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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. …

Just when you thought you’d seen it all together…

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My dear friend and tattoo diva is leaving. Moving back to a sunnier place… sob. I look up to her so much and value her opinion so much- I’m going to be a little lost without her and I’m kicking myself for not making more time to hang out with her in the past.

She helped me for 7 hours in my garden last week… and I knew in her voice that she was serious then. I just didn’t want to even consider it, really.

On my hardest days, when I’m at a cross-roads, when my life is a disaster, when I’m in love… I run for tattoo & sister therapy. I completely embrace my tattoo habit and I will probably be covered at some point. I have no doubt, because I’m already wishing I had more skin to color in. I have a habit… and my habit makes me beautiful.

I have a poppy and a honeybee princess for my daughter, a honeybee for my son and (my favorite) my queen bee. I have a regretful tramp stamp I would love to erase. I have a kanji symbol I’d love to transform into a tomato… I have the ghost orchid for my mother, the dandelion and birds I always wanted and a four leaf clover because I’m the luckiest girl ever when it comes to finding them. I have a poem about love on my foot complete with a little red heart that I adore. I look at my skin and smile when I used to frown.

It’s still a body too chubby for my taste, I still wear the same stretch marks. I just love the beautiful pictures painted into skin I’d previously resented. I’ve never worn flip flops. I hate my feet. Hate them. I have horribly ugly feet and I’m incredibly self conscious about them. Or was. I own three pairs now. I love the tattoo my darling sister-friend drew on my foot just a week before I landed in Puerto Rico with Thomas Murray. It’s gorgeous, and deserves to be shown off. I love that foot now- and there were moments in Puerto Rico that I stared at that foot and tried to channel her.

I also have a beautiful purple orchid that Nathan Steinbauer bought me a few days before my birthday… just before I found out what a pathological liar he is. I’d taken him in with me and he’d bought me a tattoo for my birthday- anything I wanted- no questions asked. He got a military tattoo for the Army Rangers, something he’d always lied about being. He went back for a second one- the day I found out about the other girlfriend.

Through it all, my darling friend has been there… fixing me when it hurts the most, with a beautiful new reason to love the woman that smiles back at me in the mirror.

I got a new one when I panicked over Superman. A beautiful dandelion with birds… feeling like I wished for him and was so fucking scared of something being so good that I was literally flying away from that same wish. Reminding myself to breathe and spoiling myself with some time with one of my favorite people, ever.

I miss her already, and I can’t imagine not having her to run to when I need advice rooted in love and compassion- and not sugar coated or biased. Good old fashioned strong woman advice, from someone I would like to be more like. Gentle in her words and actions, but confident in her ability and worth. She’s the sister I always wanted- and there’s a lump in my throat when I think about saying goodbye to her.

Also in the increased cost of my tattoos, because they’ll have to include a plane ticket from here on out. Sigh.

Another friend of mine was going in for a tattoo today, and it was the perfect excuse for another visit to say hello before it gets a whole lot harder.

We hung out and watched for a while, then chatted before heading out the door.

… and just when you think you’ve seen it all, and your heart is a little sad at the the thought of lost opportunities to make new memories… a new one just jumps right into your lap.

There on the sidewalk outside her door, is a man taking pictures of license plates. Standing in the middle of the road to photograph cars and actually crouching down to take close-ups of license plates. He has a favorite even… the poor innocent red Geo Metro parked directly in front of her shop.

WTF?

It gets weirder…….. He has his son with him. They’re walking around side by side while the dad squats periodically to take another picture of another license plate. Nobody does a thing- myself included. I weigh my options, to be honest- because I’m dying to hear what his excuse is… but anyone willing to do something that bizarre in front of their kid, obviously has a few screws loose and I love my life these days and treasure my safety.

But…

The blogger in me is already laughing… and I can’t resist… you’re welcome.

This is, after all, why God made iPhones.

and the mother in me has to stop for a moment and hope his wife or this child’s mother reads my blog… because this is worth a chat with good ol’ Dad about the crazy example he’s setting, if nothing else.

My daughter is instantly sympathizing with that poor kid, who must be so embarrassed… but my girlfriend and I are more than a little sketched out by him…. and his love for the Geo.

We waited to leave until he’d wandered on to photograph more license plates…. sort of hoping he’d be taking one of ours when we got there… (thankfully, no such luck.)

My daughter and I both climbed into the car and said simultaneously…

J & R- I’m sad she’s leaving, and gosh that was funny.

Another crazy funny memory with a woman I’m going to miss SO much. She gave me my Blogoddess tattoo the week my blog went viral and I was having a mild nervous breakdown. She’s filled in the blanks and taught me to not only love myself, but to love myself enough that I don’t have to give anyone an explanation about who or what I am.

She’s fixed the tattoos I hated, made beautiful the things about my body I resented & has been by my side during some of the most epic moments in my life.

I miss her already.

But no matter how far she goes… we’ll always have the Geo Metro Stalker.

Fired

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For blogging…. regardless of the lame canned excuse I was given, what it boils down to is that the Cunt I’ve had to work under for the past two years played her trump card. She’s known about my blog since I started- and I’ve had to sit on my hands and bite my tongue.

Blah, blah, blah… type, type, type… guess who’s hands are free and whose mouth is open?

Not a good thing when you’re running a business in a glass house.

If they were going to fire everyone that hated her, they’d have to restaff the entire restaurant.

“She’s like the mother of this place” was the line I got.

No. She’s the red-headed step-child we all had crammed down our throats while making a 5th of what she makes an hour. Ever heard of someone making manager wages, writing the schedule, working the best shifts and smoking a half a pack of cigarettes on every 4 hour shift?

I know one.

I called in sick once in 2 years and she had to cover for me on her day off. She had the balls to tell the customers I was sick with a hangover. They told me, saying “She’s such a bitch, why on earth does she work here?”

Good question.

One time in two years I told her I was in the weeds and she flipped out. I’ve never said it since because she’s hostile and will throw something in your face so many times you want to snap.

She’s the server that makes the bussers cry on shift. People complain about her online and to the rest of us.

She’s a walking criticizing hypocritical nightmare- one that I woke up from today and finally realize what a blessing in disguise this is.

I never have to listen to her bullshit again. I never have to acknowledge her ever again and I can wash my hands of the worst human I’ve ever met. I never have to dread walking in to find that she’s covering someone I work with, and I never have to give up shifts to avoid having to work with her again.

I wake up my same self, with a happy heart and a bright future.

She wakes up as Miss Cunt Bag- yet again. She’s facing the same day she’s faced for years. Lonely & alone and destined to stay that way because it’d take a damn fool to sign on to that nightmare.

All in all- I’ll miss my job because I truly liked one of my bosses and all the rest of my co-workers. They’re like an extended family to me…. but.

I’m a single mom, and they fired me without a seconds notice at the first of the month and with no regard to me, based on the fact I didn’t apologize and didn’t take down my blog.

They ushered me in and out with as few words as possible and I saw the writing on the wall…

They’re scared of me. It has everything to do with my blog and nothing to do with my performance- with the text messages to prove it.

This audience is too broad and what I say here- counts. They could silence me and make me endure all the torment that Cunt can dish out while I was working- but they can’t take my freedom of speech away.

Or freedom to blog.

And like I say with any guy I’ve dated- and about the real assholes in my life… if you’re afraid of my blog then you know you’re doing a shitty job.

If you’re afraid of truth, you’re not living it… and if you’re afraid of what I might say? Perhaps you should be more concerned with how you treat people.

When you’re kind and friendly- that’s all people can say about you. The same is true when you’re an asshole.

It’s going to be an interesting day, to say the least. I’ve never filed for unemployment before- I’ve never been fired for that matter.

Cheers… to the future and to never having to take a single ounce of shit from that wretched Cunt, ever again.

AMEN.

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.

S-

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.

USMC-

USMC

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

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

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 🙂

Oh Miss Harley…

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I have an amazing bunch of incredible women in my life. They represent everything the world needs more of, and for every jerk I’ve had the misfortune of crossing paths with, I know five stellar women… I have an incredible bunch of girlfriends in my life- I’m blessed with amazing examples.

Sure…we can be a rowdy bunch… we’re independent, hilarious and hot. We dance on bars and tables, we ride motorcycles and can out-cook chefs. We are incredibly artistic, tattooed, brilliant, down-hill racing daredevil girls who can get dressed up and act like ladies. We’re a well rounded bunch.

We can do some whiskey, gin, vodka, rum damage… and we are a helluva lot of fun- but we collectively have our shit together as well.

My friend Miss Harley sets the bar high in a group of really cool chicks.

She’s easily the most valuable employee where I work,  she outworks all of us. I’d bet her tips percentage blow all of us out of the water, too.  Without question…she’s beautiful, friendly and genuine, rocks a smokin’ hot body and to ice the cake? She rides her own restored 1982 Shovelhead to work every day. Without a helmet, cause she’s just not willing. (We’ve all tried to bribe her…) Her dark hair is tinted a shade of purple showing under her do-rag, dyed to match the deep purple paint on her bike, Daizy. Personalized license plates and everything. Blingy-butt Miss Me jeans showing from the back of black leather chap-wrapped Miss Harley, she’s nothing short of a calendar girl.

Does it get any hotter? Yep. She pulls her do-rag off, blinks sparkly green eyes at you and is charming enough to sell you oceanfront in Kansas. She’s also the friend who makes you soup when you’re sick and offers to take your shifts or help you with anything. She really goes the extra mile and she inspires everybody by being kind. She’s the girl nobody could ever say anything bad about- and defends even the indefendable. She’s an amazing mother and has raised her son alone for the most part. She just wants to be happy and so she is.

She’s true blue and red hot.

Miss Harley- well done!

She rides the bike her father died on when she was 11 years old. Her parents were just about home- close enough that she remembers hearing the siren of the ambulance that came to get her dad. They’d gone down on a corner and her dad had broken his neck and died instantly. Her mom kept the bike for a few years after he died but eventually had to let it go.

Years later someone got in touch with Miss Harley to let her know it was up for sale again. Seeing it only made her want it more. She offered the guy everything she had and a hug, and he took her up on it and let her have it for nearly a thousand dollars less than his asking price.

Her mom drove it home, with Miss Harley on the back. Holding hands here and there- crying now and again. It was like bringing a family member home. Miss Harley was getting the bike of her dreams and a piece of her dad back, as an adult- when you still need it just as much.

She restored it completely, on a single mom’s server/manager’s wages… until it was finally complete and so beautiful. Her mom gave her the old saddle bags that were on it before. She’s oiled and loved this bike into something beautiful enough for everyone to notice what Miss Harley always did.

They’re meant to be together. They’re a perfect match, like sisters- out knocking boys dead at every stoplight.

She recently went through a break-up because her boyfriend couldn’t handle all the attention she gets.

H- I told him, I love ya, I’m sorry you’re jealous but I’m not gonna get ugly for you. He told me he just couldn’t take it- I gotta love him for being honest!

She has her first motorcycle show today & she even brought us purple t-shirts to wear. I wrote a little thing for her poster and was stuck on the image of her mother and her riding the bike home that had been so life changing in their past. How nostalgic she gets when she tells the story… and of her calling to read what I’d written to her mom and hearing them both cry a little. She’s survived the worst of a cheating boyfriend- who lives with her sister. She’s been through a cheating husband and survived a divorce that cost her everything but the baby he didn’t support. She lost her house, her fairytale ideas about marriage and her faith in the legal system- all at once. Digging deep and pulling it all off, regardless of the challenge- and doing it with a smile.

She’s been through hell. She’s walked through fire  and  is stainless steel strong and polished as a result. She’s raising an amazing son who is growing up with a healthy childhood spent outside. She grows a garden, helps her mama and would drop everything to be there for you if you need her. She’s generous and thoughtful and sets an example with kindness rather than judgement. One helluva woman- doing it on her own with pleasure.

Miss Harley, you are a knock-out- through and through & your daddy would be SO proud.

Update!!

She tied for 3rd place!

and I got the best picture of her and her mama, waiting for the results of the voting. It was such a neat moment- and it’s such an amazing bond between them. They’re so cute- and it really is inspirational. Her dad may have died but he lives on in the two of them riding together.

My Everyday Fairytale

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For as much as I bitch and whine… I have a beautiful life.

Anything can be better, but when faced with the reality of my day to day existence… I smile.

I miss my son like I’d miss air if I were drowning. I’ve learned to compartmentalize it because there’s simply nothing else I can do. I miss him, I love him, and I respect his teenagehood. I hated my mother when I was his age. I love her now. That’s all I’ve got to say about that.

It’s my day off today, and I woke up late from a divinely delicious dream. I woke up smiling, which I do 90% of the time. Either at my darling girl or at the day facing me. I love my job, I love my coworkers and my tomatoes started to sprout yesterday.

I woke up to a call from my darling Miss Harley which turned into a stomach-aching giggle-fest. Laughing over boys and how silly they are. Laughing at ourselves while we’re at it.

I decided to make myself a latte and sit in the greenhouse with the stack of pages I’ve written so far, and realizing for the first time that it’s not hard to read about my trip to Puerto Rico anymore. I was batshit crazy in love with him, and it was delightful. I don’t regret it or begrudge myself the guilty pleasure.

It was bubblegum ice cream delicious. I’m at my best when I’m in love. You can’t help but have a good day around me when I’m infatuated- it’s a contact high, to put it mildly. I bake cupcakes, I sew cool shit, I knit a blue streak… I garden. I am happiest when I’m in super girlfriend mode. It’s ridiculously codependent, but it’s true.

I’ve kicked my bad habit, sigh… I’ve waved goodbye to Flintstone and I haven’t really checked my internet dating email since one of my best friend’s ex-husbands emailed me to proposition me. I feel a little dirty making fun of someone for my own entertainment. Even if it is incredibly easy. … …. and fun. Chances are good I’m going to do it again. Purely to avoid fully embracing my role as the cat lady in the neighborhood.

I rolled over to a love note from my little red… with a Reese’s peanut butter cup. My favorite…. and how can any day be anything less than perfect when you start it with peanut butter and chocolate. Seriously.

It’s sunny and bright and I have broccoli to plant and a whole day to get a tan. I throw my bathrobe over the speaker and get to planting… in black panties and garden gloves. Welcome to the beauty of single womanhood. I can plant to my favorite music, in my panties with a mimosa and my shiny purple nitrile gloves the Easter Bunny brought me. Life is beautiful.

Randomly deciding to take thai food to school and have lunch with my daughter- a treat for myself and her… and we both are addicted to the red curry. Giggling with her and her friends over the boys being so weird <and resisting the urge to tell them nothing changes in 20 years… this day is perfect with a side of laughter. One of her friends asks me if I’m her sister, lol… we laughed all the way down the hall and I kissed her cute face on a day I ordinarily wouldn’t see her. AMEN.

Oh and just when things are going swimmingly…

A bad habit sighting… and regardless of the horrible way he treats me… I swallow hard when I’m not expecting to see him. They should make a patch to shake a bad man habit… Trans-dermal crack? I don’t know… I hate being betrayed by my body, and that’s what he inspires. I hate it. I’m craving him, I hate that I have to admit it, but it’s true. Is it hot in here or is it just me?

I bolted, drove home and changed into garden gear. Facing the music in the overgrown garden that is the penance I so deserve after abandoning it last summer…well… SUCKS. I’m covering it with landscape cloth to burn off the weeds before I plant. My asparagus is coming up 🙂

The worms are 15″ long at least and things are looking like a beautiful year for a beautiful garden. I’m really truly centered and happy in my giant ridiculously overwhelmingly massive garden. It’s round. It’s beautiful. It’s me. Spending my off time with my feet in the dirt makes me a million times happier than spending them in a bar or on a date.

I poured myself a cocktail, took the price tag off my new wheelbarrow that my mama gave me as an Easter basket… and went out to face the music. Oy…

But… even the worst challenge in the garden beats the worst date. It beats Thomas. It makes me feel better, carves my body into summer hot and makes me smile to my toes.

I have fingerling potatoes planted… Rose Finn Apple and Russian Banana… with more on the way. I planted my French shallots.

I broke in my new garden gloves and broke out of my winter funk. I’m happy. Really, really happy.

I’ve been through hell, and I’ve proven that I should not be the one to choose who I’ll date- so it’s up to my friends from now on. I’m not picking again. I have horrible judgment and horrible taste. I’d rather take a year long sabbatical from men entirely, if given the option.

My seeds are sprouting. My garden is on it’s way. I found 2 newts in the cardboard pile today. I’m so delighted with the simple details that surround me that I don’t feel lonely. I watched a dozen stupid movies this week and slept like a baby. I made the perfect mustache cake. I was a mom hero for the birthday party. My darling MSOK made us all look like a million dollars in big hair, which I’ve found I love.

Life is good… and even without a Prince? It’s a pretty sweet fairytale in and of itself.

I Liebster you too!

Posted on

I suck at these awards, so I generally ignore them (sorry, I’m aware that makes me a thankless asshole). I was so incredibly touched by this one, though… so I’m breaking tradition, and participating. (Go ahead… write it down, lol)

Ok so the rules are…. I have to post the award thingy.

Awww it’s my favorite so far. Who is Liebster? I’m an information junkie… so I searched for this wonderful Mr. Or Miss Liebster… and found something even better.

Liebster is a German word that means favorite, beloved or dearest… Oh. My. Somebody likes my blog. Gush.

The rules are pretty simple, I have to:

  1. Thank your Liebster Blog Award presenter on your blog.
  2. Link back to the blogger who awarded you.
  3. Copy & paste the blog award on your blog.
  4. Reveal your 5 blog picks.
  5. Let them know you chose them by posting on their blog.

Anyone who follows my blog, knows it’s been a long fucking month….year… lifetime. I’m waking up exhausted already, heading to work hoping it’s busy because I have bills to pay. I have 2 new emails from more Thomas victims. I refuse to update the total to 19 because I don’t want to. I’m at my wits end and it’s only 9 AM. I click over to read about this award thingy and this is what greets me:

4. Another Beautiful Day in Chaos.  Oddly enough, my old friend <insert sarcasm here> Thomas Murray, introduced me to Jenni’s blog about a year ago.  I came late to her party, and, to be honest, while her writing blew me away immediately, I did not immediately relate to her. She’s younger than me by many years and our lives are very different in many ways.  However, something kept me coming back and what I discovered (along with many thousands of other readers) is an authenticity and vulnerability that is both touching and inspiring.    Jenni holds almost nothing back from her readers and the ensuing intimacy she establishes with them is real and powerful.  It’s no wonder she has the massive following she does.

Blink, blink, blink. Funny how I can write my tail off but in one short paragraph of someone writing about me, I’m struck speechless.

My writing blew HER away? Is that a good thing? I have a massive following? Really? Yikes. I still have no idea why anyone reads any of this. Ok… so panic over praise aside… I have to follow the rules.

1. Thank the person who gave you the award.

That Precarious Gait…

Um. How do you thank someone who gave you back to yourself? I came home from Puerto Rico and she was the first person to email me when I was intentionally diving head first into the rocks, day after day. I was nothing more than a crying broken mess, and she offered me truth to save my spirit. She reached out, across who knows how many miles and years that separate us in age and she dusted me off with the hands of real friendship. She did the searching I couldn’t do. She told me she’d listen any time I needed to just rant or cry about it. She apologized for not telling me what she knew, even though she knew I couldn’t hear it and wanted so much for me to have the fairytale I’d manifested for so long. Like the big sister I always longed for, she stepped in when she knew I needed help, put her verbal arm around me and stood next to me in solidarity when I didn’t know how to stand up for myself. She did something not many people have done for me in my life. She put her words out there. She stood up for me, and for truth and for what matters when it’s all said and done. She’s a woman, divinely and exquisitely female. She goes through the same things we all do, and it’s with great comfort that we read about it because if it can happen to someone so amazing, we all have to know we’re ok when it happens to us too. She’s the woman we all hope we resemble- her blog is simply delicious reading- Enjoy!

4. Ok I already covered 2 & 3… so for the next rule I have to list my 5 favorite bloggers. I’m assuming I can’t pick my lovely darling friend above, so 5 more? That’s so painfully difficult this could take me a week. In this single phase of my life, my blogger friends help ease the silence. They fill my quiet solitary hours with laughter <my own> and make me feel like I’m really not the only fabulous single woman without a light at the end of the tunnel. There are so many of us. Perhaps one day we’ll find the tribe of fabulous men looking for the same light. We are that light… and along those lines, I pick my favorite women bloggers, and damn you TPG for taking some of them, lol….

1. A Bourbon For Silvia. My first blog habit. I love her dearly and I treasure her blog. She the first one to write something that took my breath away. She’s openly sexual and taught me to be ok with being the same. She taught me to write truthfully. Shes dynamic and amazing and a mother and I love, love, love me some Sylvia. I only wish she were close enough that I could leave a bottle of bourbon on her porch.

2. Everybody Wants Some. Ohhhh I love Crystal. LOVE her. I love laughing with her, I love everything she writes and I cannot give a better gift than the link to her blog. Enjoy. You’re welcome.

3. Little Cotton Rabbits. I’ve tried to get one of her damn knit treasures for oh… at least 10 years now. I’ve never been successful, but I absolutely LOVE this woman. I learned to knit because of her. I needed my own bunny and I needed to find peace in my life. I found it through my knitting needles and I knit my baby girl the cutest bunny ever. I love her message, I envy her life and I strive to be more like her. This, ladies and gentlemen… is my mommy muse.

4. Snarky Snatch. OMG my new favorite. I freakin’ LOVE this woman. Her lesson on good head is absolutely priceless and I love a woman that embraces her sexuality with a middle finger flown at the jealous bitches. I love her, I love her words and well… don’t be surprised if you end up in wet panties after an hour on her blog. She’s got mad skills, and I love a sassy girl. Kudos baby- you write like I did before I knew my neighbors and kids teachers were reading. Thank God. I love every syllable. Today’s entry? “Random thoughts I have when I don’t have a penis in my mouth” I rest my case. Go. Read. Enjoy, or better yet? Take notes.

5. I have to break my promise and share my very favorite blogger, who happens to be a guy…. Your Pal Jason. I love this man. I get the whole fan thing when it comes to him because I have a bit of a crush. He’s smart and funny… OMG so so so funny…. and well… I love a man armed with words. Out of the 150 blogs I follow, he’s the only one on immediate delivery and if I had a million dollars I’d pay him to write for me day and night. I ♥ Jason. Awww.

Phew. Done. I followed all the rules- write it down. 🙂

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