Need To Get Back

Writing has always been therapeutic for me.  As I assume it is for most people that blog.

When I started this version of my blog, I was not yet 40.  I intended on writing about dating, sports, reality TV and whatever else seemed to pop into my head.  It mostly centered around dating.  The losers I was talking to from the internet.  The wide world web of dickheads.  The liars, the losers, the freaks.  The really hot ones that would never be interested in a girl like me.

Shortly after turning 40, I met E.  I wrote a lot about him and the journey to us becoming a couple.  But since we’ve become “we”, I haven’t written much.  For a few different reasons.

The first reason is that when things are good, what am I going to say?  “Things are good.  E made me dinner last night.  Then we watched Survivor and went to bed”.  That’s not exciting.  That isn’t worth writing about.

The second reason is that when things are not so good, I’m worried that he will someday track this blog down and read it.  I don’t need that kind of shit.  Like a mother or brother reading your diary.  Who needs it?

I also have nothing interesting to say about sports.  Kings still suck.  LeBron and Curry were in the finals, AGAIN this year.  The Braves aren’t that good.  The Raiders are moving to Vegas.

Ooooohhhh, exciting writing Andi.  Bring on the followers and new comments.

“yes, the Kings are still bad and always will be”

“Go LeBron”

“Go Steph”

So here is my dilemma and I am sincerely looking for feedback.

Do I come on here when needed and vent about things that aren’t perfect in my world? Do I talk about how LaVar Ball is going to ruin his son’s career, before it even gets started?  Do I let myself vent (outloud) about the disaster that is Corinne and DeMario on Paradise?

I miss writing.  I miss the interaction.  I miss getting this shit off my chest, so I don’t take it home and eat an entire pint of Ben and Jerry’s ice cream.

Maturity

The level of maturity at my current company, since I gave my notice, is unbelievable.

The CEO made me cry.   The CFO asked me how the job market was.  The two HR ladies haven’t spoken one word to me.  The receptionist, who thinks she owns the place, won’t even look my direction.

I guess the good news is that at least I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that I am making the right decision.

GROW THE FUCK UP.

Sometimes, It Just Doesn’t Fit

I worked in the same industry, with the same people, doing the same job, for 12 years. The company was sold, over and over, but the job and the people didn’t change.

I loved that job.  Even with the acquisitions, the lay-offs due to company relocation and the several different supervisors I had over the years, I loved it.

I was good at my job.

Really good at it.

On July 29, 2016, I was laid off.  They company was shutting down and moving operations back to the East coast.  We were all laid off.  We were all angry.  We were all scared.

I started my new job on August 8, 2016.

It was not the job of my dreams, even when I interviewed, but I was scared. Unemployment would not be enough to live on.  They offered me the job and I started it. It was a paycheck.  Plain and simple.

I have been here 10 months now.  I can remember how it felt on my first day here, going home and crying, because I knew it wasn’t right.  This company and this job was not for me.

Since I started here, 10 months ago, we have laid off about half the staff.  There have been 8-10 people that have given notice and moved on.  I have never been at a company that had turnover, like this company does.  Firing, laying off, quitting.  It is a rotating door of employees.

Now, in the defense of this company, this may be the norm.  The industry I was in before was so small, that people didn’t leave.  They had special skill sets that caused them to be valuable.  There was little to no turnover.

At this job, I am bored about 90% of the time.  I spend a lot of time re-writing processes, fixing part number descriptions and browsing for interesting stories online.  Thank you to all of you who write blogs, so I have something to do everyday!

In March, they hired a new CFO.  He is my direct supervisor.  I have never worked for someone that I felt so disconnected from.  He has spent no time learning what I do, sitting with me or showing any interest in the supply chain aspect of this company.  He called me negative, to my face, after I showed concern after the latest lay off.

Yesterday, it finally happened.

I finally got the call, I’ve so desperately been waiting on.

I was offered a job, doing what I love, for a stable company with very low turnover.

I’m so happy.  SO FUCKING HAPPY.

Peace out, current job!  This girl is moving on!

It’s Been A Long Time

I haven’t written anything in a long time.

When I started this blog, I hadn’t even turned 40 yet and now, I’ll be 42 this summer.

This blog started out to be a place for me to vent about dating disasters, get confirmation from other women that I wasn’t crazy and that there were a lot of bad eggs out there.

Writing clears my head.  It gets rid of the anxieties in my head and relieves the pressure of thoughts building in my head.

I miss it.

Just because I’m not single anymore, doesn’t mean I shouldn’t keep writing, when needed.  For support.  For joy.  To feel better.

E and I have been living together for a little over a year now.

It hasn’t been easy.  It’s been a really big adjustment for me.

I went from living alone for the first time in my life and doing what I wanted, to living with a man.  A man who has different smells than I do.  A man who has different eating habits than I do.  A man who has different sleeping habits than I do.  I had to make room in my closet.  I had to make room in my dresser.  I had to make a copy of my house key.

He leaves his keys and wallet and sunglasses, right in the middle of the kitchen island. He doesn’t do the dishes as often as he cooks.  He doesn’t replace the trash bag in the kitchen.  He doesn’t make the bed, after the sheets have been washed.

It’s been a little scary.  I’ve gotten a little angry.  I feel a little smothered sometimes.

But here’s the thing…HE takes the trash out.  Always.  HE goes grocery shopping and cooks me dinner.  HE gets up early on his days off to make my coffee and get my lunch together for me.  HE has gone to Ulta to buy the new make-up pallet I mentioned I would like to have.

He’s a good man.

He’s not perfect.  He drives me batty.

But he loves me.  All of me.  All the time.

When I was sick and all I was craving was bacon, he fried me up bacon, for three nights in a row.  YES…THREE nights in a ROW.  (Go ahead and judge)

I’m fortunate to have him.

I’ve stopped writing on here because I didn’t think it mattered anymore.  I stopped writing because who in their right mind wants to read about this?  Well, maybe some people do.  Maybe some women are in their 40’s and have given up hope.  Maybe I’ll give them hope.  Maybe some people want to read this and laugh because my life is boring.  Maybe no one will read this at all.

But I do know that writing clears my head.  It takes away my anxiety and makes me happy.

So here I am.

I’m back.

Needing to vent

It has been a really long time since I’ve posted on here. And I miss you all dearly….however what I have to say probably will not be very popular and may not make others happy.

I am not one who talks a lot about politics. I try to stay away from conversations because I was raised to believe that everyone is entitled to their own opinions. About politics,  religion, sexual orientation and so on.

I’m extremely frustrated by things I’m seeing in the media and on social media.

I voted for Trump. Not because I think he is the answer, but because I BELIEVE Hillary was not. This is my right, as an American, who registered to vote.

I keep seeing comments about how we as Americans failed women. That because we elected Trump into office, we have to sit down and explain to our children, to our daughters, his behavior and derogatory comments he’s made.

I am the mother of a daughter, who is old enough to vote. And the bonus mom to two other girls who are old enough to vote. All three of them formed their own opinions and voted for Trump.

I would much rather explain to them comments that a man made, and that most men have probably made at some point, than to explain to them how a woman in power has no self-worth and allowed her husband to abuse his power while in office. She allowed her husband to have affairs and degrade other women, in a government building. She allowed her husband to her get away with it. When the story broke, why wasn’t she divorcing him and shaming him for his behavior?

Hillary Clinton is no role model.

America is failing. America would continue to fail under Hillary.

IN MY OPINION.

I’m entitled to have my political views. As are you. As is every American.

 

It’s the Little Things

In all of the relationships I have ever had including dating, marriage, and friendships, I have never felt like I was irreplaceable or like I mattered that much.  I know people have loved me over the years and even now, but its been very rare that I ever felt loved. 

I have said goodbye to a lot of men and several friends over the past two years.  Some by my choice, some just walked away, never to be heard from again.  It hurts.  Every.  Single.  Time.  However, in the end, it always ends up being the right thing.

One of the things I’ve always wanted was to be loved with someone’s whole heart.  To know that someone loves me because of my flaws and imperfections, not in spite of them.  Someone that loved me enough to pay attention to the little things that I say or do.

You know, true love.

Well now, I seem to have found it.

A man who truly thinks that I am the greatest human alive.  He laughs at my jokes, wipes the tears from my eyes and kisses my forehead as I fall asleep.

A man who brings me flowers for no reason.  Or just because it’s Tuesday and thinks the flowers are pretty.

A man who listens to the words I say and files them away in a storage box, somewhere in his brain.

Almost a month ago, he said to me “We have plans on 2/28, make sure you don’t plan anything else.”  I asked him what we were doing and he said it was a surprise.

Over the next two weeks, leading up to that Sunday, he was telling me things to prepare me, but not give it away.

Don’t wear any jeans with holes in the knees.  And make sure to wear tennis shoes. 

Don’t spend a lot of time doing your hair or makeup.  It might be windy.

I want you to wake up at 6:30 am.  I will go and get you coffee and something to eat, while you are getting ready.

We need to leave no later than 9:30 to get where we are going to be.

Honestly, my biggest fear at this point was that he was planning on taking me skydiving.  I did not want to do this.  Then I thought he knows  you don’t like heights, skydiving isn’t an option. 

I woke up before him the morning of February 28th.

He woke up a few minutes later and joined me for a cigarette.  Before he lit his cigarette, he had started the shower for me, so it would be warm for me to get in.

I got in the shower, washed my hair and shaved my legs.  Anxious and excited and nervous, beyond belief!

He went and got me coffee.

He then reminded me how many people knew about this adventure, besides me.

Ok I’m ready!  *deep breath*

About an hour into our drive, we stopped to pee.  Well, I needed to pee.

He handed me some folded up tickets that were in his pocket.

He had planned for us to go to San Francisco and take the ferry to Alcatraz.

Now, here’s the thing that is amazing about this plan from him.  I have always wanted to walk around Alcatraz.  For as long as I can remember.  But while we were watching the Super Bowl, they showed the Golden Gate Bridge and the prison and I mentioned, in passing, that I would love to go there.

I never gave it another thought.

He remembered.  He planned it.

We got to The City and parked.  I was giddy with excitement.  As we stood in line, getting ready to board the ferry, I looked at this man.  He was smiling at me.  I asked him why he was smiling.  His response told me everything I ever needed to know.  He said “I’m smiling because you are so happy and that makes me so happy”.

We docked at the prison and got off the ferry.  I felt like I was in a movie.  It was unreal.  It all looked so big and magical and scary.  I immediately thought how of terrifying it would be to be a prisoner, living on an island.  The chance of escaping, slim to none.  Even if you got out of the cell, you would never survive the swim in the freezing cold bay.

But then I remembered that they are criminals, the worst criminals, and don’t deserve for me to worry about them.

For those of you who have never stepped foot on Alcatraz, or any prison for that matter, here are a few pictures of what it looks like.

It’s pretty cool and creepy and I loved every minute of it!

After our tour completed, we went and had lunch at a place down on the pier.  The lunch was really good, but not as good as the 24 oz. Pomegranate Margarita I drank.

So here I was, drunk at 4pm, in the City.

Laughing, shopping and amazed that this man had done this for me.

But our day wasn’t finished.

We got in the car and drove across the Golden Gate Bridge.  It was spectacular!  It had been years since I had been on this bridge and the beauty of it almost took my breath away.  Or, it may have been the tequila. 

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We turned on to Highway 1 and started taking the twisting, turning road that runs along the ocean.  He wasn’t done with our day.

We drove and sang and talked.  He turned off and we headed towards a beach.  He took my hand and walked me across the sand, telling me that he knew I loved the ocean and seashells and that there was no better time to be there, than sunset.

I’m pretty sure he was right.

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We walked and kissed and collected seashells.  We listened to the tide roll in and smash against the rocks.  We smelled the bon fires and roasted marshmallows.

After the sun went down, my man had one last surprise for me.

We continued to drive, until we reached Lucas Valley Road.  For those of you who don’t know, this street was named after George Lucas.  His estate, Skywalker Ranch, is located on this road.

He pointed out the entrances to the ranch to me and I giggled like a child on Christmas morning.  I’m a pretty big Star Wars fan and to know that I was on the same street that George Lucas lived on, was pretty exciting to me.

We continued the long drive home and as I looked over at this man, who had taken the initiative to plan an entire day, just for me, my heart swelled.

I have never felt that kind of love before.

I never realized a human could care so much about me, to take the time to plan a beautiful day, filled with activities that I would cherish for a lifetime.

I feel so grateful to have found him.  And I know that he feels grateful to have found me.

An Open Letter

Dear Roommate,

Oh wait, let me correct that.

Dear EX-Roommate,

For months, I sat back and dealt with the fact that we were dating and sleeping with the same man.  For months, I tried to hide my jealousy at the fact that even though you only had one firm “date” night a week, that you lived with him.  You saw him, laughed with him, ate dinner with him and hung out with him, five nights a week.  But I tried my best to understand him and the situation.

On the nights that you had your official “date” night, I gave him his space.  I didn’t text him, call him or snap chat him.  Even though I didn’t like it, I respected HIM enough to give him his time.

You could never do the same.  Every time he was with me, no matter what we were doing, you would text him.  You would send him snap chats.  You would even send him messages on Facebook.  Even though he wouldn’t respond, you would keep it up, every time we were together.  Every. Fucking. Time.  I tried not to let it bother me.  I tried to understand.

I knew the situation going in to this relationship with him.  He was honest with me about where he was in his life and what he was doing.  He didn’t want a serious relationship and I understood that.  He told you the same thing.

But there was something there between him and I.  Something different.  I knew it.  He knew it.  And apparently, you knew it.

You tagged him on Facebook, every chance you got.  I did not.

You posted pictures of the two of you together.  I did not.

I saw them and cringed.  I saw them and cried.  I saw them and started fights with him.

I finally got to a point where I was comfortable enough to post a picture of him and I together on my Facebook.  I didn’t even tag him in it.  Yet, within minutes, you texted him to tell him that it hurt you to see the pic of us together and made you really sad what MY friends were commenting under it.  You told him to tell me to block you on Facebook.  That you couldn’t block me, because you always had the opportunity to unblock me.

Here’s the thing, ex-roommate, if you don’t like what you are seeing on my Facebook page, quit fucking looking at it.  Quit stalking me.  I already had to block you on Instagram because you were stalking me.  I drew the line at Facebook.

Shortly after that, you did block me on Facebook.  YAY!!  I don’t have to see your shit anymore!!  It was kind of a small victory to me.

Remember the night you and E got in that huge fight?  Oh, you remember.  The night that you got pissed off and walked out, because he told you he was falling in love with me?  Yes.  That night.  He messaged me and asked me to come and pick him up because he was drunk and didn’t want to be home if you came back.  I went to pick him up.  He told me all about the fight and said that he had gotten pissed and broke his phone.  I talked him through it, helped him pack a bag and took him home with me.

On the way home, I told him he needed to message you on Facebook, to let you know that he was safe.  His exact words to me? “Fuck that bitch.  She doesn’t need to know where I’m at.”

That night was the night you decided to unblock me from Facebook.  Do you remember that?  You sent me a message, telling me that you had gotten home and he wasn’t there.  That you were SO worried about him.  You told me that he was drunk and didn’t have a phone.

I responded with a simple message.  “He’s safe.”

You proceeded to tell me some things about you and E and your fight, that I didn’t want to hear.  I remained calm.  I remained factual and tried to do the right thing by him.  I even sent you my cell phone number, so you could call him if you wanted to.  You responded with a message saying that you would never call my cell phone number and sent me yours, but told me to tell him to only call if he REALLY wanted to talk to you.

You know what bitch?  You got your way.  BLOCKED.

The next few months were a lot of the same.

He told you he didn’t want a physical relationship with you anymore.  That you were just friends and roommates.

You cried.

You cried every time he left the house to come be with me.

You cried every time you had a beer with him and he brought me up.

Yet, I still respected the times you guys were together and didn’t message him.

Eventually, he made the decision to be exclusive with me.  Even though he hadn’t been with others in months, it was official.  He asked you to move out and told you that he was moving in with me and that I would be his future.

Here is where things get weird.  Here is where you freaked the fuck out and let your multiple personalities show.

In the two months since this decision was made, you have been a complete bitch to him, cried to him, been sarcastic to him and tried to sleep with him.  How’s that for respect?

I guess there are three things about your behavior that have surprised me the most, since he told you he was moving in with me.

First, you still have a total lack of respect for my relationship with him, for his decision to commit to me.  You send him pictures of you laying in bed, with just the tops of your boobs showing.  You call him babe and sign the picture with xoxo.  I don’t give one fuck how you feel about me, but how disrespectful is that to your “best friend”?

Second, you are so wishy-washy with the things you say to him.  You have told him to tell me to unblock you from Facebook.  That it’s important for you to see the things I tag him in and that you want to know he is happy.  You told him that you want to apologize to me and make things right.  That you want to say you are sorry for being a jealous bitch for all those months.  Here’s the thing, I am a grown ass woman and I will make my own decisions about unblocking you or listening to what you have to say to me.

Lastly, you tell him that you want all of us (me, him, you and your new meal ticket) to hang out.  To have dinner together or possibly go to a concert together.  Yes.  That sounds like something I would want to do.  Right behind poking my own eyes out with a dull pencil and pulling my hair out, one strand at a time and choking myself with it.

I know that losing someone you love isn’t easy.  It hurts like a bitch.  I wouldn’t wish that kind of heartache on anyone.  I do have empathy for you and how you must be feeling.  However, with that said, I do not believe you are handling it the right way.  You can choose to move in two different directions.  You can walk away completely and cut him out of your world.  Let your heart heal.  Mourn the loss of him and the loss of what you had.  OR you can be his friend.  Be happy for him that he has found me and that I make him smile.  You say you want what is best for him, but does that only count if you are the one he chooses?

Stop trying to control what I do in my life.

Stop trying to turn his other friends against with your broken heart.

Stop trying to make him feel bad for falling in love with someone other than you.

Stop trying to win him back by sending him suggestive photos and calling him pet names.

He has asked you to stop, respect him.

He has told you that he loves me, respect us.

And last, but certainly not least, know in your heart that I’m the one he chose.  He wants to spend his life with me and I will do everything in my power to keep that smile on his handsome face.  He loves me.  He is in love with me.  I am his world.  Bitching, crying, naked pictures and begging are not going to change the way his heart feels.

Move on,

Me.