*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,

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,

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,