Mo Livin' Large

"Brains are like hearts...

... they go where they are appreciated." ~ Robert McNamara

This ones for you, Carbs.

Recently, in a discussion with a new group of friends, the question was asked, "How do you mend a broken heart?"

Cue crickets chirping here.

After a few moments, Veli haltingly supplied an answer. "Well, you just.... just wait for someone to come along who will find you worthy. Because you're worthy."

The crickets began chirping again.

And then I chimed in. "It's time. It's always going to be time that mends the broken heart."

Carbs went on to explain it wasn't so much the break up he was reeling from, but the rather callous way she completely disgregarded him. It happens to the best of us, and just when you think you've heard the worse possible break up story, there's always another one that's even better/worse right around the corner.

With Dipshit and I, he casually mentioned in a phone call from Ft. Knox that he was "hanging out" with a girl named Jayla and he'd met her family.

"Wait, Jayla? I thought you were hanging out with a guy named Jay."

"Well, that's what I call her."

"And you met her family? Sounds serious!" I teased.

"Well, um, yeah. We've kind of started dating."

"Wait, what?"

Yeah, that's pretty much how the conversation went down, not going to lie.

Another friend of mine I'll refer to as Barbie had suspected for weeks her husband Ken of two years was cheating on her. With his Visa bill in hand showing flowers and hotel rooms and such, she called her best friend Skipper for support while Ken was supposedly out with friends. Imagine Barbie's shock and dismay and utter rage (I'm projecting here, though I suspect it's true) when she heard Ken's voice in the background at Skipper's.

Yep. Ken cheated on Barbie with Skipper.

(Am I getting my Barbie characters mixed up? Is Skipper Barbie's sister? Is Midge the best friend? Does it really matter? Probably not.)

Someone else I know was married for a month when he found out his wife was cheating on him with her mentor/faculty adviser. Unfortunately for him, the bitch got everything in the divorce less than three months after the wedding.

Yeah, I said it.

But where do you go from there? Once your heart is lying cold, abandoned, and broken on the city sidewalk where it's getting walked all over, spat on, and kicked around until it's even more bruised and bloody, where do you go? What do you do?

My days went something like: wake up at seven, get ready for work, drive to work where I paid $12 a day for parking, kind of sort of work, go home, call whatever carry out place I wanted that delivered, eat in front of the tv, pass out on the couch by nine, wake up at eleven, go to bed, and repeat the next day. Don't bother to clean your house. Buy more clothes instead of doing laundry. Watch DVDs and read on the weekends. Maybe hang out with friends and or family every once in awhile. DO NOT let people come to your house because there is shit everywhere. And keep repeating until you break into your ex-husband's email only to discover he's not only been cheating on since before you got married but some of them were men. And then, and only then, do you realize: IT'S NOT YOU IT'S HIM!

When that happens seven months later, then you'll be ready to face the world again.

It's not a full proof plan, but that's what did it for me. Kinda sorta. I dated a few guys, was stalked by a very persistent guy (Oooooo... GREAT blog post for later this week), met Monkeyboy, began embarking on a very satisfying relationship with him, and then everything blew up in my face and not only was my divorce weeks away from being final, but so was my unemployment benefits and yeah, I had to face reality and move back to Detroit and in with my mother and didn't even remotely consider dating again until almost a full two years later.

But that's me.

The truth, cold, hard and bitter as it is, is recovering from a broken heart is different for everyone. Some people throw themselves into their work, becoming obsessed with balancing account sheets down to the last penny, brokering just one last deal before leaving the office at eleven at night, handling that one last customer who calls/arrives just as you're about to close for the night. Others turn to hobbies. They may spend the entire weekend bicycling Route 66, visiting battlefields of the war of 1812, kickboxing, pole dancing, scrapbooking, cooking, whatever. And still others decide to jump right back into dating.

One person I know began dating two months after finding a "Dear John" letter from his wife of 10 years. To say he's been in a series of pointless, doomed relationships ever since would be an understatement. The last I heard, he decided to find religion because his current girlfriend is very devout. This isn't a bad thing for either one of them, except on the whole, when you decide to adopt religion because your partner is, you're not doing it for the right reasons. Did I mention this couple can't even be open about their relationship because her 21-year-old daughter may be irrevocably upset about it?

So I really don't recommend jumping into the dating scene immediately. Otherwise you may find yourself in the above scenario and that's not good either.

What I do recommend is putting a band aid on, and try not to let the ouchie get hurt anymore. After a few days, remove the band aid, put some Neosporin on, and wait for the ouchie to scab over. I don't recommend picking at the scab, as it takes even longer to heal, but being human, you might. But when you're ready, take a look at your wound and think about what you've learned from this boo-boo.

With each relationship I've been in, or haven't been in as is the case with Clark, I've discovered more about what I want and don't want in a relationship. I've also learned a lot about myself.

With Dipshit I've learned that no matter what a piece of paper says, it's still just a piece of paper unless both people named on the piece of paper are committed to one another. With Clark, I discovered I'd like to find someone who still has a sense of romance and wants to share and enjoy both his interests and mine. With Monkeyboy, I learned my "O" wasn't broken (among other things). With Catholic Boy, I realized that even if the guy is smart, funny, good looking and fairly decent in bed, he can still be a cheating douchebag.

And with all of them I learned that recovering from a broken heart, no matter how small or large the break, it takes time. And that while the lessons you learned may not immediately be apparent, they are there and you will figure them out.

And don't stalk them on Facebook. It's just bad news all the way around.

 

Takin' out the trash

So much I want to share, so little to say. So it's a random information day!

At some point, that sounded good in my head.

• I was taking the trash out the other night when I spotted movement. My eyesight has never been all that great (I once tried petting my purse, thinking it was my cat), but it was definitely moving. Knowing an opossum lived somewhere in the vicinity and that he had a strong aversion to me watering my plants at 11:00 pm, I assumed it was him. To assume it was a "him" was to make an ass out of u and me (or just me as is the case here) because the closer I got to the dumpsters, the more obvious it became that it was an entire family of opossums at the dumpster, thus making "he" a "she." Either way, I immediately turned around and went to the other end of the parking lot to use those dumpsters as I have a deep-rooted dislike of opossums. So until further notice, I'm claiming that the dumpsters are being held hostage by a family of opossums.

• Speaking of taking out the trash.... I decided to give online dating another shot. Not only was Clark one of my top matches, but I've gotten two note-worthy responses so far. This one came in from a-casanovas: "Hey beatiful u want full body massge cudle and more and I make u happy?;) give me try." And then this one came in from jefftha: "Aka I want to lay you on your stomach, kiss softly down your back and bury my face somewhere sweet ;)" Am I being picky because I want nothing to do with guys who immediately make sexually suggestive remarks and have no idea what grammar, spelling, and punctuation are?

• My mom bought me a basil plant the other day. I fried (literally) the one I had originally and she got this one for a good price. Apparently while she was carrying it around the store, a man asked if she was planning on stringing Christmas lights on it in December.

• At lunch the other day, one of our attorneys I'll call Farmy remarked that Misty  Rae Treanor, one of the women on the USA Beach Volleyball team, was looking a little chunky. This is the same man who earlier in the day had said, "I could give a fuck about the Winter Olympics. But with my career in track and field, the Summer Olympics are near and dear to my heart." And by career, he meant he threw shot put at U of M. I got up and left.

• In both good and bad online dating news.... I conversed with a man who wore a saucepan, backwards, as a hat in his picture. He was grammatically correct, cute and everything. Unfortunately, he deleted his account the following morning.

• I'm in need of some extra cash. I've considered becoming a Stella & Dot representative as well as a Pure Romance rep. I used to rep Stampin' Up, but it's a very limited client base and I made no money at it as I was my own best customer. Refer back to the Mo Livin' Large Facebook page to cast your vote. 

• Went to a party for my boss the other night where I had a fabulous drink called Slice of Life that was custom-made for our party. Think of a Mojito. Okay, now... replace the rum with cucumber vodka (I recommend Effen over Pearl), use Simply Limeade in place of lime juice and simple syrup, and use basil instead of mint leaves. Fabulous! It's like an alcohol version of Sassy Water!

• In the midst of reading The Fire Starter Sessions by Danielle LaPorte. If you're stuck in a rut or want to start something new but don't know how to go about it, I recommend using this book as your "get up and go!"

• I'm also about to dip into Fear of Flying by Erica Jong. It's our book club pick for August. As long as I'm talking about books, I should dedicate a blog post to some of my favorites. Yes, I think I shall do that sooner rather than later.

And that's all the news that's fit to print.

PS-- If you have some ideas on what I should do for an August giveaway, post them on the FB page. I'm a little stuck in a rut at the moment. :)

"The good ones screw you, the bad ones screw you,...

... and the rest don't know how to screw you!" ~ Samantha Jones, Sex and the City

The other day Sassy Booties and I were alone in the front office, Water Buffalo off on a vacation day or some such nonsense.

Wait, I should probably back this up a notch.

A week or two ago, I joined Jen and Jeff for dinner at their place. Kind guest that I am, I brought a bottle of Chateau Chantal's Naughty Red Wine with me. Considerate host that Jen is, she purchased a bottle of Grand Traverse's Select Harvest Reisling. She drank mine, I drank hers, and Jeff drank beer. Needless to say, I was a bit tipsy and feeling a little randy shall we say? and so I decided to see if Preston was still up for some adult fun, even though it had been almost a month since he had hit me up for a fling. 

Well, that night didn't work for him, but he was golfing in my neighborhood the next night and would I want to meet up then? I decided I did.

So this post is also something of a catch up post if you haven't noticed.

The next night, a Monday, while I was waiting for Preston to make his appearance, I was texting with Sassy Booties about The Godfather and Robert DeNiro's method acting and Al Pacino and it was just a normal night of texting for us, but should someone else read our texts they would be shaking their heads thinking, "WTH?". My "You've Got Company" alert went off and I texted Sassy, "Preston is here. I'll talk to you in the morning."

"Whaaattt? You better tell me in the morning!" she texted back.

Side note: things with Preston would have went well if he hadn't mentioned the fact he's still dating the other girl in the middle of our fun. Which came as a surprise to me, though given my track record, it really shouldn't.

I just keep hoping that one of these days, I'll meet a guy who ACTS HIS F*ING AGE! But really, two seconds past that thought and it occurs to me that guys who do act their age are the ones already in committed relationships.

Except for Clark. But he's looking. Or was looking. Whatever.

Digressing as usual.

So the next day Sassy Booties and I were, as previously stated, in the front office together when she asked me the age old question: How do you define dating vs. when you're girlfriend and boyfriend?

So here's an excerpt from what Sassy Booties and I were Google chatting about, along with some other things I've since added just to clarify my points.

Mo:  Okay, so Catholic Boy and Preston are dating the other girls. They are the girls who would be invited to attend weddings, parties, go to the movies with, etc. with Catholic Boy and Preston. Whereas I'm apparently the fuck buddy for both.

Mo: Now... that being said....

Mo: Dating I think just means you've been on more than 3 dates and like each other enough to keep seeing one another in a social capacity and then perhaps move into intimate territory.

Mo (again): Now, because I AM apparently (?) in the picture.... Neither Catholic Boy or Preston are truly dating these other girls (though technically I guess I'm the other girl) exclusively for the simple fact that I'm in the picture and so neither girl fits under "girlfriend" status in my opinion because again, it's not an exclusive relationship if your guy is off screwing some other girl (both literally and figuratively).

Mo (still talking): As a woman (or perhaps gay man), you get the title of Boyfriend or Girlfriend when you're introduced as boyfriend or girlfriend because it's always different with women as compared to men because unmarried men are idiots.

Insert Karma note here: Dear Mo: based on your definition above, you were not truly Dipshit's wife either as he was off screwing other men and women while with you. Love, Karma.

Dear Karma: You're a bitch. Albeit one with a great sense of humor. Keep up the good work (even if it means I get what I deserve). Love, Mo.

Can I just again mention I unwillingly became the "other woman" in Preston's relationship?

That being said....

I unwittingly made one massive ass mistake in the Preston foray.

Having (relatively or post-Preston) recently read He's Just Not That Into You, I admire author Greg Behrendt for stating the truth. When a man tells you at the beginning of the relationship that he's not looking for a relationship, BELIEVE HIM! Preston stated in his dating profile he was not looking for a relationship. And I, Mo With Super Powers, thought I could be the one to change his mind.

I *cough cough* quite obviously didn't.

Which explains why Preston thought he could hit me up for a one-nighter.

On the other hand, my profile quite obviously stated I was not looking to get involved with someone who was married, had a significant other, or was otherwise attached. Perhaps because that was in August and this is now April/May Preston thought my feelings may have changed. Yet  you'd think because he knew Dipshit was a cheater, he'd realize those are pretty ironclad rules I have.

Except for Catholic Boy because he's my kryptonite.

Karma: Hi Mo!

Mo: Go. Away.

Don't judge. My bad decisions are part of the reason you love my blog.

So invariably I have learned yet another life lesson from yet another dating and relating fiasco. Always ask if the guy is involved with someone else before you get yourself involved.

Even if he hit you up first.

 

"What's playing at the Roxy? I'll tell you what's playing at the Roxy....

... Picture about a Minnesota man so in love with a Mississippi girl that he sacrifices everything and moves all the ways to Biloxi. That's what's playing at the Roxy." Nathan Detroit (Frank Sinatra) Guys and Dolls

I love Sinatra. I love Guys and Dolls. Hence the reason for today's quote. Well that and it's my blog and I'll write whatever I feel like writing.  ;)

One of my random posts just to bring you up to date on what's been going on in my life but doesn't necessitate an entire blog post.

• Remember Preston with the suicidal dog? He texted me a few weeks ago. He wanted a one-nighter. I declined. Haven't heard from him since.
• Catholic Boy and I have been chatting quite a bit. Poor guy got quite an earful about Clark and amazingly enough is still talking to me. I have come to the realization I am in love with Catholic Boy. However, given that he's been through a handful of girlfriends since we met five years ago and I've been a piece on the side through most of those relationships, I will never pursue anything with him. Like I said a few weeks ago, our friendship far outweighs the benefits on my side of things.
• In my on-going weight loss project, I was happily introduced to the blog Skinnytaste by Lovely Lisa. It's a wonderful blog written by Gina who is dedicated to making delicious, scrumptious healthy recipes. All recipes are Weight Watchers friendly and the variety is absolutely mind-boggling. So far I've made Stuffed Pepper Soup, Greek Turkey Meatballs, Skinny Tzatzki, and Easy Crust-Less Spinach and Feta Pie. And I've made them all twice, believe it or not (not just because they were so good but because I also had all of the ingredients on hand and needed lunch).
• Confession: I love Regency (pre-, during and post-Napoleonic wars) romance novels. I devour them by the boxload that I buy either through eBay or my local used bookstore (Paperback Trade Inn in Clawson).
• After seeing him in Push, I developed a cougar crush on Chris Evans. So when What's Your Number starring Anna Faris and Chris Evans came out on DVD, I ran out and bought it despite the bad reviews. Well, that and I think Anna Faris' character Ally and I have a lot in common. Not going to lie, I enjoyed it. So if you want to have a What's Your Number viewing party, hit me up.
• So not only have I been watching What's Your Number, but Bridget Jones' Diary, He's Just Not That Into You, The Holiday, The Naked Truth and Love Actually are in constant rotation on my DVD player.
• Just curious if anyone is stunned by my revelation about Catholic Boy. I literally was walking back from lunch with Lovely Lisa and it just kind of came into my head and out of my mouth.
• I'm considering hiring a big teddy-bear type guy to be my personal hugger who doubles as my movie watching/cuddling partner. It's been a while since I've experienced the human touch (and for once, I don't mean that in a sexual way).
• I'm tired. Not like physically sleepy tired (well, most days anyways) but tired with the direction my life is taking. Bored is probably the more accurate word here. But regardless.... I think I'm going to spend May researching low-cost ways to make my life more interesting. Any and all suggestions are welcome.

And that, my friends, is all the news that's fit to print. Cheers!

 

I'm the rule, not the exception ~ Mo

A continuation of last Monday's post.

To summarize: Mo meets boy (Clark), Mo talks with boy, Mo is smitten but hesitant because of boy's use of the word curvy, boy assures Mo it's a euphemism, Mo sends more pictures of Mo to boy, boy rejects Mo.

Mo was heartbroken.

And Mo really needs to stop referring to herself in the third person.

So yeah, anyways.... As weird as it sounds, I was heartbroken by a man I had never actually met before. Within five minutes, I deleted all evidence of our text messaging, tore down my dating profile and sat at my desk trying not to cry.

The last time I cried at work was in 2004 when I was going through my divorce. I'm loathe to admit it, but my eight year streak came to an end on April 10th when I went into the bathroom and cried. Over Clark. A guy I've never even met in person.

What on earth is wrong with me?

Lovely Lisa was the first person I told. I lamented for a few minutes and then confessed I felt like I was going through a break up. "How long did you guys talk?" Lisa asked.

"Over eight hours," I confessed.

"Well, yeah. No wonder you feel like you went through a break up. You guys talked enough for like the equivalent of about three dates," Lisa sympathized.

She's a good friend.

I left work early that day. Not because of what was going on with Clark but because my parents were getting remarried and I was standing in as a witness (um, yeah. Did I mention Jim and Sue got remarried? I'll explain some other time).

Jen got the phone call while I was driving back to the 'burbs. She tried to assure me it was him and not me. Kudos for trying, but I wasn't anywhere near convinced.

I went home for a little while, ate a cupcake, went to the courthouse where I witnessed my parents 3rd marriage (I will really have to blog about that soon), and then, because I felt like the least lovable person since Adolf Hitler, I skipped my parents' third wedding reception (really going to have to tell that story soon) and went home.

My parents love and respect each other enough to get married three times (but only one divorce), and I can't even find a guy who is willing to at least meet me in person after five days of consecutive texting and talking. Plus my sister and her boyfriend were there and yeah, I felt really alone, unlovable, etc. Much like Bridget Jones (see YouTube Clip here).

The thing is, as much as everyone (yourselves included) wants to call Clark a douchebag, I never even remotely got that impression. And this is me we're talking about. The Queen of Dating the Douchebag (just call me QDD). I mean, I went out with Art, the guy who wouldn't shower before our date after he went to the gym. Anthony, a guy who never called me by my name and that I was better at analyzing than dating (no, seriously. At one point Anthony said he should just talk to me rather than try and get an appointment with his shrink). Mike, who stood me up and never called me again. And of course, there's always ReTodded (a favorite with my male readers, which just makes me laugh and laugh).

Can we really call Clark a douchebag because he doesn't want to date a girl my size? I mean, I'm a lot of woman to take on psychologically no matter which way you slice and dice it. Now add into it my physical size and yeah, I'm a big woman. There's mo' to Mo, you know? I am A LOT of responsibility. ;)

All personal feelings aside though, I will say this: I learned a lot from him. And no, I mean that in a good way.

Clark made me think about what I want in a man. It's something I've been turning over in my mind a lot these past few months (Jen, loathe to admit but I still haven't finished my list) and in talking with Clark, I realized there are things he talked about doing or opinions that he had that made me re-evaluate the kind of man I want to be with.

Clark is very well traveled and yet has never been to Paris. "So I've had a couple of buddies who suggested we go over the years but why would I want to go to the city of love with a guy? And yeah, there were a couple of women who expressed interest in going but none of them were the ones I really wanted to go with." Um, hello? Am I the only one who swoons a little reading that?

We also got into the infamous need vs. want debate. Now if you recall from one of my early blog posts, I'm big on wanting a man, not needing a man. But Clark said he needed a woman, and once he enlightened me, I understood what he meant. Clark explained that in his opinion, being in a relationship is a basic human need. That people need to share their lives with others, no matter how trivial the reason. That we need physical contact with others to be at our full capacity as human beings.

He was actually much more eloquent about it, but it makes sense right?

Does any of this explain why I'm hesitant to not label Clark as a douchebag? Admittedly, it's been almost a full month. You'd think I'd be over it. And there's a part of me that is.

But I'm not completely over it. I'm not sure if it's Clark himself that I miss or what he represents. A man who realizes what it takes to be classified as a man, and makes no apologies for it. Someone who knows what he wants. A romantic.

As the old saying goes, if it's meant to be it will happen. And in the meantime Jen, I'm going to finish that list.

 

"They're the exception, and we're not the exception, we're the rule!"

~ Gigi (Ginnifer Goodwin) He's Just Not That Into You

Hello friends. It's been awhile. My fault entirely. But I'm back and ready to share with you what's been going on with me.

As you may recall, I recently posted a profile on Plenty of Fish (read my profile here) and unbelievably, I met a boy. In truth, one can hardly call a 47-year-old man a boy, but hey.... And yes, I said 47. I like my men like my cheese, wine and steak... well aged. LOL.

Clark responded to my profile on POF and to be honest, I thought he was a scammer his pictures were almost so well done. Clark playing golf, looking out at the water... it reminded me of the pictures Phoebe's grandma (Friends) kept of her dad that turned out to be just the picture of some guy that comes with the frame.  It wasn't until I saw a picture of him with Brandon Inge that I realized he was the real deal because let's be honest, as good as scammers can be, you can't fake that. And as often happens, emailing through POF became a bit of a hassle with schedules and work so we progressed to texting.

Clark asked about meeting me on Good Friday after work. I said sure, but told him I couldn't meet until at the earliest 6:30 because I work at an accounting firm downtown and it was at the tail end of tax season. He said that was too late. I (kinda) joked with him that perhaps he shouldn't book two dates in one night. Clark responded by asking if he could call me that night instead. I said sure, not really expecting to hear from him.

Lo and behold, he called. And even stranger, we talked for three hours.

The next morning, I woke up about 8:00 am and Clark texted at 8:30. We went back and forth most of the day texting with long pauses while I was at the hair salon or while he was out mowing the lawn. And then at eight, he called again and we talked until 1 am.

Throughout those two conversations, Clark and I talked about everything and anything. No topic was off limits. I found out the reason he said 6:30 was too late was because he works in Royal Oak and gets off work at 2:00 and lives in Clarkston. He found it hilarious that strippers freak me out. We both disliked the movie The Descendants (he hated it; I just didn't find it as appealing as other George Clooney movies though we both thought the best scene was when Clooney was running (don't want to ruin it for anyone who hasn't seen the movie)). He's the kind of guy that would be willing to go to the hair salon with me if I agree to go hit some balls with him at the driving range even though I explained three different golf pros have told me I'm not good at golf because my big boobs prevent me from following through with my swing. Clark takes his steak medium rare, wears boxers or boxer briefs, hates skinny jeans, and agrees that if your significant other doesn't like your chosen scent, then maybe you should really consider changing it.

I was smitten. Oh Lord was I smitten. Yet I was also hesitant because of his penchant for using the word curvy to describe my figure.

When you're my size (3x or 22W/24W) you come to realize that certain words have certain connotations. Voluptuous covers plus sizes ranging from 14W to 24W, rubenesque seems synonymous with fat (which would be me and I'm not saying that to be self-deprecating; it's the truth), and curvy is a word that the majority of the population uses to describe women at the low to mid range of plus size. Marilyn Monroe and Adele are curvy; Melissa McCarthy and I are fat. Cute, definitely, but fat. Top of the plus size range if you will.

So you can see why I may have been hesitant when Clark kept talking about me being curvy. And on the Monday after Easter I (literally) called him on it.

Throughout our conversation regarding my size Clark assured me he used the word curvy as a euphemism. That no matter my size (which I did tell him but that he pleaded ignorance to), he thought I was pretty. And to please, please send him more pictures of myself (in his defense, never once did he ask me to send him a naked picture which I give him credit for).

So I sent him more pictures. Including one very strange shot of Sassy Booties and I at the company Christmas party where I thought the addition of strings of beads were appropriate. But all three pictures I send would give him a much clearer picture (no pun intended) of my size.

And it was mid-morning Tuesday when I received the text from him saying he didn't think it was going to work between us but good luck.

To be continued....

 

"I can't even find someone for a platonic relationship,...

... much less the kind where someone wants to see me naked." ~ Gilbert Gottfried

I'm giving online dating another try. So here's the profile I came up with.

About Me

The first thing people usually notice about me is my smile. And then I open my mouth and spew forth hilarity. My laugh has also been described as being as infectious as the stomach flu, which if you've ever worked in a small office or lived under the same roof with a bunch of people who have the stomach flu, you know it's not a matter of IF you get it, but when. Which leads us back to my sense of humor... it's not a matter of IF you'll get it, but when. It's really just one big circuitous cycle.

A little about me.... I love books, all kinds. I have shelves of cookbooks, novels, biographies, a slightly obsessive amount of books about the Kennedys, wine, books about writing books, the list goes on and on. I'm a very verbal creature in the sense that words, not visuals, really do it for me so if you have poor grammar and can't write a complete sentence, no offense to you but it's not going to work. Sending me the message "U R hott!" isn't going to work me into a frenzy, though I'm sure you're a great guy. For someone else.

My cookbooks are stained and splattered, illustrating that they're not just for show. My pot roast carbonnade cuts like butter and my homemade garlic mayo on grilled tuna steak is out of this world. I haven't quite perfected my lemon raspberry squares or cheesecake recipes just yet, they usually end up with a crack or two running through them, but they taste amazing all the same. Just ask my family and friends.

I'm generous to a fault, have a problem saying the word no, and have a compulsive shopping habit. Currently my shopping habits are trending towards skirts, dresses and ballet flats, though I'm also on the look out for some madras plaid shorts. So if you see any, please don't hesitate to let me know.

I enjoy wandering through art museums just as much as I like being a bleacher creature at Comerica Park. And as much as I enjoy staying in big city hotels, I'm a happy camper out in the woods. My music tastes run the gambit from Bach to Sinatra to Social Distortion to Miles Davis and with the exception of Simon and Garfunkle, there's not much I don't like.

As for you, I'd really (really really) appreciate if you practice good hygiene. Showering on a regular basis and freshly laundered clothes go a long way with me, perhaps even more than your grammar knowledge. You're relatively drama free, are kind to small children and animals, and are just as comfortable curling up on the couch for an all day Godfather marathon as going out and about and exploring what's out there. Oh, and you MUST enjoy kissing. Not just as a perfunctory duty, but because you honestly enjoy it.

First Date

One that you're looking forward to so much that you shower would be nice. I once had a first (and consequently last) date where the guy didn't shower after going to the gym two hours beforehand.

Okay, seriously. Coffee? Cliched. A drink? Well, kinda cliched but at least it's more adult-like. How about doing something where we can get to know each other? Root for the Tigers or wander through a museum, grabbing some grub at Slow's and poking around Corktown. ANYthing that's not cliched, please. :)

As for pics,  I used my Mo Livin' Large pic (feathery witch hat) and the one included here.

Thoughts? Suggestions? Single guys you'd like to introduce me to?;)

"Never mind, I'll find someone like you...

... I wish nothing but the best for you, too." ~ Adele "Someone Like You"

Saturday morning dawned bright and early. A little too early as I'd been at Jen and Jeff's seeing their new place the night before (beautiful place I might add). I also had over 30 bags of shredded paper in the back end of my mom's truck I had to recycle before I met my friend Liz to go to Eastern Market. So needless to say, I managed to shower, throw my hair back in a headband, and apply the bare minimal of make-up before I hit the pavement in my Levi's, Chucks, and a long sleeve gray t-shirt.

So it figures I'd run into one of the ones who got away, doesn't it?

As Liz and I approached Shed 3, I noticed a man standing to the right of the doors smoking a cigarette. Something about him caught my eye and I glanced in his direction again. It was indeed who I thought it to be.

Catholic Boy (and when he grows up, he will be Catholic Man! That last bit will only make sense if you've seen the movie Cabin Boy).

He was wearing his uniform Detroit Tigers hat (perfect fade, perfect curve in the brim... which reminds me, I need to grab mine from my mom's house), a pair of jeans, and a track jacket. He looked hot. Smokin' hot (no pun intended).

I was debating whether or not to say something when the decision was made for me. As I was hmmmm'ing and hawing over Catholic Boy, Liz was opening the door. And two women, one carrying a large Norfolk Island Pine (thank you, www.bordineplants.com), spilled out of Shed 3.

They were laughing. They were joking. They looked like they'd be fun to hang out with. They were pretty.

And they made a beeline to Catholic Boy.

I felt my heart plummet. The three of them walked away, Catholic Boy now carrying the tree. And I felt as if I walked into a wall.

The truth is, I've always been loathe to explain my attraction to Catholic Boy. We met online almost five years ago, and it's been back and forth ever since. Except for the year long "communication vacation" we had back in 2010.

I remember being at work the day after we met and I couldn't stop smiling. Which is odd because there are a lot of people who will tell you I smile constantly. But everyone at the office kept remarking about the fact that I could not stop smiling.

Like I said to my friend Lorie once. "This little moth is drawn to his flame."

I enjoyed Catholic Boy. It wasn't about sex, because while it was good, it wasn't mind blowing. I just enjoyed him. He made me laugh. He made me think. He made me cry once or twice.

But what I liked most about Catholic Boy was that every time I thought I had him pegged, he did something to crack my latest illusion. For example, I loaned him my copy of I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell, written by Tucker Max.

It should be noted that Tucker Max has been described as "the poster child for vulgarity" by U.S. District Judge Stewart Dalzell and that a feminist group at Ohio State University claims his writing "promotes a culture of rape." (Both of these factoids are found on the Tucker Max Wikipedia page). While I do agree, partially, with the Hon. Stewart Dalzell, I disagree with Ohio State's feminists. He can be crude, lewd, and even vicious, but there's still no denying that he's a funny guy. I thought for sure given some of the things we'd talked about and the fact he was a frat boy in college that Catholic Boy would find I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell as funny as I did.

He didn't.

I think to me though the fact Catholic Boy returned my book was more surprising to me than the fact he didn't find it funny. Which again, just goes to show I couldn't figure him out.

In 2009, he asked what I'd been up when we met up one night. I told him I had gone to the Norman Rockwell exhibit at the Detroit Institute of Arts.

"Wait, there's a Norman Rockwell exhibit at the DIA?" he asked.

"Yep."

"I like him." Well, no shit, Sherlock. Because the three reprints you have hanging in your living room didn't clue me into that fact. "We should go."

Catholic Boy wanted to go to the museum to see the Norman Rockwell exhibit. Do you know how rare it is to find a guy who wants to go to a museum? Just for the record, we didn't go. The following weekend was the last weekend it was at the DIA and both of us had other plans.

To best describe our relationship, it was a friends with benefits kind of thing. For me though the friends outweighed the benefits.

But the night we buried my brother, I used him shamelessly for sex. I simply sent him a text that said, "Are you home?" When he responded in the affirmative I sent him a text that said, "I'm coming over." His response was that the door was open. I literally walked in, did what I set out to do, and walked out. I didn't say a word (which as you can guess is unusual for me).

A few weeks later, we met up again. As soon as I walked in, he asked "What was up with you that last time? You didn't even say hello, let alone good-bye."

I sighed. "I'll tell you later." We did what we always do and he asked again.

"Catholic Boy, we buried my brother that day. I needed to feel something, anything, and I somehow needed to feel it with you."

"I'm sorry." He paused and looked at me. "I'm really sorry, Mo. I know how much your brother and sister mean to you."

Another shocker. He remembered that I have one of each sibling.

He was a jig-saw puzzle I could never quite finish.

Last weekend, I finished reading He's Just Not That Into You. I made up my mind not to "waste the pretty" and as stated repeatedly in the movie, I thought of myself as the rule, not the exception. With my new mantra and Catholic Boy's text-every-few-months habits, I knew I was going to have to move on. 

Seeing this glimpse of him this weekend, with a woman who looked like she'd be a lot of fun to hang out with, I knew it was time.

I texted Lorie, who was there with me at the beginning and understands that I can't explain whatever it is that Catholic Boy and I have, but I know it has to end whatever it is. I texted Jen, who emphasized with my idea to play Adele's "Someone Like You" over and over and over again (my neighbors would be relieved to know I was too lazy to go out and retrieve the CD from my car). And I texted my friend Chris, the guy I go to for advice about, you guessed it, guys.

Me: I ran into the one who got away at the farmers market this morning. He was with his girlfriend. She's gorgeous. I want to kill myself.

Me (again): Not literally, but most definitely hypothetically.

Chris: If they walk away, let them walk!

Me: Does it ever stop it from being a disappointment though?

Chris: Nope.

Me: And there you have it....

 

Stuff I Could Not Make Up Even If I Tried

Little vignettes of things that have truly happened to me but aren't worth an entire dedicated post.

My friends Mark and Kony in Chicago had a vegetable garden behind their garage that yielded copious amounts of vegetables. One night, after having dinner together, Mark sent us home with this huge zucchini. It was as big as Dipshit's forearm, I kid you not. Anyways, when Dipshit and I returned home, we had an issue trying to find a parking spot (not unusual in our neighborhood). After a few minutes of driving around aimlessly, I had Dipshit drop me at the corner across the street as I had to use the bathroom quite badly. So there I was, standing on the corner of Sheridan and Lunt (I always had people telling me this joke: There are 3 streets in Chicago that rhyme with vagina; Paulina, Melvina and Lunt) waiting to cross and the light turns red. Waiting at the light was a car full of young teenage boys. And there I am crossing a street that rhymes with vagina carrying this HUGE zucchini. By myself. The guys started laughing and one even told me to "Enjoy my night with my special friend." Dipshit thought it was hilarious when I told him the story. And just for the record, my special friend made an excellent zucchini parmesan.

I once went out with a guy who had a sock fetish. Rather than request nudie pics, this guy wanted to see pictures of my feet in my socks. He loved the fact that I have all of these weird, wild socks including Dr. Seuss One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish socks. It was odd, to say the least.

Never in my life have I enjoyed beer. I shotgunned a beer once just to prove I could, and I periodically try new beers such as the new lime beers everyone has started making and the Blue Moon you add orange slices to, but for the most part I am most emphatically not a beer drinker. So a few weeks ago, I swung by my dad's apartment to see him about something. While I had let him know I was coming, he told me he had a few things to do beforehand but that if I beat him there to let myself in, so I did. My dad arrived a few minutes after I did and offered me a beer. I said, "Oh, Dad. You man of perpetual hope!" My dad looked surprised and said, "Coke? You found a Coke in my refrigerator? Really? That can't be any good!"

I once asked a guy if it was in yet. It was. (B, that one was for you).

The other day at work, I received a sales call for a woman that no longer works with us. After politely explaining three times that the person he was looking for no longer works here, the man began spelling her name for me and telling me her position. Finally, completely exasperated, I said, "I know who you're looking for, but she doesn't work here anymore!" The man said, "Fuck you," and hung up on me.

In the days when MySpace was cool, I once had a guy hit on me. After a few phone conversations, I agreed to finally meet him in person at a Borders (yes, desperate times, desperate measures). So we meet. It didn't go well, mainly because he was an idiot. He wanted to open a "We Sell Your Stuff On Ebay" store in 2006 (reason numero uno that you're an idiot) because he had some friends who had opened stores in Chicago. I asked where in Chicago they had opened their stores. He said, "I don't know exactly which city, honey. Chicago is a big state after all." We argued for 15 minutes that not only is Chicago not a state, but it's not even the capital of Illinois. He left for the bathroom shortly thereafter, never to return. Icing on the cake? Some random man who had been sitting nearby said to me, "I don't think he's returning." He paused for a moment and continued, "It's probably a good thing. He's an idiot."

Another "Mo Went Out With This Idiot" Classic. I just want to make my disclaimer right now: I was high for the first time. In college, my friend Shiraz and I got conned into attending a party with our friend Jame-O (he worked with someone who was the roommate of the person attending the party or something like that). At one point, this rather beefy but good looking guy came over and started talking to me. We talked about school (I went to CMU, he went to Grand Valley) and I asked him his major. "Baseball." I shook my head to clear it and said, "No, your major. What's your major?" He responded,  "Baseball" again. I leaned over to Shiraz and said, "Now I know I'm high, but this guy is telling me his major is baseball." God and Shiraz as my witness, I could not make this next part up if I tried. A fellow partier walked by at this moment and "Baseball" said, "If you put that guy in a barrel of oil, you'd come up with a fish! Fish! Fish!" But he was blond, cute, and beefy and sadly, though our conversation never did get any better than this, yes, sadly, I did go out with this guy. And violated Shiraz's beanbag with him as well. 

The last time I smoked was almost a full decade ago. I was in Brooklyn, New York with my friend Brooklyn (name has been changed to protect the not-so-innocent). I had a friend Tommy who lived in Queens, and was a Brooklyn cop and we were hoping to finally meet in person (ironically, he had met my friends Gwen and April at an all-inclusive resort in Mexico when they were all vacationing there at the same time). Anyways, Brooklyn was having a bit of a panic attack at being back in New York without the love of her life so we decided to use a holistic approach to calm her down. Not wanting me to feel left out, Brooklyn handed over the joint and I inhaled. Wouldn't you know it? Tommy called RIGHT at that moment. So as we're talking, it's becoming more and more obvious that I just inhaled and suddenly he's yelling, "You're smoking pot right now? On the phone? With a cop? While you're in Brooklyn? SERIOUSLY?" Well, um, yeah.

And if you've wondered why I started my blog, it's because when I tell these stories (and many, many others), people tell me to write these things down. So I'm writing them down.  :)

"What would you say to the one who got away?"

I saw this on a Facebook post from Etsy. It got me thinking about what I'd want to say. So since I am ALL about sharing, here's what I would say. For those who know me and have been around awhile, see if you know who I'm writing these to. :)

Dear California:
Thank you for giving me the perfect kiss. The one I hold all others up to. While it didn't hold passion, it held so much more for me. Romance, sweetness, and innocence were there, yes. But it left me wanting more. So much more in fact that on the nights we ended up at the bar together but separate, I still knew you were there. You were like a little beacon that I could track with some weird inner honing device. And while we quite obviously didn't work out, I still remember you with great fondness, and I smile every time I hear Bones Thugs and Harmony's "Crossroads."

Dear Aerosmith:
Thank you for being an adult. Because I never felt I had to dumb myself down for you, I was comfortable being myself around you. You encouraged me to pursue writing (I still have the pencil you sent, even 15 years later) and allowed me to express myself to you without judging me. You always knew I was destined for better things than I was experiencing at the time, and I wish you had still been around when I packed up and moved to Chicago. I think you'd be proud of who I've become and I remember with you great fondness. And I smile each time I hear "Don't Want to Miss A Thing" and think of you.

Dear Meineke:
You were the one who reminded me not all guys are douchebags and that there are men out there who really do put her needs ahead of their own. After five years of always being the low priority on Dipshit's list, you once drove all the way from Aurora to the north side of Chicago to give me a hug. You brought me flowers on our first date. You made a Dunkin Donuts run in Florida just so you could call me and tell me you missed me. And had I stayed in Chicago, we would've been great together. Your words, not mine. I didn't realize it until a few weeks ago, but you are the one I've measured every man since you against. They've all fallen short. You are one tough act to follow.

Dear Catholic Boy:
You'd be the one I love to hate if I didn't love you so much. You make me laugh, you've made me cry, and no matter how hard I try, I can never seem to peg you just right. It's been five years since we've met, and there are few guys I enjoy talking with as much as I enjoy talking to you. Cheers my friend.

In conclusion, I offer this toast to all of us ladies (and I won't lie, I'm stealing this directly from the movie The Wedding Date): Here's to the husbands who've won you, the losers who've lost you, and the lucky bastards who've yet to meet you.

P.S. If you haven't already done so, be sure to enter this week's contest and leave a message to your younger self on the Mo Livin' Large Facebook page! You'll be entered to win a $20 credit at The Strawberry Hill for whimsical accessories for yourself, your daughter, niece, mom, aunt, grandma, best friend, or yourself (yes, I said yourself twice. BECAUSE YOU'RE WORTH IT!).