Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Wicked Wednesday, Starring Bruce Willis
It's another Wicked Wednesday!
First thing on the agenda is to bitch about this stupid honker of a zit I have on my forehead. It's like a talisman of anti-sex. What's even worse, is it's a deep under the skin kind of pimple, and there's no way of properly attacking the fucker without blasting it with tank missiles. This is not attractive.
Today's actual Wicked Wednesday post is about Ex-lover....again. Now, this might seem bitter, but I promise you. It is.
Ex-lover and I met when I was very, very young. I was 17, he was 23. We were extreme polar opposites, and still are. In retrospect, I cannot think of any solid reason why I got involved. Aside from the fact that he was EXTREMELY charming, I wasn't attracted to him physically, he wasn't very well-read, and he cared more about his car than he did about anything else. I name my car (Izzy is who I currently drive. Don't tell her this, but she's almost ready to die. And I personally think she's a nasty, dirty whore that can't pull her own weight and wants me to fix all of her inner problems. I can't stand that shit. I'll be replacing her with a newer, younger model in the very near future) and I talk to it, but Ex-lover constantly looked like he was about ready to shove his dick into the exhaust pipe and whisper sweet nothings into the sideview mirrors. And he gave it a total stripper name. Candy. Ew. Long story short, he was in love with his car. Back to me and Ex-lover.
When ex-lover broached the idea of being an exclusive item, I wasn't really ready for that kind of thing. My previous boyfriend had asked my best friend if she would read his tarot cards to see if she'd sleep with him (and really, you can't make that kind of stuff up. Matt was gorgeous and completely doofy...but why not cut out the middle man and ask her yourself? She was sitting right there) so, instead of seeing that as a one time fluke of a seriously silly boy, I decided that all guys wanted to sleep with my best friend and I wanted to play the field for awhile. Plus...I was seventeen. Totally not the time to be tied down. But, ex-lover charmed the living daylights out of me. Nobody had ever told me "I don't think of anybody but you, and thinking about you makes me smile". Oh, it seriously made my vagina wrinkle with monogomy. So, I fell for it hook, line and sinker, though at the time I thought I was taking someone for their word because I pretty much rule, they recognized it and wanted to surround themself with it. I was so wrong (although I do rule).
Ex-lover also had an ex-lover that he was still friends with, and I didn't find this out until I started spending the night over at his apartment. One gorgeous, sun drenched March morning in Las Vegas, I slowly opened my eyes and watched the sun break through the blinds, and then I stopped to listen to a female voice cooing through the house. I thought, at first, that one of ex-lover's smarmy roommates had found some girl and brought her home, but because Ex-lover's room was in the den, I could see everyone's rooms from where I was sleeping. Everyone was asleep, alone, except Ex-lover, of course. So, I continued to listen, and finally figured out that it was the message machine. I won't ever, ever forget that message. "Sorry you couldn't be with me last night. I missed you, baby. Can't wait to see you again. Oh, and Ex-lover...*mmmmmmuah*" Ok, so she didn't call him ex-lover, she used his name. And she actually DID leave a big, fat, whore sounding air kiss at the end of the message. I had no idea then that it would be a common theme in their conversations. Depressingly enough, I can chalk this Wicked Wednesday action up to my complete and utter gullibility and stupidity, but I'd prefer to not make this my fault.
Before I came into my own, I had this ridiculous need to be "the girlfriend that was so completely cool that you had to brag about her to your friends". I acheived the latter part of my goal, but I wouldn't call it bragging about how awesome I was. It was more like boasting about how getting away with cheating was never easier than when you're dating me. It probably sounded like a fucking infomercial.
"Tired of all those girlfriends that have enough self-esteem to know when you're cheating on them?" :::cut away to a very flustered man in a heated screaming match with a girl holding up a pair of panties...it is obvious they aren't hers. He will then turn to the camera and frown, holding up his h ands in the ' I don't know!' position while his girlfriend continues to yell:::
"Wish you could parade your dick around town and stick it in whoever you want while simultaneously keeping your 17 year old girlfriend from having any fun whatsoever?" :::man is obviously interested and nods....girlfriend is still yelling:::
"Sound like you need a Drea! Yes, a Drea. Having a Drea means you can complain about her having male friends, but still be allowed to keep your own female friends! Girls can call and leave you risque messages, and she'll just smile and nod! But wait, there's more! If you order in the next twenty minutes for a Drea of your very own, we'll throw in her believing you aren't sleeping with those girls on the message machine for free! That's right, free!!"
All of those things I did, and more. I cried, and got angry, and yes. I ditched all of my guy friends and waited at home for Ex-Lover while he clubbed it up with girls and fucked anything that was willing and walking. Maybe not even walking, he wasn't all that picky. During the year we lived together in Vegas, I was so positive he and his ex-lover were still nailing each other. He told me they were just close, and since she was married and he was with me, I had nothing to worry about. Her husband was the nicest man in the world. I am also a fairly nice person. And we were both hopeless fucking idiots.
After Ex-lover and I split, I moved in for a short time with one of his good friends. A good enough friend that he spilled the beans about every single nasty thing that ex-lover ever did to me. On my 18th birthday, I had a deluxe and severely pimpin suite at the Flamingo. My 'rents took me to see Cirque Du Soleil and we had a gorgeous gourmet dinner, but ex-lover couldn't come because it was a special just me and my parents evening. He met me at the suite, told me he'd go out with his buddies and he'd be back by ten and would wait for me to get there. I got back to the suite at around 9, called a few of my friends to dish about my evening, and took a bath. Ten came and went. At around midnight, a few of my friends from my dad's work came and visited me, hung out for about an hour, and then left. To go home. Because it was fucking late. so, from around 1 am to 4 am, when I finally saw his car on the Strip, I sat with my head against my suite window, tears torrenting down my face, watching for that stupid red Mitsubishi. If you're curious about what happened, I was too. For years. Until Matt gave me the skinny. Ex-Lover told me that he and his good buddy Matt (the same Matt I lived with, doi) had gone to a bar and gotten pulled over for speeding. The cop searched their car and found...surprise of surprises...marijuana!!!! Now, up to this point, it's pretty believable. Ex-lover was an avid pot smoker. I think he loved it almost as much as he loved his car, but I'm probably wrong. I know he always carried someon his person, because he couldn't go more than 20 minutes without smoking. Calling it an addiction is selling it short. Anyway, so they get pulled over, cop finds weed, and then KEEPS THEM THERE FOR 5 HOURS. Which was illegal at the time. Anything over a half hour for a pull-over needed to be brought to the nearest station. Did ex-lover go to the station? Nope. He tells me that afer 5 hours, the cop just ever so nicely releases them and doesn't give them a ticket, just confiscates their marijuana. Sends them on their merry way. And the worst part is I BELIEVED EVERY WORD. I was rehashing this event with Matt, and he stopped me to tell me that no, that is not what happened in the least. Ex-lover was with HIS ex-lover. Matt was the person who informed me that a cop cannot, by law, keep you on the side of the road for 5 hours. Fast-forward a few years.
Because in my heart of hearts I knew something wasn't right with Ex-lover and his ex-lover, I had a very destructive relationship with her. Remember when I said that I wanted to be the cool girlfriend? I had decided that being the cool girlfriend entailed making friends with his ex-lover. And I despised her. She wasn't very pretty, but she definitely unique looking in a way that I could understand was striking. Ex-lover constantly compared everything in the world to her. She was a measuring stick that was impossibly tall and the shadow of it hung heavily over my head reminding me that all I could be was second best. Anyway, I did some incredibly spiteful things to her, because I was jealous and hateful and mad at ex-lover. For instance, I found a bunch of nude photographs of her...taken in Ex-lover's room AFTER we had changed it around so there was no mistaking when they were taken...and I posted them. On her journal. Just to be a bitch. We stopped pretending to be friends after that. But I sent her an apology email a couple of years ago, and once I sent that to her, she said I was a "breath of fresh air" and then she spilled her can of beans, as well. More proof I was a doucheface for sticking around.
There are other things I won't go into detail about, because I've already winded everyone half to death. He was a cheating, lying bastard end of story. So, the final part that makes this all so wicked.
Today's Wicked Action : Being such an incredibly dickfaced shoe-fucker that you poison your now ex-lover into never trusting anyone ever again, because she sees what a fat lot of good that did her the first time around.
Today's way of coping with it : I prescribe to several different doses of coping. First of all, I slander ex-lover horribly. Both to him and when he can't defend himself. I made sure to tell his new lover (the lovely woman that usurped my daughter. She's a bitch, anyway, and I'm pretty sure she doesn't have a soul or feelings) that he told me...word for word...."If I brought our daughter down to come see you, I'd have to fuck you." This was said while his new lover was living with him, and pregnant with their child. What a catch, can't believe I was fool enough to let him go. Secondly, I slept around with reckless abandon to insure that I didn't get in a relationship where I would get my heart broken again. That was probably the best one. Also the most lonely, so I cut that. It was most definitely NOT too legit to quit. Third, and the most bitter, horrible way to cope of all, but it's a compulsion I cannot stop for the life of me : I project my fear of being gullible and looking stupid onto my main squeeze. I rarely trust a thing he has to say. Granted, as much as I love him, he has lied. A few times. About incredibly stupid, mundane shit. But this distrust has spread like a disease. We've almost broken up over it at least once. I have serious, serious issues because I think EVERYONE is lying to me.
This is precisely why it's so wicked. He managed to not only fuck with me for 7 years total, but he is still fucking with me. And unless I get some SERIOUS therapy, he will continue to do so for the rest of my life.
Well, now that I'm done with that, I can feel safe to not post for...oh, 8 years.
Tune in next week....it'll be shorter (I hope) and I'll be the spotlight of Wicked Wednesday next time. I love hanging my flaws and the horrid thingsI do out there for judgement.