Tag Archives: Breaking Up

R.I.P Melrose Place v2.0

19 May

Yesterday, my favorite purveyor of trashy, lovely, delicious, and outright tasty television smut canceled the best way I like to waste an hour of my time. Yes, the CW, put the good old/new Melrose Place in the proverbial guillotine, yanked the rope, and let the poor cast’s pretty little heads fly. This gives me a serious case of the sads. Now let’s get serious here. I never really intended to watch this absolute mess of a show. Like most things, I was forced into it at gunpoint by the wife. From episode one, I was hooked like a two dollar whore on the smack. I don’t know what it was. Was it the beautiful people who, by luck,  all seemed to find the most kick ass apartment complex in all of Los Angeles? (Maybe) Was it the fancy cars and diamond rings? (Certainly) Or maybe, just maybe, was it the true love and ultimate romance of Jonah and Riley? (Definitely) I mean, how am I supposed to sleep at night when I will never know what will become of the Jonah, Riley, and Ella love triangle? This is very unsettling for me. I am getting queasy just thinking about all the unfinished story lines. How am I going to live without having the possibility of finding somebody dead in a swimming pool on my Tuesday nights? How will I ever know if  Dr. Michael Mancini’s heart thingamajig was actually killing patients? I may actually need heart surgery one day, you know? Shouldn’t someone alert the FDA about this? Never fear, some good has come from this. The cancellation of Melrose Place has brought me some inner peace. Why, you ask? We are almost guaranteed we will never have to see Ashley Simpson “act” again. No more of her trying to be sexy and ruining my nights with her portrayal of Ms. Violet. This will bring me a lot of needed comfort in the coming weeks. As we all know, I will definitely need it.


12 Mar

Ever painstakingly, she opened one of her stunningly beautiful green eyes. The world around her was nothing but a foggy haze. Across the room, she could make out the faint flicker of a nightlight plugged into a wall socket. Instantly, she could feel the pulsating pain that seemed to circle her entire skull. As she laid on the floor, the cool sensation from the ceramic tiles was almost soothing and eerily familiar.  Without warning, the night’s libations came storming up from the lowest point of her stomach. This time, however, she didn’t make it to the toilet. At that point, she didn’t care. After a futile attempt to clean up the mess, she rested her heavy, wobbly head. Within minutes, she was fast asleep.

A few hours had passed. The rising sun glared through the eastern bathroom window. Its rays beamed through the pane glass and illuminated the small space with a ferocious nature. As the minutes ticked by, the sunlight crept ever so slowly across the floor until it reached her pale,  porcelain skin. The warmth was comforting and a welcomed change from the cold, unforgiving bathroom floor she used as an impromptu pillow. Every single metal object seemed to reflect the sun’s harsh glimmer directly into her eyes. Annoyed and ultimately nauseous, she reached up, placed her hands on the marble counter top, and clumsily pulled herself to her feet. There, staring back at her in the oval-shaped mirror, was a woman she barely recognized.

She wasn’t what you would call a traditional beauty. Her look was more unique in nature. She stood about five foot ten with red, shoulder length hair that appeared to glow when the light hit it just right. Her facial features were petite and very feminine. A few freckles scattered her high cheekbones, the kind of cheekbones that most women would kill for. She was long, lean, and fit. This type of shape came totally naturally for her. So much so, you would rarely find her at the gym or jogging down the street. Her allure was appealing to men and women alike. Her smile could brighten the darkest of rooms. Her laugh could silence the staunchest of critics.

As she glanced in the mirror that morning, she could tell that things had changed. At the young age of 27, her wild lifestyle had finally started to catch up to her. Her green eyes were stained a bloodshot red. Her face was painted with last nights make up, flecks of glitter, and dried vomit. She felt rough. She felt used. Lost in her thoughts, she began the all too familiar task of washing the previous night off and away from her. Gingerly, she pulled open the shower door and in a defeated tone, mumbled to herself  “Today is going to be different”.

As the water ran down her skin, all she could do is stand. The gentle droplets stung every square inch of her body. She ached from head to toe. The sensation was typical, the direct result from the previous evening’s debauchery. This had become an all too repetitive process for her. Over and over she chanted her daily mantra, “Today is going to be different” until the tears were too frequent to hold back.

As she made her way back to her room, she could feel the crumbs from the cold, creaky wooden floor accumulate underneath her wet feet. Her naked body quivered from the drafty windows in her pre-war apartment. Sitting at the corner of her bed, she began to plan the day’s wardrobe. Six minutes had passed, but she was no closer to getting dressed than when she sat down. The goosebumps that covered every inch of her body were the only motivation to finally stand. With a methodical precision, she rummaged through the endless piles of both clean and dirty laundry. One by one, each designer garment slid onto her soft, cool skin.

It was ten minutes until nine. By her calculations, this was the fourteenth day she had been late to work this year. Each act of tardiness was immediately followed with a lame and apathetic excuse.  As usual, she would spend the ride on the A-Train racking her brain for one more clever and deceptively imaginative alibi.

A quick layer of make up and a dousing of perfume was all she needed to complete her transformation. Her black, four-inch Louboutins scuffed the distressed oak floor as she made her way to the front door. As she grabbed the tarnished brass knob and twisted the deadbolt, she noticed the calendar that hung by a sliver of duct tape on the back of the door. Immediately, her eyes were drawn to the date. In her fragile emotional state, all she could do was cry. It was March 13th. An ordinary date to most, but to her it was day she was trying to forget. That day was the reason she had been spiraling towards an emotional hell. She couldn’t believe it was actually making her sob. It had been a full year since he left. Right there in front of her face, the date on the calendar was a harsh and cruel reminder. With mascara filled tears spilling down her face, she took a death breath, steadied her trembling hands, and opened the door.

Thank You for Being a Friend

14 Jan

So long, my friend. It has been one marvelous run. Without sounding completely cliché, it’s not you, it’s me. Really. You have always been there for me through thick and thin. Or thin and thick. Whatever floats your boat. When it was good, it was really good. You were there for me during the highest of highs. You stood by me during the lowest of lows. Your resolve was impressively resilient. You never wavered. Your support coddled me like an infant. Your loving embrace warmed me from the inside out. You were there during some of the most important times in my life. Parties, graduations, weddings, and birthdays, there was your smiling face. Hell, you were even there for the birth of my children. You were always there for a raucous toast. Always around for a grand salute. Sure, we had our rough times together. I mean, who could forget spring break 1999 or that terrible fight we had in Ames, Iowa of all places? Even after our nastiest of fights, we would be back in the saddle, ready to ride in no time flat. We were bros. Hetero life partners, if you prefer. Never would I have thought there would come a time where our partnership must come to a teary end. Now, to paraphrase what our parents used to say, this will be harder on me than it will be on you. You will be absolutely fine. Your friends are a plenty. Your social circle is full of contacts, relatives, and acquaintances for you to run to. Your glass is never half empty. In fact, your chalice is completely full. So, let’s not make this any harder than it needs to be. Let’s just agree to chalk this dissolution up to “irreconcilable differences”. No crying. No anger, hatred, or sleepless nights. All I want for you is good health and happiness. You should want the same for me. In the end, it just wasn’t in the cards for us. So, Alcohol, I bid you adieu. It’s been real. It’s been fun. We will always have the memories. We will always have Las Vegas. I will never forget. We mustn’t forget. Until the off-chance we will be able to rekindle what we once had, I must leave you at the door. Once again, thank you for being a friend.

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