Oh, I’m sorry.. I can’t tonight. I’m busy. I have dates. I mean, a date.

A date. A date. A very important date.. and this one is cuter than last night’s guy. And funnier. And smarter. I think. Wait. Maybe not. Shit. What’s his name again? When it rains, it pours all y’all. And let me just tell you.. it pours hard. It’s raining men! Amazing, hot, smart.. men. I’m singing in my head. And no, I didn’t ask for it. I didn’t write my digits on the bathroom wall, or wake up last week and decide to start “serial dating”. It just happened! I started getting asked out. And I don’t know why, or how. Ok, maybe I joined Tinder. Maybe I was in carpool, and the guy I’ve been crushing on asked for my number. Maybe, just maybe, I got fixed up with a JEWISH guy in Charlotte! Be still my beating heart! But am I not allowed to go, if asked? It’s like this insane double standard that rules the world, and I’ve just about had it. MEN have it all. MEN can do whatever they want. MEN can go out with multiple women at the same time.. and it’s just fine. But the minute a woman decides to accept more than one date, she’s a slut. Well, I am no slut, and I’m not lonely. Or, trying to fill a void. I am just dating. Getting to know new people. Not to find the “ONE”. Maybe I’m just trying to find a guy that I dig. If it ends up being more, well then, cool.  What is wrong with that? I am not afraid of being alone, in fact I like it. But I also love attention. Duh. Have you seen this blog?

It’s my turn to be wanted. There, I said it. Yup.. and I’m not taking it back. 

Here it comes, the sob story. So if you don’t want to hear it, stop reading. But it’s where as women, and mothers..we can all relate. Actually, men, too. I think men want to be wanted. I won’t leave my male readers out. Sorry, fellas. Married, single, or divorced, it makes no difference. We all want to be wanted.  I lived for 12 years talking to kids. About kids. I lived for my kids. I lived in sweat pants during the day. Pumped my boobs. Drool all over me. My hair in a ponytail. Fat. I was hot. Not. And like most couples, when Mark and I went out on a Saturday night, we discussed the kids. It was marriage. And life. And I was happy. Kinda. I loved being a mom. But I missed being a woman. I felt lost, and sad. And my “pretty” was gone. Thank g-d for antidepressants. Yes, I take them. So does most of the Free World, give me a break. If you’re reading this, and you don’t take something.. maybe you should consider it. I swear, life is too short to be miserable. You might actually be happy! Back on topic, Jen.

But now.. I’ve had  a life change. Or, a life-style change, I will call it.  My babies are grown up. My tits are brand spankin’ new. (thanks, Mark) My fat is gone, with only a nice Frankenstein-like scar left across my stomach, that looks like I was cut in half by one of those whack job magicians on a bad day. I actually feel confident. Not cocky, but confident. I know who I am, and what I want. Oh, and what I don’t want. Really, what I don’t want. I know what I’m doing in bed. (Sorry, Daddy) But I do. I am forty-one, and I’m in my prime. Let’s do this, thing! And I’m ready to CONQUER THE WORLD!!! omg. In the dark, please. Do not turn on the lights. Keep them off, and I’m READY TO CONQUER THE WORLD IN THE DARK!!! I am woman hear me roar. Ugh. But hear me bitch if you don’t pay the bill on the first date. Damn straight. You pay or you are out, mo fo. I had a guy open the car door for me, the other night. I was like.. omg. #winning.

It’s amazing, what blow drying your hair, and putting on a cute outfit can do for a girl. Forget the fact that a guy says something about how I look..bonus! It’s nice to hear, right? But it’s about how I FEEL. And how he looks at me when I’m talking. And he actually wants to know about ME. OMG. Does he really want to hear about ME? And we laugh, and touch. And he thinks I’m funny. As I flip my hair, and smile. You might think it’s pathetic. But really, try it on a Saturday night with your husband. Have him meet you at a restaurant and pretend he’s a blind date! Like on Modern Family! Don’t talk about your kids. Or your bills. Go out for a nice dinner, and just flirt. See how great your sex is that night. Not that I have sex. I’m just saying.

And sure, a haven’t forgotten I have kids, and I love them. And miss them. And yes, I do volunteer work. And I have a job. I do laundry, and clean the house. I wipe my ass. And all the same shit every other women does. I am doing stuff for me. I am “finding myself”. I work out. And BLOG! I’m good, peeps. But guess what? I am single now. And I can go out when my kids are with their dad. And I can flirt. And look pretty. I get to think about someone else besides my husband, and not feel bad about it. Are you jealous, ladies? Don’t be haters. Just try and live vicariously through me, if you want. NO pressure! And if you’re happily married, then I applaud you. And I’m the jealous one. Being happily married is the hardest thing in the entire world. It’s work. And don’t ever give up trying. Most of my married friends have wonderful, strong.. beautiful relationships. And others, are just full of shit. And should have thrown in the towel years ago.. but are too scared to be alone. Can’t give up the Country Club living and just deal with the crap they are dished. Good thing for vibrators. And meds. Omg, did she just say that? Yes, I did. And I’ll say it again. Over and over. Vibrator. Viiiibrator. We can talk about them all day long. Vibrators. ha. 

But for now, my only goal is to be “happily divorced”. I’m going to date, and have fun.. and enjoy being single. For now. Who knows, by my next blog.. I could be TAKEN! I’m open on Sunday evening, call me!

xo j

It’s fine if people don’t like me.

I used to care, sure. But now, not so much.  Really. Not everyone has to like me. Or this blog. Or what I’m writing. Or my f-bombs. They don’t have to think it’s “appropriate” when I say disgusting things like, “my pussy is Jewish”.  I am not here to please the entire universe. That’s not my job. And this is not a job. No sirree. And my sister said it best, “Anyone who takes any type of risk in life will always have naysayers. Look at Madonna, and Hannah Montana.” My sister is so smart. And she’s pretty. She knows everything. Let’s just go with it, ok? It’s my blog. Work with me here.

Now, I don’t think I’m even as close to as bad as that two-bit whore Miley Cyrus. She is a tramp. Right? And she’s 22, all licking her lips.. and smoking. She’s got her Jays on…sexy as all get out. HO! Wrong. She is just doing what she does best. Her THING! Look at how good she’s done for herself. She’s a fucking GENIUS. I personally think she has us all by the balls. Sitting at the edge of our seats.. waiting, and watching for her to do her put it out there. The next, big.. nasty-ass, amazing thing. And then, when she does, we all GASP! And turn our heads. And pretend not to look at the screen! UGH. But we just can’t wait to see it. WE CAN’T WAIT TO SEE WHAT SHE’S GOING TO DO NEXT TO GRAB OUR ATTENTION, AND MAKE US FREAK OUT! And sometimes, we actually like it. And we sing along with the music. We wish we could be as bad-ass as Miley.  Even if it’s in our houses with the doors shut. Because god forbid we should ever admit to liking it. Or her. Or agreeing that Miley might be an ok gal. Hmmm. Maybe, that Miley ain’t so bad after all? Gosh darn it, I wish I could just express myself like Madonna! omg. get it? haha. I just got it. Express myself. Jeez, Jen.

Miley has MOXY. And chutzpah. And does what none of us dare to do. And she’s real. She puts herself out there for all the world to see.. and she doesn’t give a flying fuck what anyone thinks. Now, I’m not comparing myself to Miley Cyrus. Please. That is just cray-cray.  But I am saying that there is a reason why I had 10,000 people read my blog over the past week. Whether it’s because I’m funny, or not. Maybe it’s just because of the “WOW” factor. People just want to know what that “Crazy-girl-from-the-D” is gonna write next. I don’t really get it. It all seems kinda silly! But hey, if you dig it, then I’m all for it! And I’ll keep writing.. as long as you read. And my biggest point is, if you hate me.. or you hate this blog, you still read it! So, I love that you love it, or hate it. It’s making me want to write more juicy stuff, so I can become the center of all your dinner conversations. “OMG, did you read THAT blog today? What a horrible girl! She said the “f-word” like 22 times,  can you pass the salt.” Jeeeeezzz, people. Can you handle the upcoming “Sex After Divorce Blog”? I might have to ban some of you big ole babies.

But look, it’s not all shitty. Just yesterday, I was spraying tattoos at a Temple Party Planning Expo.. ya you heard me, I was spraying TATTS on the Jews. Love it. And one of the coolest chicks in town came up to me and started up about “THE BLOG”.  Yup. She did. I was scared. And did my little coy bullshit. Put my hands in my face, and started apologizing.. blah blah blah. And ya know what? She said she loved it. And she wanted to live vicariously though me. And I told her, not to say another word! I warned her, I would blog about her! And she said, “Go ahead girl, then I’LL BE FAMOUS, too!” So, TD, I adore you, and thank you for all your POSITIVE energy. Keep reading. And keep discussing my boring life around your dinner table. If it makes you laugh, then it’s all good.

Wow, I feel so much better. Got all that off my chest. And I was feeling so yucky all weekend. Got a few really nice emails, old friends all worried about me.. and my reputation. I am more concerned about what people think about my grammar and spelling errors. Shit. I have Jonah correcting my punctuation.  He’s like, “Mom, the comma goes before fuck, not after it!” Good times. Don’t worry about me, all y’all. I am one tough cookie. But, if this gets to rough, I’ll just start listing the names of the people who are giving me shit. That ought to shut them up. I am so funny. Dang.

And I also wanted to thank all of you who keep giving me ideas for topics. Trust me, I will get to them. Being Single in the City, there’s never a dull moment.. just you wait. Next blog is a doozie.. Dating after Divorce.. not like your Momma used to do! Welcome to 2014. Yeesh. Ever have a first date on Skype? Ya, welcome to my world. Single in any City just frickin’ sucks. But hey, I could be married and miserable! We will talk. And talk…and talk. And I will write. About what we talk about. ;)

xo j

“Ummm, so you’re a JEW?” 

Ha. Well, ya shmuck. I’m a Jew. Every bit of me. Top to bottom. Every cell of my being. Even my pussy, shit outta luck. It’s all JEW. Ain’t I sweet? I was in shock.I mean, come on, y’all wouldn’t you be? It’s fucking 2014! (Sorry, Mom, but that totally warranted the f-bomb). It’s not like we are back in the 70’s when my parents got married, and “birds and fish just couldn’t last together.” When Jews had “horns”. My mom is Catholic, and my dad is Jewish.   So, actually Alex, who my friends and I refer to as “Jew-Hater”, I am not really even ALL Jewish. I’m only a HALF-JEW! A “cashew”, if you will.  Jeez, Jew-Hater,  you kicked me to the curb for nothing, We could have been something! We would’ve been in love. And lived happily ever after.. and you sent me home in a cab,  just for being “A JEW”! What gave it away? Was it my last name, or my Hebrew tattoo…omg. I’m flipping dying over here. I swear, laughing as I type. Fuck, what an dumb ass. And truly, he was the nicest, hottest, gun-slinging-baptist boy ever! Why are the good ones such dip shits? In Jew-Haters defense, he did apologize up and down saying,”he was just uneducated in the proper way to ask me about my religion”. I felt kinda bad for him. See, Jen, run. Run, Jen, Run.. ha.
So, let me help educate you all, on Jewish girls. Oy Vey. If you’re Jewish, and don’t agree, or I offend you..get your own blog. And if you’re not Jewish, listen up, because the next time I’m out at Selwyn Irish Pub, and one of you douche bags ask if “Jewish girls can date guys that eat pork”,  I might knock you out. For reals.
Here goes nothing.
To all of you fellas BELOW THE BIBLE BELT, OR THOSE WHO HAVE NEVER MET A JEW…. let me give you a little hint, the stereotypes for Jewish women are NOT all true. We are not all fat. In fact, most of us are too skinny. We may think we are fat, but so what. We do not all have dark hair, and big noses. Some of us are actually blond. Or have red hair. And we are tricky lil’ things. We may have had plastic surgery, like a nose job. Just saying. We don’t all have big mouths, and bad attitudes. But then again, some of us do. We are strong. And we are real. We are amazing mothers. And listen up, I’m not saying non-Jewish girls aren’t, ok? I’m just saying.. Jewish women are wicked, moms. Don’t fuck with us. Ever come across a Jewish Mom? Ya, well.. mess with me, just try it. Try and mess with my kids, I dare you. And we talk with our hands. All of us. There is not a Jewish girl that doesn’t look like she’s swatting at some bug while she’s yapping. It’s just who we are. Deal.
As for dating a Jewish girl.. we are the best at ordering at a restaurant. We like everything “dry”. And in the South, that is not a thing. DRY is just the opposite of wet. But to a Jewish girl, “dry” means NO BUTTER, no oil, no fat. NO TASTE. You heard me, guys. We like our shit flavor free, and calorie free. Dry, and “on the side”. Everything is on-the-fucking-side. Don’t be putting my dressing ON my salad. Bitch please! I said “on the side”. Or it’s going back. And I don’t care if it takes me 20 minutes to order my lunch. I want it how I want it. And don’t call me high maintenance. I think I’m low maintenance. Sally has nothing on me. And If I wanted to cook it myself, I would. But I can’t. Cause I’m Jewish. I don’t cook, I order. Whoops! Stereotype. Most Jewish girls don’t cook. But a lot of us do. I have a great mother-in-law that cooks like you wouldn’t believe. OMG. And a girlfriend that is one of the best cooks, ever!  But this Jewish girl would rather poke her eyes out than make a Brisket for a holiday. Crap, I just realized I lost that brisket in the divorce. Dammit. I loved that damn beef. Focus, Jen.And there are stereotypes about Jewish girls in the bedroom, too. Come on, all y’all! Here is where my Dad needs to stop reading. Daddy, look away from the screen!  Mom, you can handle this, hang tight. Jewish girls do put out. We do. I have NO idea who started that rumor, but it’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. Who said Jewish girls don’t like to give blow jobs? Was it my ex-husband? Did he say that? Maybe we get tired after all that shopping we do all day, and getting our nails done.. and ordering our DRY omelets at restaurants, and playing tennis. Yeesh. Give me a break, Jewish chickies rock. And we do like pork. Don’t listen to everything you hear, Southern Fellers. We give blow jobs, if we swallow, it’s a bonus. Don’t be greedy.

I am here to educate below the Bible Belt. Cause I just can’t even believe how many men I’ve come across , that have never MET a Jew. MET A JEW. Like holy shit. How have you never met a Jewish woman? Am I living in 1950? I just can’t believe that I sat across from a guy who told me he could never feel comfortable introducing me to his “Momma”. Well, Momma, do you think I would feel comfortable meeting you? And Momma, truly…you are not going to be invited to Jonah’s Bar Mitzvah next year. I just crossed you off the list. So sad.Hope this didn’t upset anyone, but helped to clear up a few things. I know it made me feel a little bit better about being Jewish in Charlotte. Kinda like Sleepless in Seattle. Ok, nothing like that. Just grasping for something.. anything. And “Jew-Hater”, I adore you. I’ll go out with you again after you read this, and answer a few simple questions. ;)

xo j

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.

xo j