08:24am, Thursday 25 Jul 2002
Song of the Day: Rosey - Love
Sorry for the pathetically lame updates of late.. its very hard to write about what’s going on in my life when I know that whatever I say will offend at least one of you. But, this is the nature of your friends reading blogs.. however, as I have discovered this past week, you don’t need to write about it online for someone to take offence.
A few major things have happened to me in the last few weeks. The most notable was the resurgence of FEB (fuckwit ex-boyfriend) after 3 months of incommunicado. (Who knows why, I suspect some kind of hormone-to-grey cell ratio imbalance).
The amusing thing is, he just shows up at my door one night with a 6 pack of beer (“our” brand too, for maximum sentimentality) and at this point I’m beyond shocked and thinking “what kind of moron wouldn’t see through this obvious ploy?”. Anyhoo, he explained his lame reasoning behind sudden ex-communication (“oh, but I didn’t want to hurt your feelings, so I thought that DISSAPEARING FROM YOUR LIFE causing you extreme pain and heartache was the best answer.”) and whilst my mind was screaming at me not to give him another chance, out of some sense of duty (and probably pity) I agreed to maintain some sort of semblance of friendship.
Fast forward several weeks to a night where said FEB came over to hang out and chew the fat. Being quite relaxed and merry, our heroine downed 6 vodka shots, pretty much in a row. Needless to say, the whole night was a blackout and I remember nothing... except one, tiny little thing.
I think FEB asked if I'd seen anyone in the 3 months he’d cut me off, and I drunkenly admitted that I had. What followed was the biggest dummy spit known and a walk out of grand proportions.
And today, I STILL don’t know what I said that night, only that I admitted to seeing someone else when it became obvious FEB was no longer going to return my calls or my emails. And today, trying to get him to tell me why its such a problem (he broke my fucking heart goddamnit, why should he care who I’m seeing?) leads me to no answer. (Note to FEB: I'd be more fucking worried about why it bothered you in the first place than the fact that it happened.)
And that’s where you come in, dear reader. Unless you are the FEB himself (in which case, har har, Nelson style), then the fact that you’re here and reading this tale is testament enough to any type of revenge. Lets just say I’m a different woman than the one who would have taken this lying down 6 months ago.
I eat, I fuck, I go to the gym.. I babysit, I don’t smoke, I laugh fucking LOUD! (and I can and there’s nothing wrong with that.. if you think there is, take the stick out of your arse and reconsider). I drink, I tell the truth, I’m fucking loyal to my friends.. I love my mother, I love my boss (in a purely mentor-ish kinda way) and I think Bridget Jones is a goddamn icon. I have an unhealthy obsession with apple juice, DVDs and all things Bridget Jones. I love Ella Fitzgerald (oh thank you VBG!) and I don’t think people who say negative things about me are always right. My cheeks are rosier, my weight is slipping, my self confidence is soaring... and it took exactly 2 hours to get over whatever it was I said that night. (Oh, the progress!)
All in all, I love my fucking life.. and there is no room for someone like FEB. (Note to FEB: I would NOT look better 20 kilos lighter you arrogant, vain prick.)
Rock on.
Acknowledgements for this post go to:
Linda (for that day at The Deli), Jason B (for absolutely everything save my birth which I owe to my mother.. you have first dibs on the last beer in my fridge anytime!), VBG (for pointing out the fucking obvious), Mark G (for reminding me that I'm still young and he'd do me for a dollar :)), Mike (as always.. you don't have to be in contact every single day for the perfect ear), Foxtel (don't ask), Le Cornu (ditto) and last of all, Bridget Jones.. for pure fictional escape.
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