The Liar Apocalypse

and batteries for all!

When I was 8, my dad told me that we’d go to the snow. He said we’d leave at some god-awful hour of the morning to hit the slopes early enough to get in plenty of ski time in. I was ecstatic.

To date, I have never skied.

When I was 10 (and too old for one) my grandfather told me that he’d build me a swing in the walnut tree in our backyard. It would have been the only thing that tree stood to offer us worth anything. Its constant dropping of walnuts was more nuisance than useful. Rotten fucking walnuts, everywhere, all the goddamn time. We finally cut the stupid thing down and planted chilis, like good Hispanics.

I never got my swing, but we always had plenty of banana bread. Asshole.

At 12 I was gifted a piano by my uncle. The thing looked like something you’d find on the side of the road with a sign on it that read, “FREE.” It was legit the scariest piano I had ever laid eyes on. It was haunted AF! It was an upright, black varnish that had cracked – everywhere, two very sad candle holders, and so out of tune that all the keys sounded the same.

My uncle gave my parents a check for $500 to enroll me in lessons. I couldn’t wait. I was going to be a star! They sold the piano and kept the check; presumably for bills and booze money. I would have been a Tori Amos understudy if they hadn’t fucked me over. I blame them for my lack of forward momentum in life. It started with that piece of shit piano and, ultimately, being deceived.

Now, I’m not saying I have trust issues, I’m just saying I don’t believe a single word that comes out of your filthy mouth until you prove to me, through a course of actions, that you can be trusted. Even then, shit gets sketch. Lie to me and all bets are off. You are merely a puss filled meat suit with vocal cords from that point forward. Lie to some other twat. This twat has had enough bullshit.

A series of disappointments has left me very reactionary to sensitive situations. You could argue that it’s my job to grow up – to use them as opportunities for personal growth and development. You can also hot glue your genitals to a rusty sheet of scrap metal. This is my time to talk. You’re here because you choose to be. I didn’t ask for help. I’m just venting, as I’m so very prone to do here.

I was recently in a situation where I was told I couldn’t have something. It’s no surprise finding myself in a situation where, yet again, I’m promised something that someone has conveniently forgotten about, or changed their mind on entirely.

It takes me back to the great argument of “You Said You’d Consider Children” of 2017. Black days fell for 40 days and 40 nights. On the 41st day the batteries in the vibrator died taking with them the last vestiges of fight I had left in me.

In hindsight, I should have just walked into the store and bought batteries in bulk. I’d give the cashier the eye, like a lady boss – as if to say, “I am owning this shit right now! I have a below ground bunker with water, canned food, and these batteries. I’m just going to eat and masturbate until I die.”

This story has no point. I hope you weren’t looking for one. You came to the wrong place if this is your version of Dear Abby. I’m merely avoiding the real process of getting over being pissed off at someone for hurting my incredibly squishy feelings. I’m working on trusting someone to do the right thing (my right thing) in a situation and trusting my ability to continue to care for that individual even if they fuck shit up royally – and they will.

What is the moral of the story, Christina? You’ve been gone for months and you’ve resurfaced only now, to give us this piece of shit writing? What are you trying to tell us?

My friends, what I’m saying is this: nothing is certain, and your happiness is dependent on you. Fuck all, we may die because we bombed some dude. I don’t do political shit on this blog, so I’ll leave it at that.

I’m never gonna get a dog, I’m never having another kid, I’m never going to be completely comfortable telling someone to chew with their fucking mouth closed, and I can’t play the piano. So, with all that in my basket, it’s time I make myself an irrevocable promise.

I promise to buy all the motherfucking batteries. My life, my rules, my happiness.

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