Post-Birthday Things

Well, that's it. I'm 42. Guess I'll go die now.

Fucking Ancient

But, living out of a sense of pure spite is still an option, so maybe I'll try that for a bit.

Actually, I had a pretty fantastic weekend. I got books. I got tarot. I got a nifty little crystal cicada from one of my dear friends. I'm so predictable. I don't think that's a bad thing.

I've realized today that I'm apparently the world's greatest therapist, and I fucking hate it. Now, disclaimer: I'm just as guilty as anyone else in the world when it comes to bitching about relationship issues - parents, boyfriends, children, co-workers, friends. Half of the fucking shit I write here is just me whining endlessly about the past and done. But my god, dude, I have friends who hit me up every single day to moan about that horrible thing their boyfriend has been doing for the past 3 years. I have other friends who only hit me up when they need to rant about that thing their husband has been doing for 15 years, and then I don't hear from them again for 6 months.

The men, though...the men are the worst. I mean, at least with the women, it's relatable. Shit I've gone through, myself.

"I found his secret stash of barely legal..."

"We never do anything romantic anymore..."

"He forgot my birthday/anniversary/…"

I get that stuff. I do get tired of hearing it over and over and over, but I understand it. I can wrap my head around it. These men, though, they are out of their fucking minds.

"I know I cheated, but she doesn't get to decide to just break up!"

"Just because I missed the birth of our child because I was too hung over to drive her to the hospital, doesn't mean I don't care!"

"Hey Nymphae, I think you're really hot. Here's a compliment. Now, let me ruin it by telling you about the hot 19 year old I'm trying to bang."

Dude, wtf? No, seriously, what in the ever loving shit is wrong with you?

I don't know, maybe I just attract crazy.