Open Letter to Depression/Why Does He Have to Fight with Me About Everything

Hello, Depression!

I know, it's been a while...And we should probably catch up, but I kind of thought that I had kicked you to the curb. I mean, I don't want to be rude, but I kind of have to leave you the pineapple.

See, I'm finally kind of getting my shit together. I finally have a job with insurance and a retirement plan. I eat like...Twice a day, too. I have a little gym membership and I'm in the process of purchasing a car. I live in an apartment with a dude who sometimes wants to bone, and I only worry about money once in a while. See, I thought you wouldn't be coming back any time soon.

I figured that while I had 0 shit together, you would be hanging out with me like...All the time. But, you totally didn't show up, so I thought we weren't buddies any more, and I kind of moved on and made friends with Contentedness and Determination. Yeah, we were pretty tight- and I know that bothers you, and that you don't get along with either of them. Listen, they are not gonna come chill with me if you keep hanging around.

So, I hate to be a bitch to you, since we were so tight for so long, but you're going to have to go. See, I have insurance now...And if you don't pack your bags and head on out...I might have to get some Prozac and clear you out of here.
__________________________________________________
JEEBUS!

Boyfriend has decided to contest me on every little thing. Unfortunately, I am usually right, and not nearly as argumentative.

Example: I like to take walks on this little trail that has been created by Suburb's Park District. The best part about the trail is that it goes through a densely forested area (the only quarter of an acre of forest in Suburb). The downfall of the trail is the number of bugs. I hate bugs. On the list of things I hate, it's pretty much like 1. Intentional ignorance 2. Republicans using religion as a front for their evil business plots and 3. Bugs. I *really* hate them. I especially hate it when they buzz really close to my ear.

So, the other day, Boyfriend was off to the store, and asked me if I needed anything, and I asked him to pick up a pair of super cheap, rather shitty, headphones. He asks me what's wrong with the *great* studio monitor headphones he got for me for Christmas, and I told him that I wanted something to listen to when I was on the trail, and I'm just not comfortable taking those outside when I'll be sweating.

He rolled his eyes, and said "God, why don't you just enjoy the sounds of nature." After he left, I punched a pillow and further argued my case to StupidFuckingCat. Frankly, I use those walks for exercise, and I would really like to keep a beat to keep myself moving, and I really hate those bugs. She ignored me, and then attempted to tear up the bedspread. I guess she took his side.

Well, last night, he asked me if I wanted to go for a walk with him since I had "fallen from the habit." I informed him that I have been in the middle of a week-long cramp session where the cramps are not only located in the usual belly/lower belly area, but rather, these are mega menstrual cramps that have taken over my legs, back and neck. I have simply taken 3 days off because I have been working every day, not sleeping well, crampy, cleaning, and cooking. I literally have not had a freakin' minute to myself.

I get the impression that he was taking me for a walk. Fuck him. But, we go on the trail, and the first thing he starts doing is freaking out about the bugs flying around his ears.


Naturally, I wait for the perfect moment when he mentions that he should have brought some earmuffs.

"God, Boyfriend, why can't you just enjoy the sounds of nature?"

He was completely stunned. It was as if someone had literally got him with a stun gun. It was the best moment of my day. Maybe he swallowed one of those bugs.

He blinked and said "what?" like he didn't know what I was talking about.

I pushed a little more: "you know, why would you want to block out the sounds of nature? God, why can't you just enjoy it?"

He continued to look just as stunned and confused as ever. He knew exactly what I was talking about, and it took him a good five minute to cope with the fact that someone had turned something on him- his meek and mild girlfriend, even.

He finally just made a fist and said "one day...one day...to the mooooooooooon!"

Awesome. You know you win the argument when he has no choice but to quote old television classics.


Example Two: when I moved Boyfriend into the apartment, I took the time to carefully arrange the kitchen in the most logical way possible, putting all of the teas that he owns into 1 cabinet out of the way for whoever is cooking, but in a logical place for whoever is drinking tea. I come back, three weeks later, and all of the tea is re-arranged...And it now owns two cabinets. TWO of the SIX cabinets devoted to tea. Come ON. Also, they are in the cabinets that are the least logical place. He has also managed to re-arrange everything else so that things are high in the cabinets, I can't reach anything that I need, and only the placement of the glasses makes sense.

I argued that it needed to be changed, and he refused to consider my points. I gave up, and sure enough, for the past week, we have constantly had problems with the kitchen- I need him to be around to get stuff from the cabinets, and when he's poking around trying to make tea, we are in each other's way.

He constantly bitches about it, and I finally just said "If you hadn't re-arranged everything in this kitchen, we would have enough room to put the groceries away, and we could co-exist here."

Baffled, again, he walked away looking stunned.

Example Three: This was the day I definitely wanted to kill him. I was, STILL, in the middle of this crampy, evil period. I had spent all day doing his laundry, and he gave me attitude while I was folding and putting away his underwear. It was late (like 8:00, and I knew dinner wouldn't be ready until 10 or so) and I hadn't eaten since noon...And so I know I wouldn't eat dinner because it would be too late.

Well, he decided that he wanted Chana Masala, which, as I'm sure you know, calls for Garam Masala, which, as I'm sure you know, is a toasted and ground mix of spices. This can be made at home with the average spices one would find in an Indian kitchen. OR, it can be purchased for pretty cheap at any Indian grocer. I took one look at the recipe, and opted for the Indian grocer, but, the same man who used to eat every single meal out of a take-out box, now insists on home-made garam masala.

Fuck.

We have about 75% of the spices on the list, and he tells me to "improvise." Improvise? I don't know what half of the shit on the list is...Let alone what it tastes like, and what would be an equivalent. Moreover, everything is some kind of retarded mix of metric measurements and old Indian housewife measurements- neither of which I know or even have the ability to measure.

It was like...Take 30 grams of that and mix it with as much of whatever else you would put into that recipe with a handful of that and...I was getting testy, especially since the recipe only called for a teaspoon of this crap to season four cups of chick peas, three onion and three tomatoes...Not to mention the fact that we could purchase this crap for like...Two dollars.

So, I'm hungry, sore, tired, and frustrated, and he starts yelling at me because I'm "not having faith in the recipe" or whatever. So, I started yelling back, and I let him fucking have it. I let him know that I would cooking this recipe with the full knowledge that I am going to be hungry tonight, I am sore, I'm pissed that he gave me attitude about the way to fold man panties, and at best, I wanted to mutilate him.

He walked away, no apology (typical...I have yet to get any kind of apology from him---ever---) and no talking. In fact, he continued to completely avoid me. That's pretty much his tactic for dealing with me when I'm not happy. Just leave me alone- which, as you probably know, only pisses me off more when I'm mad at him.

Example Four (final example): I don't like being late. In fact, I don't even like being on time. I like to be at least 10 minutes early, especially when I'm going to work...Boyfriend does not understand this, and I've come to accept that he's ALWAYS late. And yes, it's because he has 0 respect for the people who are affected by his tardiness. But, I refuse to be late for work, and while I still don't have a car, he has to drive me. So, I'm pretty good about getting on his ass to get up and get moving at the appropriate time.

Well, he was running a little late the other day..By about 15 minutes, and I reminded him. He has to be in the shower by half-past or else there is no way I can get to work in time...And it was 2:43. Well, I said "Boyfriend, it's quarter to...Are you getting in the shower?" And he gets all pissy and says "I see the clock, it's 2:43, not quarter to...If you're going to remind me of the time, you might as well be accurate."

Fucker. Stupid, late, cat-loving, anal-retentive, unfunny, jackass Boyfriend.


P.S. On the advice of a friend, I have decided to handle our sexual disfunction by not giving out blowjobs until I get off- it's been 5 months, and damnit, it's my turn.


Methinks he will die before he gets another blowjob from me.

Why IS fucking bad?

It’s that time again- time to seriously consider, find, and see a gynecologist. Oh, joy.

So, this morning, I was laying in bed, contemplating everything that I wanted to talk to the doctor about- mostly about getting back on birth control, my irregular periods, and the value of a low-hormone pill. Naturally, that came around the morality of using birth control. I would be lying if I said that the only reason I would use The Pill as a means of regulating my cycles, and so I have to admit that I would most certainly enjoy the benefit of being 99.8% guaranteed that I won’t get pregnant while regularly taking The Pill.

Now, I’m not opposed to birth control on a personal level- in fact, if it were possible, I would put every woman on birth control until they are in stable marriages (or civil unions), capable of caring for a child (emotionally, physically, financially, etc) and good candidates for genetic reproduction. I find that too many retards are procreating at the exact worst moment. Boyfriend has hypothetical objections to birth control- such as the instance in which sperm and egg do meet, but The Pill keeps the happy couple from attaching and growing- somehow, in that case, it’s a little too close to abortion for him. While he is pro-choice for other people, where his sperm is concerned, he is decidedly pro-life (which is why I would be tempted by a secret abortion were I to miraculously conceive). I decided to inform him that this situation (sperm and egg meeting, but being prevented from attaching) is purely theoretical (so says the exceedingly outdated study that I cited to calm him).

Anyway, I’m not bothered by a bunch of cells being flushed down the toilet. Frankly, I’m pretty much cool with any abortion that occurs before the third trimester…and it has recently occurred to me that I am very loose with those morals- my childhood church should be shamed.

All that being said, I very quickly jumped to the morality of pre-marital (and marital) sex. I grew up in a church that taught that all women were whores that set out to tempt men into bed and bring them away from God. Apparently, the men in the church that thought up this doctrine were in some kind of denial, because all of the sex that I saw happening in the singles community in the church was between aggressive males and females afraid to disappoint their superior male partners. Boyfriend was raised Catholic- so not only did he grow up thinking that sex was completely immoral, but premarital sex was the pure work of Satan, and that engaging in said activity should inspire enduring remorse and guilt.

We still don’t get it on very often, and I blame Catholicism for that.

Furthermore, in my musings, I’ve started to wonder if God in the Judeo-Christian sense even exists. Really, I think it’s a bunch of bullshit. I think that the only reason people regard Judaism (and Islam) with any reverence is that Christianity has its roots in Judaism. Moreover, the bible reads a lot like any of the other “myths” that give rise to “false” religions. When you take a step back, and really think about it…Most of the Old Testament reads like Native American legend or Greek Mythology. And I’m pretty much convinced that any and all moral imperatives therefore do not come from some kind of almighty being that arbitrarily decides what is “moral” and what is “immoral,” but rather that the moral imperatives are created by human leaders seeking to maintain power, control a population, and regulate daily life (for better or worse).

When you have a vastly uneducated population, it’s easier to control them with the fear of eternal damnation than to control them with the fear of economic collapse.

So, given this idea, I wondered why all the branches of Christianity are so obsessed with sex, or really, not having sex. Why is it bad? From a biological standpoint, Sex is GREAT because it fulfills the biological imperative that propagates the species. From a relational standpoint, sex is good because it can create such an intimate atmosphere for a couple (but, it is not “GREAT” because so many relationships are harmed by abuses of sex). From a psychological standpoint sex is good for brain chemistry (and isn’t “GREAT” due to the same abuses of sex). It seems, actually, that in every aspect with the major exception of religion, sex is a very good thing.

My thought: in the early days of Judaism (and really, humanity) there was no welfare and no birth control. There was no system to care for bastard children and no system to prevent bastard children from being born. In fact, the social system was set up in such a way that bastard children were more or less guaranteed to starve. With women being worth little more than cattle (or less, depending on how closely you follow Hammurabi’s Code) bastard children had little chance of survival. So, the importance of creating stable family units would seem to be exceedingly important. What better way to tie men to women and their children by forcing men into marriages by making sex only accessible in marriage and outlawing divorce. Women get income, children get dinner, and men get happy penises. Problems solved; especially when men and women are marrying a year or two after puberty (or before puberty, if you are a woman).

I don’t think that getting off before going to bed clouds your judgment or keeps you from being close to God. If anything, it gets rid of sexual tension and anxiety so that you can spend the majority of the day with your head clear and your body free from insatiable lust. Today, couples can avoid pregnancy and disease transmission through the use of condoms or birth control in conjunction with monogamy. This, to me, provides a climate that eradicates the need to regulate the bedroom behaviors of people with the fear of eternal damnation.

As far as I can tell, if I spent all day and night praying and voting republican, I would not be any less damned than the street whore.

That’s not to say that I’m jumping into the dark waters of moral relativism, I’m just saying that I don’t think sex has anything to do with morality if it is between two consenting adults- of any gender and perversion.

All this to say: birth control is really fucking expensive, but I’m sick of irregular periods and the smell of latex.

I can feel it.

Well, my bags (or boxes, as the case may be) are unpacked, and my things are settled in, and I can't say the same for Boyfriend and his never-ending supply of bullshit possessions. He's had this apartment for about 3.5 weeks, and there are still boxes that aren't unpacked and things that haven't found a final resting place. I suppose that part of the problem is that he just owns too many things- and a majority of those things are either completely useless or seldom used.

I can't say that anything in the past month or so has gone my way, so I'm naturally inclined to have a lot to bitch about- and trust me, I will.

First, I would like to meet the retard that designed this apartment. We can all generally agree that the people most likely to operate a kitchen are women- and to me, this indicates a good argument to make the kitchen to scale for a woman, not an NBA player. I can barely reach into the bottom shelf of the mounted shelves...I don't even bother with the top shelf. I know that I am shorter than the average American woman (who stands at 67" or 5' 7") but I am only shorter by 2 inches. Moreover, this area is mainly populated by Indian and Pakistani immigrants- and I have yet to see an Indian or Pakistani woman who stands any taller than I do. Ridiculous!

Second, I can't help but constantly draw comparisons to my first stint living with a significant other- and in some ways, I long for that situation (which is crazy, if you know the story). I've become my mother in my obsession over the clock (and I think, for that reason, I've stopped wearing a watch- although this has made for obsessive cell phone checking). I like to wake up, take my walk, shower, make my bed and be ready to leave in two hours (allowing for a 45 minute walk). Because Boyfriend decided to take the day off, I invited him to take a walk with me...BIG FUCKING MISTAKE. I woke and got moving around 9, meaning that I wanted to get out and be on my way by 9:15. Boyfriend woke at about the same time, and asked if he had enough time to brew coffee- I should have said no. But, the man enjoys his morning cup of Kenyan blend, and who am I to separate him from his one true love? So, I decided to make the bed (which is an event because we have so many blankets- which is another story for another paragraph) while he brewed and drank his coffee. Well, after he wandered around and did whatever the hell he does to waste time, we finally get our shoes on and I anxiously finger the latch on the door...To no avail. A user manual for a DVD player that he no longer uses was sitting on top of a still-packed box, and he had to stop to read it.

Jesus H. Christ. I loudly unlocked the deadbolt after 5 minutes of watching him read that stupid manual, and we were on our way...At 11. High Heat, no shade, 2 hours after I had planned to go on the walk. I was irritated. But, I didn't want to be the annoying girlfriend that ruined his day off, so I didn't say anything. We walk over to the trail and move down the lush path- it's well shaded by tall trees that only occasionally let in a patch of sun- my favorite. Now, let's note that Boyfriend stands at 6'2" and he's all legs. I stand at 5'4" and I have a long torso- there is no way I can keep up with even his laziest strides. I have mentioned this problem to him over and over again, but perhaps because I wasn't on the television screen when I said it, he didn't really hear me. I tried to keep up, but I was, essentially, jogging. And in this humid heat...I was tired quickly. I gave up trying to keep up with him about the time he decided to take a detour off the path and into an un-shaded neighborhood. It was just too hot for me to be running to keep up with his stupid ass.

I called out to him that not only was I far behind him, but my skin was starting to burn. I am, yet again, proving to be my mother's spawn. I simply can't be in the sun for extended periods of like...25 seconds or more. Our total walk was 45 minutes, and about half of that was in the sun- and I've come back quite pink in the cheeks. Great. But, not only do I find that I burn easily...I get some kind of stupid rash when I'm in the sun...And that's really pretty, comfortable, too.

As usual, rather than listening to me, Boyfriend continues loping ahead, plunging into the harsh sun while I try to keep up and shade my face with my hands. I had the keys to the apartment, and I seriously considered just turning back and going home- if he couldn't be bothered to even listen to me, I couldn't be bothered to make sure he didn't get locked out of the building. But, because I'm a stupid bitch, I followed him through the neighborhood while he explored ways to get back onto the path. I continually warned him that there was a fence, and he kept ignoring me. Maybe there is something about the fact that I have a vagina that makes my opinions and statements completely unimportant.

We finally get back onto the campus, and, yet again, he doesn't take my word for the best path, and we split. I sit in the shade while he navigates his way back to me- my whole face is stinging, and I can feel the bumps forming on my cheeks. He mentions that this has been really pleasant, and asks if I want to make another circuit. In no gentle way, I explained that he was more than welcome, but I was going straight back to the apartment.

We get back, I take my shower, and by 12:15, I'm ready to do whatever we need to do. Boyfriend has just gotten into the shower. I think I might kill him in his sleep.

As for the bed, he can't sleep under the comforter that I own. He says that it's too hot- which is most certainly the biggest bunch of bullshit I have heard in the past 3 days. It is a light cotton thing that, frankly, is the lightest thing I've ever slept under. He'd rather sleep under a heavy cotton blanket- apparently he equates how puffy the blanket is with how hot it is. He refuses to even try sleeping under my comforter, and tries to get me to sleep under his stuffy blanket. No thanks, 'tard. So, the bed has to be made with the two sheets, two blankets, comforter and special cat blanket. He thinks all of that is ridiculous, and that I should just bring out the comforter when I'm going to sleep- but I don't think he understand exactly how ugly his blanket is, and that seeing my bedframe with my comforter is pretty much the only comfort of home I have. Maybe he just doesn't understand (even though he couldn't stay at my apartment for longer than a single night because he didn't feel at home- but no one ever accused Boyfriend of having any empathy).

The biggest concern is #3: Stupid Fucking Cat. I hate hate hate Stupid Fucking Cat. She's managed to bite me twice in the past three days, and Boyfriend is not concerned- after all, she's a lot tamer than she was before. Boyfriend is not at all concerned that I have to wake up every morning at 5 am to sleep on the couch because Stupid Fucking Cat takes the smelliest shit ever about 3 feet away from my nose- he's gotten used to it, I guess. No, the litter box can't be moved because Stupid Fucking Cat is used to it there, and Boyfriend can't think of another single place that Stupid Fucking Cat's litter box could go. I say: how about on the porch- where Stupid Fucking Cat can live, too. But, I don't say anything because I know all too well that if Boyfriend had to choose between Stupid Fucking Cat and me, he would choose Stupid Fucking Cat. I mean, he has already, hasn't he? Stupid Fucking Cat's comfort has priority over my comfort. She has more space. When she gets pissed off and bites me, the answer isn't "God, Stupid Fucking Cat needs to be stopped" it's "Stupid Fucking Cat needs her space. She was angry, so while you were standing in front of the bed, she came out from her hiding spot and attacked your leg- you should know better than to stand anywhere near where Stupid Fucking Cat could possibly be hiding."

I will kill them both in their sleep.


I shouldn't even bother introducing him to my parents. This relationship isn't going to last as long as this lease. I can feel it.

tequila dance

I've enjoyed some tequila in my time, and overall, I prefer 1800 when I'm doing a shot.


For my birthday, Male Roommate bought two shots of said tequila, and the bartender commented that I am not a cheap date.


I am a cheap date, as I usually go dutch, I just don't drink shitty tequila.



Speaking of tequila, I'm not sober...and this entry makes sense right now, but I'm about 99% sure that I'll re-read this in the morning and decide to never drink again because I get too fucking retarded.

It's my birthday and I'll cry if I want to.

Yesterday was my birthday. I turned 21.


Sometimes, I have these highly depressing moments in life- and these occasions usually land on major holidays, anniversaries, and birthdays. I hate birthdays the most- and I'm considering never celebrating mine ever again- that is, I don't even want to acknowledge it in the future.

It's not that I'm afraid of growing older...I'm afraid of being forgotten, and there is no better way to feel forgotten than to spend your birthday without anyone around you remembering. I should mention that I got a lovely e-card from my parents and grandparents, a sweet email from my youngest sister, and a few comments on my myspace account from people who got a reminder from myspace.

*sigh* The whole thing was a mess, from start to finish. Female Roommate put one of her cats down on Friday, and had her grandfather's funeral on Saturday, so Male Roommate and I decided that attempting to celebrate my birthday this weekend would be a complete failure, and the introduction of any other event might send Female Roommate over the edge.

So, I spent the morning quietly packing the last of my things and cleaning. W00t. Boyfriend was supposed to show up at 2 to pick me and half of my crap up (because he didn't want to make two trips in one day, let alone two trips in one weekend because that's just too much fucking work for him- nevermind the fact that I turned over 5 days of my life to him so that I could pack and move his shit). Naturally, Boyfriend postponed the trip because he stayed up too late, slept too late, and takes too long to groom. So, he shows up at 4:30 and tells me that something came up at work, so he will have to spend the evening working.

At that point, I was simultaneously livid and guilty. Livid- because I didn't want to spend the evening quietly reading in the corner while he worked, and guilty because I felt so selfish for being livid.

To me, this meant that we had to load my crap in the car right away to get back to Suburb at the appropriate time, but Boyfriend said that he wanted to grab some lunch.

We go out to his car, and sitting in the passenger seat is a piece of paper that reads something to the effect of "I didn't know what to get you, so I'm going to offer a clothes shopping trip." Now, anyone who really knows me will be able to say without doubt that clothes shopping is one of my least favorite activities- right up there with having my toe nails removed with pliers without anesthesia. I hate my body enough that buying clothing is something I do alone when I've gathered enough self esteem that I could potentially like myself. Then I go into a small cubicle and look at myself in various stages of undress and in unflattering items in a full length mirror until I have sufficiently killed whatever self esteem I may have accidentally grown since the last shopping trip. Needless to say, this is an activity that I not only loathe, but I wish to endure when alone. I don't need my skinny boyfriend there, and I certainly don't need to do this instead of an actual birthday celebration. I expressed mild happiness at the thoughtless "gift" and we drove off for lunch.

Without asking what I thought about it, Boyfriend chose Shitty Bavarian Restaurant because he loves the schnitzel there- and I'm sure I've mentioned this before, but I don't care for German food, especially the German food that comes out of the Shitty Bavarian Restaurant kitchen. While casually consuming lunch/dinner, he noted that he wanted to look at kitchen tables at the furniture store.

I should note that Boyfriend does not plan to purchase a table from this store because they do not deliver to Suburb, so we were shopping for a table that he would never purchase. Lovely, my two least favorite activities combined into one: shopping and completely wasting time.

So, we run back to the apartment, I load about half of my crap into his car, and we drive to Suburb while he takes calls from work. I unload the car and re-assemble my dresser with some of his help in between the times that he runs to the computer to work.

At about 11, I am exhausted, and settle down onto the couch. He comes out, sits on the couch, and turns on the television.

3 minutes to midnight, I go to the kitchen and toast myself with a glass of water to mark the end of my birthday- while I cried and he watched shitty footage of DJ Shadow and some other DJ. I finally wiped away the tears and all evidence that I had cried, and went to sleep on his twin bed.

Around 2 am, he hovered over me and asked "what's up?" to wake me- I guess that was the nice way of saying "get the fuck out of my bed and go sleep on the couch." I didn't respond, simply grabbing a blanket and going back to the couch.

The next morning (well, afternoon for him), while watching more stupid fucking television he asked if I enjoyed my birthday celebration. I think that is when it occurred to me that Boyfriend's complete lack of empathy struck again. He enjoyed the day, how could I possibly not love it, right?

I told him that I didn't plan anything for the day for the sole purpose of not being disappointed, and that, m'dear, is true. I purposefully made no plans because I know that the more I plan, the more upset I'll be when the day turns out the way it always does- with tears and a lonely night. I just didn't mention the tears and lonely night bit because I didn't want my selfish and childish expectations to make him feel bad or create a fight. That, and I know that I would be embarrassed to admit any of these feelings to anyone who actually knows me- which is why this ranting is happening on this blog, and not over the phone or on my other less-anonymous blog.

We had to go straight to the train so I could get back to the apartment at a reasonable hour, and really, I was happy to leave so early in the day. One more moment being around him while I wobbled the line between sanity and insanity and the line between tears and composure...Well, I doubt I could have handled it.

When I got off the train, Male Roommate and I talked over the whole weekend (including his hot date on Saturday) and he told me that he had sent a secret text message to Boyfriend reminding Boyfriend of my birthday.

At that point, I pretty much lost it. The one bit of solace I had was that Boyfriend had remembered my birthday, but it turns out that he had not remembered my birthday, and in fact, probably resorted to the last minute no-card-no-gift-promise-of-personal-hell idea last minute.

Frankly, I would have settled for going to the neighborhood bar and getting a $3 beer- anything but assembling my dresser, unpacking, and falling asleep alone after a day of doing all of the things I hate the most. Really, I should be used to this crap by now...But it still bothers me, maybe because it was my 21st birthday, and those are supposed to be special...I mean, my sweet sixteen was botched at best, but at least my parents remembered my birthday, bought me an actual gift, and celebrated the event with activities for which I at least harbor neutral feelings.

For his birthday, I went through 4 or 5 stores looking for the exact sweaters that he wanted and then wrote a long and heartfelt message in a card.

All I wanted was a beer* and I didn't even get that. I didn't want a cake or balloons or anything. I wanted quality time, relaxation, and a celebration of the fact that I can drink legally.


I was thinking that Ex-Boyfriend J was the epitome of asshole- going so far as to cheat on me in my own car while standing me up for a date- but even he was thoughtful enough to purchase tickets to my see my favorite band *and* get a little thing that would allow me to listen to my mp3 player in my car "because [he knew] how much [I] hate to be separated from [my] music."

I can't help but think that I am preparing to waste part of what's left of my youth on a man who makes an asshole look like a romantic and thoughtful lover.

How retarded am I?



Needless to say, there will be no compliments given today. In fact, I will not give any compliments until I stop being mad about this. I know the point of giving a compliment is to reflect on why I like him and keep me from dwelling on why I should leave him, but I am so angry, hurt and upset that I can't think of any compliments, nor do I think that he deserves that kind of lavishing.












*Actually, I mentioned to a friend that all I wanted was a glass of wine and a backrub, and I still got neither, although that friend did offer to fly in from Vermont to deliver the gift.