Hell Hath No Fury...
I apologize ahead of time; I don’t know how to do an LJ cut at work where I don’t have a client installed.
He had it coming.
He had it coming. You know it. I know it. Now he knows it. With 8 days and counting until the fated nuptials of my best friend, I eviscerated the groom. Somewhere his broken corpse is lying by an LA freeway waiting for DOT to recover.
Few of you may know and many of you may suspect that, while small, I am a wrathful force to be reckoned with. A man who looses his sight finds his other senses are heightened. I have never had the physical stature to intimidate, and so my ability to verbally assault is quick and severe.
He had it coming.
Long backstory short: There are situations throughout the nuptial planning process that have been incomprehensible to me. I have held hands, wiped tears and overall heard and dealt with things that would make a good couple elope and a lesser couple call it off. Recently, the wedding head count has reached epic proportions and now the question of financial responsibility is snowballing between the two houses.
I sent the bride an email (to her personal email account) offering support, love and a feisty jab at the groom's family. A humorous jab, hardly the stuff of world wars, foreign conflicts or boarder skirmishes.
He never should have called me.
Last night, moments before I was to find out who was “fired” on Apprentice, the groom calls me. With the authoritarian tone of an owner admonishing a puppy for peeing on the carpet, he begins to lecture me about the “rumors” that are flying around and reminds me that there are “three sides to every story” and he wishes I would appreciate that. Calmly, I said, “Okay, but why are you telling me this?”
I threw him an easy pitch.
“Well I read your email.”
Strike one.
“Oh, did Amy show you the email?”
A gentle lob over home plate.
“Well, no, I was looking for…” (goes into piss poor excuse for snooping in her email).
Strike two.
“Michael, be careful, you are drawing a line in the sand.”
A fast ball with lots of mustard.
“Well, I figured I could confront you with this or I could be mad about it for the next forty eight hours.”
Strike three.
You’re out.
What came out of my mouth can only be described as cold, careful, calculated wrathful punches. Hateful emotion did not control my words, but fueled them. I still cannot completely recall what I said. I came from a place of truth and was in the absolute moment.
I cannot recall the last time I called upon my ability to destroy like this; to fall back on my base (and somewhat unfortunate) ability to search out weakness, to smell it, taste it and use it like a surgeon’s knife. I hate that I have the gift. It is not a gift in my mind. As a result, I am rarely confrontational, I have gone so far the other direction so as to never hurt those I love or care for or respect.
I do lot love, care or respect this man. I hope I hurt him as badly as I intended.
He did not say a word. The assault lasted perhaps forty-five seconds of well chosen words. I did not call him names. I did not accuse him of transgressions. I merely told him exactly what his betrayal of trust meant. “I have listened while she cried, I have listened while she hurt, I have listened while you put her through everything you have put her through, and I have kept my opinions to myself,” I can recall saying, “That stops now. You have chosen the wrong enemy.”
Allan says he has never seen me like that. He said it was frightening, inspiring and entertaining all at the same time. We’ve felt somebody needed to take this son-of-a-bitch out at the knees for quite a while. He enjoyed watching it.
I hung up on him with, “I have nothing more to say to you.”
I never allowed him a word.
I then called and received the bride’s blessing for my actions. Her exact words were, “Good, he messed with the wrong girl. Somebody needed to kick the shit out of him. That somebody is you.”
Now we wait and see. I still haven’t gotten my bridesmaid’s dress shortened, maybe I won’t have to. I can hope can’t I?
He had it coming.
He had it coming. You know it. I know it. Now he knows it. With 8 days and counting until the fated nuptials of my best friend, I eviscerated the groom. Somewhere his broken corpse is lying by an LA freeway waiting for DOT to recover.
Few of you may know and many of you may suspect that, while small, I am a wrathful force to be reckoned with. A man who looses his sight finds his other senses are heightened. I have never had the physical stature to intimidate, and so my ability to verbally assault is quick and severe.
He had it coming.
Long backstory short: There are situations throughout the nuptial planning process that have been incomprehensible to me. I have held hands, wiped tears and overall heard and dealt with things that would make a good couple elope and a lesser couple call it off. Recently, the wedding head count has reached epic proportions and now the question of financial responsibility is snowballing between the two houses.
I sent the bride an email (to her personal email account) offering support, love and a feisty jab at the groom's family. A humorous jab, hardly the stuff of world wars, foreign conflicts or boarder skirmishes.
He never should have called me.
Last night, moments before I was to find out who was “fired” on Apprentice, the groom calls me. With the authoritarian tone of an owner admonishing a puppy for peeing on the carpet, he begins to lecture me about the “rumors” that are flying around and reminds me that there are “three sides to every story” and he wishes I would appreciate that. Calmly, I said, “Okay, but why are you telling me this?”
I threw him an easy pitch.
“Well I read your email.”
Strike one.
“Oh, did Amy show you the email?”
A gentle lob over home plate.
“Well, no, I was looking for…” (goes into piss poor excuse for snooping in her email).
Strike two.
“Michael, be careful, you are drawing a line in the sand.”
A fast ball with lots of mustard.
“Well, I figured I could confront you with this or I could be mad about it for the next forty eight hours.”
Strike three.
You’re out.
What came out of my mouth can only be described as cold, careful, calculated wrathful punches. Hateful emotion did not control my words, but fueled them. I still cannot completely recall what I said. I came from a place of truth and was in the absolute moment.
I cannot recall the last time I called upon my ability to destroy like this; to fall back on my base (and somewhat unfortunate) ability to search out weakness, to smell it, taste it and use it like a surgeon’s knife. I hate that I have the gift. It is not a gift in my mind. As a result, I am rarely confrontational, I have gone so far the other direction so as to never hurt those I love or care for or respect.
I do lot love, care or respect this man. I hope I hurt him as badly as I intended.
He did not say a word. The assault lasted perhaps forty-five seconds of well chosen words. I did not call him names. I did not accuse him of transgressions. I merely told him exactly what his betrayal of trust meant. “I have listened while she cried, I have listened while she hurt, I have listened while you put her through everything you have put her through, and I have kept my opinions to myself,” I can recall saying, “That stops now. You have chosen the wrong enemy.”
Allan says he has never seen me like that. He said it was frightening, inspiring and entertaining all at the same time. We’ve felt somebody needed to take this son-of-a-bitch out at the knees for quite a while. He enjoyed watching it.
I hung up on him with, “I have nothing more to say to you.”
I never allowed him a word.
I then called and received the bride’s blessing for my actions. Her exact words were, “Good, he messed with the wrong girl. Somebody needed to kick the shit out of him. That somebody is you.”
Now we wait and see. I still haven’t gotten my bridesmaid’s dress shortened, maybe I won’t have to. I can hope can’t I?