Rings

Not all of them were narcs, mind you. One of them was the victim of his own narcissistic parent. That reminds me… I’m so tired of mommy’s boys. You should have your own husband, MOMMA. Your child is not your husband. Even in the Bible it says that children should “leave and cleave” to their spouse. They are no longer in alliance with their mother. They now belong to their wife. I suppose some of the problem is that nobody wants to get married anymore because paperwork is annoyingly tedious.

I would like to suggest one simple solution, peeps: Buy a ring for yourself that you like and when you are in a relationship and committed (a.k.a. you are FUCKING THEM), you put on your ring. When you are done with someone, you take the ring off. It’s that fucking simple. And, since the ring is YOURS, something YOU picked out, there’s no reason to throw it at the other person in a huff. No no. You put it in your pocket until you’re serious about someone else. It is yours. This is true for both men and women.

I am sick of looking at men who walk hand in hand with women, seeing a rock on her finger and nothing on his. I’m shopping for a husband, you know. I’m not gonna hit on some dude that’s taken. I can’t tell the difference because y’all don’t wear a ring. I can’t hit on any of you. You could be taken and I don’t even know it. I would never, ever come between two people trying to love each other. EVER!!!!!

Never. I root for love! I want love to win! Even if it’s not me winning love, I want love to win! It should. I should be the cheerleader, cheering on two people trying their best for each other. If I were to try to come between them, it would be on me if they fall apart. That’s some bad karma/juju. I did one time. Come between two people who chose each other rather than the one choosing me. I would never do it again.

First of all, even if I did win, how much effort and energy did I spend trying to win? I can’t keep that up forever. I wanna be me. They should choose me because I’m me! If you don’t like me, fuck off already. I didn’t ask you to bark up my tree to tell me you don’t think I’m pretty enough for you. That’s some bullshit there… and it’s exactly what has happened to me at least three times, if not every time.

These men, they bark up my tree. They choose me, far as I can tell. Then we do things together, I fall for their bullshit, and they realize… “Zomg, she’s end game material and I’m not done gaming! HALP! GET ME OUTTA HERE!” And then they make me pay for it. They make me miserable for daring to be beautiful on the inside. They make me hurt for being lovely. Loving. And in love.