So Many Tears, The Bachelorette and a Birthday Cake

Yesterday was a weird day for me.

I went to bed on Sunday night with the intention of trying to make this week the best I could make it.

I have been dealing with the dread of my impending 40th birthday, the unbearable Northern California heat and just a general feeling of blah.

Thanks Mother Nature!
Thanks Mother Nature!

So when I went to bed on Sunday night, I had a plan.  I was going to get up early, pick out a cute outfit, curl my hair and try to start enjoying my birthday week a little bit.

My day started off wonderfully (she says with sarcasm dripping off her tongue).  I shut off all 5 alarms that I had set on my phone and woke up at 8:40.  Yep.  Supposed to be to work between 7:30 and 8:00 am and instead, I slept until 8:40.  Perfect.  Good start.  I had to hurry and shower and throw some clothes on.  I did not feel cute or ready to begin my birthday week.

In fact, I spent most of the morning fighting back tears.

I got to work, apologized profusely to the people I work with and immediately went out to smoke.  (Because why not?)

In the midst of my emotional breakdown, I decided I needed to send Mr. Rocker a text message, to let him know that us kissing and making out last weekend, was a horrible mistake.  That it was affecting the way I viewed our friendship and that I was sorry I let it happen.

Well, let me tell you, it was a bad idea.  BAD. IDEA.

The messaging started out at 2:37pm with me apologizing.  Telling him that I had been feeling weird about things since that night and that I didn’t like things being unsettled between us.  That our friendship is important and I shouldn’t have let things get out of control.  And then I apologized.

Let’s just say that Mr. Rocker didn’t take it so well.

He actually argued with my feelings and what I was saying.  Argued with me, about MY feelings.

The last communication we had was at 7:06 pm.  He sent me a text telling me that we both know there is more going on here and I just don’t want to see it.  But that he’s not going to give up.  He doesn’t want to give up.  That’s what friends do, they don’t give up on each other.

Now, in between my first message and his last message, he told me how passionate we were, that there was undeniable chemistry and a spark.  Told me that I couldn’t deny it.  Um, I’m not denying it, it wasn’t fucking there! 

He’s crazy.  Legitimately, 100%, certifiably, crazy.

I kiss people when I’m drunk.  It happens.  I’m not proud of this, but one time I went to a bar and kissed 5 strangers.  FIVE.  I’m flirty and I’m fun.

Well, apparently, in RockerLand, a kiss means more than a kiss.  And maybe it should, I’m not arguing with his feelings, but it isn’t there.  NOTHING IS THERE.  No passion.  No chemistry.  No spark.

It was a drunk girl, kissing a drunk guy.  End of story.  I was mad at the 29 year old and feeling bad about life in general that day.

Needless to say, this may be the end of my friendship with Mr. Rocker.

When I got off work, I was determined not to cry anymore.  This was mid-conversation with Rocker, so I didn’t know where things were going to head at this point.

I left work and went to visit my kid at her work.  I needed a hug from my kid and a new shirt for the celebration of the anniversary of the day I was born.

I found a cute shirt, hugged my kid and headed to the grocery store.  After all, it was Bachelorette viewing party night.

Every text I got from Mr. Rocker upset me.

I got home from the grocery store, started dinner and texted a few people and made a few phone calls.  I cried for the better part of 3 hours.  Making dinner.  Crying.  Doing dishes.  Crying.  Watching Sixteen Candles.  Crying.  Talking to a friend.  Crying.  Typing a message to the Accidental Relationship.  Crying.

By the time my girls started to arrive, I was pretty much cried out.  Dinner was done.  Eyes were puffy and red.  No more make-up graced my 39 year old face.

When the last of the girls arrived, they had a birthday cake, candles and a box of glow sticks in hand to celebrate my birthday.  A BOX of glow sticks!  200 of them to be exact.  All different sizes.  All different accessories.  My girls are BADASS.

After dinner, of homemade chicken enchiladas and homemade refried beans, we busted out the glow stick kit.

We made necklaces, earrings, rings, bracelets and even headbands!  I’m not sure I remember the last time I had so much fun.  We were dancing around singing, taking pictures of each other, in the dark.  GLOWING.

Glow stick party and a birthday cake.  Who could want more for a 40th Birthday?
Glow stick party and a birthday cake. Who could want more for a 40th Birthday?

I appreciate those kids so much.  For girls, ages 19-22 to think of something fun and sweet like that for my birthday, meant so much to me.  It truly is the first time I have smiled in regards to my birthday this year.

Then we sat down to watch The Bachelorette.

Oh Hell.

Just a few things about last night’s episode, from my point of view:

  • I have no problem with Kaitlyn having sex.  I do however have a problem with her having sex with Nick.
  • It is clear that she projected her own guilt about having sex with Nick on to Shawn.  She turned it around on him and his insecurities.  Listen here, Kaitlyn.  Shawn is adorable.  Most girls would cut off their right ear to be with someone as sweet AND hot as he is.  And his voice?  Are you fucking serious?
  • I was sad when she sent Cupcake home, but really?  The hysterical crying into a scarf?  Yay for showing emotion.  Boo for being a 12 year girl.
  • Jared needs to go home.  He’s a nice guy, a super nice guy, but his facial hair is out of control.  Completely.  OUT. OF. CONTROL.
  • Nick Viall literally makes me sick.  I want to vomit when I look at him or hear his voice.  He is gross.  Ugly.  But besides that, since everyone has their own taste in men, his mannerisms remind me of a creepy serial killer.  His tears look forced.  When someone is trying to be serious with him, he gets a creepy ass smile on his face.  I’m pretty sure that smile translates in to “Don’t ever be alone with me again!  I will kill you, and then wear your skin!  Bwhahaha!!”
See?  Even drinking wine, he's creepy as hell.
See? Even drinking wine, he’s creepy as hell.

So that was my evening in a nutshell.  Tears.  Laughing.  Glow Sticks.  Trash TV.  Birthday Cake.

Oh, and I bought a tiara today, to wear on my birthday.  Yep.  I’m 40.  It’s sparkly and pink and pretty.  And because I’m 40, I do not give one fuck what other people think.

That’s not true.  I care what YOU think.

Kisses.  xx


I Can’t Believe It’s Been Over Seven Months

The year was 1994.

I had just left my daughter’s father.  The reasons behind the separation are not important, but the date is.  I left in September 1994.  A 19 year old girl, with a 9 month old baby.

Even though I left, I still had hope that Baby Daddy and I would reconcile. How could we not?  We had a beautiful baby together.  In my 19 year old heart, we belonged together.

In November of 1994, I found out about “her”.  Baby Daddy had moved someone new into the house.  My house.  I was terrified.  I was angry.  I was sad.  My heart felt like it was shattered, in a billion little pieces.

Then it happened, in early 1995.  I met “her”.  I met Amy.

I hated her instantly.  Not because of anything she said or did, but because she was with him.  They would watch my daughter for a night and they had the happy family. I was struggling to make ends meet.  I was the one raising a one year old child.

In May of 1995, I found out about her pregnancy and the wedding that would happen over the summer.  I hated her.  I hated that baby.  I hated him.  I wondered, over and over, why was she good enough to marry and I was not?  Why did he love her, more than he loved me.

Two weeks after my 20th birthday, my first love and his true love, married.  I was heartbroken.  No, that’s not true.  What I was feeling was WAY beyond heartbroken.

In December of that same year, two weeks before my daughter’s second birthday, her half-sister was born.  My heart shattered, all over again.

In 1998, another half-sister.  It didn’t hurt quite so bad this time.

And then, the insane happened.  The unpredictable, the wonderful, the crazy happened.

After years of meetings to exchange my kid, talking about child support and visitation, bullshitting about life, Amy and I became friends.  We never talked about Baby Daddy, but we bonded over our kids.  She was a wonderful stepmom to my daughter and how could I ever hate someone who loved my daughter?

Over the years, I grew to love Amy.  As I got older, I realized that her and Baby Daddy belonged together.  They were soul mates.  They completed each other.  They were addicted to each other.  They were horrible to and for each other, but couldn’t stay away from each other.

They finally separated.  Things were horrible.  They got into physical fights and emotional fights.  They called the cops on each other and then bailed each other out. The relationship was detrimental to the health of each of them and the kids.

That was when it happened.

The wonderfully, miraculous relationship between me and Amy.  She was separated and I was separated.  We spent almost every weekend together, with our kids.  She became a sister to me.  A best friend.  The second mother to my daughter and I was the second mother to her kids.

In 2012, she went off the deep end.  She started behaving weird and treating people badly.  She was mean.  Vicious almost.  I found out, about a year later, that she was addicted to pain pills and had checked herself in to rehab.

We didn’t speak.  I was angry about the way she treated her kids and the things she had said to me.  I didn’t know that I could ever forgive her.  Her kids didn’t know if they could forgive her.  Her own flesh and blood sister, swore she’d never forgive her.


One morning, in early May, I was sitting outside smoking and browsing Facebook.

I see a post on Amy’s sister’s Facebook page.  She was asking for prayers for her sister.

My heart sank.  This must be bad.  They haven’t spoken in almost 4 years.  

I sent her a private message on Facebook.  What happened?

And then I read the words that no one wants to read, about someone they love.

Amy has cancer.  They are doing pinpoint radiation this week.  Trying to prolong things, as much as they can.

Cancer?  She’s 37.  How in the actual fuck can she have cancer?

It’s terminal. She has 6-9 months, if she’s lucky.  


I cried.  I didn’t know what else to do.

Fuck cancer.

I sent Amy a message on Facebook, after a week or so of trying to digest the situation. I hadn’t spoken to her in a little over two years and to be honest, I didn’t know what to say or if she would want to hear from me.

We had some great conversations in the next few weeks.  We talked about our wild, crazy ride.  She talked about her imminent death and her kids.  She asked me to love her kids and be a mother figure to them when she was gone.  She told me how much she appreciated me and always had.  She told me that she loved my daughter and what a wonderful job I had done of raising her.

We talked about things that women our ages shouldn’t be talking about.

We should have been going to bars, meeting men and discussing the possibility of a second marriage.  And probably a second divorce, for us both.  We should have been talking about who was sending us penis pictures and how often we were getting laid. Getting ready to celebrate graduations and birthdays.  Not death.  Not funerals.

Fuck cancer.

I saw Amy at the end of May.  It was her oldest daughter’s high school graduation.

I hugged her and held her and shared a cigarette with her.  I helped support her when she got tired and laughed my ass off when she ate her fourth piece of pizza.  In her words “I don’t have to worry about getting fat now!”  I laughed through my tears.  She took her wig off and wrapped a scarf around her beautiful bald head.  I fought back tears.

The summer flew by.  June.  July.  August.  Promises to see each other.  I promised her I would drive down to see her.  Her 38th birthday came and went in late August. Her oldest daughter moved up and here and got an apartment with my daughter. September. Gone.  October. Gone.

The weekend before Thanksgiving, we got a call that Amy wasn’t doing well and probably wouldn’t make it through the weekend.  I hopped in the car with the two girls and we drove two and a half hours to see Amy.  To kiss her.  To love her.  To let her know we were there.

It was a hard night.  Seeing someone you love in that much pain was almost more than I could bear.  I can’t imagine how her girls felt.  I sat next to her bed, talked to her and kissed her forehead.  I told her not to worry about her girls, that I loved them and they would forever know how much she loved them.

She was very out of it.  She was drugged up, trying to keep her comfortable and didn’t even open her eyes, the entire time we were there.  But I know she heard me.  I know she knew I was there.  That the girls were there.  It comforted me and broke my heart, all at the same time.

On Saturday night, me and girls headed North.  It was a somber drive home.  I think the reality of the situation finally hit us all, like a hammer to the head.

Monday morning, three days before Thanksgiving, Amy took her final breath.

Fuck cancer.

Amy will not see her youngest graduate high school.  She will not see her oldest graduate from college.  She was never able to see the apartment that our girls share. She will never see weddings or grandbabies.  She will never celebrate another birthday or share a drink with her girls.

Fuck cancer.

This last year has not been easy.  Her kids have struggled.  Her family has struggled.  I have struggled.

I will always love Amy.  I will do my best to be a bonus mom to her kids.

Life has gone on.  We work.  We laugh.  We go to school.

Then sometimes, you just realize it’s been over seven months and all the emotions come flooding back.

Fuck cancer.

Friday Nonsense


Do you ever wake up in the morning (or afternoon) and just have a million things going on in your mind?  Nothing bad.  Nothing good.  Nothing even remotely related to each other?

I do.

Maybe I’m a lunatic.  Maybe I have ADD.  Maybe I am just a woman.

I woke up this morning and showered, as I do most mornings except weekends.  I’m lazy.  It takes a lot of effort to wash this hair.  Then dry it, curl it.  Fix make up.  It’s a lot of work to be a lady.

Anyway, in the shower, I realized that I need to go back to the tanning bed.  My cellulite is showing again and lets face it, cellulite is WAY prettier when it’s tan.  Ok, maybe “prettier” isn’t the right word.  It’s less noticeable when it’s tan.  I can also tell when I need to start tanning again because my arms, which are exposed to the sun, are a lot tanner than my stomach and legs.  NOT GOOD.  Back to the tanning bed I go.

After I tan today, I have to go to the post office and restart my mail service.

I live in a condo complex with the group mail boxes.  Well, I am pretty bad about checking my mail.  I pay all my bills online and don’t really care for the other shit that constantly gets delivered.  However, because my mailbox doesn’t hold very much, they will eventually stop delivering.  The mailman puts a pretty bright yellow note in your mailbox, telling you to pick up your mail at the post office.

Here’s the thing, if you don’t’ pick it up in 10 days, they will return it to the sender.

The pretty yellow note I have is dated 3/6/15.  Yep.  March.  They took my mail away in March and have been sending it back to the senders, ever since 3/16/15.  Oops!

Normally, I wouldn’t give one fuck.  Except, now, for two reasons, I do care.

1) I realized that I owe the IRS money and they have probably been sending me bills.  Now, the mail is getting returned and they think I’ve moved.  They think I’m hiding.  They probably have some bounty hunter after me now.  Trying to locate me.  Well, joke is on you IRS, I am just lazy and don’t like checking my mail.

2) My birthday is in 6 days.  My 40th Birthday.  I might be getting a birthday card or some money or something.  You just never know.  Luke Bryan may be sending me an autographed pair of man panties.  I REALLY need to go to the post office.  I do not want them to “Return To Sender” my birthday gift from Luke Bryan.

The lady at the post office is mean. She’ll probably yell at me.  I need to come up with a good reason why I haven’t picked up my mail in almost 4 months.  Vacation?  Hiding from the FBI?  Recovering from being run over by a herd of rhinos?

I’ll keep thinking.

Per my previous posts about the 29 year old, I texted him this week to find out exactly where we stood.  I am confused on the situation.  I haven’t seen him in a month, which I’m ok with because two weeks of that was military reserve training.  I just need clarification, so I could continue to try to be ok with this.

After a couple attempts at trying to pen the perfect text message, I finally sent one.

After a couple hours of waiting patiently (not at all), he finally responded.

He said that I was the only person he was dating and that he liked me a lot.

Ok, I suppose that is some confirmation.  I’m glad he likes me and I’m glad he’s not out being a man-whore.  It doesn’t really answer my question about where we are right now, but since I didn’t’ directly ask that, I’ll take it.

I miss him.  I like him.  I cannot wait to see him.

I may have really caused a problem with Mr. Rocker and instead of dealing with it like a mature adult, I’m just going to avoid and ignore him.  It’s horrible and I hate when people do that shit to me, but I have tried being honest and he doesn’t get it.

When I was drunk on Saturday and decided it would be a good idea (yet again) to kiss him, I told him he was one of my best friends and that nothing more would ever happen.  I said those exact words.  EXACT. WORDS.

He doesn’t get it.

In Mr. RockerLand, apparently after two kisses, in a year, we are married or something.  Kind of sucks because I didn’t even get a new dress for the ceremony.  If you are gonna get married, at least you should have a new dress.

Yesterday, out of the complete blue, he sent me a picture of some scenic place and told me where he was and that he was having lunch.  Then ended his text with ‘NICE’.

First of all, I’m pretty sure you aren’t supposed to say NICE about something you are doing without the other person asking.  That is usually something you say to someone.  They send you a picture of them in bed with Blake Shelton and you respond with ‘NICE’.  Wait, I take that back, if I was in bed with Blake Shelton, I probably would post the picture everywhere with the comment ‘NICE’, right under it.  Bad example.

Disclaimer: Miranda, please don’t get mad and hunt me down.  I’m just using Blake as an example, I’ve never actually met him, nor been anywhere close to a bed with him.

Second of all, Mr. Rocker, I did not ask where you were eating lunch or what your view was.  I literally give zero fucks.  Not one fuck.  Actually, the picture he sent me, is like a picture of my field of fucks.  There are none growing in it.  I almost sent him a picture of my break room at work and said “My view while eating my lunch.  NICE.”  But I decided that would be way to bitchy, even for me.

Last of all, he sent a text message to our karaoke group and asked if either of us ladies would like to go see Magic Mike XXL with his mom.  She apparently wants to have a girls day to see that movie.  I never saw the first one and I am not going to go watch the second one, with my wanna-be husband’s mom, who I have met one time.  This will NEVER happen.  So I ignored both text messages.

If you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all.

I spent last night watching the NBA Draft and cleaning my house.  I have been meaning to clean my house for weeks, but things keep coming up.  Dates.  Laziness.  Filleting my thumb open.  But last night, I was motivated.

I sat on my ass for the first 10 picks of the draft.  The Sacramento Kings had the number six pick and let’s face it, after the first 10 picks, you don’t really know any of the players, unless you are an avid college basketball watcher.  I only watch the Final Four.

During the commercials, I started laundry and did the dishes.  After the initial ten players, I got off my ass and actually set out to clean my house.  I don’t mean put some stuff away and shove magazines under the couch type cleaning.  I got in my shower and scrubbed my tub, I took out all my trash that had accumulated in bags, because I’m lazy.

*See above on checking mail.  LAZY*

I finished all my laundry, including putting everything away.  I vacuumed the whole house.  Cleaned both bathrooms.  Swept and wiped down all the counters and mirrors.

My house looks badass.

When I woke up this morning, I noticed how sore my body was.  Literally, my hips and lower back are aching.  I guess I should add “Go to the Gym” to my to-do list.  I’m pretty sure my body shouldn’t ache, after cleaning house.  OR maybe I should start having sex again.  It has been a while.

I’m looking forward to the Bachelorette on Monday.

That’s all about that.

So that, my friends, is my Friday Nonsense.  Maybe this will be a new feature on this blog.  Maybe it won’t.  I’m pretty bad at remembering stuff like that.

Something I Read

Today, I read a post by one of my favorite bloggers.  He has also become a friend over the last year.

He said that if you are going to write, don’t be afraid write about something that frightens, embarrasses, saddens or angers you.  That isn’t an exact quote, but you get the gist.

You know, there are a lot of things in this big old world that anger me, frighten me and embarrass me.

Charles Manson.  School shootings.  Cancer.

But this morning, I was texting another friend of mine about the situation with the 29 year old.  I realized while texting him, that I have some serious fears when it comes to relationships.

I am terrified of rejection.  Don’t get me wrong, I think everyone hates the feeling.  No one wakes up in the morning, thinking “Wow, maybe I’ll get rejected today!”  And frankly, if they do, they are crazier than I am.

I find myself walking on eggshells with guys and having internal debates about sending certain text messages.  This morning, I literally asked three different people, THREE, what, if anything, I should send to the 29 year old, to get some answers about “us”.

THREE different people.  My 22 year old sister, a guy friend who is my age and a co-worker who has been married for 39 years and is about 15 years older than me.

Eight days away from my 40th birthday and I literally asked the opinion of three different humans on how to handle a dating situation with someone who hasn’t even hit his 30’s yet.  He’s not even “middle-aged” yet and I’m probably more than half done with my life.

So after reading Matt’s post today, I started thinking about my fears when it comes to dating.  The other fears are just too big to blog about.

Why was I so concerned about what I was going to send to the 29 year old?  Why did I need the opinion of so many people, when MY feelings are the ones that are hurt?  MY head is the one that is confused.  MY heart is the one that is sad.  I shouldn’t need anyone else’s approval or opinion when it comes to telling him or asking him anything.

I do not want to say the wrong thing to anyone.  I do not want to give anyone a reason to misinterpret me or think anything negative about me.  I do not want the 29 year old to read a text from me and think What a bitch! or Fuck her then!  I’m concerned, always, about what others think about me.

It has always been a fear of mine.  This is probably the thing I hate most about myself (besides my fat) but I don’t know how to change it.  I do not know how not be concerned about what may or may not hurt other people’s feelings, when my feelings and well being are in question.

**Update: text between me and the 29 year old**

Me: Good morning.  I’ve been thinking about  you and ‘us’.  I’m not sure where we stand.

Him: What you mean babe?

Yah, I haven’t responded.  I think in his mind, nothing is wrong and now I’m worried about responding the wrong way.  I’m thinking on it.

Tick, tock, tick, tock…it’s been over an hour since he responded.

Anyway, in the midst of reading Matt’s blog, thinking about my fears and trying to figure out what to text the young one, I was texting my guy friend looking for advice and just venting really.

A quick run down of my story with him.  We met almost 3 years ago, online.  Yes.  Plenty of Assholes Fish let me down again.  Anyway, we had a very quick, passionate relationship.  We started talking online, then texting, then sending dirty messages and pictures.  The first time we met, face to face, we had sex.  Stop slut-shaming me.  We saw each other maybe 10 times in a 4-6 month period.  It was nice.  As brief as it was.  I have had cheap panties last longer.

He ended up giving me some bullshit story about money and like a dumbass, I loaned him $240.  He needed it and I had it.  So it was a no-brainer for me.  I never saw him again and never saw the money.  Actually he dropped off the face of the Earth and I ended up hating him.

Well, about 9 months ago, I was looking at wineries in the area, for a girls day and there was his face.  On a Facebook winery page.  Employee That Nailed The Most Drunk Girls or Employee Of The Month.  Something like that.

I went to his Facebook page and noticed that he had twin babies.  About 9 months old.  Huh.  I did the math, because frankly, girls are better than the FBI when it comes to stalking and figuring shit out.  Turns out, the baby momma was pregnant with those twins, when he borrowed the money from me.  Shocking that I never saw that money again.

I ended up sending him a private message on Facebook, because I’m crazy curious.  We ended up chatting.  Eventually exchanging phone numbers again.

He has apologized profusely to me for the way he treated me.  He says he was in a bad place and was in a tailspin that he didn’t know how to get out of.  Then when the baby momma got pregnant, he had no choice but to get his life together.  Apparently he has.

I have forgiven him.  I will never forget, but I do forgive.  People get in bad places.  Life feels out of control sometimes.  And it really does take a big person to apologize.  However, the subject of the money has never come up.  Again, shocking.

He’s the one that I was texting this morning about the 29 year old.  In the middle of our texts, I was trying to convey to him how I never felt loved, truly 100% loved, by a man.  That I felt like a failure and that I must be doing something wrong.  That it couldn’t always be “them”.   I was telling him that my daughter’s father told me that I didn’t deserve the ring he bought for me.  That I didn’t deserve to get married.

This was his response to me:


I thought it was pretty nice.  I don’t know if it is all bullshit or not, but I’m hoping not.

I do not claim to be perfect.  I am actually very, very far from perfect.  But I do care.  I love with everything I have and everything I am.  I believe that I have a good soul.  A caring soul.  I never want anyone to hurt.  Especially not because of me.

I’m trying to let go of some of the fear.  I’m trying to learn that my concerns and my heart, are just as important as other peoples.

Reading over this, it went in a totally different direction than I had anticipated or planned.  The title of this post makes no sense to the context, except that Matt’s post today really got me thinking about my own fears.  Then it took on a life of it’s own.

I apologize.

No, wait.  I don’t apologize, I did nothing wrong.

Just kidding.  I’m sorry if you read this post, expecting it to be a book review or something more interesting than my broken love life.

The Bachelorette and Slut-Shaming

I love fluff television.

I am an avid watcher of the Bachelor / Bachelorette “reality” show on ABC.

Maybe it’s my desire for happily ever after.  Maybe it’s my desire to completely hate people I don’t know.  Maybe it’s to see the exotic places they travel, since I’ll probably never go.

I don’t know what the reason is, but I love the damn show.

Every Monday night, I have between 3-5 girls over to my house.  I make dinner, we DVR the show and start watching about 10:00 pm.  We make a big Bachelorette board, to keep track of the guys / girls that go home, the roses and special things that happen on the dates.  We get my scrapbook stickers and markers out and any of the girls are allowed to mark up the board, however they want.

Our board for this season of the Bachelorette. Most elaborate one yet. And I just couldn’t bring myself to put an “X” over Britt.

It has become a fun tradition.

Until this season…

I love Kaitlyn.  I would have struggled watching if Britt was the Bachelorette.  I am not a fan of hers.

I love the way Kaitlyn is handling herself.  Even though I do not agree with every decision she makes, I get it.  She’s passionate.  She’s not afraid to speak her mind and let’s face it, she’s funny as fuck.

She has a wonderful group of guys.  I love them. Shawn B, Cupcake Chris, Benzie, Ben H and Joe.  GREAT GUYS.

BUT, I am watching this show with 3-5 girls, between the ages of 19-23.  They DO NOT like the fact that she continues to kiss these guys over and over and they definitely DO NOT like the fact that she fucked Nick in last night’s episode.  To be fair, I don’t like that she had sex with Nick either, because I think he’s a snake, but I completely understand how hormones took over and it happened.  She’s attracted to him.  She’s young and beautiful and likes sex.

This brings me to the topic of “Slut-Shaming”.  I am SO bothered by this.

I am an almost 40 year old woman, who loves sex.  I love intimacy and feeling that in tune with someone.  I love feeling wanted and needed and desired.  And frankly, sometimes, I just need to get laid.

Why are women shamed for this?  Why are we “whores” or “sluts” or “easy”?  Maybe physical attraction and intimacy are just important to us in relationships and we do what we can to find it.

Since coming out of my divorce, I wanted to be wanted by a man.  Actually wanted.  Someone who can’t keep their hands off you and can’t wait to get you home to ravage your body.  They make you feel special and beautiful and sexy.  Who the hell doesn’t want that?

Let me be clear on this though, I do not want to be someone who sleeps around.  I do not want to have multiple partners for the rest of my life.  I want to find one man, who wants me.  All of me.  My crazy.  My love.  My heart.  My body.

Let’s ask this question to all people out there who are slut-shaming Kaitlyn or woman like her (and me).    Say you meet a man.  He’s handsome.  His voice is sexy.  He treats you wonderfully.  You love everything about him.  But you have “rules” about getting intimate with someone.  So you fall for this guy.  You enjoy his company and everything about him.

After falling for him and him falling for you, you decide to finally have sex with him.  He’s awkward.  His penis is small and you can’t even feel it.  He’s a horrible kisser and can’t find your G-spot to save his life.  There is no physical attraction.  You would rather rip your hair out, one strand at a time and strangle yourself with it, than ever have sex with him again.

Do you stay with him because of all the good things about him?  Do you buy him a map, showing him where your G-spot is and what to do with it?  Or do you walk away, because you can’t possibly have a long term relationship with someone who you aren’t attracted too?

If you are reading this and thinking you would stay with him, you are a damn liar.

No offense.

I realize rules changes when you get to be older.  Maybe 55+?  Maybe 65+?  Maybe then, the intimacy doesn’t matter.  But from ages 18-40ish…it matters.  BIG TIME.

I, like Kaitlyn, would rather know.  Before my heart gets involved.  Before his heart gets involved.  Before there is a horrible, miserable break up that takes both months and months to recover from.

Do it.  Do it safely, but do it.

So, I do not judge Kaitlyn for having sex.  I do not judge her for allowing her emotions and hormones to take over in Dublin, Ireland.  The only thing I judge her for, is for sleeping with Nick.  He’s a sleazy, arrogant, Spencer-Pratt-looking asshole, who clearly only wants to win.

My final parting words on last night’s episode and slut-shaming…

To Kaitlyn: if you are gonna spend the night with anyone, make it Shawn B.  Or Cupcake Chris.  Stay away from Nick. He’s sleazy and doesn’t deserve your time, let alone your body.

To ABC: please take the microphones out of the bedroom before you air it on TV.  I DID NOT need to hear all that in last night’s episode.

Love and Technology

When I was younger, things were so different.

It doesn’t seem like it was that long ago, yet it seems like a whole other lifetime.

When I was young, you had a house phone.  Connected to the wall by a cord.  If you called a house and someone was on the phone, you got an annoying busy signal.  You called back.  Sometimes every 5 minutes, if you really needed to talk to whoever you were calling.

I remember when my house first got call waiting.  It was an extra $3.50 a month on our phone bill, but my parents thought it was worth it.  It was me and four of my step-siblings in the house.  We were on the phone constantly.

We had rules in our home, especially after we got call waiting.

  • We were only allowed to be on the phone for 30 minutes at a time.
  • If someone called for the parents, we hung with our friends immediately.
  • If someone called for another sibling, you were allowed to take a message, as long as you hadn’t been on the phone for 30 minutes.
  • We were not allowed to receive phone calls after 9:30 pm and absolutely no being on the phone after 10:00 pm.

The rules were made to make everyone happy and we usually lived by them.  It was just the way things were.

Same rules applied for the Nintendo.

When we had a boy that we liked, they had to call the house and risk our parents answering.  They had to be polite.  There was no being sneaky.

If you called someone and they didn’t answer, you could choose to leave a message on their answering machine.  At. Your. Own. Risk.  If you left a message on the machine and a parent heard it or a sibling, they may delete it or never give your friend the message.

If you went on vacation or a friend went on vacation, you didn’t speak to them.  You may write notes or mail a postcard, but you didn’t talk to them.  You got home from your vacation and after you helped your parents unload the car, you were able to make phone calls.  You would try to squeeze your whole vacation in a 30 minute phone call, with your siblings begging you to hang up, so they could make a phone call.

When I was 15, my parents got me my own phone line for my bedroom.  I received $20 a month for allowance and the deal was that I could have my own phone line, at $12 a month and receive $8 a month allowance.  DEAL!

For a teenage girl, who loved boys and loved to be on the phone, it was perfect.  $8 a month was plenty, as long as I had my phone.  Eventually, I even got my own answering machine.  It was a hand-me-down from a friend of the family, when they got a new one.

Fast forward 20+ years…

We now have portable phones that fit in our back pockets.  We carry them with us everywhere.  They are phone books, alarm clocks, mobile banks and devices that allow you to constantly post to people where you are and what you are doing.

You can download dating apps on your phone.  You can swipe left or right, depending on whether or not you think someone is attractive or interesting.  (Let’s be honest, usually attractive)  You can send someone a text message from the top of a roller coaster or while shopping at the grocery store.  You can send pictures to friends to see what they think of your outfit or hair style.

Technology is wonderful.  I love it.  I love being able to text my daughter to check on her or let her know that I love her.  I love being able to check my bank balance, before I buy a new shirt or pair of shoes.

But it has it’s down falls…

In the world of instant gratification, when everyone has their phone on them ALL THE TIME, it hurts when you don’t get a response.  You send a text to a man you like and they don’t respond.  You start to wonder what happened.  Did you say something wrong?  Did you do or not do something?  Were they talking to eighteen other people from some stupid online dating site and they found someone they liked better?

When I was 15, if I didn’t hear from a boy for 2-3 days, I didn’t panic.  I didn’t worry if I had said or did anything wrong.  I figured maybe they were on vacation or got grounded and weren’t allowed to use the phone.  I didn’t think they were doing anything wrong or talking to other girls.  It just was the way life was.

Online dating has ruined dating.  Instant gratification from texting has ruined dating.

Online dating allows you to meet and talk to multiple people all the time.  It allows you to be on the constant search for “Mr. Right”.  The one guy who can sweep you off your feet and make you whole.

You don’t like way someone dresses?  Move on.

You don’t like the same sports teams?  Move on.

You don’t like the way they spell?  Move on.

You don’t like that broccoli is their favorite food?  Move on.

It’s easy.  Too easy.

Ok, so you meet someone online. You chat for an hour or a week online.  Depending on the situation and the “connection”.  You exchange phone numbers.  You start texting from morning until night.  You text about likes and dislikes.  You text about kids and family and exes.  You get comfortable.  The texting may turn dirty.  You may start telling each other what you want to do to each other when you meet.  You then may start sending dirty pictures.  Just a hint of nipple, then maybe the whole boob. Finally, they send you a penis picture and you either send them a picture of your vagina or you move on.  That really depends on what the penis picture looks like.

You realize you have been talking to this person for five days.  You have not talked on the phone.  You have not made plans to meet.  But you know what his penis looks like.

Finally, you suggest that a phone call may be appropriate.  He calls.  He sounds like a muppet.  So you find a reason to hang up the phone and you move on.  Or maybe, just maybe, he’s got an amazing voice.  A Texas accent and gives you butterflies when he says “y’all”.

Now you can’t wait to meet him!

You hang up the phone with him and go back to his dating profile, to see his face.  To make sure you have the right penis face associated with the name.  Maybe you decide to read back through his profile to make sure things are what you remember.

Oh shit!  He’s a Lakers fan?  How did I miss that?

That’s it.  I’m moving on.

Technology has taken the fun out of getting to know someone.  Technology has made me question everything about myself, when it comes to dating.

Did he not like my hair?

Does he think I’m ugly?

Is he is talking to other girls that he likes more?

Does he think I’m fat?

Does he think my boobs are bad?

Technology sucks.

HOWEVER, today, my cell phone was turned off for 43 minutes because apparently AT&T has no patience for me not paying my bill.  That 43 minutes was horrible.  It was the longest 43 minutes of my life.  I cried to the guy at AT&T and then had to borrow money from my kid to pay the bill.

Mass Confusion


I am someone who needs closure and needs to understand situations.

I do not do well when I have to guess what you are thinking or feeling or what you may be trying to say to me.

I have a tendency to stew over things and talk them over with friends, until I feel like I have a good grasp on things.

It drives  me crazy.  I KNOW it drives my friends crazy.  People that don’t have this obsessive personality, will never understand what goes on in my head, every single day.

I constantly tell my friends (and myself) that I am so confused about men and what they want or expect from me.

A few weeks ago, I went to see the 41 year old.  It was a Saturday night and  he had already been drinking by the time I got there.  I had a beer with him and we were chatting.  He’s very smart and has a really bad habit of making me feel stupid when we are talking.  I’m not a stupid girl, but he makes me feel that way.  It doesn’t mean I’m stupid just because I don’t know every instrument in every band, just by listening to it. 

Anyway, on this particular night, we had a little difference of opinion on something.  I got my feelings hurt and was ready to leave.  He couldn’t figure out what was wrong.  I told him that my feelings were hurt and we talked it out.  I took something out of context that he said.  We talked about it and then moved on.  And by “moved on”, I mean we had amazing sex.

After the sex, this was the conversation we had.

Him: Do you think I’m your soulmate?

Me: No, probably not.

Him: Ok then we are on the same page.  I like  you.  A lot.  But I can’t offer you anything more than this right now.  I won’t ask you if you are seeing anyone else, because I’m just not that guy.

Me: Ok.  Fair enough.  If you ever get to a point where you want it to be exclusive, we’ll talk about it.  I’d be on board to try it.

*About 30 minutes pass*

Him: What do you think about “us”?

Me: Well, I think we get along great.  I like you.  But I’m happy with what is going on here.  (I’m not really, but I told him that)

Him: Ok good.  Me too.

Me: What do you think about “us”?

Him: What?  There is no “us”.  We are just friends.

Me: (fighting back tears) Oh, ok.

*Another round of sex and about an hour later*

Him: You know, I like where things are with you.  Who knows?  You may be my soul mate.

Me: …

So, I went from nothing, to there is no “us” to a possible soul mate.  In about 2 hours.  Geez…I can’t imaging why I might be confused.

Now, the 29 year old completely blew me off this weekend.  We were supposed to see each other on Friday night and I had to text him in the evening to see if that was still happening.  He responded with a “sorry” and that he was still working.

I didn’t hear from him all weekend.  I didn’t text him and he didn’t text me.

It has been almost 4 weeks since I have seen him.

This morning, I wake up the this:

Him: Good Morning beautiful.  Do you think you’d be able to come visit me in (CA city he’s in) this week?

Me: Good morning.  Maybe.  Depends on my work schedule.

Him: Ok let me know.  I miss you!!!

Yep.  Three exclamation points.  A very emphatic “I miss you”, according to texting etiquette.

Me: I miss you too.

On one hand, I think he does miss me and genuinely likes me.  On the other hand, it’s been brought to my attention that maybe he just isn’t in to me anymore.  I’m not sure what to think or believe anymore.

I can’t imagine why I’m confused.

On the flip side of my confusion, I have a tendency to confuse others, without intent.

For those of you who may have read my old blog before, you may remember Mr. Rocker.  He was the one who has liked me for over a year, took me a Kiss / Def Leppard concert last year and who I kissed on my birthday last year when I was drunk.

Well apparently in Mr. Rocker’s World, this meant we were married.

I didn’t want a relationship with him.  We are dear friends, but there is NO attraction.  None.  Not one little bit.

He creeped me out by rubbing my feet in public.  Just took off my flip flops and started rubbing my feet.  IN. PUBLIC.

Anyway, I have been pretty good about keeping my distance.  I never text him suggestive texts or pictures.  I never feed in to his flirting.  I make sure to tell him how much I appreciate his “friendship”.  Literally, every chance I get.

HOWEVER, this weekend we were at a barbecue that some mutual friends from karaoke were having.  I was pissed off at the young one and had way too much to drink.  I mean WAY TOO MUCH to drink.

Mr. Rocker was being sweet, as he always is, and I kissed him.  Dammit.  He wanted to come home with me and thank goodness I drew the line before all that nonsense.

It will never happen with us.  EVER.  I’m not attracted to him and would hate to jeopardize my friendship with him.  But I can see why he’d be confused.  Once a year, I just decide I need to kiss him.  Ridiculous.

This morning, he sent me a text telling me he was in bed, naked.  And hoped it made me smile.

No.  It didn’t.

So my life is one big ball of mass confusion these days.

I am confused and I am causing others to be confused.