I started dating.

I went into dating with an idea that I was going to be more open minded than I was in my previous single life. I was what most would call shallow. Okay, I’m what everyone would call shallow. I would deny til I was blue in the face that I had a type. However, when it comes down to it, I like them dark haired, tall, athletic and smart.

However, I vowed this time around I was going to be, well not so shallow. I married a man who’s idea of birthday shopping was going on a shopping spree at Target the day of my birthday. Some of those presents included socks. And well, to his defense (which I’m totally not defending), I did need socks. But I think you get the point, that I married, well who most would call an ass.

So again, in my next go round, I was going to be open minded. I met Bachelor #3, who was cute, but not the height I prefer and not athletic at all. However, he is still the most thoughtful guy I have ever dated. If I mention something even in passing, just once, he remembers it, locks it away and surprises me with someone that takes me completely off guard. I have honestly never dated anyone like him.

We connect well sexually, and even though there were times when I thought I couldn’t get past this whole new open mindedness thing, I would press on, and decide that I really did like him.

Then this weekend happened. I tend to be a bit dominant, and unfortunately what usually comes with really nice guys are pushovers. And as open minded as I want to be, I can not for the life of me, handle a push over. So this weekend I hit my threshold, and I find me kicking myself. I went into bitchy Elanah mode because I know I’m more attracted to male Elanah, who my friends are still questioning.

Why as women do we always find ourselves attracted to the ass? And I really don’t want to hear how it’s not true because it seems to be more of the norm, than liking the nice guy.

Why good morning my dear readers!

Alright, I didn’t know what else to say. My thoughts are on one thing right now. Youngest’s penis. And whatever I can do to get that penis to evacuate in a toilet and not my beautiful hand woven silk rug that I may love more than Eldest. All I really want to do is scream, “Come on! What’s not to get?! Do you like sitting in your own urine and fecal matter? Because I know that when I sneeze and Unborn pushes a drop of pee out of me, I have to run to my room and change immediately. ” To which he would probably answer in the cutest of voices, “Yes Mommy!”

Ok, I need to be thankful. He is WAYYYYY easier than Eldest was and I think by the end of the week I will be brave enough to take him out into public and maybe out to eat with Hubby’s best friend.

So have a couple of margaritas for me since I can’t have one and wish the Lovettz household some luck. There is a chance that we may be a diaper free house for almost a month! Wow, that’s what my life has come to, the grand idea of not having to deal with diapers for a few weeks.

The airplane touched down in Albuquerque. A plane ride I’d taken every 4 days the last 4 months. I knew to expect the turbulence. I knew to expect the worst. In April we had been told he only had 4-6 months to live.

I spoke to him on the phone that Thursday. All I could understand was a very muddled, “I love you.” And that was the last words he spoke to me. On August 30, 2003, my plane touched down and I was there to watch my father die.

The jovial turkey hunters on the plane kept my mind busy, teaching me exactly how to shoot a turkey, and I never once told them why I was flying to Albuquerque.

I arrived at the hospital to find my mother, my father’s friend , a preacher. And my father. He was in a drug induced haze. I had developed a routine in the last 4 months, I would come in, grab his toes and say, “hey sicko!” or, “You’re still living!” This time when I grabbed his toes, hoping he would feel some familiarity, they were cold, and thick. Unbelievable that this very athletic, over 6ft man that used to play on his guitar, mostly old Eagles songs, Desperado was his favorite.

Mom lifted the covers back and from the knee down to his toes was blue and purple and yellow. His heart had already gone into defense mode where it shuts down pumping to the extremities and concentrates only getting blood to the main organs.

We left that night. The next morning we picked out his urn. A beautiful urn made of wood, with a shadow box on top and a beautiful poem on a slide out piece of wood. It would have been perfect, had it been someone else’s urn. It would’ve been beautiful had it belonged to anyone else.

We went to the hospital afterwards and we were told by Hospice that it was just a matter of hours. So I told my mother I was going to stay until he passed. In April when we found out how sick he was, my mother and I discussed his death and where we would be. My mother didn’t want to be there. But I wanted to be holding his hand. It was very much like the idea that I came into this world him holding mine, he would leave this world holding mine.

So the clock ticked away. I talked to dad as his eyes would roll around. Occasionally I would joke with him about how we could play a game of Scrabble, (his favorite game with me) and I would definitely win. We read magazines. We walked the halls.

At 7:41pm, August 31, 2003. my dad passed away, and I was cradling his head in my arms. I told him to go. Go to Heaven and be the best damn Angel God ever saw.

It was then that I fell by his side and screamed, “Not now! I haven’t learned enough from you yet! I don’t know how you cook pork chops so perfectly!”. They tried to pull me away. I stood back up and grabbed his head and it had already gone cold. “I screamed at him , Don’t go cold yet! It’s not right! It’s not time!”. But his time had already passed. And it was time. His body was in such agony.

He was 62. Had a perfect physical in January of that year. And in April he as dying. In August he was gone.

I wanted to put my fist through the wall. I wanted to crawl into the bed with him, like I had done a million times as a child. I wanted to play one more round of Scrabble. Just one.

My mother took his ashes and spread them at the wolf preserve in Florence, Colorado. He loved the wolves and when they had visited there the year prior, when they drove down the mountain , he cried. He said he felt the most spiritual he had ever felt. So there he lays now.

The urn’s shadow box holds his glasses, his wedding ring, his Navy card, and the Q and the X squares from our Scrabble game. Because the Q and the X are worth the most points, and he loved getting them while he was here, and I know he’s using them in Heaven.

For me, this is the day the music died. Dance With My Father.

Stuffed animals. Every freaking kid has them. One day you have no children and a very organized house. The next day you have this adorable baby and a house full of plush, fuzzy adorable stuffed little animals with glassy button eyes littering every corner. They come in truckloads and like Noah’s Ark, sometimes in doubles. Sometimes they show up for no reason other than an in-law thought that your kid HAD to have the promotional teddy bear that he picked up from a trade show. Sometimes, YOU buy them because well, YOU thought the little baby Bald Eagle with the Air Force Academy shirt was just too cute not to bring home. Birthdays parties 1-3, Lord have mercy! And so it goes, the walls of your home start busting at the seams with adorable stuffed animals.

I am not a pack-rat. I don’t like clutter. I do, however, have a very hard time parting with things that hold sentimental value. Sometimes my definition of “sentimental” gets stretched a little but I do try. And I REALLY just can’t bring myself to throw those damn stuffed animals away.

When I was a kid, my mom would read us The Velveteen Rabbit. If you aren’t familiar with the story then the basic premise is that there is this stuffed rabbit that is loved by this adorable little boy. The boy gets scarlet fever. When recovering, the boy has to go away, begs to bring his beloved bunny but instead the beloved bunny gets incinerated in the back yard while the oblivious little boy is off terrorizing sea gulls somewhere along the coast with his new sterile stuffed rabbit.  Since the little boy loved the germ-infested bunny, it emerged from the ashes as a real bunny and migrated next door to eat the neighbor’s tomato plants (ok, I made that last tomato plant part up, but you get the idea).

It ruined me. And yes, I know that “they” are not really alive. I know that “they” don’t have feelings. I know that” they” won’t care if “they” are compacted into a dumpster in between last night left-overs and the neighbor’s bathroom trash, but still! Those black shiny eyes! I feel so guilty every time I try to throw one away. They LOOK at me and it’s like their eyes are saying “NO, please no! Don’t you know the story of the Velveteen Rabbit? What will become of us? Can’t you at least have the decency to burn us so we can turn into real bunnies, kittens, giraffes and Scooby Doo’s and eat your cucumber plants in the back? That wouldn’t be weird. Have you NO SOUL?”

And let’s face it, nobody wants someone else’s used stuffed animals. That’s just gross. Too much saliva involved. I don’t think any of the charities will even take them if I begged. We don’t live in a Pixar film like Toy Story III (stop reading right now if you don’t want to know the ending) where our sweet gently used stuffed pets will gladly be accepted into the arms of a precious little neighbor girl and be loved all over again. COME ON! This is reality! Oh wait, reality suggests that the stuffed animals DON’T GIVE A SHIT!

Am I the only one who has this issue? I’m thinking this might not be normal.

For now, I have about $100 worth of plastic bins in the attic chock full of fake animals that have no souls. And there they will stay along with my Cabbage Patch dolls, high school trophies and wedding dress. Pray that our attic never catches fire or it’s going to look like the Fort Worth Zoo on steroids jumping from our roof.

XOXO

Roxy

As a society, have we been so jaded that assuming the worst in everything is the safer assumption to make? My friend and I went out last Thursday to meet up with one of her old friends.

Old friend is in her late 30’s divorced, single parent, who has been around the single block for a while. She’s out one night, meets this extremely good looking guy who is visiting from Australia, ends up falling head over heels in love with him through phone conversations, etc.

He came back to the states for two weeks (working on a project here), where she falls even more in love with this guy. We got to meet him the night before he was about to leave, and they both looked really happy.

Then we get in the car, and friend immediately says ‘I bet he’s fucking her over. He probably has another family, etc back in Australia, and just using her while he’s here.’

I have to admit that at times I can be overly naive, and all I could do was sit there and say ‘but he seemed so nice, and they both seemed so into each other.’ I like to believe in the best in everyone. Although, at times I have my doubts, I really try to believe in the good of things.

So I’m not so sure who’s right. Are all men pigs and eventually going to cheat, so you need to think the worst? Or are there some truly good people still out there, and hopefully they’re ‘findable?’

On a much less depressing note, I’m going to Austin tomorrow.  Any must do’s and eat’s?

As of today I can add plumber to my job description. My sink is clogged and this housewife put on her scrubbing gloves and took care of it. (Hubby came a helped too.) And to the people at Lowe’s, yes I want to actually clean the inside of the PVC not just push the clog farther down so don’t look at me like that. And no, I will not use Drain-o. Don’t you know this crunchy mama doesn’t touch that shit.

By the way… can you be allergic to the latex in those gloves but not condoms? Because damn, my hands are itchy and red from those darn gloves.

I’m still chilling in the bed watching all the TV that TV has to offer.  The other day Hubs asked if HBO/Showtime was worth it because it was time to shut it down or renew.  I flew across the room with vampire like speed and stuck my fangs into his neck with perfect precision.  Then I got into a mini van and tried to flee to Canada because my son smacked a chick with a mallet.  But I couldn’t make it across because Craig M. was at the border and he refused to give me a rose, leaving me with only one thing left to do – play Disney Princess with Tenley.

And if you don’t watch any TV you will not understand one fucking thing I just wrote, which is perfectly OK.  Just pretend you’re in any of the shows on HGTV.

I so desperately wish to see The Other Guys, and some other stuff I can’t remember now.  But, alas, I’m stuck in my lovely bed.  Any movies I could rent, or are must sees for you guys?  I’m so desperate I even watched some movie about Pippa Lee this morning.  It’s just sad.

The seed has been planted, now it’s time to watch her grow.

We met the teacher. We brought the school supplies. We have the outfit. I’ve been exhaustively practicing my ‘happy face’ and I have officially chewed my nails down to the nubs. Today is my our her big day.

As much as I love you all, today I am locking my communication tools away in a drawer and am going to savor and embrace the day. I plan on squeezing as many memories out of it as I can. I pray I don’t get run over in the car pool lane in the middle of savoring a moment. I should probably keep my eyes open, huh?

Best of luck to reader “Brian” as you ship your own princess off to second grade today as well. Have a great day everyone!!!

Kindergarten Cartoons

XOXO

Roxy

Today has been a weird today. Today I finalized the marriage, ended that chapter in my life, and made a decision to officially move on.

Here’s what’s weird. I haven’t been sad much. I was at first, and then we had the tipping point fight. The fight where he didn’t have time or money and wanted me to drive one of the dogs up to him, since I had nothing better to do (to him, anyway). I lived in the moments of calling each other names. Me telling him he was a piece of shit, and him telling me I was a selfish bitch. I lived in the bliss that I felt the first time he told me he needed something, and I could, with immense relief, utter the words ‘it’s not my problem.’

I forgot about the happy times.

Today, however, it all slapped me in the face. I made the decision last night that I was going to go. A friend of mine completed his the day before and gave me the script and stuff that I would need. Throughout the night I had nightmares. Every relationship, job opportunity, business deal, etc had all been ruined by the time I woke up. Everything had ended, and as I ran this morning, Coldplay’s The Scientist, played in my ear. That song always hit me hard.

I drove to Denton. Denton was where it all began. He had just moved there when we met because he was starting a doctoral program. Where our current house was filled with the shit memories, Denton was filled with the good memories. I blasted The Scientist all the way there. I wouldn’t let myself cry because I hate crying. However, when I saw the TWU towers, the good memories filled my mind, and my bottom lip started to quiver. Within seconds the tears were flowing.

To get to the court house, I basically had to drive the same route to his old house, and I remembered that I really did love him. I remembered thinking he was the smartest man ever, and I remembered how good looking I used to think he was. I remembered driving down that street, so excited that I was about to see him. I remembered that he really did used to love me.

I went through security, pulled up my sunglasses and asked the security guard where I should go to finalize a divorce. I saw the sympathy in his eyes when he saw my tear streaked face. When I see that, I usually burst into a ‘No, no, really, don’t feel sorry for me, this is a good thing.’ However, today, I just stayed silent as he pointed me in the right direction.

I sat in shock as a I saw a room filled with people, decrees flying everywhere, and once moments of joy and happiness all being finalized to end. I know I had always felt hesitant about relationships, but watching this scared the shit out of me.

I read my script, and asked this complete stranger to make it all go away, and grant that the end to actually happen.

In the same town that it all began, it ended.

My favorite lyrics from The Scientist:

Nobody said it was easy. It’s such a shame that we’re apart.
Nobody said it was easy. No one ever said it would be so hard
Oh take me back to the start…

Dear Male Readers… this post ranks right up there with a girly PMS post so be warned. Twila can not talk about sex for the next 4-6 months because she is angry that she let her Hubby do the deed in the first place to put her in this position. That and I am sure that an entire post on my lack of sleep might be even more boring.

“My va-jay-jay is pain’n” – Oprah Winfrey

That’s pretty much what I want to scream from my 130 degree roof top right now. Why the fuck don’t they tell you that this is a side effect of pregnancy. That my cooch is going to swell up like a new born baby’s genitalia and hurt like hell. And when it doesn’t hurt like hell, it throbs… or if I’m lucky, all feeling is gone. Actually, about 80% of the time I have no feeling down there. I had a sneaking suspicion that all feeling was gone but didn’t totally believe it until I went to the dr the other day and had to give a urine sample.  I didn’t even realize that pee had started to come out until the cup runneth over. How the fuck don’t you feel piss coming out of you?  I’ve started just sitting on the pot an extra 20 seconds after just in case I haven’t actually finished and just thought I did.

Another problem of swollen cooch, parts have never touched fabric before. So I am chafing. The most sensitive area of my body is now rubbing up against my undies and it is not pleasant. I’m not waddling because the baby is big, I’m waddling because I am doing everything in my power to keep my cooch from being rubbed raw. It’s definitely puts me in a bit of a mood.

Oh, and dear, poor Hubby. It seems that even though sexual intercourse is somewhat manageable, I can’t really feel it. What I do feel is afterwards, when the cooch is throbbing for a good 4 hours afterwards causing me to want to curl up into the fetal position and place the Cookie Monster ice pack on it.

Is this shit normal? I think I might have a slight memory of it before but I do suffer from pregnancy amnesia. Because let’s face it, if you really remembered how miserable you were everyone would be an only child.