And I don’t mean this Mr. T!






Boiled peanuts.

Have y’all ever heard of such a thing?

I saw them with my own eyes.

Boiled fucking peanuts.

In a vat.

I just stood there, staring at them. The peanuts, that is…

Not in a jar, or a cup..or a bowl. But in an iron vat. In this gas station, in a huge black pot, with a ladle. And I shit you not, there were two flavors. Not one, but two. Two flavors of these weird, steaming…boiled peanuts. Hmmm. Well, Jennifer. You’re not in Charlotte anymore. You are in flipping Knoxville. And you are further south than you’ve ever been, I think. Although, at this point, I’m not really sure. Is Tennessee actually further south than North Carolina? Omg. I have no idea. All I know is no one understands a damn thing I’m saying. And all of Mr. Tennessee’s friends own weapons. And are proud of it. And I am in a gazzzz station, with an attached McDonalds, that is selling boiled peanuts…and dill pickles in single serve packages. Oh, and Mexican Fiesta blankets. You know, the kind you get in Mexico? Well, now apparently you can also get them in Knoxville. Save a trip across the border, people. Knoxville is the place for Mexican blankets.

Have you ever been to Knoxville, Tennessee? It’s so beautiful. And where I was staying, I got to wake up to the prettiest view of the Smoky Mountains. Seriously…waking up everyday to that view, nothing like it. And rolling over to Mr. T wasn’t so bad either! If you didn’t catch the backstory, hurry up. I move fast. No reason to waste any time crying over ex’s. Gotta just move it along, bitches. And anyhoo, this Southern gentleman, is an oldie-but-goodie! Well, not old…but most definitely GOOD. Shit, great. I have known him forever. Well, 2 years. And we totally reconnected. So, it’s not like I just jumped into bed with a complete stranger. Jeez. It’s all about timing. He was dating, I was dating…we both became single. And WHAAAAALAA! Bam. Next thing I knew, his chocolate ended up in my peanut butter. Or was it my peanut butter that ended up on his chocolate? Whatever. I ended up in Knoxville, Tennessee…drinking wine by a fire, and eating Prime Rib on Easter Sunday with a wonderful group of new peeps. Peeps. haha. Like the marshmallow bunnies.

Can I get an Amen?

Darn tootin’! Now, who wants to call the Rabbi? Yikes. Maybe not just yet. He does have a little growing up to do. Mr. T is just a little fella. Thirty-four and all. And it’s me that is hung up on his age, not him. I know, I need to get over it, and move on…but I can’t. Everywhere we go, I feel like people are looking at us, wondering if I’m his mama. I need more filler. Or a face lift. He is just SO damn young! He still plays beer pong for the love of Goddess! And he stays up past my bedtime.

We are so different.

He’s a total hick. And I’m a total princess. He likes country. And I’m a city girl. He takes his time, and moves slowly…with a sweet southern style. And I’m fast, and quick…and there is not a thing slow about me. But there was nothing more comfortable than when we were together. We laughed. We got mani-pedis (I told him there was alcohol involved). We cooked lots of good meals, and drank good wine. And told stories. Good and bad. And we realized that even though we are so different, we have one thing in common. We honestly care about each other. Oh, and we both love our kids. That’s two things. He is the greatest father. Super-sexy, right?

So, long distance sucks. And sure, Mr.T owns some kinda 45. And dips. Oh, and he shoots animals, for fun. (I can’t even believe I just wrote that) But, so what? I adore him. And look, he thinks I am a crazy person. He can’t believe how fast I talk. And when he saw my reaction when he told me to “calm down” I thought he was a goner. But we all know that “calm down” actually means “shut the fuck up“. I mean, everyone knows that! We were in the hotel in Augusta, and I was simply trying to make something clear to the asshole at the front desk, when Mr. T looked at me and said it. You know. “Calm down.” Oh hell to the no. What I heard him say was, “Shut the fuck up.” Our very first fight. And we all know how that went down! Chill out, calm down, relax, easy…take a breath. All no-no’s. They are all basically like telling me to “shut the fuck up”. Bad, very bad.

But look, he’s still here! So this might actually be ok! Ok, and fun. And good. And just what the doctor ordered. Life is short. And crazier things have happened. No expectations, no pressure. No meeting my kids yet, or getting nuts…no rushing.

Just enjoying each other, and our time together.

Mr.T and Me. ;)

xo j