secrets

So here’s the truth about a couple of things…

Broken fingers, suck. Please take it easy on me, grammar and stuff. I’m injured.

Broken coffee makers, suck. Ya know, those Kureig things? Ya, they suck to begin with, so they suck when they break. Suck.

Rainy days suck. Except that now, I can sit here with my broken fucking finger, and my broken fucking Kureig, and write. Which totally doesn’t suck. But I’m dying, and in pain….and I really want my coffee. And I’m too lazy to go to Starbucks, and my bratty boyfriend won’t even bring it to me. Damn him. I even texted him the passive aggressive “OMG, my coffee maker is broken” text. And he wrote back, “that SUCKS”. Jeez. And then he added, “MY Starbucks tastes really good, tho.” haha. Well, PitaBoy, that’s the last time I suck you off at your desk in the middle of the afternoon!” ;)

All things that suck. See above.

So, I’m at brunch yesterday with my girls….and we are discussing my latest “issue” (notice I said latest issue, because I have so many) and we will dub it, “The Midnight Text”.  Ok, so I’m sleeping at Scott’s house…yes, I do sleep over at his house. Is that allowed? Am I a slut? Dad, stop reading. Ok, moving on. So, at like midnight one night last week, he gets a text, and I’m like, “Honey, you just got a text, maybe it’s the boys? Check it.” And he’s all like, “No, no… it’s all good.” And I’m like, whatever. But you know I’m not like “whatever”. Cause if you know me, you all know there is NO WAY I’m like WHATEVER! Hell to the no.

But really, is it my business who is texting at midnight? After just a couple of months of dating….is it my place to be upset that his ex-girlfriend is drunk texting him like a gutter slut at 2am? Do I have the right to be mad, or jealous….or can I ask him to tell her to stop? Hmmmm.  Is it normal that I have visions of calling her myself, and telling her to come and pick up her Super Plus Tampons that she left here under the sink, because I use slender regulars, and my vagina is obviously not as loose as hers? I’m going to hell, for sure. Come and get em, bitch.

I mean, then I ask him, and he tells the truth. He is the BEST guy on the planet. He can’t lie. He tells me he doesn’t want to hurt her. Sigh. I am kinda in love. Get the barf bag. He’s honest, and tells me every last detail. For the love of god, I ask questions, he answers them. PUKE! Is there a happy medium? Can’t we just keep some of our skeletons in the closet? Does he have to share everything? I can’t compete with her. ugh. And  do I have to tell him everything about MY past?  Cause if I do, I swear…he won’t like what he hears. But if I don’t, then am I lying by omission? I need an attorney. I feel dirty. Maybe a good shower with my favorite scrub, and my hot pink puffy loofah. Be back. For real, I need a shower. And my finger needs a break. I swear, I will never catch a fucking football again. Zac owes me big time.

Ok, I’m back…so he asks me how many have there been. 

Ha. Like how many what? How many dates? How many assholes…how many guys over 35? How many guys with brown hair? How many with cats? I know, how many professional baseball players? haha. How about how many guys with blue eyes? I think that’s a great one. I like that number. How many guys with blue eyes. Ummm, 4. And I can tell you that for a fact. Pat yourselves on the back boys, you are in the minority! ha. I’m dying over here. And green eyes, I think there was only one. Yeesh. What is the point? What is the point of bring out all the skeletons in my closet? All the good, and the bad….and the amazing? All the fun, or not fun. All the “mistakes” I made. Or the “learning experiences” I like to call them. What about how many times I thought I was in love? Really, in love? I mean didn’t we all have those? Didn’t we all have fun in our 20’s and learn about us. And make huge, crazy mistakes? And then settle down and get married….and wish we made some more?

So, truth be told, I am not sharing my inner most secrets this time around. I am keeping some of my skeletons in my closet, where they belong. Not everything needs to be said, not every little bit of my past needs to be laid out (pun intended) across the table….and dissected. I’ve grown up, and learned from my mistakes. And my “experiences”.  And I really think, that sometimes, bringing up all that past bullshit that used to be who you were, just creates doubt. Ya know? Time for a fresh start. And it’s such a double standard anyways. If I said I slept with 50 guys, I’m a slut. But if a guy said he slept with 50 women, he is a super-stud. And yes, I just said that. Super-stud.

I deserve it. And so does Scott. Just because I was a crazy bitch with Mark, and did nutty-ass things…doesn’t mean I’m going to be that way now, right? And maybe Mark made me crazy! Strike that, he did. We were not a good fit. I wanted to kick his ass. I need a clean slate. And just because a person acts like a psycho with one person, doesn’t mean they aren’t right for someone else. Not everything needs to be said, all the time. And it’s just okay to keep some of your “dirty little secrets” tucked away for a rainy day…or a blog entry for all the world to read.

And as one of my dear friends who would like to remain unnamed says,  “Some things are…well, just better swallowed.” Gotta love it.  Only wish I would’ve thought of it myself. My version was a little bit raunchier. RL, you rock. And thank you for cleaning up my act, just a bit.  ;)

xo j