A rant of sorts

So, on the widow forum I'm on, everyone's always posting their DGI's of the day ("Doesn't Get It") and stories of "widdabrain" (which is the result of the emergency brain chemical cortisol released in excess - shrinking your hippocampus and making it hard to lay down new memories and access existing ones...thanks DJ Maj!).

We all get them - always from a well-meaning friend. My DGI experiences were belated - or I was too bombed on widdabrain to notice for the first few months. One widow on the board was told "at least he didn't suffer" when she explained that her husband died of cancer after fighting for 6 months. Others just hate holiday cards handwritten with "I hope you have the best Christmas ever!" Shelley, Jordan's wife, was asked by a female friend if she wanted to go to a singles dance together, two months after he and Rbf died.

My DGI issue was brought to life when some douche in Jackson (a complete stranger who had asked my situation) felt the need to Dr. Phil me and explain life to me. It seemed like he was saying that this was supposed to happen so I could find the RIGHT guy. I wanted to say "Die, bitch. I hate your face." Instead, I walked away in the middle of his asinine sentence.

This same dumbass ran into me the next day at the fundraiser. I gave him my best stupid-cow blank stare and pictured Rbf beating him down in a dark alley, and didn't stop walking. It was in the middle of another sentence of his. This "sentence" was about how he'd love to trespass over the border to violate the fair state of Utah just to come take me dancing...

"I just won't take a plane!" he laughed.

Which is a cryin' shame, because I hear that they sometimes fall out of the sky and I don't see your face anymore. Isn't that how it goes? Can I request this?

First mistake: trying to be The Sensitive Guy to earn my trust, then sit down next to me, uninvited, and wax sensitive in a terribly-disguised attempt at getting my guard down. He thought he was being so cute. Like after that whole conversation ending in him getting blown off, that somehow my dead boyfriend was our little inside joke. Why didn't he just go up onstage and get the auctioneer to go "Vrrroooommmmmm BRRSSCHHHT!" and make a plane motion with his hand, and make it crash in the ground and then twinkle his fingers like jazz hands to imitate the miles of scattering. It would have been just as funny, asswad.

I asked God once more why he took three perfect men and left us with these pieces of shit in their stead. Way to give me a vivid reminder of what the difference is between sainted-dead-Rbf and the male scum that just won't go away. I don't care if he just got nervous with girls and suffered from severe social palsy. He's proof that evolution was just a theory, and that life just isn't fair.

At any rate, it's safe to say I had finally been initiated into DGI awareness mode.

Suddenly, I was acutely suspicious of men's motives. I've always presumed guys' comments to be platonic unless stated otherwise, but suddenly, comments I'd never notice before now seemed like come-ons. The charismatic tone of a salesman's voice might not be him trying to make a sale, it MIGHT be him flirting. And because of my cortisol brainbath, I don't know the difference. Jiffy Lube guys giving me the promo discount without a coupon? I say thank you and hope my reaction is not being a.) overly grateful, or b.) completely ungrateful. It's innocent, because they don't know my story. I'm just a girl trying to pass safety & emissions. Unsuccessfully.

But if I meet someone who learns my story and still seems to have his sights set on anything other than polite friendship, I will be incensed. It seems like I've had run-ins with this and I can't believe how mad it makes me.

Because it has been four short (albeit excruciating) months since Reboyfriend's funeral. What kind of dick is already thinking about who's next in line for what's left of his regirlfriancee...even if they throw in the requisite social disclaimer that it "probably won't be for awhile....but when that time comes..."? It's not like I'm a trust fund he's left behind, where it actually makes sense to start thinking about who gets it now. I remember when he died, decisions would need to be made pretty quickly about *who got his stuff. It started instantly. But it was normal, because it wasn't about the things. It was about having one last piece of this person everyone loved.

This is different. I am not Jed's gun, or his dirtbike, or his snowboard or his fucking truck. I am his partner, and he did not designate a beneficiary. If I ever wake up one day and decide differently, I'll make it clear.

In reality, I don't really believe this is going to be all that much of a problem. Crying publicly and forcing myself not to park my cart and slump down on the floor in the Walmart aisle in my loafers and rolled-up too-long jeans, isn't the purring mating call it sounds like. It feels wrong and bitchy to be preemptively mad and insulted at something that should flatter me.

But here's the thing: Any budding of a "relationship" I could possibly have with someone else would only be good for them (if that, if we're being honest). Any "date" or "hangout" I got myself into would be a reminder that I am not with the person I want. It would only serve to exacerbate my loneliness. If dating me would not be for my benefit, then pray tell: whose would it be for? It's an arrangement that would work well for him and would not me. Please explain to me how that's "sweet?"

An open statement to future men everywhere, especially Jackson Hole: I am somebody's girlfriend. Please respect that. And because I love him, my expectation is that you please respect his memory as well.

/bitchfest off/

I have pictures of our Jackson Hole trip that show what an amazing experience it really was this year...this wank can't undermine Fireball 2009!!! Stay tuned.

*Ironically, we had this discussion Wednesday night, less than two days before he was killed. We each assigned the entirety of our stuff to the other. Obviously, I did not fly off my bed and type it up before demanding his signature. I just never thought it would be necessary to actually have to tell anyone that before the wedding. And really, would they believe me or think it was appropriate? I knew it was his wish to leave everything to me, but it didn't work out that way. And it's just stuff. I got what I wanted, and let the rest go.