Making a breakup stick.

I’ve been thinking about adding a widget to my blog akin to “X days accident-free” signs found in industrial plants. “24 hours Tony-free” – which I would have to update if I contact him or reply to any outreach. 

He doesn’t fully realize the nature of my goodbye. Granted, the last time I said goodbye (May 2015) I lasted a mere few months. I don’t blame him. No matter what I’ve said, he thinks we will be “friends”.

I didn’t think it worth my time or emotional energy to challenge his ridiculous and unrealistic beliefs about what would happen next. When he said we could now have play dates with our children, all I said was “oh and how are you going to explain who I am to Mary?” and he said “I will figure something out.”


I wasn’t as emotional as I thought I would be last week when we had our “big goodbye”. We met mid-afternoon and went to the three-bedroom Air B&B he rented for the night. It had an amazing mountain view. He bought champagne- the good stuff – and I brought a suitcase full of lingerie and toys. The night was amazing. 

The next day was very low key; some amazing Lebanese takeout for lunch, hanging out on my couch, an afternoon movie. Dinner was at one of the best restaurants in the city. We were both rather subdued – for him it was his post-Ecstasy use, for me it was processing what was happening.

We didn’t have sex when we got back my place – it was late and we were over stuffed with food. As we fell asleep on my couch together I distinctly recall thinking “well, this is anticlimactic for our last night together”.

He woke me up before 6am and we had lazy yet intense morning sex. I was keenly aware it was last time – for a very very long time if ever – and I didn’t cry. Laying on his chest afterwards I certainly thought about how much I would miss those moments, but I felt no desire to talk about it. I didn’t need to hear anything from him – quite the contrary. His vague promises and comfort words just irritated me.

I told him I would need some time to not talk to him and he said “sure Ann, whatever you need.”

I’ve had moments of intense sadness but work has been more intense, which is a blessing. I had a date Saturday night with a lovely guy who massaged my feet and sent me to bed early. Another said he understood I was busy but didn’t want me to be “the one who got away” from him. I don’t believe my heartbreak from one can heal with another but the distraction helps.

I’m not sure if you believe in the universe giving you signs, but how’s this: Tony and I met on the 22nd of December. It had been 22 months we were together – to the day. I sent him an email to that effect, and he replied that in a 5 minute stop at his apartment that same day, the 22nd, his child broke a small glass sand timer I had bought Tony as a gift.

Our time was literally broken.

I’m listening, universe. 

~60 hours and counting.

This is the ultimate sign…#142

“The signs are always there…you just have to be open to seeing them.” – Hyacinth Jones

The great thing about a truthful diary – online or not – is you have a record of the things you experience, you write about the signs, even if you can’t see them in the moment.

22 months.

EXACTLY 22 months, to the day. I met him on the 22nd of December, 2014. I’m not normally superstitious, but there have been some crazy coincidences with numbers in my life the last three years. Phone numbers and important birthdays and addresses and the like.

So I take this as a sign that the timing is right.

Finally. Continue reading

The actual pulling away from Tony.

Some of you recommended a scorched earth policy or an immediate “block and delete” response. But that’s not my style – that’s an exceptional action reserved only for dudes who harass me. Like the weird dude who sent texts like “are you ready to meet yet I’d like to chew on your clit”. Ewww. Or the guy who said “watch your fucking mouth cunt you’ll be sorry”. He’s the one who has been exorcised from this blog.

I haven’t seen Tony since I wrote my last post. He’s asked a few times, and each time I’ve said “no”. Each time he’s said “oh it would be so awesome to see you” or “I really missed seeing you on the weekend” I haven’t replied in kind.

But let me back up a bit. Continue reading

The definition of friend and goodbye.

A follower and friend commented privately that someone seemed to touch a nerve on my last Tony blog post – “poke the bear” may or may not have been the term he used.

True, all true.

My ex used to accuse me on a regular basis of being defensive. One of the problems of being keenly aware of my failings is I’m not terribly receptive of hearing them from others. And if you think I’m defensive now, you should have seen me a decade ago. I now understand the feedback (usually) comes from a good place, I’m better at being open to it and responding well.

But. Continue reading

Wading through shallow waters to find a deep end.

I hid my bumble profile again, leaving it open only to those who have connected with me. I got bored and tired of the interactions, and the few conversations just withered. I haven’t missed it.

After talking to Hy Jones, I decided to see what Adult Friend Finder had in store for me. Some of the most awesome and accepting men I’ve met came from the naughty section of a dating site I joined when first single, or from FetLife, and Hy swears there are men looking for similar things as me on AFF.

I’ve been pretty lucky to have met a number of men who are sexually open and interested in exploring. Even Fox surprised me with his kinks and interests. Maybe I bring it out in men; I suppose it’s possible. But certainly there were a number who were not my sexual match in the slightest. Continue reading

In vino veritas.

It’s funny how things work sometimes; especially love and heartbreak.

There have been numerous Tony “incidents” in the last couple of months which have stung. From breaking a four-year seal on photos of his “ex” wife on Instagram on my birthday, to his taking a vacation with his wife for her 40th birthday, sans child, for the first time in ages. There are several examples, all shitty – for me.

Intellectually, its interesting to decompose the various scenarios and try to understand her perspective. There are a few options – she’s either an innocent in all of this and has no idea what he’s up to, to the other extreme of she suspects./ knows and is putting him through his paces to prove his love before she pushes him to move back in.

But emotionally, it doesn’t matter to me.¬† Continue reading

3 Night of 2am – Night 2 (part 3)

I will save all of you the effort of typing to say: I KNOW.

I KNOW I’M SELF-FLAGELLATING MYSELF (to use the words of the ever-wise Hyacinth Jones).

There. I’ve saved you the effort of typing.

I’ve been avoiding writing about Tony because it feels it will come across as all the same. There are shifts in what’s happening and how I’m pulling away but they are admittedly subtle and unlikely to come across as any progress whatsoever. I will reassure all of you naysayers there is absolutely progress in this little brain of mine. I’m very close to where I need to be and I never thought it would take so long to get there. Continue reading

3 nights of 2am (Part 2)

Previous Post

I followed Todd up the stairs to my bedroom.

The combination of weed and alcohol eliminated what verbal filter I usually have. I wish I could have recorded the shit that came out of my mouth that night but will have to rely on my faulty and sex-addled memory.

I told him I was wearing a great bra and panties. La Perla.

He took his time admiring and then quickly relieved me of both. Continue reading

3 nights of 2am (Part 1)

I wrote about Lewis and Todd last week. I was smitten and smiling randomly the next day РI always find the dichotomy of being a mom and corporate suit as well as the woman who has threesomes pretty amusing.

I told Lewis I would love a repeat before Todd went back home. The text reply that made me smile even more?

How about tomorrow night, 8:30?


It was on. I had trouble focusing at work if I let my mind wander for even a few seconds. But it was all good. Continue reading

A stress release double header: My summer sausages.


I still don’t have hot water. I’ve showered at the gym multiple times and it’s getting tired. At least its just me in the house this week. I’m frustrated with the whole water heater situation but I can’t imagine a more boring post than the ins and outs of gas line sizes and mold and faulty installations.

I haven’t seen Lewis since the day we failed to have the BBC party. A couple of days ago he asked what I was doing tonight, and we made plans to meet.

I have a girlfriend visiting for drinks and food while the next (and hopefully final) contractor comes to look at my hot water heater. But since he usually works late, I figured I could see him afterwards.

Yesterday night, in the heart of my phone-throwing-anger with Tony, I got the following text from Lewis: Continue reading