Who's The Man?

What happened to this lady?

Or this one?

And this one?

OK. Fine. I wouldn't click on the links either...

What happened to the grow our own food local farmer's market raw milk contraband meat grind my own wheat make my own bread no fast food no soda no sugar make it from scratch mama who only ate eggs from her very own chickens?

Where the fuck is she?

She's vamoosed.

*****

Last week Ty said to me mom you're like The Man AND The Woman.

You do all the Man Things** and you also do all the Woman Things.

Tonight I made spaghetti and frozen meatballs no msg first ingredient beef second ingredient pork because tacos required TOO MUCH damn EFFORT.

I said half to Jack and half to myself it's ok if i don't cook i work full time and take care of 3 kids and i'm The Man so i don't have to cook

Jack said mom you are so not the man you can't bitch about your period and have no balls when it comes to mia and call yourself The Man.

He's got a point.

I talk about my period A LOT.

Jack advises ibuprofen and a lot of water.

Ty looks at me like I have two heads and says mom didnt you JUST HAVE your period?

poor things

And he's right. I have no balls with Mia.

So. Back to claiming my manhood in the presence of my adolescent son.

Mom, you're not gonna go all lesbian on us are you? i mean it's ok if you do but you won't... right?

No honey. I like men

How many of you are thinking omg how inappropriate?

how many of you are thinking I wish I could be that open with my kid?

Whatever. I fall somewhere in the space between.

*****

The point is, I've decided to cut myself some slack.

I work.

I work hard.

I work long hours.

I bring home my share of the bacon.

Ty fries it up in a pan. He's a much better cook than I.

I juggle my kids. And all their friends.

I'm the Cool Mom.

My home is the place they all choose to be.

They'd all rather be here than anywhere else.

That's pretty neat.

So what if I don't cook from scratch?

So what if BJ's is my new favorite place to shop?

I buy industrial meat patties in bulk and the boys know how to fire up the bar b q and they live on hamburgers and hot dogs and toaster strudel and oreos.

And Coke.

They all eat standing up and on the move and never at the dining room table.

They don't even use plates.

Who gives a shit?

Not me. I have my own plate and there's plenty on it.

I'll ignore the voice in my head reminding me about the importance of family dinner, cooking for loved ones, communion, and you are what you eat.

The kids are way happier with me not cooking.

I come home with a trunkful of frozen ready to microwave food and they throw their arms around me and say we love you mom you're the best mom in the world all this food we're set for LIFE.

And I count up the 4 or 5 14 yr olds and the 2 or 3 10 yr olds and a couple a 9 yr olds and random neighborhood kids and if we're lucky some cousins and I say we're set for the weekend. Maybe.

*****

I pulled the wrong way out of a parking spot today leaving Ty's cello concert and ripped the bumper off my new car.

But dammit if I didn't get down on my hands and knees in my dress and yank that fucker out from underneath the car so I could drive my broken car home.

I don't need no stinkin tow truck.

I don't need no stinkin help.

I don't need no stinkin man.

Though it did cross my mind to call roadside assistance.

FUCK THAT

I can do it myself. Just like a 2 year old.

Though it is kinda funny how many men will offer their assistance and experience and help when they realize I'm a "single mom"

the tree guy

the fence guy

the mover guy

the painter guy

the electrical guy

sometimes I pull the smile bat my lashes and play dumb act

most times it doesn't feel like an act

So who's the man?

**Never fear. Bruce is no Dead Beat Dad. And he's a good friend. As he always has been.

match this

I put myself on Match

Match?

Yes. Match.

Match.

Dot.

Com.

Seriously.

What else am I supposed to do?

Either I'm at work or I'm at home. Which is fine. I actually LIKE my life the way it is.

But it leaves no possibility for meeting an Eligible Bachelor.

though I was asked to dinner by Fred Sanford's twin while on line at Rite Aid

I hate parties. I hate bars. I don't dance.

I'm 47 goddammit.

When I was 27 I had already been hating that shit for a decade.

I'm anti-social. I like being by myself. I don't want to talk to anyone.

But you already know that about me.

I also like MEN. I like being the object of someone's desire.

I like kissing.

I like that tingly feeling.

I like realizing that I'm 47 and I can still feel the way I felt a decade before I was 27 when I was am making out with a boy man in a parked car.

But alas that's all I like want.

I don't want to play house with anyone.

I don't want anyone around my kids.

I don't want to compromise or adjust or negotiate or sacrifice dammit.

Life has been UnBloggable for a while now. I've been distracted.

Sister Adrienne is shocked that there is actually stuff I won't blog about.

But I need to Protect the Innocent.

The Unbloggable was wrapped up in every breath I took.

It was in my head my first and last minutes of consciousness day and night.

It couldn't be extricated from any thought or any moment of my day.

It colored all my waking hours.

Jordana said Write about the kids. Write about current events.

I couldn't write about anything without the haloed head of The Unbloggable rising up and blinding my ability to think straight.

So.

Now The Unbloggable is No More.

It's fine.

It was wonderful while it lasted and it was never gonna be anything other than short and sweet. And that's what it was.

Hence my foray into Internet Dating.

Aack

I set up my profile about 2 weeks ago.

It's deliberately weird and wacky to scare away the straights as Bruce would say.

The question What are you looking for? got the answer I'm looking for the male equivalent to a Calgon Bath.

Jordana and Shannon Did Not Approve. I guess I sounded like a hootch.

I just wanted to be clear that I'm not looking for a LTR long term relationship.

All the blah blah blah about walks in the park and perfect matches and the rest of our lives made me want to vomit.

So. I received a bunch of winks and a bunch of emails.

And one stood out.

Something in his profile made me laugh out loud at 7:30 in the morning.

10 points for an early a.m. laugh.

We emailed back and forth and he kept me laughing in a not trying too hard I'm just an idiot kinda way that was really charming.

He didn't seem to take himself too seriously. Creative. Smart.

Seemed like someone I could have fun with.

Even Sister Adrienne cracked up reading the email exchanges. Very funny guy.

There were only one or two red flags...

So we met one afternoon this week. A pre-date date.

Within 3 minutes I learned he has a SIGNIFICANT psychiatric disorder for which the doctors are having a hard time finding the right medication.

are you kidding me?

ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME???

Well. Still a nice, funny, intelligent guy. He thinks if he finds the Right Woman he won't need medication at all because Love will solve his problem.

Bless His Heart as Ms. Moon would say. But I am NOT that woman.

I'm off Match.