One lazy morning, as I flipped aimlessly through the channels with hopes of finding some mindless entertainment, I stumbled across a well-known television pastor whose words gripped me. I don't recall the direct quote, but he described the prevailing expression of love as 'a thin veneer of acceptance that is easily scratched away when human frailties and flaws emerge in the object of our affection.'
That's love. American style.
I won't pretend that our limited human experience can fathom and sustain the pure God-like love the pastor went on to preach about. In fact, it is a promise of the human condition that we'll be flawed in ways that make us quite difficult to tolerate. Even when we think we have it all together, we're still a pain in somebody's ass who just may love us in spite of...
When I assess my own history with that thang called "love," I can see where appearances, circumstances, personal resumes, and other surface "veneers" played a role in choosing mates. I know for a fact I was doing the best I knew how at the time. I had no clue that I often made choices like a frazzled mom shopping while hungry after a long day. The groceries all look good until you get home, open the bag, and see the excess of junk food that seemed all-too-perfect on the shelf.
And all of this leads me to...
My girl Negril is the only person who knows and understands the trials, tribulations, and uncertainties I've faced while navigating my relationship with HisSide. He is the object of my true love. His flaws are many, to the point where I understand the need to be away from him. But not once in the throes of his deepest personal battles did I love him any less. Even when I became a convenient target... Even when forced to put some space between us... Even when he wanted to blame me for problems he's had for longer than I've known him... I loved him and did what I could to help him. When asked, he'll tell you the same.We remain friends that can't stand to be away from each other. The feeling is mutual, but then again, love isn't a "feeling" anyway. It's the energy that keeps you attached to another while doing what you can to make their life better. Because their pain is your pain. When they hurt, you hurt. And for no material reason at all, you can't imagine life outside of their presence because their soul is woven into your outlook.
We're like two children on a playground. He knocked over my blocks. I kicked his sandcastle. We cried. Then we made up and kept playing.
It's been about two years since I broke-up with HisSide. But he's still at home and we still love each other like crazy. I requested that he leave because the reality of some human frailties means making hard decisions. I still don't know where this will take us. But I know I love him and I am loved in return.
I wouldn't have it any other way because I want more than Love, American Style.
In this series, I write letters to people in my life - past, present, and possibly future - without the tension of actually mailing them. See the original post about the new series for more info.
Dearest Dad,
There's no lie in the idea that fathers are the first and most important men in a daughter's life. For the past 39 years, I always felt safe in the love you have for me. I can count my disappointments on one hand with plenty of fingers left to spare. Those disappointments were always short-lived because forgiveness is an automatic mechanism that operates in our relationship.
You never hid your pride in having me for a daughter. In spite of the mixed criticisms and praise from mom, I developed a confidence with roots in the love you always express. After long days of construction work... with icicles hanging from your beard... you let me know my importance every time you used your tired arms to lift me into the air with a weary yet surprisingly bright sincere smile.
As mom told, and pictures confirm, you made sure we laid in the sunlight together whenever possible. You wanted your baby girl to get enough sun, right beside your protective side.
As I grew, your protective spirit towards me never changed. I'll never forget that day in 7th grade when I got my feelings hurt at a school dance. My date ran off with other girls, and you pulled your pump-action shotgun in response. The moment of fear I felt in that instant was quickly overcome by a deep love for your regard of my young feelings. As mom talked and you fumed, I got an early lesson about not settling for less.
When I entered young adulthood, you left our home to live with another woman. You didn't call or keep in touch. I was hurt until I realized you were mostly concerned that I'd reject your decision. I was wise enough to know that sometimes children need to reach out first. I visited you there and let you know I still loved you as my precious father. I didn't judge your relationship for two reasons: (1) I was relieved that you ended the tension with mom and (2) You didn't lose an ounce of value as my beloved father. We never lost touch again - even as you eventually grew out of your new romance.
As I made the leap from girl to woman, I watched you become an amazing grandfather. I smiled with eyes full of happy tears as love for me pour into my sons. They love you with the same energy that I do, and they're immensely blessed to be a part of your life.
As you grow older, I am forced to consider the day - hopefully a day far away - that you may no longer be a part of our lives. You don't know this, but I have cried advance tears at the thought of losing you to heaven's call. As I write, I cry them again. Know this:
Whenever the moment comes that you must face your own mortality, you leave behind a daughter who still sees you as the strong, protective, loving father who lifts her into the air as an endless expression of amazing love. Heaven must have a special place for premier fathers, and I'll see you there when I arrive.
I love you daddy. You're the best of the best.
Kenya Stevens of JujuMama LLC left an interesting post on her Facebook wall today:
The nature of monogamy is selfishness. Most people would gladly have another lover, but what kills the dream is they would have to accept the same scenario. They deny themselves to further deny the one person they profess to love most. That to me is the real drive behind infidelity, the selfishness, and wanting to keep... your lover in darkness while you explore the light. (via Shannon Roberts)
Now I love Kenya's unconventional approach to strengthening relationships and her book is in my Amazon shopping cart for quick purchase this Friday. But her recent statement ate at my thoughts until I replied on her page and moseyed here for more commentary.
My original message to Kenya:
I don't agree that monogamy is selfish in itself. Pretending to be monogamous while cheating on a partner that you told something different is selfish. When both agree on the structure of their relationship -- that's harmony.
My His Side values monogamy as much as I do. As such, we have harmony in that area. Isn't it better to say that either ... See Moremodel works... so long as it is a shared value & desire?
Footnote: Monogamy does have its virtues... like the possible resulting children, the possible shared disease, etc. since there's no 100% method of preventing both. Discounting one structure to promote the other denies the value to those who chose it.
I couldn't resist spilling this conversation into this blog, because monogamy is central to my desire in a relationship. Kenya chronicled her journey into sharing her husband's goodies on her old blog, and it was clear it took a long time for the choice to sit well in her soul. That alone tells me that she clearly had a different preference for her marriage - which also features young children. As far as I was concerned, it took a pretty selfish motive on her husband's part to ask her to endure the ordeal.
What say you, or dear readers? Hit us in the comments.
Footnote: This blog will feature a book review of Kenya's book "Change Your Man: How to Become the Woman He Wants." I agree with Kenya's premise that men and women are different - and attempting to change your man via confrontation won't lead to harmony. I ordered her husband's companion book for His Side.
Big Mark said something at his blog that gripped me. It wasn't even the main point of his post, but I stopped reading. Dead. I couldn't go on until I digested the truth of his statement:
The trap of looking back is that the past sometimes looks better than it really was.
Say it out loud. Now say it again. Close your eyes and recall the times you fell into this trap. Now here's my story...
I was miserable when I was married. I chose my husband for all the wrong reasons. He looked great on paper, and he was an out for me as a 26-year old single mom dreaming of moving from mom's house. I had a great career, but my life was minus the savings and the guts to step out.
He walked out one week before our 4th anniversary. He was chasing a single welfare mom with a brood of kids who was willing to sell her soul for the BMW she thought he paid for.
After his departure, fear gripped my life. I wasn't sure how to care for two boys - the one previous and the one we shared - and make ends meet without a second income. I became physically ill, and I decided to get him back as I rewrote history to convince myself that "it wasn't that bad."
He never came back, and I continually count that as one of the biggest blessings of my life. Because it was that bad. Not because he was so bad (although that's arguable), but because I was losing myself to be a "good wife" in exchange for the security of two incomes and a reputation of "good wife."
Three years later... almost to the exact day... I met His Side. Like a precious puppy rolling in the grass at play, I languished in the freedom I found to be myself and still be loved.
In response, I did my share of distorting the present. A new fear of losing that feeling drew me to focus on His Side's flaws as an excuse to be alone again. Because His Side isn't fatally flawed in one critical way: He doesn't hide a single ounce of his love for me in spite of his flaws. Like children, he makes me crazy, but love keeps me wrapped in his life.
I left him. I put him out. I demonized his flaws. But he presses on with protecting me from harm, loving me, putting that love into action (in endless ways that deserve their own post), and reminding me that he is committed to loving me for the rest of his life.
Rewriting history. Distorting the present. Neither is healthy or fruitful.
He bought me a beautiful ring over the weekend. I wear it on my middle finger. He held onto the matching band, and wears it on his pinky. In spite of my fearful defiance, I have enough information about his character, his fight, and his love, to concede that one day both will be on the proper finger.
He promised to stop by here and write. I can't wait to hear what he has to say.
Stay tuned...
I celebrate a birthday this week. For a quickie, I thought I'd share the card I received from HisSide:
You Mean
So Much
To Me
Do you have any idea
how much I value
you and our relationship?
Let me give you a hint -
you're one of the few people
in the world
who truly know the real me.
That's because you've shown yourself
to be someone I can trust
with my secrets, my feelings,
and, yes, even my failings.
You listen to me and accept me unconditionally
and always give me
the benefit of the doubt.
You've made our relationship
a place where
I always feel safe,
knowing I won't be judged,
and that means so much.
Honestly, I don't know
what I ever did
to deserve having
someone as great
as you in my life...
and I don't know
what I'd do now
if you weren't!
You mean the world to me.
Love always.
Happy Birthday.
HisSide
[insert crazy ass drawing of happy face and hearts].
He said he searched hard for the right one, and it says everything he wanted it to say.
He inserted "Forgive Me" at the top.
He knows I love his flawed ass like crazy, as much as he loves my flawed ass.
So begins the birthday weekend of a lifetime.
His is only 3 days after mine.
Party on...
Card courtesy of Hallmark. Who else?
His Side spent a week in jail after the justice system saw fit to incarcerate him in a dangerous state prison for $200 overdue in child support payments. I spent that week fighting to get him out. I presented in court. I sidebarred with the prosecutor's office. I slept in my car in front of the prison. And miraculously, I drove away with him before sundown on that cold dismal day.
He was deeply and sincerely appreciative. But he couldn't avoid the setback that slowly crept into view. Old habits. Old ways. Anger. Bitterness. All directed at the wrong targets.
This came to a head during a very public and very embarrassing scene where I did. not. play the role of a patient friend. I was frustrated. I was hurt. And I was so done with it.
Any reasonable observer would have arrived at the same conclusion. But there's a side to this story that nobody knows. Well, not until now.
His Side experienced what I consider to be one of the most traumatic events a child can endure. By all professional accounts, his angry self-medicating behavior is almost a direct trace to that dark place in his history. The story is his to tell. I won't detail it here, but... He shared this with me years ago, and at the time, it explained e-v-e-r-y-t-h-i-n-g. It was so difficult for him to share and sit before me in a puddle of his own tears. But for me... well... I already knew trauma with the only explanation. It didn't surprise me one bit. The only surprise was that he finally told somebody and that person was me.
But His Side missed an important step: He didn't get any help... and I couldn't help him. I was the only person who knew, and I was also the safe haven where he acted out. Walking away from the carnage was about the only wise choice I had.
Something quite different happened after this post-prison episode. He confided in his older cousin, who's been like a mother to him since his own mother's death. He said he was actually able to sleep that night - something he hadn't done in ages. After that, he called a doctor. In simple terms, he told the doctor he wants to stop hurting the person who has loved him the most. Dayum. He has new medical benefits and even better... a fvcking appointment.
For this I am proud of him. He's being true to his claim that watching himself spiral out of control hurts him because it hurts the people he loves. And right when I was ready to make a decision to trade our friendship over a setback, I was compelled to embrace him as he takes the wisest step he's taken so far.
Love's a bitch.
At the height of turmoil during the looming breakup, LoveBabz asked me a simple question (paraphrasing):
'Why do you answer the phone when the departed His Side calls?"
I didn't have a ready answer, and I felt disturbed about my inability to respond to such a simple query. I knew answering the phone would probably expose me to a pained and frustrated His Side. I knew he would compel me into my own frustration. I knew he would fluster me into wishing I hadn't answered the phone.
For a while, I dealt with this by writing about the war between my own hope and deep disappointment. Much of my analysis focused on my legitimate frustrations with His Side's flaws. More accurately, I was focused on the hurtful ways that his flaws manifested against me in very personal and destructive ways.
But I always answered that phone for one reason: I never spent a day pretending with His Side. And he never had to spend a single minute pretending in an effort to secure my approval.
He always accepted my darkest and most annoying flaws. And I loved him in spite of the decimating wars he fought with his demons. He was unwavering in his sincerity to fight for a love he credits with changing his life. And by all accounts from his family, his love for me represents the most faith and fire he's lived since digging from beneath truly harsh circumstances.
So I kept answering that phone. We eventually fumbled and stumbled into the friendship we share now. Satisfying. Gratifying. Transparent. Tight.
I'll openly admit that many demons fled his presence. That man knows how to fight a good fight, especially after grasping the truth that loved ones should not receive any blows during the battle.
I recognize him now... as the man I saw looming beneath the armor while fighting the wrong war. We're not back together, but we're still a dynamic duo. I know better than to interrupt his transformation with the stress of caring for a romance. And I stay true to myself not to interrupt my own journey. Timing is everything.
I answered that phone because no matter the hardship, it was always real. I enjoyed the luxury of being myself in all of my glorious wonder and broken glory. I have never felt more human, loved, accepted, and powerful in all my life.
I don't worry about our future. I don't stress over the "ifs" of becoming a couple in the future. In truth, it may nevah happen. None of it draws my attention because I must live this day before I can live the day named "tomorrow." And my "todays" are good because 90% of the time, I'm glad I answered the phone.
A special shot-out to LoveBabz for this thought-provoking post:
What Am I Doing, Seriously?
Photo lifted from: Freelancedom
The words of BSEW regular, Big Mark, triggered this series for sure. He offered the following words to describe the His Side/Her Side split (and pinpointed a deep feeling that I had yet to specify on my own):
Keeping the disappointment from mixing with the hopes is a challenge for sure.
So instead of cussing out Big Mark for swimming around in my head and finding the words I couldn't even express, I decided to blog about it. LOL
Just as Mark prophesied suggested, the war between hope and disappointment started the moment I asked His Side to leave the home. In fact, the hard line I took on the decision constantly drew swords to fight off hope that "well maybe he doesn't have to really leave the house." Memories of the last time we split kept me on track. The in-house split featured him on the couch and absolutely no work done to resolve the root of the problem. Bzzzzt. Not gonna do that again.
I won the first round of the battle between hope and disappointment because reality dictated the necessity of pushing the STOP button and gracefully exiting the ride. Misdirected anger, bitterness, and even rage stole so much peace from the home, and efforts to resolve the problem were met with an increased frequency of bad moments. Sometimes you have to admit when a problem is over your head. And this one was waaaay over my pay grade...
You see, I won't declare Armageddon over routine spats, droughts, imperfections, and petty squabbles. That stuff always exists in relationships where two imperfect people come together and their human frailties collide. I am not going to lose any sleep over occasional nuisances. There ain't enough hours in the day and there isn't enough malice in true love to be that petty. His Side faced issues that only he has the right to tell (or keep to himself, dammit). And I am not one to blow up anybody's business in a public forum. Besides, technically it's irrelevant if he shares or not, because I only have two concerns
(1) How am *I* going to conduct my life and
(2) Does my home currently offer an environment that is good for my boys?
Because really, those are the only two things I can control - my behavior and my decisions.
The entire thought process (at times a small act of mental gymnastics) led me back to a conversation I had with Negril about men/women who simply "settle" in a relationship. Men and women settle for bad mates all the time out of fear... or dysfunction... or plain old stupidity. Shortly before asking His Side to leave, I made a declaration. Out of the blue. No warning. Just a sudden moment of clarity. I WON'T SETTLE FOR THIS. THIS IS NOT OKAY.
There's a fine line between patience and settling. That line is just about as fragile as the distance between love and hate. For instance, a temporarily unemployed husband requires patience. So long as you're in it together, you can overcome. A chronically unemployed husband who prefers TV over the classifieds requires that you settle. Settle for disrespect. Settle for financial hardship. Settle for less than you hoped for or deserve.
The day I diagnosed that His Side and I were facing a chronic condition that needed the shit slapped out of it, I was sold. My hope that we could overcome was drowned by the disappointing realization that only one option existed...
As the story continues:
My first battle to balance Hope and Disappointment ended in a successful decision to split. Next time, I'll describe what happens when Hope tips the scale (in the wrong direction) and leads to an ugly post-breakup episode.
All you folks didn't really think I was here. I'm a real person. Her Side didn't make me up in some kind of schizophrenic dream.
I want you to know that I got my woman's back from this day - actually long before this day - and forever more.
But I found out for a fact, last night, that she has a really big issue with reference to sleep. First of all, she thought I was snoring when I really had a bubble caught in my throat. I wasn't snoring. I wasn't sleep. I was checking the health of the inside of my eyelids. She stole the fucking remote while I was in the middle of my health check.
Her Side interjection: That fuckhead was SLEEP y'all.
But anyway, she claims she was joking while asking "ARE YOU READY TO GO TO SLEEP? So I had to check her for establishing my fucking bed time.
Her Side interjection: It was 4am.
But any-fucking-way... On a Saturday night, after running around and acting a fool together all night, how da' hell does she have a problem sleeping when she can snore through a thunderstorm in the woods with no tent? So I carried my ass downstairs.
Everything was fine until about 5:30a when she decided the FUCKING DOWNSTAIRS TV WAS TOO LOUD FOR HER BEAUTY SLEEP. So this is what she does...
She stomps on the fucking floor and I think Armageddon has begun. I didn't panic and didn't answer... Until she hollered downstairs. Mind you, we have intercom phones. What need for the phone when she has lungs like that? I had no idea...
So I turned the TV down.
Her Side interjection: After yelling up the stairs like a Beyotch.
So I hear her go to the bathroom. So I thought. She throws the dog in the fucking hallway and says "Go downstairs to your FATHER." and slams the door.
Her Side interjection: Cause the dog shit on the bedroom floor while I was sleeping.
And to my surprise, it goes to show she has a very good heart, 'cause she had planned to leave the shit in front of the door as a booby trap for me to step in. How do I know? Cause she TOLD ME SO.
It goes to show, that she really loves me so. And couldn't wait to hear the squishy sound of dog poop between my toes.
And that lets me know that she loves me so. And that's it for the day.
Peace. Be cool.
Operation Save the Kidneys
His Side straight stopped drinking. Just stopped like ::snap:: that. He certainly wasn't a raging alcoholic, but balance was certainly missing. He simply detoxed. Drank lots of water. Went through the kidney pains, and *poof*.
Power Couple
We've really rallied over the past few weeks. We were productive - attacking important items on the to-do list and feeling the high of what happens when partners prove their union has power behind it.
De-Stressing Through Resolution
Together, we recently closed a long-standing legal issue that kept His Side on edge. He approached with trembling hands, and I held those hands as I told him it would be okay. Somehow, I just knew it would. In about 10 long but amazing minutes, the problem was solved and he was free from the worry. Years of worry. I saw a marked change in him that day. The stress dissipated like fog under the heat of the scorching sun. Without trying to sound cliche, it was amazingly like God smiled on us that day.
What's Mine is Yours
I noticed something about His Side. Not really noticed - but discovered just how deep it runs. He shares everything with me. It doesn't matter how big or how small. It could be his last bite of food or the only paycheck he'll see in weeks. He makes sure I get some, most, or all of anything he has. I mean anything. The gesture is always without thought or hesitation, and he doesn't take anything from me to "make it even."
And before you go getting all sappy, in spite of all that His Side does right, I may still be forced to kill him if he doesn't show his face on this blog in a minute. Now go back to what you were doing while I sharpen my knives.
So I walked into this blog with my guns blazing. If you happened to mosey into the joint while enjoying the scenery and eating an ice cream cone, you probably felt like you stumbled into into a bank robbery. Not the quiet ones of today with concealed weapons and sissy notes to the teller. I mean the old time heists complete with horses, gun battles, chases, and those sexy spurs.
You see, HisSide isn't computer savvy, but he surprised me several months ago with a fantastic suggestion: "Let's start a blog about our relationship and tell folks all the stuff that others won't admit to."
This was shocking pillow talk coming from a man who thinks the internet is evil. (Seriously. He does.) I was drooling over the idea. I often complain about the useless nature of the sugar-coated love stories that elders tell younguns to help promote relationship bliss.
"What? You never had a single fight your entire relationship, grandma? That is awesome. You really love each other."
I dislike such nonsense. I once lost an eye when it dislodged from the socket during an eye-rolling episode in reaction to a story much like that one. (I'm better now. And I'm also kidding.) Never fighting means you were never engaged with enough passion to bother. I bet grandpa argued more with the mistress than grandma. (Damn. Did I say that?)
So I eventually managed to actually start the damned blog, and my timing was fantastic. As you can see from the archive, me and HisSide were fighting. Not once, but in a chronic downward spiral. Now that I've been here for a minute and my guns aren't blazing, I must slow down long enough to say: The man with which I share this blog is my best friend, an endless source of laughter, a die-hard protector, and one of the greatest joys of my day. He has flaws that make me think twice. And some of those flaws even robbed numerous days of peaceful existence.
But guess what? My shit stinks too. Some of that criticizing I do has a lot to do with my human flaws qualities such as impatience and selfishness. (Yeah, I admitted it. Can you?) While improved communication skills (and such) can be learned by two dedicated people, you can't "learn" friendship, love, compatibility, commitment, or the blessedly-balanced sexual and non-sexual "chemistry" that leaves two people stuck like glue inside and outside of the bedroom.
See you back here next time.
I was strolling through the internet blog park and came across a blog called "Holy Shit from Deacon Blue." An author named Inda Pink wrote an article about "Peace," saying this about peace and the road to heaven:
So I can totally see people choosing to reject heaven because they are afraid of peace. [emphasis mine]
It sounds funny but human nature is a funny thing. We want moments of peace or long periods of peace, but I think most of us would cringe at a lifetime of peace. We would wonder where the spark is. We feed on conflict whether its personal or whether we see it on TV or whatever.
The fear of peace I think is what will drive at least some people to hell. And it makes me wonder how many other hangups we humans have that send us to hell, and not, as we assume, the will or desire of God.
To provide context, Inda sought to understand how a "good God" could send anybody to hell, and ultimately concluded that people choose hell. Her estimation points to the love for peace as a critical factor.
While I may not totally agree with Inda's assessment of the road to the Biblical heaven, she is absolutely right about one thing. Humans love conflict. It represents a spark. And I recognize how this concept works against the "heaven on earth" that relationships can be. The most tumultuous relationships have no peace. We see words like "Drama Queen" to describe people who essentially feed on the chaos that ruins peace - and ultimately ruins their own relational heaven.
My fiance and I talk about this all the time. At times, I see him as angry and aggressive. One of my biggest fears is to not live in a peaceful home. I grew up in a household with arguing parents. Peace came in bit-sized chunks... minutes... hours... and maybe a whole day where the warring sides simply called a truce.
As a result, I can admit that my desire for peace may be unbalanced and doesn't allow enough room for the natural disagreements that come with relationships. Thankfully, we balance each other. My hunger for peace often means I let too many things go. His aggressive style of dealing with some conflict means he may invite more trouble than necessary. But when you smash those two things together.He throws logs on my fire and I douse some of his. You get peanut butter and jelly. You get milk and cereal. You get rice and gravy. Okay, maybe not. But you get something that feels a lot like what "romantic bliss" is supposed to be.
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.
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.
urcg42jm3k
