Category Archives: relationships

This is what I think of you.

Posted on by

43


*In my world we say what’s on our mind.  This won’t change anything, but I feel a lot better for having written it.

Dear Asshole,

This is not an attempt to open up any lines of communication.  I want nothing to do with you.  I have made that very clear.  I am not looking for a response.  This is my way of getting closure. I know that you’re reading this.  I know that you ask about me.  You should stop.

You can defend yourself to the people that listen to you and still believe the bullshit that flows from your mouth like…well, the bullshit that flows from your mouth.

You are the scumbag.  You are the liar.  You are the philandering (that means cheating, you stupid fuck) piece of shit that you constantly accused me of being.    You went to great lengths to deceive me, why? Why didn’t you just leave me alone?  Why did you think I deserved this?

I already know the answer, because you’re mentally ill.   You play games with people’s emotions for your own entertainment. You get your jollies from deceiving people, it makes you feel superior. You aren’t, you are the lowest life form on the planet.  I’ve coughed-up mucus with more integrity than you.

You wasted my time.  You pretended to be someone you aren’t.  Did you think I wouldn’t find out?  Did you think you could threaten and intimidate the whole world into silence, like you did me?  If you wanted to snort cocaine and screw guttersnipes, you should have done that and left me out of it.  I bet it was great fun running around behind my back and making a fool of me, while trying to control my every action.

Do you realize who the fool is now? Did you use your food stamp card to cut your lines?  How do you look at yourself in the mirror every morning, or afternoon when you finally drag your worthless carcass out of bed, and not become nauseous?  I have never seen anyone so brazen (that means bold, numbnuts) and unapologetic for taking things they have no right to.

People tried to warn me about you, I should have listened. Maybe I would have spared myself the fantastic experience of being relentlessly stalked.  I saw you, you aren’t very good at it.  But, you should be used to hearing that by now…you aren’t very good at anything tangible (that means real, shit for brains).  You’re awesome at creating your own little world, where you are always the victim and everyone is out to get you.  You also excel at being selfish, dramatic, and violent.  Good job, buddy…those skills have gotten you where you are today.

Everything you said you aren’t, you are.  “I’m not a cheater,” lie.  “I wasn’t doing coke,” lie.  “I’m a good man,” lie.  You aren’t a good man, you are a waste of human flesh.  One seriously fucked-up individual.  The more time I spent with you, the more I became like you…boy, am I glad that’s over.

You moved in with me, and then lived off me like a parasite.  You played sick mind games, because it made you feel better about your pathetic existence.  You were jealous of my son, you didn’t love him like he was your own.  He was a nuisance to you.  He took the attention off of you.  He deserves my attention, you do not.  How dare you use him to make people feel bad for you, as you ranted like a lunatic about me on Facebook.  You didn’t care about him, why pretend you did? Did that get you laid?

How dare you tell people you had to leave Florida because of me.  You had to leave because you ran out of people to live off of, you exhausted your supply of trusting people of which to mooch.  I’m not on some committee that gets to decide who lives in the state and who doesn’t.   You make your own decisions.  I can’t make you do a damn thing.  If I had these magical powers you’d be reading this from under a rock in the Hudson River.

People like you are hatched, they aren’t born.

How many women have you done this to?  In case you were contemplating (that means thinking, jackwad) telling your next victim that you improved my life and helped me as a person, like you told me you did with all of your previous girlfriend’s…I recommend you don’t.  I am a better person now as opposed to when we met, but I did all that work on my own.  You deserve and will receive absolutely no credit.  You did nothing but try to break me.  You didn’t succeed.  Through your torture I learned what a strong, intelligent woman I am…and what a weak, miserable prick you are.

I hate your fucking haircut, you psychotic bastard.  Since you sent me about 900 text messages asking me if I liked it, I figured I’d give you the answer.

It’d be nice if you stopped trying to damage my character and reputation.  For someone that hated my blog, you sure read it a lot.  Did you start your own?  “The World According to Bullshit” wasn’t that what you were going to call it? At the time it was an insult, but now it seems like an appropriate name.  Maybe you could put offensive, horribly misspelled cartoons on it?

The demanding that people not associate with me, that was a nice touch.  Were you afraid I was going to tell them what you really are?  It’s hard to elicit (that means get, Mongo) sympathy from people when they find out what a giant douche you are.  Well played.

There’s a lot more I’d like to say to you, but I’m not going to.  I’m going to move on with my life and forget I ever met you.  I was going to say “knew you,” but I never actually did.  I just spent a lot of time with a monster.

I don’t burn bridges, fucker. I blow them up.

Drop dead,

Sara Carpenter

About these ads

The Adventures of Super Skank

Posted on by

11


“Sum1 just told me ur bf is out wif sum super skanky blond,” I read through the glow of my cell phone screen.  I hate texting abbreviations.  Most of the time these messages send me straight to Google to research what the kids are saying, the meaning of this one was pretty clear “your boyfriend is out with some super skanky blonde”.  I was devastated. I felt like I had been kicked in the gut and someone was smothering my face with a pillow pet.  Super skanky blonde? Really? This is what it all comes down to? Harsh.  With everything that is going on in my life, I guess I just didn’t realize…this is all my fault.  I should have listened to the advice, should have done some things different. I replied “Ha! Good one. Thanks for your concern, but it’s not what it looks like,”. I was trying to save face…and improper spelling makes me go ape-shit. Now I’m stuck wondering.  Where do I go from here?

It all started a few weeks ago, I began to notice that I was being treated differently.  Even though I was aware that I was being handled with kit gloves, I wasn’t really sure of the reasoning behind it.  People have been speaking very slowly to me and smiling more.  Not people that know me well, but the regular strangers I come in contact with on my daily travels.  You may be saying to yourself “Golly, that’s weird. Why would that happen?  Did you have an accident, Scarp? A head injury, maybe?” Or you could be saying “This isn’t Mayberry.  I don’t used the word “golly”.  Quit trying to put words in my mouth, you pushy bitch…and get to the friggin’ point.” Either way, I appreciate you reading up until this point, so I will explain.  I have accidentally, with the help of a very well-meaning beautician friend, bleached my hair platinum blonde.  I say accidentally, because we were going for a golden tone.  What we got was…um…a lovely hue of safety cone orange.  Apparently, the only way to fix this…is to cry…and then add more highlights. My boyfriend, who initially tried to sway me away from the at-home hair coloring, was kind enough not to say “I told you so, go put a hat on”.

I am the super skank that he is parading around town, the nerve of me.  Evidently people don’t spend a lot of time looking at my face, I’m just hair and boobs with feet.  We were at a bar on Friday night (shocking, I know) and one of the regular lady customers, who is usually very friendly, kept giving us the stink eye.  I was half-heartedly trying to put together a viable scenario that might explain her behavior.  It was only half-hearted…because, as I have mentioned before, I don’t particularly care what people think of me anymore. At some point during the evening she bumped into me.  It was one of those accidental/on purpose collisions…at first she was defensive…and then her demeanor changed.  “Oh my God! I didn’t know you were you!” she apologized…”that’s why I was giving you a dirty look, I was just about to come over and tell you that he has a girlfriend,”.  While I appreciate everyone looking out for the sanctity of my relationship, I wish they were more observant…and used friendlier words to describe my new look.

I was fair-haired before…even though my Gravitar says differently (Mom and Aunt Lois, a Gravitar is the picture thing that shows up on my blog).  It’s the only photo I have of myself where I’m not making a stupid and/or drunk face.  For the record, I’m not always drunk or making a strange expression…just when there’s a camera around.   I’ve been this blonde before, on purpose, but that was many Scarp’s ago.  I had nearly forgotten how this shade of hair color (or colour…if yer European) changes the way people interact with me.  At any moment, I expect someone to slap a helmet on my head and start calling me “Mongo” because I’m getting so much unsolicited help.  I actually had a stranger offer to help me work an ATM last week…an ATM! It’s not a complicated electronic device.  Later in the week, someone else ask me if I was Swedish because “he detected an accent”.  I was born in Ohio and I’ve lived in South Florida almost my entire life.  Remember your history lessons in elementary school when they talked about the Swedish sailing the ocean and conquering the great peninsula of Florida? Yeah, me neither.  I don’t have an accent…there is no European sounding indigenous tongue sprouting from the swamps down here…because everyone is from somewhere else.  If I did have an accent, it would probably be New York-ish in origin…because…that “somewhere else” where everyone else is from is usually one of the Five Boroughs.

This little foray into the world of the very blonde is proving to be abundantly entertaining. I’m probably going to keep it going for a while, at least until my roots start to show and a people realize that I’m a fraud.  Maybe I can transition unsolicited assistance into unsolicited cash donations. In the meanwhile, if you see my boyfriend out with a hooker-esque looking bimbo…don’t be alarmed.

Cowboy Caviar, Jim Henson and other things.

Posted on by

4


“That Cowboy Salsa Katie made shot out of my ass like peanut-butter blasting out of a machine gun, this morning,” this is a direct quote from my boyfriend.  He’s very poetic.   I overheard him talking to his friend Ryan about his bowel movements as we were floating in a boat somewhere in the Intracoastal Waterway.  This is not the most unusual thing I’ve ever heard him say.  He has a way with words.  Often times he makes up his own words because they convey his message better.  My favorite made-up word is “Persevail” it’s a combination of “persevere” and “prevail”…and it’s hilarious.  Near as I can figure, men start talking about poop at four and it’s a common conversation topic until they die.  My son is always talking about poop.  I’m not sure if this is normal, but I’m not sure if anything that occurs in my life is normal.  I don’t ever really ask anyone.  Chances are I’d only get confirmation that my life and all the people in it are certifiably nuts.  It keeps things interesting.

The Cowboy Salsa that my boyfriend was referring to is actually called “Cowboy Caviar”.  It’s a delicious concoction of Garbanzo Beans, Corn, Tomatoes, and other shit that I don’t care to identify, but they make my mouth happy.  Incidentally, Garbanzo Beans always make me think of Gonzo from the Muppets.  As I type, I have visions of him sexually harassing a chicken dancing through my head. This is probably evidence that I’m crazy too.  I think of the Muppets a lot.  Not the new, homogenized Muppets that suck.  The old, anti-PETA chicken launching, “Pigs in Space” acid trip, Muppets that shaped my childhood.  Jim Henson and his felt friends created the first music videos I ever laid eyes on.  They never get credit for this.  When you watch the VMA Awards on MTV and some transgender looking idiot gets up to accept their Moonman; they thank God, their mothers, agents and fans…but they never thank Jim.  Jim shoved 18 pigs on a pirate ship and had them sing “In the Navy”…before most of these music video directors could even hold a camera.  They are hailed as being visionaries…but they really aren’t.  Jim was the visionary, they’re just ungratefully riding on his coattails.

Anyway, back to the caviar…it’s made by Katie, she’s the fabulous girlfriend of my boyfriend’s roommate.  I don’t ever use the word fabulous lightly.  When I say fabulous, I mean it.  Katie makes large portions of this salsa-like dip on a regular basis.  When she does, I have learned that she requires herself to wear cowboy boots.  I wouldn’t believe it either, but I’ve seen it with my own two eyes.  I feel that I should inform you that no one was intoxicated when this occurred.  This is one of the reasons that Katie is awesome,  she plays dress-up all the time.  She’s like a real-life Barbie, only she’s prettier and actually has facial expressions.  I have never once wanted to cut off all of her hair and shove her in the trunk of a pink Corvette, like I did to my Barbie’s when I was a girl.

When I first met her, I wasn’t real sure what to think.  My boyfriend and I went to a wedding out of town and when we returned Katie and her friend had taken up residence in my boyfriend’s room.  They were visiting from somewhere up north for the week.  My boyfriend made fun of me for the bag and a half of things I took with me for our weekend getaway.  He quickly apologized when he saw the amount of clothing and shoes I could be lugging around with me.  They brought a loooot of stuff with them.  There was girl-swag EVERYWHERE.  My boyfriend is a bit of neat-nick,  I thought he was going to blow a gasket, which he probably did internally.  On the outside he was cool as a cucumber.  His apartment is a revolving carousel of interesting people, it never much worried me that there were two women I didn’t know staying there.  I actually thought it was nice to have some girls around, that way we could talk about something besides poop or other male topics.  The other girl eventually left, but Katie stuck around.

It took me a little while to formulate an opinion on Katie.  I wasn’t real sure what was behind the wardrobe choices, the Britney Spears obsession, and the Spice Girls music that always seemed to be playing when she was getting ready for a night out.  I’ve mentioned before, that I am not the most feminine woman on the planet.  It takes me an hour to get ready for an evening on the town, tops.  I normally do this with a beer in my hand.  Katie’s preparation happens over a few hours with the help of vodka shots.  It’s done in phases.  I’m pretty sure Phase One is a shower and Phases Two and Three involve hair and make-up.  But I could be wrong.  The end result is full-blown glamazon.  It doesn’t matter how many vodka shots she does, she never seems drunk.

I look forward to seeing which Katie-persona is going to walk out of the bedroom.  Sometimes she looks like a 1940’s Sailor Pin-up girl, sometimes she’s dressed like one of Santa’s helpers complete with red velvet, fur trimmed mini-skirt.  She’s very entertaining and unapologetically herself.  Everyday is a reason to celebrate and dress-up, it’s refreshing.  I sometimes wish I could be more like her, but then I remember that I’m a dude in a chick’s body and vodka makes me sleepy or angry.  Katie is the only one who can be Katie.  I’ll just stick to being Sara, it’s what I do best.