Fuck Him and the Wrinkled, Old Horse he Rode in On

July 01, 2006 - 12:10 a.m.

Dear Pilot, if you’re reading this, STOP NOW, because I hate your ass and you should really never read this site again. Unless you want to read about the oily naked ass massages that I’ve been getting from Belle.

This will hopefully be the first and last post that I write about that fuckknob I just wasted 1.5 years of my life with. In my previous post, I listed all the heinous juvenile small-willy’d meany things that he said about me, in order to make sure that I hate his ass enough that I’ll spend the next two years seething alone at home, just me and my pilot-voodoo doll. I’d aim for the hands first, (but leave his wiener intact) so he’d loose his job and have to sit at home and stroke himself with stumps.

Anyway, I IMPLIED that his name calling of me was not based on truth, that it was in fact the OPPOSITE of truth, and that he don’t have a fool leg to stand on. But a friend of a friend read it and then asked, “Well, is Shawna all of those things?” HELLOOO don’t you know me at all? What the hell are you here for then??

Those things are not true, which is why I used them as examples, to prove my point, that the man has no integrity.

Get it?

And I was really holding back, the worst stuff that he said, and what a shitty, lazy, selfish-ass boyfriend he was. He is the laziest man I have ever known, in regards to participating in and maintaining a relationship. He couldn’t muster up even the slightest interest in my life or my well-being, or to offer any type of emotional support or verbal affection. He didn’t know anything that went on in my life, because he never asked. He’d go days with out contacting me at all, but there was no “catching up” the next time we’d be together.

When I brought this laziness to his attention he got all indignant. He thinks that “not fucking other women” is the same as “loyalty”. And that “not spending Saturday nights with the guys at the bars” is a “sacrifice”.

He was always reminding me of all of these “sacrifices” that he made for me, shit that any other human would view as just the barest of basics expected of any person in a dating relationship. Like being physically present every once in a while. Like offering up half-assed verbal affection once a week. Like occasionally inviting me to be a part of his “important” life. He thought he was doing me a favor. But what he needs to know is that he is way passed his prime, he wasted his prime years on some other bitches who are long gone. The days of the sexy pilot, the Maverick Top Gun fantasy, are long gone my friend, and you haven’t been young and handsome since that movie came out. The whole mustachioed “I’m a pilot” bullshit does not fly anymore, we look back at Goose and Tom Cruise and they look like a bunch of faggots, pansy-ass closeted pole smokers.

Now you’re 43 years old, no longer have that body, or that face or any youthful exuberance left in ya, just brittle balls, dry and dusty inside and out, and a deep well of old-man bitterness. You should have nailed down one of those girls from 20 years ago, when you had the chance. It’s all downhill from here, darling, and all you’ll be lucky to get now is a golddigger, because all you have to offer is your house, cars, and money. So marry some lady who cheerily fixes you a steaming bowl of arsenic oatmeal every morning, waiting for your old-ass to die so the man she really loves can move in.

My dad said to me the other day, in regards to the pilot: “I’ve often wondered about him…a man who is 43 years old, never been married, lives in a big mansion all by himself, surrounds himself with expensive things, 5 vehicles, and a boat….I wondered if he was too selfish to get married, to ever share those things with another person….”

Amen, Poppy.

I wondered that too. I mean, I’m not particularly materialistic, but wouldn’t most people wonder why a man who lives all by himself, would need a Porsche, a Harley, a Triumph, a vintage Vespa, (and a Buick), a boat, and a 5,000 square foot house on a double lot? What do ya need FIVE vehicles for? And it’s not like 3 of them were up on bricks in the front yard, he used all of them.

Did he share his home with me, welcome me into it? No. Did he share any of that with me? Not really, unless you count when he paraded me around like a trophy whore on the back of his motorcycles. Showing all his friends, “Look what I got,” cuz I was by far the cutest “girlfriend” in his entire circle of friends.

There were countless times he told me that I need to make more money. Why? I’m financially independent, I’ve always taken care of myself, I have expendable income and paid for a significant amount of our dating endeavors. I never asked him for one red cent. And he obviously has more money than he knows what to do with, spending maybe $5,000 a month on shit for himself and his house.

He said I should find a way to cash in on my creative skills, like one big money-making cash cow, to bring in a million. “Why don’t you quit writing all this stupid bullshit and write something that will make you some money?” Yeah, that’s exactly the kind of thing that an artist, a purist, a granddaughter to a fingerless Amishman wants to hear. Stupid fucking tool, where does he get off?

When we were first dating I confessed to him that I never graduated from college, that it was something that haunted me, and that I wanted to go back and attend Northwestern. He pulled out quite a performance, “I’ll do anything to support you, to get you back into school, just tell me whatever I need to do. You can quit your job, I’ll pay your rent so you can go to school full time and I’ll pay your tuition.” A big show, with hands waving enthusiastically.

Right.

I guess he thought I would never do it.

Because one year later I enrolled at UIC, and because it was all spur of the moment, I wasn’t really prepared. And then I was unexpectedly denied any financial aid or loans, and I was trying to buy a car, and I just didn’t have the $2 grand that I needed in a week.

I casually mentioned this to him one night and what I heard was:

*crickets*

Not a peep put of him.

“I understand how hard that must be.”

What???

I didn’t expect him to pay my tuition. I didn’t feel entitled to his money.

But last summer he promised to pay for Northwestern, which is like $40,000 a year. And now I went to a cheaper school, and all I needed was $2,000…(less, really, because I had about $1,500 on hand.)

“I understand how hard that must be” = “I am a liar, who talks big and never follows through or commits to anything. I love my money and it’s MINE, all MINE.”

Ok, so I can accept that he doesn’t feel obligated to invest in my education and my future. Ain’t no thang, I can still take care of myself, and I did pay for it myself.

But don’t you think that it’s just a bit of a slap in the face when he then says, “Let’s run some errands” and we end up at a high-end furniture store, and he suddenly orders a custom-made dining table that costs $5,000 and he cuts a check and pays for it right there? Or what about the time when he bought his Porsche and paid for it in full with a cashier’s check for $35,000?

And then he asked me to go to Leslie Hindman’s auction house to bid on something for him while he is at work. He wanted an antique globe, from 1850. Fascinating, I know. So I’m sitting at this auction with that stupid paddle, surrounded by rich snobs who think they shit golden bricks, and I bid for him, and I want to die of humiliation. I bid up to $8,000, the limit he had given me. For a fucking globe. He lost the sale, it went for $23k to some sucker. I left the paddle and my dignity on that chair, got up and walked in the pouring rain past Harpo Studios, thinking: help me, Oprah, got into my Shitty-Shitty Bang Bang, old-d-d-d Honda Civic with a bad muffler and drove on home, wondering, “What the fuck am I doing with this asshole? I HATE rich people. They’re fucking USELESS.”

Really, it’s like you trade in your character, personality, and respect when they hand you your first 6-figure paycheck.

(If you are rich or know someone who is rich, who somehow kept their soul and maintained their integrity, and are not completely useless to this world and all of mankind after getting rich, please, I want to hear from you. But be prepared to back your story up with some evidence.)

So I started to see everything in terms of what his priorities in life were. I would look around his house: “That globe is more important than my education.” “That Persian rug would have gotten me one semester closer to my Bachelor’s degree.”

Sure, he is entitled to spend his money however he wants. But all of his “things” sent a clear message to me: “See what I COULD do for you, but that I CHOOSE not to do for you? See how easy it would be for me to better your life and fulfill your dream, but that I still sit here and do nothing?”

And when I broke up with him, he flew into a rage and [enter teen drama music] he yelled, “Oh yeah? GOOD! Then give me back my camera!”

The shitty little point-and-shoot digital camera that we had bought together. A $300 camera was so important to him all of a sudden, because he thought he could hurt me by taking away the only camera I ever use. What a small, small man. How petty, Mr. Million Dollar House, who demands his little camera.

“And there better be batteries in it too!”

Classy.

And five minutes later I went online and bought myself a new digital camera, 20 times nicer, with all the bells and whistles, and it was delivered to my door two days later. And I paid for it in CASH, though I wasn’t able to wave a cashier’s check around in anybody’s face to obtain it. Shucks.

Moral of the Story: Hey you. I don’t need your money, you useless fuck. I don’t need your stingy gifts, your cheap cameras. I took care of myself before your tired ass came around, and I always will.

My next boyfriend will have a sense of humor and be able to laugh at himself and will stay up all night with me giggling in bed about our stupid inside jokes. He won’t be rigid and wooden and so completely guarded that he makes everyone around him uncomfortable.

He won’t be a robot.

My next boyfriend will want to have sex more than once a week. He’ll be more than happy to take a hot 30 year-old woman in her prime, and keep her satisfied. Note to men: if you want to hook up with a woman who is 14 years younger than you, then you’d better be capable of keeping up with her in bed, or you’re just asking for it.

Ok, so maybe this won’t be the last time I write about him, but I did get a lot off my chest with this one. But there is so much more to say, about that arrogant, ungrateful, undeserving ass.

In the meantime, I need to go find some male companionship, someone to snuggle up with, to help me forget about the last 1.5 years wasted. Someone to fill his shoes. Which won’t be hard, since even a little field mouse could fill his shoes.

And when you have the worst possible boyfriend a girl could ever be cursed with…there’s nowhere to go but up, right?

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