I Am a Very Bad Driver, Part 2

Another weekend. Another cheer competition. Another chance for me to totally screw things up! Hang on tight ‘cause this one’s a doozy!

Rock Star had a one day competition IN STATE, mind you, on Saturday.  I got there fine. Didn’t even cuss and lose my mind when I tried to find parking. The parking garage I did end up using was one of the weirdest garages I had ever seen but I got over that hump with no cussing and kept my shit together.

After the competition Rock Star wanted to go to Texas Roadhouse. There was one in town so we headed in that direction. I told her to call to put us on the call ahead seating list. This was our conversation:

Rock Star: I don’t think I have service in the garage.

Me: Well, unlike your cousin who thought she had service even though she had no bars, you have bars; therefore, you have service.

Rock Star: Then why does it keep beeping at me?

Me: What do you mean?

She proceeds to call again and then lets me listen to the “beeping”.

Me: Rock Star, that’s a busy signal.

Rock Star: Oh. Well I didn’t know that. What do I do?

Me: They’re on the line with another person so you’re going to have to wait until they’re done with that person.

Rock Star stands there with the phone against her ear.

Me: You need to hang up and call them again! They’re not going to finish up with the call they’re on and magically answer your call.

Seriously! It’s 2018 and the telephone is a total mystery to teens today. Wow!

Next we had to find the car. I told you it was a really weird garage. Then we had to figure out how to exit the garage. Again, really weird garage.

I digress. We made the 15 minute trip over to the restaurant without getting through. It was a madhouse; we left. I had already told her that if there was a long wait we weren’t going to wait. The drive home was almost 2 hours; it was almost 6:00 and I didn’t want to wait an hour, spend an hour eating, and then drive two hours home. Especially seeing as how it had just started snowing. Hooray!

Apparently, from now on every cheer competition must include driving through a freaking blizzard.

I get on the freeway to head to the toll road. I will point out that this is not the way we came. The GPS had me take state highways but since we had traveled in another direction to get to the restaurant I guess they were now going to take me back by way of the toll road.

Rock Star is pouting because she really wanted Texas Roadhouse. I’m trying to Google other locations. Texas Roadhouse’s website is telling me Indiana is an invalid state, which seems to be a blatant lie to me seeing as how I know there are, at a minimum, two of them (one in my city and one in the city we’ve just left) in the state. I finally get it to pull up and there is one right off the toll road about 15 minutes from  where we would normally be exiting to get home. Our Texas Roadhouse is on the opposite of town so this one will definitely be closer by almost an hour. Yes! I call ahead, put our name in (the wait at that point was 50-60 minutes and we were an hour away). I am a freaking hero!

It’s snowing really hard at this point. I have terrible night vision to begin with but add in snow coming straight at you and there were times I couldn’t see much in front of me. There were snow plows out and their blinking lights were also blinding me. Plus, they take up way too much space! They do not stay in their own lane.

I hit the toll booth and go through the EZ Pass lane only it won’t accept my tag. This is strange because…

  1. I have my account set to automatically reload whenever my funds get low (or so I thought). I had just changed it a few months ago.
  2. Since Rock Star told me my tag wasn’t accepted the other day when she went to cheer practice I went to the website before we left for the competition and sure enough, I had a negative balance. So… I put $35 in my account (or so I thought).

Long story short, it wouldn’t accept my tag so I had to grab a ticket. I couldn’t reach the ticket from my car (my brother says I have little dinosaur arms) so I had to unhook my seatbelt, open the car door, and push the button. It took forever for the ticket to come out and I was beginning to think there was something wrong and I was going to be stuck in the lane forever. My coat that I had taken off in the car while I was driving was stuffed behind me, pushing me forward in my seat while I tried to press the button to roll my window back up, fasten my seatbelt once again, and get on my way. This is a very important part of the story, btw. It goes to my state of mind.

About 10-15 minutes later I see a flashing sign saying, “Stop for toll ahead.” I’m thinking, “This is strange. I don’t usually need to stop to pay a toll on this road. I pay when I exit.”

I stop and pay. My tag is still not going through so I use the machine. Put my ticket in the wrong way. Have to try again. Have to swipe my card three times before it will take it. I’m getting pissed.

Then it happens. I see the sign saying, “Welcome to Ohio!” Oh. Fuck. No. I had gone the wrong damn way on the toll road. How I made that mistake when the signs are clearly labeled either Ohio or Chicago I do not know. Actually, yes I do. Seatbelt off, coat poking me in the back, can’t hit the right button to roll up the window with the blowing snow and freezing wind coming in, can’t get the ticket in, can’t pay, totally frustrated. Ohio just made sense at that point despite knowing the difference between east and west and knowing which direction I need to go.

This would have been merely a minor inconvenience if it hadn’t been for the blizzard I was driving in and the fact we were supposed to be at Texas Roadhouse in an hour and were now 30 minutes behind.

I’m white knuckling the steering wheel and tell Rock Star to call Texas Roadhouse and let them know to push us back. One obstacle down. I’m still hating the drive. My windshield wipers are smearing the snow flakes on my windshield; I can barely see. I’m doing about 60, which isn’t bad I suppose, even if the speed limit is 70. The roads are covered with snow. I’m coming up on a few snow plows. Again, they are taking up way too much space and blinding me with their flashing lights. I so badly want to call the mobster and have him calm me down but the signs keep telling me to “put the phone down. Arrive safely!” So I do. Only my phone slides off my leg and into my lap and I jump because I think it’s a snake.

Why a snake? I don’t know. It’s not like we were traveling with one and I thought it had gotten loose. I just always think it’s a snake. I about jumped out of my skin. Composed myself.

I kept counting down the miles until our exit. It seemed to take forever! I would have loved to have had a drink or two once I got to the restaurant but I was driving so I was going to have to settle for a diet Coke.

We finally made it. Rock Star put her foot up on my side of the booth. I thought it was a wild animal climbing up beside me. I was still on edge apparently.

Thankfully I settled down, had a nice meal, and once we headed on back to the house the snow had pretty much stopped. It was only about another 15-20 minutes home from there anyway. Tag still wouldn’t work as I got off the final time. And it took a while for the coins to drop in and for it to reflect in the machine. I followed my GPS and took the route it’s always trying to get me to take on my way back. That was a mistake. Snow covered back roads. Finally, we made it home safely.

That now concludes my story; however, for those of you wondering about my EZ pass problems I have answers.

Turns out nothing was like I thought. The auto replenishment was turned off somehow. The new credit card I had input a few months ago was not stored and had reset to my old bank card which I don’t even use anymore. The payment I had made that morning did not go through; I think I must not have clicked on the next button I was supposed to click. Everything is sorted out now thankfully.

Praise Jesus I only have two more of these competitions to endure. I am praying that I will make it to both of them no worse for wear, and can also successfully navigate my way back. I am also praying that I have no more blizzards to drive through. Good weather is always a plus when traveling. In the meantime, I will leave you with this:

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Senior Night

Tonight I attended Senior Night for my daughter. It was just me tonight. My mom is in Florida (She’s giving up cussing for Lent, btw; we’re not even Catholic). My niece was working. I honestly didn’t even think to ask my brother. His wife was working.

When I got there I could tell something was wrong. She was already freaking out because a lot of the cheerleaders didn’t want to decorate for the basketball players so she and three other girls were left with that task. I also found out that the person who took her shift at work tomorrow night and Saturday backed out so now she has to work on Valentine’s Day. She concluded by letting me know she hates Senior Nights anyway because she has nothing to put in her bio that they read as they’re being escorted. She can’t list anything she did at her first school so she’s left with doing track one year, football cheer one year, and basketball cheer for two years. She doesn’t have a full four years of memories with these kids. It reminds her of everything she lost and how different her life is from what it could have been, should have been.

She was also bummed out by the fact that it seemed everyone else had a lot of people cheering them on and escorting them. She had only me. She was trying hard not to cry as she talked but the tears started rolling down her cheeks. I felt so bad for her and I was enraged at CF.

He did this to her! He put himself and his whore cousin and her kids in front of his own kids. It was so damn important that we move to Virginia before she started high school because he didn’t want her to have to switch schools once she started, but once he started fucking his whore cousin he didn’t give a crap what happened to her. Twenty years I listened to him whine about the fact that he got moved around constantly and was always changing schools. Guess who remained at the same high school for four years? Yep, Cousinfucker had that as a constant and got to be a super star at his small high school. His daughter? Fuck her. She doesn’t count.

I was so pissed off I almost texted him.

Hey Cousinfucker! It’s Senior Night and your daughter is sitting here crying. You have ruined her senior year. She doesn’t give a shit about anything. She hates it here. But hey- you get to fuck your cousin so it was all worth it, right? While the other kids get to list everything they’ve done the last four years and talk about the memories they’ve made your daughter has practically nothing to list because she got moved abruptly. While the other kids have their parents/grandparents/siblings to walk with them your daughter has only me. You are a vile, worthless piece of shit.

I almost took a picture of her crying and sent that off to him as well but I wasn’t going to exploit her like that.

Instead after escorting her out, both our heads held high, I wrote this to her:

Rock Star, I love you and I’m so proud of you. I know these Senior Nights can be tough. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. But it is. I’m sorry. If I had the chance to change it for you I would. We both know, though, that that won’t happen. So I’m going to tell you this:

You are stronger than you realize. You are NOT going to let your father destroy you. You are NOT going to let him take away another thing. You get out there and soar. You show everybody what you are made of. You show them everything you can achieve- with or without a dad in your life. You are going to do amazing things and have a freaking fantastic life despite him and everything he has tried to take away from you. You show him every single day what a mistake he made in walking away. Make him regret it every single day.

In your sorrow don’t forget your blessings. You have me and I love you more than the air I breathe. I will never walk away. I will always have your back. I will always be your biggest cheerleader. I will never give up on you. You are my miracle. I am her for you and I always will be.

You have a brother who loves you and wants to be close to you. You have Nana. Crazy as she may make you some days, she loves you and is here for you. She was very disappointed she missed Senior Night this time. You have your Uncle C and your Aunt L. Your Aunt C and Uncle B both check up on you. Grandpa and M come up when they can. You’ve got great cousins. You have a wonderful boyfriend and you have many fantastic friends all over the country.

You are loved, my precious girl. You will get through this. You will emerge stronger than ever. Like steel, you were forged by fire; like one of my favorite flowers, the magnolia, you can bend and withstand the weather. Oh my sweet girl, you are amazing. Anyone who is not in your orbit is truly unfortunate. Anyone who would choose to miss out on being a part of your life is missing the greatest thing possible.

I love you, Rocky. I’ll love you forever. I’ll like you for always. As long as I’m living my baby you’ll be.

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You Can’t “Nice” Them Out Of It

Some days I feel sorry for Bob. Other days I just want to slap him. He continues to cling to this idea that there is something “deeper” going on with CF. Granted, the last time I spoke with him was back in January but I have heard a lot of, “That’s not the CF I knew,” “I’m worried about him,” and “He is obviously feeling a lot of emotional turmoil.”

No, no he’s not. He’s an asshole. He’s an entitled shithead with narcissistic tendencies who has always put himself first and thought he was so much better than everyone else. He was simply smart enough to realize that those characteristics wouldn’t get him very far so he pretended to be something different. He’s not having a mental breakdown. He isn’t in any emotional distress. He’s playing people. He’s doing what  he’s always done and he’s playing the victim.

Even after CF threatened him Bob was still all, “My door is always open if he ever wants to talk.” He also said, “I don’t need an apology. I don’t even need an explanation. If he wants to talk, I’ll listen.” He followed that up with, “The human animal is complicated,” and “Everyone gets a pass if they need it.” Finally, “The ball is in CF’s court.”

The problem is he thinks CF is still that same kid in high school that he used to know. In many ways I’m sure he is. He didn’t become this person overnight. But I think he’s always worn a mask to cover up who he really is. Unfortunately for Bob, that guy he once knew is gone. He’s surrounded by adoring sycophants who tell him only what he wants to hear.

My sweet friend J can be the same way. She’s always thinking the best of everyone. She sincerely believes everyone can change. At one point over the past summer she told me that eventually my kids would forgive him and he would become a part of their lives once again. She thinks he will see the error of his ways and work to improve his relationship with his kids.

I don’t. I think he believes he is always the victim. It is not his fault his relationship with his kids is in the toilet. It’s mine. It’s theirs. It’s never his.

Honestly? I don’t think he even cares he doesn’t have a relationship with them. He’s got two perfectly good kids in his life right now that at least pretend to think he’s wonderful. Why does he need his own two ungrateful snots who keep pointing out his faults and holding his feet to the fire? Besides, the longer he goes without seeing them the more tragic his story is and he can mine it for pity.

I think at some point you just need to cut your losses. It’s hard, I know, to realize and accept that a person cannot change. We always want to believe that with the love of the right person that bad boy/bad girl can change into a wonderful human being that will love you more than anyone ever has. We want to believe that someone is just hurt. They’re scared. They don’t know how to communicate. They have deep issues.

Honey, get in line! We’ve all been hurt. We’ve all dealt with shit. No one gets through this life unscathed.

The reality is some people are just not good or safe people. The only wise thing to do is to cut them out of your life.

A Conversation With Picasso

So often I feel like Picasso is my forgotten child. Rock Star came out like an explosion of fireworks- loud, screaming, demanding. Picasso was calm, serene, go with the flow. Rock Star has always liked to go, go, go! Picasso is more of a stay at home and play video games kinda kid. Rock Star is outgoing and a standout in so much of what she does; Picasso is much more behind the scenes and has a much harder time finding things he is passionate about. Rock Star is always wanting; she’s always asking for time, money, experiences, attention. Picasso exists in his own little world and it’s very easy to overlook him because his needs and wants are generally so small.

Anyway, I took him out to dinner one night while Rock Star was off doing whatever it was she was doing. I wondered if he had any idea that Tammy Faye had been in the hospital, or that she was back in the hospital. I wasn’t sure if Rock Star had passed along that message or not. Apparently, he was not in the know. His response upon finding out? Is it mean if I say that’s karma?

Each time I ask a child why they hold such animosity towards Tammy Faye (after all, she’s not the one that cheated on me or abandoned them) both of them point out that she fully supports CF and what has done and is doing. They are appalled by that. They realize, at their young ages, that she does not care that her son has wrought incredible pain and change into their lives. She has chosen her son over her grandchildren. So be it. Let the decision stand.

They aren’t even influenced by the fact she put this whole ball into motion when she urged the whore to call her precious boy, knowing their incestuous history. No, they are more upset by the fact that she knows and is okay with what he’s doing.

He also went on to say, “It’s okay, Mom; I always liked your side of the family better.” I thought that was kinda humorous but I was also interested in learning why. Honestly, I figured it would be the other way around.

He told me it was because whenever they were at my mom’s people came over and saw us; we went out and did things. People seemed interested in his life and they were eager to see us. When we were at Tammy Faye’s no one really went out of their way to see us and we basically sat around and did nothing.

To be fair Jezebel did always make it a point to come see us whenever we were in town. Usually  the visit either consisted of her coming over to her mom’s house, or having us over for dinner at her house. So it’s not that she never came over. Plus, a huge part of the reason we didn’t do much was because Tammy Faye was always sickly. She has had two hip replacement surgeries and has COPD. She’s been getting around on a scooter for probably the last ten years or so. That tends to limit where you can go.

My mom seemed incredulous. When we would visit her we would regularly take trips to Chicago, go to the beach, tour museums, go to the park. Hell, when she came out to visit us in Utah with my nephew, and my niece was already out there, we would go on vacation together. And definitely we would make it to the movies, to the amusement park, the water park, hiking, and all over.

The truth is we rarely did anything aside from going out to eat with CF’s side of the family. I remember Jezebel and I taking the kids to a movie once. We went to King’s Island together twice, and we went to a museum once. Jezebel did have us over to her apartment once or twice so the kids could go swimming. But mainly it was visiting at one of the houses, or going out to eat.

He once again pointed out that no one on his dad’s side really knows him, aside from his one aunt (the one who has made his dad’s enemies list). They don’t know what he’s into and what he likes and they don’t really care to go out of their way to find out.

Shockingly he told me he felt more at home and more comfortable with the mobster’s family when we saw them. He pointed out that they talked to him, took an interest in him, and asked him questions.

I thought that was quite insightful. I also think it’s probably very true. The mobster takes an interest in Picasso and what he’s doing. He tells him hello and asks him what he’s up to. He asks his opinion. He wants to know what Picasso is into. Now, this could be because he’s trying to impress me, but I don’t think so.

I’ve said before that none of them try to contact the kids. They do most of their communication on Facebook and Instagram so they can show everyone how wonderful they are. No one on his side of the family has picked up a phone and called either kid. None of them have even really texted either kid, until Tammy Faye was in the hospital and Rock Star got the guilt text. No, they are pretty much out of sight, out of mind. Tammy Faye did write a nice Christmas card to both of them where she told them how much she missed them and wished she could see them.

How does this conversation end? Honestly, I don’t remember. Picasso said what he wanted to say; I listened, and then we went back to eating our food. Tell me again how affairs are private matters between two people only. Sure doesn’t look like it from where I’m sitting.

Meet Your Second Wife

SNL has this hilarious skit called, “Meet Your Second Wife”. It takes aim at the middle aged man who dumps his wife of 15-20+ years for the little schmoopie half his age. I saw it linked over on Chump Lady probably a good year ago and I laughed hysterically while I watched it. I later showed it to the mobster who also laughed hysterically right in the middle of the restaurant where we were eating.

I hope you enjoy it as much as I did!

I’m a Very Bad Driver

I used to think I was a seasoned traveler and quite able to get around on my own. I had driven from Indiana to Memphis and back many times. I hopped in my car and drove the 1500+ miles from Utah to Indiana or Kentucky repeatedly. I bundled an infant and a toddler into a minivan and took off on the supposedly 7 hour trip from Michigan to Kentucky and back again. Hell, I even manage to make it to Virginia from Utah and Indiana.

The thing I keep forgetting is that all of those are pretty much straight shots. If I have to make many turns or I miss a single one of those turns I am a lost cause.

It all started back in my daughter’s gymnastics days once we had to travel. I once was an hour late to a team dinner because I made a wrong turn and couldn’t find a place to turn around. When we finally got ahold of the other parents at the pizza joint they were astounded I was so far off course. They patiently helped to navigate me back to the area and then I spent another 15-30 minutes trying to find a parking spot. We were in San Diego and it was Rock Star’s very first out of state meet and therefore her very first team dinner. I felt awful!

But hey! I’m a world seasoned traveler, right? That was just a silly mishap. Oh no! Then there was the time I ended up going to Phoenix by way of Las Vegas (from Salt Lake City, mind you) because my GPS signal was lost in St. George and I couldn’t find the highway I was supposed to take. That was the same trip where we got a flat tire shortly after crossing into Arizona. We waited for an hour at Wal-Mart to get it repaired and after an hour they still didn’t even have us in the shop. I was supposed to pick my mom up from the airport at 10 pm because she was flying in for the meet so I couldn’t dilly dally. I drove probably 300 miles on a little donut tire, definitely breaking the suggested 55 mph limit. The last exit I needed to take was closed so I had to keep driving on the freeway. My son made the mistake of asking me when we were going to get there and I clearly remember replying in a slightly hysterical voice, “I don’t know, Picasso; I’m beginning to think we are never going to get there!”

Driving home my mom wanted to stop at the Grand Canyon but I somehow missed it. I missed a huge gigantic hole in the ground! How can a person do that?

Then we had my latest fiasco when I couldn’t find the Air BnB and I was practically hyperventilating and swearing I would never stay anyplace that didn’t have a large neon sign that beckoned me.

I bring this up because today (yesterday?) we were en route to Cleveland for a cheer competition. All seemed to be going well (it is a straight shot so I had that going for me) until we tried to find our hotel. I assigned Rock Star the job of navigator. We inadvertently went to the Holiday Inn instead of the Holiday Inn Express. Both are on the same street. That was a 15 minute mistake. Then the GPS took us to the wrong place. We had to call to get directions and even then we messed it up. I drove up and down a street with potholes the size of the Grand Canyon at least twice. Those holes I could find. Each and every freaking time!

Thankfully we found the hotel. I ended up paying $26 for valet parking because I just could not deal with trying to find a garage and having to pay anyway after everything else I had endured.

Did I mention I thought she was competing on Sunday instead of Saturday? Because she told me she was competing on Sunday. So I found out around 3 pm that I’m going to have to make a good four hour drive after work.

Here’s the fun part though. It has been snowing for a good 12 hours where I live. The roads are horrible. We are being told to stay home unless we absolutely need to be out. Apparently, we needed to be out and cheering because we headed out around 7 pm, in the cold, wet snow. Thankfully the toll road wasn’t too bad. I was doing at least 45 mph, sometimes up to 60, and once we got closer to Ohio it dried up and I could go 70.

Anyway we’re here. Our hotel is actually an old bank that has been converted into a hotel. The rooms are gorgeous with hardwood floors and tall ceilings. The elevators are tiny but elegant. We’re going to check out the breakfast area tomorrow. Then checking out and heading over to the convention center to compete. After awards I believe the plan is to head on back home.

Let’s hope the trip back is a little smoother!

More About the Mobster

How could I have forgotten to write about some of the sweet things he did the last weekend we were together? I have no idea!

First, when I arrived at the house he was in the process of making me chocolate dipped strawberries. That man has memorized my list of 100 things I love. I’m going to have to come up with another list. I may even begin a list entitled, “Things I Would Like To Do,” or “The Most Romantic Things a Man Could Do For Me,” or “Places I’d Like to Go.” He uses it as a Bible, I tell ya! I love that!

I have to laugh at the memory because he told me when I got there that he was hoping he would have more time to get them ready. The problem is he likes to stop every 15 minutes and I don’t stop. So we have Mosey Along Mobster and the Driving Nazi. He’s all like, “Could you not have stopped for a cup of coffee?’ and I’m all like, “But, baby, I wanted to see you! Come on; it was a four and an half hour drive. How many times would I have needed to stop?” Seriously, it works though.

The strawberries were delicious. They were dipped in chocolate and love.

Secondly, the man buttered my roll for me. I was saying he buttered my biscuit but that sounds rather risqué and it was a roll- a yeast roll to be exact. I was messing around on Facebook, asking him if I should say I was checking in to the church we had just gone to even though we weren’t there at that moment, when I noticed him grabbing a roll and buttering it. I figured he was starting to eat, which was perfectly fine. I was messing around on Facebook after all. I ended up “checking in” to the church and then turning around and “checking in” to O’Charley’s. When I finished I noticed I had a buttered roll on my bread plate. I melted. “You buttered my roll for me! You are the best man in the world!”

It really is the little things. He laughs and tells me I’m easily pleased. He also tells me it’s nice to have someone that is so appreciative of these small gestures.

He admits he was very worried in the beginning that he wouldn’t be able to give me all the material things that CF could. He has taken note over the months though that I’m not a materialistic person. Sure, I like having money (who doesn’t?) and I like nice things, but I’ve said many times I would rather live in a one bedroom apartment with the mobster than in a 4000 sq. ft. home with CF. He is getting it. He realizes he doesn’t have to buy me expensive gifts to make me happy. I want the man who butters my roll and knows I love chocolate covered strawberries so he takes the time to buy the ingredients and make them for me. I want the guy who knows that when my cheeks get rosy it’s because I’m getting tired, or I’ve had a single adult beverage (which makes me tired so that’s basically the same thing!). We were just talking and he remarked that my cheeks were getting red so I must be getting tired. Twenty years with CF and I doubt he could tell you one thing like that about me.

I called the mobster after work. I told him I wanted him to tell me everything would be okay and to calm me down. It was not a huge thing. I was overwhelmed with everything that is going to happen this year and trying to figure out how I was going to schedule vacation time to get all these various things scheduled. He did calm me down. He did tell me everything was going to be okay. Had it been CF he would have either rushed headfirst into the crazy, making it two or three times worse, or he would have made fun of me and told me to lighten up, that it was no big deal and not worth stressing over.

For those not in the know, my mobster has his own blog, Divine Doorknobs. That is how we met. You know how WordPress tells you every time someone likes a post or reblogs something you wrote? Well, he liked a post of mine, The Wacky Things Cheating Women Say. It was probably because the post hit home seeing as how he was dealing with his own cheating wife who said her share of wacky things. I did as WordPress suggested and checked out his blog. I was touched by his writing. His story was hopeful at times and then would descend into gut wrenching sorrow. I could identify with so much of what he had written. I commented. He commented back. One comment led to another and he offered to exchange numbers so we could text and vent to one another. Only a day after we began texting he asked me to call him on my lunch hour. I was a little hesitant but I figured, “Why not?” So we talked and that’s how he got his nickname. Days later we video chatted. I was completely charmed. He drove 10.5 hours to meet me, to spend time with me. He made me smile from the day I began talking to him.

Recently he wrote a post about me, about us. It is his love letter to me. Yes, he declared his love for me out there in the blogosphere so everyone would know. Please go check it out at: https://divinedoorknobs.wordpress.com/2018/01/26/5-2017-changed-everything/ I’ve read this entry a half dozen times at least. Every time it warms my heart. He’s an amazing writer himself and I love the way he expresses his feelings for me. I love the fact that he’s willing to share it with the world. For the first time in a very long time I feel completely, blissfully loved.