Tag Archives: Truth

He’s just not that into you. Again.

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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.

Eskimo Sisters

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After a solid day of begging, pleading text messages, telling me he would prove that he’s never cheated, but he’s doing something really important at work… I picked up the phone for myself.

I don’t fuck around, if I want the truth and I’m not getting it? I find it.

It’s worse than I originally thought, and it took a while to get her on the phone… but within a matter of hours, my unintentional Eskimo sister called me back.

Ohhh the lies. Oh the cheating. He’s actually left her waiting on him to come see me before. He’s been with her every time he pulled the disappearing act.

The biggest shock?

Every time he’s driven up to see me, to spend the weekend with me, he’s told her he’s with his mom. He’s guilt-ed me constantly about the long drive, and how much he hates making the hour and a half drive over. Insisting I keep him company on the phone because he hates the drive so much.

Yet… He’s been driving up here every single night… with her. No wonder he didn’t come get his shit out of my mailbox… he would have had to explain to Ms. Eskimo why, what, when & where…. I really like her. It makes it even harder. I can’t get past the feeling that I have to throw up.

When I thought I saw his truck two weeks ago? My dear Eskimo sister was in it. No wonder he panicked.

He told her about his “friend with a garden”… he told me about his “friend that is like his little sister”.

Sometimes seeing both of us on the same day.

Getting away with it all….

For a second.

I’ve been cheated on before. I’ve been the cheater. I know the signs. I know when something doesn’t make sense? It’s usually because someone isn’t telling the truth. Life is pretty simple, and so are men. It shouldn’t be hard to get him on the phone.

You shouldn’t have to work that hard at this… you aren’t selling insurance, for crying out loud, he should be present and accounted for.

Why lie when the truth will do? Because lying means he doesn’t have to choose between us.

Comparing notes with my dear new sister is stomach-turning. He’s an absolute professional when it comes to lying… but not very good at convincing anyone. Perhaps because he’s totally and completely full of shit.

He has one thing going for him…. he apparently has amazing taste in women… because they start to come out of the woodwork. Ms. Babymama, Mrs. First, Ms. Eskimo and myself. We make quite the quartet… and he’s a damn fool for thinking he could fool any of us.

And especially foolish if he thinks he’s walking away, unscathed.

I’m having a little party. A Nathan Roast. We’re burning his shit and roasting yummy homemade marshmallows on the pile. They say fire is healing… but more than anything I can’t wait to send him a picture of his favorite blanket smoldering in a nasty little polyester pile.

Pshaw… call me petty… I don’t mind. The guy is a dirty rotten scoundrel. Unapologetic. He was still texting me yesterday about what an asshole I was for believing rumors from his ex. She had the line of the day, however.

MBM- Honestly? If he wasn’t guilty? Wouldn’t he have called me to freak out? The only reason he isn’t calling is because then he’d have to admit to me that he’s cheating on the girlfriend I MET.

This guy really needs one of those middle of the night intervention programs. You know the one. They show up in the middle of the night, throw a bag over your head and take you away to some wretched wilderness retreat.

Come on… let’s start a collection and send him. Think of the all encompassing joy of knowing he’s being drug out of bed in the middle of the night with a bag over his head, flown to some third world jungle and forced to wipe his ass with tree leaves until he can learn to tell the truth.

We’d never hear from Dear Nathan again.

I woke up at dawn this morning, with my darling baby girl asleep next to me. Covered in freckles, smelling like coconut and grinning in her sleep. I can hear her laughing in her own dreams.

This is why it’s important to call this bastard out. This beautiful child. This little girl.

Men like this? Destroy women. They ruin amazing women for men who are truly worthy.

Had this gone on for months, leading into years and so on? Who would I be? What would his effect be on her? This little freckled redhead that did her best to save me from the horror of my birthday after we both woke up to a liar and a cheat where Mr. Perfectpants had been the night before.

She made me birthday coupons… and my favorite?

“Unlimited hugs & kisses, never expires.”

They key to happiness is knowing where it comes from, not where it ends or where it becomes questionable.

The key to happiness is love and truth.

They go hand in hand, you cannot have one without the other.

Building on lies is like building on sand. Temporarily successful… and personally I’d rather not build, than build on uncertainty.

But.

I’m fucking livid….

I have his favorite Army t-shirt… his favorite blanket… and his dog’s favorite toy.

Ordinarily I wouldn’t go near the poor dog’s stuff… but in my conversation with Miss Eskimo yesterday, I mentioned the duck and she laughed…

E- Oh. We bought a new one.

J- What?

E- Yeah. He said he lost it.

Ugh. Ouch…

… Nathan has no idea how much I love to return feelings…

Good or bad.

and all his shit is going into the fire. Period.

The Guy Friend Weighs In

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My friend Al is more than a friend, he’s like my brother. My sounding board for guy issues. He tells me the ugly truth- and I love him for it. We’ve had some hysterical conversations lately because he’s TDY and bored but trying not to cheat on his wife. He’s really trying to behave himself. I’m his stand-in… on the phone anyway.

A- You know… I wonder if you only like this guy because he’s not pursuing you.

J- Yeah… I see that… maybe?

A- but he’s all about it when he’s with you- snuggling with you even- wow- not typical booty call form.

J- Nothing about him is typical. He’s…. different… and I don’t make it 3 seconds in the door before he’s kissing me. He’s interested- I think?

A- Ha- we’re all the same… we just have varying degrees of asshole- and if we like you- it’s easy to convince you. Especially you- you are such an attention whore.

J- Trust me- he’s sweet- and fuck you- that’s not nice…

A- Everybody loves a whore, baby, don’t doubt it for a second. You’re much more popular than you’re sweet counterparts.

J- Since I give a shit.

A- Ha ha ha, sell that shit to someone who doesn’t know you. You want him eating out of your hand, sending flowers and professing his love… You want a whiiiiiiiiiite dress bitch and I know it.

J- I hate you, go get laid.

A- Oh. Not nice at ALL.

J- I’m reformed. I had serious offers last night after he left- I could have- and I said no. You should be proud of me. I like Smartypants- and I wasn’t even tempted.

A- The day you fuck a nerd is the day I fuck a dude. Not gonna happen. You need to get over your spelling bullshit. Guys that can spell have little dicks.

J- Ha ha ha… and you know this because?

A- I’m surrounded by big dicks who can’t spell… and you’ve seen the dominator.

J- Ha ha ha, and you can spell. I rest my case. Bitch.

Sometimes you simply need the witty repartee of the men in your life that DON’T want you. Sometimes it’s just exactly what you need to hear.

Love you Alvin- and keep the dominator in your pants.

:)

My first confession…

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I was terrified of my first confession. I swallowed hard, and faced it head on.

It certainly didn’t help that it was Friday, and I was going out later. It also doesn’t help that the parking lot of the Catholic church sends a little chill down your spine, because it’s hot as hell…where I know I’m headed (if it exists). Honestly- my parents were atheists- and I have a very hard time with a lot of it.

I treasure my faith- and I love going to mass, but I really don’t buy a lot of it. It’s not something that was introduced to me, so it’s very hard to embrace. Which is why I’m happy to take my children. They don’t like it, I won’t lie. My son used to love it when he was little… but not now.

A- Maaaaaan this suuuuuuuucks.

J- You’re Great Grandmother is 91 years old, and this means the world to her. Stand up straight and put a big smile on your face, because it’s not that much to give her 1 hour a week in church. Don’t forget to kneel, etc. Please. Please. Please.

I- WHAT? Kneel when? MOoooom I’m not gonna know what to do!

J- I know, but trust me, it makes me look bad, not you, ha ha ha.

So we picked her up, and on the way to church she turned and frowned at me

B- Why haven’t you been going to mass? Its across the street! It took your Grandma moving here to get you to go?

J- Yes Ma’am, it sure did. I’m sorry. I feel like a complete failure going there alone- without the kids and being single. Ugh. The worse possible place on earth to be single is at mass. Seriously. Then I get two Sunday’s a month with the kids, I don’t want to give a minute up. I’m sorry. But the worse part? Is that Father puts me on the spot and tells me I need to go to confession.

B- Confession? Oh I’ve never done that.

J- What??!!??

B- Oh no, that’d be so embarassing, you know at Easter? When you do your renewal of your baptismal promises? With the holy water thrown on you? That’s my confession, I figure it’s once a year and good enough. Plus what on earth could you do that’s so bad you’d need to confess? Ha ha ha

J- Oh. It depends on how you look at it.

So I decided to go to confession. As much as I didn’t want to…. and as much as I didn’t believe in it. Because that’s what kept me out of church until I was 24.  I love how going to mass makes me feel. I love it. I love the traditions and the holy water and the responsorial hymns even. I’m a completely geeky catholic girl at heart. So I decided to embrace it, and give it a try. See how I really felt about it after I’d actually given it a chance. Much like making my kids try everything twice. The first for drama and the second for taste.

I put on jeans and a sweatshirt… and tennis shoes. I looked in the mirror and realized I was already lying, lol. I took it all off, threw on a dress and heels (as is the way these days, may as well own it), and walked across the street. To say I have no excuse for not attending mass regularly, is an understatement, but sheesh the building is intimidating all by itself.

I’m sort of thinking about the next hour of my life the same way we all look at going to the gynecologist. It’s hell. Seriously. Nothing anyone ever wants to do again (thank you, IUD for the 10 years cushion). I’m sincerely hoping this isn’t the same. My hands are cold and clammy and I’m beginning to wonder if I’m even going to be able to speak. I’m fighting back tears. Fucking crybaby- I hate this about myself. Every time I’m intimidated by him, I get teary eyed. Men in general- some really just bring out the girl in me- ugh.I walk in and he leads me over to an office. I’d been praying for a confessional… no dice. He’s going to be looking right at me… the whole time. In the glaring bright light. My heart is pounding and I know I must be flushed.

Get a grip, right? Oh my. I at least have the fine art of Catholic guilt down pat. My mind is racing and I’m searching for something I can say to him that will get me in and out of here quickly without crying.

F- Why haven’t I seen you? You know if the Devil can’t make you bad, he’ll make you busy.

Gulp. I resist the urge to ask him why the Devil does both to me.

J- I know- I haven’t been coming. I sort of lost touch with it when we got divorced. It felt like a part of my family and when they were gone, it didn’t feel right to go alone.

F- You’re never alone in church. You’re never alone.

Tears. Fuck. Told you so- as soon as he overwhelms me, I cry.

F- Oh you silly girl, don’t cry. I like to see your smiling face in the front of the church. I like to see your children. What is going on in your life? You need to catch me up.

Gulp. I have goosebumps to my toes and I’m biting the inside of me cheek to keep from blurting it all out. The real sin would be to unload on the poor unsuspecting priest who thinks I’m a saint.

J- Life has been busy. Disappointing at times but getting better.

F- Don’t talk in circles. Where have you been? What has your life been like?

J- I’ve been involved with someone for the past 6 years, I let him move in and when it really became clear it wasn’t working, and he wasn’t going to make a commitment, I made him leave. So now I’m working too much, sleeping too little and dating weird men from the internet.

F- You definitely did things backwards in your relationship- do you see that? The man you brought to church? You should join the Catholic Singles! Are you happy? Prayerful?

J- Yes.

F- What are you doing now?

I think he must have spies… maybe he knows? Like Santa Claus? He sees me when I’m naughty? Good Lord I hope not.

J- Um…

F- You’re nervous? Why? What really is keeping you away from church.

J- I read that one important part of confession was feeling bad for the things you confessed. Is that true? If you don’t feel bad about it, what is the point of confessing it?

F- That’s true. The essential act of Penance, on the part of the penitent, is contrition, a clear and decisive rejection of the sin committed, together with a resolution not to commit it again, out of the love one has for God and which is reborn with repentance. The resolution to avoid committing these sins in the future is why we confess.

J- Oh.

F- What are you worried to confess?

J- Oh nothing. I’ve just recently decided not to have any more children- I knew you’d be unhappy about that.

F- You have two fine children, and the world needs more Catholics. I’m sure you’ll change your mind.

So….. I confess… I lied my ass off. Totally and completely. In a very Catholic way. At the beginning of every mass, Father stands and says something about confessing your sins to God, etc… and there’s a line in the reciting of the Confiteor that’s stuck in my head.

*I confess to almighty God, and to you my brothers & sisters, that I have sinned through my own fault, in my thoughts & in my words, in what I have done and what I have failed to do*

I’ve failed to make a good solid confession, but I’ve done it within the rules. I don’t feel bad or guilty. I can’t very well apologize for something I’m not sorry for. Hooray loopholes… because he’s smiling at me and sending me on my way, instead of pinning a scarlet letter to my cute little white sundress.

I’m in the clear- at least as far as he’s concerned.

:)