Did I just really dye my hair brown? omg.
I did. I think I really did. I am looking in the mirror at a woman I don’t even know.
Ok, Jen. Breathe. I love it. I fucking love it, and I don’t care what Tammy thinks. She is going to die. And JLo. Jen is going to look at me, and say, “You can go blond next time.” I know them both so well. I do care. I do. I want to NOT care what they think, but I totally do. FUCK. It’s not THAT dark, right? I mean, this shit will fade. I have been blond since I can remember. Well, since I was ten, and the sun hit my hair, and I started “highlighting” it with lemon.. and Sun-In. Omg. I am freaking out. My life is going to change as I know it, my attitude is going to be washed out with the color…and my badassedness is going to be GONE! MY BLOND IS GONE JUST LIKE THE “E” THAT I LEFT OFF THE WORD BLONDE. gone. poof. help.
I just thought, I needed a change. Ya know, a “caterpillar to butterfly” kinda change. So, I went for it. Instead of changing my person, I decided to change my look. Ya! Good move, Hurvitz! Great. And here it is…what do you think? (pic is down in the corner, see it?) Don’t lie. And my friend Randy said it looks like I have a blond tail. Thanks, Rando. That’s not a tail, dumbass.. it’s my hair wrapped ever so softly, behind my neck. And it’s blond because my stylist, Heather totally rocks, and did that Ombre thingy, and the ends are lighter. Jesus. Sigh. Well, I’m obviously not going to blog about my hair this whole time. I am going to segue into my real topic, which is change. And making changes..
What has changed, since my separation? What has been different, better.. and more exciting? What positive things have happened in my life, now that I’m on my own again and starting over, fresh and new and single? Change can be good. Right? Yes. And no. Change is tough, dammit.
Change can be GREAT! And fun.. but scary. And it takes some getting used to, and I hate it. I suck at it. I’m a flippin’ Libra. I’m not good with change at all. In fact, I’d rather go to the same exact place for vacation over, and over, just because I feel comfortable with it. Anyone else? Ya. I feel ya. I just like what I like, and I love “my spots”. I eat at Cameron’s Steakhouse every time I go back to Detroit, just because I know it. I have MY stool. And MY bartender, and MY salad. Chopped and tossed the way I like it. Nothing new, and everything stays the same. I dig it. It’s safe. And easy. And mine. Which is a lot of the reason why I stayed married, I’m sure. Who wants to step into the unknown? Take a leap of faith, and do something they are unsure of.. omg. Why? Why would you ever leave a life that is comfortable, and safe.. easy (enough) and really, “it’s not THAT bad”, for the Devil you don’t know? Change is fucking scary. Just like changing your hair color, what if you hate it?
And hate it you will. And I did. I hated it. I hated leaving my kids for the first time with their Dad. I hated telling them I was going to be moving out. I hated answering their questions about the separation, and why I “stopped trying to make it work”. I hated watching them cry. And seeing them sad. And I hated promising them it was going to be ok, when I wasn’t sure it was. All the change was killing me. To lose my family. This amazing “team” we built together, omg. We made the best team. The Weintraub’s rocked the house. Just ask anyone. No one does a Zoo Trip like The Weintraubs. Or a water slide. Or Italy. Or a Sunday brunch at Ohop. Or a game of Clue. And being able to be there when Zac needed me at night. Or when Jonah wanted to talk. I’ll tell you, change sucks. But you get used to it. And so do the kids. It just takes time.
Soon, I started to enjoy a few of the changes. Wow! I kinda started to like my alone time. Did you guys know that you can watch an entire season of Scandal in like 2 days? Holy crap, that shit is off the hook! And drink wine, in your pajamas…with no interruptions. No one to bug you. It’s called DIVORCE. It’s called, “it’s not my week”. It’s called, “Hey, talk to your dad”. It’s called, I love this. I can do what I want, and not pay a sitter. I actually know that the boys are in the BEST hands. Their dad’s. And Mark is the greatest dad ever. I get to do whatever I want, and not feel rushed, or guilty.. or bad. No one asks where I’ve been. Or what I spent. Or who I was with. Or if I did the laundry. I can Facebook all night long. And I never have to cook. ha. Or pretend to cook. Or get a “talking to” when I don’t cook. I can leave my bra on the doorknob, just swinging there for all the world to see. Why? Cause it’s just me, folks. I can get up at 2am, and go to Harris Teeter for a snack. If I wanna. Ok, I don’t. But I could. And no one would ever think I’m nuts. Holy Moly, I can have a party. A kegger. In my apartment, with strippers…and no one is going to say a word! Ok, you get it. but I am loving this. It’s the best thing in the entire world. I have personal freedom. I AM FREE! WHOOP WHOOP! No one is controlling me. Do you remember the last time you were able to do whatever the fuck you wanted to do? Stop. Don’t answer. Think.
Never. If you are married…the answer is NEVER. Sorry, darhlins. But just out of mutual respect, you should give a little shaky-shaky when you get home at night. Listen, I don’t care where you’ve been or what you’ve been doing! But you still are going to be held accountable for your actions. BUT NOT ME! Wanna know why? Cause, I’m single. That’s right! And it’s NOT MY WEEK! haha. I love it. It just rolls off the tongue… it’s nooootttt myyyyy weeeeekkkk. Wanna try it? Well, I’m sorry. You can’t say it, unless you are divorced. It’s a perk for divorced peeps only. Jeez, it’s like one of the only perks, can’t we have just one? ;)
Come on over to my apartment..I’ll open a bottle of wine, a bag of peanut butter M&M’s and we can say it together, “It’s not my week!” And then, we can find a bottle of Loreal Hair Color, and dye my hair back to blond. I can’t look at myself for another minute. And I’m clearly not any smarter. Hurry it up, first one over here gets a free pack of Twizzlers! I can’t stand change, or being alone for longer than 2 hours. Shhhh, don’t tell anyone, I can’t even pee with the bathroom door closed. I miss my family every day, but need to look for the positives, or this divorce will kill me, right? Right. Now, let’s have a BIG party when I hit 30,000 readers. I’m thinking at Cameron’s in the D. I have a barstool with my name on it.
And for the record, the next change I make is going to be my underwear, all y’all. I’m used to that. ;)