dating long distance

I went in to buy a bracelet.

Or a new necklace.

Maybe a pair of earrings?

Shit, I’m lying..

I went in to get something to wear for a party I have this weekend, ok?

Whatever, I went into the store today to shop; I never expected anything like this to happen.


We matched on Bumble.

We chatted for two days.

We exchanged numbers.

We texted for “real” on the phone.

We had an actual speaking conversation for fucksake…it was like we knew each other for years! He said all the right things; I was über witty. We continued texting on and off for a week, and even scheduled a date. A good date…At a hot spot uptown. So exciting! Then, the night before we were supposed to meet..NOTHING.

The douche goes black.


You say tomato, and I say toe-ma-toe,

You say potato, and I say poe-ta-toe.

Tomato, ta-ma-toe…

Potato, pa-ta-toe.

Let’s call the whole thing off.

Do you think opposites really attract?


So we are driving down the road in the country. And when I say country I don’t mean like a back road in South Charlotte, people. I mean like, the CUN-try. I was so careful typing that, yes I was. But we were in like a place where Deliverance could have been filmed. I was actually fearing for my life; hiding my Hebrew tattoo. In a pick-up truck, listening to Luke Bryan (he’s a country singer), and drinking a Slurpee…no I’m not kidding. I swear to Goddess this is all true. I know, I can’t believe it either. We were driving down this road, and I we were talking about the best thing ever: SEX. When all of a sudden this boy slams on the breaks, and screams at the top of his lungs…


I was so scared I nearly pissed myself. I thought it had to be some kind of waterfall, or kite in the sky…or fuck, a rainbow! Something to make this crazy-man scream like that, right? So, he whips the truck around and goes back, and I’m like WTF??! This had better be good, because I was just about to get into some oral sex talk, my most favorite subject…when next thing I know he stops the truck and points out the window. I’m like, OH HELL TO THE NO!!

Do you know what it is?

It’s a bunch of turkeys.

I can’t make this shit up…

Remember when I told you about the guy at lunch who made turkey-calling sounds with his straw? Same fella. Date #2. Well, folks…he has a slight turkey obsession. Don’t get it. It’s his thing. But come on! We were talking about SEX, and he stops for a flock of TURKEYS. So, I warned him. I did. I told him he was officially “making the blog” for his whack-a-doodle behavior. We laughed and he said, “Go ahead, Pretty Girl.” Or something like that, I think. It was in his oh-so-southern accent. He calls me Pretty Girl. Sigh.

So I’m telling the story.

And guess what, he’s getting a name!

And you all know what that means, on The Truth Hurvitz if I give a guy a name, it’s either because he’s a loser…or he’s a boyfriend. Well, for the first time ever in the history of The Truth Hurvitz I’m naming a guy in limbo! And I’m not telling you if he’s IN or OUT yet!! It’s a Truth Hurvitz cliffhanger! I love a good nail biter, don’t you? Hmmm. So let me think…yes he’s a bit hickish, but he’s awesome.  And I think he might like me, but it’s hard to say at this point. And maybe I like him. But I’m not gonna tell ya anyway. He likes four wheelers, and lake-living. And he likes hunting. And fishing. And guns. He even works in the forest for a living. And omg, what the fuck are you reading this?

He is the complete opposite of me.

He is like everything I am not.

But he is smart. And kind. We talk about everything. He’s a great dad; he loves his kids. And he opens the car door for me. And he pulled out my chair for me before I sat down. Jesus, can you even remember the last time a man pulled out a chair for you? I almost shit my pants. And he paid for everything the whole time we were together…and when I offered to pay, he said, “Where I come from a lady never pays for anything.” Omg. How chivalrous is that, right? I mean, it’s just plain SOUTHERN gentleman…and it was so dang sweet for a change.

Soooo…a name. I was thinking Mr. Turkey but that just doesn’t fit him. He’s way too kick-ass, and he will totally kick my ass. I need to give it some thought. Maybe in the next couple days in South Beach it will magically come to me. Ya, I’m sure that’s what I’ll be thinking about in South Beach…a name for Mr. Maybe. Oooohhhhh! That’s it! Mr. Maybe! He’s not in yet, but he’s not out! So, he’s Mr. Maybe, baby! Lovin’ it. And I think he would totally agree, it’s perfect. And just exactly where we are, at this time in our “relationship” or whatever it is this is. Who cares. It’s just easy. And good. Easy is good.

And if opposites really do attract, this should be the most magnetic connection this side of the Mason-Dixon line. Ummm, is North Carolina actually “this side” of the Mason-Dixon line? I really don’t feel like Googling it right now. But you get my point.  ;)

xo j







Drama-free. (my fave)

The list goes on, and on…and on. And I mean it just doesn’t stop. The list. THE LIST, people. The list of things that men want. Or what they say they want. I took it from websites, and dating sites, and right from the horses’ mouths. I made a list. And I am sharing it with all y’all right flipping now. And do you want to know why? Well, you know I’m gonna tell you, so just sit there and read. I have compiled this “list” off of Tinder, and…and JDate because it is just the biggest crock of bullshit I have ever read! That’s right. You heard me, and I am not leaving this blog entry until someone (and I mean a someone with a protruding body part) clears it up. Start messaging me, fellas. Hurvitz ain’t happy.

I just think when a guy says what they are looking for in a partner, they should be honest. I mean, is that so hard to do? Forget who you are as a person, for now. We all know, when you show up for your first meeting…and you are 20lbs heavier than your pix on JDate, you are fucked. Not my problem, it’s yours. If you say you don’t smoke, and then you whip out a cigarette, fucked again. You just can’t lie. Who wants to start off any kind of anything based on a lie? But this is not what I’m talking about here. I am talking about being real about what you want from the other person. What you are expecting the other person to bring to the table. The meat. The guts…the goods.

What do you really want from this woman? 

Is it sex? Chemistry. Is it a nice pair of tits, and a firm ass? Do you want to go to the bar every Thursday night, drink beer…and never talk to me other than that? Are you hoping for a blow job in your car, and dinner on every third Monday of the month? Maybe you want to get married? Who cares! Just lay it all out there, because otherwise I’m just left guessing. And I hate trying to read your mind. You are like a sad puppy, and I want to smack the shit out of you. Dating is like trying to read brail. Or a treasure map, in Japanese. It shouldn’t be this hard. And most of the time, I end up thinking you don’t like me, and I dump your ass. But really, you do…like me, that is. Why didn’t you just say it? Use your words. YOUR WORDS. Cause fucking me, and staying the night… just doesn’t cut it.

Wanna know what I really think?

I think that technology has made it impossible for men and women to interact face-to-face. It’s making it hard for us to “use our words”. We have become so used to this immediate gratification-thing with our fingers, popping out an emoji to express a feeling. So sad. :(  I think we need to start going old school, and date like we did before we could text. Pull the plug on all the cyber shit. Just stop all the Pre-Dating Cyber Foreplay. Do you know what I’m talking about? Instead of spending hours, and days…sometimes weeks texting, ask her out! This “cyber-foreplay” that comes before the date, is fun… but it has to stop! It’s creating these false feelings, and fake visions of what is to come. It’s not real. And we say things in text we might not say so early on in person. I mean it! There is safety behind the screen. And then, we meet this person…at a Starbucks, and we can’t have a normal conversation. It’s all weird, and funky. And strained. I mean you already know my favorite ice cream, my middle name…and my favorite sexual position. Sweet, look me in the eye now, Mr. Hookah.

That’s it, don’t text me anymore. If you want to talk to me, call me. No, better yet…come over and knock on my front door. I will be giving numbers like at the Harris Teeter Deli Counter. When I call yours,  you may enter. And then you will be given a 12 minute talk session. Make sure you bring your list of “wants” in a relationship. Oh, I have a pit-bull, and a large black man that lives with me. So no funny stuff, got it? ;)

xo j