing the things about us he didn’t like. A man masquerading as a Southern gentleman with a scary dark side. Jekyll and Hyde drunk on rum.

He works hard to make you feel lovely and adored. He does sweet things to make you feel special, but he also walks ahead of you with his back to you…and you always have the feeling somewhere in your heart that something just isn’t adding up. Weird…  It’s something we’ve all noticed. He’s a horribly embarrassing drunk to be around and he will humiliate you in ways you never dreamed possible when he gets angry.

More importantly?

He’s married. He has children. He lied to every one of us in one way or another regarding them. One woman who had a long term relationship contacted me and told me she didn’t know he had children.  Several didn’t know he was married… myself included, and he’s even still denied it to a few. In fact, when I inquired, I was chastised and ended up apologizing for being so rude as to ask such a thing. She lives in the house he sweet talks women with pictures of. She plants the gardens he charmed me with.

He continues to read my blog. He continues to tell people he’s going to sue me for slander and his attorneys have advised him not to comment. The problem with that is… he’d have a class action lawsuit against him. The bigger problem is that he’s done too many women, wrong. There are enough of us to be a pain in the ass big enough to require cute little red numbered Jerseys.

I’m not wearing a Scarlet Letter on his behalf, but I’m damn sure happy to wear the #1 Jersey, signifying the biggest pain in his ass.

He picked the wrong girl to lie to, and the wrong one to mislead. He picked the wrong girl to disrespect, given the fact he expected me not to write about it? Wtf? He’d been reading for a year… he knew the drill. Boys who lie, cheat & steal from me… end up on the block. Is anyone that surprised by that?

It’s not my fault for calling a douche bag, a douche bag. If you act like a dick, you deserve to get called one. It’s the reality and consequence of being disrespectful. Some women stalk, some women call, some women tell everyone the nitty gritty truth about your more intimate details…

I’m capable of doing any of the above, and then some. His friends, victims and potential targets are going to laugh as they read it. Even when I’m gutting him verbally… It’s still pretty funny. I never claimed to be anything but a bitch when treated terribly. I return the feeling, tenfold… and I share my thoughts with a few hundred people, anonymously.

The lesson in all that?

Don’t be a douche bag. Don’t be disrespectful. Don’t be a dick… and for goodness sake if nothing else, don’t be an idiot and go anywhere near a blogger. Think of a blog as douche bag Kryptonite, it doesn’t ever end well for the douche bag. This is my playground. Take your hurt douche bag ass and go the fuck away. I don’t like you, that’s why I’m verbally slaughtering you with the ugly truth about yourself. It’s not meant to be nice. It’s meant to return how bad you made me feel. Now be a dear, and fuck off. I have enough friends.

I’m open with the man I’m dating. I tried to explain this whole Thomas thing but it sounds like insanity. That’s because it is. This man targets women who fall victim to his lies. He’s a predator and he targets smart women. He is a modern day cad, and I’m still shocked when I look at the reality of this situation.

I went on the ultimate internet date. I flew 4,000 miles for a first date… like who knows how many other women he’s lured there. The hotel told the investigator that he was a regular there, and that they were worried about my safety. Somebody drugged my drink and I’m lucky I made it home safely. He’s a liar and a cheat and I’ve spoken to his wife. He isn’t in a business arrangement. They have children. She knew about his alcohol abuse, but not the cheating. I’ve found women that go WAYYYY back with him. She’d thought it was strange that he hadn’t answered her calls the weekend he was in Puerto Rico with me. He talked to a friend about work, on speakerphone so they knew I was in the car with him. He’s scary at how good he can play the part of the perfect boyfriend.

Until you add rum, and things go to hell faster than you can blink. He’s rude, loud and mean… and there’s no stopping the shit show that is Drunk Thomas. Sadistic and cold with every judgement he can muster up and hurl at your shocked face. He refers to himself as Tommy when he’s in that mode, and Tommy is every bit the jackass frat boy we all had the misfortune of experiencing at some point in our lives. He insults and shoves his way around… mistaking disgust for interest from the other women in the room. He talks shit to strange guys half his age. It’s embarrassing

Twenty women found me on accident, searching for their T, who they all remember with mixed emotions. I can’t even imagine how many there really are.

Here on my playground? A scoundrel is a douche bag is a target.

I laugh when they get offended. I honestly think it’s funny when they act wounded.

How dare I expect someone to be honest, faithful or respectful. I should just tuck my tail and walk away… right?

Um, no. I speak up and rip their douche baggy asses to shreds because it’s what men like Thomas Murray deserve. Millions of women tuck their tail and walk away from situations like this all the time.

Ok, perhaps not as bizarre as this one… but you know what I mean.

There are snakes in the grass everywhere. We all know someone similar to Thomas. I have the unholy trinity. Nathan, The Hoarder & Thomas. To clone those three would be like biological warfare. Womankind would crumble.

Unfortunately we all know these snakes. We’ve all had the misfortune of being lied to, cheated on or stolen from.

Life is not a bowl of cherries… but not all the cherries have worms, either.

Go ahead and read all about Thomas Joseph Murray, the philandering sweet talking southern nightmare, and avoid him at all costs.

Puerto Rico

I prefer to be singing love songs, fuck off Thomas and get your shit together- you’re starting to look tragic. …

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