Well, well, well….. Lookie what trash the old blog dragged in….. I figured it would be best for me to say my peace here, since, it clearly originated here….. So, dear readers who find it necessary to reach out to the old “wazband” about my blog, a few notes to you….
It’s called humor, fucking learn it
It’s all true, he is annoyed because he was, in fact, caught
Step back, breathe, close your eyes, and realize what a god damn fucking troll you are for “reporting to him” he knows it all, he fucking created it. If you think you know more about my marriage than I do (which, hey, you might) please feel free to email me, I am always looking for new material
Question my BLOG all you want, forward it to him, read it to him because he is a questionable at best reader, but know one thing…. There is only ONE parent involved here. There is one parent making my boys do homework, making sure they have dinner, showers, shoes, that they learn how to ride a bike. There is one parent taking them to Disney, to Maine, teaching them how to waterski. There is one parent laying in bed with them at night when they have a sore throat or a nightmare. There is one parent praying with them and reminding them to be thankful for what they have, though it might not be much. There is one parent who gets them to school, picks them up from school, meets with teachers and works through the night to make up for the time they missed at work. There is one parent who sits at the counter night after night googling “third grade math” and going over the sound that “F” makes, who cries with pride when the youngest mini writes his name. There is one parent helping to perfect the dunk shot, or the trick shot from the stairs. There is one parent who sacrifices everything, there are no fancy dinners, no manicures, no nights on the town, so that they can play basketball or have swim lessons, so that they don’t see how hard it really is. There is one parent, who lays awake every night, scared that she will never be enough, because she is only one person. One parent. There is only one parent. There has always only been one parent. So if I WRITE about it, as an outlet, as humor, know, that I am the ONE parent.
Keep reading my blog, forward it to him, send it to him, I am paid by the click. It went viral last week. Who’s winning now?
So any yolla, I had to take a break from the old book of face…. Why, you ask? Well, because when that gorilla, Harambe, got shot, I had NO idea that I had so many friends on book of face that were gorilla experts….. It actually made me feel like a total idiot that I, for one, didn’t know as much about gorillas as all of my friends (some would say, that I know what I am an expert in and that “gorillas” are not one of those things, but ya know, that’s cool)…… Ironically enough, I also had quite a few friends who I didn’t realize were doctors of fucking perfect parenting, and they had quite a bit to say too…. If you can believe this shit, I am ALSO not a perfect parent. Not a gorilla expert, not a perfect parent. #lifefail
The timing was somewhat ironic, because I had also been debating taking a blog break….. It’s odd, when you blog, often times, people think they “know” you… But the thing is, you are really just writing a story…. YES – all of this shit happens to me, it literally ALL does, but, that doesn’t make us BFF (so if that one creepster could stop emailing me, that would be roarsome, or at least be a “good” stalker and bring wine)…. I had been contacted by a small online company that may have been porn based publishing company to write a series of blogs, and while at first I loved the idea, then it felt forced….. listen, if it were up to me, and I could do it all over, and I wouldn’t fail, I would either be a writer, or a professional eater. It is a total toss up. But imma do it on my own time.
It also seems as though my life has been SUPER laid back as of late…. But then I realized, “Nope, you are just sedated enough that this shit just roooollllsss off.” So, I did what I do because I am almost always blacked out and I went back through my photos to try and remember things that had happened.
I suppose I will just work backwards (forward? Backwards? Like if I start from now and go in the other direction?)…… So Sunday was Father’s day, the mini’s and I decided to pack up the ole family wagon and head to papa and yaya’s, it’s sort of our lil bliss place.
You need to understand, it is a 3 minute drive. THREE FUCKING MINUTES…… It was so strange though, because we are driving along West Shore Drive (AKA, “main drag #2 of 01945”) and there were the LOUDEST gunshots….. So in my perfect state of sedation, I was like “Bigs, dude, you hear all those gunshots.” And he was like “I do.” And we kept driving. And the gunshots kept following us. And then I was like “Wait, maybe they WEREN’T gun shots?” (I mean, it would be weird if they weren’t, because that is so fucking common in 01945, but go with me)…. I all of the sudden realize, that the gunshots are coming from my car…… So rather than freak out when I SHOULD have, I now freak out about something I can ACTUALLY deal with…… Imma like “Bigs, the gunshots are coming from my car! Something is wrong with it, you’re 8, fix it!” However, because I am a totally rational pretty princess, I am clearly not stopping to identify the noise, I actually just drive faster. At this point, Bigs is like “Mom, I will pray for our safety.” And imma like “Fuck yea god.” We make it to papa and yayas house, and obvi I celebrate my three mile drive with wine. Then today, this falls off of my car. I sort of flash back to the gunshots, and all of that shit, and then am like “Well, I mean, it doesn’t seem like it is a super important car piece?”
So then, I go backwards another day, to what we will refer to as “boat day.” You need to understand that even though I grew up on the water, I get fucking boat sick like a mother fucker. I am talking green just looking at a dock…. I didn’t even watch pee wee get swamped last summer because I knew I would puke. But, it was my birthday, and gosh darn it, when you turn 27 for the 12th time, you throw on a bikini and pee over the side of a boat I AM SORRY WHAT??? YOU WHAT?????? For those of you who didn’t know, there are two choices, this
Pick your poison.
Reverse some more (not like drive in reverse, because I am NOT a good backwards driver, like reverse in time a wee bit more)……. To this…. Biggie’s “Author’s Breakfast” So cute, right, so fucking cute. Here’s the thing… .When these guys (well, at least Bigs) started the old second grade (right, second? They are in second?) they were not WRITING novels, and now, well, now they aren’t either…. But we are going to celebrate all 22 of them writing about how a squirrel got his bushy tail (sidebar, they are so fucking cute). Listen, I am a BIG believer that you celebrate successes big and small. Our mini trio has had more than our fair share of heart break, so together, we celebrate the wins….. I honest to god need a lobotomy sometimes. Because I ACTUALLY thought it would be a good idea to take brother to the Author’s Breakfast. That he would be REALLY good. Nope. By like kid #1 he was ready to go…. Don’t panic brother, because Quinn is DEAD LAST. He legit read about his squirrel and I was pitting so much from trying to tame brother that I was like “Nice job learning how to write a book, peace.”
So, last but not least, everyone always wants an update on my very lame dating life…. Well friends, I will have you know, that a friend of mine talked me into trying online dating…… And this happened.
I think sometimes, people don’t really believe me about what a horror shit show my life can be…. Like, as if I make it up for humor. Listen people (listen, read? Idunno) you don’t make shit like this up unless you are craaayyyyy I mean like octomom, astronut, cray.
So I have been tied up this week (whoa, not literally, but you know, like busy, I’m not into that shit) in 2 huge projects. One personal, one professional (wait, is it a project if it is personal? Or just like a thing? Idunno). Both draining. Normally, I can take this shit and run with it. The ex-husband formally known as Mr. Nara (Mr.Nara 1.0?) use to say I was the least emotional / sentimental person in the world. Partially true (it is hard to be like “Yep, that’s me” because there has GOT to be someone who is less sentimental than I am). Anyholla.
The combination of early mornings, late nights and not having a clear direction on where I am going in either of these “projects” may have totally fucking gotten to me just a teenie bit. Wednesday, I am driving peewee into school, and remember that I forgot something. Shit, what did I forget? Oh! His backpack….. So, we turn around and head back to the ole homestead. I leave the car running while I run inside and actually think to myself “Wow, self, that is LOUD.” Then drive off into the sunset. There is no sunset in the morning, FYI, I made that up.
Then, well, then there was yesterday. Again, dat bitch (my car) was totally fucking PMS’ing…. But, hello, I had places to go. I got through my normal daily routine, ja know, napping at work and surfing the interwebs until it is time to go home…… I can’t type express enough, HOW long of a week I have had at this point (Thursday). I am just looking forward to going home and eating. And by “eating” I mean drinking.
So, I am jamming out, when all of the sudden, I realize something smells. But imma like “Weird, smells like someone’s car is on fire.” BECAUSE CLEARLY IT ISN’T MINE. It actually was mine. So there I am in the middle of the road (road? Highway? What do we call it when there are four lanes, separated by those dividers? Rural Route?) when I realize it actually is, in fact, my car.
In my typical fashion of being JUST sedated enough, I freak the fuck out. I am in the middle of the Rural Route and don’t know what to do…. I am not a lot of things…. For example, I am not tall. Likewise, I am NOT a fucking gearhead. When I turned 16, my dad said “Pretty princess Nara do you know how to change a tire?” And Imma like “Fuck no” “Nope” and he handed me a AAA card and said “That is how you change a tire.” And really, that is me…. I am not afraid to get dirty, to hammer shit out (omg, that actually sounds dirty, but I don’t mean it to be, I mean like, I am good with a hammer) but I just DON’T do cars.
So, I somehow get my smoking car (that has every light I knew about and a few bonus lights on at this point) into a parking lot. Meanwhile, some dick gave me the finger as I almost hit him and I was ready to get out of my busted up SUV and be like “FUCK YOU SPARKLE TITS” but I didn’t. I call AAA, it goes like this.
Me: Imma need someone to come get this car
AAA: What’s wrong?
Me: Yea, I have no fucking clue
AAA: Ok honey (legit) can you tell me what happened
Me: It made some really loud noises this week, I have been so busy, I just turned up Pitbull’s new song because that’s mah jam, then it smoked, not like smoked a cig, but had smoke coming out of it and then it died. Bitch died.
AAA: Ok, we will send a tow truck
So at that point, I couldn’t even help it, I started to cry. Listen, I am NOT a crier. I have been through things and seen things that have made me who I am and part of “me” is that I don’t do that shit. Welp, there I was, at the corner of Highland and Swampscott Rural Route, sitting on the dirty sidewalk in all white, crying. I should mention, I am a fucking ugly crier. I am not like a movie star crier, I am legit ugs. But this was the car that we throw little people through the sunroof when I lock myself out, and that we karaoke in while driving on the wrong side of the road, and sometimes the minis drive (only when I have had too much to drink, safety first).
Well, the tow truck guy showed up and offered me his sleeve to wipe my tears and started telling me how he would make $6.00 commission on my misfortune, and Imma like Sleeve, one more time “Six dollars? You should have left me on the side of the road.” And he was like “Wanna ride in my cab?” No dude. Just leave. Honestly. Go. Leave your sleeve though.
Here’s the gig. I legit 100% slammed the brakes on online dating. Why? I already have enough fucking crazy in my life, I don’t need to be swiping to find the next Mr. Nara, when I could be at the shelter looking for cats. I dunno. It just isn’t me…. I don’t want to go to a random bar, and meet some random guy, and assume shit is just going to work out. Do you know who I am? I still can’t figure out how to make the lights on my car go back to “auto” you HONESTLY think a Tinder date is going to work out for me? Solid nope. I am holding out for meeting in the produce aisle and someone being all like “Wow, you ALSO like cucumber, we are a 10 match.” Oh shit. I grocery shop online. Ha. So much for a produce match. Anyhoo.
However, the hilarity of online dating lives through some of my BFF’s. For example, can we talk about one of my GF’s who was “talking” to this guy, and all of the sudden, there is a question of height. AND HE IS FIVE FOOT FUCKING 2 INCHES. Listen people, that is how tall I am, and I am a very short person. I was all like “Oh, so he wears those shoes that make you look taller, no, those are super cool. I mean, looka how well they work for Tom Cruise.
Seems like a match. Go for it, if, ya know, you are into little people”
I am sorry, what the actual fuck. There is a reason he is online dating. BECAUSE HE IS HOPING HE DOESN”T GET ASKED HOW SHORT TALL HE IS. I bet he does get asked “So, how short are you?” like, slip of the tongue. Womp.
Moving on to online date #2. GF shows me pictures of this guy, and it went something like a so…..
Me: Yea, I don’t like him at all. (I at the very least admit that I am judgy).
Me (judger): He is super fucking boring.
Friend: But that is just his picture, and he is nice.
Me (bitch): No, no he isn’t, he is boring. He makes me want to take a nap right now (ok, to be fair, I was so gassed after having a crayyy week, that anything made me want to nap, but this guys profile picture was like a “Contacts out, NAP.”)
Well, dontcha know, they go on a date…. So, the next morning, we are all laying making sure we do nothing productive…. chatting… When immma like “OMG, how was your date with the most boring person in the entire universe?” And then we went like a so:
Friend: Um, it was good. He’s nice.
Me: Uh-huh, did he look like his pictures (listen, “nice” means the same thing for men or women… Like, yea, he’s “nice” so boring I stabbed myself and jumped into the pizza wood burning fire for fun.”)
Friend: He, um. No. No, he didn’t. He was…
Me: Oh, like the old “The pictures are from 5 years ago.”
Apparently the worlds most boring person forgot to mention this.
See, see people, there are just TWO reasons that I want a million cats won’t online it.
Now, I did have a few superhot dates this weekend……. Areyouret?
One was for family taco night. Here’s how that date went. Within 8 seconds I had locked my keys in my car (Legit, I should never be unsupervised). Good news, I left the sunroof open and we tossed a few lil people (not midgets, and not date #1 from above, but I guess that would have worked too, actual young people) through the sunroof. Yup. All class, all the time.
Next date, was with one of my BFF. I took her to the dump…… Yup. She is running Boston (right now, holla #30581) and such as it is, she had a bit of pre-run nerves (like how I say that as if I know?….. Clearly I don’t. We were all actually discussing today how I would not run the .2 miles for anything less than genuine street tacos. And even then, .2 seems far). Anyhoo, I had to hit up the dump, so off we go…. Right, lemme tell you people, this place is a HOT SPOT, because the line was down the street (I’m actually not kidding about that part)…. I’m not sure if it was the shot out, taped up windows (also not kidding) or the clientele of said dump, but the place was popping. Lots of people from 01945 still had to dump their Christmas trees. Truth. I was disappointed to only get hit on yelled at once, by the guy I hit with a rather large branch. Apparently you shouldn’t throw those. I’ve never really been a “rules” person.
The last hot date of the weekend, was one that actually should have been video taped by E for my upcoming reality show censored. You know, when you have that one friend who when you are together, basically everything is funny and someone pees their pants? Right, well, that is my
(did I forget that I also identify people with emojis. Yea, true)…..
So, uni and I decide to go shopping for our kiddos panties. I mean, why not? First things first, this weekend, likely because I did not have my own cherubs, screaming, crying children followed me. Those fuckers had my number. Let’s not act like this was any different. There were many exchanges of “If that asshole follows me, I am taking out my flask leaving.” Well, dontcha know those dinks follow us to the skivvies. So, in such, imma like “Unicorn, do you like this thong, or this thong.” CPS frowned upon that one.
So, as you can see, I am really crushing it in the world of dating. Hold on to your seats for more deets about my friends who are ok with super short people where that goes.
My girlfriends have been all up in my chach, my greatest supporters of le blog (it could actually be because they are often times featured in it, and want to stay on my good side, but I think it is because they think I am pretty and funny and love me more than they love wine). I was thinking about writing all week, but once a year, we have our really important people from the world come visit us, and I have to work super hard, (I mean, not like I only work once a year, but I suppose, I work kind of harder that one time a year. Ish. Yearish).
However, because we hole up in a room for 15 hours a day then eat and drink for another 5 work essentially around the clock during this week, I have not had too many funny things happen. I mean, there was my dress being too tight yesterday and having to get unzipped, but that is just embarrassing and I would not want to write about it. There is also the time that I said to my big BIG boss, in front of these global smarties, we are “black” when I meant “back” and he was like “Whoa, we are not black.” And i was like “Yea we are.” There was also that one drunk conversation with these international experts, legit, experts, about my tattoos. Here is a snapshot of my week, Legit (this is honestly from when I stepped away for like 2 hours). If I acknowledged you this week, then you are wow.
And yes, again, everyone has names in my phone. If you are in there as like “Kevin” I don’t like you, just understand it. Every group has names, some of them are like “DON”T ANSWER THESE ASSHOLES” cuz, ya know.
So, my gentle reminders that things were still pretty a-ok.
Remember, when I was making pasta last weekend for everyone, and after a few too many bottles glasses of wine, I thought this was funny. FUNNY RIGHT?!!?!
There are only certain people who can call you slore, but when they do, you own that shit.
My phone broke and I have no idea how. It isn’t because I dropped it in water then threw it at a wall when I lost a client at work. I am not positive.
However, when it broke, it would randomly text, message, email, FB respond, etc etc people. And that was not annoying or embarrassing at all. See.
and then the fix, that was not actually a fix……
As a side note, if anyone knows how to work an iphone, more than my “I can turn it on most of the time.” I will pay a hefty fee for you to make this new one work.
Listen, we like tacos. It is FACT. But “taco night” isn’t about tacos. It is about being together, and being friends, and being outside, and having moments as your “framily” because that is the shit that rules. And after a week like this one, when you have missed SO much, you just need taco night. So, there were about a million messages about taco night. A small sampling of the best.
Stay tuned for what I am sure will be an eventful taco night. To call the 01945 FD or not? Next week, the minis and I pop down south for what I am sure will be a complete and total shit show and a miracle if we all make it back legit flawlessly executed vacay. To blog or not to blog. Dumb question, have you seen the three of us together?????!!!!!
I thought that for today’s blog, I would do a recap of the weekend. Then I was like “dear fuck, did I black the ENTIRE thing out?” wow. What did I do anyway? So, I did what I do, and went through my pictures, and was like “Wow, my friends spend a LOT of time with me in either pajamas or Lulu.” That’s. Embarrassing. So, a recap of the weekend.
Friday, peewee had his art show. If you have never been to one before, this is when the parents have to pay $50 for a piece of “art” that they would normally pay zero for to throw out the minis get to display their art. The show is held in a hallway, and it is so claustrophobic that I want to be like “HERE IS MY FUCKING CHECKBOOK, IM OUT.” There is music and the kids really like it.
Anyway, the mini one has been BEGGING for me to “give him swimming lessons.” Which is actually hysterical because I honest to god can’t swim. I don’t think I took a swimming lesson, I think I took a (literally, single) drowning prevention class. It retrospect, it is weird, because I grew up on the water and spent summers on a lake. Anyhoo. Seemed like post art show was as good a time as ever.
So, off we go for me to give him “swimming lessons.” Now, you need to understand that there was not a fucking shot I was going in that pubic (public?) pool? Because yup. Pubic. Oh, and it opens to a mezzanine, that 100 people are sitting at and you think I am going to waddle around in my bathing suit. Nope. That is what I pay for.
Well, I needed to get the minis changed into their suits. This always presents one of those “single mom” problems, because I don’t have a penis. Oh, I mean, that should not be a shock to most of you, but what that means, is that I can’t go in the boys changing room. OK, this is all coming out wrong. What it means is that we need to use the family changing room. Well, as is par for the course, they were all full….. So, I sort of stand outside one, and brother starts to strip in front of the art show, because that’s how we roll. When this single woman came out of the “family room.” It takes everything I have when that shit happens to not be like “Honestly asshole?” And I would have, but I was immediately taken over by whatever just came out of her body. She clearly eats from a dumpster really needed to go. So minis are changing, brother is like “Mom, she did a stinky, PEE YEW, MOMMY IT STINKS.” And I’m like “What brother, say it louder so everyone knows we didn’t do it.”
Off we go to the pool. Peewee is so excited because he is like a dog in a car, and they just get so happy all the time this is his big swimming lesson. Bigs, on the other hand, has his period and was like “Whatever, swimming is not cool.”
Off peep goes to swim while bigs scopes for chicks at the pool. No shit, the kid can SWIM. There was Friday night after that. I stopped taking pictures so I am not super clear on what happened.
Saturday. Now, this was the day that Peep has been waiting for his entire life. He had a play date with TWIN GIRLS. Can you even. Legit though they are BFF and it was the cutest thing ever. Of course, as this happened, Bigs wanted to go outside (cool) and I was like “Dude, I didn’t go see if pickles pooped out there yet, so just do a look around.” Four seconds later “Mom, Pickles pooped and I stepped in it.” Like, did he not understand why I wanted him to look around? And that it was not actually to step in it? The kid is honestly a shit magnet.
Moving on. My unicorn and I now decide it is a good idea to take ALL of our boys bowling. Let me re-phrase that. I wanted to nap, she came and got me and was like “no, its cool to go out in pajamas, no one will know, people are totally fine with you not wearing pants” The only reason I went is because they serve beer and the old guy who works there is one of those people that when he is like “Yousobeautiful” you think he actually really means it, and LBH, I need every little bit of help.
So, we have the tres amigos at bowling….. Fast forward that my children think you throw the ball OVERHAND….. Right, so every time they pulled that arm back, I was like “JESUS CHRIST WHO FUCKING TAUGHT YOU TO BOWL.” And they were all like “Um, you.” OK So at the time, it SEEMED like a good idea to let them all drink gigantic lemonades. Then this happened.
They thought it would be funny to open the windows and yell to the people on the road. Ok, TBH, it was actually funny for the first 3 minutes, the next 32 were. Fucking. Torture. If I had pants on I would have walked home. So then this happened.
We slowed down and kicked them out of the car and drove off with the doors open dropped them off at a friend’s house and left. I mean, there are times it is you or the kids, and this was one of those times I was going to be like “open your mouth and take the Benadryl” “I am mom, I am in charge.”
So from there (and I received a gentle reminder of this today)…… We all have family dinner, time to go home, etc, etc….. Quick stop for one of our epic sunsets…..
Then this. I challenge all those fuckers to a lip synch battle. Never done that? Oh, I am a professional, partly because I honestly know every word to every song, and partly because, duh, I am awesome I make the rules so that I win.
So, those of you from 01945, as I was crushing them in the battle, we were jamming, it happened…… We decided all of those minis needed to go have a neck run. Yup…. Windows down, singing, Saturday night. It was a little weird when we turned around at the light house and there were all the 13 year olds getting hanky panky cuz, ya know.
Then, well, then there was Champagne Sunday. Lately, my weekend starts on Tuesday, and this week has been no exception. I just have so freaking much going on and 2 days isn’t enough and starting four days early was the only logical solution. So getting drunk on Sunday rather than being productive champagne Sunday is always a nice way to wind down. Oh, and, because I had to take the minis to Target, which, if you remember, I hardly let them out of the house so this was fucking TORTURE…. The story is so much longer than that, but I think I have PTSD from it. Not STD, the one that you are traumatized. Yes. That is me. Post Target. I think my text to the girls said “I am going to drink champagne so I don’t murder someone.” I mean, paraphrasing, but pretty close. It might have actually been exactly that. Plus, I needed my girls to analyze something from me, because, duh, that is how I roll.
So, I know from here, it seems like the weekend is going pretty swell, right? Right? Well, Sunday night = everyone has to get clean…. So, I gently remind my minis of that (read previous blog about why this is a problem here https://wordpress.com/post/naramitchell.wordpress.com/69
I somehow bribe Bigs into taking a shower with Mini (I really wish I could remember what my bribe was…. I bet I was like “Front row seats to a Warriors game.” I mean, I really would say something like that….)
So, they agree to the shower, and I hear mini “Kin, kinny, where are your boobies? Kin, kinny, you have a ding dong and balls too.” (Honestly, I have NO idea where he gets “Balls” from. Ding dong is me, and there are tons of variations, but “balls” is something I can HONESTLY say never comes from my mouth. I’m not all like “Bros, how are your balls?”)
And that is it, the weekend in review. I think. I am sure I am forgetting something else though.
I got an email from someone bitchass troll who pre-divorce, I would have considered a “good friend.” Funny how life changes, isn’t it. She so pointedly told me that my blog was “disgusting” that I was “laughing in the face of divorce.” OK, THAT part might be true, but when the Ex. Mr. Nara and I decided it was time to part ways, a huge part of me died. It is the part that believed in love, or the fairy tale. I’m not sure any of that exists, or if people just survive together. So yes, my blog is funny, because that is how I survive (and because I am funny as shit).
I could go into the 10,000 reasons we got divorced, (and it seems as though people are honest to fucking god DYING to know) but the reality is, I never would….. Why? Can you not read? Because when we parted ways, I died. I was 23 years old when I met the old Mr. Nara. We grew up together and then we grew apart. He was wrong, I was wrong (ok, obvi he was WAY wronger, because HELLO, have you MET ME?). But the thing is, I have gotten past the part of my life when I wake up every day hoping his brake lines got cut cry every day.
So to the people who think I am “laughing” at my divorce, know this…. The night before our divorce was final, I laid in the fetal position in my car hysterically crying for hours. I was alone. There was not one person there, because my “person” was gone. I couldn’t move, I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t believe he was gone. I thought about the things we had done, the things we wanted to do, and the dreams we had…. It was all gone. I was alone. Neither of us went into our marriage with the vows “Till we feel like meh, something better came along.” When I decided to follow through with our divorce, that we both had talked about for so long (because again, we met when we were twenty – fucking – three years old, are you the same person you were at 23? Right.), I not only lost him, I lost our family. I lost friends, I lost confidants. But I found myself. And guess what, he did too. And guess what else bitch ass trolls who I sorta think are jelly of me both of our lives are better for it. People who say to stay together for the kids, really? Honestly, RE-FUCKING-ally?
I am not writing this as an explanation of myself, there is no one who deserves that. But for the people who question if we did the right thing…… I will tell you this…. Hardly a day goes by that I don’t communicate with the ex-husband formally known as Mr. Nara. Not about me, not about him, not about divorce, or the weather (that’s a lie, we do communicate about weather) about our babes.…. Why, because he loves our children. And I do too. And that is what matters. So settle the fuck down trolls. I would love to say “Walk one mile in my shoes.” But they are Louboutin and you can’t handle that shit.
Up sooner than I thought….. The friends you need in your life, and, the ones you don’t. And, because this is me, likely some more of this… Because back to funny.