So Long, Johnson

Alright look, the musician didn’t have a vagina ok? He had a very lovely penis and I was just mad that he took it away. I didn’t realize I was still so angry. I don’t think I realized how attached I was to that thing. I used to crawl under the covers, pull it close and whisper “You’re beautiful, I hope we’re together a very long time.” But we weren’t and that was devastating. Man, fuck Gary Johnson. It wasn’t really his fault but blaming him makes me feel so much better. This is really about the musician’s johnson. I tried waiting to have sex with him thinking while he was waiting to get laid, he’d accidentally fall in love. Instead, I did. And then he bailed. And now I’m going through the five mother fucking stages of grief.

Two weeks in, one day over catfish by the bay I saw our children in his eyes. All he saw was a glare from the water and an eyelash in mine. I named them–the children, not the glare and the eyelash. Willow, Rainn, and Gary. Willow and Rainn would be artists just like their daddy, but Gary was the mistake we had after making up for a fight too hard. Gary would be too much to handle and we’d fight over how to appropriately discipline him and eventually we’d get divorced. What? You thought I actually expected a happily ever after with the musician? No no no no … I just thought I’d at least get some good years in. Gary was always gonna ruin everything. That’s what happens when you’re ironic with shit that matters.

I never really told the musician “Fuck you, write a song about it,” but I did send him a cryptic text one night and that was about as much anger as I took out on him directly. It just said “You win” which was super fucking stupid. I didn’t even have a follow up so when he responded back “What does that mean?” I seriously said nothing for three days. I probably should have said some crazy ass shit back and we probably would have banged it out that night, but we didn’t because I am incredibly good at cock blocking myself. “You win” is probably the lamest angry text I’ve ever sent since calling a dude “sausage fingers” for having too many typos in his response to me. So I guess that covered anger, which is a relief considering no TVs were thrown this time around.

I was definitely in denial the night the musician dumped me. We were in my car. Yeah it was the best getting dumped in my own car. Actually, the best was when it started in the bar, with the bartender washing his dishes next to us. I thought, This can’t be real. So when he was done saying nonsense I refused to accept, I actually said, “Ok, so can I come stay with you tonight?” And he found that a little surprising but I totally stayed at his place that night. Totally stayed there all night long if you know what I’m saying.

That shoulda been it, ya know? One for the road. But then I came back a couple more times, because, well, did I tell you the thing was really beautiful? I bargained with him for sure. “Look, we don’t need to put a name on this if that freaks you out. I don’t care if you call me your girlfriend …” I just wanted a little more of that treble clef if you feel me. Not that it was like all swirly or anything … I mean … you know what? Never mind.

Then there was depression. Once I gave up on chasing him and realized he wasn’t chasing me … I got really, very, incredibly depressed. Just, like, what the fuck, man? This dude told me I was cool and smart and funny and beautiful and I gave him some of my best moves. Yeah, only some, I mean I had to save a few tricks for later. I didn’t know there wasn’t going to be a later. But just, how wasn’t I enough? It’s because I don’t cook, I thought. I didn’t feed him. Now he thinks Willow and Rainn will starve to death and I won’t be a good mom. Gary? What about Gary? Man, fuck Gary. He’s the reason we’re getting a divorce, that asshole can starve.

But then, one day there was acceptance. One day I finally dusted off the old battery operated boyfriend, charged that fucker up and took everything I’d been feeling for the last couple of months out on it. The neighbors called the cops because it sounded like someone was getting murdered in my condo but I explained everything to them and they high fived me and one of the cops gave me his number and I have a date on Saturday and what musician?


One thought on “So Long, Johnson

  1. Pingback: We Don’t Stalk Anymore | Shell Short

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