I shoulda kept my big mouth shut.
I jinxed it.
I can’t even believe I fucking jinxed it.
I put a damn kina hora on myself…
And I spoke too soon.
I counted my chickens before they hatched, and I told the entire free world that this guy was the guy and now, he is nothing. Nada. Zilch. He is not even name-worthy. Dammit. I fucking feel like an idiot. I told all of San Fran our story. The Story. I mean, how could I not? It was the story to end all stories for fucksake! It was my happily ever after. The one. My beshert. This was the story that books would be written about. Sigh. Didn’t all y’all read my last blog? I mean what the fuck happened? I was supposed to be HAPPY FOR THE LOVE OF GODDESS! Not crying my fucking eyes out in his shower, while he’s making me blueberry pancakes. Omg. And they were the best pancakes I have ever eaten. Like so worth the misery. The embarrassment. The “Jennifer, I dig you but there is just no way I can date you long distance”.
Well, Mr. Hottie-Ducati! Did you think that maybe, just maybe, you wanted to share that little tidbit of info before I flew across the nation? Shit. I just named his sexy-ass. He’s Mr. Hottie-Ducati. And why you ask? Because he also happens to ride a fucking Italian motorcycle that is saaaaweeettt! And you all know how I feel about motorcycles, right? My Dad used to say, “Jennifer, you don’t need to fall off a motorcycle to get hurt.” He obviously meant, he would kick my ass if I ever got on one. So, I didn’t. Never. I simply think they are evil, killing machines. And stupid. But this man, omg. He got me on it. No questions asked, I straddled that seat like Bradley Cooper tied to my bed. Loved it. I was like a pro. We rode up and down the coast of California….I held on to Mr.Ducati, and I loved every minute of it. It made him even sexier than he already is. Dammit.
Although, I did have visions of dying.
Crashing to our death, all bloody and dismembered. And I would close my eyes and pray that I would end up parked in his driveway safely. I was like, omg…what the fuck am I doing here, on a back of a motorcycle with this fucker who doesn’t even want to date me long distance? I was literally holding on to this man thinking, don’t let me die for nothing. I have issues. Because I also thought, if we were madly in love on our way to Vegas…how great of a story would that be? Totally, right? It would be a best seller. We met, fell madly in love…and plummeted to our death on our way to getting married! I am clearly jet lagged. And this man has clearly messed with my brain.
So, here I am. I’m on the plane…headed home a day early. I was supposed to stay until tomorrow. But what was the point, really? I mean, come on. I stay, get closer than we already are…and then, on Friday I go home, and we never talk again? Dumb. Stupid. I wanted to kick his ass. So, I got an earlier flight out. But it’s not all for naught. I had an amazing vacay! I saw the most beautiful things, ate some amazing food, and spent the weekend with my girls. Am I heartbroken? No. Am I disappointed? Sure. Do I think Mr. Ducati is a fabulous person, and a great guy? Yes I do. And would I be with him if we both lived in the same place? Who even knows. Do we have chemistry, and do we laugh…and did I sob like a baby when we said our goodbyes at the airport? Hell yes we do, and fuck yes I did.
Everything happens for a reason. I still believe in happy ever afters, and fairy tales. I still think I deserve to be with a guy who wants to be with me. And I still think my “one” is out there. Will this guy show up on my doorstep one day, I hope so. I would totally let him in. But I am not holding my breath. And I am not sitting around waiting for him either. Life is too short, and I am too good for that. And no one puts Baby in a corner.
Wow, three hours left on this flight? So glad I bought Pretzel M&Ms and Nibs. A girl has totally got to eat. Thank Goddess I am back on the carbs. Now, who wants to go get a motorcycle? Kidding, Daddy. ;)
Tags: alone, blog, dating, dating after divorce, divorce, jennifer weintraub, relationships, the truth hurvitz