Let’s Beat This Dead Horse. . .

Well, clearly I have been busy and at times in a stupor caused by happiness but this is me and my life is not a fairy tale. Allan decided this past summer that he just missed me terribly and wanted to work things out. . .

Having been there, done that with Bubba for years, I shoulda jumped under the nearest rock in the hopes that would protect me from foolish decisions. I woulda avoided the heartache and embarrassment and I coulda actually tried to be open to a relationship with someone else but again, really? This is me and quite frankly when I am happy I can’t write. . . I mean, who wants a happy writer?

But I allowed my heart to make the decision and after getting incredibly close to his family and his kid, it all blew up in my face. And with all his hemming and hawing it brewed down to he can’t allow himself to be happy. Okay. Take your shit and leave, blocked your number, defriended you on Facebook and opted to use my brain instead of my heart. No tears just anger because while I am a big girl and can deal with getting hurt, he did this to his kid again.

After a response of you really need to get your shit together and see a therapist, he did and then wanted to come back. . . to work on everything and pretending that what he had done shortly after Christmas hadn’t really happened.

And after making a big show of my birthday with flowers and cupcakes from my favorite NYC bakery he said he just couldn’t. . . you see, it’s him, not me. . . at least that was his line along with I’m sorry. . .

Motherf*cker, I already had enough issues with turning 40, I have equated florist flowers with guilt for years and you just took my NYC bakery and tied them to something shitty. Thanks. But then again, serves me right. I knew better, I knew that until you got yourself straightened out it wouldn’t work, my bad. But let’s drag the kid through it again and your family and all of our friends because really, in the end, it is all about you.

A friend said last month that even with all that she has been through in terms of dating, she still believed in happily ever after. After I stopped laughing, I told her that from my vantage point, that it doesn’t happen for everyone. And you know, I am okay with that, not thrilled but okay because I know I don’t need a man in my life, I would like to have one to share my life with, travel, talk about our days, etc. but in all actuality, I am fine on my own. And maybe that is where things fall apart when it comes to me and men. . . I don’t need to be saved, I don’t need a man to fix my dryer or check my tires. . . I can do all of that. I even have my own toolset now. . . thanks Allan.

I dated someone many years ago, I guess he was my first real love in college. He was super nice, kind, thoughtful and would drive through the middle of the night to get to me. I walked because I knew I had to experience more. . . more life, college, living away from my parents, finding myself. And I still feel like had I stayed and not wanted more that I would have found myself searching for more down the road. Besides Chandler, he was the only normal relationship I had. . . and in ways, I have always made choices that get in the way of me having that nice, normal life.

But don’t cry for me or feel sorry for me. . . in the end I will be okay. I love Allen and his kid (and family) but I also love me and right now, I love me more. I have been in a slump losing weight (well, if you sit on the couch and shove food in your mouth. . . ) but changing it up at the gym has kick started it, I am going to try to get out of my comfort zone in terms of being a bit more outgoing and of course I have my crazy cat to pay attention to. . . but if you want to set me up on a blind date. . . umm. . . well, I am 40 years old, dorky, still love hair metal music, rap and everything in between, am left of center, LOVE football, hockey, NYC, DC and yes, Vegas. . . I can be appropriate when it is called for, a huge foodie (hello weight gain), love to cook, am ridiculously loyal and a nurturer, a smart ass and well, I am me. . . and apparently suck at choosing men (with exception of two men).

And this is the moment when I wish I could write songs ala Taylor Swift because there are more than a few albums that could be filled with my stories.

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