My Landlord and His Leaks

Last week my upstairs toilet broke. No, I didn't do anything weird to it, it sprung a slow random leak from the pipe that connects the toilet to the wall, and thankfully the leak was slow enough not to do any damage to the floor. Recently I lost all of my phone contacts, including my landlord's number, so I shot him a quick email. Knowing it's the holidays and he might not get it until the new year, I shut the water off in the bathroom and got back to life. I mean, there are two other toilets in my house for crying out loud, and I am one tiny little single girl!

This morning I received a frantic call: (As you read this, imagine the strangest, most robotic voice ever.)  "KJ, this is your landlord. I've just finished reading your electronic mail (yes, this is what he called it). Why did you not call me?"

Me: "Well landlord, as I explained in my note, my phone was stolen, my back-up failed, and I lost all of my contacts. But no worries- I shut the water off and figured it could wait until you had time to stop by."

Landlord: "But I only just got your electronic mail because you never called, I mean, what will your mother think? (Yes, my landlord has an intense fascination with my mother...has even been known to call her if I don't return his messages in a 'timely fashion'.)

Me: "Landlord, it's fine. When will you be coming by?"

Landlord: "1pm"

12:59, he arrived. My landlord is obviously a strange man, but he looks even stranger than he acts. He's short, stocky, has hair that desperately needs a trim (think Beatles in their heyday), and often wears clothes that don't exactly flatter his figure. Today he had on a white undershirt and a pair of grey sweatpants.

As soon as he walked through the door- I saw it. A giant wet spot covered his crotch. Now, I've seen men who didn't properly shake off the access, and had a small spot or two...but this was a really big spot!! Not a 'I've totally just peed myself' spot, but a 'Oops, I didn't even bother to give it a little shake before stuffing it in my pants and clearly deciding not to wear underwear' kind of spot.

I immediately averted my eyes and tried to stare at the wall.

Then, I heard a voice, and in my mind I was positive the wet spot had begun talking to me: "So, you haven't had any psycho boys in this house lately, have you?"

My eyes popped forward again, and I realized it was indeed my landlord speaking instead of the pee stain. Me: "4 last night...but only 3 were really psycho...that's ok, right?"

My landlord has the sense of humor of a basketball hoop. He simply snorted.

I ducked into my office while he went about repairing the toilet. A few minutes later he appeared at the door.

"Your leak is fixed, is there anything else?"

Fighting every urge to say: 'You might consider fixing your leak', I smiled and said everything else was fine.

Landlord: "Next time, make sure you call me so I can arrive quicker. I wouldn't want your mother disappointed in me."

He spent a few minutes asking far too many questions about my mom (My mother is genuinely freaked out by all of this, in case you wondered.), and he eventually left.

I checked the bathroom to make sure both leaks had been properly contained and hadn't made their way to the floor, and then allowed myself a few seconds of painfully...uproarious...laughter.

2012

2010...The year it all happened to me.

2011...The year 'I' happened to me.

2012...The year 'I' happen to IT ALL.

I've just spent the last hour sitting in the empty third bedroom of my house sobbing uncontrollably over an empty dog crate screaming, "GIVE HER BACK TO ME!" to...I don't know...God? Myself? That dark empty space in time where things don't always go the way we wish they did? In the end it doesn't really matter...she isn't coming back.

Instead, I'm left with memories and the faint smell of her soft fur on a tiny stuffed bunny.

2010:  I accepted there was nothing left to do to save my marriage, loaded up my car, and drove halfway across the country to live with my mother. Weeks after arriving I learned I had to have major abdominal surgery, which took me three months to recover from. During the recovery period, I was told I most likely had breast cancer. Many procedures later, a mass was removed from my left breast and I was informed I was cancer free. Days later, my niece passed two weeks before her due date. I was there for her delivery, and spent the next month grieving with my sister before giving the eulogy at the baby's memorial. The entire time, I was fighting back and forth with my husband, begging for a quick and easy divorce.

2011: I got my divorce. I lost everything financially in the process, but I got my divorce. I rented a house, broke up with the piece of shit man I dated during my recovery and began the process of healing.

About the time I took my first breath in over a year...my best friend, my dog, died unexpectedly from a brain tumor at 5 years old.

Yes, it's a dog. I get it. But in my eyes- she was the child I never got to have, she was the friends I had left behind with every move, she was my closest family, and the one who had comforted me through my darkest days. Nearly four months later, as I finally begin moving her things from their original spots, as I take down the mountains of framed pictures and little shrines I set up around the house...I realize it isn't just my best friend I am grieving...I am grieving all of the things that didn't go the way I wanted them to.

And I have to admit...it feels good. Really good. As a strong, independent woman it's often difficult for me to really grieve. I'd rather move on to the next thing and bury my feelings (lest anyone judge me or think me weak). I am not weak. I am human. And it's ok to mourn the loss of a dog as I would the loss of a family member.

If you break a leg, and I break a finger...should my finger hurt less because it's a smaller bone? No. Pain is pain. Period.

However, I do not see 2011 as a year of pain. It has been a year of recovery. Physically, mentally, emotionally, spiritually. It's been a year of discovery. Who am I when I stand alone? What do I really want now that I have an open road in front of me and can walk in any direction I choose? What makes me happy? What do I want to do today, tomorrow, ten years from now?

How very exciting, how very frightening, how very challenging to discover these answers and a thousand more.

Today I am sitting in a beautiful three bedroom home I decorated on my own with furniture I bought with my own money. I am paying my own bills and making my own choices. Yes, I'm stumbling from time to time, some days I make everything more difficult, some days I get it right. But what matters is that I'm finally doing life...my way.

My therapist asked me to create a metaphor for the last 2 years of my life: "It's as if I was tied to a train track and the world's longest freight train was rolling over me. Every time I tried to sit up, I was knocked back down." "Then what?" She asked. "Then...one day the caboose rolled over me, and there were no more cars. The ropes fell away and I stood up." "What did you learn?" "I learned that I am so much stronger than I could have ever imagined."

2012: Some say our time will end. I don't believe this. For me, my time is just beginning. It's a new era, a new way to exist, a new me. I'm finally accepting the things I can not change. I can not bring my dog back. I can not blink my eyes and be a happily married mother. I can not create the perfect partner or a storybook life. I can not give my sister her baby back, I can not take away her pain. 

What I can do is make each day as meaningful as possible. I can grieve, cry, let go, and move on. I can dance alone in my living room for hours, or play guitar badly and loudly without judgement. I can capture the world in pictures, and express myself through my art. I can find ways to do the things I love and share my gifts with others. I can relax, enrich my mind, body, and soul...and become a better person. A person I would want to spend the rest of my life with. I can tell my family I love them.

Every day I can find one hour in which to do one thing that makes me...me. I know my truth lies somewhere between the tragedy and the comedy of the last few years. It lives in that small space inside of me that is grateful for every railcar that drove over me, for every mistake, for every judgement, for every hurt that brought me to the place where I can scream and cry as the sounds of a piano rise from the speakers below, and know I'm ok.

This is ok.

2010...the year I am grateful for.

2011...the year I am even more grateful for.

2012...the year I can't wait for.

The First Rule of Fight Club...

Earlier this week, I decided to take another one of my 'secret trips' out of town. This time, I headed south to one of my favorite cities...Austin.

If you are a regular reader of this blog, you might remember me mentioning my friend 'D'. D has danced in and out of my life for the better part of 15 years, and I'm quite certain that if I were handed a Benjamin every time this guy broke my heart, I would be pushing something resembling 'rich' any day now.

D is in Austin for the month of December shooting a movie and invited me to come and stay with him during the days that he wasn't filming. My first instinct upon receiving this invitation was to calmly and clearly scream, "FUCK NO, YOU PIECE OF SHIT!" But, the cooler side of me kicked in and I instead politely reminded him that after having spent nearly the entire month of October with me- he had failed to contact me once until now...essentially making me his Texas booty call.

And while there are many 'Texas' things I am very proud to be...a booty call ain't one of them.

We talked for a long, long time and he explained that the reason he had backed away so suddenly was because of his own fear. We had "become so close in such a short time" that he panicked (his words here) and his 'self preservation kicked in' causing him to push me out of his mind. You see, D has issues with the tragic loss of his mother when he was younger, as well as the difficult ending to his marriage a decade ago. Now he keeps everyone in his life at arm's length to avoid feeling pain. Or so he claims anyway. (Still smelling that 'booty call' thing are ya? Yup. Me too.) There really is truth in much of this, but we all have issues...you just have to find who's issues yours play most nicely with. And the other thing about issues is that they can suddenly disappear when you truly care for someone deeply enough.

After several calls over several days, D finally convinced me to make the trip down. It really wasn't that hard...a kick ass hotel in a kick ass town, meals on him, and a chance to get caught up on some holiday shopping? I'm in! (OK, that's bullshit. I did no holiday shopping- I did however buy myself a crap ton of clothes and shoes!)

As I wheeled my bag into the lobby of the hotel, there stood D...waiting. He greeted me as though my ship had just arrived from Iraq after a two year tour of duty. For a minute- I believed this guy really had missed me! Then, I remembered it's D...actor extraordinaire.

Night one was awesome- dinner, wine, tons of laughter (this guy can make me laugh like no one else on earth). Chemistry, chemistry, chemistry. Back at the hotel- we had our 'talk' again face to face. Lots of apologies from his end, and a great number of excuses for his behavior. I bought every tenth word or so.

Day two we shopped, then had dinner with some of his friends and their awesome mom, Kat. Day three was supposed to be my day to return home, but I was talked into staying one more night to see a local legend in concert (SO glad I did this!!!).

Ahhh...yes, Day Three. This. THIS...was a good day. We spent the entire day downtown browsing shop after shop. We had an amazing meal, just the two of us, and headed to the venue to meet our friends and their mom.

At some point during the evening, we all ended up in a back alley (holy cow those Austinites can put down the Mary Jane!). Kat, remarkably high on her medical marijuana, decided to lay into D like no mother has laid into her non-child before. It. Was. AWESOME!

Kat: "D- I need to talk to you. I've been watching you with this girl for the past two days- and you guys have serious chemistry. It's the real deal. And I've decided- if you two break up, we are keeping her- not you."

D: (wide-eyed) "We aren't a couple."

Kat: "WHAT?! Are you insane?! Don't be stupid D- this girl is special. You won't find this again. People wait their whole lives to find what the two of you have- this is real. You two are a comedy act...you should take this show on the road! I'm telling you...don't let this slip you by. You will regret it."

Me: (cough, cough, elbow, elbow, mild foot stomp)

D: (eye roll, puff puff)

And then...then...it hit me. I looked D straight in the eyes.

Me: "You know, I am special. And this is something that could be real. But if you are too stupid to get that...then you aren't my guy. Or at least a guy that I would ever want. Bottom line, if you can't see what you are missing by not being with me- then quite frankly...I don't want to be with you."

(Fight Club reference time...)

I am KJ's self confidence returning.

The following day D walked me to my car and kissed me sweetly goodbye. Leaning forward, he whispered confidently in my ear, "I know what you're wondering...will he call?" I delicately whispered back, "Nope. Not really."

Austin...I sure do love that town.

And So the Fog Begins to Clear...

Prologue: As I sit here, with this blog written, I'm hesitant to hit 'publish'. Yes, this blog was created so I could share my experiences and my journey as I navigate life post-divorce. Still, I saw it as a tongue-in-cheek look at my bizarre dating life, or those silly stories that happen late on a Saturday night with friends after one too many drinks beginning with the letter 'T'. And yet, here I sit- contemplative and exposed. It feels good, but scary. I'm not sure who will read this, who will benefit, or who will judge. Perhaps it doesn't even matter. Perhaps the answer is 'no one'...and maybe it's 'everyone'. Alas, it isn't a true look into my life if it isn't a whole look. So, if you so choose...I'm going to allow you to now look...


The best thing I've done for myself recently, or perhaps ever, is to find a good therapist. We met for the second time this afternoon, and it was not-so-simply...and yet quite simply...powerful.

Today, we decided to spend our time focusing on my marriage and divorce. So many of my friends have also been through a difficult divorce, or are experiencing trouble with their marriage- so I think the tools I've been given may be of use to someone reading this right now. Thus, I've decided to openly share my journey from today. It's all hitting me at once, so I feel the best way to explore my thoughts is to create a list. I hope you won't mind.

1) She asked me what feeling dominates my thoughts about my ex. Easy...it's anger. Why anger? Because I feel he stole my time. I gave my ex 8 years of my life and received nothing in return. For 8 years we lived a lie, and for 8 years I was denied a good and honest marriage. For 8 years I was slowly stripped of my self confidence and robbed of my sexuality- all so he could keep up appearances to the outside world. I'm angry he refused to touch me for all of those years, angry that he made me believe it was my fault, that somehow I was undeserving of his affection...8 years of my life gone just so he could paint the perfect picture for himself, for his 'fans', and for his family. She asked how long it's been since I left him.  We are coming up on 2 years. She pointed out that for every day that I don't come to terms with my anger, for every email he sends that I allow to upset me all over again (and that I choose to read), for every second I spend lamenting the past- I am only giving him more of my 'time'. As of now, I have not just given him 8 years...I've given him nearly 10.

A decade.  A decade of my life given to a controlling narcissist, when it's been in my power all along to reclaim my time. Quite empowering when you think about it.

2) She asked what the number one thing was that my ex stole from me. Again...easy...my self confidence. I won't go into detail here, but he did and said some things that stripped me of my confidence and self worth in the way only the sickest of men would dare do. I thank God every day that I am still able to date, that I still feel desirable. Because that man said things to me that literally brought me to my knees- things so awful I still have trouble discussing them, let alone ever writing about them. And even though I knew they were lies, and that the issues were his- they scarred me worse than his fists ever could have. In fact, there were days I wish he did hit me- just so I had something tangible to look to in order to explain my pain.

But while I am able to date, my confidence and self-worth stay wrapped up in whatever 'man x' thinks about me. Rejection remains my greatest fear- therefore I'm willing to sacrifice my standards in exchange for anything that resembles praise or affection. I explained to my therapist that I want to regain my self confidence and find my true worth within and from myself, not from external opinions.

Question is...How?

3) How. Yes, she actually had an answer. We made a list of the things I love to do, the things I'm great at, the things that bring me peace. The exact same things...I have not done since I left my husband. I've been doing none of them. She asked me which of my hobbies I miss the most. Easy, I miss taking pictures. What do I love to take pictures of? Candid street photography. She had me open my calendar and asked me what my plans were for tomorrow. Well, I work until 4. After that? Nothing. She had me write in my calendar that I would drive downtown, take my camera, and spend 2 hours walking the streets and taking pictures. No excuses, no delays, this will happen. Even if my energy is low, even if I have a thousand other things I 'should' be doing...this matters more.

Why? Because I'm really, really good at it. And by doing the things that I love, the things I know I'm good at- slowly I will begin to regain my self confidence...and my true self. Each week, as often as possible I have to schedule time to do the things I love. It's vital to my recovery. And to hold me accountable, she has asked to see the photos next week.

4) Now, just relax. Last week I wrote about the importance of taking time to relax (according to my therapist). And I have. I've been doing pilates again, and taking time to walk away from the computer and catch a good movie in the evenings. I've spent time with friends, and not just in a crazy party way- but in a meaningful way that involves good food and greater conversation. She's right, it's working. As I type this now, it's just occurred to me that my house is silent. Completely silent. I believe it's the first time I've allowed that to happen since my dog died.

Wow.

5) She asked me what I feel I've gained in the last decade.  It was a tie between an interesting career and friends that have helped me grow, think, and live. She asked for an example. I didn't have to think hard. Yesterday evening, following a fantastic house warming party in which a very eclectic group of people were brought together with the sole intention of everyone meeting someone new and interesting, my boy best friend (BBF) and I were chatting. He's never been married and has no intention to ever do so, his life is simply too perfect the way it is. I told him I hoped to get to that place someday. He was quick to point out I was already there. What? No I'm not! He asked me if I was happier today than I was 2 years ago, 3 years ago, 5 years ago. After some thought I knew he was right. I am happier. I was never as sad and lonely as I was while married to my ex. Even my worst day today could never be that bad. There were days I wished to be dead. That would not happen now. My life now really is quite amazing when I allow it to be. I get to work, spend time with friends, see new places, eat new foods, meet new people, experience new inspirations. Everything can be new and beautiful...or not beautiful and yet still make for a good story. It's within my power, it's within my ability to choose.

Once I regain my confidence, my focus, my determination, and my drive? This world better watch out baby!

But for now, I have one goal...one giant and important goal...

To create a life so beautiful, so exhilarating, so diverse, so interesting, and so inspirational...that I won't want to share it with anyone else.  Unless, of course, I deem them 110% worthy of me.

Giving Myself Permission...

Today I met with a therapist for the first time in almost 2 years.  Which means I might have to change the subtitle of this blog.  Well, shit.

The last time I sought counseling was at the end of my marriage...which ultimately helped me walk away.  I've never had an issue with seeking help when I felt I needed it, but despite living through the most difficult 2 years of my life- it was only a week ago that I realized I really, really needed to see someone.  My catalyst came during a normal day at work, doing something I've done for over a decade...and yet, I had a full-on panic attack that nearly lost me a long-time client in the process.

Thus, therapy.  It's been a long time coming.

The hour went a little something like this...

Therapist:  Why are you here today?

Me: I've had a difficult couple of years and the stress and anxiety have finally reached a boiling point.  It's affecting my work.

Therapist: What happened in the last 2 years that caused you stress?

Me:  Well, I left my husband and filed for divorce after discovering he was a gay narcissist, then I packed my things and moved halfway across the country to be closer to family.  I left behind a fully furnished 5 bedroom house and my 2 cats.  But I got to keep my dog...and half his debt. When I got here, I learned I had to have major abdominal surgery to fix multiple tears in my abdomen that were a result of living with prolonged stress while married.  During my recovery, they discovered a mass in my left breast and told me it looked like cancer.  2 mammograms, 3 ultrasounds, and 2 biopsies later (and over a month of time)...I was told it wasn't cancerous.  A week later the baby my sister was 2 weeks from delivering died while still in the womb.  I was there for the birth and spoke at my niece's memorial.  Around that time, the guy I was seeing turned into an verbally abusive alcoholic.  It took me months to finally get him out of my life.  A week after he left, my one true love- my dog- died from a brain tumor at 5 years old.  While recovering from that loss, my ex-husband was given a huge promotion and an enormous pay raise, and his new favorite past time has become sending me messages telling me how rich and happy he is.  6 weeks ago I learned I had a brother that was given up for adoption over 40 years ago and I met him for the first time 2 days ago.  He said some things that reminded me of things my father used to say, and now my long-burried daddy issues have resurfaced.  That's all I can think of right now...so I guess we can start there...

Therapist: (staring at me wide-eyed)...........I've heard of bad things happening in threes, but never in twenties.....so.......when was the last time you felt any sense of calm or peace?

Me: .......................(thinking)...............6 years ago.  When I used to spend my weekends hiking with my best friend.  And I had a garden.

Therapist: When was the last time you did something kind for yourself, something to help you feel centered?

Me: .....................(drawing a blank)

Therapist: Take your time, I'll wait.

And there it is. The reality that I have become so accustomed to living in chaos and stress that I don't even take the time to breathe each day. I've been conditioned to expect the worst (so to speak) so I create my own anarchy before it can be thrust upon me.

Basically, I am Pavlov's dog.  Just not as famous...or well fed.

Thankfully, I now have a really good therapist who gave me the best homework ever for this next week. I have to go get a massage. And my intense cardio workouts will now be replaced with stress-reducing yoga. I am to continue writing in this blog, but I have to also keep a journal for my eyes only.

She told me I've been in 'survivor' mode for far too long, and that I've never given myself even a second to heal before moving onto the next thing.  My memory loss as of late is most likely a result of my brain finally giving me the middle finger, my anxiety is a result of too much change in too short a time.  She has asked that I not make any intentional changes for a while- no switching gyms, no major anything...unless it's somehow beneficial to my mind, body, and soul (Bora Bora anyone?).

She said it's time I give myself permission to be still, be calm, be happy, be centered, and be whole.

So there we go.  My life continues on. But maybe, just maybe there comes a point down the road that I don't feel like I'm in a constant state of, 'what NOW?!' Perhaps someday something really great comes from all of this.

And if not? Fuck it. This dog is off to find a treat...

A Sleepy Orgy

A conversation that just happened between me and my favorite cousin via text:

Me: Date tonight. I text that I'm exhausted. He responds that I won't be once I've seen him. Hello, creepy.

FC: Be sure to keep your panties on!

Me: It's a group date- so if they come off, Lord help us all.

FC: Maybe it'll be your first orgy. Or the first orgy I know about!

Me: Yes, there are some things even I haven't done...but I'm soooooo tired.

FC: Well, then make sure your part of the orgy is over at the beginning.


And now you all know why she's my favorite ;-)

A Few Short Thoughts...

A short post with a few random thoughts...

1)  It seems Blogger is deleting paragraphs from my blog posts when I make an edit, thus making me re-write what was already written.  Unfortunately, my memory is shit- so I'm pretty sure my blogs are morphing into new blogs as time goes on.  Which in many ways is a remarkable parallel to the current fucked-up-edness of my life.

2)  After a shit week and a lot of thought, I've decided to see a therapist.  No, not date a therapist (as Red mistakenly heard me say at dinner tonight)- but see a therapist.  It seems my short term memory loss and mild ADD have been getting worse over time and I need to do something about it.  Thankfully, I won't remember how distracted I am right now, so we're good.  My first appointment is Monday.

3)  Last night I had to cancel a first date with a Doctor I met on the plane Sunday when I was returning from my insane weekend in LA... because I wasn't feeling well.  Irony is a fucking playful little monster, isn't she?

4)  Now, getting back to my ADD...

Elephants are cool and I'm hungry...guitar.

A Chance, A disappointment, and a Lesson

"You will soon receive an unusual gift freely given.  Accept!"

I believe in signs.  Fucking sue me.  This fortune, opened a few weeks ago, was quite the precursor to a fascinating adventure I recently embarked on.

Two weeks ago I received a random text from a guy my acting coach has been trying to set me up with for some time, but it never worked out.  The guy was bored and thought he would say hello.  He was also drunk, and I'm pretty sure now he was high on something as well.  As you know, I can be a remarkable smart ass, and it was clear he could play along, so the texting conversation was funny.  Really funny.  And only because he was so unbelievably douchey in those first few texts.

In fact, for this blog...let's just call him 'LAD' (Las Angeles Douche)

For the sake of trying to keep this blog from turning into a novel, I'll spare you the details of all of the texts that first day...but he held nothing back and answered every question openly and honestly (and douchily, if there is such a word).  Then he declared he was going to send me a picture with the letter 'K' for my name.  He sat on a sofa, used toothpaste and a couple of toothbrushes across his chest, and surrounded himself with women for the photo op.  No photo has ever been sent in such poor taste...and with my sick sense of humor, no photo has ever made me laugh so hard.

Throughout the week he continued to text.  On day three he asked if he could fly me to LA for a weekend just to hang out.  No pressure, no promises, let's just take it one step at a time.  Perhaps it was my new 'anything goes attitude', or perhaps I had a feeling it would make for a good blog...either way, I easily agreed.  The flight was booked that night.  And for the next eleven days we spent a lot of time texting, emailing, and getting to know each other.

"Soon you will be sitting on top of the world"

I opened this fortune the day I left.  I sent a picture of it to LAD and he shot back a photo of the view from his house.  'On top of the world' was an understatement...I have never seen a view like that anywhere in LA.

My flight landed Friday at 5pm...a driver named Igor was waiting for me at baggage claim.  LAD texted me throughout the entire drive.  After 45 minutes, the car turned off of Sunset and onto his street.  Up and up and up we went...to the top, passing some of the most beautiful homes I have ever seen.  We parked, and I noticed a door standing open that led into a small courtyard.  There I was, luggage in hand, knocking on a large smoked-glass door.  Finally it opened and there stood LAD.

"Hi, I'm KJ," I said.  He smiled, hesitated a moment, than walked across the courtyard, grabbed me by the back of my head, and kissed me.  A long, deep, powerful kiss.  When he pulled away we looked each other up and down and started to giggle.  "I'll get your luggage, come inside..." he beckoned.  I walked through the front door and...

My jaw dropped.  The entire back wall of his huge house was made of glass over-looking downtown LA, Century City, Santa Monica...you could see it all.  Even more spectacular was that the giant glass panels were all pulled open so it felt like you were literally floating over the city lights, I could feel the wind in my hair.

A bottle of wine was uncorked and the weekend was on.  We couldn't stop making out, and before we even had a full conversation, we 'fully' christened the pool table in his living room overlooking the city lights.  The chemistry was intense.  Again, for the sake of brevity, I'll just give you the highlights of the weekend.  Dinner at Boa, a Vodka tasting in an ice bar, fantastic conversation, endless laughs, ...We hit it off, really and truly hit it off.  Day two was more of the same- great food, great talks, we even spent some time playing guitar and talking about work.  We watched the sunset over LA and curled up on a sofa outside as a light rain passed overhead.  LAD had thought of everything, he had stocked the pantry with my favorite foods and the bar with my favorite wines and liquors. We spent a lot of time discussing how excited we were that this was all happening, how it felt so real. It was the perfect first weekend together until...

At 8:30am on Sunday morning- I awoke.  Alone.  I walked downstairs and noticed lights on in his office, so I chose not to disturb him and went back to bed.  10am- I awoke again.  Alone.  The lights were still on in the office, so I walked inside.  LAD wasn't there.  He wasn't in any of the other gajillion rooms in the house either.  Then I checked the garage.  No car.

I texted, "You left?"  No response.  An hour later I texted again, "Are you coming back?"  A response: "Hey sorry, you were dead asleep so I went out partying with my friends."  Ahem.  "You've been gone all night?"  LAD: "Yeah.  Look, if you're up I'll come back." Another hour passed..."Are you still coming back?"  Thirty minutes more, LAD texted: "Yeah, sorry. I'm too fucked up to drive- I'm waiting on a cab."  "You're too fucked up to drive at 1 in the afternoon?"  LAD: "Yeah, sorry."

Another hour passed.  I called a cab to take me to the airport for my 5pm flight.  Finally, LAD came stumbling through the door.  A sly smirk across his face, he asked, "Do you hate me?"  "No, I'm just confused."  LAD: "Guess we'll never end up married, huh?"  "Uhm...no."  LAD: "This will make for a great story you know."  "Well, there's always that."

Just then my cab arrived, and I walked upstairs for my luggage.  He followed, apologizing.  "I'm really sorry, but you were asleep."  "It's not ok to fly someone 1500 miles and then ditch them for an entire night and day so you can get fucked up with your friends!" LAD: "I may be a drug addict." Me: "Clearly, that was the one question I should have asked before flying out here."

On the way to the airport he texted, "I didn't think I was going to be gone for more than an hour. I thought I'd be back before you woke up. But you're right, in hindsight I shouldn't have left.  I'm a work in progress.  I had more fun with you than I could have imagined. I sincerely apologize. I didn't mean to be gone so long. Let's just go step by step.  We went 3 steps forward, 1 step back."  My response: "3 steps back."

The following morning LAD texted to see how my flight home was.  I asked him how he was feeling.  No response.  And there hasn't been much contact since.  In the end, LAD blew me off, and then he really blew me off.  I won't lie, it hurts.

But as my favorite cousin so perfectly put it, "If someone is going to be with you, they should have to impress you, not apologize to you."

I think I'm going to listen to Favorite Cousin...and stop listening to fortune cookies.

Life's Little Ironies

Never one to hold a grudge or be in any way vindictive, I'm more prone to let things simply roll off my chest than to have 'In Your Face Motherfucker' skywritten the way I may sometimes want to.

But then life just hands you something so beautifully ironic that you can't help but tell someone.  And you, my dear reader, are my someone.  xo and handholding and stuff...

Anyway, I'll proceed with the story at hand...

I've been loosely keeping in touch with Clarence the Rockstar via text.  (If you need a refresher on the Clarence story, feel free to click here) We're also Facebook and Twitter friends- or twits- or whatever you call it.  The other day someone posted a video of his band on one of these sites and the link led me to YouTube.  I've seen just enough of the band online (without ever having seen them live) to know that they are really, really good- so I wanted to check out their performance.

You know how YouTube will display related videos to the right of the screen?  Well, something caught my eye.  It was the name of an old reality show I was mildly obsessed with several years ago along with the name 'Clarence the Rockstar' (you have no idea how much I wish it really did say 'Clarence the Rockstar', that would be so awesome!).  It was one of those American Idol type shows but the difference was that this show was looking for a frontman for a rock band.

I immediately clicked on the video.

<insert 'Inner Dialogue" caption here>

"Holy shit!  That's Clarence the Rockstar...on that show I used to obsessively watch!  And I remember him now because he was really really good!  And I also remember saying to my husband at the time - 'WOW! I would so love to fuck that guy!' to which my husband replied - 'WOW! Me too!'"

OK fine, that conversation never happened...but it would have been so fantastic if it had because then my sham of a marriage would have ended so much earlier, but I digress...

Tonight I received a text from Clarence saying he read my blog about the boardroom.  I was both mildly mortified and rather impressed! (Who knew rockstars could read? Ok, JUST kidding...)  He mentioned that I had left out a few details, to which I replied that some serious editing had to take place or it would have been a novel, not a blog.  He responded, "I want to see the full length. It was a fun night! Chip heard most of it." (Chip being the guitar player)

Me: "I'd like to read Chip's version of it, he could likely fill in more of the blanks than I could."

Clarence: "I think we got it covered!"

I share this little conversation with you because as these texts were being sent, an e-mail from ex-husband popped up.  Oh how I live for ironic timing...

He was emailing to inform me that his first paycheck from his new high-paying job had just arrived and he couldn't contain the tears in his eyes after seeing all of those numbers.  He sent an entire page gushing about how rich he is.  Now, you might be wondering...do I benefit in any way from this? Is there a legitimate reason he would send a note like that?  

NOPE.  I. Won't. Get. A. Dime. 

His parting written words were, "Even with the God forsaken taxes taken out of it which were f*ing insane, I keep counting the numbers like a little kid getting his first $5 for shoveling snow off the neighbor's driveway! Anyway, hope all is well with you."

I need to be very honest with you.  It is currently taking every fiber of my cool, calm, non-vindictive self not to fire back, "I fucked Clarence the Rockstar."

Instead I'm: Breathing in. Breathing out. Popping a Valium. And thanking God for my awesome and extraordinary new life...

Be Bold. And Slutty.

This past Friday I went out with my girls Jazz and Red. Somehow they managed to talk me into meeting them at the one club in town I hate the most.

Club Douche reeks of erectile dysfunction. In fact, there should be a law that all men even considering showing up bring some form of pedigree proving they are real men. From 9pm-2am it's like a bad Saturday Night Live sketch, in which you are guaranteed to leave with some form of male narcissistic slime trying to claw it's way into your pores as you walk to your car.

Red and I were the first to arrive, and while Red ran around to say hello to her friends, I huddled in a far corner staring intently at my phone.  The single most UNattractive man I have ever laid eyes on made his way over to my table, gyrating to the song in his head which was clearly not the same song the band was playing.

"What's a pretty girl like you doing sitting here all alone just staring at her phone?" He asked.

"Well, I was hoping it would send a clear signal that I didn't want company, but since it hasn't I'm now contemplating whether hurling myself out that window would end this night faster than breaking this shot glass and using one of the shards to slit my throat."

"Oh! Hahah! You are a feisty one! I like feisty!"

Since I couldn't figure out  a way to stress-vomit onto his shoes, I instead glared straight ahead while he droned on and on about I don't know what.

Finally Red came back to the table and sensing my impending suicide, she managed to come up with some clever way to make that asshole go away.  Jazz arrived and judging by the brimming tears in her eyes I knew we were both ready for something stronger than beer.

"Wanna talk about it?" I asked.  "Nope," she replied.

"I don't think they sell Valium by the bucket, but I could grab us a couple of Patrons." I offered.  And so the night really began.  I made it my sole mission to have a great evening, and to get Jazz as drunk as possible.  I mean, what are friends for if they can't insure your next-day-suffering is at least three times worse than your current suffering?

It took us about twenty minutes to attract half the bar over to our area. One thing I have learned, men love women that make an obvious show of just wanting to hang out with each other.  No, not like THAT...just by not scoping the joint for prospects...by laughing, dancing, and having a genuinely good time.  An hour or so later I happened to glance across the bar...and boom! I was smitten.

The one guy, the only guy, not dressed to impress. His dark, dirty hair stuck out crudely from his scull cap, his black converse and torn jeans didn't match the button downs and slacks around him. The darkest eyes I have ever seen and that perfect bad-boy smirk. He glanced my way.

"Hey!" I yelled over the band. "You should want to meet me!"

He shook his head no.

Challenge on.

"Your loss asshole!" I hollered as I turned my back.  Five seconds later he was right next to me.  Easiest trick in the book, and it has never failed me.

The rest of the night flashed by in a blur of Patron, bad pop music, and a sexy Russian accent.  Yes, he was Russian...which I'm pretty sure only tequila can make sound sexy, but whatever.  At the end of the night we said our goodbyes and ended with a kiss that could have killed any cold war.

"Can I get your number?" asked Vladimir.

"I'm not really a fan of vodka or communism, but it was really nice meeting you!"  OK, I didn't say that...but I did somehow politely decline.

Look, I'm no fool- I get that my new awesome 'I have nothing to lose attitude' comes from a darker place than some Hallmark cliche 'needing to live fully and freely'. I miss my dog. I miss my American dream...the one where I thought I was going to live in big houses and birth babies for a living. That ship has sailed and I'm clinging to the life raft that comes in the shape of a disco ball and a shot glass.  It's working, and I'm having fun. But I have no desire to collect a closet full of one night stands or broken hearts. I don't have much to offer right now, and I'd rather navigate this new fucked up path alone than with Mr. Wrong. (No matter how brooding his eyes, how perfectly pouty his lips, or how sexy his accent)

I'm living with less fear for the first time in my life...because the only person I have to hurt is me.  And me and myself are enjoying the best relationship of my life, so I don't think I'll dump me anytime soon. And I've never been good at that cheating thing.

Plus, it turns out I'm actually inspiring a few folks to live a little less fearlessly, a little more carefree.

Or as my friend put it to me today, "You're inspiring me to be more bold. And slutty."

Hey, I do what I can.

Or as I'm sure Vladimir would put it:

Весело́ весе́лье — тяжело́ похме́лье.  (Translation: Revelry is jolly, Hangover is heavy)

You Learn Something New Every Day...

One of my friends recently confided in me that she's into D/s relationships.  I had no clue what that meant, so I googled it.  Turns out it stands for Dominant/submissive.  She's the submissive one in the relationship and calls her Dominant partner 'Master'.  Basically, she does everything he says 'behind closed doors'.

At first I thought this was really hot and was a little jealous that her relationships come with cool acronyms.  I mean, my relationships are just called 'relationships'...booooring...

I started to wonder if I should try out this D/s thing that all the hip kids are doing nowadays.  Thing is, I have way too much of a God complex to be the submissive one...and having to be the Dominant one just seems exhausting and entirely too time consuming. Besides, "Do my laundry you dirty man whore!" would be all I'd likely come up with.  So, maybe D/s isn't for me.

I've decided instead to seek out a P/s relationship.  It's simple...you Pay all my bills, and I'll occasionally suck your cock.

Anyone?

The Boardroom

Judging from the light pounding in my head as I slowly came to, I knew there would be a mild hangover in my immediate future.  I lay there quietly with my eyes still shut as the memories of the night before flashed behind my eyelids like an old 50s slideshow.  Slowly, ever so slowly, I began to open my eyes and wipe the sleep from their corners.

The first thing I noticed was that the mattress was on the floor.  I vaguely remembered that seeming like the perfect solution given the situation that evening.  I surveyed the rest of the room...

Large table, lots of chairs, small kitchen...As I continued to look around, a hand found it's way to the small of my back.  I glanced over to my bedside companion.  With only one eye half-open he smiled at me.

"That really happened, didn't it?" I asked.  We both fell into a small fit of giggles. "Where's my phone?"

"It's on the table, Butterfly" he said with that adorable accent.

"Oh God, please tell me I wasn't live tweeting this event."  More giggles.  I slowly rolled onto the floor, then onto my knees, and finally found my way to my feet.  The room looked even more ridiculous from this vantage point.

Having no clue what time it was I turned on my phone.  It was nearly one in the afternoon.  There was a text from my friend CC: "Well, how was your night?"

I typed slowly as a mischievous grin crept over my face: "I just woke up on the floor of the Westin hotel boardroom next to a naked Australian rockstar...and you?"

CC: "We need to write a book."

<Insert "17 hours earlier" caption here>

I got his text around 8pm Saturday evening.  We hadn't seen each other since we met earlier this year at a film festival.  His band had just arrived in town and were staying nearby.

-Wait-

In order to fully tell this story, I need to give the rockstar a proper nickname.  'Rockstar' seems way too obvious, as does any reasonable name I can think of like 'Axel' or 'Brett'.  Let me try describing him: He's definitely over six feet tall, though I don't know exactly by how much.  His hair is dark and slightly long, without being too long.  It's an edgy haircut he sports, as well as multiple tattoos and piercings.  His nails are painted black, and he wears plenty of jewelry.  He stands out in a crowd for all the right reasons, the least of which are those crystal blue eyes.

I've thought about this blog quite a bit these past few days, and one name keeps popping into my brain. Clarence.  I can think of no more poorly suited a name, which is why it seems so utterly perfect.  

-OK, Back to the story-

Clarence texted that he was at dinner with the record label, which was great since I was on my way to enjoy cocktails with a few friends.  We agreed to meet later.  I had just walked into the bar, said hello to everyone, and ordered my first beer when he texted back.  "The guys and I are at the Westin bar, care to join us?"

Ahem.  "Check Please!"

"You are NOT about to leave to go meet some random guy after having JUST gotten here!" Said my friend 'Red'.

"Damn straight I am," I replied.

"So who is this guy?" Asked Jazz.  Pictures always speak louder than words, so I calmly Googled 'Clarence images' on my phone.  Three jaws fell to the floor.

After a moment of silence Red asked, "Can we come?"

"The more the merrier!"

We piled into two cars and set off for the Westin.  When we walked in, I introduced my friends to the band.  

"What do you want to drink?" asked my friend Moose.


Looking back now, I think I was in a mood that night.  Not a good mood, not a bad mood, just...a mood.  Maybe 'rowdy' is the best way to describe it.  "I'll take a beer and a shot of Patron," I answered.  Yup, that kind of mood.

For the next hour we all sat around the table as Red entertained us. (This girl is seriously funny- you haven't lived until you've seen her ask a man 'What do you think of these Triple-Ds?')  Finally Red, Jazz, and Moose left and the rest of the band went upstairs to get some rest.

Which left Clarence, me, and a bunch of drunk Englishmen at the bar. 

In that fantastic Aussie accent Clarence declared, "You and I are going to take another shot of tequila, and then I'm going to kiss you...on the lips."

"I appreciate you being so specific..."  

One thing about rockstars, people will always give them whatever they want...even when they don't ask.  Case in point, the bartender continued to serve us well after they closed, and even gave us a bottle of wine before she left.  In between make-out sessions we actually had a fantastically interesting conversation.

Clarence informed me that he was sharing a room with his sleeping bandmates, and that the room was located right next to a huge boardroom.  "We could go hang out there," he said.  I didn't even hesitate.  Up we went.

I'll spare you the rest of the details, because while I try to share as much as possible on this blog- some things are best left for my memory, and my memory only.

Let's just say that 'Sex with a hot Australian rockstar in a hotel boardroom' can now be taken off my bucket list.  I mean, I'm pretty sure it was never on my bucket list...but it should have been!

Reflecting back days later, I have to say the night surprised me.  Not for the obvious reasons, but because of how unabashedly unashamed I am of the entire thing.  Clarence and I had a good laugh when I told him that just days before his surprise arrival I had written a blog about rockstars.  Oh, how I do love irony.

As I drove home I called CC..."SOOOO?" she asked. "It was crazy, it was fun...I'll never hear from him again," I responded.  So much for expectations!  He texted that night, and again the following morning: "Good morning Butterfly. xx"  

Realistically, do I think I'll ever see Clarence the Rockstar again?  Doubtful.  

But I guess as long as there are boardrooms, ballrooms, and elevators...there is always that chance.

You Sir, Are NO Rockstar...

Having worked a bit in the media world when I was younger, I've dated more than my fair share of musicians and 'rockstars'.  I even made it into a magazine or two with the caption "Who is this mystery girl with XX?" I just wasn't cool enough for anyone to actually take the time to figure out the answer...

There was one guy in particular who was in a mildly popular boy-band in the late 90s.  Let's call him...Wannabe.  Wannabe was hot, seriously hot.  And he had a British accent...swoon!  We spent several days together while they played shows in my town and spent a lot of time 'connecting on a deeper level.' (Those musicians are always so 'deep'!)  Being the smart, conservative gal that I was, I asked Wannabe if he had a different girl in every city.

(Try reading this with a British accent if you can.)  "Baby! I'm way too fucking busy to be out fucking...you're the only girl I want, I swear!"

I believed him, and knew in my heart of hearts that what he really wanted was for me to drive down to their next tour stop and surprise him backstage (those media badges sure come in handy!).  I arrived just in time to meet "Austin", a thin sultry blonde who had her ass in his lap and her lips on his ear... and then I overheard one of his bandmates refer to me as "Dallas".  Turns out he wasn't so fucking busy after all...nor was he particularly clever with his girlfriend's nicknames.  Ahh Rockstars...they love you when they have you and forget you the second they get back on that bus.

I wised up eventually and stopped dating guys on tour, but I still see that 'Rockstar Mentality' pop up again and again.  It's happening this week as a matter of fact...with 'D'.

Last night I was texting back and forth with one of my best guy friends, 'K-Love' (Yes, everyone in my blog gets a nickname).  I had a full-on chick moment and told him I hadn't heard from D since he left town earlier this week.

He responded: "If there was a girl who could keep my attention for 11 days, she would have heard from me at least every hour since leaving. I'm sorry."

My tough-girl answer back?  "Easy come, easy go."

What followed an eye-opening dialogue and a pretty good glimpse into a few of the biggest differences between men and women when it comes to dating.  After reading the conversation to my best friend CC, we decided I should put it in my blog.  So, with K-Love's permission, here it goes...

K-Love: "I think the best and hardest thing to do is to try and adopt a 'take it as it comes philosophy'. That's what I did when I wanted my ex-wife to run back to me and say she was sorry...but she never did. It hurt so bad and consumed my thoughts, but I had to force myself to believe that I didn't care if I ever talked to her again. Turns out, she never did come back.  But this guy D- he is going to text you. And when he does, you have to act like you didn't even notice he hadn't done so earlier."

Me: "You're right, it's a necessary defense mechanism.  Part of me sees all of this as a blessing. I'm so determined to be single for a while, that it would likely freak me out if he was calling or texting all the time.  Maybe that's why I felt safe spending time with him...I knew he would do this.  The chick in me hoped it would be different, but the brain in me is glad it isn't.  Still, my feelings are really hurt."

K-Love: "No matter what people put your emotions through behind closed doors, you have to make them think you're so cool you may or may not have time to deal with their shit.  Again, he's going to text or call. So what you need to spend your time worrying about is this...how are you going to handle it when he does?  The way I see it, you have 3 options. 1) You can say something like 'Finally!' (not the best choice)  2) You can tell him you've been busy and didn't even notice (thus sweeping it all under the rug).  Or 3) you can play my favorite game and not respond for a day or two and when you do, use some blow off comment like, 'Oh yeah, that's cool."

Me: "Grrrr Relationships!!"

K-Love: "You can't look at it like a relationship...to men, it's a game.  We all hate games, but the only way to survive them is to play them."

Me: "Why? I know he likes me and vice-versa...no mystery there. So why wouldn't he send a stupid text once in a while?  He did say I made him nervous because I'm vulnerable after my break-up and still trying to find myself.  Genuine concern or excuse?"

K-Love: "Excuse.  Keep in mind, I don't know him...but this is how men think.  I do it and I don't even mean to. I jump in with a woman head first and say the most clever and witty things I didn't even know I was capable of coming up with. The women love it, blush, and go crazy for it. Then we end up having sex...as soon as that happens I realize they want a relationship.  Which reminds me of all the other women I can hook up with...and when the woman texts me it becomes a burden to come up with excuses as to why I'm 'busy' and can't hang out.  I'm probably sounding like a fucking jerk right now but I've been dealing with this exact same scenario this past week.  After some time goes by I start thinking about the girl again and the cycle starts over.  That's why I don't want a relationship with anyone because I think I'm emotionally ruined.  Until I find someone who can break that cycle...I have no business dating.  In fact, the last excuse I used was "I'm moving to Houston to help my mom, she's about to lose her house."  My mom doesn't even live in Houston!  Hah!  I'm such a dick.  The only woman I have EVER not played these games with was my ex wife...which, I guess, is why I fell so far in love with her."

Me: "Woah. This is eye-opening. I think D is playing the same game he has played with me forever."

K-Love: "It's a guy thing. And I promise every time he sees you it feels new to him.  It's in the after stages that the 'games' set in.  Like I said, I don't know him.  But I know how I felt with my ex-wife.  When we first met I would have never gone days without talking to her. It wouldn't have been physically possible for me."

So, there you go.  As I see it, a few conclusions can be drawn from this conversation:  1) K-Love is one hell of a good texter.  2) Even when they like you, guys will still play games.  3) You can learn to play them too, learn to ignore them completely, or learn to love your time alone.  4) You'll know when it's 'real', and you won't have to ask your friends for their opinions.

A couple of other things I've learned in my life:  There are only two types of unconditional love.  That between a parent and their child, and a dog and their owner.  All other types are conditional and therefore expendable.  Also, the rockstar mentality exists in all of us...

We just have to decide when it's time to quit the band.

A Rich Asshole is Still Just an Asshole...

My Ex-husband is on TV. I know, who cares? I tell you this because it's the number one reason I ghost-write this blog. While he was a very bad husband, he isn't a bad guy. And it isn't my job to publicly 'out' him.

That said, I still hold a wee bit of bitterness over him failing to mention he was planning to turn into a raging asexual narcissist the day we married. So I vent-write. It helps.

The day I left him, he gave me a signed 8x10 glossy.

No, I am not shitting you.

He signed it to 'My Biggest Fan'. A year later he sent me an updated, signed version- just so I could tell people 'I knew him when...'

He was recently hired for a more high profile position that came with a very large paycheck. I know this because he sent me a copy of his contract, you know, since I 'was there in the beginning, I could appreciate just how far he's come.' It was a dickhead thing to do.  Especially because he knows I'm a broke actor struggling to make a living.

Motherfucker did make an effort, one time, to 'win' me back. He flew out, took me to dinner, and explained that his 'picture' no longer looked as good as it used to. He had the money, he had the notoriety, he just needed a hot wife (you know, to mask that 'gay' thing?) I politely declined, and somehow managed not to gag when he tried to kiss me...twice.

This morning I received a string of photo texts from him. He wanted me to see our old furniture being moved out of our old house (that I got nothing out of in the divorce BTW) and let me know once again that he has a lot of money and a much bigger house now. Oh yeah, and he also has my cats. I got the dog, he got the cats (his request...say it with me now, "GAAAAY"). My dog died, his cats will live forever I'm sure.

Why do I suddenly feel like God hates me?  Anyway, back to those texts...

It was sweet, really. I wished him good luck and took a moment for myself to marinate in the fact that I'm no longer a part of that. What I know without a doubt is that the loneliest day of my single life has yet to be as lonely as the best day of my married life. Period.

I believe in Karma, so I'm choosing to wish him the best in his new big job. Hopefully the same will happen for me someday. If not? Fuckit. This life is still better than that one...

D Stands For...

Dipping my big toe into the third week of creating this blog, I'm starting to realize the impact it's having on me. A few people have reached out to tell me they've experienced similar heartbreak, similar eye-opening moments, and similar renewals. Every time I consider myself a demon-riddled island, I'm reminded of the emotional bridges that allow us to connect with one another. I'm just an ordinary girl...navigating an extraordinary life.

I'm trying to figure out, just like you are, what it is I really want.

I've chosen to write this blog anonymously which allows me to explore my heart and head openly and honestly without the risk of hurting anyone. Therefore, the people I write about are each given a nickname.

Today, the person at the forefront of my mind is 'D'.

D came back into my life about the time I wised up and kicked my most recent Ex, 'Ex-B', to the curb. There was extreme hatred between Ex-B and D (on the side of Ex-B), and honestly- he had every right to be jealous. Try as I might, my simmering crush on D hasn't been easily disguised.  (Feel free to check out this blog for further background on the Ex-B/D rivalry)

I first met D in my early 20s. He was married, then divorced...and then I was married and divorced. Our lives have intersected like mangled vines you might find running along an old fence...sometimes we hit, sometimes we miss, sometimes we run parallel. For 15 years we've curiously danced around one another wondering if someday we might just connect.

Rough and tough, D has a greater tendency toward being a douche than a darling. This is the guy that when the barista at Starbucks asks, "Can I get you anything else?", the response will be, "Got any blow?" He's a good guy...though you might question it from time to time. Funny as hell. He doesn't do drugs, but he does drink a bit too much...smokes too much...swears too much. He's honest. He says what's on his mind...and somehow it always comes from a place of truly caring. It might hurt, but it isn't meant to. He's complimentary in all the right ways, and I feel more like 'me' around him than anyone else. I like this guy. And while I know he will be a part of my life forever, I'm a bit curious as to the capacity in which that will happen.

Due to recent work travels on both sides, we've spent a lot of time together this month. A lot of time together. After 11 consecutive inseparable days, D left this morning. Trying to be the cool girl, I sent him off with a kiss on the cheek and a 'see ya later'. Then I drove home, walked inside, sat on my couch, and sobbed. Not exactly 'cool'. I'm the over-thinker on a path of self discovery, and these last 11 days have been filled with eye-opening discussion. D thinks I'm vulnerable. He also thinks I hide behind the 'sweet girl mask of goodness' that turns more people off than on. I have a very dark sense of humor and a rather sick view of the world I don't let very many people see. I am kind and prefer to do the 'right' thing, but I'm terrified that if people knew my sassier, darker side they wouldn't like me. And I like being liked. D also told me I talk too much about work. I use it as another shield to keep from talking about 'me'. He says there are so many more interesting aspects of my life that no one ever sees because I obsess over my job.

He's totally right.

D had an impact this week. Looking back, he's had an impact during many pivotal moments in my life. Which got me thinking about the other D's that have affected me...

Divorce- At my age, most of the single people I meet are divorced. And I have yet to meet anyone that isn't at least mildly bitter about it...including myself. My girlfriends tried to set me up with a guy a few weeks ago. He was great...until he started talking about his ex. Holy woman-hating-venom batman!! This guy went off for over an hour...30 minutes of which I spent just trying to get away! Like most, I have issues left over from my married years, but I'm really not that bitter. I see the marriage as my mistake. The red flags were there, I just ignored them. I could spend the rest of my life angry about it, or I could simply learn from it. Thanks to my narcissistic gay ex-husband, I'm smarter, stronger, and way better looking. (Those gay-boys give great make-up tips...and no, I am not joking.)


DNA- I've spent a lot of time this month talking about family. If you read my previous blog, I discovered I had a 45 year old brother last week that had been given up for adoption. Which means I've been looking through old photos, discovering missing links, and reliving my past in bits and pieces. Also, D met my entire family this past week. It wasn't planned- it just kind of 'happened'. And it didn't really go so well. It turns out my 20 year old niece can be a real bitch. She asked D if he had ever had plastic surgery (since he's an actor) and he jokingly went through a list of procedures he had done. She didn't get the joke. So all night he was called 'Botox'...and then 'Cheek Implant'...and then 'Johnny McHollywood'...and it kept going. He did a good job of hanging in there, but I don't think he'll be anxious to spend much time with her ever again.


Dogs- I had a bit too much to drink three nights ago and completely melted down about the dog I lost a month ago. Full. On. Sobbing. Not my most attractive moment. It should have scared the shit out of D...but instead he opened up about the death of his mom many years ago. There we sat...two people crying and connecting. Something we should all do more often. My dog was my child, my family...and holy shit I miss her. But she did give me a gift. Freedom. Now I can travel without notice or move anywhere in the world. No ties. And that is indeed a gift.


Dating-  D made a verbal slip a few days ago and said we were dating. He very quickly corrected himself. "You know, whatever this is...I mean, it isn't dating...It's...Don't you just hate labels?"  I'm a girl.  I love labels. But D did enlighten me on the pitfalls of being a man and dating. Apparently it is quite expensive! He said it would be easy to drop up to $2k a month just courting a girl. Holy shit! For some people that's a salary!! I think dating sucks in general. Which is why I tend to either be alone or in a relationship. I hate playing 'get to know you'. More often than not, I really really don't want to know you. Take for instance the guy I met a couple of weeks ago...super cute, funny, decent conversationalist.  Then he asked why I was divorced. I answered that I was pretty sure my ex is gay. His response? "You're a good looking girl...but you know what they say, show me the hottest girl in the room and I'll show you a man who is sick of her shit. Sure he wasn't just sick of your shit?" Are you kidding me? Check please!


Dancing-  I love to dance, LOVE to dance. And very, very few of the guys I've dated know how to. Turns out D can dance!! I would have never guessed it. But it made me realize how important this is to me. It's a requirement. You don't have to be great, you just have to be willing.


Detox- I'm not a day-to-day drinker. But when I throw down, I seriously throw down. And for some reason, that happens a lot when D is in town. Now that he's gone, I'm putting myself into detox mode. Detox from alcohol, detox from bad food, detox from fucking off at work, and detox from men. This month has been a lot. I've been through a death, a breakup, the discovery of a new sibling, travel, work, and a lot of looking at my life and figuring out 'what's next?'. Which leads to...


Discovery- I need to take the time to discover who I am. What I want. Where I'm headed. And where I've been. This blog is step one. My original vision was to create a snarky look at my weird life, and yet today I'm not feeling so snarky. More like...introspective and a touch sad. Which I'm sure makes for a shitty read. Oh well, this my cheap ass therapy- so hopefully you'll forgive me.

I need some quiet time. And I have until...


December- D and I have plans to see each other again in December. Like it or not, I'm crazy about this guy (and believe me, there are plenty of people who aren't liking that too much). But I'm scared my vulnerabilities are leading me to look to the possibility of him rather than the possibility of spending time alone. I fully realize I'm in no mental position to think further down the road than what I plan to eat for dinner or watch on TV tonight, so I'm planning to take these next weeks to try and clear my head. Do a lot of thinking and a lot of writing.

One thing's for sure...being human is hard. Being a single girl is hard. Which is why I jump from relationship to relationship. It's easier to meld into the next man and become them than it is to stand on my own and risk exposing me. This is why D really should stand for...

Determination- I am determined to rid myself of demons, doubt, and dependence so I can be more daring and decisive. Alliteration aside...I want to do it right. For once.

And by 'it'...

I mean 'me'.

Oh Brother Where Art Thou?

Last night I received a call from a woman who makes a living connecting adopted children to their biological families.  She explained to me that at the age of 21, while still in college, my father got his girlfriend pregnant.  This was back in the 60's when women rarely gave birth out of wedlock and kept the child, so naturally 'Baby A' was given up for adoption.

It took my brain a solid 30 minutes to register what this woman was telling me.

"You mean I really have a brother...from another mother?"

Yes.  I do.

It turns out that my mom was aware that my dad had a random child wandering the Earth- but she had never informed me.  Honestly, she hadn't thought about it once in the last 40+ years, so you can't exactly blame her for withholding information.

A bit of history:  My father was a con man.  No, really.  He made a living (if you call it that) by scamming, stealing, embezzling, lying, cheating...you name it, he likely did it.  The guy was a gifted speaker and was charming as hell, so he could convince you of almost anything.  As a young girl, he often used me in his scams...who can say no to a cute kid?  He died when I was in my teens, which more than likely was a good thing.

I immediately called my sister.

Me: "I'm about to drop a bomb on you."

Her: "Oh God...What?!"

Me: "Dad had a kid, we have a brother."

Her: "That's not a bomb...that was a matter of time."

Yup.  My dad was a man whore.  Which has started a dialogue about how many 'others' there may be...

Alas, last night the woman gave me a phone number to call, and this afternoon I spent 2 hours talking to my big brother.

Wow.  I'm still wrapping my mind around the word 'brother'.

'Baby A' is a total hillbilly, he's an aspiring photographer, and he has many of the same random medical things as my sister and I (similar allergies, etc).  Oh- and he over-shares and never shuts up.  Yup.  He's ours!!!

He is planning a trip to meet us face to face in a few weeks.

And I'm happy because maybe, just maybe, my father finally gave us a gift...instead of a grenade.

The Story of the Garbage Man's Happy Wife

I broke up with Ex-B, for the first time, on a Tuesday.  (Yes, we broke up more than once over the coarse of a year.)  The following Friday my friend D was in town and we went out for a couple of cocktails.

Unbeknownst to me, Ex-B had taken to stalking me that week.  Had I known this, I'm not so sure I would have chosen to escort D back to his hotel for one last cocktail, but alas- that's exactly what I did.

It was around midnight when the texts began.

"I know where you are, I know who you are with, and I know what you are doing...you will regret this, I promise!"

On...and on...and on.  Clearly Ex-B has an unlimited texting plan.

D and I decided it best at this point for me to stay the night at the hotel.  I had visions of finding Ex-B armed, dangerous, and intoxicated waiting for me just outside the front door.

Two thoughts hit me simultaneously when I awoke the following morning.  1) He's gone to my house, used the key I gave him, and done something awful.  2) He's contacted my mother.

Don't ask me how I knew these things, but I did.

I called my mom as I drove home and, sure enough, Ex-B had sent her an email describing in detail what he believed I had been doing throughout the previous evening.

(As a side note: No woman, of any age, should ever have to hear  "You need to learn to keep your panties on and your legs shut" come out of their mother's mouth.)

When I pulled into the driveway of my house, I immediately began scouring the property.  Either Ex-B was about to pop out from around the corner with a machete and a stink eye...or the place was going to go up in flames the second I opened the door.

And yet...nothing.  Not one thing was out of place!  No way, this was way too easy.  I was halfway through my morning shower when it hit me.

I knew exactly what he had done.

My heart pounding in my chest, a lump of fear lodged deep in my throat...I walked.  Ever. So. Slowly. to my bedroom nightstand.  Hands shaking, I opened the drawer.

GASP!  My worst fear realized, tears sprang to my eyes.

It...was...gone...

That asshole piece of shit threw my vibrator in the dumpster!!  Yes, my dear 'pet' rabbit lay dying among week old vegetables and used Q-tips.  And that's when I heard the only sound that could make my morning even worse...

The rattle, hum, and click of... the garbage truck.


Since that fateful day, there are two things I've come to believe:  1) A true best friend is someone who, upon hearing of this tragedy, runs right out and buys you a replacement vibrator.  And 2) Somewhere in America there is one very happy wife of a garbage man.

Only One Thing on my Mind Right Now...

Ya know...I like wearing sexy lacy panties.

But the lace rips too easily.  So you end up with a collection of torn sexy lacy panties that make you look like a dirty whore that either:

A) Can't afford replacements

or

B) Just got laid ever so violently

when

C) All you did was your laundry

So in conclusion, not-as-sexy non-lacy panties make much more sense.  But then they get labeled 'Granny Panties'.

Gah.

Being a girl is hard.

3 Men, a Hot Tub, and the Moment I Knew I Had Real Issues...

I dated Andy when I was in my early 20's.  He was the stunning door guy at the trendy local bar and if only I had known then the man Andy would become...well, I wouldn't have been so quick to kick him to the curb!

Fast forward about 15 years and Andy is still just as hot.  And he's crazy successful.  He works a sexy high powered job, traveling the world protecting important world leaders from would-be harm.  HOT!

Andy came into town a month or so ago to visit old friends and I was one of the lucky gals to make his 'to do' list.  His arrival managed to further infuriate the now-ex, as it turns out that seething jealousy doesn't mix so well with pure crazy.  Andy was one of the reasons the relationship ultimately ended.  Not because anything happened, but because I finally realized I was tired of being accused of touching my hair too often, pursing my lips too much, and making 'google' eyes at every man he perceived to be better looking than him.  So, I dumped him.  Right in the middle of Andy's visit.  PERFECT timing (insert sexy lady cat roar here).

Andy felt oh so sorry for me following the break up that he invited me to his friend's house for a little pool party and a few cocktails.  And well, in my delicate state I simply had no strength to say no!  OK fine, the guy was hot and seeing him even half naked sounded like a fucking fantastic idea!!

As the party wound down Andy and I were 2 out of 4 of the last real men standing.  Someone suggested we hop into the hot tub.  Well, OK!  So there I sat...a freshly single girl in a bubbling hot tub with 3 gorgeously intoxicated men and a sexy new push-up bikini that purposefully matches my baby blues.  Oh.  YES!

We proceeded to do what any group of great looking, tipsy, partially nude adults would do...we started discussing children.

Yup.

Kids.

Two of these men were married fathers and wanted to know why Andy hadn't taken the plunge just yet. Andy lamented a very sad tale of how his job had taken him all over the world and after two failed engagements, he was devastated that he hadn't settled down.  His friends then spent the next 20 or so minutes admonishing Andy for not making time for such things.  I mean, didn't he realize he was pushing 40?  Didn't he know that the women he would be dating might be past the POINT of being able to HAVE kids?  Wasn't he aware that a woman's uterus shriveled up at the age of 35 and that if, by miracle, she was to actually GET pregnant that the child would be screwed up for life?

OK, I'm exaggerating...they didn't actually say those last things, but that must have been what I heard in my head because the next thing I knew it was 3 gorgeous men in a hot tub, a bevy of cocktails, and me...

Doing the ugly cry.

Holy. Shit. I. Could. Not. Stop.

Have you ever wondered how fast 3 men can remove themselves from a hot tub?  Really fucking fast.

So, that was it.  The exact moment I knew I was (and am) seriously fucked up.

In case you're wondering, I have actually heard from Andy once since then.  He called to recommend a book about how to deal with your grief when life doesn't turn out the way you want it to.

As of last night...I'm a third of the way through it.