In response to the comment by my old friend Jessica to the Post "Dear people who wish you had a friend like mine" (i think I called it that but too irritated right now to go back and check):
You're so right on, Jessica dear, about the "fuckwad" status of certain men. A woman who I won't name in case she cares (though I so much doubt it) called during the month I spent at my parents' drinking wine coolers, chain smoking and watching soaps in my mother's bed after the aforementioned fuckwad did his damage (which we now call "god's greatest favor"-I could've married him and chalked up 2 divorces instead of one). Here was her pathetic tale, which topped mine (tho I certainly didn't care about that fact at the time):
This lovely and good human being's parents' own hotels and stores on Mackinaw Island (10 times smaller than even this iceberg) and they actually have a house there. Obviously, they knew everyone on the fucking Island. They had set up and financed this royal affair of a wedding where bride and groom would parade through town in carriage w/ hundreds of guests in their carriages traveling behind, to the Grand Hotel, where they'd be married in front of everyone who lived on the island and then a couple hundred others. The night before-during the rehearsal dinner when he asked her to step outside (to proclaim his excitement at the prospect of their wonderful life together, she thought) and told her that he wasn't marrying her and actually just walked away into the night, leaving her at her own rehearsal dinner with scads of guest, her parents and siblings and the entire rest of her family inside. You might think that was enough. As it so happens, it was far from enough.
Mr. Fuckwad of that particular year (if not decade) married another woman-PREARRANGED CEREMONY-in front of the justice of the peace, she in a white wedding dress, the NEXT DAY. Again, you might think that was enough. As it so happens, it was not.
A week later, Mr. Fuckwad CALLED-ON PURPOSE NO LESS, the woman in question just to let her in on the happy news that the woman he had married instead of her was FIVE MONTHS pregnant-with his twins. His reason for calling? "Don't make any trouble for us." Really? "Is this a tv show or is this my real life? Am I having a truly horrifying nightmare or is someone actually speaking these words to me? Was I knocked unconscious? Did I accidentally drop acid?"
How is it, in any definition of the Universe, permissible in any way, to think what he was doing was ok?
Oh, Mr. Fuckwad, fear mightily the awesome power of karma-and dharma, too.
And btw-when Jeff Russell did this and my da was downstairs waiting for us to come out, the dickhead was monotone and cold when he told me "the news." Then we walked down the stairs, opened the door, and he immediately worked up croc tears and started walking towards my da, "sobbing." I saw my da with his fists balled up and knew with certainty that he would be hitting Jeff Russell for the first time he'd hit anyone since high school and that he'd be ashamed after the fact. Though I would have loved to have seen Jeff Russell get a knuckle sandwich, I physically grabbed hold of him and pushed him down the street over and over again until I could trust that he was far enough away that he wouldn't walk back to my da. Best part? He got so pissed at me for pushing him that he couldn't keep up the croc tears and looked like the cold coward fuckface that he truly was.
Boy. Just when you think you could care less about something...bringing that whole picture to mind could make me barf up my own coffee and then try to find Jeff Russell, just so I could pummel him myself.
Ok. This deserves a joint post. You and I can tell our stories and then every other one we heard after it happened to us. You'll be my guest author. You must have heard plenty of stories after it happened to make you feel "less alone" ugh
To all the fuckwads out there, if any of us ever find a way to personally maim you, we will-or at least we'll scheme about it for fun...
Idiots.
Sincerely Your-worst nightmare if you're one of them-and I've got girlpower on my side
I think this may be the angriest and for certain the most vengeful letter I've written thus far, dear readers...hopefully, you will understand and remember that I usually have a kinder, gentler nature...usually.
life is full of seismic shifts... the dialogue that makes a letter is real and goes on no matter what we write about... i'll show you what i create and tell you why... you do the same... and let's keep laughing, crying and telling stories
Oh, for the sake of all that is merciful...I hope that friend of yours got herself a nice loyal dog after all that, and that she does not own a firearm.
ReplyDeleteI would very much like to be a guest blogger and tell all the details of the experience I had with Fuckhead, who, in case I was not sure before, taught me to believe that in fact there IS a hell, and that just like the foulest pile of dogshit, it is easily stepped in by mistake, and also like that pile, at times is impossible to avoid even when you really think you're watching where you're stepping. However, I'm not sure I'll ever be able to write about it in its entirety. It was, to use a favorite word from the expansive vocabulary of my dear departed mother, "unspeakable." She would say this word very gravely to describe things that she would later go on to speak about at length. Unspeakable as it all really is (I have never and will never utter a word about it to any of my family members, for example), I can speak about Fuckhead at length to friends who share my love of hyperbole, who can understand when the extremes of behavior are in fact not exaggerations but just the journalistic facts, but it's usually easier after a few Guinnesses. There's the whole aspect of how it comes back in living color and fills me with nausea and vengeance, as you mention...and that just spoils a perfectly good time in front of the computer.