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.

img_8473.pngIMG_8474

#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.

 


Sweet 16,000

I realized this morning that my blog has been viewed over 16,000 times. I have a few different reactions to that…

Panicked… since you’ve read along with me accepting my PHD, learning that I should avoid my favorite beverage, actually I’ve learned the Goose lesson a few times in the last few year. Here… and yet again. I told you,  I never learn the easy way. Isn’t the hard way more fun anyway?

Bitchy… though I’ve quit whining so much since I shook the dirty hippie.

Proud… of my son and daughter, and of myself, because it’s been a long year.

Relieved… because you’ve been there for me through the worst relationship of my life. Trying to love himtrying to leave himlearning how to stand up for myself… and finally, outing him as the shitbag he really is. Most of all I’m relieved it’s over.

Humble…You’ve had unlimited patience for my heathen ass lately… my learning to love being single… and a little slutty. You haven’t even thrown rocks at me when I’ve realized how blind I’ve been. Even when I whine about it.

Flexible… I’ve been brown and blonde… I like blonde better.

Embarrassed… because you’ve seen me through the nightmare that is Internet Dating, and there are so many bad dates to recount it’s funny.

Shy… because I’ve admitted to liking some scandalous shit in the last few months…such as a filthy mouth.

Sexy…I don’t get a lot of shit for it (and know some of you would LOVE to chew my ass out a little about him…I have to stop and thank those of you who fall in that category, for not giving me too hard a time about my Shark… consider the sweet satisfaction in rubbing my ex’s nose in my happiness… the leg-shaking earth rocking fun I have with him…and the delicious sexpot he’s turned me into. Scorching hot pornographic dreams certainly don’t hurt.

Domestic… because I garden, cook, can & bake the pants off most people.

Crafty… you’ve seen me through too many Halloween costumes to count… not to mention my ridiculous knitting addiction and Duct tape roses. White trash prom was enough crafty fun to last me a while 🙂

I’m learning, slowly… but I’m trying.

Thanks for hanging in there with me.

🙂


If I wanted a puppy…I’d buy one.

It’s the college edition of internet dating. The young ones are out in full force today. Brace yourselves. You can tell school’s out and the boys need something to do… bless their hearts.

Searching

I love Sandpoint and you sound like a cool girl. I don’t fit your age specs but give me a chance?

The guy is 23 years old. Twenty three. Lord Have Mercy. No.

and then I realize… that’s the age difference between my ex and I… and it never bothered me… and why shouldn’t karma make things swing back around in my favor…

No… Sorry- no cradle robbing.

Hello

I love your profile and wondered if you’d make an exception on your age requirements. I just got my Masters in Social Work and I’m very responsible, I swear! I love to garden, and I would love to help you. Friends? Michael

Nowwww we’re talking! Give me one that wants to weed in the garden- I’ll date him. At least until the garden’s weeded…

lol… sorry. I’m kidding. I do have to give the guy credit though- nobody’s offered to help weed yet, I may go on a date with him just because he offered. I just couldn’t take him seriously as a boyfriend- sorry. I don’t know though, he certainly tempted me by offering to help. I’d be worried that I’d completely objectify him… which really wouldn’t be nice. They sure are cute when they’re twenty though- huh?

Farm boy

Im a farmer too. Hows your night?

Good Grief… this cute little farm boy is 21… as in just barely legal drinking age. Yikes. I feel like I should have to apologize to his mom.

Looking for you

A domestic goddess is the key to happiness. When are we going and where? Luke

Helllllllo Luke. Luke is 24… and full of game, lol 🙂 I should embrace my inner mudshark and date this gorgeous little thing. But I have a soul… and a conscience… and a crush. Bummer.

Football?

You even like football? Your the perfect woman. Lets get married this weekend so I always remember our anniversary. Kevin

Kevin’s seem to like me these days. Gotta love a spontaneous marriage proposal from a 25 year old cutie. Don’t like the Seahawks though Kev- sorry.

Dance

Busy friday? I wanna take ur hot ass dancin. Steven

Oh goodie- finally one that fits my stereotype. Sad thing is… he’s 27. Older than the younger boys… and still just… Young. Tempting though- it’s been a long time since I dated someone who could dance. Like… forever.

Funny huh? They’re all so cute- and so… twenty-something. Hmmm…

The creepy thing?

My profile has been viewed 3,487 times.

eeeek.


I must have “Breeder” tattooed on my face somewhere.

I’m beginning to wonder.

Sigh.

I have a date Friday… with Rick… handpicked by me… and my shark.

If there were ever a bigger sign you need to get over him… it’s his choosing who will be replacing him, right?

Then I get another email…

Hey baby,

I have a big city mentality. I think more of the big picture as opposed to the week. Having a nice home I own and a running vehicle is more important to me than having a toy for each season and a vehicle worth more than the place I live in.

I love nice shoes but wearing them in Idaho is not much of an option. I am not one to think like a lot of girls I have met. I can’t see someone saying I want marriage and kids by the end of the year. The white picket fence, kids, and marriage at 18 years old is not attractive to me. It is now and that’s what I’m looking for in a woman. Do you want to have more kids?

I also just remembered that Fathers Day is Sunday so my dad and I will go out for dinner probably Monday. Where do you want to go Friday?

Rick

Dammit. All I can think of saying back to him is:

“Shhhhhh….. Don’t talk… I liked you so much more before you said anything” but somehow I think that could make my date on Friday a little awkward.

Let me be painfully honest.

I would love to have a delightfully scrumptious baby with the man of my dreams. You know the guy? The one that gets up in the middle of the night? The one that helps the other kids with homework because you’re nursing a baby and making dinner and canning salsa… etc…

But he doesn’t exist… unless you’re a whiny demanding bitch that wants to pass the baby off…

and that’s just not me. I’m good old fashioned territorial. If I grow it- it’s mine- and I’m not leaving it…

I’ve begun to believe I have this tattooed somewhere… because if I had a quarter for every man that emailed me asking me if I wanted to have his babies… I’d be able to maintain this fabulous single life forever…

and not wearing good shoes in Idaho…. Hmph. Makes me want to cancel.

and incidentally… I had the whole white picket fence thing… at 18…sooooooo

Rick,

Ok… You cannot call me baby yet…and in all fairness- if you met a woman who told you she wanted to be married & pregnant by the end of the year, wouldn’t it scare the hell out of you? I had the picket fence at 18- and while I wouldn’t trade a minute of it, it’d definitely be easier and perhaps more… treasured… the second time around. Hopefully we all learn to value the important things more the older we get, right? I spent the last 7 years with a non-committal guy… so I sort of gave up on my second white picket fence.

I don’t know Coeur d’ Alene very well- do you have a favorite place to go?

xo Jenni

I want shark.


It’s only Monday and we already have pervert of the week!

Its the first time I’ve gotten an email that demanded instant blogging.

May I introduce…. Vern.

Yur HOTTTT:

I like to ride my bike on long trips camping out along the way with a good woman with her on my bike or hers or even better ON me i like to cook but i am the only one that likes it sometimes i have big house in spakan with 3 BIG bedrooms you jus havent met the right 50 year old jus wait n see growl

I have to take a minute and say, once again, Thank God and All that is Holy that Match.com doesn’t give out your personal address. Seriously. I’d buy a gun tomorrow- and beg someone to teach me how to shoot it. Actually- I’d take Shawn’s advice and buy a shotgun that would definitely take this guy out.

His email is nearly a perfect description of hell on earth, for me.

1. Long trips on a bike… No. Never. I’ll happily kiss my husband goodbye and send him on his merry little way if that’s what he wants to do- but I’m past the point of doing shit I hate to impress the man I love.

2. Camping out along the way… I love to camp. Love it- but I’m a prepared camper. Just because you’re sleeping on the ground does not mean you have to suffer. Who likes to suffer? I want my kids to love camping, not dread it. I take air mattresses, down comforters… and my egyptian cotton sheets. To hell with anyone who would talk smack about my camping in comfort. Something tells me there’s not room for the sheets and air mattresses on the Harley. Not to mention- if you’re ass is stuck on the seat of a motorcycle all day long- shouldn’t you at least be able to look forward to a hotel room? Ugh- yuck.

3. Making a sexual reference in a first email is just nasty. Riding ON him? Suffice it to say- I’d become a man first…and we all know how likely that is. 3 BIG bedrooms… Yuck, gag, yuck. Shiver…

4.He likes to cook but sometimes he’s the only one that likes it… That’s so tempting. Especially for a girl who’s recently come to terms with a cooking fetish… No. I don’t ever want to be the only one in the relationship that can cook, ever again. I’ve officially been ruined for you Kraft Macaroni & Cheese boys. Thank Goodness.

5. The man is 59 years old… There are so many things wrong with him emailing me I don’t even know where to begin.

6. growl…. the man growled at me? Or is that his biker name? Does it really matter? lol

I couldn’t resist. 🙂

Vern

Generally I don’t take the time to write back to people who decide to boldly ignore what my profile states I’m looking for. But in your case, I decided to make an exception.

First and foremost- you’re nearly 60. I’m 33. It says you have children, and I’d be willing to bet they’re probably my age?  Making gross sexual references in your first email to a woman who could be your daughter’s age is disgusting- and you should really be ashamed of yourself. For both the perv-o email and the fact you can’t seem to capitalize, punctuate or spell the name of the city you live in.

Vern- go take a long hard look in the mirror… then at my picture. How often do you see that couple?

Bad form, Vern, seriously.

-J