Yes, I am. A dog’s breakfast?

Remember a couple of posts ago, I mentioned that there really isn’t a song I can think of that doesn’t remind me of the years I spent with Love Bomb? I revealed this tidbit of solitary sadness in an email I sent to Love Bomb a couple of weeks ago – I was originally asking for the tent (she got the TV, both kayaks, the furniture, the Chow-Chow cash cow … so spare me the tent, eh?) and got a little carried away. It happens. I threw it out there that I couldn’t listen to Melissa Etheridge, Indigo Girls, Steely Dan, America, Rush, or damn near every song we ever played on Band Hero, without feeling sick to my stomach – memories of road trips and breezy, open-window spring cleaning with the CD changer set to random. At first, these songs instinctively elicit an easy smile, but then reality bubbles over and I’m reminded that the music that used to bring me joy, now only delivers sorrow.

The good news. I got the tent.

Just over a week later, I was approached by a friend who, in a kind and loving way, approached me with a Facebook post she thought I deserved to know about.

Love Bomb got engaged.

There, on her wall, was a long, self-inflated, rather incoherent congratulatory post from Kevin (who’s name I don’t bother to change here). Call it a coincidence or irony, but the engagement gift presented to the happy couple — tickets to a Melissa Etheridge concert. And not just tickets, but VIP backstage passes to the tune of $275, each. In typical Kevin fashion, he made sure that everyone could see exactly how much he spent, because that’s what Mr. Moneybags does. Besides, Love Bomb can be bought, so that works out for both of them.

I hope you spend the whole evening, every fucking song reminded of me, Love Bomb.

The kicker though, the real kick in the ass was Kevin’s explanation of Love Bomb’s existence before New Girl replaced me. “[Love Bomb’s] life was a real Dog Breakfast till you came into it”, he wrote. On her wall. For everyone to see. On an engagement post (weird), not even a year into our demise. Dog Breakfast. Wow.

It’s not lost upon me that the phrase is Aussie slang, and perhaps it had just as much to do with Love Bomb’s history (despite continued tolerance of) with the Master Manipulator, an overprotective mother, or her financial issues (more of an issue now than ever, btw) but I know … I know that it was about me. So revolting, only a dog would approach it.

Nailed with that triple-whammy,

1. Engaged
2. Melissa Etheridge
3. Dog Breakfast

I put on my big girl pants and carried on without a care – these people are gross and not worth it. I melted into a puddle of tears, had to leave work early, and spent the next two days in bed.

A number of friends reached out to me upon seeing the post to ask if I was okay and to apologize for Kevin’s remarks on his behalf. It’s funny how you don’t really realize you’re associating with a bully until they’re bullying you. And it’s funny that Kevin claims to be an anti-bullying advocate despite 9-pages worth of absolutely maniacal text messages at 1:30am, sent from someone else’s phone since I had to block his, but claims that I was the one harassing him… The guy who instructed me to “go fuck yourself” when I admitted I was flirting with suicide last summer. The guy who didn’t get enough attention, so he blocked both Love Bomb and I, but soon found it possible to forgive her, while concluding that that I, I am a Dog’s Breakfast. Perhaps I bruised his tiny feelings when I suggested he could rot in hell, because what kind of asshole (bully) tells someone, anyone, to go fuck themselves upon reaching out at their most vulnerable. I have an actual reason to be hurt and angry. He’s just holding a childish grudge.

It’s taken a solid two weeks to recover from the triple-whammy.

I do feel a bit of solace in the knowledge that Love Bomb and New Girl are coming across as … ridiculous. Matchy-matchy rings 6 months in, engaged on their first anniversary, which falls 5 weeks prior to anniversary of our break-up. This being New Girls’ third engagement/marriage – damn gurl, what’s the rush / why the urgency to exchange meaningless vows (evidence-based on divorce history) with yet another suitor? They’ve jumped into everything so quickly, it makes you say, “that’ll never last” out loud. Maybe that’s true, or maybe it’s not, but believe me when I say that sticking it out in an effort to “prove them wrong” is a waste of everyone’s time. I would know.

I’m not wasting any more time. I am changing and growing every single day. Yes, I am. I didn’t get a choice in the matter. Because it was never up to me.

Love Bomb and New Girl can go about their business of rushing to repeat the same old shit, jumping from one relationship to the next.

Meanwhile, I’ll be over here living my best, most authentic life, not hopping on top the first willing cohort to approach. Likewise, second, third, or forth – I’ve been on several dates recently with some really nice people, but my bar is held high, and I won’t be lowering it just so I don’t have to be alone. I don’t need anyone to make me happy or whole, I’m doing it for myself.

Is it easy? No. Do I slip up now and then? Yep. Am I worth it?

Yes, I am.

In these days and these hours of fury
When the darkness and answers are thin
Lovers come and check out in a hurry
Shallow and hollow again
Come lay your body beside me
To dream to sleep with the lamb
To the question your eyes seem to send

Am I your passion your promise your end
I say I am
Yes I am
Your passion your promise your end
Yes I am

Barring divine intervention
There is nothing between you and I
And if I carelessly forgot to mention
Your body your power can sanctify
Come feed your hunger your thirst
Lay it down the beast will die
You can question my heart once again

Am I your passion your promise your end
I say I am
Yes I am
Your passion your promise your end
Yes I am

I will stand firm in the tempest
I will ride destiny’s trail
To believe when the truth comes up empty
To hold and respect without fail
Come and be one in the motion
A desire they cannot comprehend
Never to question again
For I am your passion your promise your end
Oh yes I am

-Melissa Etheridge

General douchbaggery ‘n shit

It’s been a bit. Did you miss me? You know you did.. I know you did.. 😉

Spring has sprung, and so, everything at the shelter has gone full-fledged shit show. (Didja see what I did there?) Something about the warm air brings out the completely unreasonable in people. I don’t mind being busy at work, nor do I mind helping all of the animals. No, it’s when spoiled rotten human adults call 911 because the neighbor’s dog just crapped on their front yard … I just wanna slap their smug, entitled faces off. Here are some of the things Northern Virginians say to justify their general douchbaggery:

I pay my taxes. Well done. I’m sure you’re a fine, upstanding County resident, but your taxes have nothing to do with my non-profit, humane society salary. Your submission of tax paperwork does not entitle either of us to break the law or remove the annoying wildlife digging holes in the lawn or eating your hostas. You should consider using your tax refund to purchase a deterrent or two, like a motion-activated Yard Orbiter or some aluminum pie pans and pinwheels.

I’m an attorney. Welcome. Everyone in NoVa is an attorney, toots.

I have children. Congratulations on your ability to breed. Part of your responsibility as a parent is to teach those offspring to be aware of the world around them. There are and always will be wild animals outside. That is where they live.

You don’t care. Of all the insults, this one takes the taco, Tippy. To accuse me, who hath devoted her entire adult life to the welfare of animals both domestic and wild, of lack of caring is ignorant on a level I can’t even … just no.

I rescued my dog/cat. “Rescue” is an overused term used by folks who need a ‘lil pat on the back a bit more frequently than others. You don’t rescue animals from pet stores or breeders. You just don’t.

One more day till my weekend. One more day.

Oh, and speaking of the weekend…

I have a date.

Actually, I have two dates. I was asked out by two different guys in the span of 24 hours last weekend. I’ll meet with one this Sunday for drinks and appetizers, and plans are in the works for a brunch date next Sunday with the other. Both seem very kind and smart, and as nervous as I am (and I am nervous), I’m also kind of excited to see how we’ll connect in person. I’ll throw it out there that Date #2 has a beautiful 17 month old daughter. Squeeeee!

I’m still doing the low-carb thing (well, mostly) and thoroughly enjoying watching the numbers drop on the scale. I’ve decided not to aim for Ketosis, which is not ideal for those of us wading around in the dating pool (“Have you been using nail polish remover as mouthwash?”, “Oh, no, that’s just my ketones doing their fat burning thing .. so sorry!”), focusing more on being mindful of carb intake, sweets (nope, just berries now and then), and NO processed foods or grains. My refrigerator is full of what seems like a wholly unreasonable amount of cheese, from shredded to slices, crisps, ricotta, cottage, fresh moz, parmesan (by the pound!), and cream cheeses. Really, there is never too much cheese, imho. Cheese. Wine. Eggs. They’re what’s for dinner.

And after dinner, well, let’s just say I know two little dogs and one large cat who are getting their spring hair cuts tonight, but shhhhh… don’t tell them that. Malachi’s ‘do is almost done already (ah, the benes of having your own office in an animal shelter), I just need to tidy around his face, feet, and trim that ridiculous tail that escaped a trimmin’ last time. That tail is so long I mistakenly sit on it in the car and then wonder why the boy seems to be stuck to the seat. OH, sorry little dude.

I continue to work to be present in my transition. (See last entry: “Transition”) I reached out to Love Bomb to request the tent. It’s a nice tent, only used a handful of times, besides, she got virtually everything in this “divorce”. Most of the furniture, all of the gaming stuff, big TV, my kayak, the .. blankets (gotdamn I was cold this past winter). Can’t claim to still be paying for it anymore, thanks Chapter 7! Thing is, when it comes to dating profiles and interests, camping is an eye-catcher for me, and yet, I haven’t a thing offer to the adventure but paper towels. Maybe. I don’t have anywhere to store a kayak, but I can slide a tent quite nicely in my balcony HVAC closet. It will live with my luggage in there – a carry-on size roller that was originally Love Bombs’. I’ve never owned luggage. Anyway, point is, I have room for the tent, and with a little luck, it will join me on some romantic adventures.

Because I will have romantic adventures.

One of these days.

Not desperate. Not grasping. It’s been a full year of being unattached and alone. I have finally, ironically, “found myself”. I’m proud of how far I’ve come. There are still some doozy anniversaries approaching, and I am scared. I wonder if I’ll ever look fondly upon April, ever again. 🥀

Transition

Maybe, just maybe, this bump in the road is less about relapse (see last entry, “Relapse”) than it is about transition. Maybe things are evolving. The overwhelming sad though, that feels the same no matter why.

Why transition? Well, it’s been a year since everything changed, if not concretely, at least in essence – the feelings were there at least a few weeks before their admission on April 6, followed by passive breakup #1 on April 23rd, and aggressive breakup #2 on May 13.

Anniversaries – they’re a burden for one of us.

It’s been a solid year since anyone loved me.

I knew it would be a mistake to peek through my photos from this time last year, but I’ve always been a bit of a glutton for punishment. I look at those photos now and I see an unhappy me, just existing day-to-day, and then there’s Love Bomb, who gave no inkling that she was thinking of someone else.

I went back and took screenshots of our text conversations sometime in April when I realized our relationship was on shakier ground than I’d ever encountered before. It’s amazing how fast the destruction progressed once the deceit began. Everything seemed okay until that fated April 6 when Love Bomb and New Girl discussed … feelings … and then, it was just over. 19 years .. 100% over .. in one conversation. A conversation I was told was a Manager’s meeting, encouraged her to go to and “have fun”! Or was that the time she told me that one of the cashiers was “suicidal” and that’s why she had to stay so late and couldn’t answer my texts. Whatever the lie was, from then on, the demeanor of the texts we exchanged shifted from the usual “Hi”, “Miss you”, and even an invitation for “sexy time” one week, to “Going out for drinks after work”, to “Hookah!”, and “Sorry, my phone died and I lost track of time”, at 11:30pm. She would drive down to go out with “work friends” even on days she was off and then she’d “crash” at New Girl’s house…

OMG, WAS I FUCKING BLIND? I’d ask what was going on, she’d avoid eye-content and walk away while she spoke, “We just have so much in common and we get to talking…”. I ignored my intuition, and didn’t put any of it together. I believed her when she said, “It’s not what you think”. Except it was.

Hindsight is 20/20

 

She just held me in the background (someone had to feed the animals when she didn’t come home) until she could secure herself in her new relationship, and once that happened, she waited for me to offer the breakup, since she couldn’t even gather the balls to end it herself. (See last entry, “I guess so”.) Fucking coward.

I suspect New Girl is a coward, too. Her husband (second husband, both marriages accumulated less time than Love Bomb and I spent together) only moved out once her new relationship was established, as well. I know because I have screenshots of the time (uh, it was June 19th) I was going to go down to the house but Love Bomb got all weirded out, and finally admitted that there was another dog in the house – New Girl’s dog. Her husband was moving out that weekend and she and Love Bomb were already living together for all intents and purposes, under our roof until he was gone. Ladies, pack your U-Hauls!

Maybe they use the same coping strategies … cowards doing what cowards do … that which feels good with no regard to those who are hurt in the wake. I’m aware that the husband struggled with back issues and a substance abuse problem, as a result. (Oh, we have so much in common!) What a lovely wife to keep him around the house until she could replace him with someone else. “In sickness and in health” didn’t resonate with her, nor “till death do us part” – twice. And yet, she and Love Bomb wear their matchy rings .. I noticed those months ago, back in November. Jump right into that deep end, ladies. I hope you fucking drown in your desperation.

But I digress. Back to that transition…

Maybe it’s because I’ve only just started to decorate my apartment… Maybe it’s because I’m approaching a place where I’m starting to think a bit into the future rather than simply trying to survive the day… Although there is comfort in these things, there’s also some painful adjustment and growth that accompanies them. While seeing past just surviving is clearly a good thing, it also tastes a bit of defeat and even more loss.

I’ve finally reached a place where I think I need to devise a new GOAL or two, or three. No more sharing wholly ignored “core values” and “mission statements” on a stupid whiteboard (we used to fantasize about getting an RV and cruising the country together, a romantic vacation, or even getting our asses in gear to get out of that old house and on the path to a new adventure in a new area). Now, I’m faced with making goals just for me, and honestly, that’s a bit terrifying. I’m having a hard time “seeing” them in my mind after so many years of sharing our plans for a future.

So, what’s next? I’m not sure I want to stay here doing what I’ve been doing for as long as I’ve been doing it. I am very good at what I do, but I’ll admit that I’m not terribly challenged anymore – after 6 years, I know this shit inside and out. But I also feel pretty damn fortunate that I’m left to work independently and I can pretty much do what I wanna around here. Still…

So, what are some possible goals?

1. School. Well, since I’m no longer a total stoner I could concentrate on furthering my education and would most likely succeed at just about whatever I set my mind to.
2. Move. I’ve always wanted to move out West, be it Washington, Idaho, Oregon or Montana, ideally. I wasn’t ready to commit to moving last year as my dearest (local) friends held me up every single day. I would have been a fool to run from them, no matter what else I was running from. Besides, I didn’t want to run. I’m proud of myself for sticking it out in an effort to feel confident that I wasn’t just acting on a “fight or flight” response, a reaction I excel at.
3. Date. Truth be told, with moving on the possible goal-list, I really hesitate to get involved in a relationship rn. As much as I’m lonely (as a home-body, I’ve found that I really miss someone to simply share quiet space with), I don’t want to couple-up just to have to end or long-distance it. So, on one hand, I feel anxious to meet someone and start something special, but on the other, well, there are lots and lots of reasons why I pause. The fear of being hurt is just one. I am simply not strong enough to endure this sort of pain again. I’d rather die alone.

I may never love again, thanks to you.

 

I will regard these first attempts at goal-setting as the beginning of my transition, not the recurrence of relapse. Today is the first day of Spring, which, historically, isn’t a great time of year for me (delayed SAD, you suck). And so, despite lingering depression and doubt, I will try to see the positive in every day this season. I will reflect upon my growth. I will try to forgive – myself seems like a good place to start – maybe the rest will come some other season. I will continue to simply survive on the days when that’s all I can manage to do, and that alone will be okay.

This is when you discover what a real friend is, and who they never were. Lookin’ at you, Kevin.

Love bomb. She learned from the best.

I’m not oblivious as to how she learned her behavior. The Master Manipulator has taught her well! How can you possibly pull away from someone you can’t do without?

Christmas was always downright embarrassing – he’d buy way too much – opening gift after gift after gift, always followed by, “if you don’t like it, you can just return it”, heavily laced with guilt.

Hey! Lets go look at motorcycles while Maziecakes is at work – that way she (who’s has had the pleasure of holding 2 men as they died on the street after motorcycle accidents) has no say – no input – no voice – and then, lets buy one! Mazie will be furious, but we don’t care!

Oh, your car died? Here … take this Jeep.

Oh, you need money – here you go, take mine.

Your dog needs surgery? I’ll just close out my retirement account.

He make it nearly impossible to hate him, because you can’t figure out how you’ll get by without him.

Sounds familiar.

But here’s the rub: he doesn’t do these things because he’s a kind or caring person. He does these things because he’s a guilty, sad, little, old man. A man who is in love with his only stepdaughter. No, he doesn’t love her like a parent loves their child. He’s in love with her. He is a pervert and a pedophile and he has just about everyone fooled. Not me.

He love bombs her, and you know what? She likes it. She’s a material girl at heart, just like her mom. “You can’t take it with you”, right, Love Bomb?

Works for him. Works for her.

I spent a good deal of time in therapy trying to sort through their dysfunction only to come to the (correct) conclusion that I can’t change their relationship. They’re adults and their relationship is just that – theirs. He’s a father figure to her, not to mention a solid connection to her deceased mother. I tolerated him, mostly, but I’m really a terrible liar, so I did my best to pretend like he didn’t bother me, especially on holidays or birthdays when he’d swoop in for that obligatory kiss on the lips. GAG.

Point is – she learned this Love Bombing thing well and honestly. It’s how she was bought, and it’s how she buys others. I used to think she was thoughtful, but I see now that it wasn’t about careful thought, it was about manipulation. It wasn’t about doing something nice, it was about making sure that she had the upper hand – a hand full of gifts, that is, whether or not she could afford them.

It was never up to me.