I can’t keep a friend! Seriously, I am incapable.
This makes me wonder if I am just a horrible, insufferable bitch, but then again, when I contemplate the actual stories involved in the dissolution of multiple friendships – stories that I will share here – I contemplate two other possibilities. It is possible that I am just an absolute shit judge of character, and everybody I try to be friends with just plain sucks! Or, the most likely scenario, everybody everywhere is just horrible and crazy.
In most cases, aliases will be used to protect the innocent… and the not so much.
I have made a subcategory under my People Are Weird category that will focus just on these stories. This subcategory is called, aptly enough, “I Can’t Keep a Friend!” This will be the first of several stories. This is the one that happened the most recently.
In a previous blog entry, I mentioned my longtime, troubling, weirdo friend, Toby. He is a weird weird, weird, weird dude, and he is reputed to have done some bad, bad, bad, bad things. Things that he has spent time in prison for.
Toby & I met in the first grade, and started to become really good pals in the 3rd or maybe the 4th grade. We had one of those friendships that is rare indeed, one of those psychic bonds, where just eye contact across a classroom could have us both cracking up and in quick trouble with our long-suffering teachers. Without a word we both knew exactly why we were cracking up, and the rest of the kids just thought we were disruptive, troublesome jerks. Outcasts. We were bullied together for being absolute losers and dweebs. We had a myriad of inside jokes. I poured a can of root beer over his head once because he was being an insufferable prick. Another time, he plastered me up against my locker in the 7th grade, we were fixin’ to get into a knock-down drag-out brawl. The idiot upperclassmen walked by and made fun of us for making out… we weren’t making out. We were attempting quite sincerely to mangle one another. We found their gross misinterpretation of our grim struggle so amusing that we both busted up laughing and immediately got over whatever we had been fighting about.
I was at his real father’s funeral with him, I hugged him while he wept. I loved that sonofabitch. I mean Toby, of course… not his father. (The guy referred to as Dad later in this story is actually his step-father, but he’s called him Dad for years).
Toby had a bit of a crush on me, and I liked him too, for his personality as they say, but I wasn’t physically attracted to him. The poor kid looked like a cross between Rick Moranis and Bert from Sesame Street, with just a dash of delicate femininity somehow mixed in. He was a major, major dweebert. I loved him, but not like that.
Toby lived about a mile and a half up the hill from my childhood home. He was the guy whose house I escaped to as many days as his Ma would allow my presence, during that horrible summer that my pedo-lovin’ mother and her lover (aka my pedo-fucko ex-boyfriend) put on their sick daily show right before my miserable eyes.
The school year that Toby’s parents let him transfer to another school (where he became a male cheerleader… AND a wrestler… that should have been my first clue) was the same year that my mother ousted me to an inner-city group home so she could proceed to fuck the ever-loving shit out of (and eventually marry) my first boyfriend. Did I mention that he was a pedo?! I was 13.
He is not, however the pedo that this rant is about. The (alleged!) pedo that this particular rant is about, is, I fear, my once-dear Toby… and the pedophile’s dream is his current fiance. 😦
Let me digress. There were many many years in which Toby and I did not see each other at all, after we both left that horrendous school… we did manage to keep in touch with letters, apparently. I had forgotten this but recently I found some of his old letters. In one of them, from 1994, he purported to love me and he claimed that nobody anywhere could ever change that. It turns out that he was wrong about that. There was somebody… somewhere… we just didn’t know it yet. He wouldn’t meet her for another 17 years… we were 19 but she was only an infant at the time. Fucking gross.
Things got grosser. A busy-body from our former class contacted me on MySpace (obviously this was many years ago now) and informed me that Toby had been arrested and was serving time for kiddie-diddling. Pedophilia. I didn’t want to buy it. Then she linked me to the online sex offender registry and I had to buy it. I had a different life on the West Coast back then and I hadn’t heard from him in years. I was filled with disbelief and dismay to learn this about my childhood friend, but my angst was not as poignant as it could have been; it was dampened by the distance of many years. Still, it didn’t jibe with what I knew about the doofy kid that I had grown up with. Eventually, a few years later, I don’t remember how, after he had gotten out of prison we started talking again… he claimed that he had never touched the child… he had a complex story about his ex-wife and her lesbian lover (with whom she had cheated upon him) having bribed the lesbian lover’s 10 year old daughter with some wildly expensive gift, in exchange for the kid claiming that Toby sexually abused her. This was supposed to get the lesbian couple his house, his truck, and his money, while he went away for several years… and that is exactly what happened.
I don’t know whether he diddled the kiddie or not. I try not to think about it at all. Ever. It bothers me. As it should.
When he got out of prison he wasn’t a he anymore. He was a she. Toby had become Tabby. I don’t know if it was how he coped with the physical and sexual abuse that he received in prison, (he was used and abused a lot, what with being an alleged kiddie-diddler AND a total puny and vaguely effeminate doof), or if it was because, just maybe, his story was false and he HAD diddled the kiddie and he was so sick with guilt and with himself that he had to transform into somebody else in an effort to cope with the self-loathing. I don’t know. But, he lived his life as Tabby for many years. I don’t remember exactly how many. 5? 6? Something like that. He never went through with the operation, physically he was still a man, but he was doing the hormones and growing tits and living full time as a woman. Before he got himself in trouble with this kid, he had served as a mechanic in Operation Iraqi Freedom and was injured in the line of duty… not in combat, but, his job required him to crawl around on concrete floors under various armored cars and tanks and other military vehicles in order to repair them… it took a toll on both of his knees and pretty much permanently hobbled him. He can walk, but not well. He uses a cane and knee braces. At 35 years old, he found himself just another homeless veteran/tranny in NYC. It was here that he met his current fiance, whom I shall refer to as Doll-Baby. She was a barely-legal 18 when he met her. When they met, he was a she, but Doll-Baby started dating him… her… anyway.
They have a volatile relationship, and at one point, this lead to them breaking up. During this break up, Velvet Acid Christ were coming to NYC and I had turned him on to that and told him he should go. He had just got a fat government check dumped in his lap, restitution for his injuries acquired in the line of duty, I believe… something like that… and he amazingly offered to pay my way for a week in NYC…. including of course going to the VAC show. I had never seen NYC and it was wonderful… I never would have gotten that experience had they not been fighting at the time. He was still a she at this time and even though we shared a bed in the motel room, the trip was 100% platonic.
After my wonderful week in NYC I came – ew – “home” and he reconciled with the little Doll-Baby bitch.
I threw a fit on my Facebook that explains the rest of the apparent dissolution of this 30+ year friendship… so I will just cut and paste that status here, edited for identifying content.
I will use a different color text to differentiate the Facebook rant from the regular blog.
It may be for the best to just keep on scrollin’.
Many hours later and I’m still so filled with agitation, shock and dismay that I am going to go ahead and detail the things that happened to me today. This post will be stupendously, neurotically long. When I am livid I must write. I harp and dwell on the injustice buried in every goddamned facet; every stupid little detail of a provocative situation. It’s how I deal. It’s how I have managed to maintain a non-existent criminal record. I don’t operate like that hideous idiot out back who recently beat the shit out of a garbage can with a shovel whilst screaming “fuck my life!” in addition to a string of other profanities, largely racist in nature. He was from the same house that my recent Roo-Screamer post was about, but he was an entirely different idiot.
(editors note: I have crazy neighbors. Drunk dude was out there at 3 am screaming roo-roo-roo to stir up all the neighborhood dogs. Cops came soon after.)
No. I don’t deal with my angst in that way. I write.
Since people have been so goddamn critical of me on Facebook I have largely clammed up on here. Remember long ago, when I used to rant about things more personal than pesticide exposures and the apparent wide-spread metal illness that envelops this entire region? My rants haven’t stopped, they just moved elsewhere (I’ll never tell…!) due to people who feel entitled to make derisive and shitty comments. I am not playing “edit myself” this time. I’m going to be every damned bit as long-winded and foul-mouthed and obnoxious and snide as I please. Make a derisive comment and find yourself gone. If you don’t appreciate this glorious return of my tmi and profanity laden posts? Scroll now or click unfriend.
The scene went down thusly:
Approximately 5 years ago, one of my best friends since childhood hooked himself up with the most darlin’ lil splat o’ punkin-butter you e’er done seen (and about half our age at that). I didn’t meet her the first three years of their relationship due to geographical remoteness. Two years ago he moved back to this horrendous, horrendous area (on purpose! why would anybody do that?!) and he brought her with him. I heard things from a reliable source… that this girlfriend of his, having never met me, was already making remarks of a volatile nature pertaining to my friendship with her dude. She was pissed because he paid my way on a swanky trip to Far Away while they were on a relationship hiatus of a volatile nature. Purportedly, she had a bit o’ foolishness to say about “cutting me”. This was based apparently on some sort of unwarranted jealousy? I don’t know. Unwarranted because I adore Dude, I have for years, but man, not like that. There are no concerns to be had for her in that particular department. Like the dude from the Men’s Warehouse, I Guarantee It.
I do know that she never expected the ears surrounding her to report this bit of silliness me, but I buy it. I also suspected immediately that it was just a bit of misplaced bravado on her part and not at all a viable threat. (After today’s activities, maybe I should reevaluate that quick dismissal?!) I wan’t alarmed by her alleged remarks, I was almost (but not quite) amused by them; but the pomp and the foolishness of it… I was just more like… I have my own fucking neurosis, lots of them, piles, even, but I’m a bit past this. I don’t have the patience for it. I am grown the fuck up.
One night I was on the phone with dude for the first time since he returned to this area. He’s like “meet my girl!” and quite suddenly passes her the phone, with me having had no say in the matter. I don’t remember the specifics of that conversation, but I do remember that it was an abrupt, volatile, rude, weird and awkward conversation. It did not go well at all. I tried like hell to be nice to her for his sake and I didn’t tip my hand to either one of them that I knew what she had allegedly been saying about cutting me, as I said I had largely dismissed it as foolishness, but over the phone, the chick immediately came across weird. I knew then that my source had not lied. I never doubted it anyway. The girlfriend gave the phone back to dude and he had clearly been right within earshot during our brief and bizarre exchange and it was apparent that he wasn’t super-happy about how it had gone down. I get awful goddamn tired of playing “Play Nice” and “Play Pretend” and “Bury the Bullshit. What Bullshit?”
I’m tired of pretending that everything is fine when I’m pissed off. (Hence this unprecedented rant). It still boggles my mind that I seemed to pull off what passes for normalcy (for me) in front of dude’s parents, within a half hour of the unfortunate series of events, in a misguided and extremely short-lived attempt at not being a volatile, angst-ridden, shit-stirring (but also very honest) dick. Again, I digress. So, I told dude quite frankly, “It’s wise not to lie. We have been friends way too long for that shit. About the girl? I am not impressed.” …And then I didn’t hear from him for two years. I figured, so that’s how the fuck that went. I was mildly dismayed but not at all surprised. I’ve seen that show before.
Then, quite suddenly, without provocation, I got a call from him about 3, maybe 4 months ago. The exchange went something like this: “I am on your street! What is your house number! We are coming to get you!” “Uh, who are “we”?” “Me and my girlfriend!” “Wtf dude I am not ready for this, no warning at all, I’m in my shitty house pajamas, my good clothes are in the washer, I need time, what are you doing, what is up? I don’t think I want to do this. You need to give me more of a fucking warning than this! Wtffff duuude!!” No! Don’t wanna! Not gonna!” “You better tell me your house number or I’m gonna start knocking on doors! I’ll knock until I find you!” I wouldn’t put it past him. The jerks on this street know me as the neurotic broad who infrequently mutters and sputters her way up the street, mumbling semi-audible words that sound suspiciously like “selfish bastards… a beautiful lawn, sure, you have a beautiful lawn! Thanks for the fucking cancer! Toad killers! Pesticide pushers! Mutation Pimps!” (I am not reasonable whilst in the midst of a pesticide exposure. I become either weepy or livid. I’ve posted about this before. It really is not good.) The hoity-toity neighbors let my odd behavior slide, most likely because I am also the neurotic broad who shovels their walks for free for most, if not all of the winter (I need the exercise and I actually like shoveling when idiots haven’t polluted the sweet cold air with wood smoke or fabric softener). Idk if they know me as “(name redacted)” though. I fucking hope not. I hardly need anybody knockin’ on doors all up street looking for “(name redacted)”. I resignedly told him where I was, and so started the strange new chapter of long-time friendship plus Doll-Baby. Things seem to have been going well, and I thought I was super-cool to her, considering that I remained largely unimpressed, I was not a fan but I was trying real fucking hard for my friend’s sake; I gave her a globe and a stupid stuffed monkey. Bought her some fucking ice cream. Hung out. Ah yes, and was told scandalous things that I never, ever wanted to know about my good-buddy. Getting along with her was apparently going to be the only way that I was going to be able to hang out with him. It was unspoken but understood. Y’all know how that happy bit o’ bullshit goes. I fucking hate it.
Since he has a vehicle, I asked him to take us to my good ole swimmin’ hole.
My beloved swimmin’ hole! A semi-remote waterfall/swimming hole that I simply adore. This has been one of my very favorite places, anywhere, ever, since I first discovered it when I was about 5 years old. This swimming hole is far enough away from where I live now, that I can’t get to it in the summertime, (I have no vehicle) but it’s close enough that the fact that it is there and I can’t get to it tortures me, it literally fucking tortures me. I haven’t been able to get up there since 2011. For 5 summers I have lamented to my grandmother and to others, especially during the hottest days of summer, that I could not get up there. (Right, Rhino?) I dream of the fucking place. I crave it. Plus, what with my eternal lack of luck, the last four times I was able to get there (back in 2011) it was ruined for me every single goddamned time. Twice by obnoxious flocks of asshole teenagers. And the time before that, that asshole pedo-fucko and his inked-up whore of the month. (I hate him). And before that, the spawn of one of the most repugnant slugs to have ever slimed it’s way through the halls of (school redacted). I’ll be diplomatic and not say his name, some of you people on my friends list are addled enough to have the creepy little fucko freak on your friends list. Why? Idk. Idiocy runs rampant.
I digress. This place place ain’t no (state park redacted)… it’s remote but it’s not remote enough. Way too many assholes know about it. And they’re ruining it (garbage, beer cans, scorched/cracked rocks from fires). It pisses me off. Anyway…
My friend was most regrettably called away from the river by his parents. (Situations like this are a good part of why I hate cell-phones and I don’t even want one. They can really fuck up a good time.) We had not been there long at all at this point and his girlfriend and I were disappointed to leave so early, so he said that he’d leave us there and come back later. I never dreamed that being there with her alone was going to become an increasingly bizarre problem, or I would have just aborted the mission and asked to be taken home.
When he was there, everything was awesome, everybody was having a good time… for the most part. She kept fucking splashing me after I told her repeatedly that I did NOT want river water on my glasses, soaked into my coffee cake, and in my iced mocha (which she kept bugging me for because she forgot her own damn drink in the truck! And then, she wanted a tidy chunk of my coffee cake. This is after she had already consumed one of her own, of the exact same size). That was “breakfast” and all that I had that morning so it was mildly annoying… I didn’t mind sharing with the minnows, but that was crumbs. One of the very first things I told her when we got to the swimmin’ hole – and her dude knows very well that I told her this, he stood right there and affirmed the sentiment – is no rough-housing with me in the water because I don’t like it, I am not at the pinnacle of good health, quite the opposite, actually. Also because I cannot afford to lose my fucking glasses. Pretty fucking bizarre that I should feel compelled to say that to another adult, right? But, see this. She is an adult, but she has the mentality of a 10 year old, at best. I’m probably being generous here. I’m not being derisive or snide, I’m very serious. She is immature and rambunctious and obnoxious and profane. She has no couth, no filter at all. A while back she almost pissed in the (town redacted) cemetery; she had to be stopped and have it explained to her why it was not acceptable behavior. She also blasts farts and picks her nose right in front of Jesus an errybody, as shameless as you’ve ever seen. It’s like that, see? Based on conversations with her and things I have been told by others, I suspect that she probably has trauma-related arrested mental development.
It wasn’t long after he left that things started to go hinky. We were in the water and she swam over to me and gave me a nipple-tweak. It happened so fast I wasn’t sure if I had imagined it or not. I suppressed the immediate urge to clobber her, I tried to brush it off, I tried not to think about it, I tried to deny the revolting reality, I tried to give her the benefit of the doubt, I tried to pretend she just slipped on the rocks. She didn’t. Finally I just resigned to the fact that it had happened, most likely because she’s a bit, uh, how do I say this diplomatically? -“special?” – and it was weird and I wasn’t diggin’ it but after 5 years I was FINALLY back at my beloved swimmin’ hole, and I was trying to have some extremely rare and elusive fun. How dare I? That particular effort seldom to never goes well for me.
Initially I didn’t know whether to chalk it up to her childish neurosis, or if it was something of a sexual nature. I hoped for the former. I’m pretty sure now that it was the latter. Ew.
Dig this, and dig it well. I don’t have a problem with gay people.But it ain’t me. Nope nope nope nope I’ve got a one-way ticket on that nope train. Never-ever. Not even experimentally. Nope. Nope nope.
See also: Never happened. Never will.
Next thing I know, we are having a dispute about her placement of her towels in the shale “shelves” that were head-level right by where we were sitting. The towels were rolling their profound and unholy fucking flowery fabric softener stink right at me (lets just never mind her cigarette smoke). She wanted to be resistant of allowing me to move them away from where they were making my fucking palate and sinuses swell up. Finally when I was like, fine, you know what? You sit the fuck over here then and I’m gonna go way over there (yards and yards away and across the water) only then did she allow me to move the fucking stinking towels.
Then, a fucking little brown garter snake slid off the rock from behind my ample ass and swam across the top of the water and disappeared into the rocks under the falls. She saw him before I did and yelled, “Snake, snake!” and pointed right behind my ass. I didn’t know where it was initially and she was pointing so close to my ass that I gave a little scream and recoiled. I remember, and I remember very well when I was 7 years old and my grandmother got bit by a snake in that same river, and she ended up with a swelled-up arm and was sick for 2 days. She wouldn’t go to the ER. My fucking family! I swear it’s amazing I get on as well as I do, ya know?! The point is, I know very well that not all of the snakes in that river are harmless. My grandmother STILL has the double-fang scar on her arm. So when bitch-baby screamed “snake!” and pointed behind me I recoiled and I screamed, ha ha, how fucking funny was that, what a fucking joke. Hysterical, even. So the miserable little snot repeated her stupid little party trick two more times. The second time I recoiled a bit, not as violently, I didn’t scream again but I was like, “where is it?” and the little bitch starts cackling about how ridiculous and funny I am. She tried it a third time, later, but I was no longer buying it. This visibly annoyed her.
Then she decided to cancel her appointment with her shrink (big mistake, big, BIG mistake) so that we could stay at the river longer. She called dude to tell him about it. When she got off the phone, she told me, dude said when he comes back he’s going to bring his Ma. I was like “oh well that’s nice. I don’t think she’s ever been here before.” Then the little bitch starts cackling at me and says, “first the snakes and now this. You are so fucking gullible. You will believe anything I tell you. Why the fuck would dude bring Ma down here? She’s not gonna leave Dad when she’s tired and she just got home.” Do you have any idea how infuriating it is to have some little eighth-wit (and I may still be being generous here) that you could spin mental spheres around without even trying, speak to you in that way?! I told her, “Actually, no, I am not gullible. I just expected that my friends would have better things to do than tell me blatant lies for no reason other than to ridicule me and call me derisive names when I was foolish enough to take their word at face value. What you are doing here is teaching me that I can not trust your word. Then you’re going to be wondering why the fuck I’ll be thinking that you’re a smart ass and a liar the next time you try to tell me a truth, won’t you?
She didn’t like that. She stomped away and…
The next thing I know she has her shirt off, bare titties flobbin’ everywhere. I was mortified. I didn’t know where to look. Maybe I’m a prude, but again, this is not how I operate. I have seen the movies like Porky’s, where the chicks in the summer camp showers and the locker rooms are all blatantly tits out everywhere. I believe that this is a testosterone-fueled cinematic fantasy because I have never actually seen a shower or locker room where the dolls behave like that. I asked her exactly what the fuck it was that she thought she was doing, and reminded her that just because we were alone at that moment, it didn’t mean we were going to stay that way. Lots of jerks know about that place, and people could come along any minute. She claimed she was cold because her shirt was wet and she absolutely needed for it to be dry. She put on a prolonged and obnoxious show of wringing out the shirt and laying out on flat rocks, to dry in the sun. Then, after sitting around full-tilt, (er, in this case, full tit?) -boogie, tits out, for a while, she tried a series of rapid movements and some rock-throwing, seemingly in an effort to get me to look at her. I refused to look at her. I made a point of not looking at her. I looked in the complete opposite direction and made idle chatter about the next (considerably smaller) waterfall up the river a ways, the shale falling in sheets out of the steep, root-riddled embankment, a squirrel, a dragonfly, anything to indicate that I had no fucking plans to look at her and that I remained unimpressed. This annoyed her, so she came over to me, still topless, and kept standing closer and closer to me as I faced away from her, pointedly pretending to be fascinated with the upper falls. She came so close that she started to press against me, still topless, and as I recoiled in revulsion and dismay, I was at the very edge of the drop-off into the falls and she actually asked me, “can I fucking push you in there right now?” Like what the actual fuck?! I said, “you better damn well not”. She didn’t. She went back and put her much drier, semi-sun-baked shirt back on. And then… she jumped right back into the fucking river. I was like, fucking seriously? That whole fucking revolting prolonged titty show was allegedly because you were so cold and oh-so-desperate to have a warm, dry shirt and then when it’s mostly dried out, you’re gonna put it back on and jump in the river? Like, are you kidding me right now?! Then she crawled out, got her phone, called her boyfriend who had never returned for us, and wailed piteously about being cold (it was 90+ degrees out) and insisted that he come and get us right now. At this point his Ma also invited me to dinner. At this point I was thoroughly alienated but not yet livid, so I somewhat trepidatiously opted to say yes to the invitation. Because I really like Ma.
Let me digress a little. I typically eschew the use of hygiene products in natural environments but everything I buy is organic, fragrance-free, unscented GMO-free etc. free-trade, blah blah, and has all of the coveted symbols indicative of those things on the packaging; it’s fucking expensive, it’s mail order. Most of it is literally edible, it is so pure. It’s not the shit you’re going to find at Rite-Aid for a buck fifty. This shit is $18 dollar shampoo, $18 conditioner, $17 body scrub. It’s expensive but I have to because my alternatives are to become sick, or be a stank-ass bitch who uses no hygiene products. One of the many hazards of having MCS, right? A few of you on my friends list know this. Most of you don’t. I’m not wealthy and it’s not fun to pay for that shit. I literally have to. I was generous enough to share my coconut oil, body scrub, seaweed hair masque, etc. with her. At first, while dude was there, she didn’t want to use any of the products. Once he was gone she wanted to use all of them and enough was not enough.
When she called him to coming to get us, I told her that we had better go ahead and shampoo the coconut oil and seaweed treatments out of our hair and get the fuck going to meet him. I gave her a palm-full of seaweed shampoo and while her palm was still out, full of it, some dripping unused into the water, none of it on her fucking head yet, she immediately insisted that it wasn’t enough. I told her, it is enough. I have been using this shit for a month and I know how much is required to get a proper lather and you’re there bitchin’ it ain’t enough when none of it’s on your head yet, you ain’t even tested the fucking theory. She couldn’t just be glad I shared what I had with her. She kept begging and wheedling and insisting and eventually working her way up to harassing me for more of the fucking shampoo. I had lost all of my fucking patience by then and I told her, “you know what? This isn’t Rite-Aid shit. This ain’t Suave brand. This is organic, GMO-free, free-trade blah blah etcetera mail order shit, and it is expensive as a motherfucker, you have enough, you ain’t getting more, finish washing ya damn head so we can go meet dude and get the fuck out of here and get some dinner”. Things were already badly weird by this point. But this is when it got worse weird. I-don’t-want-to-hang-out-with-you-ever-again-you-fucking-freak weird.
We were both in the water. She ducked under the water to rinse her largely wasted shampoo off and coming up she propelled herself by kicking off of a nearby semi-submerged rock ledge and did a rather violent, and totally unexpected, and completely deliberate full-face slam right into my cleavage. Full titty face plant! 😮 I was like, “what the fuck is wrong with you?! What in the hell was that? What are you even doing right now? Get the fuck up off of me!” and I started to try to backpedal away from her beaming face, which was currently still gleefully buried and rolling around in my fucking cleavage! You know, how in fairly deep water, you can roll from, well, the position you’d be in after executing a ledge-kickoff-titty-face-plant, onto your back, pretty much instantly. Well this is what she did. As I was still recoiling violently from the titty face-plant, in a split second she rolled back onto her back, put her hands over her head and pushed off of the exact same ledge coming at me legs completely spread eagle. These two consecutive motions happened within maybe 8 or 10 seconds of each other at best. If I had not already been propelling myself violently back from the initial assault, I would have ended up smacked full-on in the face with some stank puss. I came alarmingly close to having that happen. I know, I know. Your dream come true, right Mr. (cunnilingus-loving Facebook friend redacted)? Guess what? Not mine. This is something that I don’t ever, ever, ever EVER want to experience again. Ever. It made me feel a bit like Jim Carrey going after his own face with the toilet plunger in Ace Ventura: Pet Detective. It sounds insane but I know what the fuck happened. It was no mistake. It was overtly crude and aggressive. It was also very, gleefully deliberate. During my rapid retreat of dismayed repugnance I only narrowly avoided getting kicked in the face by her sneaker.
I continued to violently back pedal way from her as fast as I possibly could to avoid getting slammed in the face by any one of her various flailing body parts, and this took me right into the deepest part of the swimming hole, which is over my head. She came after me and glommed heavily onto my neck, shrieking, “Where are you going ? What are you doing ? Come here! Ha ha ha! It’s just a joke! We’re only playing! It’s just a fucking game! Laugh! It’s fucking funny!” She was repeating my name at the end of every phrase in a very disconcerting way and she was trying rather forcefully and repeatedly to drag on my neck and dunk me under. I was trying to get away (easier said than done in deep water plus she is a good-sized broad) and I was yelling, between indignant splutters, “Get the fuck off of me! I told you no fucking rough housing with me! You’re hurting my goddamned neck! I had a fucking tumor cut out of my neck! Quit hauling on my fucking neck! You’re going to make me lose my fucking glasses! Get OFF! Let go of me you fucking bitch! What the fuck is wrong with you? Quit fucking HAULING on me!” This whole stupid incident lasted at most, couple of minutes. For maybe 10 to 15 of those seconds I started to wonder if I could be in some very serious trouble. I got away from her twice to only be literally hauled back by my fucking bathing suit straps and dunked. The entire time I was loudly voicing my displeasure and dismay. It was fucking no secret that I didn’t like it and I wanted her to stop. No cute little clever misunderstanding happened there. That fucking bitch KNEW I wanted her to stop. At one point during the assault she stuffed her hand inside of my bathing suit, and grabbed only my fat roll, thank heavens it wasn’t anything more personal than that, and said several times over and over in a really creepy droning voice (while still trying to drag me under) “I found something! I found something! I found something! I found something!” It was creepy as fuck.
I finally managed to extract myself from her and headed to get my clothes off of the fucking rock and leave, just get the fuck away from her. The bitch came up right behind me and made a grab for my fucking dry, clean clothes and started drying her fat ass off with them! I yelled, “bitch, what the fuck is wrong with you? these are my fucking street clothes! These are not your fucking towels! Your towels are over there! Did you bring them for any reason other than to argue about them and fuck up my day and swell up my palate with the fucking stinking, toxic fabric softener that you apparently marinated them in? What the fuck is wrong with you, man?! Who the fuck acts like this? I have been so fucking nice to you!” and could she just have had some fucking respect and STOPPED? Oh come on, you know the answer to this. The whole fucking time I was trying to get my clothes away from her, she was actually yanking them roughly from me – and cackling madly and rubbing the clothes all over her face, arms, tits, legs, belly, whatever she could reach with them while simultaneously trying – and hard – to yank them from me. The shirt had lace and bead work on the collar and it didn’t fare well. It’s not in complete ruins but there’s minor damage. I don’t care about the shirt specifically but I care about the principle of the matter. Who the fuck ACTS like that?! Who DOES that?! Especially to somebody who was friendly and kind to them, and shared their expensive and nice shit with them, and even shared their special swimmin’ hole with them?
Par for the fucking course in my life, right?
So there was some more bullshit on the walk back to the truck. Can you imagine that? There are two ways to get to the swimmin’ hole from where the truck was parked. Up the river itself, or up a path that goes by a private home. We opted to head back on the path, and I told her, “You should call dude and see if he’s waiting in the truck or if he’s trying to walk up the river. Because if we take this path out he’ll be liable to taking the river in and he’ll get down there to the swimmin’ hole and we’ll be gone, baby, gone. That wouldn’t be so nice for him, especially what his knees being what they are. She was angry and ignoring me and made no move for her phone, she just kept stompin’ up the path. I said to her, “Ok then. If dude ain’t at the truck and he shows up later, all pissed off because he walked clear the christ up the river with his poor half-mangled knees and he will have to walk all the way back the same way all for nothing (he was wary of the path due to possibly volatile dogs and/or homeowners) because you, who supposedly love him, cannot be bothered to make a quick text or phone call, well, I’ll be sure to let him know all about exactly how tender and generous is your love, along with several other things that I will definitely be telling him.” THEN she made the fucking phone call. It panned out EXACTLY as I had suspected. He had been coming up the river while we headed down the path. Due to the call he was able to turn back before too much of his time and effort had been wasted. O happy lucky fucking Day.
I told my good buddy, “ya know what, I liked the idea of dinner, and I really wanted to see Ma, I adore Ma, but take me the fuck home. Your doll-baby bitch tried dunking me repeatedly, dragging on my neck, and refusing to stop when I asked her to stop. Repeatedly. And you KNOW the first fucking thing I said when we got there was that there was to be no fucking rough-housing with me. She may think that she was being cute or funny but I am beyond fucking livid right now and I’m not going to pretend otherwise. I am in poor health, it’s no more than a half a year ago that I was in the emergency clinic with low-grade blood poisoning from an abscessed molar, I have had a tremendous amount of dental work in the last six months, which can take a lot out of a person, especially if they are already sickly, and more, even though it’s been four years since I had the tumor cut out, that fucker is a source of chronic pain all of the time. It is more delicate than your average neck. This is not me being melodramatic. My dentist actually postponed tooth extractions because my head and neck doctor didn’t want him hauling on my goddamned neck for a while, not even to the relatively mild extent required to pull teeth. That work is all done now, but all the same the last thing I need is some portly broad half my age physically mauling my neck and refusing to relent, especially while we’re in water over both our heads.”
He knows that I was livid.
I tried like hell to act like I was ok during a brief stop at his parent’s house. I TOLD him I wanted to go straight the fuck home but he insisted that we HAD to stop there first. I wasn’t driving. It’s not my truck. My say in the matter (“take me home!”) was invalid. While I was there I had to watch her maul her poor baby kitty for a while. She has no idea how to handle a fucking animal. At one point she actually threw it at me like the child that she is and the poor fucking kitty baby – Jesus Christ – it reeks of fabric softener. Poor, poor, poor, precious kitty. I am helpless to help it. Ma was also annoyed that during her absence, this chick had apparently taken fish out of Ma’s aquarium and moved them to her own aquarium. Then she blatantly refused to return the fish when she was asked to do so. It’s not her fucking fish and she shouldn’t have been fucking around. Some people just don’t fucking know that it doesn’t take that profound of a ph and/or temperature change to put a fucking fish into shock or even kill it. You can’t just be flippin the poor things between multiple aquariums whenever the fuck you want to and just hope for the best, unless you are either completely mindless, or completely merciless, or both. But who gives a fuck, right?! It’s just a stupid fish.
I finally got home and the more I thought about the stuff that had happened, the more livid I became. To the point that I have now been angry about it for – wow! an amazing 16 and a half hours. Parents of dude, if you read this fucking mess, consider this. There is an infinite number of things that I could have done tonight, most of them way more pleasurable than skipping sleep in order to to compose this bit of slop. Why would I put this much effort and angst into something if it wasn’t true?
Ugh, why did I even bother, why did I try so hard to explain all of this? In part because I want dude, and his parents, to understand what is up with that little chick that he so errantly chose for himself, and with this whole stupid situation. I was able to give him a very abbreviated and increasingly pissed off account of the happenstance, but my rapid and extremely angst-ridden explanation was lacking in rich detail. Well, here the fuck you go! Rich detail! Lots and lots of it. Idk if she had a psychotic break or if she’s just a crazy, jealous, deranged and irrational bitch, what but whatever that was that she was doing, it was NOT playing. It was simultaneously malicious and gleeful, but it was NOT cute or playful. Not at all. It was more than “rough-housing”, which had been forbidden anyway. It was fucking creepy and it was weird. I am too goddamned old for this shit and I have far better things I could have done with my night than to have wasted literal HOURS writing this shit. I don’t need to manufacture this kind of drama. Why would I? Every single thing I wrote here is true. Something is seriously wrong with that chick. And possibly with my friend for having chose the likes o’ her. He ain’t special needs in his head so I am not sure what the hell he is doing. None of my fucking business I guess but I just can’t wrap my head around it.
I know my absurdly long and detailed post is not going to change anything and that he’s not liable to see reason and leave her any time right away; whatever. He’ll probably wait until she has another one of her nice little psychotic breaks and completely fucks up his life first. Then maybe he’ll see reason. Based on the way-too-personal details about their personal lives, that she divulged to me, stuff I never EVER wanted to know; scandals too juicy to divulge even in a post this blatantly pissed off… the fine rock shale supporting their particular paradise is crumbling, anyway.
We can fucking hope.
But again, she’s proven that she likes to make up bullshit stories to toy with my apparently endlessly amusing gullibility. So maybe all the crazy shit she told me was just more cute and funny little lies. To see how much I’d buy into it… Because everything is ha ha, everything is funny. Everything is a fucking joke.
…And to think I encouraged her to stay with him when she spoke of leaving. He told me he loves her and I didn’t want to see him unhappy, like I saw him during one of the volatile hiatuses in their relationship. The hiatus that apparently pissed her off enough for her to make “cutting” remarks before she ever met me, evidently because he paid my way to see one of our very favorite Industrial artists and I spent a series of 100% platonic nights in a posh hotel room with him… back when he was still a rich bitch. Yeah. I told her that I couldn’t encourage her to leave him because that would be a shit thing to do to my friend, I didn’t want to contribute even peripherally to his unhappiness, and that it was a choice she’d have to make on her own.
I hope she makes the right fucking choice… and soon… so I can have my friend back.
You know what really proverbially slaps my fucking sunburn here? Because I no longer wish to be around her childish, wildly unpredictable and possibly dangerous ass, that cancels any of my future trips to the swimmin’ hole this summer. Dude is my only friend with a vehicle. They live much, much closer to the swimming hole than I do. Within walking distance, actually. It would be a good walk, but definitely, walking distance. But of course, she won’t have to resort to that. Her boyfriend will be happy to drive her ass down there. She has after all “fallen in love” with the place. Of course she fucking has.
So, this is nice. It’s really extra dandy fucking nice. What I get out of this is the not-so-poignant lack of satisfaction that comes with having given a little slice of heaven to somebody who was an absolute cunt to me and essentially threw a wrench in a friendship that existed for, oh, about about 12 years prior to her regrettable conception. She’ll be soaking her undeserving ass in MY beloved swimming hole and my sad ass will be stuck in town. Again. More jaded than ever.
One last note. Then I hushaboo.
She actually hurt me. I am fucking injured. I am so sore and stiff this morning that I am practically hobbled. Sure, some of this is from walking and swimming after being sedentary for so long. But I’ve done that before and it’s never hurt like this. It’s garbage day and I am going to have to let it sit on the fucking porch for a week because I am literally too hobbled to get it safely down the stairs. Plus, my right arm is pretty much mauled. I can barely move it.
As gross as it is, what she did basically boils down to a sexual and physical assault, right? I am not going to make a legal issue of it, after all there’s no witnesses anyway. I’m not gonna drag anybody’s ass through a court. I’m just going to stay away from that broad, which probably translates to buh-bye, good buddy of old. Dude said as soon as he saw us coming up the path he could tell something was wrong due to our body language and the fact that we were not walking together.
This is what happens when I try to have one nice fucking day at the river with friends. See? See how my life goes?
Do you fucking see?
So… that’s how the fuck THAT went. I was livid, and I posted that rant on Facebook knowing full well Toby’s parents and siblings would see it. Toby’s not allowed on Facebook becasue of the whole pedo thing but of course his Ma or Dad would have told him all about it, and probably even let him read it for himself via their profiles. This happened just over a month ago. Nobody’s unfriended me over it but do you think anybody’s had a single word to say? Do you think anybody will?
What do you think? 😦
The damned fool idiot wouldn’t have shit to say if he had a mouthful. Meek, whipped, confused, perverted old letch! Damn him! He just lets his little baby whack-job maul one of his oldest friends and he doesn’t have a word to say about it. How the fuck about that?!
Here’s a picture I took of the nasty little bitch polluting MY swimming hole with her nasty ass! I took this picture for her not long before she went Full Retard.
It makes me sad but I try to tell myself it’s for the best. I mean, if he wanted people to believe his story about being framed for the pedophilia, might not it have been wise to have not chose for himself a barely legal retarded baby… a child in a legally fuckable body?
A pedophile’s dream.
She begged… literally begged me to spend the night up there with them one night several months ago. This is what she wore to bed that night.
Of course this is a stock image, this is NOT a picture of Doll-Baby.
The thing is, if you were to see a 23 year old wearing this you would think that they were trying to be emo, ironic and edgy, right?
She was dead serious. She meant it. This is what level her mentality is at. She has a legally fuckable body but she’s a fucked-up child in her head. I mean, when we were talking about the Axl Rose and AC/DC fiasco, she was like “who and who?” I wish I were kidding. I am not.
He’s fucking sick. You always hear them say on the news “Him? Really? But he was the nicest guy!”
…But how can anybody believe that he’s not a pedophile when this is what he chose for himself?
One final note. I mentioned in the Facebook post that she filled my head with scandalous gossip too juicy to post… on Facebook. I’ll tell it here.
Evidently Doll-Baby busted him sexting dick pics to his ex-wife and arranging a blowjob from her. Doll-Baby is a big little broad (probably around 260 lbs.) and she hauled him to the floor by his hair and beat his ass until his Dad pulled her off him. To his credit he didn’t hit back but idk how much of that is integrity and how much of it is he doesn’t want to go back to prison.
Also, after dating him as Tabby for a few years they kept breaking up & getting back together, eventually she told him that she wanted a man, not a trans-woman. So he went back to being Toby. This happened roughly 3 years ago. He quit the girly hormones. He proposed to her and all this shit. They live rent free at his parents’ house, his Dad works him like a slave on the place, repairing it, as it is a decrepit dump. He complies because he hopes to inherit the place. He does what he can, being as busted up as he is.
Doll-Baby – gasp! – found a bottle of girly hormones dated 2016! He was supposed to have gone back to being Toby full-time in 2013! She confronted him and he told her that he’s not happy being Toby, and he’s just waiting for Dad to die (Dad is in rough shape; he’s pushing 400 lbs. – and he’s a real big fan of McD’s and cigarettes… it won’t be long) and then he’s going back to being Tabby. Ma (who is a long-haul trucker and is not there most of the time) will just have to deal with it when she is at home. Also, he purports to miss sucking on and getting fucked in the ass by real penises. (I don’t want to dwell too much on what the “real” entails… Ew!)
Of course Doll-Baby is welcome to still marry him and live with him – her – whatever.
Doll-Baby is not happy about this and told me that the only reason that she doesn’t leave him is because he saved her, she KNOWS that she is a dummy, a babe in the woods; and she knows that if she leaves him she’ll end up being a victim of human trafficking or back to being a crack whore in NYC. Which is what she was when he met her. Yep.
Things ought to go really well for them.
It’s actually really fucking sad. 😦
What does he want? This pedophile’s dream, his chubby little Doll-Baby? Another actual 10 year old? A blow-job from his ex-wife? A penis other than his own to play with?
I don’t think he even knows.