It’s either there……….or it’s not.

I’ve been working hard to shake my sad edges off, so I scheduled a date with NotCalifornia last night. To be honest, he’s not my type. He’s really nice, funny and has his shit together. An educated choice, if you will? I figured I should go, if only to laugh and eat dinner with someone I already thought was fun enough to approach first. A real man, interested in me for more than just sex. Write it down, y’all. They do exist. This one comes complete with baby lambs and more on the way.

Chemistry is important to me though… because I’m still drowning in it with Incredinope. My nerves stand on end when he’s within inches of me, and I catch myself taking a deep breath to stop all the wrong words from falling out of my mouth. I don’t shift smoothly, and when I’m in love with someone, he may as well be the last man on earth because the rest of them disappear. This level of chemistry has been my undoing… because now I don’t want to feel lukewarm about anything.

Once you know how it feels to be volcanic… a slow simmer just won’t do.

So I put on a cute dress, slipped into my favorite heels… and went to face my new fate.

Dating. <insert vomit emoji>

I always get to the restaurant 15 minutes early so I can calm the fuck down before my date arrives. I fake it convincingly, but I am painfully shy and ridiculously awkward when it comes to dating. First dates are worse than anything, in my experience.

Enter, the perfect dirty Bombay Sapphire martini. Three olives. A lovely glass of pull-it-together before my date arrives. Part of me wants to leave before he gets there.  My heart isn’t in it and if I’m going to be honest, the heartbroken girl in me is wishing my favorite guy would come walking through those doors, first. I know he won’t be, so I firm my resolve and breathe through the anxious disappointment I’m trying to squash with some icy cold gin.

Something feels so wrong about being on a date and wishing he were someone else. I would be pissed if the shoe were on the other foot… but in all reality, I have no way of knowing my date isn’t in the same headspace. We may as well laugh through it together, right?

I saw him walk in and break into a big smile when he saw me sitting at the table, which was immediately contagious. He’s cute… I’m just going to have to send him to Mrs. Barber for a little professional unearthing.

Dinner was lovely and he’s smart, funny, loves his kids and is a good daddy, something I find incredibly attractive. He bottle feeds his home grown baby farm animals. He wants to know what I’ve canned before, and shyly blushes when he asks if I’ll help him plant a vegetable garden.

It’s good and I should be excited but I’m just not quite there. I’d rather wait forever than settle for tepid bathwater over the lava I’ve been addicted to swimming in, lately.

I’m craving a volcanic bath and this is more akin to a polar plunge because the chemistry just isn’t the same. Something that only makes me miss the wrong guy, more.

Yay, dating.




It’s been a rough two weeks. My epic, three day hangover felt like a week, in and of itself. After a night of the Dumpling sneezing in my face, I still woke up feeling like a billion dollars this morning in comparison to the suffering I endured this weekend.

I was scrolling through Instagram when the latest handsome man makeover, popped up on my feed.

Y’all… I’m friends with a magician. The Queen of the clippers. Sorceress of the shears. Finder of lost handsome men. Mrs. Barber is the go-to girl for the perfect fade and a beard to collect hearts with.

If they aren’t dying to go… it’s because they don’t know her power. I’ve seen it with my own eyes about a dozen times now, and I tip my hat because I hated a beard until she showed me the light.

The latest unveiling prompted my offer.

J- I’m willing to pay you double not to cut the hair of the boy who broke my heart. I’m willing to pay big to sentence him to a life of Great Clips.

MrsB- You give me a pic of who it is and it’ll be like a wanted sign in my shop. Life sentence to Great Clips. 🙂

Miss Lovely and I laughed about it over cocktails all weekend.

J- She could call it the wall of shame. $200 buys you a spot on the wall for the boy who thinks it’s funny to watch you cry.

L- $500 to buy his way off.

J- I feel like a woman that can vouch for his not being a douchebag anymore could buy his way off at a discounted rate.

Imagine my delight when he brought it up. 🙂

He looked at me and glared.

I- For the record, I don’t go to Great Clips.

J- <grin> Oh. Struck a nerve, huh?

I- So you’re gonna pay double? I’ll go every morning.

J- Ohhh…. ha aha ha hah. I don’t think you understand girlfriends. She will not be helping you.

I- That’s so petty. I think I’ll call you PJ from now on.

J- Call me whatever you like. You just won’t be doing it with magic from Mrs. Barber staring back at me.

He glared at me, shook his head and made my whole day with one sentence.

I- That’s so shitty. I’ve been waiting for her to open up for the last year.

J- Mmm-hmm… I know. I’m the one who told you about her.

Funny thing about girlfriends is, we don’t mince words and we don’t fuck around when you treat our friends like shit. We stand up for each other in ways we WISH we could stand up for ourselves. We say the hard words, for each other. We do the hard lifting, together when one of us is too devastated to carry it all by herself.

My tribe is a fierce bunch of the most powerful women around. Singers, Chemists, Artists, Writers, Restaurateurs and Magicians. They’re the cream of the crop.

It’s cool. He can break my heart, and poke fun at my pain. It’s a lesson for me in not automatically trusting people that I’ve known for a long time. Just because he was a good husband, once upon a time, does not mean he will be thoughtful of my feelings. Obviously.

I can cry about it and feel horrible, or I can hang out with my favorite ladies and laugh it off. They’re there with far too much alcohol, love and a whole lot of loyalty. Heartache may suck the life right out of me sometimes, but the friends I have more than make up for it and work overtime to remind me how much better my time could be spent.

I love you Mrs. Barber… and thank you for not making his neck look like you could. ♥