True Bromance

August 9, 2013

I’ve been feeling this way for a while.

I thought it was a temporary thing.

A phase.

A rebellion of sorts.

I figured this feeling would eventually go away.

Like a cold, or a migraine.

But this feeling isn’t going anywhere.

It’s actually getting worse.

I’m concerned this feeling is here to stay.

I’m just going to come out and say it (you might already know).

I’m infatuated with Bros.

I heart them.

And I don’t just love your typical Bro.

I’m intrigued by the Broiest Bros.

Note: Based on the research I’ve done, this technically makes me a “Bro Hoe.” Yes, the website I read this on actually spelled the word “hoe” like a garden tool, rather than “ho” like a prostitute – which amuses me even more than Bros. (For the record, I’m not technically a prostitute.)

Back to my feeling(s)…

I’m most magnetized by the Brofessors…the Brofessionals…the leaders of the Brommunity.

I’m so drawn to them I came up with a new word to add to my (and your) Brocabulary. I’m serious. I’m the author. I made it up. I hatched it. I brought it into being.

I’m about to blow your mind (if all this Bromance/Hoe talk hasn’t already)…

After a seriously steamy trip to Target (I had to pick up a bucket and assorted knee high socks to go under my walking cast/boot/thing), I went to Safeway to buy a singing Disney princess balloon for my friend Scott (he just celebrated his 40th birthday). On my way to Safeway, I was talking to another friend that was telling me how disturbing she found my obsession with Bros. Then she said she loved my face and asked me to meet her for lunch. I worked instead of going to lunch (I’ve been so grown up this week)…but I couldn’t get the Bros off my brain.

I got to thinking about the progression of a Bro.

First, there are Baby Bros.

I’m only mentioning these Broddlers because they exist. No matter who (or what) you are, you had to start somewhere. Some Baby Bros are sweet (because they’re still babies). Most Baby Bros are not (because they’re still babies).

Then there are Bros.

Amateur hour is over. They’ve got more than a few notches in their belt (to say the least).

Some Bros naturally emerge as leaders, legends even.

Like Broseidon, Almighty Ruler of the Brocean, these Bros are immortal. Their skills, their stories, their insatiability – stand the test of time.

These, my friends, are…wait for it…BROUGARS (this is MY word).

They are Bros with A WORLD OF EXPERIENCE.

They’re kind of like Cougars.

But they’re also Bros.


If you haven’t truly grasped the definition of a “Bro” – Urban Dictionary will assist you. You might also want to search for images (you’re welcome).

If you aren’t sure about the definition of a “Cougar” – well – leave some Rombauer chardonnay on your front porch. You’ll see what I mean.

Most importantly…


I know you don’t want to love Bros.

I get it.

You don’t have to love them.

But before I finish this post, I’m going to give you a few things to mull over.

I’m going to give you a few reasons to consider going PRO BRO.

1. Bros prefer lean meats and vegetables.

2. Bros are pet friendly.

3. Bros don’t mind when you make this face.

4. When Bros make you breakfast, you don’t have to worry about consuming any carbs.

5. All Bros play hard. Some Bros work hard (see evidence below). Bros wear tank tops when they play and work hard.

6. Bros like, wear and share bright colors.

7. Bros go BIG on the bubbly.

(Photo Courtesy of M Portraits Photography, Taken at Vanguard)

8. Bros are creative on the dance floor. The deep, thumping bass seizes their core.

(Photo Courtesy of The Situation)

I’m almost done.

I only have a few more things to tell you.

Thanks to your sound advice Damien, I’m now the proud owner of Brougar AND (because two Brougars are better than one).

I’m currently looking for sponsors and investors to help me build and launch the site.

You’re all invited to the launch party.

There will be TONS of Fireball (Brougar Juice).

This kind of brilliance is going to make me a millionaire.

I’m going to have more money (and balls) than Tony Bromo.






Come What May

August 6, 2013

I once sent someone a text message that said…

“I hope you get hit by a car.”

The next text message I sent them said…

“No. A train.”

I laugh when I think about it now.

Because I didn’t mean it.

I could never mean it.

The thought of me actually saying it – is funny.

Then again – it’s really not.

It’s @#$%ing embarrassing.

My ONLY saving grace…

It doesn’t matter who received those text messages.

The person on the receiving end of that rage is not, and was never, truly important to me. We’re not family. We’re not friends. We were never in a relationship. We were never married. We do not have to be and will not be – a part of each other’s lives.

BUT, I was meant to have that experience.

AND, those ugly words were meant to be said (although I didn’t truly wish Gandalf any harm).

The good news is – I sent those texts to a very powerful wizard. My ill will didn’t and couldn’t cause Gandalf any pain.

The bad news is – that toxic tantrum (like so many others) went down via text. That effing sorcerer (like so many others) had evidence. I would like to believe our conversation has since been deleted. If not, maybe that type of testimony will ultimately make me famous (who cares what for, right?).

The baddest news is – I have said and done worse things to people that are truly important to me. To my family. To my friends. To people that have been in relationships with me. To the man I married. To people that have to be and will be – a part of my life.

At the time I wanted that warlock to get hit by a moving vehicle, I was low (I’m guessing you figured as much).

I was close to rock bottom.

I just wasn’t quite there yet (scary, I know).

I was angry.

A lot.

In fact…

I was angry.

All the time.

I didn’t understand my anger.

Nobody really did.

Sometimes I was provoked.

Sometimes I wasn’t.

All I really knew for sure was…that much anger…felt like venom in my veins.

I felt poisonous.

Every hour.

Of every day.

In my heart of hearts, I know I’m not “an angry person.”

Sensitive, yes.

But malicious. Or angry. No.

That much anger always felt wrong.

It always felt humiliating, uncontrollable and debilitating.

On so many levels.

Every time I flew off the handle, it took me a long time to calm down, recover and sort of “recognize” myself again.

I still haven’t seen or felt rock bottom (scary, I know).

But I did manage to do the one thing I can’t stand watching other people do.

I shut down.

And I thought a lot about every time I was vehement, or hysterical.

I thought a lot about the relationships that had been (or were currently) dissolving in my life.

I also thought about how badly I wanted to have control over things that were impossible to control. How I struggled to control them anyway. And how that lack of control made me feel.

At first, the silence was beyond uncomfortable.

Now it’s my favorite part of the day. Every day.

In the silence, I “realized” what I knew all along…

Every time I made the choice not to do what I knew was instinctively right for me – it made me VERY angry.

Every time I made the choice not to listen to the only “voice” I can and should naturally trust – I lost more of myself.

Instead of addressing the issue, I became obsessed with all the ways I could distract myself from the fact that I had been ignoring my intuition – at whatever cost. I was purposely and perpetually numb. And I surrounded myself with people that were experts at doing the very same thing.

So many people have been hurt in the process.

I have hurt a lot of them.

And I have allowed a lot of them to hurt me.

The most insignificant moments in time felt the most traumatizing. I’m finally understanding, those were distractions too. When I sincerely allowed myself to feel, see and hear again…nothing hurt worse than the pain I inflicted on myself, the pain I inflicted on the love of my life and the pain we have – as a result – inflicted on each other.

(Photo Courtesy of True Love Photo)

So, a few days ago…

I decided to let go.




I’m not giving up. Or giving in.

I’m just tired of fighting.

I’m tired of feeling so explosive all the time.

It probably won’t change the outcome.

The casualties will most likely remain the same.

But it’s ok.

I had to be there – to get here.

It all had to happen for me to learn what I’m supposed to be learning.

I have faith that I’m right where I’m supposed to be.

As for tomorrow.

I don’t care.

I don’t want to be in control of tomorrow.

Today is my only priority.

Side Note: It feels important to me to say this…I’m not looking for sympathy, encouragement or pats on the back. Writing is really important to me. Writing is also really personal for me. I’m not bitter or angry or sad or depressed or drunk or anything but grateful right now. I’m grateful I’m in a place where I’m relaxed enough to write again. Not feeling “light” enough to write is torturous for me. I feel the lightest I’ve felt since the day I met Bob (it has been almost a decade since I’ve felt that way). That’s all that matters to me right now. This post was mostly for me. But it felt right to hit “publish” and share it with “you” – so that’s what I did. That’s what I’m doing right now. The things that feel right to/for me.

Speaking of what feels right. It feels right to say thank you to a few of my friends.


Kipp – Honestly, I’ve always wanted to include your name in a blog that also included profanity-ish (since I typically use symbols). You’re welcome. I also wanted to say – Disneyland has nothing on Grange. There are fruit cups at Grange. Grange is one of the happiest places on Earth.

Ashley – I recently watched Brokedown Palace, and I thought, if Ashley smuggled drugs for a hot guy and we both went to prison in Thailand…I would totally take the fall for her…because I know she wouldn’t stop fighting for me until I was free. That’s how much I love you…and my male kitten named Ashley…that would make you itch, scratch and sneeze.

Rodney & Josh H. – You may or may not know it, but you two have changed my life. I will never forget that. And I will be forever grateful.

Debbie – I almost died when you ordered a Lava Flow. That is all.

Kat & Katlyn – Thank you for your tip money. I should not have given it all back. At least I got to make it rain to Miley. We can’t stop.

Rachel – Thank you for flinging yourself across the tile floor…twice. And for feminine hygiene products.

Gale – It has taken me what feels like a lifetime to understand why our paths ever crossed. I finally understand. And I have finally come to peace with your/our purpose.

Gandalf – Thank you for the Deep Fried Mac & Cheese Balls and House of Cards. They are both great things. I hope, if you got hit by anything, it was only a tricycle.

Pilsbury – Thank you for the Raspberry Lemonade Blast Blistex. It’s one of my very favorite things. Thank you for trusting me with Squirt (albeit a very short period of time). You brought him over when I needed him most. I know you love him very much. I love(d) him very much too. I still think about Squirt all the time. He was such a good kitty…

And, thank you for standing by my side when doing something simple…like buying garbage bags…was difficult for me (even though you always gave me anxiety in public places, especially public places with shopping carts). For a period of time, I felt like you were one of my best friends. And I really believed you felt the same way about me. You were one of the only people I truly trusted. You were the only person I had felt safe with in a very long time. I am grateful for those memories. But mostly, I am grateful for the night you showed your true colors and arrived at my house with a black eye, a broken hand and “bruises” all over your neck – to take your cat that I adored (granted, I made the demand/threatened you to do so). I understand now that you were only one more way to distract myself from taking better care of me. I think you even tried to tell me that once, which is funny, because you don’t even take good care of yourself. In any event, your epic bitch slap was one of the last few I needed to finally wake up. Thank you again. For that. It took that sick soap opera (let’s face it, you can’t make this stuff up), Jameson (just being honest), a ton more sleepless nights, a whole lot more tears and some seriously psychotic texts for me to force myself to get to the root of it all…and finally…let go. So thank you. I have always believed you were, or would be, important to me. I was right. You were supposed to be part of the larger puzzle. I could not have put all the pieces together without you. Thank you for nothing else. Just kidding. Thank you for this bikini pic. It (still) makes me smile. I also like the “I’M WITH CRAZY” pic and the one of you poking your belly in the mirror. But you already knew that.

Trevor – I know I’ve told you this a few times, and you probably just brush it off, with all the other @#$% I say…but I really do love you like a brother. Not like a Bro. Like a brother. Just to be clear. Thank you for getting me back on my feet. It’s hard to explain. But you did. Now I’ve got some more hard work to do. And there’s NO way I’d be able to move forward had I not spent some time with you. Also, I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to thank you for all of the bourbon, Bros and butt cheeks that have been shared with me over the last few months. People can say what they want about Bros, but your friends and staff have been kind to me, thrown down for me and fought with me (hee hee) like family. I’m more grateful for that than any of them will ever know. Lastly, I want you to know I have thoroughly enjoyed working side-by-side with gorgeous 20-something year old girls with perfect hair, perfect teeth, perfect tans, perfect abs and perfect thighs. Thanks for that – shithead. At least there were rabbit masks for me to wear around BarWest.

(Photo Courtesy of M Portraits Photography)


Amy Dempster – You are the light of my life. Seriously. It’s not just because you gave me the gift of wine and laundry. You’ve been the light of my life since, well, I don’t remember the exact moment…but that’s not important. You just are. Love is love.




Watcha Gonna Do

July 2, 2013

They say nice guys finish last.

Because, for the most part, they do.

Maybe it’s just me…but…

Even Patrick Dempsey’s coif was no match for McSteamy’s…well…steamy.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m all for McDreamy. But I never wanted him to McGiveItToMe.

Speaking of McAnything…

Remember Dylan McKay? Brandon Walsh had nothing on that surfboard.

Moving from MC to MD

Dr. Christian Troy was hotter than Sacramento in July. His business partner? I don’t remember his name. I don’t even remember his face. Because he was boring.

I think everyone knows how I feel about Chuck Bass. I know I’m not the only one.

Don’t get me started on the Sons of Anarchy. I mean, who needs a shower and a razor? Not me. I just need Jax Teller.


I never truly understood the attraction to Aidan Shaw. I sort of liked him. But, you were kidding yourself if you thought Carrie Bradshaw was going to end up with anyone other than…Mr. Big. He was ALWAYS the obvious choice.

And who wants a werewolf when you can make babies with a bloodsucking vampire? TEAM. EDWARD.

Also…TEAM GALE. I know, I know…by the end of the Hunger Games…you feel like you want to be with Peeta. You owe it to the skinny, cake decorating fool.

Actually, you don’t.

You’re welcome.

Hottest King, ever? Henry the VIII – as portrayed by Jonathan Rhys Meyers. The Tudors was soft porn – any way you slice it. I definitely would have been beheaded for Henry. I don’t even have to think twice – about that.

Who didn’t adore Danny Zuko? Grease is the word…obviously.

And who wouldn’t make questionable choices for Johnny Depp in Cry Baby? Ok. Johnny Depp, period.

Feel free to judge…

I heart Tommy Lee.

I also heart Dave Navarro.

Oh…and…I would have given any/all of my diamonds to Judd Nelson, circa The Breakfast Club.

So Rob Lowe took explicit videos. So what. I got you Rob…Low…Lowe.

As long as we’re confronting comebacks, we should talk about Iron Man.

I also got you…Robert Downey, Jr.

Few men compare.

Admit it…

You loved Jude Law, post nanny. And you loved Bane more than Batman.

You’d take Johnny Knoxville, every day of the week.

And there’s no man you want more than Don Draper. Unless, of course, you love Roger Sterling, my favorite Silver Fox. In which case, I bet they’d be down to share.

Note: This blog was a product of three things: lack of A/C, Global Warming and my life on crutches. I’ve been catching up on so much cable. But you already knew that.