You Have Been Warned

Along my journey as a single gal I've collected a few little jewels of knowledge and put them in my pocket. I have had a plethora of failed relationships. Mostly importantly, I've had a failed marriage. But I have at least learned a thing or two. The most critical rule I try to follow is to avoid men like my ex-husband. My ex-husband is one of those men who actually want, no- demand, that a woman have no opinions, no thoughts, and no backbone. He prefers a pretty, but not too pretty, doormat. I make a conscious effort to avoid men like him. There are several general types of men that share personality traits with my ex, and although I am drawn to them for various, sick and twisted reasons, I must fight my inner demons and stay far away from them.

First type of man: Cops. I have dated at least 3 police officers. Now my ex hates cops, which makes it fun to date them. Men who hate the police and men who become police officers have one specific, disturbing and detrimental character trait in common: An aversion to authority. This is obviously because they believe they ARE the authority. They don't like to "check in" and let you know where they are, but they will expect you to always answer their text and phone calls promptly. They will not only want to know where you are at all times, but who you are with, their gender, their height, weight, driver's license number, date of birth, social, and most importantly, if you've ever had sex with anyone within close proximity to you at that moment. Men who refuse to reciprocate and be forth-coming with the same information are not to be trusted. Stay away from these men.

Second man type to avoid: Current or former military service members. Similar to cops in temperament, however they usually do well with authority. They will allow you to control them while simultaneously controlling you. In a relationship with a military man, you should be careful, and recognize that control is a slippery slope. Letting someone you love know where you are and when you'll be home is courteous. Allowing a man to dictate what you do, where you go, when you'll be home and with whom you may spend time with is controlling. Be afraid. Be very afraid. Fun little factoid to remember: 80 percent of serial killers are ex-military <--- DO NOT FORGET THAT! WRITE THAT DOWN!

Third, and final group of men to avoid: Much older men. Now, I must be very clear about this... If a man is 10 years older, he is slightly closer to a woman's maturity lever. This is good. However, if a man who is 15 or more years your senior and you happen to be hot, you must also be stupid or it will never work. Speaking as a hot, large-breasted, intelligent and educated woman, with plenty of experience in this department, I know that dating older men can be socially, economically, mentally and emotionally rewarding. You know those men who drive really big trucks and have small penises? Well these older men are a lot like those guys. But older men are over-compensating for their gray hair, hairy back, man boobs, teenaged children, alimony payment, bitchy ex- wife, and so on... Instead older man might drive a luxury sedan, pay only in cash (beware, he might be a drug dealer!) and only wear designer jeans (beware, he might be gay!). I hate to tell my ladies this, but you are only an ornament on his arm to flaunt. He will buy you clothes and purses, suggest you wear high heels and take you fun places. Regardless of how many late nights you spend talking about art, religion and literature, you still only exist in his life because you complement his style. Your pretty face and banging body make an excellent addition to his ever-increasing collection of possessions/ big boy toys. If you fail to recognize this, you are, in fact, mentally challenged, and you may live happily for a short period of time. More power to you, girlfriend! But when you get older(i.e. thirty), he will trade you in for a newer model. *insert sarcastic, unsympathetic, wiping of imaginary tear drop here.

That is all for now.

You're welcome.

What Do you Want to Be When You Grow Up?

My elementary schoolmates were an optimistic bunch. I remember some of my friends aspiring to be marine biologists,actresses and even professional female basketball players. I remember shaking my head and thinking, or maybe I said it out loud, that they were pretty far-fetched career expectations. My parents didn't believe in the, "you can do anything you put your mind to," motto that must have prevailed throughout the public educational system during the 80s. My parents made it clear there were some things that I simply could not do and encouraged me to set realistic and attainable goals. Damn them, right?!?! I could have been the first female president! But seriously, how many of us are where we thought we'd be at 30, 35 or 40? With all this optimism and positive attitude shit that was shoved down our throats, it seems we have always been a generation doomed to feel like failures, because we were told to see no limits.

I wanted to be a Family and Marriage Therapist. I also wanted to get married and have a family, like everyone else had when I was growing up. I wanted what I thought any normal, average person was capable of achieving. Although my goals and expectations were relatively simple and seemingly attainable, I still failed miserably. Setting goals and having a plan certainly didn't help me.

So, two roads diverged and I chose the road less travelled? Fuck no! More like a gate came crashing down in front of me, making the road I wanted to travel inaccessible. I was blindfolded, spun in circles, then released to wander aimlessly in the dark, dizzy, tripping and falling along the way.

It makes me wonder what kind of shit sandwich with a side of lies they're feeding my kid at school. Violet told me that she wanted to be an artist the other day. And being the realist and party-pooper that I am, I informed her that not many people make a adequate living as artists. True, it is possible, but highly unlikely.

Kids' athletics now give out trophies to all participants. There is no MVP. Most of the time, I don't even think they keep score! Are we trying to set these kids up just to knock them down in the future? Reality will eventually be rearing it's ugly head,and in life there is always a winner and a loser. I think we're making damn fools out of kids today. We let them believe that life revolves around them and their soccer, ballet, gymnastics, girl scouts, etc. Soon enough they'll realize that life does not revolve around them, they are not "special," despite the sliver of "talent" or "creativity" they were told they had. Then what?

To be continued...

Who Rescued Who?

Ok, so I didn't really "rescue" my Louis. But I didn't pick him out of a fancy doggie catalog either. I did rescue him from the garage he was living in, where he and his litter-mates freely did their business on the cold concrete. He was meant to be a sort of fill-in sibling for Violet, something to make us feel more like a family. I wanted a female dog because, well, I didn't like the idea of him ever humping me or his "lipstick" poking out. I don't like the penis. Period. But he was the cutest one in the litter, so I brought him home, showered him with kisses, got his balls removed, and now he's ended up being my favorite gentleman friend. He is kinda like an annoying little brother to Violet. She's constantly having to shut herself in her room to play with her Barbies so Louis doesn't snatch one of Barbie's hoochie dresses and make a run for it. He also eats all of our underwear, clean or dirty, he isn't picky. But I love this little bastard! It's those sad spaniel eyes and huge floppy ears. It's just impossible to punish him or stay mad long, no matter how expensive or cute the panties were. So I've crossed a line into "crazy dog lady," and have found I enjoy Louis's company more than human males. This is it, right? I will be alone forever.

Louis has been accused of being a "cock-block," by previous gentleman suitors, and sleeps cuddled next to me at night. But I think these men could learn so much from Louis about what I really want and need from a potential mate. First, good genes: Louis is a beautiful, full-bred blenheim Cavalier King Charles Spaniel. Considered a large toy breed, the Cavalier usually weighs between 13 and 18 lbs. Like a large cat, but with a soul. My Lou Lou weighs a perfect 15 lbs, has beautiful markings and cutie patootie freckles. Any bitch at the dog park would be lucky to have his babies. Second, and more importantly, Louis is loyal. Louis is smart, but not boring. That is a tough combo to find! I mean, there was the dentist, the lawyer, the neuropyschologist, who's participation in the experiements with the Rhesus monkeys at the University Primate Center were fascinating... For the first hour or so... Ugh! Need I go on? Yawn! Louis is happy to see me when I get home, and while he does demand my attention, he is rewarded with an abundance of belly scratches and kisses. Louis enjoys the food I place in front of him and when I share with him, he never critiques the amount of garlic and onions I put into my food. Louis doesn't text me while I'm at work and demand that I respond promptly. I could go on and on, but I won't.

Sadly, Louis is unable to mow the lawn, or get a job in order to pay someone else to mow it. He can't take the garbage to the street on trash day. He can't kill spiders. He can be there waiting for me, but he can't hug me on a bad day and tell me everything is going to be fine and that he'll do the cooking tonight.

Miss Violet- 2nd Grader

I used to say that having a baby was the most important and fascinating science experiment I've ever conducted. I loved reading all the books with the pictures that showed you how your fetus was developing, week by week. I remember excitedly announcing to my husband at the time, that our baby had fingernails. I was absolutely and ridiculously thrilled by this new genre of knowledge. After giving birth, or more accurately, after being cut open and having a doctor pull another human being out of my uterus, I loved the books about the first year. Everything was about what your child "should" be doing. When at 9 months Violet wasn't crawling yet, my husband's co-worker told him that it could be a sign of a learning disability when a child never crawls. When he shared this news with me, I rolled my eyes and said, "Well did you tell him your wife never crawled as a baby and that she's the smartest person you know?" He obediently said that he did, infact, say exactly that. Next it was, "What to Expect the Toddler Years." I loved the carefully documented stages. It was frightening when Violet could only say a few words at 20 months old. I immediately had her hearing checked. It was all about how "advanced" your child was in their development. Now, as a parent to a 7-year-old, I don't read books. I'm in that parenting stage where my child is perfect and I know everything. No books required. I realize that she is my daughter, and this means having my blood in her veins will ultimately lead to her having one hell of an attitude. Yeah, I'll cross that bridge when I get there. For now, I'm enjoying a delightful ride on my high horse.

A New Perspective

I've decided to make a few changes. They may seem small to other people, but to me, they're huge! I just changed my name back to my maiden name after being divorced for over 6 years. I am no longer his wife, and I was tired of carrying his family name with me everywhere I go. If one more person called me, "Mrs. Oliver" I was gonna freak out! I wanted to be me again, damnit. I defined myself as Jade's wife and Violet's mom, but who the hell am I when they are gone? Well, that's a whole 'nother Oprah, but the point is, I lost sight of who I am, and I'm trying to find my way back. While at the DMV getting a new license, I was asked to cover my left eye and read a chart in the distance. Well, it turns out the new me has a shitty right eye. Last time I checked, Emily Cisneros was a 21-year-old, and now she's an old lady who needs glasses! I was not happy with this news. But I got the damn glasses, and it's been an adjustment. I was told it would take my eyes and brain several days to adjust to the glasses. Everything is now in focus, not just what's right in front of me... It is overwhelming. Too much visual information to process all at once. Over the last several days I've had to make a conscious effort to ignore all the newly visible leaves on the trees, all the signs I can now read, and just focus on the road ahead of me. The interesting thing is that adjusting to wearing glasses is like a metaphor for my life and the way I process every stressful thing in my life. I take it in all at once, and let little things pile on top of me, weigh me down, until I feel like I can't carry to weight of the load on my shoulders. I just need to focus on one thing and leave everything in the periphery blurry until I have the ability, the time, the energy, to focus on it. One day at a time. One broken springler, one unmowed lawn, one bill, one man, one drama at a time.

Another One Bites the Dust

I had this grand idea of starting a blog years ago, and then completely abandoned it. It was kinda fun to read those first couple of blogs. Short and sweet. Here I am, in exactly the same place almost two years later, still single, and Violet's now 7. I'm sitting at the same computer and the same office that I was when I published my first two posts... The only difference is that the doctor I worked for isn't here anymore. His name is still on the door, still on the business cards, I still speak his name everytime I answer the phone. He is very much here in spirit, not in a "spiritual," ghost-like way, but I mean he's in our thoughts constantly. He passed away 6 months ago. I found him on the floor of his office, looking more frail than I'd ever seen him. He was a thin man, soft-spoken, kind and gentle. I, with my big, sometimes dominating personality, felt it was in my job description to protect him, from angry patients, solicitors, salespeople, anyone. I was his gate-keeper, and nobody, but nobody got to see the wizard without getting through me first. Well, I learned a lot from losing him. The experience brought back so many painful emotions for me. Losing my employer, a man I depended on to put a roof over my head and food on my table was gone, suddenly and unexpectedly... It was a familiar feeling, although I've had little experience with death, I am no stranger to loss. Losing Dr. Messenger felt so much like losing a husband. I depended on him. I liked him. I think he mostly tolerated my assertive personality. I would say that I had too much "horse power" for him. But I think he enjoyed my overall presence in the office. I've been told that he said I was exactly what he needed in his office. So, once again my life revolves around the loss of a man and seeking to replace someone who is, well... irreplaceable; only this time at work, rather than at home.