Fucking Michigan

I'm so predictable. Isn't this how it always goes? I start a blog so I can spare my ex of unloading all of my emotional diarrhea on him. I'd much rather appear emotionally unstable and downright crazy with perfect strangers on the interwebs than ever give up my "Fuck you. I'm fabulous" facade to him. When I leave someone, I prefer to quietly pack what's left of my dignity and disappear like a box of condoms in a whore house. But where would the fun in that be?!? It's not a party unless you've drunk dialed your ex. And it really isn't a party until they've played "Turn Down For What" which is the equivalent to a drunk dialed emotional, tear filled, snot dripping, crying so ugly that you can't breath so you repeat the first syllable of the first word in every sentence at least three times type of stutter call at 3 o'clock in the morning. Yup. I got drunk and crunk.

What did I expect? I saw all the red flags...38, never been married, doesn't have kids, owns a successful company, country club membership, owns a house, has a car and last but not least, his last significant relationship was in 19-fucking-99...oh, and let me not forget to mention that he lives in Michigan. Yeah, fucking Michigan. Home to the fucking wasteland of America, Detroit. Fucking Michigan shaped like a dirty fucking mitten that looks like it's trying to fist fuck a rabbit. Fucking  Michigan where you freeze your god damned ass off for like 9 months out of the year. Home to the fucking pastiest mother fucking, rude ass, unhappy, wanna be Kid Rock or Eminem, talking funny saying stupid shit like 'pop' instead of soda, asshole, mother fuckers. Not to mention, home to the fucking Detroit Red Wings. A team with the stupidest fucking name. A name that makes me think of used maxi pads. Not hockey.

Everyone tried to warn me. My friends, my dad and my mother fucking gut all tried to tell me to stay away from him. They all tried to appeal to my better judgement.  He hasn't been in a committed relationship in this millennium, they said. He works all the time, they said. He golfs 4 hours a day...EVERY god damned day, they said. He's never had to worry or consider anyone but himself, they said. He lives in Michigan, they said. Do you really want to live in Michigan, they asked.  It's cold as fuck there, they reminded me. My buddy, Tilting Suds, told me that there were SO many red flags that it was like the Red Army marching into Berlin in 1945. Which in retrospect, I find both perceptive and well, fucking funny. But my fucking treacherous piece of shit heart wasn't having any of it. It betrayed me.

Yup it betrayed me and my mind in doing what was best for me. I felt like Adam in the Garden of Eden looking at that fucking perfect piece of ass, Eve. How could he have possibly resisted. How when she was putting that deliciously red apple to her perfectly pink parting lips...all while being naked? I can't hate on the dude. He was at a total and complete loss. There was no way he was walking away from all that as the victor. Nope. No way and no how. And that sneaky, deceitful, shit talking little snake totally knew it. You'd think Adam would have maybe, at the very least, gave pause for thought. I mean, acid hadn't been invented yet and here he is listening to his chick flapping her gums about a talking snake and apples that turn you into god. I mean just typing that whole scenario over again, sounds bat shit crazy. I can't even imagine what it was like to be there. To look that crazy bitch in the eye as she was droning off like she's Lewis fucking Carroll. To throw all caution to the wind and eat an apple, at the advice of a talking snake. What the fuck was he thinking?!?!? But I can't talk shit. Nope. I've lost all rights to goof on him. All rights to want to grab him by the shoulders, slap his dick and yell at him, "Dude! The bitch is talking about a fucking talking snake! About apples that turn you into God!!! Snap the fuck out of it! Kick that bitch in the twat and shove that fucking apple down that snake's mouth and walk away! Just fucking walk away!!!" But I'm no better. I'm the crazy bitch who listened to my fucking heart. A fucking bloody muscle that doesn't talk. I mean at least that snake had a mouth. I just sat there and fucking listened to it, getting lost in all the shit it was talking about love and how it conquers all. Imagining myself dancing and skipping around in a cartoonish like land, like the Beatles in that Yellow Submarine cartoon. Sitting there all whacked out of my mind dreaming up imaginary people and animals and monsters chasing rainbows in my pursuit of love. What the fuck was I thinking?!?!? How did I ever fucking believe this self centered, moody, bald prick would ever feel motivated by something as ridiculous as love, to change into the man of my fucking dreams. Like I was fucking Belle and he was the god damned Beast. Like following the advice of talking furniture, or fuck just any kind of talking inanimate objects or animals, sounds like even a remotely good idea. But I did it. I threw caution to the wind. I took a bite of that apple and came out butt hurt when it didn't turn me into a god.

Fuck love. I think you have a better shot at becoming god by eating an apple than you do of falling in love.

Peace, Love & Baseball,