(Cole):

 

I’m going to start this week’s post off with a little throw back from a few weeks ago.  More specifically, why I’m still a little sketched out about whether or not someone actually did speak to my father or mother about my job predicament, in addition to other things…

 

First off, my father threw my mother under the proverbial bus and said that she went through my paperwork and shit.  Fine.  Maybe she did, but whatever paperwork she could have gone through wouldn’t have said anything about fornicating with strangers while married, or chillin’ in my kiddy pool topless.  I mean, I never addressed anything pertaining to either scenario.  Primarily, because why would I, and secondly, what would any of that have to do with my work situation anyway?    

At first I believed what my father said, thought that perhaps my mother had read my appeal letter to corporate security and misunderstood, but nothing in my appeal letter mentioned anything about infidelity or nudity.  I could understand my father protecting my mother, but not him sacrificing her for some random stranger that wanted to alienate myself from my parents.  Why shoot my mother in the foot to protect someone else, especially a stranger, if indeed it was a stranger??? 

I don’t know what actually happened, but I do know this:  Once Sedouche found out I was fucking someone else, (as apposed to him) he wanted to know who it was.  When I told him I wouldn’t ever tell him who it was, he said as soon as he did find out, he would go to my ex and tell him who it was, and go to the man I was fucking (rapist) and tell him that it was completely inappropriate to be fucking the estranged wife of a co-worker.  All of the sudden Sedouche had become something holy and superior, in his mind.  If I wasn’t going to fuck him, he damn sure wasn’t going to allow me to fuck anyone else!  In the blink of an eye he went from a dirty fucking dog to the holiest of saints.

    

He may have never found out whom Rapist was, but he knew damn straight who my ex was, and I have no doubt that the two of them had a nice little chat.  Funny little fact about my ex.  He likes to be perceived as an innocent little angel, but he’s a sneaky, back-stabbing, manipulating coward!  He comes across as so pristine, so angelic, but he would slit his own mother’s throat if he thought it would get him what he wanted.  He likes to be the sweet, shy guy, but while you’re getting him a glass of water he’s trying to figure out how to fuck you in the ass without getting caught. 

Martichyst is a classic manipulater.  He would come home from work and snicker about how he got a guy on his crew kicked off.  Why?  Just because he didn’t like him.  I may be an asshole, but at least I’m up front about it.  Not Martychist.  He’ll kick you while you’re down and then, while blaming that fateful blow to your back on someone else, he’ll offer his hand and dust the dirt off of you, just to show you what a nice guy he is.  It’s people like that you have to worry about, not the other way around.  If I don’t like you, you’ll know it, and I won’t sucker punch you either.  You’ll have plenty of time to prepare and you’ll see my fist coming from a mile away.  If I’ve met someone and I don’t like them I won’t say “it was nice to meet you”, I’ll just be like, “ok, bye”, and that’s if I even acknowledge them at all.

Faced in such a situation, I can’t help but ask myself, ‘what in the fuck is going on here?!!!’

I try not to stress about it.  Really, now that I’m living with Marge and her gorgeous daughters, everything just feels great, and after months of waking up sick with anxiety, it’s really, really nice to be living somewhere I feel safe, happy, and accepted (emphasis on the “accepted” part).  That being said, I’ve renewed my convictions about contacting the NRC (nuclear regulatory commission) and a lawyer, and suing the fuck out of PG&E and Sedouche, for basically taking my livelihood away and making it next to impossible for me to take care of myself financially.

(As a side note, a friend of mine who is in the “business” told me that it might be beneficial for Marge and I to start posting more than once a week.  I have decided that I will post what I wanted to eventually publish as a “novella” of sorts, one chapter at a time or so, about what happened to me out at the plant and what my life was like while going through it and what I have been dealing with since.  I spoke to Marge about it, about if it even made any sense to post something like that, since this blog is supposed to be about dating and she said to me ‘is it just about dating, or is it about relationships?”  And she was right, as she most always is.  It is about relationships, life, love, dating, and getting shit on -figuratively, not literally- so fuck it!  Names will be changed so I don’t get sued, hell, I’ll even change the name of the power plant that fucked me in the ass with a cactus without lube!  I don’t really care what I have to do, but I think writing about what really happened to me will be therapeutic, and that is basically the reason we started this blog in the first place…)

Bueno.  Now that we have all that out of the way, I can address something that has been bothering me since my last post. 

First and foremost, I was a complete hypocrite.  

I realize that, now, in retrospect.  That’s one thing, among many, that’s nice about being “single”.  You can make an ass out of yourself, realize it, make amends with yourself, and not have to explain yourself to anyone aside from the voices in your head.

I speak of not wanting to have to define things, “definitively”, of not wanting to dissect things to death or have to explain or rationalize anything to anyone, yet there I was, trying to pinpoint exactly what it was that was going on between Rapist and I. 

I’ve always been a bit of a free spirit, as someone who can just go with the flow or roll with the punches, but the truth is, I was trying to put a label on what Rapist and I had together, and that is basically a sin in my fucked up, irrational world, and besides that, something that I am totally against!  If I don’t ever want to be considered someone’s girlfriend or have to consider one my boyfriend, why was I dissecting my relationship with Rapist to death in order to define it?  What is the point?  If I truly hate labels, why label anything? 

The one good thing about calling yourself out as a hypocrite is trying to prove to yourself that you aren’t one.  Once I realized I was being completely irrational, I had an epiphany.  Why try to define what I have with Rapist?  Why not just sit back, chill the fuck out, and see where it goes?  In addition to that, why not take it a step further, and just consider myself single? 

That may sound sort of jacked up, but I mean, why not?  I’m a fairly attractive, interesting, 29 year-old woman who has had all sorts of awesome experiences all over the world!  Why limit myself to just one man?

I don’t mean that in the sense that I’m going to whore myself out all around town, but I mean, why walk around with “fuck you” tattooed across my forehead when I can smile, bat my eyes, and open myself up the possibility of actually dating someone nice, in public, and having a great time while I’m at it? Why limit myself to someone I have to date in the closet when I can date someone completely new, in public, without hesitation?

The idea of this all came to fruition at farmers market last Saturday.  I had been so apposed to the possibility of meeting other men for so long that I forgot how amazing it is to just check a dude’s ass out.

Blame it on the hangover, blame it on the scent of fresh, delicious fruit, or blame it on the fact that there were some very sexy, “young”, and delicious looking specimen of the male variety there that day, but something clicked in my head and reminded me that, well, I may be “seeing” someone, but I’m not sworn to them, and until I am, I’m a free fucking agent!  Hallelujah!