Pretty Little Packages: A Collection of FML Stories from the Present and Not So Recent Past
Welcome to my blog. We all have moments in our life (Female or Male) with some sort of significant other. Whether that be a husband, a wife, boyfriend, girlfriend, a friend with benefits, a one night stand, a booty call or however you would like to refer to them as, when a "What the Fuck" moment happens. You live it, you know it, you love it, you hate it, you cry over it and you can't wait to share it with someone. Why? Because it's so undeniably wrong, distasteful, funny, heartbreaking, ridiculous, true and LOL, WTF, OMG, blah blah blah. You see, I call that "what the fuck" moment a Pretty Little Package. We have all had one left on our door step at some point in life (some more than others unfortunately) that we marvel at. The intricacies of the wrapping, the colors of the paper, the texture, the weight…so exciting and so inviting. You think, "this is all for me?" With eyes wide you proceed to either slowly unwrap or tear into it with anticipation…..
Wait, this is where it can go one of two ways:
1. ….eyes wide you proceed to slowly unwrap or tear into it and YOU LOVE IT! IT"S SO AWESOME! THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU!
or
2. ….eyes wide you proceed to slowly unwrap or tear into it and YOU WANT TO SLOWLY STAB YOURSELF IN THE EYE WITH A BLUNT OBJECT BECAUSE IT HAS TURNED OUT TO BE SO NOT LOVED AND NOT AWESOME AND SO SO BAD ON FIFTY DIFFERENT LEVELS!
I unfortunately have opened up option #2 way too many times in life and realized that the Pretty Little Package left on my door step was, more often than not, full of shit. Because, let's face it, all of us during "stellar" moments in life are all wrapped up as Pretty Little Packages disguising the true poop we really can force ourselves and others to step in.
Disclaimer
The following is not for the faint of heart, or those quick to sit in a dark corner and begin dry heaving at the vulgarity. It certainly isn't for those who like to wallow in self pity if one of these lovely packages has ever been left at your door (or you've been the package)…. and it definitely will slaughter all notions you may have had of having a happy, fulfilling, life, guilt free with a significant other as described above. I only speak from the heart. This is my therapy. Love it, loathe it, believe it, don't believe it, or turn up your nose at it…you have all survived at least one Pretty Little Package.
Pretty Little Package #1: The Lefty
It always happens this way. You tell yourself, "I will never meet a quality guy in a bar." Then you do, then you realize, "oh shit I really didn't." By then it's too late. By then you have already convinced yourself that this one is different. You two are so alike, he makes you laugh, you have common interests. This has to be the beginning of something real. Oh God, were you wrong! You didn't even see it coming although you really have like twenty times before but you were too dumb to notice the twenty first time around. The slinky approach, the swanky drink, the slight touch or "Keeno" as my friend JNG once told me (look up "Kinesthetics"; you'll laugh your ass off).
Ahhh "The Game" has been set into motion and now his claw (just the left one) has snagged you. The next thing you know you have unwillingly agreed to a date with him and his left claw. Over the next three days you attempt to talk yourself out of it. Why? You know why, you know…. you knew this shit would end bloody for you all along. But you can't help it. You're drawn like a bug from the swap land to one of those fucking zap it things. You recite over and over in your head on the fatal dinner date that night, "Oh look at the pretty light; I just want to touch it." Then the last thing you feel is your asshole being pushed out of your mouth, literally, in a bedroom romp that same evening that makes you think, "What the fuck was that? That wasn't pretty!" But you keep going back…… you learn to appreciate the initial shock. It kinda tickles actually and brainwashes you slightly. You say, "I'll keep it cool, play the "man" role, act like I don't care, no attachments, we are just dating." Bullshit!! The more time you spend with The Lefty (as we will now refer to him) the more time he has to make you step into the batters box and take a few hacks. We've all had a Lefty. Here's mine as described in a Playboy Centerfold's Q&A insert. He would absolutely love that I described him in this format. You'll see why in a moment. Sorry people, no pictures. I have to protect the innocent.
Lefty of the Year
D.O.B.: Honestly have no clue. But I am a "younger" man.
Hair Color: Blonde with a receding hair line that goes well back into the middle of the dome.
Eye Color: Grey-ish Blue from some of the residual shit that resides in them.
Measurements: Spare tire, slight hint of moobs (man boobs) and proud of it.
Occupation: Sports Instructor at the recreation center three nights a week baby!
Likes: Porn, Catan (kinda like an online Dungeons and Dragons), Football, finding fresh, hot music jams that no one has heard of yet.
Dislikes: Waking up before noon, any type of work that doesn't require me to "beat it" LOL / JK…. but seriously
Favorite Movie: Porn in general
Favorite Way to Spend a Lazy Sunday Afternoon: Porn, Catan, Porn, Catan, Football, Porn, Catan
Favorite Thing to Do on a Friday Night: Get wasted, make my lady friend purr with impressive asshole pyrotechnics
Favorite Thing to Give as a Present: Mixed Tapes (I'm sorry CD's)
A Hidden Talent You Possess: Beat Boxing
What Type of Sleeper Are You: Real heavy like…. I flail around as to physically maim said lady friend and steal all the covers.
What a Gem! I wish I could clone a baker's dozen of my Lefty!
As you have no doubt picked up on, my Lefty has an incessant need to watch porn, jerk off and tell me about it. I can't decide whether the most horrifying thing for me is the fact that I actually, oh for a good week or two, put up with this shit and laughed it off trying to be the "cool kid" or the fact that he actually verbalized this to me like it's "NBD." Please don't get me wrong. I'm not against masturbation. It's perfectly normal but come on. I mean "really??" There comes a point when some things are just TMI!! Too much information or TMM! Too much masturbation. That was dumb. Moving on……
My Lefty is a human beat box that charms us dimwits with reverberating noises from the back of the throat and short, quick, clicks of the tongue. It does make for some fresh beats. Add that to the fact that his "gifts from the heart" are mixed tapes (or CD's now a days). Cute and thoughtful if you were back in the 6th grade circa 1982 trying to find the perfect moment when "Jam On It" would come on so you could press play and record at the same time; during which you would say to yourself, "this is going to be the best mixed tape ever!"
Where does this leave us?: Belly, moobs, pervert, no hair, 12 year old moves and some musical talent. In the four months that I have dated The Lefty he has taken me out to dinner once on a weekend night. "Hey my lady, this is Lefty, Lefty Ricard, I was wondering if you wanted to get a meal of food?" Oh my God, an entire meal of food and on a Saturday night… who's the luckiest biatch in the world? Me!
I often liken The Lefty to the Pigeon my roommate and I found on our back patio one late summer afternoon……please continue.
A Pigeon became stuck in my roommate Samantha's picnic table at her place we shared for two years. Poor thing got it's little left claw lodged in the table leg slats and proceeded to flap around in a wild panic. Beating everything in its wing span with violent blows, desperately trying to be free until it had exhausted itself. Samantha and I debated on how we could free the poor bird (keep in mind we would later refer to "the poor bird" as "thing" because every time we got close to it it would start to chirp all weird and beat it's wings and nip at us and we would freak out; kinda like The Lefty). We called her Dad and he said to throw a towel over the thing and just pick it up. He said that way we wouldn't get nipped at and contract any diseases while removing it. Great idea! Needless to say that shit didn't work. The minute we threw the towel over it the "Thing" started flapping again and squawking and nipping and really freaking us the fuck out because now we had to run a covert op just to get the damn towel off!
I decided the best course of action at this point would be to leave it over night and see if a cat or something would just come eat the diseased, feathery thing. Problem solved! Sure as shit the next morning it was still on our patio chilln'. We had to do something about it right!? I mean you can't just leave a fucking Pigeon on your patio maimed. I immediately thought a butter knife would do the trick. I mean, isn't that everyone's first thought? A Pigeon is stuck in your table so grab the butter knife and shit will happen! Samantha flipped out and thought I was going to chop its leg off. I assured her that was not the case, although the obvious course of action since I had, in fact, a knife in my hand. "Of course not," I assured her, "I am going to use it as a lifting device." The plan was to simply lodge the butter knife under the left claw and lift it out of the tight spot and set the stupid thing free.
I approached with great caution. I began talking to myself, "if this "rat of the sky" starts flapping around again I will chop its claw off and be done with it." Thank God it was too exhausted to even move. I strategically placed my weapon of choice under the left claw and began to lift. Just a little "squawk"and the nightmare that had been our lives for the past 24 hours was over. It limped off with its kicker dragging behind it into the world never to be seen by us again.
You see, that's The Lefty in a nutshell. Getting his claw stuck in tight places he can't get out of. You watch him flap around like a spaz, saying and doing ridiculous things you can't get your mind around that cause you to freak out and question your sanity…….until he gets tired, and you stop freaking out. Now you are the one debating on how to get rid of the thing. Which has lead me to ask the following three questions:
1. Do I throw a towel over him in order to keep any diseases away from me while I attempt to pick him up and get rid of him?
2. Do I just hope a fucking Cat comes along and eats his ass?
3. Do I use a butter knife to slowly lift the said "left claw" out of the tight space and set him free to limp off into the world?
Oh God the agony of a decision….
I think at this point I would prefer to go with #2 Johnny! But I didn't, I went with option #3. I slowly and relatively painlessly removed him from my life. In hind sight I should have just left the bird on the patio to be eaten by some sort of animal. That's the circle of life after all. Get your shit caught flying around where you shouldn't and freaking innocent girls out and maybe you deserve to be eaten alive. It's one theory anyway.
At the risk of sounding cliche' I divulge the following:
I won't have been the first to be with The Lefty or the last or probably even have had him to myself entirely these past few months. However, I do feel like I have walked away with a stellar appreciation for those who have attempted, like myself, to hang with a "Lefty" for at least a few innings.
The Wrap Up
I will always request that you download a song, if you so chose, after reading one of my pieces. I believe this will allow you to grasp the full effect and raw emotion of the work at hand. If one song could speak for "The Lefty" it would be "Ray Ban Vision" by A-Trak-Fool's Gold (feat. CyHi Da Prynce).
Next up…… "Man Friends" - Ladies or Gentlemen, if you have any "friends" that you would like to share a snippet about, please holla at me by posting a portion of it in a comment.
PS I feel like Taylor Swift's arch nemesis Dutchess Evans. I write about boys that have somehow "done me wrong" or experiences in life that have affected me but in a not nice way.
