Lemme Tell Ya About The Time .... #1a

I've had some weird thoughts in my time, and one of the oddest of them all was that men and women can remain friends after they've broken up. In my time, I've only managed to do it once, and while it was a long and arduous process, it was well worth the effort.

That one time.

The last time I tried it I was driven by fiscal motives; the crazy woman, who we'll call, oh say, Nutjob, owed me five hundred bucks. I figgered, what the hell, we can put up with Nutjob until I get my simoleans back and then, like the Road Runner, I am outta there.

We broke up because she turned out to be crazy insane. Not like 'eating banana peel' crazy, or 'hopelessly addicted to soap opera' crazy, but honest, genuine, balls to the walls, shrieking from the rooftop, rocking in the corner crazy. I put up with insane demands (like, if I was home from work first, I should have the lights down low and have Oprah on the teevee so she could just sit down and watch), frequent 'what is that noise, do you hear that noise, what is that noise', incessant 'I have problems I don't want to talk about with you, but I am most definitely going to blame you later on'. All usual shit, you know? In for a penny, in for a pound, unless that pound turns out to be a pound of crazy.

Was it the fact that she bought me an awesome jacket for Christmas and then borrowed money from me to put on her Visa? (My buddy ChubbyMonk pointed out to me months later that I had, in fact, bought my own Xmas gifts.) Was it that I loaned her money to have her nails done at one of the most ludicrously expensive nail salons in the entire world? (They serve champagne there while you're having it done). Was it that she went ballistic Def Con One when I used her backscrubber to briskly scrub the shaved bits of hair from my freshly mown skull, thereby ruining it in the process? Or, maybe it was the time I confused 'fuzzy' slippers with 'furry' slippers, and the argument that followed lasted two weeks? (I still don't know what the fuck the difference is, and I don't give a shit.)

No, folks, it was when she made me break my own cardinal rule: EvilMister, no matter how mad he gets, shall not ever raise his voice or his fist in anger at the ones he loves.

Nutjob likes to yell, scream and throw things when she gets mad. I have been called some of the most heinous things a man can ever be called by the one who 'loves' him. Now, I don't take shit lying down, but I also know that, if the cops come, the big, red-faced man who has a voice that can knock down walls will be the first one to get tazered, so I keep myself calm. It was arguing all day and night, and then waking up in the morning as if nothing had happened or been said that drove the nail in the coffin; when I call a woman 'a crazy cocksucking bitch' and 'the stupidest woman in the world', I expect that, when morning comes, we're going to have a rational discussion concerning what happened.

Not once. Never. It was 'you asshole' and 'cunt' and all those wonderful, spiteful things you can imagine two people call one another and then it was 'pass the butter, lover' in the space of 24 hrs.

I am masochistic. I am sadistic. I am mean, nasty, arrogant and aggressive (I'm also a sweetheart, but only to friends or people who can give me stuff). But I don't put up with crazy bitches pretending they didn't imply that I'd rather fuck animals. (After all the yelling and the not having sex because I liked to do things she didn't and had problems with that, I was getting pretty goddamned close, let me tell you!)

I'll continue later on, with the time Nutjob and I had our last and best fight in the perfume section of the Sears in Pacific Center Mall.....

And here it is!! Lemme Tell Ya About The Time .... #1b