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It's really all my fault - Part 4

I play the sweet, unassuming bitch role pretty well. I had done it with most every guy I ever dated.  They all created some fake version of me in their minds which enabled me to use them over and over again.  I guess I'm really good at recycling. Once a guy had dumped me, or cheated, I would take them back, have them fix my stereo, life, whatever, and then dump them when they were least expecting it.

This soul recycling continued until I met my match.  Brandon was a true piece of shit.  He was better at this game of heart wrenching than I was, and he was definitely more patient. I was small scale compared to his life ruining schemes. He waited a year to reveal his true intentions.  Read any domestic violence pamphlet and you have read the story of Brandon and me. Great at first, helps a gal in need, starts denying sex, starts putting her down... blah blah blah.  My dumbass put up with this shit for 7 year.

These evil type of men search for women like me: slightly heart broken, a challenge to break, like a wild mustang, beautiful and powerful in the wild, but once captured is reduced to nothing but a show pony stuck in a stable for people to gawk at when in captivity. He made me feel worthless, and crazy. His reigns on me were tight. He made my friends and family think I was worthless and crazy.  He fucked me up badly mentally and physically.  But, the tale of betrayal is not about him, this story is about her.

I always knew Brandon had cheated on me. His pill addiction was obvious, his drunken rages over nothing were a telltale.  What I didn't realize was how close it was to home.

Margot was the bitch that hooked me up with him.  I remember her and Allen telling me how I should "date a guy that is like me".  He wasn't even my type, and believe me, I have a type. Allen introduced me to Margot.  We hit it off instantly.  We were both instigating bitches who seemed to have each others best interest in mind.  This bitch had me fooled for over a decade. Allen was also fooled.  He was so nice and understanding, probably because he was 20 years her senior and didn't give a fuck.  I still can't believe how many times she came home crying because she "accidentally" cheated on him. 

Give me a break you stupid fucking bitch. 

I really should have seen it.  Brandon would talk so much shit about her.  They worked together in close quarters.  She got him doped up, sent him home to beat me, and then ignored my pleads for help. 

Margot was a great friend.  Such a good friend, that years after I had left Brandon and that stupid town, I drove home to a place I hated to help her bury her now separated dead husband. 

Did I mention he died of an overdose while living at Brandon's house?

It's all his fault - Part 3

People like to pretend as if the people in their past haven't shaped their life.  "I did this, I made it on my own, I made my own choices."  Yeah, it really should go more like " I did this, but could have never done it without so and so, I made it on my own after someone got sick of my shit and kicked me out, I made my own choices because I had no other good choices with or without such person in my life".  This pompous type of thinking is really convenient in American society. Unless, of course, you are murdered. 

If you are murdered every bad choice you ever made in life is somehow out of the victims control. It is the murderers fault, right? Every choice in life you ever made is now victimized as if you were a saint who's choices were made because of extenuating circumstances beyond your control.  You could be the biggest asshole in the world, but that wouldn't matter, unless of course your a prostitute.  Then you deserved it, right?

On the flip side, people who are driven to murder because of circumstances literally out of their control are now evil fucking bastards who knew what they were doing all along.  Any good they have ever done in life is now forgotten by the one horribly unforgivable act that everyone will always remember them by.

Everyone will hate him. Everyone except for me, and the few people that loved him enough to know better.  I'm not saying he was perfect.  Hell, I'm not even saying he was a good boyfriend.  He was a cheat, and totally fucking clumsy, but he wasn't the evil wife beating husband that the news had portrayed him as.  No question there, he was my Josh.  My first love.  My first everything.

We met in high school.  How cliché. We didn't meet in class, or at a sports game or anything. I was never a cheerleader and he was pretty lousy about going to class.  It was in the parking lot that I first laid eyes on him.  The parking lot where the skaters and stoners sometimes crossed paths.  I was a Stoner, which is humorous because I hate that shit.  I just found Stoners easy to get along with.  He was a Skater, which is funny because even though he skated he really was the epitome of what our school considered a Stoner.  He was always smoking cigarettes, frequently high on anything, but he could skate so he was a Skater.  We were young.  It's a good time to do stupid shit you would otherwise end up in prison for long.

I'm not going to get into all are romantic bullshit, because like I said: This book isn't about them.  I can tell you, he was wonderful. I loved his strong legs, big arms, and Elvis smirk.  I hated his habit of self medicating and cheating.  He was such a romantic that would literally drive thousands of miles to see me for a weekend.  He was the type that would do anything for those he loved. But like I said, he was a cheater, and so was I.  We were young.  I'm not mad at him. 

Girls like me don't get mad, they get even. The first Christmas he ditched me to fuck his former girlfriend while high on cocaine was heartbreaking.  I'm a strange one though, once my heart is broken I like to grab the heart of the heartbreaker out of their chest, squeeze as hard as I can, release it, and do it all over again as if I'm some sort of fucked in the head Disney villain. 

Our relationship went on like this for years.  We hurt each other, got back together, and so on.  This is why it was such a surprise when I found out that he had created some sort of pipedream out of me.  I'm really not that special.  I'm not a Disney Princess and I never will be, but for some reason, in his memory I was perfect and innocent, something I can assure you I'm not.

Fuck It's Hot - Part 2

When summer arrived, I was gruesomely reminded of how much I hate the heat. The first thing my dog decides to kick off this new season with is a dead bird.  She tries to bring it inside, so I had to pry it from her mouth with both hands before I can open the back door. Bloody gutty hands and muzzle.  Oh joy.

Maybe it was a sign of things to come, or maybe my dog just likes killing birds. This wasn't the first time she had done this.  No one would ever expect this 8 pound poodle like pup to be a cold-blooded killer.  That is the thing about murderers, people never see them coming.  It's how they can succeed in this profession in the first place. They always catch their pray off guard.

There are a few men in my life who had ever meant anything to me.  This book is not about them.  I mention this because their actions have caused much pain in my life. You always hear that horribly tacky stereotype about sex workers having "daddy issues".  I find this completely wrong.  I think sex workers are the product derived because of the need for men with woman issues to have some form of escape.  Face it, who would pay for the madness I get paid for if there weren't some sort of maniacal evil at work in their subconscious?  Or we could just get real and say: some people like watching porn, some like doing porn.  No daddy issues, no women issues, just a love for all things sexy.

I hadn't felt sexy since I became pregnant.  It's funny that everyone had told me how awesome pregger sex was going to be, and how wet and horny I would become. For Christ sake, there is even a pregnant porn category.  Yeah, none of that sexiness happened for me.  I felt like a big fat sad cow who didn't live in California.  My feet were swollen, I had acne, my hair was falling out.  Seriously, what the fuck did I do to deserve my penguin waddle?  It wasn't supposed to be this way.

Some people say anyone with a vagina could get pregnant.  Just spread your legs and let an overly willing man fill you with his sperm, and wa-la: baby. I wasn't one of those.  After trying for a year and failing miserable I decided I didn't need a baby and I was going to go back to college and finish my degree.  Someone upstairs seems to like to use me as a cruel joke.

Everyone around me seemed to be fertile baby makers, and here I was obviously not doing it right. I had all these grandiose ideas about homeschooling, making my own baby-food, and sporting one of those awesome Ergo baby-holders like the granola moms you see in magazines.  Perfect and happy.  This is the reason people with kids are hysterically laughing on the inside at those without kids.

Parenthood is a fucking trap.  You create this little monster that destroys all your shit and takes up all your time, but you love this tiny human with all your heart so your priorities change.  You don't care if your meaningless shit gets fucked up as long as your little monster is smiling.

I know, "what the fuck is all this talk about kids"? When do we get to the porn? It's kind of strange how porn and kids should never be talked about when the stuff you do in porn is what leads to kids.  In fact, most of the cam gals I know have kids and spouses.  It's not something most people think about because our jobs is to be "sex objects".  Societies vision of the women I call coworkers is something else I whole heartedly disagree with.

The truth is, I would have never entered into the taboo profession of cam modeling if it hadn't been for my kid.  My body was ruined, my confidence was nothing.  My husband loved me, but I needed to be showered with attention like I had been when I worked in the restaurant business.   I needed that part of my life back, the part where I was making money and getting complimented constantly, but I couldn't work away from  the home.  I needed to be able to do something from home so that I wouldn't miss anything with my little one.  I needed something I could do when he was sleeping, something that allowed me complete control of my own schedule, I needed to be an adult again, I needed something new and exciting, and cleaning house is not really the fun I had in mind.

Months into my favorite new part-time job, I'm awoken by a text.  "Is this your Josh, It can't be, right?" I open the accompanying link: Man kills entire family and himself, neighbors describe him as nice and social.  It can't be him.... unfortunately it is. Fuck you summer, I never liked you anyway.

How My Summer Started - Part 1

I had convinced myself that this was going to be the greatest summer ever.  Why wouldn't it be?  I wasn't working, I had a little munchkin to hang out with and I was back in the city.  There was so much opportunity to go to fairs and carnivals, have cookouts and bon-fires.  Sounds great right?  Yeah, none of that happened.

I was depressed.  More depressed than I had ever been in my life. The hormones, colicky baby, lack of sleep and little compassion from others had taken it's toll on me. My mother never answered her phone and neither did my supposed "best friend".  I was drowning in new motherhood and I had no one to turn to except my husband who was in the same condition as I was. I couldn't shake this feeling of betrayal. The worst part about this evil feeling was the simple fact that I had been betrayed and I knew it all along.

People in our society give grieving people so much slack.  Maybe they should, but how much time should be given to this person, if any at all?  Does it depend on the reason for the grief?  Does it come down to how much willingness the person wants to contribute to helping themselves? I will never know, but I do know that screwing over your loved ones with the excuse of grief still fucking hurts your loved ones.

Then their are the assholes who are just that.  No excuse for being a jackass, but the simple fact that they are a jackass.  I like those kind the best.  At least you can predict their lack of interest in your well being.  They don't set you up for hurt unknowingly. They let you know you will never be important to them.  It hurts, but not as much as someone who you would do anything for.

"Oh, boo fucking hoo Emma.  Get over it."  I can seriously hear my mother telling me the same shit she always told me.  I couldn't give her the same support she infamously gave me, she was too fragile anymore, or at least that is how she was acting. I really didn't believe it. Maybe that is my fault, but she nurtured me this way.  I was already in therapy because of her craziness and other things.  I couldn't stay mad at her.  She is my mother, and that is the weird part about blood relatives.  They could murder you and you would still forgive them.  At least my dumbass would.

Friends are different.  You could grow up together, and they will still find the most hurtful unforgivable thing to do to you.

I've never been much for friendships.  I have three dogs and a husband.  I'm good.  My father had the same disregard for friendships. The older I get, the closer to my father I feel.  I finally understand him.  Too bad he is dead.

That is why my mother was grieving.  It hadn't just happened or anything, but she was still grieving.  She wasn't even a former shell of the woman I once knew.   Apparently my mother had reverted back to her teenage years. She had become some crazy drunken slut.  That didn't bother me.  What bothered me was that she had created a new family and left her real family behind.  I had already mourned my father, now I had to mourn my very much alive mother.

Yep, the summer is starting off great.