We'll Be Through the Worst...

Living in northern Minnesota, it seems like every year after the holiday season, the conversation turns to the weather and how we will survive January and February, typically the worst months, weather-wise. Everyone assures themselves that once we get through January and through mid-February, "We'll be through the worst".

This winter flew by for me, with everything that has been going on. Sometimes, it surprises me when I step outside and it is relatively warm, at least in northern Minnesota terms. One of my friends calls it "hooded sweatshirt weather" when it hits about 25 degrees. Living through the bitter winters, we are shameless when it comes to temperatures that would be perceived as deadly in other parts of the country. The days are slowly getting warm enough that the sun is melting the snow and ice, and there's a steady stream of water that freezes into twinkling icicles on my house. It's light out when I leave work in the late afternoon. Even the air has a distinctly fresh, springy smell to it. It makes you think that you are through the worst of it, and have only bright, happy, springy days to look forward to.

But sometimes, a northern Minnesota spring surprises you, and you discover that you are no way through the worst. The spring that my daughter was born, we had an early March blizzard that dropped nearly 30 inches of snow in 24 hours. It felt as though the wind was blowing straight through my drafty brick house, and I clung tight to my newborn as the lights flickered all around. When the storm passed, it left snowbanks taller than my garage. And not more than a week later, we got hit with another storm that dropped another foot of snow on top of that. The "first day of spring" came and went, and we were still covered in heavy, wet snow. The worst was most certainly not over.

Lately, I've found the same in trying to navigate this whole divorce thing. The past few months have changed me. I know that. I feel better about myself, and feel more positive about my future. I can breathe again. I can be selfish and do single-girl things, like stay out until 3:00 in the morning and sleep until noon, and skip dinner and eat frozen pizza at 11:00. Sometimes, I don't even bother to attempt to clean the house when I am home alone. Why should I? I have more appealing options of things to do when I am at home, and besides, I am not really home all that much. I thought I was through the worst.

Last week, I got a text from my ex-husband that was obviously not meant for me. It was meant for another woman. Even though I have been dating (or attempting to), it irritated me. First off, I have the class and common sense to make sure I send my texts to the right number. Second, it was a casual message, telling her that he stopped at his "midway point for food and gas". I was married to him for eight years, and I didn't get messages like that. He was married to me for so long that he lost that sense of common courtesy, and I'd rarely get a call or a text, no matter where he was or how late he was going to be. That stung, not because it was meant for her, but because it illustrated the total lack of respect that he had for me and our former union.

A couple of nights later, I got a late-night text from him...telling me he was at the bar and sad, because there was a girl there who looked and dressed like me. I rolled over and went back to sleep, not knowing that this was the start of his quest to get me back.

After that text, he became relentless. In a classic quote, he said to me, "Would you rather be with someone that you've known and loved for nine years, or would you rather be alone for the rest of your life?" He knew what he was doing. He knew that indicating that I would be "alone for the rest of my life" would trigger all of my insecurities. But I still stayed strong.

I did, however, make sure I pushed for details on his "date". Turns out he did meet this woman...who did not live up to his expectations at all. They met for their date, and he discovered that she'd "grossly underestimated" her weight on her dating profile. I can only imagine, since I am a size 14. I have the urge to defend her, because one thing I cannot deal with is dissing someone over her weight. But alas, in the protection of my own high self-esteem, I will allow him to be critical of other women, after he spent nine years with the gorgeous me.

As the weekend continued, he carried on with his text messages and his attempts to get into my house (and inevitably, my bed). As he indicated his interest in "working" on our marriage, I was lying in my bed, and suddenly I was gripped with terror. I remember looking at my curtains (for no particular reason; it was just what my eyes landed on), and thinking, "Oh my god...I DO NOT WANT ANYONE SHARING MY HOUSE. I DO NOT WANT A RELATIONSHIP."

It was the first time I've ever felt this. Ever. Never in my life have I envisioned myself happy and complete without "having someone". After going through my divorce--the years of wanting to do it, the complete loss of feelings for him, the technicalities of having him move out, the sense of loss over having my daughter only 50 percent of the time, the finality of the paperwork--I thought the worst was through. Truthfully, I didn't care that I was, by some standards, a failure at marriage. In my superficial way, I still thought that while the worst was through with one marriage, I still needed to find another one. Now, the mere thought of having my freedom jeopardized and having to share my home chilled me to the core.

The weight of having to hurt and disappoint my ex-husband weighs heavily on me. The worst is not over there. I've agreed to a "date" with him on Sunday afternoon, but I made it clear that he won't be coming back to my place, and I expect him to head to his home to spend time with our daughter, since it is one of his custody days. I have told him upfront that I do not feel ready for a relationship with anyone (teensy lie...there is one person who, in my mind, I would like to have a relationship with, especially since I would've married him sight unseen, based on writing and sarcasm ability alone). I told him that I will make him no promises and no guarantees. He still says that he is willing to take this risk for another chance to be with me. I still think that chance won't happen, because I am determined in what I want, and secure with my decision to divorce him.

In movies on and on TV, it always seems glamorous and romantic when an ex comes back and begs for the love of his long-gone partner. In reality, there is nothing glamorous or romantic about it, if you are not interested in this. It just causes a setback in your attempts to be through the worst.

THAT Kind of Girl

My friend H, who was the most adamant about not getting into a relationship quickly after her divorce, was the first one to find a relationship. Go figure. I guess that's where that old "it happens when you aren't looking for it" adage comes into play.

However, for all the complaints and fears I have over being single, she has an equal amount over being in a relationship. Her ex-husband cheated on her, multiple times. Not just random, at-the-bar kissing, but actual relationships. Not just once. Three different women.

Needless to say, she has some obvious trust issues. Facebook and texting played huge roles in her ex-husband's affairs, and she is very aware of the risks presented by these new communication sources. Hell, she's even used them herself a time or two.

Last week, she had a disagreement with her boyfriend over his acceptance of a Facebook friend request. She didn't tell him to accept, she didn't tell him not to accept. She did, however, point out her concerns over his acceptance of this friend request, based on witnessing this person's behavior and her lack of boundaries--because she was that kind of girl, so to speak. When her boyfriend chose to accept the friend request--under the premise of being nice--H was unhappy, to say the least.

A disagreement ensued between H and her boyfriend, and in response, he deleted 22 of his Facebook friends--the vast majority of the single women. Including me. Which got me to thinking...does he think I am that kind of girl?

That kind of girl is Rielle Hunter, who lured that nasty John Edwards into a lurid affair, knowing that everyone in the world knew that his long-suffering wife of many years had cancer. That kind of girl are Tiger Woods' many mistresses, who knew damn well that they didn't go under the moniker Elin Nordegren. That kind of girl is the forever-infamous Long Island Lolita, Amy Fisher, who as a teenager was seduced into an affair with a married man, and then allegedly assisted in his plot to kill the wife. I am not that kind of girl.

In my defense...there is no way I'd be that kind of girl with him. Ever. Even if he and H broke up, it wouldn't matter, because there's always that unspoken bond of friendship between her and I. In the time that he and H have been together, we've socialized on numerous occasions, and I never realized that I was giving out signals that I am that kind of girl. But maybe I was, if he felt it necessary to delete me.

In my un-defense...I have been guilty of being that kind of girl. Looking at some of my aforementioned posts would spell this out quite clearly. I had a knack. For sexting. Married Men. On Facebook.

H's belief is that your best defense against becoming that kind of girl with someone else's man is to befriend the wife. And I have no doubt that she's right. That's why I never wanted details from my Married Man's personal life. If I had to put a face attached to his wife's name, it would make it too personal. That kind of girl has to keep personal out of it, if only to selfishly spare her own feelings.

But it still brings me back to my concern: am I that kind of girl? I'd like to think not. I'd like to think I am nice and relationship-worthy. But sometimes I wonder. A friend once told me that she saw a news article on teens and sexting, and she automatically thought of me. I was like, what?!? You see something on sexting and automatically think, "J"?!? And it seems that the only men I ever find on online dating sites are the ones interested in sexting. Not dating. Sexting.

I just don't get it...maybe I am that kind of girl, and I just don't know it.

Memorable Quotes to Make Me Feel Loved

So, I am feeling not very cute these days. Oh snap, how I hate that feeling. Typically, even if I am not cute, I would not have a clue. Because I think I am cute. But these days, I am wondering if I see something different when I look in the mirror than what other people do, because I am not feeling the love.

When I was married, it's not like my ex ever showered me with affection or compliments. I don't think he ever told me that I looked nice, come to think of it. It's strange, really. It's not like I had any more reinforcement of my cuteness then than I do now, but I just felt more confident, probably because I didn't have to deal with the societal expectations of finding a man.

Probably thanks to the single life and what I perceive as the constant rejection of online dating, my confidence in my cuteness is totally sapped. Sure, I still make all of the same efforts, probably even more so, since I've gone back to the fake nails and fake tan. It does seem, however, that I have been spritzing myself with eau de man repellent, because I sure don't have the boys comin' to the yard.

Sometimes, I feel pathetic because I rely so heavily on the approval of a man to feel good about myself. Other times, I just feel pathetic in general.

Lately, it's been a combination of both.

To bolster my lacking self-esteem, I sometimes lament these problems to my friends, and they in turn shower me with words of kindness that warm my heart and make me feel a little less pathetic, even if only for a short time.

I collect these quotes, because I like to re-read them every once in a while, and lately, that every once in a while has been better described as "every day".

I am terrified of losing my favorite quotes, so I'm gonna store them here in addition to multiple other places, because I will save them forever, like a lock of hair from your child's first hair cut or the corsage from the time you lost your virginity on prom night.

Here are my favorites:

"...You are an amazing, amazing catch. You are gorgeous. Just gorgeous - looks like you always have been. More than probably always will be. So lovely to look at, so pleasant to listen to... I wish I'd listened to YOU more the other day. You take the best care of yourself that you can, same with AC - no one could ask for more from you. You work hard - really, really hard, you're fun, you have an awesome sense of humor, and you are intelligent. You are gifted, witty, and STRONG. You have so much to offer and somewhere down the line, someone is going to understand that being a part of your life is a beautiful privilege. No one worth having could ever overlook you, J. You won't die alone..."

"...I ♥ you and look forward to your status updates daily. You're like the Queen Frostine on the Candyland board. The super magical, so happy I picked it, prettiest card, ever..."

"...As for you, you're really one of the coolest people I know. I mean that. You really have a lot of my sense of humor and I absolutely admire you. You’re young, fun, successful and still have the world ahead of you. You have a gorgeous daughter who is hilarious. You absolutely need to write a book. I would read it in a heartbeat. I check your blog every day. Okay, I’m a stalker. But you’re just so amusingly cynical, it’s great. You really seem completely confident in yourself, even if you apparently aren’t feeling it.

I suggest you wear your MWD (or other) crown to work tomorrow. Or dinner. Or wherever. I may be a dork, but if I'm feeling down, I'm going to wear a crown. It's really difficult to be upset when you're wearing a motherf*cking crown. I suspect the people at your work realize that you're as eccentric as mine do, and they won't really question it, although they might tell you you're a dork.

Just take the time to say f*ck it, I’m wonderful! You are, and shouldn’t let anyone tell you any different. You have a handful of good friends, a cool mother, and people who look up to you, including but not limited to your daughter and myself. Be an awesome f*cking role model for them..."

I have some pretty f*cking awesome friends. I'd offer to share the love, but I'm selfish like that and want to keep my friends and their love to myself.

2009: A Year of Cruel and Unusual Facebook Status Updates

For those of you who know my Facebook persona, you know that I like to update my status. No, I don't just like to update my status--I LOVE to update my status. Like, crazy-mad-beautiful status updating.

Thanks to a tip from another blog I read, nineandlight.blogspot.com, I learned that FB has an application that allows you to pull up your status update history for the past year. Unfortunately, because FB reports that I have had 791 status updates over the past year, it would be cruel and unusual to publish them all. However, I offer some highlights:

December 2008/January 2009:

* is having a 2 tranquilizer sorta day, and it's only 10:30 am. Or to be more politically correct, a "2 anti-anxiety pill" sorta day.
* once had a friend tell her that if her dog was human, he'd be a serial killer since he was raised to believe he could do no wrong. She fears this for her kid.
* is ashamed that her dog did not turn out like his namesakes, JFK and RFK. Instead, he's the nasty Kennedy cousin: bad, rude, self-entitled, lazy, spoiled...
* response when asked if she's planning to have more children? "Not on purpose!", followed by sarcastic shrieks of laughter.
* kid is now obsessed with Beauty and the Beast, and runs around the house yelling, "Booty!" Her daddy does the same, though hoping for different end result.
* feels that Yo Gabba Gabba is tailored for toddlers and stoners, but is best described as "giant dancing BOBs". A BOB, you ask? Battery Operated Boyfriend.
* feels that the cure to her lethargy and unproductively would be a short-term meth binge, which would allow her to super-clean, super-work and super-mom.
* was amused to read a theory that JFK's rampant affairs were due to his feeling that f*cking someone else's wife was the sincerest form of flattery. Touche.
* is filled with fizziness for both Obama and champagne, which led to her champagne supernova all before noon.
* would have postponed this getting married-having babies thing had she known that someday, there'd be the opportunity to date Bret Michaels on national TV.
* vows every Sunday that she will stop being cynical, mean and gossipy. And then she gets to work on Monday, and that whole resolution just goes down the drain.

February 2009:

* is always grateful that she had a little girl, for if she'd had a boy, she'd inevitably raise him to be a drag queen. Not that there's anything wrong with that.
* is somewhat ashamed that in her parenting class last night, she could not help but snicker immaturely at the term, "refuel your love tank."
* wishes that it was not illegal to sell unused prescription drugs on the black market, as she could use some extra funds right now.
* is secretly hoping the schools AREN'T closed tomorrow, because she does know if she can take another iced-in day with her two kids: her toddler & her husband.
* is sometimes bummed that she isn't and never will be The Hot Girl, but then remembers that of all the words used to describe Jackie O, 'sexy' was never one.
* is guessing that she'll get exactly what she asked for for Valentine's Day: nothing.
* shares the dream of many middle-class children across America: she hopes to one day have her own bedroom.
* looks like a model, except she's got a little more ass.
* read a study that said the more liberal a person is, the less neat she tends to be. Looking at her house, it would be evident that she is very, very liberal.
* just found the perfect lunchtime spot for picking up men: the McDonald's by the air base and Cirrus. How did this not dawn on her sooner?
* would like a Get-Out-of-Hell-Free card.
* thinks that finding a good man is like finding a good job in this economy: all the good ones are taken, and the leftovers are too much work for too little pay.

March 2009:

* thought it was hilarious when the toilet at work had to be serviced for "Thomas the Tank Engine in toilet". It was not so funny when it happened at her own house.
* had an astonishing realization: her mental health is much like her hair color. It's been so modified and medicated, she is not sure of its natural state.
* had a boyfriend in the 1st grade who gave her a love letter with the following proclamation: "You will be my first wife." She wonders if the offer still stands.
* wonders if any of her fb friends have lived through a separation/divorce, and how'd you do it? Any attorney recommendations? Any wine recommendations?
* just endured a human resources meeting that included the words 'f*ck' and 'bullsh!t', in addition to her own slip o' the tongue with the word 'pecker'.
* has a backache, but not like the kind her husband has, which once caused him to declare that he was "in more pain than any human being has ever been in before." J would like to point out that he has never endured child birth.

April 2009:

* is exhausted from the weekend, due in part to the fact that she tends to confuse "passing out" and "sleeping". It would seem that they are not one and the same.
* is stressed, and to deal with her stress, she decided it would be good to take three Klonopin. Unfortunately, her latest stress is that she now feels wasted at work--never a good feeling, unless it's an after-effect from a particularly good night before.
* in an effort to take off a few pounds quickly, is wearing two pairs of Spanx today. She is trying this, as she has an appointment with her gorgeous OBGYN tomorrow, and she'd like to look extra hot...but then she remembered that all the Spanx in the world ain't gonna help when she has to undress.

May 2009:

* wonders why--at the age of 31--she still gets nervous and giggly when she has to place a business call to the hot insurance guy--she feels like she's in junior high again, though this would be "Junior High: Cougar Style".
* daughter started daycare for the first time ever today, at a daycare called the Think-n-Play. However, when her husband initially did a Google search on the Think-n-Play, he mistakenly typed "Thonk-n-Play"...a search that returned Adult Friend Finder, and makes J wonder what she is missing out on, since she has never "thonked".
* was amused by the young Baptist boy who kept trying to flirt with her while on a group tour at her museum today. She wondered what this 16-year-old boy would see in her, but then looked at his companions and realized that compared to the girls he was with, she looked like one hot MILF.
* had a low-grade fever yesterday, so she called in sick to work under the excuse of "not wanting to expose her coworkers to a potential case of the bird flu." Uh...bird flu? Fail. Major fail. Her excuse now is that the low-grade fever caused her to space out the fact that she actually has the SWINE FLU.
* grant me the serenity to accept those I cannot change, regardless of how hard I've tried; the courage to get through this once-a-year beast of a day without snickering or making inappropriate comments or gestures; and the wisdom to know the difference between sexual harrassment and simple jokes.

June 2009:

* daughter, when offered white milk, demanded chocolate instead. When her Grammie said no, her daughter proceeded to grab the cup, throw it against the wall and scream, "F-ck it!" J thinks it's time for some anger management classes for all members of her family.
* wants to be the sort of girl who always sees the glass as being half-full, and she does...except that glass is half-full of crap.
* is off to fetch supplies for a last-minute Father's Day BBQ, and since she's going to Walmart, she decided to skip showering, washing her hair and applying makeup, with the hope that she might fit in and go unnoticed for once.
* is glad for her tranquilizer prescription on days like today, in which a simple pill offers new meaning to the term, "This won't hurt a bit."

July 2009:

* is heartbroken that both of her childhood crushes--John Ritter and Michael Jackson--are dead. By way of statistics, this does not bode well for her long-lost first-grade boyfriend.
* knew that she reached a new level of nonchalance in parenting when, while waiting in line at Wal-Mart, her toddler looked at her and screeched, "You got boobies, Mommy?!?" Instead of freaking out and looking to see if anyone heard, J just nodded and agreed.
* was singing to her daughter, when her daughter screeched, "Nooo, Mama! Stop it!" She paused in her rendition of Baa-Baa Black Sheep to ask her daughter if she liked it when OTHER people sang to her. Without a beat, her daughter answered, "Yes!" J guesses this means her pursuit of the American Idol title is off.
* feels that rearing a toddler is like running a marathon that you are woefully unprepared and untrained for: the twists, turns and uphill sprints keep you guessing and winded; and the brief water stops leave you exhausted and begging for mercy. She wonders when the finish line will appear.
* learned tonight that Emergency Room x (morphine + IV drip) - pain = a happy, drowsy and slightly stoned girl.

August 2009:

* cringed when she saw the highway patrol while driving to work this morning, knowing that she was going roughly 15 miles over the speed limit. But no worries, as she figured she'd rely on her lip gloss and cleavage, attributes that have gotten her INTO and OUT OF the majority of problems she's run into throughout her life.
* finds that very little cannot be cured with a hot shower, Kraft Mac-n-Cheese and a Klonopin. Or two.
* will be taking on a daunting task this evening: she plans to take her 2-year-old to her first movie. She expects this will not go well, and suspects that by the end of the evening, she will have earned herself a place in either the Carlton County jail or the mental health padded-down lockup cell.
* was helping her daughter get dressed this morning when she looked at her and said, "You got boobies, Mama? Big boobies!" Yes, honey...Mama does have big boobies. DDs to be precise.
* is off to uncork a big bottle of whine.
* just bumped into an old acquaintance, who left his wife for a woman 9 years his junior who was pregnant with another man's kid and had yet another kid. So, together, they are blissfully raising her two children AND his two children...and the guy's completely manic and ecstatic with life. J questioned if he was taking meth, but he reported that no, he was just that happy. Huh. Whatever he's got, she wants some.
* knew that her daughter's obsession with boobies had gone too far when she asked her daughter what she wanted for dinner, and her daughter replied, "Dinner and boobies!" Now, she understands this is probably the desire of a lot of men out there, but does it also need to be the desire of her two-year-old?
* daughter was playing with her Dora doll in the bathtub, and looked up and said, "Look, Mommy! She's taking a sh!t!" Sigh...is there no end to this child's potty mouth? Sadly, her excuse is a whispered, "Daddy says that...", so it looks like it might be Daddy who needs a good scolding.
* spent an enjoyable day at the Public Urinal Bath--AKA, the community pool--where she scored a new boyfriend. She doesn't know what lured this hot 7-year-old in--perhaps it was her smokin' hot legs that haven't seen the sun since the Bush administration, or her barely covered DDs. All she knows is that it was a total bonus to be waited on by someone willing to go to the deep end to get her kid's wayward toys.
* in an angry rage, screamed at her husband that she wanted a separation. His response? "Well...maybe we could just have sex like, you know, people who don't know each other or whatever."
* is craving some excitement, so she considered adding former flings and exes to her fb friend list. But then she remember that there were so few of them and that she was either engaged and/or married to such a high percentage of them that at this point, any efforts to pursue a flirtation would be pointless. Sigh...such is the life of a good girl.
* is disgusted that even though her daughter just announced that "Mommy has big boobies", J's appearance in her shirt today does not seem to confirm that. She's gonna have to resort to spritzing on some Love's Baby Soft and using Kleenex to bump these DDs up to DDDs, just like the good old junior high days.
* life is purely a work of fiction, and any resemblance to actual people--living or dead--places or events is merely coincidental. Unless, of course, you are a person, place or event that has made it onto her notoriously naughty list. In that case, expect a scathing rehash of every detail of your mistake committed against her through her meticulously nonfictional life.
* is trippin' on Ambien, and strongly suggests that should you receive any messages from her, you delete them without reading or questioning why. It's not that the information contained in the message is untrue; it's that the information contained in the message IS true, but she doesn't want you to know it. Ambien = truth serum. And all the more reason to get off Facebook and into bed.
* is hosting her very own Whine Tasting...there's My House Looks Like it was Hit by a Tornado and I'd be Better Off if It Was Merlot; My Husband Bitches at Me for Things That Are Mostly Out of My Control chardonnay; I Will Never Catch Up at Work and I Will Get Fired Cabernet; and her personal fave, My Strong-Willed Toddler Caused the Tornado and is Now Beating Me with a Plastic Hammer from the Fair pinot. Wanna join?
* is bored senseless with the mundane pace of her life yesterday, so after a charming conversation with a very dear friend yesterday, she has decided that perhaps the answer is to become a phone sex operator. Work from home...$1 a minute...and as an aspiring writer, she is perhaps capable of saying just about anything to just about anyone. Sigh...why is it that she's consumed with the insatiable urge to cause trouble?
* just heard her boss utter the following phrase: "If you have boobs, don't even come anywhere near me." Umm...she doesn't know if she should laugh or cry. Or laugh until she cries.
* 's boobie-avoiding boss offered to pay for a fireworks show at her next wedding. Ha ha ha. As if there'd be a next wedding, though with a fireworks show, the entertainment value alone might be worth it. A next-day annulment is always an option, though as this point, she's pretty certain that she won't have to worry about this, as she's going to be alone for the rest of her life.
* isn't used to what she's feeling...what could this be? Failure? She doesn't know, because it has happened so few times in her life, but her current situation indicates an EPIC FAIL.

September 2009:

* got a scathing reprimand over her weekend activities, or rather, her failure to perform her weekend activities. She would rehash the mistakes made for everyone's amusement of her epic failures, but since she was already reprimanded once, perhaps it best that she just keeps her mouth shut from now on, much to her dismay, as she's really not a keep-your-mouth-shut kinda girl.
* was scorned again today over a FB status update, so she has had no choice but to create of Naughty List of people she has deemed unworthy of her brilliant and creative updates. If you can read this, she feels you are worthy. Congratulations on earning such an honor. "...But sometimes, man, it just seems, everybody wants to discuss me...so this must mean I'm disgusting...but it's just me--I'm just obscene!"
* much to her dismay, is again blaming her pillows for her lack of sleep last night. How many pillows does a girl need to go through to find a good one? It's like trying to find a good man...after about three months, it starts to show its true colors and ends up being a pain in the neck, so you have no choice but to kick it to the curb and start shopping around for a new one.
* baked brownies, and washed multiple loads of laundry. She changed the linens on three beds, and ironed a week's worth of clothes. She tried to tame a toddler who is virtually untameable. She loaded and unloaded the dishwasher, and even sorted the good crayons from the bad. Meanwhile, she caught her husband...watching The Jonas Brothers. His defense? "The chick on there is really hot."
* thinks that, once in a while, she'd like to be something other than tired. It's funny...when she was growing up, she doesn't ever once remember thinking, "When I grow up, I want to be tired all the time!", but somehow it's become almost a career for her.
* would like you to know that according to her FB quiz results, Jesus thinks she's a selfish bitch, and all she does is "shop, eat and complain". Alarmingly, J is not at all unsettled by this, either by the disapproval of her lifestyle according to Jesus, or over the scorn for her favorite hobbies.
* 's concentration at her board meeting was broken first by her boss calling a volunteer a "horn freak", and second by the arrival of the only sexy man who has ever served on this board. She meticulously catalogs who wears rings and who does not, and for the past two meetings, he has not. So she wonders...separated/divorced/it's complicated, or likes-to-work-with-his-hands-and-doesn't-want-to-ruin-it?
* wonders, have you ever had a friend who is so obnoxious, you hope to never encounter that person in public? It happened to her today, at Target. Much to J's horror, the unnamed friend pointed at a group of three USAF boys in fatigues and yelled, "Look, J! It's a 4-some potential!" They were barely legal. They heard. J bumped into them nearly every aisle. Not good.
* does not play games she cannot win, especially when she was the one who initiated the game. Forget that.
* really wants to be like Foofa, who's pink and happy. She wants to be like Daisy, who simply says, "Lavender lollipops!" when things don't go her way. She wants to be like Patrick, who is too oblivious to really understand his own--and Bikini Bottom's--frustrations. Instead, she is more like Gargamel, who shrieks, "Asreal! You stupid idiot!" at his cat when angry.
* 's daughter got a hold of their dog's Christmas leash, and was running around the house with it. AC's Daddy told her that she was "not big enough to play with leashes yet". It made J wonder: what age WOULD be considered big enough to play with things such as leashes, whips, handcuffs or chains?
* bought Cover Girl's Outlast Lipstain, and wants you to know that it does live up to its advertised potential. She applied it last night before bed--what? It was NEW and she just got home and had to try it!--and after two showers, she can still see some vague color, as though she's been drinking Kool-Aid all day. In the event that she ever decides to take up one-night stands as a hobby, this product would be a must.
* is celebrating her seven-year wedding anniversary with her "estranged husband" today. She researched marriage statistics, and found the average marriage headed for divorces lasts 7.2 years, but the risk of divorce at 7 years is only 1 in 6. Hmmm...might have to get a move on this.
* really needs to invest $2 for a box of Kleenex for her office, to avoid the awkwardness that ensues when she needs to stumble out of her office to look for communal Kleenex while also covered in the tear stains and mascara that leaves her looking like a sleep-deprived raccoon.

October 2009:

* got to see her beloved OBGYN today, and she's not 100 percent sure--but she's about 99.5 percent sure--that he gave her a quick wedding ring check...just to see if one is present or not. J just KNEW that he was in love with her, too, and now she has proof. Either that, or there's that half-percent chance that he was actually checking out her poor choice of nail color, which J is afraid matches a porn star's.
* is thinking D-I-V-O-R-C-E. For real this time.
* is starting the first day of her new life, and it's taking all her strength not to have a Britney-like moment...not the head shaving moment, but the moment that she locked herself in the bathroom with her son because she didn't want to give him up. That kinda moment.
* is thinkin' that the single life ain't at all what the 'Sex and the City' girls hyped it up to be.
* is single for the first time since December 1, 1999. Luckily, her 50-something nerdy train-queer co-worker took the time to tell her, "J, I just want you to know that K found me. Even though you have a young child just like she did, you are still attractive, and there are men just like me out there who will want you." Umm...thanks, buddy.
* had the misfortune of her car dying on the freeway, despite the previous visits to the dealer where the mechanics ogled her Pussycat Dolls CD instead of doing their job. The bad news: J didn't have her cell phone. She had to use the highway patrol's phone. When she say the picture of the little girl on the screen, she considered saying, "Cute kid. You still married to the baby mama?", but figured it'd be a tad inappropriate.
* used to appreciate having the bed all to herself. Now she's not so sure that's a good thing. But she's trying to keep her chin up, because hopefully, someone, someplace, will ask her on a date someday, and maybe she will once again get to be aggravated at sharing her bed.
* encountered her unrequited crush today at work, unexpectedly. Had she known that she would be facing such an encounter--especially since she's now a single girl--she would've freshened up by applying new lip gloss, doing a better job at hiding the oh-so-pathetic circles under her eyes and shedding about 25 pounds.
* is watching 'Bob the Builder' with her daughter, and Bob just attended a dance where his crush told him how terrific he looked. First, should Bob the Builder even HAVE a crush--it's children's show! Second, if Bob the Builder can score dates, J's pretty sure she can, too.
* has decided it's time to put on her big-girl panties and deal...even if they are gigantic, white cotton briefs designated to keep her from getting too carried away with her new single life.
* is soliciting qualified candidates for her first rebound relationship. Qualities should include: 1) Fits her type of "tall, dark and stupid", a type that a friend once not-so-discreetly pointed out that she prefers; 2) Lacks traditional moral standards, as J is not exactly legally divorced; 3) Has his own home, or at least his own bedroom; and 5) Possesses the funds to meet her entertainment needs.
* has decided to leave her wedding pictures on her fb photo albums, because let's face it: she looks good. However, to deal with the fact that she is no longer married to the groom, she has decided that she will Photoshop the faces of her various crushes instead. Jeremy Piven one day, Josh Duhamel the next...
* is praying for the serenity to accept the man she cannot change, no matter hard how she tried; the courage to control her temper so that she does not kill the aforementioned man; and the wisdom to know that her life will move on and be good. Even if it doesn't seem like it now, and even if the aforementioned man tells her, "The only boyfriend you will ever find is the hard, plastic type that comes from Sex World."
* needs to shop for a first-date outfit that makes her look as skinny as possible. By tomorrow. Sigh...she thought that she was done with all these worries ten years ago.
* is not morally bankrupt. No, not all of her morals and standards have been depleted. It's more like...a moral recession.
* because she isn't having a rough enough day already, just got dumped VIA TEXT MESSAGE. The message: "Thought about it and you are just not my type. Sorry." Wow. Being a single, vulnerable girl is hard, and she is hating on herself for being so upset over some stupid a**hole of a guy with an ignorant Texas accent who gives too much sloppy tongue when he kisses.
* can't believe that she shed a single tear over her idiotic "date" who dumped her via text...he used the word "motherf*cker" in every sentence. He has multiple ex-wives and kids named Dallas Jr and Fancy. He chose to wash his truck instead of take a shower before their date. She saw an actual live mouse at his place. J believes she was born and bred to be a Kennedy, and she got sad over losing THIS treasure?
* "...shoulda, coulda, woulda..." my ass. Can't we just do it now?
* thinks that unrequited lust is like a burning match: you can't help but light that match because the temptation is too strong, but then as that fire in your hand burns hotter and hotter, you get scared and drop it. But yet...you can't stop yourself from going right back to it, because that fear makes it both scary and fun, an irresistible combination for pleasure.
* would like to point out that dating other men while separated from your husband is a bit like smoking pot and not inhaling: the devious intent is there, but since the act was not carried out to completion, it does not count. It is not, as her boss suggested, cheating, though J got a laugh out of his complaint of a railroad partner "cheating" on them: "Oh wait...that's something you know a lot about these days."
* brought her daughter to ECFE class last night, and during open play, her daughter discovered the plastic food section. J was dismayed when her daughter selected a plastic weiner, and started trying to shove it into J's mouth, insisting that she take a bite. For J, it brought back bad memories of so many first dates gone awry when they turned into that same scenario, minus the plastic part.
* after doing the walk of shame via her fingers to check for drunk texts sent from her phone or fb last night, checked the Txts Frm Lst Nght site--her FAVORITE site ever, hands down. It's her daily routine, because it makes her laugh and because she is certain that inevitably, one of her own texts or fb statuses will be featured sooner or later.

November 2009:

* is snug as a bug in a rug in her bed right now, torn between doing the right thing and getting up to get ready, or the wrong thing, and cuddle deeper in bed and doze back off. It's moments like this that she both loves and hates having the bed all to herself.
* is starting to think that she may need to curtail her status updates, as the ads on the side are now displaying lesbian dating events. She's had ads for David Sedaris; she knows this makes sense, since her profile clearly states her adoration for David. However, she does not recall clearly stating her adoration for being a lesbian, because she is not one.
* was driving her daughter home from daycare today, when AC pointed at the local Gospel Tabernacle and screamed, "That place is for CHEATERS!" J's heart froze for a moment, so she asked her daughter to clarify. Turns out, he daughter actually believes the Tab is for TEACHERS. J is not sure why, but perhaps this conversation was has to teach her a lesson.
* would like to share her latest experiences with boys: the first one dumped her via text message. The second wanted to "look but not touch". The third, and possibly most alarming, tried to talk her into having a threesome with one of her good friends. J's pretty sure that successful dating is not in her future at this point, if ever.
* looks socially unacceptable thanks to this crazy itching that has developed on her hands and arms, causing her to scratch herself until she is bright red and blotchy. Since J has never had allergies, her coworker suggested that perhaps God is punishing her for having impure thoughts about other peoples' husbands and military boys met on the Internet
* is reminiscing on the eight-year anniversary of the day that she scored her second diamond engagement ring and second fiance within a 16-month timeframe. Obviously, she was unsuccessful in both ventures, but has come to the conclusion over the years that if she really wants to collect diamond rings, she can buy them herself.
* was alarmed by how much she enjoyed the scent of her freshly-washed laundry while folding it. Typically, fresh laundry is one of her favorite scents; however, she usually only takes this much interest in it when it is attached to the activity of snuggling with a boy. Since it was not, she is now concerned that her inner domestic goddess gene might be attempting to emerge.
* has been told that she seems "different" since her separation from her husband. Today, she asked her coworker if he has noticed that she is "different". He took a moment to think, and then responded with, "Well...I guess you seem sluttier." J will admit to laughing at this blatant display of sexual harrassment in the workplace.
* thinks what she does is innocent...just for fun and nothing meant...Could someone please inform her ex-husband of this, as he hacked her blog and now thinks J is the devil's spawn?
* ♪♫ "...So let me go, just let me fly away...Let me feel the space between us growing deeper and much darker every day...Watch me now, and I'll be someone new...My heart will be unbroken, it will open up for everyone but you...Even when I cross the line, it's like a lie I've told a thousand times...I'll get it all figured out, when I'm out from under..." ♪♫
* ..."been so many things when I was someone else...boxer in the ring, trying to defend myself...and the private eye to see what's goin' on..."
* is thankful that she was finally strong enough to make a decision and stick with it, even though right now she feels as though she's in purgatory: too soon to know what's up ahead, but too late to change her mind.
* is thankful for the spare time she has on her hands tonight, which will allow her to focus some energy on packing up some more of her ex-husband's stuff and getting it the heck out of her house.
* is thankful that she spent the majority of her child-free time this week in bed, as she's now well-rested and recovering from her disgusting cough. She would, however, be even MORE thankful had she spent the last three days in bed next to someone, but perhaps she will put that on her wish list for next year.
* has decided that having the bed all to herself is by far the greatest advantage of being single, and she wonders how she ever even survived the past eight years, between sharing a bed and the husband himself. She may never date again, for fear that her date might get the impression that he can infringe on her bed territory.
* is having SO much fun with her new hobby: de-husbanding her house. It is so empowering to pack up his trash, and even more empowering to "split" their daughter's posessions, as J is in a position of power in deciding what goes to Daddy's house. Guitar? Check. Xylophone? Check. Yo Gabba Gabba Brobee microphone? Check. Drums? Talking Elmo? Check. Barney DVD? Check.

December 2009:

* is starting to feel like her life is a video game: she makes it through one hurdle to advance up a level, only to immediately find her next fight. She is hoping she can make it through all the levels to come out on top, though she sure does wish that she could find one of those guides that forewarn you of what to expect from your enemies so you can be prepared with a game plan ahead of time.
* is still in her bed, nice and snug and happy (albeit alone), and cannot muster the ambition to get up. She has decided that she just may stay in here forever, or at least until her planned 5:30 Tequila Thursday with H and A. Whichever comes first.
* is amused over a dear friend's message, telling J that she saw a story on sexting and automatically thought of J. J is really not sure if this is a compliment, but she is slightly embarrassed to admit that she does have proven skills in this area. Skills so good, in fact, that her sexting brings all the boys to the yard...damn right, it's better than yours...she could teach you, but she'd have to charge...
* is having a pathetic moment, because she received a group email message about the 2010 Duluth Air Show, and she teared up, knowing that with no husband, she has no guaranteed date for the Air Show next July. Granted, she has been known to go to the Air Show to LOOK FOR prospective husbands, but still...
* never used to dream at night when she was married to her ex-husband. She used to blame it on the fact that she had to be heavily medicated to sleep next to him. Now that he's out and she's sleeping alone again, she is dreaming again. In fact, this morning she woke up all sweaty after a dream about...her iPhone. Okay, okay...not the sexiest of dreams, but a girl's gotta have a starting point, right?
* wonders why Sundays always seem like the loneliest day to her...she is never actually "alone", but still can't shake that deep-down feeling of loneliness. Sigh...since she had perhaps the loneliest marriage ever, she doesn't understand her loneliness now, since it's not like anything has really changed.
* thinks that when it comes to dating, boys find her as cuddly as a cactus and as charming as an eel.
* likes to think that she is the sort of girl who doesn't give up easily, even when she should. For example, it took her six pageants to finally win one time. She is applying the same philosophy to marriage: perhaps it will take her six marriages to finally win one good husband.
* wonders, is "careness" a word? Used in a sentence, "I would like a woman to show her careness for me". Yeah, that's what J thought, too. Not a word. And if that is an example of the candidates on online dating sites, J now has confirmation that she will be alone for a long, long time, because she lacks a certain careness for this quality of man.
* finds her relationship with her ex-husband to be the equivilent of today's weather: frosty, icy and filled with a raging, biting wind that will not quit. On her drive into work, she very narrowly missed slamming into a median. And on Jen's phone call from her husband, she very narrowly missed slamming the phone down. She sees a lot of misery between the comparison of a nasty Minnesota winter and a nasty divorce.
* is glad that you found your happily-ever-after, but can you please be respectful of the fact that she is no where near finding hers, and no Band-Aid in the world seems big or absorbant enough to take on the broken heart and broken trust she is nursing right now. Thanks in advance for your consideration.
* is thinking of that old adage, "God never gives you more than you can handle", and is thinking that she might need to have a little chat with God, because clearly he thinks that she is one tough b!tch who ain't deserving of a single break these days.
* ...sigh...Baby Daddy Drama...If only Baby Daddies came with a warranty replacement program, like electronics. If they did, in hindsight, J hopes that she would've been wise enough to pay for the five-year extended warranty
* was sitting in her office today, pouting over the current state of her affairs (read: non-existent), when suddenly, a thought dawned on her: now that she is single, she has a chance to pursue her fantasy of vying for Bret Michaels on 'Rock of Love'. Finally, the opportunity she has been dreaming about for years!
* thinks that sex with a new person is a bit like putting your iPod on Shuffle mode: you don't know what's coming next, which leads you to have to make the decision on whether you should lay back and enjoy, or click 'next' to move on to the new--and hopefully more rewarding--choice. Not that she knows. Ha ha.
* realized that today would mark the day that she would've been married for seven years, three months. She wishes that she could go back seven years, three months, and re-do that whole mistake, but since she doesn't get a do-over, she is just hoping that seven years, three months, from now, her life will be a whole lot different--in a good way.

It would seem, based on these FB updates, that I tried in vain to become a bad girl--and failed miserably.

While I make no promises, I certainly hope the upcoming year will be able to depict the rise of a new relationship, instead of the fall of an old one...

32 is NOT the New 22

Yesterday, I turned 32. My birthday typically goes unnoticed, with its close proximity to Christmas. I got cheated when I was born at this time of the year. If my birthday was in June, perhaps people would notice. Perhaps I'd get double the gifts, instead of the people who give you one gift and tell you that it counts as both your Christmas and your birthday gift. At the very least, I'd be able to get a Birthday Caboose on the tourist railway I work for, as obviously, this train does not run in December. However, since my mother's birthday falls on the day after mine, she has always been aware of the separation of my birthday and Christmas, unlike the general population.

Being single for the first time in 10 years made my birthday slightly less than enjoyable. I don't typically find any birthday downright enjoyable--it's just a birthday. Once you hit 21, there's no real reason to even keep counting and keep track, because you have the same rights at 71 as you do at 21. Sometimes when asked, I even have to briefly think about how old I am, because I don't consider it a daily consideration.

Alas, my loneliness got me thinking back to my 22nd birthday. On my 22nd birthday, I got flowers from three different boyfriend prospects. At 22, I still believed in the myth that Prince Charming would soon be coming to sweep me off my feet, preferably with a fighter jet rather than a white horse. Shortly after my birthday, I chose one of the three flower-sending boys for a relationship, and we were engaged within seven months. Eight months after that, I left that fiance for my now ex-husband, to whom I was engaged after six months. Next time around, I plan to be engaged within five months, to keep consistent with my gradual reduction in time it takes to acquire a diamond ring.

While turning 22 brought many prospects and hope, all of these were blown to hell in the proceeding years. While I did actually marry fiance number two--mainly because I had no other choice, since there was no way in hell I'd call off two weddings in under one year--I was miserable for roughly six-and-a-half years of our seven year marriage. It finally dawned on me that there is no such thing as Prince Charming--that notion is merely an urban legend, like believing that sea monsters live in storm drains or that if you step on a sidewalk crack, you will break your mother's back.


Turning 32 has found me a divorced single mother to that toddler who acts like a caffeinated ferret. I am far more exhausted. I am far more broke. I am far less attractive and fit, at least based on the photo comparisons I have made of myself on Facebook--see left. I am far less hopeful that I will ever find anyone to date me ever again, much less find the much-fabled "The One". Instead of receiving three bouquets of flowers at work, I received none.

The only redeeming quality of turning 32 is that I have a far better group of friends now than I did then, friends whom I adore. Sometimes I worry that my friends will one day wake up and realize that I am not nearly as cool as they are and they will de-friend me, but so far that has not happened. My 32-year-old spirits brightened considerably when last night, they took me out for dinner and showered me with yellow friendship roses and iTunes gift cards. What more could a girl ask for, except maybe an invitation for a date with a cute boy, so she no longer feels completely and hopelessly undateable?

However, as lovely as the evening was, it is always still sad when it ends, because when I go home, I know am going home alone. And that can be a lonely, lonely feeling, and one that when I turned 22, I would've never expected to be feeling when I turned 32.

It's Britney, B!tch!

Okay, okay...I will admit that I like Britney Spears a little bit more than your average 32-year-old woman should. One of the things I like best about her is that typically, we go crazy at around the same time. When she was crazy and shaved her head spontaneously, I was also crazy with postpartum depression, and sobbing over the fact that I could no longer see my OBGYN on a weekly basis, a complete devastation to me as--much to my ex-husband's dismay--I was certain my OBGYN was my soul mate. When Brit was crazy and locked her naked self in the bathroom with her son, I was also crazy with depression that would later transpire into a "mood disorder" diagnosis, which, in my mind, actually means "bipolar". My mother adamently disagrees with my self-diagnosis, and frequently tells me, "It's not YOU that's crazy. It's that you are in a crazy situation with your so-called husband." Nevertheless, I take pride in the fact that Britney and I share a commonality, at least in my own mind, though my "bipolar" has all but disappeared since I made my now ex-husband disappear.

As a newly single girl with newly single friends in a town of transient "pipers", we discussed one night how we ought to assume names when we go out. We vowed to never, ever give the pipers our real names, because we really aren't looking for anything long-term and really only want to be wined, dined and pipelined. Because I like the opening part of Britney's 'Gimme More', I decided that I would go by 'Britney B!tch', because really...calling your friends and saying, "It's J, b!tch!" has far less impact than quoting Britney word-for-word by calling your friends and saying, "It's Britney, b!tch!", just like she does in 'Gimme More'.

When I was still married to my husband, I begged and pleaded for tickets to Britney's Circus concert tour--for my 31st birthday. He obliged and went, particularly because he thought he was going to get a great night of sex after the concert, since he believed I'd be all heated up by both the Pussycat Dolls and Britney. Unfortunately, what he really got was chaos, because Brit was staying at the same hotel; no dinner because all of the restaurants were too packed before the concert; me downing champagne and Klonopin to control my stress; and Britney's Lip-Synching Extravaganza. To top the night off, we discovered that there were no restaurants in the area still open at the late hour of 11:00 pm, and ended up ordering room service, so the only sex he got was a quickie in which I yelled, "Hurry up! Room service will be here any minute!" I enjoyed the room service meal much more than I enjoyed the quickie, and enjoyed my luxurious shower in the posh tiled doubled-headed shower even more.

After I got over my shock and horror that Britney did no actual singing at the concert, I decided that it was still fun, so I taught myself how to use iTunes specifically for the purpose of downloading each of her concert songs, in set order, so I could re-live the event over and over in my car. With my OCD traits, if I have something new like this, I tend to play it over. And over. And over. Eventually, I will tire of it, as I have now, when Britney comes up every other song when my iPod in in shuffle mode, because there's so damn much of her on there.

However, during my Britney phase, I took AC to Target, an adventure that, round-trip, takes us roughly an hour-and-a-half, so we had plenty of time to listen to Britney. It should've been a warning when AC shrieked from the backseat, "Hey Mama! You wanna piece of me?" Sigh...I told her no...no, I did not want a "piece of her".

AC took her Britney obsession even further when we arrived at the McDonald's drive-thru to place our dinner order. She insisted that I "make it bigger!", and her favorite song was a less-than-innocent Britney song called, 'Hot as Ice'. For an adult, it is obvious what Brit is referring to as being "cold as fire, baby, hot as ice...never been to heaven? This is twice as nice...", but for AC, it quickly became her favorite song.

The line at the drive-thru was long and slow, and we had to wait with our car window down the entire time, with Aidyn yelling, 'MAKE IT BIGGER' while I had to play "Hot as Ice' over...and over...and over... I felt the glares from adults, who probably assumed that it was me, not a two-year-old, who insisted on playing the same obscene Britney song "bigger" and over...and over...and over.

But hey...it's Britney, b!tch. The kid's got good taste in music, and at least it wasn't Brit's current (and my favorite) obscene and even more suggestive hit, '3'.

...And I Don't Even Know His Last Name...

It's been a while since I last posted, for so many reasons...I forget. I work too hard at a job that pays me too little. I get run like a racehorse by a two-and-a-half year old child. I am terrified of cruel criticisms by strangers or stalkers. But after my nagging--err, encouragement--from my many Facebook groupies, I decided that if I ever want to be successful, I better get back to this blogging business of mine, and prove that I can actually put the money where my mouth is.

In early October, I separated from AC's baby daddy. It wasn't really that hard of a decision, considering I had not been happily married for roughly six-and-a-half years of my seven year marriage. This was a no-brainer type of decision, and over these rocky years, I have come to the conclusion that there is no one on the face of the earth who is actually happily married. The ones who claim they are, are probably lying to save face. It's like when I am at work, and someone says, in a saddened voice, "But don't you just miss AC so much when you are here?" Naturally, I have to answer yes, to avoid the stigma of being labeled a socially unacceptable mother and human being, but really, inside I am thinking, hell no, I don't miss that kid. Are you kidding me? Coming to work full-time allows me to avoid the realities of living with a toddler, like being kicked in the face, having my home destroyed piece by piece, and digging sticker residue out of the ceramic tile grout in my kitchen.

At any rate, as soon as I got AC's baby daddy out of my house, I was anxious to begin to date again. I figured I wasn't looking for a replacement baby daddy--lord only knows I learned that lesson once, the hard way--but rather just some casual dating. When I was at the age where people typically "casually date", there was no such thing for me. I dated only for the purpose of securing a husband. If a boy did not show husband potential, forget it. And for sure I would never put out on a first date, a second date--maybe not even a third date!--because girls who put out don't land husbands. Alas, I figured at 31, this re-entrance into the dating world would be terrific, because I am certainly not looking for a husband, and at this point, the joke is up: I was married for seven years and have a child. Everyone knows I put out. Why not take advantage of this new world?

The first problem is that I needed to find a date, as quickly as possible. In a matter of days after my separation, I decided that I needed to pursue online dating--what I saw as the quickest means to an end. No risk-taking in having to go out to bars to find a man, no time-wasting in waiting for these dates to come around. Within a couple of days, I got a nod of interest from a boy the same age as me, and I read through his profile. I was easily able to figure out what he was up to: there's a large number of temporary workers in my town right now, working on the pipeline. No question this was a "piper", in town for only three months. But I thought, why not? Pipers are known around town for their united slogan of "wine, dine and pipeline", so I figured I could take advantage and get some free dinners and maybe some gifts and possible some good, old-fashioned, Southern boy sex.

Upon our online conversations, the Piper did not disclose his name until I asked for it. When he told me, I was so mortified that I could not even save him in my phone with his real name--it was simply too unacceptable for northern Minnesota culture. I had to tag him as "Pipeliner" in my contact list, because even to have THAT name in my phone would signal social doom, in my conservative, professional circle.

When the Piper called me for the first time, I was stunned to silence. His Texas accent was horrific, very near to speaking to someone who uses a foreign language. He sounded so ignorant that when his profile said he had a "graduate degree", I became certain that by "graduate", he actually meant "high school graduate". Alas, my friends told me to give the guy a chance, because he probably found my Midwest accent grating as well, so I should not judge him based on that alone.

Piper and I agreed to meet for dinner and margaritas at a local Mexican restaurant. Because this was my first "date" in eight years, I had to spring for the new date outfit, and I thought I looked damn cute. So cute, in fact, that when my estranged husband just happened to drive by the restaurant as I was walking in, he later told me that his thoughts were, "Hey, who is that hot chick walking down the street? Oh sh!t...that's my wife!"

Now, I've never had a one-night stand before, but I figured that I was good and entitled to one, after living an entire lifetime without this experience. So, all afternoon, before I left for my date, I geared myself up for the sinful act I was about to commit: sex is an act, not an emotion; sex is an act, not an emotion; sex is an act, not an emotion...

When I met Piper at the bar, he was hot. Not white collar hot. Naughty boy hot, with lots of visible tattoos and earrings. I was instantly attracted. Now this was the perfect candidate for my one-night stand goal. However, as soon as he opened his mouth, I realized I needed to get him home as quickly as possible. His favorite word was "motherf*cker". Over and over and over. At least every other sentence, if not more. Motherf*cker.

The quicker I removed him from a public place where I could be spotted with someone like this and potentially ruin all of my social standing that I have worked so hard to maintain, the better. So, Piper and I went back to his place, to watch a movie. I thought, SCORE! Back in my young days, "come back to my place to watch a movie" actually meant "come back to my place to get it on."

On the drive, he told me of his two children, one named after him. Piper Junior. The other, with a nickname used in a Reba MacIntyre song, when the song's character is turned into a prostitute. The children had two different baby mamas, the first his high school sweetheart, an understandable choice. The second? In the words of Piper, "Some f*ck buddy who wanted to have a kid so I married her and got her pregnant. We were married for 10 months, so I got married and divorced in the same year!"

Upon arrival at Piper's residence, it was obvious that his truck cost more than his home. Worse yet, upon entering the home, a mouse skittered across the floor: an honest to goodness mouse. I still question if this was a mouse or a rat, having not actually ever seen a mouse in real life, apart from the zoo and the pet store. The mouse seemed to have an awfully long tail, and it seemed to have no real concerns over being observed by humans, which leads me to believe that there was a strong possibility that it was a rat. It took up residence next to a glass door, happily munching on crumbs. Admitedly, I had never been on a date involving the viewing of rodents, either caged or in a natural state. This should've been a warning.

Piper decided that he wanted to watch the new Will Ferrell movie out on DVD. I found it ridiculous. He laughed at all the inappropriate moments, in between conversing with me about what a "funny motherf*cker" that Will Ferrell is. At this point, I just wanted to get down to business. In my mind, I was there for one reason, and one reason only: I needed to get laid for the first time following my marriage.

Things were not looking promising as far as reaching my goal, and my hopes were diminished even more when he explained that he had to work late that day, and had to choose between washing his truck or taking a shower before our date. He chose to wash his truck.

After fielding text messages from my friends wanting to know how my date was going, I asked Piper to bring me back to my car. On the drive, he cranked up his Garth Brooks and sang along, as loudly as possible. I am a conservative sorta girl. I prefer that my dates communicate with me and show interest, rather than scream along to country western tunes, particularly on the first date.

When he walked me back to my car, Piper pulled his sweet Southern boy act, and kissed me on the cheek, before waiting until I turned and he really kissed me. By really kissed me, I mean "jammed his tongue down my throat while I attempted to back up to save myself from accidental choking." However, as a girl who just got her first "first kiss" in eight years, I decided I could forgive the fact that he cohabitated with mice, said "motherf*cker" every other sentence and would be socially unacceptable for any social gathering I could possibly attend. I figured I'd keep him as my dirty little secret.

Piper made plans to see me again, but thanks to my custody arrangement, that would not happen until the following Friday. I suggested a casual yet quaint brewhouse-style restaurant. He informed me that he only drank Coors Lite, not homebrews. Again, this was a fact that I was willing to overlook, because as a frequent patron of the brewhouse, at least I did not have to be seen with a man who said "motherf*cker", as though he had Tourette's.

Two days later, Piper sent me a text message: "Thought about it, and you just are not my type. Sorry." Huh. Well, as a newly-single girl, I am ashamed to admit that I cried over this rejection. Yes, I cried over a man who was so socially unacceptable that I could not be seen in public with him. I could not introduce him to my friends, coworkers or family. Yet, I cried over my "rejection". In my own defense, I was overly tired because AC had been sick, and I had just spent the past 48 hours covered in vomit, so I was feeling especially vulnerable.

After I got over the sting of my first rejection, I got to laughing about Piper. I mean...seriously? I was upset over the loss of this prize? First, who has to "think about" if you are his type or not? Second, in what region is "motherf*cker" a socially acceptable term? Third, I never even knew the guy's last name. If it was anything like his first name, I was pretty sure I didn't want to, either.

I wasted my cute Silver date jeans on him. I wasted my coordinated collection of Philosophy Amazing Grace products on him. I wasted four valuable hours out of my life on him. But at least I didn't waste a condom on him.