dating with kids

imagesWalnut.

Peanut.

Hazelnut.

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

 

Unknown-1

 

 

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…

THAT MOM.

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.”

haha.

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!  

 

 

 

 

Unknown

Dad.

Father.

Papa.

Padre.

Art.

My daddy. You get the point. I’m talking about the men whose sperm made us who we are. The Y-chromosome that got together with the X, to make a zygote. The penis to the vagina. The ying to our yang. The man who sat on his ass while our Moms did all the work…yes sirree, Bob! Who’s your Daddy? Yup, you know it! Its time for my Father’s Day Blog! And no, not all you dads out there sat on your asses, I’m just playing. Jeez. Can’t you take a joke? Some of you actually stepped up and helped raise the kiddos. And worked your asses off. Lots of daddies out there bust your balls bringing home the bacon, so your Baby Mommas can fry it up in the pan! I know my Dad did. Art, you are a ROCKSTAR! My Dad was home every night at 5:30 for dinner. And I remember sitting down, and talking…and sharing stories. We were a family. It was important to my Mom to have that time together. No cell phones, or texting. Back in the day, we actually had to talk to each other. Back in the day. haha. When things were easy. And simple. Jesus. I tried to do that in our house, but it’s just not that way anymore, right? I mean Mark was traveling all the time, and he had to work long hours. Shit. I was lucky if he was home by 7:00 some nights.

But he is a great dad. The best actually, and I always said that. No matter how much I wanted to punch his face in, I always said he was the BEST father. I could leave him for weeks, go on a trip to China, and he would be fully capable of taking care of our boys. Not all women could say that! But I could. Even when the boys were babies, he was awesome. Mark is a kick-ass dad. Not such a killer hubby, but shit…at least he could parent! Which is why we are still co-parenting today. It’s all about the kids. And in our situation, being a good Dad is what is important. And he’s got that in the bag. Although, he did forget to pack Jonah’s Claritin this week for sleepover sport’s camp. But, if that’s the worst thing that he does, I’m ok with it. I made him drive it up. Yes, I did. I freaked the fuck out, and made him haul his ass up to Davidson College…find my boy, and give it to him. Don’t judge me. I’m psycho.

So, today, on Father’s Day…my boys are where they belong. With their Dad. Which is a little weird for me. I know, I should be ok with it because where else should they be? But I am used to celebrating someone. Whether it’s my Dad, or Mark. Or Mark’s Dad…or my Grandpa (may his soul rest in peace) I usually have a Dad to celebrate. I know, it’s not about me. I’m not the important one today. But shouldn’t I be somewhere? I did buy Mark’s gift. It is still my job, at least until the boys can drive. Divorced people, listen to me! I think this is a “repeaty” but whatever.  It is still YOUR job to buy the gifts for the other parent! The kids can’t do this for themselves. They don’t have access to vehicles, and they don’t have money! Well, my kids used their own money. We went to Blackhawk Hardware, and got Mark a grill lighter. Oh, and one of those Tree Faces. Have you seen those stupid fucking things? It’s a face that goes on a tree, but looks like part of the tree? Dumb. But they picked it out all by themselves. So, ok! And they picked out cards, and I wrapped it all up.

I think I’m nice that way.

I really don’t think other exes are half as nice as me.

But whatever, its Father’s Day… and Mark is the father of my children. He is the sperm to my egg. The peanut butter to my jelly. The hip to my hop. And we will forever be bonded by our kids. I am going to make a Hallmark Card just for this occasion. I was looking for one at the store, ya know, like Happy Father’s Day, Ex Husband. Or, Happy Father’s Day, Baby Daddy. Why don’t they make those? Shit, I would be a fucking millionaire. I can’t make any money on this blog with no advertising…so, yes! I’m calling Hallmark. Oh, ya…and Happy Father’s Day to all the Dads out there. Keep up the good work, and love up your kiddos today! After all, THEY are the reason you are a DAD! ;)

xo j

 

And Art, if you’re reading this…I love you to the moon and back, thank you for supporting me every step of the way. ~ jenny