Bluh-duh

(Mom, Sis, and I are sitting at the table drinking tea. I look down at my mug as I drink)
Me: Ah, man, what the fuck?! Why does my cup have blood all over it?

(what appears to be blood drops run down a side of the mug as well as the inside rim, and handle. Not huge drops, ok, the one on the side is a long smear, but the other ones are small ovals)

Mom: It's not blood...
Me: Uh... didn't you guys have steak for dinner tonight? And this fucking mug was sitting in the "dry" side of the sink. Shit... this is why I HATE having the dishes sitting out there as you guys make dinner... a bloody fucking dinner! You guys just splatter that shit everywhere.
Mom: Oh... well... yeah... we made steak...
Me: Let me guess, Dad prepared it? He's such an animal...
Sister: No! There was also an empty wine bottle turned upside down in the dish rack... I bet it's wine!
Me: No, this shit looks like blood!
Sister: You know, there's only one way to settle this!

(Sister grabs mug, and proceeds to lick the long smear of blood)

Sister: ... yeah... ok... it is blood.

And I'm the one with the parasitic infection...

Breaks

I drive a Toyota...
is it mean of me to mess around with other drivers and act like I can't control my car's breaks?

I'm a ray of motherfucking sunshine!!!

Point taken. Thanks.

"Why would you want to be with someone that doesn't love you as much as you love them?"

I ended things.
Well, it sort of just happened that way.
He was all happy-go-lucky today, asking me to get on-line. He had been all up in my face about it for two days.
I finally did today.
I let him know it wasn't ok to drag me like this. I told him I wasn't up for speaking to him, because it hurt me to even cross a word with him.
He acted like I was the crazy, over-emotional one.

I brought up the fact that he didn't write to me or anything on my birthday... that he was the only one who didn't, and that it really hurt me.
"Yes I did! I wished you a happy birthday!"
"No dude... you didn't. You ignored me for two weeks."
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. Promise."

I fucking HATE that word... "Sorry." That fucking word can go to hell.
It is so easy to ignore, hurt, betray... what have you... and at the end of it all just say that piece of shit word and have people think everything will be ok... that the person on the recieving end will ignore the pain and be happy again. Like that fucking shit is the magical fix to everything.
It isn't.
Not in my case.

It's not that I hold grudges...
but...
for so long, nearly everyone has expected me to "forgive" all of these fucked up transgressions with the uttering of that simple, stupid word.
Erase all of those nights spent crying... waking up with pink eyelids... contemplating STUPID ideas... walking anywhere with my head down feeling unworthy... all these goddamn traumas... and "Sorry" is supposed to be the immediate cure-it-all? Really? Does that shit work for people? I wanna meet those people... they're saints.

I'm just... I'm going back to school. I'm going to keep busy... and I'm going to forget.

Please keep me busy.
And off goddamn Facebook.


(oh boy, if you guessed I'm going to get vindictive about this... you guessed right. He will be sorry... and I will ignore. He will miss the fucking hell out of me. Trust me.)

no more.

I made the conscious decision to move on.

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I am moving on.

I've put off adulthood long enough. I will grow up... even if it is alone.
Grad School: here I come!

(I just wish things wouldn't have ended the way they did... on that mean note. Why the fuck must guys do that sort of shit? Instead of having that "You know, I appreciate you as a person... and that's why we're just going to stay friends. See you around," conversation. Why the fuck must they act like you no longer exist? Suddenly I'm not even worthy of a goddamn "Hello.")

Results are in: you LOSE

I need help.
No, really. I do.

I've spent 2 years fucking around... not literally... because then I wouldn't be complaining.
I mean... I've spent 2 years running after a guy... holding on to a ray of hope... just... fuck, being a totally imbecile... "waiting" for him.
I've gone out of my fucking way to spend time with him for the last 2 years (well, almost). Yes, I love San Francisco, it's an absolutely wonderful city... but my favorite aspect was that I got to be with him. I could have been at a fucking landfill, but as long as it'd be with him, I'd be in paradise.

Well, it's over.
He made his choice, and I lost... to her:

The one on the left.

???

I'm a patient girl. I mean... if being a 25 year-old, born and raised Vegas girl, that's still a member of the V club doesn't serve as testament, I don't know what the FUCK does.
But... when I lose to that ^... when I lose to Olive Oyl... I can't help but... want to cry.
How much MORE can I wait? Seriously? How much longer can I put up with that sort of shit?
I just find my spite levels spike.
I don't know... maybe I'm WAY uglier than I think I am. And my personality must REALLY suck.
25 years and still alone kind of sort of... solidifies that idea.

So...
I'm... sort of... kind of devasated.
And no matter how many people pat me in the back and tell me that "he's an idiot for not picking you," it's not going to help.
This scenario just repeats itself... continuously. I'm ALWAYS the loser. ALWAYS.

To add insult to injury, Saturday night I saw my childhood crush's child for the first time. No, not the soccer playing asshole I told never to contact me again (the one who had a kid in 11th grade and broke my heart for the rest of my life)... but another one... one that was SO close to being mine... but due to him living in Michigan, I had to come to terms with the fact that it could never be.

I find myself in the position of admiring what "could have been" my story.
Smile... even if it is bitterly... to make others think I'm ok.

I'm ALWAYS the loser, and I'm not quite sure how much more of this I can take.
How many times can I smile, as my heart goes cliff-diving, before my entire body gets the urge to just...
you know.

"He'll come... one day, he'll come."

No, no he won't.

Prohibition

Me: I prohibit you from getting "the V"
Bro: Why?
Me: Because then you'll be hot!
Bro: That's not fair! I never prohibited you from getting cleavage! 

He has a point...

Quarter

Yesterday (being technical here, since it's already March 2nd) was rough.

I've been having a tough week and a half... but yesterday was... special.
I started the day (12 AM) with my godson getting online, skyping me, and serenading me with his guitar for 2 hours. He was doing requests... and I had him play "From the Bottom of my Heart" and "Nothing Else Matters" I don't know how many times... up until I cried. He made me promise not to cry for the rest of the day.

Promise I couldn't keep.

Prior to going to bed, I remembered I had to open a letter I wrote to myself on my 21st birthday.
It was a to-do list of 30 items.
I completed 12.5.

Reading the letter made me cry... it broke my heart... and I cried hard... so hard. It was a strange cry... I would try to stifle any loud screams... but squeaks would escape me.
I went to bed around 4 in the morning... eyes swollen shut... of fucking course.

I woke up at around 9 AM to the worst Charley Horse imaginable on my left thigh. I have no idea what the hell hat's all about... but the pain is still present, and it nearly made me pass out while at the gym later in the night.
I was unable to celebrate with cake or alcohol... why? I have a parasitic infection. Yes... going to Mexico so often finally caught up to me. I'm on a no fats, sugar, dairy, or alcohol diet due to the fucking worms living inside me... those bastards thrive on foods containing such ingredients. Miserable existence, I tell you... fucking miserable.

SO, once I was able to move out of my bed (11:30 AM, no lie) I proceeded to check my mail... thank everyone for their well-wishes and whatnot (I do appreciate it, don't get me wrong if it sounds snooty of me to dismiss it like that)... answer some calls and text messages... then I cried some more.
At about 3 PM, Dad walked into the kitchen as I washed the dishes... I told him I was turning 25 today, he responded with "Wow... that's... old... and it only makes me older. Girls... when they get to that age... get a little... antsy... you know... looking for... a ring."
Thanks Dad.
A couple of minutes later, Dad came back into the kitchen.
"Well, don't I have a present for you. Says here that... you're no longer covered by my health insurance..."
He then proceeded to read me the policy... I bit my lip to hold back my tears.
Yey.
I never heard him say "Happy Birthday." He didn't even hug me.

I cried some more, up until I got a phonecall from MGH's bro. He sang to me... again. He asked what I was doing... I told him about my intestinal issue. Pity party.

I sat around and answered some more texts and e-mails.
The whole time... noticing MGH was MIA. He was on-line... just not... talking to me.
Our mutual friends were holding conversations with me via FB... yet he was staying mum.
It killed me.
I cried some more.

Come 7 PM, after The Buried Life, I decided I would go to the gym.
Arriving to the gym... who do I see? The boy who broke the hell out of my spirit my senior year of high school... the boy who caused so much trauma in my last month of high school... the boy responsible for my reluctance to look anyone in the face that final month.
I sat in the car for 5 minutes... giving him time to get in the gym, check in... and get lost.
I hadn't seen him  in 7 years... why today?

I came home... cried some more.

He never wished me a happy birthday... he didn't say a fucking word to me... and my heart broke... but I couldn't cry.

Birthday food? Spaghetti... 3 crackers... 1 green juice... 2 teas. Yey. 
I couldn't even get drunk to forget.


I fucking HATE my life.