Boys build forts, Men build houses

Him: I'm just going to go there for M's birthday for an hour, maybe two and I'll 
be home.  I'm tired. Maybe we can watch a movie.
Me: Ok, and you're sure Da is going to bring you home?
Him: Yup.  He said he'd bring me home.  I love you.
Me: Love you
                                        -Six Hours Later-
*my text conversation with his sister*
Me: What do you mean Da left? 
Sister: But guess who's still here?
Me: I'm gonna go home then. He told me Da was supposed to bring him home.  He 
has no phone.  I'm packing.  I can be alone in my own place.
Sister: I'm trying to get him to leave...
Me: Don't bother.

I left.  About 30 minutes later I get a phonecall from a landline.
Him: Heeeyyy. (He is shit-faced) Um...you know...what we had...we're done.
          (almost as if he said, "Pass the potatoes.")
Me: Okay. 
Him: Yeah, um...okay.  So, yeah.  Don't call anymore.
Me: Not a problem  *end button*  Oh, shit.  All my stuff is there.  Oh well.  
Just like my marriage.  Leave it all.  It's just stuff.  Only stuff.  
Replaceable. 
It was a lot easier than I thought. It wasn't the first time he'd promised he'd 
be home.  It wasn't the first time I came into town to be with him and he'd left 
me for hours in his place, but it was the last time I would stand for it.
 In less than a minute later the landline calls again.  I was still driving home 
and I really didn't have anything more to say so I let it go to voicemail.
Him: Um...so, yeah...(something unintelligible) and don't call back on this 
number because it's not my phone. 
Ok, so you're calling me...to tell me..not to call you.  Right. Not gonna be a 
problem. I finished driving home and went to bed. 

The next day my mother was having major surgery and I was trying to just get 
through her craziness.  She tends to have a touch of the dramatic only when it 
comes to herself and was very nervous.  She was already driving the nurses to 
drink.  The doctor came in and Mom started asking him the same questions she'd 
asked the nurses, and I guess she'd already asked him these questions, too, in 
the numerous phone calls she'd made to his office.  My God, he had the patience 
of a saint.  When is the anesthesiologist coming? I ended up telling my parents 
a brief synopsis of what had happened the night before and they gave me the same 
speech they'd given so many times already of, "He'll never be more than what he 
is. He likes his life. You deserve better." Blah blah blah. I get a call. It's 
him.  I let it go to voicemail. 

Him: Uh, yeah, I'm just giving you a call to find out what your deal is.  I get 
home and you're not here.  I see your message on facebook about how I don't care 
about you.  You're flipping people off in pictures. Just give me a call and let 
me know what's going on.
He has no recollection of what happened.  He doesn't remember breaking up with 
me.  I send him his drunk voicemail telling me not to call anymore. He sends 
back a text saying it's because he was mad. He asks when he's going to see me, I 
tell him, "You're not.  We're done." He'd opened the door and I ran through it.  
However, it did not go over well.  A barrage of texts come back about how I 
always have to be in control and I knew where he was and I should've come to get 
him.  Excuse after excuse just keeps coming, which at this point, it would've 
been easier just to number them so instead of his meaningless justifications, he 
could just shout out, "NUMBER 37," and I'd know that was, "You met me in a bar 
and you know I like to drink," or, "NUMBER 52," which was, "I'm almost done 
working. I'm just gonna stop for one or two and I'll be home."  My favorite, 
which NEVER happened..."NUMBER 322," "I'm going to take you out on a date to a 
nice dinner."  OH!!! No no no, it's, "NUMBER 12," ..."I PROMISE I'LL PAY YOU 
BACK." LOL. Anyway, I digress.   I told him if he continued the abusive 
calling/texting...I think I said, "I swear on my children's heads, I will block 
you and you will never hear from me again." He replied with, "Whatever 
Freakshow," which was a favorite pet name for all of his ex-girlfriends along 
with psycho's 1-4.  I said, "Phone's off." He said, "So is your brain." He told 
me to go fuck myself. I  excused myself from my mother's hospital room, walked 
into the waiting area of Northwestern, called AT&T, and blocked his number and 
vowed no more.  
I spent the next few weeks packing and unpacking bags at my apartment. Getting 
new clothes, taking out the old ones and taking off again.  One trip to Lake 
Geneva, another to a friend's trailer near the dells, anywhere but alone in my 
apartment until finally I came home and climbed into my bed.  And there I stayed 
for three days.  If I did eat, I ate in my bed.  I stared at the tv and watched 
mindless shows. I cried on and off constantly. I didn't talk to anybody, nobody 
called, texted, which was good because I was shit for company.  Nothing made 
sense. I spent almost a full 12 hours online trying to find my next destination 
to escape to.  I couldn't comprehend that no matter where I was going, I was 
still taking me along and I couldn't escape the sadness.  I was deciding between 
Las Vegas, New York, Miami, or Jamaica to get away.  I had almost drained my 
battery on my ipad for the third time when I clicked on a link for a retreat in 
Sedona, AZ.  I knew NOTHING of Sedona, but I clicked.  I was bored, my eyes were 
swollen from crying.  I started to read about healing, no obligation if you want 
to just call, yackity-yack, personal experiences, not group therapy...and I knew 
this is where I was supposed to be.  I felt it.  This is where I have to go.  I 
don't know how I am going to afford this, but the bigger question...how can I 
afford NOT to go?  I went to bed that night praying on it, although I'm no 
prayer, and would call in the morning.  
Morning comes and I call.  It's a recording.  I don't leave a message.  I 
chicken out and hang up.  Instead I go back to the website and type in my 
information and go back to watching the tv and crying.  I was a fucking sight, 
let me say.  About an hour later the phone rings.
Voice: Robyn? My name is Regina...(immediately my eyes well up with tears and I 
can barely talk) This is what I take as my first sign from the Universe.  It's 
like I'd forgotten all my work with Mama (Re)Gena and the School of Womanly 
Arts. I had dreamed about the Sister Goddess community the previous night.
Me: Of course your name is Regina. (I laugh a weak laugh) We talk and I choke on 
my tears. She's so endearing.  Listening to every word and taking in every 
moment being so present with me. I must've sounded like a mental patient. Like, 
standing on a mountain top singing at the top of my lungs, mental patient. She 
tells me about the Soul Adventure, how much it costs, how I have to fly to 
Phoenix, rent a car, and drive two hours into the desert. Regina obviously knows 
nothing of my driving skills or she would never put the people of Arizona in 
this kind of danger. She suggests my lodging.  A reasonable and adorable condo 
called the, "Dusty Rose." I can hear the Universe is laughing at me.  I'm sure 
of it.  "Dusty Rose." Jesus, really? She sets an itinerary for me which includes 
a very important Goddess ritual. The Universe slaps me in the ass and says, "Get 
on a plane." 
Regina: When were you thinking of coming?
Me: Today.  Now. I'm not fucking kidding.  Now. 
Regina: Ok, let me see if I can arrange the appointments for you and you see if 
you can get a ticket and I'll call you back. (She's as calm as can be)
Regina calls back within 15 minutes.  I have her on speaker phone.  At the same 
time she's going over my itinerary, I am brushing my teeth (the first time I've 
been out of bed in three days), throwing random shit in a suitcase, and walking 
downstairs to my lobby where the taxi picks me up. It's forty-five minutes after 
my initial call with Regina.  I called my mother from the airport and told her 
I'd be back in about 5 days.  She is concerned, but tells me to do what I have 
to do. In less than two hours from the time I woke up that morning, I was now 
waiting to get on a plane to start an adventure that would change my life 
forever.  

I've always had amazing luck when I travel.  But because I booked my ticket so 
late, I am sandwiched in between a big, bearded, burly man who was a hunter to 
my left. He told stories of how the bears on his land would come right up to his 
window and open the garbage cans almost taunting him. And a dainty, older woman 
to my right,  named Darlene.  She and I did crossword puzzles the whole way to 
Arizona together. She was lovely, soft-spoken. The ride was horribly bumpy and 
made us all nervous.  When my seat-mates found out I had just picked up and 
left, they were astounded at my bravery...or lack of common sense. (You say 
tomato...) I didn't tell them anything other than I was going on a much needed 
vacation. When we landed, Darlene out of nowhere looked at me and said, "You 
know, Robyn, God loves you.  It's all going to be alright." I knew she was sent 
to me. I smiled at her and said, "Thanks, Darlene. I know." Got off the plane, I 
got my rental car and a free upgrade, of course.  I told you...I'm lucky like 
that...and they let me pick whatever car I wanted, and off I went with my phone 
GPS and a map (what the hell is that)  into the desert.  The mountains were 
insane to look at.  It felt as if they were pulling my whole body as I drove.  I 
called my best friend because it was just so crazy to see, I had to share it 
with somebody.  K gave me encouraging words of wisdom as usual.  When I arrived 
at my casita, the Dusty Rose, (bloody hell) I called my Point of Contact, 
Kristin Marie, (oh yeah, that was another Universe ha-ha, considering one of my 
closest friends of 20+ years is named that) to tell her I'd arrived safely.  I 
set my bag down and had a good cry for five minutes.  Boo hoo, bam, Done.  Found 
a steak place on Yelp right next to me to go eat.  The Golden Goose and I had a 
crazy-wonderful server, Luanne.  Big booming voice and could rattle off twelve 
different salad dressings in 10 seconds.  She smiles. Almost like she knew I 
needed extra loving. I had a phenomenal meal, was taken care of like a queen, 
went home and went to bed. ZZzzzzzNNNooopppee!!! Couldn't sleep a wink. The next 
morning I got myself together and headed over to meet Kristin Marie and the 
staff for my orientation.  When I meet KM, she is a spitting image of a woman I 
know here in Highland Park.  I had to do a double take.  She is so lovely and 
her energy is calming.  There's a woman behind a desk, I can't remember her 
name, but she hands me a bottle of water, a package of kleenex, (uh oh) and 
tells me she's from Northbrook.  Oh, Universe, you are hilarious, but I'm 
getting freaked out with your signs.  KM tells me about the different services 
that I'm going to have and where they are, she gives me a map (are you freakin' 
kidding me? Why don't you just hand me a ham?)  and tells me we're going to go 
over to the founder's house, Debra, now to meet. When we arrive at Debra's, the 
door opens and I'm greeted by a big golden retriever.  I don't know if I've ever 
mentioned it, but I didn't get to keep my dogs in my divorce and it was very 
hard for me. My dogs (both shelter rescues) slept with me in the bed and were 
like my furry kids. Right away the dog comes up to me and places her mouth, ever 
so gently on my forearm.  What the hell?  Debra tells me, "That's how golden's 
say hello and show they like you.  But I've never seen Daisy do that to a 
stranger before, have you, KM?" I almost cried. Yes, yes, her dog's name is 
Daisy.  MY dog's name is/was named Daisy.  SMACK SMACK. Pretty soon these are 
going to leave a mark.  Daisy won't leave my side the whole time we're all 
talking.  Debra tells me how she started the Soul Adventure and I tell her how I 
got to them.  "Sometimes it just happens this way.  When you know it's right and 
you get the call, you have to go." 
KM and I go into a room in Debra's house that is used as a meditation room. We 
sit in chairs and KM says to me, "I'm going to guide you in a meditation and 
balance your chakras.  The best thing you can do is just jump right in with both 
feet and open yourself up."  Okie dokie, here goes nothin.
KM leads/talks me through a series of colors, images, breathing, and moments of 
quiet.  My mind wanders and comes back, I think to myself, "am I doing it right? 
This can't be right," but I keep going.  There is no right or wrong.  I feel 
energy moving through my body. I ask myself thoughtful, mindful questions. I 
give myself a quiet moment and I hear it.  A voice.  Whether it was my own, or 
Spirit, or God, whomever you want to believe it was, but I heard it clear as a 
fucking bell.  The voice said to me, 
                                 "Let him go." 
I knew I'd made the right choice.  I'd finally chosen me. This was only the 
first day.  The first hour.  I'm going to stop here for a bit.  There's so much 
that happened, so many people that crossed my path.  People I met on top of the 
rock on Airport Rd watching the sunrise that touched my heart in five minutes.  
Memories that came back from my childhood that I'd forgotten for so long. Pain 
that was healed from what seemed like centuries of shitstorms. I found my path 
again. My purpose.  Do you know what that's like? To get answers that you'd been 
searching for and to finally get direction? I've been given another chance 
again.  I really am blessed.  I figure this is long enough and I will just have 
to do this adventure in pieces.  There's so much more.  I came back from this 
trip a changed person.  So much happened that maybe I'll be able to write 
about...maybe I never will.  I did end up having a conversation when I got back 
from AZ a couple of weeks later that spanned over the course of a couple of 
days.  The conversation ended with me telling my beloved, the man that is/was 
the love of my life... well, it went something like this:
Me: This is not me coming back, Darling.  Nothing has changed at all.  Nothing 
is different from the last time...nor the time before that.  You have used up 
all of your, "Get out of jail free," cards with me.
Him: That's not true.  I'm much better.  Why you gotta be so negative all the 
time?
Me: And what exactly are you doing that is much better?  Are you in a program? 
Are you going to meetings?  Our friends have told me. I know what you're doing.  
You're not better...you're worse! What have you done that gives me ANY reason to 
trust you? Nothing.  So, no, Honey.  This time, no.  I don't believe you 
anymore.
Him: I'm keeping busy.  Staying out of trouble. If we're gonna do this, we have 
to do it together.  You can't be negative all the time. You know, Robyn, and 
don't take this the wrong way, but, do you think you ever had anything to do 
with the reason why I would go to the bar and drink?
                               *SILENCE*
Is he shitting me?  Tell me he didn't just say that.
Me: Don't you blame your drinking on me.  You find any reason to go. Happy, sad, 
celebrating, mad, Kwanza!...
Him: I, I, I'm not blaming you, but, and now don't take this wrong, but, I've 
made a lot of sacrifices...
Me: ...and I've made plenty...
Him: ...and so, do you think, like on the Fourth of July, when there were so 
many other parties...with kids at them...do you think I wanted to be at your 
parents...not that I didn't have fun...but I could've been with my friends...
              I really think he is retarded.  I feel bad using the word 
retarded, but it's the only one that seems to fit.
Me: Are you fucking serious? 
Sidebar: You know when you are watching on the cartoons and the character gets 
mad and you see the red color rise in them like a glass is filling up and then 
the top of their head blows off...yeah...that's me at that moment
You know, Honey, that's what happens when you date someone or you are in a 
serious relationship with someone that has kids...and if you think I was going 
to let my kids come over to X's house, where you and I know it's just going to 
be a big drunken coke-fest?  Absofuckinglutely not.  Maybe that's ok for some 
people, but not my kids.  
Him: Ok, now you're starting to swear so let's just talk later.
Me: Oh, no.  We're finishing this now.  
Him: Well then what the hell are you even talking to me for? If you don't trust 
me, you don't believe me, and you're scared of me. Why the hell are we even 
talking. (this is a method he's used with me quite often and usually I'd stay 
quiet and wait...usually because I was afraid he was leaving.  Weird, right?!) 
Me: You are absolutely right.  There is no reason for us to talk.  Matter of 
fact, don't call me anymore.  Unless, ok, how about this... I don't want to talk 
to you unless you are 30 days sober...and I mean sober.  NOTHING.  I love you.  
I have loved you from the day I set eyes on you.  And I promise you, if you get 
this under control, I drop everything to be here for you.  But until 
then...don't call.  Don't text.  Don't contact me at all until you have thirty 
days. (I have just asked him to build me a spaceship and fly me to Mars. 
Actually, that would've been easier.) 
Him: So what? I'm just supposed to do all this stuff all by myself? Just go and 
fix everything alone and then I can call you?
Me: Exactly.
Him: Well, I guess I'll just talk to you whenever then.
Me: Ok.
Him: Bye *end*
I finished my drive to Milwaukee to see my childhood friend.  Pushed him out of 
my mind.  Had a ball.  At 3am a drunk text comes in on my emergency phone:
"Why must you block me from calling you????"
Um...you just answered your own question, my love. Oh my God, I'm so sorry, but 
I'm not as sad as I used to be.  

Weeks later I saw a video on fb of him on my friend's wall.  I watched it three 
times because it was unbelievable.  He's at least 5 pounds lighter. His mouth is 
all wiggly, and I know  what that means, and he is clearly wasted...wasted out 
of his mind clapping his hands, wobbling back and forth giving that drunk laugh 
that was so different from his true laugh.  How did I stay with that for so 
long?  Why? This was the first time I saw what other people saw and I now 
understood what so many  tried to warn me about years before. I still miss him, 
oddly enough. I miss stupid things.  I used to love to go to the laundromat with 
him and try to fold his shirts like he wanted but never could. I miss how he'd 
fix the bed before we'd get in and how we could be so ridiculous but it was 
totally normal for us. I miss my song he wrote for me and how everybody within 
earshot knew the words and  would sing along.  I didn't mind that it was titled, 
"My Girlfriend Is A Hoochimama, Whoop Whoop." I think if we were still 
together...it would've gone platinum. I've said it before...another time, 
another life.  I didn't leave because I didn't love him.  I left because he was 
sick and I enabled him.  Coming back would only hurt him as much as it would 
hurt me.  At least one of us will get out alive.  

I Am Grateful For:
friends with very warped senses of humor
mountains and cacti
coffee 
sunshine
parents that take me to dinner and make me laugh
my inner voice and my ability to trust it
cowboy boots
my ability to detach from material things

I Brag:
I am strong
I am friendly
I am loved and appreciated by so many
I am a great friend and girlfriend
I am a kick-ass mother and my kids adore me
I make good decisions even if they hurt

I Desire
To keep following my path
Receive flowers
Pet a dog (I miss mine)
Try on very expensive shoes
Get a massage
Sleep past 7:30am

My song picks for this long entry are:
Beautiful Disaster by Kelly Clarkson (perfect Swamp Song)
...and to dance out of the trash bag
Irreplaceable by Beyonce Knowles

As always, my gratitude is overflowing.  Thank you for reading. Love, R

Hi their. Wanted 2 C wut u were up too. Ware'd u go? K.

When I originally started my blog it was because I realized diving back into the 
dating pool was not as easy as I'd thought.  And internet dating, as popular as it 
is, has been the craziest part of the entire experience.  There's something to 
be said for anonymity. People feel safe. They feel bold. It gives them 
permission to be who they want to be or think they are.  They take the filter off 
their brains and just let it rip.  They say things they'd never say in public or 
never want people to say to their mothers, wives, sisters. I'm sure the same 
goes for women, also, but I can't comment on that since I don't look at their 
profiles and I don't receive emails from them.  But in talking to my lesbian 
girlfriends, women are just as bad and maybe even worse when it comes to 
relationships.  I wish I could remember the joke right now about lesbians, first 
dates, and something about bringing a U-HAUL.  Anyway, recently I've been 
getting a slew of emails from men (not in my criteria) that are riddled with 
grammatical errors and spelling fuck-ups.  Nothing annoys me as much in an email 
or profile as when I see something that is so easily corrected. ESPECIALLY when 
I specifically put it in my profile that you must be a better speller than I am 
and at least know the difference between to, too, and two.  Seriously.  How lazy 
have we become that in a profile or a first-impression email we can't write out 
the words, but instead it looks like, "Hey, u look lik sum 1 I want 2 git 2 no."  
I want to peel my skin off when I read this.  "Ware wud u lik 2 go 4 r date."  
How about a fucking bookstore to buy you a dictionary, Pally? So yesterday I'd 
had it.  I think maybe I either need to switch to decaf or up my Wellbutrin. Who 
knows, but I took the FOUR misspelled emails I received yesterday and wrote back to all 
of them.  I did the best I could to not be too bitchy and use my man-training 
skills. Three thanked me.  One I didn't even bother to let 
respond.  I just blocked him and called it a day.  He drained me and took my 
pleasure away so I didn't want to deal with him...I realize when I show my hand 
like this and give the public a glimpse into my mind/life, I take a chance to 
look like a ginormous asshat.  Well, if that's the case, I'm an asshat.  It 
seems funny to end on asshat, but I will.  Ass...hat! Enjoy...

  CORRECTED PROFILE MISSION:
*this was 0087Jay's Header*
"Phenomenonal men looking for an phenomenonal women"
His email to me...

087: Hello gorgeous how are u ?

Me: Hey, thanks for the email. Although you don't fit in my criteria I'd like to 
give you my opinion and you can do with it whatever you want. Are you a MAN or 
are you a MEN? You're a man. Men is plural. You're A man looking for A WOMAN not 
AN WOMEN. Or you're a man looking for women. This opening line is the first 
thing a woman sees when she looks at your profile. You have to fix your typos 
because we women look at that stuff. Good luck to you, Honey. You seem very 
nice.

0087: Thank u i appreciate the correction.

Me: My pleasure

It now reads, "Phenomenonal man looking for an phenomenonal woman."
*sigh* Bless his heart. I've sounded out phen-om-en-on-al about ten times just 
to make sure I was seeing it right.  Yup...that's what it says. 
My lady-friend I sit next to in Starbucks said to me, "It's so nice you did that
to help him.  And you could still be friends with these guys."  and I said to her, 
"Why the hell would I want to be friends with them? Clearly they're idiots?"  

Another one for your viewing pleasure:
"September 18, 2013 the email from CaptainLarry1229 reads...

CL: Your not to bad lookin your self.

ME: I'm hoping you had all these grammatical errors for my benefit and as a 
joke. Good luck on your search

CL: I spelled everything correct.Are you singing Mark I will meet you for a 
drink and maybe dinner? (has this guy ever seen a punctuation mark?)
*he's referring to a picture of me at karaoke where my mouth is open, I'm 
standing in front of a microphone and the caption reads, "Singing at karaoke." I 
wonder if he has had any type of shock therapy. 

ME:""RE: Your not to bad lookin your self"
*You're not *too bad *looking *yourself
So, no. If you're going to be a wise ass, you didn't spell everything 
*correctly. Unfortunately you and I aren't a match. Good luck."

It's official. I'm a total bitch. I have pent up frustration. Hilarious. this is the

one that drained me.

Another email from match.com
Passionatechef4U: Hi *****,
Wow you had me at Hello. I am just a guy asking this very beautiful lady just to 
get to know him more now. 
After read your profile I do see we do have a lot in common to. 
Next I would love to be able to show and explore with you all that Chicago has 
to offer and cook for you with a fire place, and a nice bottle of wine. 
Please don't let the distance get in the way of you and I getting to know each 
other more now to. 
Yes I can tell that your a very special lady and also very worth getting to know 
more. 
Plus would love to talk with you more now to. I am at 847-651-**** or can I call 
you to now. 
David

*Deep Breath*
ME:David, while I appreciate the email, I'd like to offer my opinion and feel 
free to take it with a grain of salt. This email sounds like a general form that 
you've written, copied, and pasted to save yourself time so you can just send it 
to women who's profiles you find interesting. Which is fine, but you should at 
least take the time to go back in and personalize it and tailor it to each woman 
you respond to. For example, tell me what the things are that you and I have in 
common and also, make sure you take out the things that don't pertain to me. You 
and I are only a few miles apart, so the distance line doesn't apply to me. And 
one more thing...in my profile I specifically say I'm big on spelling and 
grammar. Your email is riddled with errors. Know the difference between to and 
too. Use spell check. Girls look at this stuff. Good luck on your search. I hope 
things go well for you.

Passionatechef4u: Thank u. Good luck to you. (You have no idea how glad I am he 
didn't add the last, "too," at the end out of horrible fear that it would be 
wrong, wrong, wrong.)

Email subject line: oH yEaH! (this is a guy who calls himself Spaceknight711)
SK711: I also love the Carpenters... :-)

Me: I have no idea what the hell that is supposed to mean. Good luck to you.

SK711: Opps...
I think i was replying to someone else, and must have accidentally hit your 
profile. But now that I have actually read your profile, I find it hilarious in 
its own right. So, maybe weird stuff does happen and interesting things may come 
of it!

First impressions.  Something you'll never get back...this is a 56 y/o teacher.  
Seems I attract old, short, loopty-loos that can't spell and have 
no filter. Well, in the meanwhile at least I have good writing material and something

to keep me busy at Starbucks. I have to figure out the secret. Maybe I have

to change my profile. "I like beer. I like guns. Boobs."

Maybe I should become a nun. Nevermind the fact 

I'm Jewish. I enjoy it, to be honest.  It keeps me from getting involved

and keeps all the men at arm's length from me. They can't hurt me if they

can't get close to me, right? But that's a whole different story.  Maybe

tomorrow I'll tell you about how I ran away to Arizona and sat on the red

rock to reclaim my sanity.  I hope this post finds you all well.  As 

always I am just so grateful that you even take time out of your day to

read my stories. Maybe I'll take all of these and put them in a book.

Maybe I'll become a rhetoric teacher. With much love, Robyn

My trinity:

I Brag

I write how I talk and it is my favorite part about me.

I am an amazing singer.

I have released a relationship that no longer served me and lived when I thought I 

would die.

I am great at inspiring people and they heed my advice.

I am a master flirt.

I Desire

to continue having fun with my friends. 

flowers that I don't have to buy myself. 

a trip to the Korean Bathhouse with my friends to relax and get a scrub.

to finally meet the friend who has given me some of the best advice I've ever heard.

to go on a date with a man who opens my car door for me. It would be so nice.

I want to get back to the studio. I miss my girls.

I desire to release the 10 pounds that has found it's way to my body. It doesn't

serve me to keep it. 

a shower with no interruptions.

to publish a book.

I Am Grateful

for my children.

for my sense of humor.

for my ability to block out bad things and forget.

high heels and karaoke

group chats and great advice

autocorrect and hilarious memes

pedicures

Irish accents

music that makes my body move and my heart swell.

My music picks:

Jackson by Johnny Cash 

Blurred Lines by Robin Thicke

Creep by Radiohead

Maybe if I'm really, really still...he won't see me...DAMN!

 I think sometimes if it wasn't for my friends and for my ridiculous love for karaoke and making people laugh, I'd have given up by now. Really, really given up by now. Do you every find yourself saying, "You just can't make this shit up?" I've said that about three times this week, alone. This is the third time, this story I'm about to tell you. I had had the worst day. THE worst day. I'd come from mediation with my ex douchebag husband and it ended with me sobbing on the street of W Wacker drive on the phone with my mother. My mother not being a very Motherly-type, says to me sternly, "Robyn! Stop crying! Your 42 years old." Because I guess there's a certain cut- off where the crying just stops, I guess. Anyway, I get to my Tuesday haunt, wait for my crew, and at the advice of my best Irish friend, start to have a few cocktails. This is not customary for me. I'm not a drinker, and ironically enough, this is the main reason for leaving my beloved. He is an alcoholic amongst other issues, but he is not the topic here. Where was I? Ah, I'm getting loopy to forget the douchebag-exhusband. My amazing friends come, we sing, we dance, we play, for some reason we are all a bit happier then usual. Maybe it's just me b/c I'm a bit more wheeeeeee *spins finger in circular motion* than usual, and I get up to sing but none of my words are coming out the way I want them to. Suddenly the song is over and I don't remember it being so short. Yeah, it is time to stop drinking. I have to pull my shit together before I have to start driving home. Our guy who does the karaoke has a following. Groupies? Adoring fans? Yeah, we love him because he's fun and funny and just makes you feel like you're special. There's always regulars whether they are sitting with the, "harem," or not, there's people that you recognize. They even have names. "Oh, look, Johnny No Cash is here." "Pin cushion is afraid to show his face now in his magician pants." "Oh, Lord, here comes Velma." "Yay, it's the Lumberjack!" Meanwhile, the night is winding down and there's this Wallflower at the table near us that I recognize but I've never talked to. He's probably about 5'7-5'8' and muscular arms. Polish looking. But plain. Doesn't dress like anything out of the ordinary. I've seen his posts on FB and he always refers to himself in the third person. It'd be like me saying, "Robyn is very excited to see you." "Robyn loves to make macaroni." I just re read that and made myself laugh. I could change it, but why? Ok, so Wallflower is minding his own business all night and it's time to leave. Somehow everybody's gone. The same way that someone changed and shortened my songs on the karaoke screen. This never happens. Usually we all leave at the same time. I never walk to the car alone. NEVER. I always have a parking space right in front of the bar but tonight was fantasy football. Which let me tell you...16 guys sitting in two rows at a bar, all with laptops, not really talking to each other...I don't understand it yet. But then again, I didn't understand hockey until last year and I get it now. Back to leaving. I walked out alone...yes, yes...I'm such a genius. I start walking down to my car waaaaayyyy down the lot in heels, *click clack, click clack clack* (mind you, it's late, my dog's are screaming) and when I get to the end of my car, Wallflower pops up from the ground of the driver's side. Wallflower: Oh, hey. I wasn't pukin' or nothin'. Yes. I realize now I should've turned around and hobbled right back in to the bar. I know these things. I do these things. Matter of fact...I'm sending my fucking MENSA application in right now. *smacks forehead*
Me: Uh, yeah?  
Wallflower: Yeah, I was doin' pushups. I just did a hundred and ten just now. 
Me: Awesome. I didn't ask. (I'm kind of a bitch, I know. Ask me what I said to the poor schmuck that wore his pajama pants to the bar last week) 
Wall: I like to do pushups before I get in the car if I been drinkin' to get the ol' blood goin', you know. *uncomfortable laugh* 
Me: Uh huh. Now I'm trying to walk to my car door and he starts wiping his hands on the trunk and the back window of his car to get the sweat off of it and, I don't know, wash his hands, maybe? Show me his massage technique? And he tries to make small talk. Mind you, I've never talked to this guy before EVER. 
Wall: You're a really good singer. I really enjoyed hearing you sing tonight, you and all your friends. You're all really good *massages the car* 
Me: Thanks  
Wall: And you're a really good dancer, too. I really liked watching you dance. You and E (E is a guy at the bar who mostly likes men so I don't mind dancing with him) Now he comes over to my car 
Wall: I'm gonna take the water off your car. Your car is nice and wet (he starts to massage my car) nice and wet...Like you were with E. 
                                                       WHOA, WHAT?!? 
When it finally registered what he said to me I turned my head and said to him 
Me: What the fuck did you just say to me? (You Sir, have picked the wrong day and the wrong girl) Wallflower looked at me and smiled as if to say, "You heard what I said." 
Me: Seriously, what the fuck did you just say? (I am pretty sure I heard a switch actually flip on in my brain) Wallflower: What? We're adults. We can joke about sex, can't we? (uncomfortable fidgeting starts to set in) Me: I'm an adult, yes, (finger goes up, neck starts to move back and forth) but I'm also a woman and you will speak to me with respect. Are we fucking clear? You don't know me. Don't you ever talk to me that way again. 
                                                             S T A R E
 (Poor Wallflower didn't realize his disrespect came at the price of Douchebag's idiocy, too) 
Wall: I'm really sorry, I didn't mean anything by it. 
                                                             S T A R E 
(Yes, I didn't mean anything. I quite often talk to strangers about vaginal fluids.) Somehow he changes the subject to how he lost his friend in November. I wish I could remember how my girlfriend put it when I told her. Something like, "segue from awkward sex talk to dead friend..." but she said it so much funnier. I mumbled something like, "That's too bad. I'm so sorry. See you next week." I got into my car, locked the doors and hauled ass home. Have I just been out of the dating loop for so long that I just don't get the lingo? Was that first line of, "Oh, hey, I wasn't pukin' or nothin'," my cue to throw my underwear off and say, "FINALLY!!! TAKE ME!" Well, at least he'd have something to wipe his hands with after all that car-sweat. (thanks, R) Honestly, I am lucky he didn't clock me and put me in the trunk, because it was really stupid to run my mouth the way I did. But, really. Ok, difference. And this happened earlier in the evening...
"Hey (guy I don't know really well) what's the word?" ( I say in passing) He says to me, "Legs, but don't spread it." HA! It's corny and it's a little dirty, but he's not in a parking lot, cornering me by my car alone, looking at me like he wants to wear my skin as a suit, talking about the condition of MY vagina. Oh, God, somebody please tell me what the rules are. Why is my life so freakin' hilarious? Because, honestly, I think if my mediation hadn't pushed me out of my pleasure and I'd been more in control, I would've handled that situation differently and been able to school Wallflower rather than reprimand him. He's lucky I didn't pick up the car and beat him with it. But then again, I'm a lady, and I wouldn't want to break a nail. *hair flip* OH, my darlings, I am so grateful you took the time to read my crazy rant, because it felt like a rant. It did! I'm hoping it's all worth it. I'm totally laughing about it now. Wishing you all love love love and hey, how about a round of pushups in the parking lot next time and think of my vagina. Whoop whoop!! Bet you will now... 

 I am giving you the trinity: 
I Brag: 
I released a relationship that was toxic and no longer served me 
I love myself more 
I made my apartment so much more homey and me 
I had a kick-ass dinner for my family last night 
I met awesome people in the last week despite the wackadoos 
I treated myself to the best hair blow-out and I can leave it for a few days now 

I Desire: 
A good night's sleep 
A massage (my back hurts) 
To release 15 pounds that found it's way to my body 
My job back (I miss my girls) 
My son to stop thinking my face is sad. (I know why) 
To have high-heeled shoes that don't hurt 
Financial freedom pink gerbera daisies 

I Am Grateful: 
Jo Malone Shower Gel that smells so good in my shower 
The sunshine that hits my shoulders when I walk to the car 
Starbuck's coffee, cold, strong 
Good blow-dry's from hair stylists 
Handsome men in suits that smile as they walk by 
Lip gloss 
My Dyson vacuum with the ball 
Cupcakes with sprinkles 
Karaoke 
Advil 
Forgiveness 

My song choices are: 
8 Miles Wide by Storm Large (such a Goddess)
 http://youtu.be/w5U-YT-mRmI 
Respect by Aretha Franklin

Hey you in the hat! Drop the broom and come check this out!!

I am ridiculously fed up.  Almost painfully.  I feel this is necessary.  In jest, I've often said, "I'm surrounded by lunatics," or, "I hate them all," and the truth is...I don't.  It's my humor, my defense mechanism.  Truth is...I love men, and anyone who knows me...knows this to be true.  So, my darlings, I had to dig deep for this one.  Hope it's not too graphic and you don't visualize...everything. Thanks for reading. xo, R

It's a week before the due date of our first child (who is now going on 12, but in my opinion, 33) and I have just given my maternity leave notice at Saks because my ankles just can't handle the weight of standing for 8 hours a day and I look like New Jersey in pants like a gorgeous Goddess who needs to get off her feet.  I really maintained my stylishness during my first pregnancy.  Mainly because I was a makeup artist in a department store and I had a fantastic discount and time on my hands to shop.  Those of you with more than one child know what the difference between the first child and the second makes.  Your first pregnancy it's about you, your glow, your pedicures, your belly balm, your Lamaze class, maybe something to do with your husband, whatshisname, and baby showers.  The second pregnancy it's about juggling the first child, the big child (husband), the house, job, not puking in the seafood department at Dominicks, and making sure your shoes match when you leave the house after running a brush through your hair.  Anyways...I digress.  One night I'm laying in bed tossing and turning (where's that memory foam bed when you need it. My poor husband is being bounced around like a beach ball at a Jimmy Buffet concert ) when suddenly...uh oh...something doesn't feel right.  I jump up and  run waddle leap like a pregnant gazelle to the bathroom just in time for WHOOOSH!!!  What the hell was that? I say to myself  That's not normal!  Did I spring a leak?  Did I...Holy shit, I think my water just broke.  Okay, um, it seems to have subsided, I should probably wake up G.  I open the door to the bathroom and there is G standing there fully clothed staring at me like a deer in the headlights,
"Is it time to go?" I couldn't help but laugh.
"We need to call the Doctor first.  Relax, Honey.  I'm ok."
I call the doctor and tell him my water broke and ask him if I can take a shower before I go to the hospital. He says I've got time so I do.  When I get out, I open the door to the bathroom and again G is standing there with the same look on his face but now he's standing there totally naked.
"Do I have time to take a shower, too?"
"Yes, Dear."
After he showers and dresses, we go to the garage and he opens the car door for me...he's lined the car seat with garbage bags.
"What the hell is this?" I say to him.
"Robyn, it's a BMW." He pleads.
I swear to God, I don't think he looked at the road once.  He stared at me the whole time like I was some kind of science experiment.  We get to the hospital and check in.  At this time I've still had no pain at all.  The nurse checks me and says I'm not allowed to get up anymore, I have to stay in bed and they're going to give me medicine to speed up my contractions.  I may feel some, "slight cramping."  BULLSHIT SLIGHT CRAMPING MY ASS!!!!  As soon as that stuff hit my IV, I hit the ceiling.  I have this band around my belly that monitors my contractions and so G could tell when they were coming and going so he knew when they were going to start and I'd see his face twist up like, "Oh shit, here it comes."  I went from, "Ha ha funny Robyn," to, "Oh my God what was I thinking that I could do this Robyn." I was making these weird noises with my mouth like if you were to pucker your lips together like a trumpet player and blow out really hard and I was crying.  Strangers were coming in to check how far along I was.  I swear the maintenance guy could've come in and I wouldn't have known, I was so out of my mind.  And poor G was so helpless saying, "Oh, but honey, you're doing so good.  I'm so sorry it hurts so much."  By the grace of God the epidural lady came in.  I will spare you the details of the giant needle going into my spine and how NOBODY seems to have had the weird experience of sparks and aches and wacky shit that I had with that, but after 12 hours of labor and two hours of pushing and 5 minutes short of an emergency c-section.  They grabbed my daughter with forceps and pulled her out.  (exhale) wait...that deserves another one (exhale) ahhhh, there we go. 

I'd never changed a diaper before.  I'd held a newborn once in my life and it was the same day that my friend Paula passed away, so it was a little surreal.  I'd never put a baby in a car seat or made a bottle.  G took off a week from work and was my rock.  He showed me what I had to do.  He took our daughter and was a natural.  He'd practically raised his sister that was 13 years younger than he, so he was immediately at ease.  He brought me vanilla cake in bed and let me sleep as much as I could.  He may not have been the best husband...but I have always said he's a good dad.  He loves the children more than he loves life.  I had made a post on Facebook today asking for friends to tell me a good story about the men in their lives because I was having a hard time with some of the looptyloos in mine right now that are reeeeeeaaaallllyyyy testing my patience.  I thought it fitting that I write my own story of gratitude to a man that deserves much more credit than I give him. Although, he'll never see this, thank you, Gal, for everything you do for me and the kids.  I know you always try.

My song picks are:
Baby Mine by Bette Midler
Simple Man by Lynyrd Skynyrd
In My Daughter's Eyes by Martina McBride  

Heart: CLOSED FOR REPAIR. RE-OPEN DATE NOT SET

This might be a little weird to follow.  It's a letter that I wrote to my ex a while back about a session 

I'd had with my therapist, Cindy.  She's actually the coolest woman and a hippie like me.

She has wild, curly hair and wears lots of bracelettes and has been with me since before my

divorce.  She was one of two people who came to the hospital when I had my hysterectomy.

She's more than a therapist.  She's...just...more.  I'll try to make it easy to tell what is the letter

part to D and what was the session and so on.  As always, thank you for letting me vent.

Thank you for giving me the permission to write and not judge.  Thank you for allowing me

into your lives for the moment.  Please don't look at this and feel bad. It's all part of the

journey.  It makes me who I am.  It explains why I am who I am, also.         

This is a letter I wrote to him ages ago.  I'm starting to realize the more I 
date other guys...the more I have no tolerance for neediness, laziness, any type 
of alcohol use/abuse.  I describe myself as a grenade pretty much and am very 
open and honest about it.  If you can't take care of your own heart right now, 
don't expect me to.  I've got my own shit to deal with.  I don't need another 
child, I have 2 of my own.  Sorry if my ex fucked it up for ya's, but I'm a 
little harsh.  And if you can't handle it...there's the door.  To date me, you 
need a steady job, a car, and not be a pussy.  Oh, my God, did she just say 
that...YES!  MAN UP! I don't care if you're sensitive, boys, but for fuck's 
sake...don't be more girly than I...puhleeze!
(Comes down off soapbox)  If you knew half of the shit I dealt with, maybe you'd 
understand.  Maybe if I was stronger...I would've left sooner. 
(to D)
This was my last session with Cindy,my therapist, part of it.  You tell me to 
write, so I do.  I don't expect you to read this while you're at the concert.  
But I'd like you to read it before you play on saturday and let me know your 
thoughts.  Have fun and be safe at the concert and after.  I do love you.

“…because when he walked into that bar that night, it was like a beam of light 
was on him that only I could see.  I can remember the song playing, what I was 
wearing, what he was wearing, what table we sat at when he asked me to come 
outside and smoke.  After that night the next time I talked to him…when it was 
about his ex-girlfriend contacting me…I can remember where I was, what I had 
just eaten for dinner, I remember it all.  I have saved nearly every voice mail 
message from him since September of last year because I love hearing his voice 
and hearing him say he loves me, or, “Just taking a quick break from the 
basement to smoke and I wanted to call you…”  I just wrote him this whole letter 
on why I love him recently.  I’m always writing.  I’ve written him so many love 
letters and I’ve written so much about him and I don’t even know why.  Why am I 
so drawn to a man that is so set in his ways and self-centered, so hell-bent on 
letting everybody else have control of certain aspects of his life and then act 
like a caged animal?  Like he's surprised?  Why doesn’t he want a better life 
with me?  With us?  What’s wrong with me?  Why doesn’t he take control of the 
things he can like getting up for work and not sleeping until 12-1pm because 
he’s too hung over? Or when he gets paid, why doesn’t he buy groceries and 
manage for cigarettes for the week instead of going to the bar and spending all 
of it and then being too hung over to go to work in the morning and the whole 
cycle starts again? And, yeah, I'll say it, why doesn't he ever bring me real 
flowers, or a card, or a movie, dinner, why?”

“Because drinking is easier than seeing what he really has.”

“But he has me!”  I’m now sobbing thinking that’s what she means

“It’s a disease, Robyn.”

“Bullshit!  Cancer is a disease.  You can’t quit cancer, but you can quit 
drinking.  All he does is tell me how much he likes drinking and how I MET him 
in a bar.  Well, if I met him in a garage, would that make him a car?  Oh, look, 
I’m in the ocean.  Does that make me a fish? You know, I used to think people 
who drank were much, much safer and almost better than people who smoked weed. 
But now I think just the opposite.  I’ve seen what he’s like when he smokes and 
when he drinks and I’ll take weed over his drinking any day, all day.  I’ve 
watched him do things and let me tell you...I know things that he has NO idea I 
know about but I let it go because I figured he’s not in his right mind. ”

“You seem to think that if he loved you enough, he would stop.  And the truth 
is, he can’t.  Because if he did, he would have to sit in his feelings and face 
everything that he’s trying to avoid, and so you have to ask yourself, is this 
what you want to be with for the rest of your life and your kids?  Someone who 
doesn’t get up for work every day? Who spends his money on alcohol and drinks 
almost every night…sometimes up to 12, 13, 14 nights in a row? Who can get so 
wasted he accepts a ride home from someone who’s supposed to be his friend and 
is so impaired that he doesn’t, “remember,” her trying to have sex with him? 
You’ve spent so much time taking care of him in the last year, you’ve completely 
neglected yourself.  When you don’t have the kids you immediately head to 
Joliet.”

“First of all, she's a whore and an easier question would be who hasn't she 
tried to fuck? The bathroom sink at (name of bar) still isn't the same because 
of her fat ass up on the counter banging some 21 year old that could probably 
use your services now or at least some Comet and a Brillo pad for his dick.  
Secondly...What else do I have here?  Why would I want to stay?  He’s there.  Of 
course I want to go to him.  But he says I’m so quick to pack up my stuff and 
leave.  That I’m giving up.  He doesn’t see how hard I’ve fought this ENTIRE 
time.  I mean, FUCK, just to get him to leave (ex-girlfriend) completely was 
hard enough.  He thinks I just run every time we have a, “discussion.””

“Because you’re ambivilant.” She says calmly,  “You want to be there because you 
love him, but you don’t want to be in the situation. “

“I don’t know what to do anymore. He acts like he hates me sometimes.  He used 
to be gentle with me.  He didn’t yell and get so angry with me all the time.”

“You’re asking him to change something that he’s very comfortable with, “stop 
drinking, stop drinking so much, be responsible, take care of yourself, make me 
feel taken care of, don’t yell in front of my kids, keep your promises, get your 
life together…”   And every time you go back to him.  Every time. So he has to 
decide what he will or will not do and tell you exactly and you have to decide 
what’s a deal breaker exactly.”

A few months later I came down with pneumonia. I was sicker than I'd ever been. 

My parents had to come and take the kids to their house in Joliet and I was alone.  

He didn't call or text for a few days because he was partying and then, out of anger, 

I told him not to call and I started to ignore his calls and texts.  I was broken-hearted 

that he did nothing to help me while I was sick.  Considering the last time he was sick 

I lied to my parents and my kids to take him to the doctor.  I paid for his emergency 

care.  I bought his medicine.  I took care of him.  "I" took care of him.  He did nothing.  

I told him I didn't want to see him anymore and this letter listed all the reasons why. 

I wrote what things were deal breakers: 

 "When I wrote this, I didn't write it as an angry letter.  It just is what it 
is, really.  It's the things that I don't want anymore because they're just not 
right, not fair. I realize some of them are things that I'd have to change, too, 
because I didn't like where it was leading me.  I shouldn't be driving if I have 
been drinking too much and I shouldn't argue with you in public.  I didn't want 
you to think I was just tearing you a new asshole.  These are things that really 
hurt me and it's the last time I will tell you.

I don't want a boyfriend that:
tells me I should just be happy he picked up the phone when he was in the bar. 
As your girlfriend you should want to pick up the phone.
drinks every night (or almost every night)
"forgets," to call me because he's drinking or out at the bar
thinks staying at a concert is more important than his friends
raises his voice at me because I don't move, think, or talk fast enough
doesn't get up for work because he's hung over and makes excuses
hasn't paid his phone bill 9 out of the 10 months he's had it and makes me pay
promised to pay me back for MI, Camping, concerts, dinner, etc...but instead 
buys??
borrows money from people at the bar to buy alcohol usually for yourself
makes my children cry*
would rather buy alcohol and cigarettes than food, toothpaste, shampoo, and 
toilet paper
makes promises and then doesn't even try to keep them
gets buzzed in front of my kids*
fights in front of my kids*
yells at me in public
lies to me about ridiculous things
doesn't take me on dates
doesn't buy me/make me at least a card for Christmas/other holidays
makes little or no romantic gestures unless I ask for them
doesn't care for me when I'm sick (doesn't call/text until the next day, doesn't 
come out, doesn't send flowers, a picture of flowers, play a song on the phone, 
send a card, smoke signal...)
makes no attempt in over a year to take a train or to come out on your own when 
I need you or to ask a friend or family member to drive you when it would really 
help the situation
makes no attempt to fix these things on your own when you've been asked 
countless times
I don't want a boyfriend who makes me feel bad about who I am, that calls me a 
whiner, that can put his hands on the woman that he loves and shove her and then 
say it's her fault.  I want a boyfriend who takes responsibility for his actions 
and has the self control to walk away in an argument,  that I'm not afraid of.  
I want a boyfriend who doesn't think doing cocaine is normal or ok, even if it's 
only, "Once in a while," because I certainly wouldn't be happy if I found out my 
children were using it.  I don't want a boyfriend that I can't trust won't get 
so wasted that he'll accept a ride home from someone who is just as wasted as he 
is and end up dead in a ditch or blacked out and I have to be humiliated in 
front of all his friends.  
I'm done being treated like shit, which is how you treat me.  Because I allowed 
it. I am done treating you like my king if I'm not treated like your queen.  
In other words...Men build houses.  Boys build forts.  I want a man, not a boy.
If you wanted to fix ANY of these things, you had SO many chances, only now 
you've pushed me to my limit.  Did it even occur to you instead of going to 
(name of girl)'s  party to come here and fix your relationship?  Nope.  How 
about now?  Still nope.  You've broken my heart for the last time.  I will not 
have another weekend, another holiday that ends with us fighting and me crying 
because of your drinking/partying.  I love you, D, but I cannot sit idly by 
anymore and watch you slowly kill yourself.  I won't do it to you, me, or my 
kids.  This is the last letter I'm going to write like this and b/c I'm sure it 
falls on deaf ears like all the others, it's more for my benefit.  I know what 
my worth is.  I'd just forgotten for a while.  I love you more than any man in 
my life and I have tried harder in this relationship and mourned this 
relationship more than I did my own marriage. I will always love you and be 
there for you and your family for anything because I truly believed you were my 
beloved.  But I have to accept the fact that you choose this life over one with 
me and my kids.  That you, "like to drink."  However, if you look at my note, 
what percentage of it has to do with your drinking/partying?  I hope it was 
worth it.  Because I would've stood by you.  I believed in you.  I could 
keep writing, so I'll stop here.  I do feel like I've lost my best friend.  
Don't forget your flu shot soon. Love always, Robyn"

*exhale*  
How do I explain this?  How do I justify staying for as long as I did?  How do I 
look at myself in the mirror and how can I still say to people, "I am in love 
with him and I miss him, " because I am and I do.  This is still the same man 
that I compare other men to. This is the man my children still talk about at the 
dinner table with me.  I'm so damn mad today I could throw a fucking table.

I wrote this yesterday and was terrified to publish it without first sending 

it to someone to read first. I sent it to one of my closest friends for review.   

If I had to have a captain of my ship...she'd be my captain.  I value her opinion 

and, my God, her strength. I didn't know if this was...appropriate.  But then again.  

Have I ever been appropriate?  I'm sorry if I cut the story here, but my head feels 

like it is going to explode talking about this. There are so many things I've not 

even scratched the surface.  I just can't do anymore tonight.  

My heart is too heavy.

I am grateful for:
free speech
my children
hot showers to wash the words away
sisters from other misters
the chance to love
the chance to leave
my bed
lip gloss
bandanas
leg warmers
6 inch stripper shoes

My song picks:
Bodies by Drowning Pool
Addicted by Kelly Clarkson
Ain't No Sunshine by Bill Withers
The Moon by The Swell Season
Three Little Birds by Bob Marley  

p.s. sorry about the different fonts.  Couldn't figure out why it was happening

and rather than throw the computer out the window...I left it.  xoxo, R 

If we meet and you don't look like your pictures...you're buying me drinks until you do!

I have to tell you...the more the days go by, the funnier it gets.  I had a friend 

suggest to me I offer a service to people that I proof their profiles to help them

...honestly, not such a bad idea. This, by far is one of the funniest tag lines I've seen.  I am so grateful 

you took time out of your day to read this.  Enjoy the rest of your day. xoxo, Robyn 

WARNING: "If we meet and you don't look like your pictures...you're buying me drinks until you do."

 Recently I've been receiving a shit-ton of these, "winks," from one of the sites that I'm on which is just like saying, "hi," and that's it and I can't STAND that.If you are going to take the time to read my profile, put some effort into writing something to me. If I receive more than one, "wink," from the same person and I am not interested, I send an email telling them, "no thank you," so they stop emailing me, because I think it's only fair and they are obviously not getting the hint.  This is in response to my, "No thank you," From Guido Wink:

 "I HIT THE WRONG BUTTON!" But I do not think you are 42, and I wish you the best of luck finding a guy 7 inces taller, you should be looking for a nice Jewish guy. You look at least 48. If you read my profile, does it look like I woul even come half wy to meet you. That was a statment not a question. 

 My reply:
 Re: I HIT THE WRONG BUTTON! Oh, my poor little racist friend. Do you have spell check? Because that would come in handy when you're trying to say mean things to women who aren't interested. (You should also do this on your profile. I'd be happy to help) I was giving you a courtesy. I don't have to settle, so...Good luck to you. It looks like you, your Napoleon complex, and your hair plugs are going to need it more than my 48+ year old looking JEWISH self could EVER give a man like you. It looks like you're a bitter old guy with an erectile problem. THAT is a statement, Darling. Does it look like I want to date my Uncle Leo? And that is how sarcasm is done. How sad is it because I said no thank you to your wink you have to attack my religion. Nice...you don't have to bother contacting me again. I PROMISE you I won't even open your email. Oh, are you even 5'6"? I have a sneaky suspicion no. Signed, the Jewish American Princess who turned you down...BLOCKED 

 I'm still debating on whether or not that was the right thing to do. In hindsight, it wasn't very Goddessly and I should've just let it go and chalk it up to he was just feeling rejected. I am finding more and more that we, as women have forgotten how to listen to our men...or listen how to love them. I was talking to one of my male friends the other day that takes me out and treats me. It's always such a joy when I go out with him because I get to feel like such a girly-girl. We go to dinner and have actual conversation. I get to take my time dining, enjoying my food and not have to rush like I'm eating a meal in prison. We have cocktails and he never says anything about my loud laugh. And he never, ever makes me feel obligated or pressured to do more than just receive. We were talking over a delicious Italian meal before meeting friends about the differences between men and women. I've always been a firm believer that if women don't speak up for what they want in any situation, then they have to be prepared for the consequences. It can be as simple as:
 "Where do you want to go for dinner tonight, Dear?" 
"I don't care...wherever you want to go..." and secretly she's hoping he'll come up with this magical fairytale dinner with roses and candlelight or something to that effect. But what she gets is... 
"...and she'll have the #5 and supersize it. (wink) 'Cause you deserve the best, Baby." 
And she is mad for the next 3 months. He has no idea why. Moral...don't be mad at Mr. Man. You didn't tell him what you wanted. You said you didn't care. But in reality, you did care and you expected him to read your mind. Now poor dude is wondering why he can't get laid and you punch him in the thigh giving him a charlie horse every time you pass a Golden Arches. What would happen if we (women) tried this... 
"Where do you want to go for dinner tonight, Dear?" 
"I'd love to try that new place over on Main St." 
 or 
"I really don't have a taste for anything special, but I'd rather not go to (name of place you don't want to go). 
or 
"I'd like (choice #1) (choice #2) or (choice #3) but I'll let you pick from those." 
This goes for every aspect. You have given your man options, told him what you want or don't want, and now he's not left floundering like a fish. This is also very pertinent in the, "other," areas of our lives, too. (wink, wink, nudge, nudge, know what I mean?) We have the tools to get everything we want and desire if we just ask...not nag...ask. Nagging vs asking...whole other blog topic. 
Men. All they want to do is please us. I'm talking about the majority. They want to take care of us and look like a hero in our eyes. Even if it's something as simple as changing a tire...taking out our garbage...treating us to dinner. It's in their nature to want to protect just like it is in our nature to nurture them.  *sigh* I think I goofed on how I handled this Meany-winker, my darlings. I should've listened better on how to love him. Eh, I know better for next time, I guess. Ok, lesson learned. 

Today I am grateful for: 
Crazy 60 degree weather in January 
Bandanas that give me solace on days I don't want to deal with my hair 
Frye boots 
Tall basketball players that frequent my Starbucks and always smile at me 
My regular who always saves my seat if he's here before I am 
Big comfy beds with flowers, stripes, pillows, comforters, and sunlight that streams through my window 
The Tommy soundtrack giving me memories of a certain someone I saw in this show 
Gooey lip gloss that slips over my lips and tastes like cherry 
My sense of humor...BOOM! 
My uncanny ability to pick music for people, events, situations...I am really good like that 
Alice In Chains...oh you served me well this weekend 

I Brag: 
I have an amazing circle of friends, men and women, that are fun and talented and gorgeous and demented in humor like I am. 
I have had 3 loads of clean laundry on my floor for four days now and I don't care. I have that option of not picking it up until I want to (and before the kids come home) 
Although I am 42 (possibly look 48?) I feel better, more alive, and more beautiful than I ever did at 22 or 32. 
I am one sexy bitch and I don't have to be ashamed of who I am or compete with anyone else. 
I am proud of the woman I've become and the example I set for my children 

I Desire: 
Not just financial freedom, but abundance in a new job 
Still waiting for the elves... 
Go get a pedicure 
A phone call/text from Red 
A day at King's Spa with the girls 
Flowers or a picture/text of flowers (I love pink but don't like Star Gazer lilies...they give me migraines...but pictures of star gazers are ok, lol) 
To start singing in a group or band and do musical theatre again 
To let go of the hurt in my heart 

Song picks for the day: 
Sexy Back by Rivethead 
Rooster by Alice In Chains 
Pussycat Moan by Katie Webster 
Killing In The Name Of by Rage Against The Machine

The Kojak, the Brazilian, the landing strip...

 

Oh, Dear Lord, things have been so heavy lately.  I had to write something that made me laugh.  I realize this may make me look like a colossal bitch, but...if the shoe fits...Again, I say thank you for reading.  This is from someone who contacted me about 3 weeks ago.  Have a great weekend, everybody. xoxo, R

Good evening Sunshine! How is it going on here? I have seen you on another site as well. Any interest in talking sometime? Take a look at my profile and let me know. Have a great night.

(name)

I recognized him from another site from his picture so I went to his profile and this is what I saw in the notes:

About me: 

Hello ladies. I'm a divorced father of 2 children.  I have my children 50% of the time.  I do have time for someone special in my life.  Is that you? Who knows. Let's talk, meet and see what happens.  UPDATE! If you are crazy, needy, have B.O. are looking for $$$$, or just insane please move along.  I have no time for that! Also, NO HAIRY BOX! Please keep a neat shop! Have a good day! 

(...crickets...I think a tumbleweed rolled by me)

Normally, I would've just ignored the email and blocked this looptyloo, but my feminist bones were shaking.  

My reply was:

I think I would've remembered a profile like this one if I'd seen it on another site. Although I meet your criteria, are you really this insane?

Not insane! Just fed up and having a little fun! I just added some stuff yesterday! I am funny though.

How's that workin' out for ya? Getting a lot of quality women with the, "No B.O.," and, "No hairy box," part of your profile?

Most think it's funny! I have yet to hear from anyone I offended? Are you the first? I did not mean to offend you or anyone

(Now my inner bitch really comes out)

In all my years of comedy and improv I've just always been taught to play to my highest ability. Is this yours? Am I offended? a little because you're a stranger talking about a part of my body that is a GIFT if you get to see her...not tell me what she should look like. (And really, if you have to tell a girl, you run the risk of never getting it again and she must be living in the dark ages.) Secondly, this is the quality of women you will attract. The one that thinks toilet humor and dick jokes are appropriate to tell at your business dinners while she's got a punch bowl on her head and she's showing everyone her newest tattoo on her neck of Jesus playing poker with 4 dogs. Know your audience. You contacted me with this on your profile and I found it off-putting. But, hey, the next girl might not AND have a complete Brazilian. I mean, seriously...who doesn't? Good luck.

I don't do improv or comedy! You need to get over yourself! What makes you better? You are on this pathetic site too! Don't judge unless that makes you feel better about yourself. I'm sure on some level you're a nice person. Good luck to you too!

Obviously you don't do comedy b/c I read your profile, remember? LOL. Relax. I wasn't judging. You shouldn't ask a question that you really don't want the answer to. I haven't found this site to be pathetic at all, but it depends what you're looking for. It's (name of other site) that made me have to say I don't have a webcam, I don't want naked pictures nor do I have any to send.  Btw, I just saw your profile on there and THAT'S by far a much better and more respectable profile and description of a man I'd date. I know you didn't ask for that opinion, but consider that a freebie. I know I'm a nice person. , but thanks for saying so. xo

Thank you for that. I actually just added that on here as a joke. I meant no disrespect. If I was still a paying member on (name of other site) I would pursue you there. I am not giving (name of other site) any more of my money. Having said that, would you consider talking sometime and seeing the real me?

(name)

Darling, You only have one chance to make a first impression.  See ya 'round. 

Seriously?  After all that he still asks me out. I love it! Balls the size of New Jersey!  Like I've forgotten all about the HAIRY BOX comment that is STILL on his profile, by the way.  You know, I feel bad for some of these guys who think that this is really the way to get a woman.  But I know that there are definitely women out there who are taking advantage of these guys on the sites, too and so his animosity isn't unwarranted. I had one fella (just love this word) tell me that several women have asked to go shopping on their first dates with him.  How the hell do you ask someone for this?  "Hey, nice to meet you!  Buy me a Rolex!" What the fuck.  Have I been living under a rock?  I have a hard enough time ordering a coffee without freaking out that I look like a gold digger.  But those are my own demons.  Ah, me.  As I sit in my Starbucks I can't help but laugh to myself about the ridiculousness of it all.  I wonder what my male-readers think about this.  Driftwood, my darlings, driftwood. Ok, so the wrap up...

I Brag:

I am able to make people feel through my writing

I make myself laugh

I have great hair

I have hilarious kids and they get that from me and their dad...mostly me

What I'm grateful for today:

Salt trucks and the guys that shovel so I don't have to

my amazing Starbucks.  It's mine.  I claim it.

Freedom to say whatever the hell you want to on dating websites

the, "regular coffee clutchers,"  who come in everyday and keep me company

surprising red heads that turn mine

What I Desire:

a good night's sleep

healthy food choices

time with my friends

surprising redheads that turn mine

elves to come clean my apartment

My song picks for our dance break:

Heart Shaped Box by Nirvana

Rich Girl by Gwen Stefani

I Got Cash by Brooklyn Funk Essentials