I am friends with all of my ex-girlfriends except for two.

There's Tammy, who cheated on me in college with a guy in my House, got pregnant as a result, and came over one night a few years later to go down on me. I called her a Cum Dumpster during climax. She ran out crying and slept on the golf course.

And then there's Sunny. She's Thai. She's ridiculously attractive. And she's a waitress. None of these things have changed since she fucked the Receivers Coach of my high school football team while we were dating in college. She met him at a fundraiser my high school threw for the athletic program. Apparently they hit it off. Whore.

Our relationship was, by all accounts, a tumultuous one. It ran hot and cold like a Motel 6 shower. One week things could never be better. The next one of us would want to shove the other down an elevator shaft. The breaking point came--naturally for us--over something completely ridiculous.

One evening I decided to go to an A's game with my friend Will. As she recounted angrily in a voicemail message I would receive later that evening, I neither informed her of my decision nor--and this is a quote--"asked her permission." I really didn't think much of the decision to go because we didn't have any plans for that evening. Of course in her head Sunny had already planned a quiet romantic evening at her place. Operative words being: "IN HER FUCKING HEAD!"

The game was unspectacular as I remember except for the surprising and pleasant lack of cell phone calls. Not a single one. Very unlike Sunny. As it turns out, MCI Worldcom was having some service problems. This meant that calls weren't finding their destination and were being routed to voicemail. When service got restored later that evening (on BART somewhere between MacArthur and Ashby stations) any dropped calls that were routed to voicemail started to queue up in my phone. Grand total? 6. All from Sunny. SIX! I showed Will. He laughed right in my face. Dick.

Like any string of voicemail messages born out of the paranoid fantasy that you are being ignored and/or cheated on by your boyfriend, Sunny's messages got increasingly...well...violent. I was pretty toasted at this point in the evening so I found most of them hilarious. I would even re-cue them and let Will listen. Then I listened to Number 6. The MOAB.

S: Nils, I am through with you. I'm tired of you ignoring me all the time and spending time with your friends. When I hear you are out with Will or Don or Draper it makes me want to scratch your eyes out with my bare hands. Fuck you. I'm fucking Freddy B too. You know the coach guy you introduced me to at that stupid high school fundraiser you dragged me to. I fucked him at the party and I've been fucking him ever since. We're in love too so fuck you.

Ouch. I would have been really hurt by her little diatribe if I wasn't swimming in unrelenting anger instead. I let Will listen to the voicemail. He stopped laughing. When I saw Will earlier this summer in Portugal, this little incident came up and he told me what was going through his head at the time:

W: See Nils get yelled at. Laugh at Nils. See Nils get cheated on and dumped. See Nils boil with white hot rage. Stop laughing at Nils. Stop making any sudden movements. Get off train.

When I got back to Berkeley I made a beeline to Sunny's apartment. She was waiting. Eagerly. We went at it for what felt like hours but what turned out to be only 30 or 40 minutes. Of course it didn't serve any greater good or purpose to yell and scream at each other like a Sicilian family reunion. I mean, maybe it was therapeutic but I would be lying if I said I didn't want to hurt her the way she hurt me. Unfortunately, I am not a soulless cock-swallowing Southeast Asian hooker...so my words would have to do. They would have to do, that is, until my eyes fell upon something I gave her for her birthday during the honeymoon phase of our relationship.

Sunny LOVES Brian McKnight. Any and all things Brian McKnight are usually good enough to salve wounds, stem the flow of tears, and calm the screaming she-beast. Her favorite Brian McKnight song is "Anytime" so for her birthday I had a caligrapher in Chinatown paint the lyrics on a piece of really cool parchment paper. Then I had a friend of mine who worked the doors at the Paramount Theatre (where McKnight was going to play a couple weeks later) get it signed. I framed it in bamboo and no-glare glass.

Beside being a cool gift, the whole thing was actually quite beautiful...at least until the little Thai hooker cheated on me. In the middle of yelling at her for being a lecherous, disease-communicating, curry-eating cunt (Note to female readers: if you don't like the C-word I have a piece of advice for you--DONT FUCKING CHEAT!), I spotted the framed piece on the wall above her bed. I charged past her, leapt onto the bed, grabbed it off the wall and threw it against the hardwood floor.

It shattered like the hopes and dreams of an ugly girl with ovarian cancer. Cheap fucking Chinatown framejob. When she realized what I did I thought she would descend into an even deeper darker realm of insanity and attack me like a fucking puma. Instead, she crumpled onto her bed and started sobbing uncontrollably. Yeah, that's right bitch. Fuck you. I grabbed the paper off the floor and walked out.

...

Anyway, I was cleaning my room Monday night and I came across the tattered parchment in the back of one of my nightstand drawers. I had completely forgotten about the parchment and what I did to it when I got home that night. Below is a transcription of the lyrics on the parchment paper. What I did to it that night is in bold italics.

Anytime

I can't remember why we fell apart

oh wait, yes I can, you cheating slut

From something that was so meant to be

meant to be a huge pain in my fucking ass

Forever was the promise in our hearts

If by forever, you mean up until you cheat on me you prostitute

Now more and more I wonder where you are

Hopefully it's floating face down in the Sacramento Delta.

Do I ever cross your mind - anytime?

Yes you cross my mind. Now cross into oncoming traffic CUNT!

Do you ever wake up reaching out for me?

Yep, with my hands in the universal "choke the stupid bitch" position

Do I ever cross your mind - anytime?

Only when I am swept up in a wave of homicidal fantasy

I miss you

Go fuck yourself

Still have your picture in the frame

It's easier to hang on the dartboard that way

Hear your footsteps down the hall

I hope you get mugged

I swear I hear your voice driving me insane

that little nasally, whiny bitch voice would make Harvey Firestein wince

How I wish that you would call to say

you have cancer

Do I ever cross your mind - anytime?

only when I watch rape porn and snuff films

Do you ever wake up reaching out for me?

No! you manipulative conniving trollop.

Do I ever cross your mind - anytime?

I'd pick up roadkill off the highway before I helped you with anything

I miss you, I miss you

Kill yourself whore

No more loneliness and heartache

I'm going to fuck your sister

No more crying myself to sleep

fuckyoufuckyoufuckyoufuckyou

No more wondering about tomorrow

nope, because I'm going to kill you in your sleep tonight slut

Won't you come back to me?

so I can fuck you in the ass and then kick you the fuck out of my house

Come back to me Oh, ho, oh

come back to me and I'll tie you up in my basement and throw dog shit at you

Do I ever cross your mind - anytime?

Anytime I need to visualize killing someone, yeah.

Do you ever wake up reaching out for me?

Reaching out to rip your heart out of your chest you soul-crushing tramp

Do I ever cross your mind - anytime?

I hope you cross in front of a moving BART train

I miss you

Die bitch

...not one of my finer moments, I'll admit. Whatever. I'm not the philandering prostitute. Yeah, so we don't get along.

Posted by nils at 8:26 PM

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