Tag Archives: blogging

Don’t post drunk!

Not drunk.  Just slightly under the influence.  Enough so that I’m thinking about certain things, certain people, and I want to post, and I am very close to posting, but am still cognizant enough to know I really shouldn’t.  Bad idea.  No burning bridges tonight.

On another note altogether (because I wasn’t actually talking about who you thought I was talking about above, but now I will), I’m watching the recorded episode of $..! My Dad Says and one of the guys on the show looks like my ex might look with 50+ more pounds.  Those of you who know him, you be the judge:

Okay, so maybe it’s just my imagination.

I bought some art tonight at an art auction – a piece for me and a piece as a gift.  I bid on another one but lost out at the last minute.  Too bad – it was a piece I didn’t really like, but I couldn’t stop looking at, which has to mean something in the art world.


Trying to figure out how (or if) to rearrange my bedroom furniture.  I’m getting a new dresser, and does that go here or here?  And what about the treadmill?  Well, if the dresser goes here, then the treadmill has to go here.  But if the dresser goes there…  Yeah.  Too much effort.  Not enough room.  I wish I could afford the condo next door.  It’s been on the market for a year, maybe they’ll make a deal…

Brain is tired.  Brain needs a vacation.  No thinking, just the freedom to melt into a blob for a while. 

Oh, and one last thing – The Most Insane College Football Game Ending today.  And this coming from someone who watched the nerve-wracking 7 OT Arkansas-Ole Miss game in 2001.  Anyway, today’s game.  LSU QB Jefferson is sent in with 32 seconds to go, 2nd & goal.  Jefferson tries to run in but doesn’t get to the end zone.  Mass confusion ensues, the ball is hiked, and Jefferson MISSES the ball.  Game over.  BUT WAIT!!  Tennessee had 13 men on the field!  Replay 3rd down!!!  And now what happens?  See for yourself:

Oy.  I’m tired.  And a little hoarse.

Week. From. Hell.

Man, this week was nuts.  I guess I shouldn’t say it was the week from hell, because it wasn’t bad,  it was just busy

  • Monday night – French class
  • Tuesday night – date (incredibly cute, incredibly dull man – I won’t bore you with the details)
  • Wednesday night – Cooking club
  • Thursday night – a happy Becoming an American wine celebration with my Swedish friend
  • Friday night – was so looking to going home and relaxing, but was at work until 6:30, then ran home to do laundry
  • Saturday morning – self-defense class
  • Saturday night – LSU game-watching (and FABulous Lady Gaga Wannabe watching) uptown

Tomorrow, boat, followed by date.  Monday night french class again, Wednesday night I have…something…and I’ve promised a date to a guy either Tuesday or Thursday, not sure which yet.

Did I mention I’m tired as HELL?!

Do you remember that show Out of this World?  The girl’s father was an alien (like, from outer space), and she had the ability to stop time. 

I wish I had that ability.  I’ve always said that if I had a superpower, it would be the ability to control time.  Speed it up when I’m bored at work, slow it down when I’m having a good time, and stop it whenever I need to.  Like when the alarm goes off in the morning and I feel like I’ve barely slept. 

So that’s why I haven’t posted in a while.  And why it might be a few more days before I can post.  Just in case you were worried about me. 😉

My soul too bare

Well, I’ve been working on a blog post for over a week now, one of those painful, soul-baring, emotional ones, but now I find I’m hesitant to post it.  Throughout the life of this blog, I’ve known that this blog is public and anyone could read it, and particularly within the last 9 months I’ve been aware that The Pilot and/or his girlfriend could read it, but I regarded it as a possibility, not a probability or a definite.  Plausible deniability, if you will.  But now I’m aware that The Pilot’s friend reads it, and I find I’m not as willing to bare my soul.  Odd, huh?

I don’t know, I may still post it.  You see, I’ve always thought of the internet as this wonderful thing, giving proof that you are not alone in the world.  Whatever problem I may have had, I have almost always been able to find someone else going through the same thing.  I’d like to feel like I may have done that for someone else.  Plus, as I always say, this is my form of therapy.

There’s a short story by Sandra Cisneros called “Mango Says Goodbye Sometimes.”  In it, she says, “I put it down on paper and then the ghost does not ache so much.  I write it down and Mango says goodbye sometimes.  She does not hold me with both arms.  She sets me free.”  I’ve often felt that way about writing and blogging.  That’s why I consider it therapy.  Instead of paying someone to listen to me and nod their head and offer paltry non-advice, I type it out and get the input of my peers (for free!).

So, what do you think, Peers?  Should I post what I was going to post anyway, or no?

What do you think?

I changed my theme again.  I liked the look of my old one, but the font wasn’t great, and I hated the way the links showed up.  So, out with the old, in with the new.

You like?  Hate?

I have an idea

An idea I find intriguing.  An idea that could be very good.

Or potentially very, very bad. 

It could also be very fun.

Eye opening.

Horizon expanding.

Good for me.

Possibly very, very bad for me.

Doing research now.  More to come soon.  Until then…

Anyone want to take a guess on what the idea is?  Most outlandish wins!  (See tags for guidance.)


This week, I had to have the “You’re a nice guy, but…” talk.  It was not fun.  I royally suck at it.  I felt like shit about it beforehand, I felt like shit about it afterwards.  But it needed to get done, so I sucked it up and did it. 

Let me repeat that – I sucked it up and did it.  Like an adult who respects other people.

Okay, enough with that.

Chemistry.com had a free weekend last weekend, so I decided to check it out.  I ended up signing up for a month, to see how it goes.  I’ve been emailing this one guy, and he’s…I hesitate to use the word “amazing,” but I think it might fit.  He’s certainly different from almost anyone I’ve emailed via an online dating site.  Long, thorough, well-written emails, he’s smart, he’s funny, his pictures show him to be cute.  We’re now emailing directly, instead of via the Chemistry site, and his email address is attached to his blog.  What can I say, I’m a smart cookie, and I figured it out.  (If your email address is Joe@mofonation, I’m going to be able to figure out that you are somehow affiliated with mofonation.  His name is not, btw, Joe, and I have no idea if there is any such thing as mofonation, but you see what I’m saying.)

I briefly glanced at it.  I swear, it was briefly.  I could have gone back and read all the archives, but I refrained.  He had a recent post about online dating that I couldn’t quite allow myself to skim, and while I didn’t read every word, I did get the general gist.  Which was, he’s looking for someone smart and that can write complete sentences, not just some pretty girl.  (Sound familiar?)

This guy is…

Nope, not going to say it.

Except that he cooks, and I mean COOKS, and he’s so smart, and he’s got that dry humor, and he can write, my goodness he can write. 

Trying not to get all googly-eyed, but…wow. 


Now I just need to force myself not to keep checking his blog.  Why?  Well, that’s kind of stalker-ish, don’t you think?  And I should be learning about him from him, not from his blog.  And wouldn’t it be horrible if I read something and then let it slip in conversation?  Bad, bad, bad. 

So, I will not look.  I will not, I will not, I will not.

Meanwhile, I’ve got that lovely warm feeling in my tummy.  (No, not low in my tummy, high in my tummy – get your mind out of the gutter.)

It’s nice, and it helps get my mind away from…other people.

Epilogue (AKA Part 4)

This is the fourth (and,I hope, final) thing I will write about this.  Read Part 1, Part 2, and Part 3 to get the whole story.

Were there warning signs with The Pilot? Sure. But it’s not like I ignored them. I confronted him directly any time I thought something seemed odd. And he lied, every time. I think of other things he said, things he did, while we were together, and I now see every last thing as a lie, whether it was or wasn’t.

  • When he said he loved me, he lied.
  • When he kissed me, he lied.
  • When he said he was sitting in a crash pad in Philly, on call, he lied.
  • When he said he was going to visit his parents, he lied.
  • When I woke with a headache and got up so as not to disturb him, and he followed me into the living room and sat with me on the couch, saying he couldn’t sleep without me, he lied.
  • When he buried his nose in my hair and (I thought) unconsciously inhaled my scent, he lied.
  • When he held and kissed my hand, he lied.
  • When he snuggled up next to me at night and told me how much he loved my bed, how much he missed it when he was gone, missed me when he was gone, he lied.

The thing I’m constantly wondering about is, does he feel any guilt about what he’s done to me, to her? Did he feel any guilt when he was actually in a relationship with both of us? And I keep coming up with the same answer – NO. And that really freaks me out, because that would make him a psychopath.

Think I’m being a bit extreme? Consider the description in Wikipedia: 

The prototypical psychopath has deficits or deviances in several areas: interpersonal relationships, emotion, and self-control. Psychopaths gain satisfaction through antisocial behavior, and do not experience shame, guilt, or remorse for their actions. Psychopaths lack a sense of guilt or remorse for any harm they may have caused others, instead rationalizing the behavior, blaming someone else, or denying it outright…. All of this belies their tendency to make a good, likable first impression. Psychopaths have a superficial charm about them, enabled by a willingness to say anything without concern for accuracy or truth…. Psychopaths also have a markedly distorted sense of the potential consequences of their actions, not only for others, but also for themselves. They do not, for example, deeply recognize the risk of being caught, disbelieved or injured as a result of their behaviour.


The Anger

I’m really having to fight the urge to be petty. You know how they say never to break up with a songwriter, because they will have the last word? Well, the same could be said for a blogger. I’ve already researched the defamation and libel laws. ( “To prove libel, which is the same thing as written defamation, the plaintiff has to prove that the blogger published a false statement of fact …” – IOW, if it’s true, I can’t be sued for libel or defamation.) I’ve thought about posting his full name, DOB, what company he flies for, etc, so that anyone in the future who searches his name (future girlfriends, maybe?) will know. I’d love to let his mother know what kind of son she raised, let his sister know what kind of man he is, let his aunt know that her husband isn’t the only one in the family to cheat. I’m afraid that one day, I won’t be able to stop myself from doing those things.

I am so freaking mad at him, at what he’s done. I’m pissed that he lied. I’m pissed that I was fooled by him. I’m pissed that I’ve wasted a year and a half of my life loving a man that doesn’t exist. I’m pissed that his friends must think he’s such a stud, a girl in each city, and were high-fiving him behind my back the whole time. I’m pissed that I had unprotected sex with him, almost from the beginning, because I thought we were in a monogamous relationship, I’m pissed that he risked my health in that way.

And, yeah, I’m mad at myself, too. I’m mad that I believed him. That I didn’t sometimes push harder. I’m mad that I’m an easy-going person, that I respected him enough to allow his excuse of “I’m a private person” to dissuade me from posting more stuff online, on Facebook, where he could be found out sooner.

It makes me so mad, because things were coming to a head, anyway. I was determined to have a serious conversation about the state of our relationship, but I wanted to get through the holidays first.


I agree with It Never Rains In Seattle, that he probably cut and ran when he found out that the other woman had emailed me. I think she probably confronted him, and he probably lied to her and said I was just a friend, maybe a friend who had “imagined” a relationship with him, and then he cut me out completely, maybe at her request. It kills me that he essentially snuck into my house while I wasn’t there to drop off my house key, and didn’t bother to even leave a note. Not even a simple post it note with “I’m sorry” on it, so at least I wouldn’t wonder and worry like I did. Heck, even Berger left Carrie a post it note.  (And, as a side note, I like what I found on this website:  “Break up in person! This cannot be stressed enough… have the courtesy to say goodbye face to face…. Use integrity and be honest as to why you are leaving…. Both parties will have some closure….”)

I’m big on closure. If I don’t have closure, I will continue thinking about it, breaking it apart, studying it, trying to figure it out. It’s killing me that I don’t have closure. I want to know why he decided to have a relationship with two women. Was he not satisfied with one, and if so, which one? Did we offer different things? Did he honestly fall in love with both of us and wasn’t able to decide which one to keep? Or was it simply an ego trip, to see if he could get away with it?

I still wish I could talk to The Pilot one last time. I would love an apology, an explanation. I know that’s wishful thinking, but what can I say, I’m an optimist at heart. I simply can’t understand how you can carry on two relationships, the way he did. How you can love someone, and do this to them. And I’m not just talking about me – I’m talking about her, too. If he loved her, how could he do this? If he loved me, how could he do this? It’s simply beyond my capacity of understanding.


The Hurt

Ever been picked last for the baseball team?

This is why the women on The Bachelor cry, even when they are eliminated on the first episode. It makes you feel like you’re not good enough.

Is she prettier than me? Smarter than me? Thinner? Funnier? Nicer? A better person?

I know this is stupid, and that I am an amazing, beautiful, intelligent woman. But that doesn’t stop the questions. Why did he pick her over me? Was it because he was dating her before me? Was it because he loved her more?

I’ve been telling myself that it’s because he knew, if he picked me and I found out, he wouldn’t have me anyway, but he still had a chance at keeping her. Because once I found out it would have been over. I’ve always wondered if I would stay with a man who cheated on me, but in the scenario I’ve always imagined, it’s a one-time thing. This was so much worse.


The man I was in love with didn’t exist. I had an imaginary boyfriend.

Honestly, I hate to say it, but it would be easier to handle if he had died. And, actually, it would really be almost accurate to say he had committed suicide. He, the him I knew, ceased to exist.


The Worry

I don’t believe trust should be earned, I believe it should be given. I don’t think you can have a good relationship without trust already being a part of it. I still believe that, but I’m going to have a hard time operating that way in the future. How can I ever believe anything any future man I date says to me? I really worry about this. I’m going to constantly be questioning what he says, my own instincts, wondering if he’s lying to me.

I don’t lie. Of course that’s not true – I say “I’m fine” when asked how I am, because nobody really wants the truth. But I don’t really lie. I think that, because I don’t, I don’t know how to recognize lying in others.

Will I ever be able to trust again? To not wonder if someone is telling the truth when they have a “business dinner” or “have to stay late at the office.” Or the lovely, “She’s just a friend.” I’m terrified that this will ruin any future relationship I have. That me not trusting the man I am with will drive him away.

How do you learn to trust again?