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Friday, September 08, 2006
Nice Day for a White Wedding
Someone needs to take me out back and do what I should have done to myself a long, long time ago. I'll even provide the gun. I swear.
Confession one: I, the gothic care bear ass kicker extraordinare and proud member of the goth-tastic review site that not only isn't full of group-think cunts but verges on humerous and helpful, is far from a wee little goth. No, I'm actually the epitomy of the island girl, which is only natural seeing as I am Hawaiian.
There. I said it. I have a tan all year round, I hula, I even have a grass fucking skirt. I don't say "Hawaee," I say "Ha-Wa-Ee," I frequently call people malhini even though I am on the mainland, I say a`ole pilikia instead of "you're welcome," and for the life of me I can't say "home" but instead say "hale."
Kind of begs the question of why I even bothered moving from tropical paradise, my family, my friends etc, no?
Cue Confession Two: I abandoned ship and at the first sight of my life unfolding and going to absolute shit and his carrying on in a state that was better than with me in it as loving wife-to be. I ran like a mother fucker. Well, that's a bit dramatic. I opted to take a job here on the mainland, which I pretty much said "no" to from the first time it was offered to me, but then called up my superior the minute I heard what is now dubbed "the news." No, really. It chronologically went accouncement, excusing myself to the restroom, busting out the cellphone, "Hello? Yes this is Kitty Kat and I'm calling to say I've thought about it and I'll take the job. Yes sir, I understand what this means. I leave in three days? Alright. We'll talk then, thank you for this opportunity sir." walking out of the bathroom, resuming my seat, and watching the happiness towards "the news" ensue while I died.
There are a few ways of explaining what happened leading up to this point, but in the interest of ADD and no one really giving a shit I'll go with the short version. Alright, start your clocks--I've got this whole shpeel down to a science.
Growing up on a fucking island pretty much means you develop lifelong friends, and with that you also are, what I like to call, "fucked-small town style" because everything that goes on, everyone within the community, every piece of shit talking you may say--even if it's out in the middle of the ocean surfing--is known by everyone else. Accordingly, I have my group of lifelong friends and I have my status as "Bitchy, but harmless and quirky" pretty much set in stone. One of these life long friends, we'll call him Bane because that is his name, and I started dating circa 2nd year of undergrad, which generally isn't a good idea but I figured it was pretty much not the dumbest decision I ever made when we sailed into year five of dating.
He proposed, I said yes, wedding date was set, wedding plans were made, wedding was fast approaching, and that leads to the day of our lovely reception dinner for those lovely out of town individuals, or as I call them malihini. That day, while surfing, I noticed my husband to be (in less than 24 hours, no less) talking to a malihini, and I noticed a look I had never seen before.
It was the look of adoration. I have no idea how well he knew her, if he just met her, what was going on--although I did later find out he had only talked to her for a week and that she was leaving in a few days, but that look kind of broke my heart. Not in the "He never looks at me" sense, but in the "I'm going to ruin his life" sense. I told my friend Noah, who laughed at me and said it was simply wedding jitters.
Fair enough.
The reception dinner was smashing, and while I was helping the kitchen staff clean up I noticed that Noah, Bane, and some of Bane's out of state family were sitting in a side room talking. I'm a nosey bitch, I admit it, so I walked to the door to hear what was going on. What I heard was Noah saying how lucky he is to have found a girl as fantastic as me (the standard protocol of best man to groom speech I think), and Bane's response of "Yea. She's great. If I can't learn to love her and make things work, well who else can I?" That would be the first time my heart found it's home sunken deep somewhere in what felt like my ass.
Naturally, I asked him about it when we got home. Naturally he brushed it off as it being nothing more than him talking with the guys and being drunk. Alright, fine--drunken guy talk, I left it at that and went for a walk on the famous black beaches. 3am, 4am, 5am, 6am, 7am and my phone's alarm goes off because it's time to revel in bridal pampering. But, instead of going to the salon, I went to Noah's and, for lack of better phrasing, hid there.
Yup. I didn't show up at my own wedding. I'm swell aren't I? I have no idea what compelled me to not to show up, or explain, or just push the date back, but whatever it was made me feel so sick inside that I was curled up in the fetal position on Noah's coach until what was to be my wedding ceremony was scheduled to start unable to move, pale, and lifeless.
Bane didn't talk to me for a few months after that, and understandably so. I heard through mutual friends that the malihini girl I saw him talking to the day before Kitty Kat Is A Royal Cunt Day, ended up staying on the island. I also heard through mutual friends about two months after Kitty Kat Is A Royal Cunt Day that Bane and the malihini were dating.
Bane and I, at the hands of Noah and my bastard brothers, worked out our problems and resumed a friendship about four months after Kitty Kat Is A Royal Cunt Day, and nearly six months after my personal Cunt Day the lifelong childhood friends squad and I, and the malihini were all out to dinner when Bane dropped to one knee and proposed to her. That would be the second time I felt my heart sink to my ass, and coincidently, that would be the day my heart made a happy little home in my ass.
And that brings us to me getting up, taking a job more than 4,000 miles away from the only place and people I've ever known, and moving. That also takes me to why I should be taken out back and shot.
Being friends with someone you have a "past" with is easy when you aren't forced to interact with them daily. Since I moved a year and a half ago, Bane and I have talked maybe once a month-if that-on the phone, and engage in e-mail conversations. It's simple. Phone conversations revolve around what's new and what's happening, same with e-mail conversations, and both of them I can ignore for whatever period of time I want, or just not respond to until he tries to communicate again, or I have some sick masochistic urge to take myself from my normal "Wow, you suck" self image to "Fucking Cunt!" Bane's also not an idiot, and he's avoided all wedding speak with me. Never even mentioned the date they set, nothing.
I found out the date of the wedding because about a week and a half ago I got the fucking invitation to their wedding. I saw the envelope and didn't know if I should break down and cry or burn it (along with my bras, for good measure of course). I really have no right to be pissed, hurt, upset, or anything. I didn't show up. It was my choice, and I know that if I did walk down the aisle in the lets pretend you're a virgin white dress, he would've gone through with it. But I didn't go through with it, which means now he's with the person he should be with.
Which also pisses me off. I date the guy for nearly six years before I get a pesky tiny little flek of a diamond, and she gets a 2.5 karat princess cut diamond after 5 months? Okay, that's just my pride, but this wedding is really going to be the death of me. I ran away from having to face it, and now I'm in the fucking wedding party.
Fuck. I'm going to need another bottle of Henderson Gin to make it through checking which goddamn meal I want.
I really do hate weddings
kitty kat spoke at 3:57 AM
and
10 people united to combat the evil fucking care bear stare
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