Wednesday, August 9, 2017

Myspace or your space?

This shit was my wedding day. I’m 28 years old in this picture, I have a new baby and I’m relatively good looking. I should be happy, right? One would think so. Can you see the look of concern on my baby’s face? I have this look of “Fuck it, I guess this is it, someone pass me the bottle of champagne” Yanko (that’s my ex-husbands name) is thoroughly disgusted. His sour ass face is straight up HATING me already and we have just barely said our vows. We were married in his brother’s backyard in New Jersey, don’t ask me what month or year anymore as I have shoved those details into the farthest and darkest corners of my mind hoping never to remember; it was a crap relationship to begin with and this marriage would set the tone for the next two years. A picture is worth a thousand words? Choke on this shit people. We fucking hated each other. I at least tried to look like I wasn’t going to kill him in his sleep. Don’t worry, I’ll keep this short and sweet just like my marriage.

Yanko and I met on Myspace. Hahahahahahahaha. Myspace: should just end the story here. Nuff said. Myspace is to the dating world what Kmart is fine clothing retail. After some time messaging back and forth we agreed to meet up at a bar, because what else would an alcoholic chick who likes to dance and thinks she’s hot shit do? For real, I thought I had mad game back in the day. I was at the same bar every Thursday – Saturday. It is NOT respectable when the bouncers all know you by first name and know that you dance alone. I always danced alone and the bouncers were kind enough to re-inforce that for me. It is NOT respectable when you are on a first name basis with the musicians and they know “your” song is Mustang Sally and play it for you at approximately the same time each night because they understand that pretty soon those shots of Patron and Gin and Tonic chasers are going to catch up with you and your dancing is compromised – and that’s a generous understatement. It’s NOT respectable to lose your belongings at the bar and say “fuck it” because you know you’ll be back next week and Ted (bartender) will hold onto your crap for you. So, Yanko and I met at my bar. I spit my game, he spits his and 6 months later I was preggo.

This dude was crazy tall! 6’7” to be exact. When he wore shoes, which was rare because his ass lived in flip flops, he was 6’8” or taller. I would go to give him a hug and my eyes were level with his nipples. I felt like a midget. Sorry - little person. No, fuck it! Midget. My blog, my rules. I think there was something attractive about him being so damn big but at the moment I can’t remember. I just remember having neck aches from having to look up all the damn time. Now that I think about it, I’m kinda pissed we didn’t go to concerts; his shoulders would have been perfect for viewing. I’m sorry little people behind us, you can’t see? Guess you should have purchased seated tickets instead of lawn seats like us peasants. He wasn’t all bad. He liked animals, was cool with plants, and for better or worse is a good father to our son. We were/are just complete opposite ends of the spectrum. For the most part I’m happy-go-lucky (yes, I am!) and he was always (yes, always) more like someone just kicked his dog. I can’t be happy for you and you can’t drag me down. The bottom is too cold for me.

Why get married? Because I told him he better marry me. LMAO. Yes, that is exactly how that shit went down. It is my own damn fault I am in that wedding photo wondering if I am going to make it through the night. It is my fault I am wondering if I just spent $400.00 on a gown that I will most likely defecate in later. You know you shit yourself when you die, right? I looked that nearly 7-foot-tall Sasquatch in the eye and said: “You better marry!” I had never before said something so stupid (not true, definitely said dumber shit before; will again too I’m sure) I was empty as hell on the inside and I think I was trying to fill my emptiness with someone else’s empty. Guess what? Still empty, but now I’m empty and angry. 

I keep looking back at the wedding photo for inspiration. He didn’t even wear shoes to our wedding. He wore his Vans. Beat up kicks with holes in the bottom. We ate subs that night and shitty shrimp cocktail. The only redeeming part of the evening was that my dad was there. I wanted to cry the whole time. I wanted to cry and drink and forget and hide. I couldn’t though. I created this shit. I created it and now I was stuck in New Fucking Jersey!!!

Holy shit, Tina! “This just got really fucking dark and fucked up,” you may be saying to yourself - don't. I laugh my ass off when I look at this photo. I for real thought I was going to shit the dress. I for real thought my life was over. The disdain and visible disgust is comic to me now. I honestly thought I was going to be stuck for the rest of eternity tethered to a douche bag that I hated and I knew HATED the fuck out me too. Nothing is permanent, or at least it doesn’t have to be.

I could not have imagined the twists and turns my life would take, some good and some bad, but they’re all mine and I own them much like I own my foul mouth and quirky ways. It’s what makes me, me. I had no idea then that that woman up there would become the woman I am today. If your life is shit today, hang in there, it could get worse tomorrow; but it could also get better.




 Hang in there ~ it gets better... 

ps: I lied about it being short. I'm still a liar :) 

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