tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-74576678543142116262024-03-12T22:32:30.573-07:00Two Kids and a FishSharing my journey with a touch of humor... Sometimes I over share. You've been warned. Buy Me Dinnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11043077751478614270noreply@blogger.comBlogger50125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7457667854314211626.post-32495377179384289202019-03-13T22:57:00.000-07:002019-03-13T22:57:55.212-07:00Part 2: I married my Booty Call <span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It was July 14, 2016. At around 8 a.m., I woke up to find my husband laying next to me, wide awake, staring at me. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I half-expected him to say, "It's coffee time, get up, let's go!" I had been out of town all week for work and I assumed he wanted to take a trip to our favorite coffee shop. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">He did not. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i><b>"Babe, the doctor called. It's cancer." </b></i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">His words swirled in the air, spawning a torrential storm of tears from my eyes as I thought about us, the kids, our future plans. Everything. You think about everything in that moment. And then you wonder how many moments you have left. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">He was only 43. How is this possible? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I remember screaming in his face, "Noooooooooo!" I remember beating on his chest with my fists, screaming, crying. </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I spent 45 minutes in the shower, crying on my knees. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My heart, screaming internally, "But we finally found each other. We finally found happiness." </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">We had both been married before and survived horrible divorces when we met in 2012. My husband always tells me that we had to go through the bad to get to the good.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">How did we get to the good? Oh, that's right, <a href="https://twokidsandafish.blogspot.com/2016/09/i-married-my-booty-call.html" target="_blank">he was my booty call</a>. But then we fell in love, got married and created this beautiful, blended family that was now being invaded by this bitch named "cancer."</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>You can thank the Yankees</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">How does a 43 year old man even suspect he has prostate cancer? You can thank the Yankees. And he <i>HATES</i> the Yankees. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">One Sunday afternoon in June, as he was watching a Yankees game, they cut to the broadcast booth as they chatted away about Prostate Cancer Awareness Month. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Why my husband was watching a Yankees game in the first place still escapes me, but as the broadcasters ran down the list of symptoms, he realized he had one of them. It wasn't bad and it wasn't painful, but it was on "the list." </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The following week, he made an appointment to see a urologist. </span><br />
<b><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></b>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>"Take the fucking thing out" </b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">We live in the mecca of specialized medical practice -- South Florida. And thank goodness! There's literally a specialist of [insert your ailment here] on every other corner. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Dr. S, the urologist who found the cancer, laid out all the options. Radiation. laparoscopic, radical prostatectomy, ablasion therapy, the list goes one. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">As if it was even possible, Dr. S got even more serious. He wheeled his chair closer to my husband, locked eyes and said, </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">"You're young and you're strong. Don't fuck around. Take the fucking thing out." </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And with that, </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">my husband decided on the most invasive (but best shot at nerve-preserving) surgery (radical prostatectomy), which scared the hell out of me. Honestly, it all scared the hell out of me. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>He took "the fucking thing out"</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">On Oct. 18, 2016, my husband, at the age of 43, took "the fucking thing out." </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">A</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">lthough he would need a blood transfusion, t</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">he nearly five-hour surgery was successful. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">He spent four days in the hospital and three months on the couch, recovering from the </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">radical prostatectomy</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">. We took a hit financially since he's self employed. If he doesn't work, he doesn't get paid. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But I gave zero fucks. The love of my life had been given a potential death sentence. Yet here he was on the couch, alive and breathing. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">His recovery was not easy. He was in excruciating pain for weeks from the incision that went from just below his belly button to his groin. But little by little, day-by-day, he got better. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Most importantly, he was cancer free. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">* * * </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i>For more information about prostate cancer, visit the <a href="https://www.pcf.org/" target="_blank">Prostate Cancer Foundation website.</a></i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i><a href="https://twokidsandafish.blogspot.com/2016/09/i-married-my-booty-call.html" target="_blank">Read Part 1: I married my Booty Call</a></i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<br />Buy Me Dinnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11043077751478614270noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7457667854314211626.post-32158027096515658362016-09-30T09:22:00.000-07:002016-09-30T09:22:33.881-07:00I married my Booty Call <!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<strong><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">BOOTY CALL: </span></i><em><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">A late night summons — often
made via telephone — to arrange clandestine sexual liaisons on an ad hoc basis.</span></span></em><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><br />
</span><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><em><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">*Urban Dictionary</span></em></span></strong></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
He was supposed to be a booty call. That’s it.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
We were both kid-free every other weekend so that’s when
we did “our thing.” That’s what we called it, “our thing.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Our thing” would start at 6 p.m. on Friday and
end at 6 p.m. on Sunday. “Our thing” was basically tons of uninterrupted
sex with Gatorade nearby to hydrate when needed, when we wanted, where we
wanted for 48 hours.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Sometimes we ordered pizza. Sometimes we’d actually put
clothes on and go out.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
When we couldn’t hold out until our next kid-free
weekend, we would sneak in a “nooner” during the week. At first,
these sessions took intricate planning on both our parts. Eventually,
everything easily fell into place. It was as if the universe wanted us to
have sex!</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
But it wasn’t a relationship. I wasn’t his girlfriend and
he wasn’t my boyfriend. In fact, my mom once referred to him as my boyfriend in
a casual conversation and I snapped, “Bite your tongue, woman! I don’t have a
boyfriend and I don’t want one.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Four months later, we were exchanging text messages on a
Saturday morning when this one hit my phone:</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<em><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“I am undeniably, head over
heels in love with you.”</span></em></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<em><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">(Babe, sorry for throwing it
out like that, but this is my blog.)</span></em></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I remember that moment vividly. I was cleaning my
bathroom. As the content and context of his text message really hit me, I
remember saying, “Oh shit,” almost in slow motion, out loud, to no one.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I remember smiling. A lot. Like an idiot. And I couldn’t
stop.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I had no intentions of falling in love with this man. But
I did. I had no intentions of marrying this man. But I did. Twice.<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><em><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">(So, like, we have two
anniversaries, two weeks apart.)</span></em></div>
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My booty call proved to be my soul mate. The love of my
life. Mi corazón, mi alma, mi vida.</div>
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He’s an amazing husband, and a loving and caring father
to our daughters. All six of them. <em><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">(His three, my two, and we
became legal guardians of another one two months ago.) </span></em></div>
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<br /></div>
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And now the love of my life, mi corazón, has cancer.</div>
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<em><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">To be continued… </span></em></div>
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* * * * *</div>
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<i>Note: Originally posted on my new blog. <a href="https://lareinadavia.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">Click here</a> to check it out. </i></div>
Buy Me Dinnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11043077751478614270noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7457667854314211626.post-72775075837234290352014-09-02T10:30:00.000-07:002014-09-02T10:30:19.453-07:00Choppers, Fire Trucks and Cops... Oh My! <div dir="ltr">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">When we last left off, my family and I were about to make the big cross-country move: west coast to east coast. Happy to report that despite many obstacles (many, many, many, many, many obstacles) we made it! </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The plan was to drive straight through for two days. </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">No hotel rooms, just gas, food and potty breaks. We had four drivers: me, hubby, his brother and my brother's best friend (he was in it just for the adventure and oh did he ever get one!). </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I won't bore you with every little detail, but here are the highlights: </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>How much longer?</b> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The kids were warned that if the words "Are we there yet?" were ever uttered during our trip, those words were surely be their last. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So they got creative. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">About 30 minutes into our trip, the words "How much longer?" left the lips of the youngest teen. <insert smirk on face and the smiling faces of her two smiling here> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Had I not been driving, my shoe would've flown from the front seat, hit the smart-ass kid in the back of the head and boomeranged back into my hand in 1.2 seconds. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The "Mommy death stare" in the rear view mirror would have to do. Problem solved.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>Excuse me, Mr. Officer...</b> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I was stopped by a police officer near Houston. The reason? I allegedly failed to reduce my speed by 20 mph and failed to move into the left lane, which would've been impossible with all the traffic. Why is that important? Because two police cars had stopped a couple on the side of the road for what seemed to be the beginnings of a domestic violence situation. (Honestly, I feared for the man's life.) Apparently (allegedly?), it's the law in Texas to reduce your speed and pull the left. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Officer Garcia: That's the law around here, but I'm gonna let you off with a warning. And the warning will only cost you a $1,000. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Me: {tears swelling, can't talk} </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Officer Garcia: Haaaaaaaaaa! Just kidding... </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Me: {more tears, still can't talk} </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>News choppers, fire trucks and more cops...</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Just two hours outside of our new home city, the lug nuts break off on one of the tires on the U-Haul trailer. The tire blows and sparks from the rim (about 20 feet long) set pieces of the tire on fire. Tire remnants end up in the grassy area on the side of the freeway. THIS SPARKS A SMALL WILDFIRE IN THE GRASS AND TREES! </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaCBhnkCkjd-InFFRyBxOMqxDmhjd7qlVHnh45HAxvp2nJ7V-UCVMcGdcMzdSIJpmWFxWj4Vfq_sijmk1gtDMlrDsn-PLpuDwmZVyuKy29MmUOfVwU-jmRA6zt3vHuvvxCeIPdr9PpCK50/s1600/10569093_10152430772919263_9223105483454725651_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaCBhnkCkjd-InFFRyBxOMqxDmhjd7qlVHnh45HAxvp2nJ7V-UCVMcGdcMzdSIJpmWFxWj4Vfq_sijmk1gtDMlrDsn-PLpuDwmZVyuKy29MmUOfVwU-jmRA6zt3vHuvvxCeIPdr9PpCK50/s1600/10569093_10152430772919263_9223105483454725651_n.jpg" height="320" width="179" /></a><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Within minutes, there are news helicopters hovering over the scene, several fire trucks and yay, more cops... The works! </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Thankfully, no one is hurt. A number of good Samaritans stopped by to help with fire extinguishers and asking if we needed any assistance. This was bizarre and, at the same time, amazing to me. This is something we had never experienced in our old home state. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">As my husband is on the phone with a U-Haul representative via the 1-800 number, an employee from the local U-Haul office just happened to be passing by. Turns out he's the guy that U-Haul sends out to fix broken down U-Haul trucks, trailers and to replace tires that have been shredded to pieces only to start a small forest fire. </span></div>
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<b style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Other random adventures... </b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">There were plenty of other adventures such as: </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">- Food poisoning after breakfast at a Denny's in Louisiana or Florida. Just can't remember anymore... </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">- Running over a skunk somewhere in the middle of Texas... </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">- PMS hitting the youngest of the three teens with a vengeance! To spare the lives of her two sisters, we had to pull into the emergency lane (in the middle of Texas) to search for a tiny box of Midol in the trunk. I say tiny because compared to the many, many, many bags of luggage, backpacks and cosmetic bags, it was like looking for a needle in a haystack. Her sisters are alive and well today. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">- Watching a deer nearly hit the U-Haul truck that my husband was driving in front of me... Then almost being hit by that same deer in my car... Again, somewhere in the middle of Texas. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBtlpzEMaN0BChrUm7TSye-zPfx0kwbiNMZWqT6aH4fn_S6EVJuvWI2q84hCLrcfBR9c94GGNqz10SMR9tv1YGJ-kgQ8Xdj8NArGc8dAXlikfK-LMqDO7Hq6R-81LpjMf6YdWWQkgUfyz3/s1600/20140823_224755.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBtlpzEMaN0BChrUm7TSye-zPfx0kwbiNMZWqT6aH4fn_S6EVJuvWI2q84hCLrcfBR9c94GGNqz10SMR9tv1YGJ-kgQ8Xdj8NArGc8dAXlikfK-LMqDO7Hq6R-81LpjMf6YdWWQkgUfyz3/s1600/20140823_224755.jpg" height="200" width="112" /></a><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">- After a brief stop in Louisiana (pizza!) and discovering that you should NEVER EVER leave your car doors open for any length of time, anywhere in Louisiana, we got back on the freeway only be terrorized by the biggest mosquitoes we've ever seen in our lives! Picture two adults and three teen girls squealing and squatting only to be out-maneuvered for miles by these critters. We looked absolutely ridiculous! We finally remembered they were attracted to the light so we each pulled out our cell phones, pointed them upward and killed each one. That reminds me... There are still mosquito parts splattered on my car's upholstery that need to be removed. Awesome... </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>Closing thoughts...</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">When my husband first approached me with the idea of driving across the country, he said, "It'll be an adventure!" That turned out to be the </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">understatement of the year, my friends. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But we made it safely (barely) and these adventures will become lasting memories, things we'll be able to laugh about in the future... Right??? </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Please tell me it's true, because I'm not laughing right now. Sure, I have a little bit of a psychotic giggle and a nervous twitch, especially when I hear the word "Texas," but I'm hoping this is all temporary.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">What's next? Stay tuned... It won't take long, folks. It never does. </span></div>
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Buy Me Dinnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11043077751478614270noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7457667854314211626.post-4999761930041011422014-08-15T11:51:00.000-07:002014-08-15T12:21:23.581-07:00Two Kids and a Fish now Three Teens and a U-Haul <span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Make that "Three Teens, a Husband and a U-Haul." </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">By the way, I got married... twice... yes, to the same man. Surprise! </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">That was 7 or 8 months, depending on which ceremony you're referring to. Today, we're a week away from packing up our lives and moving to the other side of the country (west coast to east coast) in a U-Haul with three teen girls in tow (2 his, 1 mine). </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Are we crazy? I think you know the answer. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But maybe we're not so crazy, just good parents. Excuse me while I brush my shoulders off... </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">If you could improve the health of your kids and had the means to relocate to a city where they could breathe, where the climate (pollens, pollution, etc.) wouldn't cause their skin to break out around their eyes, mouths and hands, and the bumps on their arms and legs (that sometimes bleed) would finally go away... Wouldn't you do the same? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But wait... It's not that easy. It's not just the logistics of relocating that you have to deal with, you still have the exes. We're talking about three teens under 18. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Cue Michael Buffer: "Let's get ready to rrruuummmbbbllleee!"</span><br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/WvufFwdqMzg?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Five months later (several court hearings and some cash for one lucky attorney), here we are. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Sure, we've been knocked down a few times, sucker-punched more than we care to remember, but we've picked ourselves up each time and reminded ourselves that we were doing the right thing. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And that's why this time, next Friday, we'll be starting our 36-hour cross-country trek, eastbound, in a U-Haul, with three teen girls. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Three teen girls who are already fighting over who gets stuck in the middle seat, whose music will be played in the car, who better not take the big pillow because it'll take up too much room plus it's itchy and it stinks... and so on and so on. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">OK, so maybe we're a little bit crazy.</span><br />
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<br />Buy Me Dinnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11043077751478614270noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7457667854314211626.post-69010647012697006852013-06-25T13:12:00.000-07:002013-06-25T13:12:10.911-07:00A lot can happen in a year... <span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I've been away from the blogosphere for a while so here's a recap:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">June 2012</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">- Go out with friends after blowing off a date</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">- Meet a guy who proves to be "the one" </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">January 2013</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">- We move in together (</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">We have 5 kids between us, all girls)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">- We go on an amazing 10-day vacation to South America</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">April 2013 </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">- My oldest (early 20s) moves out of state </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">- <span style="color: red;"><a href="http://twokidsandafish.blogspot.com/2013/04/my-boobies-and-me-breast-cancer-scare.html" target="_blank">I have a breast cancer scare</a> </span>(</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Get your boobies checked, ladies!)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">May 2013 </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">- We head to East Coast for work/vacation </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">- Three weeks after moving out, oldest wants to move back in </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">- I say no, tell her to put big girl panties on, s</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">he stops talking to me</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">- She moves back to town without telling me, lives with a friend </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">June 2013 </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">- Oldest kid still not talking to me, b</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">ut shows signs of responsibility (Yay!)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">- Drama with boyfriend's ex ensues (Does it ever really go away?)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">- Above drama causes his oldest (teen) to move in with us </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">- Oldest kid finally starts talking to me, relationship on the mend </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">That's just a brief snapshot of my life this past year. What I left out are all the meaningless battles with the exes that, in the end, don't really matter unless it directly affects the well-being of our kids. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">What I also left out are all the private, intimate moments that my man and I have shared since we met a year ago. Moments I thought I'd never have again. Moments I really never had in my marriage, to be honest. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Get your heads out of the gutter, I don't necessarily mean "intimate" in that way. I'm talking about those moments when you're lying in bed and you both reach out for each other in the dark and your hands connect. </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">O</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">r the moment you get that text message and it says, "Just wanted to tell you how happy and thankful I am to have you in my life. I love you." </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And then there are those moments when you simultaneously look at each other from across the room and you just... Well, you just know. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Anyway, it's been great catching up with you guys. Until next time... </span><br />
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<br />Buy Me Dinnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11043077751478614270noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7457667854314211626.post-53577563229411523822013-04-23T19:22:00.000-07:002013-04-23T19:22:10.155-07:00My boobies and me: A breast cancer scare<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #333333;">I recently found a lump on my breast and endured one of the most agonizing weeks of my life. On the day of the biopsy, I took to twitter to over share in hopes of bringing just a little more awareness to the importance of self exams and mammograms. The following is what I posted via </span><a href="https://twitter.com/TwoKidsandaFish" target="_blank"><span style="color: red;">@twokidsandafish</span></a><span style="color: #333333;"> on April 13, 2013: </span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #999999; line-height: 24px;" title="8:13 AM - 11 Apr 13"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #999999; line-height: 24px;" title="8:13 AM - 11 Apr 13">8:13 AM - 11 Apr 13</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #999999; line-height: 24px;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Hello world, it's been a while. Don't have much time so will use a few
tweets to catch up because my life may never be the same after today.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #333333; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #999999; line-height: 24px;">8:17 AM - 11 Apr 13</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">See, I found a lump on my breast last Friday night which sucks because
it's not like you can go to the ER for this.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #333333; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #999999; line-height: 24px;">8:19 AM - 11 Apr 13</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So over the weekend I had the unfortunate pleasure of waiting for 9am on
Monday to "get here already!" so I could schedule a mammogram.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #333333; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #999999; line-height: 24px;">8:21 AM - 11 Apr 13</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Well that didn't turn out so hot either because today is the biopsy. And
like I said, my life may never be the same after today.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #333333; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #999999; line-height: 24px;" title="8:25 AM - 11 Apr 13">8:25 AM - 11 Apr 13</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #999999; line-height: 24px;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Why am I grossly over sharing such personal info?</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #333333; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #999999; line-height: 24px;">8:26 AM - 11 Apr 13</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">While this may cause some to scream "TMI!" I'm hoping this
sounds the alarm for those who don't do self exams or have annual mammograms.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #333333; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #999999; line-height: 24px;">8:28 AM - 11 Apr 13</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I just had my yearly mammogram in January and here I am four months
later... That's how fast things can change!</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #333333; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #999999; line-height: 24px;">8:32 AM - 11 Apr 13</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">After sharing this with a few close friends and family members, I
learned some hadn't had exams in over 5 years. Unacceptable!</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #333333; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #999999; line-height: 24px;">8:34 AM - 11 Apr 13</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So think of this as a not so friendly PSA and get your damn boobies
checked!!! Monthly self exams! Annual mammograms!</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #333333; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #999999; line-height: 24px;">8:36 AM - 11 Apr 13</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The past 7 days have been hell but I've found comfort in the fact that
I've had my annual check ups and have stuck to my monthly self exams!</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #333333; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #999999; line-height: 24px;">8:38 AM - 11 Apr 13</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So if this turns out to be "something," (God forbid), then I
know I've caught it early. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #333333; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #999999; line-height: 24px;">8:38 AM - 11 Apr 13</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #333333; line-height: 115%;">If </span><span style="color: #333333; line-height: 115%;">this turns out to be nothing, then I can look back at all the tears I've
shed this week and laugh my ass off!!!</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #333333; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #999999; line-height: 24px;">8:44 AM - 11 Apr 13</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So long for now. I'm going to spend the morning with my man. He's
amazing plus he makes the most decadent desserts. I think I'll keep him. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #333333; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; line-height: 115%;">And finally, at 2:48 p.m.: </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><a href="https://twitter.com/TwoKidsandaFish/status/322466222765666304" target="_blank"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtkmTl6lbEPJAbXDJZGbZpa9xjx84IgLmeS3SZ8j3GKUNWyef4t4CJ-G87szR1tcStNXAVuIkKSIpgW6zNzjrgaeXc37-jPF31Vwj_PTHcnCKA9sO0Uj_57R7NWqIM0WrjAbT52XVfqPer/s1600/tweet.gif" title="" /></a></span></div>
<span style="color: #333333; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span><span style="color: #333333; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">More information on breast cancer, mammograms and self exams:</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><a href="http://breastcancer.org/">BreastCancer.org</a></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;"><a href="http://nationalbreastcancer.org/">NationalBreastCancer.org</a></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;"><a href="http://pinkribbon.org/">PinkRibbon.org</a></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #333333; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
Buy Me Dinnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11043077751478614270noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7457667854314211626.post-50744812536704221702012-12-05T15:00:00.000-08:002012-12-05T15:00:29.168-08:00Having fun being single until one Saturday night...<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Hello again. It’s been a while. I’ve been busy… really
busy. If your mind is in the gutter after that last line, good! Now, let’s catch
up, shall we?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">*Note: Photos used to show resemblance. You can thank my mom for the eye candy. She insisted I use photos. *sigh* </span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<b><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The Spaniard<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZISN_1-VLz04XQF7BR-g5KAAJzxLdf6iHCb6DPWtSUGqoQFJ1_A31mMxjkv8CYgYhp1LZdZSJzg9DnfCRMrpNIxKo_63aDNxh_PwktIPybzXR2DIhTie8icOuAxEGY4GAzARqR1UXVRCQ/s1600/ikercasillas.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZISN_1-VLz04XQF7BR-g5KAAJzxLdf6iHCb6DPWtSUGqoQFJ1_A31mMxjkv8CYgYhp1LZdZSJzg9DnfCRMrpNIxKo_63aDNxh_PwktIPybzXR2DIhTie8icOuAxEGY4GAzARqR1UXVRCQ/s200/ikercasillas.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is Iker Casillas, goalkeeper for Real <br />
Madrid. Similar smoldering hotness as <br />
"The Spaniard."</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>In summary:</b> Remember
"The Spaniard?" Of course you do. <a href="http://twokidsandafish.blogspot.com/2012/04/part-one-my-date-with-spaniard.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: red;">He was my first post-divorce, um, rodeo?</span></a> It was hot,
intense and short-lived. He was supposed to be in my city for six months, but
he was re-assigned and sent back to Europe three months early. We promised to
keep in touch, and we did, for a while. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>The issue:</b>
Long distance relationships are hard and this wasn't </span><i style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">really </i><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">a relationship. It
was never going to be. He was only supposed to be in my city temporarily so
there was never a future. Between his work travel and mandatory immigration travel
(he had to go back to Spain every 90 days) and my own travel schedule, it was
hard to keep up. Throw in a batch of new guys that I was meeting locally, and
it became harder and harder to keep in touch.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>End result: </b>To
this day, I’m thankful that I met him and I’ll never regret our time together. After
all, he helped to kick-start <a href="http://twokidsandafish.blogspot.com/2012/04/part-one-my-date-with-spaniard.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: red;">my post-divorce dating life</span></a>. But he was in another
state, and at times in another country. What’s that saying, absence makes the
heart grow...no, wrong one. Out of sight, out of mind… Yup, that’s the
one. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<b><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The Cop<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>In summary: </b>From
the beginning, fireworks. Intense fireworks! The first time he touched me (his hand
brushed my elbow), sparks flew and we both knew it. And he was hot! OMG, he was
hot! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>The issue: </b>There
were a few issues, but the biggest one was his need to be in control. Then one
night at dinner, it hit me. He was just like my ex. It suddenly became hard to
breathe. I found myself looking for the nearest exit. As hot as he was (and
damn he was hot), I couldn’t get away fast enough. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>End result: </b>We
finally had it out. I called him out on his bullshit and constant
contradictions. In so many words, he said it was his way or the highway. It was
over. Did I mention he was hot? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<b><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The Stalker<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwUmVbheXTW7qwL8XUdwmqfw9QZ5s6hLyV0GAR9VYWFxaQQns7lmpM8kbDVH50KQx60jChbTglmuh5U8PWXvkIacKNTUdNxm56MpGkdPRZgdqZUu6c1XSiCgsubzs6Am-WHXFp_fMATUoQ/s1600/derek+jeter+eyes2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwUmVbheXTW7qwL8XUdwmqfw9QZ5s6hLyV0GAR9VYWFxaQQns7lmpM8kbDVH50KQx60jChbTglmuh5U8PWXvkIacKNTUdNxm56MpGkdPRZgdqZUu6c1XSiCgsubzs6Am-WHXFp_fMATUoQ/s200/derek+jeter+eyes2.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yes, these Derek Jeter eyes! Doubt<br />
Jeter is a stalker though. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>In summary: </b>Green
eyes, Derek Jeter-esque eyes to be exact, good looking but short at least for
my taste. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>The issue: </b>He
was like “chicle” (Spanish for gum). As in “chicle” stuck to the bottom of your
shoe. Text messages every day at 6:01
a.m. followed by a text pic of himself around 6:30 a.m. No, not those kind of pics. These were of his face… at work, driving, etc. Plus he wanted
to take me home to meet his mom – in another state – and wanted our kids to
meet. Um, no… Hell no! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>End result: </b>Blocked
his number. He called from a new number. I blocked that one, too. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<b><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The Banker <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>In summary: </b>Ugh,
this one is tough because he was a really nice guy and good looking. But he was looking for “the
one.” I mean he was really looking for “the one.” I think a lot of guys say
that because they think that’s what some women want to hear (the exception
being yours truly), but this guy was really looking for the next Mrs. Banker
and he wanted kids. I was honest with him from the beginning. I wasn’t looking
for a relationship and I definitely wasn’t looking to get married (ever again!).
And it would take a medical miracle to get another kid out of me. But we got
along really well and had similar backgrounds. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>The issue: </b>He
was looking for a relationship that would eventually lead to marriage that
would eventually produce some kids. I wasn’t. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>End result: </b>We
wanted different things, but we stayed friends. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<b><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The Young Gun<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1qkt6qQB5uKhs7PVbqtQv36kpgFZUPcBVJBo2o-ESDpu4mL4aAMIPi_RAmE2oLmYMHHMGp4b3aILhvgRgYS4J4AIhr7lhifdjg0MqztnjAc-R4ZCa6APh6jaWz32t2M0cCW3W_USghL-d/s1600/william+levy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1qkt6qQB5uKhs7PVbqtQv36kpgFZUPcBVJBo2o-ESDpu4mL4aAMIPi_RAmE2oLmYMHHMGp4b3aILhvgRgYS4J4AIhr7lhifdjg0MqztnjAc-R4ZCa6APh6jaWz32t2M0cCW3W_USghL-d/s200/william+levy.jpg" width="136" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Different face, same abs.<br />
And an excuse to use yet<br />
another gratuitous <br />
William Levy photo. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>In summary: </b>Just
looking at him makes you say, “Oh… Hell… Yes!” Ladies, that’s how gorgeous this
guy was. But he was only 25. And my rule is: If I’m old enough to me your momma,
I don’t need the drama. I knew immediately that he was out of my age range when he first approached me. And I was very surprised when he did, plus I was in a mood, as in, “I
only play with the big boys” kind of mood. So I patted him on the shoulder and
said, “I only play with the big boys.” I forget to filter myself sometimes.
Anyway, this comment made him even more persistent. Tempting… <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>The issue: </b>The
age, of course, but it gets even better! Come to find out, this young, gorgeous
specimen of a man worked at the same place as my ex. In fact, he was, on
occasion, my ex’s supervisor. Are you freaking kidding me! What are the odds? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>End result: </b>I
said no to the eye candy because really, who needs that drama in their life. I
had found a peaceful, serene balance in my life since the divorce and getting
involved with this guy – even for recreational purposes – would possibly
disrupt that balance. And remember Karma? Well, she’s still a bitch. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<b><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The Quasi Co-Worker
<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHmSEavvdT-GgdazDxjfO_-2AsMf_bNuILJWo8W29vMPXpWWrzjXTgmY1m1ubEpOseyPg6C0swUP3Stp735Id4DRaPdbChEnBX2w7c4rYtqtgquvChzUtx5Ahxrx3dIMMhJGgDDQHlAyTR/s1600/509805-5617-13.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHmSEavvdT-GgdazDxjfO_-2AsMf_bNuILJWo8W29vMPXpWWrzjXTgmY1m1ubEpOseyPg6C0swUP3Stp735Id4DRaPdbChEnBX2w7c4rYtqtgquvChzUtx5Ahxrx3dIMMhJGgDDQHlAyTR/s200/509805-5617-13.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This isn't him, but it's pretty damn close.<br />
The first pic he sent me showed more,<br />
um, down below. Again... Rawr!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>In summary: </b>Another
young gun,<b> </b>but not quite as young as
the one above. Not young enough to be his momma, but I don’t shit where I eat.
Tempting, very tempting, but I declared him off limits to my head and to my
libido. Although, I kept the text pics of his washboard abs that he sent me. Rawr! <b> <o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>The issue: </b>While
we didn’t work for the same company, we ran in the same circles and he was
close, too close, to a few of my employees. NFW! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>End result: </b>We’re
friends. He’ll flirt with me privately via text when we run into each other,
but I squash it every time. Then I walk away with an “Mmm hmm, I still got it” pimp walk and attitude. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<b><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The Soldier<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>In summary: </b>Good looking, great sense of humor, but a little short. I like ‘em tall, remember? But we always had a
good time. We were the same age, had similar tastes in music and we both loved
to dance. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>The issue: </b>There
was no spark, no passion, no umph! And he never really stepped up. What I mean
by that is he never demonstrated that he was really into me, and that’s OK. As
it turns out, I wasn’t that into him either. If we went out, cool. If we didn’t,
I would go out with someone else or with friends. Example: We were supposed to go out one Saturday night but, eh, it just didn’t happen. I
ended up going out with a friend who introduced me to her friend and well, everything changed that night. You’ll understand as you read
on… <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>End result: </b>When
he finally decided to step up, it was too late. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<b><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The One? <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>In summary: </b>I
was dating, having fun and meeting new people (read = meeting a lot of guys!).
And then one night, a friend drags me to a grand opening of her friend’s
business. And there he was: the owner, her friend. Truth be told, he wasn’t my
type, but he was tall (just like I like ‘em!). While I knew he was checking me
out and asking my friend about me, I didn’t take him too seriously... Until 3
a.m. when we were still on the phone as he tried to convince me to have
dinner with him. Why did I need convincing? Because I
was dating at least four other guys at the time. In fact, I was supposed to be
on a date with "The Soldier" that night. But there was something about him... <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>The issue: </b>Well,
none so far… Unless you consider being completely head-over-heels in love with
each other an issue. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>End result: </b></span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Neither of us was looking for a relationship. We were both perfectly happy living the single life. But when you can't wait to see each other even after spending the weekend together, can't keep your hands off each other and start making long-term plans, then you know it's more than just a fling. </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Six months and counting. To
be continued…</span><b><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span></b></div>
Buy Me Dinnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11043077751478614270noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7457667854314211626.post-86701790578649450462012-06-09T00:01:00.003-07:002012-06-09T00:01:56.420-07:00So my ex-husband cheated on me. Now what? We’re already divorced.<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">When I left my marriage two years ago, I was not short on
reasons to do so. The mistreatment of me and my kids, the lies that led to our
financial ruin and the lies, lies and more lies.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Now it appears I can add one more to the list:
Infidelity. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I recently found out that my ex-husband cheated on me during
our 17-year marriage. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Whoa, wait, wait, wait… Let me back up a little bit… He cheated
during our engagement. And then he cheated after we married. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It was common knowledge at his workplace. People in his
office were practically taking bets that he’d never really make it to the
altar. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Speaking of people in his office… You know where I’m
going with this and you know who “the other women” were. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">What a cliché this has turned into. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I won’t go into details on how I found out, but the lead
was legit and it led me to the truth. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So my ex-husband cheated on me. Now what? We’re already
divorced. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Do I confront him? Do I go take a Louisville slugger to
his car and go all Carrie Underwood? (Sounds very therapeutic so I may roll
with this one...)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Do I hunt down the women (yes, plural) and confront them?
(And say what? “How dare you mess with an engaged/married man who was once mine
but he turned out to be an asshole so I divorced him!”) <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I can’t really explain how I feel. There’s some numbness
but then there’s this faint yet annoying pain. Yet I feel this considerable
hole. An emptiness perhaps? Or my gut telling me, “I told you so, stupid.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I wish I had the words to really describe this. I think
it would help me to better comprehend what I’m feeling because I don’t
understand it myself. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I saw him today for the first time since knowing this. At
first glance, I felt as if I had vomited in my mouth just a little bit. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">When I realized my face was hurting from scowling so
hard, I decided to take a different approach. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I straightened up my posture and pushed my perky boobs
and tight ass to the heavens (I’ve been working out), took my daughter by the
hand and said, “C’mon sweetie… Let’s go home.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Related link: <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/rick-reynolds/8-reasons-not-to-contact-_b_1340563.html?ref=divorce"><span style="color: red;">8 Reasons Not to Contact his Mistress</span></a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<i><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">*Note to readers: I
originally wrote this in my journal a couple of months ago. I was uneasy and
unsure about sharing this. But ya’ll know about <a href="http://twokidsandafish.blogspot.com/2012/04/part-one-my-date-with-spaniard.html"><span style="color: red;">my spring fling with the Spaniard</span></a> so what the hell, right? </span><o:p></o:p></i></div>Buy Me Dinnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11043077751478614270noreply@blogger.com52tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7457667854314211626.post-54120584293936307262012-04-22T17:45:00.000-07:002012-04-22T19:27:32.517-07:00Part Three: My Date with “The Spaniard”<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“Babe, I have some bad news,” he said, his eyes still
amazing, but now somber. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The bad news was that his company was reassigning him to
another project. He would be leaving for Europe in a week. Instead of three
months, we had seven days. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The only silver lining to this news was that he was
expecting to be reassigned to project two states away; however, it wasn’t
definitive. But with any luck, fate would bring him back to my time zone. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">We talked about how we could still each see other once he
came back to the states. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“Guapa (Beautiful), I’ll fly out to see you first,” he
said. “This isn’t goodbye.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">He then continued to list all the ways we could stay
connected – phone, text, email, Skype. Gotta love technology! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But I’m a realist and a bit cynical so when the loud,
cranky voice in my head said, “Mmm hmm… We’ll see… Ya… Whatever,” I wasn’t
surprised. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">What was this anyway? We’ve only known each other for a
couple of months, he wasn’t my boyfriend and this wasn’t a relationship. Or was
it? The woman with no game (that would be me) didn’t know what to make of this.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Then for the first time in my new post-divorce life, a soft,
sweet, little voice in my head said, “You know, it’s possible. You could see
him again. It could happen.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Meanwhile, the loud, cranky voice replied: “Aw, she
thinks she’s going to see him again. She’s so naïve.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">As we kissed goodbye that night, he held my face in hands
and said, “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I was tempted to ask why he was thanking me and for what,
but I’m learning how to shut my mouth, especially in moments like these. Instead I chose to enjoy the moment and his
hazel eyes . <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">When my mind wanders, it takes me back to this moment.
The look in his eyes (remember, they’re amazing!) and his graciousness. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So we had seven days and the countdown was on! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<b><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">FATE, THY NAME IS
BITCH <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">A funny thing about fate… She can be a real bitch. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Three days later, I was bed-ridden with the flu. Every
single muscle ached, I couldn’t move, I couldn’t talk. My throat was so swollen
I couldn’t even take a sip of water. When I finally crawled into my doctor’s
office, my fever had hit 102. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The diagnosis: Influenza, Strain B. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Recover time: 10-14 days. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Number of days until “The Spaniard” left: 4. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">@#$% fate! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Our plans to see each other at least one more time before
he left for Europe were crushed. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My window to see “The Spaniard” before he left the
country was shortening. But I was determined to get better in time to see him
before he left, even if we only got five minutes. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But it didn’t happen…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<b><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">SAYING GOODBYE…
VIA TEXT<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The night before he left and since I still had no voice,
we texted furiously, trying to say whatever we had left to say to each other
before midnight. Yes, midnight, just like frickin Cinderella. Since he was
leaving the country, his U.S. cell phone was set to be shut off at midnight. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">By 11:58 p.m. my fever was spiking and I could barely
keep my eyes open until I got this text… <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<i><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“Babe, thank you
for everything, so glad you came into my life. I’m going to miss you very much,
guapa, and your sexy curves. We will see each other again, I am confident. Te
mando un beso muy suave (Sending you a soft kiss).” <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Then at 11:59 p.m., I got his final text… <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<i><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“We will meet
again, guapa, I’m sure of it. Un beso …”<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I mustered just enough strength to write, “Me too, babe,
me too. Besos (kisses)…” but I may have been too late. To this day, I don’t
know if he received my last message. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">By the time I woke up the next morning, he was gone. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>Buy Me Dinnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11043077751478614270noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7457667854314211626.post-44578180965285115212012-04-08T22:00:00.000-07:002012-04-08T22:00:25.651-07:00Part Two: My date with “The Spaniard”<div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So there we were making out like a couple of teenagers in front of his place. And it felt goooooood!</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I had long forgotten what this felt like, to be completely aware of every sensation in your body is absolutely breathtaking, especially when you’re making out with a hot Spaniard. Your heart is racing, your entire body is tingling and your knees feel like noodles. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“What are we doing?” I ask, as we momentarily untie our tongues. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“Well,” he says, “Let’s talk about it.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">At this point, talking is the last thing on my mind. But hey, can you stop kissing my neck so I can concentrate? On second thought, as you were. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">As he continued kissing my neck, I quickly process the situation. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Standing before me was a man who actually wanted to communicate and have a two-way conversation about what we were about to get into. And it was blowing my mind!<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“We’re both adults,” he said, still embracing me. “You know how I feel, and here we are, in this moment.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Then he continued…<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“But it’s up to you, wherever you want to take this, it’s your decision, and I’m OK either way.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Needless to say, we never made it to dinner.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx7MrQPCoxEXsGmu0HrvGMZ1chTi02MVnabyaiPhYRKNMq7iUQYMFzpX9n_CffDxQfspfH9UIfg_bl8D_z1scyzJf41NFAezpj2MNMNrCUfbKESzqHeEVZml62And67NxC31IRkG6L5Rkn/s1600/fireworks_1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx7MrQPCoxEXsGmu0HrvGMZ1chTi02MVnabyaiPhYRKNMq7iUQYMFzpX9n_CffDxQfspfH9UIfg_bl8D_z1scyzJf41NFAezpj2MNMNrCUfbKESzqHeEVZml62And67NxC31IRkG6L5Rkn/s320/fireworks_1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Never, and I mean NEVER, has a man appreciated my body with all its curves – curves that I felt I had been cursed with – and all its imperfections like he did. Sensing that I was self-conscious about my tiger stripes (and I don’t have a lot of them, but, hey, they’re there), he ran his fingers over them and said: “Hermosa” (Beautiful). </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">After <i>not</i> having dinner, we talked. Not once, not even prior to this night, did he ever ask me about what caused my divorce. For whatever reason, this struck me as curious. When I asked him if he wanted to know what happened (I know, I know, I’m a mood killer), he said…<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i><span lang="ES-TRAD">“Lo hecho esta hecho. Lo que paso, paso. Todo lo que me importa es donde estamos ahora, en este momento.”</span></i><span lang="ES-TRAD"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Translation…<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i>“What’s done is done. What happened, happened. All that matters to me is where we are now, at this moment.”</i><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I found this so incredibly sexy that I wanted to kiss him. So I did. Which lead to…<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit8A2B06nX4rVm_WBNQ1GTmRM5QQYtSZX2_h302IrRXbb2BE9uac9DSGYx3zHddoB0FKX0-JEu5IkVp-bsIlheFhyphenhyphenk41kgrveBdO-iS2G5xvRdoMc-AKcg0Yzra0V0Dzyq_PCec5hQGl3W/s1600/fireworks_2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="313" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit8A2B06nX4rVm_WBNQ1GTmRM5QQYtSZX2_h302IrRXbb2BE9uac9DSGYx3zHddoB0FKX0-JEu5IkVp-bsIlheFhyphenhyphenk41kgrveBdO-iS2G5xvRdoMc-AKcg0Yzra0V0Dzyq_PCec5hQGl3W/s320/fireworks_2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><b style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">WHAT AM I GETTING INTO?</b></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">You may be wondering what he was doing in the U.S. in the first place. I won’t go into too many details, but he works for a company with several offices in Europe. A major U.S. company contracted his company to work on a project, which is how homeboy ended up in my hood.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So I went into this knowing that he wasn’t here forever. This, whatever “this” was, wasn’t forever. He would eventually be going back to Europe in the summer. And I was OK with that. This was my first dance, my first post-divorce rodeo. (How’s that for a visual!) I’d been divorced less than a year and I wasn’t looking for forever.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So if this wasn’t forever, what was this? I think as women we tend to want to put labels on things. I know I do or at least “the old me” did. Looking back, I don’t feel that this required a label. “It is what it is,” I told myself.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But where do we go from here? What’s the protocol? Where’s the “<i>Divorcee’s Guide to Post-Divorce Sex with a Hot Spaniard Who’s Only in Town for a Few Months</i>?”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Not having the least bit of experience in this arena and since homeboy was so into communication, I asked him: So how do we handle this?<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i>“Let’s keep it simple and see where it takes us. Let’s enjoy it while we can… enjoy each other, enjoy every moment.”</i><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Damn, I think my panties just fell off again…<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I know for some women, knowing a guy will only be around for a few months could be a deal breaker. For me, it was perfect!<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Let me explain…<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">After being married for 17 years, I was truly enjoying my new life and independence. I was not in the least bit interested in a committed relationship. Dating? Yes. Companionship? Why not! <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I had a game plan. Keep it simple, drama free and just have fun!<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><b><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">REALITY BITES<o:p></o:p></span></b></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">As he caressed the small of my back, we calculated how much time we had left (three months) and talked about some of the things we wanted to do: Drive up north for the weekend, visit some local wine bars and check out an upcoming art festival.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">This all sounded great. But reality hit when we talked about my schedule. I was only available every other weekend when my little one was with her dad. When she’s with me, I don’t go out. My time is her time. He said he understood, and that we still had plenty of time.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">We continued to see each other, my schedule permitting. My daughter’s visitation schedule with her dad was basically my “Viva España” schedule. So when she went to her father’s every other weekend, guess where I was? <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">When we met for our date one Friday night, there was some sadness in his eyes. As he stood there embracing me, my face was nestled his chest and I could feel his heart racing. I knew something was wrong. He finally looked down into my eyes and said…<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“Babe, I have some bad news.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i>To be continued…</i><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div>Buy Me Dinnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11043077751478614270noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7457667854314211626.post-24328578697470143552012-04-04T22:13:00.002-07:002012-04-05T22:10:32.033-07:00Part One: My date with “The Spaniard”<div class="ecxmsonormal" style="background: white; line-height: 12.75pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 12.75pt;">I have no problem in admitting I was nervous. I had butterflies. My hands shook as I texted my mom and a couple of friends of my soon-to-be location. I was on my way to a coffee date, my very first date of any kind since I was 15.</span></div><div class="ecxmsonormal" style="background: white; line-height: 12.75pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="ecxmsonormal" style="background: white; line-height: 12.75pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">There I was, driving, hands sweating on the steering wheel, as I thought about the age difference: a forty-mumble-mumble-year-old woman about to meet a guy 10 years her junior. Ridiculous, I thought. How could <i>he</i> be interested in <i>me</i>?<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="ecxmsonormal" style="background: white; line-height: 12.75pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="ecxmsonormal" style="background: white; line-height: 12.75pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">We had been talking for over a month with him routinely asking if he could take me to dinner. And me, the novice, making excuses to him and to myself as to why I wasn’t available. Still questioning how he could be interested in a woman my age. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="ecxmsonormal" style="background: white; line-height: 12.75pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="ecxmsonormal" style="background: white; line-height: 12.75pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">When I pointed out our age difference, he said, “It doesn’t matter to me so why should it bother you?” Touché. He added that he had no idea how old I was until I told him and thought we were around the same age. (Note to self: Unless asked, shut your damn mouth.)<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="ecxmsonormal" style="background: white; line-height: 12.75pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="ecxmsonormal" style="background: white; line-height: 12.75pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">On paper, he had the goods, plus he was from Spain (bonus points). Smart, educated, employed and smoking hot. But I wasn’t feeling it. No connection. No spark. No fireworks. When I think back to this date, I realize now that I was extremely nervous. So nervous that I don’t think I could have made a connection with anyone, not even William Levy.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="ecxmsonormal" style="background: white; line-height: 12.75pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"><br />
</span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizKTTSS8Gdq7Y8lWPw8T0noES6l69wnGLGukn5Nf7o-_FBoXL0oY071_BH234Ko3OhvxCUUjY26fgEodn1OsV1tWA7vIUeA3z_QSNQjD1q_JjJMAMk9cmXL9nlxGpUvUslJgCPCKNw39Hu/s1600/william-levy1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizKTTSS8Gdq7Y8lWPw8T0noES6l69wnGLGukn5Nf7o-_FBoXL0oY071_BH234Ko3OhvxCUUjY26fgEodn1OsV1tWA7vIUeA3z_QSNQjD1q_JjJMAMk9cmXL9nlxGpUvUslJgCPCKNw39Hu/s320/william-levy1.jpg" width="226" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gratuitous William Levy photo</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="ecxmsonormal" style="background: white; line-height: 12.75pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 12.75pt;">Mmm, William Levy… Ahem… Where were we?</span></div><div class="ecxmsonormal" style="background: white; line-height: 12.75pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="ecxmsonormal" style="background: white; line-height: 12.75pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">As our coffee date came to an end, I remember noticing his eyes. I mean, I really noticed his eyes. I don’t have the words to describe his eyes. I wish I did, but I guess some things aren’t meant to be shared. That’s my only explanation.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="ecxmsonormal" style="background: white; line-height: 12.75pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="ecxmsonormal" style="background: white; line-height: 12.75pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">As he walked me to my car, I caught him looking at me. In other words, he was checking me out. And he was smiling. That’s when the butterflies kicked it into high gear, which kick-started the stupidest conversation inside my head.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="ecxmsonormal" style="background: white; line-height: 12.75pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="ecxmsonormal" style="background: white; line-height: 12.75pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">“What is he looking at? Did I sit on something? What am I doing? OK, we’re walking and we’re walking… Wait, where are we going? Oh yeah, my car, he’s walking me to my car…” <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="ecxmsonormal" style="background: white; line-height: 12.75pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="ecxmsonormal" style="background: white; line-height: 12.75pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><b><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">MAPQUEST… GOOGLE… ANYONE… ANYONE… BUELLER?</span></b><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="ecxmsonormal" style="background: white; line-height: 12.75pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="ecxmsonormal" style="background: white; line-height: 12.75pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">At this point, I’m lost. I don’t know what to do. I’ve never been in this position in my adult life. Help!<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="ecxmsonormal" style="background: white; line-height: 12.75pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="ecxmsonormal" style="background: white; line-height: 12.75pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">Out of nowhere, </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">this street</span><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">-smart chic’s voice pops in my head: “You’re a grown-ass woman. Just chill, girlfriend… Tranquilo (Calm).”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="ecxmsonormal" style="background: white; line-height: 12.75pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="ecxmsonormal" style="background: white; line-height: 12.75pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">As we start to say good-bye, I remember that at the beginning of our date, he welcomed me with a hug and a small peck on each cheek (very European, right?) so I was expecting the same gesture.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="ecxmsonormal" style="background: white; line-height: 12.75pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="ecxmsonormal" style="background: white; line-height: 12.75pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">“OK,” I say to myself. “This is it. Hug, peck, peck, and you’re on your way.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="ecxmsonormal" style="background: white; line-height: 12.75pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="ecxmsonormal" style="background: white; line-height: 12.75pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">But instead of hug, peck, peck, he went for it. He went in for the kiss, but he was greeted by my cheek. I was caught completely off guard so when I turned my cheek, it looked like a deflected kiss, as in, “Thanks, but no thanks.” <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="ecxmsonormal" style="background: white; line-height: 12.75pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="ecxmsonormal" style="background: white; line-height: 12.75pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">Trivia question: Who has two thumbs and doesn’t know when a guy wants to kiss her? <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="ecxmsonormal" style="background: white; line-height: 12.75pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="ecxmsonormal" style="background: white; line-height: 12.75pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">How was I supposed to know homeboy was suddenly changing the game on me? What was I thinking? Glad you asked. Here it is…<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="ecxmsonormal" style="background: white; line-height: 12.75pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="ecxmsonormal" style="background: white; line-height: 12.75pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"><i><span class="ecxapple-style-span">“Damn, I think he’s embarrassed."</span></i></span><br />
<span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"><i><span class="ecxapple-style-span"><br />
</span></i></span><br />
<i style="background-color: white; color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 12.75pt;">“Damn, I haven’t been kissed in a long time.”</i><br />
<i style="background-color: white; color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 12.75pt;"><br />
</i><br />
<i style="background-color: white; color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 12.75pt;">"Damn, I’m old.“</i></div><div class="ecxmsonormal" style="background: white; line-height: 12.75pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="ecxmsonormal" style="background: white; line-height: 12.75pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">As I drove home, I gave myself a virtual pat on the back for getting “the first one” out of the way and was pretty sure I’d never hear from him again… until I got his text message a few minutes later.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="ecxmsonormal" style="background: white; line-height: 12.75pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="ecxmsonormal" style="background: white; line-height: 12.75pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">“Just to let you know, I had a very nice time, you have a beautiful smile, would be nice to see you again. Un beso (a kiss).”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="ecxmsonormal" style="background: white; line-height: 12.75pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="ecxmsonormal" style="background: white; line-height: 12.75pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #2a2a2a;">Still, I was trying to make sense of it all. </span><a href="http://twokidsandafish.blogspot.com/2012/03/booty-calls-and-other-advice-from-mom.html"><span style="color: red;">Did he “turn my crank” as my aunt so eloquently put it</span></a><span style="color: #2a2a2a;">? I told myself and my inner circle that he did not. Thinking back, I was too nervous to allow myself to enjoy this. And I saw myself as too damaged to deserve it. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="ecxmsonormal" style="background: white; line-height: 12.75pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="ecxmsonormal" style="background: white; line-height: 12.75pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">But I got over it… <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="ecxmsonormal" style="background: white; line-height: 12.75pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="ecxmsonormal" style="background: white; line-height: 12.75pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">We continued talking and texting over the next few weeks with him asking to see me again. Meanwhile, I was conflicted about whether or not I was ready for another date or if I wanted to see him again.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="ecxmsonormal" style="background: white; line-height: 12.75pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="ecxmsonormal" style="background: white; line-height: 12.75pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">It turns out I did so I accepted his dinner invitation. We agreed that I’d pick him up and we’d drive to dinner. He’d made the reservations.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="ecxmsonormal" style="background: white; line-height: 12.75pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="ecxmsonormal" style="background: white; line-height: 12.75pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">(Note to readers: Remember, he’s from Spain, doesn’t know his away around which is why I picked him up. Not that I have to explain myself!)<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="ecxmsonormal" style="background: white; line-height: 12.75pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="ecxmsonormal" style="background: white; line-height: 12.75pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">He greeted me. Oh yes, he greeted me. He walked up and without hesitation, pulled me to him and kissed me with such passion that my panties almost fell off by themselves. In my head, I could only hear one thing, “Oh shit.” <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="ecxmsonormal" style="background: white; line-height: 12.75pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="ecxmsonormal" style="background: white; line-height: 12.75pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><i><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">To be continued…</span></i><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="ecxmsonormal" style="background: white; line-height: 12.75pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><br />
</div>Buy Me Dinnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11043077751478614270noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7457667854314211626.post-83979242705885989162012-03-27T21:16:00.000-07:002012-03-27T21:16:59.135-07:00Booty Calls and Other Advice from Mom<div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My mom is a dirty, old lady. It’s true, she really is. I thought I’d tell you up front so the following will make more sense.</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">You see, ever since I dipped my toe into the dating pool, my mom has been full of advice. For starters, she’d prefer I dive into the pool instead of my rather cautious approach. In her eyes, I’m acting like I’ve never seen water. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">On any given day, her comments can range from “Just have coffee with the guy” to “Will you just do him already!” <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Yup, that’s my mom!<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Recently after my first ever coffee date (Happy now, mom!), I reported back to my inner circle which includes my mom, my aunt and just a few others. Knowing they were anxiously waiting to hear the details, I sent the message to the place where I knew they’d all be hanging out… Facebook. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><i><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“<span style="background: white;">Ok ladies, had my first coffee date tonight (the Spaniard). It was ehh... But I'm proud to have finally gotten ‘the first’ out of the way even if it was just coffee. Next! (LOL)” <o:p></o:p></span></span></i></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The following is the conversation that ensued. Enjoy if you can keep up… <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Mom: “Oh, just go out with him again, give it one more chance.” <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Friend #1: “So no go huh? Too bad, at least now you know, and you got the first one out of the way.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Friend #2: “Europeans, ewww! Send me his pic.” (After receiving the pic) “Girl, he’s f----ing fine!!! Just do it already!” <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Me: “My mom thinks I should give it one more coffee date, but there was no spark, at least not for me. Yes, he’s from Spain and our conversation was almost 100% in Spanish and he’s educated and he’s lived all over the world… Sexy right? But I just wasn’t feeling it.” <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Aunt: “Yay (for getting it out of the way), some of those super perfect guys make you wonder, ‘So why are you still single?’ You need to look for what turns your crank.” <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Me: “Yay, I got it out of the way, right? I guess I’m realizing what I like and don’t like. So the journey continues…”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Aunt: “Today, looks don’t matter. I like a man that is willing to drink a beer and watch boxing (or MMA) with me, BBQ when the family is over and accepts each and every one of this unique group that is my family. Don’t settle, mija, you have lots of time. But don’t be blinded by looking for perfection either. I bet Prince Charming had stinky feet. LOL!”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><b><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">THOU SHALL MAKE THE BOOTY CALL FIRST<o:p></o:p></span></b></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Somewhere along the way, the subject turned to sex. More specifically, booty calls. And that’s where mom (ahem) dominated the conversation. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“Make sure YOU make the booty call. If he makes the booty call, he’ll want to stay over and expect you to make breakfast. We can’t have that.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My reaction to mom's booty call advice.</td></tr>
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</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Me: “Mom, you’re scaring me.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Mom: “Just laying down the groundwork… laying down the rules.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Aunt: “You are so wise.” <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Still disturbed by the conversation, I took mom’s advice to Twitter. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Me: “<span style="background: white; color: #333333;">Advice from Mom: Make sure YOU make the booty call. If he does he'll want to stay & expect u to make breakfast. We can't have that.<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></span><a href="https://twitter.com/#!/search/%23Help" title="#Help"><span style="background: white; border: none windowtext 1.0pt; color: #66c1d5; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">#</span><span style="background: white; border: none windowtext 1.0pt; color: #0099b9; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">Help</span></a><span style="background: white; color: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">!”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="background: white; color: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">@JustWithMe replied: </span>“Make breakfast? That’s crazy talk.” <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><b><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">ONLINE DATING<o:p></o:p></span></b></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">While my mom doesn’t discourage online dating, she says it definitely wasn’t for her. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Mom: “I gave up online dating after I realized we never got past the first meet because I didn’t sleep with them.” <span style="background: white; color: #333333;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="background: white; color: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">[Side note: My mom is the biggest freak I know so I’m finding this somewhat hard to believe. However, she’s been in a committed relationship for almost 10 years with a wonderful man.]</span><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Aunt: I never tried online dating. Couldn’t cough up the cash for a chance at meeting Mr. Right when I needed things like electricity (kidding)… I’m re-evaluating the whole booty call thing.” <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It was at this point that I tell them that getting schooled on booty call etiquette but my mom is kind of disturbing and I may need to talk about this with my therapist to which my aunt replied…<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“If it made it to the couch, it was definitely worth it.” <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Enough about what my mom has said, let’s take a look at some of things she’s done. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Like the time she took my oldest daughter (her granddaughter) shopping and ended up at a store where she purchased edible chocolate body paint. My daughter, who wasn’t more than 12 at the time, asked, “What’s that for?” To this day, she regrets asking.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Is this really all true? Sadly, it is. My therapist doesn’t believe some of these stories. I’ll have to take mom in for show and tell one of these days. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><span style="background: white; color: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">RUNNING WITH THE BULLS?</span></b><b><i><o:p></o:p></i></b></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">As for “The Spaniard,” I took my mother’s advice and saw him again... <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And again… <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And that’s all I’ve got to say about that. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div>Buy Me Dinnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11043077751478614270noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7457667854314211626.post-19835776671376068032012-02-15T13:32:00.000-08:002012-02-15T13:32:30.854-08:00My first dating blog... And I'm not even dating<div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Trying to write a blog about dating is kind of hard when you haven’t actually been on a date. So I took the next logical step to learn more about dating in the 21<sup>st</sup> Century. I turned to Al Gore’s brilliant invention, the Internet, now known as Google.</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Google “dating advice” and you’ll net 13.8 million results. Apparently everyone and their mother, including mine, is an expert. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">When I was married, I was oblivious to the outside world. Aside from a few reminders from a few (very few) single friends, I had no idea people still dated. I knew people “facebooked” and “tweeted” but dating? The word wasn’t even in my vocabulary.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Fast forward 17 years and <a href="http://twokidsandafish.blogspot.com/2011_09_01_archive.html"><span style="color: red;">I’m now divorced</span></a>. What the hell am I supposed to do with myself now? According to everyone and their mother, I’m supposed to be “dating.” <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">On a daily basis, the word “dating” can be heard in almost every conversation that involves yours truly. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><i><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Are you dating yet?</span></i></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><i><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></i></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><i><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Why aren’t you dating?</span></i></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><i><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Don’t you think it’s time to start dating? <o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i>For the love of God, will you please start dating?! </i>(My mom can be pushy sometimes.) <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I eventually ended up at one of my favorite websites, huffingtonpost.com where I read a dating article by <a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/sophie-keller"><span style="color: red;">Sophie Keller.</span></a> Keller’s <span style="color: red;"><a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/sophie-keller/dating-advice_b_1209180.html"><span style="color: red;">article</span></a> </span>suggested a few questions for women to ask while on a date as a way of getting to know him better. Keller, in addition to being a life coach, is the author of the “How Happy Is” book series. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">While I appreciate Keller’s contribution and attempt to help the rest of us single suckers, I don’t think she’s asking the right questions. In my world, these are softball questions that any man (or woman, at least this woman) could easily dodge with bullshit answers and easily just tell a woman what she wants to hear. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i>Why, yes, I LOVE scrapbooking!</i> <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><i><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I watch Sex and the City all the time!<o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><i><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I love cuddling after sex! <o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">In the spirit of full disclosure, I’ve yet to go on a single date. Not even coffee? Not even coffee. However, I’ve been hit on, dirty-danced, flirted with and introduced to several men over the last several months. And based on my conversations with these men, I’ve come to the conclusion that Keller’s questions need to be revised just a skosh. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>Keller’s Question:</b> What would you say is your biggest passion in life? <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;"><b style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Revised Question: </b><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">How many hours a week do you spend playing video games?</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>Keller’s Question: </b>What would you say you are best at?<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>Revised Question: </b></span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">WHAT</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> did you say you were best at!?!? <</span><i style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Grabs purse, runs out of Starbucks</i><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>Keller’s Question: </b>Which household chore do you enjoy doing the most?</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>Revised Question: </b>Do you help your mom around the house? (Because he lives with his parents) <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">In her article, Keller adds: “The more that you know about each other, the closer you are both going to feel. And, without doubt, he is going to be thrilled that you made the effort to jump in to his world a little bit.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I would love to meet a guy who doesn’t mind a woman digging into his psyche a little bit. It’s like an excavation where the goal is to find that diamond in the rough – aka Mr. Right – but ask these questions and you might just keep coming up with rocks. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I know what you’re thinking. “You haven’t even been on a date so how can you criticize the questions?” <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Recently, a potential suitor suggested we get to know each other better and wanted to take me out on a date. Here’s a sample of our conversation… <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Me: <i>So what do you do for a living? <o:p></o:p></i></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Him: <i>You sure ask a lot of questions.</i> <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Me: <i>So you’re unemployed...</i> <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Next! <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
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</div>Buy Me Dinnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11043077751478614270noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7457667854314211626.post-32189427215437719602011-12-04T18:53:00.000-08:002011-12-04T18:53:56.656-08:00Part Three: Refusing to settle<div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And so she left. My first born, my baby girl was gone. New address: Fiancé’s house.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">As predicted, I headed straight for her room. I sat on her bed, surrounded by the emptiness of the space, and cried. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Minutes earlier she had confessed to me that <a href="http://twokidsandafish.blogspot.com/2011/11/part-two-i-dont-love-him.html"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;">she didn’t love him</span></a>, but felt she had <a href="http://twokidsandafish.blogspot.com/2011/11/part-two-i-dont-love-him.html"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;">gone too far to turn back</span></a>. She said she’d rather go through with it than have “that” discussion. She added, “I don’t want to have to deal with him.” <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It turns out he was good at manipulating her. For the first time, she told me she’d tried to break it off a number of times but that he’d “guilt trip” her and talk her out of it. He’d tease about not being able to “cut the strings.” He said much worse, but let’s just leave it at that, shall we. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">That night, I wrote these words in my journal:<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Why is my daughter settling? Because she learned this from me…<o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Then the guilt set in. And it was painful. Then the memories came rolling in. And that was even more painful. Like an old home movie playing in my head, the memories clearly showed the many times I had settled during my marriage. How I succumbed to the manipulation, how I took the verbal abuse and how I allowed myself to be bullied. And she was a witness to it all. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Later that night, I sent her a text message.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Remember that I’ll always be here for you. Love, Mom…<o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">She replied with a simple, “Thanks.” I’m not sure what I was expecting, but the one word reply set me over the edge. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I cried myself to sleep. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The next morning, I did my best to be productive. I made coffee, got the little one ready for school and planted myself in my home office. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">By late morning, she called to say she was stopping by the house before running a few errands. I took this as a sympathy drive-by, a pity stop. I could hear her voice in my head, “OK, I’ll stop by and see mom, make her feel good.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">She stuck her head in my office. I waved her in and she took a seat. Before I could make some small talk she said… <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“Mom, can I move back in?”<o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My immediate response was, “Yes, of course!” followed by a quick, “What happened?” <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“I can’t do it,” she explained. “It only took one night. I was nauseous all night.” <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">She said she realized that she couldn’t settle. She refused to settle! <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">She said for the first time, she realized she had picked someone who was so much like her dad, it was frightening. That when it came time to go to bed, which meant lying next to him, she was shaking and she knew she had to get out. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">She said she finally saw things clearly: The manipulation, the guilt trips, the condescending remarks. Now the daddy issues she’d refused to deal with were suddenly choking her, she couldn’t breathe. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Later that day, she headed back to her fiancé’s house and packed her things for the second time in less than 24 hours. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My daughter was coming home. More importantly, my daughter was refusing to settle. I have never been more proud of her. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But it also got me thinking…<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">How many of us have settled?<o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Yes, my daughter found the courage to get out, but how many of us stay? <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">When all signs say get out, how many of us stay? </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I know I did.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i>Why do we settle? </i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">One day my daughter will move out to be with someone who I hope treats her with respect and truly loves her. Or, she’ll move out to be on her own, independent of mom. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">For now, she’s home and it’s time to heal. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div>Buy Me Dinnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11043077751478614270noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7457667854314211626.post-57935761397396301932011-11-18T23:53:00.000-08:002011-11-18T23:53:41.946-08:00Part Two: "I don't love him"<div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“I think I’m making the biggest mistake of my life.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">She said this as most of her belongings were already en route to her new residence: her fiance’s house. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">She had spent the last three months trying to convince me that she was ready to move in with him. As it turns out, she may have been trying to convince herself. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I’ll admit she had me fooled at times. She picked out the paint and scheduled the painters. She got estimates on new carpet and had it installed. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">She talked in “we” sentences.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“When we settle into the house, we’ll have you over for dinner.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“When we get new furniture…”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“When we get a Christmas tree…”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Although she changed her relationship status to “engaged” on Facebook (doing this makes everything official, right? *snicker*), I didn’t announce it to family members. I didn’t even tell her sister. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I had always imagined that the announcement of my daughter’s engagement would be festive, like in the movies, where the announcement itself kicks off a series of celebrations, dinners and impromptu wine drinking. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">At the very least, I thought it would result in a series of phone calls, text messages and, yes, Facebook updates. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The first phone call would go to my mom: “He proposed! He went to Jared!” <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">None of this happened. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Three months later, the words, “I think I’m making the biggest mistake of my life,” are hanging in the air and my heart immediately sinks to my stomach. Panic is setting in, but I can’t freak out on her now and it's not the time for "I told you so." </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">She found the courage to tell me. Now she needs help. She needs her mom. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I take a deep breath and calmly say, </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“Then don’t go. Don’t do it.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“Mom, it’s too late,” she says, tears are swelling in her eyes. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“No, <i>mija</i>, it’s never too late. Never.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> “I’ve gone too far to back out now,” she says. “Everything is done. My stuff is probably already there. He’s waiting for me. He’s expecting me.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Then she said what I had already suspected: “I don’t love him.” <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I knew we’d reached a pivotal moment in the conversation. It was now up to me to find the right words. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“Listen to your heart, to your gut, to your intuition. All of these things are telling you not to go. Trust what you’re feeling and listen to what you’re telling me. You just looked me in the eyes and admitted that you don’t love him and that you’re making the biggest mistake of your life. You don’t have to do this. It’s not too late. It’s never too late.” <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">As I pleaded my case, tears were streaming down her face as she sat there, silently listening. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“Mom, it’s too late,” she said again. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">She then gathered the last of her laundry, put the dog in the backseat and left.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">To be continued…</span></i></div>Buy Me Dinnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11043077751478614270noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7457667854314211626.post-4413156610649782992011-11-17T22:48:00.000-08:002011-11-17T22:48:29.303-08:00Part One: Moving Day<div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The truck had just backed out of the driveway. It was pulling a trailer which was filled with most of my daughter’s belongings. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It was Monday morning and she was moving out of my house, my nest, to live with her fiancé. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I was holding up OK. I had not allowed even one tear to drop, knowing damn well I was destined to spend the rest of the day sitting in her room crying my mommy heart out. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">While she continued packing a few remaining things in her car, I sat in my home office, staring at my Outlook calendar, wondering when I’d see her again.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“Thanksgiving,” I said to myself. “Wait… Is she even coming over or will they spend it with his family. But I don’t even know his family. Does she know his family?”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">This line of questioning swirled around and around in my head until she walked in, I assumed to say good-bye. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">She had hit me with the <a href="http://twokidsandafish.blogspot.com/2011/08/will-my-nest-be-half-empty-soon.html"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;">news of her engagement</span></a> just three months prior. She also hit me with this… <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><a href="http://twokidsandafish.blogspot.com/2011/08/will-my-nest-be-half-empty-soon.html"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;">“He’s asked me to move in with him.” </span></a><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Different questions swirled inside my head back then. The most important question being: Was she really ready for this? <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">For the past three months, she’s been telling me that, yes, she is ready. She’s ready to make this commitment to him and to this relationship. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So you can imagine my surprise when she sat down in my office and said, “I think I’m making the biggest mistake of my life.” <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">To be continued…</span><o:p></o:p></i></div>Buy Me Dinnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11043077751478614270noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7457667854314211626.post-79048489552216342372011-11-04T21:43:00.000-07:002011-11-04T21:50:44.852-07:00“Do you like Oprah?”<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Hi guys, it’s me. Been a while, I know, but keeping this short…</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So I’m sitting in my big chair trying to watch TV, but <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;"><a href="http://twokidsandafish.blogspot.com/2011/08/will-my-nest-be-half-empty-soon.html">my daughter’s boyfriend/fiancé/whatever</a> </span>is here waiting for her. It will be a
couple of hours before she gets home and we have absolutely nothing to say to
each other. Nada. Zip. Zilch. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It’s freakin awkward! If it wasn’t for the dog snoring,
you could hear a pin drop. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So I’m watching Oprah's LifeClass, but not comprehending
what Oprah is trying to teach me about life because I feel this pressure to break
this silence in the room and strike up a conversation with my future son-in-law
(OMG, son-in-law! Did I just say that!). <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Me: <i>"Do you
like Oprah?"</i> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Him: <i>"Well, I don't hate her."</i> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">That's it. I've run out of things to talk about. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The dog's awake now. I think he senses the tension. He’s sitting in between
us as if he’s about to referee an MMA fight. </span><o:p></o:p></div>Buy Me Dinnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11043077751478614270noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7457667854314211626.post-87316554139048703022011-10-12T01:27:00.000-07:002011-10-12T01:27:14.226-07:00An encounter with friends from my past… at Walmart… with no makeup<div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So there I was in Walmart, looking like shit, feeling like shit. I’d been sick for the last six days. Plus I had a huge rash on the left side of my nose because I ran out of Kleenex and started using toilet paper. Not good, my friends, not good.</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But I had to pick up a few things so my little one could have something to put in her lunchbox the next day. I was whipping through the aisles trying to finish my shopping when I saw them. </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Friends from my old life… my married life… married friends who were still together, family unit intact. <span> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Did I mention I looked like shit? Well, let me paint you a picture. I don’t have any makeup on and I’m wearing my hear “au natural,” which means after a blow dry, I did not style it in any way, shape or form. My daughter would later ask, “Man, what happened to your hair?” <span> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></o:p></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCvJZua0WCmriK96tVDbDJEnqKGNNxYm68buZ1J1J6QbD03vxPBqF03MRBcihm7ZuCSVWQsEAQGyFQu-0mkQvGSonb1GRcHO3cyo_UUPzUP6zxQRw74fP47-x7EqEzR4F3bJip6x-NUl2Z/s1600/bad-hair-day-resize.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="183" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCvJZua0WCmriK96tVDbDJEnqKGNNxYm68buZ1J1J6QbD03vxPBqF03MRBcihm7ZuCSVWQsEAQGyFQu-0mkQvGSonb1GRcHO3cyo_UUPzUP6zxQRw74fP47-x7EqEzR4F3bJip6x-NUl2Z/s200/bad-hair-day-resize.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not even this good...</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But I digress…</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">This couple had started dating shortly after my ex and I met, and we eventually attended each other’s weddings. Later, we’d go out as couples – movies, dancing, meet at other people’s weddings. Our oldest kids’ went to school together. Our youngest kids’ had been in Girl Scouts together. </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I hadn’t seen them or talked to them since before the separation. To be honest, I avoided these kinds of friends (couples) like the plague after the separation. I just couldn’t bear it. To see them hand in hand with kids in tow would’ve sent me over the edge. And I wasn’t ready to field the inevitable questions. </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“What happened?” <o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“Are you OK?” <o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i>“Who gets the house?”</i> </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">To help me avoid them, I stopped going to church (there were other reasons), stopped attending Girl Scout meetings and ignored Facebook friend requests from several of the moms. <span> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">As we spotted each other, me at one end of the paper goods aisle (where they keep the Kleenex) and them at the other end, I could see the look in the wife’s eyes. That look said, “Oh, poor thing, there she is, grocery shopping all by her lonesome, now divorced and a single mom.” </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">OK, so maybe I was reading way too much into it, but there was definitely some pity in her eyes. And it pissed me off!</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“You know, right? That’s why you’re looking at me like that. I can see the way you’re looking at me. Why are you looking at me like that?” I say to the wife (with every ounce of paranoia that you are sensing while reading this.) <i><span> </span></i></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">She then pulled me into her arms and gave me a huge hug. (OK, I’m not that pissed or paranoid anymore, just somewhat annoyed.<span> </span>But the hug sure feels nice!) </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“We know what? What is it that we know? What is she talking about?” says the husband. He was clueless. We filled him in. He was shocked at two things: </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin-left: .5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo3; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span><span>1.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]-->That we had divorced. </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin-left: .5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo3; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span><span>2.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]-->That his wife never told him.</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">She then explained to her husband: </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin-left: .5in; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span><span>1.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]-->“Of course they’re divorced. She’s too good for him. Everybody knew that.” <i>(They did?)</i> </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin-left: .5in; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span><span>2.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]-->“I don’t tell you everything."</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">She explained that she had wanted to call several times, but she just didn’t know what to say. She said she was glad we ran into each other and that she could tell I was in a good place (despite me coughing up a lung on aisle 9). </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">She also said something very interesting. She said she knew I had tried. She said she saw it in my eyes every time she saw us together and the many times she saw me alone, but she never saw it from him. <span> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">As she’s talking, I start to wonder…<span> </span><span> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin-left: .5in; mso-list: l2 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span><span>1.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>Why did it take ME so long to figure out what everyone else already knew?</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin-left: .5in; mso-list: l2 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span><span>2.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>How could she keep a juicy piece of news like this from her husband for over a year? (<i>Damn, girl!</i>) <span> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">We went on with some chit chat, updating each other about our kids, work and what not. As she hugged me good-bye, she promised to keep in touch. </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I hope she does… <span> </span><span> </span></span></div>Buy Me Dinnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11043077751478614270noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7457667854314211626.post-14118408335382260062011-10-08T00:22:00.000-07:002011-10-08T00:22:47.067-07:00Note to self: No more "dirty dancing"… and find a new grocery store<div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It’s Friday night and I’m alone in the house. I’m sitting in my big chair with the TV off wondering what I’m going to do with myself until my little one comes back on Sunday from visiting her dad. My adult child is out doing whatever young adults do on Friday nights.</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I get a text message from a friend who reminds me that she’s invited me to join her and others for drinks. I’d totally forgotten, but I honestly had no intention of joining them. Going “out” is still new to me. Plus you have to shower, do your hair, makeup… Exhausting! </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But I’m sitting in the living room talking to myself. Somewhere in that conversation, I convince myself to go. So I join my friends.</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Drinks at a restaurant quickly turn into, “Hey, let’s check out that bar across the street where all the young people are hanging out!” It’s a college bar, but the music’s good and the drinks are cheap. I’m old enough to be the mother of most of the kids in this joint, but the more I drink the less I care and now I feel like dancing! </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">A very cute (and very young) gentleman approaches me, compliments me and asks me to dance. I accept. </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">First, let me say… <i>My, things sure have changed on the dance floor! <o:p></o:p></i></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So this is it, folks. This is where I have the first “dirty dance” of my new single life. Of my entire life – period! It was as if he got to second base. I look around the dance floor and realize this is how it is nowadays. (“All the cool kids are doing it!”) <span> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHlZvDb_xI5CvzwhMpcABAf7WcH6uh-WWDMOrLcGLk5buULzC4MMBw8ZuiOHh0GESxpcq0FrC5FQdKlqzhYgRg6LaSw1RF7ddVHhNcFJqMt2FTaDeLo8VqkHkoqLx7jH45aTIGlSMcwptD/s1600/dirty+dancing.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="210" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHlZvDb_xI5CvzwhMpcABAf7WcH6uh-WWDMOrLcGLk5buULzC4MMBw8ZuiOHh0GESxpcq0FrC5FQdKlqzhYgRg6LaSw1RF7ddVHhNcFJqMt2FTaDeLo8VqkHkoqLx7jH45aTIGlSMcwptD/s320/dirty+dancing.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">No, not this kind of "dirty dancing." </td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">When I return to my friends, the jokes come fast and furious. </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Friend #1:“I think you’re engaged.” </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Friend #2: “Or pregnant!”<span> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Friend #3: “At the very least he knows your cup size.” </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Fast forward two days… </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It’s Sunday night and I’m grocery shopping with the kids. As I reach for a shopping cart, a very cute (and very young) guy pulls out a cart for me and says, “Well, hello…” </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It’s him!</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The guy from the college bar! </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The guy I “dirty danced” with last Friday night!</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And now I’m with MY kids! A</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">t MY grocery store! </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">H</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">e works at MY grocery store! He collects the shopping carts! </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i>OH MY FREAKIN GAWD! </i></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“You have got to be kidding me,” I say to myself. </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Great, I’m talking to myself again. </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“You’re never going out again,” I reply. “And it’s time to find a new grocery store.” </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div>Buy Me Dinnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11043077751478614270noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7457667854314211626.post-20884896576085240232011-09-07T01:06:00.000-07:002011-09-07T01:26:34.104-07:00Feeling blessed, grateful and thankful<div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I’m on an emotional roller coaster. I’ve cried tears of joy. I’ve cried tears of pain. And at times, well, I’ve just cried.</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My attorney called today. The judge came back with a decision after a week of deliberating in regards to the custody of my youngest daughter. He ruled in my favor. The judge also ordered to dissolve the marriage, which means I’m officially divorced. </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I wasn’t expecting the latter piece of news. I was expecting another court date, another court hearing in which my ex and I would face each other one last time. But there are no assets to split. Aside from the few pieces of furniture I kept, I lost everything, including two homes, in the bankruptcy. </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The words “you are officially divorced” took me by surprise. It’s what I’ve been working towards for over a year, but I wasn’t expecting today to be the day. </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I envisioned circling the date on a calendar, preparing myself for another court appearance and preparing myself for the day that I would sign some sort of divorce decree. I wasn’t prepared to hear that it had already been done, my presence not needed. </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I’m not complaining. I’m just processing. I’m also accepting -- accepting that this chapter of my life is now closed.</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">As one dear friend put it, today was “bittersweet.” And she’s right. I fought for my daughter and for her best interests, and I won. Still, it’s sad. </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I made time in the afternoon to talk with my girls, separately, about the news.</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My oldest didn’t have much time, she was in a rush to get to school, but I quickly filled her in. Later that afternoon, and for the first time since Christmas, she sent me a text message that simply said “I love you.” </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">When it came to telling my youngest, I got nervous. I wasn’t sure how she would react, but I had mentally prepared myself for the worst. </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“Your dad and I are no longer married… We are now divorced,” I explained. </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">She looked up, as if she were in deep thought, digging for the right words to say. </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“I’m OK with it.” </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I was stunned. I was amazed. I was relieved! </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">She went on to tell me that she wants to join the Choir group at school and that I needed to fill out the permission slip. Someone get me a pen! </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">We then went on with the rest of our evening. </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">For dinner, I made shredded beef tacos. My oldest daughter and her best friend (aka my “adopted son”) devoured them. </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">We ended the night explaining to the little one that Journey came before Glee and not the other way around which led to a jam session on Rock Band. </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">They’re still upstairs, singing (if you can call it that) and jamming out to “Don’t Stop Believin’.” </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">In the meantime, I’m downstairs, sitting in my big chair, feeling blessed... feeling grateful... and feeling thankful. </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
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</div>Buy Me Dinnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11043077751478614270noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7457667854314211626.post-7055766848375639572011-08-22T23:31:00.000-07:002011-08-23T08:05:32.418-07:00Will my nest be half empty soon?<div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The contractions started just after midnight. I was already three weeks late so I’d been eager to just “have this baby already!” But the pain was unlike anything I’d ever felt. Then a wave of panic hit me like a brick. Suddenly, it became harder and harder to breathe. I guess this is what they teach you in Lamaze. Too bad I blew off the class…</span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Last week, my baby, now in her early 20s, made it hard for me to breathe yet again. There were no contractions, just an aching mommy heart.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">She says she’s in love and is somewhat engaged. I say "somewhat in engaged” because she and her boyfriend do not believe in marriage (don’t blame them) and neither want kids (whew!), but he gave her a ring. She said something about the ring representing his commitment, but I have to admit I got a little light-headed at this point. But nothing could have prepared me for what she said next…<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">"He’s asked me to move in with him."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I can’t breathe! The room is spinning, my heart is pounding and I can’t breathe!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I can’t let her know that I’m freaking out inside. I can’t ask her to bring me a paper bag while I hyperventilate. I can’t crawl under my desk, cover my ears, chant, "La la la la la la," and pretend like this conversation never happened.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I played it cool. Thanks to my boy Deepak and the meditation I've been doing over the last several months, I was able to get my breathing in check and remain calm. Fast forward 24 hours and I'm freaking the hell out. I can't focus. I can’t breathe. My heart is pounding. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I want to call my mom, aunts, cousins,<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">sisters-in-law, friends, mailman -- anyone who will listen, really -- and freak out all over them with this news. But I don't. I don't because this is a sacred conversation that took place between a mother and her daughter. And daughter hasn't made a decision. And mother is still freaking out.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">*Disclaimer: Daughter has since talked to my mom about this which lessens the sacredness and allows me the clear conscience to write about this now.</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I wanted to scream, "Don't do it! Don't go! Don't leave me!" but that would only send her packing. Instead, I listened. I asked questions. I presented her with various "living together" scenarios. I gave her a lot to think about. </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Is she ready to handle a household? Can she cook? Can she clean? Rephrasing… Is she willing to clean? Rephrasing again… Is she willing to clean up after him? <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Is she ready and willing to answer to another person? <span class="ecx953111114-22082011">C</span>an she compromise?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Those of us who have been around the block know that moving in together ain’t all fun and games. Eventually, the romance and newness wear off just like a new toy. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">A funny moment (hilarious, actually) in all of this came when she asked if I would continue to pay her car note and insurance if she moved in with him. Excuse me while I compose myself… Bahahahahaha!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I explained that moving in with him means "her bills” become “his bills” or "their bills.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Speaking of bills, I asked if he was willing to pay her bills until she finished school. And who would pay what once she got a job? <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Who pays the rent? Who pays the electricity? Who pays for groceries? Who GOES to the store to GET the groceries? <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Of my two kids, she’s witnessed and endured the most during the tumultuous years of my marriage. If you ask me (and her), she’s still messed up over it. Do I want to keep her<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>from true love? Absolutely not! But she still has a lot of healing to do…<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">We’ve been in our new life for just over a year, and I feel like I just got her back. My baby, my first born… ready or not, she may be leaving my nest soon.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I can’t breathe… <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZkC-ey9Ncc8rWUkimG3IhlilcHdIMqheiZQBqaPAmjt19wmsW2bZEKz6g9MFU1ZOpuuGpFz1vKil3uGknw28B4gIZVEX8Uk1JNoPbrOwKvHwXTELpovemYo-RpA0XxzSaXq4_XkLRwhwt/s1600/6455_1131678105114_1622118337_330809_3297391_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZkC-ey9Ncc8rWUkimG3IhlilcHdIMqheiZQBqaPAmjt19wmsW2bZEKz6g9MFU1ZOpuuGpFz1vKil3uGknw28B4gIZVEX8Uk1JNoPbrOwKvHwXTELpovemYo-RpA0XxzSaXq4_XkLRwhwt/s320/6455_1131678105114_1622118337_330809_3297391_n.jpg" width="228" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My baby...</td></tr>
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</div>Buy Me Dinnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11043077751478614270noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7457667854314211626.post-86325299196413214092011-08-21T11:49:00.000-07:002011-08-21T11:50:58.125-07:00Two Kids and a Fish featured in Blogger Space series<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 24px;"></span></span><br />
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<div style="font-style: italic; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i><span style="border-bottom-color: windowtext; border-bottom-style: none; border-bottom-width: 1pt; border-left-color: windowtext; border-left-style: none; border-left-width: 1pt; border-right-color: windowtext; border-right-style: none; border-right-width: 1pt; border-top-color: windowtext; border-top-style: none; border-top-width: 1pt; color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; padding-bottom: 0in; padding-left: 0in; padding-right: 0in; padding-top: 0in;">The following is an excerpt from one of my favorite bloggers, </span></i><i><span style="border-bottom-color: windowtext; border-bottom-style: none; border-bottom-width: 1pt; border-left-color: windowtext; border-left-style: none; border-left-width: 1pt; border-right-color: windowtext; border-right-style: none; border-right-width: 1pt; border-top-color: windowtext; border-top-style: none; border-top-width: 1pt; color: black; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; padding-bottom: 0in; padding-left: 0in; padding-right: 0in; padding-top: 0in;"><a href="http://perilsofdivorcedpauline.com/"><span style="color: red;">Perils of Divorced Pauline</span></a></span></i><i><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; color: #666666; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">, </span></i><i><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">who is featuring yours truly in her </span></i><i><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; color: black; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"><a href="http://perilsofdivorcedpauline.com/category/blogger-space/"><span style="color: red;">Blogger Space series</span></a>:</span></i><span style="color: black; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<div style="font-style: italic; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="border-bottom-color: windowtext; border-bottom-style: none; border-bottom-width: 1pt; border-left-color: windowtext; border-left-style: none; border-left-width: 1pt; border-right-color: windowtext; border-right-style: none; border-right-width: 1pt; border-top-color: windowtext; border-top-style: none; border-top-width: 1pt; color: black; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; padding-bottom: 0in; padding-left: 0in; padding-right: 0in; padding-top: 0in;">"<a href="http://www.twokidsandafish.blogspot.com/" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; border-color: initial; border-style: initial;"><span style="color: red;">Two Kids and a Fish</span></a></span><span style="border-bottom-color: windowtext; border-bottom-style: none; border-bottom-width: 1pt; border-left-color: windowtext; border-left-style: none; border-left-width: 1pt; border-right-color: windowtext; border-right-style: none; border-right-width: 1pt; border-top-color: windowtext; border-top-style: none; border-top-width: 1pt; color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; padding-bottom: 0in; padding-left: 0in; padding-right: 0in; padding-top: 0in;"> is an inspirational blog written by a single mom reinventing her life post-divorce. Two Fish’s upbeat, lovely, down-to-earth personality shines through her engaging prose. <span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; border-color: initial; border-style: initial;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Check out her </span></span><strong style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; border-color: initial; border-style: initial;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Blogger Space...</span></strong>"<i><o:p></o:p></i></span></span></div><div style="font-style: italic; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i style="font-style: italic;"><span style="border-bottom-color: windowtext; border-bottom-style: none; border-bottom-width: 1pt; border-left-color: windowtext; border-left-style: none; border-left-width: 1pt; border-right-color: windowtext; border-right-style: none; border-right-width: 1pt; border-top-color: windowtext; border-top-style: none; border-top-width: 1pt; color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%; padding-bottom: 0in; padding-left: 0in; padding-right: 0in; padding-top: 0in;">To see photos and to learn more about my blogger space,<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></span><span style="border-bottom-color: windowtext; border-bottom-style: none; border-bottom-width: 1pt; border-left-color: windowtext; border-left-style: none; border-left-width: 1pt; border-right-color: windowtext; border-right-style: none; border-right-width: 1pt; border-top-color: windowtext; border-top-style: none; border-top-width: 1pt; color: red; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%; padding-bottom: 0in; padding-left: 0in; padding-right: 0in; padding-top: 0in;"><a href="http://perilsofdivorcedpauline.com/2011/08/21/two-kids-and-a-fishs-blogger-space/"><span style="color: red;">click here >></span></a> </span></i></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><span style="border-bottom-color: windowtext; border-bottom-style: none; border-bottom-width: 1pt; border-left-color: windowtext; border-left-style: none; border-left-width: 1pt; border-right-color: windowtext; border-right-style: none; border-right-width: 1pt; border-top-color: windowtext; border-top-style: none; border-top-width: 1pt; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; padding-bottom: 0in; padding-left: 0in; padding-right: 0in; padding-top: 0in;"> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
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</span></div>Buy Me Dinnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11043077751478614270noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7457667854314211626.post-66651013506450671412011-08-09T01:10:00.000-07:002011-08-10T20:53:07.779-07:00Unforgettable vacation moments: Police cars, flying objects and unibrows<div class="MsoNoSpacing"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The following are quick hits about some things that happened during our vacation. I’m still shaking my head at a lot of this stuff, but I survived and I can laugh about it now.</span></i></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“Flattered but no thanks” moment: Where are you frrrrrrum?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I pick up the rental car with my two kids and my cousin (we’re giving him a ride to L.A. then picking him up on the way back). The guy at the counter, with the keys to my vehicle and access to all my personal information, is flirting with me. He looks to be about 21 and of Middle Eastern descent. (Note: I’m Latina but for whatever reason I’m a favorite among Middle Eastern men.) He’s staring straight into my eyes as if no one else is around. The fact that I’m traveling with a man and two kids doesn’t deter the kid. He’s keeps asking, “Where are you frrrrrrrum? I want to know where you’re frrrrrrrum.” He keeps telling me how cute I am. (“You’re too cute. You’re just too cute.”) My oldest daughter is getting a bit peeved and says, “Hello, I’m standing right here and that’s my mom!” My cousin walks over and whispers, “Girl, he’s looking at you like he wants to take you home.” Awkward… More on this later. </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“What the hell was that!” moment: Flying object on L.A. freeway<o:p></o:p></span></b></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">What looked like a white pole barreling straight for our windshield turned out to be a piece of a side molding used on mobile homes. Where did it come from? I have no idea, but it hit the hood of our rental car and wedged itself under the hood while we dragged it from the carpool lane to the far right of the freeway. It took three of us to pull it out from under the hood and that’s with the hood open. But we dislodge it, inspect the vehicle (just a few scratches) and everyone’s OK. We hit the road…</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje8pmRJYXbMTkxhPfYKGvtMQe_qK9r1I1v3_FUmXtIxKUXfj5nZ-Gv4VjWfmh1S8TKZiTYIcu_YDPgXmps2aI8OzFbyhGo178h1PyZVuBW68NeiOfYLLNFYSZd0YQpFlR5ms7uO8JusyRa/s1600/IMG00678-20110720-1801.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje8pmRJYXbMTkxhPfYKGvtMQe_qK9r1I1v3_FUmXtIxKUXfj5nZ-Gv4VjWfmh1S8TKZiTYIcu_YDPgXmps2aI8OzFbyhGo178h1PyZVuBW68NeiOfYLLNFYSZd0YQpFlR5ms7uO8JusyRa/s400/IMG00678-20110720-1801.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is the flying object that hit our car on the freeway.</td></tr>
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</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Pissed off moment: No food for you! <o:p></o:p></span></b></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">We arrive to our hotel after seven, eight or nine hours on the road. I honestly don’t remember anymore and the kids are tired and hungry. We wash up and head for the hotel restaurant. Several minutes go by and we still have no menus and no one has brought so much as a glass of water. Finally, someone takes our order. Forty minutes later, everyone around us is eating, drinking and leaving. When someone finally checks on our food, they discover our order was NEVER put in! We head for the door as we Google the closest McDonald’s on my phone. But wait… I’m pissed and my kids are hungry. I complain to the front desk who calls the restaurant manager. I give him a mix of “Oh no you did-ent” with a little bit of “I’m a single mom just trying to treat my kids to a nice vacation.” Within 20 minutes we’re having dinner and dessert in our room (and in our PJ’s), compliments of the hotel.</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvzheRr9aM-xmDI907CFzYnvAAvUfFKtwSoPrYno-2vZc3GDxEeYesylwcMRCeEkfCh7cOt3h92Axr0mjqJrNk_UpoOTJrFo46w6mk9GDvYMoQxex97_4ASI9ffw4lqdFEjxQZdJ99iZ4E/s1600/IMG00700-20110720-2157.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvzheRr9aM-xmDI907CFzYnvAAvUfFKtwSoPrYno-2vZc3GDxEeYesylwcMRCeEkfCh7cOt3h92Axr0mjqJrNk_UpoOTJrFo46w6mk9GDvYMoQxex97_4ASI9ffw4lqdFEjxQZdJ99iZ4E/s320/IMG00700-20110720-2157.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dessert tastes so much better when it's free...</td></tr>
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</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“How did we get here?” moment: It’s Saturday night and we’re in the back of a police car<o:p></o:p></span></b></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It’s our first night in Santa Monica and we quickly discover that parking sucks. How? Our rental car gets towed. Thanks to the douche-bag, slime bag, valet parking dude who was a total jerk to me and my kids. Thankfully, there’s a Santa Monica police officer in his car questioning a guy and his underage girlfriend. They’re both drunk. I quickly stick my head in between the two idiots (Seriously, the cop says you can leave but you don’t’ stop talking and you don’t leave!). I tell the police officer what happened, point to the mean valet dude and even he calls the guy a jerk. He then asks, “Is it just you and your kids?” When I say yes, with a very worried mom look on my face, he says, “Get in the back of the car. I’ll drive you down to the police station. It’s not that far, but you shouldn’t be walking there at night alone.” As we're sitting in the back seat of a Santa Monica police car, the youngest turns to me and says, "So this is probably something I shouldn't tell dad, right?" I'm on the brink of tears so I just nod my head. Meanwhile, I catch my oldest taking frickin' pictures of the police car with her cell phone. My tears quickly disappear as I reach across the back seat and smack her. Yes, I smacked my kid while sitting in the back of a police car. Arrest me! Long story short, the parking fee was $120 and the towing fee was $205. @#$%!!! </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">*Side note: My daughters would like me to mention that the police officer was very cute. (He was!) </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">**Shout out: Officer Martinez, if you're reading this... Call me!</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUU6ffjupmtohZXrsa-WahdWTXmKzh95AWx6x5dRW7GpxmeCbnahOsh1H-81wxG93THoJ3fcnjFvfLVPMgOo3rHYg_rpa-aP4c1xioGqJQXIRkEmEPD1M9lt3XPs81IRfBYxLvHXicQDTO/s1600/100MEDIA95IMAG0185.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUU6ffjupmtohZXrsa-WahdWTXmKzh95AWx6x5dRW7GpxmeCbnahOsh1H-81wxG93THoJ3fcnjFvfLVPMgOo3rHYg_rpa-aP4c1xioGqJQXIRkEmEPD1M9lt3XPs81IRfBYxLvHXicQDTO/s400/100MEDIA95IMAG0185.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My kid's cell phone pic from the back seat of the police car. Ah, memories...</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“OMG, I’m screwed!” moment: And gas is $4.89 a gallon! <o:p></o:p></span></b></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Downtown L.A. and the gas light is on. It takes about 10 minutes to find a gas station and gas is $4.89 a gallon. @#$%!!! But whattaya gonna do, right? So I fill ‘er up and head inside to pay the cashier. I give my credit card to the cashier and she swipes it. “Maam, it says declined.” I tell her it must be a mistake and ask her to try it again. She swipes my card three more times and each time it’s declined. By the way, I only have about forty bucks on me. At the same this is happening, my cell phone is going off, but I keep hitting ignore to deal with the situation at hand. My phone rings again and this time I notice it’s a 1-877 number. It’s my bank telling me there’s been suspicious activity on my account and they need to verify some questionable transactions that have taken place in California. @#$%!!! So we review each “questionable transaction” and confirm each one is indeed mine because I’m standing in downtown L.A. trying to pay an $80 gas bill while my kids are waiting for their mother in the car. Eventually, the issue is resolved, the cashier swipes my card for the umpth-teenth time and it finally goes through. Time to head home…</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“Seriously, dude, I’m not interested” moment: And please trim your eyebrows! <o:p></o:p></span></b></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I take the rental car back and guess who’s there? Yup, “Where are you frrrrrrrrrum?” dude is there again. As I walk up to the counter, he immediately lights up and is suddenly grinning from ear to ear with the cheesiest smile. I’ll admit this much: being able to make a guy smile with my presence was kind of cute. However, his unibrow was not. This time he quickly goes from “Where are you frrrrrrrrrum?” to “You’re so, so cute” to “Can I call you?” Our time together was prolonged when I had to explain the whole debris on the freeway incident. He handed me a claim form and highlighted the fields for address and phone number. This concerns me. So I use my mom’s address and her home number. By the way, she’s standing to the side, laughing her ass off while she watches her daughter get hit on by the Unibrow Kid. I was then approached by Unibrow’s boss who asked me to recount the freeway debris incident. He explained that since I had opted to pay extra for the insurance that I wouldn’t be charged anything for the damage. Whew! Then he asked if I was single and if he could hit me up on Facebook. @#$%!!! </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
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</div>Buy Me Dinnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11043077751478614270noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7457667854314211626.post-39313176881963621422011-07-28T20:43:00.000-07:002011-07-28T20:43:15.014-07:00One year later: Surviving a crisis and finding peace<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The following was written on July 23, 2011 somewhere in southern California.</span></i></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I’m lying in bed. My youngest is next to me, lying on her stomach and hogging the pillows as she watches “Good Luck Charlie” on the Disney Channel. My oldest is in the bed next to us texting, facebooking, googling and listening to music simultaneously on one device. </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">We’re staying at a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">really, really</i> nice hotel on the beach thanks to a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><u>very, dear</u></i> friend and guardian angel. </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">From our room, we can see the Pacific Ocean. We can smell the salty air. We see people walking, jogging and biking along the beach. The palm trees are swaying. </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I’m soaking up every moment. If only time could stand still… </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I feel grateful, thankful and blessed. </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">A year ago, we were in crisis mode. I packed up the kids and our bare necessities and left my <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: 500;">tumultuous </span>marriage. I had $50 in my new checking account (the minimum needed to keep it open). A year later, I saved enough money to take my kids on vacation.</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Back then, the words “fear,” “anxiety” and “struggle” consumed my life. </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Today the words “peace,” “content” and “happy” fill my world. </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></o:p></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Am I bragging? Maybe a little bit. But I'm damn proud of myself and my kids for surviving the <a href="http://twokidsandafish.blogspot.com/2011/02/tears-snot-and-wedding-photos.html">separation</a>, <a href="http://twokidsandafish.blogspot.com/2011/05/day-i-made-my-therapist-cry.html">trauma egg therapy</a> and the <a href="http://twokidsandafish.blogspot.com/2011/02/ok-so-we-dont-really-have-fishanymore.html">death of a family member</a>. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;"><a href="http://twokidsandafish.blogspot.com/2011/02/ok-so-we-dont-really-have-fishanymore.html">(R.I.P. Kanishiwa!)</a> </span></span></o:p></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I love my life!</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgREgeAu1tJ_aVWJlKzWjZd9RHD3u7C6v4XgtEsdcKK6mLRka1WypxlW7qXnTqLqD7JJkiNb2PIU_p1W5oMELVcmDofjJ7hnkow5T7Xte3sjF19tztK_t_-71kO0GeSxlkRgA9Qk0ZPXpVg/s1600/OneYrTwitter.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgREgeAu1tJ_aVWJlKzWjZd9RHD3u7C6v4XgtEsdcKK6mLRka1WypxlW7qXnTqLqD7JJkiNb2PIU_p1W5oMELVcmDofjJ7hnkow5T7Xte3sjF19tztK_t_-71kO0GeSxlkRgA9Qk0ZPXpVg/s1600/OneYrTwitter.jpg" /></a></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
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</div>Buy Me Dinnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11043077751478614270noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7457667854314211626.post-77746321150015048022011-07-06T01:35:00.000-07:002011-07-06T01:35:35.131-07:00Financially in the dark and in denial<div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:TrackMoves/> <w:TrackFormatting/> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:DoNotPromoteQF/> <w:LidThemeOther>EN-US</w:LidThemeOther> <w:LidThemeAsian>X-NONE</w:LidThemeAsian> <w:LidThemeComplexScript>X-NONE</w:LidThemeComplexScript> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> <w:SplitPgBreakAndParaMark/> <w:DontVertAlignCellWithSp/> <w:DontBreakConstrainedForcedTables/> <w:DontVertAlignInTxbx/> <w:Word11KerningPairs/> <w:CachedColBalance/> </w:Compatibility> <w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> <m:mathPr> <m:mathFont m:val="Cambria Math"/> <m:brkBin m:val="before"/> <m:brkBinSub m:val="--"/> <m:smallFrac m:val="off"/> <m:dispDef/> <m:lMargin m:val="0"/> <m:rMargin m:val="0"/> <m:defJc m:val="centerGroup"/> <m:wrapIndent m:val="1440"/> <m:intLim m:val="subSup"/> <m:naryLim m:val="undOvr"/> </m:mathPr></w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" DefUnhideWhenUsed="true"
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</style> <![endif]--> </div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span>He was sitting across the table from me at a restaurant inside the five-star hotel where he was staying. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span>“Order anything you want. It’s on me and you need to eat,” he said with a touch of pity in his voice. I could tell that he could tell that I’d been crying. My swollen, red eyes were a dead giveaway.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span>I kept it simple and ordered the two-egg breakfast with a slice of bacon and toast. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span>“What are my options?” I asked him, after getting past the introductions and some small talk. I finally picked at my eggs and tasted them for the first time since they arrived via our waiter 10 minutes prior. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span>He looked at the vanilla folder – my file – and slid it to the side, almost discarding it. He then folded his hands over his plate with his elbows on the table and then looked down for a few seconds. <span> </span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span>“You have no options,” he said, slowly shaking his head, again with a touch of pity. “Your only choice is bankruptcy.” </span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span>He suddenly looked more like a financial Grim Reaper than someone who was trying to help a friend of a friend. But the truth is he was a guardian angel. I would meet more of his kind over the next year. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span>The few bites I’d had of my breakfast were quickly making their way back up. I wasn’t sure if this choking feeling was from the remaining pieces of my broken heart trying to come up through my throat or the scrambled eggs. I felt faint, but I somehow managed to stay conscious and keep the eggs down. My heart was already in shambles. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span>I agreed to meet him at the urging of a friend who said his friend, an L.A.-based bankruptcy attorney, would review my case for free. He promised complete confidentiality, as if anyone in L.A. cared about my financial fiasco.<span></span></span></span> </div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">He did more than review my case. He uncovered more accounts, more debt. I was in worse shape than I previously thought. He uncovered more secrets, financial secrets my husband was keeping from me. </div><span style="font-size: small;"><span></span></span> <div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span>No, he wasn’t hiding millions in an offshore account. He was spending every dollar I made, maxing out every credit card (some I knew of, some I didn’t) and using an offshore account for online gambling. It had less than $20 in it. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
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</style> <![endif]--><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span>To his credit, the attorney kept it real. He didn’t bullshit me. He laid it all on the table, literally. He told me to write down three important things that I needed to take action on immediately:</span></span></div><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;"> </span><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span>- Get your hands on as much paperwork as you can on the mortgages </span></span></div><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;"> </span><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span>- Get as many bank statements as you can find </span></span></div><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;"> </span><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span>- Get copies of your tax returns </span></span></div><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span>He gave me his cell phone number and e-mail address. He gave the name of another bankruptcy attorney – someone in my area – who he’d already contacted and who had agreed to handle my case. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span>Sadly, the above mentioned items were things my husband had stopped allowing me to have in my possession. I was not allowed to get the mail, let alone open it. I hadn’t seen a bank statement in years and I had no idea where he kept the mortgage papers or tax returns. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span>Following through on the attorney’s instructions would turn into a covert operation.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span>I felt like a stranger in my own home as I rummaged through his drawers, duffle bags and closet, carefully putting things back in their place as to not arouse any suspicion. He placed certain things in a certain way on top of the papers he was hiding. If something was out of place, he would know I had been there.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span>There was the paper weight facing east in the second drawer. There was a baseball cap tilted slightly to the side in the closet.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span>What made the operation even harder is that he rarely ever left the house and I was hardly ever home. He supposedly worked from home and I was actually working.<span> </span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span>I was in the dark when it came to our finances, but I was also in denial. I had put every ounce of my financial trust in my husband’s hands. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
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</style> <![endif]--> </div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span>Ironically, my decision to end my marriage had very little to do with our financials. It was at the bottom of the laundry list of reasons as to why I was divorcing him. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span>What I already knew in my gut, suddenly became crystal clear as I stared down at my scrambled eggs. I had to move out of the house (with the kids and soon!) and I had to make this financial mess a top priority. We were not only on the brink of losing one house, but two. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span> </span></span></div>Buy Me Dinnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11043077751478614270noreply@blogger.com17