'Fare Thee Well', Phantom of the Opera

Apparently people are reading my blog.

I woke up this morning and one of my cousins I never talk to commented on my link for my latest blog post just to say he loves me. 

It fucking made my day. 

I'm wondering if someone else stumbled across my blog as well. 

Because for not contacting me for two weeks it certainly seemed quite the coincidence for him to suddenly text me the day I posted 'Say Something, Bitch.'

The Bitch, in question did in fact speak. 

To say Adieu. 

Or rather-

Fare Thee Well.

I actually looked that expression up. 

Yes. 

I googled 'Fare Thee Well.'

(Actually, I googled FAIR Thee Well because I thought he misspelled it. He had not. I kind of hate it when people are more literate than I am. And it's also really fucking sexy. Damn him.)

The funny thing about that expression, and yes, I knew what the fuck it means but I think I wanted context of its true definition since my Phantom of the Opera was a bit of a poet. 

(A musician. Who disappears. Whose face is broken. Who loves from afar. A fucking brilliant nickname. Thank you for the suggestion, Puppet.)

If you look up Fare Thee Well (Google corrected my spelling mistake. Shut up.)

It is not only a goodbye, it also means "to perfection; thoroughly."

Which seemed bloody brilliant to use as a Perfect Goodbye. 

He also began and ended his farewell paragraph with my name. 

And the most indeterminate sentence even rhymed. 

Love isn't dead, but my chivalry has been writhing in its death bed.

He is a fucking poet. 

He also waited two weeks to send me any of his poetry.

Which would be well worth the long tedious hours should the poetry be delivered by horseback on a scroll. 

But since we all have our handy dandy apple smart devices of crack there's really no reason his thumbs couldn't punch out a rhyming couplet.

He just wanted to fucking withhold. 

Sex appeal: -3000

BUT-

But. 

I  D I D  finally hear from him. 

And while it wasn't what I wanted to hear, hearing it has actually made me feel leaps and bounds better. 

I think men think we WANT to pine for them. 

Or maybe they fear the rage they will receive upon the delivery of An End.

But my God, Truth is intoxicatingly wonderful. 

I get off on it. 

That's what always baffles me when people seem offended by my direct truthfulness. 

I'll say what I think or ask for what I want and men--I'm sorry, BOYS--will be all, Woah.

Too much.

You're TOO much.

I went on a date once just because I was pissed off at the guy I'd started seeing and I was in such a foul mood I actually said to the date within the first five minutes of sitting down, "I don't give a fuck if you like me or not."

And the motherfucker thought that was so hot!

If only I'd dated him instead of the idiot I made up with. 

He was probably one of the 37 men in existence who could handle me. 

C'est la vie. 

I'd love to know what my life would be like if I'd made little decisions like that differently. 

Like The Phantom of the Opera?

I met 9 months ago on a different date. 

I'd love to know what would have happened between us if I'd told him I thought he was a doll then instead of two months ago days before his life imploded into what he will probably fondly look back on as one of the worst years of his life. 

One day they will turn those choose your own ending books into a time traveling reality. 

And I can go back and kiss the men I wish I would have and smack the boys I wish I hadn't. 

The Phantom felt reminiscent of two tragic relationships of my past--Mr. Volcano and Prince Charming. 

Because all three, repeatedly said Goodbye but always ended up finding their way back to me, only to say goodbye again. 

They all seemed like somewhat shy men and yet hidden within that feigned introvert was a severe sadistic dom who wanted to exert his control over our stories ending. 

Apparently I am a masochistic sub who is into that otherwise why the fuck would it keep happening?

Choose your own ending:

How bout the one that tortures you and leaves you feeling wildly unsatisfied.  

Good one, Reese.

It's disappointing when you feel the unoriginality of your own life. 

I want something different, dammit. 

Some super tatted up monster bearded hottie knows my climbing buddy and I was like, "Dude. Introduce me."

'Him?' He asked surprised. 

Yes fucking him. 

He is nothing like the men I date. 

But tall, lanky, artistic, brooding, withholding, unavailable 6'4" men refuse to FUCK ME. 

So maybe this hipster of Portlandia will.

Bring on the fucks. 

I swear to God I'm done waiting for the man I love to get his shit together before he can love me back. 

Leave me the fuck alone if you're a fucking mess in the first place. 

Don't tell me you've been dreaming about me. 

I give no fucks for your blatant fawning. 

SHOW ME.

Or leave me in the arms of another. 

Huzzah.