Enough

I don't give a fuck what anyone says, I know Lullabies was the dude made for me. As gay as it sounds, it's like we have tethered souls or something equally gay as that. It's like this, I always know when that dude is thinking of me, looking for an excuse to talk to me. I can always just feel 'it'. Everyone laughs at me, dismisses me and tells me I'm crazy but then...BAM! Incoming text. Every. Single Time. It's like a discount Walmart version of Spidey Sense...you know, the whole 'with great power comes great responsibility' thing but more like, 'with great power comes a great big sack of bullshit'...who needs that?!? Obviously, I do...because life is a funny little bitch who likes giving it to me in the ass any chance she gets.

I had always said that I never wanted to live in a world where Lullabies existed and we weren't, at the very least, friends. But things change and people rearrange. I read an article today that said, "If two past lovers can remain friends, either they never were in love or they still are" I don't know where he and I lie. Maybe somewhere in between the two but what I do know is, that we can't be friends. In fact, I don't want him as a friend. He's a shitty fucking friend. While I love him and I always will, I just know that I'm tired of him and his bullshit. So when he texted me this past weekend, I wasn't surprised. However, unlike before, I didn't feel giddy when I saw his text pop up. I wanted to respond but not like I have in the past with a cute inside joke or some other witty remark. More than anything, I just wanted to tell him that he was a shitty friend and that there just wasn't any sense in texting me anymore. But I couldn't do that either. To me, it felt like telling him anything along those lines wouldn't be any type of fun and it would make me seem like...I don't know...manipulative? Desperate? Crazy ex-girlfriendish? Whatever. But on the other hand, I felt like ignoring him would come across as a game. Bitches always say, "Silence speaks volumes'. But I don't have volumes to say and I never want to be a bitch to his asshole. I just want him to figure his shit out, leave me out of the equation and if our paths ever cross again one day, I want that whole Batman movie line about smiling at each other from across the room thing. So while I was going back and forth over what to do, I had a revelation: I. Don't. Give. A. Fuck. Anymore. Yeah, it was weird how it hit me. To love someone with every fiber of my being, to know that this man was made for me but to still not give a fuck what he thinks or feels...totally surreal. So I decided on not texting him back. Why say anything? Or give a fuck how he interprets my silence when the bottom line is, I don't fucking care anymore. I never thought I'd be here but thankfully, I am. Now I can move the fuck on. FINALLY.

The thing is, the 'it' feeling hasn't gone away yet. So while I say that I don't care, I can't help but to wonder what his next move is and more importantly, what mine will be.

Peace, Love & Baseball,

 

Lullabies

Dear Lullabies,

Have you ever noticed how things seem to always happen in threes? Death, being a lady, charm, little pigs, wise men, laws of motions, suits...not even Beetlejuice is safe from the law of three. And for me, at least it seems, that things always happen in threes especially when it comes to revelations about shit I would rather avoid. I had a 'three moment' revelation this past weekend about you. 

First there was Bourbon Street. Then there was an unpleasant but not surprising text about you. And lastly, a really interesting interview about Chris Offutt I caught on NPR that all kinda aligned and made me realize that, well, I love you. And not in the 'you will always have a special place in my heart' kind of way but the inconvenient, unfortunate, gut wrenching, soul changing, makes me say gay things, turns me into a chick, kind of way that misses sitting next to you while you play video games. The kind that's cool with you needing downtime to regroup. The kind who finds your stupid goofy ugly Christmas sweaters kinda sexy. The kind that considers the annoying things about you just charming little quirks...even when its you being moody as all hell and inpatient as all fuck. The kind that would rather do absolutely nothing with you than anything else with anyone else in the whole world. You know the kind that even when you think you're at your worst, I still see you as the very best. I thought I could come back around, keep you at arms length and casually have sex with you and not feel a thing. But who am I kidding? You're undeniably, irrevocably the exception to all of my rules. You feel like home to me. Even when we don't talk or see each other, it's never weird. Never awkward. You're always familiar. Even when I do the unthinkable with you and cuddle, it just all seems to fit. We seem to fit. I guess if I'm honest with myself, I thought I could do the whole casual sex thing because I was trying to convince myself that some of you was better than none of you. But that's not me. It's not how anyone as awesome as I am should ever think...but I've never been here before. This was all new to me.  

I've dated a lot of guys. And like I've said before, I always thought my life was always going to be a series of affairs that suited my life for that moment in time. Nothing ever really lasting. Nothing ever really meaningful. But then out of nowhere it all changed when I met you. There is no one else on this earth that I can spend snowed in with and NOT want to murder. There is no one that can make me laugh the way you do. There is no one that gets me the way you do. I have never had so much fun having sex and laughing like I do with you...and that has turned me out the way you have. I've never clicked sexually with anyone like I do with you. Relationships aren't supposed to be hard, it's supposed to be like being with your best friend that you want to fuck all the time. You're my best friend that I want to fuck all the time. Literally. 

I hold chairs and serve on two different boards. I slay dragons for a minimum of 50 hours a week. I'm raising two men by myself. I have time consuming hobbies like golf, craft beer and binge watching TV in my underwear. I also have an awesome group of friends and family who like going on adventures and making memories. I know I already have a pretty awesome yet demanding life but I'm tired of dating. I'm ready to be with someone who wants what I want...to be single but together.  

I know I'm all over the place. I know I'm not being very eloquent but I think it's only because I am trying not to say the thing that I need to say the most. So I'm going to stop the rambling and just say it, is this all we are ever going to be? The occasional late night glass of scotch over sex until you find someone you think is better than me? Because if this is it, I'd really like to know. I met a really nice guy. I love you the most but if this is all I am ever going to be to you, then I don't want to not give this guy a fair chance because I'm holding out hope for you. I understand that there is a very good chance that this is all I am ever going to be to you but I can't lie to myself anymore and deny what I feel for you. I know I'm not perfect. I drink a little too much, work a little too much, can be a little too loud, I have a tendency to be selfish with my time, leave my shoes laying around, I snore, I send multiple texts to a single thought instead of one big one and that I get high at night to settle my mind so I can sleep but the important shit? I have. You won't find anyone better for you than me. I see you. I get you. But mostly importantly, I want to be with you. 

Peace, Love & Baseball,

Everyday.

I read an article the other day about breakups and letting go. It said that we don't miss the people we were with rather who we were when we were with them. It challenged the reader to think back to the times you miss them so you can see it's not about the love you have for them but the love you have for your ego. It went on to say we only miss them when we're lonely. Bullshit. Fuck you. I stopped reading it immediately.

I miss Lullabies. I miss the way he smelled, his goofy big tooth grinned, his stupid laugh, his cheesy t shirts, the way he chomped his teeth when he was drinking a new beer, I miss sitting next to him on the sofa watching shows on my iPad while he played PlayStation. I miss laying in bed, in the dark, laughing until we cried and talking for hours. I miss the way he looked at me when he thought I didn't notice. The way he'd hold my hand in the car. How he touched my face when we kissed. I miss the way his beard felt on my neck. I miss the beat of his heart and the rhythm of his breath while I slept on his chest. I miss how he always had to touch me while he slept and how he felt in my arms. I miss how we would laugh during sex. I miss how he knew what I was thinking and feeling...even if we weren't in the same room. We truly enjoyed each other. I never had so much fun doing absolutely nothing with anyone like I did with him. But it's when I'm happy on a perfect day that I miss him the most.

I miss him when I see a funny meme. On my birthday. When I close a big deal. I still catch myself looking for him when I say something that cracks everyone in the room up. I still listen for his laugh. I still find myself reaching for him in my sleep. We broke up on April 6th and there are mornings when I wake up  hoping, praying, that it was all a nightmare and that I'm safe in bed next to him.

When does it end?

He was made for me.

We were supposed to live happily ever after.

I'm supposed to be Mrs. Lullabies.

I should be thinking about what to make him for dinner tonight.

I should be shopping for a sexy costume to wear on his birthday.

But I'm not.

It was love. Where did it go?

How do I live in a world where he exists but isn't with me?

When will I be able to breathe again?


Peace, Love & Baseball,

...It's Time

Fucking Guero, my older son. So stupid, yet so insightful when it comes to me.

When he was 13 and I was losing my shit over Fuckface, he calmly looked at me and said, "Mom. He's playing you. Why do you let him do that to you?" How fucked up is that? How shitty is it when your 13 year old son knows you're being played...and you can't? At that moment I realized that kids know you just as well as you know them. Now if only he can get his shit together and move the fuck up out of my house.

When I decided it was time for Guero to meet Lullabies, I asked him how he felt about it. He told me that he didn't want to meet him. I was shocked. He's never really cared about who I date. He's not protective of me like my younger son, Sir Shits A Lot. SSAL, is CRAZY protective of me. HE'S the one I worry about introducing to new men in my life. Anyhow, when I asked Guero why he didn't want to meet Lullabies, a man that I really thought I was going to marry, he told me, "I don't want to meet another guy who's going to fuck you over and make you cry. I don't need to be able to picture the face of the man that broke my mom's heart. No thanks." 

At first I was offended. Then flattered. Then dismissive. I was sure that Lullabies and I were the real thing. Little did I know. 

My mom is a Jehovah's Witness. As a kid I wasn't allowed to celebrate holidays. Now that I'm an adult certain holidays are a big fucking deal to me. St. Patrick's Day, Halloween, the 4th of July, my birthday. Yes. Yes,  I do consider my birthday a fucking holiday. Get over it.

I am KNOWN to randomly text people a count down to my birthday. You can count on me to let anyone and everyone willing to listen know it's my birthday. I'm like a 4 year every fucking year. Except this year.

This year, I thought I was going to have a boyfriend. This year I thought I was going to have Lullabies. So fucking stupid of me to think. 

I'm going to be 38 this year. I've never struggled with getting older. In fact it's been the opposite. I couldn't wait to get older. I couldn't wait for the people I work with to stop dismissing me as a child in the work place. 

But as my birthday is rapidly approaching, I can' help but to wonder where in the hell has my life gone. I've worked hard making my career. I've made a lot money in my life time. I've hit milestones that many people older than me haven't. I've partied my ass off. I've been adored by men. I've had the time of my life so why am I reflecting and wondering what the fuck happened to me. 

Easy. While I am adored by many, I am not loved by one. I've had so many men propose to me over the years. Good men at that. In my 20's, I thought I had time to settle down later in life. In my early 30's, I came to the conclusion that I would never find a man that would ever love me for who I am. That my life would be a string of affairs that suited my life at that particular moment. I was fine with that reality. Then HE came along. Fucking Lullabies. And now, now that I no longer have him loving me, I feel empty. 

I know he's not the one for me. I know the one that is meant for me won't leave me. I even know that if he came back, I would' take him back but that doesn't stop me from missing him...ok, honestly? Obsessing, it doesn't stop me from obsessing over him. I know he will always have a special place in my heart. I know he and I will always be friends. But I know I can't be that now. It just hurts so fucking much. 

So I made the decision tonight that he can't have my 38th year. I won't let him make me sad. I won't let him make me cry. I won't allow myself to secretly hold on to the hope that I bury, and even hide from myself, deep down in me. So I told him tonight that I hope he finds his happiness, that I wish him nothing but the best, that no one has ever made me laugh the way he did and I blocked him. 

I know it's for the best. I know it is because it hurts. But I guess it's better to take my hurt in one lump sum and get it over with than to take it in pieces over the next whoever knows how many years it'll take me to let go of him.

Leaving someone I love is the hardest thing I've ever had to do. And after my ex husband, I never thought I'd ever have to do this again. 

I wish I could say 'fuck love' but I know love is the one thing I really want, so I won't.

Peace, Love & Baseball,

*Sigh*

Seriously.

I'm not angry. I'm not butt hurt.

I thought he was different. I thought we were different.

I think I'm disappointed. I wish I could be angry. Angry is familiar. I can do angry. But disappointment, eh...? Disappointment is just an emotional hang over of hope and faith. Two things I RARELY allow myself to indulge in. What do you do with disappointment? Swallow two reality pills and sleep it off?

It's super disappointing to see that this "great connection" I thought he and I shared has been reduced to nothing more than sex. Fantastic mind blowing sex but sex just the same. My boss once told me that when someone shows you their ass, you better believe it. When I walked away from him and he didn't fight for me I guess that was him showing me his ass. And this, well, I guess it's nothing more than him showing me he IS an ass. So what's a girl to do? Not a damn thing...except try not to choke on my two very large pills of reality.

Peace, Love & Baseball,

Anxiety? Insomnia? or Denial?

I hate getting older. With age comes mammograms, insomnia, anxiety attacks and I think maybe loneliness. Or maybe the loneliness, the anxiety and the insomnia are part of the hang over from my last relationship?

I haven't been able to sleep. I have so many things on my mind. Ok. I'll be honest,  I have one thing on my mind, Michigan. It's like I'm waiting around for him to call me, want me, text me, remember me...and why? He hasn't in MONTHS. You'd think by now I'd be over him. Over waiting. Over hoping. But clearly, I'm not. And I really don't quite understand why I'm so attached. The fucker lives 10,000 miles away. In the year that we were...oh I don't know what you would call it....together?...involved?...talking?...acquaintances?....whatever, I have seen him twice. ONLY twice. So why is it so fucking hard to let go of him?  My first thought is that maybe I just don't know how to end relationships. While I do know that there is some truth to that last statement given the whole Fuckface debacle, I did, in my defense, have two relationship between Fuckface and Michigan. I was able to let go of those guys just fine. So what's it with Michigan that makes me feel like I can't breath every time I confront myself about cutting all ties? It's not like I see him in everywhere I go because he was everywhere I'd been. I don't have to worry about running into him at the grocery store or at the bar. I don't have to avoid certain restaurants, movie theaters, stores, bars or golf courses because they incite sentimental memories. It's not like my family, The Wolf Pack or my kids have met him, love him, miss him and now ask about him. In fact, my mother recently told me that she always forgot about Michigan. She said she'd never met him and even doubted if he existed. Can you believe it?!? That fucking cunt actually had the nerve to half-heartdly joke that I "made him up". So what is it? Is it a matter of habit? Did I underestimate just how emotionally retarded I am? What gives? So the other night I made myself sit down and think about it. I now know what it is.

Michigan made me feel safe. He made me feel protected. He made me feel like he would always be there to take care of me. Like I could finally rest my weary head on someone's shoulder. In all my life, literally as far back as my memory can take me, I have NEVER felt safe or protected. Not even as a child but that's a story for another day. For as long as I can remember, I have always had to be strong, self protect and develop an incredibly hard outer shell. It's exhausting living that way. Never letting your guard down. Never fully resting. Keeping everyone at arms length. Building walls that are taller, thicker and stronger. At 37 it has left me tired - emotionally, mentally, physically and spiritually. I've never depended on anyone. And I think because I lack the ability to trust, because I'm always questioning people's motives, I think it's left me with a broken 'picker'. I think it's why I always pick the wrong guy. The kind of guy that, even if I birth their first born, they are never there for me...or their kids. I've always had to be the mother and the father. I've had to be the 'man' in the relationship. The one who faced responsibility and took care of everything. Who left emotions at the door so I could better make decisions for the good of my family. The one who sacrificed. Every. Single. Man. I have been with has been not only undependable but they have also been spineless. Men ruled by their emotions. Helpless sacks of shits with penises. Michigan was different. He gave me a sense of peace. A sense of security. I thought that for once my future was looking up. I thought I hit the lotto. That my ship had finally came in. I've always wanted a man who was like my dad. Michigan was the closet thing to my dad that I've ever come across. And that's the problem. I never knew what it was like to feel secure, protected or safe. Now that I've had a taste of it, I'm addicted. So how do I move on? How do I live without it?

I know Michigan isn't the one for me. My life was not meant to be with him. As much as he is like my dad the truth is, my dad would never have treated my mother the way Michigan has treated me. I can replay all the sweet things he said but there is no denying that he is not good for me at all. As of lately he has been flirting with me. Asking me if we're over. He has regrets and hopes that our chances haven't ran out. Keeps telling me how much he cares. How much he misses me. How much it hurts him to not be with me. In fact just tonight, he told me something about how he thinks we will grow old together. Yet in all of this he has failed to step up and either a) commit to working it out with me or b) walk away and leave me the fuck alone. I've confronted him. I've told him the ugly truth and I haven't held back. I've told him he is slowly ripping my heart out. But he hasn't stopped. So now I'm at a loss. A loss of sleep, appetite, clarity, peace and happiness. Tonight I am struggling with the need to confront him with how much his recent decision to go on a last minute trip to Vegas when he wouldn't go on the trip we planned has hurt me.  I take his apathy + bailing out on our trip + his constant recent expressions of affection, in spite of him knowing it's killing me + going to Vegas and all I want to do is tell him that his recent choices have made him toxic. That it is time I walk away. That I can't handle him chasing me when I know he isn't ready, or fuck, even wanting to catch me. That he needs to leave me alone. But is that the right answer? Am I being overly emotional? Or am I just merely clinging on to hope looking for a way to not have to do the one thing I know I need to do but can't?

Peace, Love & Baseball,

P.S. I've never believed the excuse he gave me for not going to KC with me. So I waited a while and decided tonight I would ask him about his assistant. If she was ok after her fall that left her dancing with prospect of surgery. He repeatedly asked me about what I was talking about. That he didn't know anything about her falling. Then about after a minute, he suddenly remembered that she did fall and hurt her ankle but decided against surgery because she didn't want to deal with it. I don't know about you but it sounds like I was right. That the whole fucking story smells like one big fat steaming pile of horse shit.

Defining Moments

Most people like defining moments. They say they make you stronger. They show you what you're made of. I could give a fuck about defining moments. I don't want to know what I'm made of. I don't what to know if I'm strong. Ignorance is bliss for a fucking reason. Maybe that's just me. I would rather not have that sick, twisted feeling in the pit of my stomach when something I thought would work out one way, doesn't. Who needs that??? Well, I guess I do.

There have been so many "defining moments" that have clearly defined what Michigan doesn't feel for me. But again, I'm forever a slave to the "what ifs" defying all reason in doing what I know is right for me. I most recently decided to call it quits and give Michigan the boot when he left me high and dry for a trip we had planned 2 months ago to go to Kansas City to see the San Francisco Giants play. He canceled a day and a half before we were supposed to leave. Anyone who knows me, knows I am a diehard Giants fan. Every time I see them step out onto the field, it's like seeing Paul McCartney for the first time. I tear up, I get goose bumps and I suddenly come down with a case of tourettes screaming in excitement. I grew up in the 'Stick. I used to see my boys in orange in black several times a month, every month, through out the season. I've been fortunate.  For as long as I've been watching them, they have never sucked. We've been to 4 World Series' and out of those 4 we've won 2. Not bad. Unfortunately, I was a complete and total dick growing up. I, for no reason, decided to hate my dad. I did lots of things to rub my disdain for my dad in his face. My crowning jewel was to pretend to be a Dodgers fan. Talk about a scorching knife right to the heart. As a kid, I wouldn't allow to myself to outwardly express my love for my team. I am a woman of little regrets, but not taking advantage of being amongst my fellow fans and pretending to be a Dodger fan just to spite my dad is my biggest regret. Now that I'm an adult and see the error of my ways, I tragically live in fucking Tex-ASS. I'm not even close enough to take a weekend road trip to see them play. So when I do see my team, it's absolutely special and I cherish it. Michigan knows this. He knows what this trip meant to me. Michigan had an epiphany two weeks before our trip. His best friend died of leukemia two years ago and recently had another friend diagnosed with ALS. Faced with his mortality he came to me and told me that he needed to make changes in his life. That he finally understood that we only live once and he recognizes that he has fallen into a rut of just working and golfing. He said that after his mom passed away that he took it upon himself to put his life on hold to make sure that his dad was ok but just when he was ready to start doing things for himself, his dad had a triple bypass and gall bladder surgery. But now, he sees that he needs to live his life and do what makes him happy and supposedly, I make him happy. He said he knew he needed to make an effort to see me. An effort to show me how much he cares for me. I bought it. Hook. Line. And mother fucking sinker. 

He canceled because supposedly his assistant fell. Her tumble was so bad that she was looking at the possibility of surgery. He was waiting on X-rays and MRIs for confirmation. But even if she hadn't fell, he was working on an appointment with a builder on a big project he was trying to land. I don't know about you but I smell good ol' fashioned BULL-MOTHERFUCKING-SHIT. But why argue? Why call him out on it? At the end of the day, he doesn't want to go with me. Knowing why he doesn't isn't important. I know what I need to know.  But is anything ever really that simple? Nope. Not for me. I have a taste for complicated bullshit. For Michigan is one of my customers. Yup, he and my boss are tight. In fact, my boss asked Michigan if he knew anyone in Tex-ASS who would be good in my current position. Michigan without hesitation recommended me. When I travel and party on business trips with my boss, Michigan knows every fucking detail. He is even given any photographs documenting our adventures. So writing Michigan off isn't as easy as it should be. Fuck me for breaking my one cardinal rule, to NEVER pick up my meat where I get my bread. In the 17 years I have been in this industry, I have never ever even once considered giving my number to anyone, much less date anyone. Why do I do this to myself?!? Knowing I had a fine line to walk, I told Michigan that I could remain friends with him if he refrained from talking about what he and I had. How could I have ever expected a man who left me high and dry for a trip that meant the world to me, a man who has done nothing but show me apathy for the past 7 months, to respect my wishes??? 

The brother of the friend who died of leukemia invited Michigan to go to Vegas with he and his wife to get away since Michigan is struggling with his mortality. Michigan asked me what I thought. I told him that he should go because we only live once. That opportunities are fleeting and he needed to take them when he had them. He joked about stopping in Tex-ASS on his way to Nevada. At the time I believed I'd be ok with him going. I didn't even question it. I didn't think it would matter to me. But god damn those defining moments. Those fucking moments that check your gut...and fuck you up. Today, after him texting me only to ignore me all of yesterday, he tells me that he decided to go to Vegas. BAM! Defining moment, in the form of a roundhouse kick right to my mother fucking face. When I read his text, it felt like he kicked me in the stomach. This mother fucker couldn't go on a trip he had planned with me for 2 months, yet he can go on a last minute trip to Vegas??? I can't even begin to imagine what a last minute ticket from Michigan to Vegas is. And then suddenly it hit me. I don't want to be friendly with this guy. Being friendly with this guy just gives him more opportunities to shit on me. To shit on me like it's nothing. Like it's my lot in life. So what to do? Do I trust what he said in the beginning when he promised me that if things didn't work out, that he wouldn't fuck with my career or do I suck it up, take my medicine and walk that line? 

I find myself, again, torn between what I know I need to do and what I want to do. I guess what I need is another defining moment...another gut check to show me what I'm made of, to let me know how strong I really am. Fuck defining moments. 

Peace, Love & Baseball,

Fucking Michigan

I'm so predictable. Isn't this how it always goes? I start a blog so I can spare my ex of unloading all of my emotional diarrhea on him. I'd much rather appear emotionally unstable and downright crazy with perfect strangers on the interwebs than ever give up my "Fuck you. I'm fabulous" facade to him. When I leave someone, I prefer to quietly pack what's left of my dignity and disappear like a box of condoms in a whore house. But where would the fun in that be?!? It's not a party unless you've drunk dialed your ex. And it really isn't a party until they've played "Turn Down For What" which is the equivalent to a drunk dialed emotional, tear filled, snot dripping, crying so ugly that you can't breath so you repeat the first syllable of the first word in every sentence at least three times type of stutter call at 3 o'clock in the morning. Yup. I got drunk and crunk.

What did I expect? I saw all the red flags...38, never been married, doesn't have kids, owns a successful company, country club membership, owns a house, has a car and last but not least, his last significant relationship was in 19-fucking-99...oh, and let me not forget to mention that he lives in Michigan. Yeah, fucking Michigan. Home to the fucking wasteland of America, Detroit. Fucking Michigan shaped like a dirty fucking mitten that looks like it's trying to fist fuck a rabbit. Fucking  Michigan where you freeze your god damned ass off for like 9 months out of the year. Home to the fucking pastiest mother fucking, rude ass, unhappy, wanna be Kid Rock or Eminem, talking funny saying stupid shit like 'pop' instead of soda, asshole, mother fuckers. Not to mention, home to the fucking Detroit Red Wings. A team with the stupidest fucking name. A name that makes me think of used maxi pads. Not hockey.

Everyone tried to warn me. My friends, my dad and my mother fucking gut all tried to tell me to stay away from him. They all tried to appeal to my better judgement.  He hasn't been in a committed relationship in this millennium, they said. He works all the time, they said. He golfs 4 hours a day...EVERY god damned day, they said. He's never had to worry or consider anyone but himself, they said. He lives in Michigan, they said. Do you really want to live in Michigan, they asked.  It's cold as fuck there, they reminded me. My buddy, Tilting Suds, told me that there were SO many red flags that it was like the Red Army marching into Berlin in 1945. Which in retrospect, I find both perceptive and well, fucking funny. But my fucking treacherous piece of shit heart wasn't having any of it. It betrayed me.

Yup it betrayed me and my mind in doing what was best for me. I felt like Adam in the Garden of Eden looking at that fucking perfect piece of ass, Eve. How could he have possibly resisted. How when she was putting that deliciously red apple to her perfectly pink parting lips...all while being naked? I can't hate on the dude. He was at a total and complete loss. There was no way he was walking away from all that as the victor. Nope. No way and no how. And that sneaky, deceitful, shit talking little snake totally knew it. You'd think Adam would have maybe, at the very least, gave pause for thought. I mean, acid hadn't been invented yet and here he is listening to his chick flapping her gums about a talking snake and apples that turn you into god. I mean just typing that whole scenario over again, sounds bat shit crazy. I can't even imagine what it was like to be there. To look that crazy bitch in the eye as she was droning off like she's Lewis fucking Carroll. To throw all caution to the wind and eat an apple, at the advice of a talking snake. What the fuck was he thinking?!?!? But I can't talk shit. Nope. I've lost all rights to goof on him. All rights to want to grab him by the shoulders, slap his dick and yell at him, "Dude! The bitch is talking about a fucking talking snake! About apples that turn you into God!!! Snap the fuck out of it! Kick that bitch in the twat and shove that fucking apple down that snake's mouth and walk away! Just fucking walk away!!!" But I'm no better. I'm the crazy bitch who listened to my fucking heart. A fucking bloody muscle that doesn't talk. I mean at least that snake had a mouth. I just sat there and fucking listened to it, getting lost in all the shit it was talking about love and how it conquers all. Imagining myself dancing and skipping around in a cartoonish like land, like the Beatles in that Yellow Submarine cartoon. Sitting there all whacked out of my mind dreaming up imaginary people and animals and monsters chasing rainbows in my pursuit of love. What the fuck was I thinking?!?!? How did I ever fucking believe this self centered, moody, bald prick would ever feel motivated by something as ridiculous as love, to change into the man of my fucking dreams. Like I was fucking Belle and he was the god damned Beast. Like following the advice of talking furniture, or fuck just any kind of talking inanimate objects or animals, sounds like even a remotely good idea. But I did it. I threw caution to the wind. I took a bite of that apple and came out butt hurt when it didn't turn me into a god.

Fuck love. I think you have a better shot at becoming god by eating an apple than you do of falling in love.

Peace, Love & Baseball,

Question Most Asked and Hated

"How are you still single?!?"

Every time someone asks me that, I always have the same reaction.  Every. Single. Time. Almost like a programmed default setting. I feign flattery and fight the urge to punch the throat those words belong to, all while trying to decide which version of the truth to tell them. Which version will get me from point a, to point get me the fuck out of this subject the fastest? The only element that changes in my answer, is the excuse. It's a matter of choice, busy with work, busy with kids, busy with baseball, busy with my cats, there aren't any available good men, there aren't any available good men like my dad, I have a fear of commitment, I prefer to pass my time staring at glitter…you get the point. It's a struggle not because I can't face my truth or because I don't know the reason but more in fear of their inability to digest my answer. And let's be honest, I don't really believe anyone really wants the truth. I think if they did, then they'd start by asking the question honestly. 'How' isn't honest. It immediately relieves the questionee of any and all accountability. 'How' implies that perhaps your relationship status is something left to luck or to chance. As if the only reason you're still single is because of that mirror you broke back in the fifth grade or overslept that one fateful morning missing your chance meeting with the love of your life at Starbucks. 'Why' is honest. 'Why' kicks you in the nuts and holds you down by your throat until you answer. I think if anyone ever asked me why, "BBC, WHY are you still single?" I'd like to think I'd answer with a little something like this:

"Why? Hmm. Good question. You'd think being married and divorced by 20 and having two kids with two different dads would be reason enough. But no. I'm not that smart. I decided to go and "fall in love" with a man who felt, at best, I was ordinary - and I stayed with him for seven years. So naturally I decided the only logical thing to do after him, would to immediately get into another relationship with a man who was still in love with his ex-wife or the life he had with his ex-wife. After he dumped me, he decided to turn around and stalk me in a weird way that kinda suggested that I dumped him. I then made the decision to become involved with a man who had never been alone. In an effort to avoid loneliness and to cope with the demons of his failed relationships, he decided to fabricate a whole new version of his past. Basically making him a bold faced liar. So when I finally decided to throw in the towel and give up dating, I became involved with yet another man who hadn't been in a relationship since literally, last century. 

I'd like to say I have a broken 'picker' because I always seem to pick the wrong guy and that's why I'm still single. But I really can't say that because the truth is they picked me. So for whatever reason, I essentially attract and am attracted to the same guy, the guy who loves the thrill of the chase. Who ever so delicately, yet deliberately, seduces me with his determination to win me over. Only to become bored of me when I finally surrender. Who then no longer has the ability or desire to factor me into his life in any real way. Slowly but surely my priority rating in his life sinks lower and lower, so low at times that in one of those relationships, his lawn took precedence over me. Then after I finally bail, that's when they realize how great I am, how they can't live without me. They start sending flowers, buying me insanely expensive gifts and/or turn into my whipping boy, willing to do anything I request regardless of how humiliating it is. It's the same guy, the same routine, every single time. So obviously there is something about me, in my fabric, that consistently attracts this kind of man. Something must be broken in me that inevitably leads me down this same path of destruction. I don't know what it is. I don't know how to fix it. And honestly, who knows even if I could pinpoint it, if it's something that could be repaired. Perhaps its hardwired into my DNA. Who knows? But I do know that until I can some how figure out what 'it' is, that I simply shouldn't date because I'm the reason I'm still single."

But who really wants to hear that? I think we prefer to point fingers and assign blame to the other person in our failed realtionships because if we can make it about them, then it can't be us...and where's the fun in us being the fuck ups???

Peace, Love & Baseball,