Wednesday, February 28, 2007


You came close. You tried, because it's all you know how to do. You belittle, you yell, you fight. You nitpick about everything under the sun-- you hated having to drive me to work [even though your 15 minute inconvience afforded you FREE use of my automobile for the rest of the day! And did you ever once pay the car payment, insurance, or gas? No.], you hated the way I pushed against you while you slept [due to the fact your 40+ year old mattress was warped in the middle, & gravity would literally PULL ME to the center. But would you let me sleep on the OUTSIDE to fix this problem? No.] . You hated my Bath & Body Works Raspberry Vanilla Body Splash... you made me use Elizabeth Arden Green Tea instead.

I created a fake screen name so that I could come online and avoid you, sometimes. I loved you, but sometimes I just wanted to come HOME-- to MY home, not yours-- and relax on the computer for an hour before heading to your house. "Why aren't you here?" IMs and "Why aren't you on IM?" myspace emails would follow. "When are you coming over?". It was nice to feel wanted, but jeez.

And forget if I had a bad day. I try to tell you the story. What do you say? "You don't need to take it out on me." You always accused me of doing that. Taking it out on you. I would never, ever start a fight with you. I did nothing but love you, provide for you, and try to include you in my life. If that's 'taking it out on you', I hope to God someone takes it out on ME someday.

You value NOTHING. You respect, tolerate, and appreciate nothing.

I will never forget the nights I spent next to you in tears. Sobbing myself to sleep while you rolled over and ignored me. I don't remember what I was crying about, but I don't cry often, so it must have been serious. No one should have to endure that.

And then there was my 21st birthday. All I wanted was to be able to dance with you that night, and to have my friends with me too. Did you come out with me that night? Of course not. It 'wasn't your style', or whatever your excuse was. How is spending time with your girlfriend on her birthday 'not your style'? To this date, I think that remains one of the biggest let downs of my life. My failed engagement doesn't even top that one. The fact you slowdanced with Mary on New Years and not me, even though I was standing right next to you, also stings.

I could go on for years about all the things you yelled at me about. About how you had to drive my car whenever we went somewhere, because you screamed at me & made me so nervous that I was incapable of operating a vehicle with you around.

Oh, God, & then there was the goddamn bunny. You accused me of not loving her, called me a bad pet owner, everything under the sun.

You have problems, Will. I was so ridiculously in love with you for so long, that I was completely blind to them. You were also very good at hiding them at the beginning-- I saw nothing of your anger when I first met you in High School [except when you quit ELCAT and stormed out of ELHS, but even then you had the decency to wait for me just beyond the doors so we could go home together.], but when we broke up I realized that no one in drama club cared for you. Why? Because you were an asshole to EVERYONE.

Fast forward to 2005, when I stupidly [or, wisely, since it's given me the insight I have today] began hooking up with you again. Yes, you were still dating Cynthia [to tell you the truth, if Cynthia had been nice to me, I wouldn't have hooked up with you out of respect, but she was a bitch to me for absolutely no reason] at the time, but that didn't last long after I got my foot in the door.

You were sweet then. You'd dance with me and wrestle and we'd play. We had long conversations about marriage, how amusing our clashing families would be, & why you feared the vast expanse of universe. We took road trips to "Danger Castles" and photographed dinosaurs in their natural habitat, got lost, had dinner...

I don't know exactly when all that changed. When you stopped with the whole perfect-man-now-I-gotcha-hook-line-and-sinker facade & slipped into the Human Wrecking Ball that is Will Munro. I suppose it was so gradual that I didn't notice, or maybe I just didn't mind, since your anger wasn't directed at me.

You tried to fight with me much more then we DID fight. Being the product of an abusive home life means you learn how to lay low and roll with the punches. I learned when to agree with you, when to stay silent, & when to pretend I hadn't heard you at all. I only remember one distinct fight that we had... the day I was SICK of putting up with your shit.

The umbrella story. I paid over $400 for the two of us to spend the weekend in NYC. I had won you tickets to see your favorite show-- Saturday Night Live. Your favorite actress just happened to be hosting that night... Scarlett Johannsen. We had arrived at the hotel, checked in, and dropped our stuff off. It was raining, but we wanted to get to the studio early and look around a bit, so we started to head out.

It was raining, because every single time I go to NYC, it rains. So we stopped into the gift shop of our hotel to buy an umbrella. A stupid, cheap black umbrella for $12.95 that didn't even stand up to the first gust of wind-- but, I'm getting ahead of myself. I chose an umbrella and took it to the cashier. The cashier told me "That's 12.95.", but he hadn't typed that into the register yet. Now, I've been a cashier for fucking 5 years by this point. I understand the concept. The screen read "40.95" from a previous sale that had not yet been voided. The cashier pushes some buttons in an effort to clear the screen. I have a twenty dollar bill in my hand that I'm holding out, but the cashier is focused on the computer screen. I'm bored, I'm antsy, & I'm in New York City. I want to LOOK AROUND. So as I wait, I start looking around the gift shop.

I notice Will is looking at me, so I look at him. I'm about to stick my tounge out at him, or do something otherwise silly, when he says, "WHAT?!" in this exhasperated voice. I said, "What do you mean, 'what'?" to which he replies, LOUDLY and angrily, "You're looking around like... [[mentally retarded noise]]... Do you want me to fucking pay for this? What?" And then he takes a $20 from his own wallet [mind you, this is the $20 that I gave him, because if we became seperated or one of us got mugged, I wanted us at least to have some cash left] and throws it at the cashier.

I don't think I had EVER been so angry at him. We ran outside and proceeded to have a screaming fight on the streets of New York in the pouring rain. It's the first time, and probably the only time, I had found myself unable to stay silent. We walked all the way to Rockafeller Center in silence. I fought back tears but REFUSED to let him make me cry.

What's the point of this angry ramble?

Up until two days ago, part of me still loved him. I'm going to go out on a limb and say there's this TINY part, maybe the size of my baby toe, that's still holding out hope. But I've just realized, finally, that he has a problem. I am not the first woman he has mistreated, made feel like shit, belittled, and silenced, and I'm certainly not the last. It's emotional abuse and even though all my friends whispered about it while we were together, I laughed it off. I was so in love with him and blind to everything that he could have literally beat me out of anger and locked me in the cellar overnight, & I would have told you how "sexy" it was and how "hot it made me".

But you know what this has all made me realize? He didn't break me. I fell, and I had a hard time getting up. He stepped all over me as I tried to get my footing, he pushed me back down, but here I am. I'm better off, and I can finally SEE that. It never occurred to me before.

P.s: I would like to take this time to mention that his PARENTS, however, were the sweetest people in the world. His mother paid a ticket for me, that Will had gotten while driving my car. His father paid for me to get two new tires put on my car, when even my own stepfather couldn't have cared less that my vehicle wasn't safe to drive. His mother included me on the box of truffles they made for Christmas. I went shopping with his mom and had a geniunely good time with her. I even love his grandmother, & send her a birthday card every year [her birthday is the day before mine.] His mother now owns my bunny. His father would give me gas money and ALWAYS check out my car to see what was going on. He even went with me to the mechanic. They WERE my parents for a full year. These people were my family.

I just wish for everyones sake, he could have been more like them. It's really a damn shame. He's a fantastic person when he's TRYING to win you over.

Friday, February 16, 2007

I am apeshit crazy.

At night I line my pillows up in the middle of my bed & sleep on the edge, with my back pressed against them.

It's as close as I can get to spooning with you.

Monday, February 12, 2007

Dry paint fresh tears

Some say she's rushing to get away from her past.
She replies with, "I just want a future so bright that the past gets away from me."

I don't like looking at pictures from the past anymore. They're filled with faces of men who no longer love me, friends who are no longer friendly. Photo albums hold a great deal of pain and uncertainty now.

I wish I had realized how attractive I really was back then and how lucky I was.

Thursday, February 8, 2007

Thank you, internet.

Think what you will about Myspace.

But I've been exchanging emails recently with my best friend from elementary school, who I completely lost touch with around 1997.

The internet is a pretty handy little tool.

I should probably also express my gratitude for OKcupid, while I'm feeling so.. grateful. While I spend much of my time on that site beating off 40+ year old guys with sticks, I *did* find the current object of my affection lurking around on there.

Wednesday, February 7, 2007

"Adult" insecurites

As a teenager I worried about my skin. It was horrible-- I was broken out constantly. I worried about my weight, it fluctuated, tipping the scale at 220 at a point. I flirted with anorexia and dropped to 160 in a few months. I was awkward, I was gangly, I wasn't comfortable in my skin.

My skin has cleared up. I dropped SOME of the weight, but I still struggle. That's okay though, I've come to terms with my size for the most part. I do have fat days, I will get depressed sometimes about things not fitting properly.

But for the most part I like who I am. I'm critical, I'm judgemental, but I'm a pretty cool person most of the time. I try to do the right thing but I also know when not to take things personally and when to do my OWN thing.

But right now I'm in this tricky realm. This... boy. I find myself doing foolish things and getting insecure about things I've never even THOUGHT to be insecure about before. For example?

The other day I was very, very ill. To put it bluntly, I was puking everywhere, and shitting as I did that. It was, for the most part, a 24 hour bug. While my stomach has been a bit on edge since, the majority of the sucky-ness passed in about 6 hours.

I had a date with the boy the day after.

I went. We went out to dinner. I was able to hold down some fries. My stomach felt weird but I didn't puke. We went back to his house.

Far be it from me to stop and say, "Gosh, you know.. I haven't felt too well lately, maybe we shouldn't make out." I mean... I KNOW he has school. I KNOW school is very important to him.

But did I give him ANY inkling at all that I was ill?

Of course not. I just went right ahead and swabbed the inside of his mouth with my tounge for pretty much the entire night. It was selfish. It was stupid. I am a bitch.

Because now he has the norovirus & I'm pretty sure he's currently puking everywhere and cursing my very existance.

And this has all made me terribly insecure. Does he REALIZE how selfish I was? Does he think I'm a total bitch? Because I certainly do. I just completely disregarded his health.

I offered to bring over imodium, pepto bismol and ginger ale. He responded with an 'ugh' & signed offline.

I feel terrible.

Tuesday, February 6, 2007

I've watched "High Fidelity" three times this week.

Top 5 Dream Jobs:
5. Karaoke Disk Jockey
4. Business owner [Vintage clothing shop, speakeasy-type bar, 50's diner]
3. Psychologist
2. Magazine editor
1. Children's Television Host

I'm going to school for Psychology, so that's a start. I've done the Children's Television Host bit for awhile, but I want to pick it up again now that I'm older & get more serious about it. It's hard to figure out where to start, though. You try writing a letter to a television station and convincing them you're serious. I get ignored a lot.

Top 5 Places I'd like to go:
5. Disney World [I've never gone, even though I lived just minutes outside the park as a child]
4. California
3. Las Vegas. I want a ridiculous themed wedding that can be annulled the next day. Or not, depending on the guy.
2. Wherever I can see the Aurora Borealis
1. Europe. Mostly France, England and Ireland.

So there's this boy I like. And he's reading poetry at this poetry slam at his school in three hours, an event which I will be in the audience for. Is my stomach nervous because of that, or is this just residual grossness from the dreaded norovirus that I've just gotten over?

There's something very endearing about boys giving me butterflies in my stomach at 22 years old.