Fucky and Fugly

Funny, I noticed that it's been a while since I got upset at my Fucktard. 

Anyway, last night, I caught him smiling sheepishly while glancing over his Facebook account.  Being someone who is mostly right when my instincts worked big time, I asked him what the reason was behind his naughty, foolish grin.  He quickly dismissed it and answered that he was just replying to a batch mate (yeah, better read about those shitheads in that highlighted word) in high school.

I knew there was something else, and I decided to use my very useful wifely brute force and scrolled more to see what he was fussing about.  What I saw immediately screwed me up -- he was chatting with a fugly batch mate who I am positive, he didn't even knew existed back in high school.  My red buttons immediately activated themselves and what was supposed to be a normal and boring night, turned interesting --  well, at least for our dog, who heard and saw all the drama.

What really blew my already burned up fuse, is this poster which he liked:

What?!?  He agrees that she is one awesome fugly wife?  WTF?  I wouldn't whore a male friend if the tables were turned!  And Fucky was even trying to deflect everything on me by asking how come I don't get mad when he whores other females in FB.  "Well, whaddaya know, stupid", I shot back at him --  "...everything makes it normal and unsuspicious when these females are common, flirty friends!" 

I hope you get my drift up there.

This fugly woman is getting all the attention from my Fucky, she prolly is so ecstatic now that Fucky is giving her all the likes, and is whoring all her posts on FB.  He claims he isn't, but I told him there are many avenues to flirting, and what he is doing is just one of them.  Recalling how he donned that naughty smile, I just wanna chop his dick to tiny little pieces.

But I am convinced that when I dipped his toothbrush in the toilet bowl last night, whatever fiends came with it will take care of him and do their job.  Hah!

Anyway,  I was itching to write about what blew my fuse since last night, but come to think of it, the woman is fugly, I don't give a damn if they screw each other.   So long as Fucky gives me moolah to support my addiction to books, he can damn screw and fuck any hole in the wall.

Here is a photo of Ms. Fugly ---  But because I am protecting my own interests, I had to change her photo a bit.  But believe me, she doesn't look far from this:

UPDATE as of 7/27/2020: Her photo disintegrated in cyberspace when I somehow changed some email settings here.  Sadly, I cannot produce another one anymore.  But if you really want to see a glimpse of her, just take a shit in your regular throne at home, and  before flushing away, take a good look at what you just deposited in there.  Congratulations, you now have seen this bitch.

Back to Trolling!

Once again. 

Sorry for not checking in. 

Been gone for six months, and it's all because of work. 

But I'm back. 

And for good! 

Am back to trolling in lala land!

Back Again

Can't believe I managed NOT to write for the past months that I have been dealing with more of Fucktard and his equally fucky family.

Well to start with, we decided not to join them in the next wedding in tow, -- happened sometime this month -- but this time somewhere across the globe.  If you've been following this blog, your guess is right -- it was another lavish, royalty-like wedding.  Good thing my kids have a lot of things needed to be accomplished, and I myself, had a lot of work to do; ergo, we opted to stay -- and told them we are tied with commitments.

But the truth of the matter is -- we all just don't like to join them in another sojourn -- most especially abroad.  My mantra, -- which the rest of Fucky, and our kids have adopted, is -- "I'd rather travel alone, than travel with a  bunch of shitty assholes."

I think, this time, I have to give some BIG credit to my Fucktard hubs, for siding with me, and for sharing the same sentiment with me when it comes to traveling again this time.  But let me tell ya, that in my culture this side of the globe, family ties are tight, close, and strong, -- multiply those qualities, add the word "so" before each adjective, and you know what you'll get: so stifled, so strangled, so suffocated, and so drained.

I'd like to rant and purge myself from these assholes, lemme tell you a thing or two about them. Fucktard has seven other sibs, so you probably get the image-pic of a new, and very overwhelmed wife when I joined them by virtue of marriage years ago:

No. 1 family -- composed of my SIL, her ugly husband, and their two trying hard to be talented, good for nothing grown-up daughters.  If I could kill daughter no. 1 and her mother, believe me, I would.  The other two -- BIL and younger daughter no. 2 -- quite tolerable.

UPDATE as of 7/27/2020:  Daughter no 2 is one of the shittiest nieces ever.  We found out a couple of years ago, that she has been writing in her social media about how she dislikes my children because they are intelligent, smart, and just plain achievers.  Does that count as the sins of my children?  Well I am NOT sorry, bitch!  I am very happy that my children are the most intelligent ones in this fucky family of Fucktard.  Thanks to my genes, they inherited that light bulb brain from yours truly.  So when we exposed your doing to the fucky family, they did not do anything and tried to protect you instead! So two years ago, I told myself that I think it is time to move on and away from all of you, shitheads.  I can't join you, I can't lick you, so DAMN YOU.

No. 2 family -- composed of another SIL, her fat, trillionaire hubs, and their three also grown-up kids -- eldest kid got married in an island wedding not too long ago (read up this blog and you'll find the story), the second got married a few weeks ago this month, and he had an equally lavish wedding.  His wife looks like a mantou (go ahead and Google it).  Everyone, as usual (except for us), raved about the event.  My, I can't imagine how many ass-lickers were there in that event, all gathered under one roof in the five-star, deluxe hotel where the wedding reception took place.  I wanna kill all members of this family.  One swipe, one strike, with a katana I always wish I had, in my very fertile mind.

No. 3 family -- They call themselves the Americans.  Composed this time of my BIL, his wife, and two grown up kids.  Killing BIL is one thing I'd like to do a long time ago.  Since he indeed became an American (he is an officer in service, but I can't tell you what branch in the military) several years ago, he speaks, thinks, and acts like one.  I sometimes find it lame and trying hard too much.  His wife and kids, though, are tolerable.  (Exhaling here, thank goodness.)

No. 4 family -- This SIL does not have an extended fam.  She is an aging female, and her hormones have long stopped working to be able to contribute to the human race.  In fairness, she is a no-frills kind of woman.  So I guess, I kinda like her...  but only in some ways.  Other times, I wish I could tell her to get herself a husband.  Because she often "borrows" my Fucktard...  Like when she accidentally locked her room and the keys were left inside (stupid, yeah), and she had to call my Fucky to help unlock the damn door.  Or when her bedroom light broke, and she needed some tall guy to change the bulb...  You get the picture, right?  The ugly side of not getting married and growing old alone...  For the record -- my Fucky is the youngest in the brood, so the elder ones like this SIL runs to him for "help."  For Pete's sake, things like these get into my nerves big time!

UPDATE as of 7/27/2020:  You tried to drive a car, but can't even back up and u-turn like normal.  So the car got stuck somewhere maybe in the gutter, and you called my Fucky. Naturally, he comes running to your rescue.  And the time stamp on my clock at that time read 2:30 something in the early morning.  What utter stupidity that was, really.  No, I do not find it cute.  But plain annoying and so needy.  I hate needy women, I swear I hate them.  Get some sense, will ya?  It is the 21st century and for hell's sake, be a real woman and grow some balls.

Another update:  My son was about to go back home to his condo because he needs to study big time for an important exam, and he sought help from me to let you know that he CANNOT in any way be bothered.  And you, being the ever-feeling important aunt that you are, tried to ride the car he was in, and made him go with you to eat out in Chinatown.  I felt that as his Mother, my rights were trampled on deliberately because you did not even tell me that you intended to do that EVEN IF I DISTINCTLY INFORMED YOU THAT MY SON NEEDED TO GO BACK TO HIS UNIT ASAP.  I know you had to "ambush and kidnap" him and rode the car when he got out from our gate.  What was your intention for doing so, huh, old and ugly bitch?

No. 5 family -- If No. 3 family is so hooked up in being Americans, No. 5 family is sooo trying hard to be pure Chinese!  Oh, my freakin' ass is quivering now, I'd like to get my invisible katana, and chop all their heads off.  BIL, his wife, plus three kids whose ages are like my own, are all asses.  BIL is the Asshole.  His wife, my SIL, is the Asslicker.  Kid no. 1 is the Asscheek.  Kid no. 2 is the Asscrack, and Kid no. 3 is the Asswhore.  Another swipe and strike for this fam of five.  My MIL is Chinese, but they did not completely grow up practicing the ways of being one full, Chinese folk.  They are Chinese.  We are.  But we also practice living the life of being another race in our homeland, host country we all live in.  Now this fam. no. 5 -- acts like they come from a royal Dynasty of Chinese ancestors.  I could just puke! Ugh!  They do not at all look like Chinese.  Shame on this fam who acts like they are some chinky-eyed, yellow-skinned citizens of this country.  Poor asses.  They are all good asslickers, though, headed by my SIL who I believe, graduated from Asslicker Academy of Asia.  She trained her kids to be great, annoying asslickers too  They live up to that word the day I joined Fucky's fam.  They can "buy" everyone because the mother is such a good Asslicker.  She wants to be the favorite DIL, and she wants her kids to be the favorite nephews/niece in the family.  Sad to say, I can't compete with that.  So to this day, am still contemplating how to top this fam.  Good thing, my kids are beautiful, talented and smart.  They can't compete with that.

UPDATE as of 7/27/2020:  I STILL HATE THIS FAMILY. Period.

No. 6 fam -- No fam, but bitches.  This one is a butch.  She has a bitch in life, and they both look like losers.  This SIL's  security or comfort zone comes from being ass-licked  by the other family members.  She hasn't got her own fam, so she feeds on her nephews and nieces' ass-licking galore.  Of course, I very well know that Family No. 5 tops her list.  That makes me so sad.  Coz once again, I am no good when it comes to licking ass.  I only lick ice cream.  On a cone.

No. 7 fam -- No fam again, just boy toys. This one is a closet queen.  Read No. 6 and the scenario is the same.  Except that this one, is like I said, a closet queen.  A drag queen in hiding.  Guess he is good in licking asses.  And ice cream. On a cone.

So there goes.  The royal family of Shitheads and Shitloads.  Assheads and Assloads.  Bow.

I've Got to Have THIS!

This is SOOOOO ME.

Thanks so much, Jen Piwtpitt.  You are a genius!

Back in Gloomy Town

You wouldn't  believe my rotten luck -- another one of Fucktard's family member is getting hitched in the next months to come. And where else would it be, but somewhere in this land very very near the US of A.  I'm sure you know which country I am referring to.

These guys are really spending moolah like it would be extinct tomorrow.  And of course, the entire fucking, asshole clan WILL HAVE to attend.  Read: Pressure.

But I already told Fucky that I CANNOT GO.  I have my work, and my darling daughter has a commitment she absolutely, and definitely, cannot, in all her life, miss.

Magically, and perhaps because Fucky is feeling that he himself is getting nauseous over his family's flair for too much style and moolah flaunting -- he agreed that we won't go.  Verrrrrrry good!  I give my fucking husband a perfect 10.  These are just one of those very few moments in my marital life that Fucktard pleased me.

Fucky's ugly niece will be the flower girl again.  My darling dottie is mad ang angry because not one soul from our family was given a part in the wedding. AGAIN.  Hello!!!!  Can I hear favoritism here????!!!!  Well fuck them all, they can all die and rot in hell, together with their stinking money, hahahah! (And more evil laugh when they all get cancer).

I have got so much news to share, but work has tied me down after the holidays, so I haven't been sharing my life's bitter stories here.

An update about that after-Christmas wedding last December was comparable to any royalty's wedding, or even more.  No kidding here: seven hairdressers/stylists housed and flown in from the city where I come from.  four deluxe hotels blocked-off to accommodate the guests, both local and foreign. The country's top notch photographer and videographer were hired.  I'm talking two entities there, okay.  Flowers from this top flower shop located in my country's most prime business district.  A huge welcome beach bag for all guests which included: European perfumes and colognes, chocolates from Europe again, chips from the US, lotion, sunblock, name it, the bag has it.  And a map on what to do in that prime beach resort island get-away.  I am pretty sure I missed out something somewhere in this story post.  No amount of words to describe what transpired there will give justice to all that they had.  Imported wine and cocktail drinks overflowed.  A fire dance to wow the guests was also included.  Of course the quintessential fireworks show was not also missed.  Even the priest was flown in -- a personal friend of theirs, I was informed.  A shuttle to bring the guests to and from the island was hired too.  Everything, to show how fine their tastes were.  The giveaway was a $38.00 item from Spain.  Okay, I checked the site where they ordered in bulk, and that confirmed the puking price. Sorry but I refuse to divulge what they gave.  I am getting too close to the enemy here, I guess.  Don't want to be caught with my pen's ink dripping too much.  Convert that dollar amount to my local exchange rate, and you get a whooping Ps.1643.00 each.  There were 500++ guests, and each, and I mean each one, M, F, or in-between, got one giveaway to take home.  Talk about spending that much!

And dottie and myself stayed at home.  To eat, sleep, watch videos, read, and just plain shit them all out.  I must admit, we were happy when the boys were not home with us.  No one trashed the toilet.  No one left the toilet seat up.  No one messed up the beds.  And I could mention a billion of things why my daughter and I were having a blast partying on our own here.  Even the dog was happy, I swear!

So back to reality, which bites, bigtime.  Another fucking wedding is going to happen.  Well all I can give them for now, is my little, 30-something middle finger sticking out solo and fresh from my butt hole.

To this family who I unwillingly cannot embrace as my own since several years ago:  FUCK YOU ALL, ASS HOLES.

And to my husband, who stuck with me this time -- I'll add you back in Facebook, sweetie.

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.