I used to ‘knock boots’ with a particular man hater named Ursula Centeno. I was one of life knows how many conquests she used up and tossed aside since her so called ‘divorce’. (Several STD tests since then have shown I got away lucky). I can’t completely blame her. She has a rather FAT and butt ugly friend, Cheryl SomePolockski or something who was (is?) completely obsessed with her, to the point where she would log into Ursula’s email and send me correspondence between her and other suitors in an effort to be rid of me. Why? The fat fuck didn’t like me taking time with Ursula away from her and went to great lengths to poison her mind against me. It worked. Ursula thought *I* was responsible for the incursions, even when I had hard evidence to prove otherwise. Not that any of this matters anymore. When Ursula creeps back into my thoughts, I can’t tell if I enjoy it, or despise it. Both?
I only mention it because I’ve been watching the jury selection for Casey Anthony on Court TV that was these last few days. The case is in orange county, but they are pulling jurors in from Pinellas, where QueenManEater lives still. Now, they don’t show prospective jurors during voir dire, but one can hear their voices, and when hardship is claimed, they usually say where they work. Enough clues to track anyone down if you know how to properly use the Internet. I keep waiting to hear her voice, as I’ll never forget it (one does not forget the wild things said in the throws of passion easily, I assure you), along with some other voices of fat disgusting people I know in Pinellas who need to drop dead as soon as humanly possible. A couple of time I thought I heard her, but it turned out not to be. Too bad.
It did lead to a rather interesting dream I had this today during the Daily Afternoon Power Nap™. Ursula was starring, naturally. Sex was involved, and so were words that were once spoken years ago that turned out to be well placed (and effective) lies. It was like waking up with her heartbreak all over me (instead of the sex smell that usually followed after such encounters). I didn’t know if I was pissed or melancholy. After all these years of never having proper closure, I imagine further thoughts of the woman will be met with bitterness and disgust. That said, If asked, I don’t think I would have the power to say, “no, leave me alone”.
It’s a moot point anyway. The world has moved on. The afterimage of that particular dream will soon fade away and will be forgotten, just as all the ones before it have.
I once read a T-Shirt that said, “Mean people suck.”
I agree.