dating with kids




Pine nut.

Macadamia Nut.

And then there’s me. I’m a CASHEW….Half Catholic, and half Jewish. Oh, you didn’t see that coming did ya? Ya well, surprise! No Forrest Gumpin’ today, folks…no siree! Today, we are talking about me. Me, and my religion. And why you ask? Well, first of all…because I can. And secondly, because thank Goddess fucking Thanksgiving is over…and we have moved onto bigger and better holidays. What? You didn’t notice the lights up all over town? And the crazy-ass antlers on the cars, or the Ho-Ho-HO station on the radio? Christmas is everywhere! I woke up on Black Friday, and the world was covered in jingle bells, and twinkle lights. It was like Santa barfed all over Charlotte. But really, who doesn’t love a good dose of X-mas cheer? I do! I do! So, that’s why I’m thinking about my nuttiness.

I am a CASHEW. And I’m proud of it.


The Truth Hurvitz

I never wanted this to be anything.

I never did it for the money.

I never thought it would be what it is, or where it is….

Or what it came to be.

I just wanted to feel better.

It was for me.

I sat down one day, a year and a half ago…and I just wanted to feel better. I wanted to make it all stop. The sadness, the anxiety, the loneliness. I wanted to make my mind go other places, so I could stop hurting so fucking bad. I wanted to heal. So, I sat down and I started typing. And I never stopped. You all gave me such positive feedback. You sent kindhearted messages, telling me that you understood…and felt what I was feeling. You empathized, and you got me. So I just kept going. I fed off your emotions, and gave you my everything. The good, the bad…the truth.

And sure, I knew the heat I would get. I was fully aware of the backlash from putting myself out there, especially in this town. Living in the South, below the Bible Belt…I knew. But I didn’t care. My best friends warned me, telling me I wouldn’t be able to handle it. And some of them supported my decision to blog. Some of them. But most never even talk about it, or “like” it on FB. Hell, most never even admit they read it. Which is fine, I get it. It’s a lot. I can’t expect everyone to post The Truth Hurvitz on their Facebook walls. Shit, I can’t really expect anyone to even be friends with me after the shit I write. So, thank you to the ones that did have my back. You know who you are, I love you. And appreciate you, and will have you next to me when I win my Emmy. Or Nobel Peace Prize. Or at my funeral.

But it hasn’t been easy making all y’all laugh.

I have been self deprecating, and taken a few hard hits. I have lost friendships, and lost relationships. Hurt people’s feelings, and maybe even messed up my chances of happiness along the way. This has been a crazy ride, this blog thing. And yes, you can pick up what I’m laying down…all crazy-things must come to an end. I am pulling the proverbial plug on The Truth Hurvitz, and I’m sad. It’s been such a huge part of who I am since my separation, I’m not even sure I can go-it alone. Without my “blog-blankie” to grasp onto. This “safety net” so-to-speak, is where I have come to get my stress out, and my funny on. I am crying, no sobbing as I type…give me a minute, it’s hard to see for fucksake. And I have snot running down my face. There, I’m good.

I have been real. And really me. Blog-Jen and Jen-Jen are the same person…which always made me so mad. When guys tried to ask for one, or the other. Like they could just order me up. Last night, I got a message from this great man. He said he could no longer talk to me because he read Sept 29. He had just finished reading September 29th? Oh, my blog. Great. He could never date a girl like me, who wanted a “story over a relationship”. I said I was sorry if I hurt his feelings. I was never looking for a story. And I am so longing for a relationship. I didn’t tell him that. But after dating for almost 3 years, who doesn’t want a relationship? I’m tired. And just want someone to lay with me in my big, California King. Zac is fine, but he won’t snuggle since he got braces. Like the metal made him unable to hug his mother? Shit.

I woke up this morning, and I contacted my agent in LA. I told him I was done. Not done with writing! Hey, I think I can do lots with my new found art of beating myself up to make other people feel better! But I am done with this. There is just no way I can ever be in a good, solid, happy-loving relationship while I’m blogging about bleeding out in hotel rooms. Embellished or not, truth or exaggerated…its time all y’all. It is time. I can finish my book, or take that screenplay writing class at Queens College. I can go back to another Med Assistant program, or actually go to a bar and not be whispered about. My friends can start talking to me again, about real things…and not have to worry about being blogged about.

Fuck, I hope they never felt that way.

I feel like a little piece of me is going to be missing, is that weird? Kinda, I’m sure. I might have to mourn the loss for a bit. Sit Shiva for The Truth Hurvitz. I need a minion, who is available tonight? I will call the Rabbi. Lay this bitch to rest, right? Ugh, no. I can’t kill it completely. But I can unplug it, for as long as I need to. Who knows, maybe one day I will be back…but for now, I need to say goodbye. Now you will actually have to call me to find out what’s going on in my life. No more, “I read it on the blog” or “I follow the blog, so I know…” I made it too easy for you guys. My life was an open book.

Well, here’s a plus: dating should be back to normal again. I won’t have to explain the blog anymore. Guys might actually want to go out with me. And hopefully, I can find one who wants Real Jen, and not “Blog-Jen”. Because “Blog Jen” will be dead and gone. Kaput. 6-feet under. I will be back to boring ole me. I will have to come up with a new bit. Maybe a hip-hop dance number. Maybe I’ll go Ginger! Maybe I’ll just discuss politics, and my views on gun control. But I can promise you this, whatever it is I’m gabbing about…it will be the truth. It’s just who I am. Blog, or no blog.

Time to close this chapter of my life, and move onto bigger and better things.

I hope I can find them sooner than later, cause I kinda love this thing. I’m making the right decision. Closing this door. I can always open it again, right? Unless of course I use cement or I dead bolt it with super glue. I am stalling, I know. I need to end this before I change my mind. I hate goodbyes. They fucking suck, and I am the worst at them. So, just let me do this.

I’ll go first, then you.

Bye all y’all, be good! Keep in touch with me, and remember…

The Truth Hurvitz: But Lies Are Worse ;)

xo j





Don’t talk.

Or laugh.

Don’t make eye contact…

Or move.

C’mon on!

Am I really that bad?

Shit. Don’t answer that, you two. I already know the answer. You hate me. And every thing I do. Everything I wear. Everything I say. What could I possibly have done wrong this time, you ask? Oh, I drew breath. I have reached the spot that all Mom’s dread in their children’s lifetime. I am no longer the cool-Mom. Or the Kool-Aid Mom for that matter. Hell, I’m not even allowed out of the house. Omg, kill me please. I have become…


The Mom that my kids love to hate. And fuck do they ever! They say the most wicked things one-second, and they are loving on me the next. Its like someone is playing a really cruel joke. I was never this bad. I never acted like this, and I surely didn’t talk to my mother this way! Someone turn down the hormones, and pump them will Happy Pills…or I’m not gonna make it past the 7th Grade! It’s bizarre, really. I’m not quite sure what kind of kid I’m going get each day. I’m just happy if no one calls me a douchebag before 9am.

Tonight, we went to one of those Hibachi places. Ya know where the little Asian fella makes the food in front of you? And he does the whole spiel with the fire-onion-train  and the choppy-knifes? Ya, ya. Well, I like to be nice, and give him my full attention! It’s not easy doing all that cooking for an audience of assholes. Jesus. I like to clap at his “Nemo-on-fire” trick…and give him the positive feedback he deserves! Come on, the guy can barely speak English. So Zac sits down next to Jonah…and says to me, “Mom, do not make a scene here. Just eat your food. And be quiet.

Ummm, wow.

Speak when you are spoken to, Jen. From my 11-year old. So I ask him, can I clap when the guy is done cooking? Is that ok, Zac? I mean, fuck…can I give the fucking guy a little clapper-roo? It was rhetorical. I didn’t really NEED Zac’s opinion, ok? But Zac looks at Jonah, and then…they actually discuss it! Like they have a fucking CDD on whether or not I can give the cook a round of applause! OMG are these kids kidding me? I need permission? So, they get done talking and both look at me. Then Jonah says,”Well, Mom…we think it’s ok. But just a small clap, don’t overdo it.”


I am done. These two have just put me over the edge.  I swear, this can’t get any worse. It’s just been a really loooonnggg summer. School starts on Monday, and then they will calm down. The fangs will go away, and the horns will sink back into their heads. My babies will come back, and all will be right in the world. I can just feel it. I must hold on…

I must realize they are worried about starting school, and stressed about the changes that are coming with the new year. And the uncertainty of me starting school. I’m starting school! That has got to be freaking them out. They have always had me home, and at their disposal. I know, they’re nervous. And worried that I won’t be around if they need me. Change is hard for everyone, especially kids. And I need to remember they are just that, kids. At 11 and 13 I need to cut them a little slack. Even if it means taking some of their stress out on me. I mean, isn’t that what being a Mom is all about? I’m pretty sure it’s in our job description, and I’m good with that. I’ll just drink more wine.

My Mom always tells me, when kids start acting the worst…it means they are looking for more attention from their parents. She was a first grade teacher for 20 years, so I think I believe Grandma Trish. Its like they are reaching out, and maybe just don’t know how to say it. So, I am going to post this blog. And go play one more game of Monopoly with my Devil-children. Then, we are going to have movie night. And then…I’m going to clean their mouths out with soap. ;)


xo j


Happy School Year 2015-2016 all y’all!  






It’s just a ring.

My only real bling.

My rock.

The shiniest, prettiest…most beautiful thing I have ever owned.

But really, it’s just a that…

A thing.

Today, Mark texted me…and said, “You should sell your engagement ring.”  Ya know, I’m buying a new house. So, I could use the cash. I get it. He was being so nice. Reminding me I have it, and all. But for some reason, hearing that out of Mark’s mouth, well fingers…made me sad. Ok, not sad, I guess. It’s just a fucking ring. Come on! But it is the finality of it all. I took it off two years ago, sure…but selling it? Wow. What if Jonah or Zac want it for their little sluts? Or what if I want to give it to my niece for a gift one day? Or use the diamond for a necklace. ha. I mean, sell it…for good? It’s just so, final.

I wasn’t sad, I actually felt kinda guilty. Like, it wasn’t really mine to sell. In fact, I asked Mark if he wanted to split the profit with me. We should go half-sies. He did buy it after all, right? It’s only fair. Or maybe I should sell it, and put the money into the boy’s college fund! Ya. Or go on a trip to Israel, or back to Italy with them. That would be cool. But for some really weird reason, it just didn’t  seem right. Maybe if we hated each other, it would be easier. Ya know, to take the money and run for the hills. Go on a shopping spree, or get my tits redone. Goddess knows, its time for a new pair! Even the fake ones start to sag after gravity gets ahold of them.

I just sat there in my car, looking at the text from Mark.

He said,”Nope it’s yours. Take the money, and go back to school.”

So, I texted him back, “Ok.” And continued texting like it was all good. I asked him where I should go to get the most money for it. Blah, blah..blah. Little did he know I was sobbing. I could barely see the fucking screen. It didn’t help that my face was numb from the dentist this morning either. I mean even my nose was frozen, so the snot was dripping down into my mouth… and I couldn’t even feel it. And some asshole was in the car next to me feeding his fat face with a burrito from Taco Hell. And he was looking at me, like I was some kind of freak show. MYOB, dickhead! What, you’ve never seen a woman freeze-cry before?

Whatever. Mark doesn’t read my blog anymore, so it’s not like he will find out that I lost my guts. But I did. This divorce thing ain’t easy all y’all. Its like a roller coaster, and anyone who tells you it’s a walk in the park is a liar. Or on a really high dose of Prozac. Much higher than me. I think most of the time, I am really good. I like where I am. But then…out of nowhere, something gets me. Just pulls the rug out from under me, and knocks me on my ass. And it doesn’t mean I’m not over my ex. Or that I’m not ready to date, or have a new boyfriend. Please. Don’t be a dumb bunny. It just means that at that exact moment, I’m hurting. That’s it. Nothing more, nothing less. Don’t read into it, or get your panties in a bunch. It just comes with the territory. Falling on my ass, that is.

But I get back up, and I brush myself off…and I wipe my snotty frozen face. Then I remember, I got this. I am where I am meant to be. Fuck it. I’m going to sell my engagement ring, and put myself through school! I deserve it.

Oh, and who knows, maybe I’ll get another ring one day. Actually, I’d even take a Ring Pop. Remember those? I loved those dang things…Strawberry flavored, or the Purple Craze. You lick them, and they get all sticky. And your tongue gets all red, or purple. Those things last forever. And they only cost a buck. Life was so much easier then…when all I wanted was a Ring Pop. ;)

xo j