My spray tan is just simply the best thing I’ve found since english muffin bread. Seriously. I’m delighted with my spray paint and happy to say it does not make me look orange (though I’ve heard it can). I had several emails asking how it turned out- so here’s a picture.
Not so orange, and never so happy…
Happy weekend, my friends… do something fun that makes you smile. Joy is free and happiness is contagious.
Spread some around. ♥
Miss Everything smiles at me and says…
E- Sit. You need to see this movie, today is the perfect day.
J- He’s just not that into you? Fuck… I could write the sequel.
Every woman, everywhere, needs to see this movie. My favorite quote?
Girls are taught a lot of stuff growing up. If a guy punches you he likes you. Never try to trim your own bangs and someday you will meet a wonderful guy and get your very own happy ending. Every movie we see, Every story we’re told implores us to wait for it, the third act twist, the unexpected declaration of love, the exception to the rule. But sometimes we’re so focused on finding our happy ending we don’t learn how to read the signs. How to tell from the ones who want us and the ones who don’t, the ones who will stay and the ones who will leave. And maybe a happy ending doesn’t include a guy, maybe… it’s you, on your own, picking up the pieces and starting over, freeing yourself up for something better in the future. Maybe the happy ending is… just… moving on. Or maybe the happy ending is this, knowing after all the unreturned phone calls, broken-hearts, through the blunders and misread signals, through all the pain and embarrassment you never gave up hope. - Gigi, He’s just not that into you.
I actually caught myself telling my daughter last week that the only reason some little fucker kicked her in the ankle, was because he liked her. How retarded could I possibly be? That’s one lesson I can throw away. In fact when she comes home from school today, I’m going to put the brakes on that entire theory. I’m going to tell her the truth.
He kicked her because he’s an asshole in the making and his parents are doing a shitty job of teaching him to keep his hands to himself.
Nice boys don’t hurt nice girls. Assholes do. It does not mean he likes you.
It means he’s an asshole. It’s really that simple.
It means he thinks it’s ok to hurt you, and we need that just as much as we all need an invasive case of head lice.
Nice men don’t juggle women. A solid valuable man wants to outdo every other man that ever had the privilege of being as lucky as he is when he’s in the pleasure of your company. Good men are smart. They value you and the things that attracted them to you initially, but more than that?
They value themselves…. enough to want to impress you. Enough to care about what you think about him.
Just like us? When they really like you, they go out of their way to show you.
The guy that really is into you, goes out of his way to show it. He calls. Consistently. He pursues you and you smile about him when you think about him. There’s not a swarm of crazy women around him because he wants you to value what a good man he is too. He’s worthy, and he can see that you are too. That’s the guy we’re supposed to like. The one who loves you in pajamas as much as he loves you in a cocktail dress. The guy who shows you off to his friends. The one who puts you first because he loves that you make him feel that way too.
Nothing is fun about being lied to. Jealousy only breeds a low self esteem and poor choices. Anyone willing to make you feel that way or tie you to the railroad tracks of their “indiscretions” is clearly not the one for you.
He’s not the exception. He’s the rule, and unfortunately they outnumber the exceptions about 10 to 1.
Life is messy. Life is fraught with pain and suffering the consequences of making the same mistake and expecting different results. Learning the same lesson a hundred times in a row and feeling like an idiot by being shocked about it happening all over again.
But…
If I didn’t have faith… and if I didn’t know that I’m absolutely worth it… I’d close this stupid book on dating and throw in the towel. I’d give up… and give in… and the last chapter in my life would be of someone that didn’t respect or appreciate me.
How tragic would that be?
I’d rather write a happy ending… thankyouverymuch. I’d rather tell you that it really does exist. I’d rather not be such a whiner.
Frankly I’d rather be typing about my trip to the Virgin Islands right now.
I’d rather be sex blogging the man I adore, straight out of the water. It’s so much more fun than facing the absolute reality.
He just wasn’t that into me.
I was stupid. I thought I would be “different” even though I knew several amazing people that had suffered the same fate before me. I absolutely handed him my self respect on a silver platter.
I may as well have tied a bow around my neck… because I didn’t ask for a thing in return, and even the most simple of basic human kindnesses, were mind blowing.
That would be my fault as well. It’s ok to expect kindness. We expect our children to be kind and polite, why the hell wouldn’t we expect the same from the men in our lives?
So…
I bought yarn…and a sweater pattern… and until it’s done? I’m climbing out of the pool.
I’m done. I’m taking a sabbatical from men, entirely.
I need to like myself enough to ask for a helluva lot more than I’ve been settling for.
……..besides….. I’d rather be knitting than dating douche bags.
Day 17 → A book you’ve read that changed your views on something.
<stepping up to tie my cherry apron on> I must admit… The book that most shaped me- or my life… is The Joy of Cooking, by By Irma von Starkloff Rombauer. I was 9 when my dad gave me my first copy. I started playing with him in the kitchen and he was painfully honest. I learned to follow a recipe exactly, and how to create my own. I learned to have confidence in myself, but also how to be humbly hopeful someone will like what you make. I learned how to bake myself happy 
Thankfully Weight Watchers taught me how to bake myself thin because I come from generations of comfort eaters.Food-Is-Love-Is-Food in my family. I knew from an early age I couldn’t out cook my Dad… but I knew I could out-bake him. He was mercilessly critical when I deserved it- and praised me by putting things I’d made on the menu. My Dad is the definition of go big or go home.
So armed with my Joy of Cooking- I learned to bake.
My first pie was the plain old Apple pie recipe on page 651. It’s the same recipe I still use. It’s wonderful. The secret is to use Jonagold apples.
I learned how to can with this cookbook- and I learned how to debone a fish. I still pretty much suck at tying a roast. I make a mean chocolate eclair.
All thanks to the Joy of Cooking.
30 Days of Truth, Day 2- Something about yourself that you love.
Sigh…
Again… this is about the worst idea I’ve had in blog-land… or perhaps the very worst timing, if nothing else.
At any rate… I agreed… and I’ll cooperate… though reluctantly.
I love that I’m not afraid of anything. If I had a nickel for every time someone told me I was crazy for having planted an acre veggie garden… I’d quit gardening. I suppose that ruins the point… but it’s true. Preconceived notions and ideals don’t intimidate me. Being alone doesn’t scare me any more than being unhappy.
I’m not afraid.
I’m cautious… but I never let fear dictate the decisions I make. Which is half the battle, if you ask me. I’ve been there. I know how bad it can be. I’ll never be there again. Which completely takes any fear out of the equation. I’m half way there without trying. Surely that has to count for something.
I value the end result so much more, because I’ve learned to not be afraid. It’s really that simple…and so very difficult at the same time.
Worth working towards- because after all… you know what they say?
The only thing to fear, is fear itself. – FDR
It’s my visitation day with Daisy…the dog my ex took with him when he moved out. The kids have been hounding me for days but it’s been a while since I talked to him- and I’m enjoying that. It’s been hell at times- and every time I’ve caved and agreed to see him- I’ve regretted it. We were together for a long time- and I sort of dislike him a little for all the chaos he brought (and left, lol) into my life. I worried for a long time that I was making a huge mistake- that I should be happy for the love he brought into my life- and that he was just… unconventional. Then reality hit.
I was talking to a friend last night on the phone when she laughed and said “You’re practically purring with satisfaction- you’ve got some big secret guy you’ve kept hidden away from everyone & all to yourself- and he’s going to take one look at the shit eating grin on your face- not to mention your constantly shrinking ass- and know something is up. If you think for a second, that anyone is fooled into believing you’re just high on single life- think again”
Is it really that obvious? I went through the pictures on my camera and realized she had a point. I feel like the cat that swallowed the canary.
He drives up… with my dog crammed in a cat carrier hooked to the back of his motorcycle. If I didn’t know the dog would rather be with him than anyone- I’d take her back- but she’s happy- and loves him. Go figure.
He comes in with her, and I can feel his eyes burning holes into my back. I reach over and grab the Cheetos puffs- realizing for the third time that I eat whenever he comes over. Shit… I put the damn bag back. He smiles at me, eyes me up and down- and says “Maybe I could stop by tomorrow and say hi”
Yeah right. He means that as much as I do when I say I’m only happy because I’m single.
For the past 6+ years he’s consistently made me feel like I had to be something else- or like I was a project of his. Hot- but not hippy enough. Funny- but not as funny as him. Sexy- but not understanding enough about the stuff he wanted that freaked me out. Smart- but not a “free-thinker”. Never mind the facts or details. I’ve learned that people who make you feel bad about yourself, only do it so they can offer you less and feel justified. Priceless realization that came when he said “I think if you really loved me, and you really care about what turns me on, that you’d be in perfect shape all the time” Not much you can say to that, huh? Besides “Pass the Cheetos”…
I turned and faced the awkward situation head on and at that very second…
“Because your love, your love, your love…is my drug” comes blaring out of my phone as it vibrates off the counter and on to the floor.
A text message from the object of my affection- I bite my lip to keep from beaming but there’s no hope. I’m dying for him to leave so I can read it- and it’s written all over my face.
Oh Oh OMG… This mystery man- this addictive man- should have a warning label for the response he elicits with a simple text message.
I smiled, & shook my head no. “Call tomorrow when you’re on the way to get her so I know we’ll be here- thanks- drive safely!”
Incidentally- I highly recommend the canary.
