My Epidemic

brrring. brrring. Brring. BRRING!

"Goddamn fucking phone. I hate you. I hate you so hard...What."

"Hey, Babe!"

"Why are you so happy?"

"I just bowled a 220. What are you doin'?"

"Cleaning up dog piss. Fatty had a seizure and peed all over me."

"Cool, cool. Can I come over and pee?"

"Pee?"

"Yeah."

I blinked at the distinctly yellow puddle in the middle of my sofa. "...sure. 'Cause that's how I envisioned my Thursday night going. Full o' pee. No class tomorrow? That's okay, you get pee!"

"Okay! I'll be there in two minutes."

"Whatever."

Click.

2 Minutes Later

"Babe!" Boyfriend burst into my living room with all the flourish of a fat dragqueen with oranges shoved down his bra and his dick taped back. "I ruv you!" Then danced into my bathroom and disappeared.

I murmured incoherently while finishing the clean up of the seizured dog urine/mouthfoam combo all over my sofa.

Boyfriend launched himself back into the living room, bounded over to the sofa and plopped down as I rolled the remains of Fatty's mess into a ball and stared at the new peeing menus on my sofa.

I sniffed. Sniffed harder. Stared at the big dumb grin on Boyfriend's face. "Are you drunk?"

"No!" He grinned harder.

"You are. You're drunk." I threw the soiled towels in a pile in the corner and howled, "Why the hell do you get to get drunk when I'm home cleaning dog pee!"

"Aw." Boyfriend stumbled toward me, grabbed my face and kissed my nose...atleast tried kissing my nose instead I got an eyeful of saliva. " 'Ou had to work." Baby talk. I fucking hate baby talk. That alone should have clued me into how trashed he was.

" 'Ou had to work 'ard and I didn't." He smiled and flopped back on the sofa like a dying carp.

I put the back of my hand to my forehead in resignment. No drinks for me. And after the urine/mouthfoam incident still evident on my jeans, I fucking needed a drink.

A distinct smacking noise snapped my attention back to the drunk sitting on my couch. Boyfriend cocked an eyebrow at me and smacked his lips again.

"What?"

"Do you have any of that lippy chappy stuff?"

"Lippy chappy...chap stick?"

He nodded excitedly. I found myself nearly rubbing behind his ears at the excitement. Chap stick, boy! Is it chap stick? Jimmy needs chap stick in the well? Good boy! Good drunk cop on my fucking pee soaked sofa!

"I don't have any." I did. But I thought it be vastly more entertaining to see what he'd do next.

He pouted. "What about that..." He ran his finger over his lips in mock lipstick application.

"You want lipstick?"

"Nah! That's gay. I want that glossy stuff that tastes so good."

"Lip gloss? You want lip gloss instead of chapstick so you don't feel gay?"

"Yup."

"Okay." I fetched the pinkest lip gloss I owned, completely ignoring the stash of chapstick next to it. "Here ya go."

I watched him apply it with a careful concentration I didn't think possible, and then smack his lips together before turning a plumply glossy drunk grin on me.

"How much did you have to drink?"

"Three."

"Three what?"

"Three beers."

"Bullshit." I studied him again. "Three pitchers more likely."

He laughed, "You're so smart!"

"You drank three pitchers of beer?"

"Each."

"Each? Who was with you? Why wasn't I the one drunk bowling with you?"

" 'Ou had to work."

"Stop it."

"It was just some guy. I was there. He was there. And it just happened."

"Oh God." I put my hand over my eyes again. "Don't ever say that again."

He smacked his lips in answer.

"I swear if you ever show up at my house again drunk," I waved a stern index finger at him. He followed it obediently. "Without inviting me! I'm putting you in a dress."

He studied me carefully while I went to the kitchen but remained silent. I was in the middle of reheating some Mexican food for the drunk Mexican cop on my couch and wondering exactly how he was issued a fucking gun when I heard him announce in a very evident huff, and with an amount of pride in his voice I very rarely heard, "I'd look hot in a dress."

When I turned to stare at him he'd become completely absorbed in the latest episode of Top Chef and was mocking the French guest judge.

Labels: The Boyfriend (duh Duh DUH)

Scene: Work.

Boyfriend & Ambiguously-Gay-Friend are visiting while we have our Thanksgiving dinner. Ambiguously-Gay-Friend sets my computer to play one of the millions of James Brown songs saved on the harddrive.

THE BOSS: Is that James?!

Ambiguously-Gay-Friend: (Dancing. Doesn't answer.)

THE BOSS: Hey, (Insert only other black women on our shift's name)! Come over here!

Other Woman: (Comes around the corner.) Is that James Brown? (She stares at the skinny white figure of Ambiguously-Gay-Friend shaking his ass to the James.)

THE BOSS: Shit! I've never met a white boy that knows James! You just went up in my book, baby.

Other Woman: Mine too.

Me: What the hell!

THE BOSS: (Looking innocent.) What?

Me: I've been listening to James Brown for years and I've never gone up in your book for knowing every one of his songs!

THE BOSS: (Looking confused now.) Huh?

Me: I'm a white girl and I listen to James all the time!

THE BOSS: Well...yeah. But you're not really white.

Me: Seriously?

THE BOSS: Yeah. You're blackanese.

Me: ....oh.


Prologue: That I am Blackanese is a joke around the office. There are very few non-minorities working for the city and I am Japanese and Welsh. Technically, a minority (Especially when it comes to scholarships. Affirmative action, baby.). I am in no way black but have been adopted into the large group of black women who work with me like some sort of feral child found in the woods, slowly becoming one of their own.

Labels: The Boyfriend (duh Duh DUH), Workin' Hard or Hardly Workin'?

The other night while driving around looking for a 24-hour Walgreens (Don't ask) at 12:30 AM...in the rain (Really it's not worth asking about) my windshield wiper exploded. It was all very dramatic but suffice it to say the thing ripped itself apart due to what I can only guess was some sort of extreme self-hatred. Anyway, my windshield wiper died horribly. RIP, dear wiper. You served me well.

Normally it wouldn't matter, I mean it's not like a windshield wiper is the thing you really worry about exploding. I worry about my brain exploding. The planet imploding. My eyeballs popping out of my head. By tires suddenly falling off my car. Getting caught in the middle of a high-speed chase (Oh wait, been there done that) and having some crazy gun-wielding lunatic shoot hundreds of rounds into my car before he hits the gas tank and I die in a huge ball of flame...But not alot of worrying about my windshield wipers.

So I was completely unprepared when I was on a very large main street with a surprising amount of traffic, in the middle of a stormy night with no driver's side wiper.

Never having actually changed such a thing on my car before, I fiddled with it in the rain for a few minutes before I realized the part that had actually fallen off was never, ever supposed to fall off. Huh. Okay. Luckily my friendly Chris was willing to come to the rescue. But by the time she arrived to the lot I'd parked in, I was fully convinced I was a genius. I had fixed the thing. In the dark. No glue or duct tape needed. Hazah!

The only problem being the next day as I wandered Target looking for a new wiper just in case, I relied completely on Boyfriend for my car's measurements and bought the wrong size wiper. Now, instead of having a 24" wiper on my driver's side I have a comically small 18" mini-wiper that I'm convinced will be the death of me. If it rains I'll be scrunched as far forward as I can be while still peering over the top of my steering wheel, in true old crazy broad fashion.

So tonight, while on break again (Yes, I'm working another Friday) I plan to hunt down a new wiper approximately the correct size. We'll see though. I laughed evilly at Boyfriend as I realized for the first time in his life he came up short. He he he.

Now I know how all those chicks feel when they turn to their guy and say, "Is it in?" That's the feeling I get every time I look at my disappointing stub of a wiper. Hopefully this will be the only time in my life I'll ever truly be disappointed by lack of size. (Cause it really does matter. Stop lying you "the-glass-is-half-full" people.)

On another note, a memorial fund has been set up for the replacement of said wiper. Please send your donations to:

Jess_Likes_Them_Bigger.Org

Thank you.

Labels: The Boyfriend (duh Duh DUH)

I've been occupied at home so I haven't been posting. Not like anybody cares but I just thought I'd apologize to my millions of devoted, imaginary fans that have been holding their collective breath since my last post.
Here's what's been up since my last post:
1.) The Troll of my department asked me for Advil the other night and I actually contemplated denying the massive child-proof container bulging in the side of my purse. The fact that I was about to lie to the woman just because I didn't like her bothered me so much that I guiltily handed over some of my precious stash. I feel like a better person for it...but she still looks like a troll. And she smells funny too.
2.) An old friend of mine's father was brutally murdered a few nights ago. It was incredibly gruesome & of course I heard every detail downtown. The viewing was at the same mortuary my brother's was. When we walked up front to view the open casket I started sobbing. I sat in one of the back pews until my family ushered me out with steely impassive faces. They tried making me feel better by taking me to McDonalds. Apparently none of them realize I can't stand the sight of the golden arches let alone the food. My family doesn't like tears in public but McDonalds is okay by them.
3.) Chris completely cut Asshole off. Thank God.
4.) Sam is talking about our entire group jumping out of a plane for her 21st Bday trip. Sweet.
5.) Cutey Officer paid me another visit the other night. We got to talking again and realized we have an entire group worth of mutual friends. "Well shit, next time we go out I'll have to call you and Sunshine," He said. I, being the naive asshole that I am, agreed and gave him my number. It wasn't until 10minutes after he'd left that I realized I'd just given a strange officer my cell number. Boyfriend graduates from the academy in October. Pray they don't ever meet. Pray!
6.) For some reason I am completely obsessed with the new Kelis song, "Bossy." I can't help it. I just play it over and over at work. The Troll hates it. Bonus.
7.) Our department is justly known as the one full of bitchy cows. While in fact only about half of our crew is overweight, they are obscenely overweight. The rest of us are just bitchy. I admit to being of the bitchy variety. Hey, we're not Baskin Robbins with its 31 flavors here. We've got two. Fat or Bitchy. Pick one or get the hell out.
The largest of our staff has been on the list for one of those tummy-stapling surgeries for awhile but due to a bunch of other health issues she hasn't had it yet. Recently she had some breathing issues & was in the hospital for a few months. While in, she had a tracheotomy done.
I'm not really sure if it's due to the trach or the oxygen tanks she carries with her in her modified shopping cart, but ever since she came back to work she talks extremely loud. It wouldn’t bother me that much if she didn’t have so many really descriptive stories to tell all her friends over the phone about her stay in the hospital.
For instance, "So I’m doing my business in the corner on the chamber pot cause I couldn’t get to the toilet for a few weeks when the doctor comes in and just starts poking at my trach. I’m yelling at him to leave me alone so I could finish but he just stood there while I was shitting, poking me all over." Ahem. I have to admit it took my brain almost a full minute to process the "chamber pot" comment and then I started gagging. If you knew her (bless her heart) you’d be gagging too. Trust me.
And when she’s not forcing us to overhear the sordid details of her hospital stay, she’s pulling her trach tube out of her throat and cleaning it over the little paper trashcans or breathing into her oxygen mask like Darth Vadar.
8.) Boyfriend got maced at training the other day. I laughed at him.
9.) I keep having gruesome nightmares about my Dad being murdered the way my friend’s dad was. I didn’t sleep for 2 days straight after I heard the news. I’m sleeping now but not very well.
10.) I won a trip a few weeks ago which I immediately turned over to the family for a group vacation. My parents usually take us all out of town around my brother’s anniversary but this year they couldn’t afford it. It’s supposed to be this weekend but I’m debating whether to go since my mother makes me want to kill myself if I’m around her more than 10 minutes.
11.) I recently registered at MySpace.com. I get really bored at work (hence the blog) and it’s been occupying my time for a bit. It’s incredibly lame but I’m addicted. I admit it. Isn’t that the first step?
12.) Random thought, have I ever mentioned I’ve met a celebrity? No? Well I have. Don’t ask why I was thinking about this but in Vegas for my 21st I ran into Chris Pontius from WildBoyz, the only non-gay show on MTV. Like I said, random thought.
13.) I was watching Project Runway with Boyfriend the other night when they were talking about how when taking measurements for a dress one needs to measure from the bust to the waist and from the waist to the hips. Boyfriend looked at my torso as I was sprawled out on his couch and laughed, "Did you know that your waist and hips are in the same place on your body." I smacked him. I can’t help the fact that my torso is the same length as my foot.

Labels: Completely Unrelated Rantings, The Boyfriend (duh Duh DUH)

I know I’ve said this before, but Boyfriend truly has a gift.
My own personal super power is nothing compared to his. I may have the relatively harmless talent to embarrass myself daily, but Boyfriend has the amazing power of deep-throating his own foot whenever we’re in a public setting.

One past example of this:
When we’d first started dating Boyfriend was incredibly nervous around my, admittedly, intimidating father. We’d been dating a few weeks when my mom bought a pug. We were poking at it (as you would most oddities of nature) when Dad started rattling on about the initial reasons for breeding the small ugly things. He rambled for awhile about how royalty used to use them to warm their feet and how it wasn’t at all a waste of money to buy a small ugly piglet thing that snorts.
He eventually turned to Boyfriend and waited…after a few seconds Boyfriend realized Dad was waiting for some sort of input on the subject and faltered. "Er. Well yeah, and you know they have their eyes on the sides of their heads like those sharks so they can see other bigger predators…cause they’re related to those ones that are named after the tool…er…hammerheads! Yeah. Hammerheads. They’re related."
My dad and I stared at him for awhile before I changed topics.

Dad has never let Boyfriend live it down. Till this day he randomly shouts, "Hammerhead!" when Boyfriend is visiting.

Last night, my parents had a dinner for my aunt and nephew’s birthdays. I’ve mentioned it briefly before but my aunt was recently diagnosed with breast cancer. She had a few cancerous nodes in one breast removed on Wednesday, and her other breast completely removed the day after. She’s still recovering from the surgery so the dinner was supposed to be a "Hey, cheerup!" thing.
Boyfriend was petting my/our dog (though he doesn’t take care of the thing) at the table as we all finished up our meals. Wookie (my dog) was trying his best to be stealthy in his hunting of the grilled chicken breast sitting at Boyfriend’s elbow.
My aunt had just gotten up to help with the cleaning and was standing directly behind us as Boyfriend suddenly turned and threw Wookie into my lap.
I glared at him, "What’d you do that for?"
He looked so exasperated as he waved his hands wildly around his head motioning at the chicken breast, "I don't want to loose my breast!"
The entire room went silent.
Boyfriend had not been briefed on my aunt’s situation before hand and continued on his tyrade about how he'd never hear the end of it if I was left with only one breast and why I should appreciate the fact that he was willing to defend his.
My jaw hit the floor.
Dad shoved his fist in his mouth.
Mom dropped a dish.
And then suddenly everyone was too busy cleaning up the forsaken food on the floor and fighting off the dogs to notice me punching Boyfriend methodically in the chest and pushing him into the bathroom to laugh my ass off.

It was sick. I know. But it’s like he has this God-given talent he just can’t control for saying the wrong thing at the exact moment that it will have the greatest impact.
It’s a gift.
One I think I enjoy much more than he does.

Labels: Completely Unrelated Rantings, The Boyfriend (duh Duh DUH)

Unlike myself, Sunshine had this entire past weekend through the 4th of July off of work. To kick off her unofficial vacation she had a little pre-Independence Day bash at her house last night.
I rustled up my posse (A bunch of guys at the party were trying to teach me how to be ghetto, I failed...miserably.) which included Sunshine's newest love interest, DC, Chris, Boyfriend and pretty much the entire crew from work.
We came.
We ate.
We drank.
We conquered the blender.
We drank some more.
I did my infamous Cartman dance. (The 1st sign that the party has officially reached its climax.)
I was introduced to Hennessey.
And then I bunked at Boyfriend's.
On a side note: Chris invited WorkBuddy and he pussed out. He did however invite her over for a little "after party" at his house but apparently that only consisted of watching Southpark until 3AM. Lame.
When I got the call at 9:30AM (Remember I work nights. Anything before 11 is like some God forsaken time I've never even heard of.) that my Mom had some how gotten food poisoning and been taken to the hospital during the night, I had only about 3 hours of sleep and was still drunk.
Fantastic.
Mom was fine. Puking. Apparently suffering from extreme diarrhea about which she described to me in great detail later. Eck. But fine all the same. Dad wanted me to come look after her "as soon as I could" so he, another night-shifter, could get some sleep.
I moaned something I hoped came out unslurred, about being on my way and then rolled over to nudge Boyfriend.
Boyfriend, the bastard that he is, has a liver of steel. He had drank about 18 beers, 1 bottle of champagne (I have no idea where he found that), helped me finish another bottle of champagne, and an unknown number of daiquiris. He had also managed to pour about half a bottle of rum into one of my daiquiri concoctions while I wasn't looking and happily handed me a straw when I started drinking it out of the blender.
I nudged. Boyfriend didn't move. I called his name. Didn't move. I punched experimentally. Didn't move. At this point I wondered briefly if he was dead and decided the only sure way to tell was to resort to extreme measures. Remember, I was still drunk.
So. I smacked his balls.
He came awake screaming violently.
I rejoiced in the brilliance of my reasoning and of course, that Boyfriend wasn't actually dead, then proceeded to make my way to the bathroom without an explanation for the cursing naked man in the fetal position in the middle of the floor. (He'd rolled off the bed.)
About half an hour, and one slightly slurred explanation about someone trying to poison my mother, Boyfriend was driving me back to Sunshine's house to pick up my car.
On another side note, when I drink too much my hangovers the next morning tend to manifest themselves as some sort of evil stomach flu. I want to puke and die and puke some more. The morning after my 21st I begged Boyfriend to kill me the entire morning. Thankfully, he didn't oblige.
So we're chugging along in Boyfriend's truck, him singing and car-dancing along to some Spanish rapper, me with my head basically out the window, my eyes as tightly shut as they can be while I focus on not vomiting. After waging a silent battle with the volume button on his stereo while slowly inching our way through the BurgerKing late breakfast drive thru, I was ready to not only smack Boyfriend's balls again but fucking deep fry the bitches.
Over the past few months of not bunking at his house, I'd forgotten that Boyfriend is one of those people. The lepers of the drinker's world...prepare yourself people, Boyfriend is a Perky.
He has never had a hangover in his entire life, and he could be running on 2 hours of sleep and still be spry as shit the next day. Singing. Dancing. Cracking really bad jokes.
I can see how some of you may confuse this DISEASE with being a “Morning Person.” But you would be so very wrong. A Morning Person is that guy at work that walks in and is all, “Good morning” with a bright-eyed smile as he passes your cubicle.
A Perky is that annoying fucker that's at work before everyone else so he has time to dance around the office whistling show tunes and waving like a crack addict as he skips on by. He’s the one that stops by your desk nearly vibrating with early morning excitement to start a fresh new day sniffing coffee grounds and jabbering in all his goddamn perkiness about the puppies perky fucking Kelly Ripa was kissing on some morning show I‘ve never even heard of.
I hate these people.
I was genetically predisposed to hate these people. I was conditioned since birth to want to smack the shit out of them whenever I see them.
And there I was. With a hangover the size of Texas, stuck in the BurgerKing drive thru surrounded by Perkies while my Perky Boyfriend orders three value meals and makes some confusing analogy about studying and the primer stage of painting.
“You know, you look so cute when you just wake up and your hair is sticking up in the front like that.”
Still slightly drunk but sobering fast in the presence of Perkies, I flipped him off. “I hate you so hard.”
He smiled like I’d said something really cute, “Aw. Well I love you too, Babe.”
“Fuck.” Oh shit. I could feel the puke. Feeeel it! No! No puke. Bad puke! “Off.”
“You’re even cute when you’re hungover and you’ve still got that slightly flushed, glazed look.”
When I reached to slap his balls again he laughed and easily escaped my groping hands. Fucking Perkies.

Labels: Completely Unrelated Rantings, Drunken Adventures, The Boyfriend (duh Duh DUH)

1.) My Meat has apparently accepted his replaceable status. (As long as he's the one I'm ruthlessly using.)
2.) Sunshine and D.C. are "seeing eachother." Which she won't explain to me if that translates as "fucking" eachother but whatever. Bitch.
3.) The Scotland trip is being molded into a semester abroad as part of my Masters program.
4.) Chris is STILL not boning the guy from work.
5.) And now she is emailing me pictures of pirate bandannas as I type this.
6.) I still love kilts.
7.) Gonna get drunk this weekend...and Monday night...and Tuesday. Yes. (Awkward cough.) Just generally alot of drunken behavior being had this holiday weekend...er, week...summer. Yeah. Summer.
8.) Still haven't heard a peep from Coach. Why would a guy want someone who will lie to them about their overall lameness? That's boring.
9.) Went to THE BOSS' daughter's wedding this weekend. Very quickly became (Insert not-at-all-subtle big boob hand gesture) "The Girl in the Green Shirt"
amongst the groom's henchmen.
10.) Chris and I did the flowers and decorations for the aforementioned wedding. We did such a fabulous job (Yeah!) that people are starting to take interest in our talented (all be it fledgling) skills. So we're thinking of starting a bit of side business assisting those who need it in planning and organizing parties (mostly showers). We do the bitchwork. They get the credit. We get paid. Hooray! Hooray for Parties! And bitchwork! And money!

Labels: Completely Unrelated Rantings, The Boyfriend (duh Duh DUH)

Boyfriend had an emotional breakdown this weekend.
Basically he announced that he's just a "piece of meat" to me and I can just use him and throw him away whenever I want.
I agreed.
He fucked up a four-year-relationship in many cruel ways (that I’ll try not to rant about but probably will anyway) and I ended it. That's that. I dumped his ass.
I told him I was diagnosed with depression and I'd been having scary thoughts of hurting or killing myself and he disappeared for about two weeks without a word. How's that for 4-years worth of love and sympathy?
Then he gets all upset when I tell him to go to hell and leave him crying and blubbering.
Months later he comes crawling back saying he was under a lot of stress what with going through the Police Academy and some nasty confrontations with his old roommate and family troubles and blah blah blah. Don’t care.
Sad thing is, I didn’t really want our long, fun and crazy relationship to end with a, "I love you. But I hate you more. Goodbye." (Which I thought was slightly better than the "You are the weakest link" line.) So a few months ago we started talking again. Just keeping in touch. Then he asked if we could hang out sometime. And slowly we fell back into the casual stage, which led to the comfortable relationship stage we were used to but hadn’t officially moved back into.
But throughout the last few weeks of casual bliss, there was that anxious feeling that the other shoe would drop and squash my happy daydreams of a slow but thorough reconciliation.
This weekend (Unlike my over-dramatic reaction to the spat we had last week) truly threw any truce we might of had out the window to land in the middle of the street and be ruthlessly crushed by a passing semi hauling mounds of cow manure.
My friends and his met up to have a drink Saturday night. There we were, chatting away when one of Boyfriend’s new little GAY friends I hadn’t yet had the pleasure of meeting, when he asked who I was. I quickly adorned my classic coy smile while I debated how to answer the question.
He said, "Oh so you just started dating Boyfriend?" Hah! I laughed (really loudly) directly into his confused expression.
"No. You really don’t know who I am?" I was curious b/c Boyfriend swore up and down that all he ever did with his friends was pine away for me. Several of them had confirmed this and yet here was one that must have escaped his pitiful mooning.
Boyfriend arrived at that point to interrupt us and introduce me as his girlfriend. Sunshine and Chris, my companions for the night, gave each other the look that is known internationally as the chick’s signal for "Interesting. Noting this for future reference when we collectively retire to the bathroom."
When New Gay Friend seemed to realize I was "that chick," he started trying to intervene on Boyfriend’s behalf and interrogate me (kind of abrasively) on why I wouldn’t just take Boyfriend back.
Boyfriend tried to intervene but at that point I’d started to get pissy. Hey New Gay Friend with incredibly tacky thin facial pubic hair you’re trying to pass off as a mustache! Don’t you fucking judge me!
Boyfriend defended my dumping decision in the typical guy way: Admitting he fucked up but completely belittling the entire situation with a cliched chauvinistic catchphrase, "I wasn’t paying enough attention to her."
At that I laughed. Hard. I laughed so hard people were turning in their seats to see the girl that was ready to piss herself.
New Gay Friend got defensive, "Hey. He’s pouring his heart out here and you’re laughing at him."
"You’re damn right I am." I laughed harder.
Boyfriend was a little flustered but not deterred. He tried again, "I did screw up. Bad. I was really stressed out and just wasn’t giving her the attention she deserved."
At this point Chris snorted, adding to the humiliation of my howls of mirth.
And that’s when Boyfriend gave up and stomped out.
I spent the rest of the night trying to not ruin the mood for Sunshine and DC, who had suddenly sparked their own fledgling romance on the other side of the table. And trying to keep Boyfriend from having an emotional breakdown…which he had anyway.
I tried explaining that he deserved to be laughed at.
I explained very carefully that he in no way deserves for me to ever speak to him again.
I told him it would have served him right if I had killed myself when he left and then came back as a PMS'ing ghost that haunted and guilt-tripped him for the rest of his life.
I tried very politely not to get mad as he apologized and cried. But in the end I did get mad.
Righteous fury is actually a much better phrase for how I felt. I shook my little fists at him and told him everything I had felt when he left. Everything I had wanted to do to him (in vivid detail). Everything I had wanted to do to myself and that it was only fair he be miserable now.
I owed him absolutely nothing.
He is just a piece of meat. Until I’m ready to take him back, until I’m ready to actually have a relationship with his scum-sucking-ass, he is exactly what he thinks he is. Replaceable.
No pretty lies. No sweet promises.
I never told him I would take him back.
I never said I wanted to.
I did however tell him that until he earns back atleast some of the trust he lost when he walked away, I would just assume he’s lying to me.
He cried some more. Which made me ever more mad for dating a pussy for 4-years, while he ranted on and on about how the girl he loves with every part of his heart can’t even pretend to love him back.
And then I repeated the words I said to him on the day I broke it off,
"I do love you. But I hate you more."
And then I said I was tired. He could call me when he’s through with his hissy fit. And went home.

Labels: Completely Unrelated Rantings, The Boyfriend (duh Duh DUH)

Apparently, Boyfriend and I's truce was not shattered as I so dramatically thought it to be.
The weekend came. I spent it mostly with a friend causing trouble in various arenas (a bar, a restaurant, a faire, my house, a clubhouse) and then swung by Boyfriend's very late Saturday night.
He'd invited over some man friends of his and none of them felt like drinking (I told you they were gay. What guy doesn't want a beer at a pokerparty on a Saturday night while watching college baseball. GAY!)...so Boyfriend decided someone had to drink atleast one of the 24-packs sitting in his fridge.
So by the time we reached the penis-fest, he had just finished his 17th beer. He was drunk. Really drunk.
In all my years of dating Boyfriend, I have never actually seen him drunk.
Pretty quickly the rest of the guys cleared out when the chicks were drinking more than them (for shame). My friend's ex was among the guys (ofcourse) so they strayed out onto the patio for a "talk." That left me sitting on the couch polishing off some of Lesbian's leftover Boonsfarm and listening to Boyfriend babble about his face hurting.
"You can still feel it?"
"No."
"Then how does it hurt?"
"Cause I got punched in the face."
"That would do it. Who punched you?"
"That guy!"
"That guy...which guy?"
"The guy in my class!"
After a few minutes of deciphering his babbles I came to the conclusion that his Sergeant had him and another guy box each other during training on Friday.
"Did he break your nose?"
"No. Fucker. I broke his though! And his eye! I broke his eye!"
"You punched him in the eye?"
"Damn right! Fucker."
"But why's the rest of your face hurt?"
"Cause that other guy hit me with his stick!"
"Say again."
"His big stick!"
"What?"
He sighed one of those DMV sighs. The one's that clearly are meant to say, 'God you're such an idiot.'
"The. Guy. Hit. Me. With. His. Big. Stick."
"His baton?"
"No. His STICK!"
"What stick?"
"The hockey stick."
"What hockey stick?"
"The one he was playing with. Duh."
Boyfriend plays hockey in a full-contact league. "Oh. You had a game today."
He nods like a bobble head.
"Did you do good?"
"That fucker hit me with his stick."
"What fucker?"
"That one," he said menacingly with his eyes all squinty and his fists shaking at the heavens.
"Oh...Did you hit him back?"
"Hells yeah, baby. Your man's a man's man."
"Wait. Don't ever say that again. So you got your face pummeled yesterday and got in a fight today."
"Yup."
"With some guy's stick."
"No. The stick started it."
"Did you hit him?"
"The stick?"
"The guy."
"Oh. Umhm. Alot."
"Did you hurt him?"
"Yup."
"How bad?"
"His fucker friends had to carry him off."
"The ice?"
He nods again while I gape at his drunkenness.
"In a stretcher?"
"Nah."
"Was he bleeding?"
Boyfriend grins. "Yup. A. Lot."
"Well aren't you a badass."
"Yup." He visibly preens forgetting about his swollen nose and cut lip for the moment.

While I have to admit guys who can take care of themselves are a huge turn on, I'm slightly worried that Boyfriend is suddenly starting fights.
As long as I've known him he's only been in one fight, with his old roommate who had it coming. (Shit, Boyfriend peeled me off the guy a few times.)
Boyfriend is one of those people that doesn't take things seriously enough to care if someone is trash talking him (I do) or someone screws you royally (I care). In fact most of the time I'm the one bitching out his friends and threatening to sever their manhood if they don't walk away.
I'm the tomcat. Not him. I'm the crazy one.

Boyfriend is supposed to be sane! What is the world coming to?!

Labels: Completely Unrelated Rantings, Drunken Adventures, The Boyfriend (duh Duh DUH)

It's official.
The fragile truce Boyfriend and I have been pleasantly existing under for the past 2weeks has been broken. The shit has officially hit the fan and splattered all over my happy-ever-after truce. He broke it! Bastard!
A few minutes ago we were having a friendly conversation about how our days were going and plans for the weekend, when he mentioned (for the third time) that he is having people over Saturday night. I'd already informed him I had plans with a friend but that we may stop by.
And that's when I made my critical mistake. In my mind when I say "I may stop by" that means there is a good chance that I'll totally forget. In Boyfriend's mind "may" means "I am so there! I'll even bring salsa!" A rookie mistake. I should have known better.
So later in the conversation when I mentioned my friend may be inviting a guy from work (That she's been throwing herself at shamelessly! That's right you know who you are!) Boyfriend was all like, "Oh. So ditch them and come hang out with us."
"Can't."
"Why?"
"You still don't understand the concept of 'chick backup,' do you?"
"That's stupid."
"You're stupid."
"I don't get why you have to be there if she's got a date."
"Because it's not yet a date."
"Stupid."
"Shut up."
"Just come over to my house instead. You said you were coming. I want you there. You said--"
"I had plans with her before you--"
"She invited some other guy!"
"Look, you! This has nothing to do with you! My plans. Not yours. Back. Off."
"Fine."
"Fine."
"I'll talk to you later."
"Fuck off."

If Sunshine hadn't brought cake to work today I'd be throwing something.

Labels: Completely Unrelated Rantings, The Boyfriend (duh Duh DUH)

Well, I'm bored at work. The goddamn phone won't stop ringing (It's not my job to answer it so don't panic.) and I'm trying hard not to let today's Cancer revelations drag me down into my own pathetic puddle of self-pity.
So I've decided to pick a topic and let the creative juices flow...
Let's see...topic...topic...oh. Okay.
Boyfriend. (An issue that has plagued my life for years.)
I realize I've mentioned him mostly in passing until recently, but that's kind of how our relationship has been lately, "in passing." If you'd have caught me last month I'd probably have described it something more like, "the relationship that just won't fucking die already!" But for some reason it's different now.
Don't know why.
Don't know if I should really care.
The way I see it, if some thing's working don't fucking poke at it. Wait till its dead to do that.
Thing is, before we started hanging out again (about 2weeks ago) I laid down the don't-need-or-want-a-relationship-right-now-so-don't-push-it-or-kiss-this-ass-goodbye law. And all has been perfect since.
We hang out. We chat like old buddies. We don't feel obligated to ditch our friends on the weekends so we can have "couple time." Perfect.
But now he wants to ruin our perfect arrangement. He wants to get back together.
So here I am, assessing a 4-year relationship and debating whether to just flee.

The Boyfriend's Goods:
*Comfortable
*Stable
*Looks sexy as hell in his uniform
*Determined not to fuck up this time around
*Knows all my favorite movies/comfortfoods/positions
*My family loves him
*He's like an institution amongst my friends
*He has the quirkiest way of looking at things
(example: Me - "I have no ass." Him - "Don't worry, Babe. You'll grow one some day.")
*He makes friends every where he goes
*Has no problem with my friends and I discussing his huge penis right in front of him

The many Aspects of the Boyfriend's shittyness:
*Comfortable
*Has the weirdest thing against thongs, cheese and American-made cars
*My family loves him
*He is crazy possessive. He's incredibly insecure about other guys being in my immediate vicinity.
*He talks to complete strangers like they're old friends...and they actually talk back!
*When he's stressed he takes everything that's wrong in his life out on poor little me
*His entire family is completely insane and I'm afraid I'll catch it like an STD or something
*He has this nasty habit of ALWAYS SAYING THE WRONG THINGS at the WRONG TIME!
(There are lots of examples of this but my favorite was when he went into great detail about how a heterosexual guy wishing to dabble in anal sex with a woman is just too "much of a pussy to own up to being gay"...while we're EATING DINNER with my friend and her boyfriend...who enjoy anal)
*No matter what restaurant we're in, he never looks at the menu just asks: "Do you have just a cheeseburger?"
*His best friends are the weirdest/laziest/gayest bunch of fuckers I've ever met

So that's about it.
You know, that list did absolutely nothing for me. Damnit!

PS
I've added a link to a blog article about love that pretty much sums up exactly how I feel about the whole issue right now. It's entitled, "Love Is A Cunt." Amen.

Labels: Completely Unrelated Rantings, The Boyfriend (duh Duh DUH)

Lately Mother has been acting even more insane than usual. To the point of calling me 3x’s a day to see if I’ve decided on where to go for my Masters.
Yesterday, during her ritual third call that morning, I unceremoniously exploded. Shouting obscenities (which she apparently did not appreciate at all) about the obvious double standards she has enforced my entire life when it came to Lil Bro and I, and just generally flipping the fuck out.
She did the Mom-guilt-trip-thing (which she has perfected) and said, "Well I apologize for raising you so poorly and making your entire childhood a living hell."
"You should be! Nothing has ever been good enough for you. Nothing!" I shrieked very maturely. "Lil Bro announces he’s not going to college and wants to live with you while he works and you’re all ‘Good for you!’ and I say I might want to take a year off from school to travel and you ride my ass for weeks at a time!"
She denied ever riding my ass and actually said, "I can’t pat you on the back all the time."
"No Mom. But a little slack every once in awhile would go a long fucking way."
The conversation/bitch-match went on like that for some time until she hung up on me.
I was furious. Called Chris. Bitched. Took a shower. Went to work.
I studiously avoided her the entire night until she sauntered on into my cubicle to ask me some b/s question about my dog and when I did little more than nod and growl she asked like the biggest snot, "What’s wrong with you?"
I ignored her until she went away.
Needing some sort of comfort, I called Boyfriend and asked if I could crash with him. I spent the night listening to him snore and wondering what we’d been fighting about for months.
In retrospect the whole serene scene was probably so relaxing only set next to the overly-dramatic foil of being in any place where my mother could invade without preamble.
Anyway, this morning when Boyfriend left for work (Did I mention he’s a cop?) he gave me a big hug (which was actually kind of painful with his kevlar vest on) and told me to stay as long as I want.
I did.
I lounged around his cheerily mannish apartment in a pair of boxers and a tank top the entire day eating Salsa and watching Queer Eye For A Straight Guy: LasVegas. I called Chris when I recognized one of the Caesars Palace guard guys from our trip and babbled about him flexing. I hit the punching bag I bought Boyfriend for our last anniversary and drank more Mountain Dew than I care to think about.
It was fabulous. Like a spa without all the spa-ish things. Without people rushing to grope your feet and critique your pores.
I didn’t think about Mom or Masters programs or anything besides gay guys and palace guards all day. It was the fucking highlight of my week. I was so relaxed.
And then I came to work, got called into Mom’s office, prepared myself for an epic tongue-lashing about being the gigantic failure she seems to think I am and instead was told my Aunt has cancer.
Well shit.
Not to be selfish but…fuck. That ruined my perfectly shallow day.

Labels: Completely Unrelated Rantings, The Boyfriend (duh Duh DUH)

I haven't spoken to Boyfriend in a few weeks since I announced I couldn't possibly be conned into taking him back again. Problem is I apparently wasn't clear enough in the 'breaking up' announcement because he assumed that once classes ended, we'd be making wild monkey sex again. And in all honesty, I kind of was hoping all would be well again also, but classes ended two weeks ago and there has been no wild monkey sex.
So Boyfriend and I have been in this weird pause mode. Neither of us have really stepped up to figure out what's going on. And while I would love things to go back to their originally happy state, at this point I would settle for just knowing our official status. If we're broken up, I'd just like to know. But the thing about Boyfriend is that he really doesn't believe we are having problems (which we so are) and has decided to ignore the telltale signs. I on the other hand am ready to rip my goddamn hair out. I hate this half-way break up bullshit. That's the problem with 4-year relationships. They just won't die!
So last Friday when my cell rang at 2AM with his 'I'm A King' ring, I answered a little confused...to find that his delightfully chubby friend was drunk dialing my ass. I listened as Delightfully Chubby relayed the slurred story of their night at home doing nothing but drinking cheap beer and playing Madden.
When I asked where Boyfriend was (I could hear someone in the background trying to suppress masculine giggles) he informed me that Boyfriend was in bed since he had an early morning. I asked who was giggling and he yelled into the phone that Boyfriend's other friend (who I refer to as "The Lesbian" since he and Boyfriend are attached at the hip but refuse to acknowledge their gay relationship and got mad when I kept referring to him as "Sally") was also drunk. After a few minutes of undecipherable chattering on both their parts in which I was brought into the conversation randomly, I decided it was time to let them go and asked if they needed anything else.
At this point, Delightfully Chubby declared that Boyfriend was still "really, so, incredibly in love with you." I listened as DC went on and on about how Boyfriend has pictures of us everywhere in his new apartment and all he does is talk about how much he misses me.
"Oh yeah? So why hasn't he gotten off his dead ass and called me? Apparently, it isn't that hard, DC," I said meaningfully. DC laughed for awhile until he decided he'd done his duty as a good friend and shifted into drunk-and-horny mode. I could still hear Lesbian in the background laughing hysterically about something when DC started telling me how hot I am. No sorry, how "so crazy sexy you are. I mean your boobs...they're so great. I mean all big and --"
I interrupted before he got anymore graphic about my, admittedly great, boobs, "Hey DC, does Boyfriend know you're calling me?"
"Hell no. He'd kill me. I stole his phone when he fell asleep so I could call you and see what you're doin tonight."
"Sleeping. Or atleast I was trying to before...Look, DC I've got a long day tomorrow, I've got to go--"
"Yeah, you wouldn't want me anyway. Not after Boyfriend. He was getting out of the shower the other day and I saw his di--"
"DC! I really have to go. If you want to talk about Boyfriend's dick talk to Lesbian. I'm sure he's seen it plenty."
"Yeah. Totally. But you should call Boyfriend. He's really bummed."
"Don't worry, I'll definitely be calling him tomorrow."
"Really? Awesome. Tell him I talked you into it."
"Yeah, no problem."
I called Boyfriend the next day and relayed the conversation as he sat next to DC recovering on his couch. Boyfriend laughed a little but tended to growl more than anything, then started swearing his undying, loyal love to me. That's when I started to growl and informed him that his drunk friends were apparently capable of picking up his phone and calling me, but his undying love couldn't muster the balls to do the same. That's where the conversation ended.
Haven't talked to him since.
Which still leaves me officially fucked in trying to decipher our status, but apparently my boobs look really great. Atleast I've got that going for me.

Labels: All things Vagina, Completely Unrelated Rantings, The Boyfriend (duh Duh DUH)

Up until a few months ago (about 6 to be honest) my college life thus far had been relatively mild. I'd been in a long term relationship with a great, quirky guy. Was part of a chick-trio that deserved to be immortalized in some form of media or another. And wasn't much into the party scene. In retrospect I think the substantial change in one of these areas sort of had a domino effect on the rest and quickly knocked my clean way of living completely on its ass.
See, the Boyfriend and I hit a tragic slump with his sudden increase in hours at his physically taxing job. I know, the 'I've got to work late' line is so clichéd and I should have been on my guard for the signs of a lame cheater, but I knew for a fact he was working the hours he said he was. (Trust me, I looked into it.) Thus the problem became, what to do with all my downtime when the Boyfriend is too tired to go out/crash on the couch without drooling/have wild all-day sexcapades? So, like most chicks, I turned to my two best partners in crime for support.
For the sake of anonymity, I've decided to name them after the tv characters I think they are the most alike. The first will be Sam, as in Samantha Jones the slutty, obnoxious blonde from Sex In The City. Trust me when I say that besides her character being blonde, out of her 20's and a Manhattanite, the two are freakishly alike. My second partner in crime, and frequently the one I spend the most time with, shall from now on be referred to as Chris. If you haven't actually scene Cameron Diaz as Christina Walters in The Sweetest Thing, I suggest your own version of our plans last weekend which included a bottle of red wine and a dvd of said Diaz flick. A failsafe formula for a good time. Chris not only looks like a tall, blonde movie star, but she's got that totally fun loving personality that (if she weren't my bestfriend) would otherwise make me hate her for being so cool. (Seriously, go get that movie. It's so worth it.)
The three of us individually seem to intimidate people pretty easily, whether it be by looks or the force of our personalities. Together...we tend to scare strangers into moving to other tables in restaurants. Like I said, I'm just waiting for an HBO producer to approach us with a contract.
So as Boyfriend and I wound our 4-year relationship into a fucked-up knot, I turned to Chris and Sam for support. At first, they were all too happy to fill my lonesome nights with Smirnoff and Brad Pitt movies. Then their own boytoys felt neglected, school started to get frantic, and I found myself alone more and more often. Thus I took up with some older, single friends at work (By older I mean 30's) and slowly slipped away from Boyfriend, Chris and Sam. I found myself drinking and going out more, and paying less and less attention to school. Being as I'm on scholarship, none of this was good.
So here I am. Six very long months away from the life I've lived for four years, and the people that meant so much to me. After a sudden realization a few weeks ago in the office of my long-time physician, I realized that the physical symptoms I'd been trying to resolve with antibiotics were indicative of the emotional obstacle course I'd been trying to maneuver. Apparently, I have depression. Since I've actually suffered from it before when my family suffered from a tragic loss, I was surprised I hadn't recognized the symptoms. I guess I was too busy suffering from the illness (Fuck you Tom Cruise, metal illness does exist.) to actually analyze the symptoms. Thus the existence of this blog.
When last I dealt with the disease (Now I'm flipping the bird at you, Cruise.), I kept a journal and wrote letters to friends to keep myself centered until I felt right again. While Chris and I regularly vent to eachother, I feel like maybe blog-venting is a better idea than dumping all my bullshit on her shoulders. She's got shit of her own to deal with.
So here's my blog. A place to relay my random adventures. To document my friends and I's morbid personalities. And hopefully, my own personal Anti-Depression flotation device.
Enjoy.

Labels: Completely Unrelated Rantings, The Boyfriend (duh Duh DUH)