An open letter to Demi Moore

Dear Demi,
So, your boy-husband left you after eight years of marriage and is hooking up with a new chick who is closer to his age - which means she's younger than you.

Sucks, doesn't it? Devastating, even.

After all those years of being with you, pretend-loving you and, let's face it, cheating on you - what? you didn't think it was only one time, did you? - he moved on so fast. All you want to feel is that your time together meant something to him.

Newsflash: it didn't mean as much to him. If it did, he wouldn't have boffed a chick on your anniversary.

So, get over it already, it's been almost a year.

I feel for you, I really do, because I've been where you are right now - several times, in fact. It doesn't get easier. No, I'm not your age yet but I have a rule that my boyfriends can't be more than nine years younger than me, and guys like Asshole Kutcher come in all ages. I like to call that demographic of men douchebags. They seldom change, even with age. At some point, they either get tired of trying so hard to get laid or notice their looks are fading, girls aren't biting anymore and decide that settling down is the only way to guaranteed vagina.

But I digress ...

Take a look at yourself; what you are doing so publicly isn't classy. You're in the news for a breakdown over a boy. Rehab? For what? I doubt his semen was made of cocaine and I'm sure you convinced yourself his penis was bigger and better than any other that you've ever had even though we both know it really wasn't.

You want him to remember you as a woman who respects herself and doesn't pine over someone so undeserving. A classy woman who doesn't destroy herself over a man who is clearly not interested in her anymore.You want him to look back with a pang of regret when all his other relationships fail or he ends up in a passionless coupling with a starlet who is - well, who is not you.

Which brings me back to the main point: He poked a slutty vag on your anniversary!

He basically took a gigantic poop on you, your kids and your entire relationship with that one move. You should be getting divorced and moving on - not throwing yourself a self-pity party every day hoping he will realize how miserable he really is without you - because he won't.Right now, you are validating his reason for not sticking around.

Seriously, is this the kind of guy you want your daughters to look up to? And what kind of example are you setting for them? Do you want your girls to believe it's okay for a man to treat them like they are worthless?

The best revenge is moving on and living your life like he never existed - even if it's on the outside. You would be doing two things with that plan of action: 1) Remembering yourself and your worth and 2) showing any chick that comes after you that he's not worth pining over.

We all know that the more you throw a pissing fit over a man, every other girl will want him. If you, an American icon, don't want him, why would any other self-respecting chick? Right now, his new girl is latched on tighter than a hooker with a dollar bill because she thinks she has something amazing. There is nothing amazing about a man who cheats on his wife, family and girlfriend - no matter what the reason.

Personally, I think you should still be with Bruce Willis. He aged well. Asston isn't going to age well. He has very feminine features and a weak jaw line. You want a manly looking man, not a skinny-fat, can't sport a sexy 5 o'clock shadow because puberty skipped him, prick.

Be an inspiration to women who are rebounding from bad break-ups - or at least to your daughters. I know, it's hard to be strong sometimes, but find your strength in your family, friends and retail therapy.

God knows that if I had the cash to spend myself happy, it wouldn't have taken me as long as it did to get over some break-ups - and I wouldn't have re-dated some of my exes.

Here's hoping you find your self-respect, pride and dignity, and pull your shit together soon.

Much love,
Dawn

I might be single and other things

It's not a big secret that I'm recently single - as in it's really been just two months. Pretty sure I blogged about it as soon as I got back home from my two week, post break-up sabbatical from Washington.

Even before I got back, I had friends pushing me to try online dating. They said it would help me get over the ex - whom I was surprisingly not as upset about as I thought I would be with about the breakup. It worked for them. So, I resurrected an old account on a site from a while back that I had set up to do research for an article. Actually, I had three different accounts and reactivated two. I wasn't sure I was ready to date, but I knew I was open to meeting new people and making friends.

Unfortunately, for me, the Internet is never a good place to meet people. I found this out when I wrote the article years back and all my recent experience did was reiterate what I already knew: people are scandalous and as much as I know I shouldn't ... I call things as I see them.

In the first few days, without a single photo, bio or intro on either site, I had a thousand messages from guys on both sites wanting to meet me.

Yes. A thousand.

As I'm clicking through messages and previewing profile pages, I could feel myself become more than slightly disappointed; not because they were so desperate they would beg to meet someone they didn't have information on, but that most didn't have a basic understanding of good grammar. Example:

One guy was looking for, “Just somebody two befriends with benefits no strings attached are if you want two get serious then cool but mostly two hang with with benifitsand ready two hang when ever realy.”

Verbatim.

There were several guys who had photos up that were obviously old and a few had pictures from a wedding I was hoping wasn't their own. Then there were the early-20-somethings looking for a 'cougar' or 'MILF.'

Sorry guys, I'm not into teaching and there is nothing any one of you babies will be able to do for me - conversation-wise or sexually - to make the experience worth it. Ever.

I lasted about a week on both sites and 'met' three guys on there. I say met, but I only actually came face to face with one. And this is why I probably won't do it again.

First guy was an older dude and I liked that he spelled every word correctly in his message, used complete sentences and had a current picture not of his penis. After a few polite emails and me sharing a face photo, we exchanged IM info and did that for a little bit until I felt it was safe to give him my phone number.

Which is where I messed up.

He was a pilot and had a big ego. I don't have time for that. What started out with friendly texting and getting to know each other, but it quickly turned into him becoming super possessive. Then he became pissed that I wouldn't agree to meet him at my place. Alone. For some one on one time. I didn't know this guy from Adam (figure of speech folks, not my ex) and I'm thinking 'Safety First.' He's thinking I'm married. At some point, I put my phone up for a while.

What finally broke that deal for me was finding 37 text messages - each one more angry than the next - and a few nasty emails - when I finally picked up my phone at the end of that night. All that after just one day equals no bueno. I wrote him a nicer-than-he-deserved email saying it wasn't going to work out. I do not like psycho-stalkers with trust issues. He called me a lying c*** and a cheating w****, but if I changed my mind, I had his number.

Oh, did I ... I will be calling him never.

Second guy was way older than the first. But I was okay with that because, again, he could spell and write like a champ. I like smart guys, it's one of my weaknesses. So, there I was, IMing with this guy for all of about 20 minutes and two phrases get red flagged: he kept saying he needed to be discreet and asked if I could ever meet during the daytime. He asked about my morals and had I ever done anything I considered 'bad.'

Well, I stole a bathing suit from JCPenney's once when I was, like, 16 years old. I also made out with a guy I was not actively looking to date - by the third time we hung out - and I liked it. Which, technically, wasn't bad. It was just not my style. A few Hail Marys and Our Fathers after confession took care of those transgressions.

But I had never, ever, ever, ever been with a married man - knowingly. And this guy was super married. I didn't even bother writing him an email saying thanks but no thanks. He knows what he's doing is wrong. His wife will catch him or he will catch herpes. He deserved both.

At this point, I should have quit. But you know what they say? Third time's a charm ...

It's not.

He was really good looking though - enough that I forgave his overuse of the acroynm LOL. This guy said he was 30, which is a little younger, but I could dig it. And I was kind of digging him. At this point, I had written a brief bio and he obviously read it as he mentioned it in his message to me. After a few emails, he suggested we skip the IM and just meet for coffee. So we did.

After a few minutes of chatting I got this feeling that while I was enjoying talking to him, we weren't on the same page - on any level. He wasn't picking up what I was putting down at all. He was into zombies and Dub step. And his car. He had a video game tattoo on his body piece. And he seemed really nervous around me. I asked him how old he really was.

22.

That's a far cry from 30, my friend. He denied lying about his age, so I pulled up his profile and showed him. Then asked him if he knew I was more than a few years older than him and he said yes. He looked a little scared, I'm sure it was the look on my face. I was slightly annoyed but mostly amused. It lasted about five more minutes and I called it, careful not to hurt his feelings because he looked like he was a crier. And I dislike it when men cry.

Both profiles are down. It might work for some people, but right now, I would rather take my chances off the net. It's not even like I'm meeting better people online - they are the same caliber of lying assholes who waste my time that I'm meeting offline.

Getting dumped sucks

All the motivational, positive and supposedly uplifting FB status updates don't change the fact that getting dumped sucks. You won't catch me posting bitter break-up quotes or sad messages on my wall inviting people to my self-pity party. As a matter of fact, the only thing anyone will notice is that most of the 'happy couple' photos are gone. Also, for anyone wondering why I don't 'like' their good couples news, I usually unsubscribe from happy couples who like to over share on my newsfeed for an undisclosed period of time.

I'm probably the biggest drama queen the first few days after having my heart ripped out of my chest piece, flattened and stomped on. Most of my relationships didn't last more than a few months, so if I had to be honest, there was no need to make such a big deal. But I would still call my friends and vent for hours like I'm the only one who's ever been douchebagged by a guy.

I can admit that. 

Most of the time, my first reaction is to move. It's not a reasonable solution to a broken heart, but it made me feel better to plan my fantasy move to a better place with a castle and a prince and a happily ever after.  No one wants to stay in the same town as their ex - how awkward and even more hearbreaking to see them move on and having fun without you (unless you move on first). You want them to be miserable and miss you so you know your time together meant something. But I guess four or five months doesn't really add up to much emotional investment - not when it was seemingly one sided. 

Three years, though ... with seven months of that waiting and being the support unit during a deployment (not to mention keeping the legs closed) ...  and giving up a house and relocating to another crap-hole-a of a town for a relationship just to get dumped four days into R&R and three days before V-day ... that equals total devastation - at least for this drama queen. That actually grants me extra venting privileges to include an extra two days of sobbing pathetically to all my friends - and possibly his, I don't remember I was drunk - via text, not wanting to get out of bed or shower and even writing a long-winded, self-deprecating  blog entry that I'll never post about how it was probably all my fault, all guys are douchebags and that I will NEVER get involved in another relationship again.

Which is just silly. It wasn't my fault and of course I'll date again.

Okay, okay ... not all guys are d-bags. The ones that are - they're only that way until they meet someone whom they don't want to be a douche to - if you're the one getting dumped, then it's not you.
The ex is not a bad guy - not totally. At least he wasn't when I met him and won't be when I'm done feeling hurt (which should be any day now, okay, God? Thanks, for the roller skates when I was, like,11).  As a matter of fact, the first year was kind of great. Then, not long after putting a picture of us on Facebook, all six degrees of separation between him and every girl he ever sent a 'dick pic' to, got so much smaller - and my trust issues got so much bigger. I'm not even mad that he broke up with me, because you can't make someone want to be with you. It was just the timing and the way he did it that hurt. It's having to deal with all the emotional shit you feel afterwards that sucks.
But I also feel relieved.

In truth, I felt like I was the only one who wanted things to work, if I had to be honest with myself. It was a lot of hard work to deal with recurring trust and fidelity issues. Hindsight isn't 20/20 and none of us are as stupid as we pretend to be. We just hope that by turning a blind eye and a deaf ear, things will work themselves out in our favor. They won't, even if we are willing to live deaf and blind forever. Unless you have access to a huge bankroll to buy all the pain away. I can see why a lot of celebrity athletes who cheat and treat their chicks like crap don't get left by them. I know that a boob job and shopping spree would probably make me forget a transgression or two  - if I could only be that shallow - and if I only had the dollar bills.

In the past, I've humiliated myself by looking for 'closure' as well as trying to convince someone why they shouldn't break up with me. There is no closure except what you give yourself and once you realize that it didn't work because it wasn't supposed to, then you will find it easier to work on getting yourself back together. There is nothing anyone is going to tell you that will make getting dumped make sense or feel better. You can't make someone feel something they don't or make them want to be with you. If it was meant to be, 'this'  wouldn't be happening.

I learn something from every ending - usually about  myself. I know that there wasn't anything I could do better or different. I'm kind of the perfect girlfriend.  It's a true statement. But  I've learned that I can be the perfect ex-girlfriend, too. The kind that doesn't try to win someone back, who doesn't techno-stalk the ex - even when a strong memory reminds her of him. The kind of ex who isn't going to try and be friends after it's over because she knows it's just adding insult to injury and the only girls that do that are the ones hoping for a reconciliation that almost NEVER happens. When it's over, it's over.
I will also never again spend my boob job fund supporting a guy without a bigger commitment than a domestic partnership. Kidding - I didn't have a boob job fund.

A good friend of mine who is going through a similar situation asked me how I can have hope after getting my heart pounded into the pavement. I just know the person he ended up being didn't deserve me ... even if I wanted him to - so you move on and hope the next person you may meet won't be the same.

Plus, bitter doesn't look good on me (or anyone) and I won't let myself regret time wasted. Because at one point and time, I had what I wanted, regardless of whether it was perfect or not.

It takes a certain amount of make-up and photoshop to look as good as I do

"I'm not a natural beauty by a long shot. It takes a certain amount of make-up and photoshop to look as good as I do." ~ Me

 As you can see by the photo of me at 11 years old, I was far from pretty. I looked like a miniature version of my dad - with a LOT more hair. The only cute thing about this picture is my baby brother. I don't know what my mom was thinking, feathering my hair like she did, but  I hated this family portrait growing up and cringed every time I saw it. It haunted me my into my young adult life and I could have sworn I destroyed all copies of it when my parents weren't looking. Unfortunately, it seems my youngest brother kept one. Lucky me. 


Growing up, if a boy liked me, it was because I grew on them - I was the personality girl. I still am. I remember having such a big crush on this boy I played Dungeons & Dragons with as a kid and just when it seemed I had grown on him enough to like me back, a new, super cute girl moved into our neighborhood and his attention was stolen right out from under me. She was tall, lean, tan and had this cute button nose and straight, un-frizzy hair. She also wore destroyed jeans before they became popular - mimicking a style late 80s British pop star, and page three girl, Samantha Fox pioneered. What boy wouldn't choose 'hot' over a D&D geek who still wore bell bottoms 10 years after they went out of style? Thanks, mom.


New girl and I eventually became friends because we were the only two same-age girls on the block. Hanging out with her, I learned some of the finer points of being a chick, like how to use heated appliances and canned aerosol to fix my hair, how to shave my legs and that wearing bright blue eye shadow and hooker red lips were necessary to look pretty. I wish I could remember her last name because I want to stalk her on Facebook. I'm curious to know if she realized  faster than I did that unless you're a glam rock musician or an 80 year old European woman, bright blue eye shadow looks good on no one.  Plus, I secretly want her to have grown out of her looks with age. Kidding. Not really. 


Okay, maybe I do just a little.




I'm a lot older than that now and I've grown into my Italian features and my own style that changes depending on my mood. It's not a perfectly pretty look, but I can't afford to buy another one so I make do with what I have - which is mostly personality. I've never had the perfect body or face, but I've learned to fake it pretty well with the careful application of make-up, creative hair-styling techniques and interesting wardrobe choices. I say interesting because sometimes it's a miss.


Which brings me to the point of this.



There have been a few chicks who have asked me how I got into shape after having my daughter and a lot of moms want to know what I did to get rid of my stretch marks and what I'm using for wrinkle control. While a small portion of it is genetics and a larger bit is exercise and diet, the rest is having a great photographer and a minimal amount of photoshop.  


The genetics part is the wrinkle control. In the past, I've experimented with different creams and home remedies like avocado and olive oil masks and miracle whip exfoliation. Store bought creams are only putting more chemicals on my face, so I decided to save my money. Currently, I use soap and water to cleanse and coconut oil on my face at night. 


For everything else, there's photoshop.

Digital surgery has allowed me to fix things like my crooked nose, muffin top and stretch marks. I'm not saying I am unattractive without it, but the truth is, it makes me look fabulous online. Well, that and having a great photographer.


And in this day and age of cyber-narcissism, who doesn't want to look good online? 


Not all my photos are 'shopped.' But I am shameless when it comes to enhancing and optimizing my online image. With features like liquify, which works like liposuction, a clone tool and a skin softening filter, I can look like a better version of me without having to do any of the real work. It's a lot of work to pretend to look as good as I don't.

So, there you have it. Online, I'm just a big fake. 

In real life, though, I crossfit and try to eat right. But I still have issues with not being able to get back to the shape I was in when I was in my early 20s. In my 20s, I would obsess over it and hide in super large clothing. But now that I'm older, I have learned to embrace what I have and support the right to use Spanx to mold myself into my clothes. 


So, there ya have it, folks. I'm kind of a big fake.

Chick Norris App: A not so great idea that I like

I downloaded the Army of Darkness app with some of my fave quotes from the movie that I can never remember. I must have played with it for a half hour trying to figure out how to turn them into ringtones. Then I had the most awesome idea ever: the Chick Norris app. It would sport the NunChicks artwork and inside would be a montage of my signature expressions and faces to illustrate some of my more frequently used phrases:



Seriously??


Really.


I'm a total font whore.


Doing it Terminator style.



Good luck with that.


If you're asking me the question, you already know the answer.



Get it.


Because I said so.


Yes, I'm like rocket science.

Listen up knuckleheads. See this? This is my graphics TABLET!



Don't be a douche.



Girly bits, naughty bits ...sexy bitch.

I don't do domesticated s**t.


Chick Norris ... like Chuck Norris, minus the excessive body hair.

Nunchicks. Deadlier than nunchucks.




.

Memorial WODs: You really can’t quit

So, the boyfriend has started the “leave body” fitness program. That’s when he hits the gym several weeks before he takes leave to look great going home - for the ladies. But I digress.

Anyway, anyway, we were talking about working out today and he tells me he came up with a Memorial WOD for a guy on his team who died earlier this year. He was pretty excited about it.

“No one wants to do it, though, because it’s too hard.”

I’ll do it, muffin, tell me what we’re working with.

Turns out, we were going to be working superhero-style - way more than I was used to.

1000m row

10 HSPU

20 Box jumps

40 Pull Ups

50 WB

70 Push Ups (I hope I interpreted that right)

90 Thrusters

1000m row

That doesn’t sound so bad (translated: famous last words, every time I've underestimated a workout, I've had my ass handed to me).

So, is that for time or can I take my time?

“For time.”

When I left work tonight, I was just going to go for a two-mile run and go home. I ended up at the crossfit gym so I could knock this out. For time. I’ve killed my body over lesser reasons, so having a “cause” was motivating. I've since met the family of the Soldier and it meant more than just a workout for me. Plus, it’s also kind of neat to share something with the boyfriend.

Thankfully, the gym was not that crowded. If there’s one thing that intimidates me, it’s working out in front of other people – by myself. But if I can make random karaoke youtube videos and share them on the interwebs … well, I don’t really have an excuse anymore.

Starting with the row, after about the first 400m, my arms started to protest and my elbows tried to lock. See, I don’t think I’ve done a row except to warm up and it’s pretty easy when you only do it for about two minutes. A thousand meters felt like forever and my arms were numb after. I pushed the handstand push ups after the box jumps. But not before attempting to sub regular push ups so I felt like I was following the workout.

My arms gave out and I plank-smacked my entire body into the floor.

Box jumps are not my favorite, but I have pretty strong legs and powered through those at a decent pace. I don’t understand how the others at the gym can do them so fast, they can’t possibly – actually, I can see they are not opening their hips at the top. Maybe that’s easier. So, about midway, I decided to try to do them as fast as I could. Third one in, my jump was a little shy of the top, my toes caught the edge and almost took out my knee caps when they hit the box. I defaulted back to the correct form I was taught by Master Phil. Screw how everyone else does them.

This is where I really wanted to quit. It’s not like anyone would know, right? I could make up a time and say I did it. Or claim injury. But I couldn’t, I was committed. 

Limping right along …

Handstand pushups are harder than you think. But for whatever reason, I was able to do all ten without falling on my face and breaking my neck. I’m wondering if I did them right. I decided it didn’t matter since I was done with them.

I was doing most of this in the back room at the gym, but for the pull-ups, I needed to go out to the bar. I can’t reach the bar on my own, not even with jumping. So, anytime I’ve done a WOD that includes pull ups, I have to make myself a booster which consists of a 24 inch box and two 10 pound plates – and I still hop. It’s only slightly embarrassing, but not as much as watching me actually do a pull-up. After 40 of those, I decided to swap out the pushups for back squats or I wasn’t going to be able to make it through the wall balls.

One thing I am most proud of is how strong my legs are. However, 70 back squats at 55# set my thighs and ass on fire. So, I pushed the wall balls back to do the thrusters first.

Bar only at 45# after the first 20.

Yes, I took a 20 second break after every 20 thrusters. At this point, I was afraid my arms would give out and I’d drop the bar on my head. Safety first.

Finally, I was on the last exercise – 50 wall balls. The first 25, surprisingly, went smooth. I had hit a zone and was knocking them out. Until I missed a beat in the song I was listening to, caught the ball wrong, and all eight pounds smacked me in the face. I wanted to punch someone and pee at the same time - it hurt. I’ll probably have a black eye. I made it through the next 25 and finished out another 1000m row.

Total time: just proud I finished it.

Kidding, I did it in 59:35.

Maybe there are those who can do it faster, but I’m not about wrecking myself (on purpose) to keep up. Right now, I’m sitting on the floor of the apartment. Not because I’m tired. As a matter of fact, I’m wide awake and hungry. I’d like to go to the kitchen and make some dinner. But I can't. My muscles have informed me that they expelled every bit of energy - plus my reserve - for my workout. So, I’ll probably just lay down right here and go to bed.

By the way: the boyfriend did it in, like, 19 minutes, so I heard. So, now I will try to do it again this weekend to see if I can shave 40 minutes off my time ...