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To The Loser Who Just Broke My Friend’s Heart

jerkYou suck. The end.

The rest of this post goes out to anyone who has been mistreated, lied to, cheated on, or taken advantage of.

Action, not words darling. That’s where the truth is.

For years I have been single. For years I thought I really, really wanted to meet someone to be my partner in life and I was convinced that I would have to make some concessions. Until this summer.

Just when I thought that my dream of meeting Mr. Right had come true, he shed his best-behavior-skin like the snake he is, and slithered out of my life. Good. Riddance. Jack-Ass.

I could say that I hate men, that they’re all liars and cheats, but the reality is that I love them. I love  men.

Just as there are pathetic flaps of skin who slither their way through life clinging to the ethical underbelly of society calling themselves men, there are women who do the same. They are primarily identifiable as neither male or female. They are sociopaths.

It seems that being a sociopath (aka jack-ass, jerk or douchebag) crosses all gender and age barriers. An asshole, is an asshole, is an asshole. Amen.

What my last foray into the world of broken hearts has reinforced is that my gut instinct is much wiser than the negotiated romantic deals brokered between my head and my heart. Intuition is a smart bitch, and I love her for her unflinching honesty during times of despair. My own mistake is not acting on what my intuition is telling me, and believing in  potential.

Listen here ladies and gentlemen, we are not school teachers sent here to point out potential. We are adults in relationship with other adults; each of us responsible for how we treat others.

For anyone (male, female and everyone in-between),who is suffering a broken heart, I urge you to read my ‘Why I Stopped Dating’ articles, Part 1 and Part 2.

loveagainI do not believe that love hurts. If it hurts or if it makes you ‘less than’,  it isn’t love. If you are not joyful, but instead, full of anxiety, self-doubt and fear, it definitely is not love.

What you may need to do is re-evaluate what love actually is, and what it looks like in your life. Let me give you a hint, it does not involve a Disney prince or princess. Quite often the greatest of all loves come from friendship.

Wishing a plague of vicious crotch-crabs and a shriveling, fungus infested pee-pee on the loser who just broke my friend’s heart.

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Just When You Think It Can’t Get Any Worse

danceinthekitchenI have had one hell of a year.

It’s been a  ‘real doozy’ as your granny might say. Like a feather pillow at a pre-teen slumber party, sometimes you just get the emotional shit kicked out of you.

Tonight as I stretched toward the top of the cupboards with the longest barbeque tool I could find, I heard the voice of he-who-shall-not-be-named telling me that I was going to hurt myself. Deftly I scooped up a long wicker tray, and tipped it into my waiting hand…like a boss.

A few months ago, I was planning things with this he-who-shall-not-be-named sweetheart. I hadn’t been that happy in sooooo long. I was over the moon.

Tonight I’m alone.

As over the moon as I was a few months ago, I dove that deeply into mourning the loss of all that it was going to be.

What is it they say? I think it goes something like this, “ My knight in shining armor turned out to be an asshole in tinfoil“. Whatever… and at this age and stage, who cares?  It is, whatever it is. It’s. Not. My. Problem.

One thing that I do know for sure is that the future is too precious to waste dwelling on the past.

As I heard that voice in the back of my head, tipping my wicker baking basket over my head, I realized that I was truly happy. Happy. Goofy smile, humming to myself, dancing like a fool all by myself in my tiny kitchen.

I  stirred caramel corn and baked devilishly good cupcakes while bopping around my little kitchen in tights and a t-shirt, not missing anyone or anything. You see, just when you think it can’t get any worse, it often does, get better.

Over time, and with careful observation of how my mumster handles herself with grace, strength, and my favourite trait; humor, I realize just how much control we do have when it comes to having a good day or a bad day.

Don’t get me wrong, sometimes life just stinks, and you need to curl up in a ball. You need to rage, cry, hate, feel insecure and alone. You need to do all of this without apology or holding back.

And one day you’ll be done with it.

You’ll find yourself all alone, smiling from the inside out, and you will realize just how damn wonderful this one, precious, life really is.