For the past two weeks, I haven’t had to fight with the fitted sheet on my mattress. Specifically, the upper left corner. I simply pull the covers down and get into bed. No more tugging, pulling, inadvertently bending a nail back as I plead with the elastic to please, please, stay the fuck down for one goddamn night. For almost two years, I’ve engaged in this nightly boudoir battle, each morning waking to defeat. Suddenly, one morning, it was over. The sheet stayed down, compliant in its position. At first I was thrilled. FINALLY! As the nights ticked by, my celebratory mood turned sour. The left corner is mocking me. Continue reading “See You In 183 Days”
I was asked by the Huffington Post to put together a “Divorce Care Package” for their series of the same name.
Read all about it here!
When I was at work the other day, I got a text from my boyfriend. At first, I wasn’t sure what I was looking at. It was a picture, but it was hard to see what it was. I clicked on it to enlarge, and there it was: it was a picture of poop, floating in a toilet.
I was ecstatic.
This was a historic moment, and I wanted to share it with someone. Grabbing my phone, I intended to show my co-worker, sitting behind me. Halfway out of my seat, I realized it probably wasn’t the greatest idea. (Still not my worst, either).
“Is this some weird kind of scat fetish?”
I should probably tell you those turds belonged to his 3 and a half year old son, who is in the midst of potty training.
How did this become my life?
It started a little over a year ago, when I first met my boyfriend. Both new to stand-up comedy, we met at an open mic. I thought he was hilarious, adorable, smart, charming. He had a job, a car, and his own place. (You wouldn’t believe how difficult it was finding someone who met those three basic requirements.) He was everything I wanted in a partner, except for one major obstacle: he had a kid.
Full disclosure: I never wanted a relationship with someone who had kids. In fact, it was kind of a deal breaker. I could barely handle one adult relationship; how could I deal with a child? In my mind, dating a man with kids meant not doing what I want, when I wanted. It meant sacrificing time, attention. It meant I couldn’t be selfish. That’s not an easy admission. But, after some serious self-reflection, I decided to break my own rules and give the relationship a chance.
Once we had been seeing each other for a while, he decided to take the next step and introduce me to his son. I was petrified. I really liked him and didn’t want the relationship to end. But, what if his son didn’t like me? What if he didn’t like me with his son? Even worse, what if I didn’t like his son?? These thoughts scared the proverbial shit out of me. I wasn’t sure if I was ready for that kind of commitment.
I was wrong.
Of course, his son is beyond adorable and I can’t believe I ever questioned my decision. I’m having the time of my life. I look forward to seeing him, hearing his tiny (yet very loud) voice shout absurd declarations, mostly about needing more apple juice. Even the dog, who could care less about us, gets excited that he’ll be chasing him around the house for a week.
Gone are my days of day drinking and lounging around in my free time. Instead, we plan days and weekends with trips to the park, children’s museums, looking for bugs, monster truck shows, spontaneous glow stick parties, and digging in sandboxes. He makes up hilarious stories and has us laughing all the time.
The biggest lesson I’ve learned has been to trust my heart, not my head. If I never gave this single dad a chance, I would have been one giant turd.
Yesterday was “International Women’s Day”, so of course I made a snarky comment about celebrating in the kitchen. I don’t believe in God, or karma, or any of those things, but I woke up today feeling like a pile of poop threw up another pile of poop. I think Gloria Alred put a curse on me. I got about 3 hours of sleep total. It was awful, especially since I was laying next to my boyfriend who seemed to be having the best sleep of his life. I’m pretty sure he smiled at one point. I was miserable.
Being the independent woman I am, I woke up and dragged myself into the shower (read: I have to go to work because I don’t have a sugar daddy). Every 20 seconds or so, I had that gun-to-your-head decision: puke or poop? Absolutely awful. Somehow, I managed to get out of the house and into work. As soon as I stepped in, my coworker literally said, “Yikes. You look like you’re still asleep.” That just translates into, “You look like garbage.” Awesome. Continue reading “Dr. Feelgood”