Tinder tales....

I'm loud. obnoxious. funny. and a lot more intelligent than you probably realize. I have some of the best friends and family this side of the moon.
Not here for a booty call. Not down for the whole "Netflix and chill" unless there's something legit there. I am a mom first and foremost, so if kids are a deal-breaker, swipe left.
Oh. And if you can't duet Johnny and June's "Jackson" with me, you probably aren't gonna want to swipe right.

THAT, ladies and gents (mostly ladies, I'm sure), is my Tinder bio.

Yes. I'm on Tinder.

I'm 32. A single mother. Actually hoping for something real. And I'm on Tinder.

I've learned a lot on this app, though. First of all, if you're unfamiliar with how this works- let me give you a little Tindercation (get it? It's like a Tinder-education...).

Tinder is a "dating app". At least, that's what I think it is. Some look at it as a "hook up" app. However, I've gone on several Tinder dates and never have I "hooked up" with a guy I met on Tinder. Regardless, you connect to Tinder via Facebook (meaning it gathers info from your profile to use for your Tinder profile, but never posts to your facebook) and connects you to other Tinder users based on the age and mileage parameters you set. A picture pops up with basic info (first name and age) and if you like what you see- you swipe right. If you don't, you can swipe left. Now, what I, personally, do is this- if I'm instantly not attracted to a person (ex: if he has gel in his hair), I swipe left immediately. If the guy does seem to be my type, I'll tap on his picture which will take me to his profile. From there I can read his bio section (if he's chosen to write anything) and flip through any more pictures he may have. This area will also tell me how many miles away from me he is currently. (I suppose that feature is most helpful for those in the "hook up" category). From there I'll decide which way to swipe. Some of these guys are really attractive. Like- insanely so. To the point where you wonder how in the hell they're single. (I'll tell you a story about one of those in a minute). So, if you swipe right on a person and they've already swiped right on you (meaning they like you, as well) you will get an instant "It's a Match!!" message thingy. From there you have the option to message one another. I love that a random guy can't message you unless you "liked" him first. (Unlike the Facebook where creepers can- and do- message you all the dang time) So, anyway. That's Tinder in a nutshell.

I've met some super nice guys on Tinder. One I actually went on a date with almost two years ago. It was actually two days before I went on my first date with the ex. I had a date with the "Math Nerd" on Monday, and a date with The Ex on Wednesday. Monday's date went so well that we immediately made plans for the following weekend..... but Wednesday's date was phenomenal. I don't know what it was, but from the moment I slid into his truck I knew that I that I never wanted to go on another first date again (which is funny because just 5 minutes before I had told my best friend and babysitter for the night that he just wasn't my type and it would certainly be an early night). So on Thursday I cancelled my weekend plans with the "Math Nerd" and proceeded to date the Ex for .... well, for a while.

So, I tell you all of that to talk about this.

Dating.

Dating in your 30s SUCKS. I mean, I got married when I was 18. (I know, that's young, but truthfully- I wouldn't change the marriage- only the divorce.) We had been friends since we were FOURTEEN years old. He was my buddy. But, gah, we were so young. We were so anxious to start our lives together and when we found out we were going to have our first child, we were terrified but eventually excited. I mean, we knew we were going to spend the rest of our lives together. We hadn't expected to start that part of our lives so soon, but there we were. Nineteen years old with a newborn. And we rocked it. We were such good parents. We really were. We were that couple that people wanted to be. We loved one another like family. Like we had been together forever. And, like I've said since we split, things were perfect until they weren't anymore.

I won't get into the why's and how's of why my marriage ended. But I was 22. I felt old. Gah, that thought seems so funny to me now. But I went back to my old job as a Hooter's girl and took a second part-time job as a personal trainer at a local gym. BOTH of those are laughable to me now, as well. I can't imagine trying to squeeze into those orange shorts again and I can't tell you the last time I was in a gym. I know a guy named Jim. We've been friends for several years. He has a lovely wife now. But as for an actual gym? No. Not this girl. But dating at that point was different. I met my next boyfriend at the gym that I worked at and he asked me to dinner one night after I got off of my third job working at a makeup counter (I swear those jobs make me sound so much more high-maintenance than I am). We were together for eight years.

I've always been somewhat of a serial monogamist. I want a relationship. I want to be loved and I want to be in love. I want something real. I would much rather date one guy and just commit to that than to have five guys at my disposal. But, here I am--- ten years after my divorce. Single. And on Tinder. With a bunch of 20-somethings.

Can I just go ahead and tell you that I'm not a pretty girl? I'm not. No---- this is not a ploy to get you to tell me how pretty I am. I clean up right nice. But I've never been the pretty one. Pick any of my closest friends- Keileigh, Callie, Krista, Brandy---- I'm not the pretty one. And I know that. Trust me.
And that's okay. So I try to make up for it with personality which usually amounts to me being "too much". So my first date go-to?? Get super drunk. If I drink so much and make an ass of myself, I can always blame it on the alcohol, right?? Yeah, probably not the right mindset. So, I typically go on a first date to see if I even like the poor fella then immediately start making comparisons and decide that I just can't imagine spending the rest of my life with this guy and I decide right then and there that the first date will be the last.

Okay. You've seen Look Who's Talking, right? With Kirstie Alley and John Travolta before they both lost their minds and got fat? So, you know that scene where she thinks she likes him so she starts having all of these visions of their life together and she doesn't like what she sees? Like she thinks about how he will be with Mikey and future children as they get older?  Well that's what I do. I'm a pre-fat Kirstie Alley (and if you're gonna be Kirstie Alley, let's face it- that's the one to be) and I immediately think about how this guy will interact with my kids- Braydon especially. My sweet Braydon. He still asks about the ex. He loves him. To him, their family was his family and he doesn't quite understand. I don't talk about it in hopes that someday he'll just forget. But, see- I don't want to do that to him again. I don't want HIM to fall in love with the idea of a family then I do something stupid and it's all stripped from him. So, see- I have a lot to think about. It sounds crazy that I think long-term on a first date, but I don't have time to waste by not thinking long-term.

So I throw the kid thing out there right off the bat. I mean, that part of my life isn't gonna change, so may as well just be up front with it. But despite me doing that... and despite me saying up front that I'm not looking to "hook up" in this "Netflix and chill" society that we currently live in, I still get the douche nozzles (thank you, Jimmy, for that term) that attempt going about this in whatever manner they seem fit.

Let's start with this one little cutie pie... single father... very handsome... messaged me on facebook (I didn't even find this one on Tinder, y'all) just asking questions about me. I answered. A mutual friend vouched for him that he was a "good guy", so I gave him a shot. Not 15 minutes into talking, this guy tells me that I'm "hot". Okay. I guess to you guys that's not a big deal. And maybe to some of you girls it isn't. But I'm a grown ass woman. I'm not "hot". I'm not even "beautiful", but I'll give ya that one simply because I like to hear it anyway. I'm quirky. Cute, at best. But "hot"? Not by any stretch of the imagination. Perhaps in great lighting, caked on makeup, and about 4 filters- maybe. But I can't imagine that anyone has ever seen me in person and thought "damn, she's hot". I digress. This fella keeps going and makes the comment that I "seem very blessed up top". Alright. If your kids are reading this, you might wanna shield their eyes. It took every bit of self control I had to not say right then and there "Look here, motherfucker, you don't know me well enough to talk to me like that and I can only think of one man on this earth who could even get away with it and it's not you".... but I didn't. I just ignored it. He asked if I liked to "hang out by a fire and drink a few". That's when I informed him that, again, I was a grown woman and if a man wanted to spend time with me, he would ask me on a proper date and not even attempt to get me to his house drinking around a fire until something genuine had been established.

See- I've made that mistake before. We don't want to seem high-maintenance and we genuinely like hanging out at the house by a fire, so we agree to that, but then want to bitch because we don't get taken out on actual dates like the "other girls". Well that's because we aren't honest about what we want. We don't go to a boy's house until something legitimate is established. Period. Otherwise, we only have ourselves to blame.

Of course, this kid back tracked and said that he only said that because so many girls in the past had said they preferred that to an actual date. To those girls, I say this--- LET IT BE KNOWN THAT YOU ARE A GIRL NOT LOOKING FOR A RELATIONSHIP. And if you are---- let's all just agree to be honest about what we want. Look- I prefer to stay at home in my pajamas. But, if I want a man, I'll put some effort in and I expect the same in return. So if I'm gonna date him, he has to be prepared to put in the effort of taking me on a date. A legitimate date. Several legitimate dates until we establish a genuine connection worthy of me following him to his house.

So- I don't really know how to do this. I'm not good at it. I'm still trying to get over some stuff. But I'm trying. I guess I'll keep you guys posted on how it all goes...

Oh, and I did tell you that I would fill you in on one of the guys that really was too hot for his own good... his grammar was horrible. He was pretty.... so, so beautiful.... but the way he talked (or typed)  was just too much for this self-proclaimed grammar-whore. It left me no choice but to un-match.

Later, gators.

to those who've loved me through it.

My name is Kayla and I am codependent.

**this is where everyone says "Hi, Kayla!!"**

In all seriousness, codependency is a very real issue and something that I struggle with daily. It is defined as "excessive emotional or psychological reliance on a partner".

It's something that I've dealt with for most of my life. Definitely all of my adult life. I call it my addiction to people. I find a person ("my person") and I fall so deeply and madly in love and have to do whatever it takes to make that person happy. It doesn't matter what position it puts me in or how it could possibly negatively impact my life. Some may say "oh. well that's just called being a people pleaser", but it's a completely different thing. I'm not a people pleaser by any stretch of the imagination. I'm a person pleaser. One person.

People who are codependent tend to find themselves drawn to narcissists.

A narcissist is defined as "a person who is overly self-involved and often vain and selfish".

Narcissists love codependent people. In some ways it seems like it's the perfect relationship. I told someone once "You and I have the same addiction. You.". So you would think it would work perfectly, right? Two people working toward one common goal--- one person's happiness.

But, Kayla, don't both people in a relationship need to be happy??

Of course. But, see- to a person such as myself- the other person's happiness is your happiness. Their sadness is your sadness. Your every mood depends entirely on theirs. You can be having the best day ever, and one phone call from that person can turn it completely around. Likewise, if the one you love is having a great day, you consider it a success. Someone once pointed out to me that when she would ask how my day was, I would reply "Well, _________ is in a really good mood, so it's been great. We've had a great day." because it was all about that person and not myself. His happiness meant it was a good day. What made it a great day? The fact that he was happy. What more did I need?

I don't know where it stems from, my need for approval. I have some ideas and, as with most people, it starts with childhood. But I won't get into all of that. I'm giving you this little psychology lesson just as a preface for this:

You either get it or you don't.

You fall into one of those two categories. Every single person reading this does. Either you're codependent yourself. You're a narcissit. Or you probably have a friend or loved one who is one or the other and you just can't understand it.

I can understand your inability to understand. (confusing, huh?)

I can't understand how a person can tell you how much they love you in one breath, then in another do everything in their power to tear you down. I can't wrap my head around someone intentionally hurting someone just so that they can maintain some sort of control in a relationship. I don't see how you can be in a long-term relationship with a person and not make their happiness take priority over your own. I can't understand loving someone and not wanting to be with them. I can't understand any of that. But that's me.

If you're on the other side, you can't understand me. You can't understand how a person can base their entire worth on someone else's opinion of them. You don't get how someone so valuable on so many levels can let their self-worth drop to nothing because one person doesn't deem them worthy. You can't grasp how an intelligent person can think for a minute that putting someone else (someone who never puts anyone's feelings ahead of their own) above his or her self is okay. You don't see how this addiction (because that's truly what it is) can be confused with love.

But it is love. It's love in it's own way and the worst thing you can probably do with a person in this situation is act as though it isn't. It's a love that you can't understand. So this is for those of you out there who are "normal". Those of you who don't "get it". The ones that love us and want to strangle us at the same time.

I see you. I see your frustration with me. I feel how much you love me and how badly you wish you could just take the hurt away. I feel you wanting to "shake me to wake me" from all of this.... hoping that one day I'll wake up and just snap out of it... hoping that one day I will see how unhealthy it all is. I see it. I really do. I know it's unhealthy. I know that continuing to cry over something that is over is pointless. But I can't help what's in my heart. I wish that I could. As frustrating as it is for you on the outside, I'm almost certain it's more frustrating for me to feel it on the inside. To wake up and feel all of this... and to have it still there at night when I go to bed. To still have this hope where there really should be no hope left.

And I could see how relieved you were when I told you I was moving on. How I wasn't going to keep doing this to myself. That was the logical side of me talking. I know I'm a smart girl. I know this, in part, because you've told me probably ten thousand times when listing all of my wonderful attributes that mean I deserve better. I could also see the disappointment in your eyes when you saw me giving in again. I know that you want to take it all away. Sometimes I wish you could. More than anything, I usually end up wishing we could all just go back to the time when we were all happy. Even if that meant my happiness depending on his. Because regardless of what it was making me happy, I was happy. And I had him. It's twisted, isn't it? Don't worry. I see that, as well. I see how messed up it is that I have everything in life that a girl could possibly need, yet I still find myself wishing we could all just go back .

I'm sorry for the times that I ignored your problems or brushed them aside because of the pain I was feeling myself. That's what I didn't see- the way I was hurting our friendship by, as usual, putting the unhealthy relationship first. People like me need people like you. We need the strong ones. That's what attracted us to the ones we fell for in the first place. They were strong. They were confident. We're very attracted to that, much in the same way that they're attracted to those that seem to be weak. But I'm not weak. You tell me that all the time, as well. But however strong I may be, you have me beat by a mile. You are logic where I am heart. That's not to say you have no heart. Your heart is as beautiful as any I've ever seen. Hell, it would have to be to put up with everything you have out of me. But my heart overrules my brain every time. That's what you can't understand. How someone as intelligent as I am can be so dumb... putting her emotion ahead of her mind. Maybe because of the way that my feelings never seemed to matter in the other relationships, I had to make sure they took top priority in ours. That's wrong. It's not okay and I'm sorry.

The one thing I ask is that, although you can't understand (nor would I ever want you to) please just know that what I feel is real. At least it is to me. It's as real as any love or fear or loss or anything else I've ever felt in my life. It doesn't matter how long we were together or how long we've been apart. It still is, and likely always will be, a part of me. A part of this mess of a girl that you love so much. And I know that you love me because you're still here.

Because of your love (and the love of so many others... and, admittedly, a great therapist) I'm able to be more rational. Make stronger, healthier decisions. But that doesn't mean that I'm "fixed". I never will be. I'm codependent. It's a part of me. I can, and will, work on my behaviors, but I can't change who I am. No more than the narcissist can change who they are.

If you love someone who is codependent or narcissistic or has any other mental or emotional struggle- know that we see you. We love you. And we truly appreciate you. We don't expect you to "get it". We just hope you stick around and love us through it.

Hell or High Water

"Hey, look! It's the girl from Valdosta with the Blow Job Blog!"... a friend was joking about how I will be known after that last post. Soooooo I feel like I need to clarify a couple of things. 1. I live in Lake Park. Not Valdosta. I'm not quite sure why that part is so important to me, but it is. Second, this isn't a "blow job blog". It isn't a "sex blog". It isn't even a blog centered around The Ex (although, at times that seems to be what it's been).

It's me. Just a blog about me and my life and my exploits or my lack thereof.

I told you from the start it wasn't glamorous. Hell, it's 4:30 on a Sunday afternoon and I'm in flannel pajama pants, wearing a mint julep mask, drinking a root beer flavored beer, listening to Randy Travis, and waiting for my ex husband to come over for dinner. Seriously. Does that SOUND glamorous?? Shouldn't I be drinking cosmos or something? Maybe at least wearing real clothes??

I also told you from the start that I wasn't over Him. Pretty sure I tell everyone that. In fact, I think my dental hygienist is even aware. So, I think it makes sense that behind every failed relationship (or attempt) is Him. Now this doesn't mean that he's come back into my life and prevented me from moving on. Not always, at least. He says that I only remember the bad. He says I'm incapable of focusing on any of the good. He's wrong. He's dead wrong. See- the good is what has stopped me from being able to do what I've known for so long that I should. I remember the good.

I remember the way he looked at me the moment that I realized that he was in love with me. Turns out, that's the moment that he realized it, as well. I remember the way he smiled with his eyes. I remember his laugh. Not his half-ass laugh, but the one where he truly thought something I said was funny. See- I remember all this. I remember how he loved my son. I remember how, when it came down to it, he did absolutely everything he could for both me and this little boy. So I definitely remember the good. It's what kept me holding on for as long as I did.

But I can't think about that. That stuff doesn't help me move on. It's better for me to think about the other. It makes more sense for me to remind myself of that "You lose" text or the weekend he hauled off to cheat on me all weekend or the many, many, many empty promises. I accepted the way he was. Because all I could think about was the good.

I won't act like I was perfect. I wasn't. Pretty much the only thing I did do right in that relationship was love him. I was faithful and I loved him. And that about sums it up. I wasn't some phenomenal girlfriend. I was a pain in the butt and obnoxious and asked for too much. I wanted things that I knew, going in, he just wouldn't give me. But I thought I could change that. Not change him per se, but change what he wanted. That was absurd. I really couldn't hold it together. I once flew completely off the handle when we had friends over. Dropping the f-bomb. I was pissed. I once broke his nose. (Granted, that was after his aforementioned weekend sexcapade debacle.) It wasn't healthy. I wasn't a good girlfriend. He wasn't a good boyfriend. So, I don't know why I thought we would be a good husband and wife for each other.

Actually. That's a lie. I know exactly why. It was us. Regardless of all the reasons we shouldn't have been together, when the lights went out and every one went home- it was just us. Just me and him and our music. Music was something that could bind us together like nothing else in this world. Even to this day, I consider music "our thing". Isn't that ridiculous? Everyone loves music. (and if you don't, you're wrong.) But we could use Jason Eady or Travis Tritt or Kris Kristofferson or Johnny Cash to speak for us when we couldn't find the words for ourselves. I could lay my head on his chest... on my spot... and fight over who got to play the next song... and laugh... and fall asleep in his arms. No matter what else had transpired that day or that weekend or even that month. Music was our thing.

But it wasn't enough. It was silly for me to ever think it could be. I know that. And I've moved on. I moved on months ago with a great man. Fell in love. Was happy. Was actually very happy. Then that ended. And I'm not yet ready to talk about the whys or hows because.... well. I don't really know exactly why. Maybe because I realized that I still needed to get this music out of my system before I tried to process how the next song ended. I don't know.

I do know this, though. It doesn't matter that I loved him. It doesn't matter that I believed he loved me. It doesn't matter that for all that time I thought he was "it" or what it was that made me realize that he couldn't be. All that matters is that he isn't. He isn't my person. He isn't "the one". And I don't really care if I've already met the man I'm "destined" (if I believed in such a thing) to spend the rest of my life with or if I won't meet him for 20 more years. That doesn't matter. What matters is that I know that he's not that man.

Love. I can't define it. But I know what you don't do when you love someone. And because of that, I can honestly say that he never loved me. I know that. I believe that he loved certain things about our relationship. And I believe that what I saw in his eyes that moment that he realized he was in love with me was real. He was in love with what he was looking at. And that girl was absolutely me. But it was just a part of me. He wasn't so in love with the rest. And I'm complex. I'm not easy to love. I know that. I'm easy for you to think you're falling in love with me. I have guys falling for me every day. And it's not because I'm the prettiest (I'm definitely not) or the smartest (although I am pretty intelligent) or anything else. It's because they like the realness of it all. They like that I tell 'em to fuck off when they get on my nerves, maybe. I don't know. Or maybe they all read the blog and think they're gonna get laid (if you're reading this and thinking that, I'm so sorry. Not hap'nin' cap'n). So it's easy for guys to think they're falling for me. It's a lot more difficult to find one that's really all in come hell or high water. I don't think anyone really knows what that means any more.

But I'm pretty sure that when I find that guy, he'll be THE guy.

You Lose

"Can I come over?" he asked me.

It was an early weekday morning. And while I am absolutely a morning person by definition, mornings are hectic for me. I have to get myself and the kid ready for work and school and get out the door at a decent time. Mornings just aren't a good time for company.

I told him No.

"Well will you come here? On your way to work?"

I told him I would if I had the time.... knowing good and well I would make the time.
I loved that man. {It doesn't matter who He is or when this was. It's the story that's important.}

I always made him a priority, no matter how illogical it was. But, again- I loved him. I rushed to get ready in enough time to be able to swing by to see him.

He loved me, too. I knew he did. He didn't show it in conventional ways, but I knew him in a different way than the others did. I knew his heart. He never actually wanted to hurt me. I just got too emotional and couldn't "hold it together"... (if I had a dollar for every time he told me that...) So, even though we weren't together, I knew that if I held out long enough he would see exactly what he had with me. He always came back. He loved me.

Right?

So I went. He was still in bed. I walked toward the bed. He pulled me toward him. Did I kiss him? I don't remember. We never really did kiss a whole lot. I guess that was probably pretty strange considering that I love kissing. But he was never much of a kisser, so we just didn't. So I don't remember if I kissed him or not. But I remember his hand on the back of my head as I slid under the covers... as I slowly and softly took him into my mouth... I could make love to him in my own way. And, I was good at it. It wasn't the act itself that I was good at. I knew that. It was that it was him. It was something about the way everything just seemed to fit. I had convinced myself that it was just another sign that we were meant to be together.

We had been "together" for long enough and enough times that I knew very well what to do to get him to "the point of no return" and could get him there very quickly. I considered it a gift. Once it was done, I stood up to tell him Goodbye and immediately felt awkward. I had to rush off to work so I wasn't too concerned with being sweet and emotional, but still needed something from him.

"Thanks," he said. I kind of let out a slight laugh.

"Later gator," I replied.

I climbed into my car and began to back out of the driveway. He had sent me a friend request on Facebook earlier that morning so I saw that as a huge step. Before I left his road, I clicked on his name on my phone. We had not been friends on Facebook in quite some time and I was interested to see what his life had looked like without me in it.

Nothing.

He had blocked me. Already. Just a couple of hours after adding me.

I closed out the app and went to my messages and before I had typed a thing, a message popped up under his name.

"You lose"

I lost. I gave in. Trusted that he was making some sort (no matter how small) of an effort.

But I lost.

Days went by and we didn't speak until he began drunkenly calling me that weekend.

I stupidly went back to see him. He loved me. He was only acting out of hurt before. He really did love me and I didn't expect anyone to understand.

So, again, I went back.

And, again, I can't remember if he kissed me.

And, again, I gave him what he wanted.

And, again... well. You get the picture by now. Only this time he didn't say "You Lose". This time he drunkenly told me that he wanted us. That he wanted it all. The next day I hardly heard from him at all.

I made efforts to text him... to have conversation... he was gone.

Again, I lost.

Now, I know that as you're reading this- most of you are thinking "What an idiot! What kind of low-self esteem person would continue to put herself through all of that? And in the name of what?? LOVE?? That's not LOVE. He doesn't LOVE her at all..."

And you're right. But, what's sad is--- there are a few girls reading this who know exactly where I was. And that's why I'm telling this story. Because I'm not the only person.

See- I'm not a weak girl. I have no problem walking away from a man when he's done me wrong. Most of the time. I'm not the girl to allow myself to be disrespected like that.

That's what I told myself. But when I started evaluating my relationships, I found that I don't let go when I should. But even still- I don't allow myself to be used. I can see it coming from a mile away. But I could never see it with him.

He loved me.

I heard the words. I heard my friends tell me that I could do better. I heard my best friend actually yell at me that I was an idiot for continuing to talk to him at all and at some point I was bringing it on myself. I heard all of it.

But he loved me.

And I lost.

But let me tell you something--- he didn't love me.
That's the most difficult reality I've ever had to face.
Whatever it was that he was doing or feeling- it wasn't love.

He was inflicting pain intentionally. He knew every time that he called or text or asked me over what he was about to do to me. And he didn't care. At least not enough to not do it. So I gave in every time.

And still- I lost.

I lost my best buddy.
I lost the man that I thought I was going to spend the rest of my life with.
I lost my musical soul mate.
I lost my lover.
I lost the man who never really cared to listen to how my day was.
I lost someone who wouldn't bring me medicine when I was sick.
I lost a man who once actually said "I don't give a fuck about that" when I was telling him about something that was important to me.
I lost being cussed at and told what a whore I was when things didn't go his way.
I lost having to always be the one to give and seldom get anything in return.
I lost hearing that I'm incapable of "holding it together" when I get upset over something that I legitimately had a right to get upset over.
I lost sleepless nights wondering what I could possibly do to fix it all.

I may have lost our Sunday night sunsets, but I also lost a lifetime of empty promises.

He lost a girl who genuinely loved him with her entire heart. It takes so, so, so much for me to be done. But once I am- there's no going back. Once I finally made up my mind, it was actually kind of a relief to be able to say

No, Sir. You Lose.

Pearl earrings, Fences, and the Lies We Tell Ourselves

There are two kinds of girls in this world. Well- there are many kinds of girls in this world. But only two kinds we're going to talk about today.

Girls with pearl earrings... and girls without pearl earrings.

Let me explain. I haven't ventured very far north at all- at least not for more than a weekend- so I'm certain that the culture varies to some degree depending on what part of the country you're in. But I'm in the south. And in the south, pearls are a thing. Not just a "get dressed up on the weekends" thing, either. Girls down here wear pearls with anything. Gym shorts, t-shirt, flip flops.... and pearl earrings.

I'm not one of those girls.

Those girls have great hair. It's always shiny like the girls in the Pantene commercials. They have monogrammed vests that they wear with their flannel shirts. Their skirts go to their knees. Their shoes are close-toed. Their make up is flawless. They drink mimosas at brunch because it's trendy and not because they wanted an excuse to get drunk before lunch. They go to these little places where a steak is gonna cost you $50 rather than Texas Roadhouse just because they would rather be seen there. Their houses most likely look like pages ripped from a Pier1 catalog, and they have at least two framed photos with their sorority sisters, no matter how long they've been out of college. Their friends also have pearl earrings. They won't associate with anyone who doesn't have the exact same lifestyle that they do and they are the most judgmental bitches you will ever meet.

But KAYLA, you say to me, that sounds like YOU are being judgmental... that's because I am. I'm judging the shit out of them right now. But I own it. These pearl earring girls- they're judge-y and they exclude people and hate people that they don't even know. I'm not saying that they're horrible people. They just aren't my kind of people.

Well. That's not entirely true. I have pearl earring friends. But the majority of these PEGs would never have lunch with me. Or brunch. Or even invite me to a baby shower. Why? Because I'm not like them. I don't own a pair of pearl earrings. My apartment is usually at least somewhat of a mess because I have a five year old little boy running around. My décor is mostly hand made. I prefer whiskey to champagne. I prefer Kristofferson to Buble. I would rather have a chili cheese dog from the Lake Dogs than  some fancy steak from a place where I don't understand half of the ingredients in the dishes. And if I do want a steak, I'll go to the Rascals up the road. I don't have sorority sisters, but I do have my gang. My little hoodrats that are just as socially inacceptable as I am. These girls are real. The friends that I have love me. I mean like really love me. And what I love most about them is that they're just damn good people. They could have a legitimate enemy, but if that person were to actually need something- my friends would be there. That's my kind of person.

I appreciate a genuine person. But sometimes we all get caught up in the idea of what our lives are supposed to look like, don't we? We think that we're supposed to be married and have 2 kids and have a certain college degree and this particular career and a perfect house with this white picket fence and either be the girl with the pearl earrings or marry the girl with the pearl earrings.

I think about these girls and, I wont lie, I'm a little jealous. They look like they always smell good, don't they? They just look fresh all the time. It makes me wonder what their routine is like... in the morning... at night before they go to bed. I feel like I need to follow them around and take notes. But then I think about their sex lives and I imagine that they are completely boring. I could be totally wrong, but I also imagine the PEGs to be the "it's not your birthday" kind of girls, as well.

I'm not saying that these girls won't find true love. They have as good a shot as the rest of us. Hell, probably more of a shot. But they'll probably end up married to Bow-tie Guy and they'll have their little baby boys in bubble suits with smocking on the front. With a bonnet. On a boy.

I couldn't be happy with that life. I don't want Bow-tie Guy. He wouldn't like my kind of music. He wouldn't have a clue why it's imperative that I see Robert Earl Keen in Corpus Christi... he likely wouldn't even know who REK is. And he couldn't handle a girl like me.

See, I'm the kind of girl who doesn't know how to be anything other than myself. I can't pretend to be anything other than me. I can't pretend like I'm not loud and passionate and crazy. Because I am all of those things. And I can't imagine that I want to live anywhere other than Lake Park unless I moved to St Augustine to be closer to my best friend. I look in the mirror and ask if I'M happy with what I see in the mirror. I can't ask myself if every one else would be happy with it because I can't care. I'm from the south. I have a little PEG in me. I want everything monogrammed. And I have a dress or two that I think would look great with pearls.

But I don't need them.

And I don't need the white picket fence.

And I don't want bow tie guy.

And I don't want to be worried about what anyone else thinks my life should look like.

I don't want to live a lie because it's what looks better.

I just want to be happy. Whether that means that I'm single forever, or if I get married next week (I am not getting married next week)--- I just want to be happy.

Whew. I'm back.

So I've spent far too many days trying to figure out the direction I want this blog to go in. It's called No Sex and the South, and believe me... I'm still not having sex. I have a five year old and the man that I love has a four year old. There is very little sex being had in our relationship... but please be patient as I navigate the growing pains as I decide exactly what to do with the blog.

I know that this whole "relationship" thing has really put a damper on the blog. I haven't been writing, but honestly it has nothing to do with not having material or even with not having the time or energy or desire. It's had everything to do with wanting to make sure I get this right. I had to have a vision. A goal.

Truth be told, I didn't realize how many people cared about my relationship status until I started actually dating someone. "Do NOT fall in love, Kayla. You can't do that. What about the blog??" I can't even begin to tell you how many times I heard that. And, quite frankly, I didn't want to fall in love. I was happy for the first time in so long. I had my own apartment. My own life. Didn't have to answer to anyone. I had this blog and my readers were loving reading about Mr. White. They wanted to see if he was going to try to work his way back in. They wanted to know exactly what those pictures of Clooney entailed. Relationships are boring. Clooney sex surely would not be. And I was right there with you guys. Trust me. I didn't want a relationship. I mean, sure. A part of me wanted to be loved and be all mushy and have someone to rub my back and all of that great relationship stuff. But I didn't trust guys. Not a single one of them. I mean, come on--- Mr. White was married. Have we forgotten that?? And with every picture Clooney sent, I wondered how many other girls had gotten the same picture. The Ex had ruined me. And it wasn't even just THE Ex. It was the majority of the Exes. And it was other guys that I've known who have been unfaithful to girlfriends and wives. It was the ones screwing their secretaries. It was the ones in the bar overheard saying "a blow job isn't actually cheating". It was pretty much every man I had ever encountered. It was guys that I had been with myself. It was a guy who was married to one of my former friends. It was, again, every man I knew for the most part. So, no. I didn't trust him. I didn't trust any man and it wasn't worth the risk.

Until it was.

So I did it. Admittedly, I'd had a few drinks and my best friend had coerced me into sending a "relationship request" on facebook. Okay. So maybe it was more of a "Do you dare me?" thing. But regardless. She dared me. The people at the table next to us in the restaurant dared me. Well, with the exception of this one guy who was all "No. Don't do that. Maybe discuss it first. Then let him do it."

That guy was dumb. We did not listen to that guy.

I had my best friend checking my hopefully-soon-to-be-boyfriend"s facebook page regularly to see if he had accepted yet & if it was showing up on his page. Before we left the parking lot we were "facebook official". BAM.

Thirty minutes later, the bestie and I were at a local watering hole. Watering hole. Do people still even call it that? I mean, it's a bar. Not so much a hole in the wall, but definitely not a club. The finest South Lowndes County has to offer. (Seriously, though. If you find yourself in South Lowndes County- even if you're just passing through- stop by Rascal's. You won't regret it. The food is phenomenal. The staff is great. You won't find better ownership. And the after-hours environment is just low-key enough to make you feel like you fit in no matter where you're from.) I digress. We were at the bar. Apparently, the news had spread like wild fire. Well. That's not entirely true. Lake Park isn't that big. Pretty much the entire town is my friend on Facebook. No. I actually have a friend on Facebook that says "Lake Park, GA". The amount of people who already knew about my new relationship was astounding. "Don't do this. You can't do this. What will happen to the blog?"

I was kind of with them.

What would happen to the blog? Would I just make up stuff? Would I continue talking about life as it was? Would I just talk about the past and what lead me to this point?

I knew I couldn't just let it go. This blog is crucial to my sanity. Granted, the drinking that I do to be able to relax enough to write it is probably hell on my liver. I've put away more than half a bottle of Bacardi Black tonight (I'm SORRY, Keil!!!!). And it's the big bottle. I stole it from my best friend (I SAID I'M SORRY!!!) It's no Sailor Jerry, but it will do in a pinch.

So- I've decided. I'm just going to write whatever comes to my mind. It's what I'm best at. For what it's worth, No- I do not think I'm Carrie Bradshaw (told you I went through your phone, boyfriend of mine). I just think that I'm relatable. Carrie was in her own way. But in the same way that Carrie relates to NY socialites, I relate to the small town girl.. which is also the same way we women all relate to each other. I can hate your ex girlfriend or your current girlfriend or your baby mama or your actual mama or your best girl "friend" and still totally relate to her. Because I'm a girl. We all do it. But the blog will continue. Now that I've decided what to do with it- it will continue. You'll probably hear a little more about my past than you ever cared to know. You'll know exactly what's going on at the current time (I'm presently planning on letting this man of mine wife the shit out of me), as well as all of the drama I hear about from people who probably are only telling me so that they can "get on the blog"... or maybe they're praying their secrets never make the blog. In that case, consider this my disclaimer: If you don't want it on the blog, don't tell me. Or make sure you tell me you don't want it on the blog.

Regardless- I promise I'm getting back to it. And with all the information I've been given this past week, as well as everything going on in my own love life- I assure you I have plenty to write.

Thanks for staying loyal. I won't let you down.

It's my blog and I can write if I want to...

"Why is she still writing about me?" Mr. White asked our mutual friend.
She had gotten behind on the blog, so she was unsure what he was referring to. Now, as my loyal followers know, I have gotten behind on the blog, myself. The only thing I had written about him was that I hadn't heard any more out of him since he left for Spain. And, of course, now I'm writing about the cowardice when a man asks another female rather than go to the woman in question. However, I don't care. I actually find it rather humorous.

The thought crossed my mind to continue writing about him as though he was still a player in my little game. I decided against that. As enticing as it was to pursue something with this enigma of a man, I couldn't be the other woman. Not after being cheated on for the better part of the past 18 months. If you feel the need to be with other women- leave the one you're with.

My mind would still go back to being pinned against his SUV in that parking lot... my keys gripped tightly in my hand with the lower half of his body pressed close against my own... my hair pulled back tight in his fist... his tongue tracing the outline of my lips...

I couldn't... I wouldn't.

And I had been distracted anyway. Clooney had taken over my mind and was ready to do the same to my body. He came home and was ready to "watch Netflix and chill"... I was ready.

I had not actually slept with anyone since the Ex's friend, so I felt I needed that release of "tension", so to speak. My friends/readers were ready, as well. But by this time, there was someone...

And it happened.

Shit.

The one thing my readers begged of me to not let happen.

DO NOT GET FEELINGS FOR ANYONE, they would plead with me.

"What will happen to the blog?" they asked.

The blog will stay. Don't worry about that.

I'm crazy about this man in my life, but this blog is still my life online.

And if the past week is any indication of the future of this blog... it's only going to get better.

The Ex Files

"I feel sorry for Big. I was the best thing that ever happened to him and he just let me walk away..."-Carrie.

Wow. Carrie's poor friends. They're sitting at brunch. They're listening, still, to Carrie talk about how much better off she is without Big. What a mistake he made. Obsessing.

I wouldn't do anything like that.

Not me.

I lie. My poor friends. My poor, poor friends.

Now I don't want to make it seem as though I wake up every morning thinking of the Ex. I don't. I did. For a while. I mean... it hasn't been that long since the last time we were together. Seven weeks. That's it. You can't just "get over" the person you planned to spend the rest of your life with in seven weeks, can you? That was a big reason behind this blog. To get my feelings out and explore other aspects of my sexuality that weren't directly connected to him. And it wasn't even about sex, really. I'm really not the promiscuous type. I just want to feel. I want to be over him. There's a part of me that wanted to jump into a new relationship just because he was already with someone new. I had convinced myself I was ready before I had pulled out of his driveway that last day together. But I wasn't. What good would that do, huh? I mean, I had put extensive thought into it. If I were going to date someone- it had to be an upgrade, right? Not even a lateral move. The next guy had to be far more attractive, more successful, more funny, more intelligent... more better. Okay. So "more better" isn't exactly correct... but you get the point. Then I realized- I wasn't going to see anyone as "more better" as long as I was still in love with him. So- all I could do is wait.

Let me stop right there. He is NOT good for me. I know that. I don't want him back. It's the last thing that I need. We don't work. We tried for long enough. We. Don't. Work. My friends remind me of that any time I have a moment of weakness. But I loved him. And I worry about him. And I still feel like it's my "job" to make sure he's okay. It's not. And he's fine. I'm not saying this was all his fault. He did some pretty unspeakable things. But I allowed it. You teach people how to treat you. And when you allow certain behaviors to continue, of course they aren't going to stop. So it's just as much my fault. I won't go into too much detail about some of the things that he did, because I do (somewhat) respect his privacy.  But one thing I did recently discover is that he's still up to his same old tricks. Still calling up the same girls he used to call up when we were together. Any time he has a night "off" from my replacement, he doesn't actually want a night "off" from sex. Part of me was sad when I heard that. Not really sad for his girlfriend because I tried to warn her to an extent. But sad for him. How is he ever going to have a family of his own- a healthy relationship, children- if he doesn't just stop? He knows it's an addiction. "I like to have women I've never had." He used to quote that song all the time. And he wasn't lying. He did. And, truthfully, I accepted that about him. However, it wasn't (and apparently still isn't) just about women he's never had. Not when he's still going back to where he's been. So, yeah, it makes me sad for him. My heart breaks a little for him because I know that there's a part of him that wants that family life. He was good at it. But more than anything- when I found out what a part of me already knew- I felt like I had dodged a bullet.

I don't have to worry any more about where my boyfriend is when he stops texting late at night. I don't have to worry about who else he's texting when I'm not there. I don't have to hear the "I was drunk" or "but I didn't actually do anything" excuses anymore. I was drama. I was crazy. But I'm realizing (thank you, therapy!) that it wasn't me. It wasn't even him. It was that relationship. It was drama. I allowed myself to be cheated on. I allowed him back in too many times, even knowing that I didn't fully forgive him. And that definitely ended in many crazy fights. I don't have that anymore. The drama is gone from my life.

"You aren't over him." That's what he told me. I told him I couldn't lie to him and tell him that I was, but that I would be. He trusted that enough to give it a shot. And with that, I began to let the past go.

I've deleted the pictures from my phone. And I threw out his old sweatshirt. Memories be damned.

Game On

It's Game Day in the South, ladies and gentlemen. College football around here is a BIG deal. Everyone has a team and we all talk smack about the other teams. And it starts before the season does. In fact, it never really ends. It just intensifies come kick off.

Drive through any southern state and you'll see every college represented by people who have never known a person who attended that school. ((In *my* defense, I am a Florida fan because my almost 5 year old is a Florida fan. He, obviously, has never attended college in Gainesville - even though he plans to. However, the Ex made this little one the fan that he is. The kid will hardly wear anything NOT Orange and Blue. This makes shopping in South Georgia rather difficult... the land of the Georgia Bulldogs))

I'm getting way off track. As I said, it's Game Day and the shortest of the short people and I are heading to The Swamp. Gator Country. God's Country. So if I seem a bit distracted in writing this post, that would be why. I have a little man in a Gator jersey yelling "Two Bits! Four Bits! Six Bits! A Dollar! ALLLLL for the Gators- stand up and Holler!!!" BUT- if I don't get this post written, I have a few readers who have threatened to off my head... (most of them Bulldog fans. Smh.) So here I am. On game day. Writing this blog post.

You're welcome.

I haven't heard from Mr. White. He still hasn't returned from Spain, but he has been on Facebook, so I don't suppose I will hear from him. Does it bother me? Honestly? Yeah. It does. But, truthfully, I think it's only because I have to be wanted. It drives me crazy when a man doesn't want me. I mean, I'm sure there are plenty of men who have zero interest in me. But those are usually men that just don't know me. I don't typically go for men so far out of my league anyway. I think I'm a solid 7, so I can date an 8... even as low as a 5 because looks aren't THAT important when it comes to something long-term. But, when I feel like a man is within the standard 7/8 range on the looks scale and he doesn't care to pursue me- I feel challenged. I have to know why he doesn't try harder and I have to change it. Of course, what usually happens is they DO start trying and I immediately lose interest. I think there's something mis-wired in my brain. Or maybe I have too much "guy brain" going on. I don't know. But I know that if it's made easy for me- I don't want it. So back to the issue at hand. Mr. White has gone MIA. I know he's alive because of Facebook action, so now I don't know whether I should attempt to get his attention, or continue focusing my efforts on my Clooney.

Oh, sweet, sexy Clooney. Wait. Did I just call him sweet? Because I can't think of a conversation that we've had that has been particularly "sweet". But the man does have a way with words. And pictures.

I've told you that he's been out of state, as well, haven't I? He returns very soon. He wants to "watch Netflix and chill". Okay. I'll play along. We can "watch Netflix and chill". I can like that. Although, we don't play coy very long. We had only started texting when the photos started. That body. Dear God, that man has a body on him. Every thing from the curve of his shoulders, the tightness of his abs, those tan lines... that man muscle on either side of his abdomen that points precisely where your eyes would wander anyway (and you ladies know the "man muscle"... it's my favorite muscle on a man). The way he describes precisely what he wants to do to me upon his return rivals my own "sexting" skills.

He's not at all what you would expect from a man with his sexual appetite. He looks so... tame. Maybe those are the ones you have to watch, though. The quiet ones. The intelligent ones. The outdoorsy ones.

The "rest" of him is as perfectly built as what I've already described.

He's coming home.

To watch Netflix.

"And chill"

Ugh. This means I'll have to shave.

Dating the Damaged Woman

Dating is complicated. We all know that. I think that's one of the things I hear most from my married friends- "Dear God, I don't feel sorryfor you at all being out there in the dating world." or "You couldn't pay me enough to go through that again." And they're right. There's definitely something to be said for that comfort. Just having your person and knowing that, at the end of the day, he or she will still be there. Snoring. Talking in their sleep. Stealing the covers. Just doing whatever it is that they do. I miss that. I miss falling asleep with the man that I love with the knowledge and security that I would get to wake up the next morning and do it all over again. That's a great feeling. However, I don't just want someone to take up half of my bed. I need more than that... and sometimes I need less than that. 

See- here's the thing about dating women who have been previously broken ("damaged", if you will): we're easy to love but hard to keep. 

It's easy to look at this girl and think "I can help her to get over him. I can help her to move on and repair the hurt." And that's nice. It really is. And it's not that we don't appreciate the sentiment (we really do!), we just know that it isn't that easy. We start every new "flirtation" (for lack of a better word) thinking "maybe this could be something", knowing in our hearts that it likely can't be. You're not him. 

In a lot of ways it's a good thing that you're not him. He broke her. She gave him everything she had. Even when she should have walked away, time and time again she forgave him. Put her heart on the line. Tried to move forward. And each time she was shown that it didn't matter what she did- she wouldn't be good enough. WAS she good enough? Of course she was. And deep down she knew that. She still knows that. But she was told that she wasn't. She was made to feel over and over again like it was her fault. Whatever names he called her... All of the other women he slept with or talked to... Every time he put his hands on her... It was somehow her fault. Of course, the next morning it was always another story. The "I love you"s and "I'm sorry"s came so easily followed by the "It will never happen again"s. So eventually she learned to stop trusting.

It's not your fault. You have to know that. She knows that. But she had to learn to be strong. She wasn't given a choice. Maybe she has children that she had to keep going for. Or maybe it was only for her own survival. But she had to toughen up. The walls start to feel impenetrable. She gets into a routine. She says that she doesn't care. That she doesn't want a relationship. Then you come along and she starts to feel some semblance of hope again. She tells herself that it might be worth it to let her guard down. Maybe she can love someone again. Then it gets too real.

You didn't mean to do it. You weren't trying to push her away. You were only doing what you thought was right. And it probably was... for pretty much any other girl. But this girl is different. She still hurts. She's not okay. She makes it, but she's still not "whole". She is deathly afraid to allow someone else to fill a void in her life. She's been there. The pain is still too fresh. She still thinks about him. Still dreams about him from time to time. Their songs still play on the radio. She can't escape it. She WANTS to move on. She really does. But she's had to learn how to do this on her own. The waking up alone, getting ready for work, paying the bills, feeding the kids, getting them to school on time... life. She's gotten into a routine. She still craves that... something. But where will she fit it in? She thought she could. Dropped the baby off with a sitter. Let you take her out for a few hours. Laughed like she hadn't laughed in a long time.
She wasn't faking it. She really does like you. As cliche as it sounds- it's not you. It's her. 

You can't date a damaged woman the same way you would date another. Her life is her own and she can't handle any more complications. She wants to see you. She just can't see you every day. You can't talk about things like "forever" with her. She'll like it at first because it shows that you aren't afraid of commitment... but she's heard it all before. Eventually the words all run together and it becomes just another song and dance that she knows all too well. She's been promised forever before. And right now her "forever" is waking up next to another woman. She can't trust it. It's not that she can't trust you. But her trust has to be earned. She gave it away so freely before. "I'll trust him until he gives me a reason not to"... it's not like that anymore. She has to protect herself. So, no- she doesn't trust you. 

She doesn't want to hear pretty words. She's heard them all before. She needs actions. And not even grand gestures like gifts and flowers. Granted, those are nice and a little spoiling is sweet... but she needs bigger things. Like consistency. Just do what you say you'll do whether it's something large or small- be consistent. No empty promises. Goodnight texts are just as important as Good morning texts. We're suspicious- us damaged women. If you drop off around 9pm without saying goodnight, you're with someone else. You probably aren't. But history tells us otherwise. Give her space. Be there, but be gone. Does that make sense? No? Well get used to it because the damaged woman is much like a walking contradiction. Girl: I just want someone to hang out and watch netflix with me   Guy: I'll be over in 20 minutes.   Girl to best friend: Oh my gosh... he's seriously on his way. Stage 5 Clinger 

We know we make no sense. We accept that. Believe me, it's as frustrating for her as it is for you.

If you saw her on Friday night, do NOT try to see her on Saturday night. Probably not even Sunday. Maybe Wednesday would be good. Ask HER when works for her. Let her know you're interested without smothering her. You can't forget- she has her own life and routine and is determined to never NEED a man again. It took her too long to get to where she is and she's so afraid of backtracking. Again- it's not you. And you shouldn't be afraid of her. If anything, this should make you happy. She doesn't NEED you. If she chooses to spend time with you, it's because she WANTS to. Think about it. She doesn't need your money. She pays her own bills. Takes care of her own child. Maintains her own life. She wants to be an asset, not a liability. Any man would be lucky to have her. And maybe you could be that man, but you can't try too hard. When things start to seem "real", the damaged girl gets scared. Be patient. She thinks she wants forever, but she's still so
scared of it. 

Be patient with her. Don't rush. Be honest. Be consistent. Understand that it isn't personal. Her heart is still trying to heal and once it's mended, it will be stronger than ever. You just have to wait for it. And she's a girl worth waiting for. 

just a normal single mom...

I don't mean to sound as though my life is this exciting adventure and men are knocking down my door to (as my Clooney so eloquently put it) "get in [my] blog"... That's not the case at all. Of course I have men. All single women do. Because that's what happens. They come out of the woodwork. It's strange. When I was dating the Ex, there was no way another man could catch my attention other than just appreciating certain qualities they may exhibit. I couldn't stomach the idea of ever being intimate with another man. I was in love. And love is a hell of a drug, isn't it? Yet, the idea of other men no longer nauseates me. It excites me. But the best part of it all is--- I can be picky. I love that. Am I a bombshell? Ha. Absofrigginlutely not. I'm a plain jane, average height, average build, brown haired, brown eyed, 32 year old single mom. I clean up well, but even at my best, I don't think I'm one that turns heads. (I've always said, in regards to how beautiful my friends all are, that I will not likely be the one whose looks will bring a guy to our table in a bar... however, my personality would keep him there.) But the thing is, I know what I want. Whether it's from a genuine relationship or something a little... ummmm... less conventional.

I don't sleep with random men. That's never been my style and I don't intend to start. I'm a huge flirt and I love attention from the opposite sex. I won't deny that. But I don't "give it up" so easily. I guess I'm somewhat of a tease... But I think that's okay. I don't really see much wrong with that. What'd Rizzo say? "...there are worse things I could do... than go with a  boy... or two..." ;) I like that Rizzo. Skank as she may be- I like her. She's real. I'm getting off track. What I want. I miss having a sexual relationship. Everything about it. But I really don't want to just sleep with the first guy who comes along and pushes me against his truck (although... damn.). I also don't want a  boyfriend. I don't need someone coming over to my house every day. Someone getting all butt hurt when I want to go hang out with my girl friends. Someone to insist on being a part of Taco Tuesday when that's clearly not *our thing* (boys are not allowed on Taco Tuesday. That's why it's called TACO Tuesday. TACOS ONLY... get it??? Okay. That's not at all what that means, but it made me laugh and sounded plausible enough for me). I don't want someone to come in and turn my world upside down. I want someone to enhance my life. Not flip it around and turn my life into his. I want someone with his own dreams and ambitions because I've got my own things I'm working on. I want someone who will go away for DAYS at a time. Long days that make me miss him like crazy. And while he's gone I want dirty pictures and videos and text messages telling me exactly what he wants when he comes home... Then I want him to make it all a reality when he finally is here... Then I want him to leave again so I can get back to my life. But then I want him to come back. And then leave. And then come back again. And then leave again. And it's okay if he loves me because if he can handle all of that, I might be all "right back atcha, kiddo" But I have these walls now, you see. And even if I think that I can trust someone and believe what they say- I never TRULY trust. It's kind of a sad situation if you take time to think about it. I would love to be able to trust people. Someone. But everything is temporary. It's kind of funny. I said that to my ex when we first started dating.

"Everything is temporary. Nothing really lasts forever."

He was drinking a few nights later and brought it up. Said that it bothered him because everything didn't have to be temporary; that we really could be forever. Hell or high water, we said. No matter what.

And I'm getting over that. I am. But I say that to say this- I believed in forever. I believed in permanence and it took my world, shook it up, and turned it upside down like a 10,000 piece puzzle. And I'm starting to get it put back together. I have the corners done... I'm connecting them... the frame is almost complete. But I think that there were a few pieces left in that box that I wont get back. I'm afraid that I won't believe in forever again. So I believe in now. I look for today. Tomorrow. As far as next week. But that's as far as I want to look. I don't want to put my faith in anyone... because there are Mr. Whites out there who will (literally) charm the pants off of you, then leave you high and dry.

That's not what he did, Mr. White. At least, I don't think he did. I told you he was going to Spain so I didn't really expect to hear too much out of him. I guess I also have a bit of a problem now with wanting to be chased. If you don't text me- I'm not going out of my way to text you. I have a feeling Mr. White is the same way. But he seemed so confident last week. Perhaps it's the distance and nothing more. I'm not sure. We really haven't spoken.

Honestly, I haven't had a lot of time to think about why Mr. White and I haven't spoken. I've spent more time than I care to admit sexting my Clooney. Wait. Did I type sexting?  I meant texting. HA! Nope. Definitely meant sexting. This man has the ability to completely overpower any amount of self control that I thought I had. I want him. This man. I want him in every way that a woman can want a man. Somehow there's undeniable chemistry, even through the phone. The way he speaks... just everything about him makes me want to experience everything else. He consumes my mind and with that, sets my body on fire. The things that man can do with just his words sends my mind in to overdrive thinking about what he will do when there isn't anything between us aside from two thin layers of clothing...

No. My life is very much like every other working single mom's life. Only when I come home at the end of my work day, I do all of the normal every day things, in my pajamas... while reading from Mr. Clooney precisely what he's going to do to me once he's home....

Game Recognizes Game

My Charlotte... she knew Mr. White well.

"How well?" I asked.

"Very well."

"Very well? Wait. That  well?"

"That well."

On one hand, I was disappointed... I mean, there's girl code and all of that, right? However, her "pseudo relationship" with him had been several years prior and it never really escalated to anything too serious. But there was a reason for that.

"He's really fun," she assured me. "And he's a super sweet guy. He'll take you on trips. You'll have a great time with him. But... you have to know..."

"Know what?" ...but I already knew. I did. The moment I heard her tone change, my mind replayed the day's events and I instantly knew.

...sitting behind the wall.
...him going to the bathroom when we were leaving and having me just meet him outside.
...the fact that he parked around the back of the restaurant where there were no other vehicles.

"He's married," she told me.

"No. He told me he was single. He's been single the same amount of time that I've been." I was trying to convince myself that he wasn't lying. Look- I don't trust men anyway. They'll get away with whatever you'll let them get away with. I once fell in love with a man and dated him for SEVERAL months before finding out that he had a wife. I've been the cheater, the cheatee, the cheated... None of them are good feelings. I don't want to be that person. I have very strong feelings about it, considering what happened with my relationship with the Ex. No one wins and the pain that is inflicted is never worth the temporary whatever that you get from sneaking around on someone that loves you. I digress.

It's not that I wanted a relationship with Mr. White. I wasn't in a relationship frame of mind at all. But I won't be "the other woman".

"Well, maybe he is single. Are you sure he's divorced? I mean, he could be telling the truth..."

"...No. It's all adding up... Let me call you back." I hung up the phone and opened iMessage.

 ...so I'm thinking... when you return from Spain-
  when we see each other again- maybe we should
  go on a trip out of town for a few days.

Oh yeah? Where were you thinking?

Oh I don't know. Just somewhere private... Some
 place where we don't have to sit in the back of a
 restaurant and you won't have to worry about 
 parking around back or being seen with me and
 your wife finding out.

                                                    He knew he was busted.

What?

Come on. Let's just be honest here. Are you or are
you not married?

I have been honest.

Are you married, Mr. White?

I am. But we haven't lived together for some
time. I never lied to you.

Let me just stop right there for a minute. I don't consider Mr. White to be a liar. I don't think of him as a bad person. Is he separated? Is his wife aware of this fact if he is? I don't know. I won't lie- I'm typically the girl who would find out. Do some research. Ask around. Learn who his wife is and straight up ask her. Woman to Woman. However, I've found that usually just makes me look crazy. (Kayla side bar: since when does being up front and real and honest with people make you crazy?? I guess people have just become so accustomed to lies and they prefer to live in their own little fake happy bubble than to know the truth. Not this one. Hit me with the truth no matter how badly you know I don't want to hear it.)

I didn't stop talking to him. My initial thought was to cease all communication. But what if he was telling the truth? If my history with men is indicative of the way the majority of them lie- I absolutely should not trust that his marriage is over... but I wanted to believe him. Not because of anything more than the fact that my head was still spinning over being pinned between his truck and... whatever was in those designer jeans he was wearing.

You have to start trusting sometime, Kayla, I told myself. It was just convenient for me to choose this moment to attempt such a feat. Trust. It's never been my strong suit. I trusted the Ex. Even when I shouldn't have. It bit me in the ass. This is why the whole "do what I want, no relationship" thing appealed to me so much. I didn't have to worry about whether or not someone was telling me the truth because they would owe me nothing.

Okay. I believe you.

Good.

I can't wait.

Surely you can.... ;)

No. I can't wait to bend you over and
spank your ass and pull your hair.


And there he was. I forgot about the "issue" at hand.

The next morning, I took the five year old to school and went to my office to begin my work day. When my phone chimed, I smiled knowing immediately who it would be.

I was wrong.

"Men all over the county find themselves thinking on a daily basis... 'How can I make Kayla's blog?'"

This guy. Sexy. So sexy. Outdoorsy. Intelligent. Seemingly the eternal bachelor. He's in his 30s and has never been married nor does he have any children. I mean, I suppose that wouldn't seem abnormal in the least if you were anywhere other than South Georgia where most have at least 2 children before their 25th birthday. But not him. He reminded me of a combination of George Clooney and a young Harrison Ford. Rugged at times, yet the man could wear a suit like no one I'd ever seen before. And he knew it.  Harrison Clooney. That's him. My Clooney. Granted, he wasn't mine yet, but he would be. He didn't know it- but he would be. Hell, I didn't even know it yet...

I laughed. "Oh, you read the blog?" I asked.

"I look forward to it," he told me. I was kind of surprised. My best friend's husband reads the blog.... but I figured it was more of a "show my wife's best friend some support" thing than him actually being entertained by it. Or even a "let me see what this crazy bia is gonna say now..." because he knows me and knows that I'm bound to write anything (as you all have probably learned by now, as well) "It's refreshing," he says, "to hear from a chick who's a little dirty, yet practices restraint. I dig it. I'm a faithful follower." Faithful. Sorry- just that word coming out of a man's mouth is enough to turn me on.

He tells me about himself. His likes and dislikes. The fact that he actually enjoys being single. We have a lot in common.

I go into this knowing that it can't turn into anything. Hours later as I'm texting my Clooney Goodnight I realize that I haven't text Mr. White in hours. Many hours. His flight left early that morning, but he was sure to text me when he arrived at his destination. I responded, but I was more distracted by another conversation that had recently begun...

We may have been bitten, my dear.

                                                                                  We have a problem.

Maybe we can help one another solve it...

                                                                                  I really can't wait. Seriously.

I'm glad you feel the same way.

                                                                                 This could go down in flames.
                                                                                 But if it does- it'll
                                                                                 be fun in the mean time.

...I'd been Clooney'd. Some how he had gotten to me. The walls... the "hardness"... I was starting to forget my own rules. I told myself again This CAN NOT go anywhere...

...or can it?

Mr. White Will See You Now...

"I'll be sitting in the back... Look to your right"

I didn't see him when I first walked in to the restaurant we were to meet at for lunch. I'm not going to lie. My initial thought was that I had been Catfish'd. I asked him what he was wearing.

"I'm behind the wall".

Okay. So apparently one of my favorite local restaurants has a "private area". Okay. That's fine. I like privacy.

Lunch was great. It was kind of effortless, actually. He was tall. I liked that. He hugged me when I first arrived. Had an amazing smile. One of those instant attraction sort of things. We ordered. We ate. He would be leaving for Spain soon. For a little while. We talked about that. He was funny. I liked that. And, again- that smile. I was careful to not to bite my lip.

I could see myself actually liking this guy. I shut that down. I can't. I don't want a relationship. I really don't. Neither of us want that and we've actually discussed it. But, in a different time and place, I think I could really like him. And I'm fairly confident I could make him like me, as well.

As we get up to leave, he tells me that he has to go to the bathroom, but that he has parked around the back of the restaurant. I should meet him there. So I do.

I make my way out of the restaurant and to his vehicle on the opposite side of the parking lot from where my probably 13 years older, same model vehicle is parked. The first thing I notice when he meets me outside is his pants. His jeans. Look- we're in South Georgia. Men don't wear nice jeans. They just don't. They wear Levis. (Side note: I have nothing against Levis... but there's something about a nice pair of jeans on a good lookin' man....)

We, again, make small talk. Spain. I want to know if he wants to do something when he returns. He'll be gone for a while. He tells me that he would like that... if I want to.

I do.

I'm nervous. I'm trying so hard to not bite my lip. I don't want to make it so obvious what I want. My keys are twirling around my finger as I nervously try to think of something (anything!) else to say. Do I just leave? Tell him to have a safe trip and hug him goodbye? That seems mighty pathetic after all the shit I talked yesterday. (Hey- I acknowledge that I was talking shit. I told you I'm much better over the phone than in the bedroom)

But I did it. I bit my lip with my head lowered, and looked up at him with my dark brown eyes...

"What did I tell you about biting your lip?" he asked me as he moved toward me. The look in his eyes told me that he was serious. He put his hand behind my head and grabbed a fistful of my hair and forcefully pulled my head back.

He was serious. "I told you not to bite your lip" he said, as he took that very same lip between his own two teeth.

I was in trouble.

I knew it immediately.

He pulled me toward him and I could feel every inch of him pressed against my leg. My imagination couldn't help but wonder what would be had we not been in such a public place.

But were we?? Were we really that public? I looked around. No one was there. His body was pressed tightly against my own.

I didn't want him to stop. I don't think I would have made him stop. Yet, somehow it stopped.

Dry humping in a parking lot like we were 15 years old. I didn't hate it. In fact, I wanted more.

I was already craving him in a way that I couldn't explain. Yet, I walked away.

"Have fun in Spain. Call me when you get back." I told him.

He assured me that he would.

I walked across the parking lot and climbed into my older version of the very same vehicle that my body was just pressed up against. I sat there for a moment to collect myself.

I wanted him. This man that I barely knew. I wanted him.

I text a friend. The "Charlotte" of my friends. She begged to know his true identity. Thinking there was no way she would know who he was, I told her.

She knew him.

She knew him very well.

Turns out... Mr. White has a secret...

And I know what it is.

My Best Friend's Girl

He was never my type- the ex's friend. I mean, I don't suppose I really have a "type" as much as I just tend to know fairly early on if I'm in to someone or not. And this person I was not "in to". Many times he (the Ex Formerly Known As the Sir) would ask me which of his friends I would hook up with if given the opportunity. There were the brothers... they were hot, but I didn't really know either of them enough to be genuinely attracted to either. And then there was this other one. Kind of nerdy, but only just nerdy enough. There was the one who had the absolute best personality of them all. The one that was definitely marriage material, yet was usually the only single one of the bunch. He has a lot of friends. Married. Engaged. Dating. Single. Local. Out of State. Out of town. Maybe a sober one or two thrown in there, but for the most part his friends enjoyed the same "extracurricular activities" that the Ex himself liked to partake in. They're good guys. Misguided at times. Overgrown boys much of the time, but they fake being adults very well from Monday at 8 am until Friday at 5 pm.

Saturdays they "go hard"... You don't want to catch them on a Sunday. (This in no way applies to them all... I don't know them all well enough to comment on what their weekends look like... but for the ones I do know, Sunday is not their best day). They're usually recovering from Saturday and they're firm believers in "the Hair of the Dog". So they're just as drunk and not quite as functional. It's obnoxious, really, because that would leave me to babysit.

I'm getting off track here.

The friend. He was cute. Most of his friends are. Which one was he, you ask? The nerdy one? One of the brothers? The sweet one? The out-of-state one? The ridiculously hot one? One of the obnoxiously drunk ones? The sober one? Eh. I can't tell you that. Look- I'm an open book for the most part, but I'm not evil. Conniving... vindictive... jealous... female... yes. Evil? Nah. So, I won't tell you anything else about him... except what happened next.

The Ex had not been the Ex for very long at all. I was nowhere near over him. (I believe it has been well-established that, while I'm getting better, one does not simply "get over" the love of her life in a month.... So I'm working on it. STILL.) It had been a rough weekend. I had not spoken to the Ex in a week. It had been two weeks since he asked me if I wanted him to leave me alone and I (regrettably) said that I did. I don't want to call it so much a "moment of weakness", because I don't think that's really what it was. I had just found out that my past was now another woman's present. And she was younger than me by somewhere around 5 years. And was nothing like anything that I had ever known to be his type. (even though, admittedly, she seems like she's probably a really great girl... I can't even hate her. I mean, I do... Of course I do. But I can't. But, again- to be clear, I do.) I was mad. Not even just hurt. I think I tucked the "hurt" away for a couple of weeks later. But I was angry. I had this "F him. F this. F the entire past year and a half. F staying faithful to him and crying over him and waiting for him."

He had a motto. "The best way to get over someone is to get under someone else", yet always joked that it didn't apply to me. I mean, he wasn't joking, but we laughed about it. I've never been the one to get under someone to get over someone. Too emotional. Too much of a girl.

Not this time.

"What are you doing?" I asked the friend.

"Heading to my house. Why?" I know it caught him off guard because we don't speak regularly.

I told him I was coming over. Then I told him why.

He didn't protest.

Once I arrived, I sat on his couch... he reached over to hold my hand.

Awkward. I couldn't like it. 'Is he going to kiss me?' I wondered. I thought about going all Julia Roberts a la Pretty Woman and telling him that kissing was off limits. Then I remembered that I wasn't a prostitute. Whew. That was close. But still- the kissing seemed too intimate. The hand holding?? WAY too intimate. (side bar: is that backward? Should sex be more intimate than hand-holding and kissing? Am I off?) I made it clear what I was there for and at this point, I was tired and just ready to go home. But I was still mad. And he was right there. It was the ultimate "F you". The Ex would never find out. I knew that. Old "Friend Boy" wouldn't tell. I wouldn't tell. (well. I kind of am. But if you think you know who it is- you're wrong, so stop trying to figure it out. I'll throw some lies mixed in with the truth just to throw you off. You won't know the difference) I didn't care to get off. Truthfully, I didn't even care if he did. I mean- he did. Of course he did. But, still. It wouldn't have kept me up at night had he not. I didn't care about pleasing him. I didn't care for him to please me. He served one purpose and one purpose only.

Once my hand was freed and 7 and a half minutes passed, I put my clothes on and walked out the door. Shot him a random text probably two weeks later about nothing at all. We never spoke of it. I don't think it was great for him. It probably wasn't. I didn't care. Still don't.

Did it make me feel better? Nope.
Was I less mad at the Ex? Not at all.
Did I feel justified and like I had gotten a little bit of vengeance and maybe a teensy bit proud? Can't lie. That, I did.
Did I smirk a little when I told my own personal "Samantha" about it over my birthday lunch the next week? Oh I smirked a lot. That's the one time I did feel proud.

How does he feel?? Oh probably terrified. I have a blog. I'm friends with most of them on facebook. They have a group message that will probably be abuzz with trying to figure out which one of them it is... But they'll never figure it out either. Only one of them knows and I can guarantee... He'll never tell ;)

the not-quite Christian Grey...

Role playing. We've all done it. Haven't we? (if this is one of those situations where you can hear crickets chirping in the background because this is just a "me" thing and not a "we" thing, then lets just disregard this entire post... moving along)

I don't necessarily mean Naughty Nurse and patient or teacher and principal or even Princess Leia and whoever it was she was giving it to in that space man movie (wasn't that her brother? I could be totally wrong. I've obviously never seen it.). I'm talking about pretending to be something that you aren't for the sake of fun. Grown up fun. You know- just something to spice things up a little. For me, that means stepping out of my comfort zone. Doing or saying things that "relationship me" typically wouldn't.

Anyone who knows me will tell you that I'm an open book. I'm loud. I'm obnoxious. I can be highly inappropriate at times, and I lack that filter that should tell my mouth to not say everything that enters my brain. I'm fun. I talk a lot. The same can not be said for my "behind closed doors" personality. I think that I'm perfectly boring. I'm self conscious. There's no "talk dirty to me". At all. (the Ex used to ask for it all the time. Once, after a couple of drinks, I finally gave in and tried. I don't remember exactly what I said, but I do remember him laughing and telling me to stop. I get an A for effort, though, right?) I don't go so far as to say that all the lights have to be on or insist on keeping my shirt on or anything like that, but I'm simple and boring. Quite the opposite of my every day persona. Definitely not what one would expect.

But when someone is texting me... that's a different ballgame altogether. My proverbial balls get as big as any you've ever seen. Here's the thing- with a man you foresee a future with, you don't want to do or say anything you can't keep up with long-term, right? If you start out swingin' from ceiling fans, how do you go up from there? What do you even do on special occasions? But with a "special grown up friend" that will not likely ever be more than that- anything goes. (Sorry, long-term guys. Maybe on your birthday...)

So I say allllllllll of that to say this: there's a guy. No, I'm not dating anyone. Didn't I tell you guys already that I wasn't interested in anything like that? (possibly ever again) But we all like our distractions (again- maybe that's just me... if so, just nod & smile...)

I digress. This guy. Attractive. Successful. Confident. All three things that I like. Has a great face. A nice smile. I'm thinking 'I can work with this'... We can't quite figure out how we know one another, yet he's quick to point out to me his favorite photo of me that he's found while perusing my facebook profile. (Because that's this life, ladies and gentlemen.) The particular photo is one of me biting my lip while anxiously awaiting the anesthesia for my wisdom tooth removal last week. Did I do it knowing it was sexy? Psh. Abso-friggin-lutely. Do I act as though I have no idea and that's my genuinely nervous face? You bet I do. "That drives me crazy", he tells me. So what do I do? Naturally, I go through my entire camera roll to find every photo I have of me biting my lip from the past couple of months. There are, surprisingly, more than I realized. Man, I do that a lot. Maybe that's my thing. Maybe I'm that girl that nervously bites her lip and everyone thinks it's so cute and "soooo her". Nah. I'm the one that snorts when I laugh. And I make a rat face. My nose gets all scrunchied up and I look like a rat. Regardless- me biting my lip drives him crazy, so I send him more of it.
In the most Christian Grey-esque way possible, this man (we will call him Mr. White) asks "Why are you doing this to me?" I innocently act as though I have no idea what he means (role play... I'm not stupid. Of course I know what he's getting at. Dude wants to bite that lip for me.) I told him that I'm a big girl and I do what I want. "You have a smart mouth, don't you?... Lip biting and a smart mouth. Dangerous. Don't bite your lip." Well, what do you think I'm gonna do at that point? Send a photo of me biting my lip. And this is where it gets good. The tone changes. "This really makes me want to turn your ass cheeks red", he tells me. He acts as though he's never heard of Mr. Grey. I'm not buying it. Of course, I act as though I believe every word he says. Look- there's no future with Mr. White. None whatsoever. But right now, it's fun. This is the first guy I've talked to since the Ex who was blatantly honest up front and told me that he didn't want anything out of this. Every other man wants to marry me. And I don't say that to sound like I'm something special. I'm not. (Okay, I am.) But this guy doesn't want that. He doesn't know me well enough to want that. (neither did the others...) But he's REAL. He doesn't want a relationship. He's been single the same amount of time that I have. He has the same number of children that I have (almost the same ages) and we pull for the same college football team. Now that would be enough to have "relationship me" thinking "oh this is just meant to be". But no. She's gone. Or at least in a coma. Possibly a permanent one. So Mr. White wants to turn my ass cheeks red for biting my lip, yet denies ever having read or watched 50 Shades of Grey. Okay. I'll play along. So I give him a little back story on Christian and Ana... "I've been referred to as this person before," he tells me. (Yeah, I'm sure. You probably know all about Charlie Tango and the red room, but that's okay... Again, I'll play along).

"You're quite the enigma, Mr. White," I tell him.
"Maybe we should do something about this"
I tell him this could be good for my blog.

"You blog?" he asks. He sounds afraid.
He should be.
Of course, he doesn't realize it yet; but he really should be

"I'll change your name," I assure him

He likes his privacy. He asks that I respect that. I've already told him about the blog. He's been warned. I offer no lies of respect.

He asks about hard limits. I give him mine. Seemingly, we agree on these things.

He's asked me to lunch tomorrow.


xx