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

Monk

I’ll be sitting at the table across from him in two hours and thirty-five minutes. I sort of want to throw up. He’s celibate until January, so we’re arriving separately and I should probably not shave my legs.

Yeah right. I stopped just short of my arms. I exfoliated and threw on a fresh coat of spray tan. Plucked my eyebrows, painted my nails and sat down to unwrap the fishnet stockings I bought. His texts came whistling in and my nerves really started to sink in. Oh my god… what am I doing? I’ve been up since 4:30 and I’m sick to my stomach with nerves. I said a silent prayer that he was canceling.

G- Can we agree on jeans so this isn’t so stressful?

J- Absolutely.

I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that this works in my favor. I fit into my favorites today and my Songbird immediately noticed.

S- Are those the jeans?

J- Yeah.

S- Let me see. Turn around & lift up your shirt. Oh yeahhhhhhh. Nice! Get some.

J- Shut it, I’m already terrified.

So I’m dressed and ready… with too damn much time on my hands to obsess about the what-if’s. Also, I have a bad case of the lazies. I don’t want to drive 45 minutes for a date. That’s lame. Especially if I’m not getting laid. #sorrynotsorry  That’s the kind of driving time you invest for a threesome, not dinner. I realize I’m being an asshole. But still.

Texts from Incredicock have me hot and bothered. I would much rather have 30 orgasms delivered, than go in search of frustration. I worked all day and would rather not drive any further than home. Lazy? Maybe. So shoot me. All this pomp and circumstance is a pain in my frustrated ass.

I made the drive with my running playlist screaming in my ears. Not hearing a word because I hate this first date stuff more than anything. I’m not sure what happens to me. I’m confident in a big crowd. I can approach a group of strangers and make friends. I’m friendly, funny and not terrible to look at. This should NOT be this difficult.

It’s torture. If I hadn’t already had a wonderful first date with this beautiful creature, I’d be sorely tempted to turn around and go home. I was fifteen minutes early and ordered a dirty martini when I got to the table. The waiter started to babysit me when he was 15 minutes late. A text comes thumping into my phone and I can’t help but grin. It’s He-Who-I-Crave, asking me how the date is going. I tell him he’s late and he tells me to calm down. I’m exhausted and the martini is turning my joints to jelly, absolutely and completely ready to climb into bed. I was playing on my phone when he came walking in and he instantly looked horrified when he saw my empty martini glass.

G- Am I late or were you really early?

J- You’re about a half hour late.

G- Will you ever forgive me?

J- Maybe.

I stood up to side-hug him a chaste hello, and he tugged me out of the booth and into his arms. I’m thankful for the martini on board, because I am REALLY green when it comes to dating. I’ve had 2 in 5 years. I must have looked a little shocked because he laughed and kissed me all over my face like I do to my little one. Laughing, I pushed him away from me and we sat down. The waiter came rushing over to introduce himself.

G- Thank you Dave, for keeping my lovely date company while I so rudely kept her waiting.

D- It was my pleasure, sir. Can I bring you something to drink?

Mr. Grey looks at me and winks.

G- May I order for us? I remember you liking that.

Am I alone in this? Is this a weird thing? Nothing makes me happier than a man who takes charge and orders my dinner. My dad is a chef and always ordered for all of us. I suppose this is one of those golden Daddy issues. Seems harmless enough to me and I am quite pleased he remembers and rises to the occasion.

Sidenote: This can really backfire if you’re on a date with someone you don’t know well. I ate a piece of salmon on a date once, while I watched him eat steak. It was our last date. Same goes if he eats his steak well done. I’m sorry, but I just can’t take that guy seriously.

G- We’ll both have the filet. Mid-rare with salad, vinaigrette on the side.

I’m pleased. He knows it. He grins at me and says the dirtiest thing I’ve heard in ages.

G- Do you want some mozzarella sticks? They’re really good here. Deep fried, melted cheese? Come on…

J- Don’t talk dirty to me in front of Dave. No thank you, but I appreciate the visual.

Dave left and we caught up about kids and life until our dinner came. Honestly I feel so bad for every poor vegetarian in the world, because cow is amazing. Eating a filet when you’ve been on a strict diet of what that filet ate, is nothing short of an out of body experience. I started considering how I could grow a cow and whether or not I could eat it if I raised it. That’s how good it was.

As far as my date goes. He’s pretty in that rich guy, manicured way. He definitely has his nails done. He smells like Nordstrom and I’d bet he bought what he’s wearing there. I’d be willing to bet a million dollars that his socks are bright white. Gone is the college guy I dated almost a decade ago and in his place is the grown up version of my original vice factory.  He’s recovering from a broken heart with a year of celibacy.

He’s hot and broken, like all my favorite things are.

J- Thank you for dinner, it was delicious and it is wonderful to see you.

G- You’d challenge a monk’s vows with that look in your eyes.

J- I’d never date a monk.

G- What about a feminist?

J- ? Explain?

G- I believe in the feminist movement. You’re still a legend in my psyche for taking me to Deja Vu but I don’t encourage misogynistic behavior.

J- No second date to the titty bar, huh?

G- No.

J- Never?

G- No.

Well, then. That’s a buzz kill.

A celibate feminist.

Isn’t that kind of the same as a monk?

monk

Hungry

Something happens when I start running again. The first week is agony, the second gets a lot easier and by the third week? I’m running before bed and getting up early to squeeze in a half hour before I have to get the day started.

Obsessed? Sure.

However, I could spend a good half hour discussing the magic of ice cream and talking to me about pasta could turn you on because I have pornographic feelings for carbohydrates. I had half a peanut butter and raspberry jelly sandwich for lunch yesterday and my Songbird laughed.

S- That is the saddest lunch I’ve ever seen.

Honestly? It’s so fucking delicious that I have to close my eyes to chew it. Peanut butter is contraband. Bread is off limits. Jelly is a complete waste of calories.

But MY GOD. I can still fantasize that sandwich back into my mouth. It was worth it. I’ve been eating kale and swiss chard for months. By some stroke of good luck, a deer got stuck INSIDE my garden fence last week and annihilated every last leaf. The blessed sandwich was a result of that & nerves over my date tonight.

I bagged up another size to take to the thrift store and zipped into my very favorite jeans. Aaaahhhh. There are huge rewards to starvation and pain. These jeans are worth a year of kale. The sight of my ass in these pants is more satisfying than food and I know from previous experience that the beautiful man I’m seeing is an ass man. I added two new squats this week and it feels like I got stung by a bee when I sit down. That means it’s working, right?

Reaching for my coffee feels like an aerobic move and I can feel my entire muscular structure when I type. To say I’m sore is quite the understatement. I’m a tightly wound bundle of nervous tension and my mind is wandering in places it shouldn’t. I sent Mr. Incredicock a picture, thanked him for putting my fingers back on the keys and fucking me so well I have the confidence to go on this date. Then deleted him out of my phone for my own good because I crave him in the worst way. Great sex is a mixed blessing when you can’t have it whenever you want, and fucking him is like experimenting with heroin.

Even the thought of him gets me back on the damn elliptical machine. Contrary to popular belief, you can actually run from your problems. It does amazing things for your ass.

I’m mid run when Mr. Grey calls. I can’t talk so he’s telling me about his day and the cases he’s litigating in court tomorrow. I’m trying not to pant and he stops mid sentence.

G- Where are my manners? Hello Miss. How’s your day?

J- Great!

G- I can’t wait to see you.

Off the elliptical. Breathless, sweaty and a little sick to my stomach with nerves.

G- Bring your appetite. They’re known for steak and I know you’re hungry.

Someone should warn him just how right he is.

Glasses

My little Dumpling is reading and we spend many hours sounding out words. Many. So when her teacher pulled me aside, I didn’t expect what she said.

C- I think she needs glasses. She strains to see and rubs her eyes a lot.

I looked over where she was playing and began to worry. It’s funny how you can completely miss something until someone points it out. My mind started to mull over every detail of the last 5 years. How in the hell did I not know?

I picked her up that afternoon and started questioning her.

J- Do your eyes hurt? Can you see my face?

D- What are you talking about? I can see your head but my seat is behind yours, mama.

I tend to panic a little when something is potentially wrong with one of my babies. My son was born with a rare eye condition and we spent his first year in scary pediatric ophthalmologist hell. I’m aware this is routine for people who wear glasses.

I’m just one of those lucky assholes with perfect vision. It breaks my heart that I have it and she doesn’t.

She does not share my sorrow. She counted down the days to her appointment and marched in with glee. Her initial exam was difficult to watch. The Dumpling is blind as a bat. She could pick out one or two letters correctly, but even at 2″ tall, she struggled. I fought back tears, feeling like the worst mother in the world that my poor blind child has just been stumbling around in a blurry world.

That glee she rode in on turned to horror with a few well placed eye drops to dilate her eyes for the exam.  She climbed into my lap, buried her face in my chest and sobbed.

D- I don’t want glasses anymore.

Out of nowhere, the Long Island Medium of eye wear appeared.

LIM- OH HONEY!!! DON’T CRY! LET’S PICK OUT SOME GLASSES!!!!

Dr.- Full time. She’s nearsighted with pretty serious astigmatism. If she were just nearsighted then she’d see clearly up close, but with her degree of astigmatism, everything is blurry.

Thanks doc. I didn’t feel horrible enough yet. I do now.

The spikey haired screamer is handing my Dumpling a pile of pink frames. Oh no.

LIM- OHH LOOK!!! PURPLE?

D- No thank you.

LIM- HERE! TRY THEM ON?

D- No.

She’s specific. She’s half shielding her eyes and frowning quietly at anything less than shocking pink. She will not even try another color on. Her patience is running low with the excited saleswoman.

D- Can we be done?

I love kids. I wish I had the balls to say the same.

LIM- I SAVED THE BEST FOR LAST!!!!

Fuck.

VB Ada

She runs over and grabs a sparkling pink pair of frames from the top row of kids glasses. I know to stay away from the top row in the store. Regardless of where you are. It’s just as deadly at the liquor store as it is shopping for glasses. I see the tiny one sit up straight and grin.

Fuuuuuck.

She slips them on and flashes my own naughty grin back at me.

D- I want theeeeeeeeeeeeeeese.

Of course she does. She’s my daughter. Her father is equally as bad. We are absolutely doomed when she’s a teenager. I shoot a murderous eyebrow at the Long Island Medium.

J- Do I even want to know? Let me guess. They’re the very most expensive, aren’t they?

She smiles, guiltily and nods her head yes. Fucking awful lady. My patience is draining from my already strained face.

LIM- They’d run around $400 with lenses.

J- Absolutely not. We’ll take the $150 version and call it good. Thank  you.

I picked the Dumpling up and carried her back to the waiting room, where she gave me hell.

D- But I don’t want those. I want the ‘spensive pink ones.

J- Sorry love, we’ll find them somewhere else for less. That’s wayyyyy too much money for glasses. That lady is a jerk for showing them to you.

Yeah. I hope she heard me.

We went back for her exam after her eyes had time to dilate and I honestly can’t even put it into words. Seeing her take the test again after he’d fine tuned the lenses to correct her vision, was amazing.

The letters started to get smaller and she started to guess faster. I watched them shrink on the screen, heard a giggle catch in her throat… and I bawled. I can hardly wait for her glasses to come in. It’s going to be really amazing to see her see everything again for the first time.

That damn woman followed us out, shouting at the Dumpling that she had  14 sleeps until they were in. I could see the confusion on her face as I pulled her out the door.

D- 14 sleeps? I want to go to school.

J- Don’t listen to that woman. Two weeks and your glasses will be in.

D- WHAT?? That’s the whole reason we came here.

J- They have to make them for your eyes. Patience is a virtue.

D- I’m patient for those pink ones.

J- Damn that woman.

D- POTTY TALK!

Life with a five year old co-pilot is hilarious. I’m awfully excited to see what she thinks when she finally gets to see the world around her. ♥

Buy, buy, Baby.

The people closest to me know I am something of a bedding snob.

I worship at the altar of thread count and Egyptian cotton. Deep pocket sheets, silky soft duvets with oversize mother of pearl buttons, down comforters, fluffy soft pillows… I love it all. I don’t spend much time in bed, but when I do? It’s paradise.

I would rather have 800 beautiful threads per inch from the Goodwill, than brand new percale from Walmart. I’d honestly rather sleep in a chair. If you don’t believe there’s a difference, email me. I’ll lead you to the promised land.

Mr. Grey just bought a house and is shopping for the necessary and desired things to fill it. It’s somewhat painful to watch a man shop for necessities with all the effort of a Craigslist search.

Anything will NOT do. I’m ridiculously frugal whilst being an enormous snob. It’s a challenge to find the very best at the lowest price, but I’m a savvy shopper. This is that one place in my life where my stubborn nature, actually helps out.

I canceled our date. I’m not in the mood for visual foreplay that’s 80 days out. I’m already having a hard week and I have enough sense to tap out when I know I need to. He was delightfully sweet about it.

G- Where would you recommend I buy bedding online?

Oh.

My.

Here we go.

He’s a shark. I’m absentmindedly biting a hole in my lip while his texts whistle in on top of each other like a digital orgasm.

G- Sheets, a duvet, a down comforter and pillows.

This stealthy man belongs in slate grey and Hungarian Goose down. Also if I’m sleeping in that bed, I’m buying my favorites.

Or he is. I filled up the shopping cart at my very favorite place to outfit my bed and hesitated. The one I want to put in the cart is $800.

C881E870-D8B3-4E93-887F-4419B54F220B

Of course I picked out my favorite. Sheets yesterday. Feathers today. Be still my heart.

$1,320.29 later… it’s shaping up to be a spectacular slumber party.

F9BD63DE-0640-432B-BF85-4EAEC28D97E6

Pretty Bandaid

I started my day with a pep talk: Fake it till you make it, honey. Smile through those tears and wear a little extra makeup to cover up those puffy eyelids and the sadness you can’t hide. Wear your favorite panties and the hot pink bra. Feel better. In any way. 

I got up at 4 and ran until I felt like I was going to puke. Eight pounds in each hand with three more strapped to each ankle. Physical strain beats heartache any day and it’s amazing what sweat can wash away.

Fitting into a smaller size sure doesn’t start the day off on the wrong foot and the aching muscles I feel when I move, comfort me somehow. I’m at least coping in a healthy way, albeit obsessive. I may die of sexual frustration and heartache, but I will do my best to look damn fine in the process.

Which is when my pretty distraction comes whistling in to save my sad day.

IMG_8727img_8728.png

In 85 more days, you bet your sweet ass I’ll have those bamboo sheets on my bed.

In the meantime, I have an extremely hot shopping date tomorrow. We’re going shopping for bedding and menswear.

I played with Barbies as a child. I’ve been training for this date since I was 8 years old. I can hardly think about him without wrapping him up in imaginary slate grey polished cotton and pinstriped neckties. Don’t even get me started on his sheets.

I’d like to coordinate him to his bed, for purely selfish reasons.

Nordstrom, Restoration Hardware and Express for Men. This calls for fishnets.

Because if Barbie taught us all anything, it’s to plan on a clothes change when you least expect it, and I may adhere to his vow of celibacy, but I don’t intend to make it easy. bait