living single

imagesI have an addiction.

I try to hide it.

Convince myself it’s a non-issue.

But the first step is admitting…

So, I’m here to tell the world. I know y’all are assuming it’s Starbucks. Or online shopping! Smoking in my garage when I’m alone, or drinking too much wine? Fuck no. I wish. But my addiction is much bigger than all of those things combined. Hell, it’s bigger than ME. And it affects so many other women across our nation. I am not alone, others feel my pain; understand the demons I fight every, single day.

Other women between the ages of 32-55 to be exact. 


Can’t live with them.

Can’t live without them.

Can’t kill them.

But fuck sometimes, I wish I could.


So, I have dated some of the worst…and some of the best. Good ones, and bad. And I just keep on trucking. I keep on putting myself out there, hoping that one day I will find my “plus-one”. That awesome guy that I can just hang out with. The one fella that just gets my shit, and thinks I’m cool. Wants to be around me for a while, or long enough to have dinner and sex. Jeez, is it that hard? I think not. But hey! For some reason, it is. And that’s ok, really! Not a problem. I’m not going to settle for just anyone. I mean, why would I? At this point in my life, I know exactly what I want. I have list in my head, and I am checking off the boxes. What? You aren’t? Well, you should. Have a cat? Out. Have a gun? Done. Have a small dick, and a bad attitude? Fuck it. I am not wasting my time anymore. I swear, I think I’m going to start my very own dating site. The Truth Just for me. I’m accepting applications now. Ha.


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


I have lines on my upper lip.

I do.

I was looking in that stupid, blow-up mirror.

I saw them.

I can’t fucking believe it…

I have those little, tiny, vertical lines on my upper-flipping lip.

Like an effin’ Bubbie that’s been sucking on a cigarette while playing Mahjong on the beach in West Palm. No offense, Sadie. I’m sure you have a perfectly good reason for just sitting there all day. Shit, who am I to judge? I sit here all day…doing nothing but slurping on Starbucks, and blogging about dumb stuff no one could possibly give a fuck about. But yes, I have lines. Little, tiny fucking lines. And I seriously want to kill myself over them. When I noticed them at first, I did a double take, I did. I called Zac into the bathroom…and I made him look. My twelve year old. And he was pissy. He was like, “Mom, are you for real? You are so weird.”  And maybe I was a little embarrassed. But then, I wasn’t. Fuck him! I have done so much for that kid. He can get up off his lazy ass, and look at my lip. I wiped his ass until he was eight.

Confirmed. He saw them. Lines. Fuck.

So, I got on the internet.

And I ordered every God damn lip product on the market. I didn’t care if it plumped, or it de-aged. Or it makes my lips fall off, I ordered it. I am not going to go down gracefully, people. I will fight to the end. No way am I dying looking like crap. I wouldn’t even look at my Grandma last week, in her coffin. I couldn’t do it. I wanted to remember her pretty. And youthful. And well, how I pictured her. Is that bad? I swear, those bitches at the Esteé Lauder counter used to sell my Grandma wrinkle cream, and I couldn’t believe it! And she was 90. Come on, you assholes! You can not take advantage of a little old lady like that! But you know what? She wanted it. And she loved it. And it made her feel good to use it. And at 90 years old, if she wanted Esteé Lauder wrinkle cream…then she should have it. Jeez. It’s so hard being a woman.

Maybe it’s not…

Maybe it’s me?

Maybe I just make it hard? Rhetorical.

So, I joined this new site, OKCupid. Have you heard of it? You answer all these INSANELY personal questions. And I mean, personal. Let me give you an example: You walk into a room, and see your significant other licking red wine off of another person. Do you? And then they give you four choices. One of which is to join in the fun. HA! I shit you not. This site is legit. So, I just figured, if it’s a match…it’s got to be real! Wrong. I got verbally abused, berated…and I walked out of a restaurant. Oh, and those were three different dates. Solid guys. Not. The first asshole called me a “stupid bitch” for not wanting to date him, when I realized he lived 89 miles away. He asked me why I didn’t use the “distance filter” on the website. I explained I was new, and to cut me some slack. He told me I wasted 20 minutes of his time. I told him I dodged a major fucking bullet. The next guy accused me of flirting with another guy on our date. Can you say insecure much? Fuck I don’t have enough energy to flirt with one guy, let alone two. Kiss my ass, Mr. Asian Fusion. Needless to say, I left the bar in an über. Buh-bye.

This is my life.

OkCupid, you suck balls.

Who needs you anyway? Mr. Right will find me, when I’m not even looking. That’s just how this shit happens. It’s all about timing. And I’ve got nothing but time. But I do wonder sometimes if my Mr. Right will mind the fine lines on my upper lip. Or the scars on my tits. Or the cellulite on my ass. I wonder, if he will still love me when I’m 96, buying wrinkle cream. I had a date the other night, with this charmingly handsome man. And he had the sexiest wrinkles next to his eyes. I pointed them out. I actually said, “I just love these. They are my most favorite part of a guy.” And I touched them. I think I freaked him out. But wow. Sexy. Men get hotter with age, don’t they? Maybe I’ll leave the crow’s feet next to my eyes alone. I think my Mr. Right might just like them. ;)

xo j