Tag Archives: drop dead

Wait for a Minute.

Anyone heard Justin Bieber’s new song, feat. Tyga, “Wait for a Minute”? …Because it is AWESOME.

Between hearing that on Friday and seeing The Biebs walk with Maywether to the ring, my love for Bieber has been rekindled. Not that it was on the rocks or anything.

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Alright, enough of the bullshit, it’s time I come clean about me and this trainer. Here is what you need to know. His name is CR and he is a professional fighter and he’s really, really hot.

I want to post a picture of his naked body for you; but he has many distinctive tattoos that would give him away. After all, he was on a reality TV show last year.

When he started training at my gym, I was still dating D. I took a few of his classes, but honestly didn’t think much of it.

And then when D and I broke up, I thought he was cute. Then I thought he was kinda hot. Then I thought he was sexy as hell.

You know how it is.

At the gym, he would always talk to Marcy, but not me, so I thought maybe he was into her. Then one day he asked me why I never took his class.

“I do,” I said.

And that was that.

Then around mid-August, we added each other on Facebook.

That’s also the same time I discovered he was engaged.

A few days later, at the gym, I told him he was a pussy—really just kidding around. He told me I would pay for it during my next workout.

And he kicked. My. Ass.

“This is all your fault,” he said.

The next day, he sent me a message on Facebook saying he hoped I wasn’t sore…

Two days later, we had phone sex.

We started sending nasty sexts to each other—(in no order):

CR: That ass will be in my hands pulling down

ME: I want to get on top so you can touch

CR: I have my hands on that ass while you wrap ya legs around me against the wall

…Since then, we’ve sent nearly 8,000 messages to each other, including pictures, and we’ve had sex a handful (pun intended) of times.

I know, you’re probably ready to throw your computer or mobile device out the window right now, saying: LUCKY!!!! WHAT ARE YOU THINKING?! HAVEN’T YOU BEEN HERE BEFORE?? YOU’RE INVITING BAD KARMA YOUR WAY…

Yes, yes I know.

I don’t have answers for you.

The only thing I can say is that I’m blaming it on D. I just couldn’t have him be the last person I slept with.

And although CR is engaged AND living with his fiancee, I can say without a doubt, he is THE hottest guy I’ve ever fucked, and it’s some of the best sex I’ve ever had.

That’s nothing to feel bad over, right?

I don’t feel an emotional attachment like I did when I was sleeping with the married guy…which is good.

I hate to say it, but I feel pretty bitter about men these days, so it doesn’t surprise me that CR is willing to cheat on his gorgeous-pharmacist of a fiancee. Because he’s a guy and that’s what guys do, right?

So, if he’s going to cheat, it may as well be with me.

Let the haters, hate.

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‘I think I made a huge mistake’

That’s what D’s text said Wednesday morning at 12:46 am.

HA. HA. HA.

I just had to laugh when I saw it…

Let’s dissect.

First of all, YOU THINK??!!!

No, asshole, you DID make a huge mistake.

Second of all, AN huge mistake, as in one?

No, you made many, several, a lot of huge mistakes.

After I got over my initial laugh, I thought, “WOW, good tactic.”

The message is so vague it almost demands a response—is he referring to letting me go? The drinking? The arrest? Something that happened 5 minutes prior?—I will never know because I didn’t reply.

I really wasn’t tempted to. He obviously wants to continue these games, but I refuse to lock myself in that emotional hell.

Today, I feel free.

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Part two: the bar fight.

After getting the DWI, D was terrified he would lose his job. After all, he’d been drinking while on the job and he was driving home when he got pulled over for swerving all over the roads.

But when he got to work, they told him the entire thing was bullshit, and not to worry, because they would hire him the best DWI attorney in the state. When D told me this, I was extremely concerned. He was getting a free ride and wasn’t going to learn the lesson I’d hoped.

I told D I was really concerned and I didn’t know if I could handle our relationship if the drunken drama continued. I was worried for him and for us. He promised me he would cut back on drinking.

For about two weeks, he did.

One Sunday after work, D invited me to come over.

“Oh by the way, Hunter hit my truck,” he texted me before I arrived.

When I got to D’s house, Hunter (a waiter at the restaurant) was sitting on the patio, hammered. D was drinking Crown from a styrofoam cup.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

According to the guys, D had had two cocktails at work and was afraid to drive home, so he asked Hunter to follow him. Hunter, being too drunk to drive, swerved off the road, over-corrected, and hit D’s truck.

“What happened to not drinking and driving?” I asked.

“I had two drinks and, believe me, I was scared to,” D said.

I was pissed. Here we were, two weeks out from an arrest, and he was drinking and driving again. I left and went home.

The next day, a Monday, D was heading an hour away to a second restaurant location. He was joining a server, the other manager and the chef to see if this server (Bobby) wanted to come on as a manager. Bobby drove them, they ate a free meal, I’m assuming they had lots of drinks, and left.

Around 1:30 a.m., D calls me, excited to tell me that him and Bobby got in a fight and roughed up about 9 other guys.

According to D, him and Bobby left the restaurant and it was Bobby’s idea to step into a nearby bar where they saw an Arabic man sitting alone. Because Bobby and D both know Arabic (a fact I didn’t know), they decided to talk to him.

Again, according to D, they didn’t say anything offensive, and out of nowhere this guy pulls a knife out and holds it up to D’s neck. D then flipped him over the table, causing a group of other guys running to the scene and joining in.

D and Bobby were kicked out of the bar, and D was trying to tell me just how “cool” it was when he flipped this guy over the table.

I told him I didn’t think it was cool at all, that it was actually quite trashy, and he didn’t need to be out getting in fights. He is a dad and was just arrested two weeks before.

D was drunk, at a Waffle House, and couldn’t even tell me what city he was in. I told him we needed to have a serious talk later and hung up.

The next day, I told D that the only thing I could think to say or do was to give him an ultimatum. Any more drunken antics and I was out. He said he didn’t want to lose me and that was that.

That night, D got a call from the owner of his restaurant. The Arabic guy came into the restaurant and filed a complaint against D and Tommy. The shopping center threatened to close down the restaurant. D’s job was on the line…

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Stop calling me fat, you fatty.

It’s nothing new that I cannot stand the janitor lady that works in our office. I’ll call her Jennifer Lopez because it starts with the same letters as “Janitor Lady,” and because she has a big ass. No seriously, it is the biggest ass I’ve ever seen.

EVER.

Everyone in the office is always SO excited to see her and they are all, “HEY JENNIFER, GOOD MORNING JENNIFER,” blah blah blah.

But I’d noticed that whenever I do say hello, or good morning, she comes back with something snippy. One day, when she was emptying my trash, I asked her how she was.

“I’m tired,” she said.

“Me too,” I replied.

“Well at least you get to sit down all day,” she said.

Umm ok, thanks, bitch.

That was two years ago and to this day, I don’t say anything when she comes into my office.

Yeah, I get it, her job sucks. But you don’t have to take it out on me.

Last year, I wore a dress and some boots to work one day. Jennifer Lopez was quick to tell me my legs looked “thick.”

Thanks. Bitch.

About two Fridays ago, someone in our office brought a box of donuts for breakfast. I am still sticking to my plan of eating clean, but I’d been to the gym 3 times that week and figured a little sugar and bread would be an okay treat.

I was standing in the break room, pouring some coffee and nibbling on a donut, when in walks J-Lo.

“Look at you, eating that big ole donut. You going to eat that?” she asked me.

My blood started to boil.

“Yes I am,” I said.

“I guess you can,” she said.

“Excuse me? You guess?” I said. “I can eat whatever I please.”

“I guess so, you’re small enough,” she said. “But you know your weight fluctuates.”

I didn’t say a fucking word and I breezed by her with my donut in tow. Bitch.

She’s trying to call me out for eating one lowsy donut when A. I can and will do whatever I want, B. I am skinny, and C. Shut the fuck up.

This is the same woman that is so big, she is facing diabetes medication if she doesn’t slim down, and yet I still she her eating McDonald’s all the damn time. So fuck off.

I am over any attempt at being nice, I don’t care if I am huge, you do not speak to me like that.

The following week, I walked into the kitchen to grab my afternoon snack (an apple and a slice of low-fat cheese), when what do I see? Oh, Jennifer Lopez getting a bag of Fritos and a Sprite from the vending machine.

It took everything I had not to say, “Look at you eating that entire bag of greasy chips and that sugary Sprite! It oughta send you right into a diabetic coma, you fat bitch! Have a fantastic day!!”

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BEX got married.

I waited a few days to share this news with you all; only telling my very close friends and family, because I have been dealing with a mix of emotions surrounding BEX’s wedding, which happened on Saturday.

I found out about the wedding last Wednesday. For some reason, I wandered over to BEX’s Facebook page, and saw a post on his page about “7 more days ’till the wedding!”

Huh?

Considering I had just seen him a month prior and he mentioned nothing about a bride-to-be, and considering about 14 months ago he was asking me to sleep with him, I thought no way he was about to get married.

So I Googled his name along with “wedding,” and sure enough, up came a few wedding registries and a site on The Knot, complete with a picture of him and his fiancee. The site was created on March 5, 2012, less than 2 months after I told BEX to get out of my life.

My heart thumped and I swear my jaw traveled through two floors to hit the ground beneath me with a THUD.

It’s not the first time I’ve found out my ex was getting married. In fact, all of my exes are married. To say the least, it’s never fun news to get. However, in this case, it was a little different.

For starters, it was pretty obvious to me that he was cheating on me with this girl and vis versa. I’m not a genius, but I think it’s safe to say that after we had a conversation on January 9, 2012, he didn’t meet someone the next day and propose before March 5.

The real sting for me was recalling numerous conversations we’d had about getting married—he insisted that getting married was never a plan of his, and this always bothered me because I did (and do) want to be married. Now, obviously, that was just one of his many lies to me, because he did want to get married. And now he actually is married.

And yes, I know. He’s an ass, he’s the worst, he’s a douche, I deserve better. But I’m not sure, even as an award-winning editor, that any words I write can describe what it feels like to know that a person who betrayed you, did so to such a degree that there was a ring in his pocket the last time you slept together. It is sickening.

Upon receiving the news, I turned to the two women in my life who have supported me throughout my entire relationship and breakup with BEX: Gizzy and my mom. I was, and am, thankful for them lifting me out of the doldrums.

That day, on Gchat, BEX came online and I decided to send him a message asking him about the wedding.

ME: Getting married Saturday?

BEX: I am.

ME: I am shocked.

BEX: I guess I am too… but I’m excited.

ME: The shocking part is the math. It doesn’t add up. You slept with her and I at the same time?

BEX: No. It was a very quick process. We hadn’t been together in over 3 years.

And that was the end of that conversation. Sure, part of me wanted to tell him all of the times I knew there was overlap in the relationship he was having with her and the one he was having with me. But the majority of me knew that at this point, nothing I could say would make him understand, and really, I’m at a good place in my life.

What BEX didn’t realize is that a picture of him and his bride, proves him completely wrong. In July 2011, I flew across the country to see Gizzy for my birthday. Ironically, BEX flew there too. He told me he was going with his sister and her husband. But there is a picture on Facebook of him and his then girlfriend at the famous baseball stadium in that city. Behind them, is the date on the jumbo screen: July 2, 2011.

On that same date, BEX called me and sang me Happy Birthday and tried to meet up with me several times in the city. Little did I know that his girlfriend was sitting right beside him the entire time. We slept together the following week.

In a way, finding this out answers alot of my questions. It explains why BEX was never around, why he treated me like shit, and why he hid me from his friends and family. But it doesn’t do much for my trust issues.

I knew BEX was fooling around on me. But I didn’t know he was living a completely double life without my knowledge.

Saturday, I spent the day drinking, and for the first time, I cried about BEX’s wedding. I never wanted to waste more time on him, but I know I am still dealing with the hurt he left for me.

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Go away.

Friday night, I participated in the usual activities of drinking until I am stupid. After drinking a few margaritas, Marcy and I, along with the usual guys headed to the bar.

I was thinking, “OH, I’ll just have a few beers, stumble home, hit the sack, and be up early enough to go to the gym tomorrow morning…”

Yeah… no.

I really did only have a few beers, but I also had a few shots… I remember swallowing a red snapper, a soco/lime (one of my favorites), and a jager bomb. Oy.

Naturally, mid drink-fest-dance-off, Joel decides, once again, to talk about “us.”

Let me refresh your memory. Me and Joel is not a thing. Ever since I’ve seen how much of a drama-starter he is, that was just the icing on the cake for me—hell no. Yet, every time we drink together “us” comes up in conversation.

Yeah dude, I get it. You don’t want to be with me. You wish you did. And hey, I don’t want to be with you either, so why are we talking about this again?

So around 1:30, we all head to Marcy’s, the typical plan, because even though we’ve all been drinking since 6 pm, we just can’t seem to stop. This is where things with Joel always get stupid. Because he tells me and tells me just how much he doesn’t want to be with me, and then we get in the same bed together and shit happens.

To avoid this, as soon as I cracked open my beer I told Marcy I was sleeping in her bed, even if she didn’t like it. And that is what I did.

Joel even found it necessary to come into Marcy’s room and kiss me (on the forehead) goodnight.

Whatever.

Saturday was non-eventful, although I didn’t wake up in time to go to the gym, I hit the showers and started drinking again, because I have a serious problem. I took a 3 -hour nap and rolled out of bed in time to see the 9 pm showing of Safe Haven (SO GOOD). It was just me and a box of Butterfinger Minis in a sea of couples. But it’s whatevs.

Sunday, I was really just trying to rest and hydrate and relax because this week (has been and) will be, a little bitch. However, I still wanted to go to the open mic night, if anything to get out of the house. So I did. And I read a poem. And the music was great. And I danced. And sang.

And then, I heard a familiar voice right behind my neck.

The creepy, crazy, stalker, texter, rapper.

I hadn’t seen him in weeks. I quickly gathered my belongings, held them close to me, and waited for the last performer to finish. I dropped my tip money into the jar and looked toward the only way out—the front door. And there he was. Standing. Waiting.

He turned his back and I made my move, walking briskly. And as soon as I got to the door, he turned and waved. I said hello. Then he asked, “How was your V-Day?”

Seriously?

What did he want me to say? That it was horrible and I sat around and cried and thought about killing myself and then I realized that I’d made a horrible, horrible mistake and he was the one I was missing and would he like to go out for coffee and work things out because I can’t, I just can’t, go on without him?

Instead, I told him it was wonderful, and that I somehow managed to get a boyfriend, get engaged, married, and pregnant on the same day.

So yeah.

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The trouble with boys is… {part 2}

Like a bestselling novel, that little editor’s note sure put a decent twist on things with Brandon, didn’t it?

How do these things happen? Exhibit A. 

ME: Hey there, what’s up?

B: I’m sorta nervous to have a date tomorrow

ME: Why nervous?

B: Well it doesn’t happen very often for starters.

…And then I stopped responding because I was a perfect mix of jealous, pissed, sad, and needed to stomp up my office stairs before I pulled out one of my classic crazy moves (usually a passive aggressive text message).

Reasons why I was upset:

  • There was no reason to tell me about the date (unless he was looking for an easy way out)
  • How am/was I supposed to react to that?
  • When I ask, “Why nervous?” the correct response would be something along the lines of, “Don’t want to make you upset.”
  • I cannot/will not listen to someone I slept with a mere month ago complain about a lack of dates

I wanted so badly to just be cool and continue the conversation and act like it didn’t bother me. But it did and it does.

I get it, we are not together. He can absolutely go on dates, as can I. But I wouldn’t ever tell him about a date unless it was on the verge of getting serious—I would never say it in passing, because I care(d) about his feelings.

So, going on the date was one thing, telling me about it with intentions to hurt me/make me jealous is something else entirely. Both mean. Both shitty.

Moving on.

Webber did something equally asshole-ish and great all at once.

Out of sheer curiosity, I wandered over to his Twitter page only to witness a rather long conversation between him and one miss @Shasha42069 (handles have been changed to protect the slutty):

Webber: where ya at gurl I’m waiting for my date

Sasha: I’m back… I been back!

Webber: Oh well damn why didn’t you say anything

Sasha: because your supposed to know these things

Webber: my fault

Sasha: It’s ok, I’ll give you a pass this time

Webber: You are too kind. So you gonna hit me up so we can do this

…And it continues from there where they pick out a place to eat, etc. Now, I’m certainly NOT jealous here. However, I don’t appreciate getting constant texts from a guy who is obviously (and publicly) asking out other women. I get it—the more you ask out, the better your return.

I’m not interested in statistics.

So when he texted me the other night, at 10 p.m. “How was your day?” I happily did not reply and continued drooling over Nev Schulman (#Catfish).

Now, I’m actually hoping he texts me again, just so I can say this:

What, your date with @Sasha42069 didn’t work out?? 

Damn, life is good.

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