11 years ago, shortly following my break-up with my gay ex, I met Dave. We were introduced by one of my co-workers. Dave was independent contractor, doing some work for the newspaper that I worked for. He lived in San Francisco, was recently divorced, and had two small children.

I was physically attracted to him, but after a couple of lunches, more than a few drinks, and an official dinner date, I was absolutely smitten. His personality was incredible, and he taught me how to laugh again.

We began a whirlwind relationship. He vowed we never spend more than three weeks apart. We went back and forth from Miami to San Francisco. Trips to New York, skiing in Utah and Lake Tahoe were also thrown into the mix. Long distance relationships are great, because whenever you’re together, one of you is always on vacation. It was a magical year, and we loved each other very much.

Because of his children, he couldn’t move to Miami, so I started looking for jobs in the Bay area. Much to my surprise, I landed one. I called to tell him, and he seemed less than thrilled. He confessed that he didn’t want a girlfriend in the same city, nor did he want to re-marry and have kids. Heartbroken, and pissed, I broke up with him on the spot.

I stayed in Miami, and within a few weeks I became involved with someone else. Someone who I ended up staying with for almost three years. Dave also met someone. A few months after our break-up, he was in Miami for business. After a huge fight with my boyfriend, I agreed to meet him for drinks. I brought a friend, and he brought a friend. I knew I still loved him, and I think he still loved me. I asked about his girlfriend. He said she was cute, but she wasn’t me. I swooned. At the end of the night, he said he wanted to do something, then pretend like it never happened. Before I could say anything, he was kissing me. We were locked at the lips for a good 3 or 4 minutes, much to the awkward surprise of our friends. I never saw him again.

We spoke from time to time. A few years later, he told me he was marrying the girlfriend. An e-mail a year or two later informed me that they were expecting a child. It took a long time for me to get over him. Like, quite a few years. The fact that he did end up with a girlfriend in the same town, who he married and had children with, really did hurt me.

Today, I am over it, and realize that we came together for a reason, but ultimately we had different paths to take. I just found him on Facebook, and we are now friends. I saw pictures of his wife, and he was right. She’s cute, but she’s not me.

I am so glad that I can always look back at that time, and remember how happy and in love we were. We had an amazing experience together, which I will always remember fondly. Maybe we weren’t meant to be forever, but we were meant to be during that particular year.


About 6 weeks before I left for Utah, I started dating someone in Miami, Ron. He was handsome, funny, smart, manipulative, condescending, pushy, and extremely critical. I made a half-assed attempt to end it at the 3 week mark, but I was having a rough time, and I allowed him to take advantage of that, by making himself indispensible to me. By the time I left, I couldn’t wait to get the hell away from him. We fought constantly, and everything about him bugged me.

I arrived in Utah, hoping for him, out of sight, out of mind would come into play. No such fucking luck. He called me constantly, and interrogated me about what I was doing, and who I was doing it with. After ten days, I called him and ended it. He hung up on me, and I was hoping to never hear from him again.

Six weeks later, he sent me a text message on my sober anniversary. Not wanting to open the door for dialogue, I didn’t respond back. Two days later, I received a call from the mutual friend was was subletting my Miami apartment. He informed me that he had come home, and found that one of my front doors had been kicked in. Nothing was taken, but it was a definite act of violence. In my gut, I knew that Ron was responsible for it. My building is very secure, and nearly impossible to get into. One night, Ron watched me enter the security code, and then put it in his phone, so he knew how to get into my building. Two days after the door was kicked in, Ron texted me again, asking when I would be back in Miami because he had some things he needed to say to me. I told him I didn’t know when I would be back. I hoped that would be the end. NOT.

I’ve been back in Miami for 3 weeks, and the last week has been spent living in a great deal of fear, unable to sleep or eat. Ron has been calling friends, asking if I am back. A week ago he started texting me. ‘R u back?’, ‘i need to c u’, ‘i need to talk to u.’ WTF? This is a dangerous guy. Around the time I broke it off, he decided to return to drinking and crack smoking. I’m scared of him, and have been unsure of what to do. I don’t want to make a huge drama out of it, nor do I want to drag others into it.

This morning, the texts started coming in again, and I had finally had enough. One of my amazing friends called and told him very nicely to back the fuck off. He was full of excuses, and stories. Apparently, he was planning on showing up at a place where I will be later tonight. He was told that I’m being watched very carefully, and to stay away from the places that I frequent. I feel a little bit better, but just a little bit.

The lesson learned, if a guy poops in your bathroom on the third date……RUN!!!!!

Big Changes

I’m back in Miami after spending a pretty fantastic summer in Utah. As weird as it was to adjust to being in Utah, the adjustment to being back in Miami is equally weird.

I turned 40, in July, and now know what I want to be when I grow up…..a pastry chef. I just got into culinary school, in Utah, and will be moving back in March. As much as I love/loathe South Beach, I know in my heart that my time here is up, and I’m so okay with that.

I vow to post regularly. There’s some weird shit going on, that I need to get off my chest. I just have a shitty feeling of unease, and I feel that my safety has been compromised. This topic, is worthy of it’s own post. Actually, I have a list of items which all deserve their own posts.

A Serious Misconception about Utahrds

People in Utah, have a reputation for being very polite.  To this, I scream total and complete bullshit.

I have had maybe all of two people acknowledge (i.e. thank) that I held the door open for them.  I have also had countless doors not held for me.

Maybe it’s because I’m not part of an inner circle, or secret society, but the lack of ‘thank you’s’ in these parts, are inexcusable.  I have a group of relatives who I am more than ready to break up with.  I had them over to my parents house for a barbecue, my first weekend here.    I bought a lot of food, spent most of the day cooking, and for the most part felt like I was treated like complete shit.  There were three people, who didn’t even say a word to me.  Wait, I take that back.  When they left, one of them turned to me, and informed me that the dress I was wearing made me look pregnant.  Of course, I didn’t mention that he’s looked six months along for the last 20 years.

I guess I should have known better.  Within this same group, a baby was born last year.  I went out and bought some beautiful baby clothes, and shipped them off.  The grandmother of the baby, confirmed that the package was received, but never did I hear a word of thanks from the parents.  When I mentioned this, and the behavior at the barbecue, to my mother, she just shrugged and said, ‘you know how they are.’  

Again, I cry bullshit!  Just because I am related to these people, does not mean that I have to put up with their blatant lack of manners.  But, is also means that I have the choice of whether I want to spend time with them or not.   Right now I’m choosing not.  They make me feel judged, and even worse I feel like I’m judging them right back.  This really doesn’t matter, but they are all active members of “the church” and hold church positions.  The men even hold the priesthood (whatever that means).   I have no beefs with the Mormon church, but if this is how their members behave, then I sure as hell don’t want what they have.  Let alone spend time and all eternity with them.

Thanks for bearing with me on this one.  Obviously I had a serious vent, that I desperately needed to get out.

What’s New?

IMG_0516Long time, not post. I’ve ben in Utah for over a month. The first few weeks were very hard, and I was longing for my life in South Beach. Now, I’m adjusted, and everything is okay. Not great. Not lame. But okay.

My kitties are here with me, thank Gosh! As obnoxious as they are, they really have kept me sane.

As planned, I’m keeping things very simple while here. Most days, I work out in the mornings, hike in the afternoon, and got to AA meetings in the evening. This is a far cry from my life in South Beach, where I’m constantly dashing around like a chicken with my head cut off. When I return in October, I hope to take some of the simplicity back with me, to help balance out the non-stop “go-fest.”

Emotionally Void

I’ve been dating someone for about a month. He’s handsome, nice, and absolutely smitten with me. I broke a rule. I let him come into my home. Not a good idea, as he has become a bit too comfortable in my lair, and all I can think about is when is he going to leave. It’s him, but it’s me. Mostly me. Because I opened myself up to him, I then became scared and now I want to bail. I am out of here in 3 weeks, but I don’t think I can wait that long. Little things about him are making me miserable and crazy.

He talks too much.

He talks too fast.

He interrupts…often.

He talks too much about his glory days on South Beach (yawn).

He wants to see me all the time.

He wants me to meet his mother.

He is suffocating me.

I literally fee like I can’t breathe.

His biggest crime? He’s not the Italian. Sigh.

Reality Check

I’m leaving my glamourous South Beach at the end of June, and will be spending a long hot summer in Utah. I’ve been so up in the air, and keep doing the should I or shouldn’t I dance. I am now realizing that I should, for may different reasons. I have a lot to do in the next month, in order to prepare, but I suppose it’s all good. Leaving my really good life in South Beach is gonna be hard, but I can always come back to it in the fall.

Many of my friends and family in Utah, seem to think I live a very glamorous life down here. It always makes me laugh, but if I step away, and look at it, I guess I really do. Living here on Fantasy Island, I have been exposed to things, good and bad, that seem almost unreal. I ride around in luxury vehicles, I eat very well, I am dragged around to look at 5 milllion dollar condos, I can’t walk ten feet without seeing someone I know, and my phone rings non-stop with invites. After 15 plus years down here, I’ve put down some roots. I always thought of this as a temporary place, where I merely stay, but in reality it is my home, and my life.

Once I get to Utah, I think spending my days at Walmart, driving my mom’s Malibu, and eating at Cafe Rio will be good for me on so many levels. I get a little full of myself, and my really good life. I often forget that not everyone lives like I do. A reality check is in definite need for me at times. This summer will be my reality check.

The basis for my decision of going to Utah, is family based. This is new for me, and I blame my sobriety on it. I plan on being present for my family. I still have three living grandparents, and one in particular who I can’t wait to be around. This is time I will never get back, and I feel very grateful that I have been given this time to do what I need to do. Not only for me, but for those around me.