I don’t know whether like comes first or lust comes first, but either way, it didn’t take me long to like or lust after Ash. He was unlike anyone I … Continue reading Like. Lust. Love.
Category: funny
Suck It, Mickey
Full Disclosure: There is a LOT of bad language in this post.
I know I am going to be in the minority here when I say this, but Disney World fucking sucks. It is not magical. It is not the happiest place on Earth. It is a load of money-stealing, over-crowded, germ-infested, heaping pile of shit. We did Hollywood Studios for the Star Wars factor. The boys were all pumped up. We had light saber building and droid making on the agenda. Our entire goal for the day was getting on Rise of the Resistance, one of the 2 new rides in the overpriced, overcrowded asshole of a theme park that it is. I was forewarned that I had to get in line an hour before the park opened, get through the gate and sign up for this ridiculous shit show because only so many would receive access on any given day.
FUCK YOU DISNEY. I did all the things I was supposed to do. I had my children, their Mimi, and their Aunt and Uncle in an Uber before the sun even thought about rising. We got through the damn gate. I had my phone at the ready and guess the fuck what? I was placed on standby for this God forsaken ride, the whole reason we were at this awful, money hungry park. Screw you Mickey Mouse. Screw you Walt Disney. And screw Star Wars.
At the time, we thought, it’s ok, plenty of other shit to do. We did get to ride the Millennium Falcon ride and we (we, being just Jack, Colt and me) also got to ride some stupid Toy Story bullshit that went around in a circle for approximately 48 seconds after standing in line for a fucking hour. The boys did build their very own droids as well as their very own lightsabers. How sweet. Except for the fact that it cost me an additional nearly $1,000, yes, you read that right, $1,000, after already spending however much I spent on the fucking tickets to get in the fucking park. The fucking park where there are approximately 8 rides and 3,479,423 people all trying to ride said rides. How fun. Said no one ever. (Also included in that additional $1k were 2 Mickey Mouse pretzels and a 32 oz Coke, so really, quite a bargain.)
The other highly irritating thing about Disney is the fact that I’ve now been there twice (both times terrible) and I haven’t spotted that fucking mouse not one time. Apparently, you have to wait in line to meet Mickey and he’s only available at certain times during the day. You actually have to wait in line to meet everybody at this ridiculous park. We waited 1/2 hour to meet Darth Vader and literally were in the room with him for 7.2 seconds. You have to ride a bull for a full 8 seconds for it to count but you can only meet Darth Vader for 7.2.
I kept checking throughout the day to see if possibly luck was on our side (ha! ha! I’m cracking myself up with that one) and we may potentially get bumped from Standby to Group Number 104 for the stupid Rise of the Resistance (I actually can’t say if the ride is stupid or not because we didn’t get to go on it) but no such luck. By this time, it is 2:30 pm. The boys (and possibly me) have had no less than 6 major meltdowns and we grownups have had quite enough.
So, we skip the rest of “Fast Pass” selections. (don’t even get my started on the fast pass bullshit), call an Uber and the fuck out of dodge.
And to make matters worse, I got informed at 6 pm we were taken off standby and it was now our turn to “board” Rise of the Resistance. There are not enough hand signals in the world for the way I feel about you. The boys do not know this bit of information. Please do not tell them.
Never again Disney. I have given you multiple chances and you have let me down every. single. time. You will dupe me no more. Your parks will get no more of my money. You can go fuck yourself. You certainly won’t be fucking me and my family anymore.
Dear Mike Trout…
I will preface this by saying that the contents of this post are intended to be funny. I, in no way shape, or form believe the Mike Trout is going to move into my home and raise my children with me (obviously we would move into his house, he has a career to finish after all). Or any of the other people on this rather hilarious list. I am nothing if not honest, though, so do with it what you will. I will also say that I am 37 years old, and while I will mourn the loss of my husband for the rest of my life, I also do not intend, nor did he intend for me, to spend the rest of my life alone. So there.
As you know, my children have asked me for a new dad. I have explained to them that there is no dad store and that it will take time, patience and actual love for that to happen (all of which none of us are good at, well, we’re probably good at love I would assume. We love each other without issue, so I’ll claim that as a positive attribute in our favor.) Colt mainly copies what Jack says, but I do believe that he longs for a. his dad but since that’s not possible 2. a male figure in our home daily that will also play endless legos with him (I am not the parent that is good at playing with her children (unless it’s a sport in which I can dominate), that was always Ash’s territory. I’m more the clean your shit up, put your shit away, don’t talk back to me disciplinary bad ass of the home).
Jack, however, can’t seem to leave the subject alone. We had some time together, just the 2 of us (a very rare thing) one day last week and he really opened up to me in his sweet, innocent 10 year old boy way. He did request, again, a new dad. I explained, again, how we need time to grieve, heal and you know, meet someone that we love and loves us back, blah, blah, blah. (Not that I’m saying our conversation was blah, just summing up, if you will). Apparently that answer was not sufficient. He dove further into where we would live, would new dad coach sports and would he get to call new dad “dad” or would he have to call him Mike or LeBron or whatever his name happens to be. What a fun conversation.
In reality, I can’t imagine how he must be feeling. What a fucking load of shit both of my boys have been dealt. I was lucky enough to grow up completely with both of my parents. No death. No divorce. Just normal, middle class, American upbringing. Navigating through this load of horse dung is not for the weak of heart, I can tell you that much. Your children will throw so many curve balls, you’ll be lucky if you make contact 1 out of every 30 balls thrown. My average is probably even lower than that. But we’re all trying together. I tried to talk to him rationally. We don’t know what the future looks like. Hopefully we will meet someone when the time is right. He may or may not be as into sports as we are (actually he will have to be or it just won’t work.), I think what you call him will be a personal decision between you and him. All the things I think I’m supposed to say. Who the fuck knows?!
Well, to make matters worse, funnier, even more screwed up than they already are, Jack has come up with a list of potential “dads” that he will allow to move into our lives and assume his new role. Rounding out number 1. Mike Trout. Yes, folks, Jack will allow Mike Trout to come into our lives to step into husband, father, best friend and baseball coach. You’re welcome Mr. Trout (Tom Ferguson, if you’re reading this, you’ve got some work to do 😉 !) Coming in at a close second is Bryce Harper (sorry about your wife and child) followed by Bruno Mars (ummm ok?!), Cody Bellinger, LeBron James (again with the wife and children…) and I threw in Jordy Nelson, Chris Hemsworth (sorry about your wife and children as well) and Cam Newton (hey, we could share a wardrobe) just for good measure. Go big or go home is apparently our motto around here.
So, to you potential suitors to the Jones brood, let me tell you a little bit about what you’ll be getting. Jack and Colt are 2 of the coolest kids I know. Jack is smart, kind hearted, handsome, athletic, funny, sarcastic, compassionate and more competitive than maybe even you. He’s quite stubborn, needs a lot of prodding to get going on any one thing but once he starts, he literally can’t be stopped. My wonderfully weird Mr. Tolt is also smart, affectionate, so loving, hilarious, emotional and really good with yard tools. He’s wildly independent, thinks he knows how do anything and everything and needs no guidance from anyone and is also quite stubborn (I believe that is a big family trait, no getting around that DNA). If I had to take a stab at what each boy would become when they get older I will say that Jack (if professional athlete happens to not work out haha! – this is where you could be super helpful Mr. Trout) will become an officer of the law whether it be a sheriff, detective, prosecutor or something similar. He is a rule follower (and enforcer) through and through. Colt, on the other hand, could careless what your rules are. He will create his own. Therefore I see him owing his own business, thereby making his own rules, in a very hands on, crafty way – landscaper, land grader – something with lots of dirt and lots of heavy machinery. They are great kids and any of you would be so lucky to have one shred of a part of their lives.
Me, on the other hand, I’m a harder sell. I’m 37, a widow with 2 fan-fucking-tastic kids, stretch marks, maybe a few pounds that need shedding (although I can run a consecutive 2 whole miles though, so will probably be unrecognizable within the year). But I’m also pretty damn funny, cute when I try to be, have the mouth of a sailor, love red wine, a good book and lots of sunshine. I, too, am stubborn, sarcastic to excess and have a hard time expressing how I feel with actual words. That you speak. I can write them down like a fucking champ, though!
In all seriousness, I don’t make light of this. Like any decent parent, I hate to see my children unhappy and suffering. I wish I had that magic wand to take all their pain away. But they, we, will persevere. And as all the bull shit sayings tell you, we will be better and stronger for it in the end.
Until then, we await your call, Mike. (Insert hysterical laughter here!)
Moody Monday
Today was one of those days that just kind of sucked. And it didn’t suck. I had weird conversations with my children. I had lunch with a friend where apparently my tears were on the menu. I received more bad news than I wanted. And I returned to the business that Ash and I started together, for the first time since we sold it and it was just so different.
I got up early this morning, did yoga, made Jack’s lunch for school, had my coffee, got the boys up, walked the dogs, made (you know, poured bowls of cereal) the boys breakfast, took Jack to school, came home, jogged on the treadmill, took Colt to school, grocery shopped (are you bored yet?!). I’ll stop. I just did the shit you do as a parent. Normal. I started the day off happy enough. I made a lunch date with my sister from another mister (I don’t generally say that ridiculous saying but it seems fitting for our relationship). All good things, right?
I picked up Colt from preschool and we headed to lunch with my friend. We’re chatting, catching up and then a bomb gets dropped on me. Not really, if a bomb really got dropped on me clearly I wouldn’t be sitting here writing this. My friend is moving. Far, far away. I’m not surprised. But it surprised me. And it made me sad to my core. She’s one of those people that is always there for you no matter what. Would give you the shirt off her back (and complain the whole time while doing it!). I love her like she’s family. I’ve known her longer than I knew my husband. And I just can’t imagine doing life without her being near me. I know she has to go. I know why she has to go. But it doesn’t make the pain any less. Bitch. Kidding. I love her. But bitch.
So, weepy lunch. Then I get more bad news. My oldest, Jack, is a pretty decent baseball player. Last year he played on at 12U travel team. In his last travel ball tournament, he got hit in the mouth with a pitch so hard that it knocked a tooth out. He sat out the remainder of that game but played in the very next one because he’s a bad ass like that. That night we went home and he threw up. Being the most excellent mother that I am, I put him to bed shortly after said throw up and checked on him later. He woke up the next day saying he still felt nauseous so I finally took him to the ER, where it was determined he was perfectly fine (dodged a mom fail there) but he missed his last baseball game of the season. 2 days later, his father dies. A week or 2 later her declares he’s never playing baseball again. Poor kid had been through so much trauma/drama/what-the-fuck-is-this-life bullshit that he decided baseball wasn’t for him. Which was pretty devastating in and of itself. Then he decides he will play baseball again, but only regular season league ball – he’s not doing travel or fall ball. Ironically, 2 weeks ago he decides actually he will play travel ball and can’t wait for it to start up again. So, naturally, because this is the run of luck we’re having, we get an email today to let us know that the team has broken up, too many boys have too many other things going on and it can’t continue. Cue the tears.
I tell Jack and he handles it just fine and decides he’ll see if he can play for the other travel team with all his buddies! Except, no son, you can’t because that one is 9U and you are 10 and there are no other local teams in your age group in our area. Ugh! He handled it better than I did but was still pretty bummed.
Move on to dinner. We’re sitting there, just chatting about the day, when out of nowhere Jack says to me “Mama, I’d like a new dad.” And then Colt chimes in, “yeah mama, we need a new dad.” Then they continue with how it’d be so nice to have someone else here and how they miss dad and we can just get a new one. They said dinner is always so quiet and it would just be nice to have someone else here to play with and hang out with and love. Sure kids, I’ll pop on down to the dad store and pick the best one on the market.
This was not something I was prepared for. I should have been. Kids are so resilient and so much better at life than we adults are. They get hurt, they share their pain and they move on. The don’t dwell on things. They stay in the moment. They just get it so much better than we do. But this one just caught me so off guard.
I tried as best as I could to talk through it with them. I did mention that the dad store didn’t exist but that maybe one day we would meet someone, and we would fall in love with him and he would fall in love with us and that potentially, one day, someone would be here with us. I explained how I didn’t like the situation either, that I missed having a husband and a partner. I told them how much I loved them and how I wished I could wave a magic wand and bring dad back or take away the pain. But that I couldn’t . Then the conversation took a strange turn into who was king and queen of the family. For some reason they seem to think the dog, Bogey, is queen. I quickly informed them that hell no, mama is queen, Bogey can be the princess and it just got weirder from there. See? Resilient. So good at moving forward.
Did I do or say the right thing there? I have no idea. There is no guide book in my possession that is telling me “what to say when the kids ask for a new dad.”
On a completely different subject, the business Ash and I used to own was an indoor golf and sports simulation, beer drinking, kick ass place. We had a blast owning it. We used to run golf leagues. I played in the ladies league back when we owned it. The new owners have continued the golf leagues so a couple of girlfriends and I signed up. This was my first time back there, I think I already mentioned this, since we sold it. And boy had it changed. It was the same concept, but they had added so much to it. Nets and official golf club holders and ball holders and wood everywhere. So much more put together than Ash and I ever were! Still all the same pictures with an added picture of Ash on the wall. Luckily I had been warned about that so I just didn’t even look at it. But I looked at everything else. It didn’t cut as deep as I thought it would, probably because I was surrounded by love, light and laughter. The leagues were totally different, too. Where Ash and I were super laid back, this had so many rules. And that’s fine. Obviously it’s not mine anymore so why would it be run the way Ash and I ran it? It was just a little difficult to not be in control, to not have my friend behind the bar making sure my beer never ran dry, to not have the ridiculous loud 90s rap blaring while we hit wildly awful golf shots and took as many mulligans as we wanted to help boost our ever deflated golf egos, to have to wear shoes, to not have Ash there telling us why we hit it like such shit and having him tug on everyones belt loop to show how the hips are supposed to move and giving as much boost as we feel we need. Again, it’s no longer my rodeo, Ash and I were very different from the new owners. It was just an adjustment I didn’t quite prepare for.
But I did it. And I’m proud I did it. And I’ll be back next week to try again. But I might bring my own playlist!
Winning (and Losing)
First of all, I will have you all know that I found all 3 fucking tape measures. In the same day! So if that’s not winning, I don’t know what is! I have also started successfully jogging 1.25 miles without stopping. Can’t be long until I’m shitting my pants in the NY marathon because I just can’t stop, won’t stop. Kidding. 1. That’s disgusting and b. I will never run that much ever because I don’t want to. Â I went totally out of my comfort zone yesterday and went to a Whimsy Warrior (low impact/high intensity) class. Where there were other people. And mirrors. And an instructor. It wasn’t pretty, but I did it! Don’t let that name full you either, there was nothing “whimsy” about that damn class. My friend told me it was so “chill”. My friend is a liar. But I love her anyway!! It really was awesome. And awful. And I can barely walk today. Also can’t wait to go back again!
Last night was Jack’s first basketball game of the season. He scored a career high 12 points, had several rebounds and just played his little heart out (side note, he’s a bit asthmatic and “we” forgot to do his inhaler before the game so the poor kid was sucking wind the whole time. Mom fail.) It was a nail biter of a game that we won 18-17 (it’s 9-10 year old basketball, keep your expectations low.) Jack’s team was up 18-16 with 6 seconds to go. The other team had the ball and was dribbling down to shoot. Poor Jack fouled the kid right as he was going up to shoot as the buzzer went off simultaneously. Jack was not happy with himself. The other team made the first foul shot and and my son, who happens to be exactly like me (unfortunately, fortunately, who knows?) shows some anger on the court, which looks a bit like bad sportsmanship. He is only 10 and controlling those emotions is hard.
Jack is exactly like me. He looks like me, other than having his dad’s eyes. He’s strong, competitive, sarcastic, emotional, shy, stoic when it comes to matters of the heart, yet wears his heart on his sleeve everywhere else, he’s his own toughest critic. Because of that competitive spirt and critical nature, those emotions show all over the place when on the basketball court, baseball field or football field and last night was no different. When the other team made that first foul shot, he slammed his hands on the court. What looked like bad sportsmanship to anyone that doesn’t know much about Jack, was really Jack being super pissed with himself for making the mistake of fouling. That’s a tough thing to learn at 10 years old, controlling your emotions.
When we got home last night, he broke down in my arms and told me how sorry he was. I couldn’t figure out for the life of me what he was apologizing for or why he was crying (he just played the best basketball game of his. life thus far and we won). I just hugged him and rocked him and let him have his cry. When he had calmed down a bit I asked him why he was upset and sorry. He said “I just got so mad at myself, mama. I knew not to foul but I did it anyway and everyone thought I was being a bad sport. I didn’t mean to be a bad sport.” My heart just broke for him. I knew how it looked when he slammed the court, but I also knew that my baby was just being so hard on himself. My little boy has so many feelings running through him at all times, especially right now, and the last thing I want for him is to ever feel bad about how he’s feeling. Feelings are real things, whether anyone understands them or not. You cannot tell someone how to feel or how they should react to something. Sure, as adults, we *can* control our outward emotions (I use the term “can” loosely, lord knows when it comes to most things, you know exactly how I’m feeling when I’m feeling it, except, of course, matters of the heart, I like to keep those feelings close to the belt.) My son is no different than me. How can I teach him to control his emotions when I, myself, can’t control mine?
Sports are a major outlet for him. He excels at them, so far, anyway, in his 10 years. They bring him joy and they also bring him pain. Hell, watching him brings me joy and brings me pain. I guess it’s all about balance. You can’t have the good without the bad. You can’t know what it’s like to win without also knowing what it’s like to lose. I pray he perseveres through, works through his demons and goes on to find all the joy that his heart can hold. In whatever that may be. I hope he always wears his heart on his sleeve and stays true to who he is. Because who he is is really fucking awesome. (And that sounds like I just called myself really fucking awesome because up there a bit I said he was just like me. Guess what though? I am pretty fucking awesome, too!)
My Achy Breaky Heart
I remember the first time my heart was truly broken. I was 15 years old and my first “real” boyfriend had broken up with me. I can’t say that I blame him. While super cute at age 15 (haha!), I was also super insecure, jealous and an all around bitch. But I remember that pain like it was yesterday. It took me years, literally, to really get over it. I can remember every day, for a while anyway, waking up and knowing something wasn’t right, not quite remembering what and then it hitting me all over again. That deep ache in your chest, the gut-wrenching sense of loneliness, the wondering if you were ever going to be ok again or ever find love again or always be this sad, broken, spinster. Ok, so I was a bit dramatic at age 15, but, hey, at least I’m honest. I’ve grown a bit since then. At least a bit. The point is that it was awful and I can still feel that 15 year old me’s pain. The pain of rejection. Is there any knife that cuts deeper? Maybe just one.
I had another serious relationship in college. It ended from natural causes. While it made me somewhat sad, it wasn’t the pain that I had felt all those years ago. I graduated. He was transferring 6 hours away. He asked me to go with him. I thought about it, applied for jobs and then said no thank you. Take your cat, but leave my sweater. He moved to the mountains; I moved to the beach.
I had a series of other “friends” over the next few years but no real heartbreaks. Maybe some rejection that stung but easy enough to get over. I was maturing. Ha. Ha.
And then I met Ash. And we know how that went. It took a while to get going, but once it did, man, did we have fun. He ended up by moving away from our cozy little beach town. I felt that awful heartbreak all over again. Not because we broke up, but because he wasn’t an every day part of my life anymore. I loved him. And he was gone. (Ash had this great knack for always leaving me wanting more – in my more immature days, I think most of the time dating someone was more about “winning” and getting what I wanted; once I did, I got bored and moved on. With Ash, I never felt like I was winning and boy did that work! I’m not saying it’s right, I’m just saying that’s how I was at that point in my life. Stop judging me!) I’m not sure if he asked me to come or if I forced it upon him (he would tell you it was all me; I will tell you that it was both of us), but either way, 3 months later we were living together in Durango, CO in a studio apartment (our bed was literally right next to our refrigerator) making a “living” being mountain bums (instead of beach bums). Being the spoiled little brat that never left her comfort zone that I was, it was a hard transition for me. I made it so much harder than it had to be instead of just living and enjoying. I guess hindsight is always 20/20 and that’s not really the point of me writing this. Ash was great at getting me or anyone really out of their comfort zone. It was one of his gifts. He liked to draw the box and live just outside of it!
We lived in Durango; moved to Denver; got pregnant; moved to Texas; got married; had a baby; moved back to our cozy little beach town where it all began; we worked jobs we hated; we fought a lot; we went to therapy; we took cool vacations; we had another baby; we quit the jobs we hated; we opened a business; we got cancer (yes, we, Ash, Jack, Colt and me); we sold a business; we took more cool vacations; we died (yes, we, Ash forever; for the rest of us, life as we knew it died.)
Death cuts more than any rejection knife ever could. It’s so final. Unless, of course, Ash is a Jedi and we didn’t know it and he’ll come back to us in hologram form but only when we’re really in trouble. In which case, send on the Sith, I’d really like to see my person again.
All jokes aside, I have grown from that 15 year old girl (bitch). Obviously I feel a shit ton of pain. But it doesn’t consume me. I’m able to get up, get dressed, function and even have fun. I’ve had lots of fun over the last almost 2 months since Ash has been gone. But it’s all tainted with heartbreak. So many times I have so many things to tell him, or text him, or call him to say. The other morning I woke up to this pushing on my lower back, to the point where I thought I was going to fall out of bed and I reached my arm back and said out loud, Ash, stop. But it wasn’t him. It was his damn puppy. Because he’s not here. I know I sound like a broken record. But fuck. It fucking sucks.
Mustard is Sexy
I debated on what this next post should be about. Part of me thought it was necessary to divulge what happened New Year’s Eve (super amazing night with friends, lots of Tito’s, too much champagne, plenty of dancing and tons of laughter), the devastation of New Year’s day (and it wasn’t just the hangover, really didn’t feel all that hungover to be perfectly honest) and the lack of sleep on both nights. But then I decided my posts have been morose enough as of late and you’re probably all sick of my depressing bull shit and want to tell me to woman the fuck up! If you do want to say that though, screw you, I’m going through a lot, it’s my party and I’ll cry if I want to!!!!!
I thought, instead, I’d take it on back to those glorious, rocky, uncertain dating days with my Mr. Wonderful (which is an ironic nickname because Ash was many things, wonderful probably not being his top quality. I actually just had a very similar conversation with one of my closest friends the other day. How Ash was so great at living! It was probably the thing he was best at, that and anything related to golf. But he sure did suck at real life, you know the parenting and the paying the bills and the husbanding and the getting a job and the real deal, real life shit that we all have to do!! It’s ok, he knew it, too. I’m not speaking ill of the dead! (I guess technically I am, but it’s not anything I wouldn’t and didn’t say to his face.))
We last left off with Ash calling me to find out what color sheets I thought he should purchase. That was probably one of the strangest phone calls of my life, but I went with it. He did not, as previously stated, ask me on another date on that phone call. Again, WTF, why did he call, why did he want my opinion, what is up with this guy? I thought, like you probably did, oh, he wants my opinion on sheets, perhaps he has pictured me in these sheets with him. But, then he said thanks and hung up. What in the actual fuck?
The next day was a Friday. I worked and then had plans to go out with some girlfriends. I think we went to a wine tasting that I very vaguely remember. I drank too much then went home with said girlfriends and drank some more. Shocking, I know. Some things never change. I lived in this adorable cottage at the time, right across the street from the beach, old Nags Head style cedar shake with red trim. The floors were made of 2x4s I’m pretty sure and all the dirt and sand from upstairs fell through the cracks in the wood so that it often felt like its was raining dirt in the downstairs of the house. I loved it, though. It was perfect for a young and vibrant 24 year old girl that was obsessed with sandy toes and sun kissed skin.
I wake up Saturday morning to my phone ringing at some ungodly hour, like 8 am. I look at it, see that it’s Ash, wonder if he’s looking at dish towels now and really needs my opinion on that as well. I answer it because 1. I’m intrigued and b. I’m kind of excited, interested, confused. Low and behold, he asks me out! He finally asks me out again. Only, he’s literally asking me out right that minute. Like, he’s going to pick me up in 20 minutes, can I be ready. Ummm, not really, but like the dumb 24 year old twit that I am, I say absolutely, no problem, see you in 20.
Ash is a realtor back then. Not a good one, but a realtor nonetheless and he has to go sit at an open house down at some condos an hour south from where we are. I don’t think I even showered, no time. I throw on a denim skirt, a pink polo shirt and the most adorable pink Sperry topsiders that also happen to be 1/2 size too small but they were so darn cute, I just couldn’t resist (told you I was a twit). I toss my hair on top of my head, quick swipe of mascara and a touch of lip gloss (so simple when you’re so young) and voila, I’m almost presentable. Never mind the alcohol seeping out of my pores or my stomach that is ready to revolt at any minute (whether from nerves or the aforementioned alcohol, I’m not sure).
He picks me up and takes me to a local deli to grab a breakfast sandwich and lunch because I guess we’ll be gone a while (wish I had known that before I put on the damn pink shoes that are a 1/2 size too small, probably why I have a foot issues presently). I will say I won the breakfast order – ham, egg and cheese on a croissant. I had a hard time with ordering my lunch. I am a mayo girl. I am also a girl riddled with anxiety and fear of people’s opinions of me (at that time anyway, who am I kidding, I’m still anxiety riddled) so I order a turkey sandwich with mustard because clearly mustard is a sexier choice than mayo (seriously, this is my thought process and also one of Ash’s favorite things about me – when he learned this he both teased and loved it mercilessly). Mustard. The sexy condiment.
We make our way south to the condos and literally just sit in the clubhouse. All. Day. Long. Except of course when he decides we should really go check out the surf because he brought his surf board and maybe he should do that for a while. See? Worst realtor ever. We check out the surf (there was none), we walk on the beach, we take a nature trail to the sound. You know what we don’t do? Sell any condos! We eat our lunch, my sexy mustard, his much more delicious mayo. The day drags on. I’m dog tired. My head hurts. I’m thirsty. And I just want to go home. I was enjoying his company. We talked endlessly. This just wasn’t the day for marathon dates and conversation and nerves and excitement. My stomach was too delicate. Probably had everything to do with nasty mustard. Bleck!
5 pm finally hits. There’s been not one single person interested in a Slash Creek Condo and we finally start the trek home. Only hold up, Ash has decided we should also have dinner. Holy shit. I don’t want to say no. I also don’t want to say yes. But I’m young, weak and a little dumb and I do say yes but in my head I’m screaming. Why are we having 3 dates today? We’ve had breakfast and lunch and now dinner, too?! I just want to go home!!! But I also like that he’s liking me. He hasn’t touched me all day. No hand holding. No hugging. No kissing. Surely, after all this, he will take me home and something! A hug, a kiss, a full on make-out? I wouldn’t be opposed to any of it. But, alas, nothing. Not even a high five. I can’t exactly remember how it ended, what was said. I know we didn’t make more plans for another date. Jesus Christ, we just had dates 2, 3 and 4 all in the same day. I still like him though. He’s cute, funny, seemingly nice and really hungry all the time!
I asked him out for date 3, didn’t wait for him this time, so progressive of me. Took him to dinner and The Lost Colony (front row seats – do you know what you don’t want front row seats for? If you guessed The Lost Colony, you hit the nail on the head!! So fucking loud!) He took me home afterward, and still no kiss, no hand holding, nothing. I’m so confused.
Date 4 he invited me over for dinner that he was making. They were the worst fucking tacos I have ever had in my life. Seriously. (a little fact I didn’t divulge until years later) We watched a movie after. I can’t remember what the movie was, but he finally kissed me. Like, a lot. Finally.
Dating Ash was always so much fun. Even after marriage, we still dated each other all the time. Real life we weren’t always great at, but dating, we had that down. So make sure you still make time to date each other, enjoy each other, dress up for each other, go out, watch movies and make out on the couch. You never know when something will change your life forever and make you realize how lucky you were to experience all that love, lust and fun.
Just Jack
I was living in Denver, CO when I found out I was pregnant with Jack. Ash and I had moved out to Colorado because Ash was pretty nomadic and got bored rather easily with any one place. He had to get out. We started our Colorado adventure in Durango but after a few unfortunate events with a carbon monoxide detector, bitchy landlord and door kicking incident, we decided maybe Durango wasn’t the place for us (or maybe the fact that we were blacklisted and could not rent another place in town again after said door kicking incident had something to do with it).
Anyway, we decided to give Denver a try. I tell you, Denver was the coldest city I have ever been in in my entire life. Frigid. We rented a tiny little bungalow in South Denver because we were told it was the place to be in Denver. Best neighborhood, hands down, or so we were told. I think my favorite parts of the neighborhood were either the homeless “General” always planning his next battle in the park beside our house, the myriad of things that would disappear from our trash can at night, the den of foxes next door that screeched and mewed all night long or the dead body I got to see being wheeled out while taking my daily jog around the General, I mean park. Denver was not my favorite. I had a horrible job where one of my duties was to keep a homeless man from eating all the candy at the front desk. I shit you not. Â Ash worked so far away he had to leave our house at 3:30 in the morning just to get to work on time. There was traffic for days. We lived above some girl that always came upstairs on Sundays and would never leave. We did meet one amazing couple that we are still in contact with, well I guess I should say I, I am still in contact with them. I’m not sure about Ash.
The point is, I had gotten to my breaking point in my relationship with Ash and Denver. I couldn’t figure out why I was there, what I was doing. I had left behind friends, family, a good job for what? My boyfriend was never around. I had very little in the way of friends. It was freezing. I didn’t find the locals to be all that friendly. And there were very creepy things always happening in my neighborhood. I started to pray for a sign. Please God, show me the way. Should I stay or should I go now? And boy did he give me a sign.
Be careful what you wish for, that’s all I gotta say! Or don’t because that sign is one of the best things in my life. I was sitting at work, guarding the candy from the homeless man, chatting with the girls. One of the girls said she thought she was pregnant. I said oh me too! We kind of laughed together. I told her if I was pregnant, I would not be coming to work tomorrow. (never mind the fact that the day before at work, I ran to the bathroom, threw up and blacked out for a minute or 2 – still wasn’t convinced).
I went home after work that day. Normal night. Got up the next morning and made a run to Target. I decided since I was there, my period was 2 weeks late and better just to double check, I’d get a pregnancy test. Now, I was still so confident that I was not pregnant that I also bought a 6 pack of beer, stopped at Chic Fil A on the way home and ordered the large coke. I got home. Peed on the stick. Put my groceries away. Checked the stick. Any my whole life changed in the blink of an eye. I burst into tears, and not tears of joy. The first person I called was my mom. I don’t know why but that’s all I could think about. I need my mom. Holy shit. What do I do? My mom was an angel. So loving and supportive and actually excited! Next I called Ash. I didn’t say anything other than you need to come home right now.
He was shocked when I told him the news. Had I messed up my pills? What happened? I didn’t have answers. I hadn’t messed up my pills! The only thing I had done was ask for a sign to direct me where to go. Well, I guess I got my damn sign, huh?
Jack was born several months later (9ish obviously) after a somewhat complicated pregnancy. We ended up leaving Denver and moving to Texas, just outside of Austin. We rented an apartment right across the street from the hospital just to be on the safe side. Ash worked at a golf course forever away. It wasn’t the smoothest transition from dating to married to parents. But it was worth every laugh, every tear, every hug, every yell, it was worth everything.
Jack was born after being induced into a very long and painful labor. He wasn’t breathing when he was born. The nurse beat the shit of him to set him straight (clearly hasn’t worked 😉 ). He looked like he had 2 heads, he was jaundice but he was perfect. He was clearly exactly where he was meant to be.
And that’s the thing about Jack – he’s our little miracle, our little unplanned, do things his own way, awesome, stubborn amazing miracle. He’s going to do big things one day. I can tell.
Some Friendly Advice from an Idiotic Widow
As you all know, I never would have imagined being a widow at 37 years old, because who does, right?! (But here I am, killing it! What?!) The good news, we had over a year to prepare. The bad news, in that year we did many, many different things, but was so called “preparing” one of them? Not so much.
Now before I go any further, to my feminist friends, please keep your judgement, comments and general dislike of anything I’m about to say to yourself. I got enough issues so worrying about if I have offended your very modern ways of life isn’t one of them. I’m pretty modern, too but I was also raised to be a bit old fashioned. I’m not saying I can’t do anything a man can do, I’m just saying that there are some things I would prefer a man to do (talking around the house, etc., get your mind out of the gutter! Or keep it there, that’s where I prefer to keep mine!) Literally, though, there are actually some things that a man can do (around the house) that I can’t do or at least can’t do satisfactorily. Seriously. I took the ASVAB in high school (like an aptitude test to see what I should be when I grow up – still haven’t figured it out so total waste of time but that’s another story for another day – it did recommend funeral director which I find hilarious because I couldn’t be a more awkward person around any kind of tragedy) and on the mechanical portion, guess how many I got right? If you said 0 then you are absolutely 100% correctomundo. 0 out of however many. That’s right ladies and gentlemen, I have 0 ability to figure out anything mechanical.
Now, I’ve probably learned a bit in the last 20 years and I could potentially take that aptitude test again (I’m not going to but I probably could) and maybe get 1 or 2 right. But for the most part, I’m still that dumb ass 17 year old taking aptitude tests just to get out of class and failing mechanics.
So I write to you today to help you should tragedy fall upon you (I pray not but shit happens) and you need to figure out how the hell to do the shit your spouse used to do without your spouse. (My spouse was male and I’m a female so this may be sexist in nature but I can only write what I know.) These are the things I wished I had asked Mr. Wonderful when I had the chance (household things, there are many things I’d still like to ask but again, another story for another time):
- How the hell do you shut off the water to the outdoor shower and water hose hook up thingys (actual name) when the temperature falls below freezing? (thank goodness for my dad and brother being way more mechanical than me, for I still had running water this morning because of their magical mechanical powers)
- Should you own rental properties together, find out what your spouse has told the tenants regarding what they can and cannot do with regards to improvements to the home (specifically new thermostats) so that when they call with an issue with said thermostat that you had no clue about, you don’t sound like such a bumbling ass.
- Where the fuck are all the tape measures? I know we have at least 3. Can’t find a damn one.
- Why do we have so many tools, especially rusty old saws? What were we sawing? In our 13 years together, I’m not sure I saw you saw anything but we sure do have plenty of saws. Some still in the wrapper, some covered in so much rust I feel like I have tetanus just looking at them.
- What the fuck am I supposed to do with all these golf clubs? Seriously, there are sets upon sets upon sets of golf clubs in the garage. Anybody looking to take up the sport? I’ve got you covered, for a small fee!
- Surf boards. We have 6 surf boards. Sure, when we were dating he “surfed” (I use the term surf quite loosely, I’m not sure I saw you catch more than 3 waves in all our time together). Too bad you didn’t store the tape measures with the surf boards, then I’d be able to find them.
- Where the hell are the instructions for the ridiculous fancy toilet seat you got me for Christmas last year? (Seriously ladies, in front of my whole family, I open a gift from my husband and it’s a heated toilet seat with many other functions that only a girl can generally dream of. Eat your hearts out. Sorry, he was taken and sorry, now he’s gone!)
- Grilling. I don’t know how to grill. Don’t know how to change the gas. Don’t know how to exchange the gas tank. Don’t know how to turn the fucker on. The boys are seriously concerned they are never going to get steak again. Why didn’t you teach me to grill? Why didn’t I think to ask you to teach me to grill?
- Why do we have a strand of Christmas lights 100 feet long when our porch is smaller than an REI two man tent? Where were we going to put all those? (which makes me think bend over and I’ll show ya!)
- Lawn mowing – we have a push mower and a riding mower. Don’t know how to use either one. The boys don’t know how to use either one. Well, Colt probably does but there’s probably laws against 5 year olds cutting grass. Also, what’s the gas/oil ratio? Where does the gas/oil go? Same spot? Different spots? I’ve also never filled up a gas can at a gas station? Is it just like filling up your car only you have to really pay attention or you overflow the can? I hate to smell like gas. Doesn’t seem like a job I want.
- Why on God’s green Earth was our online banking in your name? You have never online banked a day in your life. You didn’t even know how to log in to the online banking. When I went to the bank to advise of your passing (thanks a lot, ass hat) they took away our online banking because it was in your name and I need to create my own, thereby taking away all of the myriads of bills I paid from said online banking. Therefore, I missed the car payment last month, the Home Depot payment and the damn power payment. Ugh!
- Plants. I don’t do plants. I can’t keep them alive. Hell, I couldn’t keep Mr. Wonderful alive despite my (and really Duke’s) best efforts. I have received many plants since Ash passed away. One of them is already outgrowing it’s stupid pot, getting dirt/soil all over everything. Ash did the plants (full disclosure, he wasn’t much better at it than me but he at least cared, I don’t care). I’ve tried neglecting these plants (sorry to whoever gave them to me). They’re supposed to be in sunlight, I have them next to closed blinds. They probably need water. Don’t think I’ve watered them yet. They are still living. And fucking huge. And need to be repotted. And I don’t want to do it!
That’s my list thus far. I know, I can figure all these things out and I probably will and I’ll be better and stronger for it, blah, blah, blah. But I really don’t want to. Those were his jobs. I have plenty of my own jobs and don’t have the time (or let’s face it, the desire) for all these new jobs.
So, in closing, should you be faced with tragedy in your life, be sure to find out where the fuck the tape measures are. You might need them.
I Need a Volunteer
My husband was one of my favorite people in the whole wide world. His sense of humor was just as sick as mine and he rarely ever got annoyed with all the memes, videos and ridiculous things I texted to him on a daily basis. Anything that made me laugh, he was my go to. Did he ignore me sometimes? Yes! Did I question him mercilessly when said ignoring was happening? Yes! Did he think although it was rather annoying, I was still quite cute and he put up with me regardless? Also yes!
So now I see hilarious memes with 2 reindeer in the car all like yo, bro, get in the car, we gotta find grandma! And they literally crack me up. And I go to send them to my person only to remember he won’t get it (again with the forwarding address and phone number, WTF God, WTF?) and if I send it to his last known number my 9 year old will get it and he won’t understand and he won’t think I’m cool (which, if you were wondering, cool apparently now stands for (according to 9 year olds anyway) constipated overweight out of style loser – I may be overweight but none of those other things apply to me FYI). Ash thought I was cool (like the cool kind of cool, not the 9 year old kind of cool). I also keep getting these weird ads about Jolly Jewels Ball Wash on my facebook feed. I literally screenshot it and went to send it to my husband, but, again, he wasn’t there.
If you look at the photos on my phone, literally half of them are ridiculous memes that I find hilarious and want to send to my person. My person who loved me for me. My person who always thought I was funny even when I wasn’t. My person who understood me inside and out. Was that always the case? Absolutely not. I won’t pretend that it was. But when it came to humor, we were simpatico!
And, yes, I can send them to my friends and they might find them funny or they might think I need to get a life and that I actually am the 9 year old version of cool. Ash, though, he liked me. Like really liked me. Liked me to my core. He knew the good, the bad and they ugly and he accepted it. Sure, he had things to say about it at times, but who doesn’t. We’re human. We’re programmed to complain and always want more. I just miss him. In all the ways you can miss someone. I miss the security of knowing he won’t reject anything I send his way. I miss always having someone to laugh with. I miss my person.
So, I’m looking for a volunteer. You can pretend I’m awesome or you can really think I’m awesome. And accept all of my ridiculous memes and videos and general hilarity. And send your own memes and videos and general hilarity back. I promise to laugh and love it, but you have to do the same. Or pretend to do the same but never let me know how annoyed with me you actually are! Can you feel the anxiety?! Because it is pouring the fuck out right now. Pass the Xanax.
Cancer fucking sucks.
JonesBoysMama 