Day 22: Describe 7 things you’re awful at.

  1. I’m awful at picking a man that won’t lie to me, cheat on me, steal from me or break my heart. I’ve elevated it to an art form and have ruled them out entirely as a result. Heterosexual men are basic creatures. Much like that lump of a human they hand you when you have a baby, you only need to feed, water and love it for things to be agreeable, right? Wrong. I have an innate ability to pick the absolute worst asshole in the room. Eyes closed, heart open… I lose every damn time.
  2. Thinning root vegetables. Seriously.. someone should take my carrot seeds away. There’s honestly no point in me even planting them because I can’t grow them for shit and who needs 4000 pencil sized baby carrots? Nobody.
  3. Kitchener stitch. It’s some sort of modern day needlework witchcraft. I avoid knitting socks for precisely this reason. I loathe not being able to do something though, so I’ll figure it out eventually or die trying.
  4. Seeing the forest for the trees. I see the potential in everyone- and never stop to consider that some people are self motivated and not looking out for me or my best interests. Some folks are just users and I work overtime to see the goodness a little too much. Some of those frogs aren’t princes. Some of those warty little things are just dirty ass reptiles.
  5. Brownies. I can’t bake brownies to save my life. I don’t know why. I’ve given up trying and just buy them. I’m bitter about it though because I’m a damn domestic goddess and hate that I can’t do something.
  6. Sleep. I am the worst insomniac. I am regularly awake between the hours of 1-5 AM and generally give up and get up by 5:30. I’m painfully tired and all things considered could probably use a week of rest, straight. I won’t get it and it won’t stop me from lying awake all night again tonight… so feel free to give me any suggestions you may have.
  7. I’m awful at shaking this Incredicock nightmare. Hearing one thing and seeing another is the worst form of torture and I was crazy to think that touching him again was a good idea. It wasn’t. You can only be casual about someone you don’t care about… just as you can’t make a ho a housewife, it’s absolutely impossible to make a fuckbuddy out of the guy you’re in love with and I should have learned that painful lesson the first time with him.

I wish I had more of my shit together, but fairy godmothers aren’t real and it involves a shit load of work and time to change these things. I’m still determined, still working hard to be better, do more, live positively and strive for happiness.

I have promises to keep. And miles to go before I sleep… -Robert Frost

Day 13: Describe 10 pet peeves you have.

I’ve been counting down the days until todays prompt. Perhaps that says a lot about my current attitude or patience level, but I have a delicious list of pet peeves that have been stacking up like well-seasoned firewood.

Number one on this list has been hammering splinters under my proverbial fingernails, for months.

  1. That GODFORSAKEN woman who fucks up the entire process of the school drop off lane. Straight to hell with her, because she’s a pain in everyone’s ass. I pull up in the nick of time every morning and she ruins the whole thing. I understand having a timid child who needs a little extra love- I will be the first person to smile at you while your little one melts down… but stay in your goddamn car or park it ANYWHERE ELSE. The school is literally surrounded with options other than the small stretch of seamless beauty that she destroys. I fucking hate her. There are two of her, incidentally and I shoot them both dirty looks any chance I get.
  2. Internships. I know this is out of left field, but my Dick Appointment leaves in two weeks and I’m sad for my poor broken hearted vagina. She’s so much happier when she exercises regularly and there he goes… taking my live sex toy with him. Sad times. I’m all for success… but not when it costs me my favorite playthings.
  3. Cigarettes. Gross. Seriously… quit that nasty habit and put those smelly years behind you. It’s vile, is actively killing you and people don’t want to hang out with you because of it. Boys don’t want to date you. Girls won’t let you borrow cute clothes. It’s because you smell bad. Stop.
  4. Whistling, chewing and chomping. We get it, you’re eating. Now shut the fuck up and chew quietly. I regularly smack a coworker for his infernal whistling. Nobody wants to hear your long-winded, whiny rendition of any song, ever. Shut. The. Fuck. UP. (now). I don’t understand the folks with bad manners because my mother would have murdered me for having sound effects to enjoying my meal beyond expressing my gratitude.
  5. People who can’t spell. For the love of Jesus, your phone does it for you. You don’t even have to learn to spell anymore and yet there are still those people who can’t. It drives me absolutely nuts. You can’t “seen” anything and if you tell me I “aint” right, I’ll agree with you and delete your number out of my phone. Ignorance makes my vagina dry, my eyebrow go rogue and my eyes roll around like marbles.
  6. Vegans. Sorry, not sorry. I love a good creature. I like food of the land, sea and sky and I don’t feel bad if it didn’t have a perfect life. I know that pisses everyone off these days, but that’s life and knowing my financial ability to be a picky bitch. I love chickens, pigs and cows almost as much as fish, shrimp and lobster- but frankly the sad ones taste just as good as the happy, organic set.
  7. Feral Children. If you want to love, nurture and pacify your little beast to avoid being the bad guy, we are not going to hang out. I’d bet my left titty that your kids are monsters and nobody wants to hang out with them. If you let your kids run in the store, a restaurant or something like it, chances are good I’ve already yelled at them and they won’t want to hang out with me either. It isn’t the world’s fault that you’re heterosexual and had sex that resulted in a small human. Parent that mobile fertilized egg or I will help and insult you, simultaneously.
  8. People who are incapable of flying and/or travel. You may pack one carry on and one personal item. This hasn’t changed and they aren’t fooled by your feigned ignorance. The entire airport knows you think the rules don’t apply to you and they’d let you off the hook, just this once. NO. Check your 8 bags, leave the many novels you aren’t going to read AT HOME, and throw your own damn trash away. So help me God if you’re in the 18th row and stand up as soon as the plane lands, I’m going to hope you got bed bugs from your dirty seat.
  9. Self Check Out. For fuck’s sake… I do not work at Walmart and I never wanted to know how. Double fuck you to the 4 digit veggie codes that are different at every store. Ugh. I want to purchase my overpriced groceries in comfort, thank you.
  10. Mice. Always the vermin. They’re making my life hell with their nightly marathon in the attic above my bed. It’s a good thing I love my kitty boys so much or I’d poison the hell out of my entire house. I caught one on the kitchen counter the other day and about lost my damn mind getting the body into the trash. Oy.

What are yours?

Day 12: Describe your most embarrassing moment.

I dug around through my blog trash in hopes I hadn’t deleted the original post about this most mortifying moment, but alas… 2010 was quite a year and there’s A LOT of shit to wade through.



Once upon a time, I was writing daily, pissing off the locals and slinging beer at a brew pub. I was single, sassy and my daily rants were going viral on the regular. I went to work one night and settled in for the long haul. I looked up to see my past walk through the door, smiling.

The very first boy I ever had a crush on, in the 5th grade.

Oh my. The joys of living in a small town.

He doesn’t seem to have aged with the exception of having become a man since grade school. He’s masculine, pretty as hell and a wholesome guy.

Him and a friend sit down at the bar and look up for the first time, causing me to blush uncontrollably.

Fun Fact: I am actually terribly shy, which was awfully inconvenient when it came to being a server.

I walked over to say hello and saw his buddy furiously arguing with him.

Buddy- Dude, no. NO. Anyone but her.

Crush- Her.

I’m confused, but get them something to drink and eat, and wave as they leave me a huge tip and walk out the door. My friend comes running back and invites me to have a beer with them after work. I agree.

When I walked into the bar, I could see his friends eyes get wide. I was starting to get offended, or at least overthink why this guy was so opposed to me.

Me- Hey did I offend you or something?

Buddy- No, I read your blog. No offense, but I have to warn my buddy before he ends up there.

Me- Oh my…

I walked away, which is usually my response when someone (other than my best friend) says something to me in passing about it. He sent my crush over with a beer, like a modern-day peace offering. We danced, laughed and drank the night away until he ended up in a cab on his way to my house.

We were making out in my bed when he stopped, sat up and said…

Crush- I can’t do this. I love my wife.

I freaked out at the mention of a wife. Cried, kicked him out, you name it. Absolute panic and horror, at 3 in the morning when I’m not at my best anyway. He left and I went to bed, alone and glad to be.

Twenty minutes later, I was jolted awake by a knock on the door. I got up, put a robe on and peeked through the curtain. It was my crush… and his wife. I opened the door.

W- Can we come in? He said you were upset and I wanted to explain.

I was so fucking stunned I didn’t know what to do.

W- I want him to sleep with someone else. I told him to. I’m ok with it.

He looked as horrified as I hoped my face also conveyed on my behalf.

We have never spoken since, and I hope I’m never more embarrassed than I was that night, because I wanted the earth to open up and swallow me whole.

I am not about that swinger life. What’s mine is mine and I’ll break your hands if you touch it. If I want to share something, I will offer…but just like my panties and sex toys; some things are non-negotiable.

Call me old fashioned, but if I go to the trouble of marrying a man, it’s because I don’t want to share him with ANYONE.

The high cost of help

Admittedly, I like to do everything myself. It’s not that I’m a control freak, I just know that people rarely do things without expectations and I don’t like being beholden to anyone.

But…everyone has their breaking point and we’ve gotten two feet of snow this weekend. My right elbow is angry and screams loudly with every heavy shovel full. To say I’m exhausted is an epic understatement, and the snow just continued to fall no matter how many times I went out and cleared the driveway again.

I woke up at 3 AM on Saturday morning and looked out to see a foot of fresh white fluff, with semi-snowballs falling from the sky. Oy. I knew the longer I waited the harder it would be, so I got up… got my snowpants on over my pajamas, zipped my down jacket over the stretchy white sports bra I’d been snoozing peacefully in, and went out to face the reality of my painfully single life. I swore I’d never miss the Dirty Boat Stealing Hippie, but damn it I wish he were out there helping.

It wasn’t terribly heavy… but my driveway is long and I have to keep the parking area large so I can turn around and so that someone else can park beside me. That’s a lot of fucking snow. I was overwhelmed in minutes just unearthing my car, so I headed down the driveway to start on the easy stuff. The guy who plows my neighborhood is extremely kind and tries hard to not leave me a huge berm at the end of my driveway. It was still intense and I wanted to go back to bed. I looked up to see a truck slowing down and the window started to inch down as well.

Oh Lord.

S- Heyyyyy! I was just out for a cruise and figured I’d cruise by and see if you needed any help shoveling!

(A little history. He dated my little sister a few years ago and when I saw on Facebook that he was doing snow removal this winter, I contacted him. He was more interested in doing me. I’m NOT interested for a multitude of reasons, first and foremost “Thou shalt not touch anything your sister has touched with her vagina.” Period. I made it clear after he wouldn’t stop texting me, he got slightly offended but went away quietly. Until now.)

J- Wow, it’s early.

As in 3 in the freaking morning. Nevermind the creep factor of him just driving by.

He pulled over, hopped out with a shovel and started helping. Ish. I was shoveling while he talked and frankly my podcast was interrupted and I was more focused on getting it done even faster now, given the chatty helper.

J- It’s ok, really- I can’t afford the help right now or I would have called.

S- I’ll let you buy me breakfast tomorrow. How’s that?

I should have said no… but fuck… my elbow was crying and he was willing.

J- Ok.

Two hours later, I sent him away and walked in to my little Dumpling waking up. Oy. I got us both ready and we went to breakfast, thankful for my favorite local Mexican place that makes killer burritos and doesn’t have an iota of romance. It was awkward enough as it was and my little lady expedited us out of there pretty quickly.

I left with a wave and he was calling my phone before my seatbelt was buckled. NO. I hate phone calls. There’s only one man whose calls I answer and he knows I hate them so he only calls if it’s absolutely necessary.

Which is when the text message came chiming in, just to make the regret kick in faster.



I sent back a curt, thanks but no thanks and resigned myself to shoveling my own snow, eternally.

It’s immeasurably frustrating to get a text from someone you are not attracted to or interested in when you just wanted or needed a little help. It’s a reminder to always pay for the help I need, because this shit happens ALL THE TIME. I’ve had a plumber, electrician AND tile guy all hit me up for a date after hiring them. For the love of Jesus, can’t a girl just get a little home improvement help without a dick waving back?

I went to lunch with my Fancy best and soaked up all the normal charm of being around her and her Fancy guy. Their relationship is the ONLY reason I continue to have faith. Normal is so fun to be around and healthy commitment is damn inspirational. I finally figured out that it’s the reason I fell so crazy in love with my favorite guy. We have so much fun together in the best and worst of times. Easy laughter and scorching hot sex goes to my brain, what can I say? If it isn’t that, I don’t want it.

We drove home and I shoveled another 6 inches of bullshit out of my driveway, trying to find the silver linings in the snow. I made a fire in the fireplace and hot cocoa for the tiny one while I wrapped a heating pad around my poor elbow.

Which is when more text messages from the stalker with a shovel, came chirping in. Ugh.






What do I have to say exactly, to make my NO a little louder? I thought about telling him I’m seeing someone but I am too damn old to be making up imaginary boyfriends. I thought about not answering at all, but he knows where I live and the only thing I hate more than phone calls are surprise visits. I could be brutal and tell him he’s too skinny… but that’s a dick move and I don’t want to be the reason someone puts on 50 pounds when I still wouldn’t touch him with a ten foot pole.

So I was nice… and went back out to shovel…. cursing myself a little for accepting his help when I knew full well that nothing is free and dudes who drive by in the middle of the night are up to no good.

The snow is still falling, I’ve shoveled 4 times today and school is canceled tomorrow.

Lucky me. ­čÖé I think it’s time to splurge for a snowblower.


Derek the douchebag.

I knew when I agreed to this date that Derek was not my current type. I actually picked him for that reason. Let’s be honest… I’ve been ass deep in heartache and begging…. the least attractive a lady can be…. so I didn’t expect this to be a fun choice.

This was a date based on vice, not vision.

I have had a horrifying week full of sore muscles, financial bombs and vomit. My little Dumpling caught the worst of it this week and I’ve been juggling a million nightmares while smiling through feeling marginalized by the one person who can turn my frown upside down.

My stupid car broke down and I had to go pick it up tonight. Three guesses who I called and the first two don’t count.

Already sick to my stomach with nerves over a date I don’t want to go on, sitting beside the reason I have to go in the first place, I fought back tears and was grateful for the dark of daylight savings. He wasn’t paying any attention so it wasn’t hard to just sit silently and breathe through the cold and disinterested side of him. He’s like the moon, shining on me when he wants and never when I do. I’m itching to touch him and he could not be more prickly.. when hot tears break and spill down my cheeks. I brushed them away and bit my lip to stop the flood. He sat silently and I prayed for the minutes to turn into seconds.

We got to the mechanic and I bolted. I didn’t even thank him… and we all know that’s not like me.

Into the safe haven of my car, I absolutely bawled. Great. Puffy, red-eyed glory for my date. That’s awesome. I just wanted to cancel, pull on my ugliest and most comfortable pajamas, and go to bed at 7, with the Dumpling. My date was driving over an hour to take me to dinner, so I needed to pull it together and put myself back together as well.

I flew home, put a pizza in the oven and ran for the shower. A quick 10 minutes and I was blow drying and painting myself into a misleading version of pretty. I clean up well.

The babysitter arrived and I was off to meet my next bad choice.

I’ve been craving my favorite hippy food lately so I took him to a place I don’t usually take a date, in order to eat what I wanted. It seemed like a good idea at the time, but when I walked in and saw a dozen people I knew, I kicked myself.

He was waiting at a table and looked like the only dessert on the buffet. I could see women eyeing him and whispering to their friends.

I really have spectacular taste in douchebags when I’m being shallow.

Derek is 27, 6’5″ and reminds me of chocolate pudding. I got to the table and held out my hand to shake his. He hunched over and kissed my cheek. He reeked of whiskey and we’re in a hippy bar… so I knew it wasn’t recent.

J- Hi. How was the drive?

D- Long.

J- Hungry? This place has horrible service and great food.

D- and no liquor.

This is where I should have left. I should have just cut my losses and gone out the back door he doesn’t even know exists. I’m starving and determined to shake this heartache off, so I ignored my inner voice and ordered my favorite mahi-mahi zucchini wrap.

Awkward silence at the table has me looking around for a lifeline… and there are only nightmares from the past, bobbing all around me. I excused myself to the bathroom and did the unthinkable.

I sent the sober version of a drunk text to the guy I’m suffering through all this bullshit for..

Silence… nothing but deafening silence from him.

I went back and sat at the table while Derek told me how lucky I was to be there. I ate the one thing I felt like I could actually stomach after another week from hell.

I didn’t even cry. (Go ahead and clap.. … because it was touch and go there a half dozen times.)

Our inattentive server brought the check and Derek eyed me smugly.

D- Your place?

Once upon a time, I could have said yes. Ten years ago I’d have been only too happy to ignore his shitty character in trade for screaming orgasms.

Now?? Not in the slightest.

J- Thank you for dinner. I appreciate you making the drive to take me out, but no. I’m not taking you home.

D- Why not? I wanna fuck you.

J- Charming as that is, I’m not interested, but thank you.

D- Your loss.

J- That’s debatable, but ok. Have a nice drive home and thank you again.

I bolted for that beautiful back door that led to my freshly repaired car and the ticket to climbing into my bed, by my own damn self.

Single never felt so good, even if tears are more common than satisfaction.