Not So Blonde

Trolls and their hairy eyebrows

I could be doing 10 other things but I’m going to blog instead. I have a lot of nervous energy (combined with 2 cups of coffee) and I can’t concentrate on a book, a movie, laundry, sleep. Well, I can’t sleep another minute after putting in 23 hours in the past 2 days.

I do think I’ll be pretty much a mess until I see R on Friday. By that time it will be nearly 2 months since I’ve seen him and I’m so anxious I can’t stand myself.

I’m very well aware of the fact 2 months is a drop in the bucket compared to how long it’s going to be before I see him again - but it’s been a rough 2 months, y’all.

For a moment part of me was worried that by seeing him next weekend I’d have to start the whole separation process over again, and the thought frightened me.

But then I remembered I’m only on about Step Two of the Separation Process so it doesn’t matter much anyway. So I’ll have to go back to walking around like a zombie at work and crying at the drop of a dime for a week - big whoop.

I know I sound like - woe, is me and boo hoo - and hell yeah, I am. I look at couples lately and roll my eyes. Mutter, “Fuck you, you smug together assholes” while giving my hair a toss as I flounce away. Okay, so maybe I just roll my eyes. And toss my hair.

I’m glad that I’m not one of those women that is trying to get pregnant and has to stare at all these damn babies everywhere. I’d be a baby snatching fool, think I wouldn’t?

Not that I’m about to boyfriend-nap anyone’s beloved any time soon, especially that bitch’s (sorry, I’m cranky) pipsqueak of a boyfriend at Game Stop the other day.

There I am with the boy, waiting in line so the kid can trade in some of his games for a new one. I used to be dead-set against this practice but then a light dawned and I realized, these games I spent my hard earned money on are never going to be played again. Ever. Might as well let the kid trade them in so he can get yet more games and I don’t have to buy them. With my hard earned money. When there are so many Microsoft points to purchase.

So the teen and I are standing there in line behind this dude, a dude that turns around to look at me no less than 7-8 times in a short time span (I’d give you a more accurate assessment of the minutes that had elapsed but any line seems interminable to me).

Now I’m not saying that by the guy turning around to stare that many times in the undetermined amount of time that he did it in, that I’m some kind of irresistible vixen and men can’t help but stare. The pipsqueak assessment of this guy is a pretty accurate one. Or, troll.

Troll’s girlfriend (with a most unfortunate eyebrow situation - Troll’s girlfriend, meet Nads. Yesterday) eventually becomes hip to the Troll’s wandering eye. Eyebrow(s) decides to counteract this turn of events by sticking her tongue down her Troll’s throat while glancing a hand around his balls.

I was trying to put that a nicer way since “balls” is not the nicest word. But then again, this was done in a youth-driven establishment and was a pretty stomach-turning display, why try and sugar coat it?

I was offended by this entire scene on 2 levels. The fact that Eyebrow(s) could for one moment think her troll-man had any chance with alla ‘dis *runs hands up and down supple body* is an assault to my sensibilities.

Then, the fact that she’d tongue kiss him and graze his balls (as if in promise for something to come later) when he just got caught red-handed (eyed?) giving another woman the hairy eyeball?! What the fuck is this girl thinking?

If I caught R checking out some chick that many (any) time(s) he wouldn’t get a tongue anywhere near his mouth, balls, ear for a month. At least! He’d be lucky if I didn’t hit him over the head with my purse old-school style and march my ass right out of Game Stop without once looking back.

Yes, I’m a jealous person so shut it. I’ll also thank you kindly to indulge me this:

I guess I’ll go find some laundry to do, books to read, movies to watch… wish me luck.

Too high strung for text messaging

Let me start off by saying that I wasn’t even a bad mood on Friday when the following story transpired. I can possibly see one being in a bad mood and getting a questionable text and flying off the handle. However, finding oneself in a relatively good mood and going from 0 to 60 over, essentially, nothing? All Mary, all the time.

I was driving to pick up the kid from his dad’s house on Friday afternoon when I got a text from the dad. I had tried to call him to let him know but to no avail. The text said he was at work and therefore couldn’t answer. I replied (I was at a stop light so shut it) that I was picking up the teen and I got back: “Ok. Have a nice day.”

I instantly felt myself fill with annoyance. Like, who the fuck is the dad to tell me what kind of day to have? Was he being snarky, sarcastic, an asshole? You have to understand that the kid’s dad and I, while not always screaming at each other, rarely exchange pleasantries.

I hesitated a moment on what to type back. My head came up with a variety of possibilities: “Fuck you!” “I’ll have whatever kind of damn day I want, asshole!” “What the hell is THAT supposed to mean, butt nugget?”

I sat there a few seconds more and realized, the dad probably did just mean: have a nice day. Not really caring what kind of day I had but throwing it out not unlike many people do on any given day.

What brought me to this conclusion is the dad, he is not the brightest star in the sky. The sharpest tool in the shed. His Happy Meal is short a few french fries.

Not to say the man is dumb, he’s just not that smart. I used to lament how it seemed my best material was wasted on him. I would run circles around him in the put-down department and the best he could come back with would be something like, “Yeah, well… you’re fat.”

So the chances he had some underhanded, double meaning to his “Have a nice day” were pretty much slim to none.***

I calmed myself down enough to throw back: “You, too.” And was on my way to having a nice fucking day.

*** Through the course of the weekend and way too long phone conversations with the dad (way too long, meaning: longer than the 30 seconds it takes to say things like, “I’m picking up the kid”) I discovered the step-mom is going back to work in Vegas.

Apparently, despite being voted one of the top 12 hottest bartenders in Phoenix, she doesn’t feel she’s making enough money here. I think the dad expected me to shed a tear for him, ya know, since my boyfriend is off being a sailor. The correlation, though, DOES NOT COMPUTE.

Cut to Saturday when I was preparing this dinner for myself and the teen:

I get a text from R saying and I quote (hence the quotations):

“I told (name of girl in his unit) I wasn’t allowed to talk to her last night and she just about threw up on herself laughing. lololol”

Two things: Yes, I do readily admit to only half-joking when I tell R girls in his unit aren’t allowed to call him. It bugs me, okay? I know it’s silly and irrational but actually expecting people (yes, even girls) not to call him, I don’t mean it!

I know I’m joking, I hope he knows I’m joking, but does some random chick I’ve never met before know I’m joking?

Secondly, R should know I don’t take kindly to him sharing a laugh with any girl, about me. Even figuratively.

No, I’m not on some Other Sister (I see you, Court!!) type shit where I think everyone laughing is laughing about me.

But, one of the worst fights R and I ever had was over The Perfect Ex. If I could even begin to tell you how perfect R’s Perfect Ex is, you would laugh. WE’D ALL LAUGH. And then, we’d do a round of shots.

During this fight (we don’t really fight over The Perfect Ex anymore. Honestly, you go through so much with someone you get to the point where you’re like: You want to go back to her after all this? GO AHEAD) R uttered the unforgettable comment, “If Perfect Ex knew we were arguing about her, she’d laugh.”

That found all of R’s belongings once housed in our closet, straight onto the bedroom floor. Look, I told you it was a bad fight so quit with the sideways glances - YOU WERE WARNED.

So Saturday I’m in the kitchen, I look at that text and I was pissed. Don’t sit there and share a laugh with some chick I don’t even know, about me and expect me to find it funny.

You know what irritates me about R? He doesn’t always think before he speaks (or texts). I think he gets so comfortable with me that he thinks he can tell me anything.

On one hand, I do question getting mad at R when he does this, I do want him to feel he can share anything with me but on the flip side I’m thinking: Dude, I’m your girlfriend. I haven’t seen you in over a month, Lord knows when I’ll see you again. Sparing my feelings every once in a while doesn’t seem too much to ask.

I texted back something about how I was glad the silly civilian was able to provide such enjoyment to his unit mates and threw the phone down. I did also type, “I don’t want to talk anymore” but I erased it before sending.

You see, my epic stubbornness is only matched by R’s and he’d probably take that literally and not text or call for a week (oh wait, he does that now).

To his credit, R doesn’t play the “Let’s send more shitty texts to each other whereby getting more and more pissed and start a huge fight” game. Instead, he called me right away.

While it’s nice that he called to clear it all up, I didn’t really feel like talking. I was hurt, irritated and cooking dinner. And? R wasn’t all that apologetic over the whole thing. He didn’t get it.

It’s extremely hard being the person that is left behind. The person that does the leaving is on to different experiences, a new city, new adventures, doing something he loves and insanely busy. R’s in a really good place, mentally, right now.

I don’t want to discount that, I don’t wish that he was crying in his beer every night, missing me. I’M not crying in my beer every night, missing him. But I do wish he could understand a bit more. I do wish he could act, every once in a while, like he misses me. R still talks to me like we’re going to see each other tomorrow.

I guess that’s good, actually… I don’t know what I think. I do know that he needs to stop laughing at me struggling with this new life.

Or, maybe I should see about canceling my text messaging.