Why I should thank my Ex Boyfriends

I will never forget you, Paco...

I will never forget you, Paco…

 

To say I’ve had a lot of relationships would be an understatement. I carried around a ton of baggage and guilt for many years after each one of them failed for various reasons. My friends and family considered me ‘unstable’ in any of my relationships, and never took them seriously when I’d fall in lust/like/love and then it would be over just as quickly. Some lasted months, some lasted years. None were ever a good fit. I think with just a few short months away from marrying the one I got right, it’s time to let go of a bunch of this baggage, anger, and let the history go. I’ve told everyone why I absolutely hated these guys, why I wish I could go back and erase them from my memory, etc. But… each time, I learned so much about myself. Each time I took a lesson away I needed to know. For this, I want to actually thank these guys, not for hurting me, but for pulling something out of me I didn’t know was there. This list is not any guy I just ever dated, sometimes things just don’t click. That would be a really, really long list. These are the important ones. In no particular order:

To my short-lived High School Sweetheart  (who picked drugs over me): Thank you for not dragging me into that world with you. I made some mistakes after out of anger, but this was the first dose of ‘reality’ I got of the way the world really works, and seeing it up close and personal saved me from so much more. It makes me so happy now, so many years later, to see that you’re doing well.

To the Narcissist (who tried to sleep with my best friend when I was passed out): Thank you for showing me friendship is more important than some guy. I had never had to make that choice before, and to this day, I know I chose correctly.

To the paranoid Drug Dealer (who tried to commit suicide): Thank you for showing me the full cycle of bad choices, and the realities of getting close to ending it all. Thank you for being a good brother to yours, even though your family was so broken. Thank you for showing me that the ‘bad people’ out there have just been given a shitty lot in life, and can still sometimes do good things.

To the first “older” boyfriend (who made me sleep in my car in February): Thank you for telling me I was strong, even when you were dumping me. Thank you for letting me help you with your illness (diabetes) because I learned that people sometimes hide fragility. Thank you for helping me learn, sometimes it’s really just not worth it to put up with someone’s shit. BTW, so it’s not creepy… I was a senior in HS, 18, and he was a club promoter, 24. We weren’t that far off in age, but at 18, it’s a world of difference.

To my Return Soldier Thank you for letting me be a part of your life during this time. It was rough for both of us, and I learned a lot. This experience showed me the reality of war, up close and personal, and the effects of PTSD. Thank you for cutting me loose before you hit rock bottom, I would’ve tried to save you all on my own, and you needed more help than I could give.

To my best friend I fell for (whom I never told): Thank you for showing me the consequences of being afraid of my own feelings. I never got another chance, and we were both worse off for it. But, thank you for being my best friend for a long time, and someone who was always there. We don’t talk now, but I won’t forget that at the time, it was really important.

To my college boyfriend (who I spent three years with, that didn’t matter): Thank you for showing me that ‘settling’ and being comfortable is not a relationship I want. Thank you for helping me realize what I need, what I want, and that I needed and wanted more than you could give me. Thank you for forcing me to make a change, that ultimately changed my life, because I would’ve stayed stagnant. Thank you for never being around, though you lived three blocks away, because of that, I had plenty of time to develop my brain and my talents without your constant distractions of TV shows and sitcoms.

To the one who kept me a secret:  Thank you for making me realize I have to have my own back. I learned that jealousy is something that everyone experiences, and I wasn’t above it, and I really did care because it really did hurt. I didn’t want to be the other woman anymore and when I made the decision to cut you off, I learned that someone who is with me should be proud to call me their girlfriend and not hide me in the shadows, criticizing me at every step. Thank you for telling me, years ago, that you thought I had it in me to do comedy, to keep writing, and to nurture my talents with film and the arts. Thank you for filling a void at that time in my life, and then showing me I was better than the people I used to aspire to be.

To the one with a drinking and addiction problem: Thank you for pushing me to realize that I don’t have to be co-dependent to be a good partner. Thank you for showing me so much ugly, so much turmoil, that I grew immensely as a person. Thank you for coming back after hurting me so many times that I had to step up and be stronger than I wanted to be, and walk away. Thank you for showing me that sometimes, no matter how much you want things to work, I only have control over my actions, and I can’t change anyone else. Thank you for closing the door, that another door could open up. And now that I knew what I wanted, how I wanted to be treated, and that I was ready for more in my life- I stepped through. And thank you for not being there for me, ever. It made me more independent.

To the one who tried to kill me (after I prevented him from sleeping with an underage girl): To you, I will NOT say thank you. What I will say is that I survived you, and you never have to be forgiven or thanked for that. But because of you, because I endured what I did, and I survived to retell the tale now, I am stronger. I am smarter. I became an activist and though you deny ever hurting me, I will still publicly call you out on it. I have helped other women in the same position. I don’t call myself a victim, but actually realize that abusive relationships aren’t kept in some dark corner, they do happen, and they can happen to ANY woman. Because of you I will raise my sons or daughters differently. Because of you I learned that love isn’t supposed to be that ugly, that’s not love.

*deep breath* That feels good to let it all go.

NOT AN EX- But very last, to the one I will soon marry, I wish we would’ve worked out years ago so we could’ve skipped on a few of these. Thank you for putting up with my baggage, and realize that because of these missteps, I was able to see you for the amazing person you are. It’s rare, and I thank you every day for being in my life.

Now… ladies, however scorned, go forth and love yourselves, learn your lessons, and move on from bad situations. It does get better.


The incident of the dollar bill

im a bitch

Stumbled across some old writings of mine, and man, I missed out on posting some real gems. This one here is from about 3 years ago, looks like, pre-comedy era me. This story is still as fresh and magnificent as it was the day it happened. If I could re-title it today, I might call it, “Look you little boner-waggle, take another step and I rip it off”… but maybe I was nicer back then? Not sure. Nope… pretty sure I’ve always been an insufferable bitch with an unwavering sense of autonomy. DAMN MY HUGE BRAINS!!!

I would like to sincerely dedicate this to people out there like me, who just don’t enjoy being fucked with when I’ve got a good groove going on.

For all of those who have ever-

  • Felt weird.
  • Been weird.
  • Been groped and hated it.
  • Been groped and gotten a little ‘punchy’
  • Just. Got. FED. Up.
  • Didn’t like having a dick rub up on your thigh.
  • Don’t wear dumb shoes to go dancing.
  • Don’t think dancing equates to dry-humping.
  • Has never secretly wished for someone to slip them roofies.
  • Has always secretly wished that some douchebag would accidentally roofie themselves.
  • Doesn’t give two shits about strobe lights (I’m old and they fuck with my depth perception!!)
  • Dressed up ONLY to make yourself feel sexy…
  • … and then went home to totally rock your OWN world!
  • Not let random dudes buy you drinks… I can afford my own, thanks.
  • Secretly had a ‘jam’ and even if that secret jam was Kelly Clarkson
  • Danced for health, strength, or because you LOVE it, not because you are a stripper in training
  • Shook ALL of your ass, and I mean ALL of it. Twiggy little bitches don’t even KNOW.
  • Let your freak flag fly on the dance floor!!

Here is…. THE INCIDENT OF THE DOLLAR BILL.

So… over the weekend I did a lot of clubbing. It’s what I do. Sometimes baby seals, sometimes grand mothers, but mostly to this little city’s one and only hang out spot for the non-hispter/non-gangster crowd. We like our music, our dancing, and our friends. Problem is, Friday nights are notorious for having mostly underaged (under 21 that is), undersexed kids come in and try to ‘rave’. It’s mostly boys, total sausage-fest, and none of them can dance. This is the setting for this tale, as it was in said sausage-fest that I was enjoying a vastly open dance floor. I’d had a few guys try their luck with getting my attention or trying to dance with me, which, I won’t do. Typically I just turn and walk away, they get the point. If they touch me my best line is “Do NOT touch me. You don’t have the right to touch me.” I’m not a stripper, I’m not there to hook up, and I’d prefer to be left alone. There are plenty of other bars/clubs in town you can go to and get laid. There are other girls at the club that WILL dance with you, just not me. So… back off. Anyway, the song was one of my Friday night favorites: “Raise Your Weapon” courtesy of Deadmau5, ethereal with wobs. As my friend’s son puts it: “You have to wait forever for the WOBS”. It’s beautiful, then it gets hard and funky. Mmmm… tough and pretty. This is all irrelevant, but I’m setting the mood.

Peaches, on the other hand, works the pole exhaustively. Carry on, sista.

Peaches, on the other hand, works the pole exhaustively. Carry on, sista.

So this kid has been trying to get my attention for hours, bless his socially-awkward heart. He can’t be a day older than twenty, dressed like a little kid gang-banger, and totally thinks he is hot shit. (Word to the wannabe ‘gangsters’ in SLC… first off, you are white, middle-class, and mormon, the only way you’ll ever get to know what life on the ‘streets’ is like is if you drunkenly wander out into traffic and become roadkill…MOVING ON>>>) I’m dancing in the middle of a nearly empty dance floor… and he approaches me. Dun dun dun… No no no, approaches would be the wrong term. Walks up, nay, swaggers up and throws a dollar bill at me is more accurate. A motherfucking dollar bill. A single. Then he tried to front-hump me.

SCREEE…. No. Fucking. Way.

At that point I just rolled my eyes and shook my head. “C’mon baby, I like the way you mooooo-oooove.” (Level of IQ gauged by the number of ‘o’s there. Then divide by 2, then minus the number you get)

“Umm… did you just throw a dollar bill at me?”

Big shit eating grin on his shit eating face… “Oh yeah”. You are NOT Rico Suave. (But possibly conceived to a Rico Suave song.)

Then he tries to step up on me AGAIN. I did what any lady would do and immediately pushed him off. “GO FUCK YOURSELF”*

*said lady-like

He actually did. Then went and sat by the dance floor with his cronies, laughing it up.  I can’t let them win, I can’t let them think this was silly, or daring, or funny… or even ok. But, I also can’t murder them here on the dance floor, I mean, there’s only like 12 of us here and I’m the obvious suspect.

So… I did what I had to do. I committed a federal crime. 

I picked up the dollar bill, still at my feet. Waved it around, smiled, bowed. They cheered as though I had been performing for that dollar all night. Then I lifted it above my head, and with two hands, RIPPED THE FUCKING THING IN HALF.

They gasped. The dollar bill fell lifelessly to my feet, gracefully, like the first leaves of fall… or like an ego smashing silently to the earth… and I gave them not one, but TWO middle-finger salutes. I turned, and walked off. You like dat ass? How do you like watching it leave, and destroying your hard-earned cash?

Damn right.

And this is why you don’t treat girls at dance clubs like they are strippers. We will shit on your hearts. (Or… just make you look like dumbasses)

 


Wedding Planning for the Bitter Bitches

Not that I hate weddings and romance, and I’m very excited to marry the man of my dreams, but the girlie girls, and weddings, are irritating. Wedding dresses that cost 6 grand? Fuck off. Wedding colors and daisies and etc etc etc… fuck off. Wedding vendors and catering… FUCK OFF. I want a party for my friends and family that have supported me in this relationship, I want champagne and dancing, and I want people to see me and the love of my life dedicate ourselves to our future and each other. I don’t want hokey ceremonies (the mother and the candle thing? whaaa??). I don’t want to be part of the wedding industrial complex. And I don’t want a million pop-up ads all over every site I visit to suggest “photographers!” “invitations!” “the best DJ in town!” and so on forever and ever. Seriously… this is getting exhausting.

We don’t have any family, really, to help with the cost of everything. We’re both old enough that we’re already drowning in our own bills and responsibilities- divorce, job loss, etc. My mom has offered up 500 bucks for anything we need. Other than that, I’m dipping into some stocks I have saved up. I’m not going to spend 10K on this, even if it is my “special day”. I’m not gonna be a bridezilla princess, hell, I even felt guilty asking my friends to be my bridesmaids, because they are busy with lives and families of their own. I bought two wedding dresses second hand- one for 40 bucks, the other for 10. With the cost of some dry cleaning and alterations on both, I’m still under 100 bucks. I’m gonna wear black combat boots with them, because that’s just ME. I’m gonna make my own cake with the help of a friend, and have my own friends who are DJs and Photogs and bar tenders etc. help us out. It’s going to be a real “familial” event, even though most of my family won’t really be involved. So why is it still gonna cost SO DAMN MUCH?!? Every place I’ve been to that I can rent out for the event has quoted me one price at the start, then they tack on “catering, gratuity, decoration packages, etc” and it blows it out of proportion. I just want a PLACE to have a group of people in. You tack on the word “wedding” and dollar signs light up in these people’s eyes. I’m not gonna do this in a church, because I’m not religious. I’m not going to do this at a courthouse because I want something to feel special and unique about this, I’m not planning on ever doing it again. I just want to be able to have a wedding, something I never thought I’d really do, and have it be classy without being barf-my-guts-up-all-over-Pinterest fluffy and fussy. Is that too much to ask?!?

I have always mocked love.

I have always mocked love.

 

I don’t want to answer questions about colors, or take pictures of the rings, or make an appointment at a spa or beauty parlor. I wanna put on a pretty dress, walk past people in attendance, say that I love him with all my heart and the “i dos” and then be able to call him husband. It’s really not that complicated people! Your capitalism disgusts me! *cringes*

Here’s some interesting shit I’ve found out about US weddings, that just makes my skin crawl.

The $$COST$$ of a wedding is astronomical:

  • In 2013 it was reported that the average cost of a wedding is now $29,858. That’s a downpayment on a house in most areas (or an entire house in Detroit).
  • 1 in 8 couples spends more than $40,000 on their wedding (these don’t include the honeymoon).
  • If you’re planning on getting married anywhere in New York, those budgets are 40K to 86K.
  • But good new! Idaho is the cheapest at an average of around $16,000 (and… it’s Idaho).
  • The venue you choose is going to run you the most… as in, typically over $10,000 the most.
  • But don’t forget the ring!! Plan on dropping $5,000 or so on that.
  • The US spends $72 billion a year on weddings. That’s with a B, other bitter bitches.
  • There are over 6,000 weddings a day, and 1/3 of those people have been married before. Break that down… that’s 6,000 of these average of $29,000 weddings EVERY. DAY.

Localize this:

In Utah we are a little bit off center-

  • The cost is slightly lower, but ya know, still on average $25,722 buckaroos.
  • Our average age to get married is lower than the national average. Utah is 25/26 where the national average is 29/31. That shocked me, I was expecting to see 22 or so. But that doesn’t exclude second marriages. Most of my friends are on number 2 or 3, because we get married SO young, there’s room for repeats when you realize getting married at 19 was stupid.
  • We have a special market for ‘modest’ wedding wear, so some brides can wear their dresses on temple grounds.
  • No surprise here- there are more wedding guests at a Utah wedding than on average by about 50 guests.

 

I've caught so many of these it is now considered a full fledged hostage situation.

I’ve caught so many of these it is now considered a full fledged hostage situation.

I’m not a wedding expert, but this is exhausting trying to play the game. You wanna know how to do a wedding right? You just get married. Wherever, whenever, however you want. You take the person you love, and in front of your friends and family, or NOBODY if you’d like, you pledge to be committed to each other.

What REALLY makes a good marriage is the relationship- (tallied from all the How To lists out there, these were the most common):

  • Don’t fight over money- this is the number 1 relationship argument.
  • Communicate and negotiate
  • Spend time together
  • Spend time alone doing things you like
  • Show respect- say thank you, never call names
  • Be intimate- touch, hugs, kisses, and yeah, married couples still have sex.

 

Actually- I've found one thing I'm not bitter about ;)

Actually- I’ve found one thing I’m not bitter about 😉

Oh… and that first thing on there— maybe, just maybe, don’t doom the marriage by getting 30K into debt on day one. Just a thought.

Stats from: XOgroupinc and The Knot; Soundvision.com; Weddingreport.com; statisticbrain.com; twoofus.org


Yes, there is a code. MUST READ.

Girl code. Dude code. Call it what you want to call it. You don’t date or hookup with your friends’ exes. You just DON’T. Now, I have a few anecdotal stories that would prove that sometimes this is actually something that can happen, with interesting results. But, when I boil those down, it comes down to the fact that we were all young, and we were all close friends, and those who coupled off got it wrong at first. What I’m talking about now is, as adults, you just don’t date the ex of a friend. If you are from different groups or different social circles, there really isn’t anything else but – “I met this person, I know you dated, but hell… I think I’ll have a better go at it.” If you haven’t learned something from MY mistake, then it’s your funeral.

I’m not coming from a psychological stand point, or a feminist stand point, or from any stand-point, really. These are just my educated opinions, and just that- opinions. I’m a little harsh. I have no faith in a good chunk of my gender because they haven’t learned any better. I have no faith in a good chunk of dudes for the same reason. So if these seem a little jaded and a bit bitchy, it’s because this shit has happened, OVER and OVER and OVER again to me, my friends, and my acquaintences. I’d never date a friend’s ex, no matter how cute, rich, successful, funny, etc. they are. I will, however, date the exes of my enemies. Because that’s just hilarious.*

*I’m mostly kidding here. I tend not to date people that I know intimate details of their last relationships. Never have, never will. Because I don’t like the amount of baggage that comes with those. If I was friends with your ex, or you are the friend of one of my exes… consider yourself off limits. That’s MY code. Also… just as an addendum, it’s inconsequential now because I’m off the market. But STILL. Don’t date my friends, jackasses. And friends… don’t fuck my exes. That’s pretty simple.

I don't have a resting bitch face. You wanna mess with the Code, yo?

I don’t have a resting bitch face. You wanna mess with the Code, yo?

Here’s some scenarios broken down:

It was a mutual break-up and they are still friends.  – Cool. You guys could all be friends together, really. Did she give her blessing to date him? Did he seem interested and not weirded out? Maybe they just went on a few dates together but didn’t click. Is THIS ok? Ehhh… in some cases, yes. But, in every experience I’ve ever had with this, one party may have cared more than the other. If it’s HIM, he’ll spend time trying to use you to find out why she didn’t care. That sucks, and isn’t the basis for a good relationship. You’re always gonna be number two, and you might end up hating your friend for that. If it’s HER, just wait until she gets drunk or has a bad day… she’ll tell you all about why she still misses him and just wanted him to be happy. That sucks EVEN MORE because you feel super guilty. Seriously, unless it was 110% amicable, and they BOTH seem to genuinely want you to pursue it, there is gonna be some hidden baggage that will come back to bite you in the ass. Best case scenario, you’re all just buddies and maybe he has a cute friend he’ll hook you up with.

If I were the horrible one in the party and the relationship failed, doesn’t that make it ok?  So let’s say YOU are the one who made the relationship fail. You wouldn’t make time, or were disconnected, or even abusive/rude/jealous to an extent. There are thousands of reasons relationships fail, but the majority of the problems rests on your shoulders. So… can your friend date your ex? The poor guy is broken down, sad, lonely… your friend just sees this guy and wants to comfort him! No. The answer is STILL no. Because you’re forgetting subtleties in the relationship. It goes both ways. Why were there jealousy issues? Were names called, were things thrown that were unforgivable? You may have been incompatible, but it doesn’t mean you weren’t compatible enough to give it a good go ahead, at least for awhile. He may still be dealing with baggage, hell, both of you might. Throwing in another interested party into the mix is only a cause for disaster, and will surely ruin relationships all the way around. The three of you will have resentment and keep in mind- YOUR relationship to your friend has never been romantic or physical, however intimate it has been. By hooking up with their sad, lonely ex, you have just stepped in the middle of any conversation you ever had with your friend to console them in their relationship. You know too much, you have biases already. It’s not fair for HIM for you to get involved, so just don’t do it. Be a shoulder to cry on for them both if you feel the need to, but keep in mind you stand on dangerous, explosive, mine-field like ground, and you’ll get just as hurt if you play into the game.

If he broke your friend’s heart, what means he’ll do it again?  So what if he broke her heart! I know my friend… she’s (too emotional/not emotional/ boring/ slutty/ a liar/ a drama queen/ a saint/ naive..etc.) and I’m not! So even though she got HER heart broken, we would be a much better match and he’d never do it to me! Right?! Keep telling yourself that, sister. Think about this… you’re all friends, right? So you all have SOMETHING in common. You’re all slightly more similar than you want to admit. Whatever faults your friend has… you might have those, too. Whatever compatibilities they had or incompatibilities, there’s a good chance it WILL happen again. Now, keep in mind, your friend has tried to get over this dude who broke her heart. You walking into that mix, how is that helpful? Supportive? How is that not going to hurt her even more? And keep in mind, he could be hooking up with you just to make her hurt worse. Not that it is a given, but it’s a possibility. Have a little humility. Yeah, you might know your friend really well, and you might see her vulnerabilities and faults, but that doesn’t make you better and indestructable. If he broke her heart, chances are, yours may be next. I’d just steer clear from this scenario at all costs. Keep your friend. Go for cocktails. Ask her to vent to you, and realize why dating this dude would be a BAD idea.

It’s been so long- what’s the big deal?  Ok, this is complicated, so I’ll still say it’s not OK. I mean, I have ex boyfriends from High School that I love seeing happy in their relationships, even though we were young, dumb, and didn’t work out. I have boyfriends from 10 years ago that would be really weird to see them walk back INTO my life in the form of dating a friend. It really depends on the relationship, the person, and how the wounds have healed over time. There isn’t a cut off is what I’m saying. I have exes from recent memory that I wouldn’t care who or what or when they dated.  I’ve stopped caring ENTIRELY about these people, but I’d probably think my friend dating those exes are complete dumb-asses, and wouldn’t continue to call them a friend. But I also have exes from a few years back, that I’m still kinda grappling with anger and pain over, that I still sometimes need a cocktail and venting session with a girlfriend to try to reconcile some of the bad memories or heart ache. Those are the ones that no matter how long, if they hook up with your friend, you’re not gonna like it. It raises questions: Did they cheat? Did they know each other before? Would he have left me for her if they met before now? Etc. etc. It’s a slippery slope to crazy insecurities. Don’t do that to your friend. If she says… yeah, it was awhile ago but it still hurts… then do everyone a favor and walk away. It’s easier for YOU to be the adult here as an uninvested party before anything happens, then for your friend to just all of a sudden heal and never hurt again. Chances are, you’re re-opening a wound that was just starting to feel better. Now who is the dick?

Cheating- did it happen? Who did it to who?: Cheating always sucks. In most cases, once a cheater, always a cheater. I’ve been skeptical about whole groups of friends who knew about the cheating and seemed to be ok with it. Is your friend the one who cheated? Well… ex bf might have some paranoia or jealousy now, especially if the two of you still hang out a lot.  Realistically, that’s a shitty position to put him in, and it’ll drive you both crazy. Hey, guess what, jealously DOES happen, it’s normal and it’s human. But even a twinge of jealousy is sometimes enough to hurt a relationship. What I really want to address is did HE cheat on your friend? Yeah, you’re not gonna be any different, tootse. Here’s the real mind fuck on this one- she’s gonna feel like she’s been cheated on all over again, and you’re gonna get a big “I told you so” in the end. Obviously this guy is suave, and he wouldn’t have cared then nor now if he and she were together. The end game is getting YOU in bed. You’re really naive to think that this is a good idea. He’ll most likely cheat on you, too. And hey, how ironic would that be if it was also one of your friends? What goes around comes around. STAY THE HELL AWAY from this scenario.

The problem with sharing all these things is: Your friend probably confided in you when the relationship was done. She cried. She was vulnerable. So it is a huge act of betrayal to take those emotions, throw em on the ground, and stomp the ever-loving shit out of them. It’s like a super-villain befriending the super-hero just to use his insights to take over the world. Ok, not that bad, but your friend is gonna be hurt, and pissed, and probably never feel like confiding in you again, about anything. Trust gets blown to smithereens here. The ultimate worst part here… you wanna get close to the dude, and you already probably know so much about him. If you and him start talking about THEIR relationship, you better not spill the beans. Her private thoughts and conversations that she had with you should never be brought up to her ex, and that puts you in a crazy position of power. You can hurt either one of them at this moment. Will you? Or will you bite your tongue, knowing two different versions of the “truth” and just go on with the whole charade?

 

Now is the part that if you think I'm a crazy bitch, I show you an adorable fluffy kitty.

Now is the part that if you think I’m a crazy bitch, I show you an adorable fluffy kitty.

And that kind of breaks it down. Now, keep in mind I didn’t get into the physical aspect of this. Really, you don’t wanna be sharing anybody’s STDs anyway, and you probably know by now if either party has them. I assumed all along that responsible adults wrap it up, so I didn’t get into everyone sharing the same herpes. From a purely emotional stand point- It’s not ok, in fact, it’s selfish and self-centered to throw away a friendship on an off chance that this “might be the one”. I was told by a friend that “You are happy, and you are getting married to someone else, so I deserve the chance to be happy no matter what I do.”…. No, that’s not ok, and that’s a shitty excuse for your bad behavior. I was told the exact same thing by a girl who accepted a date from my cheating boyfriend once “I have had a hard life and I deserve to be happy.” You don’t find happiness by fucking over other people! You just don’t do that. There are plenty of fish in the sea, if you have to ‘compete’ with your friend to hopefully have a better outcome than they did, you’re doing it wrong and setting yourself up for failure. That’s it.

Follow the code- YOU DON’T DATE A FRIEND’S EX. Ever. If you do, you want to re-evaluate what kind of “friend” you are.


Why being a girl in film making sucks ass

I think we’ve established in the past on here that I’m a film maker. Well, to be more precise, I’m an out of work and jaded film maker. I’ve got one of those fancy shmancy degrees that says I have the training, knowledge, and potential to BE a film maker… however, I haven’t worked on a film set in what seems like EONS. Truth be told, I have a desk job that actually pays me, and the chances of being sexually harassed are like 80% lower these days. That’s my big gripe and problem with “local film scenes”. No one will pay you. You will probably never see the project you worked your ass off in the light of day. The paying gigs that come to town are all “wholesome” Disney and LDS films (and I say the fuck word a lot, oh, and tits and tattoos). So today, I just wanted to include only 3 of the probably dozens of horror stories I’ve had working on a few film sets. Just three- and this is why I’m hesitant to go back to doing what I love. In no particular order:

(*** Disclaimer- the pictures used in the article are NOT from these sets. I felt that some level of anonymity  should be given to the guilty parties. The pix used here just represent me on a film set, doing what I love. In case anyone doubted the validity of me holding things and running around looking important.)

She who controls the board controls the silly names she writes on it...

She who controls the board controls the silly names she writes on it…

1- The Time I was locked in a closet by a megalomaniac.   Oh, this set was so full of so many disasters I could only pick one. Let’s just forget that this was part of a 48 hour film competition and he bit off WAY more than he could chew. People not showing up to set. Someone dropping out because she “prayed about it”. The Director storming off set and costing us 2 hours, in which I took over (not quite being the role of Assistant Director, but I got more done than he did). Lots of in-fighting and script changing. But I digress… The end of the night is what sticks out for me. We were filming the LAST scene for the evening, it was a small room for an apartment scene. Our lead actor and heroine would get into a physical altercation, leading him to believe she was dead, and granting her super-powers. (sounds better than it turned out, trust me) However, the director kept changing some crucial elements that would no longer make sense with all the other scenes we shot. How do I know? I wrote the damn script and I was not only acting as AD but as Scripty, because they wouldn’t let Scripty come upstairs with us, since it was “too small”. Between takes I’d calmly, gently, but sternly tell him that if he didn’t shoot it as written, this scene wouldn’t make sense. After like, oh, 5 or 6 times of trying to tell him this, he grabbed me, and pushed me behind him. INTO AN OPEN CLOSET. Oh, but just wait… then he closed the door, locking me in. It was kinda roomie, but dark and creepy. It was a storage closet, not like a little piddly broom closet. I used the light on my cell phone to shine around, and actually found a curtain that connected this little room to the back section of a theater balcony, and was able to find my way out. An hour later the rest of the crew came down to find me helping costume and props pack up. “We got a little worried when you stopped banging on the door.”  No apology. No one even tried to let me out until they were done. Well, the project failed miserably, out short was laughed out of circulation, and none of us got a final cut of the film because of a 2 month long email battle that followed. But hey, I was the only one locked in a goddamn closet.

 

2- The Time I worked with a sex offender.   Here’s the kicker! This guy is STILL in local film and pretends to be a power player. If you’d like, click on this link. I’ll wait.

http://www.ksl.com/?nid=148&sid=2548266

Dude on the right. Well, he didn’t do hard time. That’s how in 2010 I worked on a really awesome project with him. It was a short film for BET. Our writer, actor, and director were all from L.A. and he was a really cool dude. But danny-boy was our producer. It was a 2 day shoot. All day both days. It was a great set, with great people, except for what happened with him. So… day one. I meet our producer, I thought he was a very high energy flamboyant gay man. He had no boundaries and would play grab-ass and tickle everyone. He made lots of comments about asses and hotness etc. But, hey, he’s just an excitable gay film maker, right? He would slap my butt every time I walked past or bump into me etc. Well, just after sun down our MUA (make up artist) came up and sat me down. “You need to quit hitting on my man.”

… “HUH? Your man?”

“Yeah, me and him have been sleeping together for awhile. This is our third project together. He’s MY man. You have no right to think you can hook up with him. Have some tact.”

“Whoa, holy shit. He’s NOT gay?”

“No! Why did you think he was gay?!”

“All the gay-ness? Ok, I’m so sorry. I’m a little creeped out now. It’s cool. Now that I know, I’ll back off. I’m really sorry. I don’t ever hook up on film sets.”

And that was  that. Through out the rest of the night he glared at me and things felt super weird. She must had called him out first. I didn’t think it was anything more than just a stupid dude pulling the “I’m gay” card to try to touch a boob. Anyway, I felt like it was settled and I’d just have to keep some distance the next day.

Day two- we get huddled around at about 10 or 11 AM during set up. He’s back to his chipper self. “Ok crew, today I need you guys to tone it down a little bit. Keep it professional, no dirty jokes and no swearing. My wife and family will be on the set from about 2 to 6 just to watch, so be mindful not to be offensive, and I’ll let them observe without getting in the way.”

Screeeeeeee….. HUH?! Wife and kids? Yesterday this douche bag was pretending to be gay so he could grope all the chicks on set, then I was told he was sleeping with the MUA, and he’s married?! Not only is he a fraud and skeevy, he’s a completely disgusting adulterer. Well.. I’m not shocked at this point. But I’m pissed. I make it through the rest of the day without speaking to him. Again on this one, I never saw another cut of the film etc. etc. etc. I guess Script Supers and ADs only get access to the final cut (when that’s ALL we’re being paid in!) when we put up, shut up, and let someone feel you up.

Cut to: one year later. I’m having a meeting with a colleague and I tell her my horror story with this creep. She shows me the above link. I wish I would’ve known BEFORE. He was arrested and investigated for pimping out two 14 year old girls, and soliciting sexual favors from them for money. All out of the back room of his video store that mormonized R rated and PG 13 movies for the church crowd in Utah County. I think his colleague was arrested, the business was shut down (it was under heavy fire for copyright infringement, anyway), and I think he got probation because the teens wouldn’t testify. He was on an ankle monitor, and probably was for this fun little film shoot we had. WHAT A CREEP.

 

You wanna know when you're important? You have a walkie-talkie.

You wanna know when you’re important? You have a walkie-talkie.

3- The Time I wouldn’t sleep with a fellow film maker. I’ll keep this one shorter and simpler, as it is only one of MANY examples of why I hate many of the dudes in the ‘industry’ in this town. This was the close friend of a guy I was dating. We were drinking one night and talking about scripts and film project ideas etc. He wanted me to write a short and we’d go make it together. He had LOTS of money and equipment, two things I’m perpetually lacking. A week or so later was Sundance, and it was my 5th or 6th year working with them. I got invited to an industry party, but I couldn’t find anyone to come with me. So I texted him. He declined, was on his way to the airport to pick up his girlfriend of 5 years. We made plans instead to meet up in his neck of the woods to talk about a script idea. I planned on taking a few of my finished scripts to show him. A few weeks later we met at his studio. It was a little odd, he was super excited to show me around, but we were alone. I suggested hitting up the one bar in town to discuss it over a beer, which felt a little less awkward for me, seeing as I didn’t feel right being alone in that setting with the friend of the dude I was dating, for some reason. Everything seemed totally normal. I wrote an awesome script, but the project fell through. A few months later, we teamed up to make a music video for a local band, and another member of this group of friends got me involved as a producer, writer, etc. Things went really well on this one, too. But then like a week after we shot it, I get some weird texts from him at about 2 AM. He was drunk and coked out of his mind.

“I’m really fucked up, we should hang out.”

“Yeah, well, I’d like to do more projects with you. Don’t get so fucked up you die, or anything.”

“No like, tonight.”

“I think you’ve had enough fun with what I assume to be strippers and coke.”

“Well… do you wanna?”

“share strippers and coke? Not really my style…”

“No, you wanna come hook up? I’ve been thinking about that a lot… I’ve seen how you are.”

“Umm… NO. Not only do you have an awesome fucking girlfriend who is REALLY hot, I dated your friend, so that’s not appropriate.”

“Fine. I was just kidding.”

The next day I get all these texts apologizing and begging that I don’t tell anyone. I just told him how it was. Don’t text me when you’re fucked up. It’s never gonna happen. I understand you weren’t in the right frame of mind, and it’s really inappropriate. A few weeks later the dude I dated hit me up to tell me that I should’ve known better because he has a girlfriend not to hit on him. Apparently he told him that I had been incessantly asking him out to dates and bars and to hookup, and he had to keep telling me he was taken, and he was just feeling SO uncomfortable around me now. Utter bullshit. I still don’t know if he’s telling people and if our friends ever believed me over him. A year or so later, I asked if he’d write me a letter of recommendation (I needed so many of them) for a film production job I was applying for with a big company. He coyly asked “what do I get out of it…” I told him “The pleasure of professionally helping out a colleague that didn’t kick your ass when I had the chance”. He did it. We don’t talk much anymore, though.

You know, I'm still proud as hell to be a film-maker, because of moments like this.

You know, I’m still proud as hell to be a film-maker, because of moments like this.

 

And for THESE reasons and others… I have a hard time reconciling the fact that I have talent and a degree in film, and yet others think they can fuck you over all the same. I have busted my ASS for some of these dudes, and for what end? I have no value unless I sleep with them. So, I’ve only done projects with people I can trust since then, which have been few and far between, sadly. And I’m no longer going to allow myself to be an “unpaid intern” with boobs that can be pushed around, which puts a kink in getting hired by anyone, since there are so many other female film-makers in this town in my position that will just give them what they want in order to keep working. But not me, I’d rather be DONE. I have talent AND value, and I think that more female film makers should demand to be taken seriously, because my incidents are NOT isolated.

 

 


The Problem with Problems

Alternatively titled: The Issue with Issues. Really, the problem with problems is that they don’t go away. They have to be transformed into something else- a solution, a new path, a new way of doing things. Once the problem is there, it will just sit and hang out, forever if need be. The situation doesn’t go away, the mental stress, the emotional anguish, and if it’s a person that is the problem, often they just stick around until things are worse. You see, there is something you have to know about me to fully understand my problem with problems: I don’t like asking for help. I rarely, if ever ask for help. I’ve been so low, I have been so broke, I have been so angry, but have tried to always fend for myself. When you are picking out weevils from an old box of Rice-oroni just so you can eat and not have to ask your family for money for grocery, maybe you have a pride issue when asking for help. When you are hurting and aching, but refuse to show the cracks, and instead just let it out in the dark, always alone. I have done pretty well on my own up until now. So… when a problem arises that I can’t fix, when someone maliciously tried to hurt me, for example, at some point if I ask for help, anyone that knows me should know that is serious. The problem with problems is really that sometimes you have no fucking clue in hell how to fix them, especially the ones that haunt you or are right in your damn face.

I’ve had a problem for the last several months. I’ve had a supportive boyfriend, a few supportive friends, and a trusty outlet. However, that problem didn’t go away. I couldn’t fix it. No one else close to me could really fix it. I got to the point where I was screaming, crying, and begging for help. No one helped. Not those who could, anyway. I held my head up and asked for the help I needed. Nothing. I got reactionary, I lost control. Nothing. I tried to self-medicate and that only made things worse. If this sounds familiar, it’s because we all have problems like this. So I realize I’m nothing special and I don’t have a moratorium on pain or stress. This one particular thing just really got to me, maybe it’s because I am not equipped on my own to fix it or to know how to deal with it. When I started to try to fix my problem, anything I did had backlash. I was told that any and all responses were inappropriate. I was told to shut up about it. What the hell was I supposed to do? It wasn’t going away, and no one would listen, no one would support, and no one would help. Worse yet, now I’m starting to question, am I just insane? Has all of this been in my head? Am I paranoid? Obsessed? Or am I rightfully pissed off about something that I alone seem to care about, but if it were to happen to any of you, you’d change your tune?  Those who have seen the reaction to this all have tried to offer a multitude of ‘solutions’. Try this, take this pill, do this thing that helps me… and many people don’t have a damn clue about what the real problem is. That doesn’t fix the problem. It doesn’t change or transform the problem. They are all ways of ignoring the problem. Pretending it’s not there, it didn’t happen, and thinking that if you ignore it, it will go away. If you ignore me, and my pleas for help, maybe I’ll go away. This isn’t something in MY head. This isn’t something that I created. This is a real problem, a real boogeyman, and I asked for help.

The worst thing about this problem is, there isn’t any reason why it couldn’t have been fixed. I shouldn’t have had to ask for help in the first place. These are people that could have helped me that I have been there for over the years. I’ve listened to your stories, I’ve been there for you in times of need, for comfort, for loyalty, for friendship. I’ve donated money financially when times have gotten rough. I’ve protected you and helped you all through YOUR mistakes and your epic fuck ups. I’ve tried to be empathetic, I’ve tried to be human for you. Then when I needed help with a problem, when I needed support, my throat was slit. I was told to not only to just simply deal with my problem, but that I was probably making it up, and who gives a shit about you anyway? The problem with my problem is… I asked for help, and no one did anything to really help me. Maybe the problem was that I trusted them. Maybe the problem has always just really been me.


And now a cautionary tale

I apologize for the novel- but it’s well worth the story if you’ve ever worried about getting drugged or wondered why to never leave your drink alone. 

I’ve been going out to clubs and concerts since I was 15 years old. That’s almost half of my life, really. I’ve had some scary things happen, but I’ve always had some veteran  party goers to show me the ropes. I’ve been hit in the face with beer bottles flying across the room, I’ve been stalked, groped, and in quite a few fights. I imbibed, I partook… hell, I conversed with questionable individuals. Up until recently I always followed my rules, and they kept me safe. The biggest rule, and I cannot stress this enough, NEVER leave your drink unattended, even amongst friends. This is a true story, and it could have gone much, MUCH worse than it did.

Halloween night- one of the busiest nights of the year for the club scene, especially my little goth-gathering-place, I had just gotten off work and went straight from there to a night out. Still in my work-approved Halloween costume ( I was Prince, you know, the Artist formally known as… because I got to wear eyeliner and cross dress) I was not in my normal dancing attire. The shirt was loose, but silky and hot with a vest over it, and leather pants don’t really breathe and bend to your every whim when dancing. I figured I’d mostly socialize and hang out with my friends, and maybe hit the dance floor on one or two songs. I take it pretty easy when I go out to drink most nights, 1-3 cocktails or 2 beers, that way I can sober up before driving home. I stay usually 1-2 hours after last call, since my boyfriend works there I just drink water and stick around until he’s done. I was on my second one- a Jameson and Ginger. Sweet, a little bitter, perfect. I can’t even remember what started playing, but I had allotted myself a few songs, just didn’t want to overdo it and rip the ass out of my favorite leather pants. I had just barely gotten that drink, and when I went back to our reserved table my friends had all bailed outside to smoke (this is a Utah thing, not sure if that happens everywhere?). Pretty excited to go dance, I decided that my drink would be safe for just one or two songs on our table. They were going to be back in before I was, and I pretty much knew everyone in the bar that night. One of the regulars, a big guy that used to work there, was at our table, and I thought I could trust him. I asked him if he didn’t mind keeping an eye on my drink, and I left it. Just like that. BIG mistake, and I’m so mad at myself for breaking my number two rule. Number one being, don’t dance with people. Number 2.5 being don’t hook up where I call home. So far, I’ve done pretty good with those… you know, minus this one.

So, as the cautionary tale goes, as I’m walking away from our table and out on to the dance floor, this newer girl- we’ll call her B. for BITCH- she comes beelining over to the table. She’s either excited to get in on our reserved table, talk to the regular that was sitting there, or up to something. I didn’t think much of it, she was nothing more than a dumb drama queen I had little interaction with. I’d gotten really sick of her drama after just a few months, and she came up to get all giggly and attention-seeking with my boyfriend one night when he wasn’t working and just hanging out with me. I flat-out looked at him, while she was standing there, and I just couldn’t hold back the “Oh my hell, I really hate her”. Yeah, maybe she held a grudge, but damn it, if I don’t like someone, I rarely just smile and pretend. The other thing could be her stick-thin little heroin-chic friend- we’ll call her B2, and you get the point. So, she had a bad little habit of hanging off boyfriend, and I diplomatically put an end to that. More or less I just told him to stop letting her hang off of him because it was irritating the ever-loving hell out of me due to the lack of boundaries that this girl has. I guess that could have also come into play, but I’m done trying to justify the actions of a sociopath from here on out.

A good two minutes into the song I was dancing to, our little B comes walking out of the bar and up to me on the dance floor. Not really knowing if she was going to say something, do something, or just be in my way, I didn’t really react. Just kept dancing as she stood RIGHT in front of me. I was watchful, I was ever-vigilant, but I can’t really smack a bitch for no reason with that many witnesses. She put her hands on her hips and smiled, then she just started cackling and  walked off.

Hmmm… ok… strange. Now I’m kinda worried, because that bitch is up to something… 

I watch her make her way to her little twig friend B2, who was dancing in the cage, as scantily dressed wonton whores tend to do. The whispers, the pointing, all in my direction. Twiggy bitch starts to laugh as well. I vividly remember high school, so I know something is up, but what the hell? I rack my brain… did I rip my pants? Do I look ridiculous in man-drag? Is she plotting, talking shit, or just being her normal obnoxious self? Then I realized why she had made a beeline to my table… MY DRINK.

Ooooh shit. I left my drink… and she did something to it. First thing, check for spit. Second, check to see if she drank out of it because I don’t want herpes or god knows what else that troll has. Third, what if she drugged it? 

I stopped dancing. That was kinda far for anyone to do especially over petty drama and the fact I didn’t like her. Would someone really do that? Here? This is my home… I grabbed my boyfriend, who was working security at the time.

“I think B. fucked with my drink.” 

Really? Why?”

I am not sure, but something’s up.”

We head back into the bar, he’s right behind me. My friends still hadn’t made it back in, and the regular I left the drink with was busy talking to a few people. The drink is still there, same spot I left it. Upon inspection, something was up. Right in the middle were soap looking bubbles, not the normal fizz. It looked like something was in there, but it was hard to tell. Just a little oily kind of sediment, the color was the same, nothing smelled weird… How do you know? Boyfriend took a swig and then spit it out.

“What is this?”

Just whiskey and ginger ale? Why?”

It’s SALTY.”

That drink has nothing that would make it SALTY. He nodded. We walked up to the bar, I was pretty mad, but happy we caught it. The bar tender is an amazing woman and great friend of mine. I explained to her that I left my drink and it got fucked with, asked if she’d remake it for me. No problem at all, but her face drained and she looked shocked and scared. I told her I knew exactly who did it, and that it wasn’t some dumb frat boy. It was one of OURS- one of us.

I was kind of in shock, pissed off, but happy and relieved that at least I wasn’t going to drink it. She came back in the bar just as I was finishing my remade drink. Her whole face lit up and she grinned from ear to ear, watching my drink. I put the glass down and decided that I would take out some of my anxiety at the moment on the dance floor. I was in and out of the bar from then on that night, I let my few friends at the table know that I was pretty sure my drink got fucked with, they were in disbelief. But, the main thing was that I was ok.

It didn’t end there. Not by a long shot. Over the course of the night, many people, including my boyfriend, heard the conversations between B. and B2 about dropping something in a drink. “I put it in there, but she’s not acting any different!” They watched me, both of them, all night just like a predator waiting for their prey to get weak and drop. They hung close by, walked past and bumped into me, tried to ask questions like “having a good night?” but nothing. They didn’t get results. I took it in stride, at one point it became apparent that they just thought I took that shit like a champ or their drugs were defective. It was amusing to say the least, they saw me drink a drink that they thought had been tainted, and I was still upright, still talking and making jokes, not passed out or puking. I felt like I won a small war.

It wasn’t until a few nights later and over the following weeks that the danger became clear. We hadn’t called the cops. We hadn’t involved management the second it happened in naivety. She really had gotten away with it. I hadn’t told anyone who it was nor did I freak out when it happened, so no one even knew something was wrong. Doing a little research I found out that the drug in question was GHB. Colorless- odorless- and mixes almost instantly into any drink. The only sign it’s in there is the taste- it’s salty, like chewing up an aspirin. GHB is cheap, common and easy to find, and metabolizes within about fifteen to twenty minutes. In small to moderate doses it makes the victim act very drunk, unaware of their actions, sloppy, and wobbly. They usually become sick or pass out within an hour, and do not remember anything from the incident. People who have been drugged with GHB recall waking up to being raped, or blacking out completely for even up to 24-48 hours. They fall, they get hurt, and they cannot take care of themselves. In larger doses, it can shut down vital functions or damage the kidneys. Meaning, hey, this shit can actually KILL YOU. Considering I had just had a really bad kidney infection that landed me in the hospital for 3 days just a month prior, it could have done major harm to me, even in a smaller dose. This wasn’t something that they wanted to see me get fucked up and run around naked making an ass out of myself- they were out to HURT ME. Turns out, there was a third in the group. A little gang-banger drug dealer wannabe, who had been hanging around them both, and was known to be selling GHB, X, and other club drugs to the kids there. Our little friend B. is a known drug-addict- meth, heroin, and god knows what else. B2 has quite the history of her own with meth. So on top of just causing all sorts of drama at that place, these three were stupid and had access to drugs, a dangerous combination that I found myself in the middle of.

Me and the Sexy Boyfriend- the Toothfairy

Me and the Sexy Boyfriend- the Toothfairy

Nothing has been done up to this point, and it’s been about 3 months now. The only one that had a few lectures from security is the drug dealer, he’s calmed down on his shit as far as we know. The manager knows. The owner knows. But we didn’t test the drink to be sure, we didn’t call the cops. She isn’t banned from the club. She wasn’t arrested for a felony. She still comes every week. Still causes drama, makes out with random guys and girls just so she can prove she is the biggest slut there and to ensure she gets the attention she craves. I’ve broken my silence. I’ve let everyone who will listen know to not leave their drink. Do not trust  her. Realize the wolf in your midst. I’ve gotten so angry and upset that I had to fight back tears, I had to fight back the overwhelming urge to HURT her. It’s still a struggle. As time has gone on, I haven’t gotten over it. I feel violated. I feel vulnerable. I feel unsafe in my second home. I’m beyond angry, I’m livid.

She, our friend B., is like a little mouse, dangling herself right in front of a cat that wants to strike SO BAD. I mean, I could probably knock her out with a bar stool in the middle of the bar and no one would bat an eyelash at this moment. They know who she is, and what she’s done, and they have never seen me not stand up for myself. But I’m not her. I wouldn’t strike and stop to gloat, and that scares me. I’d unleash that anger on her so hard, so I can’t, and I won’t. So all I can really do is speak up. My words are my only safe weapon, because I’m too angry. She will come up and talk to whomever I am talking to. She’ll try to be as present as possible- and she just doesn’t understand that I’m not one to just roll over and let her get away with it. But, I’m not stupid either. What she wants it glory and attention. She’ll eventually get neither. I will prevent her from hurting anyone else. I will watch her like a hawk, waiting for her to slip up, trip up, and get caught in her own little web.

I will wait, and wait patiently, until she slits her own throat. And she will. Dumb and dangerous always does.

UPDATE: Well, apparently the owner didn’t know the full details of what was going on so he now does. We’ll see what happens from here, but I’m happy that he seems to care a lot, which definitely restores my faith. Good guy, considering he has put up with all of us for about 15 years or so now, and me in particular for over 10 years.  So, cautionary tale part 2- maybe find out for sure if the powers that be actually know the story from YOU.
With my replacement drink. Obviously NOT drugged- just pulling stupid faces.

With my replacement drink. Obviously NOT drugged- just pulling stupid faces.


A Question of Trust

trust

Back to my trusty keyboard and imac, after a crazy last year where I broke up, starting dating again (not as much fun as I had remembered), had all sorts of levels of craziness all over the scale, got stalked, and got engaged. Yup. That’s it in a nutshell. More on all of that later… (probably).

I just want to vent and reach out to the masses in the best way I know how- writing, and comedy. And since my comedic style is already pretty goddamn dark, I figure a blog- open to the whole world- seemed ok for this one. Here it is: Trust. What is it? Can it really exist, and be broken, and rebuild? What if you find out that you are the problem? The untrustworthy person who might just be a little malfunctioned in the head. What if you think that it’s impossible?

I’ve been cheated on by nearly every boyfriend I’ve ever had (in counting, I claim over a dozen ‘actual’ relationships under my belt over the course of the last 12 years), it’s become something that I just kind of expect. I could pull out anecdotes about each individual ex, but I’m getting sick of even thinking about most of them, let alone rehashing the bullshit reasons why they are my exes. Problem here is that I think whatever ‘trust mechanism’ exists in the human brain, or heart for the poets out there, has just broken in me. Some little cog or spring or battery has run out, I feel entirely incapable of trusting another human being. That sucks.

Don’t get me wrong- new guy, the fiance, he’s amazing. I’ve never met anyone so romantic and fun who can put up with the majority of the crap I dish out. It’s a situation where all it takes is ONE text message or ONE instant message that I catch in passing to send me into a tailspin. My paranoia can go from zero to DEFCON 5 levels in a matter of a few minutes. It’s a perfect storm of elements: Been there done that- everyone cheats, because that’s all I know. My own insecurities that are crippling some days come out and play- Is she prettier? Is she more his type? Have I been too naggy about the dishes? Is the spark gone? And then I wonder- does he care? I’d be damn good at lying and hiding it, which means anyone could. That’s terrifying to me. Even a lack of evidence or information is creeping and gnawing at me. The girls… the girls don’t care. There are women who find a taken man as competition, they all of a sudden want what they can’t have, or they just flat out think they deserve it. They know, how could they not know? But they reciprocate or instigate. My mind is all over the place.

I guess with all of this I’m starting to realize that my past has caught up to me. I was the other woman… a few times, truth be told. I know how damn easy it is to get into that situation. I cared though. It killed a part of me and I still harbor a lot of guilt. I also know how gullible I am sometimes. Willfully ignorant to the end. So… cheating doesn’t actually even have to happen. My little mechanism is so twisted and broken, I will always assume the worst. I refuse to become one of those possessive, jealous, crazy types. I’m not going to follow someone in my car, hide video cameras, or question every phone call. I don’t freak out when some dumb little stranger checks him out or talks to him. That’s not an issue. It’s my little cogs and gears that can’t seem to get out of freak out mode and always assume the worst. “What did you mean ‘hey sexy’?!?!” *screaming gears* “Why do you want to go hang out with this person so much?!?” *crippling anxiety* “She has a past with you, why does she have to have your phone number?!?” *exploding stomach ulcer* “Why is she texting you at 1 AM?!?!?” *nuclear holocaust levels of paranoia*

This is the Cold War. I’m a communist witch hunter. But I’m trying to figure out- who can I trust? Him? Them? Can I trust myself and my gut? My gut says one thing, my head says another, and my heart is begging to not get broken. This is the 12 Angry Men of emotions.

Is it more simple than I make it? Any answers for me? I worry if I should even be with ANYONE because of my trust issues… it’s not fair to them, or me, or the potential wake of girls who have been trounced by me for not getting the concept of ‘boundaries’. Any advice?


The funny thing about words

The funny thing about words is that you don’t have to say them for them to be present. A short analogy- every day I tell you that you cannot do anything right. “You are a fuck up. Why did you make that decision? Are you serious!” I ask you things in a condescending tone: “Do you even read? No wonder you only have a GED!” etc. etc. Doesn’t matter what you do, I question your intelligence. Eventually, you will be fully convinced that I believe you to be stupid and incompetent. I never even had to call you stupid, because I could convince you that you are in the most subversive ways.

 

Whether dealing with complete strangers or in my own (failed) relationships, I’ve found that you don’t have to call a woman crazy to make her question her sanity. You don’t have to tell her she’s stupid to completely invalidate her. You don’t have to use the words ‘slut’ and ‘whore’ to call her character into question or to make her feel completely worthless and used. It’s all in context. It’s in the language itself and not the words used, so that the one trying to keep control doesn’t have to have the burden of those ‘dirty words’ on their consciences, even though the message was the same.

 

Here are some examples of what I have encountered, conversations I have had that have made me feel like nothing other than a ‘slut’, and that was their purpose, even if it was very subtle.

 

–       “You deserved to have (insert horrible thing here) happen to you, because you A) chose to dress that way B) crave attention C) hang out at that place, with those people. What did you think was going to happen!”

–       “ I just can’t handle the way that other men look at you, and you don’t even seem to care.”

–       “I can’t sit and listen to other men talk about how much they want to fuck you.” (In response to jabs made at me after a comedy routine, that were, by the way, not about sex.)

–       “I can’t afford you anymore.” (When asked if they wanted to go out to dinner, and them saying that they were just going to stay home and eat alone.)

–       Likewise, anytime a man gets pissed because I won’t let him buy me a drink, or insists on paying for extravagant things for me, after I have already said ‘no’. I have my own money that I work very hard for. I don’t need to feel like just because you are the man that you have the right to take control financially.

–       A response to a Facebook message that I may get tipsy enough to share a dance with people ON MY BIRTHDAY- “Oh, so you’re selling yourself for alcohol now?”

–       “You don’t have sex with people for the RIGHT reasons.” (Who the hell is anyone to tell anyone else what the right reasons are?!)

–       In response to being groped or gawked at in a predatory way “I think you like the attention.”

–       “My ex would have never lied about it (she had cheated on him). At least I knew she loved me.” This was in a conversation where he was accusing me of, literally, sleeping with EVERYONE he knew. His roommate, his brother, people who were mutual friends.

 

And here are two more exact scenarios, that to me, scream, “You are a whore!” without EVER saying those words:

 

–       Getting screamed at, drunkenly, in a crowded bar. “You slept with someone else! How dare you! Tell me who you fucked… tell me who you fucked! I have to know who it was so I can heal!” Which, to passers by and people listening in makes me sound like a lying, cheating, horrible girlfriend. Until you realize, it’s because I was honest about the fact that I had slept with someone WHEN WE WERE BROKEN UP. That’s right, I wasn’t cheating. I was single.  This conversation was followed by “I don’t even trust you anymore. How do I know you haven’t aborted all of my babies?” *screeeeeech…. * Say what?!

–       And my personal favorite: I had thrown my back out. Again, we were broken up. I had told him that I had been going on a few dates. This always felt like a confession that was tortured out of me. But nonetheless, I had admitted to it, and I had thrown my back out in a combination of dancing, and sitting in a really uncomfortable papa-san chair to write. He was so sweet and so nice to rub my back, and try to massage the pinched nerve that was keeping me awake at night. “I just assumed (name redacted) gave you gonorrhea.” Thanks.

 

So… baby, even if you never SAID those words to me, or called me those names, you definitely got your point across.

 

But guess what? I know who I am, and I know better than that.

grudges


Day 17- I cried all night.

Day 17- I cried all night.

21 days. That’s approximately how long it takes to defeat a bad habit. That’s how long it takes to detox from an addiction. It’s been 17 days now since it finally reached its bitter end. Who knows how long he was fucking her before he decided to try to destroy me to save himself… but that doesn’t even matter. He tried to destroy me early on. It was always something that got in the way in his mind. It was a guy I had dated that I still occasionally talked to, that I genuinely missed as a friend. It was my weekend craving to go dance and be around some great friends. It was my friends, it was my family. At some point it just became other men in general. I couldn’t go have dinner with friends without him taking it as some sort of slight. Jealousy and insecurity ripped him apart, so he ripped me apart, as often as he could. He said once, half-jokingly, he’d never date a ‘pretty girl’ again. The fact that I was devoted to him, never lied, was always there for him… it just didn’t matter. The second that someone would raise an eye to me, it was my fault, and I had to be punished for the harlot I am.

I spent so many days and nights actually worried, anxious, and hurting. I spent so much time thinking I was a worthless person and nothing short of a whore, sinner, and prostitute. And that’s not ok. What’s even worse is that I started to believe it. All the things that I enjoy about my life and myself became stones weighing me down. If I wanted to dance or to go out and enjoy comedy, he’d insinuate that I just needed constant attention. I know myself better than that. I’m still coming to grips and sorting through all the words. Because they were just words, and most of them were untrue. The actions haunt me. The dreams I have keep me from wanting to sleep. The stages of grief? I’m doing it wrong, I think. I was completely numb and depressed for the first 5 days. Then I got angry and apathetic. Don’t get me wrong; I have no problem with being angry, because it’s better than what I felt at first.

Maybe I am finally accepting this; maybe that’s why it still hurts. Maybe I’ve seen what I loved the most turn it’s ugly head into a monster and I know that monster is still out there, waiting, or preying on other people. Maybe the monster doesn’t care at all… and maybe the monster is just a broken person, with issues beyond what I can comprehend, that will just have to go on living with his own fantasy that I ‘ruined his life’. And maybe what I am feeling isn’t victory, and it isn’t defeat. I think this is just missing the demon that caused all the pain to begin with, but finally knowing that in order to live, it has to die.

 

*I know I have been getting deeply personal in my blogs, but, it is a process. I’ll be back to my ball-busting self in no time, just see me through this.