Smitten with Him

grown-up stuff happens here sometimes


Oh my fucking god!!

What does “never” mean to you?

Clearly not what it really means.

When I told you I never wanted to talk to you or hear from you again

I fucking meant NEVER

Don’t call me

Don’t text me

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My Psychotic Break (Part 1)

After I told all you folks that I was completely done with Alaska and never ever in a million years going to take him back,

I took him back.

I was so ashamed that I couldn’t write about it.

Just like all those other times before I stopped writing because of him.

Because I didn’t want to hear your objections.

Because you were right.

And at the end end of it all, I ultimately broke.

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It’s possible he won’t like that “Someone” is the name I chose for him…

We’ve been conversating through my blog for quite some time; it was right before my skate trip to Dallas when we exchanged numbers.

He came to my hotel one evening while I was there and we met in the lobby.

We chatted for an hour or so. I enjoyed his company, he was handsome, gentlemanly, very intelligent…

I actually wondered why he didn’t try to kiss me, but I figured it was meant to be a platonic friendship and that was totally alright with me!

Sex messes things up for me anyway, and my 21-year-old daughter was sleeping up in our room… There wasn’t much we could have done.

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That Was Quite a Bomb Yesterday

Previous post here


Yeah, I knew exactly what he meant when he said that shit.

But I feigned naïveté because (maybe?) I wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt… I don’t know. At this point I think I’m just a glutton for punishment and incredibly silly for not ending all communication with him.

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The Last Word, Part 2

The title of these posts are ironic in more than one way…

Catch Part 1 here


After the bullshit of Friday night, things went back to “normal” with Mick for the rest of the weekend. Back and forth nothing comments about what we were each doing. He sent a couple of pictures of the hotel and downtown Cincinnati.

But again on Monday, he started in with the “wish you were here’s” and “somedays”. Each time he uses those words, my side drops off completely. I prefer not to engage with him when he starts talking about imaginary things.

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Being a Mom: Finances and Fatherhood


Last Thursday evening, Thing #2 and I got into a lovely row.

It started with her defending Doom-n-Gloom. For the first few minutes it was mostly civil: I have no problem with her standing up for her father, when she’s being reasonable.

I remember how I used to get when I was 17: entitled, presumptuous, a total know-it-all…

She was being all of that.

Then she said, “You’re taking an unreasonable amount of money from Dad every month. He can’t save money for anything.”

I stood up and looked her directly in the eye and said, “Your father pays me $200 a month and buys 80% of our groceries. He reimburses me for the $3,000+ in expenses it takes for me to maintain this household. Don’t tell me how I am being when you have no idea.”

“But I don’t know what’s going on, Mom. You never tell me how much you make or how much the bills are.”

“That’s because it’s none of your business and, if you wanted to know, this is not the way to ask. Please don’t assume that I am being the ‘bad guy’ here.” Then I got out the financial statements that we have prepared showing our individual incomes and our expenses. (To be honest, when I filled mine out, I was actually blown away at the amount I pay as opposed to the amount that he does. But, he carries their insurance… And I am divorcing him…)

I handed those financial statements to her and told her to look them over. When she refused, I sat down with her and I went over every single item I pay for and how much it actually costs me. Then his. It blew her mind. It blew my mind. So much that I was totally on the verge of breaking…

Which is what happened when Thing #2 brought up how Thing #1 treats their father/Doom-n-Gloom. At first, I explained as calmly as I could that it is IN FACT her father’s responsibility to treat both of his daughter’s civilly and with respect. I am a stickler for fairness between the two when it comes to my children.

Thing #2 was telling me that I didn’t know what I was talking about. That Thing #1 needs to be nicer to her father and I have to stop making excuses for her all the time.

I completely lost it. I was already angry, but that presumptuous child had no place telling me how an daughter/father relationship dynamic should work. I don’t talk about it much on my blog, but my father doesn’t talk to me unless he absolutely has to. Period. He will never make initial contact. My mother is the tie that binds. My brother is cool but busy trying to keep up with his best friends ↓

Here’s an example of how my father feels about me:

My mother had a heart attack 6 years ago, 2 years after we moved to Denver. My brother called to tell me Mom was in the hospital.

He also told me what Dad had said to him earlier that day:

Don’t bother calling your sister to tell her. She doesn’t care anyway.

My brother might be a fake Christian and a wanna be, but he doesn’t lie and he’s not intentionally cruel like my father.

I was grateful he told me.

Back to present time… There was a lot of yelling after this. Doom-n-Gloom finally came in and changed the subject back to the original: money.

He explained to Thing #2 that he doesn’t have a problem with the amount of money that he has to pay. It’s perfectly reasonable.

I thanked him for deflecting her. Then she proceeded to yell at him for 30 minutes. When she was done, she called her ex-boyfriend-now-best-friend so she could yell at him for another 30 minutes.

This entire time, Thing #1 was cleaning the kitchen to stay out of the entire ordeal.

Once Thing #2 was done with me and moved on to her father, I came upstairs and unloaded on a friend (who I will be telling you about tomorrow). We chatted. He was supportive. I felt better and went to sleep after that. I didn’t want to talk to Thing #2 again before bed. I was calm enough to fall asleep and I didn’t want to ruin that…

Selfish. I know.

The next morning I apologized to Thing #2. I was mean and said things I shouldn’t have said. I acted in an unmotherly way.

“I’m sorry for being so mean to you last night.”

“I forgive you, Mom. But you know that doesn’t make it right.” Then, she mumbled under her breath,“I’m sorry, too.” I barely heard her.

“Please could you repeat that last part? I didn’t quite hear you.”

“I’m sorry, too, Mom.”

I held my tongue in regards to her flippant comment in regards to “making it right” and told her I accepted her apology as well.

She walked to school that morning.

When I got home, she apologized for being such a bitch that morning when she accepted my apology.

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Saturday’s Disagreement

Last weekend was long, but not in a good way!

Loverman and I had a “disagreement” Saturday morning (I choose that word intentionally because it wasn’t really a fight or an argument). We pretty much agreed to disagree, but I didn’t have any good feelings about it.

  • He wanted to walk 50+ blocks (no shit!) to his friend’s house after he hadn’t slept in over 24 hours and just worked an 8-hour security patrol shift (walking!).
  • I wanted to drive him to his friend’s house: it would only take 30-40 minutes round trip.

Here’s the deal:

As you may or may not know, Loverman has been using my truck (Bear) 3-4 days a week because his truck (Broken) is going to be repo’d any day now and it drinks gas like the tank has a leak or something! Most of the time it’s just cheaper and easier to use Bear.

Friday night I stayed at home and he drove Bear into work (he works 3rd shift). When he was done with work the next morning he was supposed to come and get me and then I would bring him to his friend’s house so he could get some sleep and we could run our errands — Saturday mornings I take Mr. Doom-n-Gloom and Thing #2 to the grocery store for the weekly shopping and they like to leave kind of early to avoid the crazy crowds.

Loverman texted me at 6:45 Saturday morning to ask if he could go home quick to take a shower and I replied, “Yeah”.

It takes him 15 minutes to get to his house from work and then 20 minutes to get to my house from there so I figured he would get to my house in about an hour or so. No big deal.

Anyone who knows me (including Loverman) knows that if you really want to piss me off, make me wait. Time slugs along for me and I get more and more agitated as the minutes click by. I expected that Loverman would be to my house at about 7:45, but I didn’t get his “I’m leaving now” text until 7:50! Knowing that it takes 20 minutes to get to my place from his, I recalculated… Okay, 8:10 now…

Both Mr. Doom-n-Gloom and Thing #2 were awake at this point and chomping at the bit to go to the store.

I could detail it all out for you, but I think you get the picture — Loverman didn’t get to my apartment until 8:30. I had been sitting and, unsuccessfully, trying to wait patiently, but was starting to seethe and I really wanted to holler at someone (Loverman).

When he finally got there, I didn’t yell at him like I wanted to. I just got into the passenger seat of my truck and (didn’t slam the door — yay!) said, “We better get going. It’s getting late.”

I must not have said it the way I meant to because Loverman asked, “What’s wrong?” (that, or I had the “death glare” goin’ on)

Me: “I thought you would take less time than you did. Doom-n-Gloom and Thing #2 are already up and anxious to get going.”

Loverman: “I didn’t take that long!”

Me: “You took almost two hours. I didn’t think it would be that long when you texted me, ‘See you in a few minutes’. I thought you understood I needed the truck this morning for our errands.”

Loverman got out of the driver’s seat and started getting his bag out of the back seat — I think he huffed at me, too, but I may have imagined that because I was angry.

At this point, I should have just let him go because he already had his mind set, but I really didn’t want to be the one responsible for “making” him walk 50+ blocks, etc… so I grabbed his bag and said, “Please don’t be like this. Why can’t you just let me bring you there? It’s only another 20 minutes or so.”

He was already walking away from me without his stuff; completely ignoring me. I ran to him and touched his shoulder, “Please don’t do this. I wish you would just get in the car and let me drive you. I will feel like shit all weekend if you stay like this.” (the guilt tactic did not work)

Loverman walked back to the truck with me, grabbed his bag and said, “Why should you feel like shit? You need to go and be with your family today. I’ll walk. I’m good.” (I still can’t tell if there was resentment in his tone or if I was just hearing it because I was so frustrated with him). Then he turned away from me and started his long-ass, lonely walk.

Like a teenager (because sometimes I want to act like one, too, dammit!!!) I slammed the truck door and went in to tell ‘my family’ that we could go now — the entire time trying to stop the tears from creeping out of my eyes. Of course they wanted to know what was wrong, so I just told them that Loverman and I had a disagreement about taking him ‘home’ and that he decided to walk. Both Doom-n-Gloom and Thing #2 said we could just go pick him up and bring him the rest of the way. I told them that there had already been a big enough ‘production’ and that Loverman had made up his mind.

The three of us went on and did our grocery shopping and errands. I didn’t want things to end on such a sour note with Loverman so, while Doom-n-Gloom and Thing #2 were in one of the stores, I called him totally not expecting him to answer (that’s the way it usually works with him: he gets frustrated with me and then completely shuts me out until he’s ready to be an adult again). He actually answered this time!

Me: “I was just calling to see if we could have the conversation we would have had if things hadn’t gone so wrong this morning. Was it busy last night at work? Did you get a nap before you had to go in? Did you eat?”

Loverman: “It was quiet last night and, no, I didn’t get a chance to take a nap, but I did eat.” He said that he was going to try to go back downtown to pick up his truck so he could make a payment on it and then go to the junkyard.

I asked him how he was going to get there — from 132nd St. to south of 1st St. — he said he would figure it out.

I told him that he could ask me for a ride if he needed it, I didn’t have afternoon plans.

There was dead silence.

I said, “You’re sick of asking me for help, aren’t you?”

Loverman’s response: “Yes. I am.”

We talked awkwardly for about 15 minutes longer. Neither of us apologized for our behavior. I asked him to let me know when he got to his friend’s house safe and later when he got to work safe and then we said our goodbyes.

I waited all weekend for him to tell me he was fine. He never texted me. It kills me when I think about it: how he can feel so comfortable ignoring me when he knows how much I worry about him (just as much as he fucking worries about me! Why are the ‘rules’ different for him?). But I made it through the whole weekend without obsessing on his whereabouts and whether he was safe because I figured he made his bed… He crossed my mind a few times and I will confess, most of those times, I wished total and utter misery on his lonesome soul. But I practiced self-control and didn’t ‘bother’ him all weekend long.

This morning I had to go to the clinic to get blood drawn and when I finally made it to work I still hadn’t heard from him. I text him every day when I get to work and every day when I get home from work — he asked that I do that favor for him so he knows I’m safe. Usually he asks about me if I don’t text him by 8:30 in the morning, but he didn’t this morning. So, I thought about ignoring him like he ignored me all weekend. The whole time I was waiting at the clinic I was tossed the idea around in my head, and then during the 45-minute drive into work (not obsessively, more fantasizingly). Ultimately I decided to be the better person and just tell him that I made it to work.

My text: “Safe at work. Had to go to the clinic to get blood drawn. Have a good day.”

Loverman’s response: “Glad you got to work safe.”

Not what I wanted or expected, but at least now I know he’s alive.