Insurance Sucks

After 3 months of wondering and waiting, the final word is in: My kids insurance company is dumping them! And not only are they now uninsured, Emma’s $15k+ medical bills will NOT be paid (at least by the ass hole dick heads insurance company). And they are taking it a step further… every doctor visit and subsequently every claim from the past 6 months is null and void. I now get to play the fun back and forth game of appeals.

So today, and I’m pretty sure for the near (and far) future, I hate insurance companies. At least one of my dear friends offered to take a dump on their lawn. Please make sure it takes the shape of my initials so they know who it’s from :).

I Underestimated It

The number 7… not one of my favorite numbers. I, along with my sisters, have thing number “thing”. It’s a little weird I suppose, but that’s just the way I roll.

So when the 7 on my phone started acting up, you’d think that I wouldn’t be too sad to see it go. But I underestimated how much I actually need that 7. After a few days, it went from “acting up” to completely FUBAR! Not only could I not dial any phone numbers with the #7, I couldn’t text using any letters that correspond with the #7. And let me tell you, P, Q, R, and S are pretty much the backbone letters of the English language. As much as it hurts me to admit it, I need 7!

Now I have gone back to my old phone. A phone that resembles a toy, and definitely does NOT have any of the bells and whistles of my former piece of crap one. But then again, my modest little cell is 3 years old, has been in the mouth of an overly exuberant puppy, dropped in water as well as on the ground numerous times, and is still working.

If nothing else, I guess I can look at this as a life lesson. That there is something to be said about passing up something that looks pretty on the outside, but is fragile and ultimately sucks ass. Sometimes simplicity is best.

Kids These Days

Ah, the sweet delights of summertime… the season of BBQs, family vacations, and good clean fun at the local swimming pool.

This year, for the first time, my little family purchased a summer membership to the local “sports club” (thanks Dad 🙂 ). It’s been nice to be able to load the kids in the car on a whim and head over for a swim.

The other day while soaking in some much needed rays while my kiddies spashed around, I heard the following conversation from a group of 10 year olds.

Lil’ Bastard #1 – “Look at that girl, she’s got some big titties.”
Lil’ Bastard #2 – “Yeah, I love big boob.”
Lil’ Bastard #1 – “Look at how they bounce when she walks.”

It was at this point when I turned around, and said what any loving and responsible mother and woman would do. “Classy. Go somewhere else you little freaks.”

Sunscreen – $8
Summer Family Membership – $169
Hearing 10 year olds sexually harass girls/women – Priceless

This Month’s Search Engine Terms

And now, this month’s installment of how people find my blog via search engines.

7- “Cars women like dating” – I must admit that I don’t have much car dating experience, but a nice Toyota makes me hot.
6- I’m weird and I don’t like it – You are weird and nobody likes it.
5-“Slap my boobs” – Something I usually request of people.
4- “Why are men so retarded at dating” – If you find out the answer to this question, please, let me know.
3- “I want to be bubbly and not moan” – Don’t we all?
2- “Mom masterbates in front of daughter” & “mother masterbates her daughter” – Once again, I really don’t know what to say about this one, other than I think that there are SOME people who should be forcibly sterilized.
1- “Why do guys masterbate in front of girls” – I’m thinking that maybe I should change my site name from “Megatropolis” to “Masterbatropolis”.

Cursed Or Just A Freak… Update

What do I say after my last post.

There weren’t a lot of excuses (only two actually) that I would have accepted for this guy not contacting me. But he had one of them. Maybe I jumped to conclusions, but in light of my past relationships, it’s understandable (right or wrong) that I did so. But I’m OK with admitting I’m wrong, and I was, happily so.

I wasn’t abandoned by the new man. And I guess there is a little silver lining to this whole experience. In a way this little “drama” helped us to open up a little and let each of us realize that just maybe we CAN trust the other.

It’s hard to not let past hurts and experiences not make me jaded. Finding the balance between keeping myself safe and being wise all while attempting to keep an open mind and not punishing people for others “sins” is still something I’m working on. But for now, things are good, and life is going on.

Cursed

You may have noticed that the frequency of my posts have slowed quite a bit the last month or so. Is it because I’ve been frolicking in the joy that is summer? Is it because I’ve been trapped under something heavy and have only have enough battery power in my laptop that forces me to blog only once a week in order to conserve energy?

Surprisingly, no.

I have been somewhat hesitant to write about my life as of late because, frankly, I didn’t want to jinx anything. For the same reason, I’ve only talked about it with a few people. So, much of what I did in relationships pasts, I’ve held off on doing this time around. The hope being that if I did it different this time around, it might yield a different result. But despite my attempts to avoid this “one” going down in a ball of flames like his predecessors, it seems the curse upon me is so fucking unbreakable that there isn’t a damn thing I can do to free myself from it.

I’ve been (or I guess it’s probably appropriate to use the past tense now… I was) seeing someone for the last month or so. From the beginning things were great. We had so much in common with regards to our beliefs, values, tastes, etc., that it was almost scary. There was serious chemistry, both mentally and physically.

There are a lot of details about what happened that I could go into at this point, but it doesn’t really matter. Because the most important thing… the kicker… is that despite everything going great, it looks as if this relationship is ending EXACTLY like my former.

What are the odds? What are the fucking odds that this relationship would end in EXACTLY the same way that my former one did? With NO explanation! They just vanish. And just like last time, the words I hear before they depart are super sweet. This time it was a text that read “Good morning. I’ve been thinkin’ about you.” followed by a phone call in which he told me he’d call me in an hour.

Yeah, you guessed it, it’s been longer than an hour.

I just can’t believe that this is happening to me again! And I know what you’re thinking… What is it that I’m doing to drive these men away!

A very good question. But when I go over everything in my head, the answer is: Nothing I tell you! At least not in the obvious ways. I am nice, fun, laid back, don’t put any pressure on them, don’t have the “relationship” talk, don’t call or text unless it’s in response, etc.

Therefore, the only possible answers are that, 1) I am indeed cursed, 2) God really isn’t very fond of me, 3) I have the worst jerk radar and manage to find the nicest assholes in all of Salt Lake Valley, or 4) they really are all evil. Whatever the answer, once again my little stupid shiveled-up, gangrened heart is broken, and I’m left here alone wondering how, why, and what I did to deserve this.

Next Time Just Bitch Slap Me

After my last failed relationship just over a month ago, and in a very late (1 a.m.) moment of weakness, I joined millions of singles and put my love life in the hands of an online dating site.

I’ve done the online “thing” on and off since my divorce, and each time, I tell myself I won’t do it again. Because for the most part, I don’t think online dating works. Of course there are always exceptions to the rules. I had a couple of decent, even (seemingly) good dates this go-around. But in general, online dating blows, and not in a good way.

That’s why I’m asking that the next time I even THINK about joining another site, please, stop me. I don’t care how, just intervene. Pry the keyboard away from my sex deprived hands, take a white glove (picture French gentleman, 17th century), and lovingly smack the shit out of me. And in case I forget to tell you later, thanks.