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. ♥

Miles To Go

I know the rules and how to play the game and win. It’s not that I’m defective. I choose to be single. I know that I’m worth far more than the standard offer.

PS. The standard offer is a dick pic and an invitation to join his frequent flier club.

Hard pass… also you’re lucky if he can get hard without assistance.

This shit is a struggle, y’all. I am not exaggerating when I say that I’ve done a 180 in the last 24 hours and am drowning in hate where inspiration used to threaten to swallow me, whole.

I feel like someone beat me with a bat, then shit in my hands. I’m not just devastated, I’m broken and my hands are full of shit.

So I did what we all do, and unearthed the boys I’ve sent to Not Yet Island. I gave away the ringtone that used to make me wet from wanting him. I’m hateful on a scary level. I’m probably going to hurt some poor innocent Tinder boy.

Dr. Miles is glad to drive 4 hours for a checkup. Any time of the day, any day of the week… I can order up a penis just as easily as a pizza. I can be picky.

I had the sort of day that calls for calories and orgasms. I had to look at his smug face all day and listen to his stupid phone vibrate. Knowing he’s sitting around getting hot and bothered from exciting text messages does nothing to help me pump my brakes. Not only do I hate him, I’d like to hate fuck him out of my system. Today.

Hello Miles, and all the bad things you’ve expressed a direct interest in doing to me. Today is your day. Today you get to text me exactly when I want you to, because I’ve done everything correctly and you are THIRSTY. I know if I text him, he’ll respond instantly, and he’s a doctor, for Christ’s sake. I was getting in the shower one morning when a text from him came chiming in.


I don’t respond to him. It does not slow him down. I’m just completely burned out on guys who think their dick is more important than their character.

So I texted my best friend… and we had dinner and bubbles without too many tears.

I really have grown up and I’m not looking for a dozen orgasms because I can get them on my own if I want them badly enough. I don’t, for what it’s worth. I’m so much more than a receptacle and I’d rather die lonely than settle for a man who didn’t burn for me.

He’s just not good enough and that breaks my heart wide open because I thought he was. Just when I think I’m doing the right thing, on the right path or operating with the best of intentions… I find myself here.




but smarter, wiser and a little bit funnier.

I knew the last time I fucked him that it was the last time. I knew it was temporary because I avoided kissing him after realizing how much I enjoyed doing so. The red flags were all there… I just wanted so badly to love him.

Regardless of desire, life hands you who you are and it turns out that the same goes for the people you want.