Weird couple of weeks

  The past few weeks have been a whirlwind of craziness. Topping the crazy was the addition of a cat to our household. Believe me, I didn't want another crazy in this apartment. The boy wanted one. All for him. To make matters worse, it's a kitten. I wanted to adopt an older cat. Instead we got the emotional equivalent to me- a needy kitten. She's very adorable and sooo loving. But, when she wants to brush against my face in the middle of the night, I feel a murderous rage. I haven't slept well since she arrived. Luckily, she lets the child sleep. I'm the focus of her attention. If I don't pet her, she bites my nose. She is me in cat form. This is karma. Or Sparta. I can't decide.
  With the holidays approaching, I had car problems, of course. Driving home from work, I hear a dragging sound coming from the car. I pulled over to the nearest gas station. My exhaust pipe was hanging from the car, dragging on the ground. So, there's me, in dress, under the car trying to tie it with a string. Needless to say, that didn't work. When I emerged from the car, a middle-aged, black guy approached me to help. Saying he didn't have wire, he couldn't do much. He offered me a ride, which I declined. He then asked if I "party". I don't know what the hell that meant. I replied with "I'm a mom." He told me I was beautiful and wished he could have helped. I walked home with blackened hands and twigs in my hair.
  Believe it or not, things got better. I phoned a good friend to see if he was around to ride me from home back to the car to get it towed. He wasn't, however he listened to me sob like a maniac. He offered his help and said "You're not in this alone." Those were the most beautiful words I could have heard. I felt like a weight had been lifted. Since Bob died, it has been a daunting task doing this alone. Just thinking about it terrifies me. I've been so stressed and scared, but I haven't told anyone. I need to be strong. When I heard those words, I broke. This friend has been so supportive. For the first time in months, I felt relief. Those words were the equivalent of a million hugs. I'm truly indebted to him for everything. So, I was able to get my shit together. A tow driver from Stickles towing met me at the gas station. He wasn't just a tow truck driver, he was an angel. He said I could drive it to the repair place, without needing a tow. He was going to strap the piece under my car, but he didn't have his strap on him. He offered to follow me there, since I was nervous. He, then, drove me back home. He refused to take any money. I told him he was an angel. That night, two men restored my faith in humanity. I had some Christmas presents stashed away already, so it didn't ruin the boy's Christmas.
  Work has been crazy due to that time of year. I have my yearly cold and sled dog cough going on. I can deal with it because I have peace for once in a long time.

Eharmony should be for blind people

  I'm becoming way too familiar with the various dating sites. Why have I become that girl? It sucks. In fact, I think this past month of being on these sites has created a deep depression. I had three days off and spent two of them wearing the same sweatpants and no makeup.

  I was on Eharmony for two days and that was more than enough. Granted, they ask a lot of questions to find someone compatible. Good strategy. I'm in complete agreement with that. What I didn't like was having to pay for this service. Three installments of having to pay for this service. But, that little inner voice was saying "You're not getting any younger." So, after payment, it whittled down my choices and I finally got to see some profile pictures. Sweet Jesus. It was not pretty. It was like a mix of a police line up and the next season of Biggest Loser (no offense to either of these institutions.) I then, narrowed it down to two guys, but it was still bad. Those were my options-two guys who I would never want to go out with. Basically, if I wanted to find my "perfect match", I had to accept that I wouldn't be remotely attracted to them. Total bullshit. After close to ten minutes on the phone with their operator, I got a refund. I recommend this site if you like your love in the dark or hate wearing your glasses.
  I had much better luck with Tinder, which is the exact opposite of Eharmony. Tinder is just a profile picture and you swipe left if it's a no and right if it's a yes. You can only communicate if you're a match with someone, which cuts down on most of the creeps. Of course, they still slink through. I had one guy send me a message asking if I "suck it". I responded by saying "No, but obviously you do." One guy was model gorgeous, but had a picture of Ted Bundy in his profile pics. After seeing his flat stomach, I declared if that was how I had to go, then at least I'd be pleased by the sight. Finally, I met one really cute, adorable guy. He stopped into the store and we seemed to hit it off. My co-workers declared we had chemistry. We texted back and forth for a week. Lots of witty banter. I loved it. And then, all of a sudden, he stopped responding. No reason. Quite depressing. I can't even get to first base. I decided I should start a new feature for dating sites- the exit interview. It doesn't have to be complicated. In fact, it could be multiple choice. You send something like this to the person you no longer want to communicate to-
  Hey (insert name), I'm not going to text anymore. Here's why(please choose as many as deemed appropriate)
  A. I found someone else.
  B. I got back with an ex.
  C. I think I'm gay.
  D. I felt meh about you from the start and decided not to continue our texting.
  E. I was just bored and you helped spend some of my bored time.
  F. I have Ebola and I'm quarantined.
  G. I'm dead.
  H. You're an emotionally, needy vacuum of a person.
I would appreciate a reason, whatever it may be. It's not asking for much. Hell, throw in some honesty. How am I ever going to learn if I don't know what went wrong?
  The media isn't helping my post breakup mood, either. If I hear of one more of societies rejects like Charles Manson or Honey Boo Boo's mom finding love, I'm going to drive my fist through the wall. 

Take a day off

  I'm writing this in between breaks from eating. I'm one of those "emotional eaters" and eat my sadness. Anytime I feel down, I usually grab some comfort in food. This is why I have to refer to myself as "curvy" in dating profiles. I'm not overweight, but I'll never be thin in anyone's eyes.
  Life has just been stressful. I mean, everyone has their shit. Mine's the same as anyone else's. Work, love life, money, blah, blah, etc. I thought I was healing from my recent breakup with the Russian, when yesterday felt like a band aid being ripped off.
  We had a mutual break up, but were wishy-washy as to whether it was the right decision or not. My main issue was never seeing him.He's in school, which takes a lot of his time. I get it, I work full-time and have a kid. I'm the epitome of busy.  So, we split. There were texts and emails back and forth, debating about what to do. We agreed to the end of this month for a final decision.
  I had written him an email about a week ago, saying I care for him and I could deal with not seeing him while he's in school. The main thing is that we made each other happy. Quality over quantity. This was his response, I shit you not-"I'm recovering from some kind of illness. I don't know what it is. I have a ton of stuff to do now. I'll write you later." Days passed. I could only assume he had Ebola. Now, I kind of wish he had. He texted yesterday asking how I was and reminding me of our agreement. I told him I still felt the same. He told me he missed sex with me. Great. That's heartwarming. Thanks, buddy. But, he didn't miss me enough for us to get back together. Congrats. You've joined the list of men who have told me they are still physically attracted to me but hate my personality. It's a real pick me up. I've always thought the opposite about myself- I think I'm funny and kind and hate looking at myself. My heart is already a post-apocalyptic wasteland.  This is why people love pets. A fucking dog never looks at you and says "You're hot, but I hate talking to you." If one did, it would be a Youtube sensation.
  I feel raw again. Angry and sad. Crying in the bathtub. Hiding it from my child because he's already dealt with too many tears in his small lifetime. I fucking suck it up and eat my feelings. I'm so thankful I have him. He told me to take a day off today and not do anything. This is remarkable because he wants a sandwich every five minutes, just like my late grandfather. He's willing to forgo that for a day for my happiness and sanity. It's not going to happen. I have to do laundry. Besides, taking care of him makes me happy. My last bastion of happiness. I don't think anyone could ever fit into this household anyway. We're a very close knit duo. No man other than his dad ever fit in. No man ever will.
  Frankly, my chances are snagging someone at this age with my life are extremely slim. I have a better probability of being struck by lightning or attacked by a shark.  I think that was the mad panic for the idea of staying with the Russian. Hey, we don't have anything other than physical in common, but I don't want to be alone. It's not the right reasons. So, maybe he's doing me a favor. I haven't really craved a mate as much as before. Except when I see Adam Scott's character on Parks and Recreation for he is my dream man. Other than that, I'm fine. I think love is dead. It's not actually, It's just rare like a double rainbow or a retail day without any rude customers. The greatest couple I know is my sister in law, Nikki and her husband, Kirk. They have a true and beautiful love. It's the only thing that keeps me from thinking love is dead.
 

Let's not talk about contraception

  I finally made it to the doctor a couple of weeks ago. It was my six month checkup, but I was geared up to find a solution to my month long pooplessness. Seriously, a month is way too long to go without using the bathroom. I was distressed. My usual doctor is a very nice, older Egyptian man. However, this time, I got a young, attractive Egyptian man. Of course, because I would be discussing my bowels. First, he starts off asking about my breast because last I was there I had a weird lump in my breast. Nope, all good, let's move onto worse things. After I painfully explain my situation, he starts to think. Any changes in diet? How often do you normally go? Then, for whatever reason, comes this question "Contraception?"
  "No" I shake my head, but this only puzzles him more.
  "The pill? Condom? Contraception?"
At this point, I'm really flustered and blurt out "NO, There's no one! There's no reason!" which seemed to solve the issue. All the while, my child is sitting in a chair in the room. I swear after that he seemed friendlier to me. Almost like he was considering the fact that I was manless. He sees old people all day, so a woman in her forties is like Kate Upton in his eyes. There were a lot of awkward smiles and gentle brushing away of my hair when he looked into my ears during the examination. Plus, I couldn't understand a word he was saying. Thankfully, my regular doctor came in, and to my chagrin, performed the exact same examination. He seemed to think my problem stemmed from changing my anxiety medication. For a month, I was on Paxil, not pooping and recently broken hearted. I was a bitch. Joan Crawford was probably nicer than I was that month.  He wrote me out a prescription and gave me two boxes of stool softeners. This seems to have solved the issue. God bless that man. I was singing his praises the first time I was able to go. I know this is all too much information, but if you're reading my blog I think you've surmised by now that too much information is my thing.
  Now, I'm fully regular, but still not needing that contraception.

Yesterday was Fight Club and I don't want to talk about it

  Yesterday was monumentally bad. In fact, the Travel Channel is starting a new show hosted by Don Wildman called Monumental Shitty and the first episode is devoted to this day. (Viggo would appreciate that joke)
  Somehow I realized that there were messages sent to me on Facebook that I've never seen before. Lots of people I didn't know and one I wished I've never met-my ex's wife. She seems to think I made a fake profile for her. She then proceeded to say my kid was messed up in the head for being my kid, that I'm old and so on. If she ever mentions my kid again, she has a whole list of people ready to give her a piece of their mind. I'm top of that list. My friends made some very good points about the message. One friend said that insulting a child is very sick and that she could be charged with telecommunications harassment if she persists. Plus, "She looks like a horse and he got chubby. I crept." God bless, Kate. You are my hero.
  Several other friends stated that she seems pretty psycho to still be creeping on me. It's weird, very Single White Female of her, I agree. Constantly looking at my LinkedIn profile which has never changed since I started it is VERY weird. She's unhinged. Oddly, I had wished them happiness. Now, I'm pretty sure no one should get stuck with that kind of crazy. It would be like the Michael Douglas character marrying Glenn Close in Fatal Attraction. Another friend said she probably made the fake profile herself just to accuse me of making it. I agree. The whole thing has a Gone Girl tinge to it. If she keeps it up, I will see what I can do about a restraining order or whatnot. Never mess with my child.
  After all that nonsense, I get a text from my mom. Two psychos in one day is way too much. She's finally learned to text. At least they aren't drunken phone calls. Since I'm not speaking to her anymore, I agreed to give her my address so she could send Viggo letters. I'm not going to keep him away from her like she did with me and my Dad's parents. I get this infuriating text - "A fake address. Really?" She claimed a letter was returned saying it wasn't a real address. Yes, the "not a real address" stamp that is so popular at the post office. Anyway, after I texted back that it is indeed a real address, I don't know what to tell you, she said she's sick of playing games. Dear sweet baby Jesus in the manger help me keep my sanity. I realized I had told her the wrong zip code, which seemed to somehow connect in the ball of crazy that is her head and she shut up.
  If you've met me for five minutes, you know I'm not a fan of drama, games or anything similar. I like things easy like a Sunday morning, man. Have you ever noticed that people who say they're sick of playing games are the ones who love them? I want to breeze through my day on an even keel. This probably stems from my childhood which was saturated with drama due to my mother. When I would stay with her on the weekends, it was 24/7 fighting with her boyfriends. I hated it more than anything. I would cower in another room, covering my ears from the shouting. It's why I'm so passive as an adult- I swore I would never be that way. My marriage had a total of maybe three big fights. So, if anyone thinks I'm sitting here like Shonda Rhimes, working on some drama, you're surely mistaken. It's more like a Buddhist trying to usher a spider out the door instead of killing it.
  At the end of the night, I sat in the bathtub. listening to the Walkmen, sobbing. Is it a ying yang thing? If you lead a normal life, must weirdness attack you to even out the universe?  Fuck this universe. Seriously. Any world that would take a great guy like Bob out of it is horrendous. This is what rules it, the crazies and the maniacs. It doesn't matter what good is out there, it gets stomped out by some monster going out her way to say shit about a kid. That's the world. These people run it.
  I feel like Wyle E. Coyote after an ACME anvil smashes him into the desert sand. Fucking defeated. After Bob died, I feel like I'm walking on an ice lake, ready to fall through. His death has haunted me. I'm carrying so much weight. And it breaks, breaks, breaks thinking of the pain his family feels. I never dealt with my own pain. I can't. I have to do this, you know. I have this boy to care for. A leaf could blow me over and I'm plunging into the darkness. I want to be left alone. I want the crazies out of my life. I'm becoming someone I don't want to be.
  I don't know how to fix anything, so I maintain. It's all I can do. We Can't Be Beat by the Walkmen plays in my heart-hopeful lyrics followed by a sad melody. This shit has to be dirt off my shoulder because my priority is making my kid's life as normal and good as can be. Bury this shit with any other pain or anger that dwells inside of me into a deep, dark pit. Fucking bury it.

Keep your day job

  I've been in this awful mood since the break up. It's relentless and has attached itself to me wherever I go, especially at work. So, yesterday when we had to participate in a mandatory storytime, I was less than enthused. All month long, we've been having weekly storytimes  dedicated to one book and it culminated into yesterday's big event. All the managers participated. Not eager to read aloud, lead a parade or make hats, I chose to face paint. I think I've done it once before and honestly, how hard could it be?
  The book is very cute and funny and the kids were quite adorable, which helped lighten my monstrous mood. Right after the story came my time. A very excited little boy rushed over to be first. We went to the table and he watched as I struggled to open the little tube of paint and pick out a little brush. Since the theme of the book was crayons, I thought it would be a great choice to paint one on his little round cheek. His enthusiasm was brimming as was mine. I was actually enjoying myself. A co-worker joined me and started painting a little girl's face. My joy was quickly dashed when, to my horror, I realized my green crayon looked exactly like a penis. Mortified, I tried adjusting it with more paint, only to make it appear even more phallic. I tried to offset my blunder by painting a balloon attached to a string on his other cheek. I gave up when I realized it only looked like sperm. Great, a penis and sperm. His parents were all happy saying "Let's get a picture." I grimaced and started on his baby brother's cheek. No more crayons or balloons with string. Thankfully, my co-worker whispered in my ear "My crayon looked obscene." He was having the same trouble. I mean, this kid's parents had to think that's what it looked like. They have three kids. They're well versed on genitalia at this point. I was thrilled to see that my shift was up and I tore out of there before I could see anyone's reaction to my artwork.
  The moral to this story is never try to paint a crayon on a kid's cheek. Plain and simple.
 

Autumn of my discontent

  I'm depressed. No, I'm beyond depressed. My year and a half relationship has ended. I suppose it was inevitable, but I wasn't mentally or emotionally prepared for it. For once in my life, I wasn't dumped or doing the dumping. We came to the decision mutually and it was painful for both of us. On my end, I never see him and it was causing anger and resentment. On his end, he never wants marriage ( I don't either, but he kept bringing it up) and will never live with me. He mentioned not wanting to stay in the country, too. Throw in a twenty year age difference and, voila, you have a break up. We care for each other very much, but neither of us thinks it will last. He said he felt like an asshole because we never saw each other. I felt like I was keeping him from a normal life. Eventually, I'm sure he'll want to have kids (without the dreaded marriage) and this lady isn't popping out any more babies, as much as I'd like to.
  My friends have been so wonderful. I immediately got so many nice condolences. Two friends threatened to beat him up before I explained it was a mutual split. Everyone expressing their love and concern made me feel good. I'm taking it rough. One night I cried into my lasagna. This food should always be eaten and not cried upon. Most of the time, I'm in a dreadful mood. I'm sure my co-workers are delighted with me. But, I can't help it. I loved him. I know there are worse things going on in the world, but it's become a huge fragment of my thoughts.
  Already concerned with aging and weight gain, the burden of possibly dating again makes me think it's a lost cause. I'm not in the best shape. I think about exercising, but when I get home from work, I can't fathom the thought. Tonight, I bought a facial exercising book. Rightfully so, my co-workers laughed. But, twice this week, I've had two people clearly in their sixties talk to me as if I were their same age. I was talking about where I grew up with someone's mother and they asked if I knew so and so and said "Oh, he may be a few years older than you.' Yeah, he is. He's my friend's dad! We aren't even close to the same age. Another guy was talking about a TV station that plays old shows like Petticoat Junction and Mary Tyler Moore. He said "You remember those shows." Freakin' Petticoat Junction?! No, I wasn't born. Now, I do remember Mary Tyler Moore, but I was a child. Do I look 20 years older than I am? Please, no one answer that. Sweet Moses, I've got to get to working this face until head transplants become a thing. How I managed to land my hot, twenty-three year old ex is beyond me.
  I've got my boy with me and that's enough on my plate for now. Trying to be two parents is pretty time consuming and leaves little time for a relationship anyway. But, I mourn the loss of this one. I hope he has a wonderful life.