George and Robyn: The Break-up

When we last saw the couple, George and Robyn were headed south - and not in a sexual way. Let's take a look at their ultimate eruption - and not in a sexual way.

Robyn sits with friends at Has Beans Cafe, wherein she and George had met and wherein she occasionally arouses the crowd with poetic erotica. [Remember that George had warned her against reciting her Easter erotica. Not smart. Nor was the callous remark about people struggling with mental illness.] Primed to cut ties now, Robyn becomes increasingly irritated that George hasn't yet arrived. It's after 9pm, and George is usually there by 8:30pm.

Meanwhile, lightening shatters the clouded skies, and thunderous blasts sporadically vie for attention. Robyn decides to check her phone. Maybe he was delayed by the weather. A call from George came in, and Robyn steps outside to listen to his message.

He's frazzled. "I'm not sure where you are right now, but I'm afraid to go out there tonight. I might get struck by lightening. I'll talk to you later."

Robyn calls George. "I'm upset! I didn't feel like coming here in the rain either, but we'd agreed to meet and I wanted to see you. You didn't want to see me? You're not willing to drive a few miles in the rain?..." Her voice gets louder and louder. She repeats herself relentlessly. It seems George doesn't feel he did anything wrong.

"You're not even apologizing!" Robyn shouts.

An outraged George argues: "Okay! I'm sorry! I'm sorry that you attacked me! Can we just get passed this?"

"You're sorry that I attacked you?!" Robyn ends the call. Upset, she drives home.

George calls the next day. They fight again. And again. He doesn't do the breaking-up, so she does, in a very nice way, after saying some not-so-nice things that we won't repeat here for the sake of Robyn's already iffy reputation.  Depleted, she tells him, "I loved you and I'll miss you, and good luck to you."

George doesn't respond. Robyn gives him a moment. Silence. She hangs up.

The next day, Robyn texts George: "I remember you have my spare apt key. Please tell me how I can get that back. Thank you." They arrange for George to drop-by after work that day.

He arrives and quietly, calmly gives Robyn back her key. Standing under her door-frame, George looks at Robyn endearingly but says nothing. "Can I give you a hug?" she asks.

"Of course." They embrace.

George leaves. It's the end of George and Robyn. She's over him a week or so later. But it's a bit difficult these days, because Robyn and George were together last holiday season. But Robyn's tough, and she'll be fine, and she knows that it's much better to be single than to be with the wrong person. And she loves her blog-friends and wishes you all a good, safe week.

Thanksgiving Erotica: Basting the Turkey

To all who celebrate Thanksgiving, enjoy your feast. To all, I appreciate you.
May you be thankful for too much to say, and generous with leftovers.

Breakage and the Mule's Tuchas, George and Robyn Part IV

Alas, Robyn had caught the matzo ball return. George and Robyn were in love, it seemed. Yet the field had gotten muddy, and things eroded from not-quite-right to...

  

They sat at her kitchen table. {George had insisted that tables, not sofas, were where one must eat.} While he ranted, Robyn reminisced about the good old days -- several months ago, when they first met, George had said he hated to argue. Robyn believed him. Little did she know what spurred this word-vomit, or that she'd be sliced in two by it.

"A lot of the mentally ill are violent."

Blood rushed through her system. When her (ex) husband had expressed a similarly hateful, insensitive comment about mental illness years earlier, Robyn was certain that he couldn't have said anything more hurtful. And he'd said a lot of hurtful things.* But this hit too close to home, caused too much pain, was utterly dismissive of her and her family, meant she couldn't stay with him. 

Reality is, Robyn likely could be in a relationship with a Republican, one who's nice and respectful. But she couldn't, under any circumstances, date a mule's tuchas.** Yet she didn't cut ties with George in that moment. We don't know why. Perhaps she's one of those co-dependent women who love too much.

"It really hurts to hear you say that." Robyn looked directly into George's eyes, maintaining calm. "I told you about my brother, and you know about my depression and my work on suicide prevention. Not all people with mental illness are violent."

"Well, some of them are!" George insisted.

"Yeah, and some people without a diagnosed mental illness are violent too."

--Silence--

Naively, lovingly, Robyn continued to pine for a more caring George, the one she'd thought she'd fallen in love with, one who never acted like a mule's tuchas.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

*Read all about her marriage in Robyn's 5-star book. Hint, hint. Critics agree it's a page-turner, and Alex warns: "Hang on for the ride."

**Tuchas=Yiddish for rear, derriere, butt, or ass; but I was trying to be polite.

Stay tuned for George and Robyn's final finale. 

First (in a few days): Thanksgiving Erotica.  

Be well, my friends, and take good care.

Reasons for Celibacy, #358 through 367 & Ben Single on Han Diet

Dear Friends,
I hope you're doing well and taking good care of yourselves. Our thoughts are with Paris. Life is so brutal for much of the world, sometimes I feel as though the best I can do is attempt to spread laughter. So here's another attempt: reasons #358 through 367 for a straight single gal to remain celibate. I couldn't possibly make this stuff up, neither awake nor in my sleep. That's to say, these are lifted directly from on-line dating sites and peppered by my italicized snark. Enjoy the weirdness.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

REASON #358: So a lot of women on this site think the men on here are lame and are all dogs. Most of them horny hood rats need to take a good look in the mirror.

Hey, watch it, buddy. I’m not…a hood rat!

REASON #359: I am ntelligent, attractive, available, romantic ,artistic.

You forgot delusional.

REASON #360: Klutzes, be like trippin'

Yeah, well, at least we don’t be like using commas when they don’t be like needed, bro.

 

REASON #361: m looking for that special girl that stand by me

n

REASON #362: I would love to walk the ocean beaches

It’s been done before. Hints: He saves. Son of virgin Mary. Middle name starts with H.

REASON #363: I'm ben single. for long time girls. I like. All kinds. Of. Music. My to have. My own. Place. I I'm life Han diet. A and do art and I like to ride. Morter. Cikols

Dear Ben Single,

Regrettably, I’m not interested in you. I am curious, though, is Chewbacca on the Han diet?

Best Regards,

Robyn Engel

REASON #364: Sex can i ?

No Yoda say.

REASON #365: Funner then your ex 

So is a colonoscopy.

REASON #366: Demisexual

I can’t fault you for that, babe. Demi Moore’s a hottie.

REASON #367: My density has popped me to you

Honey, I’m impressed by the power of your density. Mine just pops open my belt buckle.

Soup for Robyn? George and the Matzo Ball, Continued

When last we saw them, George and Robyn were tiptoeing along the "l" word that she'd haphazardly flung his way. George dodged it and kept plundering forward. A few weeks later, he hinted that it was simmering. Will Robyn get matzo ball soup? Let's find out...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"I'm thinking up lines for my Easter Erotica poem," Robyn giggled. She and George snuggled in front of his big-screen TV. "Things like, 'Let's commit an original sin,'" she giggled some more.

"Don't do it."

"Come on, it's funny. Original sin!" George sounded serious, but she couldn't believe it.

"Don't do it. It's a small Christian town. That could ruin your reputation, if someone at Open Mic records you."

"Are you kidding? It's no big deal. It's funny! Nobody's going to be offended by that."

They volleyed some more, George insistent, and Robyn, not one to be controlled. In fact, when bossed around, she's inclined to rebel. But she really liked and even loved George, so she recited her Easter Erotica at Open Mic when George was out of town. Meanwhile, resentment broiled; George had served censorship and no soup as of yet. They'd been dating for five months and three days. [She was counting.]

"It doesn't feel right that you told me not to read my poetry. I want a boyfriend who supports my creativity," she argued by phone one night. "Plus, it was fine. They liked the poem."

"They probably didn't understand the innuendos," George countered. "Anyway, it doesn't change how I feel about you. I didn't want you to--"

"Wait! How you feel...How do you feel about me, George?"

"What do I think?" No, how do you feel? I thought. But yeah, whatever. Just serve me some f*n matzo balls.  "I think I'm in love with you and I think that you're a good friend and that you're smart and pret--"

"Wait. You said you love me?!"

His voice lightened. "Yeah. But that doesn't mean that--"

"No need to argue anymore, sweetie. I'm good. My baby loves me. Woohoo!"

George chuckled.

----Could the soup get messier? Would it get messier? Stay tuned.

IWSG Finale, Macaulay Culkin for Hire!

Dear friends, I've decided to end my IWSG run with this, my 45th IWSG post. Alex has been incredibly patient and forgiving, letting me disrupt his amazing group month after month with vapid idiots like Tori Spelling, Bruce Jenner (I kinda miss him), Ashton Kutcher, and many more. Thank you, Alex. 

I'll still do interviews here and there, and I don't plan to scale down on my blogging. I'm simply letting go of this one writing commitment, to focus on publishing another book or three.

Sadly, this leaves stagehand Macaulay Culkin out of work. And he hadn't had a job since pre-puberty. [He hasn't had talent since then either.] Oy, I feel a little guilty. But hey, none of us can save the world. Right?  And I'm not completely heartless, so I'm going to promote his skills here. Hey, Culkster! Come on out here! Let's show off your book!

Macaulay Culkin ambles towards Robyn, a small book in hand. He stops directly in front of her, drops his book at her feet, fervently raises both middle fingers, shouts "F*k you, b*tch!" and dashes through the Exit doors. Robyn picks up the book and holds it in front of the camera. 

Ladies and Gentlemen, he's been hiding his talents from us all along. In 2006, Culkin published a so-called book called junIor. And he's accumulated a grand total of 38 reviews in nine years! Let's look at a few reviews. Robyn pulls two index cards out of her pocket. This one says, "That's 20 minutes of my life I will never get back!" Another tells us they "Threw this book in the trash where it belongs before finishing it."

It seems fame doesn't always amount to book sales.  This is good, right? It means that people still want to read viable writing, so we got this. We're viable, or we can fake it. Woohoo!

I'm going to conclude with three pieces of advice for all insecure writers everywhere:

1) Keep writing.

2) Don't ever bore. This is a writer's biggest crime. There's far too much boring writing out there. I mean, feel free to write boring stuff all you want, but do not share any of it. Everything you publish in a blog, book, or bathroom stall should captivate and entertain. Otherwise, kindly keep it to yourself.

3) Keep writing.

Thank you, folks.
PS Keep writing.

Thank you, Alex, and to the Insecure Writer's Support Group. It's been great fun.
Keep writing.