El’ Diablo gets Married

 “Mawage. Mawage is wot bwings us togeder tooday. Mawage, that bwessed awangment, that dweam wifin a dweam… And wuv, tru wuv, will fowow you foweva…” ~The Princess Bride~

Let me start with something that all women, well most women, want—marriage. I had spent about 4 months in bed after having a major surgery on my hip. There was a local coffee shop I frequented for over 4 years, and although I knew the owner didn’t like me for personal reasons I still went there to drink my coffee and write. When I was given the go-ahead to start walking in the real world my first instinct was to get back to my coffee shop-world and back to writing.  When I returned I was informed that my nickname was El Diablo and was well hated by everyone who also frequented this shop. In true high-school trauma fashion this woman, the owner, asked for a show of hands to ‘prove’ her blanketed statement that everyone hated me. To my utter shock and dismay a plethora of hands went up—it was true, I was the devil.

Now after enduring years of true bulling, it is people like me who are the reason we now have a zero tolerance stance on extreme bulling, and many years of therapy I knew that I couldn’t let this effect me. I held my head up high, told her I would rather be ‘the devil’ than be a cunt that could possibly be the only person to beaten with the ugly stick and come out better for it, and left. I made it as far as a friends store before I fell apart and sobbed. There I stood, some crazy lady covered in tattoos with a brace from my knee to my ribs and arm-style crutches in a high-fashion, busy downtown shop crying. Not just crying, but that ugly-cry. You know the one I’m talking about, where you suck in a breath between each word, your make-up smeared and smudged like a college girl doing the “walk of shame” back to her dorm after a one-night-stand, snot sliding down your smile lines and into your mouth. In other words, I looked like a hot fucking mess.

My friend took a hold of me and literally shook me, and said ‘who gives a shit about her, find another coffee shop, it’s not like they’re the only game in town.’ She gave me some tissues; I cleaned myself up, and hobbled back to my car. The next day I pulled my shit together, packed up my computer and printed copy of my draft, and headed for The Green Sage coffee shop. And just like that *snaps fingers* there he was; the man who would become my husband in just 6 short months.

He was unlike any man I had dated before, by that I mean he was EXACTLY like every man I had dated before. No real income, no car, no home, no real ambitions but the dedication to his art. It was love at first site. I could love him into the man he should be by God! Thus, through the eyes of lust we began our relationship. On November 20^th 2010 I had a beautiful wedding. Paid entirely by my parents (and no, they are not well to-do), I wore white—that’s still funny to me, and we enjoyed a spectacular reception at a local restaurant, The Flying Frog. The owner felt bad that all we could afford was light hors D’oeuvre; he supplied us with the most amazing banquet of food, wine, and a bottle of Champagne that was almost as expensive as my bold-face-lying white dress. It only seems right that I spilled bright red curry down the crotch area, don’tcha think?

The cracks began to show before the wedding, I offered him the option to opt out, but he declared his love for me and my daughter. Big, bright red warning signs were in front of all our faces but I love him was all I could say. On April 22^nd 2011, five painfully long months later he left me. On my daughters birthday nonetheless. So in less than one year I managed to be rejected by an entire community of people I had known for years, met and married the man of my ‘dreams,’ and finally I was left financially, mentally, and emotionally fucked.

So, there you go, a prelude to who I am; smart as hell and yet so painfully full of naïveté.  I hope you found what you might have been looking for by choosing to read this. I know I have received what I desired—closure.