Ok, let me see..

Swipe right, I dig him. Swipe left, he’s a loser.

No.. wait. If I like him, I hit the little “heart”.. but if I don’t I hit the “X”.

Got it. Hmmm. He’s kinda cute. He’s looks sweet with his kid. And on a boat. Look, his doggie! Wow. Awww.. there’s his sister with him in a tiny bikini, and they are hugging really tight. Ya. His sister. In his TINDER picture. Right. Dumbass. “X”! He gets the X! Gone. Like who puts a pic with their ex on a dating site? Does he want to get laid? TINDER. wow.

Have y’all seen this Tinder thing? It’s a flipping hoot. A “dating” app, right? And it’s basically all about looks. How degrading is that? You put up to 5 pictures of yourself into it, your age, a little blurb about your life, and POOF.. it spits out people in your area that you might want to meet. Amazing. Now, here’s the catch. They have to “like” you, too. And if they like you, and you like them.. it’s a MATCH! A Tinder “MATCH”! Whoo Hoo! And omg, it’s like crack. I love it. I sit around all damn day and play Tinder! I roll through all the fucking guys on my phone.. and find the ones I think are hot. Based on looks, age and a blurb, that says all of 3 things. OMG. It’s a joke. But I am addicted, because really.. I always match with the hotties that I like! hehe. Ok, not always. But like 99% of the time. FUN!!! So good for my ego. I’ve met a pro-golfer, YUM. A writer, hot. And an ex-pitcher for a major league baseball team, delish. I mean, those were the good ones. Oh, and a guy from Dilworth, that I really, really liked.. hot. But he told me we just “would never work”. Must have been my hair. He liked brunettes. Wait, Dilworth!! Check me out now!! haha. I crack myself up.

And it goes a little like this.. hit it! 

“Hi, I’m Bob. I love to climb mountains, eat cheese, and I’m looking for a chick that never wants to get married. If that’s you, let’s meet up for a drink, and bang.”

Or.. if you’re lucky, you get a really nice one like this…

“Hi, I’m Bill. I love the outdoors, and watching sports. I also dig my kids. I just moved to the Charlotte area, and could use a friend.”

Hmmm. Both great, in my book. I love cheese, too. Who would turn down cheese?  And come on, if they’re both hot.. who am I to say no? Oops! I forgot, after you “like” them.. a little floating heart comes across the screen!! And your pix “meet” in the middle! I get SO excited!! I do this little Tinder Dance! And it’s like a party!! I even let my friends play with me, this Tinder-game. My married friends love it the most. Sue, one of my girls.. she goes HOG WILD! Grabs that shit right out of my hands… ha. Gotta be careful for her, she will “like” guys just to fuck with me. Ya know, the ones with gold teeth. Dammit, Sue. Give me back my phone. Me, Jen, Tammy and Sue were all playing “TINDER” around the lunch table the other day. I was seriously squealing like a schoolgirl. It’s so not right. We have issues. Wait, I have issues.

So, after you “match” you can actually talk to these guys. And some of them are pretty cool. Some are all smart, and funny. And wanna chit-chat, and get all up in my shiz. But the thing is, can you actually TRUST a Tinder-Man? Are they as Tinderific, as they seem, or are they just hiding behind the 5 pictures and the blurb? Well, all y’all. Let me tell you a few horrifying Tinder tales, that will make you run crying back to your telephones, and little black books. And beg your friends to just fix you up on dates like our mommas used to do. Tinder is a totally terrific place, if and only if.. you know the rules. Listen to me closely, I made these up, k?

Top 5 Rules of Tinder Dating 
  1. Ask for their LAST name immediately upon “matching”.  Tinder only gives first names. I always ask for the last name, so I can do a google search. Duh. Google his shit right up. This ain’t 1950, Dorothy.
  2. Ask if he has a FACEBOOK account. If not, the communication stops here. He is a psycho. Who doesn’t have a FB account? Loser. Check please! If he does, continue your conversation via FB, which allows you to probe deeper into his/her background. And to also see if you have any mutual friends. If you do, breathe a little easier, this person is not a total freak.
  3. Ask for more pictures. Ummm, don’t be shy. This is a MUST. Often times the pics they are posting are FALSE, or old. Or just a crock of shit. Need I tell you about the guy that showed up on our date a little chubbier than he was in his pics? Ya, false advertising happens all the time.
  4. If you decide to meet for a date, take separate cars. And meet in a public place. Even if you think you are going to marry this person, or you feel like he is the “one” which has happened to me a number of time, because I am a Tinder-Lover, do not trust anyone. They are all nuts. Except for me. I am perfect.
  5. Do not “put out”on your first Tinder-Date. Even if he is Tinderlicious. You will get a STD. Or worse, a reputation of being a Tinderho. And most people do date more than one person on Tinder at a time. After all, it’s fun! Don’t take it so seriously.

And btw, I’ve taken a poll. and being a Tinder-tramp is totally trendy. Totes. Although it’s not my thing, most people do Tinder-hop. Yikes.

Phew. Now that you have some of the rules of Tinder Dating, I feel a little better in sharing a quick story. But know.. the names have been changed. And the places, people.. situations. Basically I have made them up. Maybe. I went on a date one time from Tinder, and the dude actually wasn’t even the guy I spoke to. He was like 10 years older. Yup. Beat that, y’all. OMG. I was like, do you think I can’t tell you’re a grandpa? I wanted to just come out and ask him. I did. I wanted to say, “Excuse me, Jim-Bob, but your profile said 40. You are 60. Do you think I am not going to notice?” But I just couldn’t do it. Until the check came. And he didn’t pay. Then I said, “Honey, you are shit outta luck. I was gonna let you out of here, Gramps, but now.. I don’t think so. You lie, you buy.” I didn’t even feel badly. I just told him to cough it up. The money for the bill, while being careful not to lose his teeth in the process. And this stuff happens all the time. I have friends that have had worse happen. But I also have known people who have met their husbands!

So, do you tell the truth when you meet your sig O on Tinder? 

Do you actually tell your people that you met on a creepy, dating site? Like ewwww. I mean, it’s just gross. Would you admit it out loud? “Soooo, where did you and Al meet, he is just the dang cutest thing ever!?” Swallow. Ugh. Well, ummm.. what do you say? Do you shout it from the rooftops? “I’M A TOTAL LOSER AND WE MET ON TINDER!” Hell yes. YES. Yes you do, people. You hold your head high, and you stand proud.. and you say, “The funniest thing ever, we met on Tinder! And we have the best story to tell our grand kids.” Snap. Who’s embarrassed about that? And who gives a shit?  If you are ballsy enough to put yourself out there, and it actually works.. then own it. And be confident enough to tell others your success story. After all, maybe it will help someone find their cyber-match.

It’s not easy dating in this technologically advanced world we live in. For the love of g-d, some dude actually asked me if we could SKYPE for our first date, to avoid wasting our time and energy in case we didn’t “connect”. I was like, dude… are you kidding? There is zero chance of us “connecting”. You lost me at SKYPE. And no, I won’t send you a pic of my vagina. Really. NO. Not my tits, either. You want to do what? omg. Call me. Sorry, focus, Jen.

Back to the drawing board. I love being called on the phone. And picked up at my house. Cowbell Guy picked me up at my sister’s house. And met my parents. So sweet. And Pita Guy, he actually opens the door for me every single time we go anywhere. And forget texting, guys. Pick up the phone, and talk to me. TALKING is so nice. Conversation is actually where I get to do my thing. I get to flirt, and make eye contact.. and touch.  Chivalry, boys. Pay for the first date, and second. Jesus, didn’t your mommas teach you anything? I went out with this guy, who was amazing via text. I was convinced he was my next husband. I was so excited for our date, that I couldn’t even talk to anyone else the entire week.. but when I got to dinner, he was like a different person. Boo. What a total disappointment. I wasn’t me either. I was just well, bummed. And then, he said I wasn’t his type. lol. I was like, WTF. I am every one’s type. Maybe he doesn’t like blonds. Wait! I’m brunette, now! Call me? ha.

Truth be told, I have deleted my Tinder account. Yup. I did. Just couldn’t take it for another minute. While it was fun, it was stressful, and totally overwhelming, too. I was running out of clothes!  Juggling guys, blow drying my hair every night, and putting on makeup for these Tinder-hotties was getting to be too fucking much. And the “interview” process.. over and over.. oy. Who wants to talk about themselves THAT much? Rhetorical, peeps. While I do love to talk about ME, I’d much rather do it on a computer screen.. in my pajamas, where no one talks back. And I don’t have to put out. ha. ;)

xo j

Oh shit.

Did I just really dye my hair brown? omg.

I did. I think I really did. I am looking in the mirror at a woman I don’t even know.

Ok, Jen. Breathe. I love it. I fucking love it, and I don’t care what Tammy thinks. She is going to die. And JLo. Jen is going to look at me, and say, “You can go blond next time.” I know them both so well. I do care. I do. I want to NOT care what they think, but I totally do. FUCK. It’s not THAT dark, right? I mean, this shit will fade. I have been blond since I can remember. Well, since I was ten, and the sun hit my hair, and I started “highlighting” it with lemon.. and Sun-In. Omg. I am freaking out. My life is going to change as I know it, my attitude is going to be washed out with the color…and my badassedness is going to be GONE! MY BLOND IS GONE JUST LIKE THE “E” THAT I LEFT OFF THE WORD BLONDE. gone. poof. help.

I just thought, I needed a change. Ya know, a “caterpillar to butterfly” kinda change. So, I went for it. Instead of changing my person, I decided to change my look. Ya! Good move, Hurvitz! Great. And here it is…what do you think? (pic is down in the corner, see it?)  Don’t lie. And my friend Randy said it looks like I have a blond tail. Thanks, Rando. That’s not a tail, dumbass.. it’s my hair wrapped ever so softly, behind my neck. And it’s blond because my stylist, Heather totally rocks, and did that Ombre thingy, and the ends are lighter. Jesus. Sigh. Well, I’m obviously not going to blog about my hair this whole time. I am going to segue into my real topic, which is change. And making changes..

What has changed, since my separation? What has been different, better.. and more exciting? What positive things have happened in my life, now that I’m on my own again and starting over, fresh and new and single? Change can be good. Right? Yes. And no. Change is tough, dammit. 

Change can be GREAT! And fun.. but scary. And it takes some getting used to, and I hate it. I suck at it. I’m a flippin’ Libra. I’m not good with change at all. In fact, I’d rather go to the same exact place for vacation over, and over, just because I feel comfortable with it. Anyone else? Ya. I feel ya. I just like what I like, and I love “my spots”. I eat at Cameron’s Steakhouse every time I go back to Detroit, just because I know it. I have MY stool. And MY bartender, and MY salad. Chopped and tossed the way I like it. Nothing new, and everything stays the same. I dig it. It’s safe. And easy. And mine. Which is a lot of the reason why I stayed married, I’m sure. Who wants to step into the unknown? Take a leap of faith, and do something they are unsure of.. omg. Why? Why would you ever leave a life that is comfortable, and safe.. easy (enough) and really, “it’s not THAT bad”,  for the Devil you don’t know?  Change is fucking scary. Just like changing your hair color, what if you hate it?

And hate it you will. And I did. I hated it. I hated leaving my kids for the first time with their Dad. I hated telling them I was going to be moving out. I hated answering their questions about the separation, and why I “stopped trying to make it work”.  I hated watching them cry. And seeing them sad. And I hated promising them it was going to be ok, when I wasn’t sure it was. All the change was killing me. To lose my family. This amazing “team” we built together, omg. We made the best team. The Weintraub’s rocked the house. Just ask anyone. No one does a Zoo Trip like The Weintraubs. Or a water slide. Or Italy. Or a Sunday brunch at Ohop. Or a game of Clue. And being able to be there when Zac needed me at night. Or when Jonah wanted to talk. I’ll tell you, change sucks. But you get used to it. And so do the kids. It just takes time.

Soon, I started to enjoy a few of the changes. Wow! I kinda started to like my alone time. Did you guys know that you can watch an entire season of Scandal in like 2 days? Holy crap, that shit is off the hook! And drink wine, in your pajamas…with no interruptions. No one to bug you. It’s called DIVORCE. It’s called, “it’s not my week”. It’s called, “Hey, talk to your dad”. It’s called, I love this. I can do what I want, and not pay a sitter. I actually know that the boys are in the BEST hands. Their dad’s. And Mark is the greatest dad ever. I get to do whatever I want, and not feel rushed, or guilty.. or bad. No one asks where I’ve been. Or what I spent. Or who I was with. Or if I did the laundry. I can Facebook all night long. And I never have to cook. ha. Or pretend to cook. Or get a “talking to” when I don’t cook. I can leave my bra on the doorknob, just swinging there for all the world to see. Why? Cause it’s just me, folks. I can get up at 2am, and go to Harris Teeter for a snack. If I wanna. Ok, I don’t. But I could. And no one would ever think I’m nuts. Holy Moly, I can have a party. A kegger. In my apartment, with strippers…and no one is going to say a word! Ok, you get it. but I am loving this. It’s the best thing in the entire world. I have personal freedom. I AM FREE! WHOOP WHOOP! No one is controlling me. Do you remember the last time you were able to do whatever the fuck you wanted to do? Stop. Don’t answer. Think.

Never. If you are married…the answer is NEVER. Sorry, darhlins. But just out of mutual respect, you should give a little shaky-shaky when you get home at night. Listen, I don’t care where you’ve been or what you’ve been doing! But you still are going to be held accountable for your actions. BUT NOT ME! Wanna know why? Cause, I’m single. That’s right! And it’s NOT MY WEEK! haha. I love it. It just rolls off the tongue… it’s nooootttt myyyyy weeeeekkkk. Wanna try it? Well, I’m sorry. You can’t say it, unless you are divorced. It’s a perk for divorced peeps only. Jeez, it’s like one of the only perks, can’t we have just one? ;)

Come on over to my apartment..I’ll open a bottle of wine, a bag of peanut butter M&M’s and we can say it together, “It’s not my week!” And then, we can find a bottle of Loreal Hair Color, and dye my hair back to blond. I can’t look at myself for another minute. And I’m clearly not any smarter. Hurry it up, first one over here gets a free pack of Twizzlers! I can’t stand change, or being alone for longer than 2 hours. Shhhh, don’t tell anyone, I can’t even pee with the bathroom door closed. I miss my family every day, but need to look for the positives, or this divorce will kill me, right? Right. Now, let’s have a BIG party when I hit 30,000 readers. I’m thinking at Cameron’s in the D. I have a barstool with my name on it.

And for the record, the next change I make is going to be my underwear, all y’all. I’m used to that. ;)

xo j

brunette, baby.

I can’t even believe that I just sat down for the first time today. I mean really? I’m exhausted. And I’m drinking wine. Ma nishtana.  Or for all you non-Jews that’s a little Hebrew for “what else is new?” Just in time for Passover. Gettin’ my Jew on. I mean, since I moved to Charlotte five years ago.. I pretty much have a glass of wine every night. Glass. House. Stones. Go. Whatever. I don’t get drunk, or slam a bottle, for fucksake. I have a glass of wine. It’s a little weird to some of you, I’m sure. And to others,  it’s strange that I only have one glass. Ha. Anyways, I’m now in my sweats..curled up with my doggies, and drinking my glass of wine. Ahhhh. Life is good.

Life is good? Shit, after that last blog..I bet you’re thinking how could life get any worse? Life without sex. A sexless marriage, not being wanted by the only man in the world that is supposed to want you, come hell or high water!?  Stab my heart out why dontcha?! Ya, after that last blog.. it seems like anything would be better than that, right? Well, since we are being honest here, it really wasn’t that bad. I loved that guy to bits. He was my best friend. And I loved my family. We were the perfect TEAM. Just not the best partnership. So, the truth is…sexless doesn’t always mean loveless. Remember that, k? You never prepare for the future though, when you’re in it.. so as bad as it gets, it can get worse…

“I don’t care where my SCAR is, Dr. Sherbert. Like I’m ever getting naked for another man again? Unless I’m going to be a stripper in my next life, or Mark’s going to kick-it.. NO guy is ever seeing this body naked. Never. Ever. NEVER. Let’s do this thing. Just make sure I’m hot. And thin. And you wake my ass up. And put my tits where they used to be, UP. I don’t want them huge.. I just want them UP. I look like a cover of a National Geographic, and I have 50 more years to live. I deserve this. Right? Right”.

Ya. That was smart. Good thinking, Jen. I mean, I just really wanted to look good in clothes. So when my plastic surgeon cut me from hip to hip 7 years ago, I didn’t really think twice. I never really imagined another man seeing my body. I’m like Heidi Montag on a good day. I’ve done it all. But no one would ever see it. Not my stomach. Or my breasts. Or my vagina. No guy would ever touch me other than Mark. (Dad, please..stop reading). I just thought I would always be married. And Mark wouldn’t mind that Frankenstein gash across my torso. Or the scars on my boobs. The thought of another man seeing me naked was enough to send me right to the…wait. I know you want me to say the gym. I should say the gym. Or the therapists office. Sure I went to see my shrink. She was SO helpful, she told me to just “get back on the horse”. To find myself, and then to just get back out there.. and get back on it. Not to rush into anything serious, duh. But that I should date. DATE. DATE. There’s that fucking word again. DATE. bleeeeccchhh. I didn’t want to date. I wanted to have sex. Glass. House. Stones. Go. Losers. Don’t judge. If I was a guy, you wouldn’t even think twice about that comment. You blame me? Give me a break. Can’t a girl just have sex with out being in a serious relationship? Such a double standard, but that’s another blog.
So no gym for me, I ate salsa. And did Weight Watchers. And I went directly to the tanning place. Yes, you heard me. SPRAY TAN. Thank you to my sweet friend Ginger, at Glow Charlotte. That woman saved my life. Fucking spray tan covered my scars, and made me look 10lbs thinner I swear to god. Forget the gym, girls. What a waste of time and money. Sugar-based spray tan. My ass looked better, my skin was glowing.. naked never looked so dang good. I might even have to post a pic. NO not of me naked, but of the glow tan. Pre-sex necessity, a glow tan. Even in the dead of winter, ladies. Spray tan your cellulite-ridden asses. I have no shame, and when something works, it works. I will scream it from the rooftops! And not to mention, a little thong line looks sexy as all get out. I even bought an extra Glow-on-the-Go bottle to spray at home. Love that shiz. And love my girl, Ginger. Laugh now, but I can lay naked and feel like Kate Upton. Notice, I didn’t say Brooklyn Decker. I’m not that naive.
I have my tan. And I shaved my legs. Wow. Remember when you actually were married, and could get away with not shaving your legs or vag? OMG. Did she just say that? Yes, I did. Now, I actually have to shave. Not only my legs, when I go out on a date, but just in case there’s a chance I might get laid.. I have to worry about my vagina. (whispering) va-giiiii-naaaaa. My pussy. Do I wax? Or laser. If I do shave it, and I hook up, does that mean that I thought I was gettin’ some? And then the guy thinks I’m a ho? Or do I not shave.. and then he’s like, “Omg, I can’t believe her puss isn’t shaved.. she didn’t think we were gonna hook up, what a nice girl’? UGH!!! You just can’t win. To shave, or not to shave: that is the question! I mean, really? I now have to think about this shit. Ugh.
And what about my thong choice? I once had a guy tell me that any woman who wears animal print panties (I hate the word panties, almost as much as the word moist. And “moist panties” I want to puke) is trying too hard. Yup. That’s what he said. He told me, that if he hooks up with a woman, and she is wearing ANY type of animal print.. cheetah, leopard, giraffe.. dog. Goat. Sheep. Bird. Anything, he leaves. He just gets up, and leaves her laying there. I will call him PETA BOY. Not to be confused with PITA boy. Which is the guy I went out with the other day for lunch, that ate pita bread off my plate, and almost lost a finger. Thank god he was hot, or he would be gone. No one touches my carbs. Ok, so PETA boy.. the dude that hates Animal Print. Ya, leaves women for wearing the print of an animal..
Weird. But makes you think, right? Like what the fuck. Shave, tan.. thong or boy shorts? Polka dots, or Zebra stripes. And what about the kissing. omg. How do you kiss someone after kissing the same man for 13 years? So crazy. But exciting..
Turn them on! Hurry up, I can’t do it. I am having major anxiety. I hate the dark. Dark is for kids. And insecure women. All these mixed emotions. And stemming from what? I want to make sure I know what I’m doing. And that he is who he says he is. Can I trust him? I wanted to cry. And it felt so weird. But nice, too. Like that first guy you kissed in 8th grade. Scott Ephraim. He had braces. And I had braces. And he was so dang cute. And I will never forget it. And I felt guilty. Like I was doing something wrong.. but it felt well, right. And my heart was all funky. And I wanted to tell the whole world all about him. So, I ran home..and told my Mom. And my Sister. And my closest friend. Which is exactly what I did this time. Funny, huh? Kinda like the same thing, minus the braces. Life is funny that way.
And so we kissed.. and kissed. And kissed.
And at forty-one, and separated.. I am more confident. And mature-ish. I like having control. I know what I’m doing. And what I want. I feel better about myself. And about who I am. And I like the lights on, even with my scars.. and cellulite. Who cares if I’m wearing animal print, or grandma panties. Ok, I care. No grandma panties. But you get my point. I can do this. Even though I am scared, and I don’t have a 20-year old body. I am not thin, or cellulite-free. I may not be young, and all that. But I have one thing going for me. Experience. And I don’t mean I’ve slept with the entire planet. Careful, all y’all. What I mean is at 40-something we all have LIFE experiences that make us stronger, and more self aware. And sexier. I feel sexy at forty-one. Fuck, I feel better about this Jennifer, than the one walking around 10 years ago.
I am so going to need to write a Part Three, and I am about to pour another glass of wine. And all this talking about kissing, and getting my sexy-back just reminded me it’s time for a spray tan. Oh, and a new pair of snakeskin panties. Holla.
xo j

What do women want? 

Ya, ya. What do women want? This is where I lose all my girlfriends. All my female readers. And my poor father crawls under his desk, and hides for all eternity. Who gives a rat’s ass what women want?  Is it always about us? Is it always about the women? Sure, women want to be listened to, and loved..and wanted. Blah, blah. blah. But after much thought, I am super convinced that I just might have been the reason my marriage failed. Yup. Me. Not all me, but I played a big part. And here is why…

This is The Truth Hurvitz, right? So.. let me give you the truth. 

Women, read this, listen to it.. and maybe I can save you a lot of heartache, and lawyers fees. It takes two to tango, so stop your whining.. and drop to your knees. Stop bitching. And crabbing. Pretend you like having sex, and start putting out. Or as one of my close friends says it, “play dead starfish”. Ya know, lay on your back, and stare at the ceiling..naked. Who cares. Just do something. Anything to let your man know you want him. I recall one of my dear friends making “sex appointments” with her hubby every Sunday night. Still married! Shit. Sounds dumb, but sex is the way to a man’s heart. Forget the cooking. Just fuck him. It’s the only way to stay married. Or in a relationship. Or happy. There. I said it. And it’s only going to get worse, (my poor father) so buckle up.

I got married. I wanted a house. I wanted kids. I wanted it all. I want. I want.. I want. I wanted everything, but sex. Well, I had sex to get pregnant. FUN! No, it was work. And I would call my mom for advice. Like NASA, for fucksake. Charts, and planning. Legs up, legs down. Wait 20 minutes after we do it, ha. Mark was such a trooper. We got preggers in a minute. And I swear, I cut him off.  I wanted Mark to give and give and give. And I wanted to put out, like.. um.. never. I was too tired. I was too fat. I was too fucking bitchy. I had diarrhea. Whatever. I was a tired, angry, nasty-ass biatch. So, he worked his ass off to provide a great life for me. And our kids. And I had it all. And sure, he was crabby. And maybe wasn’t home all the time, cause he traveled for work. But shit, wouldn’t you? I was so fun to be around! not. I complained about everything. And the minute he walked in the door, I would throw the kids at him. Instead of being nice, or kind.. or the girl he married. I saved “fun Jen” for everyone else.

And then, when I did want to have sex.. he didn’t want me! Well, WHOOOOAAAAAAA!!!

He didn’t want me? But why? Why didn’t he want ME? I was like, ME! And I was so hot! In my sweat pants, and ponytail…with barf and shit all over me. I was like.. a pornstar! Ya. Well. He wasn’t “emotionally attached” to me. That’s what he said. What he told the therapist. Ouch. Sound familiar, ladies. Are you pickin’ up the shiz I’m laying down? Sad, right? But hey, it’s the truth. And the strong survive. And the insecure, weak, lonely ones.. head to Facebook to flirt with old high school boyfriends. Or sext with college ex’s late at night. Or maybe start losing weight. Or even get new tits. And realize, they better get some fucking attention from somewhere, or they might shrivel up and die. And they have mid-life crises, and get their balls back. And want “more”. And they decide they deserve “better”.

So, the truth hurts. And egos get hurt. And feelings get hurt. But it happens. And you start to fight. And resent each other. And grow apart. And the kids pick up on it. And then.. you don’t have sex for a month. Or six. Or a year….

But hey! Who’s counting? All your friends are having AMAZING sex! You go out to dinner with other couples, and they are all telling stories about how fucking great their sex is.. and how they fuck every single night! And how they are just SO close. And you are holding back the puke in your mouth, while you know how full of shit they are, and they are divorced a year later. Life gets in the way of life. It just happens. I actually sat with a group of my girlfriends once, and listened to one tell me she gets paid to give her husband blow jobs. Yup. Pick your mouth off the floor, y’all. A fifty dollar bill is left on the nightstand the next morning.. and she loves it! I mean, if it works, it works! I’m not judging. They are still happily married, and she has a wicked shoe collection! ha.

So, you stay. I mean, right? You stay in your marriage. No one would ever get divorced because of sex? Or lack thereof. You stay for the kids. They are all that’s important. Even though you aren’t so happy. And you are having sex like, never. And you basically hate each other.. because neither of you are getting the attention you need, or deserve. Or getting LAID. For the love of all things holy.. everyone is happier when you’re getting LAID! COME ON, PEOPLE! It’s just a scientific fact. Your endorphins are up. You release amazing sex hormones. You live longer, and healthier lives. Everyone is loving it up! And wow, you just feel better. It’s a fact. No BS from me. No Jen-isms. Just the truth. So you are miserable, not having sex. But you stay, and you become best friends. Best friends that really hate each other, because you resent each other for not wanting one another. When really, you do. I did. I really did. Want him. Sigh. I just didn’t know how to get back there. He was so far away.

How do you stop this from happening? The distance, the space…the resentment? The truth is, girls.. and boys, to never let it start in the first place. Keep it real. Make it happen. And have SEX!  

This Part One was just for Mark…to say, I’m sorry, for being so nasty and angry. And to thank him,  for giving me our boys. Oh, and for putting up with this blogging stuff. I would probably kill me. And for all the women out there, still in their marriages…think about what your man wants for a change. Maybe 13 years ago, I should have. Not to say, it was all me. We both made mistakes.  Sometimes I wish I had a blog like this to read, some crazy lady slapping me with a dose of reality. Ha. Well, at least now, my new relationships will only be better. And filled with lots and lots of SEX…sans the bitchy, crabby and hopefully the diarrhea. ;)

xo j