Unfortunately, one anonymous commentor tried to guess the identity of my ex, and that disturbed me, so I deleted that comment. This is not a gossip column, and I am not Rona Barrett, for God's sake.
On a lighter note, my morning make-over at Sephora was fabulous! All the boys who work there wear make-up and look fabulous. The music...is fabulous. The products...are fabulous. I got some fabulous tips and spent way too much money...but who could not at such a fabulous place?
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Saturday, June 21, 2008
Apocalypse...now?
I thought I had made myself clear but, apparently, no. He blitzkriegs my inbox with neurotic e-mails about his ongoing gastrointestinal distress...with more details than I care to read. This latest round, he believes, was brought on by bad food on a business trip, although his doctor recently prescribed antibiotics so, apparently, something else is up (but we won't get into that touchy subject now, kids). But instead of taking the pills, he says he'll keep them "in reserve just in case" he needs them, stockpile them along with cases of Snapple apple, party-sized bags of Doritos and several pounds of marijuana. Because you never know when Armageddon will come....
Yesterday, during my daily walk into town, I saw him on the street. He saw me and turned immediately, pretending not to see me. His shirt was tucked into his shorts, and he looked fat. I was glad.
Every day apart from him...I realize just how strange he is. And because I was once much the same as he is now, I know that all the years of alcohol and drug abuse make you raw on the inside....and can even cause intestinal problems.
I feel better now. I have worked very hard to put my past indiscretions (overindulging alcohol, excessive burping and farting in bed with my lovers, etc.) behind me. I need to find a man who is on the same path as I, someone who doesn't snore.
Going to get a free (long overdue) make-over at Sephora on Monday morning in KOP. Ecstatic!
Yesterday, during my daily walk into town, I saw him on the street. He saw me and turned immediately, pretending not to see me. His shirt was tucked into his shorts, and he looked fat. I was glad.
Every day apart from him...I realize just how strange he is. And because I was once much the same as he is now, I know that all the years of alcohol and drug abuse make you raw on the inside....and can even cause intestinal problems.
I feel better now. I have worked very hard to put my past indiscretions (overindulging alcohol, excessive burping and farting in bed with my lovers, etc.) behind me. I need to find a man who is on the same path as I, someone who doesn't snore.
Going to get a free (long overdue) make-over at Sephora on Monday morning in KOP. Ecstatic!
Monday, June 9, 2008
Bong Juice
I invited him to my apartment for dinner...just dinner and conversation. We really needed to talk. He insisted that I instead come to his house for a dinner he would prepare, but I didn't want to go to his house--I don't like his furniture--and I didn't want to drive the 11 or 12 miles to get there...I was still traumatized by the veal problem and his other inconsiderate ways, but I of course eventually caved in and drove down there as fast as I could with the air-conditioner on high.
The old me would have refused his invitation and said, "Come to my place or we're not getting together tonight. Period." But these damn hormones....so even though intellectually, I know he is a bad deal, I nevertheless went to him because I felt attached. Well, fuck me.
He was cordial when I arrived. He hugged me and invited me in, but the house was filled with a foul odor. I meant to be polite, but the smell offended me and, when I insisted on remaining on his miniscule deck even though it was almost 100 degrees out, he wanted to know why...."Why stay out there when I have the fuckin' air-conditioning on, Dolores?"
I lost it then. I was so angry for all his past misdeeds. I shrieked, "Your fucking house smells awful! Why did you invite me here?!" Without missing a beat, he went into one of his long (exhausting) stories about himself and explained that two nights earlier, in an attempt to prepare food for the coming week, there had been an explosion on the stove when the tomato sauce boiled over and splattered most of the kitchen....yeah, probably because he was drunk, I thought....he subsequently left "other things" on the stove and they created, he believed, some sort of mold problem, and that was probably what I smelled. But, hey, I know foul bong juice when I smell it. I used to be the King of foul bong juice.
It was at this moment that I suddenly had an intense moment of clarity--a revelation....
"What an ass," I thought. What a complete drunken, pot-addled, narcissistic, passive-aggressive, used-up ass." I can do so much better. All that initial bravado...was nothing but hot air. After all, he was my rebound man after The Undertaker and, let's face it, any man is an improvement over The Undertaker.
So I took a good look at him and smiled. I told him it was time for me to go, but he wanted me to stay. I said I couldn't, it smelled too bad in there. He offered to take me out for dinner. I said no, maybe another time.
And maybe there will be another time....when both of us see things with clarity....
The old me would have refused his invitation and said, "Come to my place or we're not getting together tonight. Period." But these damn hormones....so even though intellectually, I know he is a bad deal, I nevertheless went to him because I felt attached. Well, fuck me.
He was cordial when I arrived. He hugged me and invited me in, but the house was filled with a foul odor. I meant to be polite, but the smell offended me and, when I insisted on remaining on his miniscule deck even though it was almost 100 degrees out, he wanted to know why...."Why stay out there when I have the fuckin' air-conditioning on, Dolores?"
I lost it then. I was so angry for all his past misdeeds. I shrieked, "Your fucking house smells awful! Why did you invite me here?!" Without missing a beat, he went into one of his long (exhausting) stories about himself and explained that two nights earlier, in an attempt to prepare food for the coming week, there had been an explosion on the stove when the tomato sauce boiled over and splattered most of the kitchen....yeah, probably because he was drunk, I thought....he subsequently left "other things" on the stove and they created, he believed, some sort of mold problem, and that was probably what I smelled. But, hey, I know foul bong juice when I smell it. I used to be the King of foul bong juice.
It was at this moment that I suddenly had an intense moment of clarity--a revelation....
"What an ass," I thought. What a complete drunken, pot-addled, narcissistic, passive-aggressive, used-up ass." I can do so much better. All that initial bravado...was nothing but hot air. After all, he was my rebound man after The Undertaker and, let's face it, any man is an improvement over The Undertaker.
So I took a good look at him and smiled. I told him it was time for me to go, but he wanted me to stay. I said I couldn't, it smelled too bad in there. He offered to take me out for dinner. I said no, maybe another time.
And maybe there will be another time....when both of us see things with clarity....
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
