I’ve heard from 13 different women in the last month who can say the exact same thing… all headed to Puerto Rico to spend a “magical fun-filled weekend with Prince Charming, aka Thomas Murray” at one time or another.
To date? I’m the only one retarded enough to get on a plane. (no offense to retarded people- whom I adore and hold near and dear to my heart.) There simply isn’t another word to accurately describe what motivated me to think I was so different that I should, would or COULD be so casual with my safety… not to mention my heart.
I’ve been through hell in the last year. Hell. I’ve written openly about it- and he exploited it. Shocker.
I’ve whined and cried about it. I’ve read a million other blog posts about his scandalous dishonest ass. I’ve heard the ugly details and I’ve seen the emails. I’m officially informed, thank you.
He’s damn lucky I cling to every last shred of my lady-hood… cause I’d post his naked old ass for the world to see if I weren’t so classy… but then he chose me based on the fact.
The facts on the ground are ugly. The details aren’t rosy. The reality is cold, dark and black. He lied to me. I believed him. That doesn’t make me a bad person, that makes him a predator. I refuse to waste another tear on someone so unworthy- but I’m damn happy to waste another thousand words, just to nail his fucking coffin shut.
Consider this a Dear Thomas… one last epilogue in a sad little life built on lies and vulnerability. Far more than he deserves but then I am listening to the advice my mother has given me on the whole nightmare and I’m giving him back the heartache. His gifts aren’t something I want to accept.
It’s bad enough I had to bleach my eyeballs to get the image of him coming at me to go away. Let me be painfully clear for a moment- I’m used to beauty. I only date the hottest douche bags and I am extremely picky. Do I deserve perfection? No, maybe not… but ask ye shall receive…
This was my first venture into the old folks home- and I will not be making a return trip unless I’m carrying fruit cake and walking with a dozen kindergartners singing Christmas Carols. I believe in charity… just not where my naked body is concerned.
I’d rather shovel snow naked than ever go to Puerto Rico again.
I had to tell his poor wife what a cheating lying sack of trash he really is. Including the bullshit stories he told me about missing having his son, and looking forward to the 8 months he was coming to live with him. Never mind he was 45 minutes away, probably helping his Mama plant the garden his Daddy tempted me with. Some dudes are beyond Jesus- and this guy is their leader. It’s more than being dishonest, it’s pathologically fucked up.
I’ve come home, I’ve done my best to right the ship and mop up the messes. I’ve licked my wounds and fed my bad habits. I’ve reminded myself just why he isn’t worthy of another tear.
Let’s be honest… the world is full of cheating, lying, painfully unworthy, douche bags. FULL. There are few exceptions to the rule and Thomas is by no means anything but garden variety worthless mouth breather. I can categorically tear him to shreds, but the bottom line is, he’s average. He’s a skilled manipulator- but ultimately he can’t maintain the facade and you see what he really is. A drunk old man living on lies and aggression. It’s a waste.
I think he forgot to really read between the lines of the words he capitalized on and took advantage of me with. He forgot to pay close attention to the fact that yeah… some people judge me. Yeah… some people don’t understand… and yeah… that sucks.
So long, motherfucker.
You really stepped in it this time, didn’t you? You set me up, plied me with sweet sentiments and rum I’m allergic to. You stocked the pond in your favor. You didn’t take one thing into account.
I’m a deadly weapon, and my hair isn’t the only thing that’s bright and brassy.
I’m not afraid of anything. Hurt me. Lie to me. Cheat on me.
That makes you the asshole, not me. I did my part, and I was honest with you, but you were portraying some version of you that you wish you were. I fell in love, but with a myth. The reality was gravely disappointing and uncomfortable at times when I saw people do a double-take when they saw me with you. Awkward…
Most of all, you taught me a big lesson about myself. I can have faith, but I need to be smart about it too. Until I know how valuable I am, I’m a weapon in my own life against myself and against my own safety and well-being. It’s high time I practiced what I preach. If I’d been smart about it, I would have taken a taxi from the airport to the nearest hotel, booked a room, and spent 4 days falling in love with myself and patting myself on the back for caring enough to do the right thing, instead of what’s easy.
That would have been the appropriate choice- and I know this now- thanks to you.
You lit a fire under me with your anger and your judgements. You inspired me to get mad enough to speak my truth, quietly and clearly. You pushed me far enough that I laid your shit bare and exposed you for who you are. Truth is inescapable, and it was bound to catch up with you sooner or later.
You foolish, foolish man… thank you… and you’re welcome.
Just as you taught me some valuable lessons about myself, I taught you the ultimate lesson.
Women are crazy. Good old fashioned bat shit nutcase crazytown,when we think you’ve been lying to us, and if we think you’re cheating? The FBI doesn’t have anything on a jealous woman. By the time we’re done, we’ll know the name of your best friends’ mom in the third grade.
But if our fears are confirmed?
Heaven help you… because only Jesus can save you at that point. Get to church. Drop to your knees and pray for God’s mercy or start shopping for a hit man. We won’t stop until every last sordid detail is exposed and this situation is no exception.
I’ve made a whole new group of girlfriends, and we all have a lot in common… but the one thing that ties us all together?
Perhaps we’ll schedule a ladies retreat to St Thomas, just to bring your truth to your island, as you invited us all to do. Come on Tommy, we wanna see “the compound”. Take us for a run down your 8 mile path on your 5 mile island. Cook us a gourmet dinner on your catamaran.
But first? You should probably introduce us to your wife.
Oh wait… she already knows all about us.