It's Called A Break Up Because It's Broken

Once upon a very very long time ago, I was a 27 year old hot piece of ass. I had the world at my finger tips. I had it all - the beauty, the brains, the body, the job, the car, the apartment, the...you get the point. I was young, beautiful and ready to take over the world until I made one terrible misstep. Fuckface.

Fuckface was my demise...ok, I let Fuckface be my demise. I had convinced myself that I was in love with him. I wasn't though. It was all ego. I just couldn't understand why an old, fat, short man with adult acne, short T-Rex arms who wasn't funny, smart and was poor as fuck didn't want me. So there I stayed constantly tap dancing, selling myself on how great I was to a man who thought that I was, at best, ordinary. It took me SEVEN LONG MOTHER FUCKING years to get over that selfish fat fuck...and my impossible ego.

I tried everything to get over him. While the truth is nothing really worked until I decided I had enough with living the way I had been, there was something that kinda helped me through the process.

Now brace yourself because what I'm about to say helped me is not only kinda cliche but it's also pretty lame. I used to read a book about break ups. Not a big deal? Well, I read it more than once. Waiting for it to get worse? It was called, "It's Called A Break Up Because It's Broken" written by the same dude who wrote, "He's Just Not That Into You"

I can feel the judgement...hell, I'm even judging myself.

In the past when I was really down and I thought I was really determined to let Fuckface go, I'd read through it. I was convinced it had the key I needed to break free. Eventually I realized, like that bitch Dorothy, that I had the power to leave all along. I just needed to believe in myself.

I still took a lot from that book. They said a lot of shit, that no matter how lame it is, made a lot of sense. I believe in that book so much that anytime a friend was going through a heartbreak, which is pretty often, I'd send them a copy of it.

It's been almost 3 weeks since I've seen or talked to Lullabies. THREE WEEKS. Not only is that a record breaking streak, it's also been pretty easy to stay away until...

Last Friday I was driving to meet my family for a baseball game. I've been pretty stoked about it since it's my beloved Giants and they haven't played here since the 2010 World Series. On my way to my mom's, I started to tear up. Thoughts of him, how excited I was, how much I wished he was going, how the ticket my little brother's girlfriend was using was really bought for him all flooded my mind. So miserable that when anything good happens, I only want him at my side. So I allowed myself a good cry and pulled it together for the game.

On my way back home I was high on the game, the Giants, time with my family and well, ok beer. My thoughts couldn't have been further away from Lullabies and then it hit me. Like a swift unexpected a kick to the back of the head, Lullabies is seeing someone.

I have no evidence to support my theory nor do I intend to go looking for it. But I know with every fiber of my being that as I type this, there is someone else in his arms. She's getting his toothy grin and goofy laugh. She's getting all the kisses that were once mine. And tonight, it will be her that's laying on his chest falling asleep to the rhythm of his heart, smelling the scent of his skin all while being tangled up in him. You're probably wondering how I know all of this if I haven't talked to him; especially since this man has ZERO social media presence. I can't stalk and keep tabs on him like my exs do to me. But I do. From the day we met, we have always had this uncanny, unexplainable connection to each other that defies all reason and logic. It's pretty fucked up honestly.

If only I could shake this "know" in me that I was created for him.  I want to shake it...and him off. Just get past all of this shit. So I took out my rusty, trusty copy of, "It's Called A Break Up Because It's Broken" and started reading it...but reading it this time is very different.

I'm not trying to take it in fast so I can get drunk on the words. I don't feel the key to letting him go is hiden in it.  I just feel sad. Hopeless. Broken and I can't stop crying. For the first time, I feel the words, their sentiments, the heartbreak and the pain. I am truly heart broken. I know now this book was written for people who feel like I do right now. Man how it stings.

While I'm not peeling through the pages looking for the key to release me from him, I can say for the first time, I can feel myself flirting with the thought of hope. Hope that maybe reading it this time, may have something to soothe my soul and bring enough peace to my heart to push through the darkness, even if it's just for tonight.

Peace, Love & Baseball,

Defining Moments

Most people like defining moments. They say they make you stronger. They show you what you're made of. I could give a fuck about defining moments. I don't want to know what I'm made of. I don't what to know if I'm strong. Ignorance is bliss for a fucking reason. Maybe that's just me. I would rather not have that sick, twisted feeling in the pit of my stomach when something I thought would work out one way, doesn't. Who needs that??? Well, I guess I do.

There have been so many "defining moments" that have clearly defined what Michigan doesn't feel for me. But again, I'm forever a slave to the "what ifs" defying all reason in doing what I know is right for me. I most recently decided to call it quits and give Michigan the boot when he left me high and dry for a trip we had planned 2 months ago to go to Kansas City to see the San Francisco Giants play. He canceled a day and a half before we were supposed to leave. Anyone who knows me, knows I am a diehard Giants fan. Every time I see them step out onto the field, it's like seeing Paul McCartney for the first time. I tear up, I get goose bumps and I suddenly come down with a case of tourettes screaming in excitement. I grew up in the 'Stick. I used to see my boys in orange in black several times a month, every month, through out the season. I've been fortunate.  For as long as I've been watching them, they have never sucked. We've been to 4 World Series' and out of those 4 we've won 2. Not bad. Unfortunately, I was a complete and total dick growing up. I, for no reason, decided to hate my dad. I did lots of things to rub my disdain for my dad in his face. My crowning jewel was to pretend to be a Dodgers fan. Talk about a scorching knife right to the heart. As a kid, I wouldn't allow to myself to outwardly express my love for my team. I am a woman of little regrets, but not taking advantage of being amongst my fellow fans and pretending to be a Dodger fan just to spite my dad is my biggest regret. Now that I'm an adult and see the error of my ways, I tragically live in fucking Tex-ASS. I'm not even close enough to take a weekend road trip to see them play. So when I do see my team, it's absolutely special and I cherish it. Michigan knows this. He knows what this trip meant to me. Michigan had an epiphany two weeks before our trip. His best friend died of leukemia two years ago and recently had another friend diagnosed with ALS. Faced with his mortality he came to me and told me that he needed to make changes in his life. That he finally understood that we only live once and he recognizes that he has fallen into a rut of just working and golfing. He said that after his mom passed away that he took it upon himself to put his life on hold to make sure that his dad was ok but just when he was ready to start doing things for himself, his dad had a triple bypass and gall bladder surgery. But now, he sees that he needs to live his life and do what makes him happy and supposedly, I make him happy. He said he knew he needed to make an effort to see me. An effort to show me how much he cares for me. I bought it. Hook. Line. And mother fucking sinker. 

He canceled because supposedly his assistant fell. Her tumble was so bad that she was looking at the possibility of surgery. He was waiting on X-rays and MRIs for confirmation. But even if she hadn't fell, he was working on an appointment with a builder on a big project he was trying to land. I don't know about you but I smell good ol' fashioned BULL-MOTHERFUCKING-SHIT. But why argue? Why call him out on it? At the end of the day, he doesn't want to go with me. Knowing why he doesn't isn't important. I know what I need to know.  But is anything ever really that simple? Nope. Not for me. I have a taste for complicated bullshit. For Michigan is one of my customers. Yup, he and my boss are tight. In fact, my boss asked Michigan if he knew anyone in Tex-ASS who would be good in my current position. Michigan without hesitation recommended me. When I travel and party on business trips with my boss, Michigan knows every fucking detail. He is even given any photographs documenting our adventures. So writing Michigan off isn't as easy as it should be. Fuck me for breaking my one cardinal rule, to NEVER pick up my meat where I get my bread. In the 17 years I have been in this industry, I have never ever even once considered giving my number to anyone, much less date anyone. Why do I do this to myself?!? Knowing I had a fine line to walk, I told Michigan that I could remain friends with him if he refrained from talking about what he and I had. How could I have ever expected a man who left me high and dry for a trip that meant the world to me, a man who has done nothing but show me apathy for the past 7 months, to respect my wishes??? 

The brother of the friend who died of leukemia invited Michigan to go to Vegas with he and his wife to get away since Michigan is struggling with his mortality. Michigan asked me what I thought. I told him that he should go because we only live once. That opportunities are fleeting and he needed to take them when he had them. He joked about stopping in Tex-ASS on his way to Nevada. At the time I believed I'd be ok with him going. I didn't even question it. I didn't think it would matter to me. But god damn those defining moments. Those fucking moments that check your gut...and fuck you up. Today, after him texting me only to ignore me all of yesterday, he tells me that he decided to go to Vegas. BAM! Defining moment, in the form of a roundhouse kick right to my mother fucking face. When I read his text, it felt like he kicked me in the stomach. This mother fucker couldn't go on a trip he had planned with me for 2 months, yet he can go on a last minute trip to Vegas??? I can't even begin to imagine what a last minute ticket from Michigan to Vegas is. And then suddenly it hit me. I don't want to be friendly with this guy. Being friendly with this guy just gives him more opportunities to shit on me. To shit on me like it's nothing. Like it's my lot in life. So what to do? Do I trust what he said in the beginning when he promised me that if things didn't work out, that he wouldn't fuck with my career or do I suck it up, take my medicine and walk that line? 

I find myself, again, torn between what I know I need to do and what I want to do. I guess what I need is another defining moment...another gut check to show me what I'm made of, to let me know how strong I really am. Fuck defining moments. 

Peace, Love & Baseball,