Guys. I came home to quite the drunk shit show. It’s still ongoing.

So it was -4 when i drove to work this morning. It was a whopping 13 when I drove home at 4pm.

And what do I see upon pulling into my driveway?

My husband in nothing but sweatpants. No shirt or shoes or socks or anything. He’s shoveling the sidewalk. So I yell at him, because it seems VERY stupid be be dressed as such in such cold weather and especially doing something that we always leave neglected so who cares?

I’m pissed before I’m in the house because I know. He’s shit faced. He has to be.

Then I on instinct lock the front door. He takes it as a sign I locked it on purpose, then when i insist otherwise, then he changes it to i I distinctly didn’t think of him and locked the door.

Then let’s see. It all deteriorated so fast. Because he does this thing when he’s wasted where he WONT leave me alone. Even if I like fucking scream at him to get out of my face, he’ll leave the room for s minute then be back. Like he can’t NOT antagonize me. And boy did he pull out the big guns today. I was told at least five times I was acting exactly like my father.

His pathetic attempts to wound me are sickening, if little else.

He drank what can be sure was a few beers and a pint of brandy after he got home from work.

The worst was around 5pm, because I started yelling back. I really don’t take it for long. And I’m not afraid of him. I’m just not. I’ve lost too much respect along the years. Anyway.

At 5 he did he usual just scream at me and act super weird and talk in the worlds most annoying tone of voice and then of course threaten to leave. He probably would have left if my car hadn’t been blocking the way. He told me he was driving to his parents. As much as I would love for his useless ass to be with them right now, there’s no way he would’ve made it. He would’ve died or killed someone else or close to it even attempting that drive. So I told him if he tried to leave I would call the cops and he’d get pulled over before he hit the highway and then he’d get to explain his dui to his parents from jail as he asked them to pay to bail him out. That seemed to work, because after that he let it go about leaving. That’s one of his go to drunk shitty things. There’s a lot of them. He did a lot of them today.

Then at some point he went out to the garage and was out there awhile, then he came inside and was in our bathroom a long time. Then he moved to the couch.

I went to use the finally vacant bathroom. He pissed on the lid of the closed toilet. There’s piss everywhere except IN the toilet. I used his bath towel to clean it up. I washed it, but the principle.

So that’s what’s happening.

Imma be the BIGGEST CUNT HES EVER SEEN about all this

He complains and complains about how I’m ALWAYS so angry?

Ahahahahah

I’ll show a mother fucker angry

If I’m so goddamn horrible why doesn’t he leave? Like seriously. Tf seems like I need him for, anyway? Because if I was alone there wouldn’t be someone to disappoint me and not listen when I talk?

Fuck today and fuck my life kids

~Cassie

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

I panicked and picked a fight

No time BUT I wish someone could tell me how long the “you deserve better than someone who treats you like this” feeling wins. Because. Otherwise. Always.

My husband lost the lid to my grinder. Like it’s just fucking gone. I woke him up and picked a a fight with him over it.

I hate how lonely I am

But I don’t

Because it’s one of the things that I know makes me human

Like, I know I feel feelings. That might not sound like much but it is.

Plus like, just like I found my husband at 21, I know I’ll find what I’m looking for one day, perhaps more than once.

I’m a patient fucking being, don’t forget

Im a lot of things that people like to forget but most of the time I don’t blame them, I’d be distracted by my appearance too

Crack out your “You’re such an awful person” expression and your “That’s what you get for snooping” tone

Well okay I shouldn’t have done it, but I did and now it’s too late, so oh well.

I’ve been If You Give a Mouse a Cookie-ing myself with housework for the past week. I guess I just noticed how fucking trashed the house is. Plus, when you and a filthy hoarder OCD packrat share a house, and you work twice as much as the lazy/messy one, there’s only SO much that can be done.

I know most people wouldn’t get it, but I honestly have to talk myself out of cleaning with all of my spare time. Like when I got serious about writing my book, like last winter, I had to talk myself out of changing the sheets and cleaning the bathroom every week, because that’s like an hour of weekend time right there. It’s not that I enjoy cleaning, I mean it hurts your back and dries your hands out and breaks your nails, but I like take an extreme amont of joy in being in a clean environment. It’s my Grandma’s fault. Her apartment was always like…..surgically clean….even the carpet was softer….and W…dude….like whatever gross symptom of chronic depression you can think of, that guy has, including the being a disgusting slob who chews tobacco and orders his eight year old daughter to clean up the mess “her” cat made when his long-standing spit cup is knocked over – he was the “family” cat at any other time. That my mother allowed such a thing in our house now literally sickens me. That she allowed a lot of things sickens me. But that’s not what I’m about right now.

So I’ve been cleaning, and in that process, I’ve had to come to terms with the idea that my husband puts the SIMPLEST tasks off, just because, he can put them off and it “feels like chaos” if he attempts to clean up after himself. Like seriously his hoarding and his messiness are things that 100% if I could change about him I would. I know you’re not supposed to want to change your partners, but HOLY FUCK would I be happy if I didn’t have to spend so much time cleaning up after both of us.

WHICH LEADS ME TO, the bad thing I did.

I knew it was wrong when I did it. But alas, we can’t always stop ourselves, can we?

We have a strict “don’t read each other’s writing unless the other person specifically says to” rule. Let me tell you, hard fought was this rule. There was a point where I saw my husband’s eyes move from looking at me, to reading the screen behind me, and he KNOWS how angry that makes me, because my family did it all the time, because privacy doesn’t matter when you don’t count as a fucking person, and it was just another level of their invasion, ANYWAY. So I get mad at him for reading a blog I’m writing and he STORMS down the hallway, yelling after me about my “precious fucking privacy.” You know what I JUST realized like two months ago? I actually learned it from N. Which I do NOT like admitting when I learned something, though it happens all the fucking time, because idk, I guess it conveys superiority. Because in the world I live in intelligence matters more than anything. But no one else lives here, I get it, anyway. So N said something along the lines of I shouldn’t concern myself that I’m talking shit about him if I blog about him (only to not use his name…which…why in the fuck would I….on here….where I give people an initial or a fake name…but anyway) because writing was “my space” to do what I wanted in.
And like….
WHY hadn’t that occured to me?
Then it takes like….20 seconds of thinking about it to realize why, among everything else, I wouldn’t be so sure I had the right to my own space, in any way. I’m quite certain I am as I am because I had no other option. Jesus Cassie, derail much? Anyway

So I found something my husband has written, it’s on a piece of white scratch pad paper, and it could be anywhere from 1 week to several months old. And, I read it. In part because I was attempting to tidy up our bedroom and I was seeing if it had something that no longer mattered written on it and could be thrown out. If my husband wasn’t so fucking psycho about something “important” he wrote on a receipt being thrown out, I wouldn’t have to do this. There’s 10 years of resentment coming your way, so hold onto your hats.

So, I will tell you what it says, what I can make out of it, he has HORRIBLE handwriting, so there will be parts I can only wonder about. I am certain this is about me.

“Frequent
-Wait for something to not be done perfectly
-Frame it in the worst light
-Get really angry
-Refuse to believe the other person no matter what they say
-You know I love sparing so you don’t want me to enjoy it
-Just like the night I went to go out with K (this happened last November I think)
-Just like Grandpa’s funeral [this next part is hard to make out, but it looks like “leading that item in the by” and that’s not a sentence…so…..] (this happened last May)
This is shit UKW does”

Well, I’m sure UKW is you know who, which is me, because this is definitley me.

In part, I guess it’s good he’s venting, and it’s not like writing is a bad way to do that, and I guess this is my fault for reading it…but…the way he is, with holding back rage until it’s SO out of control he just FREAKS. THE. FUCK. OUT. yeah. Gonna have to deal with this one as artfully as only someone as emotionally abused as myself could. Oh lucky me. Anyway.

So the “wait until something’s not done perfectly” UH, no, I refute that one. What I think he’s referring to is when he does one of the minor things he does around the house, but even then he fucking half-asses it. Like, wow, you did the dishes…oh look you left some of them….you made the bed, but then you took a nap in it, so it doesn’t matter. Things of this nature. He has NO idea, or if he knows it then he doesn’t appreciate, that our work ratio at home is 100:20, at best. He thinks because he does minor shit, and isn’t as bad as he once was, that that makes up for the fact that I’ve been the free maid service for a decade. It’s like he’s not lazy…but he is. Like I do believe he has every INTENTION of doing a lot, that he wants to help out, he’s not like W who was like…infantile and mean-spirited in a very weird/blatant way about EVER having to do anything that constituted work/effort. Pathologically lazy. I’ve been over this, but it still fucking fascinates me that a grown man would act this way. Of course there’s my idiot mother, enabling everything, thinking “he would change.” So goddamn stupid. Anyway. So I fucking HATE lazy people, lets face it, especially lazy men. Like when I was with R, that was one of the HUGE things that put me off about him. Like when I was with him all he did was sleep and get plastered and play video games, mostly league of legends. Although when he scraped together enough money from part time jobs he didn’t keep for long, instead of paying me back for bailing him out of jail, he bought a PS4…so he was playing that a lot right at the end. That was always SO something my second boyfriend (Dan) would have done, and I hated how much R reminded me of Dan in a HORRIBLE way, because that guy kind of sucked. HOLY shit, just realized that 8 months is how long I can put up with someone who’s shit garbage before things just fucking end.

So yeah, that first part stems from all of that.


The frame it in the worst possible light part. IDK, I guess sometimes I find it hard to believe that someone can be SO careless and inconsiderate, I guess sometimes, given the environment I was brought up in, I assume people are fucking rotten. What can I say? I try to not do this, though because it’s shitty to do that, to just automatically assume someone has the worst intentions possible. I do get that.

Then the “refuse to believe the other person” part. Well. IDK. I guess I would need to know what he specifically was talking about. Because yes, sure, I have some trust issues with some shit. Go figure.

The doesn’t want me to enjoy sparing? I DO NOT GET IT. I can promise you this, internet strangers who read my blog, I have NEVER thought that I needed to somehow ruin going to sparing or muy thai or kickboxing or whatever the hell it is this time for him. Like, it’s a good thing to go do, and like…really….who’s telling their spouse to NOT work out? Like…really? I don’t know what he’s referring to. THOUGH, there are times, when I feel like the only thing he cares about or devotes any energy or time to, besides working about 30 hours a week is working out. If he’s not going to one of two gyms he’s running a crazy number of miles at a time outside, or lifting weights in the garage. This is all well and good. I bought him those weights. I buy him martial arts gear for holidays/birthdays all the time. It’s just ANNOYING as fuck when I have to do everything by myself because whenever we’re alone together, he’s sleeping. If he is awake he’s at the gym or working out or he’s complaining about how tired he is, or how he doesn’t feel well in some way.
I’m REALLY trying to get him to go to a doctor and a therapist. Like I cannot be that for him. I have no desire to be. I’m his spouse. Different. Different roles. I feel like I needed to have this fucking talk with my mother and I never did, so this shit isn’t happening to me again, I can tell you that much.
So the only thing I can think is that in one of the times I expressed annoyance/dismay over his ability to ALWAYS have the energy to go the gym/work out, but when it come to ANYTHING else, that’s a fucking no go.
SO he might have mistaken that for me not wanting him to enjoy sparing. but that’s totally inaccurate. Why would I not want him to enjoy it? If I ever expressed displeasure at his leaving me alone to go to the gym, it was always meant in a joking-oh-don’t-leave-me sort of way, not a serious I’m actually upset at you sort of way. I don’t get it. So I call bullshit on that one. He’s mistaking my being upset over something else over his “enjoying sparing” which is HIM assuming the worst of me….isn’t it?

The “going out with K” thing – that pushses this note to within that last two months…which is kind of frightening….. Yeah that’s his coworker whom he’s had plans with only for them to fall through four times now. This was a weeknight she wanted he and I to meet her and her boyfriend at a hookah bar in a town like 20 minutes away. I don’t go out on weekdays. I get up at 5:30 on a late morning. It’s not happening. But he was going to go. And I said something, along the lines of, Oh of course, you’re ditching me. If I remember correctly, this was said in a joking way. I didn’t mind if he went out with her, I really don’t care if he fucks her. I wouldn’t recommend it because I cannot see her boyfriend being the open sort, and she’s young, and they work together. Unwise. But again, if it happened, like whatever, we both fuck around and all. NOT THAT I HAVE RECENTLY. Sorry. Still super pissed. Well not pissed as much as a WHOLE other blog I need to write but I found this fucking gem while I was cleaning today and like NEEDED to write a blog about it. But then my husband got really defensive and upset that I’d said that, and was like “Why would you say that to me?” In the most injured way possible, and I was like, I was just kidding, I don’t care if you go. Then he had to be like, I’m not going to enjoy myself now, knowing that you’re at home upset that I’m out.

AND,

WAIT

I’M SORRY

IS THAT NOT BEING EMOTIONALLY CONTROLLING?

Okay, I could have not said what I said, but it wasn’t THAT bad. And I didn’t say it that meanly, and I told him more than once to go (even though we also really didn’t have the $, because WE NEVER DO).

So. IDK I have a few arguments I’d like to make on my behalf regarding that bullet point in his list of my frequent grievances that he was DUMB enough to leave where I could find. I mean, start a blog, dude. Keep notes on your phone. I don’t go through his notes. I stopped going through his texts. I mean as long as he doesn’t give me an STD from someone else I really don’t care what the fuck happens. Also, if he got someone else pregnant I would be REALLY angry about the financial complications, and I would fucking divorce him if she had the kid because I get that that’s not a choice that would involve me, but it’s my choice to not be a fucking stepmother when I don’t have kids of my own. Yeah no I know in this moment that I would NOT be a big enough person to love that kid. I’m no Oleanna in Half of a Yellow Sun (which is a DOPE book, if you haven’t read it). So yeah HUGE tangent because marijuana but as long as those two things don’t happen, the rest is fine.
It just worries me when he does shit like that.

Because

To ME, it feels like he’s trying to condition me to NOT say anything, to never speak my mind because HE might have to get emotional about it. Juuuuust like his mother. See, he has A LOT of her charactertistics, and a lot of them aren’t great. Like the hyper sensitivity, the hyper defensiveness, the just deeply emotional way they go about every day activities. Wow, I’m hearing it for the first time, they aren’t German enough. They don’t remind me of my Grandma’s way of living life enough. I mean she has the food=love thing down, but that’s about it.
But that’s crazy right?

Maybe I’m just a cunt?

Like you get that would be easier? Like the worse option is always easier, isn’t it?
Or it is worse that he’s trying to do that? I say this one isn’t as bad because I can fucking handle it.
Do you really think I can be mentally manipulated or outsmarted by ANYONE?
It’s not me bragging, not when you realize how I fucking earned these stripes. It’s not fair to put a kid through certain shit. But then you tell them it’s all their fault and a new, strange, layer gets added on top that blurs their ability to connect, even with those whom they SHOULD have found a kindred comiseration with.
Sometimes I DO wonder what’s reality and what’s coping mechanism. I think I still have a pretty firm grasp on it.
I told you before, I’ll say it again I’m sure, I’m the definition of an outcast. There’s no one actual place I fit in, EVEN when I’m amongst a group I should have a great deal in common with. I’ve felt that way EVERYWHERE I’ve ever gone, in every group I’ve ever been in, for my entire life.
I know I sound like a dysfunctional teenager, but it’s the fucking truth. And I can assure you it’s the truth, I think, by reminding you that it’s the last thing I want to be the case.
I feel like if someone feels truly unique all they really want is to find someone like themselves. Like those who strive to be one of a kind don’t actually fucking get what that feels like.
Or I’m just self aggrandizing. I don’t know. The only thing I know for certain is I have a frightening amount of student loan debt. Ah, how anchoring you are, thing I will never pay off.

So again, I’m not asking him to not enjoy himself at either of those things.

And then the Grandpa’s funeral part. Okay, his Grandpa died on I think April 28th, the funeral was May 2nd. We drove down and stayed at a hotel near the funeral site. I drove us. We got there around 2am, slept until 8 then had to get ready. I Slept TERRIBLY. We had to get a double bed room, so it was like a full and we’re used to sharing a king sized bed and the reason we bought this size bed was because we NEED that much space. I woke up about once an hour, because my husband was infringing on my space in a huge way. If you shake him, while he’s sleeping, he’ll eventually move off of you, but having to do that SO much kind of ruined any chance at rest.
We were about to leave the hotel room for the day and I said, and I quote, “So not into this entire day of family time.”
I mean. I didn’t say I was glad his grandfather was dead. I missed him at the reunion this year, I missed his Christmas card, I loved his Grandpa, that’s not what I was about, I GUESS I was just complaining, because I was tired, and it was going to be a LONG day ahead of us, and then a long drive home, and then work the next day because this was the middle of the fucking week. Then, I told him he needed to comb his hair, which he did, it looked ridiculous that he was in a nice suit but obviously hadn’t bothered to comb his hair after washing it and lettitng it air dry. I remember the look he gave me when I said that, I realized there was trouble coming. But we had to go. So we’re leaving the hotel, and he is walking far ahead of me, he goes to use an exit that isn’t as near to our car as a different exit, so I say, “We’re parked by this door,”

And THAT was what did it, ladies and gentlemen.


Suddenly, instead of walking ahead of me, he’s running ahead of me. He’s out the door, he’s throwing out suitcase on the ground and repeatedly punching the brick wall of the building. He glares back at me, and like……idk…..him….THAT irrationally angry….in a suit…..when we’re about to be forced to spend a TON of time around family (HIS family) acting normal…..reminded me WAY too much of our wedding night/morning after. Only this time, he couldn’t blame his behavior on booze. This was RIGHT before he started drinking again. Like a few days. Uh oh I’m hearing it.

THAT was the horrible, unreal behavior on my part at his Grandpa’s funeral. LIKE REALLY.

NO, that one I have deep arguements on as well.

I hate to say this

But I feel like he took the death of his 98 year old Grandpa a little too hard

No disrespet to the man, he was great, and he raised great kids, who had great kids, and he was a fucking WW2 veteran, that’s so cool, like my Grandpa who I only remember in a hospital bed and maybe once in a nursing home but my mom would take me along and make me spend the time by myself so she could be alone with her dad. Strange to consider SHE knows what it’s like to love your dad. Strange for me to think of that bond existing, at all, I’m afraid.

But like, your grandparent living to 98 shouldn’t be your excuse for going off of the deep end and starting drinking again, but that’s what he said.

Now, especially lately, he’s been drinking way too much. Of course I get it’s hard to not. Really I do. Somehow, I managed to replace beer with red bull, at least on the weekends. On the weekdays its like eh, do I want to kind of feel like shit tomorrow? Plus, calories and all. Anyway.

I’m just kind of sick of his drunken rants.
His surprise birthday thing is next Friday, that’s the dinner with friends, then he and I have a night together the next night. Thanks to his parents Christmas money, I barely have enough for all of that. Hooray. I’m going to warn him not to ruin the night by drinking too much. It could easily happen given how he’s been lately.

But when he’s drunk he just goes ON about how nothing is his fault and he’s been so cheated in so many ways in life. which goes to show no matter what you have you can’t help but compare yourself to people who have more, I guess?
I do ALL that I can to NOT compare myself to other people. And holy shit does it make you feel better. I’m still lonely af, it doesn’t really help with that, unfortunately, but still.

I took a weirdly long nap from 7pm-2am and now I don’t know how to act. I made coffee, because that seemed like the right thing to do. And my husband fell asleep shortly after I got up so I was like, time to write a blog about his list of my wrongdoings. And also of course, it’s not THAT old of a list. It was written roughly about the same time as my most recent sexual disappointment (which just hit the 2 month mark, NOT that I would notice that). Maybe that’s why he wrote it.

IDK.

My one defense in all of this is to act depressed. Like my mom would. See my husband can’t handle that, like he can’t be mean about anything if I go quiet/depressive. And like…BOY did I see a TON of that behavior throughout my first 18 years. So. Watch out anyone trying to top me there. But, it’s not my true nature. It’s a defense mechanism, for certain but I’m naturally like an energetic/enthusiastic person, there are just so few people worth being that way around. I don’t want to feel that way, I just do. It’s based on intelligence and compatability and and my personal assessment of someone’s worth, so you can’t really tell me I’m being racist or sexist or I only assign worth to people bassed on how much I’d like to fuck them or whatever terrible thing, because it’s all subjective af.

So in a way my husband’s note makes me want to argue a few things, but I won’t of course because I know I shouldn’t have read it, but spilled milk am I right?
It also makes me sad that I upset him so much. The angry all the times part and the worst possible light and the not believing anything he says….those are all definitely true….so….there’s that.
I mean I feel like I’ve been angry since day one because where I come from if you didn’t have some fight in ya you weren’t gon’ make it. I said that in a weird accent in my head and I don’t know why. Anyway. Never give up the fight in you. Not like the war within, but like never stop being one of the dogs that the handlers are like “That one has some fight in her.” I don’t know why I used that simile but I did. R was rude to me once about confusing similie and metaphor (yeah I know) and I never forgave him for it. That was another thing about him, he like, jumped at any opportunity to be the asshole, especially while drunk…so ALL the time…..

So I guess I should really work on not being such a bitch. I should be able to channel that rage into sullen silence like I did as a child. It’s not like it’s hard.

You know what I realized? That sometimes, the reasons I’m like so devastated over a guy, it doesn’t totally just hinge on the guy himself, even if he was great, or all right.
You know that guy Paul? I wrote a long blog about him. I’ll link it in the comments when I’m on my phone because somehow I find that version of WordPress easier to use.
So Paul was cool and all, but really, for as much as we interacted, and how conflicted I was because I was still into my ex-boyfriend (my first boyfriend ever, Nick) as well as being into Paul, I was WAY too upset when he told me we couldn’t hang out anymore because he started dating a long time friend of his. Which, like now that I’m older I get it, but he should’ve known better than to involve himself at all with an 18 year old, even one as mature as I was (which I was, and I lived on my own and went to the same college as him, so it’s not like he was a creeper, AT ALL, let’s establish that, he was 21, for reference).
But what really upset me was that Paul me realize that I deserved someone who did what he did, who appreciated me and was intrigued by me for who I was as a person. It was DEFINITELY the first time that had happened to me. Before, the only interest was from guys who were attracted to me, who it was nearly impossible to talk to. Plus I was socially radioactive in high school so that’s going to have an influence. I remember once R was like, “You didn’t have dudes into you in high school? Did you not have your titties back then?” He was obsessed, that’s for sure. I was like, “No, I did.” He was like, “Oh were you weird?” Again, asshole. But that was just him, I can’t say he ever didn’t act like that. I just was so attracted at first none of that mattered.
So the missed chance to date Paul was one thing, but realizing that I had been introduced to a new standard was tough. It’s already a selective enough process, but no, let’s add ONE more filter.

That’s what N did.


That would explain why I was so fucking upset. There’s a lot of blogs I hid dedicated to how annoyed I was at first.

Now it’s like…well….logically speaking, Cassie, what the sweet fuck did you want to happen? The two of you to start fucking on a regular-ish basis? Why? So you can get closer and closer and develop actual feelings for each other? Is this whole process really done with the HOPE that you’ll just fizzle out and get bored of each other and one of you rips the band-aid off and you both go your separate ways? Is that why the “poly” life (I hate the fucking terminology) is so appealing to us dark people? Because you kind of hope once the dopamine wears off you separate and at most hook up once in a great awhile after texting at 1am. Maybe, that’s with a really good one and let’s face it, most aren’t that. Unlike with actual love/dating where you hope it lasts forever. At least I do. Each to their own.

So it’s like, what did I want to happen? How could it have ended well, no matter the outcome? It’s just…kind of….irritatingly misleading…..*narrowed eyes emoji*…..to SAY one thing, then like five hours later just totally backtrack. I mean free will and all but HOLY SHIT REALLY?! Sorry. I’m so not mad. What’s terrible is I for once can’t blame booze. I haven’t drank since Christmas. But then I keep being like “Have a red bull, you deserve it.” Mmm caffeine, socially acceptable chemical dependence. I love it.

So I guess what REALLY upset me about N was it made me realize what I actually want in my “boyfriend.” Which is what I would be looking for. I don’t want some rando DOM creepo from Fetlife to tie me to his bed and fuck me. I mean as fun as that sounds, I still don’t want to do that because you just feel gross after. I mean I do. Each to their own. I want what I had with R, but with someone who is a functional adult, not a raging alcoholic, and someone with their own full life who makes occasional time for me, not….the opposite which is what I had with R. But he and I got along SO well, and it was always easy just to sit around and talk with him. I have that sort of relationship with my best friend as well, and to an extent, with my three friends back home, the ones whom I’ve lost, to varying degrees, to the cult of mommy. N claimed he does not have this connection with people usually and it freaked him out when it happened with me and made him rethink the whole us having sex thing. I could tell something was off, even when we were still around his friends that night.

But still, that night, at least the first half of it, was what I want. With the sort of person I want it with. Great. That’s SUCH A SIMPLE COMBINATION OF THINGS TO FIND.

So it makes you sadder than it should because it gives you new standards. And I don’t heavily apply standards to others because I feel like garbage about myself. I don’t. I just have to assure you I guess because that doesn’t seem like something one can prove. I know people who are like that, and they annoy me. They’re always judgmental too. I mean it comes with the territory. Anyway.

But now I’m like….how the fuck do I find THAT in a random stranger? Sigh. Maybe if I make it “big” enough as an author, someone will stalk through my Twitter and read this and be like, OMG it’s me.

I mean I wrote a whole “He’s got to be out there somewhere” blog. I mean, he does. It’s not a question, it’s a matter of somehow finding him.

Of course, I’m NOT missing the notion that this would never be as organic as fucking around with someone from grad school. I had a great time doing that once before, it could happen again. But there were only three guys I’d even consider in grad school, R is definitely out of the equation (as a been there/done that, haaa, but to be fair if I was rating this guy purely on sex, 9/10, for sure) and N is as well for SADLY different reasons, and that leaves A. And I have no idea if A is even in this sort of marraige but I freaking doubt it. Which is sad to say because I am definitely hotter than his wife. And my husband is super buff (was I not just bitching about that 2000 words ago?) so maybe she’d be done for a different dick than A’s. Plus super in shape guys are good at fucking because it’s like any other cardio in a lot of ways. IDK everyone is SO different these days. I think it was rare random coincidence that another married couple like N and his wife came into our lives (but not in the fun way) as they did. It was cool though, because things are SO MUCH BETTER when a couple can just admit they’re attracted to other people, maybe even fuck them. So it was nice seeing it work for others. For me, it’s a matter of not knowing anyone good enough. See the point I hope I’ve been making.

So my only other “organic” fuck that I can think of (why do I call them that? whatever) is the Professor. I forget what name I gave him but he’s the only professor out of all of my undergrad and grad classes whom I would actually do this with. There were some others who were hotter, I’ll say that, but none of them are him. I adored his classes. He’s genuinely gifted. Yeah, you can tell he just fucking soaks the female student population from his Rate My Professor.

But Yeah I may have concocted a sort of fantasy where I publish my book and it does well enough for me to mail him a copy and tbe like “Hey remember me, I took three of your classes and then asked you to write me a letter of recommendation for graduate school? Probably not, but I wrote a book and I wanted to send it to the professors who I felt made a diference in my education. Thank you.”

NOT THAT I’M PLANNING ON ACTUALLY DOING THIS.

Only I totally will, IF I achieve the first part. Well I know I’ll finish and publish the book, it’s the doing well that I need to see about.

That’s the only one I can think of.

The rest would feel fake.

sigh.

Goals I guess

Well, it’s late/early so I should edit or go back to bed.

Love you

~Cassie

If you knew me even a little you’d be well aware I don’t understand the concept of “moderation”

OKAY this is getting weird. I literally am awake and drunk and can’t concentrate on CF enough to work on editing draft #2. I want to talk about myself too much. It’s an astounding problem I have. I get I’m self absorbed. I promise that I have to be. I still feel incredible amounts of compassion for others, I’m just certain that I’m terrible at showing it. Like. I fucking wish I was a sociopath like W. Do you realize how convenient it must be to not feel feelings? OMF they’re what’s been holding me back all this time. But, then, if it’s the last part of yourself that still feels human (that is, unviolated) should you really fight it so? The same goes for how jealous I am of atheists. Must be nice to be sure of yourself. I hope for your sake that you’re right, but I don’t really think so. Like. Think about how vast and profound and infinite and pointless and small and all-encompassing and affirming and destroying and EVERY other combination of contradictions you can muster, think of the true awe-inducing beauty we have access to, even in our everyday lives. You’re telling me we’ve evolved as we have all on our own? I feel like life is WAY too complex for all of that.

And I mean. I get it. I get the notion that, like, okay if there is a God, where were they when [X]? Yeah. I don’t know. I fucking wonder myself. But. I don’t know how to say it other than this: there’s an answer, and I don’t know it, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist. I’ve been really confused on the specifics of religion for a long time, myself.

TO digress onto a weird ass topic. I was raised Lutheran. I went a Lutheran grade school and high school, ages 3-18. I was confirmed in a Lutheran church and was active in my church youth group for the first two years of high school. BUT, in keeping with W’s typical narcissistic egomania, he was REALLY into “born-again” Pentecostal Christianity. The people who “speak in tongues” and generally act a fool in church. He watched (and probably still does) televangelists. I mean, of course, right? Why wouldn’t he have this weird, horrible, weird, embarrassing habit/trait? Why wouldn’t he somehow manage to ruin religion for his family? He didn’t give a fuck about going to church with his kids until they were teenagers, then all of a sudden it was a matter of life and death that they attended his church as well as my still being very active in the Lutheran church I went to with my mother. But you know what W’s constant comment about that church was? “Well that’s a dead church.” He had this BELOVED analogy about church’s being like meals, spiritual sustenance (just talking about this is giving me a tension headache, btw) He was OBSESSED with calling it that, every chance he got.

And you know what?
You know that car accident that ruined my brother’s life? Like moreso than W did?

It happened because my brother was driving to a nearby city separately from W to attend W’s church with him. The teenager who caused the accident was speeding on the highway in the rain because it was Sunday, the first day of summer camp where she and her two friends who were in the car with her were going to be counselors. They were all fine. My brother who was the only one who was hurt. Then you know, the Vicodin problem that naturally progressed into a heroin problem. He’s on methadone to this day, if you want perspective here. And the getting $100,000 in an insurance settlement and pissing it all away in like…two years. And having nothing to show for it. W pushed/worked/connived for my brother to get that money because he’s a greedy worthless lazy fuck and he knew he’d be able to get his hands on some of it. According to what my brother at one point told me, he gave W about $10,000. My brother claims he never would have agreed to this much if he hadn’t been high on Vicodin when W asked.

Yep.

That’s my family all right.

But no, be weird and judgmental that I have nothing to do with them, everyone I tell about the situation. It’s fine.

Like whatever. I honestly and literally do not care what people think. But sometimes I’m like…HA if only people knew the real truth.

That’s what CF is. It’s someone writing an expose on what REALLY happened with all these rich/powerful/famous people in these two small countries. The rest is just fucking backdrop, my dears. Not that it isn’t excellently and fearfully made. Jeeeeez I’m drunk. I’m not used to alcohol. I’m really not.

So things I’m excited about:
I’m sure I’ll see best friend for holiday season.
Three day work week next week

New glasses are dope and fit well (I have a VERY shallow bridge to my nose, not that I’m complaining, but it makes glasses hard).

Writing process is going well, getting chipped away at every day.

New coat is also dope, makes me feel mildly like a drug dealer/pimp, which is an aesthetic I’m into so it’s tight

If CF seems good enough to N, then maybe it’ll be good enough for Professor I. And just having even a slight chance of seeing him again fills me with a euphoria ecstasy cannot match. Or acid. Or shrooms. What can I say, I’m pretty cool, I’ve done some drugs. Not like my brother though. He got the opiod gene, I got the booze gene, these are just fucking goddamn facts. Opiates me sick. I got a Vicodin prescription for my wisdom teeth, just like 20 or so, I think I took three, and they made me feel worse than the surgery. I took too Vicodin for fun the day I went to an Eminem concert in Detroit (the one with Jay Z) and I puked all over the parking lot at Comerica. Someone walking by shouted, “Bring it up, girl!” I waved at him but kept puking. Fucking Vicodin. That night ended up getting ruined by my husband’s near psychotic behavior whilst wasted on expensive ballpark beer, but I digress.

So these are the things I look forward to, or at least am curious about. With CF it’s not so much blind hopefulness, as I’m thinking all of my hard work will pay off one day. It’s not about money, in the slightest, it’s about people reading it and liking it. It’s about being a good fucking writer. Which is all I’ve ever wanted or cared about. It’s always what’s mattered most. It’s always been the biggest part of my identity, since I fucking learned to read. I’ve always felt like a writer, since I was a child, it’s not something I grew into or chose to become. It’s just been there. I guess I knew I needed an outlet, and naturally I would have to find a silent one that I could keep hidden.

Holy shit, is that what we all have in common? It’s something. It’s got to be something. Again, I know there’s an answer but I can’t help you with specifics.

I don’t like Thanksgiving, family holidays make me sad. But we only have to drive to my husband’s sister’s about 40 minutes away, so that’s nice. And they’re doing Thanksgiving at actual dinner time, so we don’t have to leave our place until like 4 or 5pm that day. Then I’m off the following day. It’s a rare long weekend for me, so naturally I have huge writing goals. And I need to put out Christmas decorations, because I like decorating. And crafting. I’m a little like my mother, what can I say. So the long weekend is a thing to look forward too at any rate. Also of course any and all progression on writing one’s first novel is also exciting.

Other than that, not much is happening. I’m back in the swing of things (ha) at pole. One of these days I’m going to take the time to get done up at home and record some new pole videos. Maybe I’ll wait until I’m in slightly better shape. But don’t I always say that? Anyway, I guess I’ll be off.

Write it when? Fucking First.

For who? For fucking you.

~Cassie

There’s only so much disappointment one can handle in a week.

I’m waiting out traffic before I go back to work and reclaim my possessions from work Halloween. DEAR GOD am I glad that that is over with. As much as I like getting done up for something, I was fucking dying to wash my make up off all day.

Which got me thinking.

This morning, as I spent roughly an hour and a half getting ready, as I had so recently, it really got me thinking.

There’s something I find naturally pleasing about wearing make up, especially a lot of it to the point it hides your exterior flaws and highlights the good features. There’s just something really pleasing and right to me about wearing a mask, especially one that sits right on your skin like that. Because that’s what make up is, in more than one way. At least to me. There’s the cosmetic benefits, but there’s also the secondary distance you build between yourself and others when you’re doing something to highlight your beauty. Or so I’ve always found. Again I don’t totally know what the experience of an unattractive person is. I feel like everyone gets treated like shit for no reason (on a varying scale of frequency) no matter what they look like.

And honestly, even though I’m freakishly vocal on that subject (IDK, it’s the one part of my life I’ve always been okay with…so fucking sue me) I also like….am NOOOOOT the kind of person who uses their looks to their advantage. I mean, if I want to bang someone I’m going to attempt to present myself pleasingly, but like…idk, there’s a lot of people, women especially who learn too early how easy it is for them to get things/be treated well compared to others for no reason other than their accidental looks, whatever grab bag their genetic lottery pulled together. At least when a person is stupid toned you’re like…ah well I see you hit the gym while I’m on my ass on a computer which is whenever I’m awake, pretty much.

I haven’t written in SO LONG. This past weekend was fucked. When I wasn’t super happy and excited, followed by extreme bafflement and disappointment, I was working on fucking Halloween crafts. So burned out on like…my emotions, and crafting. I feel like my characters miss me. As fucking lunatic crazy as that sounds.

But.

Okay since I couldn’t control myself from returning the subject.

I figured out why I was so devastated about the N thing.

Yeah, I was looking forward to the sex. I mean, I couldn’t possibly be the only one who likes finding out what someone is like in bed. Plus, N painted a pretty promiscuous picture of himself, and the more sexual experience a person has, the better. Or so I’ve found with my HUGE list of partners. (It’s 10 dudes), the more experience the better. I imagine women are the same.

So, yeah, the sex. But also. Out of those ten guys….the first time I had sex with them worked out well in….two of the instances.

My first boyfriend would “always jerk off twice” before having sex so he would “last longer.” So he did that, my first time having sex ever, and then because he was on his third hard-on, while we were having sex, he kept losing his erection, going into the bathroom, coming back, again and again, until he came back in and just got dressed and didn’t say anything. We lied there in my bed in my parents house (the three of them were at a Tigers game) in silence until we left to see X-3 (the X-men movie from 2006) because I’d already purchased the tickets. I had to ask him on the drive over there what happened. He was a weird, weird asshole about the whole experience. As if it were SOMEHOW my fault. Also, looking back, who is like SO worried about railing some poor girl whose idiotically chosen you as her first partner? So fucking dumb. It was something he “had a reputation for” at his high school (we went to different high schools), this ability to last a very long time sexually.

I was far too young and naive and fucking achingly desperate to have a boyfriend, to have an emotional connection with someone outside of my fucked, fucked, fucked family. Of course I picked like….a TERRIBLE fucking choice….but whatever.

It just made me realize, as I typed this, that I can’t really stand it when I have to drag something out of someone. Like just fucking tell me. I thought we did that.

You know what time I remember dragging something out of my husband? July 2017, when a doctor’s bill in the mail alerted me to something he’d done a month before. Something I guess he was never planning on telling me about because he lacked the fucking balls. I don’t know how I would have behaved in that situation, because I never met a perfect stranger from Craig’s List for sex like he did. Then, I still had to drag it out of him when I couldn’t figure out what this doctor’s bill was for. He said he knew he was caught, and didn’t know what to do, and was panicking, which was why he tried to evade me at first. But, like I’ve said before, I could tell something was very wrong by how pale he’d gotten when he looked at the bill.

Then, just this past Sunday I had to do it again.

I guess I shouldn’t hold it SO out of sort….given that it seems to be typical male behavior, in my life. Which is funny…because….why?

But anyway.

Back to why I know I’m truly bothered by N and how that panned out, besides the fact that I was lied to, and that he did the world’s worst 180 in the history of date psych-outs. Those are things I will get over in time. Like now they piss me off. But I know how I feel about things that once made me angry.

What bothers me, what like literally hurts, as much as I hate that phrasing, is that I was able to be totally be 100% max Cassie around him…and it was totally fine…it was fun….it was SO fun he changed his mind about being able to sleep with me because it’d get too complicated because of an emotional connection. I’m paraphrasing his explanation that I had to fucking request. And like…because I could be myself…I mean that also involves letting your guard down, no? So it was the strange level of vulnerability on multiple levels…and like….at SOME fucking point, in the course of less than five hours….yeah…..just…..what….omg

So. IDK I guess I sound like I’m still pretty obsessed with this. It’s better than it was. I was still REALLY upset on Monday. Well duh there’s a huge ass blog about it.

But yeah. I realize, that that’s what truly saddens me. It such a rare, rare, rare, rare, rare, rare thing to find someone who can handle/be around/reciprocate max Cassie, as I like to call it. That that person is also a relatively smart guy I know from grad school who I could totally see myself fucking…I mean….am I NOT supposed to be into that? I mean really. I would love to take a goddamn poll. Ha that’s one of those verbal double entendre. But yeah don’t worry I still have plenty of sex. My husband has like a teenage libido. I think it’s all the testosterone from working out. IDK I’m not doctor. I don’t talk about my husband with my doctor best friend because she doesn’t really like him, from knowing about the shit he’s done. And she doesn’t even know about Craig’s List.

Well, that’s it. That’s why I’m still so obsessive and bothered by the N thing.

Zero idea how long it’ll take before I don’t feel bothered about it. Like I never do about anything.

All right, I’ve wasted enough time.

Peace

~Cassie