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.
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