Fuck You All Assholes!

Fuck you, son of a bitch asshole!  I hate you, I hate you, I hate

you!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I hope you die!  I would be happy if you die and rot in hell!

You called me on your cell phone and just kept still, waiting for me to ask about that freaking10-hr.++ wedding?  So what the hell would I know about what to ask you, huh, Fucky???

Every time this happens I get on my nerves and just want to whack you with a chainsaw on your noggin!

I wanna kill all of you!!!

The movie in my mind will be about me murdering all of you -- you and your siblings

STARRING: (Okay, as time moves on, I might change some of the names here.)

Fucktard/Shithead -- the husband of this blog's owner

Gaylord -- the brother who is a closet queen

Butch -- the sister who is a lesbo

Chong -- the brother who acts like he is pure Chinese,  when he is not even fluent with the language

Dimmy  -- the sister who is dim-witted

Baldo -- the brother who is balding

Richie -- the sister who has a billionaire husband

Tubby -- the sister whose body is as big as the Titanic


Oh and before I forget, I want to thank Mariel Clayton for the photo I used.  This is the second time I borrowed her marvelous, artistic work of art.

The Wedding and Other Side Stories

Around 2pm today, one of the most lavish and ultra-extravagant wedding events in the history of this island beach's shores will be happening.

Four days of bookings in various 5-star deluxe hotels surrounding the island's powdery white sandy beach -- to accommodate local and foreign guests from all over the world.

And then several venues for the following: One, to accommodate the pre-wedding party. Another venue for the cocktail party. Another one again for the actual wedding dinner reception.  And finally, the last one, another posh venue for an after-wedding drinking (and cavorting) party until sunrise for friends of the couple.  Wow.

My, oh, my...  And it happens to be that of Fucky's slutty-looking niece, and her Latino, moronic fiance.  I am here in the house, with my darling daughter and bratty pooch, brewing with anger, because Fucky, and everyone in his family of shitheads left us.  Yes, because we are sick with the (insert *fake* here) flu.

I got upset when I had to pull myself to rise up from bed this morning, because the househelp in my MIL's house -- which happens to be just right beside ours -- were having a laughing-like-a-hyena spree, complete with screaming, tickling, and all.  Just like stupid birds who escaped from their cage, so to speak.

Of course, a few days ago, I had to inform them, that there will only be myself and my daughter in this house, super sick and trying desperately to recuperate.  So utter silence and proper decorum should be observed, as their voices are clearly heard from our bedrooms upstairs.

I did not expect these ratty maids to have their own "party" while the cats are away, that even the drivers are having so much fun chatting and screaming with glee at the top of their lungs with these girl helpers.

I had to text Fucky, and told him to inform his mother (my MIL), to remind these househelp to be at least, a little considerate of us, patients, who are currently in house arrest.  Fucky even had to call them to remind them to be quiet and less rowdy.  Tsk, tsk, tsk.  These housemaids are so hard-headed, they could not take a mild and gentle reminder to keep still.

So I had to get up from bed this morning, even if I still have a heavy cloud in my head from the meds I drank the night before -- I went down, and slammed shut the connecting door from my kitchen to my MIL's house to let them know I was greatly upset, and disturbed from where I was in my sickbed upstairs.

I tell you, why does all things -- animate (or otherwise) -- and just about everything connected with Fucky's family, so annoying and so tempting to annihilate???

Still wishing the wedding happening at this very moment turns out to be the worst wedding of all time...  Summoning all the evil spirits of diarrhea and vomiting.................. (Excluding my son in that verbal spell I just said).

Sour 16th Wedding Anniversary

I cannot deny the fact that Fucktard came from a family who is several millions richer than mine.  So rich, that they can splurge and spend money on family affairs as if money was going out of style.

Well this year (and I mean, since way back January), a lot of waking hours were spent by his family to plan for the wedding of their most precious first granddaughter/niece.  One entire year's worth of planning for the most lavish destination wedding of the year in this island somewhere in my part of the globe.

Of course, Fucktard had to prepare well for it too.  You know... buying outfits for four days of partying in style.  So much so that I did not have a Christmas Eve dinner with him -- just like what most families in my culture would do during the Christmas season.

I am sooo mad and angry, I feel like butchering all of them for ruining my holiday season --- all in the name of being involved in this billion-dollar wedding of the century.

This is the second day that my darling daughter and I are in this house -- just the two of us, and our precious pooch.  The rest of Fucktard's family are all together in this party island of theirs.  They all flew out of town at the first crack of dawn yesterday.

There is a tropical typhoon somewhere in the province, but nothing can stop them from attending this wedding.  I hope all of them die of diarrhea after eating the food.

According to the billion-dollar-looking, thick invite, there will be a "Despedida de Soltera" in this deluxe hotel near the powdery, white, sandy beach.  Now, the Spanish term I mentioned -- (for the benefit of my co-husband haters out there) -- means "Farewell to Bachelorettehood" Party.  I did not consult Google for that, so I guess that makes it a poor translation, but I believe it is the most accurate one, in my limited stock knowledge of Spanish vocabulary.

And then, of course, the cocktails and main dinner reception will take place in another deluxe hotel, beach front too, of course.

And then an after-party for the friends of the couple will happen in another nearby, beach front deluxe venue again.  Wow, that accounts for three or four different party venues to go to and prepare lavish outfits for also.

Naturally, Fucktard, and my fun-loving son prepared for it well.  And should I mention here again, that I did not at all have my Christmas Eve dinner (called Noche Buena in my native tongue) at home, because they were all too consumed by this shitty event!  (Or should I say -- prolly, the Christmas dinner money went to the signature tailored suits and luau outfits he bought?  Gah!)

Okay, I had to have my son go with Fucktard to represent us because my daughter and are sick with a (insert *fake* here) tough, never-wanting-to-let-up flu, so we had to stay behind...  On hindsight, my dear daughter is all too happy about the idea of staying at home, because she shares the same feelings I have for Fucktard's family.  She has her own child-reasons for it --- because Fucky's Chinese family plays favorites among the nieces and nephews, and my Darling one feels she is not one of those favored.  I validate her feelings and tell her to be resilient, and to make herself rise above the rest.  Someday, she will be able to understand more and have the strength to fight and bounce back...

Anyway, back to my main story, today actually marks our 16th wedding anniversary.  Hell, yeah.  Fucky texted me this early morning, greeting me with the usual anniversary cliche -- but I could not have the heart to text him, "There isn't anything happy about today."  Seems to me his Christmas gift of the Twilight Saga complete DVD special edition set crossed my mind this early morning, that's why I forgot to be bitchy about today's no-celebration event.  The gift is way more important to me than he is, that's why.

This evening's "Despedida de Soltera" (reminder to read my words above for the meaning of this term) will happen this evening.  I hope they all suffer a massive, bloody diarrhea for eating and drinking tonight.  (Excluding my son, of course).

Am just being bitchy again as I write this, and want to comment, that I don't agree that a party to honor the bride, and say a sweet goodbye to her single blessedness should be given, because for one, she is not at all blessed (I feel all the saints in heaven would wage war against us mortals, if we label this girl this way), and second, she is as slutty as a drunken stripper.  In my culture, such parties to honor the would be bride are given only to those who have lived a prudent, worthy of emulation kind of lifestyle.  Something that this niece is NOT.

Come on, she is one of those who party like there is no more tomorrow, and her Facebook photos can be sold to Playboy or Penthouse for all I care!  So I would say again, that the Despedida de Soltera would not fit her.  I think a slutty, striptease shower with slickly oiled gyrating macho boys coming out of a big, wooden box is more appropriate.  This would-be bride has a vagina as huge as Alaska, for heaven's sake! It simply is a big, gaping, supermassive, bearded oyster.  I needn't say more.

And I think it is also just right to mention my equally shitty sister in law here.  This one is a "butch".  Okay, for some whose vocabulary is virginal --- a "butch" is the term given to those who is also a "bitch."  Get it???  But, there is a glitch there, because there is gender-bender involved.  My sister in law is a "butch." 'Nuf said... (Please go and Google it if you still don't get it.)

Imagine -- this sister in law from Hades tagged me in FB, showing me all their photos while having their own happy time in the island sans us!  What a tactless way, really, to share news to someone who is "sick", and left behind.

LMFAO!  I truly thank technology for giving me this blog so I would be able to say the words that sort of, well, -- "heal me" of all aches and pains.

I hate this family so much,  I would really like to detach myself from their golden family tree.  Who cares if I am the rotten one!

More next time...............

Whoring Wives in FB

Holy freakin' yucchy!  This is the kind of whoring I really, truly, absolutely,
surely hate ---

Yes, I captured this from a contact's status and I can't stand this kind of crap.

17 whorers so far, and most likely counting on more 'til the rest of the day.  I could not, at any rate and strength, click the like button.

Hmmmm, I read those lines somewhere, yes?!?
From a cheesy Hallmark greeting card, where else!  Tsk, tsk, tsk, definitely NOT swagg.

I hate this #%&(@$^*) life!!!

How Many of You are Like Me?

How many of you, are like me, who has a husband who simply does not care?  I envy two of my friends who are in some ways, burdened like me, though not exactly the same...

One friend is married, with no kids.  Good for her because she can drop her husband anytime.  No little hearts will ever get hurt or bruised.

Another has kids, with no husband.  I think this one would suit me the most.  Children are the best companions anyone could ever have, I think.  The love they give is incomparable, and so unconditional.  Having a husband in the household is definitely hard to keep.  So this friend of mine is most fortunate, I believe.  No one gives her a daily dose of headache.

Looking back, when I thought I found the best one for me, I should have thought twice, no, thrice -- before committing myself to this man.  Or perhaps I should have just allowed myself to have children, without the benefit of marriage.

How many are we?  Hundreds?  Thousands? Or perhaps even millions out there, who like me, are trapped in this bondage we call marriage.

If I could muster enough courage to destroy my children and their ideals, then I would have probably ended this union way back as I could remember.  But I am deeply afraid of the consequences it will surely ball up into, that I would rather wait for myself to dry up like a withered flower.

This blog is my platform.  Where voicing out what I feel keeps me sane from all the heartaches my husband is giving.

My husband...  He does not even care if I steep in anger at home, for his incapacity to show love for me, his wife...

As simple as it may sound -- he does not open doors for me.  The three, most basic words lovers say to each other is not present.  When I am sick, he just lets me be sick.  Communications lines are broken, we do not engage even in the simplest of conversation.  All he cares about is going to work, his friends, going back home, his friends, eating his meals, his friends, the tv, his friends, sports, his friends, sleep, his friends, and his friends.  Not necessarily in that order, though.

There is so much solace in finding the words in my head, and writing them all down here.  Sometimes, dreaming of how I lived my life in the past makes me smile.  When many summers of my youth dawned and there were many of them who I should have carefully and thoughtfully chose from.

But for some reason, I allowed this guy to be in my life.

And I thought my marriage will be more beautiful than my wedding...

Sick

I am sick, and I know this will progress into something much worse in the next days to come.  Fucktard doesn't seem to care, as usual.  My entire body is in a malaise and all my bones are aching.  Hello, flu virus...

I had to ask my shitty husband for some medication because I could not pull myself to stand up and search for some meds.  He gave me -- on an empty stomach.  What a great bastard he is.  I was, for the life of me, asking if he could at least give me some food to eat before I drank the tablets, but no, he said it will be okay.

This is how taking care of me is to him.  I hate the fact that I ended up in this kind of relationship.  I would not perhaps even call it a relationship for obvious reasons, but I hate the days that I have to sit here and be with this shit.

If you are a husband, please do not treat your wives this way...

Looking back, I could just have gotten myself involved with my Malaysian/Australian pen friend, CHY, who in the past, sent feelers that he was interested in forming a relationship deeper than friendship with me.  But by that time, I was already engaged with Fucktard.

I regret the fact that I did not "shop" well for a husband.  I could not believe that I knew and had so many good boy friends in college, and there were many other better guys available for me.  Why on Earth did I get myself tangled up with this shitty guy of a husband!?!

If I could just only bring back time, I would just have kids and dropped the idea of being a wife to somebody.  Life would be less complicated when one only had kids.

When I am with my Christian friends, I could not be myself for fear of being scolded, especially by this girl friend who assumed the role of being an older sister to me.  She is in a happy marriage, and I hate reading her timeline statuses.  I feel dizzy when she whores her husband and find it equally disgusting to read their cyberspace replies to one another.  Big yuch!

Now I feel sleepy...  Guess the meds have started kicking in.  Groggy time, folks.  WIll be back in a while...................................

Ifs

I went out with my two best girl friends today. Never mind that for once I dropped and forgot what my responsibilities were to the rest of the world -- because I went out at 9:30 this morning to fetch M, drove all the way to the Fort to meet B, and voila!  I went home at 5pm+.  What a fabulous day this was, really.  Because I had almost an entire day spent with my highschool buds -- just talking, laughing, and regretting things over in our lives.

My friend, M told me that she read this blog, and though I was quite surprised that she remembered the title/address, I don't really mind that she "discovered" it.

Well to add, D -- the hero of "A Most Refreshing Dream" surfaced again in the conversation this afternoon, and I was asked the random question of whether I would go play with fire if faced with the chance of encountering this guy again.  The answer is NO.  Perhaps if we both did NOT have kids, that would come easy...  But to destroy and break our children's hearts is something I would not be able to do...  I have faith in myself that I still have my conscience in place.

Perhaps only in my wildest dreams will I be able to do so...

BUT.

Maybe if he writes me again, I would prolly not be able to resist writing back.  Did I fail to mention that this guy writes fairly well...?

So there goes your question, M.  You're my BFF, so I know my secret's safe with you.

I feel lighter today than in most days...  After having breakfast with my besties, which lagged on to the rest of the entire day for coffee and cake, and while waiting for the afternoon rain to stop pouring.

Again, I am faced with crystal clear images of lost loves, thinking and imagining that maybe one or two of them could have been a great candidate for husbandhood.

What if one of the guys I mentioned here would read the stuff I have written? What if they knew all along it was them?  What if... 

Would I stop writing about them? Or would I start acting as though I am an entirely different person all throughout?

Guess I don't really care anymore.  As long as I could write and reminisce...  Or reminisce and write...  Then these are my only consolation.  I would not let anyone take it away from me.

Former Loves Before Fucktard

I am alone and Fucktard is not here.  I mentioned writing about the other men in my life.  There were lots of them, and I immensely enjoyed my college days because of so many of them -- who took away my lonesomeness after I broke off with my very first boyfriend of two years...

This list is not in the order these guys came into my life:

There was D, of course, the object of my refreshing dream  -- and whose profile I recently saw on Facebook.

And there was F, who is now a high-ranking politician in this province up North. This guy is another great guy, and one great guy he will be, until the end.  We didn't become lovers, but we often dated.  Just like that.  He played the drums, and he liked jazz, we had so many things in common, and music was one thing that linked us together.  Unfortunately that time, we both didn't want to be involved with anyone just yet. We liked each other very much, but for some reason, the "mutual" relationship, whatever or however one could term it, died a natural death.  This guy is also in, -- you guessed it right, -- Facebook.

J belonged to a then-popular dance group composed of 3 guys, and we also dated, but he is practically in show business, and I didn't like the idea of exposing and sharing my love life with the public.  So we remained friends, and eventually, he disappeared just like that.

I went out with boys but managed to preserve myself until I married Fucktard.  Looking back, I should have played along, and strung out these guys like pearls.  Just like what most of my girl friends did in college.

I drove my own car and didn't ride with my dates.  How prudish I was, you see!  I think I managed to ride with D when we dated.  But that was it, and all I could remember. Or my parents had a driver drive for me, and a nanny who went along with me even at school...

To this day, my high school buddies and I often meet every month or so, just to eat, chat, and be merry.  We often end up talking about old or lost loves, or how our choices in the past could have altered the present...

There was another J whom I dated, and he too was in show business.  But the guy was torn between me and a former love, so I junked him.  It wouldn't be so if his former didn't pester me on the phone, crying that she needed him.  I hate soap operas. (And just like the soap opera that he starred in, he lived a life like so.)

T was a spinner and disc jockey, and I resented the fact that I was much taller than he was.  He was a  super slob too and wanted to get in my pants after only a few weeks of getting to know each other.  This animal masturbated right in front of me when I refused to go to bed with him.  What a major ass this guy was.  Looking back, I'm just thankful he did just that than force himself on me.  What he did in front of me instantly devirginized my eyes, and earned him the title of royal slob.  What a major creep.  Saw him in ubiquitous FB, and he looks like a loser now.  Poor guy.  But what he lacked in height, he makes up for penis circumference and all, hahahah!  I remember how he jacked off in front of me -- he looked silly, and I felt like I wanted to puke while I watched.  I think T should earn himself a separate entry in this blog.

R had the deepest, soothing voice ever.  I believe I played around with this poor guy's heart.  I found him boring as ever, and I hated the way he dressed up like an office worker when we went out.  I thought he could fit in my type, but I was wrong.  There wasn't anything we could talk about, and my interests were not his interests.  He could not supply anything about the books I read, or the dogs I loved, and I think he did not even read the articles that I wrote in the magazine I was working for.

A was Chinese, (a bit like me) -- but also a lot older than I was.  I thought we'd end up together, but just the same, I grew tired of him.  HE HAD HAS A SMALL TINY PENIS.  I just know.  Okay, so who wants to have a boy toy with an itty-bitty penis?

More random posts next time...

Random Thoughts

When I started exchanging letters with D, I kept a copy of what I sent to the US, and of course, kept what he wrote back to me too. 

Once again I regret that I had to throw all those letters when I was about to be wed to Fucktard.  Damn it!!!  Those letters would have come in handy during times like these -- that I feel so ugh!

When I wrote that post about D a few weeks ago, I was thinking, he should not read what I wrote (or intend to write).  But to hell, I now do not care at all even if he reads this entire blog.  Or anyone for that matter.  As long as I remain faceless, then that would suffice.

I like that I can write anything that comes up in my brain, whether senseless things outpour, and my entries deviate from what is supposed to be written -- like how I hate to be jailed in this fucking relationship...

I am one smart ass, and I end up, with this freak of a husband.  He is soooo insensitive, I tell ya.  Imagine, I worked hard to get fabulous grades in college, became quite a popular figure in campus while writing articles for a teen magazine, was given a column of my own, wrote for other magazines after that, even wrote for the University paper, graduated cum laude, took up master's, taught in the academe, and all I get is this SHIT!

Okay, I ended up marrying a guy who comes from a family of educators, and culinary enthusiasts.  But to me, they are all brainless shits because they don't even get it that they are such a wise-crack family, and I wanna get the hell out of their family tree.

This entry is so wayward, my mind is racing from all angles, and I just could not get what I truly want to write about.  I just want to write.

Oh please, world, talk to me.  Where are the ladies who wrote me a few months or weeks ago, telling me about how shitty their husbands are too???  Email back, girls!

I feel like I want to join the lonely hearts club.

In Facebook, I want to kill all those wives who whore their husbands in their accounts.

I hate it when people post stuff like, "Coffee with my sweetest hubby!"

Or, "Happy Anniversary, Honey!  I thank the heavens for you!" 

Ermagherd, if "Like" buttons could only be bomb buttons, I would gladly push them in one entire day.

Nothing Else to Write About

I just remembered -- I failed to reply to two people who left a message in this blog.  Will have to make a mental note to reply to them...

The evening is boring as usual.  A slight rain pour is happening outside as I type this.  Turns out there is a typhoon.  Everyone is asleep -- son and husband, and dog are all knocked out , except for me and my daughter, who is in her room and reading some fan fiction love story.

Sometimes I am tempted to write a story and submit to fan fiction.  But then I get chicken when I daydream that it would hit a zillion readers, and I'd be forced to divulge who I really am.  So I guess this blog will suffice at the moment.  To this time I still regret that I had to destroy my other blogs.  Why didn't I ever think of migrating them here, instead of hitting that delete button!

My cough has progressed into a post nasal drip.  The itchy throat is disgusting and I have to take anti-allergy meds because of this.  Which makes me damn sleepy all the time.

Quite crazy, but I dreamt of D again.  Further, I looked and saw that his daughter and I share the same name.  Well at least, my second name is her first name.  Which also happens to be the first name of my daughter.  How odd!  And his son's second name is the first name of my son too.  Doubly odd!  Now that's what I call a strange coincidence.

As I am typing this, and mentioned earlier, all the world is alseep, except for me and my darling daughter.  She took after me -- a night owl.

I shall prolly write about the other men who came and went out of my life.  Among others, only D and another one -- F, tops the list of those I will never forget.  Although F and I never really came to be.

More about them next time.

Irritants and Other Things

As I am writing this, some things are irritating me: 

- my dog who wants to be carried, picked up, and scratched.

- my shitty husband who lingers behind my laptop to do some things I know may be postponed for tomorrow.

- and the thought that I've wasted at least 3 or 4 blogs in the past -- whose contents are of equal importance as the ones written in this present one, and which I decided to delete in the past because I thought my situation at home will improve.

No. 1 irritant is already taken care of.  Spoiled rotten dog is on the table, close to my laptop.
No. 2 won't be taken care of unless I get a machete and run amuck here.
No. 3 will never be brought back or changed. Ever.  And I've had so may interesting stories there.  Too bad I just decided to open up another one recently.  Too many wasted thoughts thrown away...  Too many recorded feelings wasted.

I am sleepy and my head is spinning.  I've just had the flu and the water tastes so bitter.  Wish I could drink like my girl friends.  This entry is a random thing.  I was just thinking -- how the hell did I end up with a fluke husband!

I finished my BA with honors.  Took my MA and got a decent job in education.  Now am working on another degree and hope to shift gears later on in the working world.  When I get so fucked up in this house, I do my sign language stuff and shitty husband doesn't know what the hell am I saying!

When I go out with my girl friends, they often think how fortunate I am for having a husband. 

One friend is divorced.  She has a regular fuck buddy, though.  Well, that is how she wants to call him.  A nameless, fuck buddy.  At least, she has an unboring, colorful, and exciting sex life!

Another one strongly feels that her husband should at least be at par with her in terms of achievement/s and I guess, wallet size.  One of us asked about her husband --  does he need her because he loves her, or does he love her because he needs her???  Fierce.

And the last, she thought she was a wife.  But turns out there were two or three of them.  So end of story, annulment case is done and finished.

And there is poor me...  Poor me in disguise.  The flip side of all current affairs are all under cover.  No one can know.  Husband has businesses...  He has his super shitty group of friends I call my enemies. 

Oh God, I feel so lonely...

A Most Refreshing Dream

I had the most refreshing dream ever.  Just as my title says above -- I dreamt that my old boy friend and I met again, and fortunately, he seemed to be still attracted and interested in me --  boink!!! in my dream!  I almost fell off the bed for dreaming about wild stuff...  Seriously, but I felt good when I got up for work.

Oh how I truly miss this guy, D -- met him in college and he was from the U.S.  Met him through a common friend.  That was June 25, xxxx.  He was from an exclusive, all-boys' school, and was a few years older than me, very good looking, and also very youthful looking.  He was about 6 or 7 years older than I was.

We had a brief encounter while he vacationed in the city where I lived, but I was young and carefree and wanted to meet more people, so after a few months of writing letters and exchanging adventures and misadventures overseas, I broke off my friendship with him when he moved back to the States.

Now I regret having done that.  We wrote and exchanged letters for the most part, but eventually, the long-distance love affair succumbed.

I searched him up in Facebook one shitty day, -- the devil made me do it -- and there he was --- still as yummy as ever.  He is married too, and I guess he has kids like I do.  Searched his wife, and being the stalker that I am, found her too.  I don't think she came from the same high school I went to. The closest I could ever be to this dream boy is thru -- First:  one common contact in Facebook. Two: his sister is a friend of this common facebook contact I mentioned above, plus a cousin-in-law of mine (oh hell! of all peeps). Third: his nephew is a friend of one of my students (now that's interesting!).  Just a little tough luck, I guess.  Not that I want to see him again, but just thinking of the moments I spent with him many years ago is enough to fuel me.  To what?  Well, I dunno.  Just sayin', just sayin'...  :)  In my dream, I remember stroking his arm, remarking how much darker his skin tone has become, because of golf.

I do journaling and have kept 20+ volumes of them since the late 80's, and now I am tempted to read the old entries I wrote about him.  I still remember how he smelled like...  Sooo good...  He always smelled like fresh linen...  Always well-groomed, and his manner of taking care of me was unforgettable...  He treated me like I was the most precious lady ever.  Well that was how I felt, so I don't really want to think deep if he was honest with me then.  All I know was, whatever we had back then was something I treasured a lot.  A damn, damn, lot.

He told me he had a Vietnamese girlfriend in the States.  I still remember how she looked, wearing that flowery, tube dress in the photo he showed me of her. She looked petite, and according to him, she cooked well.  But hell I didn't care at all.  He said they weren't getting along anymore.  All I wanted was him.  And yes, I leeched his photo from his Facebook profile.  I don't even care if he stumbles upon this blog and remembers who the hell I was in his younger life.  If he remembers --- good.  If not, then let me remain faceless, and nameless to him...  It would probably be better this way.

When I look back at the days I spent during my youth, I always feel a pang of regret...  I believe I wasted so many years of my life not choosing the right man to be with for the rest of my life...

I went out with a great many guys -- and yet I chose my husband.  I want to knock the hell out of me for choosing this guy; sadly, when I think of doing that, I remember I have kids to live for...

I distinctly remember the night this old boy friend of mine, D, left for the States.  I was crying 'til I felt and looked like a limp ragdoll, and stayed on the street until the car he drove was out of view.  That was the evening of Aug. 25, xxxx.  I really fell for him.  But for some reason, when I started gathering my senses back, I figured there were so many guys out there waiting for me.  So stupid as I was, I wrote him a letter and broke my friendship with him.

Again, looking back, I shouldn't have done that.  I shouldn't have closed my doors on him.  Ohhh, stupid, foolish, crazy me...  Now I only have the memories to look back on.  I can still remember how we met, and how shamelessly I gave him a copy of my singing voice -- strumming my lungs out to some mushy love songs of old.  That was surely one shameless plug, heeehaaaa.  I bet you, I wasn't thinking well back then...  I sent him a letter -- with photos of how my day went on a daily basis -- waking up, going to school, dressing up, etcetera, getting ready for bed -- the works, and made it into sort of a scrapbook.  I couldn't believe I had the energy and commitment to make that project for him.  Really, if this guy went on to become my boyfriend for long, I would have probably given him my virginity.  Regretfully, I gave it to the man I am married to now.

I was so young then...  A quiet, college student...  So unassuming and all...  I miss this guy...  Perhaps my dream resurrected all my old feelings for him.  Or not at all; perhaps it's the way my dream has presented itself in my subconscious that makes me think so.  And I feel thankful that I have this blog to make into a sounding board of all my innermost demons and darkest desires.

Oh I am an aging wife and mother...  And the world keeps on spinning and moving on without me at the helm...  I wish I could bring back time...

I would do anything to be young again.

FU All

So your girl friend sent you another text message again. 

FU, both of you, and the rest of your fucking high school friends.

One day I will be able to rise above you all and leave you in your rotting house.

I will find myself another man and leave the shit out of you.

I hate you.

I hate it when you always ignore me. 

When you know how sad or lonely I am, and when something bothers me, you still ignore me, and act normally, as if there isn't anything haywire happening in the household.  I hate you so much.  I wish I had a dfferent husband, a different, better partner in life.  I hate you to the depths of the sea, and to the clouds in the sky.  I wish I could change my life, and re-live it all over again.  I wish I did not marry you, because never in my whole lifetime with you did I feel special and loved, and never still did I feel important or prioritized. 

Always I know that deep inside you, you value your friendships molded in the past.  Always, they will get in the way.  Always, there will be a wedge between your friends and I.  I hate you, and all your high school group.

I hate you, _ _ _ _ (my so-called husband)
I hate you, _ _ _ _ _ (your friend who is still childless)
I hate you, _ _ _ _ (your friend who doesn't have a husband anymore)
I hate you, _ _ _ _ (your friend who was pairing you off with someone else back in college)
I hate you, _ _ _ _ _ (your friend who is in another part of Asia, and is close to you too)
I hate you, _ _ _ _ _ (your friend who is also close to you, and who is also husbandless)
I hate you, _ _ _ _ _ (your friend who also alienated me)

I HATE YOU ALL, I SWEAR, if I die of a brokenheart, I will haunt you all and never leave you in peace.