Stumbling Upon your Ex’s Baby Registry. And Other Things That Make You Vomit.

(She’s got leggings on there. And a whole stupid Pinterest board with cute ideas. Fucking bitch…)

I’m pretty sure I’ve only really been in love once. Depending on how you define it, I believe real love is being able to put someone else’s needs before your own. That’s how I know I’ve only felt that for one person. It sounds terribly selfish, but I feel like I’ll never want to fold a person’s t-shirts (store-style) ever again. Or wake up at 4:00am to drive someone to work when they stupidly lost their driver’s license.

It’s actually really weird to care about another person that hard. (I can barely do my own laundry.)

You just have to be honest about certain things.
You just have to be honest about certain things.

Like, how else would I have known that my ex’s child is due to be born in February? Or that his new girlfriend is planning to breastfeed? These are crucial pieces of knowledge, people. It’s as easy as “One, two, type that bitch’s name into Google.”

But lucky for me, I’ve “gone through” enough men to calmĀ the crippling roar of my feelings into a faint growl. I’m pretty sure I’m over him. However, being over someone and wanting to know what they’re doing are not mutually exclusive. I still even creep on my middle/high school crush sometimes. (He seems happy, too… jerk.)

However, I can sufficiently say I am over my ex. I can wish him luck honestly and look back fondly on our time together with no regrets. We really did have fun together. :)

(My ex and I)
(My ex and I, always keeping it weird.)

Granted, I’ll never feel totally comfortable seeing him or his family and I’ll probably (subconsciously) hate the tiny life form he produced. I’ll never shop at Five Below because I know I’ll see his baby mamma there. But… hold up

Good Lord, there’s ANOTHER parade going down my street. It must be the local high school’s homecoming because there’s girls with crowns sitting on the back of convertibles (which, by the way, never seemed terribly safe to me). I didn’t go to my homecoming. (Too hungover.) I forgot how loud this shit is, though. Drumlines are no joke.

Anyways, in the spirit of letting go things from my past, I say “Bon Voyage” to all. I wish everyone all the best. I may even buy something off the registry for Zach and his upcoming child. Perhaps some tiny hats?

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I Stepped On A Nail And It Went Through My Flip Flop.

(Is the word “flip flop” supposed to be hyphenated? The English language is annoying.)

This whole week has been like stepping on nails and misspelling words. (Note: I just misspelled the word “misspelling”. Exactly.) It’s been the kind of week filled with sadnosity and the quasi-suicidal-ness that only comes with being over dramatic.

Today for instance, I didn’t realize my pants were inside out until someone at the grocery store asked if I was really a size 7. I wanted to ask why they were reading my pants, but I’m nice so I said yes, and then proceeded to discuss the price of chicken for what felt like an hour.

Then yesterday, I had a “First Blood”-esque fight/manhunt with a spider that might literally have been the size of Sylvester Stallone. I hid in a corner for 30 minutes armed with a fly swatter and piece of cardboard that I made into a shield. Eventually, [my boyfriend] just came over and hit it with his shoe and then asked me to clean up the fort I made out of sheets and boxes because it was blocking his office area.

I reluctantly said yes, but Vietnam changes a man. That spider could have pursued me for weeks.

"Nothing is over! Nothing! You just don't turn it off! It wasn't my war!"
“Nothing is over! Nothing! You just don’t turn it off! It wasn’t my war!”

Then I found out that my ex boyfriend/first love got his girlfriend pregnant and I totally freaked. I realize I have no right to be upset, but we were gonna have a baby too and I lost it. (Pity me and I’ll stab you. Don’t make this blog sad.) Mostly, I’m pissed that everyone I’ve ever loved or been best friends with has replaced me with a fat and less-attractive redhead.

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Seriously, even my best friend all through middle school and high school dropped me for another redhead who was just a poop version of me.

(I bet Lindsay Lohan deals with this sort of thing all the time.)

So all in all, the nail-in-the-flip-flop-thing wasn’t so bad. Things could always be worse, like being hunted by a large spider or wearing inside-out pants to church.