Just add tissue

What happens when you take the ingredients for a complete emotional meltdown and then add a cute but sappy chick flick to the mix? You get me last night, having a full on crying jag in the parking lot of the movie theaters. Thank goodness it was after the movie though as I am just not one of those pretty crying types…I don’t have the lone tear drop softly falling down my cheek look. You don’t see me crying and think Renee Zellwegger from “Jerry Maguire”. And, fortunately, it was a short lived waterworks session that I think I just needed to release before heading home.


I guess I should start with why I was a walking time bomb of stress and pent up tears. First, after years of putting off the inevitable I am going to the hospital tomorrow to have a partial hysterectomy. Believe me, I know, in a few weeks I am going to be so happy to have this behind me. But, right now, I’m freaking out about the procedure, struggling with the finality of this decision, about my kids if something happens, about my mother coming to stay for gosh knows how long…maybe I should have started with that! I don’t handle people taking care of me well at all…as a matter of fact, I’m kind of mean about it. Add that predisposition to patient witchiness and add in the character who makes me crazier than usual and well, pretty sure I see a recipe for extra pain killers in my future. But, of course, the key to my independence is no narcotics so I can drive so I will be in quite the pickle.

Adding to the hormonal roller coaster was an out of the blue, completely unexpected text from Alex. Yes, Alex, my Mr. Big…the one I hadn’t texted in months and was so proud of myself that I was thinking a pair of Michael Kors boots should be on my Christmas list (c’mon, Santa, I’ve been that good). Anyhow, here I was sitting in a very important meeting, giving a presentation to a group of our board members and being what I would like to assume was incredibly impressive when I saw I had received two text messages. As this was the day of the recent Virginia Tech shooting I had been getting check ins from family and friends so casually glanced at the sender list and literally dropped my phone. There, in bold print was his nick name with a five word message saying he was sorry to hear about the shootings. My shaking hands picked up the phone, hit end and I sat back in my chair feeling like I’d just been punched in the stomach. Really? After months of not responding to my occasional hi text with no contact on birthdays, holidays, Tuesdays…this was when he chose to send a check in. And, of course, like alcoholic who can’t resist the allure of his favorite drink, I texted back. Nothing too personal but a text just the same. And, then, of course, silence…and numerous mental rereads of the message. Why now? Why that? And, why nothing else? Was this because I hadn’t checked in for months? Knowing him and knowing his control/hold over me, I knew part of it was for that exact reason…to make sure I hadn’t completely forgotten him. To make sure I knew I hadn’t really shaken him from my system. And, for that, I was so mad…at him and at me! But, like that same alcoholic who fell of the wagon for that brief time, I started over and am now at day 6. I can do this…and Michael Kors boots are in my future.

Now, we get to the finale, a great night with wonderful girlfriends seeing “New Year’s Eve”…a cute movie about love in all shapes and sizes and living life with no regrets…wow…do you see why I went through a box of tissues?! Here I am, 2 ½ years after leaving Alex and I’m still alone. Alone, by choice, really, but alone nonetheless. I realize I just sat through 90 minutes of fictional happiness but I still couldn’t shake the temporary fit of despair regarding my current position…wondering when I’ll be able to find someone to kiss under the mistletoe.

Depression is not a state I like to visit, let alone live in, so I wiped my tears, turned up the music and started to head home. But, first, checked my phone to find a very sweet smile inducing text from Tony Soprano and really, for now, I’m going to think that is all I need.

Nice Guy with an Edge

My self named crazy aunt did one of her quick over night visits on her way to Palm Springs last night and as we were talking she made a rather profound (well, at least profound to the Nyquil pumping chest cold shadow of my former self I was at the time) statement. I was telling her about the date I went on Sunday night…don’t worry, I’m going to tell all of you about it too…and commented that the man in question may have been too nice. She said, “at some point you realize there isn’t such a thing as too nice…I get wanting men with an edge but don’t forget edges can cause bruises”. Wow…is this kind of like “letting a nice guy be nice to you”? And, if so, maybe these are those signs I keep thinking I’ll see when the time is right. Or, are they just like billboards you pass on the freeways…the ones that you see so often you don’t even notice them anymore?


Anyway, as I mentioned in my last blog, I did close down (again…and for the final time) my profile on the online dating site. However, prior to shutting it down, I received an email from a guy who seemed to be relatively smart, not bad looking, held down a job and actually had all of his teeth. After a couple of weeks of fun texts, emails and phone calls, I agreed to a quick drink. Of course, schedules were a nightmare so we finally picked a night and I wasn’t actually nervous. Granted, life has a way of throwing curve balls so when the night in question came around and I was suffering through the beginning of the aforementioned chest cold, I was very tempted to bag the whole thing and curl up on my couch with a sappy Nicholas Sparks book and a Jack Daniels laced cup of tea. But, you’d all be very proud of me because I put on my hot jeans, boots and cute but not too sexy top and went for it! And, to be perfectly honest, I had a very nice time.

He’s cute, not make my heart skip a beat hot, but nice looking…very tall, former football player, Italian contractor so, of course, he will now be referred to as Tony Soprano. I’d love to say it was love at first sight, actually, no I wouldn’t love to say that because he has been separated less than 6 months so it wouldn’t be smart on my part. But, really, no worries, because I didn’t feel butterflies but a part of me really wanted to. He has his own contracting business, coaches his sons’ various football teams, sounds like he has a great house, complimented me on my looks, and you could tell he’d be the kind of guy who’d cover you with an afghan if you fell asleep on the couch. I just know he’d be too nice…yes, I need to have my head examined. As well, I may be borrowing trouble as it isn’t like he has asked me to marry him. He did send the appropriate follow up texts yesterday and today though so I do think he was somewhat impressed…I’m still surprised when guys think they are lucky to go out with me. Wow…pretty much 10 therapy sessions needed in just one paragraph.

Anyhow, back to the profound statement…I think at age 42, I do still need the edge…at least a little bit of one. I like playing the back and forth game a little…I don’t want to be in constant question of how a man feels about me, but I also don’t want to know I can be in charge. If Tony Soprano asks me out again, I think I’ll go but I will also keep occasionally texting Hot Electrician and thinking that Nice Guy with an Edge isn’t really asking too much.

Because I said so...

Don’t you hate it when your own advice comes back to bite you in the butt? Well, I do! One might assume that would mean I’d quit giving advice but that is way too rational. No, I’d rather just state for the record, that I am definitely (not proudly) more about “Do as I say, not as I do”. This is never more obvious as now as I just hit hide on my recently re-activated online dating profile. I realized I just told a still single friend in her 30’s that online dating was a good option for her…and even recommended this particular site. But…and, yes…this is justification at its finest…she is in her early 30’s, never been married, and isn’t as set in her ways as me!


Really, if I’m being honest, part of the reason I want off the online dating merry-go-round, in addition to the inordinate amount of weirdos out there, it is because I’m too nice. Don’t roll your eyes…it is true. I started to feel guilty every time I didn’t respond to somebody…truly! Even if there wasn’t a snowball’s chance in Argentina I was going to go out with this person, I felt the need to respond. Why? Who knows! But, the more I responded the more I felt bad. And, who needs that?! So, while logically I know I will never see these people again, the idea that I took myself off the virtual menu at least makes me feel better about blowing off those who sent me messages.

Now, onto the other piece of advice I am not taking…or at least not right now…is “Let a nice guy be nice to you”. Yes, it sounds incredibly sensible and why wouldn’t anyone want someone to be nice to them? And, in my defense, it isn’t that I want someone to be mean to me…really, I don’t! I just know I can’t date someone who is too nice…I have a tendency to walk all over them. I really should come with a warning label…proceed with caution. Do you think they make those in rhinestone?

Freud would have a field day

One of my favorite definitions to repeat to myself is that of insanity…doing the same thing over and over again expecting to get different results. We all do this at some point in time. We are creatures of habit like that…but yet, I still shake my head every time I do something that just proves there is a part of me that Freud definitely would have loved to have gotten hold of. Of course, I am sure you are all wondering what brain challenged activity I engaged in this time but don’t worry, no bones were broken, no alcohol consumed and there were no motorcycles involved. Just my computer and, obviously, a temporary bout of insanity.


Yes, I revisited the world of online dating. Now, before you start your virtual eye rolling and hand wringing, I have an excuse. Well, no not really, but I was prodded sort of. I got to thinking this past weekend (yes, that always gets me into trouble) that I probably ought to expand my dating horizons once again. Mr. Kawasaki is obviously not going to come sweep me off my feet, Hot Electrician is still on his own time frame and I really am not interested in anyone named Tank or Mr. O so really, I need to get out there. And, by out there I don’t mean my latest adventure which is to be in a play again…which is wonderful…but my male cast consists of 2 gay guys and 2 very married guys. Yeah, not meeting anyone there!

So, I did visit the forbidden land of online match making sites with the misguided notion all of the crazies who were there last time met women and had been replaced with the reality version of Steve McGarrett, Mitch Rapp or Matthew Donnally (Necessary Roughness). Hey, give me a break, sometimes I stray into fantasy land but I always come back to reality…or am shoved back. Either way, I learn.

Once again, the ego strokes were great as within 2 minutes of un-hiding my profile I was greeted with several notifications of messages in my in-box. And, really, while the first few were obviously men living in the basement of their mother’s house watching the various online sites 24/7, there were a couple with possibilities. Tall, looked relatively normal, didn’t misspell all of their words and, really, almost funny. I should have known, however, looks can be deceiving and really, these were just ploys to keep me around because after a few friendly emails the true colors come through. Ignoring the continued misspellings of their, there, your and you’re (which as you all know was VERY hard for me) I made it through about 4 emails with someone who used the word cowboy in his username (a good sign I thought) until calling me Special K (really?!?) that he became incredibly surprised that I’d never been to a rodeo…he was shocked even…why, because you know me so well?! I even got past that and explained to him that it interfered with a festival I’m very involved with (and even gave him the name of the event). Granted, I didn’t write in all caps I was past president of the event or that most of my friends came through that event but I highlighted it enough to make it obviously important to me. Well, his response to me started with “I will never go to the XXX Festival again as it was…blah, blah, blah….” Okay, you are automatically out of the running for this pageant based on sheer stupidity. I don’t care if you didn’t have fun at our event but seriously, to slam it, while trying to impress me. Yeah, delete!

I know there are people who swear by these sites…and I will give it another few days…for comic relief reasons alone. But then, I’m going to try to leave the crazy ward by at least not expecting different results!

The Search for the Great Pumpkin (oh, is that what we're calling it these days?)

A neighbor told me yesterday that October is considered a black month. I love my neighbor but often just nod my head when she shares these little tidbits with me because she is also the one who points out the exact time of night she has seen opossums on my roof. While I greatly appreciate the neighborhood watch program she is conducting, I am a tad concerned that she is sitting at her window watching the comings and goings of my house so closely that she knows what time the critters start their rooftop party. Of course, we all know my house doesn’t get that much two legged dance action so I’m not too concerned right now. We’ll revisit the need for an 8 foot fence if necessary in the future.


But I digress, I used to think it was just me who got a little misty eyed watching the annual pumpkin pyramid take shape, or had a touch of the melancholies over the shortening of the days and lengthening of the nights but with her comment, I realized this could be a phenomenon I’m experiencing and not just a sign I’m actually depressed. Granted, it could mean I’m just as crazy as my possum stalking old maid neighbor but…let’s not go there. I’d much rather just believe it is some external environmental factors at work making me crave sugar and chick flicks.

And, while I also know I could start sounding like a broken record (remember those…they were the round things that looked like Frisbees which we’d play over and over again…Shawn Cassidy, Alabama…oh yeah, I’m old!) but I am slightly bewildered by the fact that it has been over 2 years since I left Alex and during that time, he and the 8th dwarf have moved into happily ever after land and I am really no closer to meeting the man of my dreams. That, right there, could be the problem though as the man I’m looking for probably only exists in my dreams. But, I’m not ready to admit that yet. I’m going to just chalk it up to a mid season slump…like too many incomplete passes. Really, if I looked at my record I’m probably 0-3 which isn’t going to win me a Heisman any time soon.

But, just because Mr. Kawasaki didn’t want a follow up date and Hot Electrician still hasn’t figured out he really does want to go out with me…and I really believe he does, I’m not giving up. Somewhere there is someone who wants to wade through the current, climb the fence and find the key that unlocks the barriers I have put up to moving on. He’s out there…and once we get past the gloom, doom and drear of “The Black Month”, I probably won’t even remember being sad about his absence.

Harleys & hairspray

What do you get when you combine 5 almost middle aged women with varying degrees of marital status, 4 inch heels and the threat of a Hell’s Angels retaliation incident? Stumped? Well, you get my Saturday night, of course. Isn’t that what all Saturday nights are like?!


Of course, the weekend didn’t start out strange, it started out resembling more a Desperate Housewives episode vs. a night with the Orange County Choppers as I attended the auction for my kids’ school. The annual event this year had a denim & diamonds theme so my Friday night was spent with enough bling to rival the MTV Music Awards and enough hair spray to blow a new hole in the ozone. I don’t mind attending these things as a solo as then I don’t have to worry about entertaining anyone but I wouldn’t have minded bidding on a few items that I would need a Sugar Daddy for. However, overall my role went well and I liked the way my butt looked in my jeans so I’m putting it in the win column.

Because I seem to jam all my crazy activities for the year into one weekend, I left the auction to head to the coast to the 1st of two birthday evenings for girlfriends. I missed dinner but caught up with a group of ladies at a fun beach hang out that happened to be celebrating 80’s night…complete with costumes. Well, considering I was dressed more for the Cattlebaron’s Ball in Houston, I didn’t quite gel with the patrons. Of course, none of my friends did either, especially since one of them was actually born in the 80’s! Seriously! After much laughter and a few moments of wondering why anyone would think the fashion of the 80’s was smart to revisit, we called it a night and headed home.

Of course, the smart thing to do would have been to sleep in, catch up on DVR’d shows and do laundry all day but hey, since when did I do that?! So, after 4 hrs of sleep, I was up, walking with a group of ladies, headed to my daughter’s basketball game then showered, changed and ready for round two. Hey, even if I am still smarting a little over the lack of follow up from Mr, Kawasaki, I am all for having fun with the ladies! So, hair straightened, eye make-up done and heels on, I was ready to go!

After a great meal with a few margaritas and again, lots of laughter, we were ready for a little more so headed to the cowboy bar from a month back. However, where it was wall to wall tight Wranglers and boots that first night, the 2nd trip had more elastic banded polyester pants and loafers. The crowd definitely noticed when we walked in, mostly because we lowered the average age by a good 20 years…and we were celebrating birthdays in the 40’s! But, we are a group who bring the fun with us so settled in for a few more laughs. However, when the band was ½ way through a popular Eric Clapton song before we even recognized the tune, we decided to move on. But to where…

As we drove to the next possible location, we realized there was absolutely no one on the streets…no cars, no people, no one. It was like one of those scenes in a tornado/hurricane movie where the newbie from California walks outside to comment on how peaceful it is when really it was just the eye of the storm moving over. Well, as we drove by possibility #2, we started getting text messages from various friends in town warning us that there had been a shooting at a Hell’s Angels funeral earlier in the day and the troops were moving Southward, straight into our path. That is when we realized, the ghost town scene was actually much more reminiscent of an old Western when the women and children were locked behind boarded windows and doors waiting for the shoot out to be over. That is when we realized, thank goodness, that someone was sending us a sign…a neon sign that blazed “GO HOME”!!! A biker town, in the middle of a turf dispute was no place for 5 women in designer jeans and high heels…at least not unless they were looking to fulfill some sort of Harley Davidson fantasy.

Overall, the weekend was a lot of fun, a true reminder that I have amazing friends…old and new, I really am content and that, more than anything, I must have known somehow, as a child who had incredibly irrational fears about the Hell’s Angels that they were going to be a part of my life!

Same place, different time

I hate when I go so long between blogs because then I feel like I have to be extra entertaining for you to want to come back again, or I need to have a litany of exciting adventures I have experienced lately to explain my absence. Unfortunately I feel I may fail at both but at least I am back and apologize for being away.


The life of a single working mom of two active pre-teen kids is busy enough but you throw in volunteer work and then even the inkling of having a life of your own and really, you run out of day long before you run out of things to do. I have great intentions of being able to work off these extra 20 pounds, spend time with my girlfriends who are going through a time of transition and oh yeah, maybe having time to meet someone, let alone have a relationship with him. But, in all honesty, I wouldn’t trade this for being bored and depressed any day of the week so I’ll just up my Starbucks intake.

While my absence was not filled with crazy antics or hours of romance with Hottie McHottie from Hawaii Five-0, I did meet up with a starring actor in a few blog posts from the past. You used to know him as Cutie but I just can’t handle that name (nor could I then) so, in honor of his motorcycle, we’re calling him Mr. Kawasaki. I know, not very original, but it makes me feel less like I'm talking about either a toddler or one of those Clementine tangerines so it's all good!

Anyhow, one of my events for work had me in his facility a few weeks back, and since we'd been emailing again lately, we decided to meet for a quick hi.  I was feeling somewhat cute (and not overly fat) so was game for a glass of wine at his place.  And, if we all remember, he met several of the items on the list, he's hot, smart, spells all of his texts correctly, drives a truck, likes football, but was minus a few very important ones...he is 9 years younger than me which really covers a lot.  But, it was just a glass of wine, right?  Oh yeah...the wine led to a little more but that is when I realized I'm really way too self conscious about my body to ever enjoy being with someone again.  So, if I'm not going to be comfortable, how am I ever going to believe someone really wants me?

I realize how that sounds, and know there are feminist self help gurus freaking out all over the globe about my lack of self esteem, ignorance about the true woman's body, the horrors of the Barbie generation on the pysche of women (or is that just what my mother would say?) but this is the way I feel.  Logically I know Mr. Kawasaki is hot so, really, it isn't like he's desperate and is willing to be all over the first woman he sees. But, to the 42 year old woman who doesn't like her reflection in the mirror, guys just must like action.  Why do we do this to ourselves?  And, even though I had a great time with him, and smiled the whole way home that night, the way I always do after seeing him, why do I feel like he didn't wake up with a smile the next day like I did?  I know men and women are wired differently so why be surprised?!

Mr. Kawasaki has never been what I'm looking for in the forever sense of the world so why should I care if he is pining over me or not?  It is because it is what we do.  We talk big (I know I do) but we want to be wanted, loved, missed, etc...and while we can understand the male psyche (some of us more than others) we are still from Venus.  So, instead of beating myself up for wanting him to call for a next date, I'm going to try to remind myself this was a 18 month flirtation that really does show me you never know what can happen and people may enter your life at a time that isn't right, but just may visit again later.  Hey, I know it is pushing it on the philosophy side of things but it is what is making me smile tonight...that and a glass of Sterling Chardonnay.

Mother knows best...

Of course we all remember the iconic series, Father Knows Best and I don't want anyone to think I've hit my head and now believe my mother makes sense, but for this blog, we are going to consider her the exception and not the rule.  For today's lesson, it is the moms who know what they are talking about and really, their sons need to listen!  And, I'm also going to assume the premise of this blog to be true when it comes time for my son to date...which at age 12 will be years from now!!!  Hey, it is again my fantasy world so let me live it.

I was hit with one my mind blowing epiphanies again this past weekend...okay, they blow no one's mind but I did find it at least blog worthy.  As I was reviewing my FB friends list, and thinking about who and where I spend a lot of my time, I realized I am friends with the mothers of almost every guy I've ever seriously dated (or in one case want to date)...and wondered what exactly does that mean?  Does it mean that I am the type of woman moms want to their sons to end up with?  Or, does it mean I've spent way too many years trying to impress the wrong person?  (Hey, their dads like me too...I mean the man himself!)  Or, finally, does it mean I'm attracted to men who just can't figure out what they want and definitely don't want to date the woman their mom likes? Maybe if I can figure out the reason, I will be able to complete the dating trifecta and have the whole family actually like me.

A friend and reader theorized a few weeks ago that "nice guys don't finish last" as they actually just date the wrong women and end up feeling that way.  And, maybe that is all related.  Maybe the nice guys are dating the needy women...the ones who are like a train wreck just waiting to happen...the ones the mothers definitely don't like...because they want to feel needed...and because they certainly don't want to feel like they are pleasing their moms. Then, when they've helped pick these women up, get them settled and stop them from derailing, the women don't need them anymore and they are off to the next exciting adventure...leaving the nice guys feeling like they've just gone 4 quarters with the New Orleans Saints defensive line. 

Add to that the fact most of us nice, normal, perfect women (ahem, I mean me) are too busy pining over, being attracted to, planning fantasy weddings (wait, did I actually type that) with the wrong guy...or the wrong guy for right now...even if their moms really do like us...and you have the formula for several hours of therapy on the couch. 

My task, for when I decide I'm really ready to date, is to differentiate between the guys who want to find the woman who actually complements the family game night table vs. the ones who are looking to create shock value when they bring home their latest stiletto wearing, open mouth gum chewing, personality lacking flavor of the week...Hey, just generalizing here.

Love through the ages...

My life has turned into one of those Ladies Home Journal Articles, the ones that say "How to find love, lose weight, be a good mom, etc...when you are in your 20's, 30's or 40's".  But this edition is more like "How to manage your life when you are newly separated, a divorcee pro or a happily married woman who has spent more years with her husband than without" as that describes our version of the 3 Stooges. And, what is even more amazing to me is that while our individual circumstances are very different, the emotions we experience and the insecurities we harbor are very similar.  Is this where we thought we'd be in our lives?  My butt used to be hot, now it is just a hot mess.  How am I going to find, want or keep a man when my dress size now is coming close to doubling my shoe size?  Where exactly does all the money go each month? And, really, when do you just decide to be happy with who and what you are at any given time?

As I thought about our latest adventure out in the real world (the world that exists outside of my one friend's kitchen, where we drink wine, laugh and our problems don't seem quite so overwhelming) I was reminded once again that everyone has issues, and really, and this makes me seem incredibly selfish, my issues are truly the smallest of them all. Phew!  I've gone from being the "oh, poor thing", cry at the drop of a hat, fragile walking wounded to just the one more dog away from crazy dog lady wandering the aisles of Safeway when she gets older...and, believe me, that is an improvement. 

No, now, I can be the supportive friend: the one who talks the newly separated one off the proverbial ledge where she hovers between insane anger and utter despair.  Reminding her that yes, there is life out there and by taking each day, one step at a time, you make it through 24 hours, and then 48 and then a week and amazingly, one day you will be on the other side, serving as the rock for her friend that will be going through the same thing. 

I can also now be the friend who plays Wing Man to her married friend's subtle reminder to the not so subtle unhappily married housewife that her husband is off limits.  This friend, who is truly, without a doubt, one of the most naturally beautiful women ever...but that doesn't protect her from wondering how susceptible might any husband be to the overt appreciation and flirting by someone other than his wife of 25+ years.  Playing a role in the type of game play that makes 4 star generals jealous proved once again that the dumbest move a person ever makes is to cross a smart woman.  Without saying a direct word or even using a threatening tone of voice, the message is relayed loud and clear "He is married.  He is happy and he is VERY well taken care of".  And then, serving as the friend that assures her life is the way it is supposed to be for her...that while the world around her seems to be collapsing with friends and family members filing through family law offices like the turnstile at Wal-Mart...she actually has what works...a husband who loves her, and the common sense to remind him of that from time to time.

Maybe life isn't supposed to be easy.  If it were, we'd all become complacent and not appreciate the people and experiences that make us smile every day.  While I hate that any of my friends have to experience grief, sadness, or even uncertainty, those challenges are what keep us getting up each morning, ready to take on the day.  Granted, that day will always start at Starbucks and end with a glass of wine, but hey, whatever it takes to get you through...that, and a great group of girlfriends!

Something borrowed, something blue, something in a flask...

There’s some famous quote from some even more famous movie (whose title is escaping me right now…must not have had my fill of brain food, yet…aka jelly beans) that goes something like “I try to get out but they keep pulling me back in”…Oh yeah, The Godfather. And, while I can’t even begin to compare my former husband’s family to the Italian mafia, the sentiment is actually very real right now.


While my FH and I are divorced, I didn’t divorce his family and am still very close to them (much to the ever growing chagrin of the FH GF). By the same token, however, my FH is also pretty tight with members of my family so the ball goes both ways. Of course, I am much more sane and level headed than the Amazon so while I may drink more when he is at a get together (heck, I drink at those anyhow so what’s new?!) I do know he is still the father of my children so I need to suck it up! And, whenever she’s around, there is a whole new level of comedy so really, bring her whenever he wants!

My brother-in-law (brother of FH) got married this past weekend so let’s just suffice it to say, every envelope of sanity was pushed to its extreme limits. The couple of the day has waited a very long time to find one another (he is 39, she is 35) so the level of special was incredibly high. There would be no spotlight stealing at this wedding! However, drama and the Amazon GF seem to go hand in hand so we were all a little cautious. Did I mention the wedding reception was going to be relatively dry (as was the rehearsal dinner!)?

While I wasn’t in the wedding, both of my kids were, and I was in charge of the favors, had the bride to be stay at my house the night before the wedding and was the locale for the family girls getting ready day of…let’s just say I was involved. I realize, to the average reader, that may seem a bit extreme, well…who am I kidding…that is nuts! But, it is the way it is. I totally get that the Amazon GF may not like my involvement but since it doesn’t seem to be changing and well, killing me wouldn’t really help her cause, she just needs to deal.

Her version of dealing, of course, means coming to the wedding in a thigh high bright red, one sleeved dress with 5 inch stiletto rhinestone encrusted pumps and an attitude to match. I should mention here that the wedding was at 1:00 in a church…with the reception…in a church. And, the colors of the wedding were blue…very sedate blue…Of course, the differences between my Barbie Blond hair and classy blue paisley dress and Amazon’s ready for an evening in Vegas ensemble were very evident as we sat in the front row (by assignment) just 3 people apart. For those who missed it, the fact we were at the reserved family table together at the front of the room, they got a second opportunity to ogle at the zoo characters known as the 1st wife and the wanna be wife.

My cheek hurt from biting it, my hands were sore from clenching and my brain was fried trying to make sense of my life…but the wedding was beautiful, my little groomsmen and ring attendant had an amazing time and my future former sister-in-law had the day dreams are made of. And, I once again, was able to show myself and the world (or the small portion we inhabit) that I really am a class act.