fun….or not.

It’s been a year. One flipping year. Cinco De Mayo all y’all, will be the ONE year anniversary of my divorce. Well, since the final papers were signed anyway. Yuppers. Last year, on the Fifth of May I became legally single. Can you even believe it? That it’s only been a year? And look how much has happened! My life has changed so drastically, it’s insane. And I’ve made so many mistakes. I know, I’ve made a shit-ton of mistakes! But really, give a girl a break! Cut me a little fucking slack, ok? I mean, after a year of having a kid no one expects you to know how to raise it. After a year of med school, they don’t expect you to perform brain surgery!  After a year of anything, you’re just…well a year wiser. And that is it. So I need to take it easy on myself, and the rest of you need to lighten up, too. I’m new at this divorce thing, and after a year of being on my own I think I am doing just fine.

So there.

This morning, I was talking to my sister…she was the one who told me to stop beating myself up. Take a deep breath, and be proud of the woman I am right now. Where I have landed, and what I have accomplished in the last 12 loooonggg months. I have a pilot ready to shop, I have a house that’s all mine… and I have two boys that are happy. Wow. When you look at it that way, I think I am on the road to success. The world is my oyster! Ok, maybe if you measure “success” by your house, and your kids. But I am just grasping at straws here guys. Work with me! But truly, it’s only been a year! And sure, I had to up my meds, and sure…I had a few bouts of hysteria along the way. But wouldn’t you?

No wait, I’ll answer that for ya: you would. And it takes a strong person to get divorced. This whole thing rocks your world. And I’m not suggesting you should stay in a shitty marriage. (Don’t start sending me hate-mail) But I am saying think long and hard about it before you walk out that door. The struggle is real, the pain is real…the change in lifestyle is real. And if you think the grass is greener, think again. Now sure, there are circumstances that are out of your control. Your spouse cheats, or he’s a drug user. She’s abusive. The trust is lost. He walks out. I get it. But if you feel like ending it just because you don’t get that “warm and fuzzy” feeling every time the garage door opens, suck it up Buttercup. You will hate your life even more on the other side. Try dating the shitheads I met on Nothing “warm and fuzzy” going on there,  trust me. Well, except maybe their balls. Unless they shaved them, and in that case they were not warm, nor fuzzy. Just smooth and maybe room temp? Ugh. Sorry, Dad.

So, I have learned a ton in a year. And I’ve made HUGE mistakes. But I can only learn from them. I made stupid purchases thinking I had the money to spend. After all, I was accustomed to a certain lifestyle. I bought art I couldn’t afford, to support my friends. I put a sport court in my back yard to be “fun mom”. I had to compete with FUN DAD, after all! He kept the big house, so I just thought I should have something cooler. I mean, come on! Every kid needs a basketball court in their backyard, right? Wrong. And I traveled. I went wherever I could go to escape the aloneness I felt when I didn’t have my boys. Every week they were with Mark, I hopped a flight to nowhere. Or somewhere. Or anywhere. As long as it wasn’t here. I didn’t want to sit in my too-quiet house alone.

So I left.

I know you married folk don’t get it. And it’s okay. But I wish I could climb into your windows at night, and sprinkle “Happy Couple Dust” on y’all while you’re asleep. So you’d appreciate your marriages. You’d love harder, and be thankful for the person next to you. Marriage is tough. It sucks sometimes. It’s work. But I wish I had someone telling me all of this when I was with Mark. I wish I had blog to read, written by an HONEST chick that went through it. Fuck, I would have done it so much differently. But I’ll tell you this much for free. If I ever get another chance at it…this marriage thing. I won’t fuck it up.

I will do it right. I’ll learn from my mistakes. And I will live Happily Ever After. One year down and a lifetime to go…Happy Anniversary to Me. ;)

xo j










Fake-ass Bumpy Cake from Harris Teeter….

It was really the best Rosh Hashanah we have had in a long time.

For those of you who are new around here, Rosh Hashanah is a Jewish Holiday. Actually, a pretty important one…it’s our Jewish New Year! Happy New Year card-holding members! Ya, well…in Charlotte, there aren’t many of those, so it’s not easy finding a place to celebrate. Especially when you are divorced. Does someone ask Mark and the kids…after all it is his week. So, I should just fly back to Detroit? Or do the boys and I make our own dinner? Ok, that is never happening. What the fuck? Is nothing easy in this world? Not really. But here is the thing, it can be. And it was. Mark called me up, and he invited us. He was alone, too. So he made a brisket, of course. I bought a fruit salad…my speciality. And we spent Rosh Hashanah together. There. Easy peezy, rice and cheesy. And yes, I meant to say “bought”.

Trust me, all y’all. You can do it. Grab your balls, and get along with your exes. It just makes everything better. And simpler. And I didn’t even have to set the table, or cook. Or clean up. It was fun!  And the boy’s were happy. And I was happy. Everyone was happy. And smiling. I did bring a Harris Teeter Wave Cake, which was as close to a Sanders Bumpy Cake as I was ever gonna get. (see pic) I inhaled that fucking thing, and all was right in our world. We drank wine, and hung out. And I stole a couple of my things when Mark wasn’t looking. Whatever, that ladle was so mine. And I don’t think he will miss that six-pack of Diet Mountain Dew. Shit! And you all know damn well that the picture from Italy that’s hanging in the front hall should be in MY house. But I couldn’t sneak that out without him noticing. Next holiday, its mine.

So, I had this huge exam today, right? And the boys went to Temple with Mark, so they stayed at his house, instead of coming home with me. I had to study. They cleared the table, and I chatted a bit more. Stuffed my face with more food, mushed up my doggies…and looked around my house. It looked good. Kinda bachelor-like. Our stuff all split up between the places; Mark still has empty rooms. I noticed the pictures on the bookshelves were all of the boys, and him. None of me? I mean, I know…why would he have pictures of me? I only pushed the fucking children out of my vagina. My old house. Ugh. And it was fine, I guess. Just the first time I had a meal with all of us at the table…together. As a non-family, in the house that used to be ours. That is now his. You get it.

Our totally functional, untraditional…non-family.

Wow. And it’s working…

I took a deep breath in, and felt kinda proud. Me and Mark, and the boys. We had a better Holiday Dinner divorced than we ever did married. For 13 years, we fought every fucking holiday. I’m not kidding. It just was the norm. We fought about the dinners, and what the kids were going to wear. And whose house we were going to go to. And which Mom was cooking what meal. And what child would sit in what seat. And I used to scream bloody murder at Mark. For no reason! Just because I hated the Holidays! I hated everything about them, so it was all his fault. But not this year. Not this holiday. Not this time.


I said my goodbyes, thanked Mark for having me…and I tried to make it to the car without losing my shit. Mark totally knew I was about to. He walked me out, and even offered me the leftover Bumpy Cake. I got in my truck, and sat in the driveway watching them through the window. Our boys were happy; yelling at the game on TV.  As I backed out of the drive, I ran over the grass. Shit. I used to do that when I lived there, and blame the cleaning lady. He is totally going to know it was me. I am so dead, Mark hates when I run over his flipping grass. There goes my invite for Yom Kippur. ;)

xo j






White kicks.


Blood pressure cuff-a-ma-jigger.

Eye light dilator thingy.

Lip gloss, nail file, kleenex…Atkins bars and my mother fucking toothbrush, because I can’t leave the classroom for like 4 hours, okay? What the hell are they thinking at this school? Are they nuts? Do they know I’ve been like, strutting around Charlotte doing absolutely NOTHING for the past 6 years?! OH MY GODDESS I’M NOT SURE I CAN DO THIS! Oops. I didn’t mean to yell, the caps-lock was on. I think. Or maybe I did mean to yell. My new life starts tomorrow, and I am a bit stressed here. How am I going to sit still, and listen? Wait, how am I going to listen, and not talk? No… how am I going to listen to someone else talk, and not talk back?

This just can’t get much worse.

Oh, yes it can. I have to actually take exams on what these people are saying. Shit. I need a script for Adderall. Who can hook a girl up? And c’mon, they have to give a girl like me a break. A “time-out” of sorts. Not only do I have to pee, but I have to talk. You can’t keep me silent for long periods of time; I will eventually implode. And nobody wants to see that happen. Implosion, or pissing myself. Both are bad, very bad. So, I’m thinking that a break every hour is a necessity. Whom should I talk to about this? Is there a Dean of all things Break Related? Wow. I think that might look like I’m difficult. Especially on the first day of class. Hmmm. I bet they can see me coming, huh? They have my file flagged. Omg, I think I might be special needs.

I am a “special needs” Mommy.

Oh, no. I am not going to be “labeled” this early on! Should I ask for a 504 plan? Look, I might seem like a pain in the ass…but I don’t really need much. Maybe just a seat up front. Or a little extra time on my exams. No? Ok, I can handle this. No complaining about my shitty parking spot. Or how I can’t possibly make it to class by 9am in rush hour traffic. No whining about the gross smell of the formaldehyde in the dissection lab. Whatever dead cat I get, its mine. Even if its black. And when the losers miss my veins over, and over during venipuncture practice, I will try really hard not to punch the bitches in the throat. I have impulsivity issues. See, special needs. The bright lights in the classrooms will probably bug me, too. Who should I ask about dimming those? Kidding. Kinda. And the fabric of my scrubs, omg. You should feel it. Can’t they give us something a bit higher quality…I already removed the tags. Fuck. How am I going to get my Starbucks in the morning and shower..if I have to drop the boys at school first? I guess I’ll just have to be flexible, and switch to Caribou. It’s on the way.

And what about my own shit? When will I lunch with my friends? And how will I get my new fall wardrobe, and pick up my dry cleaning…Omg. I am flipping out! I’m acting just like my kid. In fact, I think I’m acting like a lot of people. Maybe we all fall on the “spectrum” somewhere? I hate change, and dealing with this is totally messing with my head. I need to breathe. And maybe even meditate. I can do this! Its time to show my guys that with a little hard work, and perseverance I can do it all! Starbucks will still be there. And my friends will understand. And my nails can go unpolished. And the house can be a little messy, it’s okay to leave a towel on the floor, it’s okay. It’s okay…It’s ok, Jennifer. 

And my kids will be proud of me. Yes, they will be so proud. And in a year, I will be doing something that I love, helping people. Or working in a plastic surgeon’s office, getting free Botox. Holla! Whatever, I am going to be better for it. And happier. So, wish me luck…and be patient (pun intended) if my blogs slow down. I have to study, all y’all! Don’t you want me to get good grades, and meet a hot Dr. Mc Dreamy? I hear that’s a perk of being a CMA! I’m starting to get worked up again…and it’s not from the stress of starting school.  ;)

xo j




They call this SNOW?

I love it.

Not sure which I love more, the “snow,” or the fact that they actually consider this snow.

I’m from Michigan. Michigan has snow.

Charlotte, has rain that has frozen….and turned into snow.

By accident. I think.

This is called ICE. I-C-E…all y’all. This shit my kids are outside playing in is called fucking ice. And I am dying. They get all bundled up. They put on their gloves, ok…my gloves from 10 years ago, and their hats. And we found some old shovel in the garage, and they ran outside to “play” in the ice. And me, I’m such a sucker for this shiz. I grab my iPhone and start snapping pictures. I’m screaming at the top of my lungs, “LOOK AT ME, OR NO HOT CHOCOLATE!” Whatever. Like they really want the fucking hot chocolate. And the ice is already starting to melt for fucksake, it’s the South. We are in Charlotte. It will be 60 degrees by noon. But I’m thinking…Bar Mitzvah Montage. Get the pictures. I put on my Uggs, and a scarf around my neck…and I head outside on the ice. I’m yelling, and flapping my arms like a total asshole. But I am not going to miss this shot. Hell no. Not a snowball’s chance in well, Charlotte.

And you know they are laughing at me. And I can feel myself going down. I know it’s happening, yes I do. But all I can think is…please, Goddess….not my nose. Please, not my nose! Or, my iPhone. Not my nose, or my iPhone. I can handle any other pain. Or misery. But I cannot live without my phone. Or go through another rhinoplasty. OMG. Have you ever had a nose job? Really. Its like the worst plastic surgery procedure in the world. I was awake for 2 out of my 3. Ya, you read that right. I had 3. Don’t ask. I had a blind date after the second one, and took the stitches out myself. I mean, who would go on a date with a big black stitch in their nostril? NOT ME. So I took it out. Which caused me to have to have a re-do. Shit. I digress. Where was I? This “ice-day” is throwing me for a loop. I’ve played Monopoly 4 times. I have done 5 loads of laundry. And I am not wearing a bra. Oh, I’m also selling all of my clothes on Facebook. I shit you not. I am literally selling everything I own on this kick-ass new FB page my friend put together. I love it. I’m addicted, and I am making extra cash for Botox. It’s the The bomb dot com, y’all. Learn it.

Where was I?

Oh ya, I was falling…

Down, down….down. On my ass, on the ice…in the backyard. Which used to be grass yesterday, and oh how I wish it was today. But it’s not. Its “snow”. So, down, down…down goes Jen. And up, up…up goes my iPhone! Into the air. Into the sky…and I start shrieking, “FUUUCCCCK NOOOOO!!!” And I can see it in slo-mo, in my brain…and feels it like a movie. It would make such a great little bit! Stupid girl from the NORTH falls on her fat ass, while taking pictures of her kids on a sheet of ICE. And scene. Dumb. I should have known better. I lived 36 years in Detroit, Michigan. I was born in snow. I was raised in freezing temps. I walked to class at MSU in 2 feet of slush, uphill….barefoot, backwards…both ways! ha.How does a girl from the D fall on her ass in her own fucking backyard? On half an inch of snowish-ice? Ya, embarrassing.

My ass is bruised, and my ego, too. But the best news is my iPhone is still intact! And I have the pictures of the boys! My work is done here. I came, I saw….I fell on my ass. Guess it serves me right for making fun of my Charlotte peeps, huh? Snow, is snow. Ice is ice. And anything under 50 degrees is fucking cold. That’s right, you heard it here first…Jennifer Hurvitz has officially gone South for the winter. And the summer. And everything in between. Now, who wants to play Monopoly?  ;)


xo j


Charlotte Snow Storm of 2015! (my backyard)


Pretty, pretty!