new beginnings


Barometer level, check.

Cabin pressure, check.

GPS uploaded, check.

Headphones on, check.

Xanax popped, check.

Check, and recheck. That’s a lot of checks…

Zero-one-niner to Tower-Person-Guy, do we have clearance on Runway 5 for lift off? Roger that, Zero-one-niner…you have clearance, Clarence. Skies are looking clear on the horizon…going to be a smooooottthhhh flight! Taxi to the runway Turbo-Man, you are clear for take off! Wow. I am good. Fan-fucking-tastic! I am like such a fast learner, right? My guy would be so proud of me if he saw this. I mean, if he actually read the blog. He would think I am awesome. I’m the greatest co-pilot EVER, in the entire universe of co-pilots! I have got this shit down! In fact, I think I’m ready to fly solo! YES! I mean, how hard can it really be to fly a plane? Yeesh, He did make it look pretty dang easy, though. He really did. I sat there…quietly. Watching him go through the pre-flight check list…thinking, “Fuck, he is hot as all get out”. It’s so true what they say! Pilots are sexy.  I just sat there, watching him do his thing. He was wearing the headphones. And he was talking to the tower-guy, in that pilot-talk. And he was pushing all the gadgets and buttons. I so wanted to jump him.

But I was scared shitless.







Please put your right hand on The Bible,

And your left hand in the air…


This is for real.

I guess I solemnly swear, to tell the truth…the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.

So help me Goddess.

Then she says, “Jennifer Erika Weintraub, please sign on the dotted line.”

Dotted line? Ummm, lady. That line is not dotted. Can you see that line? Are you blind, or drunk? C’mon.  Do you need glasses…that there line is SOLID. It’s fucking solid, and black…and it’s not even close to dotted you nut job. It is as solid as my marriage should have been, but it wasn’t. It was broken and sad, and fucking miserable. Ok, it wasn’t that bad. But now, its over. Done. Kaput. Finito. I feel like she wanted to cheer. Sign on the dotted line…HOORAY! And then the stamp. The “notification”. The seal of approval that my marriage is null and void. Just like the feeling left in my soul. I was void of all emotion, as the clock hit 11:56 am on March 11th, I was officially Happily Divorced.

Happily Divorced.

I love to use that phrase. I don’t know if I actually made it up, or not. But I am claiming it. Its mine, bitches. Don’t take it. I am going to be using it for my book title. I laugh when I say it. Book. Like who would even buy it. But it’s so good, right? I mean divorce is starting to be the norm around here. Shit, they’re dropping like flies. Do y’all know how many emails I get a day from women, and men…wanting advice? They want to know how Mark and I make it look so easy. I chuckle. And then I write them back, and I’s all smoke and mirrors. Ha. One day at a time. And every time I lose my shit, I remember what’s important…MY KIDS. Today, I sat there listening to my attorney tell me that I was the best female client he ever had, because I was so agreeable. And that every man would LOVE to be going through a divorce with me. I felt good, and bad. Exactly what the hell does that mean? So, I’m being totally and completely taken advantage of? Jesus. No! It means that I am putting my KIDS before myself. And Mark is doing the same. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again…divorce doesn’t have to be messy. Or ugly. Or nasty. And attorneys don’t have to be assholes. You don’t have to fight about who gets the kids on Flag Day. Or argue over that stupid painting that neither of you really want anyhoo. It’s only money. And shit. You have to look in the mirror each and everyday, and be proud of the choices you made…AFTER you decided to separate.

So, I signed the damn thing. Said my thank-you’s. And I left.

And then I texted Mark. And he texted back….”Remember this day. March 11, 2015. Oh. And don’t spend the next 2 hours sobbing in your car”. Jeez. He thinks he knows me so well. Like I would ever cry in my car for TWO hours. As a matter of fact, I didn’t cry at all. Really, I didn’t! I was dying for a cigarette. Or a Dunkin’ Donut. I really, really wanted a damn Dunkin Donut. No better time to eat my emotions. But instead, I called my Mom.

And then I texted Mr. Big-ish in DC. And ya know what I said?

I’m all yours…I signed on the solid line. ;) 

xo j

Do you know how hard it is to be this happy, and not be able to tell you why?


It’s like torture.


The fucking worst.

Especially for a chick like me.

I mean, let’s be real…cause I am all about keeping it real. I have ummm, well…I have like the biggest mouth on the planet. Duh. I mean, do I not write this blog? Do I not spill my guts three times a week for 20,000 people to read? Shit. I have no filters. I tell everyone everything about me. ME. Let me just say that upfront. I don’t share other people’s crap. I really don’t. I’m like a vault. Really! I can keep a secret for a lifetime! Seriously, I take shit to the grave….I do!! Waterboard me. Do it. I won’t break. What, too soon? Well, when it’s about me, my life…I am an open book.  I mean all ya’ll know what my vagina looks like, for crying out loud. When I go on hot dates. When I have sex. You even know when I get my flippin’ period. We are close. Really, close. I feel like we are besties. We should all have BFF necklaces. OMG. That is the best idea ever. I’m going to make The Truth Hurvitzbracelets! Yes. Like the “What Would Jesus Do“, but What Would HURVITZ Do!! WWHD! haha. omg. I am dying over here. I am so dumb. I’m sitting in Sbux, totally doing that out-loud-laughing thing. And all the people are looking at me like I am on something. But, could you just die? WWHD. I love it. My blog-buddy Rachel Silver Cohen, she has tank tops. She is ridiculously talented. And she’s into all that yoga-shit, so tanks are a perfect choice for her. But me, I need to do shiny-lip glosses, or vibrators. The Truth Hurvitz vibrators! If you are the 100,000th reader, you get a free Truth Hurvitz Vibrator! Whoop Whoop! Well, maybe not. WWHD bracelets it is! yes. And if you want a kick-ass tank top…go check out Rachel’s blog. go. Silver Unpolished. It’s fab! And she’s hot. Just sayin’.

So, anyways, not being able to share all the great stuff that’s happening in my life is just killing me. I need to be cryptic. And mysterious. Give you hints. And clues. In hope that you can just read between the lines. Feel the happy radiating from the screen! Pick up the vibe I’m laying down! Yes, I just said that. I am 42, and Jewish.  I sometimes wish I was 25, and a Fly Girl. Dammit, a girl can dream. Have you seen me throw? Stop. Hurvitz-time. But can you pick it up? The vibe, y’all.  I mean, COME ON, you guys!!  I am writing with a little skip in my text. Right? Fuck. You don’t get it do you? Do I have to spell it out? I feel like a teenager, with a new crush. I wanna sing into my hairbrush, and dance to Fergie! I AM JUST FLAT-OUT LITTLE MISS SUNSHINE!!! You know what I’m trying to say, right?

I have to tell you. I’m going to do it. I can’t hold back for one more second. I hate when people do this shit to me. They act like their “news” is such a big fucking deal. SO much more important than everyone else’s.  Like their news is bigger, or better….juicer. More exciting. And then they hype it all up. Drag it all out…go on, and on…and on about it. Play 20 questions. Make you guess what it is. “Ok, if you guess what it is, then I’ll tell you if you’re right.” What a crock of shit. What if I did that to you guys? How rude would that be? I’m sure half of you have already jumped to the end of this entry to see what the “big announcement” is anyways. Ya know, the same people that read the last chapter of a novel before you even start it.  Just in case you die. I get it. And I actually do that. In case I kick it. Is that normal? Yeesh. So, I’m just going to tell you why I’m so happy. Ready? go.

I am in a new relationship. YYYYEEAAAAHHHH!!!! 

I have a new thing going. And it’s making my heart race. And flutter. I can’t breathe. I check my phone like 20 times an hour. I love it. And it takes my mind off of everything else. It’s not new, but we just met. And so far….we are getting along just swimmingly! I just wish I knew how to work the parts a little better. A little confusing, and frustrating at times. I can’t seem to figure some of it’s shit out! But it’s the COOLEST thing, in the world!  I can’t even believe what’s going on…have all y’all used this Twitter thing? It’s like the best. I had 250 followers yesterday, and today I have almost 420! And Tim Hortons is following me! Tim Hortons! haha. I am being followed. Stalked. Do you know how good it feels to be wanted? I’m wanted by 420 followers. Why, I have no clue. But who gives a shit! They are tweeting, and twitting…and twatting ME! It’s an instant rush, an addiction. I’m trying to get as many of these stalkers, I mean followers…as I can. I get “favorited”, and they “retweet” what I tweet. I am in heaven. This new relationship is for the birds. But I have never been happier. Tweet. Tweet. Tweet. Yay…so thank you, Followers, for following me. I feel loved. And a tad bit weirded out.

Twitter + Hurvitz = #truelove #loveatfirstsight #twitterific @thetruthhurvitz  

Oh, my bad. Did I lead you on? Did y’all think I was in a relationship-relationship? ooohhhhhh!!! I am so sorry. That was kinda shitty. I didn’t mean to imply that I was in love. Or that I had a boyfriend. Shit. But I am. I’m such a tease. ha. I am totally, and completely in love. And in lust. I’m happy. And it’s not just from the tweeting. Although, the Twitter is giving me pleasure, my new man giving much, much more. Yum. I think I might have found my Mr. Big-ish. But for now, I’m going to keep him all to myself. All mine, dammit.  See, the last time I fell “in love”, or at least thought I did… I shared the guy with my blog-world. And it was fine. But this time, no can do. Well I can do, and I will do…my Mr. Big-ish. But all y’all will just have to use your vivid imaginations. Gross. Go think about someone else doing it! Stay out of my bedroom. I am going to be keeping my private life, well…private. I’m going to try to keep it private. Let me at least give it a shot, ok?!

You all know, I won’t be able to keep quiet for long, and I’ll end up letting you into our “world” every now and then.  To fill you in on any life-altering events. I mean, it’s close to impossible not to put it on a blimp! Or write it in the sky. Or use one of those ticker-thingys at a sporting event. Listen, go big, or GO HOME!  I simply adore this guy. And I’m pretty dang sure he digs me, too. I guess it’s a good idea to read the last chapter of the book first, huh? It’s actually where the GOOD stuff happens. The “Happily Ever Afters”, and the happy endings. Ok, ok…get your minds out of the gutter. And I’m sorry for being such a tease. I just had to do it! Now that is hilarious. Me…a tease? Priceless.

So, are we all on the same page now? I know I feel much better, now that my secret is out. It’s a new year, filled with new adventures…and new doors to open. Care to come along for the ride? Jump on, but you’ll need a ticket. Or a bracelet! Coming soon…WWHD. Or, if you would prefer a Truth Hurvitz Vibrator…send me a tweet. #PlayWithHurvitz ;)

xo j

I have a new house.

And it’s my new house.

It’s my peanut butter sandwich. lol.

Remember that? St. Elmo’s Fire. With the scuba-suit wearing chick? She said that the peanut butter sandwich that she made in HER, house with HER peanut butter and jelly…was the BEST PB&J EVER? Right before she lost her virginity to Rob Lowe. Ya. I’m totally that girl. Sans the scuba suit. And I am hardly a virgin. But you get the analogy, right? I am single and strong! And I also love peanut butter and jelly. Just saying.

I have been given a new beginning. A new lease on life. It’s my turn to do this thing. Cue the music, maestro…I feel a new mantra coming on! In the words of the late, great Whitney Houston, “I’m Every Woman”?

Ugh. What a crock of shit. I am exhausted.

Sure, I’m starting over. And I get to do things my way, without someone busting my balls all the time. And I get to make my own decisions, and do what I want to do, when I want to do it. Ya ya ya. But I’ve moved 5 times in 5 years, and I’m flipping emotionally drained. I’m tired. I’m old. And I’m sad. I just spent the last week packing up my life. After nesting for 9 months, I packed up my things…and put them into boxes. And bags. And more boxes. I drove back and forth, and back and forth…and back, schlepping the memories of the last 13 years, to a new house. Not the beautiful house I made a home for my children and husband, but a rental house…half the size. I’m not complaining, trust me. I wanted the smaller house. It’s fine. For just me. And the boys. For only half of their lives. 2 weeks a month. Omg. I just puked in my mouth. I get them for half of their lives. I took the pictures of my family off the walls, and put them into boxes. For a “rainy day”, when the boys are older…and want to see them later in life. I put away my wedding album, and my videos. My ketubah is still up. What do you do with it? Yikes. I sat on the bed, and looked at the empty closet, that I shared with Mark. So weird. I looked at all the dust bunnies, and it hit me….

My family is now over. Done. Kaput.

I am not sad about my marriage being over. I need to make that clear. My marriage is me and Mark. We are better friends now than we have ever been. In fact, most divorced couples would die for a relationship like ours. I am sad about the family I am leaving behind. The memories, the idea…the life. It just hurt to do it. To pack up and leave it all empty. The house. The rooms. The stupid little stuff, ya know? Like the drawer in the bathroom with my blow dryer in it. What will the boys do when they need my blow dryer? I know, so dumb. But now, it’s gone. And I’ve left them with an empty drawer. Crap. It’s the stupid-little stuff. Being divorced doesn’t make me sad. It’s not the marriage part. It’s the family part.

So, it’s time to make new memories.

Time to create new things to take pictures of…new things to hang on my new walls, in my new house. In my new life. With my new family. No pressure, guys. Really. I am a big girl. I can handle just about anything. And ya, it’s been like 12 years since I’ve screwed in a light bulb, but I put in 4 yesterday! And I actually know how to use a hammer. Hmmm, I don’t own a hammer, but if I did…I could definitely use it. But I can’t order internet service. I tried, I swear. I was on the phone for like 3 hours. And I just have no clue what they are talking about. Can’t you just do it, Mark? Order me the dang internet!! Jeez.

Well, that’s where I am. Buying new sheets, and new rugs. I’m buying two of everything for the boys. They’re loving their new rooms, and decorating with a vengeance. Tigers for Zac, and Trailblazers for Jonah. Listen, if they wanted ponies I would buy them frickin’ ponies. I’d give them the moon at this point. The guilt of this whole thing is eating me alive. But I have two amazing men in my life. Mark is a great ex-husband, 99% of the time, and I simply adore Scott. He’s been the best thing that has happened to me in well, forever. And the two of them moved us in over the weekend, and even shared stories about ME over a beer. I can’t ask for anything better than that, right? It is just so much easier when everyone gets along. Easy peezy rice and cheesy. It’s good, until it’s not. And then it’s horrible. Ebbs and flows. Such is life.

Now, who wants a peanut butter and jelly sandwich? I’m totally hungry. And I could use a glass of wine to go with it. ;)

xo j