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?
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