I'm Usually a Very Nice Person

Dear McBicep -

When you sent me a message today to tell me that you'd stopped by my house and I wasn't there, I was truly surprised. It's been a month since I've seen you, and three weeks since I've heard from you.

First I got those same butterflies I always get when I hear from you, and I was excited that you'd gone to my house unexpectedly. Then when you told me that you stopped by to show off your new motorcycle, I came to a few realizations about the past month.

1. I started out the month being sad and crying to my sister about how I must be a real undesireable dating candidate if the guy I dated for seven months decides to give me the hint by just not calling anymore;

2. I spent the middle of the month cataloging my faults and flaws and convincing myself that I wasn't good enough for any guy, especially if my Tad Hamilton starts giving me the cold shoulder with zero explanation;

3. I finished out the month by being pissed that you're not man enough to tell me to my face that you'd rather jump rope and make love to your own reflection in the hood of your Camaro than see me anymore.

So when I talked to you today, after you got done telling me all about your new motorcycle and how busy you've been, I told you that it really hurt my feelings that you've just blown me off. I also told you that if you didn't want to see me anymore, that was fine; but at least be man enough to tell me instead of leaving me to figure it out for myself.

Your response was, "Why do you bring this up when you know how busy I am and how much it frustrates me?"

Oh, I'm sorry, sir. Is my request for you to act like a decent human being too much? Would you prefer that I sit here and chew my food, nodding politely as you do nothing but talk about yourself and your stupid new motorcycle?

Perhaps I haven't been too clear about who I am, and more importantly, what I expect. Because if I had been, surely you wouldn't think it was OK to treat me this way.

I expect to be with someone who wants to be with me. Someone who cares about what's going on in my life, who cares about how I'm feeling, who cares about if I'm even happy. Someone who understands that it's not okay to go a month without seeing me.

I deserve to be with someone who remembers when my birthday is, remembers what my middle names is, and doesn't stop by unexpectedly when he knows that I'm 2,500 miles across the country for the weekend. There are guys from my jobsite calling to tell me to have a good trip and be safe, and you didn't even know I was going. Even the carpet guy, the one I accidentally spit on, called to wish me a safe trip. The fact that guys who work for me and guys whom I've accidentally spit on care more about me than you do says a lot.

I deserve to be with someone who doesn't make me feel bad for being a loud-mouthed, dirty-mouthed, independent, sometimes-borderline-obnoxious girl. Most importantly, I deserve to be with someone who doesn't turn me into the bad guy for demanding respect.

You, on the other hand, clearly want to be with someone who's happy to stand in your shadow with her mouth closed and not ask anything of you.

I don't care how big your muscles are, how much you can bench press, how many fancy cars you have, how smart you are, how rich you are, or how well-traveled you are. I don't care how many girls gawk at you when we go out, how many guys fall all over you to tell you how awesome your body is; I don't care how far out of my league you think you are. I don't care if you were the absolute best I could ever do.

I don't need to be dating you just to prove to myself that I could get you; to make me feel better about myself. If I can't have it all, then I don't want any part of it.

Good luck finding your Stepford Wife.

Nice knowing you,

Bone Junior

PS - After I relayed this information to you, you said you want to get together after I get back to Utah. I laughed and said you were interrupting the Eagles game. I wasn't kidding. This is me flipping you off.

Now We Do the Dance of Joy

In case you can't tell because we're shaking our thangs too fast; that's me, Vin Diesel, Wentworth Miller, Batman, and Dominic Purcell, starring in my own personal fantasy.

It's Business Time

Hey Mikki You So Fine: He looks like he’s ready to love you.

Bone Junior: Oh he is SO ready to love me up all sexy-style.

That's The Way Uh Huh Uh Huh I Like It

There's a new guy at work named Abe. I'm going to see if he'll let me call him Abe Frohman, the Sausage King of Chicago - always said in that snooty maitre'd accent. While I get to work on that, please to enjoy:

Things that made me happy this week:




Doing demolition and taking out my McBicep frustration on innocent drywall.



Seeing a sneak preview of 3:10 to Yuma, thus solving my dilemma of choosing between Christian Bale / Russell Crowe, and Clive Owen's Shoot em Up, both being released tomorrow. If you're anything like Bone Senior, you're asking yourself, "What's 3:10 to Yuma about?" And my answer is, "Who cares? It's got Christian Bale AND Russell Crowe in it!"


Finally seeing Rescue Dawn.







And buying my Halloween costume.






Really, it's the little things that do it for me. And also picturing myself in that costume makes me pee a little.

Hell Hath No Fury Like a Woman Scorned for Sega

Bone Junior, to roommates: So, McBicep's back in town! He was back for three days before he called me. I know three days sounds like a long time for him to wait to see me, but in his defense, he was really busy. He was moving, unpacking, and helping his buddies move. Oh, and he went to the football game, hand washed both his cars, went pool hopping, and played double dutch with the people in his new complex. Yes, as in jumping rope. All before he had "a chance" to call me. And when I called him out on this, his response was, "Well it's kind of hard to talk on the phone while you're jumping rope." So I told him it was "kind of hard" for me to keep dating him when he's so gay.

Roommates: So, what rumor do you want us to spread? Homosexuality? Transexuality? Death?

Pause.

Bone Junior: I'm going with the clap.


And the moral of the story is this: True friends are the ones who will stick by you when you dress up in a Teletubby costume and cover someone's camaro in "You're a Douche" cards.