Anonymity

I have got to check this damn thing more often. I went to look through it tonight and found that someone has been having a hay day insulting me. Judging by the colorful vocabulary (sarcasm, these things might as well have been written in crayon) I would say it was my ex or a friend of his. Don't you just love it when you're important enough to be stalked? Well, I'm sick of it. It's old and played out. Also, it's mildly entertaining. Mostly because all of these insults come anonymously. Getting worked up over shit people say to you on the internet is a pointless endeavor anyway, but when the troll chooses to stay anonymous, it's just a joke. What is the point of telling someone what you think of them if they don't fucking know it's you who thinks this of them? Oh.....people are stupid. I have NEVER said anything to anyone anonymously. Many websites come with this option and I just ignore it. If I'm going to say it, I A)Believe it MUST be said and B)Want you to know that IIIIII said it! So to whoever called me a "slut" on one post, "trash" on another, and remarked "who got the kids, the ex?" on another, my reply to you is GET A FUCKING LIFE. I don't need you to check in on mine. Mine is awesome right now. I'm happy and my kids are happy. THIS is all that matters to me. Have a nice day and die.

Creepshow.

When someone asked me to write about a horror flick, there was only one that came to mind. CREEPSHOW. If you've never seen this movie, we cannot be friends ... until you see it … and love it. This movie is my absolute favorite film ever. EVER. It's fucking perfect. George A. Romero directing, Stephen King writing, Tom Savini for special effects, and a slew of amazing actors including (well known in the world of horror) Tom Atkins and Adrienne Barbeau. Not to mention one of the best cinematic scores in all of creation. All that fantastic shit tied together with kick ass comic book style animated transitions illustrated by Bernie Wrightson makes it the most perfect goddamned horror flick on Earth. If you disagree, may you die a horrible death. Kidding. ::Winky Face:: Not kidding.

The wrap-around story is about a boy (Stephen King's actual son! ::GASP!::) who gets caught with a CREEPSHOW comic book by his father, Tom Atkins (an apparent smut ogler). Poor Billy loses his comic to the trash. A great injustice. Enter The Creep, a lovable skeleton in a cloak who visits Billy's window like a magical terrifying godmother to grant him the wish of offing his father for him. BUT, not before sharing with the audience just what the CREEPSHOW comic contains that is so very sinful and disgusting that it belongs in the garbage. “The freakin' garbage!” to be exact.

The first tale is titled “Father's Day.” This story features a snob family having a Father's Day dinner together....sans father. A young couple, a brother, and a aunt await the arrival of Great Aunt Bedelia. The brother sets it up: Aunt Bedelia is well know for being tormented all her life by her father, Nathan. At some point after he turns 184, Bedelia bashes his head in to halt his constant bitching. “Where's my Father's Day cake?!” Aw....that's nice. And although Nathan was clearly a mean old bastard from Hell, Bedelia is consumed with greed. Offing Daddy will do that to a girl. Bedelia visits his grave which is inexplicably close to the home, only to get strangled by a newly awakened, less than fresh, Nathan. All this happens while the family sits comfortably in the house and Ron Howard does possibly the most awkward on screen dancing to disco music ever. Don't worry, Nathan will kill him too. In fact, it's implied that Nathan gets the entire family on this evening and even makes Aunt Sylvia's head into his Father's Day cake, complete with candles. Hooray!

The second tale is titled “The Lonesome Death of Jordy Verrill.” Do you have goosebumps yet?! Jordy Verrill is a simpleton living in a shitty farm house in the middle of no where. Also he is played by Stephen Fucking King. Ah, yes...there are the goosebumps. On this night a bright glowing ball falls from the sky to which Jordy exclaims “Holy ol' Jesus!” Jordy'll be dipped in shit if that ain't a meteor. He proceeds to “cool the sumbitch off” with a bucket of water which causes it to break in half spilling a mysterious ooze that Jordy names “Meteor Shit.” The dialog alone makes this segment fantastic. Poor Jordy Verill spends the evening with hallucinations and what appears to be a plant like substance growing in places that come in contact with the meteor shit. ALL places. Yes, even there. At the end of the evening his land, home, belongings, and body are completely covered in moss and grass. This proves to be unbearable and Jordy opts for washing his mouth out with buckshot. A moment of silence...

The third tale is titled “Something to Tide You Over.” This story is about a man and another man and also a woman. Oh, there's the conflict: A woman. One man, Leslie Nielsen, wants to kill the other, Ted Danson, for sleeping with his wife, some broad. The chosen method for killing him and the broad? Burying them up to their necks in the sand and waiting for the tide to come in and drown them. He doesn't wait for the tide though. He has fancy-ass equipment to record it all so he can watch from his hoity-toity beach house, the rich bastard. The tide comes in and all is well! Whore wife and boyfriend, both dead. Good times are to be had in the shower. Or not. Instead, the whore wife and boyfriend come back from the dead and raid Leslie's beach house. What assholes! Bullets don't stop them either. In the end, we find poor Leslie buried on the beach. No worries, though. He can hold his breath “for a loooooong time.” No, not really. He gon' die.

The fourth tale is titled “The Crate.” This is my favorite. Henry is a man, barely. His mouthy, alcoholic wife, Wilma (call her “Billie”, everyone does) has made his life a living Hell. Henry regularly envisions killing Billie. Ah, the bliss of killing Billie. Henry works at a college which is in its off season. A janitor there has found a mysterious (say it with me) CRATE under the stairway. This crate has been nailed shut, surely for no important reason. The janitor is hot to see what's inside so he calls Henry's intellectual friend, Dexter, to help him investigate it. They find Fluffy inside. Fluffy is some sort of man-eating beast made of nightmares, teeth and the terrified tears of children. He eats the janitor, you know, because he's not important. Dexter runs to get help. He finds a wandering student, we'll call him “Meal #2”. Dexter then runs home to find Henry. And Henry figures “Janitor, random student, well....someone important to this plot has to be eaten at some point. Que Billie. Henry invites Billie to the college via hand-written note left next to her bourbon and milk. Ew. Billie falls right into Henry's trap. We rejoice and cheer for Fluffy. As Fluffy retreats to his crate for the evening, Henry manages to chain the crate shut and take Fluffy for a drive. He drops Fluffy at the bottom of a water filled quarry. Don't worry, he's fine. Not sure how, but he is.

The fifth and final tale is titled “They're Creeping Up On You.” It's about a mean old codger who subsides in a $3200 a month penthouse apartment that is supposedly germ proof. However, we needn't worry about germs. Upson Pratt hates bugs. Especially cockroaches. So, what should happen to suddenly and overwhelmingly inhabit his apartment? Fucking cockroaches. Thousands of them. Mr. Pratt is wonderful at being a total asshole to his employees via intercom phone calls and even goes so far as to make fun of a grief-stricken widow who's husband blew his brains out when Pratt bought his company. He also establishes himself as a racist dick. It's safe to say that by the time the bugs have inexplicably filled his apartment, we're ready to see the bastard croak. And he does. Quite graphically. Huzzah!

We return to the wrap-around story of Billy and his asshole father. As the garbage men show up to take the freakin' garbage, one of them (Tom Goddamned Savini) notices that an ad for a voo-doll has been clipped and mailed away from the comic book. Billy's father didn't sleep worth a damn and as he's bitching about his neck, his wife notices a piece of his pajamas missing. It cuts to Billy holding a voodoo doll clad in Dad's PJ's. Billy has a grand time repeatedly stabbing his father in the throat while his father writhes in pain downstairs in the kitchen.

I'll end this with a note on all the things that are not perfect about this film. …..............

Enjoy.

Adaptation is Difficult

    Ah, yes, September. This month hits me like a goddamn train every year. For one, this is just a month before BOTH of my kids' birthdays. Also, I ALWAYS get sick. Allergies kick in and a massive sinus infection kicks my ass this time of year. Being sick is a pain anyway. Being sick when you're alone is just depressing. Literally depressing. I don't think anyone's really taken care of me when I was sick since I lived at home with my mommy, but still...having people around to *try to make you feel better is at least something. Breathing through my mouth constantly has caused my lips to become severely chapped. There's not enough Carmex in the whole goddamn world! Sitting around sniffling and feeling like you have a bag of fucking sand on your face just blows. So...I'm trying to take my mind off of the downward spiral. Hence writing in the bloggage. (Google does not recognize "bloggage" as a word. Meh.)

    Let's take a review of my life at the moment. I have been living on my own for 3 and a half months now. I have days when I'm tickled to be alone and days that I'm, well, lonely. The deciding factor is, of course, my mood. Yay! Ugh.... My mood. My mood is a little anime girl who can be a cute innocent playful thing and just as easily be a giant, snake-tongued monster; eating neighborhood cats. I've learned some things about myself. I've learned who I am. What I like and don't liked. What my problems are. What I need to work on. I have a lot to work on, trust me.

    I've taken to a strange habit. Coming home from work, stripping, and getting into bed. Of course I only do this when alone. Once into bed, I don't leave. Hmm... I have no motivation to do anything ever. I know I should. I should care. But I just don't. Same happens on the weekends except before 5 pm. I've become a lazy fuck. I have nothing to make me get out of bed though. When my kids are here, it's completely different. I hang out with them and do kid stuff. Kids are just the coolest thing ever. But, yeah when I'm alone like right fucking now, I sit around in my underwear. What's it to ya?

    I have not been on a date. Or even tried to go on one. Let's just say I'm not ready to dive right back into picking up someone else's socks. The life of a wife sucks. ...Probably should have made that rhyme. Ah, well. In fact, the only man I've been speaking to is a man who lives very very very far away. This is the perfect situation for me. I can speak to a man, learn his outlook and opinion, get "Good morning, gorgeous." messages (which every goddamn girl wants everyday for the rest of her life, so take note), but not worry about being alone in a room and feeling terribly awkward with him. I'm not above admitting that I like this guy because he is sort of perfect for me and if he showed up someday, I would most likely fall for him but I'm not looking that far into the future yet. So, for now, just talking about anything and everything will do. Like I said, it's perfect.

    So, how am I spending my nights. Why, here! On the damned internet, typing away and reading about things. I've gone out a couple times, hated it, and come home. I'll cut loose at some point, but at the moment I'm still inverted. Sort of like a hermit, but I have to go to work everyday and shower regularly. Like tonight, I'm getting out of the house!......to do laundry at another friend's house while we bitch about guys and eat junk food. Shyeah.....it's that awesome in my universe. You should come some time!

I'm Too Old For This Shit

    So, in 1996, I met this girl. We were the shit, even at 12. And in 2003, we were beyond the shit. Everyone loved us because we did whatever we wanted. We had a blast no matter what and we didn't worry about boys or what they thought. And now that I'm getting divorced I've been able to spend time with this chick again. I've missed her. She still doesn't give a shit, does what she wants, always has a blast. There's something wrong for me though. I do give a shit, much more than I ever have or should. And this causes me to NOT have a blast. I went out with her last night. It was only the second time I've left the house since I separated from my soon-to-be ex-husband. And while we still had our moments when I was crying from laughter because we are fucking hilarious together (they should book us as entertainment), I did not enjoy a few parts of the night. Why? Because I am so goddamned worried about the state I am, that I absolutely do not want any attention. It was easy to be wild and care free back in 2003. I was hot! Like, really hot. Now, not so much. I've had 2 kids which have wrecked my body beyond recognition. I have been in a relationship that trained me to never ever want men's attention for nearly 10 years. I am just beat down in more ways than one and it sucks. I love this girl to death and I couldn't figure out why no matter how hard she tried to make me happy last night, I was still thinking "I want to go home." It's because of people looking. I used to not care if they looked. In fact, I counted on it. That feeling is gone now. I spent too many years afraid to move around because I would be judged. I wish I could just turn off that feeling. I can't, though. I don't know how.

    I need to apologize to my friend. She tried so very hard to give me a fun night. I ended up having one drink and returning home. I even left her there because she said she would get another ride. I feel terrible. I couldn't stand it though. The smoke, the noise, the desperate and disgusting people constantly looking. I had to get out of there. Perhaps I am just too old for this shit. I wish it didn't turn out that way though. I thought I was becoming me again, but I suppose I'm not completely there yet.

A Message To The Reader Who's Fucking With My Life

    First of all, thanks for reading. Appreciate it. *WINK* I'd like to explain that I am completely aware that I am putting my life out there for the public to read which means I have waived all of my rights and am vulnerable to scrutiny. Fine. Understood. However, I'd like to know why you have nothing better to do than to read my blog and report it to my ex-husband. Especially since my life no longer concerns him. I apparently need to clarify. In my last post, when I stated that I was "entering the dating world" that did not mean that I'm in the game as a star player. I am, in fact, on the bench....by choice. Even if the act of divorce hadn't made me bitter toward men, my ex certainly has. I NEVER want to be put through this bullshit again! I am not dating or even considering it and I don't plan on it for a long time. I also don't know why you feel the need to share my blog with him because I haven't actually said anything that should upset him. I've been incredibly generous with the way I describe him and omitted many of the details of his treachery. After all he's put me through I am still being civil. I think I need a goddamn award! But, no. Instead I write what I think is honest, accurate, and fair and what do I get? Him calling me the next day asking me a million questions about things that are, frankly, none of his goddamn business anymore. Now, of course I can't stop you from sitting by your computer and waiting for me to type up a new post so you can call him up and read it to him. I just felt like saying that I know what you're doing and you're an asshat for doing it. I hope someone fucks you over. Have a nice day.

How To Understand Women: Volume 1 of 489,328,901 (squared)

    Women are crazy. No shit. Here's the thing though. And I'm not saying you should forgive all the fucked up things women can and will do, but....just understand that most of it cannot be helped. Women are wired this way. I'm sure there's some sort of evolutionary reason, but who gives a shit. The point is our brains do not think rationally. Women have an uncanny knack for over-thinking the hell out of everything. EVERYTHING. A woman thinks about the way she walks: "Is my ass jiggling? Watch how you place that weak ankle. Stand up straighter. Stick your tits out. Look busy for Christ's sake." Women think about how they eat: "Is there anything in my teeth? How about now? Is my lipstick ok? Did I eat too much? I'm a fat ass. I really think there's something in my teeth." If we think this much about the completely fucking mundane shit that WE are doing, imagine how much we are dissecting every little thing YOU do and say.

    I'm nearly 30 now and just about to be divorced. As a married woman I used this pile of sparking wires tied to a rabid dog which I call my brain to make myself really goddamn angry. I would think and think until I was ready to commit murder, or rather, break some shit. Now that I'm entering the dating world again, I'm allowed to see men in a light that had been dimmed, almost suffocated after college. I'm old enough now that I can recognize when my "female thought process" is kicking in and sometimes shut it down. Not very often, but sometimes. When something doesn't go the way I want it to my brain starts throwing wild flaming shit at the front door that is my inner monologue. I over-think myself into a bad mood. That's a red flag for me. I have to stop and think to myself "Is this really going down the way I think it is? Or am I just being a goddamned girl about it?" For instance when I talk to a man who shows interest in me, I somehow expect that man to continue his interest at a steady, consistent level (which is not fucking possible). Just because a guy talks to me a little less does not mean he's over me, mad at me, doesn't want to talk to me ever again! He is just busy. Simple as that. However, even with that rational piece of knowledge living in my mind I cannot hear it. It is being choked by the "female thought process" and she is screaming over it "What the fuck is his problem?! Why doesn't he call me like he said he would?! I want to kick a puppy!!!" Now, I've tried to take thoughts like this and lock them up where they can't be heard in the back of my mind. It can't be done. Those thoughts can fit through bars! Turn into fucking vapor and sneak into brain cells that are heavily guarded by the need to reproduce! I'm telling you, the shit's like a bar of soap.  So what does the average woman do? She tries to come up with a way of telling you what you're doing wrong without it sounding like it's crazy even though she knows it probably is super crazy.

    So what should you as a man do to keep a woman happy?  Jesus.....there's nothing. There. Is. Nothing. You can be madly in love with a woman and the second you forget her birthday she is POSITIVE that you don't love and never did. That's just the way our minds work. If there were, for the sake of argument, a man who could keep a woman happy he would have to be tall, handsome, goddamn perfect, smart but not smarter than her, and he would have to pay every ounce of his attention to her all day everyday forever and ever and fucking ever. No? Yeah, ok. The most important thing that I've noticed from my own experience is that women want to be chased. Always. They want to feel like someone out there can't live without them. Once that feeling is gone, they're out. Or they want to be out. When a woman says she's "fine" you should ask her again. And here's a really awesome trick you men could use. Don't be a dick about it when you ask again. Sound polite and calm when you speak. Women hate it when your mouth says "I'm sorry" but your eyes and your tone say "Please take this offering of my dignity and shut the fuck up, you bitch." Big no no, boys.

    You might be thinking "Why try so hard just to keep her from being crazy when she's the one who's crazy?" Well, fucking because. Because woman can make your life really awesome if you're not a dick to them. It sounds like a simple thing, but actually this is the holy goddamn grail of relationship knowledge. If you do and say what she wants, you can have anything you want. It's really easy! I've only ever dated one guy who understood this. He paid attention to me. He did what I asked. He worshiped me. All along he was cheating on my with "too many women to count" (his words). And I never suspected a thing. I was blissfully in love with him because he pretended to be perfect. That's the other thing though. Should you find the holy grail and be perfect to a woman, be prepared for her to looooooove you. I'm talking obsessed, never want to hang up the phone, text you 100 times a day in love. And when you get her to fall so hard, don't act like it annoys the fuck out of you that she's in love. That's a dick move.

    Women are a labyrinth. If you find your way in (insert vagina joke here. Yeah, I said "insert.") you should stay. Because most women won't let you find your way and it's not likely to happen again or with anyone else. Consider yourself lucky. In short, women want to feel like the most important thing in the world to you. More important than your car or your video games or your friends or food or oxygen....yeah, I know...but actually it's not that she has to be more important, it's just that you need to show the effort to make her *feel* like she is. If you even pretend that she's all that matters you will have the happiest woman on the planet who will do anything you want. Probably even anal. End.

Legally Binding

    I'm not so sure that making marriage a legally binding thing is necessary. Divorce definitely requires legal terms and conditions. Otherwise, you'd never get your shit back. I spent my entire lunch break today reading my divorce papers. I can't imagine how much there is to read when you don't agree on things. I signed everything and as I sat there in that over-sized leather chair at a table that was easily 10 feet long I felt excitement well up in me. I thought I would possibly panic or suddenly feel hopeless and depressed over what was happening. I didn't. I felt like I had accomplished something that was bigger than me. Something I never thought I would accomplish. After leaving the lawyer's office, I did begin to feel some slight anxiety and fear. It was quickly replaced with relief. I did have a moment though. A moment of great familiarity. It was the blues creeping back in. I hadn't felt the blues in a few months. I had been momentarily struck down with the waves of awful emotions that came initially with this whole divorce thing, but that's not the same. Hopelessness, dreadful fear, and loneliness. That's the blues. This moment came upon me while I was in the laundromat tonight. I was on the phone and as I began to hang up I was suddenly uneasy. As if the blues were watching me from a crack in the wall or a drain in the floor. And those thoughts that only the blues can make you think crept into my brain. "You are alone now... You've finalized your divorce: No husband. You won't talk to anyone about it: No friends. He has the kids tonight: Empty house. ...And you brought it all on yourself." I nearly began to cry. Right there in the goddamn laundromat. Pathetic. This is what I wanted. I've never been so sure of anything. I suppose I just didn't think about any downsides to it. I honestly never knew how hard divorce would be on the person who wanted it. I've been handling it very well, but my walls are weakening. They need reinforcement. I am very very bad at asking for help though. I do not like people to feel sorry for me. Ever. In fact, I'm thinking of re-writing this right now due to the possibility that someone will want to reach out to me. I don't like the feeling of needing anyone else. It makes me feel weak. I'm not completely lonely though. I do have a few friends who enjoy a good rant and the cat. The cat is the best listener. I'm kidding. Or am I? I am...maybe.

Staying Together For The Kids: Miss-communicated Advice

    I spent 2 years struggling with whether or not my marriage should end. The question wasn't "Do I want to be with him anymore?" The answer to that was a astoundingly deafening "NO!" The questions were more like "Can I live with this? Can I stick it out for the kids' sake." That's what everyone tells you. "Stay together for your kids." And I believe that. I completely believed it. I thought that as long as no one was getting physically hurt, I had no reason to leave. Two years of that...constantly on my mind....knowing I was there for my kids. Then, I had an epiphany. When I was a kid my parents divorced. Before they did my mother used to hide in her bedroom from my father. I was not old enough to understand why and I distinctly remember thinking that my mother wanted nothing to do with me. That wasn't the case though. She was depressed, of course. And then I wondered what my children thought of me always hiding in my room. Luckily my kids have been with me in my room most of the time. Even as a hermit, they wanted to be near me. It was like lightning struck. And I knew I would be a better parent if I were happy. And I could not be happy until I was out. The separation has also made him a better father. He is now solely responsible for the kids when they are in his care. He has been forced to start cooking, cleaning, and taking care of them. It has been good for them and him. He was a good dad before, but not a hands on type. He was good at playing with them and keeping them happy while I did those things. If he were anything less, he wouldn't have joint custody.

    I understand the belief that happy children come from a happy home, not a broken one. It makes sense. However, I am from a broken home and I understand what I need to be happy and how to have a good life. And my home IS happy.  My mother and father were much better people when they were not together. And so are we.  I don't feel like I've let my children down by leaving their father. I'm happier, more productive, and more involved in their lives than ever. I am ultimately concerned with how my kids see this. I want them to look back and see how their lives improved after the divorce.

The Confessional is Open

    It has been about a month and a half since I left my soon-to-be ex-husband. I've spent every ounce of energy I have trying to be civil. It has been exhausting though. He, on the other hand, has taken the....what's the opposite of "the high road"??? The point is he has been saying and doing every possible thing he can think of to try and hurt me the way I've hurt him. Let me reiterate. I am not without fault here. However, he believes my faults are much more than his now. Sometimes. Sometimes, he apologizes and admits total fault. Sometimes, he hates my guts. He believes he is justified in making my life a living hell because of my many faults, some of which have only come to light recently like the fact that I have said mildly inappropriate things to people on the internet. Here's the thing. My sense of humor is wildly inappropriate. It's really the only way I can joke about things. I wouldn't say I flirt with people. I'm actually quite awkward and terrible at flirting, but I do speak on subjects that are improper for public conversation. And, yes, I am guilty of not telling men to "fuck off" when they comment in an unbecoming fashion on my Facebook pictures. I don't return their comments with anything ill-suited though.  And, don't misunderstand. I've never cheated. I've never had an idea or intention of doing so. However, the more freely I had felt over the last few months about talking with other men (albeit average conversations) was sort of a red flag for me. Through my marriage I have been on a constant alert that I should not in any way appear that I wanted attention from any other male. I was so determined to make my husband believe that I would never cheat on him that over the years I'd become quite the cold-shouldered bitch. Now, although we had been discussing divorce for over 2 years. I made the conscience decision that I absolutely must do this a few months ago when I realized that accepting other men's compliments did not shame me anymore. Not only that, but I enjoyed them. He admits to never paying any attention to me. I hadn't received a kind word from anyone in years. Suddenly people were paying attention. Now, in person, most people won't compliment a married woman. The rules are different on the internet. People are anonymous, most of them, and they use that to give complete leave of their conscience and morals. I felt myself slipping even. I know it's not a sin to want attention, but I should have felt like it was at the time. I can't explain why. But the fact that I no longer felt like it was a sin was a very important clue that my marriage was over. My feelings for him were gone. I not only wanted out, but wanted the chance to find someone who might really care about me AND SHOW IT someday. I know, now, that my husband cared about me a great deal. That has only been shown to me now that I've left though. I never thought he cared while I was still there.  I know I never would have cheated, it's just not in me. But my conversations with others, alone, were enough to disrespect him. I'm not saying I told people I wanted to screw them or anything at all like that. Everything I ever said was based in humor; meant to be read as a joke so no one would actually send me a message with the intent of serious inappropriate banter. I am, after all, a coward when it comes to things of that nature. Had anyone decided that my overly sexual humor was an invitation and called on me for a serious conversation, I would have panicked and retreated with extreme embarrassment.
 
    An important part of this is the fact that he is very much a virgin to the internet world. He has, only recently, joined Facebook and Twitter. Trying to explain that everyone talks this way on the internet and it's considered quite normal to someone who's never seen it is impossible. His take on my jokes is that I'm a slut, plain and simple. To him, I may as well have just been sleeping with every person I said something ridiculous to. I can't convince him otherwise. He has even taken to nicknaming me "Kimmi the slut." Nice. It's very frustrating that I spent so many years explaining myself every time I came home a little late or didn't answer my phone. All for naught as it turns out. I'm apparently a slut anyway. He also doesn't believe that I only allowed myself to be this free with my words (mind you, my WORDS, not my being) recently. I was this open before I met him, but as we spent time together I noticed that he had a very distinct jealously problem that stemmed from every ex he had being an avid cheater. I quickly realized that if I wanted to make this man happy, I must sever all ties with male friends and completely abandon my brand of humor. Too many years of this made me a miserable person. I had no life in me. And then, right about the time I started opening up on the internet, I started being much more open around friends too. Even with him sitting next to me, I was becoming myself again. Good sign for me, bad sign for him. You could say much of our marriage was a misunderstanding of the minds. Our personalities are just so different. We were bound to end up apart, I think.

    Now, comes the fun part. The emotional roller coaster continues. His mood swings can only be measured in heart beats. He tells me he knows what he did to lose me, he's so sorry, he'd give anything to get me back. Then he tells me I'm a slut, this is all my fault, he can't wait to fuck someone else, I'm a worthless piece of shit, stop talking to him. And all the while I've been sitting and nodding my head. There's nothing more I can do. I refuse to fight. I just want to walk away and be left alone. In fact, if it weren't for our children I would be long gone. To another city, state, hemisphere...  The truth is, I began this post to get out all the frustration of the things he's put me through in the last month and half, but instead I ended up admitting what I've done wrong, again. I suppose I needed to get it off my chest though. Because although it wasn't cheating, it was wrong. I should have bailed before I dropped my wife guard and, essentially, became myself again. Honestly though, I don't think I had the guts until I became myself again. I can't take things back. I can't undo them. All I can do is sit back and watch the universe unfold.

Safety First!

    So...I was driving on Preacher Roe in the delivery car last Thursday morning and as I passed an area where the city crew is putting in sidewalks and the turning lane is closed I looked up and saw a white SUV in my lane. Although it's a lame excuse, these are the facts. The SUV was stopped and waiting to turn. (All brake light lenses should be clear for this reason) The sun was shining on their taillights so brightly that I did not see that their brake lights were on. There's a strange thing that happens when the sun shines on red taillights. It makes them look like they're glowing but not necessarily on. Now I know what you're thinking. You're thinking "Surely you can tell when a car is at a dead stop whether their brake lights are on or not." Haha...no . Not with this depth perception of mine! A major problem is trailers that don't have brake lights. Anyway- I had time to hit the brakes, but to no avail. I rear ended the shit out of them. In an instant that felt like full minutes the airbag blew up in my face, smoke filled the car, and water from a cooler in the back splashed throughout. It was sensory overload! I opened my eyes, looked around, and shoved the door open just enough so I could climb out into the road. I was choking from the smoke and crawled to the side of the road to lie and my back and cough. The first pain I noticed was my arms. I had both hands on the wheel and the airbag hit them on it's way out. The panel from the steering wheel struck my right arm especially hard. Of course, their Explorer thing was barely effected, while the delivery car was TOTALED. I was taken to the E.R. by ambulance, taped down to a goddamn board and it sucked. BUT, I am fine. The airbag burned me in a few places and I am miserably bruised, but I am fine. I was wearing my seat belt, so it could have been much worse. The car is ruined, but it actually wasn't that bad of a wreck. The paramedic explained to me that new cars are mad to crumple easily. That way the *car absorbs all the impact and not *you. Make sense I suppose.