Tag Archives: fuck off

A conversation with my boyfriend.

Below is a conversation I had with D last night, via text, because he is a big pussy and won’t talk to me on the phone. I was going to post this whole schpeal and everything leading up to the conversation, but honestly, it’s pretty self-explanatory. Enjoy.

8:13 D—How’d class go?

8:14 ME **calling D**

8:14 ME—You never answer!

9:26 D—I passed out.

9:51 D—Guess you did as well. Sorry

9:53 D— 😦

9:55 D—Goodnight

9:57 ME—Goodnight

10:01 D—You ok?

10:02 ME—No.

10:02 D— Talk to me tell me.

10:03 ME—I’ve been trying to call you, text you for 24 hours and I feel like you are pushing me away. I don’t know what I did but I can’t guess on how to solve the problem.

10:04 D—I’m sorry I’m not trying to

10:04 ME—I feel like you hate me.

10:04 D—I don’t hate you.

10:05 ME—Yes, it has been distant but its been a rough few weeks. I am someone who likes to work things out if they are worth a try. we’ve been in a great place before so I don’t feel like it’s a lost cause but ignoring me is not the answer. I just had a freaking meltdown.

10:07 D—I’m so sorry. So much has been going on with work and what not. I’m trying to deal with it.

10:07 ME—D, I understand that. But you have to tell me stuff, I cannot just guess. The person I love tells me he’s not happy in the relationship…that is the worst feeling. I can’t even get my boyfriend to talk to me.

10:10 D—it’s not you. I’m unhappy with my situation.

10:11 ME—Well, would you be happier without me around.

10:12 D—Noooooo I would never say that

10:12 ME—Well I have to ask because it feels that way

10:13 D—I’m so sorry

10:14 ME—I understand you’ve got stuff to deal with. But we are in a relationship. You can tell me stuff. I will always do what I can to help you, even if you need a night alone or whatever. we are both in this and we are supposed to be able to count on each other

10:15 D—I know

10:28 D—sleeping?

10:30 ME—No.

10:31 D—I can’t say sorry enough.

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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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Kickball can shove it.

I’m fairly certain I shared with you guys last season the joy (read: nervousness and stress) I felt when I joined the local kickball league.

I joined for 2 reasons: 1. Two of my friends started the team and they needed as many people, especially girls, to join. And 2. I thought it would be something fun and social that I could do during the week.

Last season, I had a pretty good time, but I noticed that many of the other teams in the league were really serious—as in, they recruit really good players and get really fucking pissed when someone gets an out.

Our team wasn’t like that. In fact, we were the laughing stock of the league because we brought a huge stereo (we call it The KaBoomBox) and coolers of beer to every game, and played drunk as shit.

Somehow, our debauchery paid off and we were winning games left and right. We even got an out when someone from our dugout belched so loud, it caught the other team off guard. It was a great time, and we went pretty far into the playoffs.

But this season has been way different.

The league has really cracked down on drinking. Some of the teams still do it, but you have to be really secretive about it, and it’s getting to be a hassle. A few games ago, we were in the dugout waiting for an ump so our game could start. One of the players from the other team, we’ll call her Brit, came over and started yelling at us saying we couldn’t have beers, even if they were in cups.

She walked away and I was all, “What the fuck was that about?”

Apparently she is a “commissioner,” basically a glorified tattle tale. I’ve seen this girl around many-a-time because she plays on three different teams, wears a bandana, gloves, and shin guards, and she pitches overhand.

Yeah, um, it’s KICKBALL.

The following game, I decided to screw it, I wasn’t going to drink. I’m trying to watch my figure and since it’s such as hassle anyway, I was just going to bring a Powerade and forget it. Well low and behold, here comes Brit, still pissy about the beer and The KaBoomBox being too loud.

That night, we were up against a pretty serious team who kept shit-talking all night. We lost, and my team was really upset. I didn’t care. I was in this to have fun. So what, we lost.

Well my teammates started talking about a strategy for next game, we should put THIS person here and THIS person there… then they started talking about hosting a practice and a pickup game with other teams.

Excuse me?

I don’t want to practice. I don’t want to play a pickup game. I payed $45 to play on this team, I really just want to go on the field, kick the ball as hard as I can and try to make it on base, okay?

The next day, one of the guys on our team posted a diagram on our Facebook group.

kball

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

You’ll notice “Lucky” isn’t on the diagram. Because apparently, my team doesn’t need me.

And yeah, I’m not an awesome player, but this isn’t a professional league. Sorry I’m not a fucking all star.

So I’d had enough. I was going to stand my team up Tuesday night and join D for dinner and a movie. I felt rebellious. I will show them, I thought.

And then? The game was cancelled due to rain.

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Why I killed my Tomagotchi.

Last week, Gizzy was all excited because she downloaded the Tomagotchi L.i.f.e app on her phone.

She said it was just like the real thing, like the ones we had in middle school.

A few days later, I downloaded the app. It was free, unlike the Tomagotchis I’d seen at the store, which were at least $15.

Just like the real thing, it was egg-shaped and when it was born it was a little blob bouncing around on the screen that needed to be fed, played with, and cleaned after taking a dump.

At first, this was fun. But then I noticed that it was constantly “calling” me… like every 5-10 minutes. Now, I know I don’t really have a life, but AIN’T NOBODY GOT TIME FOR THAT.

However, I didn’t want it to die, so I kept at it. Feeding and cleaning were easy tasks, although… the playing part?

I started to see just how much my lil Kumatachi was. He would cry and yell if he lost the game! Little fucker.

Over the weekend, I wasn’t feeling well, so I spent many, many hours in bed sleeping under the spell of off-brand theraflu.

When I awoke to find about 25 requests from the little trout sniffer, I opened the app and saw the angel.

He was dead.

And I really wasn’t sad about it. Because he was annoying. And also? Kind of ugly.

I deleted the app.

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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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