Truth Hurts


If you hurt me? Then you better brace yourself because you’ll be joining me, shortly.

I’d love to claim otherwise, but I’m a big fan of karma and the yin/yang of it all. I’m a kind person. I am thoughtful and helpful and the best kind of friend you could ask for. I give without expectation to receive.

To be loved by me is an incredible thing.

On the flip side, nobody envies my enemies.

I used to get angry. Now I just get gone. You don’t get my pain or the energy it would take to muster up a little venomous rage. You get my ice cold shoulder, my hostile silence and not so much as a slight effort of my help, where I once would have given you everything.


Unless you keep trying me.

I walked in yesterday, hating his presence. Too close to tears to say anything…and cold. Ice cold.

I- Why are you so mad?

I snapped. It happens. I am the biggest pushover in the world until I’m not. I’ve done my best to keep my shit together and put on a happy face.

However… every rope comes to an end, eventually.

J- I hope someday, when you’re comforting your daughter because some douchebag did this to her, you think of my face. All this time, I’ve been wracking my brain… trying to figure out how you got divorced and how she could ever want to live without you… and now? Now I think she made the right choice. I’ve done a million things for you, what did you ever do for me? Thanks for the orgasms, I guess.


No apology offered, and none expected if I’m going to be honest. It’s up to me to put this shit away and tuck him back into the stranger zone. It’s one of the hardest situations I’ve ever created but I’m nothing, if not resilient and funny.

I took him off every kind of social media and changed his text tone back to default. No more Yummy.


I left work early and canceled my boytoy weekend. Finally mature enough to know it would be a momentary solution that would cause long term problems. I’m more in the mood to play with the Dumpling and finally pack Christmas away than I am to be sexy. More in the mood for yoga pants than fish nets.

I was in bed by 8 with a few cats, the dog, the Dumpling and a handful of baby dolls. So grateful for the real love in my life and my cozy king sized bed full of beautiful reminders. I don’t have time for half-assed behavior from anyone because it takes time away from these treasures in my life who truly deserve it.

I’m over it.


The Worst Hangover, Ever.


Miss Lovely and I have destroyed ourselves.

Both of us were drinking on broken hearts and empty stomachs and dear GOD we knew it was a bad idea. Sometimes you have to flood him out… or at least come home with a phone full of strange boys dying for a date.

For the record, the hangover simply offers hours of empty suffering in which to drown in that same heartache. It doesn’t make it go away and the worst part?

Finding those drunk texts you sent him. They’re never good. Drunk text me is either horny and begging or writing angry novels. She has no chill. By the grace of God, I didn’t send any this weekend.

We closed the bar Friday, and went to brunch to drink mimosas to dull the slight hangovers we had on Saturday morning.

Then closed the bar on Saturday night.

To put it mildly, I can feel every miserable inch of my cold, shaking, sweating body. The industrial surgical bra and elastic seat belt I have to wear strapped around the top of my chest is a whole new level of torture this morning. Sleep would be amazing, but the alcohol has metabolized like crack and I’m awake and listening to the deafening thud of my heart pound, while my brain cries. Miserable wanting Incredicock and feeling like a wet sack of garbage.

Not at all better and in fact… FAR WORSE. He will feel fine today and I will be curled into the fetal position and bargaining with God.

Miss Lovely and I weighed the options of calling Dr. Miles. He’d come with IV’s and banana bags… but I’d probably be molested by him and I just couldn’t do it. It’s nice to have the shoe on the other foot when I’ve been the one begging, but he’s just plain nasty with a penchant for licking assholes. Ya know, I’m not judging, but I’m also not really interested in having my asshole licked. I just want my head to stop pounding and my heart to stop aching for something I can’t have. Having what I want thrown at me is extremely frustrating when it’s coming from the wrong guy.



And so I made my whole body feel like my heart does. Broken.

My eyes feel like they’ve been overinflated and my stomach feels like I’ve been poisoned. There really aren’t words to describe the pounding in my head.

I called my boss last night and gave a full confession that I was in the midst of surviving the worst hangover of my life and would not be worth a damn today. She was excited to hear I had fun and told me to drink lots of water.

I can’t eat or drink a thing… and I would cry but my body is devoid of enough hydration to make tears.

A bubble bath and a glass of Pedialyte on ice. A text to the one I’m suffering over because I’m a glutton for punishment. A day to climb back in bed and let myself really feel the weight of self harm. I’m better than this and I need to gracefully pick myself up, dust myself off and let it go.