It's Not Me, It's You: Subjective Recollections From a Terminally Optomistic, Chronically Sarcastic and Occasionally Inebriated Woman by Stefanie Wilder-Taylor

Author:Stefanie Wilder-Taylor [Wilder-Taylor, Stefanie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781439187098
Amazon: 1439187096
Publisher: Gallery Books
Published: 2010-09-14T07:00:00+00:00

What Would Tori Spelling Do?

I have been broken up with a number of times. The first time I ever got my heart truly broken was on an international call to Italy at 3 a.m. My boyfriend, Billy, and I had moved in together in an apartment in Los Angeles, and while I was busy planning our future together, he was busy planning his escape. I probably should’ve seen it coming, but somehow I wasn’t focused on the clues that he was leaving me. Sure, we fought a lot, but didn’t lots of couples scream, “Shut the fuck up” at each other? Chet was Billy’s best friend, and Billy used him as an alibi on more than one occasion. A couple of times he came home in the middle of the night and when I demanded to know where he’d been, he said, “I was at Denny’s counseling Chet on a relationship issue. You know he’s having a tough time getting over Heather.” Like that was the most normal thing in the world and only a truly insane person would question something so obviously reasonable.

“But why didn’t you at least call me?”

“Stefanie,” he said in that condescending way people have when they use your name in the conversation. “That would have been rude. Chet was really upset and leaving to make a phone call would have made him feel unimportant.” It was as if God lowered a waving red flag from the ceiling telling me Billy was either gay, watching way too much Oprah, or most likely screwing someone else. But I let it slide. Sure, he was kind of an asshole, but I was in love and it was easier to believe he loved me, too.

Besides being funny, Billy was the first guy I felt completely comfortable with naked. It’s not that I’d never been naked with other men, but I preferred extremely dim lighting where my cellulite would be less likely to be discovered. I’d also perfected a sideways walk that allowed me to get out of bed and sidle out of a room while remaining in silhouette if, God forbid, I had to pee or get dressed to leave. I thought I was pulling off a sort of Mae West move, but apparently it was a bit awkward and it wasn’t unusual for the guy to ask, “What’s up with the limp?” During extreme body insecurity stretches, I’d been known to hold my pee all night long until I could furtively put my pants back on while still in bed and head to the bathroom—the downside being, after holding it all night, I probably peed louder than a camel. But with Billy, I could lie around buck naked playing chess, drinking beer, and making crank phone calls without feeling self-conscious. For some people, comfortable may be the kiss of death; for me, it’s a drug. Every single morning when we woke up together, even if we’d had a vicious fight the night before, he told me I was beautiful and I chose to go with that.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.