So I started seeing someone new recently. I think at this point I have come to the realization that I either attract or am only attracted to someone that is an absolute hot mess. Let’s call him "The Original Gangster" or “OG” if you will. He is old enough to be my father and I am pretty sure that when I first met him he was wearing a smoking jacket.

I met up with OG for a few drinks last night. I had already tied one on pretty well when he walked into the bar. As he was approaching me I noticed he was wearing a plaid jacket and if I remember correctly there were some patches involved in there somewhere. Had I not been so inebriated I am sure I would have mentioned his attire and most likely asked him what in the hell he was thinking when he got dressed for the evening. However at the time I think I was just trying to concentrate on holding myself up at bar.

Cut to a few hours later and we have stumbled our way down the canal and found ourselves back at my place. After we ransacked my apartment looking for a lighter and raided my fridge we both passed out. We somehow managed to jack up my bed so bad that for a few moments I was trapped in my comforter and for the life of me could not figure out how to get out of it.

I am not exactly sure what time it was when OG woke me up in the middle of the night but I know this much… the words that came out of his mouth were right up there with “I smoked my mom”. This bastard wakes me up and tells me “Baby… I can’t find my gun”. What the hell? Your what? Apparently he had been packin some heat underneath his Mr. Rogers jacket the entire evening.

At this point not only has he woken me up to tell me that he has lost his gun in my apartment but now he wants me to help him look for it. What an amazing date this turned out to be. I somehow free myself from the jaws of my comforter and begin tearing my apartment apart looking for this mystery gun. He proceeds to tell me that he hid it somewhere and he cannot remember where it put it. I ask him why in the world he would hide his gun from himself in the middle of the night. He has no idea. With that kind of logic running around in his head I am now sure that we are destined to have children.

We eventually find his 45 after looking in every drunk person’s favorite hiding places. We looked through my pots and pans, we tore through my closet, we opened the dog food, and I am pretty sure we even looked in the Christmas tree. When I woke up this morning it looked like my apartment had been burglarized.

When I was a kid my mother faithfully dropped us off for school every morning. It was always the same routine. She would undoubtedly still be in her house coat and her hair gave new meaning to the term "bed head". My brother and I were not exactly morning people which attributed to much of the silence on the way to school. As we opened the car door and reached for our bags she would tell us that she loved us and then just as the car door was closing and we were rushing off to greet our friends she would call out to us "learn something". She said it every single day.

I have never paid much attention to Mom's little catch phrase. It has always been just another one of her eccentricities that make her mom. I sat down today to reflect on 2009 and her words popped into my head once again. "Learn Something". Looking back over this last year I started to wonder if I had in fact learned anything.

Top 10 Things I learned in 2009

1) Trying to drink my weight in crown and coke on a random Tuesday never leads to anything positive.
2) Spending any significant amount of time at work often makes me want to punch babies or the elderly.
3) I am apparently going to have to learn some kinda of tricky voodoo jazz so that I can put a curse on my BFF's house so that it will never sell and she will be forced to stay in DFW with me.
4) Brett Michaels only takes a crap in complete darkness. That is just weird.
5) No matter how hard I pray or what kind of deals I try to make with God, I will never get to date a real honest to goodness vampire.
6) Dating a man that is the spitting image of my husband and literally old enough to be my father was never a good idea. Interesting yes... but a horrible idea.
7) I can eat Chipolte once a week and never get tired of it.
8) It is absolutely possible to be so hung over that even your hair hurts.
9) Brett Michaels is, was, and will always be a total douchbag.
10)No matter how hard I fall or what mistakes I make, I am lucky enough to have people in my life that love me unconditionally and are willing to help me put the pieces back together.

I recently started seeing a grief counselor and I somehow simultaneously became mentally unstable. It’s interesting how the two coincide. But hell, I had to do something. My life was quickly becoming a really bad episode of the real world . I was undoubtedly the drunk girl in every season with her Ed Hardy hat on sideways screaming obscenities at everyone within a one mile radius.

I knew in my heart that the steps I took on my own to push through my emotional rollercoaster were only baby steps and really getting me no where. People say that toddlers look like a drunk person trying to walk when they first start out on their feet. Needless to say I took this to another level and went ahead and added crown and coke into my regular diet.

I have only been to two sessions and I am more than ready to give up completely. I meet with Dr. Evil every Tuesday. After our first meeting, she recommended that I come in once a week instead of every other week. I believe that was her polite way of telling me that I really needed a designated “out of order” sign to wear around my neck everyday. I agreed.

Last weeks session was like jumping off of a high dive in the middle of winter in your birthday suit. I was not at all prepared for the flood gates that followed. I did not know which was way up for the first couple of days and then went ahead and ended the week with going bat shit crazy on Brett Michaels. He packed up his things and left the next day.

Following that train wreck, I tried to leave town for the weekend and go out to my family’s farm to “get away”. This was not my brightest idea to date. My poor mother drug me around parts of Texas that even legislation had not seen for decades. I could barely get out of the car most of the time, my stomach was in knots, and I would have rather milked a bull then put food in my mouth. This road trip obviously did not work and I found myself praying for Monday.

I have another appointment with Dr. Evil tonight. I am not exactly thrilled at the idea of spending another hour locked inside a tiny room full of mirrors and questions that I do not have the answer to. Since fleeing to Costa Rica is not exaclty an option for me on a random Tuesday, I will have to settle for picturing her head as a basketball and squishing it while she is talking. Surely she will not be offended by this.

Somehow over the past few weeks my life has spun completely out of control. I have become this retarded drunk monkey of a dumb ass that I certainly do not recognize. I am not sure which way is up anymore. Any lurking sense of responsibility or self respect I may have had has completely left me.

I have been on this rollercoaster ride that I will admit at times has been incredibly fun, but at the end of the day (or the next morning) only leaves me feeling like Forrest Gump on a blind date with Condoleezza Rice.

The moral of this story is that I am officially a complete mess. I have got to do something to fix this. It’s almost as if I decided to drive strait to a little place I like to call “insanity” without passing go and without collecting my $200. Where in the French is my get out of jail free card?

Consider this my formal notice that I must get my crap together.

My brother and I recently took cruise down to Cozumel. To give you even a hint of the four days that followed after we boarded the boat… We were almost too drunk to make it to the safety drill. We were sitting in our room with our life jackets on contemplating how we could hide from the crew.

After this monstrosity of a vacation, we both come down with some kind of viral shit that could knock a linebacker on his ass. Eric started to feel bad while we were still on this ship; you can imagine how much fun he was on the last night and the 5 hour trip home the next day. I of course thought he was being a pansy and that he had just had too much “fun” in Mexico. We fought like two crack heads over the last piece of a rock. It was not pretty.

To my utter disbelief, I come down with the same shit he has been “whining” about for two days. All of the sudden I feel like I have been run over with a dump truck that subsequently reversed itself and went ahead and ran back over me. I have a 104 fever and would really like to shoot myself in the head.

I realize at this moment that I have made a fatal mistake. I had shipped Eric off to my mothers to avoid any further gun slinging from our encore of cowboys and Indians. I could just picture him being waited on hand and foot by the greatest caretaker this side of the equator. He would be getting five star resort mints on your pillow kinda treatment and here I was hunkered down at my place with a blanket covered in dog hair and a refrigerator that had not seen any resemblance of food in weeks. Immediate action had to be taken. Eric flew home the next day and I could not get to my mothers fast enough.

The next evening I found myself snuggled in freshly laundered bedding and things being brought to me like I was some kind of royalty. Even my pug was grateful to have blown that Popsicle stand. I spent the next 5 days either sweating or chattering my teeth. I did not get out of bed for much and I had to be reminded that it might be a good idea to shower. Thanks mom.

Eric and I eventually made our peace and we have put away our claws. I realized he was not a pansy and he got to tell me that he was glad that I got sick. All in all, everything worked out in the end.

Between working my A off and dealing with an over dramatic clown, I managed to find the time to login to facebook yesterday. I made my usual rounds checking status updates and shoutin out to my peeps when I came across a comment on my wall that stopped me in my tracks.

A friend of mine wrote to tell me that one of my ex boyfriends would be getting out of jail soon. This apparently inspired a certain skeleton in my closet to mouth off that "this was a step up from what other men in my past may be up to these days". I of course gave her the stink eye through my computer screen.

At first I thought her comment was tacky and useless. But then I looked at the facts. Unfortunately this little trip down memory lane would end up being more true than it was an attack on my ridiculously big ego. Lets look at the line up shall we...

1) Eric (1st relationship) He now goes by Erica.
2) Josh (High school boyfriend) The jailbird in question.
3) James (brief lapse in judgement) Prison- robbery and possession
4) Andy (Husband) 2 DWI's, Habitual Liar, Completely Retarded.
5) Brett Michaels (Most recent relationship) Smoked his mom.

I immediately forgave her.

In high school I was voted "Most likely to date someone with a prison record" by my journalism class. Seems more and more fitting every time I think about it. Mind you, this is not my entire dating laundry list. I have managed to find a handful of incredibly charming and responsible men that I keep in touch with to this day.

I think by now I have kissed enough frogs, I am ready for a prince. Hell at this point, I would settle for a law abiding citizen.

Is it possible to have writers block when you are not a writer? It happened to dawn on me today that I have not been a faithful blogger in the past few weeks. I usually have at least one interesting little tid bit that I feel the need to share with the world, but lately nothing. Nodda. Zilch.

Before I started this post I tried to think of something noteworthy that happened to me recently. I could not come up with a single thing. What could this mean? What in the helicopter have I been doing to keep myself busy? Have I become this boring run of the mill person with nothing to make fun of? This simply cannot be possible..... I will have to put my thinking cap on and come up with something soon.

Stay Tuned.

Meet Ethan! He was born on 7/2/2009. Jennifer (my best friend) and Chris are the new proud parents of this handsome boy!!!!!

Needless to say I have been dreading this past weekend like a wart on your vag. I would have rather slipped into a coma for 72 hours than gone through my first fathers day without my Dad. Obviously this was not possible. With my brother thousands of miles away, I decided to take this opportunity to hibernate with my pug inside the comforts of my fabulous new apartment.

I had a weekend planned of pj's, take out, and a trip to blockbuster. After the week I had, it was in my best interest to stay away from the general public... mostly for their own safety. However there was one small hole in my plan, I had agreed much earlier in the week to go out with Brett Michaels on Friday night. Though I had absolutely no desire to be in any public venue where I would run the risk of seeing anyone with their father or even just happy people in general. I knew it would be good for me to get out of the house for at least one night.

I drove out to Saginaw to pick up my date for what was to be an evening I will always remember. As I was waiting in my car for Brett to come out, I thought to myself that no matter what, I really did want this evening to be fun. I needed laughter and I needed uncomplicated. As Brett walked up to my car I felt the little hairs on the back of my neck stand up. No matter what I have said about this man or the sheer fact that he smoked his mom, he still does things to me. I wish I could explain or better yet even describe it. He is just sexy. Even in his horrible clothing and his terminator sunglasses... I just want to jump him. Moving on.

We get to dinner and we immediately begin our playful banter. One of our favorite past times is to horribly embarrass the other person in public. We also have this thing where we thumb wrestle and/or play tic tac toe at the table while we are waiting on our food. As we are sitting there, we start going over show times when Brett informs me that he has to be home by 1:00am. I ask Cinderella why he suddenly has a curfew at the ripe old age of 31. Brett then tells me he has to be home by 1:00 am not because he will turn into a pumpkin but because he is sporting a new court ordered ankle monitoring device. I ask you... What the french?

Brett has had some trouble with drinking in the past. He may have one or two or even three DWI's under this belt. This much I knew. However, the powers that be recently decided that he could no longer be trusted and gifted him with this beautiful new bling for his ankle. Again... What the french? Am I really sitting here? Is this really happening? I sat there in silence for what felt like forever. After that, all I could do was laugh. I mean really... what is a girl to say when their boyfriend may have been on an episode of cops?

I am not sure if I always over react or he always under reacts in these situations, but I found myself again sitting next to him in complete shock. Did my little mom smoker really just tell me that he is wearing a flippin ankle monitor? As always, Brett tries to simplify the problem. He tells me that it is no big deal because he only has to wear it for three months. THREE MONTHS? When did I sign up for this and how do I cross my name off of the list.

I wish I could tell you that I took Brett home after dinner. I didn't. We still went to the movies, I still laughed my butt off, and I still let him hold my hand in the theatre. I spent the rest of the weekend as planned. I held myself hostage in my apartment only coming out for food or to walk the dog. I watched the 103 movies I rented at blockbuster, I cried like a five year old, and I hit ignore on my cellphone more times than I can count.

As many of you know, this week has been especially tough. With fathers day rapidly approaching I have been quite the bitter bear. I would really like to find a random person to stab right in the eye.

Between my tearful eyes and total lack of regard for others on Tuesday, it turned out to be a complete douche of day. Oddly enough, all I wanted in life that day was a chocolate chip cookie. I cannot explain it. A) I do not like chocolate B) I rarely crave sweets. It was all I could talk about at work and I made sure everyone in my path new about it. I wanted a big fresh baked chocolate chip cookie and I wanted it delivered to my desk. Obviously this did not happen.

I ended up completely losing it when I got home from work. I was ridiculous mess and as always I reached out to the one person in my life that always understands and never judges me, my mom. I called her in tears and regurgitated everything that had been running circles in my head. She listened and offered to come over to be with me. Minutes later mom showed up at my door in her PJ's. In her hand was a giant fresh baked chocolate chip cookie.

I had not mentioned to my mom during our phone conversation or at any other point that day that I had been craving a chocolate chip cookie. A drug rep had brought in lunch for her office that day. She originally brought the cookie home for herself. On her way out of the door that night she remembered the cookie and brought it with her. Somehow she knew that I might need it.

It was a perfect day in Chicago. 75, sunny, and a cold beer in hand. The boat rocked gently as we laughed and enjoyed the warm summer sun. It was the kind of day that you dream about while sitting in your office. You picture the blue waters of Lake Michigan, the pristine white boat glistening in the sun, your friends laughing and telling stories of the night before, and the incredible backdrop of the city just outside of your reach. Then a boat named Controlled Chaos rolled in.

If I had to guess I would say that there was at least 20-25 people on this boat. It had speakers the size of a small Asian man and it sounded like it was a floating MTV beach house. Everyone was dancing and jumping to the beat of what could only be described as "Now that is what I call ecstasy volume 2". The women were rocking their "boat dance" as they worked the poles and the men pumping their chests to the repetitive beat. I could safely bet that the only sober person on that boat was the eight year old that was jumping off of the back of it.

Then came the bubbles and the siren. It was like a floating gay bar within a matter of minutes. Every time the DJ blew the ridiculous siren, each of the dancing retards (now pronounced ritards) went ape shit. Everyone on our boat was of course fascinated with this floating clown show. It was like a car crash... we could not take our eyes off of it.

To our horror we saw another boat approaching. The second boat was just as full of people high on everything but life. As they passed us, we realized that their music was even worse and I didn't think this was even possible. After several attempts, the boats were finally able to hook up despite the impaired mental capabilities of each passenger. The two boats then combined into one floating ecstasy trip. At that point, the laughing from our boat got much louder.

One boater in particular seemed to grab our attention. She had long brown hair that was pulled into braided pig tails that hung at her side. She was wearing a gold bikini top and a white wrap. She was shaking her groove thang like it was about to fall off. She moved to her own beat and really did dance like nobody was watching. She had a drink in hand and raised her glass about every thirty seconds without missing a beat. It was obvious that this was not her first boat party. She had been perfecting her boat dance for some time now. She was a rock star, well at least in her head.

We left before the floating STD or as it is better known to the club kids in Chicago... "Controlled Chaos". With the kind of party that was going on above deck, I can only imagine the DNA that was being shared below deck.

I leave for Chi-Town today. I am beyond ready for a mini vaca. I'm going to let my hair down and party like it is 1999.

This weekend will be the first of many that I will spend with my brother. We have become so close since Dad died and I can honestly say that I don't know what I would do without him! I am also looking forward to meeting my nephew for the 1st time. Mr. Jameson. You could bottle and sell the sheer amount of adorable that is in this picture! I am sure that he will love me as much as I already love him!

I know that the next few days will be full of laughter and also tears. I am ready. I cant wait to run up to Eric and Jamie in the airport and give them a big hug!

I could not get rid of Brett Michaels fast enough this side of three months ago. The man was on my last nerve and I wanted to break his knee Kung Fu Panda style. I stopped taking his calls and tried to move on. Unfortunately, this was not as easy as I first thought. As much as I wanted to strangle this man, I started to miss him after a while.

Brett was a big part of my life for the better part of a year. He was there when no one else could be. He made me laugh and he never, not even once, put up with my shit. (I so need that) I missed the things he brought to my life. Also known as the things I easily forgot once he started to annoy me. Things like him giving me a hard time or sending me a stupid text message during the day. I missed his dumb laugh, his retarded jokes, his constant cleaning of my kitchen, the sound of his voice, the way he eats, how he let Jersee sleep on his neck at night, his genuine desire to make my home better in anyway he could, the way he scratched my back, how well he got along with my family, his southern manners, the way he held my hand every time we where in the car, his ridiculous nick names for me, and mostly... his friendship. Above anything else, Brett and I were friends and I missed my friend.

He spent all last weekend with me. He was so much happier and thankfully back to his old self again. He was fun to be around and he managed to keep me laughing from the time he came over until the time he left. Brett is uncomplicated and I so appreciate that about him. There is no stress about where this is going or when can he see me again. We are both incredibly independent people and I need that right now.

I am not expecting the "fairy tale" when it comes to Brett. Its this simple, I will let him make me happy until he doesn't anymore.

Tonight is my last night in Plano. Break out the Boons Farm.... I am finally out of there. I am going to waive my hands in the air and I am going to waive them like I just don't care.

I have never been more ready to leave an apartment. Every time I wake up in that tiny shoe box I am reminded of the night I got a call from the hospital about my Dad. It's like a dark cloud lives over the roof of my apartment and I cannot seem to escape it. That place is haunted with memories of terrifying pain and such incredible loss that I pity the person that moves in after me. On top of that I half expect to see Brett Michaels playing guitar hero in his pajamas every time I open the front door. I am ready for a new environment. I am ready for change. Not Obama kinda change... but change none the less.

Shortly after my Dad passed away I made the genius move to purchase a sign to go in my living room that read "There is no place like home". As soon as Brett Michaels was done hanging it I wanted to throw them both out of the window. That apartment was never home. Too much happened. I am looking forward to making a home for myself again. Maybe if I click my little red stilettos together a couple of times, I will wake up tomorrow and be right where I want to be.

RIP Chris Daughtry.



Your time has ended. You have been voted off of the island. Your tribe has spoken. Walk the proverbial plank.

It all went to shit when his WIFE text me over the weekend. Yeah I said wife. Needless to say she was just a little bit bitter. I immediately broke up with both of them. I am not that girl and you know what... I never thought he was that guy. But apparently my judgement is considerably off lately anyway. It was an easy decision in the end and I have no regrets.

Thank you and good night. ;)

Yeah.... not sure how these things happen to me but they do. So I was showing an apartment yesterday to the sweetest little old lady. When I say little, I mean she was TINY. She may have weighed 100 lbs soaking wet. She was very sweet and went on and on and on and on. Usually this would annoy me to no end, however I happen to have a special place in my heart for the elderly. Anyway, she managed to tell me her entire life story from her son dying in Iraq to how she continues to loose and gain weight. We were pretty much BFF by the end of the tour.

This is where it starts to go down hill fast. She is looking at the closet space in the bedroom and begins to tell me about the amount of clothes that she has accumulated. She starts to tell me about how she has recently gained 20lbs. I look at her skeleton of a body and proclaim that I could not even imagine what she looked like 20lbs lighter. She then tells me that at 20lbs lighter she had absolutely no breasts and that all she had were nipples on her chest which made her look like a boy.

She said nipple at least 3 more times during our tour. Every time the word came out of her mouth I had to try to stop myself from picturing her sad shriveled little nips. This is a task I was sadly unable to accomplish.

Do you ever want to just block out the outside world for a good week or so? I swear every few months I want to scream "SHUT UP" at the top of my lungs and crawl into hole and hibernate for as long as possible. The thoughts in my head during that time are loud enough that I simply do not need the outside distraction. I want to throw my email into the bog of eternal stench and put my phone on silent for at least 7 days.

Its not that I dont want or need people, its just that sometimes I need to internalize things for a little while and gain some prospective. I am not shutting you out... I am shutting me in. I refuse to stay in this padded room for long because at the end of the day I am a people person and I desperately need my family and my friends.

Things have gotten a little fuzzy lately. Time seems to be running in circles around me and I cant seem to make sense of it all. For instance I looked up one day and it was May... The last time I remember looking at a calendar it was flippin March.

I found out recently that I will be moving once again, I really should invest in my own moving van at this point. By the end of the month I will be back in the LC. I am looking forward to being closer to my family and it also helps that my new pad will be pimptastic. Did I really just say that? Ladies and gentleman, let the packing begin.

Brett Michaels has recently started calling again, the first couple of times I did not answer the phone. I remember the first time that I had heard his ring tone in a while, my head turned to the side like my pug does when she hears a funny noise. I finally answered on the 5th or 6th call I am not sure which. We talked for 20 minutes or so. He is doing well, still living the dream out in Saginaw and trying to get his life back in order. He wants to be friends... I guess I don't see any harm in that? He wouldn't be the first person I would call if my little hut was on fire, but I think more so he meant that he needed a good friend, and that I can handle.

My friend B Dub and I were recently at The Cheese Cake Factory for lunch when we noticed an interesting item on the menu. B Dub, always being the fun one, first notices this ridiculous monstrosity and brings it to my attention.

They actually have a dish called "Weight Management Grilled Chicken". Seriously? I mean seriously?? Who orders that? I can just imagine sitting there and looking up at the waiter with a strait face and ordering the Weight Management Chicken?? Come on now, they could not come up with a better name than that? I immediately picture a sad little chicken breast laying on a plain white plate looking awfully defeated and possibly even ran over. The menu describes it as "Lightly Pounded Chicken Breast Charbroiled and Topped with a Tomato and Arugula Salad. Garnished with Steamed White Rice and Asparagus." After reading their description the chicken I am picturing in my head now has a face and is wearing a black suit. He is laying next to 4 pieces of white rice and he is holding a sad little piece of asparagus in his hand.

The best part ... They trademarked the name! Needless to say B Dub and I ordered something else off of the menu.

You would think with as much time as I have had on my hands this weekend I would have blogged more by now, but I think the pain meds pretty much keep me on the couch in a slight daze, which is okay by me.

So I am a complete clown. We all know this. I fell...... yes again. I fall all of the time, I can trip over absolutely nothing and be completely sober.This takes some skill. In fact when I first got my WII Fit and took a balance test the stupid thing actually asked me if I run into walls or something to that effect. How rude! I fell down the stairs walking my dog on this particular occasion.

Big shout out to Chris my BFF's husband. Had he not been able to come over to my apt Wednesday morning and drag my ass down the stairs I might still be laying in the floor of my apartment. It was like that episode of Sex in the City where Aidan came to get Miranda out of the bathroom. Except I wasnt naked. Thank GOD.

So the moral of the story is that I have fractured my ankle and I am staying with my mom for god knows how long until I can get my butt up and down the stairs again. I can't complain about mom's house though. She has been an absoulte angel! I dont know what I would do without her! Jersee and I are being waited on like we are at five star resort!

Well kids I did it. After an incredibly draining week in Hot Springs I needed something to take my mind off of the thousand thoughts that were racing through my head. I welcomed any distraction. I chose to go on a date. Yes I know that renting Twilight for the 15th time would have been a less risky choice, but I had a good feeling about this one.

I had been texting back and forth with a boy we will call "Chris Daughtry" (as always for the protection of his identity) that I met on POF. There was definitely a connection from the start, but you know how it goes with internet dating, you usually have better odds in a casino. I was hopeful but not expecting anything other than coffee with a stranger that would at the very least give me something to blog about other than the horrible week I had just a few days before.

So I kept my word and met him for coffee on Friday afternoon. Without question it was definitely a "Good Friday". I made sure that I would arrive before him so that I could do the ultimate girl thing and make my way to the bathroom. Hair check. Make-up Check. Yep I was good to go. Then he walked in. I was pleasantly surprised. I was instantly comfortable around him and he somehow managed to take my mind off of everything that was slowly eating away at my heart and soul.

Looking back I dont think we even had any uncomfortable silences, we went through coffee and our backgrounds without skipping a beat. We did the first date donts of talking about past relationships and I think I even brought up politics. OOPS. But when have I ever played by the rules?

I had made "plans afterwords" also known as the get me the hell out of here plans that never really existed. I did this so that we would not have an infinite amount of time on our hands..... you just never know. I had casually mentioned during our conversation over coffee that my wallet was stolen while in Hot Springs. The man actually offered to go over to the mall with me and help me pick out a new wallet. Hello? Huh? What the french?.... did that really just happen? I jumped at his offer.

After I FINALLY found a wallet that suited my taste I did the Melissa thing and confessed that there were really no other plans later and asked if he would he like to go grab something to eat. I know someone out there is throwing their hands up in the air and telling me that I am an idiot. But that's okay. I am used to making it up as I go.

We had dinner, we had chemistry, and we had a damn good time.

I realized the other day that I have not been "out" in 3 months. What the French? I sit at home day in and day out. I have rented so many movies in the past few months I may be the only one keeping blockbuster is business. About the only time I put on make up these days is to go to work and sometimes that itself is a clown show at best. Besides the Valium and wine I am now using to sleep at night I need to find myself a better time. This just aint doin it!

I know what this is, this is me using any excuse necessary not to deal with the loss of my father but so be it. I need/want something to make me excited again, something/someone to spark my interest. I need a welcomed distraction damnit.

With Brett Michael's tour finally ending a few weeks ago, I did the smartest thing I could think of and joined plentyoffish.com again this week. (pause for those out there shaking their heads) I am not even sure why? It was not pleaseant the first time around and more than anything it was for shits and giggles for my friends and I to make fun of some of the lets call them "interesting" emails I received on a daily basis.

Within two days I received at least 30-45 emails. Which 99% of them were a complete monstrosity. The moral of this story kids is that I cant sit at home any more. I cannot crawl into a hole and hibernate for the next six months. I have to get out of my fabulously decorated apartment and mingle! We will see how it goes.

Being on my own again is wierd. I hate it. Its not that I don't know how to be single, lord knows most of the time that I prefer it. I am just not good at it anymore. I used to enjoy my time to myself. I could sit around the house and wear something old, something borrowed, and something blue without caring what I looked like. I could eat cookie dough and lay on the couch drinking Dr. Pepper right from the bottle. (Sexy picture I know!) I could sleep until 2 in the afternoon on the weekends without some jackhole telling me that I am waisting the day away. My pug could sleep on my neck and snore right in my ear without someone telling me that it was distracting. This fabulous life that I used to know vanished completely on December 8th.

Now I cant sit alone in a room without picking up the phone to call or text someone and it is usually a person of the opposite sex. I am looking for something or someone to replace the gigantic hole in my heart. I know that, I am not stupid. I think what pisses me off the most is that I have become insecure. What the French? That is so lame! I have NEVER been insecure. I have always been oddly confident! These days I cant stand to be alone and I am rarely sleeping on top of that. I think if that if I had to calculate how much sleep I have had in the past two weeks I would average 4 hours per night. Some nights I do not sleep at all.

I thought after my father passed away that I was handling it as well as to be expected but now when I look back at my rapidly deteriorating behavior over the past 3 months I see that it is only a matter of time before the wind is completely knocked out of my sails.

We all know what guys think with most of the time and I think most of us have come to accept that. I know I have. Girls are different though. I would like to think of myself as the kind of girl that doesn't run completely on her emotions but instead manages to slip in some good judgement from time to time. However in the words of Juno, I really don't know what kind of girl I am.

Well it's official, Brett Michael's tour has Finally ended. ( I know some of you are jumping for joy) I woke up yesterday morning and I just could not look at him anymore.

Things started to go down hill rather quickly over the past couple of weeks. We used to spend almost every day together then it went to just every couple of days. Finally this last time he made the long haul from Saginaw to Plano he was there for less than 24 hours. I could not get him out of my house fast enough!

Looking back to when we first met, it amuses me that the things that I once thought were sexy are now some of his most annoying qualities. On our first date I was so enamored with this man that I could barely sit still. I thought he was sex on a stick and I could not stop staring at him. I remember telling my co workers and friends how nervous I was around him. I was fascinated with his mannerisms and the way he spoke. Even the tiny scar under his left eye sent me to places in my imagination that I had not been before. Cut to a little under a year later and almost everything he does makes me want to high five him in the face!

Don't get me wrong, my relationship with Brett had it's purpose. It was not all bad, he was there for me during a time that no one else could be. I needed 24 hour attention after my father passed away and Brett was there to listen and to help in anyway he could. He packed a bag and moved in with me for most of December and all of January. I will always have a special place in my heart for him because of that.

Brett had a good run and he made for some pretty interesting blogs but in the end I knew that if I did not let him go at that very moment that I would soon grow to hate him and he doesn't deserve that. As I say at the end of any relationship that does not work out, he will make someone very happy one day it just isn't going to be me.

So I was sitting there watching TV with Brett Michaels last night when he begins to tell me the most disturbing story I have ever heard. I think I may have even thrown up in my mouth a little bit.

We were watching an episode of Saving Grace when the subject of cremation came up. Grace, the main character, accidentally ashed her cigarette in someones ashes because they were in a beer can. Classy! Any how, I made the comment that this was a little disturbing and that I found it very odd that someone would put another persons ashes in a beer can. His response was shocking to say the very least. He said "We rolled my mom up in a joint and smoked her." My mouth fell open and I could start to feel the vomit rising in my throat. I somehow managed to muster a mere "What?"

He explained to me, with a strait face might I add, that this was his mom's last wishes. I began shooting off question after question somehow trying to make sense of it all. His only response or defense was and I quote "We didn't smoke all of her" as he gave me the what is the big problem eyes. I found myself becoming ill and I could not stop staring at him.

As I was trying to process the information that had just entered my brain I felt myself move away from him a little on the couch. I could tell by his mannerisms and by his tone that he did not think that there was a thing wrong with this. His mother passed away when he was 17. He was young, grieving, and obviously not in his right mind. But how in the french do you smoke your mom???

I came across this today, it is a series of letters that a mother-in-law wrote to her new son just one week after marrying her daughter.After reading this little diddy, I suspect that I would have certainly benefited from such a letter from my previous mother in law. Would a little warning or a few pointers have killed her?

Dear Niall,
You are lovely. Welcome to the family.
- - - -
Dear Niall,
Ann is very mentally ill. She is under heavy medication for her dissociative personality disorder, commonly referred to as multiple personality disorder. She is unaware she suffers from this. She thinks the drugs she takes are vitamins. Please make sure she takes them every morning.
- - - -
Dear Niall,
Ann is not allergic to horses. We told her that because she kept bugging us for a pony when she was a kid. Please don't tell her we lied to her—she'd be crushed.
- - - -
Dear Niall,
We've never told Ann there is no Santa. Please play along and take her to Santa's Grotto at the mall to have her picture done, and I'll reimburse you for the photo.
- - - -
Dear Niall,
When Ann was 14 she didn't go to a summer camp. She went to a special camp for heavy children. She never noticed, and we never told her. Her feelings are very delicate. Please don't point out to her what the name "Camp Tubby" implies.
- - - -
Dear Niall,
Ann's childhood pet, Rocky, does not live on a ranch near Ocala. He choked to death on a chicken bone she fed to him at a family picnic. Please do not tell her the truth.
- - - -
Dear Niall,
The cards Ann receives at Christmas from her childhood friends are actually written by me and her Aunt Beatrice. She didn't have any friends, outside of her imaginary friends. We told her when she started seventh grade that they all moved to a large house just outside Ocala, and they've written her Christmas cards since then.
- - - -
Dear Niall,
I may be a woman of small stature who lives in a retirement community, but if you hurt my daughter, my entire bowling team will see that you suffer.
*************************************************

A friend of mine asked me what a letter from my mother-in-law might have looked like. Here is what I came up with...

Dear Melissa,
Welcome to the family, Andy's father will never acknowledge your presence.
- - - -
Dear Melissa,
Andy has a tendency to exaggerate when telling a story. Most of the time, you can tell when he is lying. It’s usually when his mouth is moving.
- - - -
Dear Melissa,
Andy is not allergic to bees. I am sure at some point in the future you will get a call from him in the middle of the night stating that he has been hospitalized from a bee sting. This is simply not true and is most likely a ploy for your sympathy
.- - - -
Dear Melissa,
With the holiday season approaching us I thought it best to tell you that Andy did not celebrate Christmas much as a child, he will not know who Santa is. His father and I do not believe in spending any quality time as family. We believe in structure, silence, and education.
- - - - -
Dear Melissa,
I understand that you and my son have had quite a few disagreements. Oh Dear. Please remember that Andy is not accustomed to women having an opinion or speaking out of turn. You must be seen and not heard my child.

Sometimes it is all I can do to bite my tongue. Other times my words come so quickly that I often regret them later. In my younger years, one of my favorite things to do was to unleash a violent tongue lashing on any unsuspecting idiot. As I have gotten older, I have learned that picking your battles can be quite effective in your relationships.

I usually have an extensive vocabulary that I love to spew at people when I am trying to get my point across. Today that is not the case. I cant seem to find the right words to express myself. I need to sit down and have a long conversation with a loved one, but for some reason I want to sugar coat everything. Confrontation has never bothered me, but this particular one I am dreading like a colonoscopy.

I have always been on this persons side and defended them until I was blue in the face. Today I find myself standing on the other side of the fence with the rest of the pointed fingers. I have had enough. I would really like to high five them in the face and ask them what in the french is wrong with them. I need to put on my big girl panties and really give them a piece of my mind.

I wandered over to my apartment this afternoon where I just knew that I would find Brett Michaels (My "houseboy" for lack of a better word) sitting in his underwear in the middle of the day playing guitar hero. As I was making my way up the stairs, Brett suddenly opened the door and looked like that crack head we have all seen before, you know that one that lives in a apartment and opens his door every five minutes to look around because he thought he "heard" something.

The entire scene caught me off guard so I immediately asked him what was wrong. He replied with "I think Jersee left". WHAT? You think my 20lb pug opened the front door and walked out for what... a smoke break? What the french do you mean "She left"... As all of this was running through my head I managed to come up with a much simpler response... "What?"

He again tried, rather horribly, to explain to me that he thought Jersee left. He went on to say that he could not find her in the house and that she might have gone out the front door. Again.... what is running through my head is his use of the word MIGHT and you cant FIND her? How the french did you loose her? Did guitar hero keep you so busy that you didn't notice my little a$$ dog walk over to the front door, open it, and let herself out? Instead I believe my response was "SHIT!"

I immediately jumped into mommy action and ran frantically around the apartment searching for her. Of course she was no where to be found. I leaped past douchebag on my way out the front door and told him I was going to look for her. I began searching building by building all the while thinking that if something has happened to my dog how this man was surely going to loose a testicle.

Luckily I found her only minutes later at least 500 yards away from my front door. She had no idea what in the heck my problem was or why I was huffing my way over to her. She looked like she was in the middle of a Downy commercial frolicking in a meadow on a hot summer day with the wind blowing ever so gently in the breeze. She was on her own little puggy adventure and not at all impressed that her mother was screaming her name and running towards her like she had just stolen something.

Brett caught up to us just as I grabbed her. We all started to make our way back to the apartment. He apologized, not profusely enough for my needs at the moment, but he at least acknowledged that perhaps he did not have a good enough eye on her.

In the end I was just glad that she was okay.....but.... really? You think Jersee "left"? That moment will surely stick with me for a while.

I have recently been toying with the idea of getting another tattoo... perhaps I should do a little more research than this guy did????

What in the HELL is this?

So as Valentines Day approaches this year, I find myself pondering whether or not I will be dining alone. This is an especially fragile time for me and I doubt that sitting at home watching Bridgette Jones and drinking two bottles of wine will exactly lift my spirits.

I have a man in my life that we will call "Brett Michaels" for the purposes of protecting his identity. I could drive out to BFE pick him up and take him to dinner where he would undoubtedly be wearing black jeans and some awful shirt. I will have to pick the restaurant and pick up the check. The upside to this is that 90% of the time he is a lot of fun. Despite his bad hair and tacky clothing he usually keeps me giggling like a school girl for most of the evening.

So.... Do I make the valiant effort to go pick up Mr. Michaels for what will be an eventful night with absolutely no long term potential, or do I put my big girl panties on and stay home for the evening.... I still have not decided.

2009 started off on the doucheyist of notes. But when you consider the last few months I had leading up to it, there really wasn't much hope for the new year. I had a few firsts in 2008. Most notably the loss of my Father in December. I started a blog about him that you can find here.

During most of 2008 I could have topped the list of serial daters from the portal to hell which is better known as plentyoffish.com. I spent a good six months searching for love, instead I found the seven dwarfs of internet dating also known as Creepy, Stinky, Faggy, Hairy, Fatty, Wimpy, and my favorite... The One Eyed Monster. Needless to say, I had a lot of first dates. I have since deleted my profile and given up on fishing for a man.

In September I found myself moved to yet another property in DFW. This time the wheels of fate took me to Plano, which I believe is spanish for "you will pay $200 a month in tolls." I love the area and I am now about a mile from my BFF so it has had its upside, but the drive to anything familiar to me is borderline ridiculous.

I think my most random first in 2008 was when I was chosen to help pick out a valentines day card from Tony to Jessica. In February, Tony enlisted the services of his favorite errand boy to run across the street to the Galleria and pick out a card for Jessica for valentines day. Jessica was expected to arrive later on in the day. Lets pause for a moment and give a round of applause to yet another man that waited until the last possible minuted to buy his valentine a card. Moving on. Errand boy not being the brightest of bulbs when it comes to love brought me in on the mission. I of course picked out a card that had a fart in it. Love was definitely in the air that valentines day.