Damn the Man

I really can't take this shite. I mean, I know there are people in the world who are just fucked in life. Born with an unimaginable illness, living in a third world country, orphaned, cursed, etc. But I never considered that I might be one of them.

For someone who has always said I "wear my heart on my sleeve" I sure should look into getting at least a see-thru cover for it or something...because this is getting ridiculous. I am a hopeless romantic. Old-school. Vintage. I say "my heart knows me better than I know myself so I'm gonna let it do all the talkin'." Of course, not so severely as to warrant what's happening to me, but in a kind of "I'd rather live in a movie but know that I'm not" type of way.

Everyone can probably say they've had their share of bad relationships. I have too. But the "bad" isn't really the typical of bad. It's horrifyingly beyond stupid/arrogant/annoying/I want to pull my eyelashes out one by one type of bad. I got married when I was young. Clue number one some would say, but I always knew I'd do that. I'm very strange and sometimes that old-school vintage part of me gets carried away. I did it. So the fuck what? Needless to say we got divorced. And as much as it was a brick in the face, I walked away a better person. I'm still walking away from that, but who's to say when you have to be healed? Now I am not just saying this for the sake of the blog, but I was the victim (although I hate that word, I can't find a more fitting one) in that relationship, and so I would think the years that followed would be like an opened door to a world I was missing out on. No regrets, just lessons learned, and I was ready. Right? Right?!

Wrong. Oddly enough, one part of my life that was NEVER important to me started blossoming. And I'm fine with that now. I've come a long way and traveled down a path I though I never would, and I love it 99.9 repeating % of the time. Great. Fantastic. But... the part of my life that has always been a defining aspect of who I feel I am, started to do things that I'm really tempted to just throw a tantrum about at this point. I mean, unfair is unfair and I just can't take much more. Relationship #1 after my divorce was over before it started. I wasn't really attracted to him and he immediately clung to me. Always shoving me up against walls to make and such. You'd think that would be a wonderfully passionate thing, but no, I was not feeling it at all. And we had sex, and that just made me cry for hours. I didn't care, I was going thru this horrible thing emotionally and mentally, and this guy was just getting out of control. I made him sleep on the couch. Then when I told him I wasn't ready he said, "Oh, yeah, that's fine. You were getting a little too attached to me anyways." The next one was with a guy who "wasn't really ready to have a girlfriend" but decided to date me anyways. I didn't necessarily care because I think I was overly happy that I was attracted to him after Mr. Denial. Things were ok. When he was around. He had this thing where he'd disappear for days, a week, maybe more. Then when he decided to call me he'd wonder why the fuck I was upset. Listen asswipe, if that's your thing then 1) you're a douche bag and 2) you should have just told me so I wouldn't freak out. (By this point, I felt like I was in a real relationship, and let me tell you, the things you try to do and the shit you worry about after going thru a divorce...wrecks havoc on you completely.) So that lasted about a year and he has been given the title of worst boyfriend ever. By the end I was so tired of his MIAness that when I met the next boy, I never really ended it. Fucking hell he was never around anyways. Then came The One.

That relationship started like a dream. Started like I had never experienced before. We met, became friends, talked on the phone, blah blah, then he asked me to be his girlfriend. Great. Fantastic. We had epic things in common. I was unbelievably attracted to him. Everything else in my life was going alright, so hey, this must be it right? Right?!

Wrong again. Honestly, he still may very well be The One. But, he's also the Asshole, the Psycho, the Inconsiderate Prick. The Fucker, the Insane, the Stupid, the Macho... the list goes on. I mean for something to be so right, there was probably 2 to 1 bad for every right. After time, it was depressing. I was hurt so often. I cried so much. And after time, one by one everything disappeared until we finally couldn't be together. (Which, by the way, was a very weird thing for me. There's always been some reason... "I don't love you." "I hate you." "I'm an alien." But to have it be purely circumstantial? Seriously weird...and seriously heartbreaking.) That story is far from being a closed book, but that's not the point of this blog (oh my gawd there's more??)...

Not too recently I told CB (oh, so we're executives now? We only use our initials? Cool. Someone get me a secretary and tell him - notice how I said him - to make me some friggin' coffee!) that it was her new goal in life to find me a guy who wasn't a douche bag. A daunting task, yes. But she didn't actually have to do any finding, and it was maybe the next day or so that her friend and I started talking. Fast forward a little and we've had a few dates, he's met my parents, and we've had a few conversations about how we feel and what we want. Blah blahbitty blah. He sends me this long message about how he feels and how he wants to make sure we can "make it work" (seriously, you are 5 years older than me, you don't know any bigger words to use in a phrase?) before we get too attached. I guess that makes sense. We live in different states. Not horrendously far, but far enough to where we're limited to the weekends for, well, anything. Full time job, own place, seems to be smart and not a douche bag. Alright we'll see. Fast forward a little more and one day he says, "As far as I'm concerned, you and I are an official us. We just need to verbally confirm it." Uuuum, ok. Fine by me. I really liked him and it seemed like a welcome break in the insanity. Deep down I knew something would pop up eventually, but still, a welcome break. And I deserved to be happy even though The One was still The Mess, right? Right??!!

WRONG motherfucker. Apparently not. Apparently I just may be one of those people who somehow got placed in a fairly comfortable place but is doomed to have everything but the one thing that truly should mean the most. Cpt. Stoneage, current mess, is starting to become another douche bag in a long line of predecessors. And I am not happy about that. Not. One. FUCKING. Bit. I mean, yeah he's a guy but cooooome ooooooon. How long do I have to do this for? So we have our little Friday night ritual. There is somewhere I go every Friday night and all my friends are there, including one of my very best friends. He has met them all and made a pretty good impression. And for the last 4 weekends, I've had to explain why he wasn't there. Or, look stupid all night because even I didn't know. Or had my night ruined because half way thru I find out he isn't coming and lo and behold, another weekend bites the dust. Two times it was because he fell asleep (once the power went out), once he decided that seeing this band on Saturday was more important than seeing me. This last Friday. Now, here is the topic at hand. (Finally! You stupid twat, finish the damn story so I can move on with my day!)

By 10pm I was starting to have fun. Everyone was there. It was a bittersweet evening (that very best friend I mentioned? It was his last Friday night at this place) and I was trying to be excited that my boyfriend was finally coming out. 11pm, no bf. Midnight, no bf. Now, Cpt. Stoneage is a texter, and texts me thru out the day while he's at work. The last text I got was probably around lunchtime that day. I had since texted him but gotten no response, figuring he had gone home and to sleep, because he needs a nap before the drive and the fun. Or, whatever. By 12:30, my VBF (guess his nickname will be very best friend) said to me, "He's probably on his way." 1am. 2am. Nothing. No text. No phone call. I felt sick (well, I have been sick for almost 2 weeks) and now I was angry and incredibly stressed and it was giving me a headache. So, on VBF's last night, I left an hour early. I couldn't sit there anymore. I mean, WHAT THE FUCK.

Saturday. I wake up and have a text from Cpt. Stoneage from 6:30 that morning saying, again, that he slept straight thru until morning. Now here's where we get the nickname. Apparently, he's too stupid to use a fucking alarm! (Not to mention, one of those other weekends, I had called him, and he TEXTED me back to say he "saw that I called." Are you kidding me?) He was soooo sorry and sooo mad at himself. (Yeah, you fucking should be.) I woke up around 11 or something, and decided to text him back at 1:05. I said, "we need to talk." I called him at 3:27. No answer. Today, sunday. STILL NOTHING. Not a text or a phone call. And I'm not trying him again because I am not at fault here. HE is the one that should be trying to get a hold of me. And the thing is, I can totally picture him not even realizing that I may be mad. What the fuck dude, are you dead? You better fucking be dead. And I'll just bet my life that he still went to that show last night. That stupid fucking band. Bet he'd NEVER sleep thru that.

So, that is my story. Sad but true. And who knows how this is going to end, but I'm just about ready to say FUCK YOU. I make my mistakes, but I never seem to be in such wrong with the bf's. Are you all just complete assholes? I shake my head at all this. Tonight I am going to try and squeeze into my television because my Addams Family double feature DVD is in there. And I'm going to live happily ever after with my Raul Julia Gomez. That's sexy right there.

I could cry that it's not real.