Category Archives: Uncategorized

Words of Steel

Unfortunately, this woman took the initiative to reintroduce herself into my life.  Ergo, I decided to vent my frustration with cleverly manipulated paragraphs from previous diatribe.

08/2013:

HER: “$*9#!@, please allow me to apologize for the unbelievable number of typo’s too! ”

ME: There is no shame in proper grammar. I can’t accept your apology until you promise to proofread your rants, but to assure that you understand my words, I’ve used the sentence structure you established.

HER: “First of all, let me begin by saying that I’m sorry I haven’t availed [ps. this word means: to take advantage of] myself more to you, on the few occasions I’ve been to your parents home when you were there. I would have hoped that after actually meeting me, learning about my background, my family, my interests. you would then be able to form your own opinion of me based on your OWN personal knowledge, rather than believe the venomous comments made by other individuals I have NEVER met in my life.

ME:  First of all, let me begin by saying that I’m sorry you can’t get over yourself, on the few occasions you’ve been with my dad in my parents home when you were there. I would have hoped that after actually meeting me, learning about my dead mother, my family, my interests. you would then be able to form your own opinion of me based on your OWN personal knowledge, rather than believe the venomous comments made by other individuals.

HER: “$*9#!@, to be sure, I am not without fault. Am I a slut…? NO. Am I a party girl…? I have had my share of fun times. Am I a falling down drunk…? NO. Am I promiscuous…? Absolutely NOT. And perhaps most importantly, am I a gold digger…? Again, absolutely NOT.”

ME:L @#^, to be sure, I am not without fault. Am I naiive? NO. Am I vindicated now? WHAT THE FUCK. I have had my share of bullshit. Am I falling down drunk…? NO. Am I selfish? Absolutely NOT. And perhaps most importantly, am I an emotional vampire…? Again, absolutely NOT.

HER” “In terms of what my objective is with your dad….well….? I will tell you that as much fun as we have together, we take it a day at a time, if only to aviod creating unrealistic expectations.”

ME: In terms of what your objective is with my dad…well…? I will tell you that as much fun as you had together, my dad has moved on and you should, too. Anything else is an unrealistic expectation.

HER:”Keep up the good work $*9#!@, continue to guilt your dad into further isolation, if only YOU were available to fill that void. Perhaps you’re to naive to understand the difference between living and existing. Why not go out on a limb and ask your father what he’s doing, don’t be surprised at the answer, rather pity him for it. Selfish girl. Now off to MN you go, the emotional vampire has left the building.”

ME: Keep up the good work, @#^, and continue to obsess over my dad until you are completely isolated, if only YOU could move on with your life. Perhaps you’re to naive to understand the difference between living and existing. Why don’t you go out on a limb and get over it, don’t be surprised that you may find happiness. Pathetic woman. Now off to your bar, the psycho bitch has left the building. “”

 

WHEW.  That felt good. Too bad it doesn’t fix the problem.

Death Begets Blindness

…and then she said tearily, “but this lady does not know how to grow flowers. She only appreciates them cut, bundled, and in a vase.”  I recognized the metaphor instantly.  My youngest sister had seen through the cracks of this broken woman, and hit the nail on exactly what she wanted: our father, and his prolific monetary value.  It angered me, her gall.  What kind of person preys upon grieving families without any sign of remorse?  Is she even human?  I thought women were supposed to be extra-sensitive to this kind of stuff? Her absolute disregard for our circumstances was beyond disgusting, and yet, I was relieved that my baby sister saw through it, even if our father could not.

I suppose I can give this lady some credit, however, by saying that after our initial meeting, she realized precisely how displeased my siblings and I were with her presence in our home.  My father had just taken her to a dance he only ever went to with our recently departed mother, and this woman flaunted it with foolish debauchery; mimicking that of a coo–coo bird with her stupid boa, dropping stupid feathers, all over the stupid dance floor.  The perfect display of whatever lies beneath “classy”.   We were all gathered in the kitchen after our weekly routine of Sunday night dinners, cleaning dishes and chatting about who knows what.  We hear car doors shut and heavy footsteps up the porch stairs.  My youngest sister runs up to her bedroom, having met her already and not wishing to see my father drunk.  Two silhouettes line the window of the front door and my father pushes it open, rushing in with a look of wild excitement.

“Kids, there’s someone I want you to meet,” he says.  At this point, we’d all been aware of his I’m not dating her relationship.  We’d heard stories from our uncle about her unwelcome visits to the office wearing such inappropriate clothing it made everyone uncomfortable.  I’d heard rumors about her piled debt and nightly bar patronage.  It was something that I’d already openly expressed my outrage for, but it fell upon grief stricken ears…and eyes.

And I had no desire to meet this woman.  She was the current bane of my family’s existence and she walked around like a dimwit in high heels.  My eyes instantly swelled with tears, an unfortunate trait of mine whenever I experience intense emotion, and I excused myself to the bathroom.  I heard my father making introductions and calling my name, looking for me as if he could prove that this woman wasn’t as bad as I thought.  I left the bathroom, still sniffling but mostly in control, and looked up.  There, in the doorway of the kitchen, unable to even enter the room we all stood in, stands a tall, busty woman in her mid 50s, with bleached hair and orange-ish skin.  My dad offers the introductions since neither of us seem inclined to initiate such formalities, and I manage a weak, forced smile with a polite “Hello”.  I wasn’t about to give her the satisfaction of thinking I was pleased to meet her, and apparently she wasn’t either.

Grains of Salt

…then out of nowhere, he lands on my page.  With how quickly he’d found it, I assume he’d been stalking me hours before; but in that moment, as I stood behind him nervously twisting the ring on my finger, I wasn’t bothered.  In fact, I felt special.  As if what I have to say is worth more than just a grain of salt, and he wants to read it.