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Welcome to my blog. I document my life while running in heels, as well as giving you style, beauty, food, literary findings and a few laughs along the way.

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I Am Not Your Girlfriend

Like Cher, I believe in life after love. 

I am not so cynical from the cyclone of divorce that I've called it. 

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I'm still in the game, I just play a little different. 

I'm not dead inside. I am a little smarter though. 

Slower to fall. 

More honest about the fact that a fall implies hurt. 

Nonetheless, I can still fall in love. 

How do I know? Well, because I did. 

Accidentally, unintentionally, but undeniably. 

I also fell out of it faster than a speeding bullet. The girl meets boy of it all isn't important. The big black bottom line is: 

I am not your girlfriend. 

I've encountered a mind blowing (at least to me) phenomena in my delve into post-marriage dating. That is, that while men ceaselessly claim to look for wholeness in a woman, when they find said woman, fully realized in all her mythical glory, they can't seem to fathom it. 

I fell for someone who heard hooves and thought horses, and I, I am a real life fucking unicorn

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I could sugar coat this. It may come off less narcissistic, but I won't. After years with a real narcissist, I make no apologies for who and what I am and the intimate knowledge of my worth that came with (literal) blood, sweat and tears. 

I don't want to post you on the internet: 

I am #GOALS by myself. I have no desire to call you every day, and I damn sure don't need to physically see you so often. Give a girl something to miss. I abhor "Good morning, Beautiful," texts, because it's all I can do some mornings to get both kids out of the house, dressed, fed, packed for school and myself geared up for war... I mean, work. Texting you back in a respectable time frame is just, ugh. I'm good with texting you first. I'm okay if you leave me alone for hours. And please, text before you call. 

I've learned to like sleeping alone: 

I like watching reruns of "Sex and The City," or anime, or really whatever the hell I want. I read in the bed with ghastly mud masks on. It looks ugly to be this pretty sometimes. I sing, dance and clean in my underwear when the kids go to sleep, and not to anything you probably want to hear...And some nights I just really have to tweeze those three damn hairs that keep growing on my face, so, NO! I don't want or need you to stay the night. 

I am more than financially flush on my own: 

More so than I ever was while commingling funds with another adult. Yeah, I said it. I make the money, I spend the money, and I always know what's there and what is coming from where. 

And while we're on the subject of food: 

I prefer bringing home the bacon to cooking it for a grown man. It's enough that I have two pint sized food critics who prefer chicken nuggets to my idea of cuisine. I don't care that you don't like fish, or how you like your steak. Cook your own damn dinner. 

Like Jay, I have '99 Problems,' but I want no part of yours: 

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I spent 12 plus years feeling a wave of visceral anxiety every time anything happened to my ex. He was like a phantom limb. Even when I didn't want to care, I cared. I don't want to care anymore - at least on that level. I'm an excellent listener. I like to think I give good (well, good-ish) advice; but I want no part in the consequences when you apply my advice or your own to your life. I have my own problems, and a relationship just sounds like a mosh up album I'm not sonically prepared for right now. 

Unicorns are real: 

The fact is that we exist. 

Independent women with the capacity and emotional wherewithal to love you and want nothing more from you all at the same time. 

Look at me in all my wonder. Bask in my rarity. 

The reasons are different for each of us, but we exist all the same. Cheers to you, my dear.

I had to cut a good guy loose because he couldn't grasp the concept that my love is utterly incapable of commitment and wanted nothing. While he overthinks the implications of it, its fizzled out of fire. Its only requirement was that you be you.

After the demolition of my marriage, I came to understand the simple truth of just how linear my thinking on love was. 

So linear that I thought I could go from high school to the nursing home with the same person. And while it is possible, real life has taught me that it's improbable. 

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Relationships are less straight line and more "Dora The Explorer" meets "The Hangover." I just don't have it in me, no matter how I feel about you, to wake up missing my metaphorical teeth, retracing how I got caught up again. Ain't nobody got time for that. 

I just outgrew my entire life. I'm still growing at an alarming rate. 

I'm getting cozy with my vices, dancing with my demons and falling in love with my strength. 

I'm raising kids.

Babying my brand.

Killing it in my career.

I still plan on going back to school and making my whole family call me "Esquire Nika."

My body is in better shape as I do my baseball slide to 30 than it was when I turned 21.

I'm rekindling friendships and hobbies I thought were long dead to me. 

...And then there's still that pesky divorce shit. 

I have goals to smash, and damn it, I want to see for the first time in my life what it feels like to do that alone. 

The companion who I choose has to be able to understand that leaves you on the sidelines. Run down and hug me after the game, and then get back in your flippin' seat. I'm going back in. 

So while you may be lovable. So lovable, so  utterly special - even if I fall for you it's probably just the right place, wrong time. Because I've made a commitment that I come first, and I'm strong enough (*FINALLY*) to wave goodbye peacefully to anything that threatens to make me put me second. 

I wish you well. 

But honey, I AM NOT YOUR GIRLFRIEND.

Β 

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