My Harley

I first fell in love with this little guy when I met him at one of my best friend’s house who had rescued him from another friend’s farm. When I asked my friend the cat’s name, I was told “free kitty”. Apparently he was already a trouble maker and was tormenting my friend’s other kitty constantly and relentlessly.

But this 14 pound tom cat had me from his first “meow”. I was completely smitten with him and his friendly nature so I went home that night with a plan to convince my live-in boyfriend to let me get a 3rd cat.

Well, in my defense, our second cat, Samantha was totally his, lol. She didn’t leave his side. And when he died, I think a part of her died with him.

Anyway, it was super easy to come up with a name for him… He was named after the very loud, very muscular, very bad boy Harley Davidson motorcycle. And he truly lived up to his name.

He wasn’t like any other cat I’ve ever known, more part cat, part dog, part best friend.

Harley spent 15 years with me though 5 different homes and even more boyfriends. And he was always the man of my house.

When I got pregnant with Dani, he used to sleep on my belly to be close to her. And although after she was born he kept his distance due to noise and having fitfuls of his fur grabbed at the most inopportune moments, he loved her because she was mine.

And if there’s ever been a man’s love that I absolutely knew was complete and unconditional, it was Harley’s love for me.

But yesterday I had to send my best friend, my familiar, and the man in my life back to the stars.

I miss you my little man, you will forever be in my heart. And Dani and I will always look for you in the night sky… our very furry, orange guardian angel. Rest in peace.


 Some Days 

Sometimes I wish that when they placed that beautiful baby girl in my arms that distinct day of May back in 2011, that they’d also handed me a user’s manual. 

Because it seems to me that I am, more often than not, at a complete loss about how to parent my child effectively. This happened today when I received a phone call from the vice principal at my child’s school. 

Apparently my child is so frustrated and frightened by the move that she is causing serious disruptions during class… even though we are only moving within the same town and she’s still going to be able to go to the same school. It probably stems from being kicked out of our home in Montana but this most recent move, even though the circumstances are completely different, seems to have caused some heavy duty insecurities in my daughter’s mind… insecurities that I am responsible for.  

So, again, Parenting Manual please?!?!

I know I need to be more aware of how even my inner most fears can affect my child but how do I bury them far enough down that the very smart and in tune little one doesn’t notice? 

I question every decision I make. 

Will it affect her? If so, how? Is there a better way I can be handling this? Am I seriously screwing up my kid?

I’m sure all parents have these same anxieties. But how do you deal? How do you turn off that scared, paranoid little voice in your head that questions your every move so that you can actually enjoy your life with this amazing mini – you?

It’s tough. It’s worth it but it is definitely the most exhausting and complex responsibility that I’ve ever attempted. 

AND she’s only 6!


My whole life has been placed into boxes. Not necessarily by me… or by ONLY me… but neat little “can’t stray from the norm, don’t let them see you not be the pretty princess” boxes.

But I’m not a pretty princess. 

I never have been. 

I’m a “fucking drop dead gorgeous when I want to be and still stunning in my own beautiful way even when I’m not trying to be” woman, but I’ve never been a pretty princess… not to anyone except my father that is. 

And I’ve definitely never fit into anyone’s neat and tidy little boxes. Ever. I’m a mess. Completely. I always have been. 

I embrace it most of the time. But I didn’t always. 

Over the last few years, mostly because I’m trying to figure out what kind of mom I want to be, I’ve started unpacking those boxes… oh who am I kidding… I started throwing that shit out of those boxes left and right. All over the fucking place. 

Some of you know this because you’ve been here… Lol

Anyway, things have settled down mostly… kind of… as much as they can when you have an active 6 year old… so now I’m “unpacking” one last box… My relationship box. 

Over the last three months I’ve opened my mind a bit more and have allowed my relationships to become what they would become naturally, instead of trying to force them into these neat and tidy little boxes… and I have some amazing people in my life right now. They all fulfill a certain need I have whether it’s my geeky boyfriend who takes me to see Wonder Woman or my music buff FWB who listens to Dave Matthews under the stars with me. But none of them have to give more than they want to give me. And, of course, they all know about each other… or that there are others anyway. 

I expect nothing and gain everything. 

It’s refreshing. 

Crazy Beautiful

… a term I’ve heard that’s been used to describe me. 

I have no concept of my own looks in the eyes of others although I do find beauty when I look in the mirror.  My only long term girlfriend once looked at me and said “You have no idea how beautiful you are, do you?” And, she was probably just in love, but she was also right. I have no clue. 

Guys never called me beautiful. I was cute… or, omg, fuck-able.

Because that’s what a girl wants to hear, right?!?!

Anyway, I know I’m fuck-able. And cute. And innately beautiful in a non-barbie kind of way. And… incredibly smart, too.

Well, about some things. I ran over my bare foot with the weed whacker two weeks ago. And my finger tips are smooth from all the dishes I’ve grabbed out of the oven with out mitts.


Crazy Beautiful. 

There’s a reason I’m crazy. Especially about relationships. I watched the only man who has ever really loved me, die suddenly. 

It’s traumatic to say the least, and maybe it doesn’t excuse the callous way I treat men but the pain is truly unbearable. I’ve never gotten over it. 

Maybe I never will. 

I know now that I start throwing bricks on my figurative wall as soon as I start liking a guy. And then the first time they screw up, even if it’s something really trivial and stupid, I start flinging those bricks up on that wall as fast as my 44 year old arms will go. 

And I intuitively know exactly what will drive that romantic relationship into the dust, and I do it. 

I can’t stop it once it starts. 

It’s an unending panic attack until I either pass out from exhaustion or we somehow work it out. But if we work it out, it usually just starts the vicious cycle over again. 

I’m broken. 

It sucks. 


I know I promised you some juicy dating stories but tonight’s story is really about something I’ve only just realized about myself. 

I suck at communication with human beings. 

Seriously. I’m terrible at it.

So many times, things I say are misinterpreted and, especially my texts, leave the reciprocant in a quandary as to what I meant. And if I don’t add a smile, I get called bitchy. 

I’m quite proficient at communicating with computers, though… they’re really very simple in the fact that they only understand two things… OFF and ON. 

And that’s really kind of how my brain works too. 

The signal is either OFF or ON. When it’s between, or not specifically OFF or ON, my brain enters flight or fight mode and, much like a computer, starts sending inappropriate messages and erroring out.

Maybe it’s a personality disorder. Maybe it’s the PMDD, PTSD, and OCD. Maybe my brain only understands clear messages and not mixed ones. 

It sends my brain into emotional turmoil that is like a boulder traveling at massive speeds down an alpine slope only to crash and explode into millions of tiny pieces as it slams against a tree… unable to put itself back again. 

Full of unstoppable anxiety that usually ends in a full fledged panic attack. 

Either way… I truly suck at communication with human beings. Almost all of them. 

My real friends understand that I’m sick. And that I have almost no social skills. 

And that anytime I’m not at home, or in a couple of close friend’s houses, I’m experiencing anxiety. Sometimes debilitating. 

And I’m sorry to all I’ve afflicted. 

Letting Go

Another important aspect to recognize about letting go is that it’s not the same as forgiving someone who has wronged you. Forgiveness is an important aspect of wholehearted living, and it’s separate from letting go of attachments that keep you from becoming the incredible individual the world needs you to be.”