Being Happy With What You Have

It's something that everyone struggles with in life. Being happy with what you have in your life rather than focusing on the things you don't have. It's usually material things, wanting to jet off on holidays but not having the financial means to do so. Salivating over those beautiful pair of Franco's that just came out last week at the shoe store (fuck me but they're beautiful) and knowing that if you buy them it'll be kraft dinner all around for the next month! The bigger house, the nicer car, the better job.

I find myself in the tenuous position of trying to be happy not with the amount of material things but rather the amount of love. For anyone that knows anything about the trucking lifestyle (and make no doubt that's exactly what it is), you know that time is money. If their wheels aren't turning, they're not making money. Trucker boy's schedule has him on the road for two weeks then a Friday, Saturday and if I'm lucky a Sunday home. During those two, sometimes three days, he has to spend time with his son, do any errands that need to get done and squeeze me in. To say it's a juggling act would be the fucking understatement of the year.

So I'm having to relearn my entire way of thinking. Anyone that has been reading this blog knows that I have a tendency to be a tad bit selfish, just a wee bit. Tiny little intsy wintsy bit. Oh hell "It's all about me" should be tattooed across my ass. Learning to share at the age of 37 is quite an eye opener let me tell you.

He was home last weekend. Arrived on Friday, I picked him up at 10:30 Friday night. We got back to my house and I made chicken wings at 11:00 at night. He read parts of my blog while I puttered around my kitchen. Yes, you read that right, I let him read my blog. No one in my real life even knows I have a blog, except for him now. We went to bed around 2am and back up again at 9am so he could get back in town to spend time with his son. I had to work on Saturday afternoon and he texted me around 3:00pm. "What are you doing for dinner?" I hadn't given much thought to it. I knew I'd have to throw something at the anklebiters and essentially replied as such to him. He replied back, "Why don't you let me make dinner." So I picked him up at 5:00, he hopped in my car with grocery bags in hand, came to my place and cooked a delicious mushroom chicken linguine for the kids and I.

I'm learning to cherish those small things. Watching him putter around my kitchen, being thankful that he's there and would think of cooking dinner for us, knowing that he has a million other things on his mind. I watch his hands move as he cuts up vegetables and I'm enthralled. He kisses me on the forehead as I stand against the kitchen counter and I smile as though someone has handed me a pair of Loubitins. The Dual Mom of a year ago wouldn't have been thankful for those things. I see these changes in myself and they scare me. Change is scary. I find this wellspring of patience where he is concerned and I marvel at where it comes from. The kids see the changes, Mom is a little less edgy, smiles alot more, is much more patient. I question whether I'm losing a part of myself or simply growing. The edgy, take no prisoners, don't fuck with me or I'll eat you for breakfast woman that I've known all my life wouldn't settle for stolen moments and being grateful to have her man cook her a meal. Hell no, the woman I've known all my life would demand to be picked up at the door, wined and dined at a nice restaurant, showered with compliments and endearments, put on a pedestal and make damn sure it's a pretty one. So where did this other woman come from? Was she always there hiding, waiting for the right love, or is she settling because of love?

I went on a short trip with him in the truck. Yep, your's truly whose idea of camping is renting a 30 foot camper complete with air conditioning and full bath spent 24 hours in a truck and loved every minute of it. What the hell? No bathroom facilities, no running water, curled in a bunk for a quick nap on the side of a highway. Peeing in public bathrooms at truck stops. Who is this woman? He sleeps in short 3-4 hour periods. We arrived at his first delivery stop at about 4am hopped into the bunk, set the alarm for 7 and drifted off to sleep. When the alarm went off he hopped into the driver seat, I mumbled something incoherent and drifted off back to sleep. He drove around, making his deliveries while I dozed in the bunk listening to the sounds of him working. About 9:30am I hear, "Do you know someone that might like coffee?" I pulled myself out of the warmth of the bed, hopped into the front seat of the truck, blindly groapped for the coffee sitting in the holder and looked at that beautiful face smiling back at me saying, "Good morning baby" and I can't remember ever being happier. What the hell?

We drove for another 12 hours, stopping for bathroom breaks, naps and food. Driving down the highway, watching the world go by, singing together at the top of our lungs (have I mentioned how badly I sing) and I was happy, deleriously so. What the hell?

Seat covers - that's what passengers are referred to in the trucking world. Apparently I make a good one. My passport application is completed and ready to go. I've decided to take a week off in the near future and go out with him. It requires a passport because he does runs to the US. How much fun will I have blogging from the open highway people!?!

I need to learn how to accept the happiness without overanalyzing. I need to convince myself that it's ok to be happy when I sit and remember how he wakes up in the morning, looks down at me with just one of those beautiful blue eyes open and whispers, "Good morning love". Or how it makes me feel safe when he reaches for me in the middle of the night to wrap his arms around me. I need to let go of the crazy thought that I'm somehow less because I love this man with every fibre of my being. I love loving him - and I need to accept that that doesn't make me weak.

I May Be Dancing In The Rain Yet

If you love something set it free, if it comes back to you....

It came back to me. Now before you start banging your head against your keyboard and screaming, "Nooo DM please don't tell us you took him back," let me tell you the story.

Oh brief interlude, your comments have made me smile, laugh and cry. I cannot thank you enough for caring. Reading your comments at 3am got me through more than one lonely night. One of the best was from GB Girl. She wrote: If it makes you feel better, I've been flipping off every truck driver I see on the roads. Just in case it's him.

Oh hun I had wonderful mental images of perplexed truck drivers wondering what the hell they did to piss off that crazy bitch. It made me grin from ear to ear. Sorry to say you missed him though, I asked.

In my efforts to forget my broken heart I've been keeping busy. There's been lots of wine drinking, spending time with friends, texting those near and dear (you know who you are), did I mention wine drinking? Yeah I have been pretty much pie eyed shit faced drunk for two weeks. A week and a half ago, I'm at a dance with a girlfriend having the time of my life. Sober. For some reason that I can only call fate, I wasn't drinking. I got home at 2am and sat down to check email and a text came in on my phone.

"Decided not to dance huh?"

Remember I deleted his contact info off my phone. It took me several seconds to recognize the number and then it dawned on me who it was...the blue eyed boy. My heart immediately went into the 160 bpm range and my breathing stopped momentarily.

My reply:

"I was out"
Him: Ok
Me: Where were you?
Him: Insert club name
Me: I see
Him: Insert club name for you?
Me: Nope.
Him: Ah k have fun?
Me: Yep

Fuck that, I wasn't going to make this easy for him. At this point he said:

Ok, I'll leave you alone now.

And I asked, "M, why are you contacting me"

"Because I miss you and I miss us"

My breath caught in my throat and I had to close my eyes against the searing pain that coursed right through my heart.

My reply: "You do?"

"Yes"

Me: "And what do you want me to do with that M?"

Him: "Nothing. I'm sorry I bothered you."

And then I lost it.

No M, you don't get to do that. You don't get to text me at 2am and then just pull away and shut down. Goddamn it no.

Him: "It's what I am"

It went back and forth for another 5 minutes. I finally asked if he would talk, if I went and picked him up if he would talk to me, open up, explain to me what the hell this was. Then he asked me if I was going to hit him.

So I went and got him and we talked till 6am in my car. There's the fate I mentioned earlier. Had I been drinking that night, there's no way the rest of the night would have happened.

He admitted to not being able to communicate. He admitted to being angry at me because I asked things that he had no answer for. He admitted to being scared. When he held my face in his hands and said, "TM I love you" with tears in his eyes and more love than I have ever seen in a man's face, I was done for. I wrote before about how much I longed to hear those words.

Leather helps the forgiving process. This is what he landed with for me on Monday evening. He said he saw it and thought of me. That I would need it this summer when he gets the bike out.

He won't call it a "I fucked up and here have some really nice leather as an apology for my jack ass actions" present. No, he won't call it that. It's because he saw it and thought of me. Mmmmmkay  baby, I'll let you have your delusions.














I may be making a colossal mistake. I may be setting myself up for more heartache than I can possibly imagine. But right now, right at this very moment, I am brimming with happiness. This man has a selfish streak a mile long, he lives in a world, works in a world where his own wants and needs are the number one priority. Oh I'm not delusional enough to think that I am in any way, shape or form going to change him. He is however trying. There is no doubt that I feel completely and utterly loved. I asked him why he contacted me, why he came back. His response, because I love you. That is enough. For now, that is enough. It may not be enough tomorrow or next week, but right now I'm happy. So incredibly happy and loved.

If two months down the road he pulls away and shuts down, I'll rage and rant and stay drunk for several weeks, and I'll cry on my virtual friends' shoulders and I'll call him every version of rat fink bastard that I can think of ... and I'll have known what is to date the greatest love that I have ever had in my life. I'll have the memory of his arms wrapped around me as he whispers "I love you" into my hair. I can't walk away from that without giving it another chance, I can't spend the rest of my life wondering if it might have worked  had I the courage to try again.

So here I go again.....

A Rolling Stone Gathers No Moss

And so it ends.

Officially, and perhaps more importantly, with the answers I needed to - if not mend my broken  heart - to at least partially fill my need to make sense of it all.

His text today, "I can't give you what you need, what you deserve. It will hurt less to end it now than in six months time. Sometimes love isn't enough."

"You cowardly son of a bitch", was my reply.

Then I went vaginal, he went silent and I said goodbye to my blue eyed boy. He was never mine, I see that now.

So after more than two weeks of radio silence I have my answer. I'm trying not to dwell on the thought that keeps running through my head....he simply didn't love me enough. It's what it all boils down to, but I can't dwell on that.
I typed all of that without crying. Progress...

I deserve a man that loves me beyond reason.
I deserve a man who will fight tooth and nail for my love.
I deserve a man who stays awake just to watch me sleep.
I deserve a man who is constantly willing to remind me how lucky he is to have me.
I deserve a man who when he says I love you, doesn't attach a dozen conditions to that love.

And I won't settle for less, no matter how much I miss his smile. It amazes me that even though he broke my heart, every little piece of it still loves him.

Silver Linings and Fucking Snow

Fucking snow.

Fucking fucking fuckity fuck fucker fuck snow. Bastard snow I curse you with every fibre of my being.

Why yes I am sick of the snow, how could you tell? It's been snowing for the last 693 fucking days. It's like snowfuckingpalooza and let me tell you it's getting old fast. I'm sure if I went back in my archives I'd probably find an almost identical post at this time last year. One where I threatened to punch all the skiers in the vagina and shove their poles up their arse. (No offense to any of my darling readers who might enjoy such a passtime).

At this moment I am stuck sideways in my driveway. Don't ask me how I ended up sideways...I am just THAT good people. It is 11:07 and my day is just NOW ending. I have been on the go since 6:15 this morning. Stab me in the face please.

My heart is still broken but let me tell you cursing like a crazy psychotic bitch who's forgotten to take her meds certainly makes me feel better. That and your comments. You guys are just the best damn bunch of people in the world. I say so so it must be true, right?

It was two weeks ago today that he told me he loved me. How do you go from that to this in two weeks? I don't understand. I just sit here and try to make sense of it all ... and no matter how many tears fall or how much I think - it doesn't. It doesn't make sense. I sent him a text yesterday morning, it said "I love you, I miss you" and he ignored it. He has never ignored a text I've sent him.

So the rat fink bastard has been deleted from my fucking phone and at the first opportunity I'm going to bitch slap the fucker like he's never been bitch slapped before. I'll take pictures and share with you.

Excuse me while I get another kleenex. I've cried so much over the last four days my fingertips are shrivelled up. One would think the amount of wine I've been drinking would keep me from getting dehydrated.

He's not a rat fink bastard. Truth be told if he were to walk in my door right now, I don't know that I wouldn't just fall into his arms like the lily ass bitch that I am. But he has been deleted from my phone. Every loving text, every sweet nothing, every picture of sunsets in New Hampshire and his smiling face have been deleted. They are all gone. My heart shattered in a million pieces doing it but it was the only way I could keep from contacting him. I don't have his number memorized. No number prevents me from making an ass of myself. I do have some pride left.

So the continual crying has stopped. Now it's just moments where I'll be driving along feeling part human again and I'll have a vivid flashback of something he said, or the way he looked at me and it's like someone punched me in the sternum. When does that stop?

The silver lining, I bought a pair of pants today in size 5. Size 5 people!!! I haven't worn size five since I was ....well probably five years old. Now before you go apeshit on my ass and tell me I'm not looking after myself I need to tell you this is what happens to me when I get stressed like this. It's happened twice before; when my mother died and when I left my husband. I rate my stress level by the amount of weight that falls off me. This would be a quadzillion and one on the richter scale. But I'm wearing a size five...GO ME!!

I will be ok, I will be ok, I will be ok. Fake it till you make it, right?

Should Have Left The Wall Up

I have managed to reach the ripe old age of 37 without having my heart broken. It's not an accomplishment I'm proud of and one I can no longer claim.

He broke my heart.

Now before the blogging world bands together and you all hunt him down and rip his testicles out let me explain. We'll see if I can do it without short circuiting my keyboard with my tears.

I went into this relationship with my blue eyed boy knowing what he does for a living. Knowing that he drives a truck and is gone 90% of the time, and LOVES what he does. I knew all that, and yet I fell in love with him anyway. My bad....

I also went into it with a little voice in the back of my head that said, from day one, he's going to hurt you. He says and does all the right things, but somehow someday he's going to hurt you. I put duct tape over the bitches mouth and buried her deep under my happiness.

It came to a head this week. I was looking forward to him being home on Friday. I was sooo looking forward to seeing him after two weeks. On Thursday he texted me that they had turned him around back to the states and he wouldn't be home. I went vaginal on him (that phrase comes from an amazing lady, I can't take credit for it). I was hurt, and angry and I needed him to assure me that he would somehow figure out a way to make this work, that he would do something, anything to ensure that we made this relationship work, that he wanted it to work as much as I did. He couldn't, or wouldn't. I think it's more wouldn't. I can't accept wouldn't. I can't be in this relationship feeling as though I'll always come second. That I'm the one who will make all the sacrifices to ensure the relationship grows.

So on Friday I sent him a text that I needed him to stop driving for 10 minutes and focus on us. I needed him to talk to me. He didn't respond and I haven't heard from him since. This may sound very strange to you and abrupt. It doesn't surprise me. My blue eyed boy loves to have control, he does not deal well with demands. I made a demand and he chose not to respond to it. His lack of response says so much more than any words ever could. I can't be with someone that has such little respect for us, for me.

It could have turned out so differently if he had somehow just shown me that I was important. That we mattered. I'm a firm believer in actions speaking louder than words. It's easy to say I love you, showing it isn't as easy. Never make someone a priority in your life when you are just an option in theirs. I can't be in a relationship feeling as though I'm an option. I deserve more than that.

I had no idea I could cry like this.

You know the crazy thing, I keep expecting him to pull in my driveway and wrap me in his arms and tell me he loves me. I know in my head it won't happen, but my heart keeps hoping.

The memories are killing me. He would call me and sing to me when I couldn't sleep. His smile when he walked in the door after not seeing me for two weeks made my heart sing. The total feeling of safety and love that washed over me when he put his arms around me. The way he made me laugh. I miss picking up the phone and hearing "Hi baby" in that beautiful baritone voice. Falling asleep with his entire body wrapped around mine. Those blue eyes that I lost myself in. I miss him so much. I miss all the things we're never going to have.

Goddammit it is not fair. I want to stamp my feet and rage at the fates that brought him into my life to hurt me like this. I can't because no matter how much I hurt right now, no matter how much the memories are killing me, I wouldn't give them away even if it meant stopping the pain.

He once said to me, "I want to dance with you in the rain ." I'll never get to dance in the rain with him....

On The Road Again

Things I've learned from dating a long haul trucker:


Soon has many a varied definitions - it could mean anywhere from an hour to four days

Cell phones are a mans best friend

Lot lizards are NOT an amphibian that you would buy as a pet for your nine year old

It is possible to send and receive 548 pages of text messages in one month

The name of every state along the eastern seaboard...and how long it takes to cross it

The weather forecast a week ahead for above mentioned states

If you're travelling behind a transfer truck and you can't see his/her mirrors, they can't see you

Google maps is my new bff

Receiving a text that says "I'm in (insert name of obscure town, village) and ok" will brighten your day and ease your mind unlike anything you ever thought possible

The bunk of a truck can be quite cozy...just sayin

Long haul trucking isn't a job, it's a lifestyle. Eighty percent of society has a totally warped idea of what that lifestyle entails. I know I did.

Those of us not driving transfer trucks are called "4 wheelers" and for the most part, we drive truck drivers nuts

Cowboy boots are incredibly sexy on the right man

So is a 4 day scruff

It is possible to miss someone so much it takes your breath away

It will also take your breath away when you see that someone walk toward you, after being gone for 23 days, with a huge smile on his face. When he crushes you in the biggest hug imagineable...priceless.

Driving for two hours to spend the night in a truck is not outside my realm of possibilities

Taco Bell is a food group...apparently

It takes more than the length of a football field to stop a truck when it's hauling an 8 thousand pound trailer. So if you're passing said trailer on the highway - make damn sure you don't pull in front of him abruptly. Think crushed beer can.

Most truck drivers don't drive when they're tired, they have no desire to make crushed beer cans out of your vehicle.

EVERYTHING you buy, own or eat, was brought to you in a truck.Think about that.

Cell service between the US and Canada blows hairy monkey balls.

It is possible to love someone so much, that receiving the text "Good morning baby, I love you" will make you smile like a fucking lunatic that's ready for the funny farm for the rest of the day.

I know what a turbo booster is - file that one under info I never thought I'd have.

I have it within me to relish the thought of living in a truck for two weeks, without running water, bathroom facilities or a coffee maker. If I'm coming through your hometown can I stop and borrow your shower?

I have patience, not saying limitless patience. Just saying I can hear I don't know or we'll have to wait and see without wanting to rip the face off of the person saying it to me.

Errrr...Ummm Hello?

Crazy lady steps to the microphone, head hanging with shame and a faint blush tinging her cheeks. "Hello?"

So I'm not blushing, but yeah hanging my head with shame, just a wee bit. I logged on expecting to have four followers left. To my surprise, I've only lost about 10 of you. This tells me one thing, you people never clean up your blog lists! What the hell is wrong with you? I haven't opened my blog since my last post. Seriously. I also didn't realize how much I missed this until.....right now. Putting these words out there knowing that some of you will read and respond and I'll respond back and we'll insult each other and you'll offer your words of wisdom and then I'll read all about your crazy antics and your dysfunctional lives and boy have I missed this.

I'm baaaccccck she says...as Satan shudders with fear.

I have stories!

But really it's the new man you want to hear about isn't it? C'mon you know it is.

Yes, he's still around. Yes, I'm still deliriously happy.

Yes, I'm in LOVE. I'm fucking in love people. I know, you're as amazed as I am right? In love like I didn't think it was possible for this hard, blackened heart to love.

So be prepared because I'm going to bore you to shit with stories of the blue eyed boy. After I catch up on what everyone has been up to. Must go read.....

Oh I'll be back, I promise.

Girl Meets Boy Part II

I arrived first at the restaurant. We had agreed to wait for the other in the lobby. I watched him as he walked up to the restaurant. His size held my eye, as it had the night before, until he stepped in the door and looked at me and that’s when he smiled. Dear sweet jesus is all I remember thinking. How is it possible for a simple smile to hit me in the solar plexus like that? The next thought was do I stare at the smile or the eyes? Those incredible, piercing blue eyes that shine unlike anything I have ever seen before. This was going to be one helluva fun evening. As luck would have it, the restaurant was full. He quickly decided we wouldn’t wait, but rather walk up to another restaurant. As we’re walking, he crosses behind me to walk along the side closest to the street. I gave him a quizzical look and asked what he was doing. He proceeded to tell me that it was a chivalry thing, back in Victorian times it was considered good manners when walking with a lady, to walk on the outside to prevent her from getting covered in shit should someone happen to lean out their window (I’m paraphrasing here…he said it much more eloquently) to dump their latrine bucket. You can guess what went through my mind, “Is this guy for real?”


This guy was interesting. I was not expecting interesting. Good looking, charming, funny I was expecting, interesting was a different ball game all together.

We got to the restaurant, ordered dinner and chatted. The usual vital stats were exchanged, talk of our respective jobs. No matter how hard I tried, my eyes were constantly drawn to his mouth; I desperately hoped he didn’t notice. After dinner, where I, like the idiot that I am, ordered the hottest dish on the menu and then carried on as though my mouth wasn’t burning like the deepest bowels of hell, we walked up to the coffee shop and went for a walk around town. We talked about his son, childhood memories, blah blah blah. Short term memory, I don’t remember everything we talked about – he would. I do remember him telling me he was going on the road for 2 weeks the following morning. My immediate thought, “I can’t let him go before I know more” so I suggested a drive and he quickly agreed. I’d love to know what he was thinking at this time, perhaps I’ll ask him.

Most of you know I drive a boxy little car. I told him we could take my car and he could drive. He asked, “What kind of car do you drive?” With a devious smile I replied, “You’ll see”. Keep in mind the poor man is 6’1”. He was a good sport about folding his legs in four and pouring himself into the driver’s seat of my car. We drove aimlessly. I remember both of us singing along to the music, I remember grinning like I hadn’t grinned in a long time. I was relaxed enough with him to have my feet planted on the dashboard as he drove. I was completely comfortable with this man. We drove to the beach where I fully expected him to wait five minutes before making an attempt to get me out of my clothes. Again, I couldn’t have been more wrong.

We walked down the boardwalk to the water and stood there talking. He put his jacket around my shoulders because I was cold, and he stood freezing in his tshirt. He spoke of not liking the ocean, how it made him feel lost. It was in incredible night and the roar of the surf was almost deafening. We walked back to the car and sat in the parking lot, at the beach, talking. After almost two hours, he asked me to hold my hand up. I did and he pressed his hand against mine, and then closed his fingers around mine and ASKED me if he could kiss me. It’s about goddamn time, I thought. When I responded yes he ever so gently pulled me to him and kissed me.

When that first kiss ended he said: “One of those isn’t going to be enough” At that point a tiny tiny crack formed in the six inch veneer I’ve managed to cover my heart with over the last three years.

We kissed like a pair of teenagers in the front seat of my car for hours. We would stop kissing, he would put my face between his hands and then we’d kiss some more. At one point around 3am, he suddenly turned the music up, opened all the windows, got out of the car and came around to my door and tugged me out of the car. He wrapped his arms around me and we stood under the moonlight dancing. I don’t think my feet were actually touching the ground at this point. It was one of the most incredibly romantic things I had experienced in a really long time and I just wanted to stop time. I wanted to remember every detail of the way he smiled down at me, the way his arms felt around my waist, and how we seemed to fit so well together. My lips were sore when we finally stopped at six am and I felt as though I had been hit by a freight train, if it’s possible to feel really really good after being hit by a train.

I had told him earlier in the evening about my troubles with Monty: the accident, my bone deep fears, the grandmother buying him a car, Monty moving in with his father. As we drove back to town that morning, a news story about a teen getting killed in a car accident that night caught my ear. As I reached over to turn it up he said, “It happened in the western part of the island”. He knew without me saying a word….

Prior to dropping him at his truck, in an effort to be cute, I tried writing my cell number on his hand only to discover I was so damn tired I couldn’t remember what my cell number was. He had me call his cell. We parted ways with a long kiss in the parking lot. I hopped in my car and drove away. I’m not sure if I was out of the parking lot before I got a text from him, “Wow” is all it said. When we had been chatting the day before I had asked him what he was looking for and his response was, “I just want to make a connection you know?” So I responded to his text with one of my own, “Click”.

What followed was the most intense two weeks of my life. How is it possible to miss someone you’ve known for less than 24 hours? Miss him I did; with an intensity that forced me to sit and analyze my emotions for hours on end. He told me that first Monday evening that he was twitterpated. I didn’t get the Bambi reference and he explained it to me. It was like being on a roller coaster that went from absolute terror to sheer joy in 2.5 seconds…every damn five minutes. He felt the same way. We sent hundreds of text messages to each other, spent hours on the phone. It was one evening, a few kisses, how did that equate to what we were feeling? It wasn’t possible, was it? We were blowing the evening out of proportion in our minds; it had not been as intense as we remembered it.

By the following week I had a small part of myself convinced of exactly that. I had to spend three days at a conference and though we communicated back and forth as much as possible, I had convinced a part of myself that I was overreacting. That I was being silly acting like a teenager with a high school crush. Then he sent me a text on Wednesday, saying that he would be home on Thursday, a day earlier than expected. The wait was over. It’s a mighty damn good thing I was driving a van load of ladies home the next day…the 5 hour drive kept me from going absolutely insane with the thoughts that were running through my head.

At 7:30 that evening he pulled in my driveway. I stood waiting for him on the deck, and as I watched him walk toward me I knew that I was a goner. Cupid had hit with flawless aim. Deny and lie to myself all I wanted, whatever this was between us – it couldn’t have been more real and was every bit as intense as I remembered, if not more so. Then he looked at me and smiled, and my world dissolved so that it was only him. The kiss made me close my eyes in pure ecstasy.

We spent Thursday, Friday and Saturday night together. We fit together like pieces of a puzzle.

As I sit here writing this there has been another weekend spent together and he’s back on the road. In the month since we’ve met, we’ve logged over 4000 text messages back and forth to each other. His smile, the sound of his laugh, the way he looks at me, his touch…it all has me enthralled. I don’t recognize this woman; this soft, mushy, romantic woman isn’t the hard ass bitch I’ve known for 37 years.

I’m scared shitless and excited all at the same time. The fear is sometimes overwhelming. It’s all too much too fast. I did not want this. I wasn’t looking for love, or the one, or a heart stopping romance. I wanted light, casual, and meaningless. None of those words can be used to describe the last six weeks. I have had to force myself several times over the last two weeks not to walk away out of fear. He scares me, what I feel scares me. I’m counting sleeps until I see him again for fuck sakes people!! He sends me texts before I go to bed, “Good night ma petite”. I think of him and smile.

And that is what has been keeping yours truly away from the blogging world as of late. I hope you can forgive me!

Girl Meets Boy

As many of you know, since my break up in June, I have been hell bent on having fun and living life to the fullest. Dating, dancing and drinking with every man that peaks my interest, committing to none of them. Of course it’s all been done in the most responsible manner possible (she says gleefully, tossing her hair over her shoulder).

A “relationship” a “fixation” a “thing” was at the very bottom of the to do list. I was not looking for anything beyond casual and actually ran from it with a couple of dates. Live for the moment had become my new modus operandi. The energy and dedication required to make a relationship work wasn’t something I wanted to commit to.

And then he came along, tipping my world on its’ axis.

I have been using an online dating site for a few months. I have had a few great conversations, a couple of interesting dates, nothing serious. Almost five weeks ago (I can’t believe it’s only been five weeks) I was out with a friend at a dance club. We were up on the dance floor shaking what our mammas gave us when I spot a really tall guy standing by the bar. His height caught my eye and when he turned around his eyes shone from across the room. I’m not being a drama bitch here people, the blueness of his eyes could literally be seen across a dark, crowded bar. I recognized his face from a profile on the dating site (small community) as someone that I had traded casual messages with. So at one point during the evening as I’m walking down to the bar, I met him on the stairs. Never being one to let an opportunity pass, I turn my head; look him directly in the eye and smile. He hesitantly smiled back and kept walking. Ok, I thought, not interested. No big deal. Not every guy is going to fall at my feet in a trembling pile of lust, right?

Anyway, the night proceeded. I drank too much, was kissed by a girl on the dance floor while her husband stood by laughing and fun was had by all. In my drunken wisdom, when I got home that evening I sent him a message, “Hey, you wouldn’t have been at the (insert bar name) tonight, tall guy, black leather jacket?”

He replied the following morning: Yes, I was. I am guessing you were there as well. Did you enjoy the band? Have fun?

Me: You have a great smile. lol Yes, we passed right by each other and smiled.



We proceeded to talk about music, favorite foods, pastimes, kids. I asked him if he remembered me, described what I was wearing and he responded:

I think I actually remember the exchanged smile. lol --- Its not often I make eye contact in a bar, but you looked right at me! What could I do?

Yeah, that’s me, always the brazen one.

He asked if I was sorry I had smiled at him. I replied that I wasn’t, not at all. His bashfulness intrigued me. It was contradictory to his physical appearance – tall, rugged, cowboy boots, leather jacket. The email messages turned into an instant messaging session that lasted about three hours. Around 5:30 he asked me to have dinner with him. He quickly decided on where to meet (loved the take charge attitude) and a time. I agreed, expecting to spend an amusing evening with a cute guy, have a few laughs and a story to tell the girls the next day.

I couldn’t have been more wrong.

Stay tuned for part II. Ohhh c’mon..you don’t think I’m actually going to give it to you all in one dose do you?

I Used To Have A Handle On Life, And Then It Broke

A bend in the road is not the end of the road… unless you fail to make the turn.

Or some such shit…..


Another good one: Live each day so that when your feet hit the floor in the morning Satan shudders and says, “Oh shit…she’s awake”

I’ve been doing a bit of living like that. Have you missed me? I didn’t mean to disappear. I have been so wrapped up in living that my blog just got pushed aside like the ugly stepchild. I know, I know, feel free to reprimand me.

So do you want an update – all two of you that are still here?

On the home front – you’ll remember the last time I wrote Monty and I were having issues. He hasn’t spoken to me since the second week of September. My heart breaks when I think about it so like all well- adjusted members of society I just don’t think about it. Though he’s almost 18 years old I’m just about at the point where I’m going to physically force him into the car with me and hold him there until he talks to me.

Here’s the kick in the ass folks. My house….since he chose to stay with his father all the time, my house has never been so peaceful. I didn’t realize how much he stirred the pot and kept things in a constant state of turmoil until he wasn’t there doing it any longer. Nora and Jimmy never fight, they actually play together. There is no bickering or arguing or sullenness. It’s like I suddenly have a different family and it kills me to admit what a shit storm my darling eldest caused on a regular basis. I sat the other evening looking at old pictures. The kids were 9, 7 and 3. I sometimes long for those days when my children looked at me as though I hung the moon and stars.

Work – still doing the two jobs, some weeks working 70 hours a week. It makes me tired just thinking about it! How is it possible to work that many hours and still be fucking broke? I just don’t get it.

Romantic life, oh jesus where do I start? So much has happened since we last spoke. I get giddy just thinking about writing it all down. I’m a 37 year old, separated, hard ass, mother of three – I’m not supposed to be damn giddy people! Twitterpated even! I’ll write an entire post about the cause of this twitterpation soon.

So yes, I’m alive, all is relatively well and I miss you guys like crazy.