Dos Cervesa Por Favor

I hope that's all the spanish I'll need next week, because that's about all I've got.  I can also count to ten and ask where the bathroom is.  But, I'm sure I'll be fine.  I've loaded the first 15 lessons of "Learn in your Car Spanish" onto my baby iPod.  So, I'll listen to an M. Ward song, repeat some phrases, listen to a Shins song, learn some new phrases.... I'm sure that by the time I land in Cancun, I'll know everything I need to.

Yeah, right.

I'm mostly packed, but feel like I'm really, really missing something important.  I've got a passport, a credit card and some cash.  That really should be all I need.  I think I've packed way too many clothes.  I have no idea what to bring since I've never, ever traveled this way in my whole life.   How can a couple skirts, a couple shorts and some t-shirts be too much? But the backpack is heavy.  And its hot down there.  Heavy and hot make Susan cranky. (Conversely, hot and heavy makes Susan happy).

We've reserved two nights in a hostel in Isla Mujeres.  I'm sure I will have some stories about that one, and all of our other hostel nights if there are any.  We'll stay there for a few days, then head to Merida, Tulum and places in between.  On the bus.  The places we are going are pretty touristy, so I don't think there will be much to worry about, other than severe gastro-intestinal distress.  

So, wish me luck.  Send me good weather, and cute men.

And when I get back, a new chapter in my life will start.  Hopefully, it won't be the chapter where I fight off tropical bacterial infections.

Beach Reads

P.S. - I'm in need of a couple good paperback books to take with me on vacation.  I got the Obama Book, Dreams of My Father; but now I need some serious chick lit.  Read any good ones lately?

The Vacation Curse Strikes Back

Did I happen to mention that I am leaving for Mexico on Sunday?  And that we still don't know exactly what we are doing or where we are staying?  And that I haven't yet gotten my "In your car spanish" CDs out?  Oh, and anyone heard about the violence and kidnappings in Mexico?  Yeah...

My vacation curse has stuck again.  Over the years, no one has escaped unscathed when I bust out of the state.  On one notable occasion, it was my grandmother.  My weekend trip to Boston did that poor woman in; I got back just in time to hold her hand while she took her last breath. And of course, I have felt guilty ever since because of that 30 minute detour I took to find a Starbucks in Connecticuit. Sorry grandma.  I know you were holding on for me, but I really needed a soy mocha latte (no whip).  

On two other occasions, it was various parts of my car.  On another, it was floods and rocky mountain spotted fever, on another, expired insurance prevented us leaving the state and exploring Arches National Park...  When I went to Costa Rica two years ago, it was my cat.  I let that bastard out the night before I left because he always comes home.  Always.  Except when I'm leaving the country, of course.  We didn't find him until almost a week after I got back; he'd lost 3 or 4 pounds and was an absolutely mess. Where did I find him, you ask?  In the bushes in the backyard.  But only after I had spent an entire afternoon putting out flyers and visiting every single SPCA within a 40 mile radius.  I guess Leroy made out better than Grandma though, so maybe things are getting better.

But no.  Several weeks after we booked our ticket, I started hearing about all the violence and kidnapping in Mexico; but it was just near the border town.  Then I heard it was spreading. Then I heard about some beheading, and a tragic bus accident.  And to think, I clicked "no" when Travelocity asked me if I wanted trip insurance.  D'oh!  Luckily, I have ransom all lined up should I need it, so I'm feeling a little better about that.

What I'm not feeling better about:  The Stupid Cats.  Leroy got in a big, fat cat fight last night and his back leg is swollen up like a balloon.  He can hardly get to his food bowl.  Arlo has taken to pooping on the living room carpet, and last night, looked at me and peed in my kayak equipment bag.  "This is for locking me out of your room last night.  Bitch."  I have this tremendous fear and stress that Leroy will get some infection and Arlo's kidneys will kill him as I am sipping on my Corona, totally unawares.  Honestly, I'm not so stressed out about them keeling over (sometimes, that would make life so much simpler) as I am about the stress it could cause K who has agreed to take care of them for me.  K, the very same person that searched and searched for Leroy while I was in Costa Rica...  Leroy goes to the vet early tomorrow and hopefully will check out ok.  If not, K is going to run away screaming.

Meanwhile, bills, taxes and homework all be done before I skip town.  Plus, I have no more free nights this week (and the one I do have, I'm wasting writing the longest blog entry ever).  I know that it is very important to go away on vacation and I really am looking forward to it (I think).  But the stress!  Good lord.  I'm positively manic right now.  But I know that all the stress will go away as soon as the airplane lifts off.

Anyone notice the marked increase in airplane disasters recently?

The Evils of Facebook

Idle curiousity just got the best of me.  

I was playing around on Facebook.  BB never had a Facebook account and for just one second I wondered if he had finally resigned himself to the Facebook revolution like the rest of us.  Not expecting that he had, I looked him up.  Press Enter.  Instant BB.

He just appeared out of nowhere!  Right there on my screen.  Smiling, in this tiny thumbnail sized picture that I couldn't enlarge without "friending" him.  And while I am most certainly insane, even I know that friending BB is not really an option.

I felt like he could see me looking at him.  My heart started pounding, and I instantly felt sick. Its a new picture; he's wearing a new shirt and a tie.  Where was it taken? Who took it? Why? He looks uncomfortable -  like someone said "You look so nice with your fancy shirt and your tie, let me take a picture..."

Its truly amazing what one picture can tell you.  He's bought a new shirt.  He got a haircut.  He got dressed up for something; I think it might have been one of the annual hospital parties that happens around this time every year (I went last year.  Nothing is lamer than a bunch of residents trying to get their party on).  He was alone - very obviously nobody was cropped out of the photo.  Imagine the conniptions I would be having if someone was cropped out...

Good lord, why did I do that?  It just confirms that BB is still here, walking the earth and living. I feel like ex's should just disappear forever.  You don't love me?  Ok.  Poof!  See ya.  Come back in 20 years when I am totally over you.  But no, now they are on Facebook!  Flaunting their existence and the fact that life is going on without you!  That parties are happening!  That leaving the house is happening!  That hairs are being cut, and beards are being trimmed!

I was just going to write a snarky comment about his back hair needing to be trimmed too.  But folks, get ready to feel really, really sad for me...  Thinking about his back hair made me miss him more than I have in a long time.  Not because of the back hair, obviously, but everything that was associated with it - the naked, the spooning, the snuggling, the late night talks, the back scratches...

Crap.  I thought blogging about my little Facebook experience was going to help.  I think its actually made it worse.

The only good that comes out of this is the mild feeling of smug satisfaction that I am having right now.  BB once said something like "Facebook is stupid! Why would you waste your time there? Anybody I want to talk to, I talk to!"  (p.s. I also said similar things, but we aren't talking about me now, are we?)  Now, he's there.  Let's hope he was driven to it by the big hole I left in his life.  Yeah.  I like that theory.

Keeping the Hope Alive...

Yesterday was Susan Day.  No bills, no taxes, no homework, no vacuuming.  I declared war against responsibilities, yet still ended up in bed at 11pm.  

Its sad that I have to declare war against responsibility in order to take some time to just relax. And I didn't even really relax all that much.  I slept way later than I normally do, finally getting myself out of bed around 10am.  By the time I had showered, fed myself, fed the cats and caffeinated, it was after noon.  Oops.  At that point, its almost too late to make any big plans, so I made small ones.

I occasionally will go "birding."  Its really lame, but setting out to see new and interesting wildlife that I've never seen before at least got me out of the house, and this time, it was so convenient!  Local bird-nerds had sighted some rare birds hanging out in a field 1/2 mile from my house, right behind the Home Despot.  So, on my errands, I scooted over there with my binoculars to see what I could see.

I didn't see any birds right away, but what I did see was a young, cute and male bird-nerd! Whoo-hoo!  I was on the opposite end of the field, looking through my binoculars for birds, then at him, then at birds, then at him again.  I couldn't be sure, but I think he was scoping me as well (literally, he had a birding telescope).  I eventually made my way over to him, flushing the birds we were both wanting to look at, which instantly made me persona non-grata.  He was kind about it though.  And when they came back, he offered up his scope so that I could get better views of them.  Cute little buggers.  In case you have any interest at all; the birds that attracted wildlife enthusiasts to a Home Despot parking lot were horned larks and lapland longspurs.

I chatted with Bird-Nerd for a while - I had never seen him around and he had plates from out of state.  Instantly, I started wondering if he was single, what brought him to town, if he was lonely, if he needed a cute blonde girl to warm his cold bed...

Then more people arrived and we started chatting.  Turns out, Bird-Nerd knew a couple of the other younger birders who had shown up, and that I actually knew them, but had forgotten (I suck at remembering names and faces).  Then we started playing the "where do YOU work?" game.  And suddenly, Bird-Nerd had a girlfriend who he moved here for.

D'oh!  Guess he already has someone warming up his bed for him. 

But, randomly meeting a cute boy in the parking lot, even if he does have a girlfriend, was quite a surprise for a Saturday afternoon.  It gives me hope that maybe someday, I will meet an actual real life guy.  And like him.

Decisions, Decisions, Decisions

Last night, I spent another traditional American Friday night having therapy, eating risotto, drinking beer, and killing brain cells via the Wife Swap and The Nanny.

I had a good discussion with the therapist yesterday.  Her dogs were there again, but I avoided getting near them and emerged from the office dog-vomit free.  

I doubt that I'm going to go back to her. She didn't prod too deep, or tell me anything that any of my smart friends (or blog readers) haven't already pointed out.  Really, it was like having a conversation with a friend, except I had to explain all the background stuff.  And pay her.  Kinda silly, really, when my friends will listen to me for free.

We talked about how I'm afraid of making decisions and how I'm afraid of commitment, which really when you think about it are pretty much the same thing.  Of course I don't want to make big decisions that could change my life - I've got it pretty good right now. Making a decision to change something major could ruin everything.  This is why I haven't moved, changed jobs or bought a new car.  Christ - its the same reason I haven't bought a new cell phone!  Every time I walk into the Verizon store I am siezed with fear of picking out a phone that I will later regret. God forbid I spend 50 bucks on a phone and not like it.

Now, turn the Verizon store into Match.com.  Same core problem, except that instead of 5 options, internet dating gives you gives you thousands.  Every shape, age, color and personality are all right there, waiting for you to choose them.  I get panicky when there are more than 2 things on a menu to pick from.  Now, give me a menu with 900 men.  Panic times a million.  If I pick this one, I'll miss out on that one.  If I pick this one that lives an hour away now, I might miss out on dating one just as good, but geographically closer. I've gotten more and more resigned to the fact that to date someone interesting and smart, its likely going to be a more long-distance thing, but do I want to sign myself up for that?

Not really.

Everywhere around me is reinforcement of why I don't want to be in a relationship.  Wife Swap and the Nanny don't help.  Holy hell.  I would rather be single for the rest of my life than have half the aggravation (and bad habits) those people have.  Therapist talked about how older women frequently bloom when their husbands die.  Or when they divorce.  Yup - cuz the poor women is no longer constantly disappointed by her man and doesn't have to clean up after him any more.  

Really good relationships, where both people bloom in each other's company, are few and far between, and even those aren't perfect.  I have little faith that I could ever be part of a healthy couple and be truly satisfied.  But the lonely is making me yearn for a relationship.  And the practical is keeping me from getting out there and trying to make it happen.  

A stands for Anxiety

What on earth is happening to me?

I seriously used to have my shit together.  I was confident.  Egotistical.  Obnoxious.  Fun to be around.  Happy.

Remember Happy?

Perhaps you don't remember Happy.  I think Happy was pre-blog.  

So, I'm sitting here "studying" for an exam.  Taking sit-down exams when you are 33 years old is about ridiculous, but so be it.  All the little 22 year olds in my class are having fits about it, which is causing me to have fits.  Its not hard stuff.  I know how to do it.  Yet, I'm sitting here reviewing it, taking notes, re-doing problems...

And I have this knot of anxiety in my stomach.  But it doesn't have anything to do with my ability to calculate the future value of an investment made today at 6% interest compounded quarterly.  Its BB anxiety.  What the hell?  I'm sitting here calculating interest payments, I notice the anxiety, I look up for a second and BB just hits me like a brick.  

I haven't talked to him.  I haven't emailed him.  I haven't stalked him or his Amazon.com account.  I haven't been reading old emails.  I haven't been listening to music he gave me.  Its been over a month and a half since we've been intimate, so what the hell is happening to me?

A knot of anxiety?  Over someone I've not spoken with in almost 4 weeks?  I think I still miss him.  Someone come put me out of my misery.

(P.S. I was going to bail on my next therapy appointment with the dog lady, but after this little episode, dog puke or no, I think I'd better go)

Life, as told by Quicken

I am woefully behind on just about everything.  The garden?  A mess.  The house? A mess.  My taxes?  Should have been done a month ago.  Work.  Oh god, I don't even want to talk about it. And apparently, I haven't balanced my checkbook since 2008.  I don't want to really place blame, but a large reason things are such a mess here where I type to you is because of the home time I gave up for the sheer pleasure of BB's company (insert sarcasm).

Now, as I'm trying to emerge from my BB haze, I have found a pile of shit on my desk six inches high.  Unpaid bills.  Undone homework.  Random things that hook my computer to other things.  Coffee cups.  Beer glasses.  Apples that are no longer edible.  Old Navy coupons that expired in September.  And more shit too embarrassing to admit to.  So, I began digging out...

Although I rarely, if ever, use it for anything practical, I enter all my expenses into Quicken.  I think that someday, I will go back into it an analyze where all my money goes (hint: beer, wine and kayaking equipment.)  I actually have a category for "frivolous crap".  Also, I have a category for beer and wine.  You don't even want to see what that looks like monthly. Particularly after I discovered Costco's no-membership-required liquor store.

The problem with going over your bank statements three months after you have made purchases?  Yeah.  Its full of memories of purchases you've made with people who are no longer a part of your life.  December featured dinners at the pub, my guitar hero guitar, playstation games, sunday breakfasts...  January is no different; except the dinners were more expensive.  It stops in February; and next month, there will be no BB related purchases - unless you count the trips to Costco's liquor store, the spa and the mall as BB related (p.s: they were).

It stung more the first time this happened with BB.  Almost exactly a year ago, I remember sitting here with the bank statements, bawling my eyes out.  Particularly as I entered the last dinner we had together - the one I purchased hours before we broke up.  I still occasionally scroll up and stare at that entry. Incredulously.  

Next time, I'm leaving the bank statements on the desk until I am truly ready to face them.

Table for one

I am so tired of being the only single person in the room.  Its depressing.  Its exhausting.  It sucks.

Tonight, I went to a bonfire.  Except, there was no bonfire because it was raining.  So, most people bailed.  I felt like I couldn't bail and since I hadn't really left the house all day, figured that I really should get out for a while.  And it was fine, really.  Better than sitting at home alone in my house watching Sex and the City DVDs (whole first season watched between last night and today).

But, it was me and three couples sitting around a table.  None of whom I am close with.

So I have no person.  Noone else to blame when I am bored and want to leave.  Noone to deconstruct the night with.  Noone to get up and get me a beer...

It just reinforces the fact that despite my many, many great friends and my really busy schedule, I am really, really lonely right now.

Civic Doodies

I had a minor victory at a Town Council meeting this evening.  I've been spending some spare time trying to fight off construction of a gas station near my house.  Yeah, yeah, so I'm a NIMBY. Whatever.  I've spent lots of time trying to fight off things in other people's backyards too.  So there.

This is not my point - although, it is the reason I'm blogging, again.  One, meetings always get me fired up and I am a ball of energy when I get home.  At 10 pm, when I should be winding down.  Two, it takes me back...

(Enter way back machine... and Wayne and Garth sound effects)

Once upon a time, I lived in this house with a boy, named PRex.  It still blows my mind that he lived here for three years.  And that we slept in the same bed.  Every. Night. For. Three. Years. And he snored.  We went to Home Despot on the weekends.  We watched the garden channel together.  My god, I was boring back then (and fat to boot).

It was back then that I started getting involved in neighborhood politics.  You might have noticed that I have opinions on just about everything.  And I sometimes even make them known.  This fact did not escape the actual adults in the neighborhood (I was only 24 or so) and I was asked to be Secretary of our Civic Association.

The President stopped by the house when I was on travel somewhere to ask me if I would do it. PRex told them I wasn't interested.  When in fact, it was PRex who wasn't interested.  I was all for it and was horrified when he told me that he told them no.  WTF.  I speak for myself, you.

So, I became Secretary.  And maybe, just maybe, PRex was right, because what a colossal pain the the ass it was.  It made my blood boil every meeting.  People bitching at each other.  The President acting like an illiterate jackass (maybe it wasn't an act).  Me knowing that it would all be better if only I was in charge (eventually, I was in charge.  And it was better.  And all was right with the world).

I would come home late at night, all amped up and pissed off like I am tonight, and he would encourage me to quit.

To quit.

Not to change my tactics.  Not to control the situation better.  Not to lay off a bit, but to outright quit.

That's not good advice!  That's not encouraging me to make myself a better person, to stretch my limits, to contribute to society...  That was him telling me that he was tired of hearing me bitch about it.  Well shit, if I wasn't bitching about the neighborhood, we wouldn't have had anything to talk about!

Eventually, I took his advice and quit.  And I was happier.  Then I was happiest when PRex moved out.  Then I was bored - then I got involved again.  And that brings us back to now.

Is there a point to this, besides me trying to tire myself out?  Maybe.  I think my point is that one of the things I am looking for in a man is the ability to encourage me try new things (not those things.  Dirty.) and to reach my potential, without selfishly pulling me back because its easier for him if I'm fat and complacent.  

Now, just where would I find one of those?

Speedy Delivery

I want you all to make a pact with me today.  Send someone a package unexpectedly and for no good reason.  Its good for your friend/mother/brother/cousin/teacher/ and its good for the Post Office (come on, you know they need the business).

I got a package today from my friend T.  Despite both of us being raving lunatics and living on opposite sides of the country, we have become really close since living together in grad school.  I guess people of our particular neurosis have to stick together.

Its so nice to get something in the mail besides junk mail, bills and junk mail.  A big hefty box that cost 10 bucks to ship across the country makes you feel special and loved.  Almost as much as flowers (but not quite).

In the package was the first two seasons of Sex and the City (on loan only.  She's not that nice); and the movie to keep (ok, maybe she is).  And a jar of homemade apple butter (from backyard apples!).  And some hand cream.  And a whole bunch of chocolate bars.  And, a small pepper shaker that looks like a cross between a frog and an avocado, wearing a straw hat.  Why? Because.  Its absurd, and it makes me giggle. 

And that's what friends do.  Make you giggle when you need it most.  Thanks T.  Just wait until I go to the flea market...  Mr. Avocado has friends that are waiting to meet you.

Confessions of Recovering BB Addict

So boys, I just want to let you know what you are up against...

I was just doing some searches on Amazon, most notably for the Anne of Green Gables DVD.  It makes me cry every single time, but in a happy way.  I seem to have developed a habitat of watching it after tough breakups.  The whole series takes hours and hours and hours to watch - perfect when all you want to do is hide on the couch for the day, cry and eat pizza.  

BB is a big fan of Amazon.com - so much so that he gets even the little stuff there (think toothpaste and deodorant).  Really bizarre.  So, while I'm wandering from amazon item to amazon item, it occurs to me that I could log on as him (because of course I committed his password to memory, just in case) and keep tabs on him by seeing what he was buying.  I thought very hard about doing this for about 3.5 seconds, then snapped out of it.

Why would I even think about doing this?  I know its a terrible idea.  Almost the same as logging on to someone's email account.  It would serve absolutely no purpose, yet for half a second, I actually considered it.

Guys, this is what you are up against.  Normally sane, rational women do stupid irrational things after a breakup.  Jeezus.  What if I logged on and he had bought condoms?  Can you imagine how that would have felt?  Awful.  Just awful.

So, of course I'm not going to log on to see what he's buying.  I'm not going to log onto his email (if I could remember that password).  I know that these things are bad for me and my mental health.  Its just that sometimes, even the strongest of us have a weak moment or two. 

Mine has passed.  For now.

Spring Forward

I went to bed early last night because I was absolutely exhausted.  TS, one of the many former boyfriends I have remained friends with, and I went for a 5 mile paddle in a gorgeous location about an hour away.  Problem was, I neglected to check the wind direction and tides.  Oops.  5 miles against the wind, and against the tide.  Good exercise though.  I kept telling myself.  A lot.  The drive home made me sleepy.  The pizza (spinach and ricotta and garlic, oh my) and red wine made me sleepier (perhaps I shouldn't have eaten four pieces...)

I woke up with a start at 1 am when my subconscious remembered that I was supposed to reset my clock.  My whole plan for Sunday depended on getting out of bed early.  I shouldn't have bothered, really, because all my lovely Sunday plans went down the toilet as soon as the alarm went off.

I hate buzzer alarm clocks, so my alarm is set to the only radio station that reliably comes in. Its a crappy station that drives me insane, but I have learned to live with it.  Until now.  For several Sundays, I have woken up to public service type programs.  Local non-profit types talking about their programs.  Mostly programs for kids associated with the hospital where BB worked.  And guess what?  Yup.  Again, this morning.  All the great things the hospital does for cancer kids and how they want people to sign up for some walking gig to raise funds.  Arugh! Seriously, in my recovery period, the last thing I need to wake up to is an instant reminder of BB.  

To top it off, I woke up with a headache.  And that was before I was reminded of BB.  There was no reason for it.  I slept long enough.  I only had 4 oz. of wine the night before; hardly enough to fill the bottom of the glass.  Maybe I was dehydrated.  At any rate, I sucked it up and went to kayak practice where, despite my head throbbing, I kinda kicked ass.  For me, anyway.  But that was all I could manage.  I was supposed to go wine tasting in the afternoon with some friends of friends, but nope.  That plan disintegrated; between my headache and everyone else's tragedies, wine tasting was postponed.  I'm pretty disappointed about that - new friends are good.  New friends who like to do stuff are even better.  But new friends who like to do stuff and cancel easily?  Not the best.

At any rate, its 7:15 pm and its still light outside.  Maybe my winter/BB funk will finally start lifting.

A Neon Sign in the Therapy Window

Friday evening is not really the best time to try to analyze one's life - I don't know what I was thinking when I scheduled my second therapy appointment for a Friday.  I was not really focused on why I make the decisions I make: I was really more focused on my plans to drink wine and play guitar later.  Oh, and on whether the dog vomit would come off of my white sweater.

I had a meeting on Friday at work with people I was hoping to convince that I am an actual grown-up, capable of like, you know, managing people and projects with flair and grace.  It was Friday, so I didn't want to overdo it, so I busted out my new(ish) denim trousers (trousers, but denim, fancy, but casual) and a white sweater set I got at Target a zillion years ago.  I got through the meeting and the day without spilling anything on myself, blowing my top at my boss, or crying. Then went to therapy appointment #2.  

I got there early.  Turns out that was entirely pointless, since she was 20 minutes late for my appointment.  Lady, I got a life, and you are starting to interfere with it.  So, I was already a bit annoyed when I walked into her office and discovered that her two yappy little dogs were there. Again.

The dogs were there for the first appointment too, but she explained it as a special treat for them, they went to the vet that day, yadda, yadda, yadda.  So, I was a bit surprised when yappy little dogs were there again.  Whatever.  I'm not really fond of yappy little dogs, but it does make the conversation seem more like its happening in someone's living room, rather than in someone's office.

I sit down on the chair and yappy poddle-type dog with eye-boogers jumped up.  Ok.  I'll go with it.  I can cuddle a gross yappy dog while pouring my heart out.  

Major mistake.

Two seconds later, my sweater was covered in liquidy, reddish dog puke.

I don't really believe in signs, but, hello?  Is someone trying to tell me something?

Therapist was truly apologetic, and told me to send her the cleaning bill.  But, I spent the first several minutes of my appointment cleaning off my sweater, instead of concentrating on me. Its a good thing it was a sweater set - otherwise I would have been sitting there in my bra.  

Which, maybe would have worked out.  At the end of the session, Therapist told me that she knows I'm going to have someone great come into my life soon.  And that "people have fallen in love right in my waiting room!"  My response?  "Seriously?  Don't you think I'm already making enough poor choices in men without meeting someone at therapy?"  Sheesh.

Not to prolong the point, but she also thought that the circa late 1970's mini-series The Thornbirds would resonate with me; and went on to explain the plot, in full detail.  Something about Australia, and a priest, and a bastard baby, and a woman filled with regrets.  Fine, ok.  I understand that sometimes watching a good movie can be therapeutic, but if I want movie recommendations, I'll ask a friend.  And I won't have to pay a $20 co-pay.

So, you might imagine that I didn't get very much out of this particular appointment.  Or the one before it.  My next appointment isn't for three weeks and I suspect that by that time, I'm going to have lost interest in this whole ordeal. 

The Bachelor is a Douchebag

Wow.

The Bachelor Jason is a certified douchebag.  Its entirely possible that his son Ty has more emotional maturity and decision-making ability than he does. 

On the off chance that you haven't been glued to your tv for the past 3 hours, let me catch you up.  Jason sent Molly away in tears and professed his eternal and undying love for Melissa while putting a really gaudy ring on her finger.  I had plenty to say about this, until...

"The Bachelor.  After the Rose."  Oh my!  A special hour "what happened next?" episode taped 6-weeks after the engagement.  Oh, guess what?  Jason is unhappy and wants to end it with Melissa because he just can't get Molly out of his head.  He breaks up with Melissa, takes the ring back, and then tells Molly that he is still falling in love with her and wants to see where it goes.  I mean, Melissa didn't even get to Seattle yet!  She didn't ever even get to do the lice treatments I had predicted in my last Bachelor rant.  Yet, already, Jason is bored with her.  The excitement is gone.  He's ready to move on.  Anyone still wondering why this guy is still single? I think the secret is out.

Poor Molly falls for his giant dump truck load of crap, hook line and sinker.  After an initial disbelief, she snuggled into him and said "yes, yes.  Whatever it takes to be with you" or something like that.  Oh god.  That girl is in  for a world of hurt.  

Jason can't commit.  Just like many, many, many men.  (And women).  Once he has something good, he starts to focus on how it might be better with someone else.  Clearly, Melissa didn't live up to the fantasy once they both got back to the real world.  What?  Relationships take actual work?  Huh?  Its harder to be in love with someone when its not all luxury resorts, yachts and bungee jumping?  You don't say!  

Douchebag.  

Can't wait for next week.  "After the Rose Part Two!"