I went to the eye doctors today on my lunch break. I had been postponing my visit since almost three weeks ago, thanks to my god-awful short term memory, which failed to remind me to go day after day, since an appointment is not necessary. Until my pissed off mother reminded me of the horrible fate that befalls someone who fails to show up for four weeks in a row (No more free check-ups). Incredible how a pissed off succubus can jump-start your memory. I sure as hell didn’t forget to go today.
When the doctor checked my eyes, he said my tears are Contaminated. What the fuck? I imagined glowing, green ooze seeping from my eyes at that moment.

Why do I get such bizarre mental pictures when I’m at that clinic?

In another subject, I was discussing something with my significant other which left me thinking. We were talking about how complicated relationships can be. An odd topic to discuss amongst ourselves, since we carry a rather honest, simple relationship devoid of shit, because there’s no other way to put it. There’s no shit between us, and there’s no need to bring shit into the relationship. Clean and simple. And I love it that way.
But now I’ve gone into a reverie thinking about the complexity of relationships past. The last three imbecil… I mean… ex boyfriends come to mind.

Insane in the Love Membrane # 1

The first of the last three, a jaded, shaven-headed, vertically challenged ball of ego. I don’t even know what drove me to go after this guy. He was so tiny. In more ways than one… *snicker*
Guess it was the "surfer dude ‘tude". Feh.
I noticed things weren’t peaches and cream when he started feeling jealous of the quality time I spent with my family and friends (Which was preposterous, since I spent like 70% of my free time with him and the rest was divided among friends and family). He manipulated me to the point where I disobeyed a direct order from my parents to not leave the house under any circumstance, which nearly made my father change all of the padlocks around the house and lock me out that night. Things with my parents haven’t been the same since then.
The straw that broke the camel’s back was when one of my dearest friends from high school called me and told me to meet her one day to go to the movies, since I’ve gone about 6 months without seeing her. I called the dickhead with anticipation to tell him that I was going to be a few hours late to his house because of this, and he totally freaked out. All of a sudden he exploded into this fit of rage and started saying I was irresponsible and deceitful. I was at a loss of words.
Had this happenned around this time and the one with his jaw on the floor would have been him. But I let it slide. I went out with my friend and had a great time, but I felt worried. I tried calling him later in the night to see if he had came out of bitch mode. He didn’t pick up my phone for two straight days.
He called me later to officially break up with me. Over the phone. I’m reminded now of that guy in Sex and the City who broke up with Carrie with a fucking post-it note. No explanations, no nothing. Any other person would have been royally pissed off and would have stormed his house in a fit of rage and smacked some sense into his misshapen bald skull. But I din’t. I didn’t even hate him. Of course I was upset, but not enough to actually want to set things right. Deep inside I knew that whatever I felt for that guy was an empty need for affection which was corresponded very poorly in the last months of the relationship, so I didn’t even feel like looking his way afterwards.
Until I remembered the bastard had one of my CD’s.
Goddamn my disposition to always lend shit to people!
A few weeks later I saw him from afar in a pub, and I knew some shit was bound to happen. It didn’t. I ignored him, he ignored me.
I went to a club later, where apparently he followed me (we never went to that club when we were together) and he finally confronted me and tried to insult me some more. I interrupted him halfway: "Yeah yeah, whatever. Look, I left my CD in your house, so I’m gonna drop by someday–"
He interrupted me back, and sputtered the most absurd and pathetic thing I have ever heard from anyone, ever:
"You think that after all the drinks, all the meals and the club entrances I have paid for you I’m gonna give you that CD back? I think that CD’s mine by now".
I blanked fot a few seconds and then exploded in laughter right in his face. Then I turned around and left him there fuming, never to see him again.
I may have lost a $17.99 CD, but I guess it’s been overpayed with the Banana Republic shirt and the Calvin Klein leather wallet I mooched off of his childish ass before we broke up. Tough break, Papa smurf.
He may have been much older than me (about seven years) but seemed to have the mental capacity of a pre-pubescent girl. And dealing with someone like that is some complicated shit, I tell you.

The other two, well, I guess they’re going to take a considerable chunk of post when I get to them, so I’ll tackle the second one tomorrow. Same time, same station.

Adieu vive la france, c’est la vie, cavernet sauvignon.

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