Time is Not of the Essence

This past Tuesday mr.redbull and I came to an end, of sorts. Between only seeing each other when I did not have M, how M treated him when I did try to bring them together, the issues with M's dad not respecting agreed upon visitation times, and us being at decidedly different points in our life, we didn't make it. He said it was too much, too stressful. I don't blame him one bit though. I am not happy about the outcome, and I have shed more tears over this break up than I did over my divorce. Probably because the divorce had been such a long time coming that the emotional break happened years ago. I guess time was not on my side.
How to heal? Lemon Drops and a bacon cheeseburger, and pick out the design for a new tattoo.

Beyond that, it was time for a Bushwhacker's run this weekend. I danced, and danced with some cowboys, gave one cowboy my phone number, but was kinda bummed my other cowboy I had met prior wasn't there this weekend. The Fashion Police were working overtime this night! Troll girl was the number one offender, obvious hair extensions, jeans that battled a bedazzler and lost, and black frankenstein boots OVER THE JEANS with buckles around the top. As if that were not enough, I think she was at least a couple decades older than me - I overhead her complaining about her arthrits. And when one is on the prowl, but isn't quite ready to join the ranks of the bedazzled trolls, one should still at least attempt to dress the part. A plaid flannel shirt with jeans does not scream "come and get me" and literally throwing yourself against guys at the bar just screams "i'm desperate". The pregnancy contigent was there too. Apparently a memo went out to all pregnant chics to meet at BW on Saturday night and be sure to wear your Birkenstocks with your muu muu.

Next up...will cowboy call me?

Mom Had a Life Once Upon a Time

So mr.redbull and I have been hanging out for right around three months. I really like him, and like him to the point that I introduced him to M. That hasn't gone so well. It is not fair to him because by default he is the sacrificial lamb so to speak, i.e. the first boyfriend type person that M has met since her dad and I split last October. The general consensus amongst all I have talked to about this is that it doesn't matter who he is, it's because he's the first, and all I can do is give it time.
In the midst of unpacking I came across a box destined for storage that needed repacked into a sturdier box. M wanted to help so as we sorted through photo albums, journals, and other keepsakes from my teenage years and moved them into the new box, we came across all of my prom pictures. As I showed them to M it dawned on me that in her eyes, I had never been with anyone besides her dad. I opened the first one and could tell the wheels were turning in her mind. I saw her eyes widen in surprise as she said "That's not dad. Who's that?"
"That's Steve."
"Was he your boyfriend?"
"Yes." Next picture...
"Who's that?"
"That's Cory." Next picture...
"Who's that?"
"That's Emery." Next picture...
"Who's that?"
"I'd really rather forget about that one sweetie." Next picture...
"Who's that? Is he a real cowboy?"
"Yes, honey, Cliff is a real cowboy."
M says in complete and utter amazement, "Wow, a real cowboy. You went out with a cowboy!! I can't believe it!!" (Something about cowboys makes kids absolutely adore them. In my little sis's eyes, none of my boyfriends or even my ex.hubby have EVER compared to Cliff and it's been 15 years since I went with him. But it's because Cliff and I took her to a real rodeo.)

So a day later, I'm thinking she is over the trauma of realizing Mom had a life before I met her dad, and I'm hoping this will help her be more accepting of the life I have now. This particular sunny Saturday afternoon I have M in the car with me, and as we exit the freeway I see a familiar face in the truck behind me, waving. I make the turn onto the street and as the truck pulls up beside me there is no longer any doubt about who it is, it's NYB. He waves, I wave back and M's little voice in her most incredulous tone pipes up from my backseat with "WHO IS THAT?!?" I struggled a little to find a version of the truth for a 6-year old so opted to simply say "oh he's a friend of mine."

At least now I know there's no hard feelings from NYB seeings how I had opted for the total avoidance route when I met mr.redbull. And as for re-introducing M to mr.redbull, I guess I'll just give it some more time...