I’ve been having some problems with my new phone… a “razor”. I haven’t been able to send or receive picture messages.

After about an hour on the phone with T-Mobile, it looked as if the mystery was solved. To test my photo receiving capabilities, I asked the man that I’ve been dating for a little over a month to send me a picture.

He sent me a picture of his ass. Yes… his ass. I don’t know whether to laugh, cry, or run like hell.

I try to avoid harping on the same subject over and over again… OK, at least I try to space the same-subject bitch sessions out. But yeah, I had surgery last week. I’m fine, and yes, I’ll survive. But it’s sucks!

Surprisingly enough, this post isn’t about me complaining. Actually, right now I’m feeling very blessed to have people in my life that somehow know just what to do and just when to do it in order to save me from myself.

The last couple of days have been hard for me. Probably just a result of the surgery, but nevertheless, I’ve been feeling overwhelmed and for lack of a better word, crappy.

Tuesday night, when I was feeling the wrath of my own pity, my BFF called and saved me with Olive Garden, a hug and a BFF cuddle session that I needed more than he’ll ever know.

Today my lovely, charming, and wonderful life-long friend called me. We talked for a few minutes, and then she got another call. 30 minutes later, the doorbell rang. There she was, brownies in tow (my favorite mint chocolate ones from The Normandy Cafe…yummy). Girl time and chocolate… it’s better than any painkiller I’ve tried.

This life… as hard as it sometimes is, as alone as I sometimes feel, and as much as I sometimes feel I can’t do this another day, I know that I truly am blessed. To all of you who are there to pick me up when I’m feeling down and make me smile and laugh when I want to cry, I love you and appreciate you more than you’ll ever know.

THANK YOU!

It’s a plot. That, of course, is the only reasonable explanation. The few blogs I regularly read seem to have a similar theme going on this past week…Happiness. And you know, it really fucking pisses me off. Not for any reason other than I had a really stupid and yet painful surgery on Friday, am miserable, and want to drag the whole world down with me.

OK, that might be overstating things. But reading about others bliss reminds me that my current situation sucks. It’s just not fair! I’m supposed to be finding myself, making new insightful discoveries, not holed up in this bed (which I must say is ever so comfortable, especially with my heating blanket). But that’s not the point. So, while everyone around me seems to have their shit all figured out, I’m just waiting for the hour (yes, it’s every 3) when I can take my next pain pill.

So if any of you have a heart…give me a couple of days until you tell me how your lives are made of sugar plum dreams and golden rainbows. Lie and tell me that your tire blew out and you were molested by a gang of elderly women, or something good like that.

Thanks.

Maybe posting 2 days out of surgery and hopped up on Valium and Percocet might not be the BEST idea, but I’m pretty sure that I had a life changing and monumental thought about 5 minutes ago. Unfortunatey I’ve already forgotten what it was. I think it’s time for another pill.

I’m tired of making excuses for everyone else.

With my ex-husband, I was always walking behind him, cleaning up the mess after his emotional tornado’s, always trying to downplay his faults.

My alcoholic friend..apologizing for his asshole-ish ways, and having to explain to people he pisses off that THIS is just they way he is, and to please just ignore it.

The other, justifying his behaviors and words, trying to convince my friends (or maybe myself) that “really, he’s not a bad person” and “he’s been through a lot”.

There seems to be a pattern that I’ve created for myself. I’ve always had a soft spot for abandoned or hurt animals. I suppose it’s not surprising that this would translate to humans as well.

Well, here I am saying: BULLSHIT!

No more projects. No more energy and emotional vampires. No more excuses.

After talking with a wonderful friend of mine, I saw clearly what I’ve done over and over again for so many years. I’ve felt sorry for people (men), taken them ‘in’, and then felt somewhat responsible for their happiness. And then I stick around. Partly because I don’t want to abandon them in their time of need, despite the fact that I am not treated well and my efforts go unappreciated. But also because I have foolishly let these people into my heart, and saying goodbye is difficult.

Again, BULLSHIT!

I’m not Jesus. It’s not my job to save the soulless, selfish, and stupid. It’s not that I’m turning cold or have lost all feeling. But from this day forth, I refuse to allow someone to take without giving. If I make an investment, I will expect some kind of return.

It’s not selfish…it’s survival!

I know I’ve talked about massages before. But my massage today is definitely worth posting about.

Her name is Stacey. If I were a lesbian, and the thought of kissing a woman didn’t gross me out, and if it were legal, I would marry this girl.

I’ve had good massages before. Even great ones (like last month). The one today not only felt amazing, but there was this weird connection between us. It wasn’t sexual (AT ALL), nor romantic. Maybe not even spiritual. But it was, well, sensual. Or maybe decadent is a better word.

I completely surrendered to the experience. And she seemed very in tune to exactly where I was hurting and what I needed.

The best part? Anyone who knows me well knows that I LOVE a soft tickle. No massage therapist has ever done the tickle. But she did. And damn it, I loved it!

Oh yes…I’ll be back Stacey. I’ll be back.

The Most Asked Questions From People When They Find Out I Have Twins:

1) “Did you do fertility treatments?” — No, I guess I’m just lucky (kind of like getting malaria). I’m a fertile kind of girl.

2) “Did you breastfeed?” — Yes…yes I did. This seems to be the #1 question. People almost always ask how I did it. My answer? Pretty much the same way you breastfeed one, just with both breasts occupied. They usually want me to demonstrate how I did it. I almost always comply (although not the FULL demonstration) :).

3) “A boy and a girl, huh? Are they identical?” — I try to be patient and fair, but…DUH! My stock answer: “Yeah, all except for the penis.”

4) “Ohhh, how cute! I always wanted twins! Do you love it?” — Are you f’ing kidding me? I love my children, but HELL NO! If I could have separated the pregnancy into single ones, I’d do it. Would you like carrying 14 pounds of baby, double the amniotic fluid, placenta and blood, have a gigantic uterus? How about having no room in your stomach to eat, bladder to hold pee, and diaphragm to breath? How about being 6 months along and measuring full term? OR feeling like your abdomen might split at any minute only to have babies, guts and all spill out of you? It was uncomfortable, stressful, and painful. If you think twins would be good times, you deserve them… sucker.

5) “Twins…wow. God must think you’re amazing. You are a saint.” — Hey dip-shit, I have a hard time believing that God had a hand in this. If he did, I think it’s proof that he has a sense of humor or hates my guts more than it is divine intervention. I hope God has better things to worry about than my reproduction. Truthfully, I think it has a lot more to do with me producing more than one egg when I ovulate.

6) This is my favorite: “Do they have the same father?” — And yes, she was serious.

I’m not one of those people that cannot admit when they are wrong.

With regards to my previous post, I feel like I must make a few corrections.

Yes, after this last weekend, I was upset. I opened myself up a little, and took a small leap of faith — trusting someone with my person in a foreign land (Wendover might as well be China as far as I’m concerned…just with a lot of old people). Despite the fun I had, by the end of the trip I was left with a taste in my mouth resembling that after eating a shit sandwich.

Not that I had high expectations of the place, but I expected this man to treat me with the same respect that he had before our mini getaway.

He said some things, did some things, that just plain sucked.

There are reasons…excuses…as to why this happened. They don’t make it OK, but I don’t believe he is pure evil. He had too much to drink, was around his crazy friends, and forgot that he was with a lady. One who paints her toe nails, shaves her legs, and doesn’t think it’s too much to ask to have you open her door.

But I also think that ultimately it came down to poor communication and misunderstanding. I’ve realized that just like me, he has insecurities, doubts, and fears. While this doesn’t pardon him, it does explain why he acted the way he did.

ANYWAY, long story short, I told him how he had hurt me, angered me, embarrassed me, and scared me. He gave me probably one of the most genuine apologies I’ve heard.

He didn’t make ANY excuses for his behavior. He took all of the responsibility. He said he was sorry. Most importantly, he let me feel how much he liked me.

So I’m eating a small portion of my words, and giving him another shot. Maybe it’ll work out, maybe not. But I guess I’m willing to take the chance to be cautiously optimistic.

I’m the first to admit that I’ve made mistakes, or shall we say unwise decisions, when it comes to men and dating. But I’ve learned from my faux pas.

So this time around, I did it “right.” I knew the man for 6 months before I agreed to go out with him. I asked about him and got a feeling about the kind of person he is. I talked to people who knew him well. And when they all said that he was “a great guy,” “very nice,” and all seemed to think that we’d be great together, I felt like my homework was done…A+.

The first 2 dates were great. He was fun, kind, a complete gentleman. But after a few more dates, and a weekend in Wendover…wow, his true colors not only showed, but shot out of his ass like a rainbow exploding from a leprechaun’s cannon.

So how could I have done everything I should have done and STILL have a result like this? Any ideas?

I guess it’s back to the drawing board for me. Maybe I did something wrong, or maybe it was just him. All I know is that it’s another reason for me to run from every penis haver within 100 yards of me.

Emma is OK. No cancer, or anything concerning. Whew…what a relief. Now I can go back to obsessing over the really important things, like what color to paint my toe nails