new beginnings

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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.

 

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Please put your right hand on The Bible,

And your left hand in the air…

Wow.

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 say...it’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?

Ugh.

It’s like torture.

Hell.

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

Ok, you guys.

I’m trying something new. Are you ready?

Get excited…here it goes. It’s literally going to knock your socks off. Can you feel my excitement? I mean this is frickin’ fantabulous.

Ready, set….GO!

Ha.

Did you feel that?

It was a PAGE BREAK. OMG.

A god damn page break. I swear, the earth just moved. My body quivered. I had no idea a return bar could do this to me. I’m in love. My toes just curled. I can’t even take what just happened over here. It was a PAGE BREAK! I guess, in the blogging world, it’s like the end-all-be-all. Who knew? I have only my Super-Girl from the D, Jenn F to thank. She happens to be the Blogger Extraordinaire! Thanks my friend, for sharing this little golden nugget of knowledge with me. She is is Goddess. And the Queen of all things Pinterest. My life has been forever changed. I have now entered the REAL WORLD of Blogging. I am officially a Blogger. All because of a page break. Hmmm. I have risen. I have…rosen! Um, I have ARRIVED! Wouldn’t it be really funny if the page break didn’t actually work? Umm, ya. Cause really, I can’t actually see it here. I only see a jagged line. How dumb would that be? Well, just have to wait and find out! I love a good cliffhanger. Drama!

It’s like what will happen next, ooohhhhh….will the page actually say (more) at the bottom, or not? If it doesn’t, I will be pissed. But I won’t be able to do a thing about it. I’ll just chalk it up to my lack of computer knowledge. And feel like a dork. And a complete loser.

I am a total loser. But hey, I can use a fancy button to make a cool break in a page, so piss off. And I can make fun of myself. Which is a really good quality to have, peeps. If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em.. that’s what I think. And I think these days, a good sense of humor is truly the best thing a girl has going for her. Because let me tell you, I would be ripping my hair out if I didn’t laugh at some of the shit that’s been going on lately. “She who laughs last, laughs loudest.” Is that the right saying? Or is it, “She who laughs the loudest, laughs last?” Who cares. I just keep laughing. Gotta laugh. This morning the guy at the car dealership place told me I needed new brake pads, and rotor-thingys.  I just got my truck! He’s like, “Yup, Ma’am. $800.00.” I’m like, you are out of your effin’ mind. Then I asked him if it was dangerous, ya know…to drive if I don’t get the new stuff. Was I was going to like, die? And he said, “Well, I can’t be held responsible if you do die.” No shit, buddy! But am I going to crash, or can I save the $800 bucks?! UGHHHH!!! I’m ready to scream. But no, no. Just gotta laugh.

Or call Mark. And yell at him. Somehow, this is his fault. Everything is his fault. It just is. Somehow.
He is breathing after all. I figure if Mark breathes then he is to blame. Just breathing is a no-no. Bad, Mark. No breathing allowed.

I am funny today. And I’m also stealing other peoples jokes. Too bad, if you want to use them guys…write your own blogs. Ha. And guess what else is new and exciting around here? I am going to start advertising! Cool, right? I’m trying to figure out how to do it! I’m gonna make some money! Wow. Won’t that be nice. I can actually start pulling my own weight in the world. Not that being a mom isn’t a full-time job, but maybe now…my boys will start respecting me a little bit more. After my studio fell through last fall, and my life went to shit…it was touch-and-go on the “respect-thing”. Ya. My guys actually said it to me out loud. Jonah looked at me straight in the face, and said, “Mom, you have to open J&Z. We were just starting to respect you.” Ugh. Why don’t you pull the knife out of my chest, and then stab me with it again a few more times, honey. Really. I can take it. I tried to laugh. “Tried”, being the operative word.

Well, now…maybe I can make the guys proud again. Even though they can’t read this smutty blog, they can reap the benefits. lol. Duh, they know about it. But double-duh, I don’t let them read it. It’s R-rated. And what kind of Mom would allow her kids to read this crap? Jeez. Have you read this shit? It’s smut! But, alas…I gotta bring home the bacon. Let’s fry up some pork! And making money here has got to mean something, right? It’s better than stripping. Or selling my blood. Or my eggs. Wait. That’s not a bad idea. I think my eggs have got to be worth something these days. Shit. Too old? Ya. Rotten eggs aren’t worth crap. They are filled with autistic-ADHD-fluff, anyhoo. So, it’s best to just stick to blogging for a living. My knees are hurting, my back is busted up….and I’m too tired to deal with the 13 year-old meshugi-Jews. My uterus will most likely fall out if I attempt “The Wobble” one more time. Oy. I’m much more likely to earn a living sitting here, on my couch…pouring out my inner most feelings to the world. Sad, but true. I guess misery loves company. Or all y’all are just really bored.

Now, who wants to pay me to do it? Ante up, you guys. Momma needs a new pair of shoes. And I’m not talkin’ Steve Maddens. Louboutins, darhlin’s. I am craving a little red bottom love. ;)

xo j