“Will you walk into my parlour?” said a spider to a fly.
The most classic line of literature or what-have-you that has to do with catching someone. In this case, the someone will be caught red-handed. It’s a poem by Mary Howitt that was published in 1829, by the way. “The story tells of a cunning spider who entraps a fly into its web through the use of seduction and manipulation. The poem is a cautionary tale against those who use flattery and charm to disguise their true intentions.” [The Wikipedia.]
I’m eavesdropping on the thoughts of a human being 600 miles away. A human being that I love dearly and have known for a quarter of my lifetime. A friend. A friend so awesome, he helped me break into my own house when we accidentally locked ourselves out. A friend I could share coffee with in large quantities and chit chat about the nothingness in the universe. (Or is it the everythingness?)
My friend was born a gender he does not identify with. He now expresses male and you would have no idea he was not equipped the same as all other males if he didn’t tell you himself. He has a lovely wife whom he is extremely devoted to and I am in love with their lovingness, for lack of a better term. I am their #1 cheerleader and fan, in my opinion. It’s fun how opinions don’t need to be facts, isn’t it? And they both love me, although I do not share the same soul-bond with his wife… yet. She was often busy working a crappy job at Walgreens while we were hanging out talking about everythingness and doing chores in her absence. I would have done the dishes for her more often if my back didn’t always hurt.
I vote for true love. I thought I’d tell you he already found it with his lovely wifey. I was trying to learn how to find it for myself from the both of them… because what I’m about to say might make you think otherwise, but I know better. In fact, the Ben voice in my head called me Romano’s “backup wife” a few times and I was pretty mad about that because even if it were true, he’s completely devoted to his current wife! He’s told me so in no uncertain terms himself many a-time, which is what allowed me to take my defenses down and be natural with him. He is in love with his woman and that is that. And that is the kind of man I need for myself; not Romano throwing away his current wife. A man like Romano who wants me to be that kind of wife.
There is nothing I would do to come between the Romanos. So, put away the rhetoric and listen to what I’m about to say next about telepathy, why don’t you?
I keep hearing P!nk in my head on repeat. It’s Romano thinking about me.
I had to put it out there that this is not romantic first, though, because some day he might read this, you know. I understand how to protect the union of two other people: DON’T THREATEN SOMEONE’S TRUE LOVE WITH ANOTHER BEING BY FLIRTING WITH THEM OR BEING INAPPROPRIATE WITH THEM. I don’t know why humanity might need that spelt out but here it is, folks! “I’m the messiah,” she crows. Or parrots. Who knows which?
A psychopath came between us as friends and it unraveled. I knew it’d only be a matter of time before my friend came around. You see, I only thought my ex was a narcissist, and if you have any knowledge about narcissists already, you know they always expose themselves eventually. They are so self-centered that the people who know what a true connection is like will eventually figure out the narc is trampling boundaries that normal people observe by paying the fuck attention to the behavior of another human being.
IF YOU HAVE SOMEONE IN YOUR LIFE WHO IS IGNORING NON-VERBAL CUES THAT TELL THEM TO STOP BEING A BITCH, TAKE THEM TO COURT.
Anyway… I keep hearing a specific part of this song in my head:
“Just a second we’re not broken just bent, and we can learn to love again
It’s in the stars, it’s been written in the scars on our hearts
We’re not broken just bent, and we can learn to love again“
Taken in an aromantic context, it’s about forgiveness of another human being. Love isn’t always romantic, though this song is definitely romantic to Pink (and the rest of the lyrics are romantic, for sure.) This is why I love artists through their art and try not to watch music videos; she makes it unequivocally about her husband or whatever (complete narcissistic bitch, might I add, based on the body of her work) and it doesn’t have to be.
I keep asking God what this is about. Sometimes, someone other than God answers, so take the following with that in mind (that is, with a grain of salt.)
According to that which is in my head, my ex just told Romano that he never liked P!nk (Pink, for those of you with screen readers out there.) The Romanos are both deeply passionate about Her work and the four of us went to a concert years ago to watch her perform.
I’m not sure I ever mentioned it to anyone, but I saw she was lip synching, which I am fine with overall because singing is a hard gig, y’all, and all you really went for was to look at the pretty dancing girls, amirite? That’s what Benji went for, anyway… She also started canceling shows a week later because she had a crazy illness going on and I wished she’d cancelled ours in St. Louis so she’d get better. I could have waited months for her show. I was so stoned that the lip synching killed the entire show for me, but not in a way that made me unlove Pink, just realize she was at her limit and should have recognized it sooner. (Much love, grrrl!)
God says that my ex just told Romano that he never liked Pink at all.
This would confirm my suspicion that he went to public events to ogle tits and ass of pretty much everything around and then used that energy to rape me after the show. I was high as a kite because Ben was more than happy to play D.D., even if he was drinking, too. Occasionally, I would be the D.D. but Ben had discovered that he got laid less if I was not the drunk one of the two of us. I’m pretty sure in retrospect that was his motivation for volunteering to allow me to party hard — which I only did because I was in immense pain from two subluxated vertebrae 24/7. Now that God’s fixing that — what, did you think we wouldn’t have proof of Her existence by the end of this saga?! — it’s getting much better. However, we’ve hit a spot in my physical therapy where I’m constantly in pain unless I do the equivalent of stop, drop, and roll. That is, spontaneous yoga or stretching in public.
It involves pushing my right shoulder down and back and sometimes also my left. It involves tilting my head or turning it from one side to the other. It involves stopping randomly in mid-stride and pushing the toes of my left foot against the ground with my left leg extended behind me; the top of my foot bent somewhat like a ballerina. Like a hip flexor stretch except standing. This is something I used to do to relieve pain at Verizon when I was a 411 operator years and years ago.
That’s exactly what it is, declareth God. (A standing hip flexor stretch.)
NO! THIS IS MY RODEO! If God wanted to talk to you, you’d already have an open dialogue!
Fixing my back involves a lot of stretching and God loves to do it in the middle of public and on camera at Wegmans. SHE also loves to stare at DELI BOYS. Go figure. It’s because she’s rooting for true love, y’all. She thinks she’s speared a Romano for me. His name is Joe, wouldn’t you know? And he’s totally got the hots for the girl but she doesn’t believe it. That’s right! The girl doesn’t believe me that some man could be in love with all of her one day. She doesn’t believe GOD! Why-ever not?! Because I also lied to her tons pretending to be Benjamin Andrew Carter of 135 Wenneker Drive.
We were talking about a man maybe forgiving his autistic former best friend now that he’s begun to learn the truth of all things(TM). The narcissistic facade is fading, the psychopathic charm is wearing off, and the man who cast the spell to deceive is starting to expose his true nature. He’s counting on time and distance making people forget everything he’s said or done in the past. Why does he have to steal my friends? That’s the big question here.
He has a passel of boys from his college days that camp out twice a year and invite him. Why not them? He has all his siblings that he tortures. Why not them? He has his Polygamery friends. Why not them? He’s got his trivia-loving family and friends. Why not them? Why’s it gotta be my friend? MY BEST FRIEND IN THE WHOLE WIDE WORLD?! MY ONE AND ONLY SUPPORT MECHANISM ALIVE ON PLANET EARTH?
I still love my friend, of course. I daydream of him living across the street where I am so we can visit and drink espresso or even regular coffee (the best I can find, actually!) And I’d love to explain my side of it all, but it’s pointless. The short story, the facts, are as follows:
- Ben told me he never had a girlfriend before me. I cut him far too many breaks. God says he had at least one girlfriend before me, so it’s all a lie, making every time I slept with him rape. It was all based on false pretenses. False pretenses that got him pussy when he would have otherwise gotten none.
- Ben broke up with me on someone else’s advice, which didn’t work out the way Ben thought it would at all. He stole all my friends from me, abusing them when he had at least 30 of his own network he could have fallen back on.
- Ben told me he was gay and played the part convincingly.
- Ben got a second girlfriend and pretended it was a man TO MY FACE!
- Ben stole the girl’s life and killed her with lies.
As for coffee… My home is beyond humble. It’s pitiful. But I do have an espresso maker of my own now and I make it twice a day for myself. I’m getting pretty good at making myself a fancy coffee out of the six shots (or is it 4?) of espresso the coffee pot brews. I’d say that is too much caffeine, but I’ve yet to have any ill side effects… but the day I took three cups of coffee at Outback while having lunch with my mother for the first time in an eon as well as one pot of espresso… I had arrhythmia that day.
My only conclusion here is that espresso really doesn’t have as much caffeine and people think it does if I drink 8 shots a day without an issue but I cannot drink 4 shots and also drink 3 cups of regular coffee, which is approximately the same amount of caffeine if you take a look at what an Americano is. Actually, it should be less. By a whole shot or serving!
So why did my heart rate go up with the coffee from Outback? The answer is: it’s not the coffee, it’s all the hidden fucking sugar in their strawberry-chicken salad. Specifically, that raspberry vinaigrette. I swear I’m never eating out again. I’m just going to buy a Sam’s Club chicken (if they have one) and make my own fucking strawberry salad if that’s what I’m going to eat. (It’s not, but it looked like the most Crystal-friendly thing on the menu, I’ll tell you that much.)
The server told me good on me for admonishing my mother for trying to order all kinds of food she cannot eat. She ended up eating a bunch of it anyway… they put butter in and on everything, just about, especially if it’s a vegetable. They marinated the meat or otherwise dressed it up in seasonings and I took a tiny bite of her steak and I know for a fact it had pepper, I looked later and saw that pepper is on her no-no list…
The woman doesn’t want to follow the no-no list. I get it, I was the same way until I was mostly better. Now I’ve just got bouts of suicidal tendencies that end up with an entire large Little Caesar’s pizza in a parking lot, stuffing my face because I’m fucking starving. Getting judged by random passersby because I am a fat bitch hiding in my car with an entire pizza entering my face hole.
Public Service Announcement:
If you see a fat (wo)man eating like there is no tomorrow, she’s starving. The fat part is a health issue caused by either eating no-no foods or a medical problem. STOP JUDGING US. YOU STUFF YOUR FACES TOO. JUST BECAUSE YOU ARE NOT FAT AS FUCK DOES NOT GIVE YOU THE RIGHT TO JUDGE US.
To every man on planet Earth: CAN YOU EAT A LARGE PIZZA SOLO IF YOU HAVEN’T HAD A MEAL IN 24 HOURS? The answer is YES.
So can a woman. It goes both ways, bro. Get the woman to a doctor and get her allergies and intolerances tested. (Here’s a handy web site for the intolerances done on the cheap: usfoodintolerance.com — it’s like $35 per person instead of $800. GET YOURSELF TESTED, TOO, it could save you from a heart attack in 30 years.)
Pro tip: Make a salad with your favorite greens (iceberg, romaine, spinach — whatever you like not what is “healthiest”), top with sprouts of some sort for a vitamin punch, a handful of meat and/or nuts you like, drizzle 1/4 cup vegetable oil that you love (I prefer avocado), add 4-8 grinds of Himalayan pink salt, mix it up a bit, and eat it to stave off starvation.
DO NOT USE “SALAD DRESSING.”
I REPEAT: DO NOT USE BOTTLED POISON YOU BUY OFF THE FUCKING STORE SHELF.
This concludes our P.S.A.
I hope Ben is telling Romano all kinds of things. I hope Romano gets a vindictive streak a mile wide and pries out all the lies of Mr. Carter. And then I hope he’ll text me when he’s done so I can take that motherfucker to court for raping me over 1,000 times. It’s all a waiting game.
“Will you walk into my parlor?” said a spider to a fly.