Tuesday, June 8, 2010

From Toronto, with love.

My first love was the biggest waste of time ever. I was 15 and he was 17. I was with him for four years. He was grossly manipulative, disloyal and took advantage of the age gap like crazy. It taught me a lot. About myself. And about other people. For myself, it taught me that I have a knack for shutting off any positive feelings when I’m upset or in a bad mood, that I have a tendency to throw everything that was once golden about a certain situation out the window and magnify the bad side of it and also that I dislike taking steps backwards. Once I’m done, I’m done. For other people, it taught me that everything needs to be taken with a grain of salt. Everything.

I got cheated on in that relationship more than I could count on all 20 fingers and toes that I’ve got. But if you ask him, he wouldn’t call it cheating. Every time he’d have a jam to go to, or an event, or club, or whatever, he’d call me up like a day before and be like ‘I need a break! But you’re still mine!”, and you know, I was 15, so, I ate that shit up, wide-eyed and bushy tailed about the shit, while he was out being a rampant cake fucker.

Two years into the relationship, I was 17, I started getting more attention from other guys and my mind wasn’t so malleable. I started catching onto certain things, started not picking up my phone when I expected and knew what the other line was going to be telling me. And thus the tables turned. Or so I thought. I guess he stopped being an infidel regularly.. because for a good 9 months everything was cris, and then he went to Florida and fucked some random girl there. When he told me this later he told me he didn’t even know her last name. Anyway, when I found out I cut him off for good, because it got to the point where I felt like I was just prolonging the inevitable to spare my feelings that, at that point, were not even really existent, I was just clutching on to some shit that was like 4 years ago.

A few months after we broke up, he came to my house, unexpectedly at that, my whole family was there, and made a big ass scene about shit, begging and trying to coax me into being with him, and when I said no, he turned into the complete opposite, it was actually quite entertaining. He started to blame me because he got a girl pregnant after we broke up and he said he only did it because he was trying to push away his feelings for me and that I wasn’t being understanding.

That relationship taught me a lot about myself. It made me hate myself for being loyal, which isn’t supposed to happen, because loyalty shouldn’t be regarded as a bad trait, but when people take advantage of it, it is. It pissed me off too, because any other person would have cheated right back on him but, I don’t think two negatives make a positive. I don’t think that’s a very intelligent or healthy of thinking and honestly, I’m kind of glad I didn’t because I know girls who do that, and even if their boyfriend did it first, they’re still the one who gets perceived as a ho in the end.

Peace,
i

Sunday, June 6, 2010

frustration.

My Sunday consisted of nothing but shopping and eating.

"Watch where you're going, fat ass!"

Yeah, I know... I went to Zara, and there was this really, reallyyyy, reallyyyyyy, gorgeous dress there, just calling my name on the rack, it was the last medium, it was green, it was meant to be. Really, meant to be. As I made my way to the fitting room, I felt the fabric, it was like silk, so goddamn soft, tried it on, everything was perfect. Hauled ass to the cashier (who, mind you wasn't there when I arrived and took like 10 minutes to get there), and when I put the dress on the counter, I noticed that some of the stitching was coming loose, and there were some slight imperfections here and there. Given that I didn't really notice it when I tried the dress on, I figured whatever let me just ask for a damaged goods discount and take it to the cleaners to have it tightened around the seams. The cashier lady finally comes to the counter, and I noted whatever I saw on the dress to her and asked her if she could apply the discount, this bitch doesn't even look at the dress and goes "No, we don't work with that system!"

FUCK YOU JUST CALLED ME?!

So I asked her how come, and she goes we just don't.

So I'm like... How do you not work under that system? Isn't that a general retail rule? If something has affected the integrity of the item in question and it is not in it's original or best state, you apply some sort of discount or incentive. Like I know if I had gone to return that dress and the stitching was in the condition that it was they would not have allowed me to return it. And she goes "Well, we put it in the damaged goods bin for it to get thrown out if somebody points out imperfections but we don't give discounts". So I was like, alright, bet. Left the dress, fuck that, I'm not paying $80 for something that's falling apart before it even leaves the premises.

Anyway, I came back to the store like an hour later to get a fedora, and guess what's back on the rack? The momofuckin' dress! Blasphemy, I swear! I hate when big corporations are so frickin' cheap! I wouldn't even have agreed with them throwing it out because somebody could use that, but that's just so insanely petty, like on some "well, if you don't want it someone else will", assholes. On the upside, I got glitter nail polish from Sephora, and that makes me happy, because I'm 5.

Peace,
i.

but your mom's a slut...

The following public service announcement has been brought to you in part by the good folks at Bad Luck Illa industries on behalf of the blogger community; ladies and gentlemen, don't let your mom be an internet slut. If you call people sluts and hoes on the regular (which, given the fact that most of the people who will read this are within my age bracket, you most likely do) don't knowingly let your mother be a slut or a ho. End the bad luck cycle and prevent life scarring, you too can do your part.

Things I dislike: Having "friends" who have their mothers on Facebook and being the lurk that I am, I click through, and their mom is the biggest skank ever!

I was going to go post something on someone's wall from elementary school, and I saw their mom leave them something so I'm like, 'hmmmm, interesting' (I'm nosy as hell, so what) and I clicked through, and low and behold... I go read her status updates and what have you and she's talking about men she finds sexy and how older women give better blowjobs because they have more experience, and she's posing up in some hot pink Nylon dress that looks like she bought it from the corner store on Yonge & Dundas. Dude! Seriously?! How do you allow your mum to be trashy like that and flaunt the shit? Horrible. And what's worse is next time I see this woman all I'm going to think about is her popping out her dentures and giving some guy brains.

Scarred for life.

Please, people, especially if you still share a roof with your parents, don't let them be internet harlots. It's not a good look, and it makes me question your conception and the possibilities of there probably being sixteen you's out there that we don't know about. Prevent unwanted pregnancies. And all that good stuff!

Peace,
i.