When a friend contacts you out of nowhere and asks if they can post anonymously on your blog? You say yes. No matter what, you say yes. Because while you can’t fix them, as much as you wish you could, you can do this.

Please show a little love to my friend… You never know, she could be yours too.

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I have told no one outside of my family of this. My husband got a girl pregnant. The kid is now six years old.

He, being a jackass that thought only with his dick, had a job that kept him away from home. Me, not being a complete idiot, realized that there was foolishness afoot. I confronted him, we argued night & day. Weeks of barely speaking, weird behavior that made me suspicious. The final shut down of my emotions that led to fling after fling because why should he be allow to fuck around while I sat at home crying and taking care of his kids? He knew, the same as I did, that he pushed me away, pushed me into the arms of other men. Please. Do not think I was looking for love. I wasn’t. I wanted the attention he denied me while he pretended to be working late. I was craving revenge for every day that he didn’t kiss me good morning or good night.

I left. I went home for several months. I spent those months with my parents pretending he didn’t exist. We would talk on the phone. Calls that ended in tears, and anger and frustration. I thought about my next step and realized that the person that I was at that moment was not a reflection of me at all. And just like that, I took my life back. I didn’t really know what I was going to do next, but I knew that this broken version of me could not solve my problems. I went back.

I was in a holding pattern. I prayed a lot. I was waiting. I wasn’t sure for what. Then I found some stupid card with hearts & flowers the girl gave him with her new phone number. I called her and told her something that he never would have “You don’t know me, but he’s married” and she told me something I never would have expected “I’m having a baby by him.” My world imploded. I called him right then and made him come home, forced him to admit it. The details don’t really matter at this point except to say that this girl, didn’t even know a lot about him – didn’t know he was leaving in less than a year, had never been to the place he told her he lived in. I felt bad, because she had been duped as I had been, into believing in a man who didn’t even really exist. He wasn’t going to leave me; he already had a family, and never expected to get caught so spectacularly.

He apologized. Over and over and over again. I raged. I screamed because this is not what people do to people they are supposed to love. He tried to make it right. Full disclosure. No more sneaking to make phone calls because he didn’t want me to know he talked to her. No more lying. No more jumping when she said jump because he was scared I was going to find out. I knew.

She went to court to get child support. Because how can you believe a man will support his child when he was clearly lying about his entire life to you? Because she wanted to punish him for not leaving me and marrying her. Because he was unable to be there for her because he was being there for me. And they bent him over and raped him anally through his wallet. While I can appreciate that this child needs support, they gave no thought to the children he was already supporting. But what can you say? You have to pay to play, baby. And sometimes you gotta pay big.

It hurts though. Even now. He and I made our way back to each other. Our relationship much closer, much in the way of people who have been through a war together. I can forgive the pregnancy because the only difference between he and I was that I had enough sense to protect myself from such a situation (or one that would perhaps involve burning and/or itching in places that shouldn’t burn and/or itch). I hate him a little for the things that I’ve done, for having to live forever with the things that he’s done.

I feel selfish when I complain about how much the state wants for a child he can only see maybe 3 or 4 times a year. But it’s a vicious circle. She gets paid more because she lives out of state. He can’t visit more because she gets paid more and WE can’t afford for him to see him anymore than he does. But he would if he could. But if I don’t speak up for his other children, who will? They were here first and they don’t not exist because one more child is added to the equation. When did it stop mattering that he has 2 teenagers that still need food, and clothing and a place to live?

Today we found out they stripped his bank account because his current earnings are not enough to pay the child support owed. We did all the proper paperwork regarding reduction in pay, not making the same amount of money, etc. They plan to give her all of his earnings while we try to figure out how we are to live until his court date in February. I don’t even know how he’s going to get there because I can’t afford to pay all of the bills, the rent AND a flight out-of-state complete with hotel, food and lawyer fees. The rage that I feel about this situation threatens to choke me and I want to vomit, I want to expel the feelings of THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT all over him. But I know that he’s done everything he could do and the time for blame has past. I know that he loves his son as he does his other children, and wishes that he could be there for him. I know all of this; so I try to hold it all together, with understanding and love. Because I know that he needs both as we struggle to find a balance that is fair for both of his families.

I’m holding it all together. But just barely.

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The other day I had to admit to my work colleagues that yes, I was one of those geeks. Yes, I know how to use twitter. And yes I have a feedburner account and understand the difference between a ’subscriber’ and a ‘reach’. Yes, I know that that second ‘S’ in ‘RSS’ is ‘Syndication’. And yes, I actually do HAVE a blog. That I update. Every weekday.

That probably doesn’t sound that geeky to you, my dear blog friends. You, after all, are reading the fabulous blog of Just Miss so you must on some level understand. But to them I might as well have been an alien with multiple heads. Didn’t I have a LIFE, they asked?

Now, I’m not really in any of the popular or acceptable niches. I’m not a Mommy Blogger, I don’t have kids.  I don’t bake, or have any kind of greenery skills so there aren’t any recipes or photos of my garden, and I’m just not fan enough to post about my tv loves and write fanfic or make fan videos. I don’t own my own home nor super care about the inside of it, so there aren’t any posts about decorating or organising or cute little rooms filled with cute little things. I don’t make cute crafty anythings, so there’s no arts and crafts, or pretty slightly askew photos of my creations that don’t exist.

I don’t post sex-toy reviews, or about my sex life (The Boy would probably not appreciate my telling the world how generous his private parts are). I don’t post about the mental illnesses I don’t have, and I (mostly) don’t post about how hard my life is, or have any tips on how to survive the recession, or what’s going on in the design/science/technology/political/fashion/music world.

That life that my work colleagues asked about? That life is what I post about. About my dog, and the great changes at work, and what I did with The Boy on the weekend. Cute projects and youTube videos that I found on the great big interwebs. Something stupid that my friend said, or how I’m a bit bummed that my sister bought the pair of shoes I wanted. And how I prefer Vitamin Water over Nutrient Water (that post got me a sample pack – hurrah for Vitamin Water!)

Perfectly ordinary and mostly insignificant (to anyone other than me) events and experiences.

So when Miss asked me about guest blogging, I thought she was a little mad is all.  Not only because I was as ordinary as ordinary could be, but because I’d just told her how using my wordpress design that I had offered as a birthday present was going to cost her money. I had expected a MUCH different outcome.

And then I got all proud that she’d asked me. And then the more I thought about it, I got all proud that I was one of those bloggers. The no niche, perfectly ordinary geek kind.  And about that time I stopped giving a shit that people at work think I’m a geek and I now have that weird stigma of (*gasp*) blogger!

So what, you know? Yesterday I walked one the account managers through how twitter works and now there are plans in the pipeline to use it as a media form in one of our brand campaigns. And guess who gets the credit for that? (Give you a hint, not the person whose brain couldn’t quite grasp the concept of ‘tweets’.)

So hell yes I’m blogging about the mostly insignificant perfectly ordinary stuff I do. And hell yes I’m proud about that, even if it comes with the geek title and the stigma. Blog on, I say!

Am I the only one out there like this? Are you proud of your blog and the perfectly ordinary things you post about?

While she was on a VACATION.

But. I’m a sucker for a beautiful woman so go visit me over at Momisodes today would you?

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I met Miss on good ol’ Plurk last year.  There was something about this foxy lady that drew me in.  Her life story gave me so much hope and comfort during that time in my life.  One of the things I loved about her blog was how she could tell her feelings and what is happening in her life through lyrics of a song.  I have always loved music, but there are very few songs that really spoke straight to my heart like they have for Miss.  That is until I heard Whitehorse by Taylor Swift.  I first heard this song when she sang it on the American Music Awards in November 2008.  I listened to that song every day for about 4 months.  And every time would belt it out while tears welled up in my eyes.  Then the song started to take on a new meaning for me.  It started giving me hope and I found myself smiling when I finished singing it.  The world is a big place.  Life is filled with surprises and possibilities.  And, there is love and friendship to be found in even the most unexpected of places.

Love you, Miss!  Thank you for letting me guest post and loving me unconditionally!  You are the truest of friends and I am so lucky to have you in my life. 

 Say you’re sorry / That face of an angel comes out / Just when you need it to / As I pace back and forth all this time / ‘Cause / I honestly believed in you / Holdin’ on, / The days drag on / Stupid girl / I should have known, I should have known

I lost count of how many times you came home drunk or did something stupid while intoxicated.  The next morning you would say that it wouldn’t happen again.  You said you would take a break or cut back on how much you drink.  I would encourage and support you in this healthy decision, but after a week or two you are spending our money at the liquor store or pub.  I would remind you of the promise you made, but it would fall upon deaf ears and repelled with excuses.  Years of empty promises slipped through my fingers so that it was too late for things to change.

That I’m not a princess / This ain’t a fairytale / I’m not the one you’ll sweep off her feet / Lead her up the stairwell / This ain’t Hollywood, / This is a small town / I was a dreamer before you went and let me down / Now its too late for you and your White Horse, / To come around.

My parents worked hard for what they have.  Thanks to them I learned that a good education and hard work pay off.  Like many women I had a dream to meet a man who put his family first, who was the breadwinner allowing me to be a stay-at-home mom while I free lanced as a writer.  I dreamed we would live in a nice home, in a nice neighborhood and close to family and friends.  Instead, my parents had to help you purchase your work truck, helped us pay our bills, provided us with meals and groceries, and helped clean our condo while I worked full time to be the stable support for our family.  There was only one way to make things change for the better … I had to leave.

Maybe I was naïve, / Got lost in your eyes / I never really had a chance. / My mistake, I didn’t know to be in love you had to fight to have the upperhand. / I had so many dreams about you and me. / Happy endings; / Now I know

I was only 24 when I met you.  I had been dating guys who always put their career before me.  I thought I was not worth as much as I really am.  You swept me off my feet with all of your promises … empty promises.  I don’t know when or how I lost my ability to speak up for what I want or deserved.  I don’t know why I felt like your behavior was acceptable.  I dreamed about the man I thought you could be, but he is not the same man you are turned out to be.  You said yourself that you are happy with who you are.  That you have no need for self improvement.  You will never change.  I see that now.

And there you are on your knees / Begging for forgiveness, / Begging for me / Just like I always wanted, / But I’m so sorry

Now that I have walked away from our marriage I have seen who you really are.  Your anger has turned towards me.  Your real opinions of me and my family have come out.  You say you are sorry, that you are trying to clean up your life, that you realize you could have done more to help.  You say your daughter is the most important thing in your life and that she makes you want to be a better man.  But, you are still drinking, you are still not working, you are still putting YOU before HER, and you are still making more empty promises. 

Cause I’m not your princess / This ain’t a fairytale / I’m gonna find someone, Some day / Who might actually treat me well. / This is a big world, / That was a small town / There in my rearview mirror, / Disappearing now. / And it’s too late for you and your White Horse, / Now its too late for you and your White Horse / To catch me now.

I can never (and will never) change that you are her father, and I hope that you will become a better man for her.  But, I deserve so much more.  It is time for me to open my heart to a world of possibilities and a greater love that you could ever give to me.  Goodbye. 

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When I was four, something happened in a bathroom with an 11-year old boy that my brain has nearly completely blocked out. I know the results involved a beating of my defender and a lack of further invitation to the home.

When I was ten, a man who lived in the low-income apartment across the playground from my own low-income apartment tried to convince me and at least one other girl to come up the stairs to his suite. The term “rosebudding” came up in the conversation and my manner of reporting this heinous exchange was to ask my dad, after I ran home, what the term meant, tattling on the man who’d said it. My father stormed out, then came home a short while later, washed his hands, changed his clothes and called the cops. A little girl, I’d find out later, had been raped in that playground only a little while before then. I can only assume that my dad instituted some vigilante justice, it was never discussed again, and I wasn’t allowed to play there, anymore.

When I was 13, a man handed me my third glass of champagne of the afternoon, put a $20 on the table in front of my skinny knees and asked if he could touch me.

Last week, I was walking down the sidewalk with my daughter, when a familiar feeling crept up my neck.

Looking across the street, I saw a man walking, to cross in front of on-coming traffic, and his eyes were magnetized on Isobel. We were going to the rec centre – her to the afternoon playgroup, while I went to the gym. It was a sunny day and I was already dressed for my run, while she had picked out a princess-worthy dress, cardigan and wore sneakers, bare-footed. her bangs were pinned off to the side of her face and she looked like a little doll.

My kid is kind of beautiful, when we clean her up. I admit it, even if I’m supposed to biasedly think she’s beautiful all the time, that some times it’s a lot easier to see the bags under her eyes, the bangs in need of a trim and the hands that have been stained with mud. But when we clean her up? People stop and stare.

It’s annoyed the shit out of my for about 27 months. She’s not quite three yet, so you do the math. People have always stopped and stared, often cooing and awingat her. I’m not bragging, this shit’s gotta stop. When a heavy-tourism area receives a lot of Asian traffic, a bunch of senior citizen groups and conventioneers, a lot of whom seem to fall in love with a blonde haired, blue eyed living doll? Cameras get pulled out, she gets confused by accents talking at her, and it takes us twice as long to get from point A to B.

Fuck off, people, seriously. But that’s relatively okay. It’s even nice a lot of the time, especially when compliments on her beauty are followed with “she looks just like her mom.” *ahem*

What is intolerable is when some fuckwad crosses the street into oncoming traffic, seemingly hypnotized by the imagery of my kid. When, after he narrowly avoids being run over, after car horns have blared and her attention has been drawn to him, and she’s asking “what’s the man doin’, mama?” he still stands on the street. When he doesn’t even stop to close his fucking mouth and step onto the sidewalk, because he’s so busy unblinkingly looking at her.

I didn’t exist. I wasn’t holding her hand, there was no cars about to break his bones, or other people on the sidewalk with us, noticing him noticing her. The woman that stood beside Isobel and I as we waited for the crosswalk light to change was brushed past, once he finally walked forward. Directly toward her.

“Hi, Sweetheart,” he said when he was about five steps away. The fucker wasn’t blinking, still. Just Staring.

And her back was immediately tense. She didn’t answer him, didn’t wave, and I didn’t remind her that not responding when someone says hello is rude. But yet, he kept walking toward her.

“Hi, honey. What’s your name?” he breathed that one out.

Seriously? What fucking universe is this man from, wherein he thinks that looking at my daughter in a way that makes her either dinner, porn, or a circus sideshow.

I’ve never felt so violated as the moment when he got one step away from our side and he knelt down.

“Hello. How are you?”

And he reached out to brush her hair out of her face.

She gripped my hand harder, I swear. And I pulled the fiercest voice out of my head possible as I said “Do not touch my daughter.”

The light changed and we ran across the street without me even needing to ask her to hurry. Half a block later, she asked me again, looking back over her shoulder, what the man was doing. As I weighed how to answer her, I looked back, too. And saw him still standing on that same corner, staring in her direction.

I have never had instinct speak so sharply to me as when I felt the creep up my neck. I’ve never put thought into who might be in my neighbourhood, assuming that if she was with me, she would always be safe from anyone who might want to harm her.

And I’ve never immediately judged someone as a pedophile before. This instinct to protect her from this man was so strong, I’m 99% sure of it.

For all I know, this man has lost a daughter, she died or was kidnapped, and Isobel is the spitting image of his own. His pain hasn’t receded, or it just has, and then he saw her and it was like seeing his past. Maybe that’s the hopeful person inside of me, who wants to believe that everyone has good intentions and actions. Maybe that’s the supposed-to-be-multiple-timed mother in me, that saw his look of breathlessness and could, days later, attribute it to having the air sucked out of him by grief.

Those are maybes.

I know exactly who I would have been, if his fingers had actually graced her hair. A wild fucking banshee, intent on ripping his eyes out, if I hadn’t accidentally pushed him into oncoming traffic. Someone willing to turn Isobels’ back to me, place her hand in the one of the woman standing next to us, and deliver a hip-dislocated kick to his balls. One who would spit on him and he writhed in pain on the ground as I dialled the police.

What would you have done or thought?

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I’ve only met Miss online so far, but I consider her a pretty close friend.  She’s stood by me and listened to me talk smack and cry and told me to put my big-girl panties on when I needed to hear it most.  She’s a great friend, and it’s amazing how much in common we have…

I mean, Miss is so hot that she has to fight the boys off to keep from being manhandled.  Me?  I get manhandled all of the time, too – only they just want to touch my pregnant belly, and it’s all women.

Miss sleeps on pretty white sheets with blue flowers that envelope her and lull her to sleep.  My sheets crinkle beneath me because I thought a vinyl protector cover might be a good idea just in case my water broke in bed… or I got really lazy one night and decided to not get up and pee for the umpteenth time.

Miss can’t remember what thread count her pretty sheets are … I didn’t know I was supposed to count.

Miss likes good conversation.  I rarely shut up.

Miss’ favorite shoes are her Steve Madden heels or the sexy high heeled boots she owns.  I can’t even see my feet anymore…

Miss enjoys spending time with her friends over a beer… I consider myself lucky to hang out with friends without wailing children climbing on me.

Miss blogs about vibrators and sex.  I beg my husband to just hurry up and do it because the doctor SAID it could induce labor, dammit – and this baby needs to be BORN.

Miss gets to have fun sex.  My uterus twitches at the thought.  On its own.

Miss enjoys clean clothes and does laundry at least every week.  I only have two pairs of pants and a handful of tops that fit and only wash after they fail the sniff test.

Miss’ first crush had a mullet.  My 2 year old daughter has a mullet.

Miss meets boys in bars and loves an ice cold newcastle.  I meet boys in the men’s room when I can’t wait in the ladies’ line any longer.

One of Miss’ biggest pet peeves is self-centeredness and I devote an entire blog to MYSELF.

Miss likes to shave at least every other day.  I can’t even see what I’m shaving anymore and am willing to bet it’s beginning to look a little artistic…or something.

Miss likes men with a little facial stubble…I’m fairly sure I have some.

We’re like two peas in a pod.  REALLY.  It’s like we were meant to be best friends or something.  I know, the similarities freak me out, too…

Today’s post comes from a very dear friend who has also asked to stay anonymous. I respect that for many reasons. She’s being real, she’s backing her words, but she also respects the fact that people can get hurt in these situations. If you read here often, you know that I have been here with her and I believe in ownership. Believe me, if done right, you can get in and out of these situations alive. I’m living proof.

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 To be honest, when Miss asked me to guest post, I was scared shitless.  Of course, I was excited.  But mostly panicky.  Because the bar over here is set pretty high.  My little corner of the internet is located in that hard to clean spot behind the toilet.  But here, everything is pretty and shiny.  I didn’t want to mess it up.  So I waited for a few of the other guest posters to come through, hoping that I’d then have some idea what to talk about.  Actually, I was hoping that they would lead me off on a rabbit trail, so that I could avoid going where I need to go.  But instead, the previous posts inspired me to be pretty fucking honest.  (Well, as honest as one can be while still hiding inside of the computer.)  

So here goes… How I Hear It, Special Guest Blogger Edition

I stand there, waiting for you, but I want to run away.  It’s been such a long time.  Back then, I was younger, prettier, thinner.  That’s how I want you to remember me.  Because I’m no longer that beautiful girl that you said you’ve thought about for all these years.  My phone rings.  I’m so scared you’re calling to tell me you’ve changed your mind.  Instead, I hear a smile in your voice as you say, “I see you.  And my god… you’re still gorgeous.”  It makes me want to cry.   

Electricity, eye to eye
Hey don’t I know you
I can’t speak

My heart is pounding.  I can’t breathe, the anxiety is choking me.  I don’t know what to say.  I look at your eyes.  Even after all these years, they still look the same.  Sitting beside you, scenes from that night flash through my mind.  We stood on the shore, watching the waves.  You put your arms around me… those big, strong arms that I’d admired for so long.  It was November and the wind was cold, so bitterly cold.  But it was warm against your chest.  I liked it there.  And it scared me.  It was too soon, my heart was still raw.  I wasn’t ready to be vulnerable again, so I pushed you away.

Stripped my senses
On the spot
I’ve never been defenseless
I can’t even make sense of this
You speak and I don’t hear a word

So much time has passed, yet you still remember everything, even what I was wearing.  It’s so hard to believe that you haven’t forgotten about me.  It’s even harder to believe that someone thinks I was actually worth remembering.  My heart swells.  And then it aches.  It’s been so long since my heart has been engaged, it isn’t used to feeling this way. 

(Chorus)
What would happen if we kissed
Would your tongue slip past my lips
Would you run away, would you stay
Or would I melt into you
Mouth to mouth, lust to lust
Spontaneously combust

You tell me how badly you wanted to kiss me when we stood on the beach.  And how badly you want to kiss me right now.  You understand when I tell you that I can’t.  Oh, I desperately want to, but I just… I just can’t.

The room is spinning out of control
Act like you didn’t notice
Brushed my hand.

I’m so conflicted.  I feel like I’m going to throw up.  I watch your hand as it softly strokes my arm.  You’re trying to help me relax, but it’s not working.  You feel guilty because I’m so tense.  But it isn’t you that’s making me uncomfortable.  I’m so afraid of so many things…

I want to put my hand in yours, to show you that I feel something too.  But every time I move my hand, it’s there… the reminder of the vows I made to someone else. 

You’re such a moral, moral man
You throw it away, no question
Will I pretend I’m innocent

You have so much in your favor.  You’re attractive, smart, stable, and funny.  And single.  I don’t understand why you are wasting that on me.  You once told me that reconnecting with you was fate.  “Now you have the opportunity to have what you’ve always wanted, or see if you can be happy with what you got.”  I’m not happy with what I have, but it was the choice I made.  God knows I’ve tried to make it work, He’s seen how hard I’ve fought.  But I’m tired.  I can’t fight anymore.  I wonder if “’til death do us part” includes “’til the death of my heart.” 

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When our Miss here asked me to guest blog, my reaction was, “Who me?  But of course, whoot!” I can let the “fucks” fly and change my crap to “shit” and people will rejoice, and even embrace it.”  

But then the pressure mounted.  Uh, heh, Miss has a discriminating audience who are used reading hilarious posts, poignant posts, and seeing her beauty in form (do you know a more gorgeous gal?)  and even more so in her words.  Me, well I’m certainly past my prime.  Miss, she writes the truth, never shying away from it.  She reviews pretty vibrators.  I review Swiffer dusters and because I don’t clean, I feel like a fraud. 

Um-kay, so how do I fit in here?

Not that I’m a liar. It’s just that in my own little part of the blog universe, things tend to be a little sugar-coated.  I wear my momblogger hat well, and ramble ad nauseum about my children and barf and shit.  Not always the most interesting stuff. 

So for this honour, I looked to myself for inspiration.  I asked myself to be open and honest. 

I looked in my old diary. 

I found it the other day while sorting through my daughter’s clothes in preparation for the change in season.  Buried under last year’s size 3T summer shorts and t-shirts was my diary entitled “A woman’s notebook: being a blank book with quotes by women”.

What I found inside was a fascinating evolution of a love affair, in my very own words. 

Years 1 – 3:

  “I’m not denyin’ the women are foolish: God almighty made ‘em to match the men”– George Eliot

“It is such a unique feeling to be so happy.  I’ve spent so much of my life being anxious, worried and nervous.”

“I want to melt with him”.

“I don’t want to lose this.  It’s something good that I have to work to keep.  I’ve resolved to do this.

–Me.

Years 4 – 5:

Love’s a disease.  But curable.  – Rose Macaulay, English writer.

The pain of love is the pain of being alive.  It’s a perpetual wound – Maureen Duffy, English writer.

“I know he loves me.  I just hope it’s enough for me.”

“If he’s not the one then we should end it now before it gets much, much worse.  He’s never going to find anyone as devoted to him as I am, but it looks like that’s not really what he wants.  That’s the whole shame of it all. “

– Me.

And that was the last entry, written over 18 years ago.

Damn I was good.  A bit cliché, but good.

Reading these entries made me cry.  Even though I married the guy and we’re sharing a great life together, reliving this makes me want to smack him. For him to inspire such glorious heights of passion and then such depths of sorrow…but I won’t.  He just made me a really nice steak dinner with a lovely glass of red wine.   Yeah, he’s still got it.

Maybe I’m PMS’ing (and just so you know, Always, your review is next).  But that’s not it. 

It’s the power of the word. 

And this is what I find here, on Just Miss.  This is what draws me back, time and again. 

Keep it passionate.  Keep it real.  

I know you’ll find the right guy who’ll make you an even better steak dinner.

You’re beautiful inside and out.

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Four Months ago:

— coward adjective : one who shows disgraceful fear or timidity AKA me.

Come look at my glass house.  Peak your nose at the window.  You will see the manicured lawn, the polished floors, and kids running around without a care.  You can also see me laughing, smiling and looking as if I have my shit together. 

Come look a little closer and listen to the conversations:

“You’re a fucking loser.”

“I gave you your hobbies.  You would have nothing if it was not for me.”

“No judge in the world will give you the kids, you have nothing, and you came from nothing.”

Welcome to my world. 

Excuse me while I put on a smile and pretend to the world that everything is okay.  Let me read the next scripted act as if I was in a never ending Broadway play.  

Because we all know perception is reality no?

Oh you didn’t, let me correct you then.  If you pretend everything is okay, then everything must be okay right? 

Yeah, that trick only works for as long as your mental health will allow.  Then you lose your shit and become depressed and find yourself popping Xanex to get through the day.

Present Day:

— self respect noun a proper respect for oneself as a human being

I nearly threw myself a parade with banners, streamers and media coverage when I finally woke the fuck up and realized that I was not doing anybody any good by being a door mat. 

I heard myself say to a friend “Why do I deserve to be happy?  As long as the kids are happy that is all I care about” 

Was I fucking kidding myself?  Did I really just admit out loud that his happiness is more important than mine?  Did I really just make excuses for his insecure high school behavior and comments?

That was when I started to shed the skin of the insecure 12 year old girl that always felt like she was never good enough.

— sacrifice noun destruction or surrender of something for the sake of something else b: something given up or lost That one word can mean so much. 
Everyday we make some sort of sacrifices.
Whether it is sacrificing sleep to get the last load of laundry done or making a sacrifice that will be a huge life altering decision, it all comes down to the power of choice.  Something I have learned over the past few months. 

I chose to stay powerless.  When you give someone your power, 9 out of 10 times they will take it and run with it.

I sacrificed my being more than I ever dreamed of for my marriage. 
I sacrificed it because I thought that if I gave up the things that made him so insecure it would make my glass house perfect.

The irony of it all, I hated living in a glass house.  Having it fall all around me was probably the best thing to ever happen to me.

It made me wake up and realize that I deserve to be happy.
It made me realize that HE needs to see that I deserve to be happy.
It also made me realize I have some pretty awesome friends who will hold my hand the entire time.

If you walk up to my glass house now you will see the smudges. 
You will see the cracks in the window.
The floors are not polished.
And the kids probably need a bath.
But we are trying at love again.

It may not be the ideal relationship.
Who knows, it may not ever be.
I am doing the right thing by trying to make it work?  I still don’t have that answer. 
I need to take the gamble to see if we can work, and if I can stand on my own with him.
Only time will tell the outcome.

Mental abuse is something no one should ever go though.  Ever. I will no longer be a coward.  I will no longer fear my husband. 

And he knows that now. 
I lost so much of me over the past three months that I know I will never get back and that makes me sad.

But had I not lost it, I would not have found my new skin.  And the new skin feels tight and hard to manage, but holy hell does it feel good.

___________________________________________________________________________________________

Well hello there. I’m Jessie Terwilliger, mostly known to you as David’s Doll. Miss asked me (frantically) to guest post for her, and the funny thing is that one of my regular readers asked for me to write about a specific topic today too. So with all the pressure of guest blogging for someone, trying to make new friends and impress the hell out of the new audience without looking like a douchebag, I’m just going to post the entry that would have gone on my blog today over here for you all to enjoy.

A few things you should know, Mustang Sally is my neighbor who is a hot Romanian sex goddess who speaks broken English. David is my humble and awesome man child of a husband. Steppy is a pretty boy cop who I pal around with who is painfully in love with me.

Let’s do this thing!

So Leah wrote to me today and said:

Just read your post about Sally and it got me thinking about the issues I have with my neighbour.
So do you take requests?
By that I mean, could you do a blog on how you deal with bitchy neigbours/mothers and their evil children?
I would love to start showing my neighbour who’s boss and put her snotty little kids in their place in the nicest of ways of course.
So in other words, I need a Jessie standing on my shoulder to tell me all the clever things to say.

The trick is Leah, you have to be very straight forward. No beating around the bush, no “well ums,” you just have to spit it out and let them choke on it. By that I do not mean that you should spit on or choke your neighbor, I do not advocate violence in any form unless of course you’re the owner of a tall can of mace and you’re a bit trigger happy, but that’s not the point.

The point is that you have to have a mental penis. Slap that shit out on tables (figuratively) when reading people the riot act. Command with it. Just imagine having a big veiny gruesome cock down there, possibly to replace the flaccid one that you already own, and just OWN your words when you say them.

Here, let me show you. This might not entirely relate to Leah’s situation but this story will show that you have to stand your ground and just let these people have it with both barrels.

The debacle with Sally continued yesterday evening. She knocks on the door and is oh so sweet. She’s telling me about work and a boy toy whose head she is messing with and she says, “So the book you are reading, I get that email from the Goodreads with your updates in it…I was wondering about this Open Marriage book you’re reading.”

“Yes I am reading a book about open marriage, I’m reviewing it for the sex toy website I’m in with.”

“Well…is just that I googled open marriage and I see what is all about now…so…are you and David going to try to do that kind of thing?”

“Not necessarily, no. Not like we’d actively pursue that, but the author’s ideals are very similar to ours in that humans weren’t really built for monogamy, and we already have the kind of relationship where if whoopsie, someone made a mistake, as much as that really sucks it’s not like either of us would lie about it because we feel that honesty is a big big important issue in marriage and this particular issue is what a lot of marriages lack today.”

“Oh. So you are sucking Steppy’s dick?”

???

“What? Did you not hear a word I just said?”

“Is just that he is here a lot and he is so nice to you.”

“So that automatically puts his dick in my mouth in your eyes?”

She shrugs innocently. “Other places too.”

“No Sally, there’s nothing going on between Steppy and I. It seems that we keep having this same conversation week after week. No. There is nothing going on.”

“Why not?”

“What do you mean why not?”

“He’s there,” she says as if I’m completely missing the point.

I shake my head at her. I don’t lose my temper, I just say plainly and a little louder than casual conversational volume “I don’t fuck things just because they’re there, Sally. I occasionally fuck things that come in the mail but that’s kind of a gig I’ve got going so it’s unrelated.” Distract them by giving TMI, because this shows that you’re not ashamed to talk about anything they might bring up. And don’t be. But be sure to keep a straight face or they wont take you seriously. Your bark has got to match your potential bite.

She leaves me with the words “is a waste,” and turns to go back into her house.

“It’s not a waste because he and I are close friends and despite the fact that he has strong feelings for me he knows that I need a brother more than I need a lover, so we leave well enough alone. I wish you could find a man to hang out with that you didn’t feel like you had to fuck Sally, someone who will still love the crap out of you even if you don’t feel the same way back.”

She goes inside.

And bitch has been put in her place.

See what I did there?

Sally is intimidating as hell, I admit. I still think she’s going to kick my ass one of these days or just throw her door open one day when David is coming up the stairs and make the fuck out with him before kicking him in the nards and telling him to stop making so much noise when he comes home. But being firm with her seems to work wonders.

Here’s another example that involves her and my children. Wade was out playing in the grass and he came running home crying because he got hurt. I get up to meet him at the door and Sally comes out. She says, “Wade before wasn’t so, you know, wussy. What did you do to him?”

How many things are wrong with that statement? Oh let me count the ways…

No, don’t.

Just say, very firmly, “he’s three years old.”

“Yeah but he did not cry so much before.”

“He’s three years old.”

Same thing with the neighborhood kids who stole our Nerf guns, those little assholes, I told them straight up that they stole them from a five year old and to be ashamed of themselves. I don’t care if their mothers don’t approve, I’ve evicted moms of little hellions like that. Straight up.

David’s pretty good too. A way older kid comes to the door and says “Is your son home?”

David looks at the kid and says “Do you even know his name?”

“Um…no but he’s my friend.”

David stands there for a minute. “You’re a little old to be playing with my kid.”

“Uh…okay, sorry.”

Mental penis people, mental freaking penis. Ram it up people’s asses if you have to, but always remember that it is there if you accept it as your savior. Okay, if not a penis, then a huge can of mace that will fuck someone’s shit up. Whatever visual works for you.

Told youuuuu. Now go add Jessie to your readers. Go!