Show me your scar and I'll show you mine.

My sweetheart expresses a passionately sincere and committed love towards me that seems frighteningly rare in today's romantic relationships. In fact, love and kindness seem to be failing in all kinds of relationships from family to acquaintances to perfect strangers.

The divorce rate indicates the absence of committed love in marriage. The murder rate shows the lack of love and value for human life. Child molestation statistics show that adults don't love children enough to let them grow, without assaulting them. Rape statistics show the lack of basic respect that some exhibit towards members of the opposite sex. Murder/suicides. Infanticide. I could continue this list for pages.

So what's the deal? Outside of legitimate mental disorders, why don't humans love each other enough to respect and value the life of another? Consider the cliche "misery wants company." Consider the battle scars and exit wounds that people acquire in daily relationships. Now imagine how some don't recover from those disappointments. Their unhealed hearts seek company by dumping on others. And the beat goes on.

Battle Scars and Exit Wounds
I guestimate that every single adult on this planet has a scar from a relationship battle. And I'm not just talking about romantic relationships. We've been disappointed by our parents. We've been hurt by siblings. We had a boss that made life miserable. And of course, we entered the game of romantic love and didn't get what we hoped for.

If you're lucky, you sustained a surface wound that healed and allowed you to move on. If you're not so lucky, some of these disappointments left gaping holes - like exit wounds - much bigger than the original entry point. Sometimes, evidence of these unhealed wounds can be detected in daily conversation. And if you ever found yourself saying some of the following, you may be a candidate for unhealed wounds:

"I don't trust anybody."
"I hate men."
"All men are dogs."
"Women are slick and sneaky." (This is one of my beloved Dickhead's favorites.)
"Who needs a man?"
"Men are useless."

I won't pretend I don't have battle scars that infringe on my relationships. After my ex-husband walked out on me in 2003, just 5 days before our 4th anniversary, I thought I would just as soon spit on a man than say hello. While I got over the worst part, I work to keep the memories of an old scar from contaminating what I have today.

So there you have it. The reason for the name of the blog. Me and the Mr. are gonna cover all the good the bad and the ugly stuff about love, engagement, marriage, parenting, and sex (whoo hoooo!) that demonstrate battle scars don't have to rule - and that being madly in love is the best shit since sliced mutha-fuggin bread.

My Fiance is an Insolent Dickhead, And I Love Him Like Crazy

Fvck trying to start this blog with a feel-good post. My plan was to begin with some flowery-ass description of why we called the blog "Battle Scars and Exit Wounds." You'll have to wait for that, 'cause I have something else to say.

Love is a bitch. That much is true. I'm engaged to a man I am proud to call my best friend, but some days I want to carve the word "shithead" onto his dick. With a dull cleaver. Really. And every woman on this planet knows that feeling, and sent me a cyber-high-five for being honest.

The dickhead (who will be known to you as "His Side") and I decided to start this blog because too few couples are honest about what makes love work. Parents try to shield children from the truth - out of protection or pure embarrassment - and nobody gets to hear the raw story of how a marriage lasts longer than 5 minutes.

So here we are, taking over for the whack parents trying to appear as angels, to cover everything from communication to great sex. No. Not "mom and dad procreation sex," but the stuff teenagers fantasize about during boring History classes.

Today, the dickhead showed his ass because he didn't get enough sex last night. Okay, he didn't get any. And like the mature man he is, he pouted all day and basically terrorized me at work. Every time the phone rang, I said a little prayer it wasn't him. Okay. No need dragging the Lord into this. I didn't say a little prayer. I really said, "Dammit. Here we go with this shit again."

This blog will be the source of many fights, because we agreed to (1) be brutally honest while (2) giving the other person a chance to respond with their side. If it gets bloody, just turn away and move along. That's why you pushed the damned button that said you're mature enough to read this shit in the first place.

Now keep it moving. I must go upstairs to enter the Pout Zone.