Day One: Cinderella Didn’t Have To Go Through This Sh*t!

Okay so, what’s the deal?  I’m not trying to be a hater on Cinderella’s success, but damn!  Can I get little of that please?  Granted, the story tapers off after the whole magic pumpkin, obnoxious dress and Prince Charming thing.  For all we know “Cindy” could have gained like 100 pounds after popping out a few kids, Prince Charming started to step out on her and they ended up on some royal counselors couch right before the divorce.  Love is definitely no fairy tale.  Why so cynical on love you ask? Trust me my cynicism is fully justified.  Now, I wasn’t always like this.  I was the hopeless romantic that believed that love was this wonderful, fluffy thing that made the sunshine and the birds chirp.

As a matter of fact, “love” is the reason I am now back staying at my parent’s house instead of standing in front of a minister marrying the man I love; well, love and a skanky cougar named Joan.  It all went down like some really bad soap opera scene with me walking in on them getting their groove on in what was our bedroom.  He did the whole apologetic spill…”Baby, I’m sorry”…”It doesn’t mean anything”.  My only response was a swift knee to his groin, packing my bags and leaving.  So, here I sit in my parent’s apartment on the same hideously checkered couch they have had since I was little.  Being an only child, I didn’t have a sibling that I could laugh and make fun of stuff with.  Lord knows there is plenty of it around our house!  My parents are the King and Queen of 70’s chic.  You name it…they had it: from the velvet Jesus painting, the shag carpeting and the beads over the door.  It was like the 70’s literally came to my parent’s house and died a horrible and violent death.

Staying here is not ALL bad though.  My mom has always been super supportive and my dad is just the best dad in the world.  I’ve heard it said that women always look for men that are just like their dads.  SO NOT TRUE!  I probably would have agreed on the in the beginning of my relationship with Rodney.  He was sweet, honest (I thought so then, anyway), romantic and in bed….OMG.  There were days where we would literally have sex all…day.  I mean all day. One day, we had been locked in so long without contact with the outside world that my friends and family literally sent the police to our apartment to make sure we weren’t dead.

Sitting here alone in this room I can still smell him…feel him.  His soft lifts dragging against my neck; his warm moist breath gliding against my skin.  My skin would sizzle underneath every point his fingertips touched and my it felt like our bodies melted into one when we were together.  That is the one thing I will miss; being close to him and smelling his skin,  how good our bodies felt when pressed tightly against one another, how good it felt when…*sigh*….

This is going to be harder than I thought.  Prayers are welcome.