Sorry mom, but this Bravo stuff has got to stop....

Hi! Beckett here. So mom has been pretty selfish with the blog lately. Lots of jabbering about things that are really not that important. So I'm here to tell you about the really meaningful things...most importantly, what yours truly has been up to as of late. So, just spent a few days with Dad and Sissy and Bro. They were so excited to see me, obvio, and I was so happy to see them.

Also, Neeny bought me a new fun Beckett Carrier. Basically it goes like this: she walks, I ride. I get to see the outdoors and touch trees and watch birds and she gets to walk and work up a sweat. I think I like this thing she calls "hiking."

(Yup, just chillin...the coolest baby there ever was...)

Oh yeah, and Grandpa also has a Beckett Carrier too...only his has wheels. I'm pretty sure he got this thing to match my outfit...good thinking Grandpa!



So since mom likes to hog the blog, I really don't have that much time. So I will go ahead and catch you up on all my likes and dislikes in as few words as possible.

Likes:

Bubbles





 Reading to Great-Grandpa

Pretty girls and throwing balls

 Dislikes:

Gates

 Being told no.



Much love and slobber kisses.....b.





Hi, I'm Mel and I will be your cautionary tale today.

So we have talked in the past about dating and the single mother. Well, today, I would like to share with you some “who-not-to-date” stories. I’m a visual learner. And though I do not have any actual pictures of the men that I believe the single mother divorcee should avoid, I will do my best to describe to you these rather special individuals--so that you have a clear picture in your mind.


Now obviously I understand that finding a potential mate is absolutely impossible when you are a single mom, so sometimes you can’t be all that picky. But just because you have roughly 45 second (between attempting to bring home a pay check, raising a child, signing divorce papers and finding new cocktail recipes) to find a man, convince him you are not bat shit, convince him it’s totally cool you are a mom, go on a date with him and then finally figure out where things go next, does not mean you can just let any old moron in your pants. You may be single, but you aren’t desperate…and if you are desperate...you aren’t THAT desperate.


The following are true stories, shared in an attempt to help all the single mamas out there who don’t want to be alone forever figure out WHO NOT TO DATE.


Bachelor #1: A young, handsome fellow with a few well-placed arm tattoos and an eye brow piercing. He was probably not all that much younger than me, but when you are a mom anyone under the age of 40 is a child. He was probably 24. He was in Barnes and Noble, reading some cliché book like Fight Club or Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance.  I was there as well, with my son mind you, browsing the magazines. He smiles, I smile back. What? He's cute...no judgement...


Him: Cute baby.


Me: Thanks, he’s great. A handful, but great.


Him: He’s got really pretty eyes.


Me: Yeah, he got those from his daddy.


Him: Oh, well your husband must have nice eyes.


Me: Yeah, my ex-husband…he does have great eyes.


Him: Oh, you’re single?


Me: Yeah…just me and him (motioning to the baby).


Him: I love single moms! I have dated tons…


It was about this point the poor kid realized what a moron he was making himself out to be, turned bright red started to ask me something about what I was doing later…and to be fair, I’m sure he was just trying to be sweet, but this here is the lesson: no younger guys, no Fight Club readers and no, son, you have not dated tons of single moms…you probably can’t even drive yet. Sorry…no numbers exchanged.


Bachelor #2:  The opportunist. This guy is very easy to describe and very easy to avoid. This is the guy you met through a friend’s friend’s bartender’s hair stylist. He is THAT guy who friends you on facebook, knowing perfectly well that you are married, and makes slightly off color comments on all your posts. Then, the second he realizes that you are now single he sends you a message that reads like the following:


Hey, hang in there girl. That dbag didn’t treat u right. So hey, if you eva want to hang, let me know. I mean, I get it, you know. Not lookin for a relationship. But hey, there are other things out there…lolz, jk. But yeah, hit me up.


To clarify, this guy is white, lives in Marin, grew up perfectly wealthy, went to an effing private school and still manages to spell “ever” “eva.” Here is my response:


Lolz, thx. Totes, I’ll hit you up…for like whatevs and all. Peace…


NOT! Moving on…


Bachelor #3:


This guy is my absolute favorite. And to be frank…as much of a mess as this guy is, I can’t hate all that bad because he cracks me up…but the point of the matter…the following gentleman is a big fat huge NO.


Bachelor #3 was confused. About everything…but mostly about what he went home and dreamt about at night…boy parts or girl parts. Like, at first look, he was clearly gay…then at second look, well maybe he was straight…then at third look your head started to hurt...I mean, in one breath he was telling me about the new Carrie Underwood album, and in the next he was quoting stats for every basketball player in the NBA. And to make matters worse, he had that “SF” look…maybe gay, maybe European. This look is the bane of every single SF woman’s existence…and man too, I guess.


So why did I even dabble in this mess you ask? Well because he was the antithesis of my ex-husband. My ex was a total dude. He tried to be all metro with his Gucci loafers and 7 jeans, but ultimately there was no question…the beard, the bleach stained tee shirts, the wild obsession with muscle cars…this was a dude.


But Bachelor #3 had that “I have never done this type before” appeal…he was tall, blonde, tan, had on a pair of slacks that probably cost more than I will make in a year and a hideous (remember that word) watch that made all of my dinner plates have size envy. The hair=perfectly gelled. The shirt=perfectly pressed. Nails=manicured. You get the picture.


Now, I don’t need to go into much detail about why exactly this flirtationship did not work out so well, it is quite self-explanatory. And listen, I’m not a complete wingnut…this guy really WAS trying to get in my pants. I have proof for anyone who thinks I’m crazy.


The following are actual quotes…from his mouth…no effing joke…remember, this guy is attempting to have me believe he actually likes girl parts:


At dinner, while he is sipping a Lemon Drop:


“I will watch anything on Bravo…except Bethenny, I hate that bitch. I’m team Zarin all the way.”


First—nobody is team Zarin. You are a moron. Second, the only straight guys who watch Bravo are just the ones that are praying they finally hit the jackpot and stumble upon the lost footage of RHOC where they all get naked and throw shit at each other.  


Speaking of RHOC:


“Alexis sucks. I hate her…she’s like Kim…I won’t watch Tardy for the Wedding either.”


Fine, I will give you both of those. Alexis does suck. And Tardy for the Wedding really hasn’t lived up to my expectations…still doesn’t prove you bang chicks.


While in my car, going through my CD’s:


“Ugh, this song is so 2010. Do you have an iPod jack? I want to hear Trespassing by Adam Lambert.”


First, Justin Timberlake will always be cool. Second, there will be no Adam Lambert in my car…ever. Get out, immediately.


About getting ready for a formal brunch:


“I don’t want to wear slacks. I wear slacks every day. I’m wearing jeans…I mean, they were like $300, it’s not like I’m going to wear Levi’s.”

Oh right, I forgot that rule that says just because you spend stupid money on jeans means they aren't actually jeans anymore.

And finally, how he quantifies everything:

“Ugh, that’s hideous.”

That watch is hideous, so is Adam Lambert. Find a new word.


Alas, I dedicate this song to all the hot mess dudes that are out there…honestly, the world gets so hung up on hot mess chicks…but you guys need love too.


love mama…b is out hiking with his grandma…so mom “can get work done.”

Pity parties have the best booze...fact.

I'm PMSing. So this is going to be a depressing as hell post. Everyone just start drinking now. I will give you a moment to fill your fish bowl with wine. Who really cares about gold fish anyway? They just die. Like love.
 
Ok, have your drink? Good. Because I think we should all get drunk and cry together.
 
Sooooo maybe I'm being a little dramatic. But for some effing reason my PMS is hitting me hard this month. And Desperate Housewives is gone forever.
 
AND the fact that I am a single mom...like for real...just hit me. I mean, obviously I KNOW I'm a single mom, but today I actually felt like a single mom. For some weird reason, I always equated divorced parents with that awkward child exchange in some public location. The parents wouldn't make eye contact, the kid laughed nervously, and they all had tattoos on their foreheads that said "DIVORCED."
 
Well, I was that mom today. I had to meet the Baby Daddy halfway between homes today...and remember, my home is in Oregon and his is in California. And we had that awkward exchange, where we didn't really know what to say. And Bug acted like he didn't really know what was going on...which he didn't. He is 11 months. But it was still sad. And then I cried all the way home.
 
But listen, this is ok. I am sharing my PMSy, single mama drama with you for this reason: sometimes you have to hit rock bottom before you start moving up again. This was my rock bottom...driving for 8 hours (4 hours each way) only to say goodbye to my son for 4 days, while PMSing, switching back and forth between sad chick music and sad audio books and ruminating about what the hell is going to happen on Grey's Anatomy. I. Am. A. Fucking. Mess.
 
But you know what? Who isn't? That is what I realized. We are all hot messes. For one reason or another. And this is my advice. Cry about it. Drink about it. And watch Grey's Anatomy about it. And you know what? You wake up in the morning. And you go about your day. And eventually you feel better. Really.
 
If Tamra and Vicki and Brandi and Camille can make it, so can we.

love mama...b is on vacation.