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Thursday, June 30, 2011

It's my UNniversary and I'll party if I want to

I have always hated March.  I don't remember why, but it's because of something that happened in high school.  (I think I can safely guess that it had to due with a boy and a broken heart.)  I have decided that I am going to forgive March and hate June instead.  June opens with the day The Ex left and closes with our would've been anniversary (or as I like to call it, my UNniversary).  As much as I've healed and grown and ohmigod I'm so much better off, blah, blah, blah, June still irks me.  I have crazy dreams, disturbed sleep, unexplainable bouts of sadness while watching commercials and I can't figure out what's wrong with me.  And then I's June.  Dun dun duuuuun.

In an effort to turn my inner frown upside down, I look for ways to celebrate those days instead of mourn them.  In the past, I've either had a party or found someone to have sex with.  The sex thing's not happening so much these days (I guess I've come out of my slutty phase) so, a party it is!  Especially considering this year would've been my 10th anniversary.  That's pretty huge.  I had always imagined doing something big (Me?  Make a big deal of something?  Nooooo.  Never!) like renewing our vows or taking a month long vacation or upgrading my diamond.  Instead, I'm being divorced for my big anniversary.  Well, just because he decided to be an unfaithful, lying coward doesn't mean I should suffer, right?  I'm gonna live it up!  Paint the town red!  Or something.

Who knows what might happen?  Maybe I'll meet a handsome stranger and we'll have dirty sex in the bar bathroom, like on Red Shoe Diaries (you know you watched the diaries in high school).  Maybe the handsome stranger will respect me too much to bone me on the first encounter (bleh, respect reschmect) and takes me on a date at which point I will realize he is a total weenie, but has a cute friend so I need to keep him around for opportunity's sake, like on Co-ed Confidential.  Or maybe the handsome stranger will have the decency to bone me on the first encounter and still want to get to know me after, like on Sex and the City (see, I don't only watch Skinemax and Showtime late night).

Mostly likely, none of that will happen.  But a girl can dream.

Tuesday, June 28, 2011

The Big O

*warning: this post contains adult content of a masturbatory nature*

A year before my husband left, my sister and her husband split up.  A good friend of mine suggested we get her a dildo as a joke.  (Well, kind of a joke.)  While we were at a super awesome shop called A Touch of Romance, my friend suggested I get one for myself, too.  I had never used one before.  She told me I could use it with my husband to spice up our sex life.  Spice up what?  We were totally rocking missionary, and every once in a while we'd throw in a little cowgirl action.  How much more spicing did we need?  (Guy from high school...and maybe a few others...gave me the answer to that question.)

Well, thank you to my friend, because that Bathtub Bunny (or EZ Bend Bunny?  Something like that) has saved my life!  I didn't use it a whole lot with my husband, mostly when he was out of town.  One time, when he was away on business, the housekeeper came over.  She must have picked a bad day to make my bed because she came out of my room looking horrified and said, "Jennifer?  There' your bed?"  I was worried there was a rodent or a spider in my bed so I rushed into my room and found my dildo laying there, in all it's glory!  I forgot I left it there.  Oops.

It was slightly embarrassing, but not as funny as the time my friend found it.  After The Ex left I used that bad boy all the time (still do).  Every night to help me fall asleep and everyday to wake me up.  I didn't always have a nightstand with drawers, so I just kept it in my bed next to me (again, still do) along with a Costco pack of triple A batteries (they run out fast!).  Well, this one time, (at band camp) my friend was in town, and the first night staying with me she pulled back the covers and was greeted by my dildo and the battery pack.  She cracked up!  And she never lets me forget it.  But I don't mind, it's a funny story.

My other sister lives with me and we'll watch TV shows in my room sometimes.  The poor girl has unwittingly laid on or leaned on my dildo because I forgot to put it away (I have a nightstand with drawers now).  It's under the covers, so she's never actually touched it.  My cat sleeps over it all the time (it's under the covers, she's not touching it either) and she never complains, I don't know why my sister gets so upset.  Jeez.

It's just a dildo.  We all have one.  If you don't have one, you should get one.  And if you're uptight about getting one, that's just proof that you extra super duper need one.  Ladies, we need to embrace our sexuality.  It's called a pleasuring device.  If we don't know how to pleasure ourselves, how are we going to help a guy pleasure us when he's fumbling around down there like a blind piano player?  He can't find your clit with a map and you're supposed to lay there and pretend to like it?  Sounds like a waste of time to me.  Knowledge is power!

As a single woman who is not currently getting laid, I find that masturbating is the thing that keeps me the most sane (well, Jen-level sane).  I'm irritated and cranky a lot of the time as I go though this almost six month dry spell, but it would be much worse if I didn't have my little purple friend (I shouldn't say little, he's not little, he's average).  It's scientifically proven that orgasms relieve tension and stress, calm food cravings, clear up your skin, boost your immune system, and burn calories.  It's simple: masturbate your way to a healthy lifestyle!

Monday, June 27, 2011

Chapter 5, or Walk of shame

Back to July 2008 and Guy from high school (with the giant dong).  I was in town again so we arranged to "hang out".  We packed some wine and blankets and went to a golf course.  We had an actual conversation, but it was the kind you have while you're waiting for the right moment to jump each other.

        For three or four hours it was all sex and talking on the golf course.  Well, technically, we were on the lawn; we did not defile the green.  At one point, mid kiss, he said, “Jen, I want you to spend the night with me.”  Here are the reasons why I could only answer yes to that: 
a) You can probably get me to do anything if you ask while kissing me
b) He said my name, I love hearing my name in that sexy half-whisper
c) It wasn’t a question, it was a statement, and I love sexy        demands
d) We were out of condoms and he had more at home
e) I had forgotten that his mom was home.
        When we got back to his place it set in that his mom was there somewhere and I was going to have to be quiet.  That was going to be interesting.  It ended up not being much of a problem because he only had one condom and despite his convincing argument that we could reuse it, I thought I remembered hearing somewhere that you’re not supposed to reuse condoms.  Hmm, let me think, where does it say that?  Oh yeah, ON THE BOX!  Also, he kept trying to have sex without a condom.  That’s an after school special waiting to happen.
         I wish the worst part the next morning was discovering that my white Capri pants had mud, grass, and wine stains on them.  Stains, schmains, I had to do the walk of shame in front of his mother!  He just had to say goodbye to her before we left.  She came downstairs and complimented my shoes and asked if she could make me breakfast.  She was really very sweet, but it was quite possibly the most embarrassing moment of my life.  If we didn’t have to leave because he had to work I don’t know how I would’ve gotten out of that.  When he dropped me off I considered making him come inside to meet my parents just to get even.  Instead I went inside and had my mom help me get all the stains out of my pants.

Saturday, June 25, 2011

Nonline dating: Fun for all ages

The majority of the men who email me, "wink" at me, or "want to meet" me are either 10 years younger or at least 15 years older than me.  Where are all the single men in their 30's?  I asked a friend this once and she said, "They're at home with their wives and kids."  Good point.  I guess I'm stuck with scooby snacks and sugar daddies minus the sugar.

Dear (username), you’re only 18, but when I saw the picture of you in your high school football uniform and read “I like to hang out with friends, play sports and sports and women, it is fun when you go out and relax in my mind!”  I thought, wow, we have so much in common!  Age really is just a number.  I’ll put on my high school cheerleading uniform and we’ll be, like, the coolest kids in school!
Dear (username), maybe girls your age think it’s charming that your profession is “LOVING girls”.  I, however, think you must be either drunk or stupid to write that.  And it says you don’t drink.  Sooooo…you do the math 

Dear (username), you’re 20 years older than me.  are you looking for a date or a daughter?

Dear (username), your casual chatter about my nice smile and how your sis also lives in Chino Hills does not distract me from the fact that you are 50. 

Friday, June 24, 2011

When life hands you lemons

Men often think women just want a big, fat diamond engagement ring that they can show off.  And we do want to show it off, but it's so much more than a diamond.  It's a symbol.  It goes up over your finger and down under your finger, and (as cheesy as it may sound) represents the ups and downs of your relationship and of life.  It's a symbol of love and strength and longevity.  It's a circle, never ending.  The reason we want to look at our hand and see that big, beautiful thing sparkling back at us is because it represents forever.

At least, that's what it meant to me.  I wore my ring every day.  I only took it off, briefly, to put on lotion.  It became an extension of my hand.  So, it was extremely bizarre taking it off permanently after The Ex left.  I think I said something to my sister like, "What do I do?  I guess I'm supposed to take this off now?"  If you've never had to do this (and I hope you never do) it goes something like this:  as you wiggle it off your finger your chest starts to cave in and your eyes fill with water and a very light breeze drifts through your body.  Then the ring comes off, and a little piece of your soul goes with it.  (People say I have a flair for the dramatic, but I don't see it.)

That ring sat in my jewelry box for almost two years.  I didn't know what to do with it.  I considered taking out the diamonds and having them set into a necklace or melting down the platinum and resetting the diamonds to create a new ring, but it all seemed wrong.  I knew I could never fool myself into thinking it was anything other than my wedding ring.  I didn't want to keep it, but I definitely wasn't giving it back.  You've already taken everything else from me, you can't have my ring, too!  (I'm practicing being dramatic, it's coming to me pretty easily.)  So, I decided to sell it.

My roommate at the time had a family jeweler, so I called him and he took me to an appraiser.  It turned out to be a pretty crappy ring (cheap bastard Ex) but a month later we had a buyer.  I didn't get very much for it, but what I did get contributed to my trip to Ireland and Scotland, so I can't really complain.  See, folks?  When life hands you lemons, you have them appraised, sell them and go on vacation.  I think that's how the saying goes.

Wednesday, June 22, 2011


I discovered recently that my boobs are lopsided.  It's hard enough being single, you gotta be skinny and pretend to enjoy outdoor activities and have white teeth.  Now I gotta do all that with lopsided boobs?  One has always been bigger than the other.  If I have to have such small boobs (that swim around in the giant padded bras where I hide them), can't they at least be even?  The left one can practically fit inside the right one.  My right areola is almost bigger than my entire boob.  It's ridiculous, really.  And now, I noticed that the right one hangs lower than the left one.  It's sagging!  Isn't the only benefit of having small boobs that they're perky?  Who ever heard of small and saggy boobs?  I don't stand a chance!  I guess it's a good thing that men don't love and obsess over boobs.  Oh, wait...

Tuesday, June 21, 2011

Chapter 4, or Do you rent rooms by the hour?

*warning: this post contains bad words n' shit*

June 2008 was rocky, so why not bring in July with a bang?  My first weekend back from my parent's house I made a new friend...

She asked me to come to this club opening in Newport Beach and right away I knew I was out of my league.  The girls who go to these clubs are at least 5 years younger and 50 pounds lighter than me.  They wear dresses that barely cover their butt cheeks and sit with their legs uncrossed.  Thanks for the beaver shot, sluts.  So, I needed to throw together an outfit that I wouldn’t look ridiculous in, but would make me somewhat fit in.  Besides the beaver-dresses it was also in fashion to wear black shorts.  Luckily, I had a pair (even if they were from Old Navy and made of linen).  I had this red, backless, halter-top that barely fit me anymore because I had acquired a mild case of the back fat, so I put a red tube top under it and combined it with the shorts.  The only part of the outfit I really liked was my shoes.  They have about a three-inch heel, which makes me feel like my legs are longer.  I didn’t look half bad for all my chubbiness.

I lost my friend several times throughout the night and eventually decided to park it outside of the bottle service room.  At least there I could lean up against the wall to try to take some pressure off of my feet (my shoes were having a fight with my feet and my feet were losing).  Or, maybe, it was so I could stand near the stupid-hot 24 year old bouncer guarding the entrance.

He was one of the hottest guys I’ve ever seen in real life.  He was Brad Pitt hot (I mean Brad Pitt before he became an affair having dick nugget).  Girls kept walking up to him and talking in his ear and either going in the room or walking away. 
I leaned into his ear and said, “This must be a great job all these girls want to fuck you.” 
To which he said, “Nah, they mostly just want to get in the room.” 
To which I said, “I’d rather fuck you.” 
Ladies, sometimes balls ass boldness like that pays off because then he said, “Girl, I would totally hit that.” 
         Never have such unromantic words been such a turn on.  Apparently, Hot Bouncer likes a big ass.  I happen to have one of those.  So I decided to go all in.  I said, “Don’t tease me, I’m being serious.”  He took my phone and put his number in it, called his phone so he had my number, and told me the place closed at 1:30 and he would get out around 2 if I wanted to wait.  Hells yeah I wanted to wait. 
When he got out he sent me a text that said: so where u wanna do this dance.  I almost gushed right then and there.  But, instead, I texted: somewhere with flattering lighting.  So he texted me: I would suggest we go to a hotel but that’s kinda trashy.  I texted back: I’m totally trashy, hotel it is.  But I make it a rule that we have to ask if they rent rooms by the hour.  We found a Super 8.  Classy joint.  They didn’t rent rooms by the hour and we didn’t have enough cash.  The guy told us we could pay with a credit card and I said, “Honey, we can’t have a paper trail.”  
We went to a liquor store to use the ATM and he bought condoms.  Magnums.  I realized that what I was about to do was on my dangerous-things-not-to-do list and my slutty-things-not-to-do list, and I was paying for half of the hotel room (well, technically, The Ex was paying), but magnums make my vagina smile.
The next morning we walked to our cars and I said, “Nice meeting you.  You have my number, for a good time call.”  He didn’t.  Kids!

This is another example of "Kids, don't try this at home."  But, sometimes you have to make the same mistakes over and over again before you learn...or if you're turning those mistakes into stories.  So, I guess the saying should be, "Kids, don't try this at home, unless you're trying to get enough material to fill a book."

Monday, June 20, 2011

Nonline dating tips for guys

I have started a collection of To-Don'ts for any guy who decides to try, or already is, online dating.  It's basically things you shouldn't do, say or suggest unless you want to come across as lame, cliche and/or psycho.

Let's start with your picture.  You should not have more than four and they should show your face clearly.  Don't waste my time with blurry or shadowed pictures.  I'm not interested in seeing a picture of your dog, truck, motorcycle or art.  I also don't care to see pictures of you in large groups.  I don't know you well enough to figure out which one you are, and maybe I'll think your friends are better looking.  I especially don't want to see a picture of you with a pretty girl.  What is that?  Are you showing off that you can get a pretty girl?  Because obviously you're not together anymore so what you're showing me is that you can't keep a pretty girl.  Good job, loser.  Do not post a picture of yourself looking slightly off to the side, pensive, as if you're reading something very philosophical on the wall behind the camera.  You're not fooling anyone with that.  And please, do not ever, under any circumstances, post a picture you took of your reflection in the bathroom mirror with your cell phone.  Get some friends.  If you don't have any friends, get a tripod.  The only thing worse than taking that picture of yourself is taking it with your shirt off.  Roughly translated, it says, "I have no personality but I've got abs.  Good enough?"  (One guy's profile had 7 pictures just of his body, one with his hand in his pants.  That was a real treat.)

Next, in your profile, never say, "I like to work hard and play hard," or any variation of the phrase.  It is the lamest thing ever.  In the whole world.  Also, never say anything like, "I'm not looking for games or drama."  Seriously?  Nobody is looking for games or drama, stupid.  You've just become another annoying, unoriginal douche nozzle.  Congratulations.

Finally, please don't suggest taking a girl out for a walk on the beach, picnic or hike.  I mean, what kind of cheese ball cliche crap is that?  A walk on the beach?  How original, I've never heard that one before.  A picnic?  No thank you.  I've seen that horror movie.  Things do not go well for the hot girl.  A hike?  Really?  Sure, what better way to let you murder me and chop me into a million pieces and leave me scattered on the mountainside.  Should I also leave my cell phone in the car and be sure not to tell anyone where I'm going or who I'm meeting?

Think before you type, guys.  We single women have to be very cautious.  The world is a crazy place.  What you may think we consider to be romantic, we may consider to be dangerous.  Especially if we have never met you.  Public places are the key to our safety.  Suggest a cocktail or lunch.  It may sound boring, but it's smart.  Then you can take us to dinner.  To a real restaurant, not glorified fast food...but that's a story for another day.

Friday, June 17, 2011

Dear Diary

It occurred to me today (why it didn't occur to me weeks ago, I'm not sure) that this blog is really just a public diary.  The whole world (if they choose to read it) gets to hear all about my random sexcapades and innermost thoughts.  As a teenager I kept my diary under lock and key.  Literally.  And then, when I started Doogie Howsering my Diary, I kept it password protected. 

It seems it should be the other way around.  Aren't we more inclined to hide our embarrassing and shameful moments as grown ups?  I mean, what did teenage Jen ever do that was all that secret worthy?  Well, I guess there were a few things.  Like the time my boyfriend got to third base with me in the bathroom while my family was having game night in the other room.  Or the time I dated my 28 year old boss when I was 16.  That one was pretty gross when I look back on it.  I mean, at the time, I was like, omigod, he's sooooo fiiiine, and he wants to go out with me!  But I was a dumb kid.  He was a grown up.  What kind of sick twisted 28 year old takes out a 16 year old?

Well, now the most shameful and embarrassing things from teenage Jen are out there and there's more to come from grown up Jen.  I don't know if it was because of The Divorce or not but, I said goodbye to shame and I said goodbye to my filter and in the process I said goodbye to 45 pounds (well, 245 pounds if you count The Ex).  I don't know about you, but I like this Jen.  She's sooooo fiiiiine.

Thursday, June 16, 2011

The Heebie Jeebies

As a married person I would sometimes get hit on.  I would politely decline and walk away patting myself on the back and thinking to myself, "Yep, I still got it!"  As a divorced/single person, when I get hit on I think to myself, "What's your game plan, buddy?"  Then I politely decline and walk away with an extra layer of you-don't-fool-me armor.  Not be confused with don't-get-hurt armor.  There's also I-won't-settle armor that I developed after being told on several occasions that I should lower my standards.

In your twenties people tell you, "You deserve the best!  Never settle!  The right man is out there!"  In your thirties people say stuff like, "Don't you think you should lower your standards?  It's only going to get harder as you get older.  You shouldn't be so picky!"  Translation: "You don't need a man you find smart and attractive who treats you well, you just need a man."  Excuse me for having higher standards for myself than MALE and SINGLE.  Like I'm not worth more than that?  And let's be clear, wanting a man and needing a man are two very different things.  I do want a man in my life, but thanks to modern science and technology, I can buy what I need from a man at the local naughty store.

I think if these jerks who want me to lower my standards were ever approached by the kind of men approaching me, they would change their tune.  Like when some Creep looks at me like in his head I'm naked.  One guy looked at me like my nakedness scared him a little, and I wasn't even naked in real life!  Or the Creepy-Smooth guy who walks up to me like the song we're going to "make love" to later is already playing in his head.  One step further, the Eye Rape guy.  He usually has a sinister grin, too.  Kinda makes you want to call the police and report a crime of imagination.  Then there's the Creepy-Compliment guy that has the ability to make your skin crawl just by saying, "I think you're a very beautiful woman."  Bleh, I've never felt so violated in my life.

So, jerks, I won't settle.  Because I know my worth and because I don't want to have the heebie jeebies for the rest of my life.

Wednesday, June 15, 2011

Chapter 3, or Happy Anniversary to me

Going back to June 2008 (in case you haven't noticed, it was a busy month for me), on what was supposed to be my seventh anniversary, I went to Vegas with my parents and my sister.  On the drive out, the artist formerly known as my husband texted me something divorce related and lawyerish.  Thanks, Dick (and no, Dick is not his name, but it should be).  All I responded with was "happy anniversary".  That shut him up.

On our second night, my sister and I went to Margaritaville where I met Cute Bartender.  Later, we met him at O'Shea's.  My sister joined in a game of beer pong and I joined Cute Bartender at the bar.

Through my intoxicated haze I heard Cute Bartender saying stuff like, “When I know what I want I go after it” and “I have to wake up early tomorrow to take my niece to see Wall-E.”  As soon as he said that I had a mini orgasm and kissed him.  It’s like he knew I love everything Disney.  He was taken a little off guard because he said, “I totally forgot what I was just saying.  What was I just saying?”  I said, “I don’t care,” and kissed him again.  He mentioned that he’d like to take me somewhere in his truck.  That sounded like a fun little adventure (and not dangerous at all).
I looked for my sister and told her about Cute Bartender’s proposal and we decided that he was a small guy and I could probably take him if he started behaving ungentlemanlike.  But just as a safety precaution, my sister made him pinky swear, and stamp it, that he wouldn’t hurt me.  Nothing stands up in court like a pinky swear and stamp.
         Cute Bartender found a parking lot and we had truck-bed sex.  He was so skinny and he wanted me to be on top.  I felt like a giant.  I got the feeling that maybe this guy was a chubby chaser or something.  I wasn’t sure if I was big enough to be considered in that category, but he was definitely small enough.  He was small downtown also; about half the size of Guy from high school; maybe even smaller than half, but it got the job done.  To be fair, Guy from high school is huge so really it’s not nice to compare.

Kids, don't try this at home.  Try your hardest NOT to make dangerous and stupid your reaction to hurt and depressed.

Monday, June 13, 2011

More nonline dating

For a brief moment in time, my thoughts about online dating started to turn around.  Maybe they weren't all freaks and weirdos.  I came across some seemingly normal guys and a few of them asked me out.  Then they all canceled.

I no longer have a date tonight.  Because guess what?  He canceled!  That’s two guys to cancel within three days.  Am I now qualified to drink wine straight out of the bottle?

I no longer have a date on Friday night.  Do I have a sign on my forehead that says, “Hey boys, cancel your plans with me!”  I gave the last two guys second and third chances, not his time. No more Mrs. Nice bucket.  I’m also throwing a pity party and anyone who’s ever been canceled on is invited! 

After that it went back to the usual freaks and weirdos and I developed the phrase "nonline dating".

Dear guy on POF, while I do “have self esteam, and not be a phsyco” and I also “hate liein ass people, flaky ass people 2” I think that maybe, like so many others who have emailed me, you should consider using spell check and grammar check before pressing the Send button.  Hmm?

I have proof that vampires exist.  And they’re online dating.  Here’s an email one sent to me, copied and pasted:  “if I ever meet U in Person…I’ll Bite U on Yo Neck…& I’ll Drink all that Lusty-Sluty Blood of Urz…”  The icing on the cake?  His ‘about me’ section is the lyrics from Celine Dion’s All By Myself, he’s 21 and his listed profession is Hu$tler.  I’m thinking I should go for this guy.  Thoughts?

Sunday, June 12, 2011

Poetic Lustiss

Entering the single world again brought me back to the last major time in my life I was single: high school.  I bought my favorite movie from high school, Singles, and watched it twice in one day.  It is just as awesome and appropriate now as it was then (only now I'm older than the characters instead of younger).  Other than the movie, as an adult I handled my being-a-singleton situation very differently than I did as a teenager.  As an adult, I wanted to get back my twenties, and trashy one night stands seemed to be the logical and sensible way to do that.  As a teenager, I used poetry as my outlet.  Sappy, depressing, pathetic poetry.

In high school I was in love every five minutes.  I recently pulled out my old poetry books and there are poems entitled Just Love Me, I Will Always Love You, and A Dream Come True.  Each one is dedicated to a different boy (that's right, I made a note at the bottom of the page to whom the poem was dedicated).  I also, not so shockingly when you fall in love every five minutes, got my heart broken every five minutes.  Poems entitled Are You Sorry, When Will I See You Again, and Why were also dedicated to different boys.  Looking back, I wasn't in love with any of those boys (well, maybe one or two) but it seems I had a flare for the dramatic.  Not like now, when I'm super calm and easy going.  You don't agree?  Well, who asked you?  You don't know my life!  Ahem, where was I?  Oh, yeah, calm and easy going.

Who wants to read one of my totally amazing and profound high school love poems?  Everyone does?  Well, okay, here goes:

Violets Are Blue
If you ask me why
I still love you
I'll say we are through

If you ask me why
my eyes are watering
I'll say I'm looking at you

If you ask me why
my heart is broken
I'll say I've been hurt

If you ask me why
I feel pain
I'll say you treated me like dirt

If you ask me why
I'm so lonely
I'll say you aren't here

If you ask me why
I miss you
I'll say I need you near

If you ask me why
I ache inside
I'll say I have to cry

If you ask me why
I hide it all
I'll say it's a lie

If you ask me why
I'm writing this
I'll say it's for you

And if you ask me why
I am so sad
I'll say violets are blue.

Do you have a tear in your eye?  You should.  If you don't, it's possible you're dead inside because what you just read was magic.  Did you get that part at the end?  I'm the violet!  Deep, huh?  And this is just one of many gems.  I'm willing to release more upon request.

Friday, June 10, 2011

Being a single girl at the auto shop

One of the things I miss about being married is that my ex-husband knew a lot about cars.  9 times out of 10 he could save us both from taking our cars to the shop.  And if the fix that was needed was beyond his capabilities, he would prep me for the mechanic.  You don't need this, you might need that, if he says this he's just trying to take your money, if he says that then you need it, etc.  As a married girl I could go to the auto shop armed with knowledge and information.  I could say things like, "My husband says I don't need that," with an undertone of, "I'm not just some girl who's dumb about cars, I'm some girl who's dumb about cars with a husband who's smart about cars.  So there."

As a single girl, I go to the auto shop feeling very much like I do in non English speaking countries.  What language is this, again?  What are they saying to me?  They're smiling so I guess I should smile.  Now they look concerned, what's wrong?  Why are they pointing at that thing?  Oh, they want money.  How much?  That seems like a lot.  Are you explaining why, is that what that sound is?  AAAAHH, whatever, just take the damn money, I don't care anymore!  I'm just a girl who's dumb about cars.  Sad face.

So, I started asking my dad's opinion.  He got a call from me every couple months regarding anything from a car wash to a major check up (or is it called a tune up?  I don't know, I'm a girl).  "Dad, how much does it cost to do this?  They're charging me this much, does that sound right?"  Eventually, I found a mechanic I could trust and I didn't have to call my dad anymore.  Then I moved and had to find a new mechanic and dad started getting calls again.  So, now I'm a girl who's dumb about cars with a dad who's smart about cars. 

I suppose as long as I have a dad or a husband (or both) there's a very good chance I'll never have to learn anything about cars.  One down, one to go.

Thursday, June 9, 2011

Nonline dating continues

I find the whole idea of online dating websites to be very disconcerting.  They're like man catalogs.  And not very good ones at that.  Every time I sign in I feel like I'm going man shopping at a store that is sold out of men.  It's like a who's who of human crap.  So why bother, you ask?  Because it's funny, that's why.  I never respond to any of the freaks, weirdos and idiots from whom I receive emails.  Instead, I make fun of them on Facebook.  What can I say, I like to be polite and talk about them behind their backs.

Dear guy on match who emailed me, I appreciate that you like long walks on the beach and one on one picnics, but you listed Toronto, Canada as a place you’ve been in the U.S.  And you don’t eat meat.  And you don’t drink.  I don’t think it’s gonna work out.

Dear guy on match who emailed me, when you said “your very cute” it made me want to ask “my very cute what?”  Learn the proper use of "your" and "you’re" and maybe I’ll email you back. 

Dear guy on match who winked at me, is wanting to date you because you’re a doctor more or less shallow than NOT wanting to date you because of that shirt you’re wearing?

Dear guy on match who winked at me, learn to proofread.  And may I suggest the use of commas(,) and the word “a”.  Also, you’re about five years too young.  But thanks.  

Email from a guy on POF: “I am looking for a friend with benefits I am looking to gain sum exp in the bed room I have had sex before but very little but for the lil exp I have I have been told that I do give great oral.  Would you be interested on being my sex teacher?”  I am, for the first time, speechless.  Have fun with that one, friends.

Dear guy on POF, while I’m impressed that you are a “Gaelic Knight”, at 54 you’re just a little bit too old for me.  Darn, we could’ve had something.
Dear guy on POF, we have so much in common.  I “like to do stuff that is very budget friends” and “im a outgoing not afraid to break the water in an awkward situation” and it would be fun to “maby just go to a park and look at the stars and just star gaze and maby get a little romantic under the stars and just chat about random stuff that would make us both laugh our hearts away.”  Unfortunately, you’re 18.

This is what a guy on POF said he would do on a first date.  Ready?  Here it is:  “I would make u Laugh!!!!!!!!!!!!!  And then drop my pants and make u drool!!!!”  Sounds classy.  It’s a shocker he’s still single.

And there' s more where those came from...

Tuesday, June 7, 2011

Chapter 2, or Sorry, I don't remember you

Let's go back to June 2008 and talk about my first experience with sex after my husband.  I mean, we're all friends here, right?  I was at a friend's birthday party and a few of us all went to the same high school, but there was this one guy I didn't remember.  By the end of the night, this one guy suggested we go back to his place.  Before that night, I'd only ever heard that uttered in the movies!

I discussed with my girlfriends the possibility of me going home with Guy from high school.  It was a big decision, quite possibly a moral dilemma.  It would be my first post-separation sex…and my first time having sex with someone other than my husband.  So I said in a hushed voice, “He wants me to go home with him.  Should I?”  And they whispered loudly, “Yes!”  Decision made.  Moral dilemma averted.
We got in his car and I have no idea why but I told him, “I’m sorry, I don’t remember you.  But I was kind of a nerd.” 
He said it was okay, but was he really gonna get upset when we’re on the way to his house to take a disco nap?  I don’t think so.  So we got to his house (which was actually his mom’s house because he lived with her, but she wasn’t there) and he opened the door for me, picked me up, and carried me up the stairs.  He carried me up the stairs! If I hadn’t already decided to put out, that would’ve made my decision for me.  Does it get any more Rhett Butler than that? 
We got to his room and clothes started flying off and there was a lot of kissing.  And then for the next two hours I proceeded to have the best sex of my life…twice.  Granted, he was only the second person I’d ever had sex with (I don’t count the unsuccessful attempt in high school, if it doesn’t go all the way in, and nobody finishes, it’s not sex).  I was with my husband for a total of 10 1/2 years; there was a lot of sex in that time period.  But it was never like this.  I didn’t know sex could last so long!  I didn’t know I could bend into so many positions!  I didn’t know there were so many positions.    
I ended up staying the night and when I got home and my parents asked how the party was and what time I got home because they didn’t even hear me come in, I told them I stayed at my friend’s house.  I realize that I’m a grown woman and they weren’t checking up on me or going to scold or punish me, but that was, like I said, my first post-separation sex and it had only been a month.  I felt a little slutty.  But I didn’t regret it.  I went back for seconds.  And thirds.  I eventually called him my three-night stand guy, but my friend told me that more than two times makes it a “fling”.  I like that because a fling sounds way less slutty than a three-night stand.

Monday, June 6, 2011

Nonline dating

About two months after my divorce was final I joined an online (or, as I like to call it, nonline) dating website.  The next day I joined Facebook (or, as I like to call it, that thing that took over my life).  I didn't start posting my nonline experiences on Facebook until July and two of my favorite emails came before that.

The first email I ever received asked if I would be interested in dating a bisexual guy.  I have some friends that will get mad when I say this, but it's my opinion and no one can prove that it is wrong, yet.  I feel like if I dated a bisexual guy I would double my chances of being cheated on.  Dating a straight guy you know you could only lose him to another woman.  I could lose a bisexual guy to a woman or a man.  Too many possibilities.  It's all about odds.

The second email I received (this is my favorite of the two) was from a large brown* man with a mustache and a beer belly (who described his body type as average).  It said, "I was just hoping to get to know u better and maybe u can show me what u can do wit dose nice lips you got."  I know what you're thinking.  How could I resist, right?  It was tough.  Between the use of the letter 'u' instead of the word 'you', the use of 'wit' instead of 'with' and 'dose' instead of 'those' and the complete lack of class or grammar, I didn't know where to begin my response.  So I didn't respond at all.  I know, I know, I probably missed out on the love of my life.  I snoozed and I loozed, I guess.

This was just the beginning and it only gets better from here.  And when I say better, I mean worse.  You'll see.

*footnote:  I sat and debated for at least 25 minutes about whether or not I should describe this guy as brown or Mexican.  I also debated as to whether or not I should specify his ethnicity at all.  I'm not sure if it comes across as non PC or racist to refer to him as brown but it does paint a more descriptive picture and possibly adds to the humor if you can do the accent in your head.  Another concept that may be considered non PC or racist.  But let me be clear, I am not racist.  I make fun of everyone equally.  So, if you can't handle a little thing like "brown", just wait till you hear me say Jew a few times.

Saturday, June 4, 2011

Sick and Single

I hate being sick as a grown up.  It's really only a welcome burden if you get to miss school because of it.  As a grown up you pretty much still have to go about your business.  As a single grown up you have to go about your business and take care of your own damn self.  (Not that my ex-husband was ever very useful when I was sick and married.  First sign of a sniffle and off he ran to the hangar for the day.  Of course, when he was dare I even think of doing anything other than wait on him hand and foot.  Men are such babies.)

I very rarely take any kind of drugs to relieve pain but today I had to go to work with a fever (I wish the cure was more cowbell).  My friend who is a nurse recommended that I take three Motrin.  I definitely wouldn't have gotten through the day if I hadn't taken them, but boy did I feel weird.  It was like I was either drunk or on a major caffeine high.  My body was like, "I'm tired and achy and hot and my throat hurts."  And my brain was like, "Nah, you're fine.  Why don't you go run up and down a hill in the rain or something?"

Friday, June 3, 2011

Chapter 1, or What were you in for?

We're going to travel back in time again (gotta go back in tiiiime).  When I was staying at my parent's house in June 2008, I enlisted my friends in what I called the Get Jen Kissed program.  I was highly depressed and insecure and felt that finding a guy to kiss me would drastically raise my self esteem.  I went to Sacramento to visit my friend Anne.  We went to a super divey karaoke bar that had just the guy I was looking for.

He was a tall, sandy haired, very sweet, young looking guy and when he pulled out his ID to buy a drink I saw the big red stripe.  The red stripe that they don’t put on ID’s anymore that means he’s barely over 21.  I had to point that out. 
I said, “Oh my gosh, your ID has a stripe!  You’re brand new!”  
And this is my favorite part: he said, “Yeah, I couldn’t get a new one when I got out of prison.” 
So, of course, I had to ask, “What were you in prison for?  Did you murder someone?”
At which point Anne said, “Jen, that’s private!” 
Um, he opened the door by bringing it up, did he not?  I never found out, but he was 22 and was in for 4 years so I don’t think it was murder.  He probably needed kissing as much as I did.  After a while I commented on his tongue ring.  Why a guy would have a tongue ring, I don’t know.  Well, I guess I do know. 
So I said to him, “I’ve never kissed a guy with a tongue ring before.” 
To which he replied, “Are you saying you want to kiss me?  Because I want to kiss you.” 
Naturally, I was very excited about my first post-separation kiss.  It was a pretty good kiss.  But I don’t like to kiss in front of people so we went outside.  After her song, Anne came outside to get me and go, and noticed that Prison Boy had a surprise in his pants.  I mean, it wasn’t a surprise to me (like I couldn’t feel that thing against my leg) but it was a surprise for her and she got quite a kick out of it. 
            My favorite part was afterward when I told my parents about it.  I told them I kissed a 22-year-old guy with a tongue ring who had just gotten out of prison (check) and they said, “He just got out of prison!  Did you think about where his mouth was before it was on yours?”  Uh, no.  No I did not.

 That was the most white trash way I've ever tried to boost my self esteem.  Probably why it didn't work.

Wednesday, June 1, 2011

Jen in transition

Some people might advise me to let go of all the landmark dates related to my divorce.  Move on, forget about it, get over it...however you want to say it.  And maybe they're right, maybe I should.  But then I wouldn't have enough stories (some good, some bad, some slutty) to fill a book.  It's not like I use these dates as an excuse to mourn (anymore), I use them as an excuse to celebrate.  Any reason to share a cocktail with friends is a good reason in my book (literally).  Today, June 1st, happens to be the third anniversary of the day my husband left me.  I'm not crying about it.  I'm not even sad anymore, really, but that doesn't mean I will ever forget it.  I will never forget that June 30th was the day we got married, February 11th was the day our divorce was final and February 24th was the day I found out.  Four dates.  That's only four days out of 365 so, if you do the math, there's not very much to let go of.  It's amazing I have as many stories as I do.

Transitioning from "married person" to "divorced person" to "single person" to "person" is messy.  It feels like what I imagine identity theft feels like.  I was Married Jen and it was great.  I had a husband and we had a house and cats and favorite TV shows and travel plans.  Then a thick stack of stapled together court documents said, "Sorry, but now you are Divorced Jen.  Good luck!"  Suddenly, I was a statistic and that became my new identity.  I was a divorced person and it sucked.  I felt like a stranger in my own body.  I had emptiness in my heart and mushiness in my head.  I forgot how to smile and I spent a lot of time crying.  I went through a slutty phase.  Then Single Jen kinda snuck up on me.  I am a single person and freaked out.  The thought of going on a date scares the crap out of me (after the few times I have been asked out I immediately felt like I had to pee, poop and throw up all at the same time) and I can't talk to attractive men without sweating profusely.  But on the positive side, I'm learning to be independent and getting stronger every day.  I can still feel Divorced Jen waiting in the wings like an alternate personality on that show U.S. of Tara, but she's slowly fading.  Eventually, I'll just be Jen again.

So, you see, turning those landmark dates from sad to celebratory is part of the process.  So, if you know someone who has gone through a divorce, or even a nasty break up, and you find you're about to tell them to let it go, move on, forget about it or get over it, remind yourself that they're still in transition and share a cocktail with them instead.  Cheers.