Libelous and Satirical Fun

So two of the great things about living in the USA are that you can speak the truth without fear of legal retribution.  Social retribution is another matter, but I am willing to deal with that.  Hell, I have been a jackass most of my life, so am somewhat used to this by now.  

This is going to be funny to some and rough to others, but I need to get it out.  Now. I will be 41 in one week and I do not want to carry this shit around any more.  “Demons!  Be gone!”  Did that work?  If anyone shows this to my dad, I will deal with it myself.  If I want to kill someone, I will take care of it (note to law enforcement, I am not planning to kill anyone and do not have the means to do so).

About a year ago, I feel in love with someone I had known for a very long time.  He was charming, funny and had an accent and I will do about anything for an accent.  But he had a medical condition that was previously undisclosed and I wasn’t strong enough to handle it. 

We had a great time, we were silly, I felt like I was a 16 year old.  It was crazy and weird and exotic and chaotic and then he proposed.  This was my first proposal and as I always say in business “never, EVER accept the first offer”.  But I did.  In the parking lot at Bel Square mall.  Eww.  A mall?  In Bellevue? What kind of crack was I on?  But I did.  I made plans to introduce him to my dad, we flew out to Hawaii and he actually asked for my hand in marriage.  My dad cried.  I guess he figured he would never get rid of the mouthy, insolent brunette only child and decided to go for it.  Did I mention he had an accent?

He wanted to move into our own place so we could start our own memories.  Fair.  I get that.  However, it was not my kind of place.  I like a house with a history and some places you can’t walk or you will fall in to the basement and maybe a slight smell of mold.  I grew up in this kind of house and it just feels like home.  This is why my own house is a little fucked up and you should be wary going down the steps.  But I love its quirky weirdness, I love its imperfections, much in the way I don’t have any respect for people that have bad habits.  Like heroin addiction. 

So we leased a (no shit) $5000 a month townhouse overlooking lake union.  My mortgage is $1500 and my income at the time was $5,250. It was nice, if you are into new money.  As the old saying goes, new money or old money, it is still money.  But I like shabby chic.  This was all stainless steel crap. 3 story windows and 4 bathrooms.  Look, I am not the kind of girl to hire a maid, but four fucking bathrooms?  Really, who needs to pee that much?

After we moved in, things went south, fast.  He was unable to work, feel into a depression and started behaving really strangely.  No, you can’t go to breakfast with your friends!  No, you have to come home right after work. One night I got home to find a butcher’s knife and razor blades floating in our bath tub.  He showed me the marks the next day.  I had lunch with an old friend who told me “horizontal = therapy, vertical = morgue”.  He also threatened me to the point where I said I would call the police if he came one step closer. 

I left that night to sleep on my own sofa.  At my house.  He came home hours later and demanded I come home.  According to sources, on nights he didn’t return, he came to my house to sleep there.  Should I get a new sofa? 

Now I am not a pussy, I do not do what I am told.  I DO NOT cave in to men, but I was scared.  A few nights later, he didn’t come home.  He claimed to have slept with two of my friends.  At my house. 

Now, this starts getting good.

Christmas Eve, 2011, I got several texts and phone calls from my friends.  “are you OK?  And I am just thinking”, and I am just thinking “did I drink and facebook post or something?”  He dumped me.  On Facebook.  On Christmas Eve.  While I was in the next room.  Warm fuzzy photos of us together, sad songs – am I dating a 16 year old?

Is this a bad episode of Glee?  I packed my clothes, my cats and my toiletries and slept on the basement floor of my house.  MY house.  I was still on the hook for rent and fuck knows what else.  All Christmas weekend I moved what I could carry.  I spent Christmas Eve and Christmas day moving what I could in my truck.  Merry fucking Christmas.

I had a friend move in while I was done (you do the math – Lease, $5000, mortgage $1500, income $5200) so had to couch surf in my own house for a week while we found her another place to live and had to move all of her shit because she had not planned for this eventuality).  Luckily, a very dear friend helped me move her to a house with 87 stairs so I could sleep in my bed and not the ground. 

Fast forward – he moves in with a Russian cupcake hooker while I am still paying half the rent.  He then moves out with an 18 year old (so my sources tell me) and demands I get my shit out of there within 3 days.  Tomorrow is the final walk through (learned that today).  So one more encounter with the ex, luckily one of my dear friends cut the engagement ring off my finger which will stay off.  For a very long time.