I don’t really know where to start.
Or how I’m feeling.
I am in shock, actually.
One minute we were happy, and the next…
It was over.
I waited until today to blog, so I wasn’t so spiteful. Or angry…or sad. So I wasn’t so fucking pissed at him for not saying the right thing. Or not doing the right thing. But looks like waiting didn’t really help the situation, because I’m still reeling. I’m beyond hurt. And I am trying to go over the whole conversation in my head. Picking it apart piece by piece, ya know? Dissecting it, and playing it back…trying to make sense of it all.
But I just can’t.
Not in this lifetime.
There is no way he picked his Mommy over me.
Wanna hear something funny? Just last week Mr. T told me I could start using his real name. Yup! Start calling him Andy in the blog. He said we had gotten to a place in our relationship where we were so good, and so strong…that I could drop the Mr. T! So…Andy it is. For his final blog, it’s Andy. Sigh.
Andy and I went to Atlanta last weekend to celebrate his 35th bday. Alone. We needed it, especially right after Jonah’s Bar Mitzvah, remember? He was a rockstar. We posted video on SnapChat, and we took pix together with the photographer at the party. He met my family, who loved him. And he met my friends from Detroit, who loved him. Hell, we were solid! It was the best weekend ever. Andy said all kinds of sincere, and thoughtful things to me. And made all kinds of promises. We had a song! Omg. We had a SONG. And at the party, he asked the DJ to play it for the final slow dance. (Kinda romantic, right?) It was all going so well, he was my Xanax. My Starbucks. My rock.
We were perfect.
We. We. Weeeeeee. Me and Andy.
But what happens when the “we” turns into a three?
Me, Andy…and his Mommy. She is probably reading this right now. Should I say “hi”? Ugh. She hates me. Never met me, but ok. Actually, I don’t even think she knew Andy was dating a Jewish girl. Nope. He never told her. Said it wouldn’t matter. Wow. I kinda thought he might want to mention it? But the “Jew issue” was quickly overshadowed when his Mama (that’s what he calls her) read my blog. Ya. She “found it”. She read it, and she was not happy. And she told Andy. And then, he told me. And he didn’t sugar coat it, he just decided it was a good idea to give it to me straight. And Willy Wonka he was not. Andy told me every little thing his Mommy said.
I begged him to stop.
I could have gone my entire life without hearing it. The garbage she spewed. Especially if he was going to break up with me anyway. Why even tell me? He didn’t stick up for me. He didn’t tell her I wasn’t “that person” in real life. He didn’t say she shouldn’t judge me until she met me. He didn’t even defend me. He actually asked me why I had to blog in the first place. Omg. After months of being a part of the blog (with no prob, I might add) he wanted to know why I had to write all “this shit”. How about you tell your Mom to go fuck herself, and you are in love with this kick-ass writer-soon-to-be-super-star! (crossing fingers)
She said I wasn’t fit to be around her grandson. And that she never wanted to meet me. All based on The Truth Hurvitz. Do you think she read the butt sex one? Or the one about manscaping? Shit. There is no way she caught the “I don’t make love, I fuck” entry, right? Crap. I want to scream. I do. I want to cry, and yell…and then cry some more. And then I want to get a book deal, and a TV show. And prove to Andy’s Mom that I am legit. Legitimately crazy. And funny. And witty. And over-the-top. And exciting. And out there. And real…
And really a great Mother, just like her. And really a good person, just like her. And I care deeply about her son…just like her. But it’s too late. Too many things have been said, and they can’t be taken back now. And at 42 years old, I am not about to prove anything to anyone. I am an amazing mother, and friend. I have a huge heart. I have raised two of the most considerate, and compassionate boys on this planet…and I am so in love with them. Andy was lucky to have met them. And I was so honored to have met his son.
Mr. T, you are a Southern Gentleman to the core. Sweet, and romantic…kind and caring. You are a wonderful Father. I will miss you, more than you know. And you will make some woman very happy one day. Just make sure she is screened first by your Mama. Oh, and that she is a Southern Christian, knows how to order at a restaurant…and doesn’t have a blog. ;)