Well, well, well, Gentle Reader. It's hard to believe that we have been together for a little over a month now. Does this mean we are going steady now? Do I have to pin you behind the sockhop before we get to the "necking?" Because I have a pretty big fear of commitment, and that would scare the shit out of me. Let me start this one with a little advice for the fellas. Guys, there are two acts in your life that you should never perform violently. Those two things are shaving and masturbating. Fucking bad things bro, bad things. Also, on a side note guys, don't date girls from Athens. Too risky. Check an HIV map of Georgia, and Athens looks like where the Queen of the hive lives; Unless you have Magic Johnson money, this is a gamble you don't want to take. For you new readers out there, just want to say that reading a blog is like foreplay with a woman.... it works out best if you start at the bottom and work your way up. For once in our relationship, Gentle Reader, I am going to give you what I promised. This is the tragic story of my brief marriage. Hold on to your nipples.
I was 20 years old when I met The Ex-Wife. Forgive me for not coming up with a more imaginative name, but I couldn't think of anything that would describe the experience better. She was 28 at the time, which would make her almost 30 for those math-challenged readers. Like this red-headed, freckled fuck I went to school with. He was in my freshman English class when he was 19 years old. Let me repeat, he was 19.....in Freshman English. Hey, we all have different skills. We weren't all meant to read and write. So, me and The Ex-Wife were both servers at a restaurant. I was a lost soul chasing after someone else I thought I really loved while she was chasing after me. I finally went to see her one lonely night, slept with her, attempted to drive home, and then....the Clusterfuck. She didn't want me to just fuck her and leave, so as I am walking to my car, I hear her screaming obscenities and throwing things against the wall. What possessed me to ever come back? It's called sex. Men are slaves to it. If it weren't for sex, we would still be in the caves we crawled out of thousands of years ago. Men have sung songs, written plays, built buildings, and even taken over countries for the love of a good woman. It is our sole motivation for going to work everyday. So please don't judge me, Gentle Reader.
So I met this woman, and she looked like Celine Dion and the old WCW wrestler Sting had a lovechild. Like old-school Lex Luger-days Sting. Not "The Crow" Sting. I had attended multiple colleges with minimal success at this point, but I was finally making good grades again. But after meeting her son and playing video games for hours on end with him, I decided someone needed to take care of him, because SHE certainly wasn't doing it. I actually witnessed her daughter take a piss in the corner of the living room and then start lapping it up like a thirsty dog because "her brother told her to do it." The Ex-Wife just shook her head and laughed. Are you fucking shitting me? Your 5-year old just drank her own urine in the living room and you find this amusing? Fine, you keep laughing...I'm going to throw up on myself and then take a 45 minute shower.
Her parenting skills consisted of telling the children, "Just wait until my boyfriend of two months gets here. He will take care of this. He should be here in two or three days." Yeah, that will teach them not to fuck with you. Gentle Reader, next time your dog shits in your floor on a Tuesday, beat the fuck out of it on Friday morning and see if they learn anything from it. She also had a talent for quitting jobs. Give me a dollar an hour raise, Ex-Wife quits her job. Hey, honey-twat, you realize I went from 8.75/hour to 9.75/hour. Let's not start sucking each others' dicks quite yet. We aren't the Jeffersons. This is still a family of four that needs to be supported. She told me she had lived in a car once growing up, and as long as we had a house, she felt rich. Well you know what makes me feel rich? Running water and satellite television. So get your shit together. One time, while briefly working at a paint store, she bought every gallon of customer-rejected paint the store had in the warehouse, because she thought she could make money with it. What...the...fuck? You just spent $170 on a truckload of paint and there aren't two gallons that match in the whole fucking lot. Are you Bob Ross all of a sudden? You planning on painting some "happy trees" with all that goddamn paint?
As far as housework goes, she was no Mexican maid named Consuela, let me tell you. I would come home from work to a plateau of unfolded clothes on the couch. She would tell me, "I did five loads of laundry today." Hold up, swole-up, you didn't do ONE. If nothing has been folded, you haven't finished the first one. So there for a while, I was working thirteen-hour days, and then coming home to laundry piled up neck-high on the couch, dishes that haven't been washed since the Clinton administration, and kids that need a spanking for something they did two days ago. Why put up with this? I loved her son like he was my own. He called me his Dad, and I felt like I really was.
So, this covers the beginning and middle of my relationship with The Ex-Wife. Later on, we will get into the end. This shit is just getting started. I am trying to stir up a little readership, so I am now holding a Follower contest. I have fourteen now, and plan on giving something away to number twenty. I was thinking two free weeks of relationship advice. Or maybe a "I was saved by the Captain" t-shirt. We will work it out. Until next time, Gentle Reader.