Saturday, February 18, 2017


Yesterday was one of those days. I had a terrible case of the runs-more than you wanted to know-and had a tech run through at Don't Tell Mama for my show. My pianist came and was feeling the burn from the West Coast as he just got off the road. We both had a long week. Me with my telegram deliveries and him with his gigging. Coffee wasn't enough and neither was vitamin water.

The rehearsal went okay but we clearly needed another before the show. As we are packing up I am talking to a friend who's in the space after me. I was running my mouth, thinking I could put my feet up for a tad before my next destination.

Then on the subway I discover I forgot the ipad at the theatre. FUUUUCCCCCKKKKKKK!!!!

I even screamed it on the train. FUUUUUUUUUCCCCCCCCKKKKKKKKKKKKKK!!!

It's the 7 so a lot of the train doesn't speak English, but they understood that word. I go home, drop my shit in more ways then one, and run to to the venue. They have my ipad. THANK GOD!!!! The bartender had a good sense of humor, but they all thought I was crazy. I earned it.

I met a buddy for a gnosh and then went to charge my phone in Port Authority. I dunno why I went there, but finding an outlet in NYC is like finding Waldo in a crack den where everyone is dressed like Waldo. So I find a plug and a homeless dude hits on me. Then a dude with one leg comes over and wants to use the outlet. Of course he's homeless so he spills his booze. Then he gets into a fight with an old homeless dude who then begins fighting with a tranny.

That's when I pick up and find another outlet.

At that moment I am approached by a man speaking his own language. He asks me where Chelsea is and I tell him. He then asks what's in my box. When I don't answer he starts screaming at me. I run. He follows. I run. I lose him. What the fuck just happened?!

I get to a diner and kill some time. I drink some coffee. I talk to the mentor. I watch the clock as I kvetch. He laughs at me. The weather is warm where he is. He's paid his dues. He thinks my life is funny. Is it? I dunno.

Finally I get to the last stop on the train. IT's New York Comedy Club. It's the Paid or Pain Show. I know I am gonna get disciplined by the dom. It's fine. Yes, they have a dom. Jay Nog has worked hard and made quite a show and now it's on Sirius. I'm gonna be on the radio. Life is good.

I am first up. I am gonna get pain. I know it. I even tell the audience as much. They laugh. I pull out Donald J. Tramp. I'm doing fine but it's a puppet. I am gonnna get pain. Jordan Carlos does a great Trump impression where he tells me I'm great but the puppet is a liar. The other judge says I'm funny but a puppet act is difficult to kill with consistently. He's right.

And I do get pain.

The violet wand. It's fine. It's the perfect end to this trippy day.

But a producer offers me more spots. I make new friends. I'm gonna be on the radio in 2 weeks. And I shill out a few bucks for the cab ride home.

Come requires dedication. It requires discipline. It requires a violent wand. It requires a brave heart. It requires just relaxing and enjoying the ride. Sometimes we all need a little whipped into shape

Come see my show
The Lady and President Tramp
February 20, 2017 7pm
Dont Tell Mama
343 W 46 street

Friday, February 10, 2017


The last two days have been a maelstrom of shit. An old enemy of mine has come out of the wood work. I won't say too much about her but she is a bitch. Actually, I'm not her enemy. She declared me her psychotic enemy. I wasn't aware I was living in a comic book and we were Hob Goblin and Spider Man but apparently we are.

Without getting into too much detail, she has gone out of her way to slander me and lie about me over the years. It's sad. It's truly sad. She has said nasty things about me and the people I care about. And now without getting into it she has done something where she has really stepped over the line. Even for her.

I don't want to talk about what she did, other than the fact that it gave me a terrible stomach ache and nearly made me throw up. I know she has a drug problem. I know she is sober for less than an hour a day. I know she has issues. I know all of this, but it doesn't mean her behavior doesn't suck.

The sad thing is, this is all over a dude. I was with this guy for maybe six months. She has been with him for a few years now. They own property and have a pet. What the fuck does she want with me? I. DON'T. WANT. YOUR. MAN.

This junior high bullshit still gets me down even after all this time. Yesterday my boss says when he meets people like that he just keeps going. My mentor, an ex cop, says during his time in law enforcement he met people who just are bad. I know she has problems. I know this particular ex is part of a circle where they stir the pot. But Jesus Christ why you gotta be so mean?!

This mean girl shit is what costs the Dems the White House. WOMEN turned against Hillary. WOMEN decided they weren't with her. Yes WOMEN sold each other down the river and now our reproductive rights are in danger. Other WOMEN.

This shit is what has held my gender back. Either way, the beautiful thing about the snow storm yesterday was the children running about and sledding. It made me remember there was a big, wide world outside of this fugly bitch. It made me happy. It made me realize she was just a speck of dust in the world. And it made me grateful that junior high was in fact over.

Come see my show
The Lady and President Tramp
February 20, 2017
Dont Tell Mama
343 W 46 street

Thursday, February 9, 2017

Block Me

The other day someone reported one of Donald J. Tramp's posts to facebook. It was stupid. It was ugly. It was a low blow. I have a feeling it was either an ex boyfriend or someone who wanted to thwart my progress. Or maybe it was a Trumpkin who was offended I was making fun of our president. Maybe it was a liberal who didn't vote for either candidate that just wants to be offended by everything.

Either way, the whole thing was stupid. It pissed me off. I had to fight not to break every blessed thing in the room I was in. Then I was like fuck it. I need a day or two or five off of social media. Away from the right who can't have a conversation but instead want to shove faith down my throat. Away from the left who wants to censor everyone and talk about how there is no God. Away from the Nazis on both sides.

It has become a dangerous world.

It has become a world where when you make a joke, someone gets offended. Someone liberal gets butthurt. Some Trumpkin gets angry and boycotts and whines on twitter. You both need to put on some big boy/girl pants and grow up. You are both worthless. You are both what is wrong with America. If something offends you, change the channel. Don't go to the page. But by God don't censor the person.

If you disagree with someone have a conversation. You might learn something. A lot of gun owners and members of the NRA are not evil people. My sister is a champion markswoman who cares about gun safety. As an ER doctor she treats gun injuries and has given a presentation on gun safety and prevention several times. Others, like my cousin who is a teacher in Alaska, carry a gun to school because he might meet a giant Polar Bear or Grizzly Bear on the road. He has several times. Hey, it's a safety thing. Others are ranchers who live miles away from the actual cops. Many are not evil racist people.

Does abortion offend you? Have a conversation. Many times pro-lifers yell and scream about dead babies. Let me tell you not everyone who has an abortion is evil. Some are cases of rape and incest. Other times the woman is on her own and doesnt have familial support. If the guy can walk away why can't she? Additionally sometimes a woman is pushed into a pregnancy by a partner against her will. Her body, her choice.

Of course they always shut the discussion down by screaming about the genocide and the babies murdered as a result of abortion. How about this. We have the babies, drop them at your door, and tell you to raise them. They kids are gonna be on welfare as are their mamas, and you're gonna be paying for them anyway. Why not? When I have said this a few idiot pro-lifers have sputtered.

However, I know some pro-lifers who will have the convo. There are many who support adoption as do I. I have 6 adopted cousins. I say we need to make it easier for people to adopt. We need more options for single mothers who keep the kids to finish high school. When Pro-Lifers are open to this convo and want to create options, I am all there.

But we have to talk to each other. LISTEN! We have lost the ability to have a discussion. IT was asinine that Mitch McConnell shut Liz Warren down. Let Liz speak. Yes, disagree with her. Don't evoke an archaic statue to shut her down when you don't do this with your male colleagues. Let her speak. Even some pro-Trump freedom of speech peeps agree with me here.

Bottom line, the First Amendment means you have the right to worship and the right to your opinions and to voice these opinions. Someone else has the right to tell you that worshiping a man who rose from the dead is stupid, but they have no right to shut you down. I might tell you Trump is a maniac xenophobe, but I have no right to intimidate you into voting the way I want you to. Just as someone feels divinely inspired to speak out, someone else feels divinely inspired to oppose. That's how freedom of speech works.

So to those of you that do the little bitch thing of reporting someone, you're making me famousssss

Come see The Lady and President Tramp
February 20, 2017 7PM
Dont Tell Mama
343 W. 46 Street

Monday, February 6, 2017

Another Night (Aretha Franklin)

A little over a year ago I ended a relationship with someone I was working on building a life with. It ended suddenly, horrifically actually. It’s hard to talk about what happened, because the words even after all this time can barely form. However, it was due in a large part to my former partner being mentally ill.

After living with a mentally ill partner, you look at life very differently. For starters you get sick when people equate mental illness to cancer. People with cancer don’t lie. People with cancer seldom refuse to comply with treatment. You don’t see untreated cancer patients in prison or on the street. Cancer patients don’t self-medicate with drugs and alcohol. There is not a fucking stigma against cancer. 
People know cancer isn’t a choice, but they feel you are making a choice to be mentally ill. And when a celeb who’s spoken about cancer comes on the screen everyone is all misty eyed. When it’s someone who spoke about combating mental illness, ohh look at the crazy bitch or bastard.

If you have ever dealt with someone who’s mentally ill, you know they lie and act out in ways that are insulting, baffling, and outright immature. When things ended, my ex did a lot of that. I told myself he was sick a million times a day. I had to. It kept me from going crazy. It kept me from breaking something. It kept me from being sucked back into his shit which was what he wanted. Eventually I ran out of fucks to give and moved on with myself.

A year later, I was out of my unsafe living situation and away from my unstable former partner. Instead, I found myself marching with STAT, Donald J. Tramp as spokespuppet, heading the largest Anti-Trump protest at the RNC that year. We were number 8 on twitter, trending that day. People asked me if I was scared. I remember thinking, “I had bed bugs eating me alive, couldn’t breathe, and had an unstable Iraq War vet boyfriend looking for Isis in the windows. All and all, this is perhaps the safest situation I have been a part of in a while.”

In 2015, my birthday was spent scheduling free legal help at my local neighborhood legal. It was also picking up the pieces after my ex’s devastating departure. This past year it was spent at Hofstra, protesting/street performing outside the debates with Donald J. Tramp. I didn’t need a party. Being a part of American history was a better present than I could have ever dreamed of.

One year prior to the debates, my ex’s sister had called to threaten me. A year later, I was credentialed press in Las Vegas with puppet journalist Donald J. Tramp. I was in the spin room when Donald Trump uttered “bad hombres” and “nasty, nasty woman.” I watched it all unfold, and for as much as his idiot sister or any other woman he manipulated could and would say, they weren’t there with me. Nor would they ever be.

This time last year, I was rebuilding my life after a devastating defeat. Now I am getting ready to return to Restaurant Row with a one woman show. I just showcased at APAP. I am a correspondent for a blog. I am getting ready to teach a ventriloquism class.

The lessons were hard. One was that love isn’t enough. Love wasn’t enough to make my ex get help. Love wasn’t enough to make my ex stop lying. Love wasn’t enough to justify the fact his rages coupled with black outs were getting worse and worse, and that it was getting to the point where my safety was in jeopardy. In my heart, I know he was kind and giving. I know he would have never intentionally hurt me. But people who are mentally ill flip and kill people all the time, especially if they have mood swings and aren’t medicated. My ex claimed meds failed him and refused a medication regimen.

When my sister got married this summer, her priest alluded to the fact that a married couple lives for each other. The truth is, that’s codependency. You don’t live for anyone. The other person is a part of your life not your whole life. All relationships come to an end whether one partner leaves or dies or whatever. And guess what, you have to move on.

You also realize that a person is just a person. They have their faults. They will fuck up. They will disappoint you. And at the end of the day, good and bad, my ex was just a guy. Yeah, I cried when he left but then they handed me eviction papers. I had to pick my ass up off the ground and go to court to fight my landlord who was turning off my water because I called the city on him. My ex wasn’t there to support me. My family was far away. Really and truly, I was on my own.

No man was there to support me and none was going to materialize. At times like this, you see whether or not you are really and truly a feminist. Most women yell and scream about it, but when the time comes to step up to the plate they don’t. I had to step up to the plate. I had to deal with their demeaning bully boy male lawyers. I didn’t have time to cry.

As I was deciding to get the on with it all, it became easier to get rid of all the shit of his I accumulated. It became easier to block him on social media. It became easier to block his number. It became easier to block his sisters and female friends who are all horrific harpies who enable him. It became easier to date other guys. It became easier to grow into my new life It became easier to be define by my own self-worth, not that of a relationship.

The week my sister got married one of her friends was sad that she was the last one who was single in the group. Feeling the feelings weddings bring up, she asked me if I was upset my sister was getting married and I wasn’t. The answer was a huge NO. I love my brother in law like the baby brother I never had, and think he’s perfect for my sister. But I know how it feels to be with someone who’s toxic and bad for me. I know it’s better to be alone then to be with that, and it’s alright to be alone.

I know a relationship does not define me, and am reminded that good friends are better than a partner any day. I have two wonderful housemates, one obsessed with UFOs and the other a happier Van Gough who are characters that were there for me last year when I had a cancer scare. (Yes, what wasn’t happening). I have an awesome job where I get paid to make people happy, and an even more awesome boss who puts me front and center whenever I can. I have an awesome mentor in Las Vegas, and his people are awesome. I have an awesome friend who’s a mentalist that awesomely predicted the Super Bowl. I have an awesome friend who was my puppet wrangler and has been front and center through all my madness. I have an awesome family.

So this Valentine’s Day, I wont be getting flowers or candy and that’s alright. My life is full of people who love and support me, and someone people don’t even have one person who loves and supports them……and those people are in committed relationships!

Bottom line, if you are in a rough time, you can rock your way out. If the Pats can win the Super Bowl, you can climb out of your pit of despair. And being alone is better than being with someone who’s unhealthy for you. At the end of the day you can have all the love in the world but you really gotta love yourself. Just saying kids. This is as deep as this bitch gets for now. 

Come see The Lady and President Tramp
February 20, 2017 7PM
Dont Tell Mama
343 W. 46 Street

Tuesday, January 31, 2017

An Open Letter to the Muslim Doctors Who Helped Me

To the Muslim Doctors That Helped Me:

I would like to open this letter with my gratitude. Not only for your service and commitment to science, helping others, and the advancement of technology, but for treating me with compassion during one of the worst personal/medical times in my life.

A year ago, I was in a bad living situation. I was living with bed bugs and mold. Instead of taking care of it, my landlord thought he would run me out. That way he could jack the rent up in my apartment. One which I had lived in without incident for 10 years. When I called The City on him, he proceeded to torment me through the legal system. I was in court once a week with this man. He proceeded to follow me around the neighborhood, until one day he told me that he wouldn't stop until he saw me homeless. While in court, he attempted to burn my apartment down after going through my things. He knew where I was going to be. This was the perfect opportunity for his wish to come true.

Due to the stress I had to endure, my health began to fail. My hair was falling out, and I was so stressed I could not digest my food properly. I could not sleep, and when I did I feared bugs were crawling all over me. Often I was so weak I couldn't make it up the stairs, and routinely fainted/passed out. Not to mention I had problems breathing. Do to the stress and poor diet as well as lack of self-care, a test for cancer came back for a certain virus that causes a certain type of cancer. Often, abnormal tests are triggered by stress and a broken down immune system as was the case in my particular situation.

During my first visit to the doctor, I was scared. You often are when you fear they will find something deathly wrong with you. I told the nurse this. Then you walked in. Yes, my Muslim doctor. You heard I was afraid of doctors, and to put me at ease walked in without your robe. In order to get me to relax, and made me laugh. Then you asked what brought me to you. I told the truth. You listened with compassion, and no judgement. By the way you spoke to me, I could tell you cared. At that point in my life, no one else did. You discussed doing some tests to find out why I was so tired, and you told me regardless of what you found, we were going to design a treatment plan so that I could be healthy again.

My second visit contained my test results. This time I had a second doctor. Another Muslim doctor. This one female. It was because my first was back home to visit his family in his home nation. This young woman was fresh out of medical school, and discussed a treatment plan. She told me I was going to be alright, and suggested vitamin supplements that could help me. She also suggested a higher iron diet, and perhaps moving out of my unhealthy situation. While I didn't walk out of there cured, I had a plan. I was going to be okay.

A year later I am healthy. I am out of my horrific living situation. My hair has grown back. As well, I no longer faint and am running anywhere from 2-5 miles a day, depending. I am also weight training. My diet contains more iron, fruits, and vegetables.

I also want to express gratitude for the fact you saw me as a patient, and did not judge me by the color of my skin. You cared about my well-being as a doctor should. As a matter of fact, I kept my same insurance so I could keep you as my doctors. That being said, I apologize for the closed minded bigotry of the leader our country has picked, and I apologize for the Islamophobia that you have experienced at the hands of others.

I also know that Isis does not speak for all practitioners of your faith, just as Army of God and the KKK do not speak for all Christians, my faith. If you are what we are letting in when Muslims come, I say let more in. You are welcome in the America I know and that I grew up to understand. Thank you for being so willing to contribute, even though so many of us are not so kind back.

This summer in Cleveland I was able to march against Trump when he got his nomination. There were shirts that said, "Muslim Doctors Save Lives." I know this to be true.

Thank you for saving mine.


The Lady and President Tramp
Monday February 20, 2017 7PM
Dont Tell Mama
343 W. 46 Street

Saturday, January 28, 2017

Why I Marched

Last week I went to The Women's March in NYC. I was told by some of the white males in my life that the march was stupid and pointless. Trump was already president. What was done was done. I had to work with it.

The white men are part of the population that is never effected. They win every election. They never have to worry about sexual assault or intimate partner violence. Their reproductive rights are never questioned. Since they are not a part of an ethnic group that has been oppressed, they do not know the discrimination others do.

Instead, although we say The White Man's burden is dead, it is alive and well. And it is feeding the patriarchy that is killing us all.

Truth be told I almost didn't march. What was done was done. Maybe the white males in my life were right. Maybe it was time to accept Trump was president even though the woman I voted for won the popular vote. I and many like myself were angry after the election: that our rights were in danger and our vote didn't count.

Plus I had marched this summer in Cleveland with STAT (Stand Together Against Trump) I spent my days in the square street performing and bringing awareness and finally was at the front of the big march. It was Donald J. Tramp, a bunch of doctors, and myself. They never saw themselves being politically involved let alone being next to a puppet. We even trended on twitter that day. We were heard. Loudly, peacefully.
In the Square, a true protest chick and her puppet

I had done my marching, right?

In the words of our Cheeto in charge, "WRONG!"

I have had a lot of feelings post election. There has been the grief. As if something aka our democracy has died and a dictator has taken over. As if my vote didn't count even though I was one of the 3 million popular votes Hillary won by. Then there was the rage at the people who didn't vote that wanted to complain. There was the pure just ire with the Stein people for voting third party and essentially adding to the Trump tally. And then in part I was pissed with the Trump people, but they turned out and voted. They were a part of our broken system like I was.

Yet at the same time, my candidate had more votes and their man was in. Again, it was the system I was raging at. I pitied them more than anything and still do. They voted with sexism, faith, and fear, a deadly combo where they feared a powerful agnostic woman and instead got a madman who will get their sons blown up in his needless war.

I also wanted to know where the people protesting were in Cleveland. Where were they when we needed people to phone bank? Where were they during the voter drives? Oh I forgot, being apathetic.

Yet I was getting angry. Angry that Trump's picks were anti-woman and anti-LGBTQ. Angry at the thought of a wall as I live in a city where we have many hardworking immigrant families eager to contribute. Angry that the ACA might be repealed and that I'll lose healthcare. Angry that as a woman who was abused by an intimate partner that our commander and chief is a rapist and feels there is nothing wrong with sexual abuse.


Angry that my friends who were HIV positive could be denied health coverage if ACA was repealed. Angry these same friends might have their marriages declared illegal. Angry that a race of people is now being profiled. Angry that young black men are killed by the cops.


I however wasn't going to DC. I had been travelling quite a bit and was tired. So when I heard there was a women's march in NYC I was on the fence. I was angry, but I had done my marching.

My mom changed the tide. A Title IX Crusader, she led a sit in so her winning swim team could get letter jackets just like the men. The captain at the time, just 21, my mom was also the media spokesperson for the cause. All they wanted was to be treated fairly. My mom told me she felt it was important I went. So I did.

It was a warm day, and Donald J. Tramp and I made the trip. Through a strange connection, we ended up behind the banner of the NYCLU. There were 500 K people who turned out in NYC alone. There were marches all around the country. There were marches all around the world. There were people saying no loudly, proudly, and peacefully to injustice. It was just as beautiful as Cleveland.

It wasn't just women. Male allies came out too to march alongside us. Men who understood sexism was wrong. Men who reminded us that while the patriarchy was oppressive, men were not the enemy. While the right would call them Betas that could not have been farther from the truth. Because a real man will march alongside a strong, vocal woman.

Being there felt magical. Being there felt important. Being there was making a statement. Not only was I marching for a cause, but I was marching into history. It was saying perhaps the system told me my vote did not count, but my voice and that of many others damn well did.

Look at me march. Donald J. Tramp is there, too

I instantly made some new friends. And we killed time as the march started an hour and a half late. The late start wasn't because of the disorganization, but because more people than intended turned out. Yes, that many people were willing to take a stand. For many, this was their first protest march. Others had been marching since childhood, even attending their first protest in strollers. There were some cases where whole families marched, children included.

The streets were crowded with people, to the point where we couldn't move. The banner and puppet hurt my arms at times, but it was important I was there behind it. Protecting free speech. Protecting satire. Protecting my right to say something is wrong.

And as we made our way, cramped like ants in an ant farm, people played music and hung flags and banners in support. As we were stopped at an intersection near Grand Central, cars honked. They weren't honking because traffic was jammed but they were rather honking in support. At Trump Towers, people protested into the wee hours of the morning.

As we marched, we didn't just march for women. We marched for young black men like Emmett Till, Yusef Hawkins, Trayvon Martin and Jonny Gammage killed by racism. We marched for immigrants so that they would be safe in our sanctuary city. We marched to let Trump know the country was not behind him. We marched to let him know it wasn't acceptable to appeal ACA. We marched to let him know to profile and ban an ethic group was what Hitler did. We marched to let him know sorry, our taxes would not be paying for the wall. We marched to tell Trump his anti-LGBTQ cabinet was also unacceptable. We marched to let him know maybe he was making our lives hell, but as tax payers we were about to make the next four years for him mightily unpleasant.

On a personal level, I marched for my Nuni (Mom's mom), who got her college diploma at age 68 and became a published poet later in life after raising 6 kids. I marched for Mema Ralph (Dad's mom) who worked in the mills during WWII when the men were away and raised 7 kids on her own after her husband died. I marched continuing the legacy of my mother, the Title IX crusader, who was part of a generation who fought against the establishment and was fearless about crushing the patriarchy. I marched for my sister, an ER doctor, who wanted to attend her local protest but was busy working, saving the lives of others. And I marched for my dad, who was also working, that as a lawyer has taken on sexism in the establishment, defending women filing sexual harassment lawsuits against the Donald Trump's of the world.

I can also say that I had other family members who marched in their cities, my cousin in Atlanta and my cousins gf in Pittsburgh. We marched. We showed up. We were heard. We were counted.

My marching is not done, but rather the protesting is beginning. This is America. It is a melting pot. We are a nation of immigrants. Of all colors. Of women. Contrary to what Trump preaches, we all count.

We said so on all seven continents, even  Antarctica. We have support everywhere.

We are starting the movement. To the protesters at JFK, I was unable to come today but you have my support. Lastly, there have been people wanting to shut down my shows because of my message and my political humor. They are welcome to try. But I am a nasty, nasty woman. I am a nasty woman with a message. The message is always given to the one with a big mouth and my puppet's mouth is huge. I will not go gently into this goodnight, and I will not go quietly either.

There was even a Women's March in Antarctica

The Lady and President Tramp
February 20, 2017 7PM
Dont Tell Mama
343 W 46

Thursday, January 26, 2017

Another Night (Aretha Franklin)

A while back I was talking to someone I consider one of my best friends. He had the opportunity to have revenge sex with his ex-wife's sister soon after the divorce. From what I gather his ex wife wasn't bad, but they were just two people who didn't belong together. His ex wife also seems like a goody goody who was perhaps too nauseating. I dunno, I can only go off of what he says.

Her sister on the other hand, was a big ole pAArty girl with an even bigger coke habit. His ex had a love/hate relationship with her sister. While she was her sister, she disapproved of her fast moving lifestyle. My buddy admitted that the few times his ex's sister tried to quit partying, she was even more annoying sober. Oh isn't that always the fun case. Fun Bobby and Alcoholic Bobby....sigh McSigh Sigh.

Anyway, I said to him, "Dude, the revenge sex was right there, you should have taken it."

"Nah, that would have meant putting up with my sister in law and she annoys the piss outta me. Trust me." My buddy replied.

"Well it would have hit your ex where it hurt." I informed him.

"No, my ex knows her sister can be a bit fast so the joke would be on me." He said.

"That's what you think. Her sister probably always stole guys from her and was prettier and more fun. Trust me, she would have been breaking everything in the room and shaving her head. You should have done it." I insisted. It was true, his ex's sister was pretty. Granted, she looked kind of nuts but she was beautiful. His ex wife was cute......but her sister was drop dead gorgeous in that I'm gonna cut yo dick off kind of way.

"Why, what would I get out of it?" He asked.

"The bitch broke your heart! She made you miserable. Now it was your turn to crush her self-worth." I told him, thinking I was schooling him.

"Nah. I don't want anyone to be with me that doesn't want to be. My heart is fine now that she's gone. I'd be miserable if she was still here."


Fast forward a few weeks later. I was running an errand and was just about done for the day. Glancing across the street I saw a familiar face. I couldn't place them. Whoever it was gained quite a bit of weight. Then I recognized him. It was an ex boyfriend of mine. One who I loved and one who lied. One who crushed my heart after he ripped it out of my chest and pissed on it. Bad heart break.

It was the kind of heart break where there was a time I would have had to fight not to strangle him. It was the kind of heart break where if there was a food item around, it would have probably flown towards him at one point.

It was a WTF moment because I did not intend to see that ex, and actually hadn't thought of him for a while. The last time I got an update was this summer when I saw an old friend who also hates his guts. But after that I forgot. It was the past. Whatever. He was such a bad memory that when the heart break faded I cringe and laugh. But either way, he kind of just popped out of no where.

He gained a ton of weight, and he was someone who was riding that life ruining Casanova ticket to the moon. Either he was on psych meds or God hates the same things I do. I studied him for a brief second. Damn, time had really not been kind to him. To say the boy got ugly was an understatement.

I remembered the lies he told when we were together. I remembered the cheating. I remembered how he sent his lady friends after me to say nasty things. All of it. And then I glanced at him. He was working a dead end job and he was a loser. LOSER. Oh and he also supported Donald Trump I heard. It's been years since we have spoken. But people told me.


What the frekkkk did I see in him? What was I thinking? AHHHHHH!!!!

Then they say they are an ex because you ex them out of your life. I had the opportunity to get with his best friend who annoyed the piss out of me. He also had a brother who was into me. Hell no. I glanced for another second before walking away before he could see me.

I was glad I didn't end up marrying him. He was still no where. Not to mention he was probably still a liar and a cheater. And he had totally gotten ugly. Or maybe his outsides were becoming his insides and he was now the full blown rat he always was.

My buddy's words echoed in my mind. "My heart is fine now that she's gone. I'd be miserable if she was still here."

Then I realized not only was the break up for the best (I already knew that but sometimes you need to be reminded), but I wouldn't slit my wrists without him. I would probably slit my wrists if he returned.