I hope that no one fucks you as good as I did, til the day you die

February 22, 2005 - 12:49 a.m.

Today is not a good day and I am violently pissed off so I have no idea where this going. Pissed off about work, that fat waste-of-space Filipino, the fact that my email is now blocked at work - AGAIN - but instead let’s just channel this anger towards men, because it makes for more entertaining reading. I am running out of bitter things to talk about, so let's trudge up the past and beat a dead horse.

Dear Ex-boyfriends,

There are a very-very small-small number of you who fall into the “Good Boyfriend” category, and those of you who do, know exactly who you are. The rest of you – not so much. Not sure if you fall into the “Good Boyfriend” category? When in doubt, assume that you’re an asshole. How many of you walked away from me with a clean conscience? I will count you on my right hand and still have 3 fingers left.

Niggas, get out of my present. Stay in the past because you are making me look bad.

You’re a homo and you don’t know how to fuck,
Shawna Mooney.

Every week or so my pilot comes across some more photos of mine, and all kinds of explanations are called for. Maybe no one told you this, but I went to college for photography and I have photos all over my crib, some in books and some in boxes. I thought most of the old boyfriend stuff was locked away in long-term storage, cuz lord knows I don't want to look at it, but my pilot still pours through and finds them.

“Who’s this guy?”

“Just a stupid ex-boyfriend.”

“Why did you guys break up?”

“He cheated on me.”

[repeat 3 times]

*screeching brakes, twisting metal, broken glass*

Do you see how stupid you are making me look? What the fuck is wrong with me that you cheated on my ass? NOTHING, that’s what, faggot. You’re just a stupid fucking faggot who has a whole lot to learn about life, and doesn’t know his ass from a hole in the ground. Seriously, (with a few exceptions) I am totally a dope girlfriend, and indisputably a demon in the sack, so why go wander into some boring ho’s cold, dry, crooked twat when you have the Vagina of the Lost Ark at home: hot, golden, and shooting out rays of light?

Wow, that sounds so bitter, like the angry cat lady. I guess I feel like I can bitch about these things because I am so wholly confident that I’m a good girlfriend and I treat my boyfriends WELL, that any amount of cheating is nothing short of PREPOSTEROUS. And this confidence is further supported by the fact that every asshole comes crying back.

Every.
Last.
One of them.

Usually around my birthday or Christmas, I get the cards, letters, or phone calls. Regret. Remorse. Epiphany.

Dear Everyone,

I could not give a shit about your regret. I am sorry that when you came to the fork in the road, and had a decision to make, that you took the Asshole Route. Next stop, ASSHOLEVILLE. That’s a shame. This here is your moral lesson, take it to your next girlfriend. But hell if I’m going to assuage your pseudo-conscience of guilt that was manufactured long after I was gone, after the boring ho was gone, and you had time to sit there by your lonely self and pretend to have emotional depth.

You were nothing but a moral lesson,
Shawna Mooney.

I’m not even kidding that this was the biggest waste of time ever, to write this entry. This is merely a distraction, and a hair more interesting that writing about work.

Now that I think about it, I've had seven boyfriends in my life and three of them cheated so I guess those stats aren't really that unusual in the world of teen and 20s relationships. So here is the plan. Half you bitches are being erased from history, for good. Two of you already are. I’m not going to claim you if you’re just going to make me look bad.

You know, it’s really hard for me to even write a bitter entry anymore, because my eyes keep wandering to the left of my monitor, where there is a framed photo of my pilot, and to the right of my keyboard where my switchblade sits.

*eyes wander*

*stare, daydream*

*tingling twat*

Think: “Who really cares. I don’t really care. Why am I even writing this stupid shit?”

It’s difficult, really, for me to be bitter and angry nowadays. But I see it as a challenge, and I promised you something besides happy boy talk, and I WILL make it happen.

Mmmm. I can totally smell his man sweat on my hands. I am never washing my hands again.

From here on out, when the pilot asks me, "why did you guys break up?" my reply will be: "His fool-ass fell off a combine whilst threshing wheat, was rendered impotent, and I dumped him.”

Here I will briefly describe a few select cheatin' idiots, using their real names for maximum embarrassment:

José, the dirty Puerto Rican with Spanish Cartel Father: His dick was totally shaped like Gonzo’s nose. It was freakish and long and he cheated on me because we dated for 6 months and I still wouldn't have sex with him, because he was a dirty Puerto Rican who would never hold a job, and my gut told me that I couldn't trust him. The idiot asked me to carve my name on his chest with a razor blade. No lie.

Ben, the pretty-boy rugby-playing Brit. One day I found a feces-covered dildo hidden in his laundry hamper. I looked at it and chuckled to myself, imagining that while I am out working minimum wage 40 hours a week, my boyfriend is at home drilling his own ass. I told all of my friends and they laughed about this for years. Dear Ben, you are a retard in the sack, and I was totally watching Star Trek while we were doin’ it.

And the last one. He told me that he was leaving me because a girl from his past had come out of the woodwork and he was in love with her. WHILE HE WAS BREAKING UP WITH ME, he actually said, "I love her and I believe that she is my soul mate and I'm destined to be with her. Although...I am a little worried that we'll never have sex as good as the sex that you and I had." Ha ha ha! The CHEATER telling ME about his concerns for his sexlife with the girl he is cheating with! CLASSIC! I could write a whole book just based around that sentence alone! And then three weeks later that girl married a different guy, and there's your instant karma, like a kick in the face.

Ok, now that I’ve got that out of my system, can I just tell you this? Can I?

This weekend the pilot and I went out and bought a nice new mattress for his antique bed frame. Now we have a nice comfy place for our naked lovin'.

There are cowboy spurs hanging from the head board for when we decide to get freaky. They say that in order to save a horse, one should ride a cowboy, and since I’ve always been one to support animal rights, I think that sounds like a marvelous idea. And next to the bed is a door that leads out onto a private balcony, where I plan to drink coffee in the nude every morning come summer. Eat your heart out. Or better yet, come over and join me, because my man doesn’t drink coffee so it might get kind of lonesome.

ALWAYS REMEMBER:

Shawna loves you.

She’s just not in love with you.

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