My father used to say that seeking vengeance is wasted energy because the common denominator of all human existence is suffering. We all suffer. Not at the same time or from the same thing, but we do all suffer so, by this extended logic of his, seeking vengeance is unnec. The universe in all its glory will take care of it for you.

Personally, I thought that was a load of shit designed to try and make me feel better about being disabled. Sure all my little friends were playing soccer and running races NOW but someday they too would feel the isolation, the sadness, the frustration of suffering even if it was caused by something different. I humored my father mainly because living while disabled takes up enough energy as it is and when you add two perfectionistic parents to that mix I hardly had the time to think up a nuanced philosophical objection to my father's claim.

This, it turns out, is a good thing because he was actually pretty right.

Still, sometimes the universe needs a little bit of a nudge.

About five years ago, I wrote a post called Rage Sing Goddess about the end of my relationship with a particularly batshit insane performance artist and fellow blogger named Ivan the Horible (sic.). At the time I wrote it, I was so angry I had to walk away from the computer several times because I was literally shaking with rage. When I finally hit send, I felt purged and then immediately felt terrified. I'd never publicly targeted another writer. Perhaps the Blogosphere would rise up in a unified wave of disapproval to let me know what I did was Not OK.

Instead what happened was two of his so called friends thought the post was so funny, they circulated via email and on their blogs. As a result, it became one of the single most popular posts I've ever written. The triumph was nothing short of sublimely beautiful.

I bring this up because yesterday's post is currently raking in over 3 times the number of readers of my recent posts so obviously I got someone's attention. And that in and of itself makes me feel better. Thanks for being a part of that.

Labels: dave, ex-boyfriend, justice, karma, vengeance

Those faithful followers of the blog know I protect the identities of those I write about as much as possible. After all, I write under a nom de plume myself so I try to protect my subjects. (Granted my alter ego now has far more online presence than my real one.) So while crazy asshats I've dated by the bushel, I've done my best not to out them here.

But there comes a time when assholery must be exposed and I've done that too. There's a certain time when it becomes a public service and I consider my job to protect the general population from men that even a hardened professional like myself finds so abhorrent I've called in a favor or two ensure they go to the special hell saved for child molesters. Some of my best blogs have been when I got all het up with the passion of Nemesis and let some utter deserving rat fucker have the full force of my divine wrath."Somebody get me a gallon of kerosene and a lighter because I'm gonna burn this bridge." Afterward I'm gonna sow the ashes with salt so for years after people will see the barren earth and know the legend of David-he who stooped to conquer.

Tonight Dave, you get to join those few, those pathetic few, to whom I have given a name on this blog. But even amongst them you are unique.You went farther than all of them. I loved you. I did. And because of that I put up with so much horseshit, you showing up at my apartment so shitfaced you didn't know what day it was, abandoning me in the middle of the night in PA, calling me one day to say you want to take me to Paris and two days later to tell me you don't think we can be friends. And I put up with it for 2 single reasons. One despite all of that, I loved you because underneath all the bullshit, so I thought, was a truly precious individual struggling to get out. And two you were the only person in my entire life who saw beauty in my disability and that alone is worth a small truckload of horseshit.

So when you read this please understand what you have done. Not only do I no longer believe there is anything worthwhile about you, I think you're the monster. Because if you ever cared for me. If you ever loved me. The idea of what you did would make you never stop throwing up and I should know. Because even AFTER you've done this, I've still pretty much refrained from doing anything terrible to you...and I totally, and easily, could.

Let me begin by saying this: I understand if men...or women don't want to hear from me again. A month ago a guy told me that after date three. And know what? Totally fine with that. The guy I dated for three years and dumped me by text message? Cut him off. When he came sniffing around 6 weeks later, I told him to fuck off.  Haven't contacted him since.

But here's the thing don't then text that you're trying to call me and when I call back have a third party intercept the call and say "He doesn't want to talk to you anymore." What kind of fucked up fourth grade bullshit is that? I mean the mind fucking boggles. Why not just text me to leave you alone? AFTER ALL I BLOCKED YOUR PHONE NUMBER SO YOU COULDN'T CALL ME. Seriously?  This was your... killer move after I've been dealing with your drunken shenanigans for months? This is what I get for when you showed up at my place unannounced so shit faced you didn't know what day it was or what time and I still took care of you. While you lay in my bed and I sat outside reading so you could rest and then when I talked to you when you said you wanted to die. The price of my friendship, the price of that evening out of which I got nothing including babysitting money, is so cheap to you you decide to stoop where no man before sought to bend. Not to mention it has cost me the belief than anyone can find beauty in my disability.

Let me remind you of something David. No man has ever destroyed me. Many have tried. All have failed. But I, in my time, have a few scalps to my name. When Eric left, I became cruel and I openly admit I destroyed some people just because I could. Since then I vowed to be a kinder gentler sex monster. But you didn't just awaken the beast. You pissed in its face. There's only so much anyone can take.

And I do have a mean streak. And when I warn you again and again don't fuck with the monster. Then don't fuck with it. Because I save everything. Every raunchy email. Every secret text. I have pages and pages of journal entries, plane tickets, presents, trinkets, hell friends who know who you are. And here's why you don't want to fuck with me. You can't do anything. Not one damn thing to stop me partially because I have both evidence and the first amendment on my side (yes I actually researched this when I started bunniblog so I'm solid on my first amendment law). But also because I have this tiny pathetic life already so there's nothing you CAN take from me.

You, on the other hand, have lots of fun things to gamble and loose.

A friend of mine last night asked me why not just let it go? Why not let it go?! A valid question. After all, that's precisely what I've done so many times before with Mr. 3 Years Text Message Break Up. I just walked away. I spend my entire life turning the other cheek. When people stare at me in hatred because of what I look like, when men openly LAUGH at me on the street on my way to work, students openly betting on how tall I am, I turn the other cheek. It's a choice. But do not get me wrong, it hurts. Not just casual disdain, but the lack of empathy. I can feel your pain, but you refuse to feel mine. A reminder of just how alone, how different I am from all of you. And what's worse is you have so much you take for granted. The ability to run upstairs, feel the sand beneath your feet, not have to worry about what people think of the scars and the deformity not to mention the severely shortened life span. How many things have I lost because I lost the neuroblastoma lottery?And I wouldn't mind losing it if you all appreciated what you have. But you don't even think about it and when you see me instead of feeling grateful for what you have, you revile me for what I can't.

And every day I turn the fucking other cheek. It is exhausting and depressing and aggravating, but I do it.

But there comes a time when someone does something so spectacularly cruel, something that I absolutely can not countenance. For someone so goddamned lucky to openly, publicly, spit in the face of someone that only hours ago he claimed to care? No. Actions have consequences. And if I have to live with this chest sucking pain that I don't deserve you can goddamn well bet I'm going to take someone deserving down with me.

For now, I've only identified the person by first name. But I have all kinds of tricks up my sleeve and Dave would do well to remember that when I started this blog it was to warn the world about another grade A rat fucker. It seems fate has played a hand with public enemy number one and his life, currently, is precisely what he feared the most it would be. So I'm content to just giggle when I see his completely bald head on fb (he's 7 years younger than me but MAN he did not age well). But long ago, this blog was a top search result for his name. You wanna play rough? Just remember it's hard to win against someone with nothing to lose.

And as for the rest of you, a question. What would you do? If someone you loved and forgave time and again did something so vile you not only can't forgive, you can barely begin to contemplate, what would you do? Turn the other cheek? Seek vengeance? Have you before? I'm curious.(Oh on a side note. My halo scan comments expired so you have to use blogger comments. For some reason the comment box ONLY appears when you click on the particular post so scroll down to the bottom, hey look, you're here already! Click on the time stamp. Two comment boxes will appear. Use the blogger one. Anyone can comment, even anonymously same as before. Enjoy. And anyone who wants to help me with formatting shit in regards to comments, please email me and misslapin@gmail.com . Thanks.)

Labels: asshat, boyfriend troubles, boys, break up, breaking up, david, ex boyfriend nightmare, ex-boyfriend, heartbreak loss, idiocy, loneliness

 **This was originally written for my ex-boyfriend while we were dating. This is what happened a year ago today. What a difference a year makes, eh? The comments about editing, which I left it, are from the original draft and are quite prescient considering. The title comes from a song that I sang in acting school called "The Night that Nothing Really Happened."

For me to write something like this, I actually re-experience the memory. My memory is very vivid and so it’s literally like going back in time and reliving something. In fact, when I went back to edit this I noticed I slowly shifted from past to present tense as I got further into the piece. The more I immerse myself in the memory, the more it becomes the present. While this may sound wonderful, in reality, it’s very depressing. It’s one thing to experience a moment while you’re living it not knowing the outcome, it’s another thing to go back into a memory and re-experience it knowing what will happen next. For example, if I relive a memory of my ex-boyfriend. When I come out of that memory, I go through losing him all over again.

You kept looking at my body that day. You had looked before, quickly, but generally you kept eye contact. I honestly didn’t think you were that attracted to me until that afternoon. You kept taking long lingering looks down my body, my breasts, my spine, my ass. I was supposed to have a date that night, but I had a bad feeling about it, so I liked the attention. It made me feel sexy even though I wasn’t trying to be. We sat and talked as we always do, and you made me laugh.It distracted me from my anxiety about the date.

Then my date, predictably, cancelled at the 11th hour. You invited me to your place to watch movies. I knew I shouldn’t go. I had been drinking. I was upset. These are things that do not make for good decision making. I left and almost got home and realized where the night was going. I would go home, get more upset, go out, get trashed, get more upset, wake up the next day with eyes swollen shut crying and depressed. Or I could go see you. I called and went to see you.

I remember walking into your apartment. I hadn’t known what to expect, but it was beautiful. I sat on the floor of your man cave and picked out a movie. I was nervous about it. I wanted it to be something we would both want to watch, but you weren’t helpful in that regard at all. You wanted it to be my choice entirely, what I wanted. I picked Snatch and went into the living room. You brought me a globe of wine, which I probably shouldn’t have had.

At first, I was sitting straight as I always do. In acting school I was the only person who never got yelled at for poor posture. All those years in a back brace made me sit up straight all the time, but the wine took hold of me and after a time I found myself reclining on the couch. I was so relaxed, dreamy and content. This was actually much nicer than the date. Finally you took my hand. It was the first time you had really touched me. Your hand was so soft and warm. It was sweet. Innocent even. I knew I should pull away, but I was so relaxed, so happy, it felt so good and it was just my hand after all.  

After a while, you kissed me. I think I was as surprised as you were that you kissed me. It was a soft hesitant kiss. Gentle. No one had kissed me like that in years. It was a sweet kiss-vulnerable. But the second and third were passionate, hungry. You pulled me to you, I could feel the strength in your arms, like feeling them wrapped around me, pulling me closer. You commented that I was a good kisser that you knew I would be. I don’t think it had occurred to me that you ever thought of kissing me before. I could feel your hands exploring my body caressing my breasts, my ass.

I was surprised by how willing you were in your passion. Then, you suddenly came to, said “I can’t do this” and we went out on the balcony to talk. I loved the view. I hadn’t had a view like that since grad school. It was pleasant out on the balcony. I expected you to ask me to leave, but you didn’t. I knew that you would kiss me again, that you wanted to kiss me again.

We laid down on the couch, and you started to kiss me, you pulled me onto your lap, your hands pushing my skirt to my waist. I was wearing a thong so I was basically half naked. You took my shirt off and ran your hands over my skin. You started to pull off your pants. I was surprised. I didn’t think it would go beyond kissing. I told you we could just lay on the couch and kiss, but now you were committed to taking me to bed. You stood up to take me to the bedroom and I asked you if you were sure. You grabbed my hand and pulled me back into your room.

You got me naked quickly.  I lay on the bed while you got naked. Then you were standing at the foot of the bed completely nude, me lying there waiting. In that moment, I was terrified. I was terrified of what you would think of me for doing this, that you would hate me, that we wouldn’t be friends anymore, I was terrified of what you would think of my body, that I would be a disappointment in bed. I was even terrified of you. I didn’t expect you to be so well endowed and I was worried it might hurt. I was terrified that you didn’t really want me, that I was just a placeholder for someone else, someone absent. I was terrified of myself, how much I wanted this to happen, how much I wanted you to want me. Then you came towards me on the bed.

You wrapped your arms around and me whispered “Anything but missionary position” twice. I wasn’t sure why. My first thought was you wanted some sort of exotic sexual position. I mean, of course, I’m kind of a fetish-y looking girl, that’s why men want me, so why not? You pulled me on top of you, and I was surprised how easily we fit together. There was no pain at all, just pleasure as I rode you while you explored my body with your hands, on my waist so you could thrust deeper inside me, cupping my ass as my breasts brushed against you. You even spanked me a few times. Even though you didn’t enjoy it, I was surprised how hard you spanked me. Most people start light, but not you, you gave me a pleasant spank from the beginning. I could feel my skin tingle afterwards.

Finally you put me on my back. I was worried. This was the position you didn’t want and I wanted please you, to be what you wanted. But you were so much deeper that way, I brought my legs up as far as I could and lifted my hips with each of your thrusts so you could go even farther. I could feel my orgasm beginning to rise within me. I was surprised how easily you could get me there. Usually it takes weeks before I allow myself to go that far with a man, but I trusted you already. I could make a choice. I could stop it if I wanted to, or I could let myself go. I let myself go. I wanted you to feel me come. And soon I was, bucking and screaming and gushing.

In those moments, I was entirely yours. Not just my body, all of me.

After I came, still trembling, you rolled off of me and came. I remember watching the ropes of come spurting from you, how hard you came. I was impressed. I had given you pleasure, which is what I wanted.

After a moment, you went to the bathroom to clean up. I lay unmoving on the bed. Again, I was worried. Worried you would ask me to leave. Worried what you would say now that the moment was over. You came back to bed. I could tell you felt a little nervous, awkward. I reached for your hand and pulled it over me so you were cupping my breast from behind. I love that position. You immediately curled around me, both of us relaxed now, enjoying being so close. It was even more intimate than the lovemaking. I could feel your breath on my neck. I felt safe and content, and I fell right to sleep enfolded by you.

Still, I slept fitfully. My earrings kept stabbing me, but I was afraid to take them off in case I forgot them. Finally I took them off.  Later I was thirsty. I didn’t want to disturb anything in the kitchen so I took one of your vitamin waters from the dining room. And after that I was hot. Your body generates so much heat that lying next to you I kept waking up sweating and throwing off the covers. You would wake up and cover me back up. I didn’t want to disturb you, but finally I said something and you turned on the AC. But every time I woke up, you would reach out and caress me or snuggle me. I remember in the night, you got up to watch tv for a while. You asked if that was alright, which was sweet. I said yes and immediately fell back to sleep. When you came back in, you snuggled against me. I could tell you enjoyed coming back to curl up with me, enjoyed how I sleepily and instinctively snuggled into your arms. Every time you reached for me re-assured me and I would fall back asleep.

In the morning, I woke up with my head on your chest. We were entangled in each others arms and legs. You gently put me on my back and kissed my breast while your hand explored between my legs. You found how wet I was already and took me. Again I was worried about the position.  I wanted to please you. But from the moment you entered me, I could feel how close I was to coming. Again I was surprised how easily you could get me to that point. I gave into you entirely and came again, gushing over you. You came soon after. We lay under the covers for a bit talking after that. I wanted to spend the whole day under there with you, kissing, snuggling, making love, talking, napping. I knew as soon as we got out of bed this would be over. You wouldn’t do it again.

But you had a funeral to go to. I picked up my earrings and started to get dressed. As predicted, while I was still naked you started to tell me how you were sorry but this couldn’t ever happen again. I smiled and said I know, even though not a woman alive wants to hear that when she’s naked and only just stopped trembling from love making. Still, I’m used to it. I got dressed, careful to erase any trace of me.

You gathered up the sheets. You were nervous. I was sure you were going to freak out about this evening and not want to see me ever again. I left you in the elevator. I walked out with my head held high. I’ve learned that much from my mother. Never, ever, show shame even if you feel it. Let the doorman think what he wants, I had a lovely night so fuck his judgement. I stood outside in the sun and put on my sun glasses feeling sexy and happy and alive and even though you told me this could never happen again, I walked all the way down to first avenue just in case the morning staff of dorrians was there so they wouldn’t see me walking from the direction of your apartment in my clothes from the day before. I went to my apartment and napped for a bit.

What you don’t know is that night I did go on my date. He was young (25), tall, blonde, seemingly nice, however, I walked out on him. He had some terrible political views and instead of doing what I would normally do and just smile and nod and wait for the date to be over, I decided he wasn’t worth my time and I just got up and left. I went home and to sleep. I was supposed to see you the next day. I wasn’t sure I would, but I hoped so. I was looking forward to just being with you and talking, which is precisely what happened.

And then a week later, you kissed me in the sun in Central Park. Never has a way of coming around far too soon.

Labels: ex-boyfriend, heartbreak loss, sadness, sex