All Revved Up

That’s it, I’m pissed. I might’ve been mad before, but sometime this evening, I surpassed mad and went straight to fucking death-star angry. The post below is a letter I wrote to Hockey. Oh, no, I didn’t email it to him, though he deserves it. I emailed it to Chicago, who read it for me. I wonder if he raised his eyebrows at all the times I used a variation of “fuck”. It truly is my favourite word, and yes, I know I’m an English major.

I sent Hockey an email around noon, asking if we were finished with the farce for sure this time. No response. Around three, I sent him another email. I deleted it, I deleted all of his stuff… Anyway, I finished it by telling him that Karma was a bitch, baby, and I hope he ducks when she heads his way. And that, my friends, is that.

So let’s recap, shall we?

This week, I had three major mistakes at work, not all of which were totally my fault, but which reflect poorly on me and piss me off. And I had to put up with my coworker implying I’m a fucking moron for being unable to do his job and mine while he was away last week.

I slept with a guy last week who decided to call me a slut this week because I wouldn’t sleep with him. (I unblocked that post – it’s below.) I’m still looking out the window at Candy Mountain every night, waiting for Photog to show up. I look outside every single time I park my car at home. I’m sure that feeling will eventually pass, but until then, I’m watching my back.

A jerk who’d stood me up twice before stood me up twice this week (oh yes, twice, betcha didn’t know THAT, did ya?). And I simply can’t bring myself to go fucking Super-Bitch on his ass, even though he deserves it. Oh, if you look him up on Canada411, the boy has a home phone number. I wonder how Mrs.Hockey  would like a phone call? 

The world went to hell in a handbasket this week. There was the earthquake in LA, the fact that Nick Perkins is awake and they still haven’t caught the stupid bastards who practically killed a 17-year old boy… The trial of the streetracers at Gage Ave is underway, and the newspaper is chock-full of articles about how the kid was severed by the car that hit him. And then there’s the fact that some (clearly) psychotic fuckwad attacked a young man on a bus bound for Winnipeg and decapitated him.

And to top it all off (yeah, like this is a big issue when some kid’s head was in a man’s hand earlier today, eh?), one of my cousins dropped off a letter about her happy freakin’ life, and how delighted she is that in five years, they’re going to retire to their cottage, if the Lord sees fit. Oh for Christ’s sake. Do you think He gives a good goddamn if you move to your cottage or not? And guess what? I’m not going to your daughter’s stag and doe. It’s bad enough I have to go to the shower, when you didn’t bother to invite any of the extended family to the wedding reception. And no, I’m not giving you my email address so we can “stay in touch that way”.

I think… I think I’ve been trying to remain calm and rational in the face of all these assholes I’ve been running into. In the face of how crap-ass Hell has been lately. In the face of how fucking awful it is to work 56 hours in five days. How much I wish that someone… just … someone (not one of you guys) would reaffirm my faith in humanity instead of constantly beating me down. Tonight I feel like I have the weight of the world on my shoulders, and the bad fish inside me is just vibrating with anger.

Whoompa.

Do you want to know what I really think? Here are my thoughts.

1. you’re actually still married. You think you fooled me, but everything you do and say points to you still being hitched. I think when you invited me to your place a few weeks ago, she was on vacation or supposed to be out with a friend, and damn it all, didn’t you get a shock when she didn’t fucking leave. Then what were you supposed to do? Rather than ‘fess up and be honest with either of us, you decided simply not to answer your cell. Or your texts. Or your emails. ‘cause we both know how mature that makes you look. I’m even willing to bet you took heat for your anxiousness, because let’s be honest, you hoped you were gonna get laid that night. I wonder if she kept a tighter watch on you after that, which would explain why it took you two weeks before you felt comfortable enough to contact me again.

2. You never call or email me or text me after hours. Sure, I totally bought the idea that you were free this past Monday, and that you were going to be free last night after hockey, and you’re going out of town with your family this weekend. But I sure as hell don’t buy that you don’t want to call or email me or add me back onto your MSN list. I suspect she noticed something… this wife that isn’t supposed to be living with you anymore. And now you’ve learned enough to watch your step and you’re lying your freckled face off. The fact that you called me at work the other day just reinforces that you don’t want to have “unexplained” personal calls to particular cell numbers on your phone. I’d even wager a bet that I’m not programmed into your cell, but that you’ve memorized the number and text me as you need to, deleting the texts before you get home. But deleting the call history would be kinda suspicious, if she’s the suspicious kind. So you played it safe and called me at work. No one would question a call to a company like Hell.

3. You really were planning to come over after hockey last night. Even being married, you would have gotten a free pass to be out late because it was your last game of the season, and no wife in the world would object to that. But I wonder what happened… Did she decide to go to the game, to watch, to be a good, decent wife, and support you in your last game of the season, and then you panicked and didn’t know what to do next…again? Or… was it when I told you that I had no intention of fucking you last night that you decided you weren’t gonna waste your time driving to Hamilton?

4. You’re a bit of an asshole. You’re clearly an inconsiderate dick who doesn’t give a rat’s ass that someone else is taking time out of her day, out of her schedule, to meet with you. But you have no qualms about hoping like hell that I’ll scoot out of the office to give you a fucking blowjob in a parking lot because you’re “in the mood”. I’m getting divorced because I thought my ex was inconsiderate and a bit self-centred. But you, fuckwad, take the fucking cake in that department. Not a single call, not a text, nothing. You know, I’ve been with an attached guy in the past. You knew that. And I know how the game works. I really wouldn’t have given two shits that you were still married. But every other guy knew how the game was played, and that you always had to be considerate and honest with the “other woman” when you try to fucking cheat on your wife. You haven’t got a clue how to do this. You shouldn’t be playing the game, since you obviously don’t know the rules.

5. You’re a player. I don’t know what your deal is. Maybe, instead of being an inconsiderate dick, you’re just an egotistical bastard who enjoys portraying himself as a sensitive, intelligent guy who’s interested in some girl (a girl who clearly deserves better than you and you know it). So you play with her feelings and her emotions, dangling the carrot and secretly laughing your ass off that someone could actually fall for this…again. Yeah, let me tell you something. It’s childish assholes like you that give Men a bad name. Your voice practically squeaked when you called me, pissed right off because you’d thought I’d stood your ass up in “revenge” when we met the other night before I went to work. Newsflash, though this letter might make you think otherwise, I’m not a bitch, and I damn well stand by my word. I said I’d meet you, and only a fucking hurricane would have stopped me from showing up when I said I’d be there. And if I’d been in a car accident or I’d gotten stuck late at work, I would have called or texted you to say so.

6. What the fuck is your job title? I don’t give a damn that you’ve been offered the position of VP with your company. Frankly, I flat-out wonder if it’s the truth. Your title changes from “Sales Rep” to “Canadian National Sales Manager” to “National Canadian Sales Manager” (which is fucking backwards, by the way). You clearly change it manually. Guess what? I’m not impressed by titles. Vice Presidents of a Fortune 500 company know my name and what I do. You think I give a shit what your title is? You’re a nobody.

7. You know, if you’d admitted that all you wanted was to get laid, then I’d have a lot more respect for you. Instead, you pussyfoot around, screwing with my feelings and my schedule, and you clearly don’t care.

8. Fuck you.