Where do I start?
From the top.
And 5, 6, 7, 8…
Look at that! How do I always seem to bring it back to who’s important here? ME. As I’m singing “Let’s start at the very beginning, it’s a very good place to start…when we count we begin with one, two, three. When we sing we begin with DO RAE MEEEE!” Yes. Me. I love it. Maria Von Trapp got it all right. That Nazi bitch making those queer-matching-ass shorts outta curtains is good for something, people. She is starting my blog today.
My blog about me.
So, I digress.
Although, I’m not quite sure I can even digress because I haven’t said much yet. But I’ll digress anyway, because it sounds so professional. And I am so professional these days. After all, I am officially a writer. Did you hear? I am now not only on Suburban Misfit Mom, which is like…unreal to me. (Thank you, SMM!) But I’m also a contributing author on BLUNTmoms. hooray! They have “Wannabe BLUNTmoms” ok, and then they have a very elite group of “Blunt Authors”. I am now one of those women. Toot-toot. I have arrived on my toot-toot train! I actually cried when I got the email last week. I sobbed, and couldn’t breathe. I read it over, and over to make sure it was legit. And also because the editor of Blunt is an incredible writer, and I didn’t understand half of the words she was using. They were big, and smart-like. Kinda threw me for a loop. #reallynotreally
PAY ATTENTION READERS: THERE HAS BEEN A NAME CHANGE! For the first time in The Truth Hurvitz history, I am making a name change. My man previously known as “Mr. Funny”, is now being changed mid-relationship to (drumroll please!) Number 13.(#13) If you want to make a T-shirt (like he did when he came to Jonah’s track meet) by all means please do. Just put a #13 on the back. Mr. Funny thought he was hilarious! I mean, really? He actually showed up with a #13 on his shirt. Fucking love him. So why the Number 13, you ask? Well, because my kids call him that. They seem to think that I have had twelve boyfriends since I’ve been single…which would make Mr.Funny, number thirteen on the list. Now, for the record, I HAVE NOT. I counted, for fucksake. And there have not been thirteen guys. Those little shits are wrong. Where did they get 13? But Mark, and my boys find it quite amusing to refer to Mr. Funny as, Number 13. Mark actually texted me today, “Where’s #13. Aren’t you with him?” Fucker.
But whatever, it’s funny. And Mr. Funny likes funny.
So, he’s now Number 13.
And now, I can really digress. I called Number 13, ok? After I got the email from my new editor at Blunt. He was actually the very first call I made. Unfortunately, he wasn’t home…he was working out. Number 13 does that fucking Crossfit-shit. His body is flat-out insane; he looks like he’s 28. He’s not, he’s 46. Age-appropriate, y’all. But he did bring me flowers to congratulate me. Who does that? This guy! Sigh. He’s happy when I’m happy. And he won’t give up on me, even though I have trust issues. And I’ve tried to “break-up” with him like a gazillion times. (Just to see if he wants me; girls pull that shit.) He gets that I’m just scared of being hurt again. He keeps proving to me over, and over that he’s not going anywhere…no matter how hard I try to sabotage us. He GETS me. And I get him. We just work.
Winner, winner chicken dinner.
Number 13 is honest, sometimes too honest…but I respect him like no other man I’ve ever dated. And he reminds me so much of Mark. Well, all the good things about Mark. He’s a great father, sensitive…and kind. He is sarcastic, and witty. Smart as fuck; clearly a bit Aspie-licious. Only difference? I want to fuck him 24/7. ha. I WANT NUMBER 13 ALL THE TIME. And maybe that’s because we don’t have two kids to raise, bills to pay…and a we aren’t living together. Dating is different, than marriage. I get it. But holy hot-sex, y’all. Number 13 is NUMERO UNO on my list. And let’s be honest, people. I’ve had a whole lotta…
So, Number 13 it is! As far as I’m concerned my list can just stop here. Period. The End. Auf wiedersehen, Good Night. Wow! See how I did that? Brought that shit right back to Frauline Maria and the Sound of flippin’ Music. Damn I’m good. Toot-toot, and TOOT. ;)