Happy ‘Fucking’ Thursday my friends. May it be a good one.
Love, Sparkly Nee
Why this blonde haired beauty and I connected, I’ve no idea. I’m so glad we did though. Told her I’d write her a story to a photo prompt. Of course she looks like a model. Here you go my sweet Madeline. Hope you like it.
Photo courtesy of Madeline Walsh from 1EarthNow.
Whoever said being pretty had its advantages was full of shit, Leslie said to herself as she gazed into her closet. She searched for a purple skirt that she swore she picked up from the cleaners last Tuesday. Her best friend Raven set up this damn blind date for her. She wanted to cancel. All she wanted to do was change into her yoga pants and fleece pull over and curl up with a good book. She’d have a bottle of sweet red wine too. No need for a glass when you’re alone. Who gives a shit if you swig it from the bottle?
She shook her head and wondered how the hell she got here. She thought, I have so many pretty things. A good life, but no one to share it with.
Leslie thought back to the last eight months. Her heart had been handled precariously by a man she thought she loved. He would tell her one day that he loved her, then the next day, he’d be indifferent. She tried to change. To get Brian to pay attention. To give her more. He wouldn’t. It didn’t matter that she was pretty. Thin. Smart. Made her own money. That she lived an independent life. It didn’t matter. She wasn’t the one for him. Her heart broke when it ended. Now she wasn’t sure if she was ready to start this roller coaster of serial dating again.
She knelt down and found the skirt on her closet floor. Stood up and pulled it snug around her tiny waist. Peered into the full length mirror in her bedroom. After a couple of turns she decided she didn’t look half bad. Whiskers, her fat cat, stared at her from his spot at the end of Leslie’s bed. He lifted his paw and gave it a lick. Settled his fluffy head back onto the bed and promptly fell to sleep. Leslie could hear him purr from across the room as she settled onto the chair in front of her vanity table.
Just then her phone alerted her to a new text. It was him. The new guy, Robert. Two weeks ago, Raven sent her a picture of him via text. He was tall, dark and handsome. Such a cliche. Raven told her not to worry, he was a great guy too. He was in advertising or something. Leslie hoped that their conversation tonight wouldn’t be strained. She prayed she wouldn’t run her mouth too much. It happened a lot. Especially if she had a cocktail or three. She made a mental note to eat a couple of pieces bread before she drank. It would help soak up the alcohol and keep her from making an ass of herself. Damn all this prep work!
Robert’s text informed her he was in the parking lot waiting for her. Leslie replied and let him know that she’d be right down. She’d be damned if he found out where she lived before their first date. She looked at her reflection in the vanity mirror. Put the finishing touch on her dark but sparkly eyeliner. Painted her lips with a crimson and black lipstain. There was no need for lipstick that would spread into the tiny fissures around her lips.
Time for me to get a move on isn’t it Whiskers?, she said to her fat kitty as she walked past her bed and headed through the bedroom door. Leslie paused at the front door, grabbed her purse and coat. She headed out into the night hoping that Robert might be the right one. That he might love her, for everything that she is. And isn’t.
Thank you Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for the prompt this week. Her story hit me right in the heart. It is poignant and emotional. I felt every word as I read it. Be sure to check it out. Rochelle is a genius.
It’s over Melissa. I have to go.
What did I do wrong? Tell me Miles.
You didn’t do anything wrong. We were merely a passing fancy.
I thought you loved me.
I do. I’m no good. You are so loved. I can’t compete.
I don’t want you to compete. I want you. You’ll never want for anything. I’m your girl.
You can’t be Love. You belong to someone else. I belong to no one. Never have, never will.
Stricken with grief, Melissa turns away. She stares through the stained glass window of the coffee shop and lets the tears come.
As Rita walks the path, she wraps her coat around her. Tries to stave off the chill in the air. She hates this time of year. Everything around her is dying. There is a gentle mist sailing through the air. She hold her umbrella over her head but it doesn’t help much. The wind has picked up and is whipping the mist in her face. It chills her to the bone. Just like the memory of him. Of her sweet punk. Rita thinks about him and her heart aches. He told her he loved her. It was summer. The day was warm, sunny and vibrant. She felt alive for the first time in a very long time.
She saw his name today. Read his words. Used to be he wrote for her. But not anymore. Those days are over. All that’s left is the bitterness of a love that once was. Of the love she thought they had. She pulls her coat tighter and keeps walking the path. The leaves on the trees are yellow where they were once so bright green and full of life. She longs for the warmth of summer. The warmth of him. But he is gone. What’s left is decay and the chill of autumn.
She thinks of him. His name. It is a word that dances on the tip of her tongue. Still. But then she remembers, and the name sours instantly. Rita remembers it’s over. She’s empty. She wishes she’d never uttered it. That name.
She speaks to the air, “Do you miss me? Do you wish for me? Do you still say my name at that exquisite moment?”
Rita holds out her palm from under the umbrella and feels that the mist has turned to rain. She lets the drops fall on her hand and keeps walking. The woods envelop her and she wishes she could forget. The words, the love and him.
My friend, the original Big Bad Voodoo Daddy, came to me last week to tell me that he had fucked up. I looked up at him, intrigued. I told him to go on. He said he and a friend had come to a mutual decision to be “Friends with Benefits”. He was shocked that she then started to have feelings for him! I wanted to reach out and slap him. He’s all 6 foot 4, tattooed and gorgeous. But he can be a dumb ass. I looked at him and called him a dumb fuck. I asked if she was the one that suggested they become FWBs, and he sheepishly said, yes. I told him that even though I’ve been married for 23 years I knew the outcome of his story. If the girl suggests being FWBs, she’s already on her way to “Love”ville. I told Big Daddy that if she calls you at midnight and she’s drunk, then that’s a booty call. Those are okay. But “Friends with Benefits” seldom work out. Someone ALWAYS gets hurt.
In my experience, it has usually been me that got hurt. I always used sex as validation. I figured if he had sex with me, it must mean he cares about me. Right? No he didn’t. To him I was just a piece of ass, till the next real relationship came along. And the boys that hid me away from others? That was even more fucked up. It doesn’t mean that I didn’t hurt a boy or two back in the day. I know I did. Sometimes all we are to each other is sex and body parts. We’re meeting a need or it could even be as simple as curiosity. But remember curiosity killed the cat, or in this case Big Bad Voodoo Daddy’s friendship. To this day there are some people that I’ve regretted sleeping with. Most I do not. We gave each other what we needed. We took what we needed too. Even if it was a booty call or FWB, there was some comfort in it.
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Overanalysing Pop Culture Since 2014
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addiction, borderline personality disorder, bpd, borderline, dbt, recovery, mentil illness,
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