And on this day, cupid moved the rock and rose from the dead. Wait, no?

mature-cupid-fat-bearded-hairy-bow-heart-arrow-peace-sign-victory-his-hand-48936734I have been reminded quite a bit lately that I have not been blogging. And, ja know, it is true. It’s because I have mostly been snacking, drinking wine and shoveling. And petting my dog. Dear fuck I am a loser. So really, what better day to blog about my love life, than the day Cupid moved the rock and rose from the dead. Wait? Was that this holiday? What the actual fuck did cupid do?

Anyholla. I decided I wanted this blog to be two part (now, let’s see if my ADD allows for that). Part 1. How my incredibly busy dating life has been, and Part 2. My perfect online dating profile.

So, Part 1. The end. No, really. NOTHING HAS FUCKING CHANGED.

Part 2. Lemme tell you married people something. It is REALLY HARD writing an online profile of yourself. You have to “sell” yourself. But thing is, when you are out of a marriage, you don’t always feel super fucking awesome about yourself. Especially when you have been dealt some of the blows I have. Actually even just one. Just get dealt one of mine. Not a gigantic confidence boost. (except the formers new lady, according to sources, looks just like me AND has the same last name. Creepy, or stalky?)

This is what my actual profile says (can’t make this up, but it’s not online now, because I am burnt out from fielding marriage requests from men 15 years younger than me and am just going to work on stalking yoga or something).

Me. Was married for 10 years, but decided online dating seemed more fun. Have a great job, beautiful home and 2 mini-me’s. I’m skeptical of online dating, but having trouble meeting “the one” when sitting at home watching Bravo TV.

You. Must love cheese, bacon, dogs and wine. Be gainfully employed and not live with mom. Be active but not a Spartan. If your profile says things like “Hit me up” or “LOL” I am already annoyed. Gentlemen who have already claimed to be “the one” for me, so you need not apply: someone who asked if I like being slapped with bacon (no), a stripper (like, current, CURRENT stripper), someone who faked a dead wife, someone who sat down upon first meeting and said “My wife went butch, you gunna too?” And many men who are not “technically” single. If you support Trump, I assure you, we are not going to get along.

I mean, that’s funny, right???? Well, seems as though “funny” is not a quality people look for anymore. It also seems as though people don’t like women who own a home and are employed. And eat bacon. And drink wine. Otherwise EVERYONE says “hit me up.” (oh shit, maybe that is why I am always annoyed).

Anyjolla, I decided that I would write what I think my perfect online dating profile would be. Ya know, like the shit you want to say, but don’t.

Me: I dunno, I’ll prolly put some of the stuff from above in, however, here is the real me, lets give it a go.

Was married for 10 years, but decided online dating seemed more fun. Have a great job, beautiful home and 2 mini-me’s. Had my heart aggressively trampled on, but still believe (ish) in happy endings. Want an equal in life. You work, I work, I cook, you do dishes. Want someone to share the great (sunny days at the beach) and not as great (3rd grade recorder concert) with. Want someone who checks their phone in the middle of the night to see if I said “hi” and if I didn’t, you say it, because ya know, you are thinking of me. Want “easy” in a hard world. What does that mean? You understand that my life is chaotic, and even if I am not the fastest to respond to texts, it doesn’t mean I am not thinking of you…. It means, life. You don’t ever ask for racy photos…. Why, because you respect me… And really, who the fuck does that?

You: Understand that I had a life before you, but still want a life with you. What does that mean? I have two people who rule my every being. I never would have guessed I could love going to third grade basketball games, and doing science projects, and reading Octonauts every.single.night. They are actual parts of me (not like my old art teacher who had a sixth finger on both hands, but you know what I mean). You understand that I am a work in progress. Sure, I want to go to the gym more, and be the prettiest, smartest, fastest, but I’m not. And I don’t. And I won’t. Because life. I don’t really watch TV, but always have music on. You should be overly comfortable with a nightly dance party. I don’t believe in electronics at the dinner table. Or lunch table. Or breakfast table. I am right here. But the phone down, I assure you, nothing happened on FaceBook.

So, there you have it, the profile I would like to post, but won’t, because, eh, imma hold out and hope I meet someone in the produce potato chip aisle.




This nest is a hot mess… 2.2 What. Thefuck. Just. Happened.

So anyway, along with divorce, comes a shit ton bit of paperwork, something I generally would pat-pat myself on the back and say I am pretty good at.  HOW CUTE AM I?!?!???!!

Insert me getting hit by the pizza delivery guy, having to call the police, while the police are running my registration (holla – neva had a ticket, you guys run whatever you want!) watching said pizza delivery guy air hump the police while they are not looking.   And then this…

Police: “Is your last name Scheibleve”

Me: “That is my ex-husbands name, yes.”

Police: “Ah, miss, this car has a revoked registration, we are going TO NEED TO TAKE YOUR PLATES.”

Me: “Ah, the sticker is still right there, and that piece of paper is in my little glove box, and I have never had a ticket, duh.”  Guess that is not how it works.

Pause.  Pause and remember that pizza guy is now making blow job face while simultaneously air humping and I am discussing my revoked registration, while my sweet baby pug looks at me like “Um, we go home?” WHO KNEW THAT I HAD TO TAKE CARE OF THIS?!?!!?  IT WAS ALWAYS “MY” CAR.  At any rate, apparently you can’t drive your car when it doesn’t have plates.  Rules, rules, rules.

Fast forward to today (there is a LOAD of other nonsense, but let’s focus on today).

Today, I had to go to this place of bliss.


Yup, that’s right, jellyarentcha?  Now, understand something….. As a parent, you really get limited time to yourself.  As a single parent, there is not a god damn fucking second that someone isn’t trying to climb back in the womb. Sometimes I lock myself in the bathroom at work just to think alone.  you get quite a bit less.  So there was a part of me, that was a lil excited to have a coffee, some Panera and this, Smat.jpgsome smut to make me feel smarter than Kim K light reading.

When all of the sudden, I see the exact opposite mother than I am in a dead sprint with her “mommy hook” swinging in the breeze from the handlebar of her stroller, heading right toward me.  (Insert what I mean by “exact opposite.” What I mean, is she WAS wearing Tevas, was NOT wearing a bra and had one of these.


You need to understand, that it is a legit god damn miracle my children have made it this far, and that can only be emphasized by the fact that I did not even CONSIDER ever putting that god forsaken sex repellant  sticker on my stroller.

I tried to do everything I could, look busy, act like I was reading some very important financial documents, burp, peed in my pants, anything.  And, low and behold, she sits.  DOESN’T SHE EVER HAVE TO HIDE IN THE OFFICE BATHROOM????? I can’t possibly be the only one.

There was about 5 minutes of this: “We didn’t plan him but love him, I like walking, do you like walking, he is so advanced, he pulls himself up.”  Can’t.  Legit fucking can’t.  When this happens.


Yup, apparently, because we both have boobs, we should talk about breastfeeding.  It didn’t stop. It actually got worse. She used words like “suckle.” IN THE MIDDLE OF THE RMV.  How could she not understand I was here for some peace and quiet?!? This is basically a fucking vacation for me. I even self served a mimosa.

I somehow manage to escape her mommy la leache league cult  grip and move seats.  She follows me.  She 100% follows me.   And then this:


SHE HANDED ME HER CHILD.  I had never hated that air humping pizza delivery guy more than that moment.  You need to understand, I love MY children.  MINE.  I don’t really care for others, and the ones that still projectile vomit and shit themselves, I honestly want nothing to do with. I don’t even want to deal with MY projectile vomit and shit.  Not that it happens, but IF it did…..  She was saying things like “She’s a mommy, she loves you.”  No.  I actually don’t. I am hardly even tolerating you.

I was 100% pitting just sitting there, holding some stranger on my lap, waiting for A106 to flash on the screen, while she said things like “He loves to bounca bounca bounce, isn’t he SO good at bouncing.” Yes teva wearing, braless lady. Best god damn bouncer eva.  I don’t think she realized I was about to bounce her ass to Delaware when A106 finally flashed and I said “Thank you sweet fucking baby Christmas Jesus I will always pray and go to church and I am not even lying this time.”  “Here IT is.”

Her: “IT?”

It took everything I had in me to not respond, “Oh, I am sorry, your little suckeler” (is that a word?).

I hate that fucking pizza guy.