My Saturday (More therapy based writing)

You'll be pleased to hear, faithful reader, that my fingers have stopped hurting since yesterday, as I have taken a day's respite from the guitar. This is mostly due to a very painful rendition by me of Jolene by Dolly Parton, after which I decided I should perhaps go buy a new chord book and learn songs I can sing, to prevent the depression setting in as I BUTCHER some of my favourite tracks.
That's about it on the getting better front, however.
You remember my ex? OFC you do, I wrote a massive fucking paragraph on the nutter. Well this is mainly going to concern him, since he's still being a cock.
Why is he being a cock, darling peruser of my distinctly weird blog? Well. Let me start by telling you a small other thing, because the author in me feels that the big thing should be saved for a big finale.

I had not yet informed my B-E-A-UTIFUL best friend, Lu: 

Me, Sarah, Mitch and Luli at prom, July 2010

Of my unfortunate break up.  And boy, was it unfortunate.  Anyway, I hadn't told her yet. I rarely call her (this makes me an uber bitch, I know) so normally I have an entire week of bitching to share with her, as does she with me.  I informed her of our eventual split.  I did not expect her to go "OH. So that's why whenever I greet him all cheerfully he looks a bit frightened. I must of [Lovely reader, this is just how she talks. I know she means have.] looked like a complete idiot. Can you call me sooner next time please?"  I felt rather guilty at this point.  She, however, has offered to harass him for the twenty quid he still owes me (Yes, still, but quite honestly I've not made it easy for him to talk to me, what with refusing to see him.) which I presume means  that she forgives me.  I found out later, having consulted her mummy (not so weird, she's like a ridiculously fun auntie, and my manager, but more on that later), that SHE had also seen stupid ex, greeted him cheerfully, and had too wondered why he had blanked her.  I explained. She got really quite irate.
Life went on within the day. I served customers. They were nice. We had pizza for lunch, it was BOGOF and had pepperoni, which is always awesome.
Wendi (manager, Luli's mum) drives us home every Saturday on the way home.  She asked me on the way what I intended to do with my life now.  Jokingly (mostly), I said that I was going to get really, REALLY slutty and just do whatever the fuck I wanted. She thought that this was a very good idea, and I should use the tenner she had just given me (Yes, I'm a volunteer worker. No, I don't know why she gave me a tenner. Yes, I tried to argue with her. Most pointless 15 seconds of my life EVER.) to go buy some Lambrini and shag this guy I was talking about who I had a crush on. (She's the kind of person I can tell this shit to. She's fifty and still snogging 20 year olds in bars.)  I had to remind her, again, that I was still seventeen.  You'd think she'd get this, my being the same age as her daughter and having been around hers most weeks since I was about eleven, and several times more between the ages of 6 and 8.  But no.  Not that I don't expect this from her.  She keeps asking her own daughter to go and buy aforementioned alcohol.  STILL doesn't get the whole underage thing. Distinctly remember a moment from a sleepover aged fifteen, and her asking Lu to nip up the shops in the car and buy her some Nicorette.  I love her, but she's not exactly improving with age.
Anyway.  I pointed out the lack of age to her, but she still thinks acting slutty is the first step to recovery.  I am actually tempted.  She seems happy enough.
Anywho. I got home after this, and logged on to Facebook.  Eventually. Was dragged out by father to apply for jobs first.  ANYWAY, earlier this morning I had received a Facebook-based email from the stupid ex, which went as follows.

I had decided this morning not to grace it with a reply as yet, to go to work and deal with it later.  I was not impressed, believe me. You'd think if he had thought it through about still wanting me, we'd still be together.  Stupid man.  Are all men stupid? (Duh.) Anyway.  I later decided to reply to him, and the conversation went as follows.

I thought it only fair to warn him about Wendi. She was threatening to break into his house and piss in his mouthwash.  Honest to God.
I just...  He is so fucking agitating it almost hurts.  His date has gone badly with the violet slag, and now we come back to me. Obviously. Because I clearly didn't say at the time when we broke up that he'd had his second chance, so fuck him to fuck!!  It is possibly the most appropriate moment for a facepalm ever. IN FACT:

Anyway, enough of Jean Luc Picard.  I'm going to sign off now, as my anger has slightly dissapated and there is honestly nothing more I can say in this instance.  Might hunt down some Magners.  Love to all. xxxx