F*@K You BABY!

Rarr! I'm Creepy New Years Baby! I will SHART on your happiness! 

Fuck you New Years! AND your stupid creepy baby. --------------------------->

    Your false expectations about love and change won't fool me this year.  I'm sick of you imparting you stupid happiness and excitement on me only to be left sad and disappointed.  No one ever kisses me at the "3-2-1-Happy New Year!".   I'm always the one in the room that is standing there whiles couples embrace.  Thinking about him. 

     

      Last year, Shamus and I were in a fight but both working. We stood 20 feet apart, each alone, watching the fireworks in our town, both too stubborn to look at the other and admit defeat. My heart ached, as usual on this day, and I wondered if his felt anything at all.  Turns out, this year we are both off.  Which I think is almost worse because I don't get to see him. Mad or not. 

Sorry Fergie. 

   Perhaps I'll just drown myself in vodka.  I cannot sit home! Let's hope I find some poor unsuspecting bartender to entertain me for the evening, in hope that when "I Gotta Feeling" by Black Eyed Peas comes on I don't start screaming "TONIGHT IS NOTTTTT GOING TO BE A GOOD NIGHT!"

Honestly. 

Cheers Bitches! Here's to hoping you all have a SUPERDUPER New Years! 

-Fool.

(I am seriously going to lose 30 pounds by my 30th birthday. So we all have that to look forward to!)

Diamonds & Douche-bags

~The fight for you is all I've ever known~

           My sister got engaged on Christmas Eve in front of our entire family-which is HUGE because apparently everyone in my family likes to fuck.  (so I guess technically it's in my genes and I can't help it.) If you knew my sister, you'd know that she's loves "the show" and wouldn't have wanted it any other way. ( I suggested that he rent dancing ladies and circus midgets to add to the event, but he didn't bite.)

Awww! Aren't they cute! 

      I affectionately call her "the queen".  She is blonde and beautiful and what every man wants and every girl wants to be.  Which really sucks for me because I am brunette and not beautiful.  I am older than her yet envy her in ways I am not proud to admit.  However, as much as I hate to admit it, I am very happy for her.  She got a big fat diamond and I got a big fat heartache.

~~~~

           Thursday night Shamus finally came over to see my new house.  Not that he didn't want to come over, but I blew him off for a few days just to get him going.  I know. I'm horrible. But ya gotta keep them guessing.   I wanted to get everything semi settled before he came to see and I had my family in and out for days.  The last thing I need is for my parents to walk in on me and my married boyfriend going at it.

        So Thursday I had a few bev's (bev's=beverages=vodka) and gave him the "A-OK" to stop. I won't bore you with the explicit details of me answering the door in questionable attire and the events to follow. But-  IT. WAS. WONDERFUL. ( It's not JUST about that guys! Ok well maybe it kinda is.)  But honest and truly, I was so excited to show him my house and especially my bedroom. ;)   We had a great time and I was all happy and warm and fuzzy.  My little crazy thoughts turned to visions of him leaving the bitch and living with me happily ever after.  Ya know, Normal.

The next day was Christmas Eve.  I texted him a couple times and he seemed absolutely miserable. Do you hear that?! That's "En Vogue" singing Back to Life. Back to Reality.  What the fuck did I do?!? Of course the one day of the year that I could use a little reinforcement that I'm not completely insane and risking EVERYTHING for the man I love is not in vain, he wants to be a dick.  Is it guilt? How can we have such a great time not even 12 hours before?

     So here I am again.  Battling the internal debate between what I think this is and what it really is.  I can't remember the last time I actually addressed this with him.  It's so much easier to just go on the way things are than face the possibility that if I ask him to choose he may do just that.  And not choose me.  I don't understand how this could go on for 10 years and not be more than just a piece of ass.  So what the fuck do I do now? I can't remember me without all of this. Who fuck am I anyway?

Note: He wasn't always married.  He has only been married for about 3 years.  We got in a horrible fight one time and within six months he was engaged, etc.  He called me the night before is wedding and gave me all kinds of happy horse shit about "jumping the gun" and "making a mistake" and then proceeded to call me on his wedding day also. 




Fuck me running.

Merry Christmas Bitches!

Hope everyone has a warm and fuzzy holiday!

The only thing warm and fuzzy about me will be induced by large amounts of xanax and vodka! Cheers!

Ass Pains

Anybody who believes that the way to a man's heart is through his stomach flunked geography.

My ass hurts in places that I didn't know existed nor can I describe.  

My life is strewn across two bedrooms, one bathroom, a kitchen, and a living room.  I have a hidden bag of sexy time stuff, in hopes that my mother/father/brother/and or sisters don't try to "help me" by putting my things away.  Walls are painted.  Floors are washed. And after 4 whole days of exhaustion, I am in! 

Last night was my first night in my new house. I barely slept.  But it's mine. All mine.  Funny thing about moving is your forced to dig up the past and look at things you've hidden from sight and mind for so long. I found a love note from my high school boyfriend.  I found a "About Us" book about "The one who shall not be named".  I found things that mean more to me than I care to admit. (I think I'll do a post about all of the funny shit I found, however I have to dismember the large amounts of shit in garbage bags and boxes immediately so I don't have to wear dirty clothes for the next week. Santa's watching. ) But most disturbingly, I found more god-damned lingerie purchased for Shamus than is reasonable or sane.  Let's get serious people.  I'm not small.  I'm not huge either. I think pretty average but typically harder on myself than necessary.  My jeans are a size ten and my boobs are HUGE.

They aren't THAT bad guys. Jeez. 

WHY THE FUCK DID I SPEND THOUSANDS OF DOLLARS ON SHIT THAT CLEARLY IS NOT MADE FOR MY BODY TYPE! 

I think I'll try it all on later just to add to my manic depression. Although this house must be christened immediately.  Perhaps a visitor tonight??!!

Dear Friday Night,

Dear Friday Night,
I was just wondering if you could go ahead and NOT be as horrible and depressing as last friday.  PRETTY PLEASE let all of the "wives" be busy for tonight's party. Perhaps they could be having some sort of "Ornament Exchange"?!

Had they invited me, I would have brought these sex kittens to share. 

  I would also appreciate it if you could make sure that Shamus attends said party, thus ensuring that I get laid.  You should know, that this party is at one of the bars that I work at, and I am obligated to tell you that I am not opposed to using my "pull" to get everyone shitty.  I also plan on wearing a boob shirt.  That should be plenty of incentive for you to make these small requests a reality.
Thanks.Loveyou.Meanit.
-Fool

Boss's Day= NO GIFT.

I discovered today why I didn't receive anything for Boss's Day from Rose.  Instead she sent me this. Better late than never I guess. :)

She's just soooo funny isn't she guys!?!

(She loves working for me.  Don't let her fool you.) 

I told you she's a bitch!

"Friends are God's ways of apologizing for our families." 

I was in my office doing "stuff" (working on my blog because I don't feel like doing actual work) and I received this via text  from Rose.  Apparently I was sniffling.  I told you she was ruthless. :) 

(And the answer is "no" to what you are thinking.  I do not do coke.  I have enough addictions. I certainly don't need another one.) 

I didn't bang your husband.....

YET. ..... 

I bought a house. 

Can you fuckin believe it?

The "Regulars"

Me. I own something other than vibrators and vodka.  It’s a miracle. 

On Friday, I officially became an adult and closed on said property. Ha! I have property! Fuck yea! So obviously I immediately drove from the court house to the bar.  I had some celebratory drinks there with some of “The Regulars”.  “The Regulars” are a group of dirty old men that come to the bar every day.  They are like my family only they talk about blow jobs, cum, and anal sex much more.  Which is not a bad thing; because I would be really freaked out if my parents discussed any of the above with me. 

Anyway, drinks were bought.  “Cheers”-ing ensued.  And then the phone rang. 

Me: Hello.

Bitch in the Box: Hi this is Bitch in the Box from your lawyer’s office.  Somehow the calculations were incorrect and you actually owe another $1,000.00 by Monday at noon.

Me: WHATTTT! Are you fucking kidding me?!!

Bitch in the Box: I’m sorry I can’t hear you very well. There is a lot of background noise.

Me: Yea! Cause I’m in a fucking BAR. Celebrating my CLOSING.  That you are telling me is not “closed”. I can’t talk to you right now. BYE.  Panic. Panic. Panic.

Yours is in the mail...

I was sooo pissed. Not to mention that the entire bar was buying drinks for me! How was I supposed to share that little tidbit of info?  FUCK. SO I didn’t. Does that make me a totally horrible person? (Thankfully I had the money saved up and was able to drop it off this morning.  So it did work out.)

After I continued to suck em down there, I decided to stop at my parents’ house.  I had 2 glasses of wine there.  I was on a roll at this point so why not add insult to injury and attend a Christmas party at a cop’s house.   It was one of the guys that is actually a good friend to me.  He has “heard” shit and never judged me or treated me any differently.  That means a lot to me especially because sometimes the other guys treat me like I should just be some cop piece of ass.  Pretty much everyone in the whole fucking city knows about Shamus & I.  However, he is CONVINCED that no one “gets it”.  The only one who doesn’t “get it” is him. 

I'm a PERFECT cop wife!

That being said, I go to this party half in the bag and some of the other “cop couples” show up.  MOST of the wives/girlfriends are just really fuckin weird to me in a passive “I-think-you-wanna-bang-my-cop-boyfriend/husband” aggressive sort of way.  Not all of them.  But I’d say the majority. Every once in a while, I find myself trying to “fit in” with them.  Friday reminded me why I don’t and NEVER will.   I know some of that is my own craziness creeping in and my own guilty conscience.   There is this whole disturbing “wife/girlfriend” sorority type feel when the wives are around and I fucking HATE it.  They all started talking about a “wife sex toy party” they had and how it was “omg-soooo-fun” and they “omg-laughed-sooo-hard and so-and-so was all embarrassed and not fun” because they naturally all bash each other behind their backs.  The one wifey mentioned Shamus’s wife and proceeded to stare right at me to check for any reaction.  I pretty much walked out after that.  If they think that I will ever be part of their little “click” they are sadly mistaken.  Give me men any day. 

Seriously? Can you get any GAYER!?!

They walk around with ridiculous shit on like this------> 

This coming weekend I have not one, but TWO cop parties.  Both of which Shamus will be attending (hopefully without her, yet another drunken performance like the last time may put a few more nails in the coffin.)  This may happen if I drink enough vodka-which is VERY likely. 

Hello! Hellooooo! Excuse me. Wives. I have a few things to share with you! "OMG-YAY! WE'RE- SO-BEST-FRIENDS!!"

1.       First and foremost, you and I both know that you are all well aware of my little “situation”.  I do not want to bang your husband.  (I, then point to Shamus’s wife) Except for you- Number one doesn’t have anything to do with you. Ask your so called “wifey friends” maybe they can explain what I’m talking about cause they allllllllll know. I love him. 

2.       I don’t give a FUCK about your stupid parties and cookie swaps and ridiculous attempts to try and like each other.  Most of you think that being a cops wife gives you some sort of ultra status and the permission to be a raging twat 24 hours a day.It does not. 

3.   I like your husband.  I respect him.  He is good at his job.  HE is my friend. You are not my friend.  (and NOTHING more ) (Again pointing to his wife- “Except you, again.”). 

4.       I am very capable of being friends with someone of the opposite sex without thinking about fucking him every second of the day.  I know him better than you do.  And that is no one’s fault but your own.  Perhaps if you didn’t spend so much time bitching about him and at him you’d see that.  

5.       In the event of an argument/divorce, I WILL take his side.  So don’t. Just don’t. 

6.       You have consistently made me feel out of place.  This is stopping NOW.  This is my world.  I see these guys every day.  We talk about all kinds of things from the weather to sex.  We see each other at our best and our worst.  Everyone needs people to talk to.  This is in no way a crime.  I have done nothing to you, well except you(again pointing to her)- you have the right to hate me, but the rest of you cut the shit. 

7.  I know what goes on at your "perfect little homes" and I know how your husband acts when you are not around. (and he'd fuck anything that moves honey so wipe that stupid smirk off your face cause he'd cheat on your ass too.)  I actually like him much better when you aren't.  So can you all go home now? Please and Thank you.  

8. Who are you to judge me?! Just because I think more like this:------>

     And you don't think at all unless you are told when and what to think about.

  

9. oh and MERRY CHRISTMAS BITCHES!! 

Cougar Commune

THERE ARE ONLY TWO PEOPLE IN MY *REAL LIFE* THAT KNOW ABOUT THIS BLOG. 

Both I trust with my life and have equal amount of dirt on.

One is *Rose*. Rose and I were actually born a few days apart in the same hospital in the same sad town and it is rumored we shared the nursery at one point.  She has cognitively been my friend since about age 3.  We were in the same dance class. Our very first dance was “Skip to my Lou” and during our very first recital, she pushed me on stage. (She tripped as we were “skipping to my Lou” in a circle, which caused a domino effect. I fell flat on my face and have a tendency to bring up this incident constantly.  All bad things stemmed from this.  It is all her fault.)   We have been friends ever since.  I am definitely the “peer pressure-er”:

She has been there through it all with me. When I first met Shamus, I used to about force her to come out to random bars with me and hold fat cops hands to get in because we weren’t 21.  We even work together now.  Well I am her boss, for real now, not just hypothetically.  I actually get paid to boss her around.  BONUS.   I leave random shit on her desk like this because I am genuinely concerned for her well being and don’t want her to get stabbed in the back by some Roman creep:

 

Oh stop.  Don’t feel that bad for her.  She holds her own.  She sends me shit like this when I’m sick.

So, yea, don’t feel all “omg-you’re-such-a-bitch-cause-you-boss-this-poor-girl-around-and-make-her-do-shit-she-doesn’t-wanna-do” bad for her. If she was a man I’d marry her.  Mostly because she gets me and I can fart in front of her. Both of which I can't say for anyone else.  We finish each other’s sentences and know exactly what we are thinking with a random look or hand gesture. 

I wub her.  (wub=love)  Even when she takes too long to get ready. Or makes excuses not to go out.  She definitely doesn’t fall for my shenanigans anymore.  If she doesn’t wanna go- she doesn’t.  Or just avoids me until I get so mad I show up at her house.  I wub her even though she is way skinnier than me and way prettier and I secretly wish I could use her body and my face to sext people. 

 

 That’s not really her. (Sickos! Why would I have a pic of my best friend like that?!) But it might as well be. Skinny whore.

"Fe" on Broadway

The second living breathing actual human that knows about this is someone I consider another version of me-except she’s much cooler and has done wayyyyyy more super cool things.  We will call her Fe.  (Fe is short for Feline. Long story but you kinda get it.)  Fe is a Broadway Star.

Fe's one true love.

 

                                                                              

                     She got out of this fuckin place and I am so jealous of everything she has done.  She has literally lived all around the world.  She is the single most talented person I know.  We are about 20 years apart in age; however , I truly believe there are bits and pieces of our souls that match, like a perfectly crafted puzzle. 

                       We are both the oldest in our shit-show families.  We grew up on the same street and our families are completely intertwined and crazy.  She is a gypsy.  She wanders from place to place spreading her talents all around the country and the world like some proverbial seed yet always keeps a place here and in NYC.  So many parts of me want to be her.  Wishing I wasn’t as afraid of the “gotta get the fuck outta here” attitude.  I think I live through her and she lives through me.  Even though we don’t see each other often, we try to make sporadic phone calls to fill one another in on the obscenities of the family or day or latest asshole.   She knows secrets about me that NO ONE in the world know.  Not even you.  

She encourages me to keep writing and is always my biggest fan.  Someday we will write all of our crazy stories into one big crazy chronicle. Then we will sell boat loads of books and make boat loads of money on our craziness and not have to actually pay for therapy, Xanax, & Zoloft.    Then perhaps we will live happily ever after with felines friends and lots of vodka and of course conjugal visits.  ( We will invite Rose too, because she like all of the above as well.)

~"Welcome to the Cougar Commune"~

AH, what a life it could be.  

Fool Facts

• I’m 30.  (Well not yet. But very close.)  And everything I had planned for my life has not happened.  THANK. GOD.

• The most random shit happens to me. Some people call me “Murphy” because of that. (Murphy’s Law- "Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong".)

• Other people call me the “Statue of Liberty”- “Give me your tired, your poor, Your huddled masses,”- I take in EVERYONE.  

• I live in a semi-small town that thinks it’s bigger and more important than it really is. Kinda like the people who run it.

• I have so many stories to tell and they are the TRUTH.  Some are hilarious mishaps & some tragedies.

•  I am a blog virgin. (At least I’m still a virgin of something. Well I was until now.)

•  You should read the posts from the beginning. Because after all this is only the beginning of the journey.  I can assure you, it’s pretty fuckin entertaining.

• My views about marriage have changed DRAMATICALLY in the past year.  I used to want it. Day dream about it.  Love the idea of it. Plan it in my head.   It dawned on me last year at this time that everyone I know cheats.  From the “pillars of this community” to the drunk that sits in the corner barstool every week when I bartend.  How can you ever trust anyone? I think that men and women should just live next door to each other and have conjugal visits.

• Before I was cheated on, I thought cheating was worse than murder. (Not really, but you get the point.) Now I am on the other side of the sick twisted equation and I have very different views.  I ultimately believe everyone has the right to be happy. Period.

• Animal lover. Most likely due to my exquisite relationship skills with humans.  Animals love you. No matter what. Even if they piss on you.

• I HATE being lied to even though a lot of times I hate the truth. I have serious issues with trust.

• I have a love/hate relationship with dairy.

• I don’t give a shit about “perfect grammar”.  I write what I feel and think at that time. 

• I am an ATROCIOUS speller.  (Definitely just Googled that.)

• I come from a long line of over-reactors.

• Large amounts of my day are spent concentrating on NOT swearing at people.

• Subtly is my weakness, and my constant honesty usually gets me in trouble.

• I read my horoscope every day. And when it’s good, I believe it.

• Totally OCD.  I do everything in 3’s.  When I smoke, I always take 3 drags before I throw it out.  The small amount of money that is in my wallet at any given time is always all facing the same way and organized by bills & value.

• I want to lose 30lbs before I turn 30.  Starting. Now.

Fuck that just made me hungry. FAIL.

A Few Things I *May* Have Forgotten To Mention....

He loves me.

Or maybe he doesn’t.

I don’t know what to believe anymore. I know I love him.  I know I have for a very long time.  I think he loves me - Most of the time. (I would hope that it’s more than my fantastic b-job skillz.)

He’s married. 

I’m not. 

He has 2 children.

 I do not.

        And if you have a problem with it, don’t be my friend. I don’t need you.  I have enough people in my life who treat me like shit.  I certainly don’t need any more.    

 I’m sure it would help if he didn’t continue to mind fuck me every day.  If I’m constantly getting fucked I should at least be able to enjoy it.  Let me wear my good high heels and bend over for Christ’s sake.  Instead we constantly pussy foot around the notion of banging on my desk or in the back of his cop car (shit I forgot to mention he’s a cop too---go ahead think the dirty thoughts cause I guarantee we have done it), sending stupid fucking texts like ”?”, as if to say, “Hey, since I can’t send a normal god-damned text to you incase someone sees it, wanna meet for a sub and a blow job?”.   I know what you’re thinking. What’s so bad about an assorted sammie and some ass.  Nothing usually. However, it’s been almost ten years.  And the truth of the matter is it’s getting really fucking old and so am I.  My little ovaries are drying up over here while his “Fertile Myrtle” bitch wife gets it all.

 (I should mention that she pulled the age-old “I’m preggers” trick when she knew it was not gonna last.  She, of course was not, but proceeded to get pregnant while he thought she already was.  She is also awesome enough to drink at a work party in front of 50 of our closest friends while 6 months preggers.  I can’t imagine why the baby was born shitting out of its mouth. Gag. And the best part is she definitely thinks she is soooo much better than everyone around her.  Perhaps it’s because she is shitfaced constantly and can’t decipher the looks of sheer disgust and that of friendship.) 

It’s re-fuckin-dick-you-luss! He’s getting a huge promotion today.  Because ya know, why not give the fuck everything he wants in life.  He certainly deserves it. (insert sarcasm and eye roll here).  Some people just have all the luck.  Awesome. 

A 7 year-old ruined my life...

Now that I dug up all that emotional bullshit from the archives, we can move on.   Keep in mind I am much more jaded, fun, funny, rude, crude, and wonderful now.  Except for the part where I gained some weight (ok all of it… and then some) back that I lost during the “Anorexia Age”.  And now I’m sprinkling this Sensa shit on everything I eat in hopes that the pounds will magically shed off like the girl on the commercial.  It looked legit. Lay off me.

So here I am.  In the dead center of this cluster fuck of a relationSHIT that I can’t seem to walk away from. I didn’t ask for this.  Not that I am in any way not to blame for it.  I kinda hoped after that whole “supposed to be getting married & catching the love of my life making out with his neighbor” thing kinda cleared me of future bad relationships.  It however, did just the opposite.  That heartbreak was like a fuckin Tea Party compared to this bullshit.  

 

Almost ten years ago, I had an incident at work that involved a 7 year old knife-wielding gangster and Shamus.  See, my work involves a great deal of ghetto kids, ghetto parents, pit bulls, and weapons. We can get into that later cause that’s a really fun topic.  When I’m not being threatened, shanked, mother-fucked, and robbed I REALLY love my job.  And I do mean that. 

Anyway, said incident ultimately resulted in the longest fuck I have ever had. And not in a good way. 

I have never done crack.  I think it’s safe to assume that it’s amazing even though the average, or even below average human, knows it’s deadly, highly addictive, and toxic.  Crackheads love crack.  They will do anything to get it.  And you should see em come down from it!

 He is my crack. 

Fairytales & Failures- The beginning of the end.

I’m not exactly sure how I got myself into this mess.  I mean, I know the events that lead up to it, I guess what I’m saying is that I wonder if there was a certain point where I shoulda gone left and I went right.  Or is there just some sort of extraterrestrial conspiracy against me.  The information that you are about to read is mostly true. Some of the names have been changed to protect the not-so-innocent and of course myself from losing my job and/or having to move out of town.  I wouldn’t suggest that you try any of this at home. My knowledge comes from long hours of painful “fieldwork” followed by vats of wine, vodka, and self-help books. 

Today is December 1^st and it’s snowing. Hard. How cliché? It’s dark and miserable ironically similar to my mood. Shamus, who you’ll hear plenty about, has annoyed me again.  But perhaps I should begin long before him. Let’s do that. Because I think it’s important to set the premise of my future demise and maybe you’ll feel bad for me and forgive me for the acts that I’d later commit. (Don’t worry I won’t leave anything out.)

In high school, I was dating the football star.  He was perfect.  And I mean perfect. Great body.  Smart. Smokin hot.  Great family, who I loved sadly more than him, and of course he loved me.  Everything about him was right. Except he was boring as fuck and I was young and energetic.  Had I wanted to take out stock in Blockbuster and continue some heavy petting for the rest of my life, he would have been Prince Fuckin Charming.  He was ready to pick out china and I was ready to smash it and go streaking. 

So, needless to say, after a long painful high school break up of ignoring each other & other immature acts of ignorance, I went to a party.  I didn’t even want to go to this party.  But I went. And I met a boy- “The one who shall not be named”.  And I might say this was the closest I’d ever come to any sort of “love at first sight” nonsense.  We hit it off immediately and spent the remainder of those summer nights staying up all night long, talking, kissing, & holding close.  And we fell in love.  Real love.  Real heart-wrenching, “I can barely breathe without out you”, “you were meant for me”, “so happy together” L.O.V.E.  He left for college and I didn’t get out of bed for days.  I planned my nights around a phone call and spent the majority of my senior year in class writing him letters.  (This was before email.) It was the best relationship I had ever had and I knew in my heart this was it. I went to college not far from him and we’d do weekends together when we could.  Over the next couple years, we traveled, went to concerts, made boat loads of memories with very few fights, loved and loved and loved.  Some mornings we’d stay in bed for hours just lying with one another giggling and wrestling in the sheets. Color me stupid, but I thought we had it pretty fucking good. 

Have you ever had just a “feeling” about someone?  He moved into a new apartment complex junior year of college and things started to change. The neighbors, on in particular just rubbed me the wrong way.  She was always insisting that we hang out and watch Disney movies and shit. It was too much. We’ll call her “Succubus”.  I think that fits nicely. 

  Fast forward to Christmas break- He INSISTED we go back early. I was a huge pussy at this point in my life and hated leaving my family or him or anything else that made me feel safe and comfortable. I also could never tell him no.  Had I met myself then, today, I’d wanna punch myself in the face.  So naturally, I was not happy that we had to leave early to return to college. His justifications included everything from “I have tickets to a basketball game” to “The complex is having a party”.  Reluctantly I agreed, and we packed MY car and drove back.  I had just come down with a pretty nasty strep throat and wasn’t feeling well at all not to mention dreading a 10+ hour car ride back.  So we finally pull into his apartment complex and there isn’t a mother fuckin soul.  Party, huh?    I couldn’t find my antibiotics in the cluster fuck that was in my car and at this point I am so sick and pissed I marched into his apartment and basically up to bed. What seemed like a short time, later I awoke to music blaring.  Now anyone that knows me, knows if you wake me up you better be wearing a bullet proof vest because I will hurt you.  I marched downstairs to find him, one of his roommates, and the Succubus, laughing and carrying on.  I not-so-politely asked them to turn down the music as I don’t feel well and am trying to sleep, received a few smirks, and I marched back upstairs.  The next thing I remember is hearing noises outside.  I looked out his window and saw her and him kissing.  I immediately ran into the bathroom, puked, and then flew down the stairs with furry. He had every excuse in the book.  He told me they were “best friends”.  I don’t know about you, but I typically don’t stick my tongue down my best friends throats.  Just sayin.  Words were exchanged.  I may or may not have screamed “WHORE” in her face.  Tears shed. He told me that he wanted to go next door and get her side of the story.  My dumbass let him.  He never came home all night.  I cried and cried and cried. The next morning he told me he wanted to take a break and start over.  The rest is such a blur.  I don’t even know how I got back to my own apartment.  I know I sobbed the entire 2 hour drive. 

The following months are sketchy too. There were weekly phone calls and “I love you’s” but I still missed him horribly.  I fell into a deep depression.  I started taking sleeping pills every night to block out the nightmares, sweats, and screams. I drank coffee all day just to function.   My roommate started staying at her boyfriends I’m sure because she was sick of listening to me crying all night.  I didn’t eat.  I weighed less than 100lbs and I’m 5’7. I threw myself into school and dance.  Despite success there, I still couldn’t seem to get myself together.  My body was failing and my heart was beyond broken.  There wasn’t one ounce of me that thought I could live without him. 

I went down there one more time for his birthday because he “couldn’t imagine spending his birthday without me”.  Only to discover that the Succubus had been wooing him for quite some time and despite his phone calls and “I Love You’s” he was indeed seeing her.  I was not told this until after I, of course, gave him all of his birthday gifts and  banged him the first night.  Cute.

Did you hear that? That’s me falling through the downward spiral I call my life. 

So there you have it.  The beginning of the end.  I won’t bore you the details, however “The one who shall not be named” later married the Succubus and I have the pure pleasure of running into them every so often during holidays, weddings, etc.  Too bad it’s not with my car. 

You want to know about Shamus now don't you?

If you love someone set them free....

Since the beginning of time, people have been on quest for the answer to the question of love.  We look to scientists for facts, figures and explanations of why and how things work.  Doctors can help to heal physical and mental illness. Dentists can fix the outward appearance of our smile.  However, in matters of the heart, we often find ourselves broken and bruised without recollection of how we got to this point and without understanding of how to move forward.  Turning to friends and family seems like a natural instinct, and more often than not they offer the same advice in the form of a quote.

Richard Bach once said “If you love someone, set them free. If they come back they’re yours; if they don’t they never were.” I am fairly certain that he had no idea how many times those exact words would be repeated by grandparents, parents, and best friends to the broken-hearted to help heal those invisible love “boo-boos”. More times than I can count, I have heard this quote. 

I don’t think in any relationship it is an easy thing to let someone go. I think that we are so fearful of “letting go” because the harsh reality of it is that he or she may not actually come back.  No matter how many times I repeat Mr. Bach’s quote, I still can’t help being afraid that in letting go, they might actually do just that. Go.  And just how long am I supposed to wait to see if they come back? A week? A month? A year? I don’t know that I can accept that.

I can, however, accept the idea of this quote. Which I think, is simply that sometimes we do need to walk away to see the bigger picture. Maybe sometimes we all need a little break, whether we are letting go or being let go.  I think that a lot of times we all have a hard time putting trust in faith and not knowing.  Bach was telling us to relax a little. Take a breath and get to know ourselves.  In the meantime, the people that are supposed to be in our lives will be and those that aren’t will continue on with their own journey.  It’s a hard pill to swallow and not always the ending that we hoped and planned for.  But it’s life. We just have to hope that “all is fair in love and war” and absence really does make the heart grow fonder.