“Ummm, so you’re a JEW?”
I never liked the words “make love“.
I can’t even say it with a straight face.
Make love. ha.
My parents say it. And old people. And couples in movies…that are like, in love. All gooey and stuff.
Bleech. I wanna barf. “Make love”. I’m so embarrassed. Omg. Stooopppp.
I do not “mmmaaaakkkkke loooovveee“.
I mean… do you say, “let’s make love” to your guy? Jeez. How stupid. It’s like, so circa 1950. Like so dumb. Cheesy. Gooey. Velveeta. Like, who says “make love” to someone you are just dating? I don’t. Hey, “Hot Soccer Guy, wanna make love?” NO WAY. I am more of the hey, “let’s fuck” kinda girl. So much better, just rolls off the tongue. “Hi, there…Hot Soccer Guy, let’s fuck.” See, totally. Sounds so normal. So 2014. I mean everyone is saying it, right? Hmmm. I have never really thought about it until recently when I was in bed with Mr. Wrong, and he said it. He said, “Let’s make love”. YIKES. I was in shock. I looked at him, like a deer in headlights. Basically questioning his motives. I mean why on earth would a hot guy like him ruin our perfectly great moment by saying such a stupid thing? I wanted to slap his face, and scream….”Say you want to FUCK ME!”
Let’s make love? Wow. He said, he wants to make love. […]
“Ummm, so you’re a JEW?”
Yes, I have kids. They are amazing. And brilliant. And gorgeous. And fabulous. Need I say more? I’ve only been talking about them for the past 12 years! Jonah, my almost 12 year old, and Zac.. he’s 10, are the reason I get up in the morning. Why I breathe. Why I hung up my microphone. My life, my heart, my soul. I spent my marriage being a great mom, and a shitty wife. I gave them everything. All my energy. I told stories about them, and I talked incessantly about their little, quirky habits. I mushed over their every moves. When they cried, I sobbed. When they jumped, I said…HOW HIGH MY SWEET, LITTLE LOVERS??? I would eat their shit, I swear. Ok, you get the point.
They came first. Even before Mark, which is why he resents me, at least I think that’s partly why. I wouldn’t change it, though. Ok, maybe I would have changed it. Woulda shoulda coulda. Sorry, M. But they didn’t ask to be here. They are my job.
But they are also why I stayed married longer than I should have. “The Truth Hurvitz”, right? Awww, come on. Pick your mouths up of the floor, and give me a fucking break. You all know, it’s why most people try to make it work. And you should! For the kids, right? Why you fight a little harder, a little longer..MY kids deserve BOTH parents. I just couldn’t walk out! We made the best team. I would destroy them. My head was filled with guilt, and “what-if’s”. Even if we’re not happy. Come on, Jen. Suck it up. “Happy” is relative. I mean, give me a break, is anyone REALLY happy? I know I used to compare my marriage to other people’s and think, “We are way happier than so-and-so”! But come on. Fuck. Is that a way to live? Just being “happier” than the assholes that are miserable?
Until one day, you just can’t do it anymore. You wake up and realize,”Shit, it’s MY turn”. I deserve to be happy. And if I’m not happy, my kids won’t be happy. WE deserve better. I deserve more.
So, now.. it’s MY turn. My turn to live my life how I choose to live it. OMG. Wait. Hold on, I need to read that again. Out loud. MY TURN. Holy shit. It’s my turn!!! I actually get a turn? I get to shower by myself? And take a piss without the boys yelling for me! And I get to use the phone without a kid screaming. I have alone time. I have space. Maybe this “divorce thing” isn’t going to be so bad after all? I mean, sure, it sucks. And I miss my family. But I actually have a little time to myself. I kinda have a life again. And for every other weekend, I am alone. Wow. This is weird. I even have my own money. And I can shop whenever I want, and I don’t feel guilty. Sounds selfish, but I don’t really care. It is true. It feels freaking good. I have a little bit of me back. And ya know what? It’s ok. And I can bet, that Mark feels the same way. But he doesn’t have a blog, dammit. This is about ME!
Ok, so here’s the deal. I am trying something new. I have kids. And they are fabulous. And brilliant. I love them to death, but I am my own person. And they are actually gaining a ton of confidence from this divorce. And independence. My therapist thinks, this might be a positive thing. I shit you not! They are learning to do things on their own, without me. (ugh). So, I am not going to blog about them. This is a “Kid-Free Zone”. Cause really, do you think Jonah and Zac want me writing about them anyways? They would kick my ass. I Facebook about them, and they want to kill me. It’s not so cute anymore to talk about the crap they do, like swear..or fart. And really, the fact that Jonah has pubic hair is something that should not be shared with the entire world. For fucksake, he would plotz. I think I should change his name.
This blog is for me. My selfish-happy place. A place for me to vent, and talk about all things kid-unfriendly. I was discussing it with my sister, and we agreed that there are a gazillion blogs out there for moms with kiddos. Women with babies, and breast pump issues…what not to wear, or what to do for your kid’s 5th bday bash. This blog is all about bitching, boob jobs, and bad dates. Ya know, life after divorce. Starting over at 40. Or, just new beginnings, when you didn’t expect them. Anyone can read it. I am like a roller coaster of emotions.. up and down, hang on and enjoy the ride.
And from here on out, unless my guys do something that warrants a good old fashioned “blogging”, they will be seen, but not heard. In the picture on the upper right side of the page.
I love you, J&Z. You are my favorite and my best.. to the moon and stars, and back again.
For the love of god. Please. Who has time for all this bullshit at 41 years old? Not me. I am who I am. I’m not changing shit, I can’t. Not now. Not at this point in my life. Not gonna do it. And really, why should I have to? Why at this time in my life, after being this person…should I have to reinvent the wheel? Why should anyone for that matter? It’s worked up until now, right? Or has it. Fuck.
Not rhetorical. Let’s talk about it. I’m putting it out there, and I’m going to ask the toughest question of myself. Should I change who I am, to fit who I want to be with in my next relationship? And I’m not saying I am going to “settle”! I am saying, maybe the person I was in my marriage, or my last relationship (even though it was for a flippin’ month) didn’t work for a reason. Maybe, I need to alter certain things. Maybe I’m not as FAB as I think I am. ha. Shit. I never claimed to be perfect. I know I have my shtick, but doesn’t everyone? Maybe, I need to bring it down a notch. Not “put it all out there”. Up my meds. Share less? But then, am I being honest? Being real. Being HURVITZ? Am I being me?
I was talking with Mark (my ex) last night, and he reminded me that I like my space. And I like being alone. And I hate being bombarded with stupid shit, and monotonous crap. But I am so annoying. Yup. I am. I actually annoy myself at times. He also reminded me of that. Thanks, Mark. And he told me that I just wanted him for his sperm. Awww, shucks. I was so romantic! I had him at “hello, can I have your sperm”?! Why didn’t he remind me sooner? Woulda saved him about 12 years of his life. But all kidding aside, he is totally right, he gets me (after 13 years)… and he told me I just need to take my time, and sloooow down. I’m always rushing into shit. I mean I told him I was going to marry him on our first date. I wonder if that was before or after I asked for his sperm? hmmm. I’m impulsive. And a little over-emotional. Big whoop. I make a mean grilled cheese.
So, I dated this guy…Wait. I need to say something right now. For all of you, that have stopped talking to me in the past week, because you’ve been “afraid of being blogged about”…have no fear! I have taken the “Bloggers Oath of Silence”. Totes. It’s a real thing that I just made up. And I promise here, in writing..that I will NEVER use real names, or places. But, if you decide to be dumb enough to out yourself, that ain’t my problem. I can’t be responsible for the dip shits that are silly enough to be like, “OMG did you read Jen’s blog last week, I think I was TOTALLY WART BOY”. I mean, come on, people. If you are going to do that, I can’t save you. I just can’t. And when I was at the bar over the weekend, I even pre-warned a group of guys…I said, “yo dumb bunnies, all y’all will be on my blog if you keep saying this stupid shit”! And they were quiet in two seconds. Ha. The power of the blog.
Ok, so..back to the topic at hand. Or at fingers. Me. MEEEE! Me. Am I making some changes or what? And please don’t comment with all the sweet stuff, like no one should change for anyone. Everyone has a “soul mate”. Or, I am perfect the way I am. Besheret, my ass. Maybe, just maybe..I do have to do a little revamping. Look, there may just be a reason why this shits not working. I have to look in the mirror, and really figure out WHY? I mean, I’ll do what I have to do. If it’s broken, fix it. I will fix it. Maybe.
This guy, I dated.. asked me, what he could do differently for the next woman he dated. I thought that was ballsy. I thought, the next woman? What about ME? Why can’t you do something different to be with me, ummm.. hello? Like hi! What’s wrong with me? Ya. Well. I guess that was the point. It was me. I was what was what was wrong. Not him. But I made him a list anyways. And texted it over to him. It was mean, and probably hurt his feelings. I felt better. I guess. Ok, not really. I felt worse. Dating sucks. And breaking up sucks even worse. But.. it is what it is cheese whiz. Part of this game we people play. In search of the “one”…
I just puked in my mouth.
Enough of this! It’s Monday, and it’s time to make a change! Or not. Let me sleep on it. ;)
Babs. My idol. She don’t bring you flowers. Papa can you hear me? The biggest bitch on the block. Yup, you know her, and most of the world loves her. But the industry hates her! And why? Because she is a DIVA. A star. The best of the best. She says, who.. she says, when.. she says…who! And she rules the roost. But boy does she get a bad rap. And there are others: JLo, Beyonce, Hilary, Miss Piggy. Ok, you get the point. Bitches with backbone. Women with MOXY. Ladies who live by their own rules, and beat to their own drum..and don’t take a guy’s shit. Strong, independent, and they know what they want! Ballbusters. Control Freaks. And ya, I have been told by many, especially around golf season…that I fall into the above category. Jeez, that hurts.
So, I have been asking myself this question for years, internally. Well, to myself. I have been asking it, quietly in my head..oh my god, you what I mean! I have been thinking about it, ok!!! And now I’m asking you. Do all y’all think men just can’t handle TOUGH COOKIES? Women who have an opinion. Girls like ME. Women who are strong-minded, and say what they are feeling. Because, I can’t seem to find a guy who can well, “handle me” lately. Well I say lately.. but what I mean is, ever. I can’t find a guy who can handle me, ever. And c’mon am I really THAT hard to deal with? (Mark, this is no time for rolling your eyes, or commenting.)
I just feel like men are babies. I have my shit. I admit it. I don’t eat green food. I don’t. I hate it. No green jello, or green beans. Not even a green Jolly Rancher. Nope. Not gonna do it. And I don’t like the cold weather. Or the heat. I like my body to be in a complete state of homeostasis. I like my food to be the way I like it. But so did Sally, and she fell in love.. you all saw it. At the end of the movie! Sally got Harry, and they kissed, and it was all happy and shit. And for god sake’s SHE was one high maintenance bitch! So, come on guys.. put up with my crap! And so what if I don’t cook. Fuck. I do other things to make up for it. I can dance. But I always have to lead. And do you really want a wallflower? Someone who just sits there, and nods her head.. and agrees with every thing you say? Borrrring. I tell it how it is. I don’t take much crap. I am strong. I am tough. I’m from the D! And I can move mountains. And I never let anyone down. I get the job done!
But every now and then the cookie crumbles.. tough girls have feelings, too. We do. And sometimes, I think men freak out. They don’t have a clue what to do when Tough Cookies crack..
And I’m emotional. And scared. And sad. And sometimes, I just want a guy to see that I’m super sweet, and I cry at the dumbest shit. Like..Kleenex commercials. And I am loyal, and I love my boys. And when I talk about them, even for a few minutes… my face changes. And right now, as I’m typing..I have tears in my eyes. I am not a bad-ass, I have feelings. And I want to be wanted. And I need to be held. And after my divorce, I’m insecure. So damn insecure. Why is it so hard for guys to see that I can let my guard down, but still be strong? And no, I don’t have my fucking period. I’m just sad. Do they want to be punched in the face? I swear, they do.
And I love to just act like a total dork, and be stupid.. and let the man lead. Ya know, guys can be really good at leading, if you give them a chance. I think, I could give a guy a chance. There has to be one out there, that can let me be me. And just “get me”. CAN’T ONE OF YOU DUMMIES JUST FUCKING GET ME?? I’ll give you a prize. It starts with a “J”!
Wow. I am a very complicated, cookie! Hard on the outside, and soft and mushy on the inside. I am getting flippin’ hungry. Shit. I need something to nosh on.. dammit. Focus, Jen.
So guys, I guess the question is.. how do you like your cookie? Tough, or mushy…anyway but tossed, I’m sure? ha.