Self Control

It’s an amazing feeling to be content. I’ve spent my entire life worried about what people thought of me, going where they expected me to go and doing what I was told to do.

You know what I do now? Whatever the fuck I want.

It’s just as liberating as I imagined it would be.

Instead of dreading work and always being in a desperate battle to get back to the home I drown under financially; I get up early. I take some time to myself before my little Dumpling wakes up.

Making coffee in the morning doesn’t feel like an irritation anymore. I kind of love the ritual of it, and filling the house with the warm smell of fresh ground espresso. One cup only, or my hands shake, which may be the result of the soft silty coffee bean sludge at the bottom of my cup. It’s more like legalized rocket fuel than a morning beverage.  I can’t ever stop at one cup.

I run for a half hour in the morning, and it’s not my favorite. I try to talk myself off the machine for the first five minutes, every morning. I’m watching my arms change shape and the pile of clothes that are too big, continues to grow. It’s working, and more importantly, it’s silencing my screaming sex drive. An hour a day keeps the fantasies at bay?

The funniest thing about being single is that when you actually want to date, it’s difficult to meet someone. When you’re over it and not interested? They come at you from every direction. Two dads in the last week have made the awkward first attempt.

D1- Hey so I didn’t know you were single? Would you want to hang out sometime?

As in fuck you? No. Also no to everything else that “hang out” may include. 

D2- Jen! Hey we should get the kids together to play sometime. Do you like Italian?

Leather, men or salad dressing? Also no, my kid doesn’t like your kid so that’s a hard pass from me too. 

It was fun for a minute, until it wasn’t. I love men, but I’m fresh out of patience for boys and games. I’m at a cool point in my life where I’m completely comfortable being open and honest and I don’t have any desire to side step the truth anymore. I can think of Perfection and not cry about him anymore. If I’m going to be honest, I had the sense fucked back into me and I feel a million times better.

Better to get out of the pool on a high note, so I deleted Incredicock… even out of the iPad (which means I’m serious, lol). It pains me, but you have to realize as a lady when he’s just not that into you, and those late night text messages can say anything platonic you want, because the message you’re sending is loud and clear. If he doesn’t answer, that’s also a very loud response.

Sometimes you just have to save yourself, from yourself. I have to look at him like he’s the cake I cannot have. He’s not on my diet, he’s bad for my heart and the amount of running I have to do to get him out of my system, is obscene.

Having self control is important to me, and he’s done amazing things for my ass as a result of all this so there’s a lovely silver lining.

It was time, but I’m sure gonna miss him…


Deal Breakers


I’m a fickle bitch.

My interest vacillates rapidly, and any delicious idea is one sentence away from dismissal. The moment he brings up his support for Donald Trump, my vagina dries up and I see him as a sad, little mouth-breather and not the present I’ve been dying to unwrap.

I don’t fuck the ignorant.

Along those lines, I’ve been asking the pertinent questions to Big Dick Tom. Could it work? No. He sends me epic videos all day of him strangling the anaconda.

Ugh. This is only hot after you’ve given it to me. Create a craving, then tease my panties off with visual bait. Otherwise, you’re just a basic beater and I’m all set on sexual frustration, thanks.

J- Who’s your team?

BDT- What do you mean?

J- … … …. Do you watch football?

BDT- No.

I need that little wide eyed emoji right now. Or that little face palm lady. This is a big deal. I LOVE football. It’s my very favorite season. The thing I miss the very most about having a boyfriend is spending the day in bed, with the game on. If you haven’t fucked all Sunday while watching as many games as you can find? You haven’t lived.

BDT- U can be my sugar mamma.

Where do I even begin. I’d cut my own legs off before I ever supported a man again. I was recently promoted to Vice President at work and have had to shift some things in my own character to be able to handle things that are asked of me. I’m a people pleaser by nature and I am generally inclined to be pleasant and agreeable, regardless of my feelings. Poor Tom… he met me a few months too late, because I’m not even tempted.


I hate to be so black and white about spelling, but I just am. I’ve dated ugly, impotent men with impeccable grammar. It’s that important to me. Tom can’t spell, so we will not be test driving him.

One text message from Incredicock in the midst of trick-or-treating and I’m thinking. That screaming “YUMMY” from my phone makes me want him in the worst way. The nun costume I’m wearing only adds fuel to the fire and I have to bite my lip and sit on my hands to keep from begging him to help me take it off. These cravings are killing me.

My phone barks at me, signaling that Tom isn’t going away without a fight.

BDT- Hey doll face. Wanna hang with the big bad wolf?

J- Can’t.

My phone starts barking again. He’s calling. I’m bored enough to answer.

BDT- I wanna fuck you tonight.

J- Phone sex is the closest you’re gonna get.

I realize I’m a bit of an asshole for this…. but I don’t care. His east coast, predatory language is the only thing working for me at this point. I dug my vibrator out and told him to talk to me.

BDT- Cum for Daddy.

Damn it all to hell, do I have to do everything my damn self?

J- Uh… Sorry, I gotta go. I’ll call you back.

Don’t wait by the phone, sugarplum… because nothing at all grosses me out more than my dad being brought up when I’m chasing orgasms. There is NOTHING sexy about that. Vom. Gag. Blech. I had a deadbeat dad, and he’s dead. Thanks for bringing it up, asshole.

I threw a minor temper tantrum, kicked the sheets off with my frustrated legs, got my workout gear on and hopped on the elliptical machine.


Can’t have the one I want and don’t want the one that’s begging. Go figure.








Well no, Jesus, I haven’t.

I’ve drunk from the water that makes me want more fucking water.

It’s a difficult thing to navigate as a lady, because I’m inclined to just ask. I want what I want, when I want it, and I’d rather accept defeat than entertain drama or guilt. I don’t feel bad for being comfortable with my sexuality. I never will.


When you’ve been celibate for 5 years and you make some whim decision to let Pandora out of her box?

The hangover is intense.

I crave him so much physically that the willpower I possess  for food is far beyond the threshold I have for resisting the urge to beg him like I’m inclined to.

My phone shouts YUMMY every time he texts me and it cracks me up. The Dumpling thinks it’s hilarious too..

D- I like it when your phone says YUMMY! YUMMY! YUMMY!

Mommy does too.

I’ve run myself into a smaller size as a result of all this frustration, and my best friend is scheduling an intervention to help do a clean sweep of him out of my phone and off of the iPad, which is an unfortunate necessity. The temptation is intoxicating enough, but after two glasses of wine, I start to drown in it and reason is the first to escape me.

Goddamn Pandora. I’ve crammed her back into the box and I’m duck taping it shut. It’s too distracting to listen to her whine and as much as I celebrate my sexuality, I refuse to be controlled by it. If I could snap my fingers and he’d be in my sheets? I’d be snapping my fingers all damn day and I have shit to do.

Some men know too much and it fucks you up a little when he reads your mind while giving you a whole new list of favorites.

Inspired men are dangerous.

and Yummy…




I was grateful for the radio silence from Mr. Grey yesterday. Sort of hoping he’d just fade away into the city like any other dismal date I’ve had.

I hate awkward silence though, and I’ve realized something in losing a very good friend recently.  This whole ghosting trend is some grade A bullshit. If you’re adult enough to interact with society, you can use your grown up words and tell someone when you’re not interested. Having been on the receiving end recently and feeling horrible about it, I have to be mature enough to tell him I’m not going to be around for date 5.

He started asking about my day, wondering if it’d been bad since he hadn’t heard from me all day.


Look at me. Using my words and shit. I revoked his text-tone. No whistles for boring boys. He was quick to confirm I was right.



Awwwww sweet relief. No hurt feelings and no more celibate dating. Thank GOD. I’m offended on my little lady’s honor but he was never going to meet her anyway, so it’s sort of a moot point. Definitely need to clear up one thing though.


Ew. Ugh. Yuck. This is why I gave up men to begin with. No matter how nice you think they might be? They’re all thinking of fucking you.

Sidenote: WHY in the hell does smart= arrogant? Is it really so much to ask for a man that can spell AND be a decent human being? We had a tense conversation about homeless people the other night.

G- I never give homeless people money.

J- I always do.

G- So your money bought their overdose?

J- I’m ok with that. I’m not homeless and I can’t imagine how scary and cold that would be. If my $20 buys him a burger or drugs, at least life is a little better for a minute.

G- I donate my cars to the mission, which goes a lot further, and I don’t eat…..

See? Arrogant and elitist. Something that also goes hand in hand with rich guys. Give me a dirt poor, genuine man, any day.



Not really interested in diamonds though because that was my last bit of helpful advice. I don’t have a lot of faith in the shopping or selection abilities of a man determined to die without the nirvana of a cheeseburger. The funny thing about dating when you’re older and have more of your shit together, is that you’re absolutely going to weed out a few duds based on these sort of trivial details.

Cigarettes only get more disgusting as time goes by, and I’d hold my breath and walk away from something really beautiful if it came with a fog of nicotine.

Men who don’t walk women to their car in a dark parking lot after having invited them to said parking lot, are not good guys. If he isn’t concerned about your safety getting home, it’s because he thinks you’re a sportfish, not a trophy.

I urge you all to read Act Like a Lady, Think Like a Man. By Steve Harvey. It’s the man bible. The cliff notes to the penis folk. Listen to Steve. Steve is preaching the gospel truth in those pages and you will THANK ME ETERNALLY. I bought a copy for my 68 year old coworker and she bought a bunch for all her friends, too.

“fishing, my philosophy is that men will treat women like one of these two things: a sports fish or a keeper. How we meet, how the conversation goes, how the relationship develops, and the demands you make on a man will all determine whether you’ll be treated like a sports fish—a throwback—or a keeper, the kind of woman a man can envision settling down with. And the way we separate the two is very simple, as I explain next. A SPORTS FISH . . . Doesn’t have any rules, requirements, respect for herself, or guidelines, and we men can pick up her scent a mile away. She’s the party girl who takes a sip of her Long Island iced tea or a shot of her Patrón, then announces to her suitor that she just wants to “date and see how it goes,” and she’s the conservatively dressed woman at the office who is a master at networking, but clueless about how to approach men. She has no plans for any ongoing relationships, is not expecting anything in particular from a man, and sets absolutely not nary one condition or restriction on anyone standing before her—she makes it very clear that she’s just along for whatever is getting ready to happen. For sure, as soon as she lets a man know through words and action that he can treat her just any old kind of way, he will do just” 
― Steve Harvey, Act Like a Lady, Think Like a Man, Expanded Edition: What Men Really Think About Love, Relationships, Intimacy, and Commitment

Buy it. Actually, buy 2. You’ll want your best friend to read it too.

The weather is getting cold and I’m in no mood for fishing. I deleted my dating profiles, dug out my knitting & put the down comforters on all the beds. On this blissfully silent night, I’m not loathing my quiet phone, I’m celebrating it. Being single for 6 years has made me really content to make that 10, instead of working to change it.

Who knits? Wanna knit with me instead? I’m making something very special for a dear friend who lost her little boy and it’s slow going with tears in my eyes. If anyone wants to join me, let me know 🙂



RIP: Mr. Grey


There’s a reason Cliff Notes have been so popular. They work. Don’t fuck with what works. Don’t fix what isn’t broken.

Maybe it’s not such a bad thing if the man I’m involved with has a cheat sheet to follow.

I had an epic weekend… smoky, tipsy-fabulous in fishnets and stilettos, sporting the same smile that’s gotten me into trouble since I first discovered it could turn the tide my way. It was a perfect night with a girlfriend of mine and I didn’t fall into bed until 3 in the morning.

I woke up at 6 because I’m a mommy and I’m usually up at 4:30 to run.. I forced myself to go back to sleep in anticipation of my hot date later that night. I fought my way through every 15 minutes until 8.

My coffee was less than exciting.


My flight was delayed. Every single flight on my airline was delayed. I’d cockblocked myself by not shaving my legs before I left and was DYING that I was approaching this date without the grooming I demand of myself. Whatevs. This is celibate dating. I don’t have to worry about shaving in the way I do when inspired.

But I’m so inspired I’m ready to let La Perla work it’s magic and everyone knows you can’t wear fancy panties with hairy legs.

I called in some epic favors and flew home by 5. I made an unrealistic drive home, in an hour and change. I probably averaged 85 mph, I flew in the front door and ran to the shower, throwing off clothes as I went. Clip, clip, stockings. Swish, panties. Clip, bra. Into heaven with a brand new razor. I may actually be on time.

His messages whistling at me only make me shave faster.

Out and dry, I ripped open the new stockings I bought on vacation. Panties can either be functional or fucktional and I prefer the latter if I’m buying them for recreation. These fit the bill.. There are rose gold rings tying corsets across the ass I’m working hard to perfect, and I am quite happy with the visual.

I’m bait, in heels. It’s our 4th date and my house is empty. It’s take no prisoners at this point and I’m a formidable opponent.

Driving to meet him was surreal, as I DO NOT TAKE DATES ANYWHERE I KNOW ANYONE. I take them to the worst restaurant in town so I’m not sad if I can’t go back.

Until Miss Fancy spoke up.

F- Uh. No. If it sucks, you should at least have a nice meal.

(I’m actually eating that same delicious dinner right now, and she is %100 correct.)

When faced with the choice of who to find first, I went in search of Miss Fancy. He found me, chatting with her and I had to bite my teeth together to keep my jaw from dropping.

He’s wearing tennis shoes. Jeans. Nondescript button down shirt. To my best friend’s restaurant. I look lovely, if I do say so myself, and he looks like he studied for the SAT’s last night. No tie. After enough interest, if he ignores your shameless objectification and the easy opportunity to capitalize on it, throw him out with last week’s news.

But, it all really comes down to one last detail that has me annoyed.

He didn’t shave.

I risked life and limb to deliver silky parts to him and he couldn’t navigate his face.

Our server greets us and asks for our drink order. He announces that he’s having whatever I’m having. I ordered a dirty Bombay Sapphire martini. I don’t think he’s had one before because he’s gingerly sipping it and not enjoying it in the slightest. I’m silently pleased.

She returns for our order and he says he read the menu on the way up and orders the only boring thing on it. Pasta and chicken. Ok. I order steak and he stuns me.

G- I haven’t eaten a bite of steak since I was 8. I don’t want to develop a taste for it and I had a really bloody, gross steak then so it’s easy to think of it as gross.

J- Ok that’s insane. Taste this. I can’t even order anything else on the menu because this is so good.

He wont even taste it. He ordered us steak on our first date and I realize it was just because he knew it was what I like. While I appreciate that, I just don’t think I can love a man who can’t appreciate a good steak. I’ve said for years that I’ll know it’s the right one when he can cook my steak properly. Every single man I have ever loved has overcooked them, and I have a penchant for men who can cook, so that’s saying something.

G- I’ve never had a cheeseburger and won’t try that either. I guess I like being able to say that, so why try one now?

WTF? I happen to know the Cheeseburger Queen and I instantly argue against this stupid idea of his.

J- Oh no, friend. I draw the line at cheeseburgers. That’s just wrong.

G- Nope. Not even a taste.

Ok. I’ve heard enough. I’m tired and it’s been a long day. Time to wrap this insanity up.

He held the door for me and stopped at his car in the parking lot. It’s late, dark and I’m parked on the other side of the lot. I gave him an unimpressed half-smile and he hugged me.

G- Let’s do this again soon!

J- Thank you for dinner.

I walked to my car and waited until his headlights took a right turn on the highway and blew him a kiss as he drove out of my life again.


I can do a lot of things with a little bit of a man. I am the queen of making the most of a bad situation and I do not expect enough…..

But I draw the line at cheeseburgers and I demand a certain amount of effort if my ass is literally in a corset.

I crave a dirty, hard working man, not a rich guy who brags about working 25 hours a week and can’t find the time to iron, shave or tie himself into what he knows I love.

No thank you.

I went back in and laughed over a glass of wine with my best girl. Bemoaning the terrible quality of available men and my silky single legs only reminds me how stupid this stuff all is. I’d rather have dinner with her than any guy and this dumpster fire situation with Mr. Grey isn’t worth sacrificing all my free time to.

I’m over it. It’s knitting season and I’d rather whip up a few chastity belts than suffer through another dumb date.



It takes a special kind of man to sit comfortably in the crosshairs of my blog. I make a point to not get involved with anyone that knows me well enough to know about it. It puts me at too much of a disadvantage when they start reading. I’ve learned the hard way by thinking it wouldn’t matter. It always has.

The worst of the worst , work overtime to manipulate it. The absolute worst guy I ever dated, manipulated every syllable until I bleached him out of my life. He knew if he came to see me, I’d be word vomiting his ego back into the stratosphere before he got back to his office. He also was the only one who’s ever loved a solid hate blog. I wrote about his failed erections. He was furious, but he made a point to drive over to spank me, because he wanted to read about it.

The best one was determined to be a good guy in print. I wasn’t that into him and he was on overdrive. He sent me pretty shoes, cheeky panties, a pretty pink Coach bag… and on and on. He would have kept on buying, purely for how much he loved to read about how much I loved my new panties… until he read about me putting them on for a date he wasn’t taking me on. Nice guys turn crazy when they read how lukewarm you are about them. Disinterest hooks them just as deeply as it does us.

The hottest one, lived to outdo himself. He referred to my blog as personalized porn, and he did research on ways to stun, surprise and satisfy me. He counted my orgasms like goals and left me drowning in adjectives and shaking from the highlight reel running through my head. What began as a revenge fuck, ended up being a hell of a hard habit to break. Still the only man who has ever made me tap out. Bless his smoking hot soul.

The biggest monsters learned the largest lessons. Nathan still has to explain why he’s such a liar and I cock-blocked Virgin Islands with the truth until he begged me to stop. I set most of the content regarding both of them to private because I don’t want to be defined by my biggest mistakes any more than they do.

My friends will tell you that I’m one of the nicest people they know. They will also caution anyone not to overlook the flip side. I rise to the occasion and put in overtime to outdo my conquests. Same goes for when they’ve decided to be an asshole. When I hear them whine and complain about how they hate and want me simultaneously, I know that my work is done. I’m not a bitch, I’m just a big fan of Karma.

However they inspire me to feel, will be returned to them, tenfold. I’m the ultimate investment until he’s a douche bag, treating me poorly; whilst reading my journal.

At that point? He becomes a verbal target and I unpack my bag of his deepest insecurities for a few thousand friends and strangers to read and laugh about. It’s all fun and games until it hurts, huh boys?

Mr. Grey is not a subscriber and will not be reading. Something that absolutely delights me for a few old fashioned reasons. I don’t know what he’ll be wearing on our date Sunday, because he hasn’t read what I hope it’ll be. He’s attentive without knowing I want him to be, responding to my texts within minutes unless he’s in court. He actually apologizes if he’s away from his phone and doesn’t respond, promptly. That still surprises me. Confidence is one of the hottest things a man can show you and it’s the definition of masculinity for me. He doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t play stupid games and <gasp> even communicates. With words I occasionally have to look up…<quadruple swoon>.

For the most part though? It’s really fun to see what he does without reading the cliff notes…

I’m sorry, Jerk.

(An old treasure from my days in the apron ♥)

It was a quiet Friday night at work. The weather dictates how busy we’ll be, and it was overcast but warm, so the patio was half full of happy customers. With two tables a piece, the three of us were working hard to avoid hovering over the precious few determining our financial survival for the evening. Our first server was cut for the night and chatted with the rest of us while she did her closing work. My remaining coworker and I were enjoying the peaceful hum of being able to offer our customers our undivided attention to every detail they demand. People love, love, love to be coddled. Especially the people we enjoy the least.

This is where things went wrong.

Our first server sat someone on her way out the door… and neither of us heard her tell us about him. Neither of us noticed him sitting there watching the minutes tick by… and actually had no idea he wasn’t a lingering coworkers last customer, enjoying the last of his drink and the sunset.

Until he stormed out.

Instant confusion as we try to figure out what happened. I followed him to the parking lot and couldn’t find him. We realized after talking to the bussers that he’d been sat and watered, and left.

Horror is the only way to describe how you feel as a server when you realize you just walked by him until he left. We all help each other and communicate with each others’ tables. We are all responsible for making sure each guest has what he/she needs.

We are also human, and completely fallible.

So this abandoned man promptly went and left a nasty comment on Urban Spoon and God Dammit…. It’s completely valid and I feel horrible that he didn’t get helped. He was in a beautiful place, with excellent food and friendly, competent waitstaff.

All he had to do was open his mouth and speak.

While I completely apologize, I also would like to take a moment to make a PSA for how to behave in a restaurant. He is equally responsible for his bad time.

1. For the love of Pete… speak up. We are dying to provide you with everything your heart desires. We’re hellbent to deliver an experience that inspires you to over-tip us. We deal with mumbles, people on cell phones, screaming children, etc. Be a man (or lady) about it, and ask for what you want.  His gripe online says he waited 45 minutes and left. Had he said anything, he would have had an amazing time. I would never sit for 45 minutes without asking for a server. 10 minutes, tops. If you haven’t been helped in ten minutes, we do not know you exist. Throw us a bone, speak up.

2. Touch that fucking table and die. This is a collective emotion. Do not rearrange tables unless we ask you to- and we will never ask you to. We know where the invisible section lines run, which tables seat most and the most convenient place to put you. Stop touching without asking.

3. This goes double for touching me. I have to smile through a lot of really awful behavior, rude comments and sexual advances. I can handle it all with grace, until you put your hands on me. I’m a server, not a prostitute. While I will do amazing things for you, none of them will include physical contact between us. Stay in your seat and keep your hands to yourself, please.

4. I have a regular who loves me, unfortunately. He requests me, and I grit my teeth and face it. He would be pleasant, except for the constant waving of his hand in the air at me, snapping his fingers or calling me from across the room. I hate the very sight of him… but he loves me. Sigh. We may be at work to serve and spoil you… but please treat us like human beings. I’m so annoyed by his snapping that I make him wait now. I’m at a loss of what to do other than retrain him or not reward his bad behavior. Like a bad dog.

5. We make a tipped wage, sanctioned by the government. I personally earn $4.50 an hour. Your ten percent tip, insults me. Those twenty five trips I made for your ranch dressing, sides of sauce/etc… mean you’re going to apologize financially and we’re going to be even. More than 20% stuns me and I thank people personally. There are nights I only make enough to pay the babysitter for enjoying my darling baby. I have a repeat offender that I recognize immediately. He spent $126.40 this week and left $130. Lame.

6. Oh Canada… please stay in your own country or educate yourself to the differences in gratuity practices. Running your feet raw for a table of Canucks is pure hell. Trying to casually mention your hourly wage is tacky… so instead we suffer through the 2% tip that after being taxed, basically results in our paying to serve your needy asses.

7. That pretty woman chasing you is our hostess. Get your illiterate ass back behind the large sign that says “PLEASE WAIT TO BE SEATED”. You passed it on your way in. You saw it, you just didn’t think it applied to you. Move it. If you don”t have a reservation, you are not allowed to throw a temper tantrum. Poor planning on your part does not constitute an emergency on our part.

8. If you have a food allergy, expect to wait longer. We think not killing you is important, so we are using clean pans, utensils, dishes, etc. If you are lying about it because you just don’t like an ingredient in something you ordered? You’re the reason we hate people with food allergies. We have no problem leaving something out of your dinner, but don’t make us bend over backwards to save yourself from looking picky. We deal with picky people every single day. You can’t scare us with your demands, but you can piss us off by lying about an allergy.

9. That apron I’m wearing is not a backwards cape. I do my best, but I’m human and fallible. I’m juggling an enormous amount of details and I do forget one now and then. I’ll be eternally grateful if you remind me. I’ll buy you a beer if you’re kind about it.

10. The hours posted on the door, online and every menu, aren’t suggested times. No you cannot come in before we open. Even if you want to sit with a beer and look at the menu. Would you ask the bank to let you in early? No. Same goes with closing time. We are exhausted and ready to drink to forget you. Get the fuck out.  Do not come in five minutes before we close and do not stay afterwards. We hate you if you do. We will smile and invite you to make yourselves comfortable while we do our closing work. We don’t mean it. We love the people that know to get the hell out.

Thank you ♥