My OperaThe beginning
Saturday, November 14, 2009 7:00:29 AM
I'm not quite sure how to start this out. So I guess the beginning is a good place. For the last, let's say ohhh since I began dating at 15, my love life has consistently been an amusing, yet unavoidable train wreck. By writing it all down, I may see the derailment point down the track and make changes before it happens. and if I don't see it, maybe someone reading this will. And at worst, at least it may provide amusement to those reading.
My plan is to use this first blog to give some background. I'm not going to get cheesy 90's flashback sequence about this though. And all names have been changed to protect...well...me from some embarrassment.
I met Army Guy when I was 20. We met in college during a summer session. He was tall and tan and looked like the bastard love child of george clooney and jay leno. He was so self assured, so smooth, and cocky. Soooo cocky. He drove a mustang. He had just completed a stint of active duty, and was now in the national guard. He knew all the right things to say, and I was smitten. I should have run screaming in the other direction right then and there, but I didn't. I stayed, I lay, not threw myself down tied myself the those railroad tracks and waited with bated breath for that steamer.
I could blame it on daddy issues, on being a "big girl" in high school, and a half dozen other reasons. Who cares. I loved the attention from him. And it was so classic too. Made me blush, and then wouldn't give me the time of day, then right before I would start to give up, he'd swoop back in. Dangle that bait. And just wait. We'd break up, have this big drawn out fight, I'd cry, he'd play the stoic. Sometimes he'd switch it up and take the role of Mr.Hyde. And he'd get mean. So hurtful. You may ask "why did you stay then?" Becuase then he'd take on what can only be described as an academy award winning performance of that was wounded, misunderstood and brooding. I guess I thought I could fix him. I'm gagging as I write that. Ugh.
The controlling part, that crept up slowly. And it was always baby, baby, baby. Baby, wear this. Not that, you look slutty. Baby, why do you dye your hair? You look cheap. I thought it was me. I was not good enough. Femenists everywhere are shuddering right now. So anyway, the best part is when he'd drink. Then the controlling was even more super fun. Like pin me down so I couldn't move and listen to whatever bullshit was coming out of his mouth. Or the chicken wing. That was my favorite. Reminded me of dear ol dad.
And then there was that nasty little drug problem. Coke is a hell of a drug from what I hear. You can even blame cheating on being high!! Although, I did get a good laugh out of scaring the shit out of that girl. And before you say it wasn't her fault- we'd met. She knew who I was.
But even through all that, I stayed. I loved him. And I know he did love me. But he also really loved himself.
It wasn't all bad. We had some wonderful times. We lived together for three and a half years. He was the first man to propose to me. We shared so much. He understood me more than anyone I'd met.
Our breakup was bad. Real bad. I left in the middle of the night while he was at work. I hid at my friend's house. And I was done. I knew I could do better. I moved on. Moved to a new place. Tried to cut off contact with him. Got a new roommate. New friends. Even found myself a very tall new guy whom I'll call Suzy.
Suzy was a musician. He was 6'4". He had feelings...lots and lots and lots of feelings. And he'd had his heart broken a few years before by a 19 year old dirty hippy girl who cheated on him the same night he proposed, and then about 20 times after (okay, she was 19 and a dirty hippy, and you thought this was a good plan?...really???) . His heart was permanently broken. Which was fine by me. I'd decided I didn't have feelings. I wasn't going to fall for all the love nonesense again! We went to his shows, and we'd go out with his friends, and I'd buy his beers (that whole starving artist thing). He was my sandwich artist. He was intelligent, was top in his class in college (right before he dropped out. He didn't see the point in staying at an institution that was really just a guise of getting everyone to conform and be sheep.) My roommate was his best friend. We'd stay up for hours debating and drinking. I felt like me again. I had loads of confidence. Unfortunately, I had less feelings about some things and more about others. Our break-up was epic. After a year together, there had still been no mention of the "L" word. A year. So I put my big girl panties on and resolved to discuss the idea with him. Now, you may be saying to yourself "but you said no room for love, right?" I said I resolved to discuss the topic. I never said I was in love with him. But I knew I was catching some feelings and my cold cold heart was beginning to warm. So I sat him down, told him he was special to me, asked him how he felt about me. The more he described his feelings the more I felt like he was talking about a friend of his. Which is what I said. And this is where the break up got epic. He told me that he didn't have feelings about anything. He doesn't get happy, he doesn't get sad. He'll never fall in love with a woman again. And the only thing he'd ever allow himself to love was....HIS MUSIC. So now you understand the nickname Suzy.
There's so much more to write but its late and I'm tired.
My plan is to use this first blog to give some background. I'm not going to get cheesy 90's flashback sequence about this though. And all names have been changed to protect...well...me from some embarrassment.
I met Army Guy when I was 20. We met in college during a summer session. He was tall and tan and looked like the bastard love child of george clooney and jay leno. He was so self assured, so smooth, and cocky. Soooo cocky. He drove a mustang. He had just completed a stint of active duty, and was now in the national guard. He knew all the right things to say, and I was smitten. I should have run screaming in the other direction right then and there, but I didn't. I stayed, I lay, not threw myself down tied myself the those railroad tracks and waited with bated breath for that steamer.
I could blame it on daddy issues, on being a "big girl" in high school, and a half dozen other reasons. Who cares. I loved the attention from him. And it was so classic too. Made me blush, and then wouldn't give me the time of day, then right before I would start to give up, he'd swoop back in. Dangle that bait. And just wait. We'd break up, have this big drawn out fight, I'd cry, he'd play the stoic. Sometimes he'd switch it up and take the role of Mr.Hyde. And he'd get mean. So hurtful. You may ask "why did you stay then?" Becuase then he'd take on what can only be described as an academy award winning performance of that was wounded, misunderstood and brooding. I guess I thought I could fix him. I'm gagging as I write that. Ugh.
The controlling part, that crept up slowly. And it was always baby, baby, baby. Baby, wear this. Not that, you look slutty. Baby, why do you dye your hair? You look cheap. I thought it was me. I was not good enough. Femenists everywhere are shuddering right now. So anyway, the best part is when he'd drink. Then the controlling was even more super fun. Like pin me down so I couldn't move and listen to whatever bullshit was coming out of his mouth. Or the chicken wing. That was my favorite. Reminded me of dear ol dad.
And then there was that nasty little drug problem. Coke is a hell of a drug from what I hear. You can even blame cheating on being high!! Although, I did get a good laugh out of scaring the shit out of that girl. And before you say it wasn't her fault- we'd met. She knew who I was.
But even through all that, I stayed. I loved him. And I know he did love me. But he also really loved himself.
It wasn't all bad. We had some wonderful times. We lived together for three and a half years. He was the first man to propose to me. We shared so much. He understood me more than anyone I'd met.
Our breakup was bad. Real bad. I left in the middle of the night while he was at work. I hid at my friend's house. And I was done. I knew I could do better. I moved on. Moved to a new place. Tried to cut off contact with him. Got a new roommate. New friends. Even found myself a very tall new guy whom I'll call Suzy.
Suzy was a musician. He was 6'4". He had feelings...lots and lots and lots of feelings. And he'd had his heart broken a few years before by a 19 year old dirty hippy girl who cheated on him the same night he proposed, and then about 20 times after (okay, she was 19 and a dirty hippy, and you thought this was a good plan?...really???) . His heart was permanently broken. Which was fine by me. I'd decided I didn't have feelings. I wasn't going to fall for all the love nonesense again! We went to his shows, and we'd go out with his friends, and I'd buy his beers (that whole starving artist thing). He was my sandwich artist. He was intelligent, was top in his class in college (right before he dropped out. He didn't see the point in staying at an institution that was really just a guise of getting everyone to conform and be sheep.) My roommate was his best friend. We'd stay up for hours debating and drinking. I felt like me again. I had loads of confidence. Unfortunately, I had less feelings about some things and more about others. Our break-up was epic. After a year together, there had still been no mention of the "L" word. A year. So I put my big girl panties on and resolved to discuss the idea with him. Now, you may be saying to yourself "but you said no room for love, right?" I said I resolved to discuss the topic. I never said I was in love with him. But I knew I was catching some feelings and my cold cold heart was beginning to warm. So I sat him down, told him he was special to me, asked him how he felt about me. The more he described his feelings the more I felt like he was talking about a friend of his. Which is what I said. And this is where the break up got epic. He told me that he didn't have feelings about anything. He doesn't get happy, he doesn't get sad. He'll never fall in love with a woman again. And the only thing he'd ever allow himself to love was....HIS MUSIC. So now you understand the nickname Suzy.
There's so much more to write but its late and I'm tired.
