The time I paid the $70 dumb bitch tax

Disclaimer: I call myself a bitch and a slut and a cunt and a drunk and a dumbfuck and all of that because 1) It’s me, I’m ALLOWED to refer to myself HOWEVER I please, also 2) I’m attempting to point out that men need to think of better supreme insults than calling a woman a bitch. My own father has called me a bitch. Do better.

So. It was two weekends ago. The weekend right before New Years Eve (which was obnoxiously on a Monday). I had just finished transcribing draft #2, and was very excited to get it printed at Office Max to give to my beta reader (N).

When I was ordering this manuscrupt on Office Max’s website, I SPECIFICALLY asked my husband, “Now you DON’T want a copy of this as well, right? I need to know because I need to order it now.” He said no, don’t do that, save the $, he’ll just read the pages I print at home.
YEAH

Except my husband did that ~adorable~ thing he does, where as soon as he SEES something, he’s very overtaken by the need to have it. So that same evening we’re leaving OM and he’s freaking out, saying things along the lines of “Oh I’m so excited to read this now.”

WHAT THE FUCK

WHAT THE FUCK

Is it just me, or is that him being a crazy controlling brat who tries to make everything about him? Because just wait

I specifically said to my husband, I told you this copy from OM was for N, I told you that and I ASKED you if you wanted your own copy and YOU SAID NO. BUT NOW, NOW THAT THERE’S A CHANCE TO ACT LIKE THE WOUNDED VICTIM, OH FUCK KNOWS YOU COULDN’T PASS THAT ONE UP.

He was terse and pissy and rude the rest of the evening, telling me he was “just trying to get excited” about my writing. OH BUT THE WRITING THAT’S BEEN WAITING FOR HIM TO READ AT HOME FOR MONTHS, THAT HE JUST COULDN’T GET EXCITED ABOUT. OR MAYBE he’s just trying to take something that’s SO important to me and make it about himself.

That’s how that makes me feel.

So. I noticed a few issues with OM MS #1 (if you’re not in the know, MS means manuscript, so fancy word for draft of unfinished work). and was like, okay husband, I’m going to order a second MS, because this first one is missing an index I want it to have and it’s missing page numbers (my bad, not Office Max’s).

SO I was like, all right husband, I’m going to print a SECOND $35 MS at Office Max (same weekend, same worker who was super rude the first time I picked the MS up, but was really nice the second time…and he seemed super gay, so like…did he read a part of it? hahahahhaha that makes me laugh. I don’t blame him if he did….how often does that Office Max print epic shit?) and I do. And I’m showing the second, slightly better copy to my husband, and he PULLS THE SAME SHIT.

In that, he starts “getting excited” about reading the better MS I $35-printed. EVEN THOUGH I told him the better one was going to N. Because why would you give a beta reader a copy without page numbers? Like really? If I couldn’t have paid for the second one I would have written page numbers in, of course, but I had a little $ from Christmas so I was like fuck it lets do this.

SO my husband pulls the same But-I-wanted-that shit with me, like he has done so many times in the past with so many other things, not the least of which being my physical body of course. Like there were MANY times during our multi-partner sexcapades that he made me feel like a tree he needed to piss on after he saw another dog pissing on it.

Yeah, anonymous sex with a bunch of different peopele didn’t make me feel great about myself. GO FIGURE. I just wish the guys were hotter. The girls were all right, I found the first one super hot, and the second one was one of those like I’ll do anything because I know I’m a 5 types. We all know I like ordering people around. Anyway.

So. After much angry storming off and sullen silence, my husband’s usual, along with getting this specific facial expression very akin to something his father does when upset. I just wish my husband also NEVER yelled or grew violent like his father as well, my husband came to peaceable terms with the notion that I would want to give an “outsider” beta reader the more polished/professional looking copy.

SOO GOOD OF HIM, RIGHT? Like for real I was discussing this with my best friend via text the entire time. She never really offers much an opinion, but she did point out that his excitemnet for reading my shit shouldn’t be so contingent on how it’s printed. She definitely didn’t word it that way, but yeah.

So I messaged N on Twitter (because that is the only way we’ve interacted at all since…well, like I need to elaborate…think I’ve done that enough elsewhere) about having it ready for him, and he said, and I quote, “Next few days for sure” around December 29th. YEAH. IT HAS YET TO HAPPEN. He does have some shit to deal with in his life, and yeah like I DO get that…but…at the same time…..should I just like…keep prodding about it? Like I somehow doubt he’s forgotten that I told him I had a specially printed MS for him to read? SOOOO?… ?…..? LOST.

Unless he’s just waiting until he’s done dealing with his shit, then he’ll be like yeah let’s get that over to me.

I told him awhile ago that I didn’t want to mail it or email it…I mean, printed a physical copy is the fucking plot to this story…so….but at the same time, like a simple hand off at a starbucks midday on a Sunday would’ve worked for me, or something equally as innocuous/not seeming like I’m still trying to fuck this guy. Because, like, I REALLY do want someone else whom I consider “smart” (I mean I know him from grad school and he teaches at a college…so….) to read this and tell me what they REALLY think. Like…Aghhhhh I was SO fucking close to having that happen…and NOW he’s stringing me along when it comes to this like the other shit and ahhhhh

I know I go on about how I’m patient, and I really am, but I also get really angry all the time. It’s not so easy reconciling these two things.

Speaking of impatient, I’m probably writing on this upsetting topic and crying a ton about it because I’m probably due to start my period in a few days. And, I think we all know why that’s a little depressing. You never know it until you’re at that point, if you ever are, but each month it’s some annoying painful defeat to get one when you don’t want to. You tell yourself it’s for the best and you’re not financially ready and to not think about the fucking idiots you know who who DO get to have kids….but it happens anyway.

But I now have in my possession 2 $35 manuscripts printed from Office Max. The better one, the one intended for N, is almost completely pen-edited by this point. I’m on page 242 of like 265. So, yesterday I DM him and am like, well since i’m almost done editing this, you might as well wait until I’m done with it and have it printed again….and then he more or less didn’t respond…like he said something in response, but it wasn’t an acknowledgement of ANY sort of action taking place on his part soon. So….should I be taking this as a sign to let it go? WTF. I mean, who doesn’t love being brushed off right? It’s not that I don’t understand not dealing with something because you’re dealing with your own shit, I just KNOW I wouldn’t do this if the roles were reversed. Because I have a VERY strong subservient/desperate for a specific kind of male attention streak. I mean. I know this. My mom and Grandma and all. And like…why do you think I put up with R so much? You have no idea some of the fucked up shit that happened with him. I don’t write about it because I’M TRYING TO FUCKING FORGET because it gives me anxiety because it COULD have gone so wrong. Blackout alcoholics are fucking scary and need to be kept on a farm somewhere, together. Until they’re all dead. There. i said something really fucked up this far in so only my TRUE followers will see it.

You can’t blame me though, really. Not after W. And R. There’s no going back from breaking certain things. Nope. I get I put up with it for some time so it seemed like that would go on forever…but I always surprise people when I like snap and am done with them FOREVER.

ANYWAY

BACK TO THE $70 dumb bitch tax

So the copy I had to buy because my husband suddenly needed his own spiral bound MS that was to go to N, I edited and will input those edits and then this will go into the keepsake bin (i have a lot of those, ONE DAY I’ll blog their contents because some of it is actually awesome, I’ll show you, one day, when I have time, KINDA busy right now)

And the copy intended for my husband, the first MS from Office Max?

UNREAD.

I mean, I get my husband works out several (like 30) hours per week, and he works like 25-30 hours as a barista, so he’s like somewhat busy…BUT OMFG THAT IS SO IRRITATING HE’S NOT EVEN READING IT. AFTER ALL OF THE BULLSHIT AND LITERALLY WASTING $35 ON A SECOND COPY SO HE COULD HAVE ONE, HE’S NOT READING IT.

I wish I was the “scream into a pillow” sort. But I smoke too much weed, I can’t scream unnecessarily.

I guess it was nice having a spiral bound copy to edit, because I actually enjoy editing on paper, MUCH more than on my laptop. So it was $35 well spent, in a way, but the second one….AHG. I can’t. NEITHER of them read their copy. Do you realize how sad and poetic and metaphorical this is for me? Like, okay…..OKAY, fucking tell me to breathe here…but…..THERE HAS NEVER been a man in my life is who didn’t DISAPPOINT THE FUCK out of me on a regular basis.

what the fuck

is that

supposed to mean?

Do the women? NOT NEARLY AS MUCH. My mom and my best friend are the ones that actually surprise me sometimes, even now. My Grandma is the ONLY reason I had even the semblance of normal shit in my childhood.

Ahhhhhhhhhhh

This was supposed to be complaining about one thing. Way to creepily become about some weird theme in my life like I planned it. SEE, if I’d tried to plan a blog like this, it would fall flat and I would go on a million different tangents only I find interesting and so on and so forth.

I should have gone to pole today, but I just didn’t. I could’ve scrounged the $20, but eh, I just don’t feel like working out that much. Just eh.

Anyway, I feel like I should take this as some sort of lesson. But. Should I? Am I just being a hugely self centered hyper critical bitch, because boyyyyy does that sound like me…… Who’s to know?

OFF TO EDIT THE MANUSCRIPT I PRINTED FOR MYSELF

This is what happens when I do something for someone other than Cassie. THIS is what they do when I try and like reach out and shit. THIS. BAH.

Happy fucking January, y’all

Brightside: days ARE getting longer…..wait that’s it

~Cassie

S a D, J all over your Bs

Nothing’s ever going to stop is it? It’ll only change for the worse. I am an awful mix of my terrible parents’ traits. I’m the fucking goddamn definition of an outcast. Why? Because an outcast is someone who has NO place, with anyone. Losers tend to have each other, same goes for the wonderful peopleand the vapid human garbage. But me? I literally fit in NOWHERE. Even among people you’d THINK I have a lot in common with. Even at grad school. Even at work. Even in the million Twitter writer groups I’m in or follow.

Worried the crazy will never stop.

Worried what will happen if it does. When it does.

The only thing I care about is my writing. I mean really. I know that disappoints God and all, but idk, He made me like this, did He not? See the way I fucking see it, is if God exists, He’s GOT to be understanding, the forgiving part HAS to be more true than the vengeful part. Of like mental illness and the lasting effects of abuse, and like, all of it. He’s GOT to see that like….some people are poisoned, against Him, by those who profess to be of God…but…I think we all know the truth there. He’s GOT to see how hard it is, how it feels like some ancient inculcated part of my childhood that I need to do away with, in part, because I had to do that with so much else of that time in my life. I married another Christian, but we’re both lazy and apathetic about doing anything that would “qualify” if you will. We tried finding a church when we first moved down here, none of them appealed, at all. But at the same time…I just end up envying atheists, so fucking sure of themselves. I’m not hating. Each to their own, you can’t make anyone freaking believe against their will, that’s literally an insane thing to try and do. I get there’s brainwashing, but like…what kind of person tries to gaslight another person? People like W of course.

Jealousy and anger are human emotions. Emotions which God, in two forms, is given to show in the Bible. I always thought that was peculiar. No real reason why, I just never mentioned it to anyone before.

This isn’t an easy topic. Is religion ever? But like…I don’t say this seriously, but sometimes it’s hard to be white and Christian because you’re like….oh…..shit, let me apologize for the millions of moments of anguish those two things have caused….my bad…if it helps I grew up in a hyper abusive and chaotic and lonely situation –despite seeming like your average lower middle class nuclear family of four for the most part – and I can assure you that cancels out whatever advantages you might think I had. I’ve just never suffered due to my race. I get that. Anyway.

When I talk about this with my husband, we discuss how the concept of hell is kind of hard to wrap one’s head around. Like, really, eternal constant horrendous suffering and damnation unless you follow a set of ten impossible rules? Because one of his non-sentient beings who still somehow staged a revolt (never quite understood that one) got pissed and transferred schools and took a lot of his friends with him? Also something about how he’s hot and they’re all hot and they’re also really attracted to humans and into music? Literally 13 years of Lutheran schooling and this is what I think of.

But even not minding all that, you have to believe in something.

I’ve never met a true atheist.

R claimed to be one. He was really into freemasonry. Which I always thought was stupid and weird, personally. W’s parents both loved being in that organization. The women are in a separate group called Daughters of the Nile, but it’s the same weird shit. I have a Mason’s necklace, it’s a white enamel heart with the Masons star in the center on a shitty brass chain. It was W’s mother’s, I would imagine. I took it from their cottage one of the few timeswe stayed there during my childhood. Before super petty W broke allties with his older sisters, who owned the cottage. He changed our phone number. Who does that? At one point the middle sister’s husband called W at work, he went to the trouble to find out where he worked, somehow, and W had the pleasure of getting to say, in response to being asked what had to be done to get the families back together,“Go back and make Cassie and her brother’s childhood involve their aunt and uncle and cousins.” As if it were somehow THEIR fault for what he did. Then he had to be fucking adorable and add, “I’m a[Cassie’s real last name] not a [aunt’s husband’s last name]”Because my father’s family is known, from generation to generation, since the limey fuckers first got to America in the beginning part ofthe nineteenth century, for feuding and breaking off entirely from one another. I mean, LOOK AT WHAT I DID. It’s like I was genetically predisposed. It’s easily traceable because the last name kept changing spellings ever so slightly. Started out in Pennsylvania, fought for the Union, spread throughout the Midwest. German people like Indiana and states near it because they’re similar to Germany in a lot of ways, terrain and weather wise.

I saw younger aunt at older aunt’s funeral. She looked me up and down(I’m like a foot taller than her) and said, “Oh, Cassie, we missed out on you growing up.”

WHAT THE SWEET FUCKING SHIT is the response one should have to that?????? Like it’s MY fault? Ugh.

The thing is.

Knowing W, and what he’s like.

It makes sense that his still living cunt sister (named Mary Lou, why do I hide these things? Like it goddamn matters and anyone cares?) is a hugely evil weird psycho cunt. I mean. I can’t really fathom what sort of parenting duo it took to create W…but….I can….I can only imagine….

If only he’d talk to a therapist

But he won’t. Trust me. We all know it. We talked about it all the time. He’s one of those sorts who’s better off dead. Same for my brother. Unless she’s freed of them soon, same for my mom too.

We aren’t supposed to say or think these dark things. But they’re there, lurking like bats in a cave.

I stopped using that frightening barn analogy for my psyche. Isn’t that exciting? I didn’t notice that it’d happened, until an abstractnotion made me remember that I hadn’t thought about that barn inyears. When I used to every single day. Interesting.

Anyone else wear themselves out so they’re too busy getting fucked up to be pissed about shit?

I for one am sick of a bunch of stuff. But what does one do? Give up? THAT’S WHAT THEY WANT ME TO DO. SO NO. FUCK everyone, I didn’t like anyone in the first place, so what the fuck does it matter if everyone keeps hating me? Or just straight doesn’t give a fuck.

I started a FetLife account. But, again, the same listless sexual ennui.

My fuck I love that word.

SO back to my story about R.

He CLAIMED he was not religious, at all, only spiritual (which equated to him liking to burn sage and owning a tarot deck). Fuck. Now that I think about him, I realized that right now, a cold, dark Fridaynight, I would have been with him right now. I’d drive to his house after working 6-4. I’d get there about this time, leaving my husband to whatever. We sit and talk in his all dark except for the computer and TV screen bedroom, in his dad’s house on the water, then we’d venture out to buy food and beer/booze and possibly rent movies. I think one time we went for ice cream. Another time we went to a Target together and bought our own 2DS, and I bought Omega Ruby and he bought Alpha Sapphire and we played those games together. But by the time Sun and Moon came out, we weren’t together. R was the first break up I was happy for. Care for him as I did.

That last weekend with him, which just totally cemented how done I was, that second night, the LAST night I ever saw him…let me take you through what happened.

We had the whole weekend together. My husband was out of town. He’d already been an annoying drunken mess at a sushi place the night before (Friday). So Saturday I drive to his place to pick him up and what I don’t know is that he’s already shitfaced when I get there. With seasoned alcoholics it’s not easy to tell sometimes.

We go to a downtown area near his dad’s house, and we’re INSIDE the BDubs when he decides he doesn’t want to eat there because it’s “too loud”, so we leave, even though I’d just fed the meter a ton of change….he’s an ASS more than once for the drive back. We end up going to an overrated overpriced bar and grill place near his dad’s house. It’s there that I begin to see that he’s on his second day of a bender, which he started the night before at a sushi place in another town. He gets increasingly disrespectful and brazenly drunk in public (despite having amassed two DUIs in the time we were dating) as the dinner progresses. He did his usual of eating at lightning speed then rushing me out of finishing my food (I eat really slowly, I can’t help it, it’s a weird jaw thing with chewing) THEN he gave me a weird amount of shit when I told him to tip $16, because that was like 15% of our bill. He freaked out, like kept being like, “Sixteen dollars?” Like I’d suggested we leave her the moon. DON’T ASK ME WHAT TO TIP, THEN.

THEN as if that wasn’t bad enough, out of the fucking blue at the restaurant he asks, “Did you have a church wedding?”

I said yes. Because it was the truth. He knew that. He was invited and RSVP’ed with a date but then didn’t go. Again, should’ve seen warning signs but didn’t because I was SUPER attracted to this guy. Not anymore. If I have bad memories of someone it just DESTROYS my pussy. Just dries it the fuck out, and that’s actually saying something.

“OH, so then I’m the fornicator.”

WHAT?

Okay, for someone who has always CLAIMED to not give a fuck about religion, especially Christianity, he seems real worried that I was religiously married then violated my wedding vows with him. Though to be fair our vows didn’t mention not fucking other people, like that traditional “forsaking all others” shit.

He only said his most cringe things while REALLY drunk.

One time we were wasted and smoking weed in the garage right on the canal and he told me he loved me twice, so I said it back to shut him the fuck up. It never came up again, he never said it again. I mean, he didn’t need to. But again, there were many ways he was lacking that I wouldn’t have tolerated in an actual relationship. Side action boyfriend is different.

Another time, again SUPER FUCKING DRUNK, we’re woken up on a Sunday and finished off the beers from the night before, then went out for lunch at a bar near his dad’s. He was so drunk he threw up all over the bathroom. We went to a bait and tackle shop after and he bought a fishing rod to replace the one he’d thrown into the lake this one REALLY awful night that I’ll talk about later.

On the way to drop him off at home and then drive home myself (It was 5pm on a Sunday by this point) he’s riding shotgun in my car and looks at me and says, “Sometimes, I wish you weren’t married.”

I was in NO MOOD for this shit, right then. So I said, “HA, yeah, me either.”

Then he said, in typical R fashion, “But whatever.”

Becausehe had a definite “Fuck it” attitude towards everything. I say that as judgmentally as possible, not in an admiring way.

So, idk, the people I know who claim to be free to belief seem to think about them a lot.

I have nothing else to offer at this time.

My drinking lately has been worrying me. I haven’t been doing anything bad or badly, but it’s been excessive. I’ve done 3 tall cans everynight this week. Right now I’m on my third 16oz. Yikes. What IS one to do?
N has like a recently acquired alcohol allergy. I’m jealous. Like incredibly so. I don’t think I envy anything more. Like…a physical inability to process alcohol….DON’T suggest thosepills that make you heave if you drink, those have been shown to not be strong enough to actually deter anyone. You just drink anyway and feel like utter shit.

ANYWAY.

So. That last weekend with R. So that happens at the restaurant and I drive us back to his dad’s. He’s actually more forthright about wanting sex than he usually was. The sex was good, but SO on histerms. He blamed his “fickle sex drive” AKA SUUUUPER selfish when it came to that, AND oral. OMG. Like my husband is so into that shit I’m really judgmental when a guy isn’t. I dated R for 8 months, he went down on me once. FUCKING OUTRAGEOUS IF youconsider juuuuust how much oral this guy expected to receive. Like, constant. Omg. Hated that. Anyway.

So when we’re having sex for the very last time, it’s REALLY fast. No condom, per usual, but then he comes inside me, really unapologetically. Then literally falls asleep on top of me.

The next morning, I left while he was still sleeping.

And that’s the last time I saw him. I’d had enough.

You feel bad saying your life is better for NOT having someone in it, but it happens.

It happens.

I’m SO DRUNK.

I need to grocery shop.

I painted my nails.

I’m always broke

but I’m writing

a masterpiece

of a novel

I’ll show you

Don’t fucking worry

~Cassie

Pussy luge

DISCLAIMER: I wrote this on my lunch break, while I was both angry and physically in pain…..but I think that much will shortly become obvious.

Well, I have every necessary trappingto work on CF this lunch break, and I just freaking can’t. I’mpissed. And now, more than ever, what needs to be done is so clear.It was just like all those months with R, where I fucking knew whatwas supposed to happen, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I wanted them both. Conglomerating the pieces of them, I almost had a complete man. I remember once, when I forgot myself, and I was talking to someone I used to think of as a friend and I said something about how R “seemed” like my boyfriend, but I was like, “What, why? Why would I want someone else to disappoint me and not listen when I talk?”

Because, then, that’s all my husband seemed like.

We did not have a good weekend. We had sex like twice, which for us is like off the charts (not to mention the like four times I masturbated, yay endorphins and their temporary succor) but we fought EVERY day. And it’s starting to become those horrible long term relationship fights. Like my husband had music playing on his phone,and my picking his phone up to turn said music off was a HUGE mistake, blog, HUGE.

I don’t want to dwell because it’s not the point of this blog, but IHATE NOISE. WHY THE SWEET LIVING FUCK IS EVERYONE IN THE GODDAMNWORLD TERRIFIED OF QUIET? WHAT, YOU MIGHT THINK A THOUGHT?

And then on Saturday when we were getting into it because I started telling him that it upset me that he was lazy AND self righteous about our petcare (Like be one or the other, don’t get haughty with me because I’m not handling EVERYTHING like you need me to so you can keep living the life of an infantile teenager) and I started talking to him about how EVERY time I speak, in an argument-type situation, HE FUCKINGINTERRUPTS ME.
It’s like he CANNOT, his fucked up idiot fucked idiot ADHD I snorted WAY TOO MANY PRESCRIPTION DRUGS from WAY TOOYOUNG AN AGE brain from talking while I’m talking. He CANNOT let me get a sentence out. And I’m trying to tell him that on Saturday, so he has to turn it into I’m yelling at him, and I’m swearing at him. If you’re interrupted and talked over every time you speak, would you NOT start yelling???? I won’t be meek when I’m dead, much less anytime before that. Because nope. Fight. Be shitty. Stand the fuck up for yourself (because guess what Princess ain’t no one gonna do that for you, or even notice anything about you besides what THEY might want from you). And I’ve been this way since day 1, so he can fuck right off with any accusations that I’ve changed.

And I DON’T WANT to have problems or fight. But my fuck there’s going to far with that, there’s putting up with shit and enabling bad behavior to look out for.

Last night, when he freaked out that I picked up his phone I was like, “Yeah, guess there might be something you don’t want me to see.”

I’ll never not suspect him.

I’ll never wake up to find him gone from bed without thinking I need to check the house to make sure he’s still there.

I’ll never be able to look at our wedding pictures without thinking of theunbelievably hurtful and rotten and horrible things he said to me STILL WEARING THE TUX HE MARRIED ME IN on our wedding night.

What a piece of shit.

I should have known then.

I should have known when he ruined my laptop when I was 22 out of sheer carelessness. Then he had the fucking GALL to act traumatized because I was angry that he did that (sat down in front of my laptop too fast with a full cup of water, causing water to slosh out onto thekeyboard).

It was a sign.

I never listen to signs. I guess. I mean look at N. I should’ve never bothered finding his Twitter. I should’ve kept him written off as some guy from grad school who one time, long ago, asked if my husband and I wanted to swing. I should’ve suspected he’d pull the old switcheroo again. Clearly that’s something that gets him off (whether he realizes it or not).

And R, R destroyed a $200 water cooler in my apartment that first debauchedweekend of ours.

And SPEAKING OFN….yeahhhhhh…….I don’t know what has happened there, but things feel different than they did a week or two ago. And, I mean, the way my mind works, I would suspect he’s found someone to flirt with/fuck on the side. I don’t really care, so that’s not like my issue here, my ISSUE is…well hold on.

It went like this, 10-27 was when he was like “Hey we’re gonna have sex” (five hours pass) “Hey I don’t think we should sleep together I can’t cheat on my wife” then I didn’t speak to him for like a week. Then I refollowed him on Twitter and he read some of the blogs I wrote about him (not all….I don’t think…..) and DM’ed me to apologize.Then we kind of spoke intermittently on DM ever since. Mostly about memes, or Archie comics, Myers-Briggs, or King of the Hill, sometimes my writing.

He would always go completely dark on the weekends. Which is kind of like…sure…yeah….normally people don’t go on social media oncefor 48 hours every week…..

I’m saying this because I fucking know when I’m being ignored. Like really. I don’t BLAME the other person. In the sense that not everyone is going to be into you, no matter how dope you are or how hot your are, and they have that right….but when it SEEMED like there was some interest, and now it’s just 100% dropped off….yeah….*suspicions form* I am naturally inclined to believe that no one likes me or wants me around, and the only time my presence would be requested is if someone desired something of me/needed to use me for something (as a teen, I screamed “Use talking to me as a vehicle for getting back with your ex”….apparently….)  and then my one usefulness is in that person getting what they want. LIke really I act in such a way to make people think they should treat me like shit. I’ve accepted that as fact, but I TRULY wish I knew how to fix that. Or even how I did it. Because. It’s something. 

And I don’t know if this is my deep, innate narcissism, but sometimes I’m like…..did you Tweet this so I would see it? Because I mean, that’s something I would do. Of course. But, also, it’s hard because I am defensively self absorbed. It’s this “No one else cares about me, so I’m going to be REALLY obsessed with myself and if my mind can’t make something about me I straight up need a logical reason for doing it or I won’t.”

But you know I was actually being genuine with N, and I actually cared.

I really did.

I actually did want to be his friend.

I told him he could talk to me about his problems.

Do you realize what I would give for someone to say that to me?

I don’t. Because sure fuck has that never happened.

It sickens me how much I’m willing to put myself out there for attention.

Like truly I am pathetic in some STRANGE ways. Like not appearance wise. Like I’m an 8, I’d be a 9, but, beer and food and a largely sedentary profession…..you’d THINK that would make me happy.

Holy fuck are ugly people happier?

Happiness is subjective and relative and easily faked so it’s not like that could be proven or disproved, but it’s a fun question.

I’ll write more in CF later today, and tomorrow…and the next day…forever and ever until it’s done.

But…idk, seems like N isn’t too into my beta reading idea. When he like completely cut off from me (still talked, but never about anything worthwhile or meaningful so what’s the point?) I started only talking to him about my book. But I sent him a question about titling Saturday morning and he has yet to respond, yet he’s tweeted like 100 times since then. Some of them things like “on to the next thing”and “that pretty barista with a septum ring is just as fun as you thought” (paraphrased, but still) yeah, I hope you’re fucking her, if not, I hope it works out real soon, or with that drummer you’ve known for a really long time that you surely made sure I knew about….which confused me more than anything.

And speaking of that.

Guess what I know.

I know what I fucking deserve, and it’s more than this.

I had high hopes for you. I really did.

I don’t know why.

You’re a less hot version of my husband in every way. And I mean…I refuse to believe there was TWO horse-hung guys in my grad problem, probability just doesn’t work like that.

My husband probably still hates me for R. He probably always will.When he’s REALLY drunk he tells me how I’ve done stuff that should make him hate me. I want to tell his bitch ass that is a two waystreet, but you have to be SO careful about triggering him when he’ sdrunk, he’s always half a comment away from a tantrum/meltdown.

Jesus no wonder I was meant to be alone.
I’m fucking awful.

I put myself through pain because I REFUSE to give up when I want something even when I’m telling myself to get over it.

I’m planning a surprise dinner with his friends and then a surpriseovernight date with me for my husband’s 30thbirthday in January.

Before you go thinking I’m sweet….just…..just realize this…..my mind has already weaponized this. After his bday is said and done, and th enext time we’re fighting after that, I’m more or less DYING to tell him that “At least one of us made the other feel special for their 30th birthday” because he did the same bare minimum fuck all like normal for my 30th last April.

That’s how fucked I am.

That’s how deep it goes.

It’s NOT easy, being around me I guess?

Or maybe I just tell myself that because everyone man in my life is a worthless bastard.

This is the first Christmas in 14 years I won’t see my best friend at all. But I already told you all about that.

I have a tension headache from earlier, it put me in a bad mood, can you tell?

~Cassie

Well then

Hmm. Well I’ve been feeling pretty rejected lately.

I guess it didn’t help that last night as I got out todays outfit, the rotation brought up the fancy undies I wore the night i thoooooought I was getting laid. It just makes one sad. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, young Cassie would be appalled at my underwear game at 30. But I don’t have a Victoria’s Secret charge anymore so….

But, they like set me up. Because they’re like ha, REMEMBER when you got these out of storage and were all excited about having a good time then fucking someone you ACTUALLY liked? Ahahahahahahahahaha of course you do you desperate bitch.

And this morning was kind of sad enough, because I was waiting on a text I still haven’t gotten. I don’t know what’s up with that whole situation. I thought that things were okay…..but I’ve been wrong before. And she likes to just not tell me shit and act like it’s not the sort of thing best friends would tell each other. I’m not trying to make her stuff about me I’m just saying that if the roles were reversed I would tell her you know? I guess there’s some shit she doesn’t know but that’s stemming from her withdrawal not a cause of it.

That’s my issue

However I act with someone is how I want them to treat me

And so many people are shitty to me

I’m not saying I didn’t think I was the problem I just don’t know what to do about it or myself or anything

I wish I had friends, like people to talk to who I could see in real life and spend time with and know and like be a part of each other’s lives. If I’m not mistaken that’s how it works. But fuck I have one friend and I suggested getting together in a city equidistant between us for a night and she just didn’t respond. Okay cool. Guess I’ll wait that one out. Fuck knows I’m not saying anything more until she does.

Then I mean I guess I could’ve tried being actual friends with N, but I don’t think that’s the sort of thing that you can go back on, now. I mean we still converse on a fairly regular basis. I’ll admit, it’s still that usual fun/disappointment roulette of “diiid they respond yet….” of my adolescence, and it’s a fun conversation. But I know what my heads doing, I start wanting attention from someone, then I just wait. My husband thinks he’s just biding his time so he can try and fuck me later on, best friend said the same thing one added that he jerked me around at first so he could protest to his wife that he tried to not have it happen. But that’s just how she thinks.

What I’m actually very torn on is how I feel about that.

And no time to go on, don’t feel like being late again. I won’t lie and say I’ll pick this back up on lunch because I’m way busy with CF right now.

Anyway.

Peace

~Cassie

I’m at it again. I’d say someone stop me, but in the past I have NOT responded well to that.

I did one of the weird things that I do. Like I began to notice patterns in my behavior years ago (when I left my parents house, when I was away from the grating racket long enough to hear my thoughts, so on and so forth) but I’m still kind of like….but why? At most of it.

But the thing I did?

Even though I knew it wouldn’t make me happy, I did it anyway.

It’s always some weird version of consumption with me, anyway, isn’t it?

I spent a bunch of money, knowing that it wouldn’t make me feel better, but in fact might make it worse due to guilt, but I still did it anyway. Because nothing actually makes you feel better, but like, you might as well get/have shit you want, right? So goes my poor person for life logic.

What’s got me down? Nothing more than the usual shit. I’m always lonely. I really miss my mom. She’s two hours away but I haven’t seen her in three years. I think my husband has an undiagnosed psychological disorder…possibly plural there. I’m kind of (or just am) a raging alcoholic. The arduous work and turmoil that’s been the general tone of my life up until this point. The total lack of friends. The idea that I’ve worked a lot and for a long time and have no financial indication of such effort going on. The idea that if I want to actually have children I should probably get on that soon but also the idea of having an infant/child to care for and raise sounds HORRIBLE and life-ruining and most days I’m like eh, can’t afford kids anyway…darn…guess I better keep doing what I like with my time.

But that’s all pretty normal, I think, except for the my mom stuff. And there’s nothing I can do about that situation, so I’ve kind of moved on. Sort of. It still makes me really sad. But I mean, so? Some things suck.

But, lets discuss WAY more interesting shit, what I bought:

1) New winter coat. I wore a boring puffy coat the past two winters. I wanted a fancy pea coat that isn’t as warm but looks way nicer. The one I bought has a faux fur collar. It was over half off (So $99)
2) Since I was already on JC Penney.com, I was like well, better get more concealer while I’m at it
3) Since I was on the Sephora section of JCP.com I was like…better get good mascara…..
4) Then, this one is more confusing, I was like…I should buy foundation. I haven’t purchased foundation in at least five years. Since before we got married. It’s obviously a cool thing to have, but I don’t really need it, because I have no reason to get ready for anything. The last time I did a full face of make up was Halloween…then that one Saturday right before Halloween I went out (and I don’t see that scenario occurring again) so…..why did I buy it? It might not seem like such an important question, but the shit I buy is $39. So. More important than $8 foundation.
5) Two new pairs of glasses. I paid out of pocket for an eye exam in February, and was like…yep…gonna get on buying glasses off Zenni with that prescription anytime here…. and finally was like you know what fuck it. I haven’t purchased new glasses in….at least seven years. The prescription is pretty much still the same so that’s not the biggest deal in the world, but still. I didn’t know what kind of glasses to buy for my face shape, namely because I didn’t know my face shape. It’s diamond. That’s why I didn’t know it, that’s not one of the common ones.

So yeah. I’m at it again like always I guess. I at least bought some practical stuff. Not stuff I TOTALLY needed…but…eh. Stuff I sort of needed.
So you could take this as a weird list of stuff I spent $300 on.

Or you could see what I see. That I picked up on patterns of love/affection from the only stable people in my life when I was a child, that things/food=love. I’d blame my Grandma, it sort of is her fault, with her cold ass German upbringing, But she was the only reason I had a remotely normal childhood…so…should I really be finding fault with this woman?

I tried building a memory palace once. It seemed like a good idea. But, idk, it’s so visual. If I’m visualizing something, it’s CF, or the story for after the CF series, or me fucking, I’m not building a memory palace. Maybe I don’t need one? I feel like I should. If you aren’t awesome like me and DON’T know what one of those is…well first I would STRONGLY recommend you purchase these books and read them in this order (Red Dragon, Silence of the Lambs, Hannibal, Hannibal Rising). If you don’t want to read all that, which, I wouldn’t get why, but okay, Hannibal Lecter has a memory palace that he visits, and most of it is the expected hyper classy fanciness, but there’s parts he can’t control. Oubliettes, they’re called. What’s fucking eerie is I read Silence of the Lambs, where Hannibal describes them as “bottle shaped rooms with a trap door at the top” – in Hannibal’s memory palace, there are oubliettes that he cannot contain, filled with shit, with the memories he can’t stop, and when he’s distressed, particularly when his sense of smell is assaulted. And then right after SOL I read Daisy Miller…and what the fuck gets mentioned in there? Fucking oubliettes again. When Daisy and the narrator go visit that one castle together, Daisy stands at the edge of the of an oubliette and cries with dismay or whatever, and the footnote says something along the lines, “dungeons accessible through a trap door at the top, for forgetting prisoners.”

So, that weird foray into literature is brought to you by the idea that I tried to make a memory palace. But the only positive places from my childhood are my Grandma’s apartment, and my bedroom, alone, all by myself, with my cat and all my toys. Those are the two places. I mean I liked the library in my school, and the public library by my house, but the other kids/people, the my mom bitching that she had to drive me to and from the library….so lesser than the first two places I mentioned.

So what I’m saying is, in Hannibal Lecter terms, saying someone’s apartment is the largest portion of your memory palace is really making a statement.

So I try not to fault my Grandma for the ways she specifically made me fucked up. Or my mom. The two of them were/are actual humans who loved me. W is just a fucking monster and J is just soooo fucked up and saddening. And that’s the list, besides my best friend and husband, and that’s different.

So, I’m using my positive relationship with my Grandma as a means of excusing spending excessive amounts of money on myself, because that’s how she showed affection, that and overfeeding. That’s a grandparent thing, and a German thing, so there was no hope there.

At the same time, whatever. I work a lot. Possibly I deserve some nice things.

That’s all I got.

I literally have ZERO idea how I’m still awake.

I did a standard Friday caffeine intake. First pot of coffee from 6am-8am, second pot of coffee 8am-10am, third 1pm-3pm, then I had four shots of espresso in a drink from Starbucks around 8:30pm. This is standard level for me. Beer wise, I had one tall can (Coors light) before the grocery store (Starbucks and grocery store coincided, duh) then two more tall cans after, and I just finished a regular bottle of Modelo especial. I’m going to be pissed if I drink all of my Saturday beer tonight. But like I don’t feel fucked up or tired. Am I magic? Of course I’ve been smoking weed…but…it’s been a LONG LONG time since I’ve legit felt fucked up from weed. Like. For real. But anyway. I SHOULD go to bed.

I’m going to try and truly crank out the writing this weekend.

OH.

Something else I bought, finally, pole classes! I’m going back on Sunday. It feels like it’s been 10,000 years. I think it’s been 6 weeks. But up until 6 week ago, I was going EVERY Sunday for like eight months. But back to it on Sunday. So excited, but also unexcited about how sore my arms are going to be. But so worth it.

Well, I should be off.

Have a good weekend. Enjoy the cold weather. I like how it makes me want to cuddle. All summer long I was like “Get the fuck away from me,” whenever my cats or my husband were trying to get affectionate. Now it’s enjoyable. Plus it makes you want to be inside more, which is appealing to me in many ways as it is. Clearly all of my life activities revolve around being inside.

Anyway. Have a good weekend. Love you.
~Cassie

What the goddamn fucking shit is going on with this past week, am I on some sort of reality TV show right now?

Just absorb the message of that email:

I’ve gotten three reviews from this exact boss before. This is first time she’s ever requested we do so on a Saturday…and for the specific reason that she wants to do it when no one else is there…..BUT WHY.

I guess if I walk in on Saturday and someone from HR is with her I’ll know. She said it’ll take “approximately thirty minutes.” I’m literally filled with questions and confusion and dread. OMFG it’s been the week for those feelings, hasn’t it???

Like, I would love to say I’m not upset and angry about shit. But I am. I wish I wasn’t. If there was something I could magically fucking do to stop consistently thinking about the same shit, I would do it. I mean I tried rage stigmata, but my hands aren’t strong enough not like they were when I was a kid. At least now I just have to hold it together at work. My husband is good, VERY good, about emotional support. That and his unique status as the first/only guy to ever EVER appreciate me for the awesome person I am are why I’m still with him AND married to him AND took his last name. Again, these things did not occur magically, they are possibly my hardest “earned things that aren’t things” as I like to call them. Like my friendship with my best friend, which most people don’t have with someone from the 8th grade. Or the fact that my ENTIRE life people have been telling me I’m a strong/talented/good writer. Or that my husband tells me all the time that I’ll always have a husband who loves me.

Oh my fucking god, like WHAT IS THIS WEEK? Do you realize how normal and happy and excited I felt last Thursday compared to today?

You know what I found TRULY unfair? How misery doesn’t burn calories. I mean, it should, right? You can say the whole lost-my-appetite-due-to-sadness and yes that does happen to me all the time but I’m still an alcoholic who truly prefers beer. Jesus I haven’t worked out in like a week. But it’s cool because I haven’t been able to afford pole classes in a month. It’s $75 for 4, and it’s $ I just haven’t had. Which is so fucking embarrassing and pathetic. I’m thirty, I’ve been working since I was 16, I worked full time through a bachelors and a masters….and I’ve been living paycheck to paycheck the entire time. My husband is a barista. Yeah. I work REALLY hard at not comparing myself to others…which is good….because I really often think about how no one else I know rents anymore or drives the car they had when they were 19. But whatever. I’d trade actual, genuine friendships/FWB over that other shit. But spoiler I don’t get that either. I see my best friend roughly three times a year, on a good year.

Why doesn’t crying burn calories? It goddamn should. All it does is make my under-eye area super puffy, then the next day it’s a little more wrinkled than it was. How DEEPLY unfair is it that crying causes eye wrinkles???? Like…clearly I already HAVE problems please no more.

Speaking of, I read something that said donating blood burns a shit ton of calories and prevents cancer.

Do you think that last one is true, or is it like Red Cross propaganda? The calories makes sense because like…they steal a pint of your blood and all.

The game plan.

I am on my first tall can.

I have one more.

Before he goes to spar, I’m going to ask my husband to get my the shit for my favorite mixed drink. Prepare yourselves, because I’m about to reveal how trash I really am. It’s rum (a cheap one, because we’re broke AF like always on Thursdays, so probably Castillo…yeah….Castillo.) and wild cherry pepsi on ice. Don’t tell me that isn’t perfect and amazing. But it’s probably just as calorie-laden as beer.

BUT the drunk from booze is different than beer drunk. Personally, I HATE wine drunk. I know, revoke my vagina right now. Like most people I don’t like who I become on tequila, I don’t like any of the “brown” liquors (despite LOVING the phrase “stuff it down with brown,” I just pretend it pertains to beer…although I only like light beers like pilsners or heffeweizens or kolsch. OMFG I love Kolsch beer. Okay I sound like one of the pretension douches. Get this straight, 90% of the time I drink Coors Light from the can. I don’t even pour it in a glass because then I have to wash that glass.

So I’m going to get very, very drunk tonight. I work at 6am tomorrow, and it’s going to be a day spent ENTIRELY thinking about how my boss is making me drive to work an EIGHTH time this week to give me my review when no one else is around. There’s literally no chance it’s for a GOOD reason. W used to do this to me. He’d have to break away from a lecture/screaming session because the POS needs to chill out all the time (by “chill out” I mean sit and watch TV and drink coffee and chew tobacco and get high on pain meds/booze) THEN when he’s done chilling out…if he doesn’t feel the need to nap (thank god W never had a job to get in the way of his lifestyle) it was right back to it. I’d be in my room, or watching TV in a room separate from the room HE watched TV in…and there he’d come, charging in, all angry (even moreso this time because you know, heightened level of fucked up-ed-ness) just to bring it up all over again, and just keep saying the same shit over and over. That’s part of his I’m-going-to-wear-you-down-mentally play. W never stopped being a shitbag cop. No one knows this more than his family. With my mom, he’d come charging into the room where she was attempting to dissociate and say, “AND ANOTHER THING,” that’s how he always started it. Like…keep that fight going…don’t let bad feelings die…bring up mistakes someone made 5 years ago when you’re mad at them for something completely unrelated….just you know, the mean (WOW that was a mistype but a spooky one…) the MANY things he did on a constant basis that I grew up thinking were normal. I was the only one smart enough to get away out of the four of us. I guess W’s way out is a little dark, but you know what the fucker chose his lot in life when he ruined my childhood and my brother’s sanity.

This is why, more than ANYTHING else, I’ve so far controlled my urges to contact N again. Because I’m seriously obsessed by the idea.

Not over sex.

Please.

Do I LOOK desperate? Look at my ass in this dress. You could crack walnuts with that thing.

IMG_0150_Moment.jpg

BUT, like….I fucking NEED beta readers. And who else do I know who’s smart besides my very busy best friend? My husband is already my very first reader.

Is this me lying to myself?

IDK. I don’t think so?

I don’t mean to be mean but like….it’s not like the guy is SO good-looking I can’t be around him without it getting weird for my hypersexual self. Like the MEGA fine director who sits by me who says good morning to me on certain mornings. I literally cannot look at him and talk to him at the same time without turning SO red. We had a guy in sales, one who I had to work with because I remove sold units when the buyers come get them, and EVERY time he came over and talked to me, I could feel my face turning red as the conversation went on. Omg he was so cute. I added him on Linked In and he never accepted. He left the company kind of bitterly, but he bothered to come over and say good-bye to me when he said he was probably going to be leaving because he asked for more money and if he didn’t get it he was leaving. SO tragic the day Donnie left. I said his name. It’s common enough I guess. So, I don’t have all that going on with N. Plus I’m great at looking terrible when I want to. It’s a skill if you’re trying not to get creeped on. Not saying N was creepy with me…in fact the opposite…if taunting someone with sex (twice!) is the opposite of being a creeper.

So. I could potentially see asking him to read CF (nickname clusterfuck).

But then part of my brain is like What are you doing? Do you WANT to have to kick yourself later? Why do you love that SO Cassie, mmm? Do you know? Why are you intent on pursuing the men who behave as if you couldn’t possibly matter that much to them?

I always know.

I’d say that’s the deepest loss in all of this.

God I CANNOT stop obsessing over this.

It’s just like when I was like….8-12 years younger than I am now.
Well that’s probably not the best sign.

SIGH.

Well, I think I’m going to finish this night out by writing maybe another page – because side note I want to try and write every day in November – then I’m going to drink heavily and play Friday the 13th online, which is a dope game, if you’re so inclined to gaming.

‘Til next time

The soon to be unemployed

~Cassie

Drip drop

I don’t know what’s wrong with me.

This is the most acutely lonely I’ve felt in a long time.

There are days I wonder. Is having a husband who really loves me already asking for too much? I mean I know about twenty people who aren’t happy with their spouse/life so, I don’t think it’s a standard thing. Jesus look at my parents. Enough said.

So, is being happily married (might I underline, being happily married now…..in no way did it begin as such) more than I should hope for? Or is it normal that I feel such a longing for something more?

For my adult life, I’ve felt like the loneliness of childhood didn’t go anywhere. I still carry it around with me everywhere. I’m still a needy child in certain ways. It’s not easy to detect, because Idontmeantobrag but I’m pretty mature, because I had to be freaking mature to get by. Also the usual had-to-parent-my-parents shit.

Or maybe I just think any normal measure of wanting attention/affection is needy and childish because…well, obvious reasons.

I haven’t felt the need to write this prolifically since I was a teenager.

But, I’ve been experiencing some pretty fucking teenage emotions these past few days…so. I guess that explains it.