Ed. Note: This story contains explicit language.
Blog Entry #1 – Should Have Stayed Home
What did I do last night!? Seriously, I can’t figure it out. I’ve tried. Don’t think that I haven’t. I’ve tried meditating; I’ve tried standing on my head for better blood flow; I’ve even tried going for a run! (News flash, I hate running. I was nearly hit by two different cars, and I am fairly certain there is a small fire in my shin. How IS THAT POSSIBLE!?). Did any of that work? No. Not one fucking bit!
I’ve got ice on my shins and I am still in a cloud. I need to time to think about this. But I have a feeling it’s pretty deplorable.
HOLY FUCK! It’s beyond deplorable. It’s disgusting. It’s one of the worst things that any living man could have done. It was a mistake! It was a fucking mistake! Why couldn’t I have jaywalked excessively, or stole a candy bar from the grocery store because my inner fat kid was shouting at me, “Feed me you twig! FEED ME!” No, of course I had to do the Sharknado of bad things.
I don’t know if I can do this…
Okay. I think I know.
I should have stayed home. I should have called Stacy and I should told her that I was sorry for fighting with her, and hoped for some make up sex. That was the correct answer, yet instead I go to the birthday party for Mark (my co-worker for those playing the home game) and I get hammered. Not just a “oh I have a great buzz going” drunk, oh no. This is OBLITERATED drunk. I mean when I woke up this morning, I could still taste a cocktail of rum, tequila, vodka and several Papst Blue Ribbons.
When I got to the party, I was there out of spite. I was looking to prove Stacy wrong. She’s telling me that I don’t care about her, or our future together. That I am choosing my friends over her! Which is bullshit! She wants to get married, and move out of the house that we share with Lance and D (my best friends) and start our life together. At no point does she see that moving out of this house is hard for me. I’ve lived with these guys for eight years!
If you’ve read all of my entires, you would know that in those eight years, I have given all my time to her, I mean she’s the first thing I see when I wake up and the last thing when I go to sleep. We’re together so much that I am looking to have a surgeon separate our conjoined hips. So she has the audacity to say that I don’t care about our future! Two words. “Fuck” and “that”!
She goes up to Sac-town to see her parents. I asked Lance and D if they wanted to hang out. They couldn’t. Why? They were so fucking baked, that they were literally too stupid to answer a phone. I swear, when I did get them to answer, they kept repeating the word “phone” over and over again and giggling. Then one of them has the notion to say, “Let’s find out the etymology of phone.” Not only was I shocked at their knowledge of the word “etymology,” but that they then decided that this was their new word to repeat.
So I get to the party, down and lonely and I started to drink. It’s my co-workers Mark’s birthday party, and I was looking to celebrate him! Yet I don’t remember ever once talking to him or wishing him a happy birthday. So now that I remember that, my douche flag seems to be raised higher.
At some point I was in his living room…or his laundry room. I’m not sure. All of a sudden, Willow showed up and starts talking to me. (For the home game, she’s the ex-girlfriend. She’s psychotic, and she still has a thing for me. Oh and yeah…she’s my co-worker, too. Well actually my manager. But who’s counting.) She started chatting me up and I chatted her up. It was a regular chat-fest!
That’s all I remember. That’s all my brain allows me to remember.
I woke up this morning with Stacy next to me. Not sure how or when she got in. But she was there next to me, and awake before me. She ran her hand through my hair, and said that she’s sorry. That she was wrong to say that I don’t care about our future together and that she understands where I’m coming from about not wanting to leave Lance and D (even though she can’t stand them). Which is wonderful. She kissed me, made a joke that I smell like a mini-bar, and she left for work.
But I felt like something was off. Something happened last night that caused my heart to race. So I did the aforementioned exercises, and of course it doesn’t work. Then went to my phone to find a text message from, not Stacy, but Willow.
Why is there a fucking heart on that message!? ON a whim, and as if hit by a sudden flash of memory, I went to my phone’s photos.
That’s when I damn near had a stroke. There are multiple photos of Willow and I, in a laundry room having sex. These are legit photos.
I have to go in for my shift in a few hours. And not sure what to do. FML.
(To be continued…)