For those of you who so graciously followed me from my lost blog: Diary of a Sugar Babi, I thank you. And you're probably wondering why I fell off the face of the Earth with no explanation at all, and apparently some questionable smut before that.
On one of the last summer days in August, I arrived home to MY apartment where my now ex-boyfriend was found pants down with someone I considered to be my best friend. I mean, this was the lady who was supposed to be my Maid of Honor if I ever gave up and threw in the towel.
Apparently, I was getting way ahead of myself. Because never will I marry OR have her as a MOH. But back to the juicy details. I walked in my door, greeted by a very bewildered French Bulldog, Brewser. I was toting a new slinky black dress for my supposed dinner date with the boyfriend that evening. In the other hand I had Bears tickets for, oh well lets just call him Douchebag, for a few weeks later.
I patted Brewser on his fuzzy little wrinkled cheeks and then I heard a very strange yet familiar noise. The breath caught in my throat and I felt that familiar lump of disappointment in the pit of my stomach. Bags were dropped onto the tile in the foyer as I stormed into MY bedroom which I had so graciously converted into a unisex bed for Douchebag and I. And let me tell you, I did not want to give up my hot pink silk sheets and zebra print rug. (Luckily there were stuffed into my closet...)
The sound of wet slapping and muffled moans erupted from behind the nearly-shut bedroom door. Again, MY fucking bedroom. Apparently, this was my que, some "Welcome Home Honey" that was. I shove the door open, somehow my arms flung up around my chest just in time for Douchebag to turn around and stare at me with that stupid look on his face.
But the worst part was seeing my best friends long blonde hair fanned out over my pillow as she lay on her back like the little whore she is. And I mean it, the girl is a whore, but I had loved her regardless. Not so cute and lovable anymore, however. Words escaped me for what seemed like an eternity. This is what happens when after years you let your guard down.
I could taste the ocean on my lips. Salty tears streamed down my face without consent to be shed. I slammed the door behind myself and went on what can only be described as an all-out rampage. Tables were overturned, his clothes were ripped off hangers and thrown off the balcony in a satisfying stream of blurred colors. Lamps were thrown. Profanities were muttered, rather loudly, all the while. I screamed at them to get out before I get really out of control.
When the door slammed behind them, I sank down against the door and cried. I was angry and hurt and ashamed, stroking Brewser absentmindedly. When the sun sunk down behind the horizon, I finally picked myself up off the floor. Wiped my tears away. I grabbed my bag of that evening's dress, accessories, and sexy underthings and walked to stores downtown to return them. Instead, I bought a super-sized bag of Almond Joys, some coconut vodka, and some iTunes. I stayed in all night crying and shoving candy bars into my face and choking on sweet vodka.
And this, my friends, is why I don't date.