Jeanne Connolly's blog

I had a weird experience recently with a man I met online.

Randy's 40, single and has no children. He’s also a nurse like me. The only commitment he had these days was to the gym and his cockatiel bird named Pretty Girl.

He lives in Connecticut which wasn't a problem for me. We both decided that I would visit him there, which was fine with me since I love to travel. I finally managed to get four days off from both of my jobs and made plans to meet him.

Randy bought my ticket from North Carolina and I was to leave on a Thursday night and stay until Sunday. I was actually looking forward to the possibilities and to getting away for a few days.

Well, when I hadn’t heard from him on Monday, I took it to mean that he was just busy, but by late Tuesday night, I began to wonder. On Wednesday morning I received a call from him and something in his voice made made me think someone had died. Well, someone did die—his bird Pretty Girl.

Apparently she had gotten sick over the weekend and when Randy came home Tuesday night, he noticed her claws pointing upward.  read more »

New haircut—check. New outfit—check. Okay, I thought I was ready to try this single thing again.

I was sitting across from a man while eating lunch one day and struck up a conversation with him. His name was Richard and he said he ran the county’s homeless shelter. He was relatively good-looking and appeared to be normal.

We left the restaurant and I began to drive away. I looked out my rearview mirror and saw him still standing there in the parking lot. I didn’t give it a second thought until around 9 p.m. that evening when I received a collect call from him.

I accepted the call, then heard him apologizing for the collect call. He said he had something to tell me. He wanted to be honest with me: He said he didn’t run the homeless shelter but he lived in the homeless shelter!

I listened and began shaking my head. I thought back to that afternoon when I left the restaurant and he was just standing there. He probably had to catch the bus!

As I hung up, I thought that’s "just my luck" and wondered, am I ever going to go out on a real date again? 

Kellie, my 29-year-old daughter was born on Valentine’s Day. Big, brown eyes that looked at me the moment I held her. It’s an indescribable feeling.

I was going to be the perfect mother and she was going to be the perfect little girl. But I don’t think one can prepare for raising a teenage daughter alone. And I did raise her alone since Kurt, husband No. 1, decided that being a father wasn’t his thing.

I often wondered when Kellie let go of my hand to take hold of someone else's? So this was what my mother meant when she said, like all mothers say, “Just wait until you have children of your own.” That moment came eventually and when it did, I felt the pain my own mother must have felt during all those years of raising me.

The guilt of what I must have put my own mother through came back to haunt me. Those teenage years with Kellie were a growing period for the both of us, and I can’t help but think that I was the one who learned the most.  read more »

I’ve been a nurse for nearly 20 years and I work part time in the prison system. I work with 550 male inmates in a job that most people wouldn’t ever choose to do.

What has truly amazed me after all these years is the countless number of women who visit faithfully each weekend. They wait for an hour or so each week to spend 15 minutes sitting behind a clear partition talking into a phone to their loved ones. For most, it wouldn’t be worth it. But to these women, it’s more than worth the wait.

Why would someone put themselves through this ordeal? I’ve even seen women marry men while they are behind bars. Most people would ask, why? In my opinion, most women respond to words, whereas men are very visual, so perhaps this is why words and conversations raise our spirits.

Men in prison have 24 long hours each day to get the words right. These men have time to reflect on their life’s mistakes. I watch and listen as they write and speak to these women and try to say things that matter.

They say how good they look, how much they appreciate them, how sexy they are and tell them that next time, things will be better. How many times have I needed to hear those exact words?  read more »

I  have five brothers and sisters—two older and two younger—which puts me right in the middle of them and all our family jokes. Of course my five marriages have provided ample entertainment for my family.

But I’ve grown weary of my siblings telling me how they always write my name in pencil, never ink. They’ve laughed. I’ve cried…inside.

I always wonder when I meet a man for the first time and the possibility of a relationship becomes well, a possibility, if it’s the right time to share the story of my exes. If I say nothing, am I being deceitful? Is it any of his business? Do I tell him about all of them, or just some of them?

I remember one guy in particular, a doctor, who I met online and with whom I chatted for a month. We finally met, sat at dinner and it seemed like we were having a great time. He informed me that the last woman he dated had turned out to be very deceitful, that she had kept certain things from him and that being honest was very important to him. He said he was a very understanding man and that there was nothing outside of murder that he wouldn’t accept.  read more »

As I sat filling out a questionnaire in an office, I landed on the one question I hate.

The dreaded checkoff box asked: “Single,” “Married,” “Widowed,” or “Divorced.”

Well, technically I'm divorced, but legally I’m now single and sometimes I wished that during one of my five marriages, I had become a widow, but no such luck.

So how do I answer that provocative question? I looked around to make sure there were no hidden cameras or that the truth police weren’t waiting to arrest me if I circled the wrong answer and then quickly circled “Single.”

As I waited for the door to burst open and for my arrest, I had to smile in spite of my paranoia. Yes, I’m divorced but more importantly, I’m single and just this once, I didn’t  want to be questioned about it, felt sorry for or silently judged for my so-called mistakes.

From that moment on, I decided I’d be single. And so from now on, I'll circle “Single.” 

 

 

My saga with "hunka hunka" isn't quite finished. I mean, there I was, lying in bed after he stood me up for our Saturday night date. And now he's calling me at what, 1 a.m....? What to do?

Curiosity and not wanting to play childish games won over, so I answered and thought this better be good. I heard John’s frantic voice telling me he had gone to the gym, worked out really hard, came home, showered and then took what he thought was just going to be a quick nap. Would I please forgive him.

I told him I’d call him sometime during week. After I hung up, I wasn’t quite sure what to think so I decided to deal with it at a more decent hour. As I sat at breakfast the next morning with my daughter Kellie, who at 26, is wise beyond her years, I explained the situation.

Kellie thought he might be telling the truth. She also pointed out that I was too quick to excuse men from my life for the smallest things and that people aren’t perfect. She thought I should give him another chance, to which she added with a smile, “Mom you change men like you change your thongs.”  read more »

Those were the words a girlfriend used to describe her experience last week with an ex-husband who keeps surfacing in her life.

Apparently, he just showed up at her door at 11 p.m. on Saturday and assumed that she would drop everything and make him the center of her world, which is what she did routinely during their marriage.

Yes, my friend did what a lot of women do who attended the University of PHFU or “Put Him First University.” She received a degree in FAM, or “Forget About Me.” At PHFU we took courses like “Put your Life on Hold 101” and “How to Constantly Feel Bad, No Matter How Hard We Try.” And then there was, “Do Whatever You Want to Me and I Will Still be Here in the Morning.”

We passed the courses with flying colors, but failed ourselves. And when it’s all said and done, there are all those loans to repay to the emotional bank of YOU.

What my friend finally realized as she slammed the door to show her ex the way out, was that being mad at him wasn’t the answer. Instead, being smart and passing the new course in “Hey, It’s All About Me Now” is where her real education begins.

I think she’s going to get a Master’s...

I’ve prayed for Carol, Nancy, Rhonda, Mimi and Patricia—the new wives of all my exes (all five)—and wonder if they now see what I longed to forget while I was with their husbands.

I wonder if Kurt, husband No. 1, has learned how to be content with one just woman.

I wonder if Shane, husband No. 2, has learned to quiet his temper.

I wonder if Jim B., husband No. 3, has learned to grow up and not depend on Mommy so much.

I wonder if Jim P., husband No. 4, now has an understanding of his control issues.

And, I wonder whether Ken, husband No. 5, actually took that anger management class that the court ordered.

Yes, I pray for these women. I wonder if they have to deal with the old husband or the "new and improved" version as they all claim to be now.

I’ve been blamed for the way all five of my exes were for years and have spent many hours in therapy. I now give Carol, Nancy, Rhonda, Mimi and Patricia the prestigious honor or, shall we say, the burden of these men.

And remember girls, love isn’t blind, we just choose not to see.

After several text messages and numerous phone calls, I decided to go out with John the 24-year-old younger than my son “hunka hunka” that Saturday night.

I forced all negative thoughts out of my mind and decided to concentrate on the wonderful man at my feet who was giving me a pedicure. As he looked up at me, I asked him if he was married. He responded in words I couldn’t  understand.

So with hair, nails, pedicure and wardrobe in place, I was ready. John was supposed to pick me up at 8 p.m. But it was now 9 p.m. and he hadn’t called. I called his  cell phone and got a long song and a beep. “Hey John this is Jeanne. Just wondering what’s going on, call me. By 11 p.m., I’d taken my makeup off and put on a pair of sweat pants and curled up on the couch.

As I turned on the TV, I decided to catch the local news because I just knew I was going to see the breaking news that a 24-year-old, younger than my son “hunka hunka” of a man was in a head-on collision at 7:45 p.m. that evening and had been rushed to the hospital in serious condition. I knew at that moment it was the only excuse I was going to accept.  read more »