Driving Home From Port Richmond On No Sleep Is NOT A Good Idea

The other night one of my boys and I were talking, and I pointed out his love of crazy bitches. More specifically, the love most guys have for those psychopathic, unstable women that will turn around and slash your tires out of the blue. 

"I may be slightly crazy, but I am not about to throw a brick through your front window."  (I said this specifically because I was referring to a story we both knew well.)
Unless you give me a valid reason to make sure your big, pretty truck somehow how manages to wind up at the bottom of the Christiana River.  Whatever.  That only happened once. 
He looked at me with wide eyes and replied, "You and I are the same!  We are huge sluts and that means we automatically have huge issues!"  He made a big, sweeping gesture with his arms to emphasize the word huge.  At least, I'm pretty sure he did.  I was a couple of drinks in at this point.

It's a concept I will never understand.  Granted, I used to be much worse off than I am now.  But I've realized that wasting crazy energy on men is simply not worth my time.  I'd rather utilize that energy and put it into writing, partying, or any kind of physical labor that leaves my muscles sore and gives me reason to be proud of myself.  Because truthfully, no one out there is worth my mental stability.
So why do the boys always go crawling back to the tire-slashing bitches?  I really want to understand this.

One guy I dated started seeing this psychopathic, fucked up, raging bitch of a...woman, who I believe was an alcoholic and I'm pretty sure she was some form of junkie, right after I severed all ties with him.  (Yeah yeah, we eventually started "seeing" each other again...)  Apparently she had him arrested on more than one occasion for terroristic threatening.  I remember pissing this guy off quite a few times, but terroristic threatening?  Nah.  Did I hate his guts and want to hurt him after he scorned me?  Sure.  But to fucking call the cops and deal with going to court and all of that bullshit?  No thanks.
"Why do you put up with her?"
"She's good in the sack."
"So you'd risk having your cock fall off (because she was, let's face it, skanky,) and going to jail just to keep sleeping with her?"
No response.

Another guy I was involved with had a psycho, alcoholic girlfriend who would get trashed in public and make an ass of herself and he was the poor sap who had to deal with her.  She was the brick-throwing bitch.  One time she wrecked the entire front end of his truck.  Another time, we were stripping down to get busy and I noticed claw marks across his chest. 
"Dude, really?"
He gives me this stupid, sheepish look.
"Yeah she came at me the other day.  I know, I know, but it's kind of...hot."
Oh sure, destruction of personal property and physical harm to one's significant other is hot.  But I must say here that the claw marks I left on his back after a particularly intense round of fucking were so much hotter. 

Am I the only one that sees something wrong with this picture?  I don't want to go off the deep end, (even though I'm pretty much there already,) just to keep some guy around.  Sometimes I feel like throwing up my hands and saying, "You want crazy?  I'll give you fucking crazy."
Even though I will keep you on your toes and there will never be a dull moment when you're with me.  You know, minus involving the police and making your life a living hell.

The Hardest Part Of This Will Be Saying No

The thing that sucks about the fact that my relationship with Buzzard will never be wholly restored is that I can't just call him up at 9:30 in the morning and ask him to bring me a pack of smokes.  Or call him up and tell him that I haven't eaten in two days so that he'll take me to get some food.

He's got ulterior motives, and I knew this hadn't changed the second I looked at my phone the other night and saw that he was texting me.

Because, you see, I made the mistake of texting him on the way home from Baltimore the other night while I was still a shit-faced trainwreck.  (Thank God Chrissy was driving.)

I hate you because I'm hearing songs that make me think about you and I'm drunk as fuck [sic].

Oops.  His first response, that came at 4:00 Sunday morning, was "You want my cock [sic]."  Ugh.  NO.  That's not what I meant.  But when I discovered on Saturday that I had made the awful mistake of drunk texting him, I knew that was how he was going to take it.  I figured it best to just let it be.  But he wasn't having that.  So we spent all day Sunday afternoon going back and forth:

Him:  You texted me the other night do you remember?
Me:  Yea I found it the next day.
Him:  What's up you ok
Me:  I'm fine it was just a moment of weakness and lapse of judgement on my behalf.
(I was 4 Jagerbombs and 4 Bud Lights in at that point, remember.)
Him:  Laps [sic] of judgement lol so professional.
Him:  What are you doing
Me:  Laying in bed.
Him:  I'm lying on the couch playing with my cock
Him:  R u asleep
Me:  No sorry I'm on the other line with Tyler
(I was really talking to my friend, and I named him specifically because I can push Buzzard's buttons just by casually mentioning other males that I interact with, and Buzzard doesn't need to know that my friendship with Tyler is purely platonic.)
Him:  Who's Tyler
(Exactly.)
Me:  One of my friends
Him:  U should cum suck my cock
Me:  Really
Me:  I want to hot tub
Him:  It's not clean right now
Me:  :(
Him:  Sorry my cock could use you
Me:  Where's [your girlfriend]?
Him:  Home
Me:  Why do you want me to suck your cock
Him:  Cause you suck it so good
Me:  Mhm
Him:  I'm watching porn and rock hard
Me:  What else is new
Him:  Lol
Him:  Do u still like eating cum?
(Seriously?  I can't believe you're bringing this kind of shit up, you asshole.  But what do I do?  I play along, like an asshole.)
Me:  You could say that
Him:  Well if you hurry you can eat mine
(Ew.)
Me:  I just rolled out of bed

It goes back and forth like this for a while, as I keep delaying it, hoping he'll just finish jerking off and stop asking me to come over.  Because seriously, I was not going to get out of my pajamas just to go over there and suck his dick.  I managed to throw it in his face, that I thought he might actually want to hang out as friends since we haven't seen each other in almost five months, and I received a real-time picture of his dick in response.

I attempted to clear some shit up though -

Me:  I'd rather just hang out than suck your cock.
Him:  Thats cool too, has to be between us
(??)
Him:  Be a good little slut and drink me and go home
Me:  (after seething for a good ten minutes) Good to know you still think so highly of me
Him:  Of course I do, goes both ways right
(Yeah except if I actually did want to use you for sex, you wouldn't be able to get your dick hard because your emotion towards me is still frighteningly strong.)
Him:  I don't think I can wait much longer
Me:  I'm not sucking dick unless I get something in return and I still smell like strippers
(I did, I was at a strip club the night before getting wasted and throwing dollar bills at questionable dancers.  Good times.)
Him:  Lol.  What do you want
Me:  I dunno
Him:  How about one day this week I do some really nasty shit to you, want to?
Me:  (after more hesitation and deliberation) Sure what the hell.

He's breaking me down and he doesn't even know it.  Or, he does and he doesn't give a shit.  I don't know what the fuck I want, a friendship, a fuck-ship, or nothing at all.  I spent five months realizing I could breathe again because he was no longer a part of my life.  But I am the type of girl who will disregard everything I've told myself and plunge headfirst into a sea of regret.

There Is A Hell, Believe Me, She's Seen It

I know I've been ranting about the whole mortgage nightmare that my mother's going through.  And I'm sure I come off as thinking she's entitled to a government hand out.  But here's the thing, that's not what I mean when I say she deserves some fucking help. 

It's not that she's asking for money.  She's not asking to have the mortgage company just forgive the entire balance due, on the second mortgage my father went ahead and put on the house under my mother's name without her consent.  She wants to pay it because she wants to stay in her home.  All she wants is to be able to write the fucking mortgage check every month without losing sleep at night.

This woman has been through it all.  I used to have a lot of faith, but not so much anymore.  I don't go to church anymore, and it's not that I don't believe in God or am bitter or anything, but if there's any example of demonstrating faith through hard times, it's my mother.  She doesn't give up.  She hasn't given up, and she won't.  There's those sayings that the meek shall inherit the earth, and that those who have suffered nothing but trials and tribulations on this earth, yet manage to stay strong in their faith, will redeem their reward in Heaven.  If that's the case Mama will have her own posse of angels waiting on her hand and foot when she gets there.

Her first marriage ended because of alcoholism.  Then my father came along and things were good for a while.  Then his alcoholism reared its head, along with his infidelity towards her with countless other women, among them her best friend.  So she was not only betrayed by her husband, but her best girl friend as well.

She's fought so many physical ailments over the years, but to look at her you'd never know.  You never hear her complain.  I have to yell at her when I catch her lugging some heavy-ass box up from the basement or I come home and she's cutting the fucking grass.  (Well, that's my job, so I'd yell at her anyway.)

She lost both of her parents before she was 50 years old.  She's got no one to lean on, because everyone leans on her.  When I bitch and moan about the fact that I still live at home, I stop myself mid-rant because right now, Ma and I need each other.  I don't think I'd leave even if I could afford to.  No matter how much shit I alone have put her through, (and trust me, it's been alot,) she will never disown me.  I jest that I will hand over my firstborn to her one day, but I'm kind of serious.

The other day I was going over some paperwork that my bank sent me concering life insurance.  It's not a bad idea to get some, no?  So I was talking to Ma about it, trying to decide how much to get, because if I got $300,000 worth, and I kick the bucket tomorrow, she can take the check to the bank and tell the mortgage brokers to fuck off.  But she looked at me and said, "If you go tomorrow they better dig a second hole right next to you to put me in."

I cried a little.




Mama with her grandson, Nicholas, August 2010