Stop Romanticizing Stolen Dick

You can’t be one of those girls who blames the wife for forcing the husband to cheat.
~ Lorelai





Warning: this is VERY angry. I am very angry. Also, there are a number of people this could be directed to. It’s not towards any one person. Besides, an affair is an affair is an affair. The more the “couple” says that they’re different, the more the stories and excuses read like a textbook of Adultery for Dummies, aka, y’all say the SAME thing.

Also, I’m getting some comments about women cheating too – oh I know! Sad. But I wanted to focus on blaming the wife, specifically. Personally, if I’d gone through 18 months of pregnancy and two childbirths for a dude and I heard his girlfriend blaming ME? Oh HELL no. So but yes, women cheat too, I know that.

Before I begin, I will say one more thing. A person’s relationship is that person’s responsibility. The whole vilifying of the other woman while the guy gets off scot-free is misogynistic. But you know what else is misogynistic? Blaming the wife for your inability to keep your legs closed.

What the fuck, “ladies?”

I mean, are we really that hateful towards each other at the core? That somehow we not only justify sticking a spoken-for dick in ourselves, but we can actually manage to blame HIS WIFE???

I cannot tell you the number of times this year alone that I’ve heard someone blame a “man’s” wife for his cheating.

“She’s a bitch.” (Still his wife.)

“She doesn’t understand him.” (Still his wife.)

“They never have sex anymore.” (Yeah, keep using that word – “never.” It’s comforting isn’t it? Sucker.)

“The marriage is over.” (Nice try, watch the video.)


Maybe she’s a bitch because she’s born him two children and he’s fucking another “woman.”

Maybe she doesn’t understand him because rather than man up and fix the relationship, he pussies away to a woman who can “understand” him all the fuck she wants; she doesn’t have to live with a cheater..

Maybe they never have sex because HE IS A LIAR WHO FUCKS OTHER WOMEN. But again, why exactly do you believe him when he says he never has sex with his wife anymore? How do you know? “I just know.” No you don’t.


“LADIES!” SERIOUSLY! DO YOU HEAR YOURSELVES?????

Where is the compassion? Where is the love? The nurturing, our stereotypical good qualities that make us loving in relationships in the first place?

I could go on all day, and I would but I will get too angry, so I’m going to stop. All I will say is this:

“Men” who are cheating on your wives. You are fucking around with life and karma in a major way, and it WILL catch up to you. Also, if you have kids, where the HELL is your respect? You deserve to lose all rights to your children. Oh MAN, if I had kids with a guy and he cheated on me, that would be exactly the time I unleash my pack-of-wolves lawyers, because you can best believe that woman who thought his cheating “was my fault” would NOT be raising my kids, no way, no how.

Women who are helping him cheat. He will do it to you.

Yes he will.

Yes. He will.


I’m out. Watch the video though, I normally don’t tell you that, but it’s uber-relevant here. Listen to his textbook answers, and mostly listen to what Lorelai says starting at 3:40.





















©2008

A Star In Somebody Else's Sky

Just sometimes, it hits me. This place had a long history before us, has a long future after us. I keep thinking it's a part of our lives, but, really, it's the reverse. For a little while...I don't know.
It's like we're a part of its life.

~ Lorelai



Down the block from Javier's place, is the house that I lived in for 20 years. On and off the last few years, but I was the last one living there when it finally sold.

I didn't want to lose it. I did everything in my power to keep that house around, some way, somehow. All to no avail. As of May, I no longer had any right even to set foot on the property, much less go inside.

It stopped being mine.

Because Javier lives so close to the – no longer my – house, I have to drive near it pretty much every day. And every time, I would cry. It was so unfair. That was my house. How could the new owners love it the way I did?

Then one day, I passed by, and things were worse than ever. Shades were up. And from the street, plain as day, was the living room. Completely different.

Changed.

Not mine anymore.

I got bitter. Resentful. Who were these people, and how dare they live in my house? Why would they change it? Now I could never go home!

So I cried. Of course. And I knew I wasn't being reasonable. Few things about my emotions toward losing that house have been reasonable. I didn't care. I wanted my house back. I wanted to just park my car the way I had thousands of times, walk up the porch steps, avoiding that one broken brick, go inside, and see my family.

'Course, my family wasn't there anymore. My brother Robb had moved out a year earlier when he got married. My father and Eric had been in Colorado for almost six months; my mother, sister, and brother Sasha just a bit less.

When my house was finally sold and passed over to this new couple, it hadn't been "home" in some time. The rooms were unoccupied; the yard went unused. Even home cooking smelled lonely, because it was my cooking, not my mom's.

I remembered what my house was like before all that. What it was like growing up in it, so many Thanksgivings, Christmases, sleepover parties, adolescent and not-so-adolescent drama. That house was a haven for me for so long. Was I going to begrudge that to someone else?

Wasn't it more fitting that a young couple planning to have kids should live in this house now? Wouldn't I want those rooms as bright, sunny, and new for everyone as it was for me? Did I really want the house for myself, or did I want to hold onto something that had been long-since gone, just so no one else could have it?

I might always miss the big yellow house with the awesome porch swing. I will definitely always miss having my family under one roof, so close by.

But now it's time to let it go. To let other people be a part of that house's life.










©2008

Cutesy-Bootsey

You Make Me Want To La-La Kick You In The Eye


No kissing noises. No stories from my childhood, and no references to Chicago as "Chi-town."

~Rory


I have neither the time nor the concentration to write a substantial blog today, as my back has turned on me, maybe because I wrote the blog about not being old, my body is mocking me into being one of those people who complains about her back, like I already have a bad-dish hip from cheerleading, many many many Russian jumps into straddle splits without stretching out can lead to pain who knew and now my back hurts and furthermore WHY is "cheerleading" underlined<----twice now, in red? I understand arguments as to why it isn’t a sport, but it is most assuredly a word.

So I have to run an epsom salt bath because all of a sudden I am THAT person, who needs to run an epsom salt bath, but in the meantime I thought I’d do my first audience participation blog! No wait, my second. There was the Cereal Death Match I never followed up on. Maybe I will redo that. Hm.

But no, I was thinking about how much I abhor "cute" city nicknames, like I will bring the pain if you say "La La Land" unironically, and a more recent addition has been "Chi-town." Why do people talk this way? It’s so annoying! Why does everything have to have an adorable nickname, like we will talk about this whole "Go Green" fuckery at another time, but in the meantime I would like to know:


What cutesy phrases make you want to behave in a decidedly un-cutesy manner?

Does your hometown have a nickname? If so, how do you feel about it?

What pisses you off about outsiders’ behavior/attitudes? Whether you’re in New York and you hate when tourists treat the busy streets like a petting zoo (©Sars), or you live in New Jersey and in the words of my aunt, "like living there a lot better than telling people (she) live(s) there" because of all the jokes. What would you like to say to the world!


Answer one, all, or an assortment of the questions.

I will not be responding that frequently this weekend due to being hopped up on painkillers and losing my epsom salt virginity, but I will get to it as soon as I can!

The floor is now yours! Woot woot!





©2008