|Current mood:|| high|
|Current music:||"User Friendly" by Marilyn Manson (an "I got played" song)|
When You Wake Up To Juggalos Screaming, It's Time To Take Another Pill
To give a sort of foreshadowing of what I have to say, I'll tell you this. The greeting on my cell phone now says "Gouma," the Italian word for "Mafia mistress." It was a bitter joke to myself.
So, okay, I got ho-checked yesterday. I'll admit it, I got the emotional equivalent of a pimp slapping his ho and saying "Learn your place, bi-atch!"
Yesterday, I was supposed to get off work at 8. At 7, James' best friend Josh calls the store and asks if I will go get him so he can talk to him, as James' cell phone is out of minutes. So I go to get him. While I'm there, I ask if he still wanted to see me after work. He said no, he wanted to be by himself. So I got offended as hell and started a fight, we were both sort of intoxicated and I'd had a bad day anyway so it got pretty emotional. I started crying and saying mean shit, and James alternated between hugging me and saying he was sorry and standing a few feet away glowering defensively. So finally I gave up and went back to work, then burst into tears again and went to smoke a cigarette with Honesty. I gave her an overview of the situation, then told her I was leaving so I could go drink myself happy. She smiled and said okay, and off I went to Janet's.
Well, first I stopped back at James' to tell him to make sure I hadn't left anything of mine lying around before Jamie got home (later today), and I talked to him for a minute, not crying this time. He was fucked up, I was fucked up, we couldn't really get to the point of what either of us wanted to say, so we both tired of dealing with each other quickly and I went on my not-so-merry way.
I got to Janet's, ate a couple of muscle relaxers, smoked, then proceeded to slur my words, drool, and generally make such a lack of sense that Janet made me go to bed. Then the first thing I hear this morning is Janet screaming because Woody didn't get up when he was supposed to and didn't make it work so they could get some money. I lay on the couch a moment, contemplating and listening to the screaming, then ate another muscle relaxer. Then I came home, showered and shaved, got my taxes done, then went to the crotch doctor to tell her to schedule me to get my tubes tied. That's my final answer, Regis, the tubes are getting tied. I suck at mothering the kids I have now, why would I want any more?
And try to listen to and communicate with a 5' tall bald Malaysian lady when you're on muscle relaxers. THERE'S a challenge.
So, okay, see if you understand this. This is an excerpt of my conversation with James yesterday. Keep in mind we were both intoxicated.
James: Just because I don't wanna see you one night, you flip on me.
Me: I'm not flippin!
James: (lights a cigarette and looks bored) Come on, girl, we don't gotta spend every waking moment together.
Me: (digging through my purse for something that shall remain nameless) You say you want to be with me, but that you don't want to spend time with me? What the fuck?
James: Jus' not EVERY WAKING MOMENT, damn.
Me: (getting loud) I'VE BEEN AT WORK ALL FUCKING DAY!
James: (gets up and paces the room for no apparent reason) See, you're flippin'.
Me: (gets up, puts coat on, and starts to stalk towards the door) Be like that, then. Fuck it.
James: Be like what? (crosses room over to me) Come on, it's not like that.
Me: How is it then? I got played, that's it, I accept it. Fuck it.
James: (did have his hands around my hips, now removes them) You think you got played, huh? Is that what you think?
Me: YEAH. (with a full-on DUH expression)
James: (sits back down on the couch) Well, if that's how it is.
Me: I don't know HOW it fucking is, you won't discuss SHIT.
James: You want me to make all these life altering decisions.
Me: (honestly confused) LIKE WHAT? You say "I love you, girl, I miss you, girl, I wanna live with you, girl" WHAT THE FUCK AM I SUPPOSED TO THINK?
James: (getting up again) I TOLD you we weren't boyfriend/girlfriend.
Me: Yeah, I knew that part, but I thought it was getting there.
James: I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you.
Me: (crying like a wuss) Fuck you, whatever. I got played.
James: You didn't get played. So you don't wanna see me no more?
Me: YOU don't wanna see ME no more.
James: Nah, I do. Still wanna see you. It's just..life...I don't know.
Me: "Life?" What's that mean?
James: Just that. Life.
Me: (sighing in frustration) Fine. Whatever. (puts hand on doorknob to leave)
James: (comes up and gives me a hug) I miss ya, girl. I wanna see you tomorrow.
Me: (crying yet again) No, no, whatever, don't fucking lie to me.
James: (still hugging me but now pissed) I'M NOT LYIN'.
Me: (still crying, such a crybaby) I thought feelings were the same on your end.
James: They were.
Me: But aren't anymore?
James: No...they are...it's just...life.
Me: That again. What the FUCK do you mean?
James: (steps back) I don't wanna fight. You know how I feel about you. I just can't be what you need.
Me: All I NEED is committment. And when you tell people not to look at me because I'm yours, and tell me you miss me, and that you love me, and that you don't want anyone else...come on, what's that "I don't want anyone but you" shit that you say? If you don't want a committment...come ON.
James: I DON'T want anyone but YOU.
Me: Then what the fuck?
James: I told you. Life. It's just how it is.
Me:(hugs James) I'm leaving now.
James: Can I see you tomorrow?
Me: I guess. (rolling eyes over his shoulder, annoyed and confused)
James: Okay. (steps back) I'll miss you girl.
Me: (opens door to leave) No, you won't. See you tomorrow.
I talked to him a little while ago, things are still on for tonight and he says he wants to "talk." I'm thinking this is the "GO AWAY BITCH" talk. Or the "I want you to be ONE of my women but not MY WOMAN." (Hence my "gouma" joke on my cell phone menu.)
Maybe I should just be grateful he wants to talk. He never talks about ANYTHING.
So, faithful and omnipresent readers, what in the HELL does this sound like to you? Did I get played? Is he indecisive? Or are drugs just a really big factor in all the confusion?
I need to quit dating people from KFC. Or I should start my own soap opera. "As the Bucket Turns." Make some money off my misery.
Fuck, I don't know, I need more muscle relaxers and I have to drive to get them and I don't want to. I need a driver. That's the first thing I am getting when I get rich is a damn driver. Driving Miss Daisy-style, I'd be in the back "Take me here, take me there, get me some wine, pull the car over and hand me my cell phone, bitch."
A Top-Five list I compiled in my head this morning while I was waiting at the crotch doctor's...
The Top Five Most Ghetto Things I Have Ever Done (in no particular order)
1. fixed a broken button on my pants with a stapler.
2. weighed the option..."I've got $50...do I pay my car insurance or buy lots and lots of beer?" And coming up with the answer "Beer!"
3. used Gold-Bond medicated powder on my face when I forgot my compact, and ashes as eyeshadow when I forgot my eyeshadow.
4. accepted that you have to put WD-40 on the track-changing button of my car CD player every once in a while or it won't change tracks
5. ran out of drugs, ran out of beer, so drank a crusted bottle of Ny-Quil I found hanging around. Got sick. Went to bed. But had very clear nasal and chest passages the next day.
As Nezzy would say, I'm off like a prom dress.