Her Hitler hair do is making me feel ill
And we have crashed her party...
Sorry BooBoos, things have been hectic and busy. The offices have been closed and no written word has been produced from our offices in awhile. Don’t hate baby, life happens- usually all at once and with extra radiant action. Ya dig?
Breakups. We’ve all had them, and their varying degrees of luridness have thrown us in to what ever Hyde (to our Dr. Jekyll) we become during these days. The cobain-ish loneliness and depressed mess, the obsessed stalker who waits outside the ex’s work, the Stella-getting’-her-groove-back party animal who is getting over their ex by getting drunk and under the next; these are the states that drive us to want to commit crimes of passion, or at least some sort of vengeance on the guilty ex. The hardest thing in life is to let the universe bring those come uppin’s to those deserving of them. But trust that life WILL serve it to them dirty dogs on a platter, and I have the proof…
My man, “Greco,” and I had been living together, planning a future when it all came crumbling down. Quick. The things that came out of his mouth stung so bad, basically insulted me and those dearest to my heart. The hardest conclusion I came to is that there is no way Greco loved me the way I loved him- and this pissed my shit off. Like major stuff. All I wanted to do was hurt him the way he hurt me- but I didn’t act on this impulse for once in my life. Holy Jesus, a car bomb started to sound do-able…
Fast forward three months. I’m downtown with my partner in crime, Red, getting drunk and dancing to the local punk-metal flavor. Red disappeared to get a drink, reappearing up in the loft. She waved to me to meet her up there; I bound up the stairs to see what’s up I’m met by 240 pounds of man at the top of the stairs. I’m told I can’t be upstairs, not to night anyway. I peek around this pillar of man to see Greco looking at me, drink in hand. Red came tearing around the dude, grabbing my arm and pulling me down a few stairs. “Boo, you just walked in on Greco’s bachelor party.”
The rest of the bar disappeared, the music was gone and I was lost in the blackness of desperate shock. “What?!”
In three months my ex had moved on (banging the office gal at his work), knocked her up and decided to put a ring on in. He could have been cheating on me, though I’m fairly certain not… either way- three months. The first time I see him post-break up is me busting up his BACHELOR PARTY.
Needless to say, I walked down the stairs and finished my drink in two gulps as I headed for the door. Curiously, Greco and the idiots he calls his friends followed me out. Anyone who knows Mama BooBoo knows that Captain Dip Shit couldn’t escape this completely unscathed. A barrage of verbal tirades was released; spraying him Tommy gun style with the worst things I could possibly think of in such a state. But I wouldn’t let him see my cry. A lot of that crying stuff came later.
Some time the next day as I was enveloped in the aftermath the clarity came to me: I crashed his bachelor party. Yeah, yeah it sucked for me but I knew I’d get over it. But for him- ha ha! Forever when he would think back to this landmark evening before his shot gun marriage he would have to think about the woman he chose to be with, not the one who trapped him. Sour reminder of what could have been. I couldn’t have asked for a better way to heal, a better way to get over him nor a better way to give him a final double, swirly bird ‘fuck you.’
Karma gave this to me. Either karma or chance- I really don’t care which, I’ll take it. This is an incredible example of life dolling out come uppins. After the initial break up I didn’t freak out, go to his work, call his mom, whatever. Just kept myself healthy (well filled with booze, nonetheless) and let time take care of him. Have faith that those that trespass against you will get theirs. Though we know it can be pleasing to accelerate the process ;)
Love you BooBoos
xx
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