freedom after marriage

IMG_1241I am not angry.

I am not sad.

I’m not mad…

Or bitter.

My heart is tired.

That’s really it. My heart is just flat out exhausted. If you can try and imagine the poor thing for a minute…beating, and beating. Over and over, and over. Doing such a good job. Pumping all that blood around this kick-ass fucking body of mine…day after day, week after week. Giving and giving…and giving LOVE. Just so I can get what in return? Nada. Zilch. A big fat, fucking NOTHING. Well, that’s not entirely true…I got a lot of love. Plus a bunch of lies. My poor heart is just tired. And I can hardly blame it. It’s been through an awful lot over the last four years. And I think, it’s time for a break.

Hey, heart! It’s me, Jennifer….And I’m going to give you a break. 

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The Selfie.

Posed.

Perfect.

Photo-shopped.

Pure enjoyment.

And if I get one more stupid-ass shot from a guy I don’t give a crap about, I just might lose my guts. Really! Last night, I was minding my own beeswax when I got a ping. So, I picked up my phone, and there was a text from a number I didn’t recognize. Ok, so I guess it’s my bad that I give my digits out to JDaters and Tinder-peeps across the US of A? But I do. And I am currently back on the sites, ok? Don’t judge me. I’m bored, and the last dude that was “soooo fabulous” just ended up being well, a bust. Kinda a bummer. He was a good guy, and a great catch. Just not for me. It happens. You date, you hook up…you hope it’s going to work out, and it doesn’t.

It’s my fucking life story.

And somewhere between drinks, and bleeding out in the hotel room, you decide it’s just not a “good fit”. Oh ya, we were hooking up…and I started bleeding like a stuck pig. Poor guy, he was literally covered in my blood from head to toe. Talk about bad luck. I had my IUD removed a couple days prior to our date, and it looked like a fucking crime scene. He was like, “Wow you’re really turned on!” And I was like, ummm no…that would be my uterus exploding. Great. Does this room happen to have a tourniquet? Can you call down for a cauterizer! Close me up, STAT. I swear, he asked me if I needed blood transfusion, or a ride to the ER. I wasn’t even embarrassed. I mean, at my age…who really gives a fuck? So what if I bled out all over a guy I barely even knew? I was just happy to be getting a free dinner, and a night in hotel. I love those little mints on the pillow. We snuck out of there so quickly the next morning, to avoid getting arrested. Housekeeping most definitely thought there was a murder in our room. I wanted to put down a body outline in yellow tape.

Great guy. We went out a few more times, but it’s clearly over. Maybe my Bloody, Bloody Vagina scared him away? Who cares. I can’t worry about it, and you know what they say…the best way to get over someone, is to get under somebody else! So, I’m back on the dating scene. Wasn’t that my point here? Yes. The ping! Last night, I got one. A text came in from this guy. It was a SELFIE. But not just any selfie, a picture of him sleeping. And not just sleeping, but sleeping half naked. And not just sleeping half naked, but sleeping half naked with his eyes closed. Ok, you get it. But, shit. He was holding a fucking TEDDY BEAR. That’s right, he was cradling a teddy bear to his bosom. Like a suckling baby, on his momma’s titty. Lord.

Now, listen to me. I don’t give a rat’s patootie if this loony bird was asleep with his fucking dog, or his kid… or his cat, ok? But he was asleep holding a large, stuffed BEAR to his breast! And his eyes were closed. Can you please tell me how he took a SELFIE with his eyes fucking closed? I was dying. I just stared at the picture. It’s just not right on so many levels. A guy, and his bear. I have nothing left to say. Don’t send me letters, telling me I’m heartless, or mean. Or call PETA telling them I don’t love animals. I hate cats, but I do love stuffed bears.

Why can’t I just find a normal guy?

Listen, I love taking selfies. I am the Selfie Queen. But I am real. I am wearing tons of lip gloss, and my head is usually cocked to one side. And my mouth is always wide open. And the caption probably says, “HOLLA!” I might send you one of me looking all silly or trying to be all stupid-sexy…but I can promise you this; I will not be half naked holding a stuffed bear. Well, I might be half naked…but never, ever will I be clutching a Muppet. ;)

 

xo j

 

 

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San Fran.

Washington, D.C.

Louisville.

Philly.

The Big Apple.

Geographically Undesirable. 

And the further away they are…they more appealing they get. Jesus. I swear, its like I want these men to be out of reach. Actually, there is a little truth to that thought. I do actually like them out of my reach, and out of my way! Men are a royal pain in the ass. They bug me. And I bug them, obviously. Mark couldn’t stand me, always all up in his shit. When he traveled we got along so much better! And you know ladies, when your man is away on “business” how much better your life really is. Come on! Admit it. The house runs more smoothly, you have some space…you can do what you want. And he isn’t around to piss and moan. That’s right. The constant pissing and moaning.

Pissing and moaning…

“What did you do all day?” or “Did you happen to get my dry cleaning on the way home from lunch with the girls?” Or this one, the ultimate passive-aggressive-doozie, “Hey, honey…I know it was really hard fitting in all your stuff today between 8-3 while the kids were in school, but did you find an extra hour to change the oil in the car YOU drive?” I always wanted to smack in Mark’s face. But now, I’m divorced. And life is good. I can just do what I want, when I want…and I do my very own pissing and moaning. And there is no one around to hear it. Or listen to it. Or do a thing about it. Hmmm. I guess that sucks, too. I kinda wish someone could hear my p&m. (Taking apps.)

My shrink says that I like the far-away boys because they can never become real. Ya know, like really serious. They are just far enough away to be good for now, but never good forever. I think that is just the stupidest shit I’ve ever heard! I mean, I have tried to make these Geographically Undesirable men work over and over, haven’t I? I think I’ve done a bang-up job! Given it my all. I’ve gone back and forth, and back and forth…I’ve racked up my frequent flyer miles to prove it! I even had one guy actually moving here to Charlotte for fucksake! She said that there are millions of eligible men right here under my nose job. Dr. Know-it-all says that I am just not “looking hard enough”. Well, fuck you, Doc. I have been in every bar this side of Queens Road, and there ain’t shit. These Southern Men can’t handle me, and we all know why. I am bossy, and I have a bad attitude. Oh, and I guess I write this “male-bashing-blog”?

So, whatever. I am doomed to be single. Doomed to be alone. Doomed to be sitting here drinking wine, and writing about my purple vibrators. And doomed to date hot, smart, sexy men that I find “accidentally swiping in Charlotte” but living in Arizona. Doomed. I mean what are the odds? Another fucking long distance relationship? And this one isn’t a hop-skip and a jump, guys. This is Arizona. It’s so far… he might as well be in Australia! I mean, talk about GEOGRAPHICALLY UNDESIRABLE! Wait, I should get a map. I’m pretty sure Arizona is in a desert somewhere. Or it is a desert. Whatever, I know its super-far from me. And I don’t like dry heat. Or sweating. I’m actually getting sweaty thinking about the heat.

Fuck.

I’m a total dumb ass. But what if this one is “the one”? Ok, what if he’s not the one. I don’t care. But I’ll tell you this, I like him. He is fun and funny. Not just one of the two, but both. And at my age, I feel like you have to be both. And he is a whole lot of other things, but I don’t want to tell you yet. I don’t even want to think about telling you…because I’m not sure where we are. But I like him. And I’m pretty sure he feels the same. And that’s enough for me right now. So that means it has to be enough for you, too. It’s weird, for the first time in a long time…I’m okay with it being enough. I am usually wanting so much more. So fast, so quick…all at once.

But not this time. I like the slow, steady…climb we are on. Kinda like riding a bike up a hill, I think. I don’t ride a bike, because it seriously kills my vagina. But if I wanted to ride a bike, I could get one of those gel seat thingies…and then I would know if my analogy was correct. Or, I could just ask someone who rides one. Like a triathlete, for example. Calling all triathletes! Do any of you want to date me…to see if its like riding a bike? ;)

xo j

 

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“What is this?”

“Come on!”

“She’s going to kill us.”

“They were under a towel.”

“She will never know…”

“Why purple?”

This blog entry will contain EXPLICIT content. 

I felt like you needed a warning. A disclaimer of sorts. A one-liner to tell you this entry is going to be a little bit much…

You pussies, just deal with me. I mean, come on. If you don’t know The Truth Hurvitz by now, it’s kinda too late. You’re in it for the long haul. The first thing you see when you log on my site is “I don’t make love, I fuck”! Which happens to be one of my all time faves. And a Most Popular Post, btw…thanks guys! And this entry is going to lead you down that path so stop now if you can’t handle it…stop now, if you don’t want to hear my dirty story. Stop now, I said! Ya, that’s what I thought. No one is stopping. All y’all are just dying to hear what craziness I’ve gotten myself into this time…

So, the other day I happened to be feeling a tad bit horny. Ya, I said it. So what! Like you all are never horny? Please. You never want to get off? Whatevs. You all do it, you all play with yourselves. You all MASTERBATE. Say the word. Try it, it’s not that hard. MASTERBATE. Omg. You won’t believe this, but my spellcheck won’t even spell it for me. This is so insane.  My frickin’ spellcheck is not allowing me to write the word. Wow. I am in shock. Even my spellcheck is afraid to say it. Anyway, I rolled over in my bed…and reached to open my top dresser drawer. Yes, that’s where I keep my VIBRATORS. I feel the need to whisper the word. Shhhh…my vibrators. Well, when I went to reach for my vibrator,  I happened to notice they were misplaced. Ummm, like gone. Missing. Lost. Not fucking there.

Dried me up like a desert!

I jumped up, and I started digging through my drawer! I was like, fucking frantic! Who took my vibrators? Not that I have so many, but I mean…I have a couple. Ok, I have a few. I like a variety, jeez! And I couldn’t even locate ONE! Jesus fucking Christ on a Dildo…where are they???!!! Omg. It was my housekeeper? She used them. Bogue. Or maybe I was really tired, and I dropped them all under the bed? My head was spinning, because I knew exactly what happened. I knew exactly where they were…and I just didn’t want to think about it. Or imagine it. Or deal with it…

I put my head in my hands. And I started to laugh. Then cry. This crazy, laughing-psycho-cry. My tween-aged boys had found my vibrators. I knew it, they knew it…and now the entire Truth Hurvitz viewing population knows it. My life was flashing before my eyes…and I wanted to die. Wait, no. First, I wanted to pray that I cleaned them after the last time I used them. Then, I wanted to die. I couldn’t wait until they got home from Mark’s house to confront them. OH HELL TO THE YES…I was going to confront those little nosey bastards! I was going to hold it all in until they came home. And then, I was going to ask them what they found in Mom’s top drawer.

Hey guys, I have a question for you?

Which one of you took my vibrators out of my drawer in my room? 

You could hear a pin drop at the breakfast table. Their faces were frozen like fucking Michael Jackson. I just waited, and watched…and tried not to lose it. They looked at each other, and started laughing so hard. Totally uncontrollable, then Jonah says,”Ohhhh is that what those purple things were? We thought they were dildos!” And they continued to roll on the floor as I tried to pick my jaw up off the table. I said,”BOYS! I don’t care what they are! (thinking how do they even know the word dildo?) You can’t go in my room, and go through my private things!” Then Zac said,”Mom, it’s ok. We just needed the batteries for the Xbox controllers! But why do you keep them in the top drawer where everyone can find them? And why are they all purple?”

I thought about answering him. But instead, I just turned and left the kitchen. Shaking my head. Let their father deal with it. Or something. I helped the man-child manscape for Godessake. I tap out.

This is my world.

This is my life.

And I wouldn’t change a thing. Oh, except where I keep my vibrators. ;)

xo j