Diamond in the Rough

I realize my Husband is not considered a catch. I totally understand why girls he crushed on didn’t love him back, and why he had only one serious relationship in his life before we met when he was 31.  They didn’t want him because he couldn’t support them financially, and he was reckless.  Maybe also because he doesn’t shower.  Hmm. Well,  I think it is mainly the no money thing. It is not just that he has no money, its also that he has a rebellious nature and is not interested in seeking out ways to make money. He is interested in money seeking out him. But it doesn’t. It is illogical, and totally infuriating. So it makes sense that I would be the only crazy person to put up with it. But I know something that all of these girls apparently didn’t. He is the most entertaining person I have ever met. He is hilarious non-stop.  He can turn the most mundane details into an hour long hilarious conversation topic. If you don’t have stomach cramps from laughing after 5 minutes of hearing him speak, then you aren’t paying attention.

I am never bored. We don’t have a working stereo system in our piece of shit car right now, but we don’t need one. I seriously enjoy listening to him still even after 71/2 years of marriage so much that I don’t want to tune him out.  I think that is so much more valuable than money. I’m not saying it is easy.  I often compare our relationship to Jackson Pollock and Lee Krasner, and if you are unfamiliar with that reference, he was basically a selfish nut job genius and she was as desperately in love with him as she was desperately frustrated. But every wife is frustrated about something.  And I would rather be annoyed and unfulfilled about material stuff that doesn’t matter much in the large scheme of things, rather than bored with the person I chose to spend the rest of my life with.

My point is, I think most girls just want to marry a paycheck. I would rather be homeless and laughing every day than rich and yearning for more laughter or for a new connection.  So I’m glad they passed him off as a reject, and a bad egg, because I saw in him what I know is what we all want the most in life.

Someone that I am attracted to who is unbelievably entertaining day in and day out.

How Tara Got Her Groove Back

I went through a crazy transformation in the past few weeks.  I have been harboring a ton of resentment towards my Husband for years for shit he did when we first got together, and some other stuff he did over the years involving other women.  I am a jealous, possessive person, so other chicks are not cool with me.  I’m not like so bad that he can’t have gals as friends, but he can under no circumstances hang out with them alone like for lunch, drinks, etc.  I think that is pretty normal.  And its the same for him with me.  A few years ago I got close to one of my Husband’s acquaintances, and we started doing some photography & art together, and we got together for dinner and drinks occasionally when Nathan would be working late.  Sounds pretty messed up, right?  Well, I was kinda trying to get back at Nathan for doing that same kind of stuff. I thought, if he thinks it is so normal for him to hang out with chicks, lets see how he likes it when I hang out with guys.  Well, of course, because I am a nympho, I really can’t be close friends with a guy without flirting and tons of sexual innuendo flying around.  It was just totally inappropriate for us to be flirting at bars together, me being married and all.

I really took the “get back at Nathan” thing way too far.  It got to the point where people thought Nathan and I split up and that I was with this new guy.  I had a few spies, some of Nathan’s co-workers and buddies that would give me dirty looks and shake their head at me when they saw me out with him.  I knew it was wrong. I was actually really enjoying being “wrong”, though.  I had been going through such a possessive “stay away from my man!!” stage for the first 3 years of our marriage, so this was me kinda saying Fuck you to Nathan and all those other girls for taking so much of my energy. I knew I was being an asshole, and it was fun.  But playing with fire always ends badly.  I was beginning to lose touch with Nathan, and I started actually having this other guy be my real priority.  When the other guy started seeing how deep it was getting, he just told me we couldn’t hang out anymore because he didn’t want to be “that” guy to his friend.  Plus, Nathan found some emails we wrote to eachother that were all flirty, and he got fucking pissed off.  I stopped talking to him very abruptly, and always worried about running into him around town.  Nathan hates his guts now, naturally.  I haven’t spoken to him since 2008, and its like it never happened or something, because Nathan gets over shit.  I have been so jealous of him for being so good about moving past painful events in his life.  I guess because of a mixture of being a Woman, Irish, and from a hot-headed family, I don’t get over stuff easily.  I get really really obsessive when someone hurts my feelings, betrays me, lies to me, cheats, etc.

The normal thing would have been for me to lose all of my feelings of jealousy about Nathan’s side chicks after I put him through that.  That was my objective, but I failed.  I guess I got a little bit of satisfaction about hurting him the same way he hurt me, but I feel like the biggest loser in the picture.  Because I broke up a friendship, and made the other guy totally hated by Nathan.  Plus, it honestly was a blow to my ego when the other guy kinda chastised me for getting in too deep with him. It made me feel so stupid that he was looking out for Nathan more than I was.  So sad, really.  I was like an empty bucket using an outsider to fill me up, while manipulating my Husband’s emotions.  Luckily nothing ever got physical.  That would have made things so much more pathetic on my end.

So instead of gaining an even ground with Nathan, I just felt more guilty and stupid.  The whole thing should have never happened.  And in some sick way, I have been literally holding a grudge against him since the first chick incident went down 7 years ago, up until about a week ago.  Its like everything just made perfect sense for me.  I suddenly understand what forgiveness means, and how when you hold a grudge you are really just hurting yourself (and everyone around you).  I felt a lifting of my resentment, and a cracking opening of my shell this past week.  I had no idea how bad it was making me.  I snap at Nathan a lot for no reason, randomly throughout the week.  I thought it was stress from being a Mom, but it wasn’t.  Its really just this bullshit that I have been holding on to against him.  My firm grasp around my heart was keeping it from pumping properly for him.  I guess I was trying to protect myself, but all it has done is waste precious time that I could have been loving, laughing, licking, fucking, and playing with my Husband.  I mean, its not like we’ve been totally miserable, we made two babies and have had tons of awesome times but that pesky attitude problem of mine towards him started after that girl, got worse with the second, horribly horrible with the third, etc.  My anger has been eating me and him alive.  I realized today that what really contributed to my anger the most was all the blows to my ego I went through with these other girls taking away my spotlight.  I just felt so inferior to them, and ugly, and dumb, etc. no matter how much he would tell me otherwise.  It has been a huge problem for our sex life.  I think because I had all this anger always eating away at me, I just wasn’t very approachable.  So for years, I have been pissed off at him for not making moves on me more often.  But now that I finally let it go, I can see why he didn’t feel welcome into my personal space.  He kind of let the ball stay in my court most of the time, and I really don’t blame him.  When I approached him for sex, he always got very excited and looked relieved that I invited him into me.

It almost feels like I have been pregnant with pain for 6 years, just busting at the seams. I gave birth to this giant resentment baby this morning actually.  It has been trying to be born for so long, I guess it couldn’t take it anymore.  I felt all of the anger towards him lift off of me and fly away.  Then I proceeded to fuck him all day long.  It felt like we just met.  I am still all giddy about it.  I can’t believe I have been keeping myself away from this man I am madly in love with for this long.  He has been in the dog house sooo long, so he is just so fucking happy that I let him out.  What an asshole I’ve been, Jesus.  Today was the first day I had sex with him in years that I wasn’t fighting feelings of anger towards him as I was cumming.  Do you know what a relief that is?  OH. MI. GOD.  Such a fucking relief. The craziest part about all of this, is I think Twitter is to thank for the shedding of my resentment layers.  I have been gaining such a sense of self confidence from the awesome, funny folks on there and fans I have been gaining, I think it just helped me get back what I thought I had lost when those girls came in and knocked me off my pedestal.  Twitter is reminding me that I am smart, funny, and beautiful, mainly because people tell me those three things all day long in messages and @ replies.  Maybe a shrink would think getting cocky because of fans is not a healthy way to feel better about yourself, but I don’t really give a fuck.  I have felt so down on myself for so long, I will take praises and reminders that I am cool from where ever I want.  I know I should know those things about myself on my own, and I used to, but I lost touch with reality along the way because of heartbreak and jealousy.  Feels good to get it back.  So. So. Good.

Aw, Shucks

I got reading glasses for the first time in my life 2 years ago.  I only wore them when I was doing work online.  About a month ago, I went back to the eye doctor and he told me my eyes got way worse, and that I should wear my new glasses a lot.  So I have been, and Griffith, my son, has been fascinated with them.

He found a pair of 3-d glasses we had leftover from some movie we saw, and he has been wearing them all the time.  I love that he wants to be like me.  Because I am a narcissist.  Aren’t all parents, or why else would we want little mini-me’s?  It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy when he copies me or my Husband.  It is definitely the sweetest form of flattery, and I can’t get enough of it.  I feel star struck by him and my baby girl, so seeing them happy with me is like having your favorite band write a song for you, about you every day.

 

Music Boner Syndrome: Part Deux

Then there was the day I saw my now-husband performing at “the jinx”.  Nice name, huh?  I was hammered after drinking all day with friends.  When I walked in it looked like a light was illuminating only him, and nothing else stood out.  It was like everyone else was in slow motion and dim.  Now, this was the SECOND I saw him.  I immediately realized I was going to marry this stranger, and I told my friends.  I acted a lot like Snooki back then, so my friends just laughed it off and thought I was retarded.  I sat at the bar with them as we ordered more unnecessary poison, and I practically drooled watching him do his thing.  He wasn’t unusually sexy to the average eye, but to me he was.  To the regular person, they saw a tall, lanky, Jesus-like figure bouncing around on stage in his 70’s grey Nike shirt and crappy little boy pants. He was playing on children’s keyboards separated by shoe boxes.  Things were kept together with duct tape.  He was singing in a falsetto about crapping his pants.  His image was not exactly screaming SEX!!  It didn’t matter what the lyrics were with this music, it was giving me a raging music boner and I was about to explode the whole show.  I grabbed all my girlfriends and made them dance right under his nose at the front of the stage.  I asked him to sign my tits, all we had to use for that was a neon green magic marker.  If you have ever tried to write on boobs with a magic marker, you know that it slides around too much, and the felt tip is too fat so any words just end up looking like a poorly drawn cloud.  He later told me that he had never had a large group of girls act so impressed with him at a show.  I sprinkled my love for him all over the ladies like glitter dust, but I quickly dusted it off when anyone started to get too close to him.  This skinny Jesus was MINE, bitches.

After drunkenly struggling to explain where I lived so that he could come back to my apartment and pork me, I left without him, barely standing up straight and past out in my bed.  I guess I left the door unlocked to my ghetto-street facing apt. door, and he helped himself in after getting proper directions from a friend.  I have never been so thankful that a drunk friend of mine irresponsibly trusted a stranger who may rape and kill me, and told him where to go.  If she hadn’t done that, I wouldn’t be married to him and we wouldn’t have two adorable kids right now.  Like a gentleman, he slept on the futon.  I was completely unaware that he was in my place, because I had already fallen fast asleep.  In the morning, I initially did not know who he was.  I sat up and looked at a strange man and thought to myself, “holy fuck! who the fuck! what the fuck! where the fuck!” until it slowly came back into my memory.  He seemed weird and not how I remembered him.  He had a cold expression on his face.  He stood stiff and ridgid.  He demanded I give him an “ass rub” out of nowhere, because he said he threw out his back.  He unbuttoned his pants, slid them down and got on my bed.  I was freaked the fuck out.  I wanted him out, but I was excited that I had a funny story to tell my friends.  I gave him the rub, while he called a friend and mocked me.  He was acting like SUCH a dick.  I just kept thinking, “you idiot!  see what happens?  just stop falling for music guys, they are all retarded off stage.”  After the thoroughly awkward ass rub ended, he demanded I run him a bath and give him bath bubbles.  So I did.  While he was in the bath, I picked up my apartment and tried to hide sharp objects because I was worried that he was mentally unstable.  After he got out, we began small talking.  Which led to long talking.  Which led to jokes.  Which led to me telling him my life story, and him telling me his.  Hours went by like seconds.  I had never laughed so hard with anyone else in my life.  He was incredible, awesome, funny, smart, AND he was a musical genius.  I realized after we got talking that I was right the night before, he WAS the one!  We tried to play it off like we were just very flirty friends as he left my apartment to get back on his music tour.  He kissed me on the cheek, and I told him, “don’t worry, we will see each other again.”  We kept in touch over the phone in that flirty friend way for the next few weeks.  On the third week, he confessed to me that he “had the hots for me”.  I told him I did for him too.  A day later, I proposed to him.  A week later, we got married.  Now we have an adorable family.  We are poor as fuck.  We disagree a lot.  Things are shitty often.  But we have never stopped being totally in love with one another, which makes me so happy.  He can piss me off so bad, but once I calm down, I realize how perfect for each other we are and I open back up to him.  He does the same.  I cannot tell you how comforting it is to be with someone who never doubts his love for me.  He has to put up with me, once a month, doubting my love for him.  That makes me feel so silly and shitty and selfish when I really think about it.  I am really lucky and I hope I never truly fuck up this precious relationship.

Now that I have made you all puke, clean up the vomit off your chin and attempt to have yourself a nice day!

Music Boner Syndrome: Part One

I have a medical condition.  It’s called, “Music Boner Syndrome”.  I get insanely, unreasonably, incredibly horny for anyone who I find to be musically talented.  Listening to music is like reading a porno magazine, and seeing a show live is like sex.  It has mainly been an issue with anyone who is singing songs that have to do with sex, love, lust, romance, and usually when there is a constant drumbeat going on in the background.  Synthesizers are often involved, but not always.  If the singer grunts, moans, closes his eyes hard like it hurts, makes fists a lot, bobs his head around a lot, bites his lip, its all over.  I may as well be a guy getting a hand job at this point.  It also happens with girl bands, there just aren’t many sexy girl bands around (anymore).  When I am in the height of the lust for the singer, or drummer, or guitarist, etc., I will often look around the room at a show to see if anyone else is suffering from this condition.  I really feel alone.  I look at people’s faces and they are blankly nodding along to the song, or they are enthusiastically dancing, but they don’t have that psycho, drooling, sweating, panting look that I have.

This started in middle school.  I went to my first “show” at a local arts barn with my super cooler, bigger boobed, non-virgin friend, Sara.  Whenever I hung out with her I made sure to wear a thong that I shoplifted from JCPenney (i stole it because my Mom wouldn’t buy me one), and I wore lots of makeup and made my hair all 80’s.  I always assumed at that age, that if you hang out with a girl who has had sex, guys will smell it on her and try to have sex with her so maybe they would try with me too.  At the show I made eyes like a maniac at the lead singer the whole time.  He looked flattered but freaked out because he was like, 30 and I was 13.

It just got worse with age.  I actually avoided going to shows in high school because it was too depressing to fall in love with all of these talented older guys, just to go home and get yelled at by my Mom for staying out too late.  When I got to College, my music interest shifted from alternative/indie rock to hip hop and r&b.  I was in Savannah in the early 2000’s so “the dirty south” hip hop scene was at its peak.  So the new music boner victims were mostly freestylers and DJ’s.  I had a good friend back then that was a hip hop DJ, and I had a hard time not crushing on him because of it.  If he would have just stopped being involved in music, I would have stopped having feelings…and painful boners; because we had nothing else in common besides that and he was a dick.  A nice friend dick-head, but not at all what I would want in a relationship.

This continued to plague me every night, so I decided to give up on the musical types and go for the opposite.  I dated an old dude that had no musical talents, and listened to french rap and blues.  That should explain it all.  I think I wanted to escape from the intense emotions and confusion I felt when I was around musicians.  Its like they could say the worst shit to me, cheat on me, lie, and be stupid, but once they got on stage I was putty in their hands.  I didn’t like how out of control it made me feel.  As much as everyone ragged on the old dude boyfriend..um, grandpafriend is a more appropriate name, he wasn’t so bad.  If you like raging abusive alcoholics who are awesome to party with until they hit their 80th “natty ice”, then he is the go-to guy.  He would have been an okay dude if it weren’t for that, because he had a big heart.  But I realized while I was in that long ass relationship that I needed to be with a musical genius because I just had to.  It was like my destiny or something.  I didn’t set out to find that, I just realized this music boner addiction wasn’t going away and one day I would stumble on the guy that reciprocated my boner relief.

Jesus Wasn’t Irish

7 years ago.  I will never forget meeting my husband’s ex-one-night-stand/girl-friend/she was using him for attention/whatever girl after only a month of knowing and being married to Nathan.  That’s right, I proposed after a month. I didn’t want to meet her, it was just weird.  But my new stranger-Husband strong armed me into that Lion’s den.  After talking to her a while, I picked up on obvious jealousy and obvious, I-am-going-to-take-you-down vibes.  It was intimidating and scary.  So she began passive aggressively attacking me in front of Nathan and her cologne-drenched business boyfriend.  Of course the men did not pick up on that.  You need to have a pussy to know what the fuck is going on in the world when it comes to love and lust language.  So after a super awkward conversation took place about how Nathan would not write me a song (nathan is a musician) because he only writes songs about “girls that break his heart”.  She hit a super duper mighty delicate ready to explode nerve when she said, “Awww, Nathan, that is mean!  Poor Tara!  You should write a song about her. I mean, you wrote one for me.  She should have one too.”   She then proceeded to challenge me to a “friendly” arm wrestle (that is sooo normal, right?), which I lost.  And she began a causal, friendly conversation discussing her talent for ballet and booty dancing and how everyone tells her she has “bedroom eyes”.  When Nathan was performing and her boyfriend was in the bathroom, she explained to me how I would never take her place in Nathan’s heart.  Hmm, thats nice.  I am picturing your death right now and hoping it will be painful, but I guess I will continue to sit here and endure your jealous vagina monologue.  Nathan did not and will never understand what she was doing.  I knew what she was doing.  She was being what the french call, “a stupid fucking cunt whore –  i hate you why did i have to meet you bitch he’s mine get over it – actually you can take him – i hate him right now – but you never wanted him – so what’s your fucking problem – if you liked it then you should have put a ring on it – bitch from hell”.  I love the french.

God what a fucking asshole.  To make it even better, we were on Tour,  so the “crash pad” we had waiting for us, was her Grandma’s house.  And her Grandma was more of a stupid whore than that cunt could ever hope to be.  You know the kind of Granny I am talking about.  She’s got a certain sway to her walk.  She’s got a certain crease to her inappropriately fitting khakis that hug her osteoporosis hips like a snake’s skin hugs it’s innards.  Her bright white coifed mane has a devious sparkle to it.  Her voice has a ever so slight trannie rasp with a flirtatious bubbly upturn in her pitch at the end of each sentence.  Her fingers linger a bit too long after she accidently pets your hand when handing you your oatmeal spoon.  Her kitchen looks slutty.  Her jewelry looks 15th century whorish and too delicate.  Her light fixtures intimidate you with their sleek curves.  Her home has a stench of seductive jasmine scents laced with moth balls and rancid cereal.  She gives you a slightly sleazy, aloof look like she hopes you accidentally stumble across her flesh-toned, 11-inch vibrator wrapped in a lace doily while you are snooping through her drawers searching for signs of normal human qualities.  She is a mega slut.  The Queen of the sluts.  And I am in her home.  There are giant framed glamour shots of her Mega slut seductress granddaughter plaguing me throughout the house on my way to brush my teeth.  I have to sleep in her ping-pong table room with my stranger-husband who I am now contemplating castrating for putting me in this situation.

I got out of there alive.  She traumatized me, but I am still standing.  And Nathan and I are still in love (and in hate, ya know..marriage).  From what one of my annual “why not torture myself today, lets google-stalk some people you hate” days (I only allow one of these days per year), I discovered she is recently divorced.  Which was extremely comforting.  People like her are not allowed to be happy.  They are just too horrible.  Okay, maybe this is immature.  I do claim to be a Jesus lover.  So I guess I should “forgive” all of the parties involved.  But Jesus wasn’t Irish.  Irish people have vivid memories, hold grudges and get pissed easily.   So no forgiving will be taking place soon for the devil seductress and I am okay with that.  I actually prefer it that way.  And I will trip her if she ever walks by me, and I will laugh really hard if she breaks her ankle.  But if she died, I would probably feel sad for her, but ask God to keep her out of heaven or at least keep her in the West wing of Heaven and keep me and my family and my dog in the East wing.

Ronnie and Sammie and You and Me

I am a big fan of The Jersey Shore on MTV.  I think it is just great.  I know there are many people who find it a disgusting show, but I disagree.  I also know that they are a team of writers and manipulators who “script” the show to the best of their abilities.  But with all that puppetry and commercialism and silliness, you just can’t fake the relationship between Ronnie and Sammie.  It is a train wreck.  Those two would be just as sick and demented of a couple of living anonymously in Long Island, as they are now, even if fame had never entered their lives.  (they met on the show, but you know what I mean).  If you are unfamiliar with the show, basically Ronnie and Sammie have a co-dependent relationship.  They intentionally hurt, cheat, lie, and manipulate one other, and they are both jealous hot heads who have a voracious appetite for fighting and screwing.  I do believe that in the place they are now, that they do “love” one another.  I don’t think it is a healthy or selfless love, but I do believe it is love and not lust.  Because if it were lust, they would be having a good time.  My definition of lust is two basically strangers fucking in random areas and ignoring each other when they are around peers.  I really can’t think of anything more blissful than that in terms of pleasure, so yeah, lust is great.  It is my conclusion that, if you are truly in love, you are fucking miserable 60-80% of the time.  “miserable” in different degrees and for different reasons.  Maybe you are miserable because you cannot stand how your wife or girlfriend who you adore, is too friendly and touchy feely with other men.  Maybe you are miserable because you never get laid by your spouse or partner.  Maybe you are miserable because your husband or boyfriend undermines you in public.  Maybe they are too bossy.  Maybe they are poor as fuck.  Maybe they are kinda stupid.  Maybe they are cheap. Maybe they are a drunken ho who has cheated on you a number of times and it just kills you that you still love them.  But there is one thing for goddamn sure, and it is, you are in misery A LOT if you are really in love.  I know this because of my personal experiences, and because I have pretty much studied this topic since birth.  I have always, always, been fascinated and bewildered and curious about how people in love interact.   There are a certain freakish percentage of the population that have unusually healthy relationships.  I bet it is about 10%.  These people, and I have met them, and I don’t get it, say things like, “we have been married 40 years and never uttered the word divorce”.  Or they say “we just don’t fight.  We are respectful of each other’s boundaries and we just know how to work problems out peacefully.”  These people definitely have some skeletons in their closet, but I will bet that they actually are pretty peaceful couples when it comes down to it.  But again, they are freaks of nature.  That is just not normal.

Now here is what is normal.  And, remember, I am an expert on the topic.  Saying “I hate you” during heated arguments, normal.  Occasionally having only your hand and your private parts to please each other for weeks to months on end in a long relationship (5+ years),  normal.  Thinking about divorce a lot if you have been married for at least 5 years, normal.  Fantasizing about an ex while fucking your current mate in a relationship of 1+ years, normal.  Wanting (but not actually acting on it) to throw it all away for a mindless fuck when you are wasted, normal.  I could go on and on.  Basically, if you are a horrible asshole, chances are you in love.  I was SOOO fun when I was single.  I was a party animal, and everyone preferred for me to stay that way.  Problem is, I, like most people, am looking for a companion who will be by my side to laugh with about the shit filled diapers we are wearing and the blood in our creamed-cereal-puke when we are 80 years old.  Yeah, I really want that.  I want the security of knowing I will have my husband (god willing he survives this long) to make me laugh until I breath my last breath.  My ideal death, is laughing so hard when I am 98 that I have a heart attack and die.  Oh, at the same exact time that my husband dies.  Nothing is worse than being an old widowed fart.  That is like going bankrupt emotionally.  It must feel like such shit.  So that can’t happen.  But I am getting off track, I am trying to explain how marriage is miserable but necessary for most people.  You know movies about prison?  Like, American History X or Shawshank Redemption?  They show how fucking horrible and miserable the time they spend there is getting fucked in the ass by scary gangs, having mean wardens, no freedom, too many chores, but there is a silver lining.  They get to make relationships that are so valuable it takes the memory of the pain away.  That is how marriage is, to me at least.  It is so shitty.  I would so much rather be fucking a new guy every month, getting all excited about this new fuck a thon each morning, and be able to go drinking with my girlfriends every weekend flirting with guys like I am 19 and not giving a shit every night.  That is, if it actually was fulfilling to do that.  That is the problem with being single.  It is not fulfilling.  It is too boring.  Too sad.  Too pathetic.  Too trashy.  That is why we all want love.  Even the lying assholes who say they prefer being single, they don’t.  We all want it.  We all need it.  At some point or another, it gets soo old.  And we just want someone to fart in front of and who makes us laugh, and someone who we can shit in front of and they will still want to fuck us.  But you can’t get all that convenience without a price.  Just as Sammie and Ronnie have so clearly shown us on The Jersey Shore.  But it is so addictive because we don’t want to part with someone who can be funny, sexy, ridiculous, and disgusting all at the same time but still fuckable.  I mean, I don’t know about you, but if I was having a one night stand, and the guy (or girl) told me to run out and get them some pepto bismal because they had the shits, that would be a done deal.  So nasty.  But when my husband needs me like that, it doesn’t change my feelings.  That is love.  Being able to be covered in shit and green ass gasses and still be lovable to your partner.  We all need someone who will still love us while we are nasty.  But as much as I love him, I literally want to kill him. like a lot.  He is so selfish and childish.  He is a disorganized broke ass.  He doesn’t fuck me nearly, not even close, pretty much never enough.  He needs to shower waaaay more. He has cheated and lied.  He is that guy who has “girl-friends”  aka….dumb dick head.  He is the cheapest guy I have ever met.  But somehow with all of these shitty, crappy, horrible, sucky, kill me now, fml, i hate it all, pull the trigger, i need a drink, this sucks problems,  i still love him.  What. The. Fucking. Hell.  It makes no sense.  So here is the big reason we are together…He makes me laugh harder than anyone I have ever met.  And I guess that is where I am screwed, because that has always been my #1 requirement of a guy, and he scores BIG TIME.  It almost trumps all the other shit.  That is how much I love to laugh.  I am willing to give up my sanity, my vagina, my convenience, my freedom, all for shits and giggles.  I don’t know whether that makes me sweet or retarded.  I have been with guys that are ambitious, rich, hot, sexually available, emotionally available, reasonably funny, and totally into me.  And I was bored out of my mind.  While in relationships with these guys, all I would think about was someone really funny one day whisking me away from these douchey douchers.  The guys I dated in college were very desirable.  Tons of girls would tell me how “lucky” I was to be on dates with them, and how “all the girls” wanted them.  Well I just couldn’t give two shits.  Because they weren’t good enough.  Because they didn’t make me stomach-hurt, fall on the floor, snot out the nose laugh.  The price I am paying is clear.  As of now, I have no car.  We are on welfare.  I am sexually frustrated.  I want him to listen to me about his shitty business tactics and how they could improve.  I am stir crazy 98% of the time because he is the non-adventurous type.  I want to divorce him a lot because of these things, but then he makes me laugh.  And then he makes my babies laugh.  To the point that we are all crying tears of laughter and getting an insane ab work out from the funnies.  And it turns it all around.  My mother will never understand this.  She thinks I deserve better.  I agree.  I think he is pretty shitty to me in a lot of ways,  compared to how the boring good guy would be.  But I guess I would rather be entertained than treated right.  Maybe we have an Ike and Tina-esque type of thing going on, I don’t know for sure.  But I do know, that I am not alone.  Other relationships may not have the exact shape and size and circumstance as us, but I know that is common to feel depleted in needs categories to the point of misery, while you are in a long relationship.  So when Sammie gets mad at Ronnie for straying, but then goes right back to him, and he to her after all the nagging, I get it.  They can’t live without each other for what they DO do for one another. Even if it is just one thing.  That one thing may be the deal-maker.  And might be so rare and precious to find, that you just can’t let it go when you do find it.

So If you are one of the million people out there who is presenting a squeaky clean appearance of your relationship either on facebook, in public, on television, in politics, etc.  You are really just making the world more confused.  I just wish everyone would be more honest about how hard relationships are.  Do comics really need to be the only ones to have the balls to say it like it is?  Because the more people out there who are posting facebook statuses that have been windexed and bleached for our reading enjoyment, the more hopeless, honest people or worried people, or skeptical people feel, and the more poorly informed children and single people feel.  The second I think I might be wrong, might be too cynical, because I have met or seen or heard about a “perfect” couple, they soon end up divorced, or dead.  Seriously.  It just doesn’t exist.  No one gets out without lots of scratches and bruised egos.  And the more happy happy shiny happy happy you act, the more horrible and demented it must be.  So thank you, Ronnie and Sammie for airing your dirty laundry, and being judged to no end and stuck as a disgusting caricature, all for entertainment’s sake, because the truth is, 70% of your audience is just as, if not more disgusting, co-dependent, and demented than you two, whether they want to face that or not.

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