Another Saturday Night...

I really don't know anything about Paula Deen. I don't have television, and have only seen her on the front of magazines. But I do think there is a chance that she is an android. A Chef-Bot. Whatever. All I do know is that I have never seen someone who, in every photograph, looks more like a wax figurine and less like a real person. Her eyes are entirely too blue, her skin impossibly smooth for her age, her hair never changes, and her teeth are not just the whitest of white but also incandescent. She looks completely false. She scares me.

Enough with the rain. Really. Kthx. I know today it didn't rain. But anymore, rain-free days are simply teasers. They get you all excited for dry, and then bam! You wake up, downpour. Boo.

Each new tidbit of info I hear causes me to become even more dumbfounded. I'm still devastated. But I'm getting more and more concerned, and straight up confused, about what the hell you are thinking. From the outside, all I see are red flags. You have absolutely no control over your own life anymore; you're being devoured alive, smothered from all sides. You agreed to help out a friend, and then bailed because Mommy didn't approve (funny, she's one to speak of ethics...). And you couldn't keep your end of the bargain and do it in your own time, because you weren't going to have any of your own time, she was always going to be there. Before the move (another WTF? moment), people you had spent a lot of fun times with, people who liked you and who you liked, suddenly never saw you; you disappeared. Then you broke a lease to follow her elsewhere, which had its own financial consequences. And is completely uncharacteristic for you. I can't imagine it was your idea, though I could be wrong- you'll pay high prices for pussy. You used to say I was being pissy when I'd get upset that you wanted to spend three nights in a row having 'boys night out' when I just wanted to come out for at least one of them on a night that I didn't have to work late and get up early. How many boys nights out have you had recently? Ones that might have happened when Der Kommissar was out of town don't count. And I'm guessing not too many. Do you have to ask for a hall pass to go the bathroom, too? You are no longer you. You aren't your own person. You have zero control over yourself. You are being sucked dry slowly, your oxygen is being squeezed off. But you can't see it. You won't be aware until you're gasping for breath and becoming faint. You're supposed to share your life with someone else, not give it up entirely. You're supposed to be who you are with a little extra, not only what they want to allow you to be. Insanity.

Maybe it's just me thinking like this though- maybe I'm the only one who will look at such a drastic turn, this complete 180, and see trouble. Sure, I have a jaded opinion. Afterall, I'm the jilted. Maybe everyone else sees perfection and bliss.

But I've seen this before. Granted, the version I saw previously was to the extreme... This is like a Michelob Ultra, and what I saw in the past was a handle of Golden Grain. But the elements are similar. My dad did it... fell hard for a woman. She wanted all his time, loved him intensely from the start, couldn't bear to be away from him. He basically lived with her permanently, though he owned a house. He'd go back every few days to feed his cats. That's it. He didn't have time for anything but her, and he didn't see a problem with it. He fell behind on all his bills. When he did step back, and try to regain control, she'd break up with him, go completely crazy and break into his house in the middle of the night. Then she got physically abusive after a while, would attack him knowing he couldn't raise a hand in defense because he'd be the one in jail no matter what. I visited twice or three times a year. But it was unacceptable for him to spend time with me while I was in Ohio. Unless she was there constantly. I couldn't even live at my own house when visiting because he had to stay with her at hers. So I stayed with my grandmother. She used him up, broke him down, and he thought that by staying with her he could make her better. So he married her. Things got worse, he sold his house to move to hers, she took up so much of his time he never even managed to get most of his belongings out of his old house, and he lost a lot of meaningful things because the new owner was tired of storing it for him. Things like photo albums from my childhood. My piano. Most of his furniture. The handmade Christmas ornaments in the attic. Most everything that was a part of his previous life before her. Then she talked him into giving her access to his personal bank account (not the one that was now theirs jointly, but his he had had for years). There wasn't a lot there- he's a potato chip man. But she used it all up without him even noticing. He stayed; every week or so he'd come home from work and all his stuff would be thrown into the front yard. He stayed; he tried to get her to go to marriage counseling, and she would only agree if it was faith-based and he went, but she wouldn't. He stayed; she abused him. Suffocated him. Bled him dry. Told him she loved him, and then five minutes later told him she hated him. Every day. He stayed; she called constantly- where are you? Who are you talking to? Why are you giving your daughter that and not my kids that? He stayed... and finally he broke. And ran like hell. Basically went into hiding, and now, he lives with his mother. He has very few objects of meaning left. She destroyed him because she needed him to live only for her.

Yeah it's not near the same, but it all starts somewhere.

Damn you dryer! That infernal squeal is going to eat my brain! I will try teflon lube for the time being...

Dear Water Heater- may landlord gave you new elements. Yet somehow you give me even less warm time in the shower. I would kill for 10 minutes of hot water. Ok, not kill. I'd make out with you for 10 minutes of hot water.

I need to go feed my neighbor's cats now.

LONG..... sorry.

Think.

Before you act. Just think.

You have plenty of time. Why are you in such a hurry? Seriously, what good do you believe you can get from doing all this?

Yes, I hate you. I hate you down to my very being. But I hate you because I love you, and regardless of how much I want you to feel the same pain you caused me, I don't want to see you do something drastic and mess up your life. There is no reason to be running at ludicrous speed- just think, sit on it, see what happens, before you act. Or are you just reacting? Which is even worse. You're going against everything you've ever said, all the things you've believed for a long time, and it's a little alarming.

Even though I think I am 10 times better for you than who you picked and that you would have seen this had you just stood by me through a rough moment in my life. Even though I want to believe that I will be your one big regret and had always hoped you would realize this while there was still time for you to do something about it. Even though I think that I'm supposed to be the girl in this equation. Even though I wish I could believe that you really did love me...

I know that you only thought you did. I know that I am nothing to you, and what I think means nothing to you. I know that you wanted something else. I know you don't miss me in the least and that I am not meant to occupy a space in your life. And I am working through that the best I can. It's slow-going, and though the process may have ended up screwing up more than I was bargaining for, though my sadness may have also completely changed the course of my life, I will heal. I also know you won't see this, and will never know that I do care about you and don't want to see you make a horrible mistake because you won't take the time to let things go naturally.

So please. Just think. Let time help you make your decision. Don't be in such a hurry. There aren't tons of songs about fools rush in, everybody plays the fool, etc. for no reason. Think. If it is meant to be, it will last. So there is no reason to rush into anything. Staking your claim will not change anything, it'll only make it more expensive and time-consuming to fix later should you have been wrong.

That's the best advice in the world really. Just think. Think before you act.

The first original post for this location

Will be a quick one. I have to leave for work in 5 minutes.

Nothing on this page before this blog was intended for this location. The most recent 7 or so came from my Facebook notes. All other previous blogs are from my rarely-visited MySpace page. At first I thought about abandoning it all. But there are rantings and remorsings going back 4 years, maybe longer. And while they aren't all that insightful or well-written or provocative, they are evidence of what my head was doing at that particular time. So I decided to try and get everything into one spot that might be a little more accessible.

As there is no way to simply import/export MySpace blogs to another forum, I'm having to copy/paste each one individually, and edit the time stamps to reflect the original posting date. So I am not finished. Also, I'm not really advertising this blog except though a link on my Facebook page (which you have to be my friend to see), and maybe by just letting some friends know that if they want to read my ridiculousness they can go here instead of there.

This is a work in progress. I need a better name for the blog. I need to figure out how to pretty it up a bit. I need to decide how much personal information I want tied to it (other than the actual pouring out of my heart and mind I do- now that I think about it, it might be best to remain fairly anonymous except to those that actually know me. I really am not as crazy as some of this shit makes me sound, promise).

So. Here is my first attempt at maintaining something not tied to my social networking crap sites. Maybe I'll write more often. Maybe I'll write better pieces. Maybe I'll get famous a la i can has cheezburger. Alright, that's more than a long shot... Or maybe I'll completely forget about this in three weeks and you'll never hear from me again.

Either way. Here it is, birthed into existence.

Welcome.

What I Am

What I am...

I am not you. Or you. I've finally gotten to a place where I know that I am better than that, better than both of you. I've figured out that no matter how much I hurt right now, no matter how badly I want to turn back the clock, no matter what really, I still have my dignity. And I still have the ability to love. I will find someone who will appreciate it. Someone better than both of you, someone like me.

You. He may have chosen you over me when you, like the desperate insecure girl (not woman) you are, turned all your focus on a man you knew had a girlfriend after your first choice living a few doors down didn't want what you were throwing at him. You were looking to run into somone's arms, anyone's arms- it didn't seem to matter who. Just whoever would take you. Sure, you won. You got what you wanted at my expense. You got to be a key player in the game of destroying another person, taking away the very thing she loved the most and her dreams along with it. But still, with that victory you got something else. You will always be The Other Woman. Regardless of how things work out from now on, that is a stigma that is forever yours. And that is something I can proudly say I have never been and would never be. I respect boundaries, especially when crossing those lines might crush someone else who's done nothing to deserve it. I don't run to the first thing that will have me. I don't manipulate people for my own gratification. I would never sink to the level that you did. Because I am a better person. But not you. You get the scarlet letter. I am flawless, you are marred.

And you. You allowed her to manipulate you. You made your decisions with the wrong head, after it was made clear what she was waving in your face. You threw away love itself, as well as the person you loved and who loved you because your brain was clouded with infatuation and lust. She was there, convenient, and begging for your attention, though in reality she was begging for anyone's attention, and you were doing the same. It had less to do with you as a person and more to do with you as an idea. You were, and are, weak and cowardly, and you fell for the charade. This gives you your own title; The Cheating Man Who Ran To The Other Woman. And right now you're happy. But remember, you were happy with me too, for a lot longer, and see how things turned out? History repeats itself. And the current situation only makes it appear that you really did just pick up where our relationship left off. You are rushing things with her; maybe in your subconscious you are doing so in an effort to completely forget what came before her- immersion; throw yourself into this new thing recklessly and passionately and no more will thoughts of the past haunt you. Part of me thinks you have completely forgotten me already, with how quickly you moved on. But then you see me at the coffee shop, and you are so visibly uncomfortable that you fidget nonstop for five minutes. And then you pack your things and leave. And I hardly looked at you, let alone speak to you. You were weak when she showed up at your door, and you are weak now. You were too cowardly to look me in the eye while leaving me, too cowardly to speak to me face-to-face after running from my house that night, and were too cowardly to keep reading your book when I ended up sharing a room with you two months later. You were not loyal, you followed whatever shiny thing presented itself. I would have stood by you had you let me. Because I am a better person. But not you. You need more than just Courage from the Great Wizard. I am flawless, you are marred.

What I am is strong. I am faithful and loyal. I am a good person. I am deserving of more. I am clean of conscience. I appreciate and value love when I have it and don't view it as disposable. I am intelligent. And every now and then I am fun. Sometimes even funny.

What I am is awesome, a catch, priceless, perfectly imperfect.

What I am is everything that you, and you, are not.

Another Brick In The Wall

Are you kidding me? Seriously... WTF is wrong with your brain?





It's been two months. Two. And you're fucking moving in with her? You, the man who swore up and down the whole time I was with you that you didn't believe in such a thing, unless things were very established, because statistically it almost always ends in a break-up. Even if I was still your friend, I'd say this is a horrible idea, that it's setting yourself up for failure. And you know what? I hope this crashes and burns. I hope it ends worse than you can imagine. You deserve it. I didn't, but you do.

Because it was supposed to be me. Not her. Me.

I put in the time. I tore down my walls. I let you in to my heart. Even when my self-preservation mode was at full alarm, telling me to get out while I still could, I stayed. And one day I realized it was too late; that I loved you. Enough to want to spend my life with you, to have a family with you. I truly, deeply, and honestly loved you. And you said you loved me.

But now I wish I had not silenced those bells. I should have listened to my alarms. They are always right.

It was supposed to be me.

OxyMoron

You wanted to be friends? You really wanted us to get along? Seriously?

You should have thought of that before you betrayed me in such a hideous fashion, worse than any friend ever would. You should have considered that before you told me you loved me in one breath, and then turned around and dropped me with hardly an explanation for some girl who threw herself at you in the next. You should have pondered whether this was a possibility before you were such a pussy that you refused to talk to me in person. You should have known better than to request such a thing after you knew how badly you have shattered me.

Maybe you should have considered not wasting a year and a half of my life that could have been better spent on someone actually worth it. After all, if this was how you thought of me, then why the hell were you ever with me to begin with?

No way. Fuck you, you lying, deceitful, heartless son of a bitch. Fuck you. And your little dog too.

Reasons Why I'm Better Off Without Him

AKA An Exercise In Talking Myself Out Of Still Loving Him And Into Believing I Can Find Someone Better- in no particular order and not all-inclusive.

1. Very often, he doesn't listen to a word you are saying. He would look like he was listening, but in reality, he was thinking about that article in Harper's, or something he read in some philosophy book, or what he heard Amy Goodman say on Democracy Now! today. He'd even do that annoying thing where he'd say 'yeah' and 'uh huh' like he was listening and responding to you, but then had no idea what you just said.

2. He couldn't remember shit. To this day, he doesn't know my birthday. Even though it is six days before his. He couldn't remember my school or work schedule, anything. This goes along with not listening. Because usually I had just told him 10 minutes previous.

3. He 'bumbles' around. There is no efficiency or dexterity in any action he undertakes. This is hard to explain. But basically, everything he does, he bumbles, fumbles, or muddles through it. It's sort of like perpetual clumsiness.

4. He is HAIRY. Not something he can control, I know. But the number of times I have shaved his back for him... yeah. Not something I minded at all, but not exactly something I'm going to miss either.

5. Two things... The Dick Scar and the ever-present bottle of Lomotil (Diphenoxylate HCl/Atropine sulfate for you pharmageeks). I will not elaborate, but these things give away a mental/emotional fragility. Dealing with everyday stress has the ability to get the better of him. And he would allow things that he had absolutely zero control over (like the appointment of Obama's cabinet and that... those sorts of things) to eat him up with anxiety for days. He doesn't really externalize his anxiety, but he really is one of the most anxious people I've ever met.

6. His affection could be overwhelming. It's nice to have an affectionate partner, but sometimes it would border on needy. Also, in his mind, affection does not include things like cuddling or hugging or just being near each other. His definition of affection is sex. That's it. When he dumped me he said "We're hardly ever affectionate any more" which meant that I didn't fuck him enough recently. Never mind that I've been under a ridiculous amount of stress and basically felt like shit all the time. And he never bothered to communicate to me his own need for more 'affection', so I didn't know it bothered him that much. Somehow that was my fault for not being psychic.

7. He can be a creepster. He admitted to me that once, before we were dating, when he'd come over to my house after the bars closed and we'd watched a movie... I fell asleep during the movie. He said that he'd looked down my shirt while I was asleep. Like, pulled the shirt away and taken a look at my tits. Sorry, but that is just sketchy behavior.

8. He's kind of a pussy. This one has the potential to be long... Sentimental is nice. Needy is not. He can't watch scary movies. He passes out if he sees more than a little blood. He has major anxiety over things that are no big deal. He won't stand up to anyone, and allows just about everyone he knows to use him or take advantage of him. He won't make any major changes or decisions that require effort on his part, even when it's something he wants. He kept saying he wanted to go back to school- hasn't even taken a first step towards that. He pussed out and gave up on love because it wasn't perfect 100% of the time, and couldn't be bothered to actually attempt real communication to tell me that he needed something- it was easier to just run away. He still gets his parents to send him shit when he's perfectly capable of taking care of himself and has a job that lets him be financially comfortable. He is afraid of life, it seems, and prefers to maintain a predictable, mundane existence that doesn't shake anything up.

9. "Kimberly". Yeah. He's got a back-up for when he doesn't have a girlfriend. Now, this isn't really an offense to judge since most girls have at least one toy of their own, but still... His disembodied latex vagina has a name.

10. He wanted me to scratch his back or rub his calloused hands every five minutes, but would bitch and moan when I asked him for a backrub twice a week. He also didn't understand why I did not want to pop his giant back zits for him. Gross.

11. He doesn't like animals. And didn't understand that I do.

12. He's a flake, he has no loyalty, and he doesn't value love at all. He claimed to love me, but thought a little crush was worth throwing it all away permanently (I offered a break so he could figure out what he wanted- not good enough). Then a few days later he claimed (as did she) he had no intentions of trying to date her, though pretty much the only reason he gave me for breaking up with me was that he'd "fallen for her". This was after he slept in the same bed with her, but didn't cheat... He used the excuse of knowing her for a few years... so what? You've know me for a few years. You also pursued me for at least one of those years. Did he love her? No. But it didn't matter. He wanted to try something with her, said he was not going to stop spending time with her regardless of how I felt, he claimed she'd come on to him, and said he would probably cheat on me with her if she did again. Though he said he loved me, and not her. Oddly enough, he also basically called her a slut while saying he hadn't cheated yet... "Everyone else has slept with her, but I haven't." His words... Nice thing to say about someone you've 'fallen for'. Yes, these are the things he actually said to me, I could not make this kind of shit up, nor would I want to because I don't like to hurt people that way. Worthless, flaky human being. Whatever. For all I know, nothing ever happened after this. Or they fell madly in love and are going to have babies together. Either way, his wishy-washy, flaky, love-doesn't-matter-nor-does-the-person-I-say-I-love-and-who-loves-me bullshit can belong to someone else from now on, because I deserve better.

13. He's boring. He didn't get the nickname "Old Man Ross" for no reason. He may as well already be 60 years old.

14. He didn't want me. That is reason enough.