From all my entries, you can probably tell that this is my "let-my-evil-self-hang-out-no-one-knows-who-I-am-anyway" blog. And for the first time in my life I'm going to be completely honest about who I am and how I really feel about certain people.

I hate, hate, HATE people with better lives than me.

Or at least that's how I feel now.

I'm a jealous, spiteful, vindictive person who nourishes hatred in her heart and indulges in Schadenfreude with a glee that scares me sometimes. Or to be REALLY honest, I have an evil mind that concocts all sorts of convoluted scenarios to be played out so I can get what I want and their lives get trashed.

Are normal people this way or is it just me? I don't know.

I have a list. A hate list of people whose failures or shortcomings are to be gleefully celebrated at every opportunity in order to make myself feel better.

Okay, so this probably seems a little more dramatic written down than it really is in life. I mean, I don't think of them 24/7 or waste my hours just thinking up ways to one-up them... I do have a life.

But there are moments. Like now.

I wish I had it all. I wish I could be the bitch I hate for having him, even though I know he's cheated on her with me and will probably do it again at the next best opportunity with any female that comes along.

I hope she's miserable. I hope she knows he's doing to her what he did to me with her and if she doesn't yet know, I hope the thinking and the uncertainty is eating her alive. I hope her insecurities just grow into this big blob of misery and I hope she feels every bit of pain, every bit of agony she put me through. I hope the pain is sharp and piercing, and that it shoots through her every day until she can hardly function. I want her heart to ache, and I want the pain to be physical, to have every pull of emotion slide around into a vise that tightens and tightens its grip until she can hardly breathe.

I want her to be no different than me. Not special.

I want her to be a girl like no other, who just happened to have come along and caught his fancy, because he's the sort of man whose life is littered with women who strays into his path.

I want him to break her heart the way he did mine, with a carelessness that bordered on indifference.

She can't have been good enough for him when I wasn't, she just can't!

Because, sad as it is, my secret pain has always been that it wasn't the timing that was wrong with us, and it wasn't him and his proclivity for polygamy. It wasn't that he couldn't love me the way that he should... he just couldn't love ME.

I hate him.

I hate him.

I hate him.

Why does he have such power over me?

Why has everything in my life become all about him?

 

 

There is nothing I hate more than a Nice-Guy-Faker. Except maybe a BadAss-Suddenly-Turned-Good.

You, yes you! I'm talking to you! You weren't supposed to grow a conscience! Come on, give me a break! You appealed to me because you were predictably self-centered and subservient to your id. Whatever happened to consistency? Whatever happened to being true to yourself? Whatever happened to your blatant amorality and wonderful lack of scruples?

You were supposed to lead me through this strange period of unapologetic transition, where all that mattered is what I want and how to get it. Now suddenly you flinch and change the rules.

Aaaaw. You said I've changed. Well now you have too. And damn it, I don't like it!

At around this time last year I was heartbroken over having just broken up with The Man Who Wasn't A Boyfriend. Technically we didn't break up because we were never really together. Sleeping together, talking for hours, being constantly at each other's sides for more than 72 hours straight? Nope, they don't really count in the relationship game. It's the label that matters after all. And he labeled it a nonrelationship.

I was devastated.

Now more than a year after our nonrelationship has ended, I find that we still have a nonrelationship of a different sort. Now we are nonfriends.

It's strange that one of the most amoral, self-centered men I have ever known is exactly the one I come running to when I find myself in the lowest possible places known to man. Maybe because more and more I find myself seeing in shades of gray and he guides me through this strange new world with a deftness that leaves no traces of guilt for the choices I've made and the person I've become.

I hesitate to call him a friend. We practically never talk and we barely acknowledge each other in public. But then what else do you call someone who at a single call would come running to you at 2am in the morning no questions asked? How do you define the type of no-holds-barred relationship where you bare the darkness of your souls yet choose to stay out of each other's day-to-day lives?

When we see each other in school we can barely look each other in the eye and exchange more than a few sentences. But when we're alone, with barely a thought, we find ourselves intertwined and without hesitation, sharing our darkest thoughts and deepest desires.

I think I understand now, what he meant when he said, "some relationships are so private, they can only be between two people."

I've figured it out. No more sporadic crying while eating a spoonful of your favorite pistachio yogurt, or God forbid, in the middle of a Property Law exam (although, that might have been because of the crazy, unanswerable, unpassable questions). Not that, ahem ahem, I do that or anything. I've simply stumbled upon another one of my more magnificent theories on human relations that would be fit to win a Nobel Prize if they had one for Successful Dating.

It's this: diss friendster. Forget about friendster. Don't log on, don't check your messages, and above all, DO NOT, and I repeat, DO NOT view your ex's account. Friendster is the devil. It lures you in, makes you stray down unnavigable, painful paths of photos that no longer include you or of testimonials past when you still knew what was going on in his life. It drives you to madness, where the simple act of changing your status from three words "In a Relationship", to that dastardly one "Single", is enough to make you want to kill yourself. The two-word option "It's Complicated" isn't even a choice because really, when has being a total, unloveable, unwanted LOSER been complicated? The two words are for people with actual lives involving confusion over the question every lucky bastard should face every once in a while -- if sex = relationship. (The answer of course, is no. But everyone should have to figure that out for herself.)

See, life without friendster is simple. You don't have to see him announcing his single status to an entire online community desperate to pounce on the next available guy. You don't have to see your photo spot replaced by one of him and some unknown ugly chick with a smile pasted on her face just screaming that she can't believe her luck. You don't have to see how your testimonial has been unceremoniously erased while the one from his eternal pathetic worshipful admirer who's been obsessed with him since high school and has been panting after his ass but never got anywhere near it, is right smack in the middle, for some reason UNERASED, like her words matter, never mind that she could never know him as well you do. You don't have to see how his life has just moved on, without a hitch, undeterred by that slight bump on the road that used to be someone he professed to love.

To friendster, your feelings don't matter. Friendster doesn't filter out the truth.

So boycott friendster. It'll be the best thing you ever did.