Tag Archives: Liar

James Beard Wannabe

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Oh Liarpants… my daddy laughed out loud at you. I didn’t even have to Google it for him to tell me you were full of shit.

D- Babydoll… that is seriously pathological…. but wait… you never even told me he was a chef? If this guy is the James Beard Rising Star then I should have heard about his cooking…and I happen to know that Gabriel Rucker won this year.

J- Well….. he makes torchon. It’s his big deal. Ewww. He made me dinner once… but it was pretty bad. Too salty… with some sort of sausage, broccoli, crayfish soupy stuff under a steak… with a bone.

D- Oh. My. HA HA HA. You hate meat on the bone.

J- I know, but he had already bought it… and you know me… what was I going to say?

D- I don’t like meat on the bone?

J- Yeah right.

But… and I only know this because I am an absolute brat…

He’s not a very good cook… and I couldn’t finish it because it was so salty and so… well… overcooked. Dude if I want to eat broccoli paste? I’ll have my 11 year old boil some for me.

The steak was perfect… after you fought your way around all that nasty fatty disgustingness. Blech, gag… wretch.

They say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach….  but it’s not. It’s through his balls and we all know it. The way to a woman’s heart is a man that knows how to be domestic in order to delight her.

Feed me.

Tell me about it.

Talk to me while you cook and tell me what you’re doing.

It’s the highest form of foreplay you can achieve with me and if it’s done well? I’m sold. I’ll buy the farm. I’ve already picked out china patterns in my head after the second course if it’s really good.

I do not leave food on my plate…. hence the chunk-tastic thighs.

I also only send one thing back when I don’t like it…. and that’s steak….

and how on earth do you send the steak back if it’s your boyfriend cooking it? You don’t. That’s what. You suck it up and eat it…

Even when you don’t like it…. and you pray he doesn’t notice that you hardly touched it…

Even though you know he did.

You make excuses. You’re tired. You’re feet hurt. You want to take his clothes off and really thank him appropriately.

lol… or you’d rather get laid than eat another bite.

Either way- it worked… and I was pushing away my plate in minutes. Wondering how long it’d take him to pass out before I could eat a bowl of Lucky Charms.

Annoyed enough at how bad it was to be a brat about it… dice some onions and garlic and REALLY cook dinner.

Show him how it’s done… Mr. I-wish-I-could-be-talented Steinbauer.

Dude… put down the salt and walk away slowly so that people can eat your food without three glasses of water.

Or vodka…

Which improved the taste exponentially- thank you.

Watching him shake like a crazy person while trying to cut his steak sort of takes my mind off the taste in my mouth. I’m grinning at him, thanking him for the amazing dinner… lying through my teeth.

It’s the thought that counts, right?

No.

When it comes to food? It’s the taste that counts. Sheesh. Buy a clue, Liarpants.

But the James Beard?

Give me a fucking break. Do I look like an idiot? Or just play one convincingly?

The James Beard Rising Star award is the epitome of chef-dom. It’s what they all pray for when they close their eyes at night. They all want it.

None of them get it.

Least of all, Liarpants with his nasty ass too salty overcooked broccoli.

Dude… please… you have to get up very very very early to fool a foodie…

and the closest you’re getting to a James Beard? Is to Google it.

:)

BTW…. it’s his birthday…

Eskimo Sisters

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After a solid day of begging, pleading text messages, telling me he would prove that he’s never cheated, but he’s doing something really important at work… I picked up the phone for myself.

I don’t fuck around, if I want the truth and I’m not getting it? I find it.

It’s worse than I originally thought, and it took a while to get her on the phone… but within a matter of hours, my unintentional Eskimo sister called me back.

Ohhh the lies. Oh the cheating. He’s actually left her waiting on him to come see me before. He’s been with her every time he pulled the disappearing act.

The biggest shock?

Every time he’s driven up to see me, to spend the weekend with me, he’s told her he’s with his mom. He’s guilt-ed me constantly about the long drive, and how much he hates making the hour and a half drive over. Insisting I keep him company on the phone because he hates the drive so much.

Yet… He’s been driving up here every single night… with her. No wonder he didn’t come get his shit out of my mailbox… he would have had to explain to Ms. Eskimo why, what, when & where…. I really like her. It makes it even harder. I can’t get past the feeling that I have to throw up.

When I thought I saw his truck two weeks ago? My dear Eskimo sister was in it. No wonder he panicked.

He told her about his “friend with a garden”… he told me about his “friend that is like his little sister”.

Sometimes seeing both of us on the same day.

Getting away with it all….

For a second.

I’ve been cheated on before. I’ve been the cheater. I know the signs. I know when something doesn’t make sense? It’s usually because someone isn’t telling the truth. Life is pretty simple, and so are men. It shouldn’t be hard to get him on the phone.

You shouldn’t have to work that hard at this… you aren’t selling insurance, for crying out loud, he should be present and accounted for.

Why lie when the truth will do? Because lying means he doesn’t have to choose between us.

Comparing notes with my dear new sister is stomach-turning. He’s an absolute professional when it comes to lying… but not very good at convincing anyone. Perhaps because he’s totally and completely full of shit.

He has one thing going for him…. he apparently has amazing taste in women… because they start to come out of the woodwork. Ms. Babymama, Mrs. First, Ms. Eskimo and myself. We make quite the quartet… and he’s a damn fool for thinking he could fool any of us.

And especially foolish if he thinks he’s walking away, unscathed.

I’m having a little party. A Nathan Roast. We’re burning his shit and roasting yummy homemade marshmallows on the pile. They say fire is healing… but more than anything I can’t wait to send him a picture of his favorite blanket smoldering in a nasty little polyester pile.

Pshaw… call me petty… I don’t mind. The guy is a dirty rotten scoundrel. Unapologetic. He was still texting me yesterday about what an asshole I was for believing rumors from his ex. She had the line of the day, however.

MBM- Honestly? If he wasn’t guilty? Wouldn’t he have called me to freak out? The only reason he isn’t calling is because then he’d have to admit to me that he’s cheating on the girlfriend I MET.

This guy really needs one of those middle of the night intervention programs. You know the one. They show up in the middle of the night, throw a bag over your head and take you away to some wretched wilderness retreat.

Come on… let’s start a collection and send him. Think of the all encompassing joy of knowing he’s being drug out of bed in the middle of the night with a bag over his head, flown to some third world jungle and forced to wipe his ass with tree leaves until he can learn to tell the truth.

We’d never hear from Dear Nathan again.

I woke up at dawn this morning, with my darling baby girl asleep next to me. Covered in freckles, smelling like coconut and grinning in her sleep. I can hear her laughing in her own dreams.

This is why it’s important to call this bastard out. This beautiful child. This little girl.

Men like this? Destroy women. They ruin amazing women for men who are truly worthy.

Had this gone on for months, leading into years and so on? Who would I be? What would his effect be on her? This little freckled redhead that did her best to save me from the horror of my birthday after we both woke up to a liar and a cheat where Mr. Perfectpants had been the night before.

She made me birthday coupons… and my favorite?

“Unlimited hugs & kisses, never expires.”

They key to happiness is knowing where it comes from, not where it ends or where it becomes questionable.

The key to happiness is love and truth.

They go hand in hand, you cannot have one without the other.

Building on lies is like building on sand. Temporarily successful… and personally I’d rather not build, than build on uncertainty.

But.

I’m fucking livid….

I have his favorite Army t-shirt… his favorite blanket… and his dog’s favorite toy.

Ordinarily I wouldn’t go near the poor dog’s stuff… but in my conversation with Miss Eskimo yesterday, I mentioned the duck and she laughed…

E- Oh. We bought a new one.

J- What?

E- Yeah. He said he lost it.

Ugh. Ouch…

… Nathan has no idea how much I love to return feelings…

Good or bad.

and all his shit is going into the fire. Period.

Dear Nathan…

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Dear Nathan, aka Perfectpants, aka Liarpants, aka Cheaterpants, aka Mr. On The Chopping Block,

You have so many personalities, I figured it was only fair you had a few nicknames to choose from.

And HEY!!! You love attention… and you always wanted to be famous…. 1001 hits on my blog yesterday and climbing…

You’re welcome. :)

Though I think maybe I made you more infamous than famous… details schmetails. Enjoy.

I can’t decide if you’re a worm? Or a snake… but I’m just pissed off enough to explore my other options too. I think perhaps you’re a weasel.

Weasels break into the chicken yard in the middle of the night and kill the chickens. They don’t eat them… they’re in it purely for the pleasure of torturing the sweet innocent bird to death. They don’t just kill one. They kill EVERY chicken in the hen house.

You fucked with the wrong bird.

You played me, I get it- you totally and completely wormed your way into my life. Deliberately, saying everything I wanted to hear, and fast. Dancing with me, flowers for me and for my daughter… you have hella game, I’ll give you that.

To a point….

My daughter never liked you.

I- Why is he always walking around saying “High Five, Good Game! It’s lame… and nobody cares about your stupid military stories enough to listen to them CONSTANTLY. Mom, don’t go out with him again. I like the dog though?

She made me the funniest thing after we found out what a liar and a cheat you are.

It’s an eggshell- and it says:

“I hope he dies in a fire and gets reincarnated into a mosquito and you kill him. High 5 good game. Men, who needs men?”

You can’t fool a redhead, and she thought you were a douche from day one.

I- Why is he always going out to his car? Who is he talking to? Something’s not right.

I should have listened to babygirl.

Because you were going to your truck to drink scotch out of your water bottle.

Or call your other girlfriend? I looked at your call history too asshole, you are absolutely the most disgusting human being I’ve ever had the pleasure of throwing under the bus.

All you had to say for yourself yesterday?

N- Excuse me wow! Ok! Well welcome to the small town express!!!

Wow? I’ll give you wow… wow is spending every weekend with me, then falling off the face of the earth to do the same thing with her. In front of people you KNOW I’m going to meet or have met at some point. With the baby even? And Remington? I have never been so offended.

Granted- I’m the idiot that listened to your line of bullshit- and I’m the fool that bought it….

You sweet talked your way right into my heart… and my bed. A friend warned me.

S- That guy is a snake. Snakes are poisonous- do not date him. You’re way too nice for that liar.

Ohhh but I knew better. You were different. I defended you. Begged people to give you a second chance because after all, that was years ago…

You could be trusted because you loved me SO much.You were perfect. Singing to me… dancing with me… playing in the garden & spoiling my daughter with fireworks.

Cooking me the perfect steak. Sigh…

<eyeroll> gag.

You were a satisfying source of unpredictable sex, Sunday & Monday. Plain and simple.

I tolerated your endless boring bullshit military war stories because you have a big dick… and as long as I climbed on top of you before you were too drunk? It was great…

Which is why I high five, good-gamed you, ala Tucker Max. Not knowing you were going to adopt it as your tag line.

Left to your own? You’re no picnic in the sheets. There’s a deadness in your eyes that always haunted me and perhaps it’s because you’re so busy fucking so many different people? I don’t know- it’s fucked up… and if weren’t for my rolling you onto your back and taking control of the situation? It wouldn’t have been that great. I can admit that now.

You’re not supposed to beat a woman to the finish line. Bad form Nathan, really bad form.

But where I really go ape shit in this situation? Is when I talk to Ms. Babymama and she assures me he was never in the military, she’s talked to his mom.

Lying about being a soldier? Wearing dog tags you bought online? Impersonating an Army Ranger?

My heart stops in my chest a little. Some of my best friends are military boys. I have a Marine fetish. Something about the white gloves, shiver… at any rate… I still have your Army tshirt. It’s so horrible a thought I couldn’t wrap my mind around it.

Who does that? WTF? Two fresh military tattoos…. a ranger tattoo and a special forces tattoo…???

I’ve heard of being a fan of military memorabilia… but impersonating a soldier is just scary pathologically disturbing.

My daughter said it best…

I- He wore an Army t-shirt on the 4th of July… who has the nerve to do that? Where’s a Veteran when you need one, I’d like to give them his picture and let him explain himself to someone who will kill him for being a liar.

With a new text message from him chiming in a minute ago…

N- What the fuck? Who said that I was fucking her?

Un-fucking-real.

J- You have to be joking. You expect me to buy that?

N- Ha ha I think its kinda funny she is like my little sister. She just drove me up to Sandpoint but believe the Bitch. Another one jumps on the crazy wagon.

N- We will talk later.

You use the same lines over and over again- I know because posting your name has brought in a windfall of “OMG me TOO!” emails. Awesome.

Perhaps it’s time someone created a Nathan is a Dirty Lying Cheat page on Facebook?

The bitch? I had emails rolling in all day yesterday from the many women of the I-hate-Nathan gang. There are many of them. They all cried about it to me.

You have that effect on people.

What I find most pathetic? Is the blatant fraud that you are. Creating these feelings and situations with multiple people at the same time. Morphing into whatever you know will disarm us the fastest… playing on our weaknesses.

Yep. It’s official… I figured it out.

You’re a snake.

A slimy dishonest worthless threat to everyone around you.

The best part of hate blogging you?

Is that now when you use your “Google my name” line on your next unsuspecting victim?

They’ll be able to read up on what a liar you are.

Which makes your hate blog a veritable public service announcement.

Proving once and for all that snakes are dangerous…. but fuck with a chicken and you’re liable to get pecked to death…

One word at a time.

My first confession…

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I was terrified of my first confession. I swallowed hard, and faced it head on.

It certainly didn’t help that it was Friday, and I was going out later. It also doesn’t help that the parking lot of the Catholic church sends a little chill down your spine, because it’s hot as hell…where I know I’m headed (if it exists). Honestly- my parents were atheists- and I have a very hard time with a lot of it.

I treasure my faith- and I love going to mass, but I really don’t buy a lot of it. It’s not something that was introduced to me, so it’s very hard to embrace. Which is why I’m happy to take my children. They don’t like it, I won’t lie. My son used to love it when he was little… but not now.

A- Maaaaaan this suuuuuuuucks.

J- You’re Great Grandmother is 91 years old, and this means the world to her. Stand up straight and put a big smile on your face, because it’s not that much to give her 1 hour a week in church. Don’t forget to kneel, etc. Please. Please. Please.

I- WHAT? Kneel when? MOoooom I’m not gonna know what to do!

J- I know, but trust me, it makes me look bad, not you, ha ha ha.

So we picked her up, and on the way to church she turned and frowned at me

B- Why haven’t you been going to mass? Its across the street! It took your Grandma moving here to get you to go?

J- Yes Ma’am, it sure did. I’m sorry. I feel like a complete failure going there alone- without the kids and being single. Ugh. The worse possible place on earth to be single is at mass. Seriously. Then I get two Sunday’s a month with the kids, I don’t want to give a minute up. I’m sorry. But the worse part? Is that Father puts me on the spot and tells me I need to go to confession.

B- Confession? Oh I’ve never done that.

J- What??!!??

B- Oh no, that’d be so embarassing, you know at Easter? When you do your renewal of your baptismal promises? With the holy water thrown on you? That’s my confession, I figure it’s once a year and good enough. Plus what on earth could you do that’s so bad you’d need to confess? Ha ha ha

J- Oh. It depends on how you look at it.

So I decided to go to confession. As much as I didn’t want to…. and as much as I didn’t believe in it. Because that’s what kept me out of church until I was 24.  I love how going to mass makes me feel. I love it. I love the traditions and the holy water and the responsorial hymns even. I’m a completely geeky catholic girl at heart. So I decided to embrace it, and give it a try. See how I really felt about it after I’d actually given it a chance. Much like making my kids try everything twice. The first for drama and the second for taste.

I put on jeans and a sweatshirt… and tennis shoes. I looked in the mirror and realized I was already lying, lol. I took it all off, threw on a dress and heels (as is the way these days, may as well own it), and walked across the street. To say I have no excuse for not attending mass regularly, is an understatement, but sheesh the building is intimidating all by itself.

I’m sort of thinking about the next hour of my life the same way we all look at going to the gynecologist. It’s hell. Seriously. Nothing anyone ever wants to do again (thank you, IUD for the 10 years cushion). I’m sincerely hoping this isn’t the same. My hands are cold and clammy and I’m beginning to wonder if I’m even going to be able to speak. I’m fighting back tears. Fucking crybaby- I hate this about myself. Every time I’m intimidated by him, I get teary eyed. Men in general- some really just bring out the girl in me- ugh.I walk in and he leads me over to an office. I’d been praying for a confessional… no dice. He’s going to be looking right at me… the whole time. In the glaring bright light. My heart is pounding and I know I must be flushed.

Get a grip, right? Oh my. I at least have the fine art of Catholic guilt down pat. My mind is racing and I’m searching for something I can say to him that will get me in and out of here quickly without crying.

F- Why haven’t I seen you? You know if the Devil can’t make you bad, he’ll make you busy.

Gulp. I resist the urge to ask him why the Devil does both to me.

J- I know- I haven’t been coming. I sort of lost touch with it when we got divorced. It felt like a part of my family and when they were gone, it didn’t feel right to go alone.

F- You’re never alone in church. You’re never alone.

Tears. Fuck. Told you so- as soon as he overwhelms me, I cry.

F- Oh you silly girl, don’t cry. I like to see your smiling face in the front of the church. I like to see your children. What is going on in your life? You need to catch me up.

Gulp. I have goosebumps to my toes and I’m biting the inside of me cheek to keep from blurting it all out. The real sin would be to unload on the poor unsuspecting priest who thinks I’m a saint.

J- Life has been busy. Disappointing at times but getting better.

F- Don’t talk in circles. Where have you been? What has your life been like?

J- I’ve been involved with someone for the past 6 years, I let him move in and when it really became clear it wasn’t working, and he wasn’t going to make a commitment, I made him leave. So now I’m working too much, sleeping too little and dating weird men from the internet.

F- You definitely did things backwards in your relationship- do you see that? The man you brought to church? You should join the Catholic Singles! Are you happy? Prayerful?

J- Yes.

F- What are you doing now?

I think he must have spies… maybe he knows? Like Santa Claus? He sees me when I’m naughty? Good Lord I hope not.

J- Um…

F- You’re nervous? Why? What really is keeping you away from church.

J- I read that one important part of confession was feeling bad for the things you confessed. Is that true? If you don’t feel bad about it, what is the point of confessing it?

F- That’s true. The essential act of Penance, on the part of the penitent, is contrition, a clear and decisive rejection of the sin committed, together with a resolution not to commit it again, out of the love one has for God and which is reborn with repentance. The resolution to avoid committing these sins in the future is why we confess.

J- Oh.

F- What are you worried to confess?

J- Oh nothing. I’ve just recently decided not to have any more children- I knew you’d be unhappy about that.

F- You have two fine children, and the world needs more Catholics. I’m sure you’ll change your mind.

So….. I confess… I lied my ass off. Totally and completely. In a very Catholic way. At the beginning of every mass, Father stands and says something about confessing your sins to God, etc… and there’s a line in the reciting of the Confiteor that’s stuck in my head.

*I confess to almighty God, and to you my brothers & sisters, that I have sinned through my own fault, in my thoughts & in my words, in what I have done and what I have failed to do*

I’ve failed to make a good solid confession, but I’ve done it within the rules. I don’t feel bad or guilty. I can’t very well apologize for something I’m not sorry for. Hooray loopholes… because he’s smiling at me and sending me on my way, instead of pinning a scarlet letter to my cute little white sundress.

I’m in the clear- at least as far as he’s concerned.

:)