Life as we know it in 2009

What a fucking year.

For those that miss my shenanigans, here is a summary and explanation on why I am so looking forward to 2010. FML was the word of the year, and poverty was the lifestyle choice.

We start in January. I began the year by walking out on my boyfriend of three years. No hanky panky makes a sane girl sad. I had garnered interest in other individuals, and besides my living situation sucked and I hated that I was relied upon for responsibilities that were not to be mine. It was a sad break up, but once it was done I felt like I was recapturing the happy version of me.

I lived at my dad's place for a month or so. This was a good time because I got to reconnect to my father, who walked out on my mom in '03. Yay for role models. This move prompted me to get my ass back on Light Rail. Score one for acquiring pretend boyfriends and endless entertainment. However, this marks the downturn in fortune. As I began relations with my bike messenger, I left my car at the station overnight and my window was smashed. They didn't take anything, but this did remind me that I have nothing of serious worth to take. And the fuckers smashed my Fleetwood Mac tape. Yeah, the car has a tape deck. I had to pay for a new window, I cut my hand on the glass, and we had a random storm that left a puddle in my car.

Adrian. Or better spelled: A drain. A drain on my morals. A drain on my finances. A drain on my self worth. A drain on my life. Also the love of my life. As you can tell, is where I lost my control of my life. Love is blind and this fucker tied the bandana over my eyes. True, I thought he was gorgeous, smart, sexy, great libido, and mostly a friend. We had something together that was amazing. I felt giddy and lovely at first. Then I moved downtown in February. This is when my first apartment was taken hostage by his low-life friends and random ass coke dealers.

The slummers slept over, spilled food on my furniture and my floor, kept me up with their loud ass conversations, ate my food, stole my phone, stole my bob supply once, and generally pissed off my new neighbors by hopping the fence and looking like felons. Actually, two were felons. A-drain struggled with alcohol abuse before, but my new apartment gave him free reign to act as an idiot and drink copious amounts of booze and shop up at my place when he was done squandering his money on dive bars. Hooray. He started hitting me in May. I cannot describe the months between February and May because the shit was the same every day. Work, come home to the apartment filled with assholes, try to protect my food suply, get yelled at for trying to protect my shit, cry, drink, fuck, go to sleep. Well, I din't drink every day but it helped with my situation.

The abuse was the worst part of '09. There were 4 or 5 incidents where A-drain would 'black out' and hit me, push me, scream at me, throw me to the ground, or tell me about girls he thought were attractive. He also told me he would always want to be with black girls more than a white chick. Fucker. This all culminated with the big fight in June. This one ended with me in the hospital and him in jail. After inviting strangers into my home to eat my food, I flipped out and told A-drain they had to leave because they were not invited nor welcome in my home. As I attempted to call the police he grabbed my phone and snapped it in half. I turned red and began Lisa Simpson-style hitting him (swirling your arms in a circular motion to inflict multiple slaps) and his buddies saw this and booked. He took off and I locked the door. He returned some time later and entered, took his shit, and tried to leave. I blocked the door and demanded an apology and money for my broken phone. He grabbed me and threw me to the gound, causing me to smack my head on the floor. The bump was huge an visible through my hair. The next moments were a blur. Security, police, paramedics, hospital, police again, and the call I had to make to my dad at 4am telling him that my boyfriend had been beating me. Shitty. My Uncle Bob died two days later. We were close. Because I was still in recovery, I was able to be by his side as he took his last breath. It was an honor to be the one holding him as he left his body.

By my birthday A-drain and I were seeing each other. He quit drinking and left his circle of friends. Turns out although many aspects of his flaws were solved with these changes, he still was an asshole at heart. He had saved my name as "Crazy Bitch" in his phone, he texted black chicks all the time, and still asked me to buy him food and cater to his needs. Fuck that. We ain't together any more. I'd rather be alone than with someone like him. I still yearn for his company, but I remind myself that I am a great person who will find someone else who will actually love me back.

September, October, November I worked. I rode my bike around town and added a few men to my list of pretend boyfriends. Sylvia visited me more to monitor my progress from escaping an abusive relationship and to get me to laugh again.

This year has placed the darkest clouds in my mind that I haven't seen since my boyfriend killed himself in high school.

FML. Hurry the fuck up, 2010. When those bells ring, let me be in an amazing place with hot naked men and champagne to envy Diddy. A girl can dream when life is a nightmare.....