Today I realized that I’m a world class asshole.
Exhibit A: I am still completely undone with love for a man
who absolutely does not love me back, and was, by any reasonable person’s
standards, kind of a dick to me while we were together. If he showed up on my doorstep tomorrow and sincerely apologized I'd forgive him instantly, like an idiot. After things ended in a remarkably predictable
fashion – e.g. me with a broken heart, just pining away – I now have the nerve to
be sad about it! And wallow! And fret! And complain
and whine incessantly to my beloved
friends who are without a doubt sick-to-death of hearing about it at this point. And keep myself up nights listening to every song ever made that makes me think of him! And make a batch of Rice Krispie Treats and eat nearly all of them in a day! And get drunk and fall down stairs! And screw anyone I want and everyone I shouldn't! And
all of this for an unjustifiably long period of time, relative to the length of
the actual relationship!
See? Asshole.
Exhibit B: I am utterly incapable of being attracted to any
man who might actually be (gasp!) appropriate for me. Emotionally available?
Bor-ing! Got a good job? Not interested! Well educated and intelligent? No
thank you! Financially responsible? Move along! Funny, tall, charming, and clearly
into me? Who wants to be bothered with THAT!? Not me! No, instead of giving
weight to important things that actually matter, I prefer to be a snarky,
judgmental bitch that gets annoyed because you left my half and half out,
causing it to spoil and me to spend an unnecessary $1.59 to replace it. Or
irritated because you’d rather not get
your shoes dirty, like a pussy. Or because that one time you looked at me when
you didn’t have your glasses on your eyes kind of crossed and that was
suuuuper weird. Or because you, like 80% of all people on the planet, are physically incapable of loading the dishwasher in a not-retarded way. I
mean, WTF? It is not rocket science. No, I will invariably choose to ignore any
large, waving red flags that warn of potentially major pitfalls in the course
ahead (Unemployed? Never finished college? Habitual adulterer? Near-hoarder? All-out liar? No biggie!); but a little pebble in the road and HOLD THE PHONE! I’m outta here!
See! Ass. Hole!
Exhibit C: If you’re in love right now, I fucking hate you.
Even if I absolutely love you, I still fucking hate you. I hate that you and
your partner get to go grocery shopping together. And make dinner together. And
have fights about how much you’re spending on groceries. And do laundry for
each other. And help pick out the best jeans for your butt. And see each other’s
emergency underwear on those days when it’s been too long since you last did
laundry together. And go on vacation together. And sit at home and read the
paper together. And sleep on each other’s shoulders. And oh just fuck you.
See?! I can say that because I am an ASSHOLE!
Exhibit D: I’ve used like twenty exclamation points in this
blog post so far. And you know who abuses their punctuation rights like that?
Yep! Assholes!
If the first step to recovery is admitting the problem, then
I guess I’ve taken an important step by admitting my assholeishness to the
world. Funny how that doesn’t really make me feel any better. Maybe it needs to be more formal.
"Hi. My name is Maria and I am an asshole."
Nope, still don't feel any better.
Someone give me a fucking Rice Krispie treat.
