Currently Chasing: A cure for Hoarding

I watch the television show Hoarders. I watch it a lot. I am amazed that people can keep that much shit in their homes. In most cases there are dead animals or loaded weapons all over the house. One guy had shit piled up all over his kitchen but would leave his gas stove on for heat. Crazy. Death at every turn! Kids living in these places with clothes and shoes to last them for days, but couldn’t find a place to play to save their lives. Children literally beg their parents to make a change. Child services threaten to take away children, the state threatens to take away homes, or condemn them. Husbands threaten to leave. The house at times is coming apart at the seams due to the amount of bugs/animals/mold/waterdamage/structural damage whatever that is living/breading/infesting the inside. It’s shocking, it’s disgusting, it’s heart breaking, it makes me throw up in my mouth.

Each time there is a professional trying to help these people out. They will bring everything out of the house and then they will begin a conversation that usually goes like this.

Helper: Ok Maggie. We’ve got 17 lamps here. What can we get rid of?

Hoarder: Nothing.

Helper: Well come on now. Some of these lamps are broken and won’t ever work again.

Hoarder: I can fix them.

Helper: What are the odds that you will actually fix them?

Hoarder: I’m not throwing any of them away!

Helper: How about just one. Pick just one that we can throw away.

Hoarder: Damn it. I already told you. All of the lamps stay!

Then the Hoarder stomps out, pissed off and goes into their house to love on their junk and shit somewhere on the floor because there is no running water and meanwhile the helper talks to the camera.

Helper: This is frustrating. She refuses to even part with one lamp. This is going to be a very long day.

I have never considered myself a hoarder. It has always been very easy for me to just throw stuff out. Mostly because in the Navy you move so often that you don’t feel like taking a lot of stuff with you. I have a few things…like my daughters first outfit, her first Halloween costume, some artwork and some photobooks. But for the most part, I don’t hold on to things for very long. I get rid of things to make room for new things. It’s the way I’ve always done it.

But recently I realized I am indeed a Hoarder. But I don’t hoard stuff. Oh no. I hoard PEOPLE!

I’m mortified by this discovery but I acknowledge it. And that is the first step right? Admitting that you have a problem. I made this discovery the other day when me and my friend had this conversation.

Me: Did you see the picture I posted on facebook?

My friend: Yeah, I commented on it, but maybe you didn’t notice because you have a thousand facebook friends.

Me: Whatever, I do not have a thousand facebook friends.

My friend: Ok, nine hundred and something. Basically a thousand.

So I log on to facebook and take a look. And there it is. 948.

So I go to the news section and start reading most recent and she says, you know you can change that so it will only show you the top news. And I said, what does that mean? And she said, it will just give you stuff it thinks you will be interested in reading instead of showing you every single thing people type. And I said, I’m fine with seeing every single thing people type.

She just stared at me.

My friend: Why do you care?

Me: These are my friends.

My friend: All 948 of them?

Me: Well yeah, I wouldn’t have added them otherwise right?

My friend: You can’t tell me you know all 948 of those people.

Me: No, I guess not.

My friend: Let’s go through and delete the people you don’t know.

(This was the moment. She had put all my shit out on the lawn and had asked me to pick a lamp to throw away.)

Me: I don’t want to delete anyone.

My friend: What about this person? You have not spoken to this person in three years.

Me: That is my cousin.

My friend: Um, ok, what about this person? From your first duty station in 1994. There is no way you are still in contact.

Me: She came to visit me last month.

My friend: Well, what about this person? She is just a friend of a friend that you’ve never met.

Me: She and her daughter sent me an awesome care package while I was in Afghanistan.

My friend: What about this girl. Some random Soldier.

Me: I wrote her a letter of recommendation three weeks ago.

My friend: What about this girl? She doesn’t even live in this country?

Me: That is Carly! Are you kidding me? She is one of my blogger crushes. Along with about 10 other bloggers. I’m not deleting any of my blogger crushes!

And the list went on. She would suggest someone, and I would immediately get defensive. I may not have a tie that binds me to every single last person on that list of 948, but I added them for a reason. Even if that reason was just so I could stalk their lives or find out what their wives looked like.

And the list use to be longer. But over the years (and even as recent as last month) people have deleted me. They have just hovered over my name and then BAM. Hit the delete button. And it was a simple thing. And they probably aren’t harboring any deep regret or wondering if my feelings are hurt over it.

But I can assure you that even though they are no longer part of my online collection, by deleting me they have graduated immediately to my in-mind obsession. And trust me. Nothing gets thrown out of there either.

Currently Chasing: A cure for CRAZY

So I’ve been wondering something. How come no matter what man I ask in my life, be it my brother, my co-workers or my male friends I will always get the same answer to this question:

Why did the two of you break up?

And the answer will always be:

Because that bitch went crazy.

I’m scratching my head over this.

I’ve had a man ask me for my underwear at the end of a date. A FIRST DATE!

“Hey, you know what would be awesome?”

“No what?”

“If you gave me your panties.”

“Well, that could be awesome, but I use them to prevent chaffing. But thanks for asking.”

I’ve had a man ask me if he could masturbate in his car, while I was in the passenger side.

“Hey, do you mind if I wack it while you’re sitting right here?”

“Um, no, if you don’t mind if I report you to the perve services and they document you and turn you into a blue dot on some predator web site!”

Good Lord!

I’ve had a guy suck his own dick on a web cam while I pointed my camera at my bare feet.

I’ve had a guy tell me that I can’t go to his house because his ex-girlfriend is there feeding the dog that they bought together, and that sometimes she still stays the night, and that yeah, it’s usually in his bed, but he promises, they are so over!

I’ve had a guy send me a picture of his penis next to a 9mm pistol.

I’ve had a guy send me a picture of his penis with a tape measure wrapped around it.

I had a guy send me a picture of his penis next to another penis? I don’t know what was more disturbing, that there was a second penis in the picture or that I was wondering which one was his. (OR) that there was a second penis in the picture.

I’ve had a guy call my phone and sing ask me out on a first date. He literally SANG  a song into my voicemail. Something creepy about loving me and staring into my eyes. It was some creepy American-idol audition bullshit.

And after all of this, someone can dare say that the reason something didn’t work out between us is because I’M CRAZY.

Come on! I’ve had this conversation recently:

“So what happened to you and Barbara?”

“That bitch went crazy.”

“Really? It wasn’t that you cheated on her with her sister that the two of you used to visit while she was in prison?”

“No, she didn’t know about that.”

“It wasn’t that you used the bonus money she got from the military to produce your own porn movie.”

“No, she supported that.”

“So she ‘out of the blue’ went crazy on you after 19 years of marriage?”

“I told you, that bitch was crazy.”

I bet she was crazy. Because you fucking made her crazy. I mean, how do you think we get crazy? You think it’s really like that comedian says? That one day we are just sitting there all normal and then you ask us what movie we want to see and we answer by saying:

“Um, I think Green Lantern sounds like a good … holy fuck I’M CRAZY!”

We just totally snap? Um, no. We stand by while you fuck our sister that just got out of prison. We stand by while you produce your porn movie. We stand by while you ask for our underwear. We stand by while you masturbate in your truck. (but for the record, I did not stand by for that.) We stand by while you suck your own dick. We stand by while you forget to tell us you are married. We Stand By. And then finally WE TAKE A STAND. And then, you say bye.

Sing this in the tune of Crazy by Gnarls Barklay.

“Maybe I’m crazaaaaay, cause you made me crazaaaaay, I’ll make you as craaaaaazay, as you make meeeeeeeee eeeeeee!”

That’s how I feel. We are only returning the favor, not initiating the craziness. I mean really. Dudes are always just pushing the buttons. Never really accountable for their shit. I would start dating chicks, but you know, them bitches be crazy.

Currently Chasing: Something to fall back on

What happens when you don't know what the fuck you're doing?
When your brain isn't working and you get really selfish and you start feeling entitled?

It's like that episode of sex and the city where Charlotte starts to freak out thinking something bad is going to happen to her because relationships all around her are failing:

Carrie Bradshaw: What makes you think something bad is gonna happen?
Charlotte York: Because! Nobody gets everything they want! Look at you, look at Miranda. You're good people and you two both got shafted. I'm so happy and... something bad is going to happen.
Carrie Bradshaw: Sweetie, you shit your pants this year. I think you're done.
And true enough, nothing bad happened. But I'm not Charlotte fucking York, and this isn't a movie. And I just feel like, something bad is going to happen.

I had a 'conversation' with my boyfriend the other day. He and I have been in an on again, off again relationship for the better part of five years. We've lived together, not lived together, lived near each other, lived far from each other, and have even tried living for each other. And no matter how we've lived ... our relationship seeemed to be a disposable yet recycleable entity.

We always left a door open so we could return to each other without the knowledge that there was some repressed rage. Like this girl has:

So the other day when we decided to 'have a talk' no one raised voices. No one said words that would hurt or sting, and no one was verbally pistol whipped.
The comment that started it wasn't even meant to start anything...but I can see how it did.

Me: I can't wait to swim this summer.
Mr. Big: Yeah, I don't have a pool where I live.
Me: I have three.
Mr. Big: We had a pool at our old place.
Me: Yep, but you never used it.
Mr. Big: You and your daughter did.
Me: Yeah, after you left us. (I need to drink less)
Mr. Big: ..........................

And that is how he stayed for the rest of the meal. Silent. He pushed some food around his plate but didn't eat anything.
I ate every bite because that is what I do. However, I was proud of myself for not asking for more breadsticks.

Then we went back to his house and did this thing we do where I talk, he listens, but doesn't respond or look at me. I tell him I'm going to leave. He acts like he doesn't care. I stand up and walk toward the door...get my shoes on and start gathering all my stuff in a dramatic way...Then I walk out the door and wait for him to send me a text that says he's not good with his words and that this is how he acts when we argue and he knows I need for him to communicate, but that is hard for him. Before he finishes that text, I'm already walking back through the door demanding he fight for me.

At that point there are some hugs and some apologies and then he warms up the food he didn't eat from earlier and plays some call of duty.

The point is, nothing was really wrong. It was just me creating drama. Pushing and pulling buttons and talking myself in and out of him. When I talk to my friends about it, they all see how much he's trying to change and they tell me that they see us together...forever.

Charlotte York: I always knew she'd marry Big.
Samantha Jones: You thought that after the second break up?
Charlotte York: Yep.
Miranda Hobbes: After the fifteenth?
And if you ask my friends...they'll still say yes. They see it. I'm just wondering if I see it the same way I used to see it. Or am I just so sure that something bad will happen that I'm just kind of pushing the universe to go ahead and ruin something for me. Or am I in fact daring it to?

I haven't shit myself this year, so I don't have that to fall back on.

Currently Chasing: A different channel

Ok. I have a question. How often do looks rule out over actual personality and connection? I’m watching the final episode of the Bachelor and thank God I have short hair, because if not I’d have to have someone hold it back while I throw the fuck up.

I’m sure not all of my readers are fans of this absurd and ridiculous show, so let me just sum it up. Guy meets really skinny beautiful girl and falls in love instantly. Then spends the rest of the season pretending to connect with other people for the sake of the show.  But here’s the thing. He never  even truly connected with the skinny beautiful girl. All of the other girls try desperately to prove their love. They swim with sharks, jump off cliffs, ride elephant, zip line through the jungle and do whatever crazy fucking thing he wants them to do. But this skinny beautiful girl, he spends the whole time proving his love to her. She doesn’t have to swim with sharks … instead she gets a helo ride to a mountain top, falls asleep during their dates and overall is just a total snore fest.

He wants her because he can’t really have her. She wanted to win the game, and she did. But they never really had a connection. And he is just that shallow. And like most men he craves what he can’t have. She is literally telling him on a daily basis that she doesn’t think she can do this. That she wants to leave. That it is all too much for her. And he is fighting tooth and nail to keep her. Every moment is a forced and awkward conversation.  And every single thing he says to her is a cheesy line out of a bad movie.

“You are my forever.”

“I love you so very much.”

“Please make me the happiest I’ve ever been in my whole life.”

All code for –

“I’m a shallow piece of shit and you better not gain weight.”

He picked pretty over personality and connection and he is suffering the consequences. Watching them on TV is hard. They are not right for each other.  He just keeps telling her how beautiful she is. Not how fun she is, or how smart she is, or how amazing she is, but just that she is the most beautiful woman he has ever seen. I mean, is that really all it takes?

Get skinny….get some boobs, shiny white teeth and a tight dress. Walk out of a limo and tell the man you want that you don’t love him and don’t know if you ever could…and you are automatically THE ONE.  Make sure you don’t want him, you don’t connect with him, but are just too damn pretty to walk away from and there you go.

But the other girl. The one that he didn’t choose. The one he had a connection with. The one he had so much fun with. The one who made him laugh and smile. Well, she was a bit chubby…and in the end, she didn’t get the guy.

Now , am I saying that he chose the skinny beautiful girl just because she was skinny and beautiful? Of course I’m not saying that…she also made it clear that she was a locked door and that she wasn’t really into him like he was into her…and that sealed the deal. Maybe if the chubby girl held back…told him she wasn’t that into him…dyed her hair and lost 20 pounds, she would have been wearing a ring right now. Instead she was just a great girl, who loved a man the best she could, gave him everything he could want and made him feel like the only man in the world.

What a loser. But trust me. She’s definitely not the biggest loser in this story.

Maybe she can burn a couple calories running as far away from that douche bag as possible.

Currently Chasing: An Oven big enough to hold my honesty pies

I've noticed a problem with writing this blog. It's public. People used to ask all the time, don't you feel crazy about putting some of your personal business out to whoever feels like clicking on this page? The answer was always a clear and easy, no. There were people in my life who would ask not to blogged about, there were people who didn't mind as long as they were given a code name, and there were people who were just as open about their lives and the goings on of it all as me.

But something has happened recently that is causing a bit of a rethink on my part, and I'm nervous. All of a sudden people who I didn't think were reading my blog, are, in fact, reading my blog. Even if they aren't personally logging on and looking at the words for themselves, they are being briefed on its contents. So conversations that normally go like this:

Random Person: hey, how was Afghanistan? Did you meet any amazing people or do anything noteworthy?

Me: Um, sure, I met some of the local population, took some great photos and remained absolutely professional the entire time.

Random Person: well, that is incredible, I'm sure you are better off the experience, welcome home awesome servant to our country.

Now go something like this:

Random Person: Hey, how was Afghanistan? Did you meet any amazing people or do anything noteworthy?

Me: Um, sure, I met some of the local population, took some great photos and remained absolutely professional the entire time.

Random Person: Hmmm, I didn't realize Canadians were members of the local population. And also, I read your blog on the type of 'photos' you've been taking and receiving. And what's going on with that guy who is in love with you? Are you going to see him again? Nevermind! Don't spoil the ending..I'll read about it later.

And so wow. There it was. I do try to explain to people that I take certain liberties with this blog, and often embelish things for the sake of entertainment, and that things aren't always exactly what they appear to be. But for the most part...the blog has become a place where I can accurately convey my feelings on most things. And it's not on a time delay. It's how I feel about whatever, right now.

And now it has become something else as well. A lie detector. One of two things are going to have to happen in my life. Either I start getting less honest in my blog, or I begin getting more honest in my real life.

It used to be a joke with me and the friend of mine who helped me create my blog. I would say, "I can't write about that!" And he would say, "Yes you can! That's what makes the blog great!" and I would rationalize it all in my head with one simple realization. "The person I about to blog about doesn't read my blog anyway, so it doesn't matter." And on with the detrimental-to-someone's-self-esteem blog I'd go. That bit me in the ass once with some guy I met at the gym who was some kind of computer genius who hacked into my facebook profile, got my blog address, and began reading. One of the first entries he read was about a guy from the gym who wouldn't stop being a creepy stalker. And the crazy part is, he commented on the blog to let me know he read it, and it didn't phase him one bit. He was still a creepy stalker, only now on a whole new level. Especially since his apperance in my blog made him feel more relevant in my life.

Now I'll say, I can't blog about that, he/she reads my blog. And my good friend will say, hmmm, fine, just wait a month or two and then blog about the story as a flashback. But whether I blog it now or in a month from now, people are going to know when it's them you are talking about. And others (who know you in real life) are going to be able to put two and two together and figure out who you are talking about...and that kind of defeats the purpose of a blog I can use to vent about things I wouldn't actually say to those people.

So I've made my decision. I like my blog. I'm going to keep writing it. And I'm going to remain true in what I write here...which means I better get busy baking those honesty pies ... and people who know me, know I dno't know how to bake, so these things may not taste as great as they look. But don't worry, you can always wash it down with a Chaser.

Currently Chasing: A Bed to Myself

I currently live on a bottom bunk. I haven't had bunk beds since I was a kid living in California. I remember sitting on the top bunk being a smart ass to my step father. I also remember him getting ready to backhand me, me moving out of the way just in time, and him shattering the bedroom light with his hand instaed. I remember thinking..damn dude...that was one hell of an abusive smack you were about to plant on my face. If I had been allowed to use the phone, I might have called child services. For the smack of course, and the fact that there were three kids living in one tiny bedroom.

Little did I realize, those would be the good ol' days. Now I'm living six to a room and I'm once again in a bunk bed. I got a bottom bunk though, because rank has its privledges. Those privledges don't include a closet of my own or the opportunity to dress with the light on, but as it turns out 15 years in the Navy scores you a bottom bunk. Awesome.

I got some new roommates recently, which is perfect. One of them loves to cry. She'll cry all night. Sometimes she'll go to the bathroom and cry. Luckily I live right next to the bathroom so I can still hear it. She'll cry in her sleep. Sometimes she'll stay out late crying at the chapel, and then she'll come home and cry a bit more. It's like one of those silent cries. The kind where you don't really want anyone to know you are crying but you refuse to just blow your nose and instead insist on continuing to reinhale your nose juices at irregular intervals. And when someone tries to be quiet while doing something, I for some reason pay even more attention...trying to catch a few seconds of sleep in between her sniffs.

I also now have a roommate who snores. At least it is at a low, steady pitch. One of those noises that you can kind of drown out as background. But every now and then I cue in on it and there I am trying to time my breathing to hers. And she loves to apolgize. Her alarm went off the other day. Everyone but the crier was already up, but for some reason she continued to apolgize.
"Oh geez, I'm so sorry. Holy shit, is that my alarm? Wow, I thought I turned it off. Man, I'm sorry. Seriously you guys, I thought I turned it off. How long was it going off? I'm sorry. How does this thing work anyway? I thought I had it set properly and then here it is just going off and waking up God and country. Wow, I don't know what went on there."
If the alarm didn't wake us, her war and peace apology speech sure would have.

Next door to me is a grandmother. I know this because every single night without fail she calls her grandchildren. For a while it was just one nightly phone call. And I would patiently wait for it to finish, all the while sighing under my breath and making sucking noises with my mouth (not like she could hear any of this) and sometimes whispering to my roommates about how rude this woman was. So one night in particular her conversation dragged on a little longer than normal, but finally, around 10:30 we heard her say goodnight. We unfurrowed our eyebrows and decided to get to some sleep...when all of a sudden we hear.
"Hey baby, it's grandma."

Holy shit, did this woman just sprout another grandchild? It's usually one call a night...who the hell was this second grandkid? One of my roommates had had enough and decided to bang against the wall. We heard her say something, get up...walk to her door and continue her conversation in the hallway...where we could of course still hear every single word she said. Just cause you can't hear doesn't mean everyone else is deaf as well.

Thankfully there is a roommate I totally adore and she is what keeps me sane. Although there are times when I'm watching a scary movie about a little girl who happens to be a vampire, and all the lights are out and she decides to move around on the top bunk, not meaning to, but nevertheless shaking the bottom bunk - making me think I'm being attacked ... this feeling made stronger by the subtle roar from one side of the room and the silent cries from the other -

And don't even get me started on the girl who 'cleans out her throat' in the bathroom each morning. I swear the sound of her drinking a bit of water and then violently hacking it up is down right nauseating. It's possible that sometimes the crying I hear at night, is my own.

Currently Chasing: The Rest of the Dream

I almost had a sex dream last night. I say almost because half way through the man's shirt coming off, my mother came strolling into the dream. AND SHE WAS NAKED. I don't know what this means, and I don't want anyone analyzing it. Anyway, I wasn't even mad that she came into the room, I was just mad that she wouldn't leave. She was dancing, naked, in my room - and meanwhile I'm like, MOM, GET THE FUCK OUT. Finally she leaves the room, and I try to get back to my original dream plan, and all of a sudden she calls my name. I'm like, WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT. Geezus! This is my dream for Cripe Sakes.

So I tell him to hold that thought while I run out to see what my naked mother wants. She asks me some question, who knows what, and I'm basically yelling at her because I want to get back in there to my dude. But when I return he isn't there anymore, and instead my bedroom is a tiny diner and people are sitting around having coffee...and I'm thinking...WHAT HAPPENED TO MY SEX?

Man, I've heard the stories about deployment making people crazy and horny and whatever...but I guess I just really only thought that happened to guys. I mean, I"m a chick, I can live without sex right? Married women do it all the time. But here I am, single and celebate, and I'm pissed! And now I can't even look forward to my dreams. Of course I miss my mother, and to be honest, she would have been quite happy with how well she held up in my dream. But damn it, It's my dream. the one time I get to be alone with my own thoughts...and now even my own thoughts aren't letting me enjoy myself. That's pretty sad. I will admit that there was a time my mom was visiting and I was bringing a boy home and I texted her and asked her to make sure she was in another room when I get home. When I finally got home, there she was on the couch in her nightgown and slippers. I was like, MOM, I TEXTED YOU...I'VE GOT A GUY WITH ME. She hurried into the other room. I looked at him thinking...I've just ruined this for sure. But he said, she didn't run into your room did she? I said no. He said, ok then, are we good? Ha. Yeah, we're good. Thank God you're barely 21 and this kind of things happens to you all the time.

Anyway, I'm getting ready to watch a movie, and then I'm going to shut my eyes and pray to go back to the dream about the beautiful Diver. How do I know he was a diver? Because I know the guy...yep. Sure do. I've never had sex with him, never dated him, never ever flirted with him...but for some reason four years after my last real conversation with him, here he is in my dream...and there is my naked mother in the room. Whose dream was this suppose to be again?

Currently Chasing: An Answer to Why I Suck

There’s something I don’t understand about women. It’s something I don’t even understand about myself. It’s fucking ridiculous actually. Why do we put up with stupid shit and settle for men who make us want to shoot ourselves in the face?

And guess what else we do.  After said love of our life shits all over us, we talk a bunch of shit about him to our friends. I do this all the time. I fucking do this in my blog. I talk/write a bunch of shit about how retarded and douchie he is. I tell the world that I can’t stand him and that I will not put up with what he has done.

Meanwhile I’m fucking texting him asking if we can get back together, or if I can come over and pick up a couple things I left there, or if I can just suck his dick while he plays call of duty. Whatever. Just please let me be in your presence!

And simultaneously all of my friends are applauding me because of how well I’m handling everything. They are high fiving me and telling me that I’m a strong independent woman and I don’t need that asshole bringing me down. And I’m right there saying, you are so fucking right! Fuck this guy. I don’t need him. He was such a waste of my life. I DESERVE BETTER.

Meanwhile I’m still stalking him on facebook and wondering if he’s going to unfriend me and messaging every girl who comments on his status to let her know what a dillhole he is and that she shouldn’t get involved with him because he’s only going to destroy her heart, her trust, and her reason for living. “Run for your life Girl!” I’ll scream.

But simultaneously I’m asking said guy to come over and talk because I just really think we can work it out. WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH US.

Case in point:

I want to lose about 20 pounds. So I say to this really sweet guy I like once I reach my goal weight of 145 I’ll be happy. So about seven minutes into the conversation he says, you know at 115 you would look emaciated.

“yeah, that’s why I don’t want to be 115. I want to be 145.”

Then he said, “At 120, your face would still be sunk in.”

“Um, yeah, what is your point? I don’t want to be 120.”

Then he says: "You know at 125 or 130, with your frame, you would be really lean with a tiny waist. And your ass would be perfectly round and tight."

To which I respond, “ …………..shock…………..awe………….”

You’ve got to fucking be kidding me? I just told him I wanted to be 145, which admittedly is thinner than I’ve EVER been in my whole adult life…and he suggests I lose an additional 15 pounds?

FUCK YOU.

So I tell my friend about it. She agrees with me that this guy is a bag of assholes.

So the next day when he sent a text telling me I took his statement wrong and that he didn’t mean it, I should have told him to shove it up shitter, but instead I wrote back some flirty bullshit and brought women back 20 years in the process. Why am I always forcing women to (D)E volve?  

I’ve done this in the past as well. You spend so much time convincing all of your friends that some guy is a total waste of your time and that he should die…and then you bring him to your fucking block party and expect everyone to just forget that they spent four hours holding your hand and comforting you while you blew snot rockets and cried trailers of tears the night before.

Men are not that strong ladies … the weakness is in us!

But guess what? We are good enough, pretty enough and smart enough to actually move on! And these guys who treat us like we are replaceable just need to become background noise. Now excuse me while I hit the gym, I’ve got 35 pounds to lose. Then he’ll love me.