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So What Are We?

I have been wondering who I am for a while now. If I’m psychic and I’m receiving all the information from the people surrounding me… what part of this is actually me?

He’s here again. The grey-eyed man. He’s thinking about me right now. He has been all day, on and off again. I can feel him when his thoughts turn directly to me, recalling a memory or just intending to think about me in general. I wish he could hear me in return.

I know there is something I can do to help the situation and maybe I should do it. There’s been a lot of conflict inside of me, the closer and closer I seem to get to doing any real flirting with the grey-eyed man. Those who have “loved and lost” or, mostly, just lost, are playing games to try to end it before it even begins.

Don’t you humans know any better? Why won’t you just understand that a person is not with you and that means they don’t want you?

You could ask Crystal why she keeps thinking about the grey-eyed man, but she’s not. Not usually. She’s gotten into a habit of thinking about him periodically because he started it. His mind goes in circles, chasing his own tail. “She loves me, she loves me not!”

Today? He got a text about how she came through the store looking like Marilyn Monroe. Her short hair was a blonde curly mess since the moment she finished showering yesterday and it stayed that way, even after sleeping on it and a cat sleeping on it and everything. But if she ever tries to create art like that on purpose, it’s all over. This is why she never tries anymore. It’s a waste of fucking time and effort. If she’s going to curl that hair when it don’t wanna curl, it’s going to take a mother load of product and time and frustration and effort, so she accepts it’s not going to be another Monroe hair day tomorrow and lets it be.

Ms. Monroe’s ‘do (modified artistic rendition — we don’t need to see her tits, after all, DO WE?! You fucking animals!!!)

Now, she also came to the store in jammies, which he also heard about. WHO dresses in pajamas with Monroe hair? Just Crystal, it turns out, if you’re not a Victoria Secret model. (And she’s not.)

And he also knows she was missing for days, or at least he hadn’t seen her since he’d re-emerged from Hell, a.k.a. duty solely in the back kitchen, frying and sauteing and boiling and measuring — boring shit, to be sure. He’d been there for weeks. Nick and Ben both tried to convince her of the following scenarios:

  1. He rage quit over an argument about accidentally leaving the lights on, again. But it wasn’t even his fault. (Nick)
  2. He was fired! (Ben)
  3. He went to a new job. (Ben)
  4. He was at a new restaurant, let’s find the name of one to lead her to… (Nick, ever the resource waste artist)
  5. He went to another job but he was going to quit and come back because he missed Ms. Monroe ‘do. (Ben)
  6. He moved away!!!!! (NICK & BEN) [She cried and stopped going to the store altogether by November 28th.]

There was other nonsense in her head, no doubt, but it’s not worth repeating. And then, after she literally saw him for several seconds yesterday, they worked in tandem trying to make her believe she made it all up and he wasn’t there at all, after she’d told me he was never going to be back there again so what’s the use in going to that store, anyway? Who am I getting dressed up for? THE BOOGIE MAN!

Now he has his own menagerie of twats telling him the following scenarios:

  1. She doesn’t like him. It doesn’t matter that they made eye contact for straight up five seconds and all that. She was frowning and he had to be the reason. She was so happy he left for good.
  2. She intentionally tries to dodge him, that’s why he hasn’t seen her for days even though he was moved back up front because rotation.
  3. She didn’t smile at him so it must not be true!
  4. She’s a nut case and will drive him crazy because she’s crazy.
  5. She’s an immature asshole, just like themselves.
  6. What if she’s needy? What if she’s a gold-digger? What if she doesn’t care about anything but her vanity? He’s not handsome enough, he’s not good enough, he’s lacking the wow-factor needed to get Ms. Monroe.

Thanks, CAITLYN. I despise you, as well.

Marilyn’s Husbands.

Well, I think that about sums it up… you have opposition when you “marry and divorce,” especially if you don’t take at least 4 months to let them out of your system. You’ve got to turn your mind to new hobbies, perhaps even meet new platonic acquaintances, so on and so forth. That way the psychic connections in your brain are taken up by nicer entities than the narcissistic bastard you just dumped and ran away from.

Or could it be a little more innocuous than that presumption? Perhaps it’s not all narcs and normies fighting each other, after all, Crystal suggests to God Himself. I bet it has more to do with mismatched love languages and mismatched communication styles.

A “gold digger” might just be someone who prizes gifts as their primary love language, for example. They don’t actually have to be expensive gifts. They want proof that you were thinking about them when you weren’t spending time with them, usually. Even if you spend all the time in the world together, a well-placed surprise gift (even one of no intrinsic value) will knock her socks off. It’s not wrong to want to be taken care of.

They’re a narcissist, however, if they use and abuse that item, throw it away, and open their hand at you for another.

Sorry, that’s all I’ve got, God. Please continue.

Thanks, Crystal. That’s actually very insightful. I know you will have more insightful ideas later and I can’t wait to hear all about them.

She beams.

Crystal’s primary love language is WORDS OF AFFIRMATION. They cost you nothing, losers. And yet, you seem to be unable to put this currency out there in the relationship pool when with her. I hope you enjoy your gold-digging bitch, by the way, Mr. Carter. She’s a real class act and you’re doomed to repeat history because you do not understand yourself even a little bit, let alone love. I could write you a formula and you’d still fuck it up because you wouldn’t learn how to deviate from the formula for your significant other.

By the way, you’re a real class act yourself, masturbating and thinking about both women at the same time. YET AGAIN. You will never learn not to be a fornicator, will you? You’ve spent three years more or less alone and you still have failed to learn a damn thing about your five year relationship with the angel of love. She handed you all the answers on a silver platter and you turned your nose up at them. You run around in circles saying you don’t understand, you don’t understand! The one and only thing you have figured out when it comes to relationships is that asking for sex up front meant no call backs.

Crystal, on the other hand, has spent three years excising cancer from her gene pool. I’d explain that, but we prefer to be mysterious and enigmatic. Okay, fine, whatevs… she cut out every cancerous and cantankerous bitch in her life. Ruthlessly. People who mistreated her over and over again. When faced with the mirror of themself, they couldn’t figure out they hated themselves. So, instead, they put it all on Crystal. [Narcissism.]

No two people experience this woman the same way. SHE’S FUCKING TELEPATHIC. She’s reading your goddamn mind while she’s talking to you. But she doesn’t hear everything. And this is where her relationships break down and she can’t figure out why. It’s because people assume that she knows every single thought they have ever had.

She doesn’t.

If she knew what those girls were telling the grey-eyed deli man, she’d be slicing them to smithereens with her flaming katana for weeks. They’re insecure little bitches that projected themselves onto the poor man, making him hate himself for their flaws. I will get these two love birds together somehow one day, I assure you.

See, and this is another challenge right here: Ben and Nick would prefer to believe I am the grey-eyed deli man instead of being God because they’re rational beings that have determined God does not exist simply because they cannot see, hear, or feel God.

You feel me when you stub your toe, skin your knee, break your femur. You hear me when I tell you that you’re doing something wrong in the back of your head as your conscience. You hear me or feel me when I give you an intuitive push somewhere and you take the leap of faith. I am gravity. I am psychology. I am physics. I am science. I am every atom and molecule. I am The Universe(TM).

I cannot, however, just dissolve a bridge two people built up over time that wreaks havoc in the backs of their minds. Go figure, I gave myself rules to keep it ethical. But maybe the real reason is this: it’s so you can all “do what thou wilt” as you believe there is no repercussion so I can keep y’all in Hell as long as I wanna. It’s a guilty pleasure deep inside me, designing a volcano, I mean a place full of fire and brimstone… oh wait. Maybe those scribes saw the SUPER VOLCANO EXPLODE that will kill the majority of you assholes.

I can wait.

“God,” Crystal whines — as she very rarely is wont to do — “my shoulder still hurts.”

Well go on. Pray for her shoulder to get better. It’s dislocated again. Has been for an entire fucking week. (Hint: Grey-eyed man, it’s not you that made her frown. And yeah, I know your name is Joe, but she thinks the twats told her that and won’t use it. It was this dislocation of her shoulder + BenjaNick being twats in her head as she stared at you openly.)

Why did she turn the strawberries upside down?

To look for mold.

P.S. They weren’t that great.

Anyway, perhaps it should have gone a little more like this instead of how it actually went:

Crystal admonished BenjaNick, tsking at them. “The hot deli men are all gone, I’m absolutely not seeing a man at that store today, let alone the grey-eyed one, so STFU and simmer down before I give you something to talk about.”

BenjaNick gave up on trying to get her hopes up. They knew she was about to traverse the space and time it took to move between her home and the ill-fated Wegmans in uptown. She drove there, singing the Doop-A-Doo song to herself. It’s a song she made up with God Herself. [God’s gender fluid, don’t get your panties in a tangle now.] God rather liked the Doop-A-Doo song. Crystal usually used it when she was feeling footloose and fancy free. [Thank you, DJ Food, Jonathan McCallum, & Ken Nordine.]

She took her usual route that dodged most of the stop lights between Point A and Point B. That saved her a quarter of a tank of gas compared to the other way she could go. She loved doing silly little things that reduced her resource consumption like that. Plus, the speed limit was more to her liking: 25 MPH. At least, until the very end. She drove like a Sunday granny, most people thought, and she was okay with that because it saved lives. Skunks, squirrels, cats, and much more.

Those were the only lives she felt were worth saving these days. The Creator tended to agree, but She hoped leaving a few idiots alive wouldn’t be too terrible.

She arrived at Wegmans in a cheerful mood because she wasn’t actually raped the night before thanks to BenjaNick. [That’s the reason she was scowling, assholes.] She was going to buy the best whatever-the-fuck-she-was-there-for. It’s funny how she goes to the store and Rick, her father, forgets to ask for maple walnut ice cream, which happens to be in stock right now at said store. We’re going to use it as our excuse to go tomorrow since we don’t actually need anything and today seems to be his day off or something. [She refuses to believe that but we’ll go with that.]

She walks into the store and looks over in the deli because she was oriented that direction and it’s totally a habit. BAM! THERE HE WAS! The man she’d thought was lost in the masses of bullshit that happens to everyone, everywhere. And, she couldn’t tear her eyes away from him. She didn’t even pretend she wanted strawberries and instead she walked straight toward him, staring all the way!

Alas, what magic could this be? She smiles at him and he smiles back. FINALLY! Confirmation of flirting! Rejoicing could begin for both of them, especially since I wholly back this marriage 100%. They’re already married in their hearts, so thanks for playing the I’m a Grade A asshole game, CAITLYN and BENJANICK.

He gets a little bashful, perhaps, and she continues on her way because what she really went to the store for was water, which was on the exact opposite side of the store from the deli, and she had zero reason to walk past the deli other than “extra steps.” (Or is it the grey-eyed deli man, specifically? He is the only one who can’t get her off his mind, after all. The other two potential candidates have far too many assholes to fend off and somehow the grey-eyed man has just one bitch too many in his head.)

And then she bought her water and went home, happy to have finally succeeded in the one thing she wanted to do: smile at the man who is always thinking of her in the back of his mind.

The End.

Doop-a-doo~ Doop-a-doo~ Doop, Doop, Doop, DoopaDO!

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