Wednesday, June 30, 2010

Dog Poop

WARNING: I'm going to curse, yell and misspell below because its already been one of "THOSE DAYS".

Every morning lately, it seems I temporarily loose my hearing and fail to wake up to the blaring beeping of the alarm. So as I jolt out of bed 45 minutes passed the initial alarm beep, I hastily herd my three groggy dogs outside through the door in my bedroom that leads to the backyard. Sprinting to the bathroom, I pull the curling iron out of my bottom drawer and spend the next 90 valuable seconds trying to untangle the cords of the curling iron, straightener and phone chargers--attempt failed. So basically I have to curl my hair whilst my phone charger hangs down at my feet along for the ride.

Barefoot and makeup half on, I frantically throw dog food into three bowls and run outside to serve the Kings of our household their breakfast. And then I step in dog shit. A big pile of steaming hot, freshly deposited, dog crap. Mind you, if I would have been prancing around in my underwear, barefoot in the grass at 7:30 this morning, I might have watched where I was stepping....but right outside the backdoor?? Normally, I would not think that my pea size brained dogs could scubcum to that kind of disrespect- I was wrong. Dead wrong.

So, after I attempt to wash the soggy poop off my foot in the pool water, while breathing through my mouth in attempt to ignore the smell (chlorine kills that ...right??) I search to find something to pick the pile of poop up with before Buckethead sees what these dog's he borderline hates, have done and transforms into something that the devil incarnate would tremble at the sight. So I am running amok through out the back yard trying to come up with something -ANYTHING- to scoop up the poop discretely. There's nothing; although I did contemplate using my step-daughter's bathing suit bottoms but decided against it at the last minute. At this point there is only one other option, so I carefully choose the biggest leaf from our Potato plant and shout up a little prayer that my fingers don't get too contaminated by the remains of Harley- the basset hound's dinner. In one swift movement I grab the poop take a giant leap towards the flowerbed and throw the poop in the air making thus causing a perfect landing behind the shrubs.

So, given my success, my head is held a little higher with pride as I turn around to face the three dogs. We are in a stare off--I'm trying not to blink and loose my focus on the big eared dumbo who is found guilty of this travesty. 30 seconds pass. Harley finally cracks under the pressure of my glare and slowly rises, walking toward me and away from his protection of the covered porch. For an instant I believe he is coming to apologize; to sacrifice his favorite bone as a peace offering or offer a friendly hand lick as a truce. Instead, he hikes his leg, whilst maintaining his eye contact with me and pees a giant puddle of pee on the flagstone....not the grass, not even remotely close to the grass. He did it to spite me.

"Euthanasia was in your future before I brought you home? Your ass was grass!" - I scream at the dog who is still peeing a river that is now streaming down the concrete in my direction.

Stick a fork in me...I'm done. Anybody want a dog....or three dogs? Anybody??? Anybody???

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Monday, June 28, 2010

My Kind of Shopping

I love shopping. Seriously; I do. I want to make out with shopping, doodle it's name on my notebook and get matching best friend necklaces.

Whether it's hitting up the Last Call sale at Neiman's or shopping for yeast infection medicine at Walgreens; I love to shop. And it's not just spending money, it's really researching my purchases. Mind you, I also clip coupons and ALWAYS use my discount cards. If there is a two for one special; I'll be there getting my free gallon of Clorox or dish washing liquid. THERE. SEE??? Now you can't call me a gold diggin, spoiled, self-absorbed lint licker.

So, given my love for shopping and my strong desire to save a penny here or there, tonight might just be the best shopping deal of my lifetime thus far.

I'll be going to a bikini trunk show. And guess what? If I buy a bikini, I get BOTOX for free! Yes, I am serious. No, I'm not joking. Otherwise I would be laughing....although after tonight you might not be able to differentiate the emotions on my face. Oh well, at least that wrinkle I've developed over my right eye in the few shorts months of step-motherhood will be taken care of with a few quick pokes and a bikini in the bag.

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Thursday, June 24, 2010

Update

I ate it.

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Wednesday, June 23, 2010

These are my Confessions

Confession: There is a Hersey's kiss under my desk.....it's been there for at least 2 years.

I'm hungry. Today, I'm thinking about eating it.

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Monday, June 21, 2010

"The House that Built Me"

Three phone calls and a text message later, I have yet to talk to my Dad to wish him a Happy Father's Day. Oh well, I guess my love is so abundant or my brother has finally made his way up of taking on the "favorite child" position that he doesn't need a phone call from me to know that I'm thinking of him. I'm thinking maybe his phone is broken, or he made my entire family practice a duck and cover drill and they were out of range under the house....yeah, that's it.

Yesterday I spent the day with my husband and our two children (my step-kiddos for you newbies) showing him how special he is to our family. Buckethead is the backbone to our family and I would truly be lost without him. Having another day to celebrate him and his dedication to the one's he loves is always welcomed in our household. I bedazzled him a shirt that said "World's Best Dad" and made him wear it to church with a carnation pinned to the top--okay maybe I'm not that cruel. It was a perfect father's day, except my mind kept wandering back to my father...and I missed him.

There is a song on the radio that I heard this morning on the way to work that brought tears to my eyes; Miranda Lambert's song, "The House that Built Me". Although, I am in such a wonderful place in my life now, this was not always the case. I remember a few short years ago going home to my parent's house to try and clear my head of the confusion and heartache that engulfed me. I sat in my parent's back yard at the little tomb stone where my childhood pet was buried and reflected on who I was before I had become the person I didn't recognize; I reflected on who's daughter I was; I reflected on the person the people in that house believed I was and who I was meant to be.

Although, Dallas is my home now....the house that built me and the parent's that raised me in it will always be a home in my heart.

"The House that Built Me"- Miranda Lambert

I know they say you cant go home again

I just had to come back one last time.

Ma'am I know you don't know me from Adam.

But these handprints on the front steps are mine.

And up those stairs, in that little back bedroom

is where I did my homework and I learned to play guitar.

And I bet you didn't know under that live oak

my favorite dog is buried in the yard.

I thought if I could touch this place or feel it

this brokenness inside me might start healing.

Out here its like I'm someone else,

I thought that maybe I could find myself

if I could just come in I swear I'll leave.

Won't take nothing but a memory from the house that built me.

Mama cut out pictures of houses for years.

From 'Better Homes and Garden' magazines.

Plans were drawn, concrete poured, and nail by nail and board by board

Daddy gave life to mama's dream.

I thought if I could touch this place or feel it

this brokenness inside me might start healing.

Out here its like I'm someone else,

I thought that maybe I could find myself.

If I could just come in I swear I'll leave.

Won't take nothing but a memory from the house that built me.

You leave home, you move on

and you do the best you can.

I got lost in this whole world

and forgot who I am.

I thought if I could touch this place or feel it

this brokenness inside me might start healing.

Out here its like I'm someone else,

I thought that maybe I could find myself.

If I could walk around I swear I'll leave.

Won't take nothing but a memory from the house that built me.

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Thursday, June 17, 2010

A Tale of Online Dating: Final Chapter

Scrambling for my drink, I gulped down another shot of liquid courage. Now he knew my dirty little secret; not only had I been married, but I was married to a beloved pastor's son whom he happened to take prayer request from back in the day. In other words my condition to the Christian population of Dallas was worse than leprosy. Too many times lately I had seen stares, heard the whispers and slowly watched the people whom I thought were my friends slowly disappear. I had been banished from my colony of Christians and moved out of the village. An outcast from my own people, I was completely prepared for him to make some lame excuse to get away from me, the leper. I sat tense and sweatier than a whore in church next to him. But as the moment passed, I watched him process the information he had just be handed and instead of disgust smeared across his face what I saw was actually sympathy.

"This year must have been very hard for you", he gently said as he reached for my hand and held it in his.

All I could do was hang my head down and nod.

It had been a hard. Terribly hard. I had watched from the sidelines as I let my marriage crumble into a million little pieces. Initially walking away from the heap that had once been a sacred covenant, trying desperately to ignore the mess I had made. And night after lonely night I sat on my sofa looking at a pile of crap that had become my life trying to figure out how to make it better; trying to figure out how to get out of bed the next morning; trying to figure out if God would ever love me again; trying to figure out if anyone would ever love me again. In my moments of weakness, I knew that I was found guilty in this trial but couldn't figure out what exactly had been my crime. Was it leaving? Was it not trying harder, fighting longer and loving deeper when I was married? Or was it wasting my life away, letting each day that passed be more meaningless than the one before instead of moving forward with hope? Helplessly, I had rushed to the pile of nothingness to try and arrange the brokenness into something that could be recovered but it had been too late. The residue had been on me ever since. No matter how many times I tried to wash the remains off of me; it was still there, visible for all to see.

And as I across from a man who could see the aftermath covering my body, I realized that the reason he wasn't leaving was because he understood. He too had been hurt. tortured. destroyed. by divorce. Yet, he was a little further along in the healing process than I was. He had realized that he deserved happiness. He had realized that he was forgiven.

At the time, I didn't know what was going to happen after that night but I had a funny feeling inside that wasn't gas, that it might just be something great. Something better than great, even. I had a feeling that this man was going to be my saving grace. The cheese to my macaroni; the Bobby Brown to my Whitney Houston....wait, scratch that one.

Plano_Mtn_Climbr became just that for me; a gift from God displaying his amazing grace. Sure, I destroyed the million of other women's on Match.com lifelong ambition to become the second wife (or mistress) to my devilishly handsome, smart and compassionate man, but I was the one in a million that he chose, even if it was like picking a puppy out of a litter displayed in a cardboard box in the parking lot of Wal-mart. Regardless, if it was kind of like that he picked me and I'm so glad that he did.

Rita Mae once said, "Computer dating is fine, if you're a computer" but I decided to put myself through the unknown maze of online dating because I was tired of begging under the table for scraps of affection and decided that maybe, just maybe, there might be one more shot of love for me somewhere out there. I went in knowing Online Dating was a lot like shopping at Marshall's; you know there's a defect you just hope it's not too visible. And sure finding a good man was like nailing jello to a tree; I encountered enough doozies at first to deserve a free cookie and question if I should just stay home and dye my eyebrows than go on another blind date, but it was well worth it in the end. We go to the Internet for travel booking, cliff notes, shopping and even are convinced that the Internet can make us insta-doctors and give us the divine ability to diagnose any aliment. So, why not go to the Internet to find a little love?

The divorce taught me to stop searching for the right man and start focusing on becoming the right woman. I knew that I did not want to make the same mistakes I had made before and I wanted a man who felt the same.

That night on our first date, Plano_Mtn_Clmbr showed that he was the type of man who would guard and defend my honor. A few weeks later he proved that very thing to me when he received a call from a leader in our old church trying to convince him I was something that he already decided in the few short weeks that he knew me, that I wasn't.

I actually found a man online that not only was current on all his shots, bathed everyday and was willing to lie about how we met; I also found a man that I fell more deeply in love with than I could ever imagine.

Thank you Buckethead, for making the terribly embarrassing fact that I once was a member of Match.com sooooo very worth it. I love you and I love our fairytale and always remember.....at least we didn't meet on EHarmony!

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Monday, June 14, 2010

Guest Blog from Buckethead: Black Men Can't Swim

*The views and opinions below are not mine, just of the man that I share a bed with. If you are offended....don't be. If you want to stab me in in the face with a fork....channel that negative energy to my husband; I'll give you his address.


Okay okay -- before you get all up in arms and call the EEOC, ACORN, NAACP, or Kayne West, let me explain the title to this blog. "Black Guys Can't Swim" is in response to the movie "White Men Can't Jump." I figured we've come far enough in our country that FINALLY we can start making fun of each other again without offending, taking ourselves too seriously, or fearing violation of 'political correctness.' In fact, I think what our country needs is a little 'political in-correctness.'
My trouble with political correctness is that it takes some of the fun out of life. IMHO, Political Correctness is based on a flawed assumption: everyone’s feelings matter. Why is this a flawed assumption? Because it fails to take into account one very simple and all-too-true concept: some people are just too sensitive. Sometimes, you just have to learn to deal with it, and not expect the rest of the world to change for you. Some people get as mad as a midget with a yo-yo (see?? how else could I have said that? a little person with a yo-yo? just doesn't work...) for the silliest of reasons. Before I move on, I need to state a few caveats: (1.) racism is always wrong. Always. (2.) Offensive and ludeness are contrary to the teaching's of our Savior Jesus (and I didn't mean "Hey-Suess" -- the hispanic guy), and (3.) inability to laugh at ourselves means we take ourselves way too seriously and means we are, eh-hem, self-centered. Anyway, forgive me -- I'm wandering like a blonde girl in a spelling-bee. My point: Ease up America! Let's laugh at each other. When you laugh at each other, walls break down, moods are lifted, and real discussions can begin to understand each other and get rid of long-standing stereotypes or racisms.
The other day, I was in an all-hands meeting at work. I work for a Chinese company. The presenter, a man from China, was explaining our failures with a certain customer. His summary to our CEO? "We need more white-face at customer." What do you think I did? Call HR? File a complaint? Run up and punch him in his Xiang-Li-Dong?? No, I hollered "Amen Yella Fella!!" We all laughed a good hearty laugh and even our VP of HR told me in my exit interview that although I was being fired for my comment, he appreciated the levity it brought to our meeting and that I was a genuinely funny guy. Okay -- I wasn't fired but I also wasn't offended. I rolled with it, laughed, and tried to get his name right (do you know how Chinese parents name their kids? They stand at the top of the stairs, throw silverware down the stairs, and whatever sound it makes is their kids name! Ping! Ding! Chang! Dong! Ling! Xiang!).
I know certain words in my vocabulary may be politically incorrect. Like "GAY" -- I'm sure I over-use that word. But listen -- when I say something is 'gay' it doesn't mean I'm slamming homosexuals - but how else do you expect me to describe a fanny pack? They're gay'!! How else do you describe Ricky Martin? (well, actually, he really IS gay!)
Wake up America -- the Brits have been politically incorrect for decades, and they are hysterical. The gave us "The Office" and Monty Python and Simon Cowell and Mr. Bean and BP oil spills (okay, at least two of those are not very funny). Wake up America -- there's a black man running our country!! I think that is amazing! We have really progressed as a socitety!! (The Obama economy utilizes a system of carefully monitored checks and balances. He writes the checks, you pay the balance. Q. What would you get if you crossed Albert Einstein with Barack Obama? A. E = MC Hammer).
No? Not good? Then make fun of me -- I don't care. I'm a white cracker (well, if you aren't white you can call me "Cracka" but not "Cracker" because only fellow whites can call me "Crack-er"). Here's another: I'm (mostly) Baptist -- There are three truths in life: Jewish people do not recognize Jesus as the Messiah. Protestants do not recognize the Pope as the leader of the Christian faith. Baptists do not recognize each other in the liquor store. Q: Why should you never ask one Baptist over to watch football with you, but instead always invite two? A: Invite one, he`ll drink all your beer. Invite two and neither of them will drink a drop!
One more problem with Political Correctedness -- it takes away from the real problem. Examples:
A Criminal - unsavory character
A Crook - morally (ethically) challenged
Abortion - Near-Life Experience
Alcoholic - Anti-Sobriety Activist
Assassination - involuntary term limitation
Bald - comb-free
Bald - folically independent
Bald - follicularly challenged.
Blind - optically darker
Blind - photonically non-receptive
Blind - visually challenged
Body Odor - nondiscretionary fragrance.
Crime Rate - street activity index
Dead - Actuarially Mature
Dead - living impaired
Dead - metabolically challenged
Dead - persons living with entropy
Deaf - Visually Oriented
Fail - achieve a deficiency.
Fat - Differently Weighted
Fat - gravitationally challenged
Fat - horizontally challenged.
Fat - horizontally gifted
Fat - People of Mass
Fat - person of substance
Well, you get the point. Guess what? Sometimes we need to be convicted so that we can change. And guess what? Conviction isn't always politically correct! Stealing and robbing are wrong -- but when we lessen them and call the acts "health care reform" (okay, I couldn't resist)....just joking ... when we call a Shoplifter - Cost-of-Living Adjustment Specialist -- we've gone too far. Call things like they are -- so that real change can be produced in a person's life.
So, I say, don't take yourselves so seriously America. And I'm now shopping my screenplay to my future blockbuster: "Black Guys Can't Swim." I promise, it won't be offensive to black people because I'll get one of the Wayman brothers to star in the film. Oh wait - that IS offensive to black people.

{information provided by www.bored.com/pcphrases}

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Carnations

Before I begin, let me assure you that I will post part three of the Online Dating story sometime this week. In the meantime, do not come to my house and threaten me with pitch forks and torches.





We all know of the little flower Dianthus caryophyllus, more commonly known as the Carnation. To enlighten you on a little history of the carnation, according to a Christian legend carnations first appeared on Earth as Jesus carried the Cross. Jesus' mom, Mary shed tears at Jesus' plight, and carnations sprang up from where her tears fell. On another note, Oxford university students traditionally wear carnations to all exams for good luck. Carnations are also the national flower of Spain and the emblem of Mother's Day. {*all information provided by Wikipedia.....so it MUST be true} But this is not the story I have been told growing up about this particular flower.

This weekend I went down to visit my family. Buckethead stayed behind and probably went to Hooters, drank beer that wasn't low calorie, ate fried food, pooped with the door open, snored and watched war movies worked. On Saturday night, I went out with my parents and brother to a Mexican restaurant where a few Carnations cheerfully decorated the table. I glared at the carnation with disgust.

" I don't like carnations", I declared as I flicked the delicate petals with my fingers.

"Of course you don't", my mother replied with equal distaste for the flower that was displayed before us.

My brother looked at us both and asked us why. Without pause I regurgitated everything I had learned from my mother at an early age about why we don't like carnations. First and foremost, they're cheap. If a man brings you carnations, you know he spent the same amount he spent on his Big Mac to purchase them for you. Secondly, they are of no use other than being a filler flower. Meaning you should always tell the florist that you want NO carnations in the bouquet so they won't rip you off.

My mom nodded her head so hard in agreement, she nearly got a concussion. She beamed with pride at the daughter who had learned one of the most important lessons in life; never buy carnations. But, as I looked at the flower, I noticed that it was actually quite pretty. And that it's fragrance was more lovely than a baby angel (not that I know what a baby angel smells like but I'm guessing it's pretty freakin awesome). Pointing this out to my mother, she looked a little closer and hesitantly said that she had to agree with me.

ME: "Mom, why did you tell me all these years not to like carnations"?

MOM: "Well.......because your Grandmother told ME not to like carnations".

Yes, craziness is passed down from generation to generation.


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Wednesday, June 9, 2010

A Tale of Online Dating: Part Deux

Although I had hit 'Reply' I didn't really know what to say. There was something inside of me telling me this one was worth a shot: why, I didn't really know. Sure, he was attractive and his familiar face put me at ease but what would make it work this time when I had failed in the dating game a few weeks before? Besides, he was close to fifteen years my Senior and his profile stated that he had kids-plural form!

Up to this point I had never even considered dating someone with children. My personal preference of dating would have been someone who was divorced only because they would be more sympathetic to my minor melt downs and occasional hiccups on the road to recovery. But, a divorced man with children; that was something at this point I had never even considered. Don't get me wrong I liked children, I just wasn't sure if being a wicked stepmother at the ripe old age of 24 was something that was in the cards for me.

Convincing myself it wasn't worth it after all, I clicked "Cancel" on the message and tried to forget about the man who told me in a message, "You are beautiful and I just had to write you and give it a shot." Sure, I had lots of men throwing out compliments in hopes of getting a date, but there was something about this message that was different; it had been the only one that I actually believed.

If you had heard the voice inside my head that day, you wouldn't have been able to ignore it either. She was screaming at me in a British accent between my ears, "You bloody idiot! A guy like this doesn't come around everyday. Sure, he's online getting dates, but guess what? SO ARE YOU. That doesn't mean he wears pleather underwear and has white tigers as pets. Maybe he's like you....he just doesn't know where to start. Do you think you aren't worth it? Do you think you don't deserve a second shot at love? You decide your own fate. If you don't give yourself the opportunity to find happiness, maybe you don't deserve a second shot; maybe you deserve a lifetime of eating alone with your dog and watching your arse grow to the size of a bean bag chair. GO OUT AND GRAB IT, before the chance passes you by".

So, given the voice inside my head was beginning to threaten taking on the voice of Fran Drescher and also the tiny fact that secretly I knew she was right, I logged back on Match.com, clicked on the message from Plano_mtn_clmbr and hit "Reply".

"Thanks for the compliment. How are you?"

Send.

Now, I know the message was not much and any normal person would probably take it as a blow off. But, I was leaving it up to fate. If he was truly interested in me, he would take the bait and go from there. Common sense was telling me that since it had taken me hours to respond he had probably found someone to have a good time with tonight and I would be the last on the list.

But, good ole' Fran Drescher knew what she was talking about; in a matter of minutes I had a reply. We spent the next hour emailing each other back and forth slowly but surely revealing more and more about ourselves. Before I knew it, I found myself laughing at loud at his responses and not being able to remove the smile that had formed on my face. This man I had never met had already found the smile I had misplaced a few months before.

I shared the ugly with him: that I'm would never be the best cook; i leave lights on and kept the water running when I brushed my teeth; I still had hang ups over my second grade teacher; I was overly obsessed with my dog and I had been called crazy by more than one boyfriend.

He told me that he was from Mississippi and lived by the motto: What Would John Wayne Do? He shared with me about how much he loved his kids and how much he loved his motorcycle.

We talked about faith and how we had both experienced the heartbreak legalism can bring into your life. And then he told me he use to be a deacon at a Baptist church. Oh, and not just any Baptist church.....the church where I use to go with my ex-husband....the church where I was no longer welcome.

Before I continue, I must note....I am not a man and I don't have a penis but if I were to guess what it feels like to be kicked in the nads....the wave of gut wrenching agony I felt upon this discovery was the closest I had ever gotten to the experience. My stomach was in knots. Why did my past continue to haunt me? Would I ever get away from it all? Would I have to move from the city I love and called home to distance myself from the evidence of my failed marriage?

Upon this discovery, I initially thought there was no sense in even continuing our courtship. I figured the minute he discovered by former last name he would make a hex out of his fingers and run aways screaming. I tried to convince myself that in a church of 25,000 members, the likely hood that he would know me and my story was slim to none. Sure, maybe we had past each other a time or two in the hallways but the chances of him discovering who I was and exclaiming, "Ooohhhh, you're THAT Jennifer" followed by him spitting at me and casting a stone or a frozen frapachino (whichever one was available) towards me would be highly unlikely. Right?

Despite the risk, I wanted to meet him. I hoped this was the kind of guy who wouldn't judge me for my past. If this was a man who would look past the ugly to see the beautiful, I had to find out. When he asked me out for a date the next night, I said yes.

Although I had grounded myself from Vodka a few months earlier, I gave myself a one day pass and made myself a cocktail whilst preparing for my date; a really strong cocktail. Trying on at least a 47 tops, I ended up choose a black v-neck blouse that had just enough cleavage to make you look and not enough to make it look like I wanted you to. I left my house 5 minutes after the date was initially suppose to start and hoped he wouldn't mind a fashionably late entrance on my part.

Arriving in the parking lot, I sat with my head perched in my sweating hand praying to God to ease my nerves. I was as prepared for a date as I could be; had my best friend on speed dial, a can of pepper spray in my purse and enough deodorant on to keep me PH-balanced through the weekend. I had made a point not to shave my legs so even if I had several glass of wine I wouldn't succumb to fleshly temptation due to the woolly mammoth hiding under my True Religion jeans.

But I was terrified because deep down I just wanted to be loved.

The wine bar was dark and the music was overpowering. The bar was long and lined the entire right side of the room. Slowly walking down the side of the bar I tried to find the man I was suppose to meet based on a few pictures I had seen. For an instance I remember the man I had met a few weeks ago and the photo fraud I had experienced. For all I knew, I could be searching for a Mary when he was really a Rhonda (if you've never watched the Mary Tyler more show...never mind). But, the moment our eyes met, I knew that was exactly who I had come to meet.

I couldn't believe my eyes. This man was even better looking in person. He was tall and had a presence about him that dominated the room. His smile was crooked and kind of quirky and it made my stomach flutter. He had a private table reserved for us in the back so we could talk in a more intimate setting and he gently touched by back as he guided me to our seats. He took the lead and ordered a bottle of wine I had never heard of and asked sweetly if that was okay.

The conversation flowed as smoothly as the wine. Before I knew it an hour had already past and the talking had yet to reach a null. The evening was progressing to be one of the best first dates in the history of first dates. In my mind there was nothing that could put a damper on it. But, somehow the course of the conversation turned to church and I was faced with the inevitable; tell him that I too, use to attend the church he was speaking of or keep my mouth shut. I decided there was no other way around it. Regardless if it was an ender, from now on my relationships would be based on trust and understanding. If I wasn't honest now, I may end up getting my heart crushed in the future.

Casually I said, "Yes, actually that is the church my husband and I use to attend".

"Oh, really? Were you two really involved in the church?"

"Ummmmm......you could say that".

"How so?"

"Well, actually my father-in-law was a minister there"

"What's your ex-husband's name?"

I paused. Sometimes the truth can set you free and other times the truth can kick you in the groin. I wasn't sure what the out come of this confession was going to be, but there was no turning back. It wasn't as if I could tell him I was just kidding and that in fact I had never been married before and I actually was a Methodist thus making the wine I was drinking not a sin. With a deep breath, I told him my ex-husband's name.

Silence. Plano_mtn_clmbr nodded his head, looked in my eyes and said, "Yes, I know him very well. In fact, I was his Sunday School leader when he was in the Youth Group".

Awesome. F-ing Awesome.

To be continued....

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Monday, June 7, 2010

A Tale of Online Dating

Hello, my name is Jennifer and I use to online date.

There I said it! The horror of it all! I'm melting! MELTING!! Mind you, this is probably one of the more mortifying confessions I've ever had....and if you remember correctly, I have openly confessed about my bowel movements and stuffing my bra. So, you get the point.

Before I continue, I must note that very few people actually know this wee-little fact about me (sorry I didn't tell you mom!) . At the time, it was humiliating enough that I was a 20 something divorcee' who had already experienced a failed marriage and the division of assets before most young adults experienced their first real paycheck. Add resorting to the Internet to get someone to buy me dinner was just the icing on the cake.

To backtrack, my co-workers were starting to worry about me. I had been separated from my ex-husband for 5 months now and the divorce was a few days away from being over. They knew my life revolved around coming to work and going home to share a Lean Cuisine with my dog and watch American Idol. I was okay with that life, but they were right. I was lonely. Terribly lonely. Like the type of lonely where I would have 10 minute conversations with Huck (my dog) about the weather. The type of lonely where I actually looked forward to going to work. The type of lonely that even a tube of concealer can't hide the swollen and puffy eyes the next morning.

My girlfriend at work insisted that I try online dating. Her dance card was full from all the dates she had scheduled from her on-line suitors. Literally, she would book her nights weeks in advance with a different guy at a new restaurant every night. Assuring me I would save tons of money by having my dinners and even the occasional lunch paid for by dates, that it was well worth the $30 a month membership fee. But what really hooked me on it, was she promised me the distraction would be good for me. It would help me move on. It would help me forget.

At this point, I was still extremely hesitant. First and foremost, I knew my mother would kill me. A natural worrier, she would assume the worst and imagine online dating to be something close to what she has seen on Dateline NBC, "To Catch a Predator". Secondly, I didn't know what to expect and I don't like surprises. Was it one big online orgy of random singles looking to hook up? Would all the men online be ugly? Would someone I knew see me on the site and tell everyone about it? Would I go blind if I sat too close to the computer screen? Who killed JFK?

So many questions filled my mind. But after days of contemplation, I took a leap of faith and got a 30 day membership to Match.com. I posted a few pictures of myself and I wrote this in my About Me:

I'm a small town girl, living in a big city. I enjoy the finer things in life but I can go down to the family ranch and play on the land with the best of them. I've got my daddy's money and my momma's good looks. I love adventure and love to travel but don't mind curling up on the couch with a really good book and wasting the day away. I can be honest to a fault and am strategically disorganized (which is a polite way of saying I'm a mess). I am a blond, not by nature, but by choice. This is a good thing because I have the brains of a brunette. My momma and grandmamas taught me how to be a southern lady. The advice a southern woman will give you about life and love are as follows: Learn how to fix a car but act stupid so a man will fix it for you, but at least you'll know if he's doing it right; It's just as easy to fall in love with a rich man as it is with a poor one; Never trust a man who wears more jewelry than you do; Whatever cooking mistakes you make can be covered by either gravy or frosting and ALWAYS remember who's daughter you are. If you noticed I am divorced. Although it is unfortunate, I have chosen to learn from my mistakes and go from there. I am definitely old fashion when it comes to love. I am fully capable of taking care of myself (and I do) but I believe there is something very natural about a man providing for a woman. Not looking for a ring on my finger by December, just someone who wants to take things slow, get to know each other, establish a friendship and go from there.Also, one more thing.....If you have a cat that you love and are not planning on getting rid of, don't contact me. Not that I don't like cats.....they just don't like me. I am deathly allergic!

And with a click of a button I was on the world wide web of dating. Within minutes, I had messages, winks and favorite request (these are online dating lingo) by tons of men across the metroplex. Basically, if you are good looking and don't claim you bedazzle t-shirts as a hobby, men will flock to you as if you were a Brazilian Super Model that tasted like a Krispy Kreme Donut.

So, I was being pursued. Big time. But my heart wasn't in it. I just couldn't get into the idea of dating. Scratch that. Not only dating, but DATING LIKE THIS. To me it was almost like catalogue shopping. A giant J.C. Penny's catalogue of singles (or so they claim) ready and willing to meet you for coffee or a quick hump....whichever you choose. You posted pictures and then in 500 words or less had to convince someone that you are a worthier pursuit than your competition, DFWBARBIE4U.

Finally, a man contact me that I thought would be worth exploring. He was a golf pro at one of the finest Golf Courses in the metroplex. He claimed to be a Christian and he looked pretty cute from his pictures. I agreed to meet him at a Sushi restaurant. I had one drink, claimed I had to get home to my dog and left 30 minutes later. Why do you ask?

PHOTO-FRAUD. This guy looked nothing like his pictures. At first, I seriously thought it was a joke. Listen, I'm not that (just kind of) superficial. But, if he was willing to be that dishonest about the way he looked the what else was he hiding? For all I know, he was going to club me and make a necklace out of my teeth and use my skin to make a lamp shade. I got the hell out of there.

My girlfriend convinced me that it was a fluke and that I needed to give it another shot. Disgruntled and pessimistic, I accepted an offer to another gentlemen a few days later. Going in with a bad attitude, my expectations were extremely low. Except, turns out he was really nice. I mean a genuinely nice guy. Very Polite. He opened the door for me, took me to a nice dinner and gave me a side hug when he walked me to my car. I agreed to go out with him again and everything repeated. He asked me out to a movie for a third date. I said yes. Some time during the course of the movie after I finished off the large popcorn he bought me, he reached over to try to hold my hand. I quickly pulled my hand away from him.

"I'm sorry", I whispered. "I don't do that".

"You don't do what? Hold hands??"

"Ummmm....yeah. I don't hold hands".

He never called me after that.

I gave up. I was going to let the rest of the 30 day membership run its course and not renew for the next month. This dating thing just wasn't for me. I would go back to spending my nights walking my dog and organizing my sock drawer. I even contemplated moving somewhere far away like Poland, taking up the Oboe, and learning to speak French. Aside, from the loneliness that ate away at my strong will and hurting heart, life would go back to normal and normal was good, right?

But something happened. 3 days before my membership ran out, I got a message from a man on the website that seemed to stick out like a sore thumb in the sea of messages I had from other potential suitors hoping to catch my attention. His smile was intoxicating and I knew I recognized him from somewhere. I clicked on Plano_Mtn_Clmbr's profile and read:

Life is so short! We get one trip on this rock - if we're lucky, that's 22 Olympics, 90 Christmas Holidays (and chances to watch "It's a Wonderful Life" and "A Christmas Story"), 3 fashion crazes involving bell-bottoms (2 down, 1 to go), and a lifetime of laughter, fun, and leaving a loving legacy. Seize the day - make the most of every divinely given moment. We are not promised tomorrow. This is my life's passion. Within that, I'm looking for someone to help me grab life and give to it all we can. This isn't decadence, hedonism, or debauchery, but a life of kindness, compassion, energy, excellence, passion, joy, altruism, and adventure. I'm looking for someone to share this adventure with - to be swept up in it. Whether it's what's for dinner, where to travel, what's that smell, or what is the meaning of life - the answer is to be found in God and together. I want someone who can match my passion, provide wisdom and reason, be a cheerleader, learn new things with me, and to show me the greatness of what make them unique. And for that special someone, I promise to bring all that I am, and all that I can become, to them. One last thing - the two most important loves of my life are my faith and my family (daughter, son, Mom, Dad, sister, niece, nephews, and okay, I guess brother-in-law too). Okay, enough about me - I want to learn about you! Drop me a line, and let's see if perhaps fate smiles on us and we get to live life to the fullest together. Now, stop, drop and roll...oopps, I mean live, laugh and love!

After I read it, despite the cynicism I had been feeling in my heart....something made me hit "Reply".

To be continued......

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Thursday, June 3, 2010

Don't You Touch My BACON

Usually, I try to stay away from voicing controversial opinions because it never fails that I will get at least one comment or email telling me how wrong I am. Which is fine, I don't mind you thinking I'm wrong, but when you get all drunk on your hater-aide and start calling me a cootie queen it makes me think, "Geeze, even though this is MY blog, which is about ME and MY opinions, maybe I'll just steer clear of voicing an opinion on anything other than my favorite Disney Character".

That being said, today I'm just going to come out and be controversial by saying,I don't like the Obama administration. And no, it's not just because I wear a "WWJD" bracelet, have an household that is taxed like we are Donald Trump and my daddy taught me Republican women are prettier. Yes, those contribute to my countdown to the next Presidential Election, but it's not my main reason. I work in the Human Resources industry and am having to dive into the specifics of the health care reform.

Now, I like to think of myself as an open-minded conservative. For example, I think attending a gay wedding would be so fabulous! They would probably have rainbow ponies for you to ride on and Lizza Manelli singing a duo with Elton John. We would toast to the happy couple with Cosmopolitans and leave covered in glitter. If that doesn't sound awesome, I'm not sure what does.

Basically, I'm not going to agree with a political view point just because it falls in line with my political affiliations stand. Mind you, I have been trying to look at the health reform with an open mind. That was until I heard the ugliest rumor I have ever heard. When this was initially brought to my attention I gasped and thought, "Could it be?" I mean this news effected me more deeply than when Save by the Bell went off air or when I found out that Jessica Simpson and Nick Lachey were getting a divorce. I felt....betrayed, hurt, scared and utterly horrified. For anyone who truly knows me, they know there is one thing I have loved deeply without fetter my whole life; Bacon.

I love bacon. No, scratch that, I ADORE bacon. Laugh all you want, but there is nothing like a slab of bacon to start your day off, followed by a BLT sandwich for lunch and shrimp wrapped in bacon for dinner. When I eat bacon, I feel like I'm in a fairytale world with little pink pigs prancing around fat and happy in top hats on a rainbow singing, "We will gladly sacrifice our life for your enjoyment".

Did you know that the health care reform and the government sticking their nose where it doesn't belong and trying to regulate our salt intake will RUIN bacon? I bet you didn't know that, huh? Do you know what makes bacon so damn good? SALT. Do you know what bacon taste like without salt? WARM CARDBOARD. Well, my democratic friends no need to say I was right, you can just quietly scrape off your bumper sticker in the middle of the night and take a stand and VOTE FOR BACON.

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Tuesday, June 1, 2010

A Diet Called Divorce (Excerpt)

Good Morning friends, family and foes. Since today is a busy day for me and I do not want to leave you empty handed, I decided to give you guys a little taste of my book, "A Diet Called Divorce". This excerpt comes from the first few pages of the chapter : Divorcee' is Sexy. Hope you enjoy! Oh and, this is copywrited so, basically....don't steal my shit! Hugs!

Click here to read my previous entry: http://spilledmilksaga.blogspot.com/2009/11/diet-called-divorce.html

There is a wonderful and beautiful life even after divorce. When I was knee deep in the middle of it, I never would have guessed it. After it was all said and done there were a lot of things I wished I would have said and wish I could have changed. But, that’s the problem with life, there’s no rewind button. You just have to keep moving forward and hope that the heroin of your story finally learns from her mistakes, like the heroin in this story finally did.

It’s kind of ironic that you have to royally screw things up before you can learn anything from it. You could say, “If only I had known what I know now”, but guess what? You didn’t know and you probably never would have gotten that kick in the ass that you needed to set yourself straight.

We don’t have to pretend that it doesn’t suck when you can’t always fix the mistakes you have made. My mistake was unfixable. So was my husband’s. The damage was already done and the hurt was too deep. Eventually you get around to forgiving one another but sometimes, it’s just too late. When you put to imperfect people together to try and live as one, too often the dreams become broken.

My divorce went through and finalized that hot June day along with thousands of others. My case was one in a million to the people who buzzed around me in the crowed downtown courthouse. I sat with my sweaty hands folded in my lap, silently saying my last name over and over again in my head. After today, that name would no longer belong to me. In the back of my mind, I was reminded that within a few short months, the name would belong to the woman he chose over me. I no longer had the right to bear the name. Sure, it would take a few weeks to once again go through the motions of changing my name legal back to my maiden’s in an attempt to pretend this marriage never happened. But I knew better. This name would be the last thing I shared with him and I thought if I repeated it enough, this part of my life wouldn’t be easily forgotten.

My soon-to-be ex husband forfeited his required presence at the courthouse and I sat quietly with my lawyer in line to see the judge who would dissolve my marriage with ease in a matter of minutes. The court house was packed, filled with anxious faces ready and willing to put their past behind them. Yet, amongst the crowd were a few faces similar to mine; swollen red with puffy moist eyes trying their best to hold in their emotions until they made it back to their empty homes.

Mind you, I knew that this was how it was suppose to be. I was emotionally exhausted. At this point, I was ready to move on. But, despite knowing that finalizing this divorce was necessary, didn’t make it hurt any less. The knot in my stomach, was so painful I sat hunched over in my chair until the court attendant called my name.

Walking into the cold court room, I watched the end of a divorce proceeding for a couple who had been married for 17 years. My short three year marriage was nothing compared to what they were losing. Their years of memories would be much harder to forget than mine; I was envious of that. I was already starting to forget my husband and our time together was becoming a distant memory. I didn’t want to loose those recollections, not yet anyway.

Upon approaching the bench, I studied the man who held the power to completely change my future in his hands. I knew the judge wouldn’t remember me and my case by the next hour but I would always remember his face. He had long grey hair that he kept back in a ponytail; his eyeglasses were black rimmed and trendy. The black gown used to distinguish him as a high powered judge, hung open and loose, revealing his worn blue jeans and Hawaiian shirt he sported. He had a kind smile, crooked teeth and looked at me sympathetically as I approached the bench with my lawyer. Smiling down from his bench, at the shaking girl he looked straight into my eyes that tried with all their might to hold back the tears, and asked me if I wanted a divorce. I hesitated before I replied.

He didn’t know the truth. He didn’t know that I still didn’t know the answer to this question. That I had gone back and forth for the past several months trying to figure out whether or not my marriage could work. This man didn’t know that I had tried only weeks before to go back to my husband and beg him for forgiveness but had been turned down and rejected with the same conviction and certainty I had abandoned my husband with only a few months before. The internal struggle for the truth continued in my heart and mind and I feared it would be a question I would never get the answer to. But, regardless of it all, I knew my response had to be yes. There was no other choice, no turning back. The divorce was happening and there was nothing I could do about it.

I can’t remember exactly what was said or how it was handled but I’ll never forget the deep tone in his voice and the echo in the room when he said the request was approved. It was done. My marriage was over. For such a dramatic experience, there was no bolt of lightening or roll of thunder. Nothing in the rest of the world had change even though everything had just changed in mine.

My lawyer escorted me out of the courtroom and told me congratulations. I laughed because it was the most unfitting choice of words anyone could have chosen. It was a devastating moment in time. Maybe an “I’m sorry” or a “Best of luck” would have been more fitting but this was nothing to congratulate me on. I had ruined a marriage and paid a slime ball $5,000 to do it.

“No congratulations to you” I replied as I walked away, not looking back at the very perplexed lawyer standing with his hand extended.

Alone on the steps of the downtown courthouse I sat my tired body down and soaked in the warm sun that was beating down on my face. The courthouse lawn was crazy for a Thursday afternoon and the crowds of people rushing up and down the stairs, made my resting spot somewhat of a hazardous one. The transsexual who looked like she drove in on a Rainbow pony, dashed past me leaving behind the glitter and the faint scent of Vanilla. Her clear plastic heels knocked my purse down to the next step, spilling half of its contents.

Regaining my composure, I nestled back into my spot on the steps, this time with my purse tucked protectively behind my legs. Somehow, despite the loud voices and stirring that surrounded me, I closed my eyes and thanked God that despite it all, life goes on. Even though I felt in that moment I had the energy to do nothing, in the back of my mind I knew that eventually I would have to stand up, walk down the steps and move on with my life.

I listened as the birds chirped in the air. Although I hoped I wouldn’t end up with a big pile of bird poop caked in my hair, I smiled as their happy song echoed through the lawn and remembered the bible verse my mom would remind me of as a child, “If God takes care of the birds don’t you know he’ll take care of you, too?”

I believed that God would take care of me and that he would some how make this all fit into his plan for my life. As the tears began to fall, I knew I didn’t trust God to heal my marriage, so I took my own path, doing what I thought was the right thing because deep down, I didn’t believe God really loved meI understood that one day this would all be a distant memory. Something I would look back on and had trouble remember what I felt, how I felt and the decisions I made that forever affected my life and the lives of others. I knew there would come a day when I no longer held on to the guilt that would haunt me in my moments of weakness.

But as I sat on those steps, I knew today wasn’t that day. Today was the final reminder of my sins and of my failure. It wasn’t just the loss of my husband that made me mourn, it was the loss of that blind faith I had always had. Yes, it was horrible that I let my spouse down, but what is so much worse is I let God down. . Maybe even if I would have trust in God my marriage still would have failed. I’m not sure, but at least I wouldn’t have had to go through the pain alone. As I got up to leave, I knew that God has his hand over me. He would help me pick up the pieces, mend my heart and show me his unfettering love that I could amazingly still feel despite my disappointment to him. I knew my faith would continue to grow and I would eventually see the big picture in God’s plan for my life. The failure was a blessing in disguise because of the way it grew me as a person. .....(to be continued)

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