KISSED A FROG BEFORE?

Being single, especially after being in an exasperating, emotionally drenching, unfulfilling relationship is great; fantastic even. Up to the point where you get lonely and forget somebody’s bad qualities. You even think you miss them; get back with them and it's plain awful! A fine example of Rihanna, lovely dame, with the kind of bruised sensuous beauty that incites male aggression and the rancor of unfulfilled desires…bottom line: she can GET IT, ALL OF IT! -and she did. Unfortunately, not in the titillating BDSM way we all imagined.  By the time Chris Brown was done, her right eye was lost in the swelling flesh that had been her face and her clothes were soaked in her blood, snot and tears. Who knew Chris Brown was such a massive douche bag! Months down the line here she is, shining bright like a diamond , right next to the guy who had the cahones to tattoo her battered face on his neck, barely before his bruised knuckles had healed…like some kind of sociopathic trophy!  

The nerve!

I do not mean to reprove her actions; though I would give an arm to know what in the goddamn universe is Chris Brown giving her; citing that she is already beautiful, talented, rich and famous. We have at some point in life pulled a Rihanna, not necessarily in the extreme face battering sense. I for one am guilty of kissing the same douche-y frog twice. This week I am in the mood of exorcising those ego-bruising memories. In retrospect, I honestly doubt this woman ever gave a flying rat’s arse about me. Obviously, there were glaring warning signs, which for the life of me I don’t know why I ignored. Here goes my long-awaited bitch-fest!!

This post pubescent emotional bully would make snide comments about my body size or lack thereof. Lord knows how much that gets on my nerves. “Put down the cupcake then we can talk” (am I right??!). In what universe is this considered foreplay? Undress a woman then derisively call her pimple-chested with boy hips and expect to tap that?? (According to Wolf’s knowing hands, I am sufficiently endowed in those areas; well beyond training bras and padded underwear). If I did give a hoot about her lack of a filter, I would have kicked her in the lady balls and stomped away in a huff. But I didn’t care, and I was no more evolved than an alley cat on heat then. (*chuckle*) She was a walking contradiction especially since she would bash and make rude remarks about plus-sized women yet she wasn’t exactly a size 10. I never understood what that was about.

Another irritating behavior was constantly bringing up stale tales of exotic melon breasted women who were after her (for some reason, they sounded like they had gigantic synthetic porn star breasts!!), how many she had had carnal knowledge of and then in the same breath say I am a player, with a hint of accusation in her voice. She was mean-spirited too. One time she said my finger felt like a baby’s penis inside her. Total lady bone killer! I never made an attempt to pleasure her again after that. I was absolutely comfortable with being a pillow queen with her rather than get Carpal Tunnel Syndrome for thankless work though it was unfamiliar territory for me. I could live without the physical aspect of the relationship. It wasn’t exactly toe-curling! I don’t understand how some women do that; just lie there like a sack of potatoes and wait to spew forth cum. Don’t you get terribly bored? I will not even get into her Mercurial temperament. It would have been like living with the Hulk had I dared U-haul that one.

I finally had it to my pubes when this heifer went to the extreme of asking if she could make squelches with my younger teenage sister. The sheer nerve, regardless of whether she was joking or not (she wasn't) . I was so mad my butt twitched every time I thought of her. I suppose that would make her an ephebophile, which still sounds as rapy as pedophile.  Even Wolf‘s highly perceptive sense of people hadn't made me realize I was dating a vapid shallow black hole of a human being until then. It wasn't worth the short term happiness and superficiality I was striving for. I cut my losses and headed for the hills.

I had hardly healed when I met her couple of months later in town, uterus to her knees with child stomping around with the grace of a drunken hippo (she wasn't really that big I am just being mean; let me have it). I was more relieved than shocked. Given, I didn't even know she swung that way! The baby twinkie jab finally made sense; she could eat a bag of wieners for all I cared now! I believe I dodged a bullet with her and I was very grateful; who knows? She could have potentially risked my health by having undercover, black ops, unprotected sex with men. With all that cathartic venting aside, I wasn't the least bit deterred as I still went on to explore the deepest recesses of a few frog mouths before I finally let Wolf yank me from the cold moss covered pond and make an honest woman out of me.

FIFTY SHADES OF SOMETHING…

I don’t have girlfriends…let me rephrase that. I don’t have a coven of b/witches to hide behind as I fling poop at the unsuspecting masses *chuckles*. At least that’s what I have observed to be the main purpose of girlfriends since high school.  Look at somebody the wrong way in the dining hall and as soon as night preps are concluded, a search party is sent to your room, complete with dogs and trench coats, as you camp out in another house/dorm. In the event these gossipy superficial mean spirited materialists don’t find you, they are likely to overturn your beddings as a message, or wait for the next entertainment session and throw a shoe at your head as soon as lights go off in the TV room. Okay I may have exaggerated a little. You do (have to) agree there is something about having cronies that make individuals seem invincible and develop balls the size of melons.  

The desire to tend and befriend is ingrained in most females; but I don’t have friends… I have individual friends, just not that kind of “crony-ship”. The kind that you seek advice from, provide love hugs and a heartfelt primary support in times of distress e.g. when Wolf and I broke up once again for the umpteenth time. For the first time ever I resented my precious autonomy. Suddenly the surround sound bitching, the over familiarity and toxic over-sharing didn’t look that exasperating.

If you still think I let slip my break up without making a melodramatic gabfest out of it, You-should-know-people *chuckles*. Wolf and I annulled the unceasing onslaught of dysfunction we called a relationship. Oh hold onto your knickers foxes, it was for a minute; still spoken for. I went through the five stages of loss and I will share.

Denial and isolation: it is a normal reaction to attempt to rationalize overwhelming emotions. I initially wanted to believe it was just a rough patch. We were good together. Nobody just throws away 2 years over a lovers tiff, right? Wrong.

Anger: masking effects of denial and isolation begin to wear, reality and pain rears its ugly head. At this point, you want to curve a new fuck hole on a bitch’s torso and fist it! I refused to fully acknowledge this part of the process. My own anger terrifies me, so I tend to suppress it a lot of times. Wolf says I bottle up too much and just like a shaken can of soda, I will explode when I get the chance. I definitely don’t look forward to that.

Bargaining:  A need to regain control: The “if only I had” stage. If only I had given Wolf an outlet to vent frustrations with me. If only I hadn’t stayed home that fateful weekend. If only I was a demi-goddess…

Depression:  sadness and regret. I was a cluster of raw nerves, like a giant penis tip. Adverts on TV made me cry. I cried myself to the verge of dehydration a couple of times. Without Wolf, I felt like a brain damaged mule, lost in the desert, striking out alone for the first time. Every time I remembered all the Kodak moments we had, I curled up into a ball and screeched into my pillow.

Acceptance: withdrawal and calm set in. I involved myself in non-stimulating activities, which are only used in Manhattan to calm down drug addicts and the criminally insane (Robin Sherbatsky: HIMYM). I had no capacity for idle talk at this point. Although the masochist and the lover in me wanted Wolf back, I was not going to force, cajole, plead, beg, threaten or/and guilt trip her from here to Timbuktu. I started to let go…my resolve didn’t last, obviously. (I was having a serious case of vag-alzheimers too he he)

Relationships are like doorknobs. No instructions. You are just supposed to know what to do. Yet they always seem so complicated. Ours in particular is Fifty Shades of Grey like, Icarus flying too close to the sun (yes am reading the trilogy, thanks to Wolf and my friend Nelson for the PERFECT birthday gifts). All I know is we are nutbuggersMcloonytoons over each other. If we ever crash and burn, I will probably need years of therapy and electro-shock to get over it. My demon danced with Wolf’s devil and the fiddlers tune is far from over.

I still want friends…need that group of friends strictly from the LGBTI community. It is proving harder each day to be myself around straight folk. There is always a judgmental-hear-no-evil-see-no-evil-vibe they give off. In as much as Wolf is convinced we are not a “people couple” simply because every time I decide we should expand our non-existent social circle, we end up retreating into our own little world, close off and get engrossed in each other the whole time. Bid present company goodbye to “talk” more behind closed doors. I just have to muster the courage to step out of my comfort zone fast. Accepting applications drop your resumes!!! HAPPYNEW YEAR!!!