Today was FANf*ckingtastic.

I had a few friends who were clearly worried about me... going out of their way to call - to make sure I knew I was loved today.... At first I thought people were being nice, then I realized that people were worried that I would be crying in my cheerios over El Capitan and how this is my first 'divorced' Valentine's Day.... 

Umm..... I wasn't. lol

Remember that thing where I said I moved on.....?  I meant it. :)

So last night I thought about what I wanted to do today and I thought that what I really wanted to do was start a new tradition for me and the kids on Valentine's Day.... something that was just ours, something that is special and makes that day different from any other day.....

My love of donuts has been life long - and when I was a girl my Mom would always have a donut for me to breakfast on my birthday.  Donuts were a special treat and we didn't really live close to a shop or bakery or grocery store - so I would always wonder *how* she had gotten the donut when I never saw her buy one at the store the night before.... kind of like the mystery of Santa:   where did my yummy donut come from?

It didn't really matter how the donut got to my plate - it's purpose was to make me feel special on my important day... and needless to say:  mission accomplished. 

So thinking about creating my own Valentine's Day tradition with the kids, I thought about my donuts... and then I realized that a donut was too easy - I would have to take it to the next level and go Cupcake Jones.

Cupcake Jones is a *fantastic* cupcake shop located in downtown Portland.  Born and thriving *before* the TV trend of cupcake shops..... Cupcake Jones is the well-loved child of Lisa & Peter.   I first met them at a bridal show in 2007 - just after they had opened their shop.  They were nervous and Lisa was a bit timid and shy - so of course I bounded over to introduce myself..... 

I remember thinking.... "A cupcake store?  like.... ONLY cupcakes?  I doubt people will buy enough cupcakes to *just* have a store that only sells that.... right?"  (how wrong I was ... lololol).

I quickly unwrapped one of the mini red velvet cupcakes and popped it in my mouth.  I wasn't expecting much... it's just a cupcake - right?

Wrong.

It was like a million tiny fireworks of joy and happiness exploded in my mouth.... no.  REALLY.  It's like baked crack......   they were *sooooo* good I spent the rest of the time trying to find subtle ways to walk past their booth to snag another one... and another one... and another one.... my own potential clients be dammed:  I just wanted more Cupcake Jones.

And so began my love-affair with Cupcake Jones.

Over the years I have watched them grow and *thrive*.... but it's not *just* the Cupcakes that makes them so great.... it's WHO. THEY. ARE. as a business.

Portland is a great town.... when the sign first happened *we* all really were a little surprised at the attention.  Portland is the home of bacon donuts and naked bike rides and it *really* is a town where people believe in equality and organic and locally grown and - for the most part - people don't really judge other people..... well, ok - except for the fact that if *you* don't separate your garbage and recycling - I actually have friends who go around their neighborhood the night before the garbage gets picked up and they sort through the cans of the people who don't recycle properly to make sure that things that *can* be recycled don't go in a landfill.

Yeah... I could put their names right here..... T....... but I won't. lolol (You know who you are though).

This is a place where people say yes to love, yes to nature, yes to the environment and yes to doing (for the most part) the right thing..... Cupcake Jones is the epitome of those ideals that make us:  Portland.

Even as a small (very small) business in their infancy, Cupcake Jones provided benefits and healthcare for their employee's.  They didn't *have* to - they had few enough employee's to avoid the state/federal requirements.... but they did it anyway:  because it's the right thing to do.

Cupcake Jones painstakingly recycles - EVERY.THING - from packaging parts to the daily use of paper towels ... because again:  it's the responsible thing to do.

Cupcake Jones buys and supports as many local farms and vendors as they can:  because it's the right thing to do.

Cupcake Jones CONSTANTLY donates their time or their product to charities and charitable events ALL around the city and state... NOT to have their sign up, NOT for any kind of free advertising .. but because they stand - not only behind their *AMAZING* product - but also behind their community, which is more than the right thing to do... it's an amazing thing to do.

I could have saved myself the time and the gas and the expense of Cupcake Jones cupcakes - and just picked up a pack of 6 rather bland, though still ok, cupcakes at the grocery store.... but that's not good enough on many levels.

When we choose - with our money - to support a business that does so many things that are *right* - we get to be apart of that.  We get to be apart of a company that *values* not only its customer with top grade products, but it's employee's and it's entire community .... and all I had to do was spend $16.95.

When was the last time that $16.95 bought *you* health insurance, responsible recycling, a smaller carbon footprint, investment in a local farmer and a donation to a local charity..... oh - and don't forget 12 perfect, handmade, hand decorated mini-cupcakes that will feel like a food orgasm in your mouth.......?

I'm going to go with:  never.
That is *seriously* money well spent.

This morning the children woke up and I ran out to assemble their Cupcake Jones Breakfast of Love, and when they came racing out of our room they were.... shrieking ... The Boy knew right away what was on the counter and he screamed, "[The Girl] - look!  It's a Cupcake Jones Cupcake!!!!!"

The Boy has been taught well.

They tore into their cupcakes and their cards - and we had the most prefect start to a wonderful day.  Not only because I wanted to rip of all my clothes and roll around - neigh - SWIM - in the delicious yumminess of my own red velvet Cupcake Jones cupcake..... but because I had successfully started a new tradition for us.  Yeah me! :)

Cupcake Jones will always be a special place for the three of us - and as they get older and concepts about recycling and charity and community become things we talk about - they will be raised to value a company like Cupcake Jones who conducts their business how I want my children to live their lives: by choosing to do the right thing even when it might sometimes be the hard thing.  

See.... Cupcake Jones is one small reason why living in Portland freakin' rocks.  :)

The rest of the day was homeschooling and doing some design work - and then... drum roll please.... I heard from High School Edward!!!!!!  I hadn't talked to him since 1993.... so it was CRAZY when he started iming me on facebook today.

I had seen Jasper and Emmett in 2000, just after I moved home.  High School Edward had moved way and there was a bit of a rift that had formed and the three boys didn't talk any more.  Off and on, I kept in touch with Jasper and then found him two months ago on facebook.  (He works in Hollywood now... so he's a private guy and hard to find online.  lololol)

High School Edward talked about how great it was to read what I wrote... and how bittersweet it was for him because he deeply regretted losing touch with Jasper and Emmett.  He talked about how he remembers that first date as being "dreamy" even though on the way to my house he got his first parking ticket..... 

I had forgotten that part - the ticket... not the dreamy.
Certainly not the dreamy.

He said how insanely attracted to  me he was - and how i was electric and intense.  

Sooooo..... *most* of the time, I am willing to protect the innocent... and even the 'not-so-innocent'.  I don't mind - I really don't..... *I* didn't ask for all this to happen.  I didn't plan for this to happen - I wasn't trying to expose El Capitan so that people will see him and point the finger at him for years to come.....

I haven't sewn a public scarlet letter to Yoga Girls' chest.... again - she *asked* for a lot of things, but - let's be fair:  she didn't ask to be publicly humiliated and while she may (or may not) deserve it.... it isn't the right thing to do.

A few week ago I realized that there was a 'second OTHER' folder on my facebook account.  I clicked on it and over a hundred messages that were sent around the time that the sign went viral.... I answered each and every one - embarrassed that I hadn't done it sooner. 

Oh.... and then there were the two gems above.

These two tools were *dumb* enough to send me such charming words of kindness... with their OWN photos attached and their full names attached!  NEITHER of them is what *I* would consider - handsome.  The first guy proudly wore knee-length jean shorts a mullet to Vegas in the 90s..... how old is he now?!?!?! lololol

The first guy also has a business of his own - I wonder how many women in his area - who EMPLOY HIM and PAY HIM their hard earned money..... happen to look like me?  He's too good to 'f*ck' on 'old nasty bag' - but I bet you he cashes checks from women who look *exactly* like me alllllll the time.
just sayin'.

The second guy - is a younger kid.... but he's nice enough to tag his aunt on hi facebook page... I wonder if she would love to know what a kind and noble soul her nephew is.
sigh.

Everyone is entitled to their opinion - *everyone*.  I have no problem with people saying allllll kinds of nasty and horrible things to me, or about me - really.  I'm a big girl (clearly) and I can take it.  Sometimes though - I'm just kind of done with it all - and....  if these two Darwinian Geniuses were *dumb* enough to send me NASTY messages with their full names and pictures attached to them.... then I have to assume that they don't mind being the MEN they are and standing behind their words.

Right?

For the record, the first guy is *older* than I am.... and I would rather die *alone* having the last time I ever feel a man presence near me be that of the man who was cheating on me - than to let this fat f*ck slop his huge, rotund gut *anywhere* near my 'old and nasty' girl parts.
Period.

I'd sooner take up with a collection of barn animals.... at the very least:  they would surely have better manners.

In the second place.... why on *earth* do we feel this bizarre need to communicate such kindness to begin with......?  Really.  What did either of these men gain by sending me these messages?  Nothing.

And yet they did it anyway.

I'm not sure if this is the 'right' thing to do.... I've struggled with this for a few months.... however, in light of the season:  I just want to share the same 'love' they were so eager to share with me.

Bullies get to be bullies because they hide in secret - they can say whatever they want to people from a place of privacy - and so I had to ask myself why am I continuing to afford them such privacy?

They were man enough to send those messages - is it wrong for me to believe that they wouldn't want the opportunity to stand behind their words?  I should think they do.
In fact, being the strong, handsome, young, un-nasty MEN that they are - I should think they would be eager to stand up for what they believe in and be men of their words.

And I for one.... am allllll too willing to help give them that opportunity.

So.... I hope they get *a lot* of love on this Valentine's Day! 
Muah. xoxoxoxo

High school was a rough time for me, it was the 90s - days well before the internet and cell phones and all manner of the modern technology that keeps us informed of the latest fashions and trend down to the millisecond.  This lack of ... 'information' didn't serve me well as I was a fairly well traveled teen having lived in four states before my Freshman year. 

The child of hippie-parents who had grown up in the free-lovin'/all-lovin' warmth of Southern California, I was taught that people were indeed: all the same.  My parents didn't believe in judging people based on anything other than their character, actions and words.  (Though, The Bubbie won't shy away from a well-placed racist joke, that's for sure... but, what person who appreciate good comedy does?)

In my high school years this broad exposure to, and appreciation of, all manner of different people would help create some hard years for me socially.  I was never afraid of telling people just how back-a$$ stupid they might be... and as you can imagine, this doesn't usually get you voted Homecoming Queen. lololol

Small town living on *hard* on The Bubbie, and hard on me.... I had grown up in Seattle, spent my summers living Burbank, CA - and we had lived in Huntsville, Al. - finding ourselves suddenly living among less than 6,000 people was.... challenging.  While I kind of miss the security of living in a town where no one locked their doors - even at night... and my parents thought *nothing* of me walking home from the college campus at midnight - alone (and quite literally in several feet of snow without sock, in my white keds *with* my jeans folded and pegged above the ankle.... just sayin') - it was a safe place.

No where else would I ever feel so safe as I did in Mt. Vernon, Iowa.  Well, physically safe... not so much emotionally.  sigh.

My senior year my parents were determined to move to Cedar Rapids, home to the modeling agency that found Ashton Kutcher - owned by Mary Brown.  In the summer that followed my senior year I briefly took photos for some of their newer models.  Mary was a nice lady and I had already worked for an agency out of Iowa City, so she used to let me practice my photography skills on her newer models.  Experience for both of us and if she liked a photo and wanted to use it - she'd pay me then.  It was excellent.

Eager to leave the small town, we moved a few months into my senior year and I enrolled at John F. Kennedy High.  Finally in a school with more than one floor, more than one wing... and more than 50 students in my entire grade.  *That* is what high school was supposed to feel like - with frantic runs from chem lab to your locker, to struggle with your combination only to run to Journalism class with Mr. Lindsey... and be late as usual.  I *loved* it.  LOVED it.

There was a bonafide school newspaper and a DARK ROOM.  Situated upstairs and across from Mr. Tsangs classroom was a large closet with ventilation where a darkroom was located.  I would spend hours and hours and hours... more than would be advised I'm sure, breathing in allllll those chemicals while I took advantage of the schools many chemical and paper resources and printed pictures well into the night.  Digital photography kids just don't know what they were missing. 

I loved the hustle and bustle, the variety of students, my darkroom, for which I had a key and permission to be on school grounds after hours because *I* was the student newspapers Photo Editor.  Amazing.

I also loved a certain Jr.... we'll call him my High School Edward.  lololol 
He was a bit tall, a bit lanky and had these deep brown eyes.  I had had a crush on him for a while but I hadn't said anything... running up the this dance where the girls ask the guys, I was working up the courage to ask him to go when a kid on our swim team (for which I was a manager) - asked me to go do the dance with him.
Oh, I should explain something........

When I was in middle school in Alabama, there were these two twin boys who were the sort of classic Hollywood version of a 13 year old SuperNerd.  These brothers had all the acne-awkwardness of the entire school stuffed into their zit-ridden genes all they needed were capes and tricycles to ride away on... but they were nice: so , very, nice.

One day in Mrs. Bailey's class one of the twins, the taller and slightly less socially awkward of the two of them, asked out the school's most 'beautiful' and popular cheerleader.  First she laughed in his face, then she said yes and they made plans to meet at the Taco Bell in the movie theater parking lot that night. 

Needless to say - that night Taco Bell was occupied by one very excited and eager... and *alone* teenage boy as said Cheerleader never showed.  Then the next morning she was running the halls bragging about the joke she pulled... and both twins had to suffer the day as a laughing stock.

What a c*nt.  Even then I knew that everyone's favorite Cheerleader was likely to end up being everyone's favorite ride in high school and she'd grow up to be used up and nasty... after all - she was well on her way if certain middle school footballs boys were to be believed.  I decided then and there that if *anyone* had the nerve to ask me out - that I would go, no matter what.  I saw how hard it was for him to work up the nerve - and really - would it have killed her to just go to a movie with the kid?
Really?
No... and she might have learned a thing or two about herself if she had.....

But fast forward to my senior year and standing in the hallway, Monday before the dance - and this nice kid who is too short and too young and doesn't even drive.... asks me to the dance where it's ladies choice.  Dammit - *I'm* supposed to do that asking.... and I'm *not* asking!!!!!
But, rules are rules.... so I say yes.

I had this *adorable* dress  - and I looked smashing... but this kid didn't drive (and neither did I as the result of a HUGE car accident I had been in earlier in the school year - more on that in another post) - and I was still too emotionally fragile to drive.... so - The Papa and The Bubbie drove us.

Yes... The Papa and The Bubbie picked up the too-short Boy, took us for dinner (though were nice enough to sit at another booth....) then drove us to the dance where.... to my UTTER. HORROR... students reported seeing my *parents* necking in the school's parking lot.....
File *THAT* under awesome parenting *FAILS*. lolololol

I don't think it was the date the too-short Boy had dreamed up, but he and his parents were moving out of state the following week... and it was rumored he had a crush on me... and even *then* I had an accountability to myself to do what I felt was right..... we there we were:  my cute dress, him, and my parents and their embarrassing display of public affection.
Perfect.

The next night, however, High School Edward showed up and took me out.... and IT. WAS. DREAMY. 
Ok... he was dreamy.  Even though I was a curvy 36-26-36  (yes you read that right) - he was very thin.... I could almost wrap my arms around him twice... which I did *without* the audience of my parents because he had a car... a small two door... red?  green?  car.... whatever it was, it showed up outside my parents house and dropped me off before midnight.  I was in heaven.

It wasn't long before High School Edward and his two best friends - Jasper and Emmett - and I became a bit of a foursome as we went *everywhere* together.  I was grounded countless times for coming home well-after curfew - eyes still slightly shut and sensitive to light, hair mussed and pushed to one side, clothes slightly askew - while I stumbled in the front door to my parents house.

The Papa would be *furious* - anger flickering through his eyes and pulsing out of his veins... it would be years later that I figured out that poor Papa thought I was having sex with High School Edward.... suffice to say - every one of those nights was  spent either on the floor or the couch - where all four of us had fallen asleep watching pre-taped episode of Ren & Stimpy.  All four of us:  fully clothed.

I was totally, completely and utterly in luuuuurve with High School Edward.  He played guitar, had a band - and he was PUNK. ROCK.... well, okay, Grunge more like.  It was true and honest and intense - the way love in high school is meant to be.... but it was also very innocent:  everyone's respective body parts stayed securely inside their own clothes.

I was a nice girl... remember?  ;)
(no seriously.... it was all very, very innocent and sweet).

He introduced me to my all-time favorite movie:  Singles. 
Having grown up in Seattle... it literally spoke to my soul - also, my DocMartin, summer dress wearing teenage self who was totaly smitten with Eddie Vedder.... AND it's Cameron Crowe.  I'm not sure there's any better movie out there. 

High School Edward also had a blue and white checkered flannel that I stole from him and wore to school like teenage girls do.  The classic stealing of your boyfriends favorite shirt or letter-man's jacket just to make sure every other girl in school knew that you had a man... and they couldn't have him.

Years later I wore that beloved flannel through several countries and was a staple in London once I started working shows.  Obviously it rains a lot in London, but when you've got a camera bag and whatnot - and you're going to be at the front of a stage fighting for pole position:  a jacket is a no-go.  I would wrap my trusty flannel around my waist, shoot my show, then wear the flannel home... not too fashionable for London circa 1997... but - I loved that flannel.
LOVED IT

For Valentine's Day of senior year, High School Edward recorded me a song.  I was blown away, not only because he didn't suck - BUT - because he had an actual mini-recording studio set up to record himself playing guitar and singing.  On a green labeled cassette, High School Edward sang 'Wonderful Tonight' by Eric Clapton changing the lyrics to 'long black hair'.....  it was, for all intensive purposes:  my most treasured thing.

Sadly.... in 1997 (in North London), someone stole my red VW Golf - which contained that green labeled cassette.  I cried for days... not because the car was gone... but because I knew someone somewhere had my treasured tape and would most likely just throw it in the dust bin.
sigh.... tear..... wipe. :(

High School Edward, Jasper, Emmett and I got into alllllll kinds of trouble - in, at and around school.  Jasper, being tall and blonde and from a wealthy family - also had an amazing personality... and it wasn't long before I realized I had a crush on him..... I know - fickle, girl. Damn.

Leading up to my 18th birthday I had arranged to have a mosh at the local, indoor skate park.  Obviously High School Edward's band would play (I did photos for them too..... lolol) and then the skate park had two of their friends bands play.  Jasper and I met up at his house to make flyers to hand out at school to advertise our mosh which I think was.... $3 to get into?  Sitting on the floor we needed a theme - with a Ren & Stimpy: of course.

We were upstairs in Jasper's room (in the largest home I'd ever been in, to be honest) and we were sitting on his floor making the flyers.  Initially I was distracted because his bedroom has it's own bathroom attached ot it... but it wasn't the master bedroom - that was just *his* room and his *own* bathroom.  Really - having your own bathroom is the way to any teenage girls heart. 

Jasper, a talented artist, was drawing various characters from the show with funny sayings - and we were laughing.... and laughing... and then he was flipping me sh*t and I went in to hit him and suddenly we weren't laughing any more because our tongues were otherwise occupies and we ..... were kissing.
Crap.

It wasn't any kind of long, meaningful kiss.... but - it was nice:  too nice.  We straightened up quickly and both felt a sense of wrong.... I was with 'Edward' - and he was Edwards BFF.... and I was about to Yoko that sh*t up... which I didn't want to do.  I knew that Jasper liked me... but I also knew that he didn't like me enough to grenade his friendships - and.... I was old enough to know that I wasn't likely to marry either of these guys - so sticking around just to cause drama and end everyone's friendship was wrong.

Shortly after that.... High School Edward and I broke up.  I was distraught at first.... jealous to see the three of them, still close as ever and having a great time without me.... but I quickly cheered up when well over 150 people showed up at my 18th Birthday Mosh - some with gifts and cards - and the middle band brought me out onto the half-pipe and had everyone sing me Happy Birthday. 
It. Was. AWE.SOME.

A year later I packed up that cassette, my flannel and whatever else I could fit into one suitcase and moved to London.  To this day I don't know that High School Edward knows all that he gave me:  my first taste of rock photography - which I would turn into a viable and published career.  My sacred flannel that I *believe* I still have in the attic somewhere... that went on tours and was even in a few documentaries - but most of all, some of the best memories I have of high school.

I will *always* love High School Edward, Jasper and Emmett... muah. :)
.

Sigh.
There just *aren't* words for how... disappointing this is. 

I was never a huge fan of Eddie Cibrian - he was on a few shows here and there... but I thought he was a bit of a tool in general.  I certainly had *no* idea who Brandi Glanville was... and frankly:  I'm wising it had stayed that way.

When I was booked on the Jeff Probst show, they informed me that Miss Brandi was also on my show - and that when she arrived we all had to remain in our own dressing rooms with the doors closed.

No one - not us mere mortals for sure - were allowed to see her, meet her or even *try* to make eye contact with her.....

Umm... okay......?

Miss Brandi's segment filmed before mine and I watched from the side of the stage.  I though Jeff Probst was *actually* kind of an ass to her... she was clearly *very* impressed with herself - yammering on and on - telling her story.... she was so *passionate* about her pain and her loss and her *suffering*.... and Probst was.... kind of hard on her.

At the time, it started making me nervous.  You do all this prepping with various levels of Producers before you film your segment, I think I did at least around 15 hours of 'interviews' and prepping for my 6 minute segment.  Seriously.  It's *a lot* of work.  They had said that Probst would be nice to me - that this show was about *how* women can move forward and find adventure after being cheated on.

I watched them film Miss Brandi's segment and I didn't see a whole ton of 'moving on' and certainly little 'adventure'.  I began to get a bit worried about how he would approach my segment.

As they bantered back and forth Probst kept saying.... "But, you're no longer married - so you're not *really* a Beverley Hills Housewife - Are you?!?!"

Brandi kept explaining over and over that she as *in* the show- she even told him that she was in all the promo photos for the new season - because now instead of being the friend of a legit cast member, she was an actual 'cast member' in her own right for the coming season.

Probst didn't let up - he kept hammering home that as a single Mom she was 'no longer' the Beverly HIlls Housewife she claimed to be..... I was stunned: and then they edited all that out.

It wasn't until she explained that *this* - the whole affair had happened TWO YEARS EARLIER.... WHAT??? - that I began to think that Probst thought she was really just miking the whole thing.

Ironically.... I had only been divorced a few months and left 5 months prior to *that* and I wasn't nearly as bitter and pissed off as Miss Brandi was..... lololol

After the show I looked up a few things on the whole affair and was disappointed to see that the two couples were friends - and that Brandi had *thought* she and LeAnn were friends - and that might, reasonably, explain some of her upset.  Ok: fine.

I was *very* unimpressed with LeAnn's repeated songs and tweets and general whining about how awful Brandi was and how no one "understood" their love... blahf*ckingblah.... wah.... did you break up someone's marriage and now you want the world to 'understand' you? 
I think not.

However..... it nagged me a bit that TWO YEARS on Miss Brandi was still crying 'thief'... I mean:  c'mon, two years?!?!?!  That seems like a *really* long time to be wrapped up in your own personal misery.  At some point, YOU are the one holding you back, not your past, not your loss, not the betrayal:  but YOU.

Then LeAnn appeared on whatever TV show after rehab and there was *more* whining from her... really?  ugh.  Can't these two just move the f*ck on already?  

Sooo.... *now* Miss Brandi has written a book.  Curious, I picked up the new US weekly that discusses and said book.... and WOW..... what a freakin' train-wreck.

Turns out that Brandi met and hooked up with Eddie while he was already living with another woman.  WHAT?  Are you kidding me.....?  THEN - according to Brandi's OWN BOOK - she was a "top only lesbian" - and she and Eddie would invite women into their bedroom for... "fun".

Huh?

I'm sorry.... Brandi Glanville - you TWEETED horrible nasty things about *your sons STEPMOTHER* because LeAnn had the audacity to tweet "going on vacation with my boys".... and allllllllll the while, YOU had stolen Eddie from another woman AND THEN you HOOKED UP with other women IN YOUR OWN BEDROOM?

But LeAnn is *the* bad guy?

LeAnn is the *dumb* guy who thinks she's found love.... clearly she's never met The Papa who would tell her that Anytime a Man Marries His Mistress:  A Job Opening is Created.
Period.

Do the math LeAnn.... this isn't going to add up to you and Eddie growing old together.

Aside from that.... how the *hell* do you expect to play with *that much fire* and not get burned?  You weren't this 'happy housewife' whose husband innocently left her for another woman.... *that* is not who/what you are.  Not by a loooooong shot.

It's not really any of my business... but it kind of is.  When you degrade your marriage to being a carousel of hot women you and your husband take turns making out with.... *how* do you get to hold him up to a certain moral standard later?  Um.... newsflash:  YOU DON'T.

You *also* don't get to cry about it.... FOR TWO YEARS!!!! As though you were some kind of victim.... the true *victims* here are the children who a) have a douche bag for a father, b) have a mother who wrote a book exposing all the horribly poor choices she made during their marriage and after and c) a stepmother who will no doubt be traded in for a new one... and a new one... and a new one......
Sigh.

I'm not trying to be judgmental - what people do in their bedroom is *none* of my business and I'm no one to judge.... but this less than 'lily-white' version of the Glanville/Cibrian household is one that Miss Brandi has neglected to share before now while at the same time she's been more than willing to paint LeAnn with the brush of a whore and a home-wrecker ....  That might be true - but one could argue - what kind of 'home' was being 'wrecked'?

It kind of pisses me off, if I'm being honest.  Brandi Glanville has made a freaking *living* out of being a 'scorned' and bitter wife.  She tweets her hate non-stop, she's say's *horrible* things about LeAnn - and people let her... because LeAnn *did* do one of the worst things someone can do to another person:  she stole Brandi's husband.....

However, should we not stop and think for just a second that if you have a truly treasured item that you love and adore and would protect with everything.... do you leave it on your bed for other women to play with?
Man.... Eddie must have magic hands or be hung like a Trojan horse... because I'm pretty sure these women aren't swooning form his acting skillz.  

So to Brandi Glanville I say:  Get The F*ck Over Yourself.
First and foremost, for the sake of your children... move on and let THEM move on.  They have a stepmother who *wants* to co-parent them... thank your lucky stars and stop whining.  Sorry you didn't get to handpick the woman your husband would leave you for... but since the two of your were seemingly 'auditioning' women for the role... you don't get to act all indignant and surprised now.

If *I* looked like you... I was be *running* that town.  I'd be dating up a storm and LOVING my life.... you have a nice home, two gorgeous boys and a body that is *amazing*.... why are you wasting yourself by selling yourself out as an angry  bitter, bitch with an ax to grind.  No offense, but for a lot of men:  that's a bigger turn off than me being overweight.

No man is ever going to want to seriously date you while he thinks he's going to pay the price for everything Eddie ever did to you... that he's going to bear the burden of mending all of your broken emotions.  Sure, most men want to 'save' a girl.... they want to be Superman, not PIcasso - they have little interest in putting back together some chaotic emotional mess.

Sorry... but they just don't.

To LeAnn I say.... run for the freaking hills..... mark my words, it won't be long before you're wearing Brandi's stilettos and crying the blues on twitter about the latest blonde taking the Cibrain boys on a vacation.  
Sadly.... you're likely to never shed that incredibly public scarlet letter that Brandi has so thoughtfully sewn to your chest for the last two years..... like most women who break up a marriage:  you will suffer the affects of the damage you've caused for years to come, without or without Eddie by your side.  Karma is a bitch, and I think *you* thought her name was Brandi.... but I'm guessing it's not and if you're more likely to find her name by scrolling through Eddie's cell phone.
just sayin'.

So, first of all... man:  I am busting my *a$$* at the gym.... and it's not 'breaking down' nearly as quickly as I would hope.  
sigh

It's gotten to the point where 10 miles on the bike is my *slow* day.  So I have a * wonderful* friend Erin (who, I think we might be hearing more from/about in the near future....) and she challenged me on Wednesday to 11 miles.

So I did 13.25.  So Erin upped it to 17.... but added "don't try for that right away".

I went back and did 17.5 on Thursday.
Friday was my 'down' day - and I logged 10 miles easy breezy.

Saturday El Capitan has the kids for the afternoon, he arrived and said that it's "too expensive  to have them until after dinner time - so he would have them back by 4 or 5.  

It's *awesome* for me that the chidlren are freaking' *free* the other 6.5 days out of the week....
sigh. 
lol.

So I had him pick up the kids at the gym and now..... *NOW* - I can get my game on.  When I have the kids at the gym, I can only work out (w/time to shower) in 2 hours.  Knowing that I have four hours at the gym means I can work out for however long I want and then have time for the hot tub AND a shower. 

At this point:  it's as *close* to a hot date as I'm going to get! lolol

I started up Eclipse and finished it - then I started up Breaking Dawn.  I hit the *FIRST* 11 miles, then I took a break, stretched, got more water and THEN - I did another 11 miles.....

My total for SATURDAY:  22 MILES.  :)
Woof*ckingHoo.  BooYah.... and all that.

While I was working out, I noticed a girl who I have chatted to before (because remember - I'm *that* girl at the gym... lolol)  and I watched as she did her cardio - then she lifted for an hour - and then by the time I got down to the locker room she was just blow drying her hair.

"Holy sh*t....."  she stated (BTW, she has great tatoo's - and we're *clearly* goning to be good friends. haha) - "Are you JUST finishing up your ride now......?  How long did you go?"

Me, of course, i'm *beaming* that someone noticed how long I was working out - and I reply, "22 miles today!"

"Dude... you are STRONG!"  she exclaims.

Then she puts down the hair dryer and starts grilling me on intensity and how I need to start lifting - and she offers to help me out by showing me the machines and stuff.... *see* how nice people at the gym are if you're willing to be friendly and smile!
awesome.

Overall though... she's right:  I am strong.

I'm not sure how many of my friends - regardless of size - could hope on a bike and go 22 miles in under 90 minutes at a level of 10 - which isn't super hard - but surely isn't easy..... :)

Then I came home to an email. It was from a guy who - not previously mentioned on the blog - who I'd been talking to off and on, nothing serious... but talking.

Talking - I thought - with the intent of seeing what might come of it... the usual thing.

Anyhow - things were going along and then I get an email from let's call him:  Email Guy - who tells me that he thinks we're "moving too fast" and that I'm "not ready" for anything right now because it's too soon for me to get "hurt again".

Wow... so, so, sooooo many things to address here.

In the first place..... if chatting for months and never ONCE having bought my a$$ dinner means we're "moving too fast"... I don't even know what to say on that.  The last time I checked I wasn't wearing a burka or a nuns habit.... I mean - seriously.  Not fast. 
Not fast enough for me - that's for damn sure. hahahaha

Second, .... huh?  I'm 'not ready'?  Well, okay if *you* say so - person who has yet to spend enough time in my actual presence to purchase me a meal.  Are you kidding me?  *I* didn't get to decide when my marriage was over - that is a true statement. However... I can sure as sh*t assure you (Email Guy) - that *I* get to decide who and *what * am, or am not - ready for ..... 

Me. 
Not you.
Or Anyone Else.

There's no timeline for this.... there's no hard and fast rules on when and how ones heart recovers from any kind of devastation   There are suggestions:  and I can assure you that I've read every single one.  There are books filled with advice... and I have read every single one.  I have spent a looooong time dealing with my won pain, processing it, moving through it:  some says just wallowing in it.

However, each day dawns - and it's a new one.  Day after day - the pain lessens and you find yourself surfacing - less hurt, less upset.... more:  you again.  At least that's how it's been for me.

And yes.. I met someone - "Coffee Guy" - who I wasn't looking for... wasn't 'seeking' - and I actually surprised that I felt.... safe.  It caught me off guard - took me by surprise - and it wasn't something I was trying to have.  I wasn't looking for it - hoping for it... but there is was:  I felt safe.

So, it didn't work out with Coffee Guy... that's cool.  Sometimes in life, people come along and serve different purposes.  You think their role might be one thing - only to discover it was another.  For Coffee Guy, I think he came along to .... 'wake me up'.  

Meeting him, getting to know him - all added up to me realizing that finding someone else *might* be something I want to do... it might be something I don't want to leave 'off the table'.
That's all.  

I'm not putting my eggs in *anyone's* basket but my own.... BUT - that feeling of safety was wonderful and I realized that I wasn't afraid of it - of him... of possibility.
That was a HUGE moment of personal discovery for me.

So.  BASED on that  - based on my own personal intuition: I have to assume I am ready.
Ready for new things, new people, new experiences... and I'm looking forward to that.

No man.. .in person, on email or otherwise, is going to tell me different.
Sorry dude, no bueno.

Finally..... here is what I know:

Once you have had your heart ripped out, pulled apart, and destroyed.
Once you have had alllll your dreams stripped from the fabric of your life and burned in front of you.
Once you have had someone pull the pin on the grenade that causes you an emotional nuclear explosion.
Well... everything after that:  is just a firecracker.

No man... not you - Email Guy - not Coffee Guy... well, frankly - Not Any Guy - is *ever* going to hurt me the way I have already been hurt.  Sorry but after everything I've been through the most 'damage' anyone else is every going to do to me is going to amount to a firecracker. 
Period.

So..... take me or leave me.... I've been left before - lololol..... but know this:
You Sir, Are a Firecracker.  
lololol

As my new friend at the gym wisely noted.... I am strong.  
I plan to stay that way. :)

For the record... YES, you are reading that correctly:  I did 17.5 miles today on the bike... woofreakinghoo.

Honestly, I was *kind of* expecting a ticker-tape parade when I was done... but sadly, there was none. lololol

I've been working pretty hard at this.... I'd would nearly the 50 pound mark and doing it *without* potions or pills or shakes or meal replacement... well:  that's kind of a big damn deal.  At least in my world it is. :)

I have a friend - Miss Erin (and we'll all be hearing more from here very soon here) who is challenging me and driving my workouts from afar.  She dropped the hammer on 11 miles yesterday:  so I went 13.  She responded with a "goal" of 17 miles.... so I went back today and nailed 17.5.  (Yes, I know I've written that twice now... hahahahha).

I *think* I might get a better workout on a treadmill......?  But, I'm afraid to push things too far and irritate my knee... after all this hard work, all I need is an 'injury' as an excuse not to come back and then fall behind on all my progress.  It's always seems to work that way... you know?

Anyhow.  I have a specific bike that I like.  The first bike in the row is *really* hard to push on an 8.  The second bike in the row I can do 10 miles at a 10 in a solid 38 minutes.  The third bike is a bit loosy-goosy and I feel like it's getting away from me even at an 11..... so - long, boring detailed story short:  the second bike is *my* bike.  :)

Yesterday the gym was *packed* and I had to wait for a bike to come open.  There was also an older lady with a gym membership person waiting for a bike.... and when the first one came open I already had the paper towel and sanitizer for the woman to use (I had instinctively grabbed it before noticing there weren't any bikes open.. sigh).  Then I went back and got more for when the next bike opened up for me. 

The guy who got off the first bike had a laugh that I cleaned up his sweaty bike for him.. .we had that 'nod' and he walked down to the weights.

Today - I arrive *early* determined to get in my hour plus that I know I'm going to need to try to hit 17 miles - and thankfully *my* bike is open and next to it is the sweaty gym guy from the day before.  I sit down and he gives me the nod... and me - clearly knowing *no* boundaries in the gym - say hello and we chat for a second.

I am *not* gym cool... lololol

He has his headphones on and I, of course, am watching New Moon while drinking from my Team Edward New Moon water bottle.... oh yeah:  that's how sad I am :)

And suddenly this giant brick wall of a man comes up on my other side - he's nice, I've seen him around and I asked him a question about the treadmill the week before - and he offers me a card with a number on it.  We chat for a few seconds and he heads downstairs as well. I tuck the card into my Kindle holder and look up to see Gym Guy, headphones out, and staring at me .....

"Did he just give you his phone number.......?"  He asks.

"Oh, gawd no... lolol - can't you see all the other girls here - I doubt *that* man thinks I'm *his* type".... I reply.

"Umm... ok - I don't see why not.. but then what did he give you?"  He asks again.

"oh, he offered to help me with some personal training stuff...."  I explain.

Gym Guy doesn't seem sold on this - and we end up chatting for a while after that.... nothing like getting all red faced, sweaty and out of breath while *not* lying under a man, but instead sitting awkwardly next to him struggling to hit that 17th mile....
sigh.

Did I already say how *uncool* I am at the gym?

Do people really do that....?  Pick people up at the gym?  I mean - isn't there some kind of 'unspoken' rule about not 'flirting' or trying to pick people up while they are working out?  I should think there is... And I'm 1000000000% certain that the brick wall man really was just offering to help me.  I think that's one thing I've learned about going to the gym - once people see you has a 'regular' - someone they see every day - they are nice and offer to help you... which is really, really nice. :)

I picked up the kids and we were heading home.  Lately, I've been trying to talk to The Boy about going to "real school".  I've been looking into some private school options - I figure if I'm willing to stick it out at home for the long hall, and I work full time - then I can afford to put them both through private school.  BUT - this is something I have to warm the boy up to.....

Out of the blue in the back seat I hear a sniffling.....

"Mom.... Please don't make me go to 'real school' because the same thing is going to happen again...."  The Boy cries.

"What same thing?" I ask.

"The bullies will hunt me and kick me and beat me up and call me nerd.... Like last time."......." He states.

For a second I wonder - is this an active imagination?  I know he had trouble at school... but - perhaps he's just remembering it to be worse than it was?   "Honey, when did you have that happen..?." I ask him.

"At Barnes mom - Austin. Every school has an Austin mom - I just know it". The Boy continues to cry.

Ah... yes:  Austin.
My first introduction to Austin was when The Boy - age 5 - tells me that he and his "new friend" at school play "penis tag".  I just about threw up in my own mouth... but I held it together.  I asked him for details, which he didn't really provide... so I dressed him for school and called the Principal on my way in.  They called in a counselor and had a meeting with him and with this kid. 

Turned out that 'penis tag' involved Austin chasing down The Boy and punching him in the nuts.
Awesome.

Nothing happened to Austin, The Boy came home pretty much traumatized from the whole ordeal and I asked that in the future - the two boys be kept apart during recess.  But... it's public school:  185 Kindergarteners - and only 9 teachers on the play ground... so then this happened:

"Today Austin grabbed my face and breathed chocolate milk breath into my mouth."
"Today Austin chased me down and punched me in the stomach."
"Austin held me against the wall and kicked me in the ankle."
"Austin pushed me down in the puddle at the slide today....."

and on it went.

In the end, after The Boy was in tears every day on the way to school - we pulled him out in March and started homeschooling him.  In the two years since then, he's loved homeschooling and he's *very* social... but I worry as time goes on - as a single Mom - that both the children will need *more* that just me in their lives...

So, I'm driving and thinking about how to respond, and as I'm saying  to The Boy - "Anywhere you go in life, you're going to meet people you don't like, or who you feel are going to bull you - but you just have to......."

and The Boy cuts in with this fanf*ckingtastic gem:  "You know what Mom... this is happening because Dad was selfish.  He chose his girlfriend over me and now we don't have a house and I don't have a room and everything had to change..... and now I have to go to school and get bullied.  And that makes me angry, Mom."

Hmm... well, isn't that just rather craptastically true......?  sigh.
I let the car go silent for a second.. because I want to say the right thing.  He's so clear in his conviction of his father - and the truth is, where it not for our current circumstances - I would never consider anything but homeschooling him... so I'm *really* trying to find an honest argument to what he said.

In the end, while The Boy continues to cry silent little tears while looking out the window, I finally said this:  "I'm not sure if that's totally true or not... we might have sent you to 'real school' one day - I honestly don't know.  and, yes, you are right, things changed because Daddy made a bad decision - BUT - sometimes things in life happen that we don't like, and we have to just keep going..... we have to make the best of things because we don't have any other choice."

More silence.... then I realized that I was missing the most important part:  "Actually buddy, you *do* have a choice - you can either lay down and be sad and cry and feel angry about what happened or why it happened or who you think made it happen...  - which is kind of sucky way to live... - OR - you can accept things *even* if you don't like them - and just make the best of it - you have the choice to make it better... and you're really good at making things better."

I turned around to face him at the light, The Boy sniffled loud, glaring at me through his glasses with a look that I *thought* said "I call bullshit on that, Mom...."  but *instead* The Boy said, "Yeah... but that's not very fair to me Mom - that's not right..... "

"I know pal... I know....."  I started to say.

"But... you know - I guess that's kind of what happened to you.... so I guess I'll just have to do it, too".  he stated.

Wow.... I almost couldn't drive when the light turned green.  How does he put so much together?!?! How does he draw so many of the dots together to make such a clear picture of what's happening to us?  You think you can shield them from everything - certain conversations, fighting, etc.... but, I'll tell you what:  nothing takes the wind out of your 17.5 mile sails like a dose of reality from your 8 year old.
sigh.

Oh... an in spite of voluntary promises to the contrary... Coffee Guy never called.  I think I can safely assume that he *won't* call as it is no longer the 1990's and I'm pretty sure (or at least *very* hopeful) that people are no longer subscribing to the whole "The Rules" thing and waited three days.... plus:  it's been four.  hahaha
He was a nice guy, very sweet, great listener... but I think in the end, there were just too many crossed wires - I mean.. c'mon - I accidentally professed my 'undying love' for a virtual stranger (even if I *did* think I was writing the person it was *really* meant for.. my BFF) - and I think that that would creep anyone out. lololol
Lesson learned.... well played cyber karma... well played. hahaha

Onward and upward..... :)

As mentioned before (several times) - I have paid a "fat tax" for the past several years.  A monthly 'tax' in the form of an unused gym membership.  Sure, I could have cancelled it - at any time... but it feels crappy enough to *have* said membership and never get your lazy a$$ in there.

Cancelling the membership felt like taking lazy to a point of no return.

I had visions of getting to the gym earlier.  Moments of swanning around the holiday four or five sizes smaller - all in an effort to make a certain someone realize what he had lost, played out in my mind.... but the reality of actually going - while trying to pack up and sell a home... well, the visions and hopes of getting to a gym went to dust.

I focused on what I ate - or rather... what I *didn't* eat - and lost just over 38 pounds doing it that way.  It was slow.... and frankly, even though the scale said I lost the weight, I didn't see much difference when I looked in the mirror.  I think how you look counts *more* than what a scale say's.... so it was slightly disheartening to have lost so much and feel like it mattered so little.
Sigh.

I had signed up at the gym nearly three years ago - and if I've gone a dozen times I'd be stunned.  I don't recall ever getting a 'tour' as such, or any kind of pointers on anything... however, I have a loooooong history of starting up things at a gym and then burning out in record time.  I was pretty sure that I could rely on previous "how to use the treadmill" demonstrations to get me through.

I got off to a *very* rocky start.... I debate on sharing the whole story - and I reserve the right to do so one day... but suffice to say, the man who identifies himself as the "manager" is a complete and utter TOOL.  And, not just a regular tool, but the kind who claims to have a personal handicap to make him that way.
Believe me when I tell you:  he's a knob.

Even still, I was determined *not* to let the first FIVE minutes in the gym door after a three year 'hiatus' - (no my hand to G*d - make a complete tool of himself my first five minutes at the desk.... sigh) - it could have detoured me.  It could have burned me on going back... but I didn't let it.  I came back the next day ... and the next day.... .and the next day.

All in all - I was at the gym 24 days out of the entire month of January - which... for a b*tch who hasn't been inside any kind of athletic institution:  that's pretty big sh*t.

February has been off to a slower start (with the kids and I going to The Great Wold Lodge for The Boy's birthday and a few other things getting in the way.....) - but I'm already back up to my 13 miles on the bike today - and I'm pretty happy about that.

Oh... and two days ago I made my first goal weight.  I won't actually admit to what weight that is - BUT suffice to say, it launches me well over the 43 pound loss mark AND - again, it's something I've worked off - not starved off, or done shakes and whatnot.... it's real, honest weight loss.
But I'll tell you what.... it's a lot of hard work.  It was a crap load easier to put the weight on.... lololol

I have a system - where I drop off the kids at the kids place (which they LOVE) - and then I change, grab my Kindle and head to a bike.  Now, since I hadn't had anyone *show* me how to use any of these things, it took me a while to figure out the bike and how to get it to go. 

I'll tell you what, it was like the f*cking clouds parted when I figured out there was a FAN feature on these things - holy crap..... how amazing is that!?!?!

I started out at 3 miles on the bike and one on the treadmill.  Last year, at The Great Wold Lodge, I tore my meniscus on the wet ground and spent some time in a knee brace.  I've noticed that if I do too much on the treadmill that my knee starts to click and pull.  So, I'll only do one mile on the mill - but I put the ... grade?  height?  - whatever the hell it is you do to make it go up at the front - I put that at a 5 and walk at a 4.... which is pretty fast for me.  I can assure you of that.

Over time, I've gotten the bike to where my minimum is now 10 miles - and then I push for 12 - 14 if I have the time.  When I'm done - I shower then grab the kids:  all in all - it's an hour and a half commitment.

Now.  In the first place:  Twilight has saved my life, or at the very least, saved me from complete and total boredom.  I start up Twilight on Sunday - then each day I watch more and work my way through New Moon, Eclipse and Breaking Dawn.  When I'm done - I just start the saga over.

Now... who doesn't want to bike for Edward? 
Makes it easy to stay on the bike... that's for sure.

I picked up that I have to *clean* the bike before and after I use it.
I've mastered holding up my towel for the changing to shower and getting dressed... I still don't understand how people just let their sh*t swing free in the dressing rooms of places like that... I am - seriously - I don't want to see that much of anyone.... just in general.

As someone who comes "every day" - I'm a bit of a 'regular' now.  People start to do that 'nod' - or the wave on the mill.... and I've made a few 'gym friends' - which is kind of cool.  People giving you tips on how to make the most of the time on the bike... which is great.

What *isn't* great is that fact that I will talk to just about anyone.
This has led to me have *more* than one conversation with someone - where we all started full clothed and now we're discussing the effectiveness of the Zumba class while someone's breasts are now swinging around the room like a cyclone:  all white and bright and frankly... a bit shocking.

Yes - I'm *that* girl:  I talk to people in the gym.
sigh.

I probably need some kind of intervention.

Keep in mind - everyone is always *soooooooo* nice.  Just today this GOR.GEOUS girl was talking to me - which again started out fully clothes and suddenly... the pants are off!
Still talking and smiling.... but now girl parts in the wind and free and clear of obstruction. At these moments I am - quite literally - at my *least* cool.  I don't know where to look... where *not* to look - and I'm pretty sure my Irish skin goes just about as red as it can.

Of course, it's all *me* and not them.  I guess I'm just some kind of prude...

But it occurred to me today - that I am *that* girl.  The girl that ends up talking to people in various stages of undress in the gym locker room. 
sigh.

Thankfully - the gym is full of some really cool, cool people.  My locker room is full of really pretty girls who are nothing at all like the "gym rats" you hear about:  self-obsessed and rude and shallow.  Instead - I find them all to be super nice and friendly and happy to give you tips on losing weight faster:  try this machine, mix this up, mix that up - etc.  I find that really endearing.

It's hard when you're not.... super physically fit - to go a place where over 70% of the people look amazing to start with - and climb up onto a bike in your over sized shirt and long pants - while some girl runs next to you damn near in a bra and panties (otherwise known as biker shorts).  lololol

In years past, it might have been a reason... no- an *excuse* not to go back.  Instead, though, I just keep going, every day - putting in my ten miles and watching my Twilight.  I will probably never look like them - and that's ok- because I only have to be me in this world... but perhaps, just a healthier version of me. 
The good thing is... I'm not afraid to be *me* while I'm there - I'm not hiding in the corner because I don't (yet) look like some of these people - instead... I'm the same, unusually friendly self who doesn't mind chatting in the lcoker room... no matter how red my face gets. lolololol

I get *a lot* of email and message and im's - and they have very common themes, so I thought it might be to share one. 

There are so many of us - all sharing this common theme, this common thread of anger and pain and betrayal - so I thought I would share one of my conversations, in the hopes that it might be helpful to see that *so* many of feel the *EXACT* same way.

Crazy to think - regardless of color, shape, height, weight, finances:  if you go through this, you feel the same.

MY COMMENTS are on the RIGHT:

You have to keep in mind, before you read this, that my *entire* life currently exists:  online.
If it isn't *for* the blog (as in writing it) then I'm responding to emails or messages from people who read the blog, friends I've made through the blog, etc.  In addition to that (and since over 15,000 people read the blog a month - if I only hear from 25% of them - it's a lot of replies to send) - I have my friends on facebook and text message, plus my clients who read me through facebook, text message and email.

Clearly, I'm not good at drawing boundaries. lolol  Everyone can literally find me anywhere - any time, anyplace and talk to me.  I don't mind.  People are important - all manner of people.  Friends are usually clients, many clients become good friends... and on it goes.  I'm frequently taking a booking for a session at 9pm - mostly because new Mom's have baby brain and they forget to look at the clock, or they think I won't answer and they will leave a message.  Either way, it doesn't matter to me - if I'm up I'll respond to whoever is talking to me (most of the time).  ***With the exception of doing RSVP to evite.... as Jenny B and Miss Carrie would tell you (voices filled with total and complete annoyance):  I don't respond to evite's.  I don't know why - if you sent me the invite, I'm coming - done.  Having to click a box and turn down a survey is annoying to me. haha)

So Thursday night I was at my friend Mcghee's house.  Her Mother, The Chicken Lady, has been The Bubbie's best friend for over three decades and we don't get to see them *nearly* as much as we would like to.  Sitting on Mcghee's couch, I'm talking to (or about, sorry Goose) - my Goddaughter, talking to Mcghee and The Chicken Lady all while the lovely Miss J was sending me some photos to look at, two clients were iming me about sessions in the Spring and..... Coffee Guy was also iming with me.

Ah.... Coffee Guy.  He has a name.... thereby we know (with a slight touch of foreshadowing) that this could potentially be a player in Miss Elle's life... well - at least on Thursday it looked hopeful.... and then my fingers and send buttons and enter keys got very much in the way and the whole thing *nearly* went up in cyber flames. 

Let me explain.

Thursday night the chat was fine.... though I was pretty sure I was about to send the wrong reply to the wrong person at any second while keeping track of the conversations in the room AND the ones coming in on my Kindle and phone.... though, poorly, I might admit.  All was going fairly well.

Coffee Guy is nice.  In a weird way he's kind of been around since the start of this whole blog thing, he has The Book - which I'm *fairly* certain once he finishes it, he will stop calling as well... but - it is what it is.  I am who I am... sans the bulging arms and spinach fetish - I can't be changed.... matured, yes.  Grown.. yes.  Better.....?  For sure.  Sadly, though, as people who span the stretch of my life going back to elementary school will tell you  I haven't ever changed very much.  Even since then.
I don't see a whole ton of change in the near (or distant) future. 

Off and on Coffee Guy and I have chatted here and there.... on the night of The Book signing he was out of town and sent me a message where he mistyped - You Will Rick.
Clearly - he meant 'rock'.... but, for one, I rocked nothing.  I was too nervous, read too fast and really was just far too stunned at the number of people who had come to rock anything..... so I texted him back that from now on I would 'Rick things'.  Rocking is for losers.

He responded by sending me the youtube video above.

I had forgotten how totally glorious that song, and Rick Astley himself, were.  I do not fondly remember the waist high acid washed jeans... but sadly:  I am old enough to have worn a pair.  Not only that, but I had pegged them in at the ankles (The Bubbie *refused* to buy me the Guess jeans that had the zipper at the ankle... what a b*tch.) - I also had a matching blue denim shirt, though I usually wore mine un-tucked.  I had the mall bangs that swung up and swooped over to the right and had enough mascara on my eye-lashes for several other 7th graders - I had eye-lashsd that looked more like spiders suspended above my eye lids than they did any kind of natural part of my body.

But what do you expect:  we lived in Alabama at the time.  lolololol

I must have watched old Rick sway and sway and circle his hands a half a dozen times... each time I laughed harder.  It's funny to watch that *now* and realize it was a number one hit song in 1987 AND - that's the very kind of video that helped build the MTV empire before it stopping playing actual music and started making reality TV shows.... anyway.  I took the reference to Rick as a comedic nod to our collective age - and not any kind of statement of love.

Which is a *damn* good thing because 14 year old me was all like... "Oh - look at that - he "promises" not to lie to me... "promises" not to let me down....." bwahahahaha.
Thankfully I'm not 14 anymore... though, I will admit to missing her perky c-cup and size 10 acid washed jeans - because even pulled waist high:  I looked damn good in them. hahahah

Ok.  So, now you know Coffee Guy.  We've met for coffee once ... and chatted off and on. 
Then Friday happened.

I won't go into tons of detail - but basically, I asked Coffee Guy a question and he responded.  When he responded, it came in four boxes - and after crossing over to Tacoma and out of traffic - I had lost GPS for a few minutes.  When the entire text came in - it came into the phone out of order.

The result was that I read the first two boxes and not the last two and got .... kinda mad.  Coffee Guy will tell you that he's 'slow to anger' because he's a Dad..... I'll be the first one to admit that I'm like 65% full blood Irish (only American on that side of the family) - and if I'm mad... you're probably going to know it.  You, your neighbor, my neighbor... and possibly 15,000 people a month....
You get the idea.

Now... I didn't go all Glenn Close and threaten to boil a bunny in his kitchen.... but, I was clear with my response and clear that I wasn't happy with what I'd read.   And he... poor nice, sweet, direct and honest Coffee Guy was totally caught off guard. 

I got home Friday night (having *not* stopped off the aforementioned booty call with the Seattle guy) - and took out my Kindle hoping to find Coffee Guy online to further explain what and where it had all gone pear shaped, because by now I could see the full text (still out of order) on the my phone and I fell horrible....
I switched on the Kindle and waited in the dark for him to sign on when Lashla (who is featured in The Book but for those still not reading it - she's my very best friend in the whole world and lives in Scotland.)  signed on and due to the time zones, she is often the last person I talk to before goign to bed (usually around 1 or 2 am).  We chat at this hour all the time.

Lashla and I were discussing whether or not I will be able to find the money to go to LA to meet up with her this summer (Lashla has an American boyfriend) - and we were talking for a while when Coffee Guy started popping up on the screen.

I was going back and forth, arguing with Lashla about spending money to go to LA when I still have to pay for the COBRA on my health insurance... and at the same time, trying to sort out the mess I had caused with Coffee Guy.

Nice, cute, funny.... knows about my crazy life, knows about my ex and *still* calls me anyway:  Coffee Guy.
(PS... file the above under A for AWESOME in my book).

So my fingers are typing as fast as they can while I bounce back and forth - and at one of the more *tender* moments of my conversation with Coffee Guy  - I go and type this fanF*ckingtastic gem:

"You are the most important person in my life... I've loved you for 14 years......"

WTH?  - is what I get back.

Confused...I look down in horror and quite literally *scream* in mortification because the name at the top of the box is NOT Lashla.... it's Coffee Guy.

Understandably... he signs off and doesn't return... because now I'm anumberonef*ckingBANANAS.
Seriously.
sigh.

So Saturday comes - but I haven't slept much because I feel like a total jack-ass - which is easy and understandable:  because I am one.

Coffee Guy doesn't respond to my pleas for understanding - that I had *warned* him that iming with me would spell disaster... too many things, too many people - I was bound to eff it up.  Which I did - in the most fantastic of ways - because as we all know - I don't ever do anything by halves, if you're going to blow up a friendship with someone why not do it ALL. THE. WAY?
sigh.

Sunday rolls around and I'm *pretty* sure at this point that it's a done deal.
Done.  Over before "it" started.  Finished.  And who could blame the guy......?  Right - I mean - I'm not exactly a super model, I have this rather... unique past - and.... now I've just confessed my undying love for a virtual stranger.... I think we all know that that could *possibly* actually add up to me boiling his bunny in a pot on his stove... or something very similar.  He has every right to run....

And the thing is... he's good.  He's good and kind and honest.  I wasn't expecting to meet him, I wasn't even *looking* for him... but there he was.  OH - and let's be SUPER clear... I'm not saying Coffee Guy is the "him" of my future.... but I'll be honest and admit that I did think I would ever trust another man ever again - no matter who he was.

Let's just take Coffee Guy off the table (which is easy now that I scared the living sh*t out of the guy) - but it's hard to give yourself to someone.  To commit yourself to someone and build a life with them - and have them walk out on you.  In those early months I was pretty sure that I would never, ever be able to trust another living person for the rest of my life.  I was certain that I was broken and shattered in ways that splintered through my very core:  leaving me irrevocably damaged.

Back then, I made - what I felt - were the *right* decisions.  Day four I made the choice that vengeance had no place in my future life of two houses... and no matter how many lies I uncovered, now matter how many more painful and hurtful and downright cruel things were done to me... I held steadfast to my resolve that I would not be compromised.  My family, my marriage - my entire life had been compromised in a way that it would never, ever recover:  and I couldn't let that happen to *me*.

I never wavered.
The mediator said - go for spousal.  I did not.
My friend said - I have cement shoes and a get-a-way car:  but I refused her offer.  (and then laughed alot)
The Bubbie said - burn his sh*t on the lawn:  I packed it and rented him  a storage unit.
No matter what:  I made the *right* choices.  Period.
I did the right thing.
I don't mean that to sound glorious.... it doesn't make me special - or even especially good - but it was the one thing I could do.  It was the one thing I could control:  myself.

I can look back and while I see a broken and decimated me, the important thing is:  I still see *me*.
There's not a me I'm ashamed of.  There's not a me who made poor choices rooted in anger and vengeance who will have to later hang in her head in shame while explaining her actions to their grown children.
There's not a me who 'screwed' anyone out of anything.

I am still the same person at my core today - that I was a year ago.  I am still the same girl who pulls over at the site of an accident to help, doesn't charge clients who can't afford to pay, who has an Irish temper and a quick wit that will cut just about anyone to shreds (though usually just Comcast and TMobile when they overcharge me) - and who will *always* be Team Edward.

I don't have to look back on the past year be ashamed.  I protected their identities when they didn't even deserve it.  I showed kindness and extended a certain level of protection to two people who not only robbed me of everything I thought I loved... but were bereft of any remorse and feeling about doing it.

And hell yeah I'm tooting my horn here... because you know what I figured out?!?!?!

Because I did that - because I stayed strong... I came out the other side of this funking mess - whole, and still *me*.  Woof*ckinghoo for that. 

Seriously.  Take notes people, when you devise to hurt other people you will almost *always* hurt yourself instead.  Period.

So..... Coffee Guy comes along and I'm thinking to myself.... "why aren't I running?" 
I don't feel like I need to be saved:  I'm not looking for a white knight.
I don't feel broken and alone:  I'm not desperate for attention.

The books say I'll be "too broken" to trust, that I will destroy future relationships with my questions and inability to trust.... and yet.... I trust Coffee Guy.

Yeah... I know:  crazy, huh?
but, if you met him - you would trust him, too.  He's just... kind of like that.

So, the more we talked the more I waited to get scared (could still happen for sure) - but instead, I just found myself laughing at his jokes and enjoying his company:  like a normal, whole, person.
Wow... what a freaking revelation that was.

Now... I'm not saying Coffee Guy is my Edward.... not at all.  I'm not writing "Mrs. Coffee Guy" on my pee-chee folder and drawing hearts on the cover of my Trapper Keeper that say CG + E = TRUE LOVE.  Far from it... but I was kind of hoping that *may be* he might ask me out for dinner.....

And I then I blew it. 
And I blew in world-class Elle Style.
And no... I didn't spend the weekend crying into my pillow.  There were no 80s  montages set to sad love songs.... but I knew I blew it and I was (at the very least) disappointed with myself.
Who wouldn't be?

And then..... because I'm right about everything - and Coffee Guy *is*, in fact:  a great guy, he called.

He said he thought about it - and went back over the stream of messages... and while it all seemed kind of nuts.... he wanted to go back and start again from Thursday and just pretend the whole thing never happened.

A do-over.  Wow... how awesome is that?
So after it all... Coffee Guy rides again..... who knows for how long... but I'm curious to see what happens.

So.... that was the *rest* of my weekend... and then, just to prove that I *really* need to have my facebook and im privileges revoked, I was chatting this morning to my friend Malia who recently lost her Grandma and were talking on im about it.  She was very close to her Grandma, who had pretty much raised by her - so her passing on Friday was a huge loss.  Malia was reaching out to me for comfort and here's what happened:

"It's alright... she was in ALOT of pain, and didn't want hospitals or treatment anymore. 
She just wanted to go peacefully, which she did on a sunny Friday afternoon......"

                                                                       Certainly not a bad way to go - it's still hard on all of you who                                                                             lose her, though.  I'm so sorry, Malia.

It's ok, at least she's not in pain anymore.
and she's not hurting anymore.

                                                                        Its SAS, you're right - that's a good thong.

                                                                        or rather.... it's SAD - or thong - may be Granny liked thongs.....
                                                                        sigh... it's been a long weekend. sorry about that.

lol wowwwwwwww.  no sh*t. lol"


Yup.... again.  it was a long weekend.
I don't know *what* will come of Coffee Guy.... new friend?  We'll have to wait and see - but for the near future, he's agreed that any conversation we have should be over the phone or in person - and we should leave the chatting off for a while.....

See... I told you Coffee Guy was a smart guy. lololololololol

Soooo.... to recap.

Since the sign first went up - I've had a few.... 'gentleman callers'.  Several were from prisons around the US.... the nice old man in Florida, a few local guys - one who worked at the Sheriff's office.... and I have to say I was seriously enticed about the idea of a man in uniform!
oh... and I suppose handcuffs are an interesting idea too. hahahaha

So, I wasn't really to date anyone... so I politely thanked people - whether I thought were legit or not, and just moved on.  I was buys focusing on selling the house and packing and the kids... and - clearly - my emotions were allll over the map.  As we all well know.

Slowly, things started changing for me.... now I can see El Capitan and I really don't feel much of anything.  IT still bugs me that I have to 'drop off the kids' with him... not that it's *him* perse... but it's the whole 'being divorced' thing - that still kind of bothers me a bit.  I don't want to be married to him.... but being divorced isn't fun either.... I'm not explaining this well at all.  sigh.

I don't want to be married to El Capitan.  I don't want to have dinner with him or coffee with him.... I don't see him through the same eyes anymore - he doesn't look the same, sound the same - feel the same to be around:  because he's not the same.

Me... though - I'm still the same.  Well... not true - now I'm 42 pounds and 12 total inches lighter/smaller.... yeah - you read that right... 10 miles a day at the gym is paying off slowly... but paying off.  Woof*ckingHoo for that.  I have a goal weight for my birthday... hoping to get there, but we'll see.

The idea of 'dating' seems a bit foreign.... I come from a time *before* cell phones and facebook and chatting.... I'm more a coffee/dinner/movie kind of girl. 

I'm more... 'show me' a good time - don't text me about it.  I haven't really 'dated' as of yet, but I'm finally kind of/sort of excited to find out what it's going to be like - because now it's not just me - it's me and two kids and that surely has to change things.... right?.... Right?

Anyhow, I *am* still me.  I was raised to be a ... "good girl".  Allow me to define "good girl" according to The Bubbie and The Papa circa 1991- 1993:

Good Girls:
Do not make out in parked cars:  what if a neighbor see's you?
Do not wear half of anything - no cut-off shorts or shirts, or shirts that have necks that hang over one shoulder:   because we do not 'advertise what we don't have for sale... duh
Do not study or sit in a boys bedroom:  EVER especially with the door closed.
Do not kiss on the first date:  because if you start there.. where will you be on date 10?
Do not stay out after midnight:  because there's nothing to do after midnight but f*ck.
Do not participate in oral sex of any kind:  because The President was wrong, any whole means sex.
Do not get less than a "B" average or no license:  because
Do not date any boys my parents haven't met:  because The Papa would leave out weapons of death to drive the point home that no hands roam below the neck.  EVER.
Do not watch MTV:  because it's slutty and teaches you to dance like a whore.
Do not 'hop in a guys car when he honks':  boys had to come to the door like gentleman.
Do not, ever, ever, ever, have sex before marriage:  because no one buys the cow when they can get the milk for free.  Period.

I abided by alllll of those rules.  I didn't put out during high school and I graduated.... a virgin.  It wasn't a request: it was a demand. 

Moving forward... I eventually 'lost it' to my boyfriend who would become my first husband.. which, if you were unaware that I was married before (to an Australian while living in London) - then you haven't read my book and you should go do that right now. :)  lolololol

But, needless to say, I followed the rules, I was a "good girl", I followed the rules and did my parents proud.  When that marriage failed, I still abided by those rules, even in my 20s.... being a 'good girl' is a hard, hard habit to break. 

Plus... we were all raised in the decade of Ryan White - how could you *not* know his story and take HIV/AIDS seriously?  I was *very* responsible about any sexual activity I ever had and went (before and after) any partner (which can all be counted on one hand) - and had my annonymous HIV test done.

Good Girl.  Period.

So.... at this new venture in my life, I hadn't planned to really detour from that frame of mind.... good girls don't put out, good girls don't sleep around..... right?

Fast forward several decades, a few husbands, a few kids and... a few pounds then add one (now very public divorce) - and I'm on my way to Seattle.  While on the way - (as mentioned briefly on Friday)  a very nice, handsome, tall.... and handsome man was texting me.....

It started as texting a few weeks ago.... and then after I posted on FB that I needed a place to stay in Seattle - it started to escalate quickly.  Quickly nd graphically.

He was nice, I'm pretty sure he's a nice guy.... he's well educated, has a nice job, nice home, is divorced - he's all around a 'seemingly' good catch by all standard measure of the term.  Very good looking guy - like... *very*. 

He said he liked my green eyes and my hair... and thought I was pretty.  I *politely* reminded him that I was 'sans' an athletic body - he said he liked a woman with confidence and an opinion....  well... okay.

So the texts got more and more.... descriptive... and I'll be honest:  I'd forgotten what it was like to have your nether regions do that little tingle thing... yeah - totally forgot about that. lolol

Even still, while he made me blush and I was kind of/sort of flattered... there was NO WAY IN HELL I would just show up at some guys house in Seattle whom I've never met just to do the dirty with him and then drive home with wet panties.... talk about a 'walk of shame'.
hahahaha

I ended up staying with my friend, then getting my passport renewed and then driving to my brother place (after accidentally driving an hour and a half in the wrong direction and finding myself almost to Port Orchard (oh Twilight... how you call to me hahahaha) - I had a *lovely* dinner with my brother and his family.

My brother is.... brilliantly amazing.  He has two adorable daughters who I adore - and a lovely wife... really, he's got his shit figured out and that's a wee bit inspiring.  He made dinner (which was odd to have your younger brother cook for you... lolol) and they wanted me to stay the night and go home the next day.

El Capitan was supposed to have the kids at noon- so that meant if I drove home in the morning, I woudln't get to see them *at all* until their Dad brought them home.... and I wasn't willing to do that, so I packed up the car and drove home that night:  11 hours of driving in one day - tired Elle.  While the texts of my tall, dark and handsome man kept coming in.... and again... they were very, very enticing.... I figured that I didn't want to end up either chained to someone's radiator for the next 10 years or cut up in small pieces and buried in a back yard (too much CSI - probably would *not* have happened.... I don't think he was looking for a 'victim' - most likely just a booty call.....) - so I shut it down with him and started my drive home.

I called on The Bubbie on my way to catch up on details from my trip, see what the kids were doing - and I happened to mention my flirty sexting 'friend' - giggling the whole time.... and of course to let her know that I was heading home, but not to wait up.  See... there's a HUGE Wal-Mart half way home - off I-5, and I wanted to stop and stretch my legs.  Plus, Wal-Mart is like my own personal 'mecca' and I usually can't drive buy a superstore without wanting to stop.

Everyone was asleep when I got home and I quickly settled into my spot between the children and fell asleep watching New Moon on my Kindle. 

The next morning, The Bubbie came breezing into the room and was startled....   Startled?

"What are you doing here?"  she asked, suddenly surprised to find me nestled in my own bed.
Curious... I thought.... where the hell else should I be?

"Um.... I drove home after going to Wal-Mart.... where did you think I'd be?"  I replied.

"Oh... [insert maniacal laugh here] - honey.... I would've spent a "very good" night in Seattle....but that's just me....."  and then The Bubbie walked about the room.

What. The. HELL?  lololol 
I jumped out of bed and ran after her.... *sure* that she failed to understand what 'sexting' and a 'booty call' is.

"Honey... I know *exactly* what a booty call is - and you know... by the sounds of it - he could have taught me a thing or two..... "  states The Bubbie.

What?  OMG... I think my eyes and ears and burning.... "MOM - seriously?!?!  that's irresponsible - I have children....." I was half laughing... half shocked.

"I'm just sayin'.... it could have been fun....." - and with that The Bubbie headed down the hall.
and I went right back to bed.

Then... early this morning, this is the text I sent out to both my brothers:

"So, this guy on the internet was sexting me and invited me to come to his house for a booty call in Seattle when I was there.  I didn't go.  Mom came in the next day SURPRISED to find me in my room with the kids and informed me that SHE would have done him. 
THEN - this morning over cinnamon rolls she made for breakfast she brings it up AGAIN and say's this little gem:  "You're a 37 year old woman with needs... you should get those taken care of and may be you'd be in a better mood....."
XXXXX and XXXXX - I will *not* suffer this alone.  I want to pour acid in my ears and now you want to claw your eyes out.  That seems fair."

My Middle Brother replied:  will do....
                                            ...... turns off phone.
                                            Actually, I might need to burn it, I don't think it will recover from this violation, I                                                 know I won't.

Seconds later, our Youngest Brother replied:  eyes are clawed out.... well played Bubbie... well played.

And *that* is what The Bubbie said.
No sh*t.

Yup... and how was *your* weekend?