Hippie Toilet Paper

My life is raw insanity these days. The Dumpling is in Kindergarten and brings so many practice books home to read that our refrigerator is covered and we are forever behind in returning the right books. Sight words, glasses, dentist. This is why kids need two parents. We’re a killer team, but we don’t always get it all done. I would honestly pay to not bring those damn books home. Any price.

There’s an acre of dead vegetables in the back yard that I have to rip out and clean up. Add to that the laundry I neglect all week, the grocery shopping that needs to be done and the extremely valuable heirloom tomatoes that are ripe on my kitchen table. I’ll be canning tomorrow, in addition to everything else.

This broken heart of mine has become a pain in my already achy, ass. I don’t have time for tears and torturous dreams. It’s bad enough I’m getting up at 4:30 to run to the songs that make me sad. I hate losing sleep, but it helps and I’m coping. You do what you have to do to get to the other side of the shitty time you’re drowning in. I’m treading water.

Empty compliments and roses aren’t horrible, but they aren’t helpful either. A few dozen orgasms did dull the ache of missing him, but a bandaid can only help so much when you’re bleeding out.

I care too much about the person I am. I’m kind of amazing and it’s time I remembered that and quit wasting time with men destined to lower my standards and discount my self worth. Playboys are only fun until they’re not and it’s only a friend with benefits if he’s still your friend and there’s still benefits.

We read all the books on the refrigerator and I tucked my sleepy sweetheart in. I ran for an hour, took a bubble bath and put my favorite sheets on my bed. Went to brush my teeth and realized we were nearly out of toilet paper. I made a mental note to stop and get some on my way home the next day and fell into bed early.

I walked into the bathroom after I got home from work tonight and saw the empty toilet paper roll.

Fuck. Motherfucking fuck.

I have been fantasizing about being home on Friday afternoon, since Monday at 4:30 in the morning. This isn’t negotiable though, and I figure I’ll be lazy and go to the health food store right down the street. They have to have unbleached Charmin or something, right?

Hippies wipe too.

I tell the Dumpling to get her shoes on and she’s excited. She knows they have excellent treats. I know this damn toilet paper is going to end up costing me $40, but I am in absolutely NO mood to run into anyone I know and none of my friends shop at the overpriced hippie store.

I try to avoid the children at the door selling raffle tickets, then tell them I already bought one. I’m sorry, but that’s my least favorite thing in the world. I don’t want to be guilted into contributing just because it’s Friday and I don’t want to leave the house all weekend. No. I want to go home and I only came for toilet paper. Move aside, private school gamblers.

Five seconds in, the Dumpling has talked me into buying her a tiny gold-plated cheesecake. A minute later I found a piece of sushi grade albacore for dinner. One look at the price tags reminds me that we need to get the hell out of there, and fast.

We made our way to the paper products and goodness gracious, they think a whole lot of wiping their ass with unbleached, recycled paper. For the first time in my life, I find myself searching for the least expensive toilet paper. $6 for 4 rolls. For the record, this would cost .99 at the other store.

This is what I call a stupidity payment. When you know you could have twice as much toilet paper for your money but your lazy ass went to the hippie store just to avoid people.

I’ll just be over here, suffering the consequences of my lazy behavior and poor list making skills.

Wiping with what feels like a dollar store paper tablecloth.

Rabid Interest

I forced myself out of bed at 5, dying a little. Feeling the whole weight of eating a cow and drinking a bowl of gin. My eyeballs ache. I have to force myself into the car and to my office. Struggling hard with a headache and a desperate need to nap. Not just tired.

Bothered, and not in a good way. I had to silence my phone to stop the whistling. Mr. Grey doesn’t wait for me to text him back and when I look at my phone there are 11 new messages from him. I feel inundated. I’m especially annoyed because Incredicock’s text tone cracks me up and I’ve missed it three times now because Grey can’t pump his brakes.

There’s a fine line to holding my interest. I’m not afraid to admit that. If I feel like I have to hide from him, I don’t want him anymore. I have a million things going on in a day and I don’t care what he ate for lunch. Not. At. All.

I actually have no desire to talk to him during his lunch break or on his drive home. I’m not a pacifier.

For the love of God. Why do all the wrong men chase me like a deer on the first day of hunting season?

I realize by going silent that I’m making the problem worse. If I want him to chill out, I have to out-text him, call during dinner and send him animated gifs all day. I know the path out, I just don’t care enough to follow it.

G- You must be busy today! Have a good one, gorgeous.

G- Flying Sunday?

G- I can fly over and pick you up so you don’t have to drive so far.

G- We could get lunch in Kalispell, Montana?

G- It was great to catch up with you.

G- Navy pinstriped tie today.

Sigh. I wish I cared, but he’s annoying the shit out of me. I feel like there’s a target on my back that I don’t know about. Yeeesh. I finally snapped.

J- Hey Chatty Kathy, I’m at work. I’ll text you when I get off.

G- Sorry babe, I woke up thinking about you. When do I get to see you again?

Where’s that annoyed emoji when I need it. I put my headphones back on and prayed he’d shut the fuck up. No luck. I finally Googled how to silence him, and a lovely little moon popped up beside his name. Finally, peace.

I raced to get my little Dumpling from school and took her to the park to play. It’s getting colder and darker earlier these days, so we’re trying to squeeze every last bit of playing outside. We walked home in the dusky twilight, holding hands.

This is why I don’t want a boyfriend. She’s my +1. I don’t want her to have to share my time with anyone. That may sound a little dramatic, but it’s really important to me. I only date when she’s asleep so she is none the wiser. She is really excited that my heels have come out of  storage, though.

We walked up to the house and there was a long white box waiting by the front door.

D- PRESENTS!!!!!

It’s from Mr. Grey. I lifted the lid and it’s a big bunch of gorgeous pink roses.

D- Daddy sent me flowers!!!!

J- He’s such a nice daddy. Let’s put them in some water.

D- I want them to be in my room!

I thanked Grey for the roses and let him know it was a huge hit with the little one. I stopped short of telling him they were in her room.

G- Call me after she goes to bed.

J- I have to run. I’ll text you.

… … … ……………………..

I didn’t.

and woke up to 14 messages, including some song lyrics and hearts.

FML.

spoiled

Horrible Quitter

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I’m the original glutton for punishment. It’s my worst quality. I have no choice but to take responsibility for it because it’s common knowledge amongst everyone who knows and loves me. Hell, even my enemies know I’m far better at hurting myself than they are.

I always see the writing on the wall… I just don’t read the words.

I was at work on Friday afternoon when a text came buzzing into the phone I’d tucked into my bra. His tone is different and my heart races and breaks at the same time. I miss him so much at this point that it’s a dull ache. I’m also irritated enough to snap because of the instant smile it puts on my face. It’s a horrible thing to be waiting for the message that destroys all the progress you’ve made in one split second.

Perfection- Why?

Why. Why, indeed. How? would also be an appropriate question; since our conversations revolve around the weather and football. I’ve been swallowing my broken heart for the most mundane of messages. Finally able to miss him without being upset about it.

And here he is. Back. Getting an eyeful because I’m just mad enough to say the things I’ve been doing my best to swallow.

J- Then tell me you miss me. I can’t be naked with you one second and talking about the weather in the next instance. 

Silence. He falls asleep when things get honest and I’m waiting for answers. My heart is back in my throat and he still isn’t saying the words I want him to. The only thing that’s changed is that he’s reading about how much it dented me.

For the record, it’s a really mixed blessing to have the man you crave, read your blog. I absolutely have exploited them with it, I have written a man into my sheets and I have burned a few at the stake when things ended poorly.  It takes a VERY brave man to roll with it, especially when I’m furious. The smartest men who were reading whilst seeing me, have exploited the fact that they could have personalized porn written about themselves if they played their cards right. I’m a lot of fun when you leave me inspired and wordy.

Ohhhh but when you break my heart, I’m pretty damn sad about it and they feel awfully guilty when they continue to read after things are over.

Newsflash, Perfection…

You’re reading my journal. 

If you hurt me, chances are good that I wont have you riding in on a white horse. When you take my favorite dick away? I’m not really going to ramble on and on about it anymore. 

You’re going to read about my hurt feelings and the regret I have for being so stupid to do something a second time that hurt like hell the first. 

You’re going to read about how disappointed I was to find out you had a girlfriend you didn’t mention. The girlfriend you still have. 

I can’t stop you from reading, but I can’t make you feel better about it either. 

We can text about weather and you can avoid my questions, but I suggest you read at your own risk. I love you, but I also wouldn’t feel bad if you felt as bad as I have. 

Frankly, nothing inspires me to have swing-from-the-chandeliers-sex more than knowing you’ll be reading about it, so maybe thanks are in order?

xoxo J

Overtext

I miss dating like it was when I was in junior high. No caller ID, no Facebook, no cell phones. It really was a blissful time to grow up and learn how to fall in love.

Your heart raced every time the phone rang and you answered with every cell in your body on edge, praying to every saint you could remember, that it was your crush.

When it actually was?

Nirvana.

These days you can see every damn detail of his life before you even say hello. You know what he drives, the food he eats and I’d be willing to bet, a few of his exes; thanks to laziness on his part in deleting old uploads. You see his kids before your first date.

Hell, if you’ve exchanged numbers with him, I’d be willing to bet you’ve seen his dick, too. Guys are quick to offer them up these days.

There are no secrets anymore. It’s all out there from the second he says hi.

I’m going to be a real bitch for a second. I fucking loathe the amount of time this shit takes. I don’t mind a date once a week. I can deal with that. Texting all day? NO. It is slightly moderately disturbing how much a pilot can text. 101 text messages. I just counted, twice. 7 pictures. I can handle about five a day, ten at the most and only if inspired.

I just don’t care that much, and I don’t care AT ALL what someone is eating. This is the longest fucking date, ever…

I’m sure he’s really nice… but he’s gone down that awkward path of being sexual before we met. It’s an unpleasant side effect of this endless texting. A false sense of intimacy with a stranger, who is absolutely not ready for it. I was silent.

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#ghosted

Why are they all SO crazy? This is the crazy shit that makes me want to bleach a few Perfect memories out of my head because trying to replace him is torture. They’re either completely unattractive or they’re raging douche bags. There doesn’t seem to be any middle ground and it is so pathetic that I don’t think I can do it.

I went to bed annoyed and frustrated. Mad at myself for picking a fight with my dick on call. Tossing and turning until I got up and slipped quietly into my workout gear. I put my headphones on, climbed onto the elliptical machine and ran in the dark to the songs that are torturing me. Shaking my head to stop the thoughts about him. Missing someone can be the greatest form of torture. I can’t get away from my own thoughts and he’s too far away.

I know I could text him and he’d respond. I could ask him about his week. He would tell me. I could ask about his day. What he had for dinner. What game he’s watching. These are all available details. They’re also none of what I want to hear. For a while, it was enough and I was thrilled just to hear my phone announce that it was holding a message from the man I want most.

It wasn’t enough for very long and I had to force myself to delete him out of my phone to save myself. Biting back L-bombs and choking on tears because old habits die hard and I knew myself enough to know I could not leave him in reach.

It helped to touch someone else but I can’t help but miss him and my heart just doesn’t shift gears. It’s great to shake off the painful edge with someone that you aren’t invested in, dedicated purely to please you but if I thought it was going to fix everything, I was mistaken. I love a pretty Band-aid as much as the next girl but it can’t fix a lot if the damage is internal.

Sound asleep, I hear the sound I wait for. Fuck. I stared at the ceiling until I couldn’t help myself.

Tired and mad enough at the state of affairs, I said plenty.

IMG_8476He apologized, because he’s perfect and that’s what men do. I’m stuck on the fact that the beard is gone and all I want to do is climb into his lap and kiss his silky face.

God damn it. Now my mind is racing.

He’s gone silent since I told him to stop making platonic small-talk with me. Not exactly what I meant but I have to admit to myself that I’m getting far too much satisfaction from conversations more tame than I have with my mother and siblings.

I don’t want to talk about the damn weather with him. I want to talk about when he’s coming home to chase me around the kitchen. I miss the whisk that’s been banished since he was here this summer and the thought of him holding my spatula, gives me goosebumps.

One Perfect sentence and I’m back on the elliptical machine, running the agony off. Thankful that he’s finally helping my ass look good instead of just breaking my heart.

 

The devastating effects of shitty men.

shittymen2

You didn’t really think I was going to blame the ladyfolk entirely, did you?

I’m equal opportunity when I feel like throwing verbal hammers. I took up for the gentlemen who’ve suffered at the hands of a shitty woman, and now I’m coming for rest of y’all. You are a bad bunch and you are creating your own hell.

I do believe you are worse than the worst women. I have dated some legendary bad men and a few crazy women. Nothing is worse than the uncertainty and self doubt a bad man can foster.

Men lacking integrity seem to be the fastest growing population. Do you remember the last time a man opened a door for you? I do. I remember the last 5 times. Four of those rare gems were over the age of 70 and I had a baby with the fifth. What can I say, I’m a sucker for a protective man with old school manners. Men just aren’t men like they used to be. My grandfather always walked closest to the street and kept my grandmother tucked safely beside him. He thanked Heavenly Father for her with every meal and we grew up knowing that his love for her was the kind that lit the stars. That kind of expression makes a family. Outside of the nursing home, I think that sort of magic has died.

Men who lie make you question every single thing you hear, forever. Even from the men who want to do better. Even when we know it’s insane. We never completely recover after a betrayal from the man we dreamed up baby names with. Our hearts heal, but we always worry about giving 100% again without a hell of a lot of reassurance. The first sign of dishonesty has us retreating into our shell like a terrified hermit crab. Lying men create lifelong holes in our armor.

My dial-a-dick satisfies my greatest weaknesses while teaching me some powerful lessons with the training wheels our friendship provides. In ways I didn’t know were possible, he manages to make me feel incredible and insignificant at the same time. I may as well have a number tattooed on my wrist. A lesson I needed to learn about casual sex. This is about supply and demand. Men can do that and women need to understand that men are completely capable of using their dick as frequently as a hammer, and with whomever is in current need of nailing.  I only know a few men who don’t share their tools.

Men who hit it and quit it. The ghost we all love to hate. That guy who blew you up until you literally blew him, and now doesn’t respond to a thing. You’ve told him it kills you. He continues to ghost you. You’ve used your big girl words, peacefully. Still silence. You’re left feeling like a cheap vessel within which he felt like venturing, and now he can’t even bother to send an emoji. You got played, girlfriend… and shame on you guys who do this. It changes the rules for us and that’s some grade A bullshit. We don’t get to fuck you when we want. We have to play hard to get and leave you hanging. We know the rules. We aren’t allowed to be excited and we aren’t allowed to ask for it. We have to ghost you first, if we ever want this to go in our favor. Games, gentlemen… you are the reason they exist.

Men who cheat leave a path of wreckage that takes years to clean up. We either turn the tables and make the rest of the innocent men unfortunate enough to cross our path, suffer…. or we are whiny and insecure every time you’re a second late. I had a boyfriend who was so painfully unfaithful that I was afraid to open the phone book in our hotel room after finding phone numbers he’d hidden in a travel planner on a romantic weekend away. I still avoid his phone calls and I still hate that he was able to change how I react in every relationship, since. Late? Why? Phone on silent? Why? Taking a call outside, privately? Why? People who aren’t hiding something don’t sneak around and once you’ve found yourself talking yourself out of listening to your inner voice… you can’t ever ignore that bitch again. We don’t want to be crazy. You created this when you made us feel bad for being right about your shady ass behavior. Crazy bitches are all a result of an unfaithful man making them feel bad for being right.

I love men. Love them. I love silky soft clean shaven man face and five o’clock shadow that leaves my skin tingling. I love tall men and short ones. I love good cologne and DIE for a dirty, hard-working man who smells like a long days work. I crave a man in a necktie and am equally as turned on by a man in a hard hat and coveralls. Bald men make my blood simmer and aggressive men make me forget my morals. I love them, one and all….

But.

I’m a mean little hornet when I need to be, because some of y’all fucking suck.

That guy talking to multiple women at the same time…. or worse… fucking them all? Yeah you deserve the hammer I’m throwing in your direction. You’re damaging people to get your dick wet. Knock it the fuck off. Give a shit about your soul, have a little integrity and bag that dipstick up.

That guy with the faulty phone. Yeah, right. In the age of $800 phones, yours works. Answer the lady or use your big boy words and tell her you’re not interested. Leading someone on to let them twist in the wind is a bitch move and… well… stop being a bitch.

That guy who blames women for it all. Umm… no. I don’t hold anyone responsible for my epic bad experiences because I was the only one there. You can’t make your future pay for the bad choices you made in the past. Let it go. It’s holding you back and it’s stealing any chance you have at happiness. Worse? You’re hurting innocent people who haven’t done anything but want you. Get the fuck over yourself, c’est la vie. Baggage gets heavy and you can’t be holding me if you’re carrying your ex.

That guy who yells at women needs the rest of you bad boys to get his shit together. Real men treasure the opportunity to be in control of a woman’s body and if you’re abusing that privilege or worse… hurting her? You need a solid ass beating and a month in the clink. I have zero patience for men who put their hands on women.

It’s a wonder anyone finds love anymore in this big ol genital cesspool.

 

 

The high cost of shitty women

shitty

Yeah you, bitches; I’m coming for you today.

We love to sit around with our girlfriends and cackle about the depressing state of the common single man these days, but do we ever ask ourselves how they got that way? Do we ever take responsibility? I’m no saint and I’ve committed my fair share of transgressions. I always apologized and I’m on pretty good terms with most of my exes but I’m sure I left a few dents along my selfish way.

I’ve never outdone the douchebags I’ve loved so I took myself out of the pool for 5 years.

I’m now swimming in men who’ve been lied to, cheated on, let down and disrespected. It’s a murky puddle of brokenhearted good guys,gone wrong. Shitty, irresponsible women are absolutely the reason this pond is so stagnant and full of bottom-feeders.

That guy you strung along because you were lonely? Yeah he’s torturing the woman who loves him, now. Good job, asshole.

That man you cheated on? Yeah he’s bleeding internally and denying himself basic happiness while juggling women. You’re a real cunt.

That guy you nickled and dimed to death because you like to be “spoiled”? Yeah he only goes dutch now and he’s never going to find love again. You’re a fucking dick for leaving this guy with a quirk weird enough that it’s cockblocking him years later.

That guy you ghosted? Yeah he’s ghosting me now and I’d like to kick you squarely in the vagina. Would it have KILLED you to send him a damn text? No.

That guy you lied to has a repertoire to rival the best con men, now. You armed him with all the tools to mislead the masses and now he’s breaking hearts and promises at breakneck speed. The karmafairy will even this one out and I don’t envy you the bad man you’re going to end up with as a result.

It’s easy to get caught up in your own feelings but when you damage a person for life and future relationships, you fucking suck.

We are not innocent in the state of the menfolk these days. I was talking to my favorite lesbian last night and told her I was just going to start dating women exclusively and she laughed at me.

T- Oh babydoll, you’d find the same things in different packaging.

We are just as bad and in some cases, even worse. We made these bad men and as single women, now we get to try to rectify another woman’s bullshit behavior or clear-cut through the scar tissue she left behind.

Sigh.

We aren’t all bad and neither are they, but we do have to take responsibility for the few we contributed to the murky depths of the swamp.

Eww… gross.

I recently made a new friend. Introduced by one of my favorite girlfriends, I liked her immediately! She’s a gorgeous mother of 6 of the most well behaved and wonderful children I’ve ever met. She’s my age, just moved here, and offered to watch my little one if I ever needed some help. I was incredibly grateful, especially since I knew my tiny girl would love to play in a house full of kids.

When my sitter canceled at the last minute and my standby sitters were all busy, I asked if they’d be willing to let her play for a few hours. My friend Supermom agreed enthusiastically. She wouldn’t be off work until 45 minutes after I did, but her husband and 5 kids would be happy to help and she’d be there right after. I dropped her off with a bit of hesitation, to be honest. I’m extremely selective about who I leave her with, and I’d only just met them. The kids rushed out to greet her and she didn’t mind me leaving. I knew she was going to have a great time, and they lived next door to my favorite Bearded Man and Beauty Queen.

I got to work and put my phone in the glove box, approving a Facebook friend request from Supermom’s husband, feeling relieved that they were a safe family for my precious girl to be with while I had to work, because I’ve had some less than fantastic sitters. A few people at work are cell phone addicts so they’re taking them from us in order to stop the problem. It’s created a lot of stress for me personally in regards to not being able to check in to the nanny cam in my home and just be immediately accessible in case something comes up. I went in to work feeling at ease for a change, which was fantastic.

I got to the car at 8:40, and checked my phone. Two Facebook messages from the husband. Odd.

1

It made me uneasy. I sent Supermom a message, thanking her and letting her know I was on my way, then flew to get her. Supermom greeted me with a friendly smile as my munchkin happily ate popcorn with her sweet kids in the background. We visited for a minute, I thanked her & left. I buckled my sleepy smiling girl, with two handfuls of popcorn, into her carseat. My phone flashed as I buckled my seatbelt. Another message from the husband.

2

She was rattling off all the fun stuff they’d done and laughing about the kids. She said she wanted to play with them again. I tried to shake off the weird feeling I was having, and attribute it to three years of celibacy going to my head. It’s easy to misread text messages. I began shaking my head at myself for feeling weird. We got home, I tucked her in with toddler babble about splashing and playing, still coming from her. I thanked him.

3

I walked away from my computer and emptied the dishwasher. I came back to texts to my personal number, from him. I hadn’t given him my number so I was confused, but knew immediately who it was. Still trying to quell the unease caused by how I was interpreting his tone. I tried to respond kindly, but there was still just something, making me feel… off.

4

I sent Supermom a message and got a emoticon back. I honestly wondered if maybe they were swingers, getting ready to make the pitch.

5

Phew. Normal dad comment. I’m overreacting. Thank GOD. My baby had a great time and couldn’t wait to go back. I was being ridiculous. I felt like a bit of a jerk for jumping to asshole conclusions.

6

Fuck. First things first, I’m WAY too old to ignore my inner barometer. When it feels wrong, it’s because something is fucking wrong. The hair rose on the back of my neck. My douche bag radar is unparalleled these days. I’m ashamed I forgot that. I was at a loss for words and didn’t respond. I was hoping he’d clarify, respectfully. No such luck.

7

Well if there ever were a gilded sign from God that I am, indeed, right about men… here it is.

8I no habla slutty husband. I walked away from my phone, sat down at my laptop to see if my friend was online so I could call her, and saw his creepy Facebook messages.

9

Huh?

Don’t get me wrong, I’m well aware that my little lady is the cutest and sweetest child ever born, but this crosses a line that I can’t even begin to describe. This is beyond creepy, and I wish my little girl’s incredibly defensive father was a few states closer, because this pervy husband would be gargling teeth. No exaggeration.

I was instantly afraid in my own house, and moved the baby to my bed. I think that’s what makes me the most mad.

We slept in and I woke up, tormented. Supermom is wonderful, and I had to say something to her before I called my babydaddy and her husband had to push his torso around on a skateboard for the rest of his life.

Worse yet… I had to tell my friend who’d introduced us.

Which is when I learned that he’s been texting her too. She’s happily married and pregnant and has been trying to kindly sidestep his propositions in the same way I have.

This guy is a full blown weasel, and when confronted, claims he was blackout drunk and does not remember sending any texts. I hate to use my least favorite word, but….

Aint nobody got time for that.

SO consider this is a good ol’ fashioned spanking…just not like he was hoping I’d be willing to give him.

Dear Mike,

I was going to send you an understanding message asking you if you were maybe blackout drunk. Then I realized something. That’s because I was raised to be polite, pleasant and demure. To accept even the most insincere apologies, because (to quote my mother) “To err is human, to forgive, divine.”

Only I’m a farmer, and I recognize a weasel when I see one.

You sir, prey on women. I’m sure you’ve successfully bagged a few. You’ve talked your way out of it, somehow, but not with me. I am mortally offended, on many levels.

I’m a single mother, and I have no choice but to rely on the kindness of my friends and neighbors to help me find someone safe & trustworthy to watch my precious baby, because work is not optional. Unlike you, who get to be a stay at home father, I have to work. Finding childcare is a burden I never understood, until now. How dare you use my daughter as a pickup line, and do you realize what a pedophile you sound like? How dare you humiliate both your wife and me, and put me in a position where I have to tell her something so awful.

How will you ever begin to apologize?

Oh… that’s right… by continuing to text me, during the day. SOBER.

10

You will never see my child again. Be glad I don’t call the police and report what a creeper you are, just in case. Incidentally, you were home alone with your own baby girl at the time you were having withdrawals for mine. Gross.

I screenshot your sketchy ass messages and sent them to your wife. She admitted you are “weak” and said it was “alcohol related and harmless” and that “it had happened before and you’d moved here for a fresh start”.

You’ve been here a month and you’ve propositioned the pregnant neighbor and your wife’s new friend. Things aren’t looking good for your fresh start. I was going to send you a text telling you what a douchebag I think you are, until I found out that, when confronted, you feigned ignorance and took no responsibility. Then I decided you needed a little public bashing, because a million guys would give a kidney to be as lucky as you.

You’re raising husbands and fathers. They’re growing up to emulate the example you set. They’re going to treat their wives the way they’ve watched you treat their mother. Now you have a baby girl. She’s going to pick a man just like YOU. How’s that sit?

You had no right to disrespect me or cross that line. You ruined a friendship for your poor wife, who already carries & makes excuses for you, and lost a fun friend for your kids. Shame on you.

Dirtbag… you are a jerk and your wife (and children) deserve better.