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And then there were 30…

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I haven’t been writing lately. I’ve harvested an acre of veggies and have been busy wearing the hell out of my glass slippers. I rarely check my email. I sleep in. I go to bed early. I suppose you could say I’m simply enjoying the seconds tick by as I swim peacefully in my newfound fairytale. It’s been six months since I met my Superman… yet each day is better than the last.

Those happily ever after rumors… are true. I don’t have nightmares anymore; it’s all one big dream about white veils and baby socks. I AM the luckiest woman, ever born.

I find myself wishing I could erase the past two years of my life. If I could find a way to highlight and delete them, I would.

Alas, I cannot- and I would be remiss to do so. I’ve written so honestly because I find that we’re all in the same boat… the difference between me and so many others, is that I admit it.

I admit I’ve failed and I admit I don’t have all the answers. While I’d love to put my judgemental panties on each morning and convince a bunch of strangers that I’m perfectly perfect and an award winning mother, instead I admit that my firstborn hates me and I have a laundry list of douchebags I never should have gotten within an inch of. All of whom you’ve seen me fall prey to.

Ok so in some instances, I’ve ran towards the fire while being totally and completely convinced that someone as nice as I am, could not possibly get burned, AGAIN.

A word to the wise? I’ve been burned every time. A kind soul and a trusting heart render you highly flammable.

I set the world on fire with a heart determined to believe in true love, armed only with a glamorous pair of rose colored glasses and more faith than any woman should be entrusted with.

For a very long time, I failed. For a VERY long time, I had taste bad enough to qualify me as a serious contender in the douche bag Olympics, willing sacrifice division.

Then I got my delusional ass on a plane to Puerto Rico and learned in the hardest way of all. First hand. It’s safe to say I was at rock bottom. It’s fair to say I was lost. It’s honest to admit I was a train wreck. Having been lied to, cheated on, stolen from and disrespected in every way imaginable, I bought the biggest line of crap I’d ever been offered.

Thomas Joseph Murray had followed my blog for years. He’d read of my heartache, my betrayal and my disappointment. He knew how crushed I was and he knew I was ripe for the picking. A ridiculously expensive ticket later, my hair curled and green eyes clouded with hope… I flew away to collect my glass slippers from my prince.

Only to find he was the original prince of darkness, himself.

Fortunately, I was spared a lifetime with a lying con-man, and came home a helluva lot wiser.

You’ve all read the details of my disastrous island adventure, and though I walked away with an interested publisher and a dozen calls from rabid agents… I came home with the most priceless souvenir of all. My self-respect, gift wrapped with red ribbon and humility. My faith was intact, because I truly believe in good men, and refused to watch it end up in a bitter box of thrift store donations scarred by memories of a trip gone wrong.

I threw my favorite shoes away. I tossed every pair of panties I was ever stupid enough to let him touch. I burned the love letters and dumped my perfume down the drain. I did what I could to wash myself clean of the nightmare that is Thomas.

Then the women started to roll in, after I bared my ass and shared my heartache with the world. The women with so much more lost than me. The woman who’d given him 15 years of her life and never knew he was married. The woman who’d sacrificed her chance with a real man and real babies… to sit around waiting for more strategically planned lies. Worst of all? The woman who took his name and slept beside their child while he slept beside me.

God bless the good saint Natalie- who bears a burden larger than the one anyone else has ever been saddled with.

I’m fairly convinced he regrets me most, which is nothing short of a hilarious point my closest friends laugh about with me.

Thomas, Thomas, Thomas…

When you fall in love with a woman’s angry words and you KNOW what a douchebag you are, it should come as no surprise that you will end up on the chopping block at some point. When you lie to a woman with a very public platform, you have to know you’re going to suffer the brunt of the same drama that attracted you to her in the first place.

Well…assuming you’re not evil, and it’s safe to say after now 30 women have come to me one way or another via Google.

Call me naïve, but I am still so surprised each time someone emails me with another heartbreaking tale of deceit at Thomas’ hands. We’re all so eloquent, so beautiful- and so full of hope. We all have so many stellar qualities in common.

Unfortunately, we all have one bad man in common as well.

A few weeks ago I was fighting a bout of insomnia on the couch and a story came on one of my favorite shows. “Who the bleep did I marry” showcased a blogger, named Andie Nash who had her very own Thomas. Simon Reid had lied and cheated her. He’d made an unwitting homewrecker of her as well. She wrote about her heartache and his deceit, and had the same experience I did. Women started to contact her, and ultimately they arranged a little “coming to Jesus” party for Simon, complete with news crews. Andie isn’t stupid, and as a beautiful successful woman, was by no means a charity case.

Simon is simply of the same tribe as Thomas. The lying, cheating douchebag tribe.

The women they conned were hopeful, loving and wanting the same things we all want. A man to love that will love them back, honestly. They all wanted someone to treasure and bless with the beauty of a wonderful woman. Nobody sets out to find a liar. Not a woman alive wants another woman’s cheating husband.

There are bad men in the world, but there are also superhero men who pride themselves on being different from the assholes carrying the same genitalia.

Andie Nash and I have gotten our happily ever after end results to a rocky path we both unwittingly stumbled upon. We’ve gone on and done better and found happiness that’s real and fulfilling. We’re the successful end to a cautionary tale. We’re also a bold reminder for anyone looking to deceive someone. Whatever you do- don’t fuck with a blogger.

Thomas will never darken another day, for me. He’s relocated to the cold Pennsylvania he claimed to loathe, he’s definitely lost the wife who made his home warm and inviting and hopefully his children have turned away from the poor example he sets. It’s safe to assume Simon has felt the same karmic slap in the face. It doesn’t pay to lie, but when you lie to a blogger with an intense following, you’ll find yourself working overtime to cover your ass.

Then there’s that pesky Google… which has really taken the douchebag to task, in my experience. A new email comes weekly, sometimes two…. hell sometimes ten. It always starts with “I’m not sure why, but I Googled his name and found you”. We have an arsenal of tools available that thwart even the shadiest of jerks and any woman who fails to use them will certainly kick herself at some point. The amount of information that hit me upon my return from Puerto Rico was stunning. His wife’s phone number was listed on their vacation rental. She was blogging too, and with pictures he’d sent me from THEIR home. If I’d done my research, I could have found her before I learned the hard way.

Google. Use it. Believe what you see. Inform yourself and set your feet on a smooth path as a result. I don’t share intimate details of my nightmare to torment him; I share them to protect the unsuspecting women in his path who are poised to suffer the same fate.

I have a gold plated vagina card, and I am not afraid to use it. I have an extensive vocabulary and a platform and I will burn a motherfucker’s house of cards down, if need be. I’m a woman, I’m a deadly threat and I’m a wealth of nasty adjectives when the opportunity calls for it. I heard from three women last week that are positively broken by the lies and broken promises that Thomas fed them.

I’ll proudly put on a pair of redundant panties if it means I don’t hear from another devastated lovely woman.

Dammit Thomas, would you fucking quit already? It’s gotten REAL old and I’m not at all amused about having to take off my glass slippers to put my shit kickers on.

The Douche Bag That Wont Quit

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They say a picture is worth a thousand words… and I’d say it’s true in this case.

I really didn’t want to fight with the sociopath that is Thomas, ever again… but if he isn’t going to go away? I will happily rise to the occasion, but it annoys me that he’s interrupting my fairytale. I’m too happy to hate blog. I’ve met the man of my dreams and I’m floating inches off the ground, humming love songs and baking something I hope Superman’s mama will like. I’m in love- and watching my whole life make sense. I’ve never met someone so perfect for me and I’ve never been loved like this.

To have a moment darkened because of the sociopath that is Thomas, pisses me off. Just when you think it couldn’t get any worse, it does. He sinks lower and one more woman comes out of the woodwork.

To date, twenty women have contacted me having either been approached and wooed or worse, having had long term relationships with him. To say he juggled women is to say Houdini enjoyed magic. He charmed us, complimented us… then cut us down like grass, treated us as if we were easily expendable and created a sense of urgency in changing the things about us he didn’t like. A man masquerading as a Southern gentleman with a scary dark side. Jekyll and Hyde drunk on rum.

He works hard to make you feel lovely and adored. He does sweet things to make you feel special, but he also walks ahead of you with his back to you…and you always have the feeling somewhere in your heart that something just isn’t adding up. Weird…  It’s something we’ve all noticed. He’s a horribly embarrassing drunk to be around and he will humiliate you in ways you never dreamed possible when he gets angry.

More importantly?

He’s married. He has children. He lied to every one of us in one way or another regarding them. One woman who had a long term relationship contacted me and told me she didn’t know he had children.  Several didn’t know he was married… myself included, and he’s even still denied it to a few. In fact, when I inquired, I was chastised and ended up apologizing for being so rude as to ask such a thing. She lives in the house he sweet talks women with pictures of. She plants the gardens he charmed me with.

He continues to read my blog. He continues to tell people he’s going to sue me for slander and his attorneys have advised him not to comment. The problem with that is… he’d have a class action lawsuit against him. The bigger problem is that he’s done too many women, wrong. There are enough of us to be a pain in the ass big enough to require cute little red numbered Jerseys.

I’m not wearing a Scarlet Letter on his behalf, but I’m damn sure happy to wear the #1 Jersey, signifying the biggest pain in his ass.

He picked the wrong girl to lie to, and the wrong one to mislead. He picked the wrong girl to disrespect, given the fact he expected me not to write about it? Wtf? He’d been reading for a year… he knew the drill. Boys who lie, cheat & steal from me… end up on the block. Is anyone that surprised by that?

It’s not my fault for calling a douche bag, a douche bag. If you act like a dick, you deserve to get called one. It’s the reality and consequence of being disrespectful. Some women stalk, some women call, some women tell everyone the nitty gritty truth about your more intimate details…

I’m capable of doing any of the above, and then some. His friends, victims and potential targets are going to laugh as they read it. Even when I’m gutting him verbally… It’s still pretty funny. I never claimed to be anything but a bitch when treated terribly. I return the feeling, tenfold… and I share my thoughts with a few hundred people, anonymously.

The lesson in all that?

Don’t be a douche bag. Don’t be disrespectful. Don’t be a dick… and for goodness sake if nothing else, don’t be an idiot and go anywhere near a blogger. Think of a blog as douche bag Kryptonite, it doesn’t ever end well for the douche bag. This is my playground. Take your hurt douche bag ass and go the fuck away. I don’t like you, that’s why I’m verbally slaughtering you with the ugly truth about yourself. It’s not meant to be nice. It’s meant to return how bad you made me feel. Now be a dear, and fuck off. I have enough friends.

I’m open with the man I’m dating. I tried to explain this whole Thomas thing but it sounds like insanity. That’s because it is. This man targets women who fall victim to his lies. He’s a predator and he targets smart women. He is a modern day cad, and I’m still shocked when I look at the reality of this situation.

I went on the ultimate internet date. I flew 4,000 miles for a first date… like who knows how many other women he’s lured there. The hotel told the investigator that he was a regular there, and that they were worried about my safety. Somebody drugged my drink and I’m lucky I made it home safely. He’s a liar and a cheat and I’ve spoken to his wife. He isn’t in a business arrangement. They have children. She knew about his alcohol abuse, but not the cheating. I’ve found women that go WAYYYY back with him. She’d thought it was strange that he hadn’t answered her calls the weekend he was in Puerto Rico with me. He talked to a friend about work, on speakerphone so they knew I was in the car with him. He’s scary at how good he can play the part of the perfect boyfriend.

Until you add rum, and things go to hell faster than you can blink. He’s rude, loud and mean… and there’s no stopping the shit show that is Drunk Thomas. Sadistic and cold with every judgement he can muster up and hurl at your shocked face. He refers to himself as Tommy when he’s in that mode, and Tommy is every bit the jackass frat boy we all had the misfortune of experiencing at some point in our lives. He insults and shoves his way around… mistaking disgust for interest from the other women in the room. He talks shit to strange guys half his age. It’s embarrassing

Twenty women found me on accident, searching for their T, who they all remember with mixed emotions. I can’t even imagine how many there really are.

Here on my playground? A scoundrel is a douche bag is a target.

I laugh when they get offended. I honestly think it’s funny when they act wounded.

How dare I expect someone to be honest, faithful or respectful. I should just tuck my tail and walk away… right?

Um, no. I speak up and rip their douche baggy asses to shreds because it’s what men like Thomas Murray deserve. Millions of women tuck their tail and walk away from situations like this all the time.

Ok, perhaps not as bizarre as this one… but you know what I mean.

There are snakes in the grass everywhere. We all know someone similar to Thomas. I have the unholy trinity. Nathan, The Hoarder & Thomas. To clone those three would be like biological warfare. Womankind would crumble.

Unfortunately we all know these snakes. We’ve all had the misfortune of being lied to, cheated on or stolen from.

Life is not a bowl of cherries… but not all the cherries have worms, either.

Go ahead and read all about Thomas Joseph Murray, the philandering sweet talking southern nightmare, and avoid him at all costs.

Puerto Rico

I prefer to be singing love songs, fuck off Thomas and get your shit together- you’re starting to look tragic. …

The Last Straw

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Unfortunately my settings on one of these stupid dating sites has it chiming on my phone every time an email comes in, which is a lot. I finally sat down yesterday to change the settings in hopes of putting an end to the infernal distraction.

Success… oh and 22 new emails. I open the first one…

D- Hi.

That’s all. I see so many of these I just have to wonder what the hell these guys are thinking. You’re establishing contact with someone for the first time, hoping to spurn a response.

And all you’ve fucking got is Hi? Hello? Sup? Yo? Hey? I’ve seen them all and I never respond… but then you have to be a freak to ilicit a response from me because I’m only in it for the story at this point.

The playground is shut down for remodeling… and I’m a bored woman as a result. lol… I open the second email and it only gets better.


4/28/2012 11:50:37 AM

Let me guess.. You found my profile more than a bit on the vulgar side.. Perhaps a bit disturbing as
well. you must have had a few glasses of wine to have even clicked on it.. I know your type.. Your a
mile above me.. And your clearly more than a bit too classy for my common ass.. but I might just
surprise you… And it’s not like I would expect you to tell your friends about me 😉

This guy has emailed me three times, and frankly; he’s repulsive. He’s not my type, I would really be being mean if I dated him.

What really stuns me, is that they make this assumption about me based on one picture, and one paragraph. Enough to insult me for not being interested in them.

They say women are crazy? Oh no. The penis-clad species is equally as crazy, if not more so, because they’re entitled to their jealousy. We’re supposed to understand that boys can be boys and “well you know he’s a man… he’s bound to be protective.

Turn those tables and you know what they call that girl? A date crasher. A stalker. A bunny boiler. Fatal attraction.

He’s protective, masculine, he just loves you a lot.

No. He’s a stalker and if I come up missing, check his house.

Yikers. A stalker is a stalker, is a stalker- and this guy is getting his panties in a bunch because he’s emailed me three times and I haven’t responded, but he can see that I viewed his profile.

Imagine him in real life. He’s the guy who stalks you daily, the one who wants to read your emails, look at your phone and account for every minute in your day and who you came in contact with. He “just stops by” and “just stays for the weekend”. Allowing this guy into your life is like petting a raccoon. They can imprint on you and follow you for life. They come in through windows, dog doors, chimneys. If they love you- they will do anything to be next to you.

It reminds me of fungus- no thanks.

The next email is a perfect example of why I’d really love to meet a nice woman every now and again. If anything inspires me to switch teams… it’s this guy.



4/8/2012 12:18:29 AM
Wanna Chat

4/24/2012 10:59:16 PM
All girls like me I was in the military

4/24/2012 11:11:28 PM
And I have a very large penis

Yeah… he said that.

Like he actually expects a response finally that says “Oh well in that case, let’s chat” <eyeroll>

I don’t think I can even handle these internet retards any more. I may be officially ruined for men entirely.

Disgusted with the species… I signed out of the craziness that is meeting a date online.

I decided to make dinner and invite family over. My mama, her fabulous boyfriend, Sober One Kenobe and Mr. Man Card. My little princess.

Fresh pesto tortellini, asparagus, a green salad & garlic bread. Eclairs for dessert… with a glass of wine, around the kitchen table we’d pulled into the greenhouse and filled with spring flowers. It was a twinkly perfect evening full of the stuff that feels right. Family & friends and great food, laughing around the table in the light of white lights strung around the inside of the greenhouse with the smell of little tomatoes and flowers growing.

Internet dating cheapens what it’s supposed to be. You’re supposed to see a cute guy and smile. He’s supposed to ask for your number and you’re supposed to have dinner or something in this sort of circumstance. The twinkle lights are optional but I’d say they’re worth a few bonus points.

It’s supposed to be as good as dinner with your friends and family- it’s supposed to leave you smiling the next morning, washing a stack of dishes and throwing the tablecloth in the washer.

Internet dating is depressing- and that’s not what I’m looking for.

I can do without the creepy stalking oversharers.

I officially quit my internet presence as potential prey. I climbed out of the mud puddle.

……..and I feel cleaner already 🙂

Words fail me.

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Well… no… no they don’t. In fact, I’m a wordy deadly weapon every now and then and this man just happened to piss me off on a very wrong day. I’m simmering, damn annoyed and dying for a target. Exhausted and coming down with a cold that involves me feeling queasy. Work was a real picnic. I came home and realized it’d been days since I checked out the whole crazy inbox of internet dating weirdos. It’s downright depressing. I may just have to spend a whole day copying and pasting to share my horror. It’s worse than I can describe.

On occasion, one of them is rude…. which is what happened the other day.

Like I said… I’m itching to eviscerate an idiot, and this guy is shaping up to be just the right guy for the slaughter.

A volunteer douche bag, just asking for it.


3/30/2012 11:52:54 PM
Well this non-douche bag tried a couple of times to say HI
SO you get what get Maybe you are just attractive on the outside

4/4/2012 11:30:40 AM
This email tells me just how much of a douche bag you really are. Someone not being interested in your rather unattractive old ass does not give you license to insult me. Kick rocks, asshole.

4/4/2012 1:47:19 PM
Well I think I will be successfully off of here before you…so not so unattractive or a douche bagSorry that was rude, and for that I apologize

Where to start?

Amazing & Unique? Not so much. Trust me, I have a doctorate in Douche Bag and you are quite the textbook example of a penis, gone douche. Again… I didn’t respond because your photograph alone tells me I’m not interested, nuff said. I was being nice by ignoring you. Oh sorry, that was rude- but you asked for it. xo J

Usually I rename them, more as a courtesy than anything, since they may not be thrilled about being blog fodder. Names have been changed to protect the occasionally innocent. Which doesn’t happen very often, but this is a whole new ballgame. Today’s emails were so bizarre I had to call my friend and read them to her. I may even screen shot them to prove it.


4/5/2012 9:24:15 PM  I’m the person that’s taking huge dumps in the middle of the bike path.. So if you stepped on

some in some huge man scat.. It was mine 🙂 please watch me have gay sex..

What the fuck? Again… I cannot change his name because this dude is clearly insane or this is his ex-wife, determined to destroy his reputation. She’s succeeding. I don’t even know where to go with that or how to respond. I think this is one of those magical occasions that less is more. I’m just not into gay sex unless it’s women, sorry. I’m fresh out of any urge to be ignored by TWO guys at once. No thanks, I’m gonna have to pass.


3/20/2012 11:04:28 PM
Hi beautiful…how are you…enjoying Spring so far? :)Look forward to hearing from you,

3/22/2012 12:31:53 PM
Hi beautiful…how are you today? 🙂 Yeah, I’m SOOO waiting for the real spring to come out, too…so, I can spend some time out at the lake 🙂 Where do you like to go camping? Do you ever come to the Spokane area?I see in your profile, you’d had a few “strange” dates, curious what those are? I’ve heard some CRAZY stories…as well as with my own :)So, you like the “exception to the rule”…curious what that’s about…I’d like to think I am, but I guess that’s in the eye of the beholder 🙂

Do you have anymore pics you wouldn’t mind sharing?

Look forward to hearing from you,


3/30/2012 1:13:52 PM
Wahoo, it’s Friday! :)Hi beautiful, how was your week, other than all the rain? 😦 Doing anything fun and exciting for the weekend? For me, going to the Shock game in Spokane…wahoo! :)Look forward to hearing from you,


3/31/2012 6:44:53 PM
Hi beautiful…how are you, enjoying your weekend so far? 🙂

4/5/2012 4:58:32 PM
Hi beautiful…how are you…having a good week so far?

How many times do you contact someone and not hear back before you understand they’re not interested? He’s cute… ish. Not my type, not at all interesting to me. Dude… buy a clue. She’s just not that into you. Silence speaks volumes, a lesson I’ve learned from the Vagina Hoarder. Nothing makes you feel worth less. Run. This man cannot date me. I will only make him feel bad about himself.

I had to sit and laugh… I had to call a girlfriend to read them to her. I had to just shake my head and wonder how on earth I ever thought internet dating was a good idea….

Nothing but the best for you, my T.

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He liked it when I referred to him as “My T”… betcha five bucks he feels differently now…. lol

I’ve heard from 13 different women in the last month who can say the exact same thing… all headed to Puerto Rico to spend a “magical fun-filled weekend with Prince Charming, aka Thomas Murray” at one time or another.

To date? I’m the only one retarded enough to get on a plane. (no offense to retarded people- whom I adore and hold near and dear to my heart.)  There simply isn’t another word to accurately describe what motivated me to think I was so different that I should, would or COULD be so casual with my safety… not to mention my heart.

I’ve been through hell in the last year. Hell. I’ve written openly about it- and he exploited it. Shocker.

I’ve whined and cried about it. I’ve read a million other blog posts about his scandalous dishonest ass. I’ve heard the ugly details and I’ve seen the emails. I’m officially informed, thank you.

He’s damn lucky I cling to every last shred of my lady-hood… cause I’d post his naked old ass for the world to see if I weren’t so classy… but then he chose me based on the fact.

I should have known when he told me he really disliked his mother. Duh.

The facts on the ground are ugly. The details aren’t rosy. The reality is cold, dark and black. He lied to me. I believed him. That doesn’t make me a bad person, that makes him a predator. I refuse to waste another tear on someone so unworthy- but I’m damn happy to waste another thousand words, just to nail his fucking coffin shut.

Consider this a Dear Thomas… one last epilogue in a sad little life built on lies and vulnerability. Far more than he deserves but then I am listening to the advice my mother has given me on the whole nightmare and I’m giving him back the heartache. His gifts aren’t something I want to accept.

It’s bad enough I had to bleach my eyeballs to get the image of him coming at me to go away. Let me be painfully clear for a moment- I’m used to beauty. I only date the hottest douche bags and I am extremely picky. Do I deserve perfection? No, maybe not… but ask ye shall receive…

This was my first venture into the old folks home- and I will not be making a return trip unless I’m carrying fruit cake and walking with a dozen kindergartners singing Christmas Carols. I believe in charity… just not where my naked body is concerned.

I’d rather shovel snow naked than ever go to Puerto Rico again.

I had to tell his poor wife what a cheating lying sack of trash he really is. Including the bullshit stories he told me about missing having his son, and looking forward to the 8 months he was coming to live with him. Never mind he was 45 minutes away, probably helping his Mama plant the garden his Daddy tempted me with. Some dudes are beyond Jesus- and this guy is their leader. It’s more than being dishonest, it’s pathologically fucked up.

I’ve come home, I’ve done my best to right the ship and mop up the messes. I’ve licked my wounds and fed my bad habits. I’ve reminded myself just why he isn’t worthy of another tear.

Let’s be honest… the world is full of cheating, lying, painfully unworthy, douche bags. FULL. There are few exceptions to the rule and Thomas is by no means anything but garden variety worthless mouth breather. I can categorically tear him to shreds, but the bottom line is, he’s average. He’s a skilled manipulator- but ultimately he can’t maintain the facade and you see what he really is. A drunk old man living on lies and aggression. It’s a waste.

I think he forgot to really read between the lines of the words he capitalized on and took advantage of me with. He forgot to pay close attention to the fact that yeah… some people judge me. Yeah… some people don’t understand… and yeah… that sucks.

But I always have the last word- and I always make it count.

Dear Thomas,

So long, motherfucker.

You really stepped in it this time, didn’t you? You set me up, plied me with sweet sentiments and rum I’m allergic to. You stocked the pond in your favor. You didn’t take one thing into account.

I’m a deadly weapon, and my hair isn’t the only thing that’s bright and brassy.

I’m not afraid of anything. Hurt me. Lie to me. Cheat on me.


That makes you the asshole, not me. I did my part, and I was honest with you, but you were portraying some version of you that you wish you were. I fell in love, but with a myth. The reality was gravely disappointing and uncomfortable at times when I saw people do a double-take when they saw me with you. Awkward…

Most of all, you taught me a big lesson about myself. I can have faith, but I need to be smart about it too. Until I know how valuable I am, I’m a weapon in my own life against myself and against my own safety and well-being. It’s high time I practiced what I preach. If I’d been smart about it, I would have taken a taxi from the airport to the nearest hotel, booked a room, and spent 4 days falling in love with myself and patting myself on the back for caring enough to do the right thing, instead of what’s easy.

That would have been the appropriate choice- and I know this now- thanks to you.

You lit a fire under me with your anger and your judgements. You inspired me to get mad enough to speak my truth, quietly and clearly. You pushed me far enough that I laid your shit bare and exposed you for who you are. Truth is inescapable, and it was bound to catch up with you sooner or later.

You foolish, foolish man… thank you… and you’re welcome.

Just as you taught me some valuable lessons about myself, I taught you the ultimate lesson.

Women are crazy. Good old fashioned bat shit nutcase crazytown,when we think you’ve been lying to us, and if we think you’re cheating? The FBI doesn’t have anything on a jealous woman. By the time we’re done, we’ll know the name of your best friends’ mom in the third grade.

But if our fears are confirmed?

Heaven help you… because only Jesus can save you at that point. Get to church. Drop to your knees and pray for God’s mercy or start shopping for a hit man. We won’t stop until every last sordid detail is exposed and this situation is no exception.

I’ve made a whole new group of girlfriends, and we all have a lot in common… but the one thing that ties us all together?


Perhaps we’ll schedule a ladies retreat to St Thomas, just to bring your truth to your island, as you invited us all to do. Come on Tommy, we wanna see “the compound”. Take us for a run down your 8 mile path on your 5 mile island. Cook us a gourmet dinner on your catamaran.

But first? You should probably introduce us to your wife.

Oh wait… she already knows all about us.

You’re welcome.

xoxo Jenni

First Impressions, a RANT.

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What I really should do, is quit my job and open a business tailored to helping men sound like someone COMPLETELY DIFFERENT than they are, so that they could be more successful at internet dating.

Because frankly… they’re all so fucking ignorant I want to scream. If I weren’t hand picking the odd balls, I’d want to sew my vagina shut and live in an underground bunker- just to avoid the penis-folk.

I really have to pull out my bitchy soap box this morning though, because out of 19 emails, 2 men have taken the time to spell out the word Y O U. I understand shorthand laziness and I get that 90% of people just write “u”… but I’m not one of them, and when you have nothing but email to rely on for a first impression? Make it fucking count. For crying out loud, be so bold as to use two more letters while typing.

Here’s a sampling… so you can see what I’m fuming about.

Hi j how r u first date meet u in sandpoint for a drink and c where it goes from there what do u think

C where it goes from where? Perhaps you want to meet my … uh… well… shit. I don’t know anyone his age so I guess that’s out. If I introduced him to my mama she’d smack him.

I’m extremely multifaceted, most definitely one of the most interesting individuals you will meet, and I can promise you that! I have seen and done a lot in my days here on the planet EARTH. I tend to have an insatiable appetite for learning, which lends itself to many adventures. I am driven and have an uncanny sense of personal motivation. I am independent; although that can be my biggest strength, it can also be my greatest crutch. I would describe my adventurous ways as a cat, just a little mischievous, but one that will always land on its feet! I guess some, would label this as a free spirit, because I am passionate about humanity in a way that most others can’t touch. I am selfless in ways, which most don’t understand. I give of my time, without thought or payment; more often then most do in their lifetime.
Have I scared you away yet? I promise I don’t bite…

And ya lost me… I love a good biter. lol… BUT. The thought of this man biting me after his rather Thomas-esque 18 page email about how fantastic I am and how magnanimous and charitable he his, makes me throw up in my mouth a little. This guy does everything but email you the title to his mid-life crisis mobile. I understand some men play the sugar daddy card… but I’d rather be poor and exhausted in love than face my wifely obligations with any amount of hesitation.

hi j, i read ur profile and decide to say hi. if u would like to chatt sometime feel free to say hi. by 4 now good luck fishing.

Nevermind school was canceled yesterday due to snow. Nevermind it’s NOT FISHING WEATHER. It’s another one of those UR douche bags. For fuck’s sake, SPELL THE FUCKING WORD. This is your first chance to communicate with someone you potentially want to date, right? Is it really that much to ask that they fake a little intelligence? Please? My bad habit loves Jeopardy, if that tells you anything. Sheesh. This girl… loves smart men ONLY. Don’t even get me started on his decorating decisions or creeper mustache.

Well, the text of your POF profile certainly doesn’t speak very well for the “datin’ pool” of Sandpoint area eligible males!?! ( Altho, since I acually live on four acres out in the country, about eight miles outside the next city, perhaps I don’t fit the pattern you reference )?

Uh… no, you fit every pattern I’ve had the misfortune of coming across, thus far. At 55, you exceed my age requirements by oh… 10 years. Let me guess, you’re a young 55? Ugh. Yuck. No. Sack up and date women your own age and spare me their hate and vitriol when they see you trying to date me. These guys are the worst. They piss off the women I adore by being shallow bottom feeders who have in no way done anything in life that qualifies or absolves them the guilt of, dating someone 20 years younger. He should thank me for not responding. He’d hate my music and I’d end up flirting with his 26 year old son, lol…

Hey beautiful!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I just thought that I would write to say hello and to see if “u” might like to communicate a little bit for starters????????????

Oh boy… where on earth do I even start. He refers to himself in the third person as a “Savory Morsel” <gag>. He’s 50… and well… absolutely not. I had to post his email because he’s clearly trying to find his way to being a hipster that uses the destruction of Y O U. He had to put quotation marks around his U… he was that uncomfortable. Now that’s funny 🙂

Ha R U?

Uh… I’m scared…. for so many reasons and in so many ways. A man of few words? Um… HA!  I’m not sure where to go from there… other than to show you his profile… in it’s entirety.


Hi my name is. Dave. I was born in cali
And moved up Here a few years ago
I do like the country. I like to take my
Boat out to the lake Every chance I get.
I do like takin my truck. Or my dirt bike And going off road.
I do like the city life. I like going in watching a live band.
Or just going out on the town.
I do like to go to the movies a lot. Or go have a drink.
Or a nice dinner somewhere. Or run off to vegas for the weekend.
I have a good job.
I would love to find a good Woman.
I know it something you can’t rush.
I just hope someday. I could meet the girl for me

And y’all wonder why I pick the crazies…and Good luck, Dave.

It appears we all need a helluva lot of luck.

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