Category Archives: Relationships or lack thereof

We, minus he, equals me.


Sadly, Rocketman and I have decided to part ways. I will not be posting about this recent development because I feel that it is simply too private. I realize that is odd coming from a girl that will happily tell the world about a piece of her own poop resembling a question mark. *

Two thumbs down, August 2007!!


I found that grief, oddly, can be a funny thing. The “gatekeeper” in my brain is letting some things slip. There is a guy that sells coffee in the lobby of my building. He’s a jerk. He even looks like a jerk, if that makes sense. He’s got a weird cowlick in his hair and he just exudes “douche” when you first see him. I’ve said good morning to him over the years, only to be meant with a blank stare. Unless you actually purchase something from him, he will not acknowledge you. Nice.

The other day I took a Fed Ex package downstairs and as I opened the door to go back in the building, I saw him coming down the hall, pushing his cart of coffee machine crap and whatnot. He was closing up for the day.

Me: *opening door and seeing him* “Oh, hey! C’mon out”!
(I proceeded to hold the door for him)

Coffee Prick: *no acknowledgement*
Me: *tapping him on the shoulder*

Coffee Prick turns his head and looks at me. I point to his face.

*then I ran inside the building like a 9 year old girl, afraid of his response*

He’s avoided eye contact with me ever since and that’s perfectly fine with me.


I got to hang out tonight with a lot of people for which I hold a tremendous amount of love and respect. People that truly and sincerely know me, yet love me anyway. They offered copious amounts of sympathy, encouragement and just flat out kindness upon review of current events.
I looked around the table, incredulous at my luck in friends.

You know what? It’s all gonna be alright. You wanna know how I know?

Because there are people in the world like this. I am SO in the wrong family.

* Did you really think that I could spend the rest of my life with someone who doesn’t find farting funny?!?

He Says, She Hears.

What is it about being a woman that makes us over analyze and dissect every single thing a man says? What makes us jump so irrationally to conclusions that are always horrible and involve him either 1. breaking up with us, or 2. cheating on us. I am an optimist. I’m a totally half full kinda gal, but when it comes to Rocketman, I feel like a goat on AstroTurf. Vulnerable and confused and always fearing the worst. It’s very attractive, as you can imagine.

Rocketman sent me an email today at work asking if he could tag along with me and Mr. Cooper for our evening walk at the park. This is highly unusual.

This conversation actually happened today. I’m not proud.

Rocketman came in the house with his dog.

RM: “Ready to go”?
Me: “Yep. Sure am. Are you going to break up with me”?
RM: *blink* *blink*
Me: “Well, you never come to the park with us at night and you have a paper due and I figure you want to talk and that can’t be good and I know I’ve been drinking more lately and I can use my Daddy dying as an excuse, but it’s really not an excuse and that’s gonna all work itself out with this boot camp and stuff and I don’t want to be that girl that drinks to cope with her problems, you know”?
RM: “Holy crap. I just wanted to get some fresh air and not plop down in front of the TV as soon as I got home from work. I thought it’d be nice to get out and take the dogs for a walk”.
Me: “That’ s it”?
RM: “That’s it”.
Me: “Oh”.
RM: “Do you realize you have conversations with yourself and your subconscious, and yet you think it’s me”?
Me: “Well, you’re not exactly reassuring”.
RM: “What”?
Me: “You should reassure me more about how much you love me and stuff”.
RM: “You are right. But I don’t think I will”.

He’s diabolical, folks. One of the reasons I love him.

Seriously though, why can’t we chicks just take things for what they are? Why do we tear every single sentence/text message/body language apart for some sort of hidden clues as to the male psyche? Every time I work myself into a frenzy, Rocketman has a logical explanation and I look like a total nut job.

I’m not alone. Check this out. Girls are nuts and constantly reading WAY more into everything than a guy. It’s our nature. Our infuriating nature.

I explained to Rocketman that it’s just that I’m sometimes insecure and sometimes just assume the worst and I can’t help it because I read a whole lot more into the things he says and the way he behaves and sometimes it’s just hard to give your heart to someone and I get a little twitchy and he’ll just have to accept that sometimes I get a little nutty and it’s just because I’m afraid because this love leaves me feeling awesome, but sometimes very vulnerable.

His response? “I am so glad that I have a penis”.

Smart Fella = Fart Smella

Relationships are rife with compromise, are they not? I used to think the definition of compromise was “a nicer word for Jen not getting her way”. I’m *trying* to mature somewhat since this is by far the healthiest and happiest relationship of my life. It’s somewhat challenging to this late 30’s stubborn Irish sot.

Recently Rocketman and I had a bit of an issue. Well, I had the issue, really. No surprises there. We went on vacation together over the 4th of July holiday. Turns out Rocketman suffers from a little road rage. By a little I mean that for 80% of the TEN HOUR DRIVE, there were large blue veins bulging from his forehead down to his neck. It made me a little tense. By a little tense, I mean that you could not fit a needle into my behind with a ball peen hammer.

I waited until we were home a few days and brought up the issue with Rocketman. I didn’t want to approach the subject at the time lest things turn into a hostage situation. He was already frustrated driving and I felt that my screaming may have been ill received. However, it bothered me enough that I felt I should address it with him, or from now on any future trips would be limited to a ten mile radius.

Me: “Sweetie, can we talk about your road rage on our trip last week”?
RM: “Ha! You thought that was road rage? I was much worse when I was younger. That was nothing”.
Me: “Hon. You rode back bumpers and flashed your lights, yelling GET THE *@#% OVER”!
RM: “Traffic rules have not changed in twenty years, people should KNOW how to drive. There are roadside SIGNS that read: slower traffic keep right“!
Me: “Be that as it may, it doesn’t help matters for you to yell and complain”.
RM: “It helps me”.
Me: “Ugh”.
RM: “Tell you what, let’s make a deal”.
Me: “I’m listening”.
RM: “I will make an effort to control my road rage if you will make an effort to curb your farting and your potty talk”.
Me: *blink* *blink*

I think I have mentioned before that I have become somewhat cavalier in my farting. Also, I tend to talk about all things poop, quite a bit. Rocketman has never been a fan, but has tolerated this quality because of my striking beauty and rapier wit.

One such example rose up (pun intended) over our holiday excursion. I clogged the toilet in the beach house. Not only did I clog it, but in an effort to plunge the toilet and correct things, I made things horribly worse. I bolted from the bathroom, eyes watering and dry heaving. I literally almost vomited. I laid my head on the marble counter tops of the kitchen with my chest heaving and swallowing hard.

RM: (staring at me) “What. the. hell.”?

Me: “I clogged the toilet and it’s awful and overflowing onto the floor and don’t yell at me because by no stretch of the imagination was my poop solid so it can’t be that and I didn’t use that much toilet paper but I tried to plunge it and the shit water just kept rising and it spilled out down the bowl and it smells like rotten ass and I had corn last night”!!!!!!!

RM: *heavy sigh* “All you had to say was that the toilet is backed up and we should call guest services”.

Okay, so I think that this compromise may be equally challenging for both of us.

Deal Breakers

A girlfriend and I were swapping dating nightmares over the weekend. I think everyone has had at least one horrible date to submit. Rocketman has never been on a blind date, and the entire concept frightens him. I rather like the blind date. I like the mystery. However, a couple years ago I hit a dry spell. I thought I’d branch out.

I tried online dating. With wild optimism I jumped into with fervor and zeal. What surprised me were the responses I received. Within 48 hours I had countless emails and two marriage proposals. While this should have been flattering, it was downright creepy and disturbing. There are a LOT of lonely guys out there. While that may be sad, I’m here to tell you, they are lonely for a REASON. I had one guy email me only once telling me that he’d like to give me a bath. I tell ya what, I felt like I NEEDED a bath after reading his email. YIG. I gotta give the dude credit though, he skipped the minutia and got right down to business. I scrolled through the responses and deleted most of them. Everyone has dealbreakers. I used to think that I set my bar pretty darn low. Have a job? Have teeth? Here’s my phone number. Not anymore.

People cannot spell. This chaps my ass. There’s no excuse for that anymore with our technological advances. Pure laziness. A deal breaker. One guy said he had a “nack” for dancing. One, (I’m dead freakin’ serious) told me that he enjoyed “Baytoben’s” music. BAYTOBEN. Ah, he appreciates the symphony! Another of my favorites is the current trend with email slang. If there is a “LOL”, or “ROFLMAO”, or “U R Hot”, I’m OUT folks. Again with the laziness. All CAPS, I won’t even read it. The shift key is literally a fraction of an inch from your left pinky and you can’t USE IT?!? Another one that really gets me is “kewl”. Yes, that’s very clever. Go back to your science fiction movie marathon.

I actually went on a few dates. My mistake. Guys will say ANYTHING in an email. They will post pictures of themselves from 10 years ago. When they had hair. And abs. And weren’t living with their Mom. I had corresponded with what I thought was a *normal* man for a couple of weeks. I agreed to meet him for a drink, with dinner plans ensuing. We didn’t make it to dinner. I’m not that damn polite. We were on our second drink before white supremacy came into the conversation. He was DEAD serious, too. I really wish these guys would just be honest on their profiles. Maybe put “cross burning” in your hobbies or something? Give a girl a heads up, fellas.

I went on another one. I would not be daunted. One bad date does not an online dating catastrophe make. This one turns up to meet me at a bar before an outdoor music festival. I arrived early, as I always do…it’s an upper hand thing. I get to check him out before he sees me. Plus, I make sure we’re in a smoking section and I already have a stiff martini under my belt. Dude is a midget. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. However, maybe you could’ve mentioned that in your profile, or in your email when you were describing yourself? No wonder his pictures were all head shots. His profile listed him as 5’7. I have no idea how many phone books he was perched upon before coming up with that number. Guys, I kid you not when I say he had to get a RUNNING START to get upon the bar stool next to me. When I shook his hand, my hand encompassed his. Like a grizzly bear. He should have been in a tree making cookies. In a Sally Field Academy Award winning performance, I managed to maintain my composure and pretend that it was business as usual in the “random crazy shit that is my life” department. I then tried to shake him after a drink. Didn’t work. We went to the festival. I had to BEND DOWN to talk to him, or hear him speak. After a couple of drinks, I asked him if he’d like to get on my shoulders so that he could see better. Again, didn’t work. Of course I ran into people I work with. Figures. And for you self righteous types, he wasn’t charming or cute in personality. He had some sort of Napoleon thing going on and made a couple jokes about “scaling” me. Nice.

I had a date with a guy that had more holes in him than the pegboard in my Father’s garage. “Piercing” wasn’t even listed in his profile as an affinity. He had bars in the webs between his forefingers and thumbs. Eyebrows, ears, lips, nose, tongue…all pierced. Also other areas of which he was proud to divulge. I’m proud to divulge I never saw them. Holy crap.

I had yet another date with an extremely physically attractive man. When he walked in, I thought “jackpot”! Then he spoke. Damnit. Not only was he so drunk that he could barely string a sentence together, he literally said “why don’t we skip dinner and just go make out in my car?”, within the first ten minutes. I cannot make this stuff up.

I once quit seeing a guy because he was an “early braker”. When we were in his car, he’d start pumping his brakes 100 yards from a stop sign, or red light. He’d ever so slowly approach the intersection at 10 miles an hour. I’m looking around for a school zone at 9pm. Nothing was wrong with his car, or his brakes. It drove me nuts. I *may* be a bitch, but seriously, that’s really annoying. I went on a date with another guy and we ended up at his place for a nightcap. He was giving me a tour of his home and we arrived at his bedroom. He had a HUGE framed poster of a unicorn hanging over his bed. Raring up on it’s hind legs and there was a rainbow in the background, connecting with its horn. Dude. I gotta go.

I once went on a date with a guy who told me things he wanted to do to me using Hickory Farms products. Run. Like. Hell. I bet he had some sort of pit in his house, like in “Silence of the Lambs”. Only me. I went out with a guy who upon arriving back at his place, started smacking himself (hard)in the face with a tennis racket thinking he’d screwed up our date. You know what, buddy? YA DID. RIGHT THIS FREAKIN’ SECOND.

I’m not normal. No one is. I hope these guys all find happiness, I really do. However, I hope some of them don’t reproduce. Rocketman told me over the weekend that he indeed loves me, even in spite of my being a “lil’ bit crazy”. Let the record show that at the time, my finger was in his ear, which I do quite a bit. I’m not sure why. I find it funny to put my finger in his ear while he’s talking to me sometimes. He’s gotten to the point where he just keeps talking and we have a “normal” conversation, which I find even more hysterical. God love him.

Sure, I’m crazy. I know that. So do you. Rocketman can be a little nutty in his own way. We both have our style. I guess it’s just finding someone on the same barometer of crazy that you are. Or at the very least, finding a degree of crazy that you can understand. Perhaps. Maybe it’s finding someone that you connect with, and your varying levels of crazy don’t overlap. Ours don’t. I’m crazy on a completely other level than Rocketman. After all, my crazy is part of my charm. His is just lunacy.


Rocketman isn’t crazy at all. I’m crazy about him.

Trail of Tears

Over the weekend Rocketman invites me out for a trail “hike”. I put on a cute exercisey outfit complete with pink shorts and put my hair in ponytails on each side of my head. At this point, I think I’m cute and we’re going for a nice little stroll in the woods.

Notsomuch. The Blair Witch Project was a film about a nice little stroll in the woods, compared to what I went through. The silver lining is that I didn’t have to actually physically hold my hair back when I was dry-heaving on the sides of various trees. This trail was arduous and steep. Rocky and jaggedy. And for miles and miles.

Mind you, it’s 90-something degrees and I’ve been impersonating Courtney Love for the past four nights. Martinis and Marlboros do not an athlete make. I spent the better part of two hours fighting heat stroke, dehydration and the ever present danger of blowing guts all over the trailhead. Nothing says sexy like a red faced chick doubled over and foaming at the mouth.

Of course, hubris and general embarrassment kept me from actually telling Rocketman that I was going to in fact die, or best case scenario he was going to have to get a helicopter to lower one of those body cages down to me for rescue. I bet guys love it when a date ends with a visit to the Emergency Room. “No, I’m not usually this high maintenance”. “What’s that? Um….explosive diarrhea”.

I survived, but I’m seriously considering only dating morbidly obese men from here on out.