My Own Personal Jolene
Women are insane.
I ought to know.
We will kill for love, among other things.
But what happens when you’re a gung-ho southern woman who can’t hold onto her man?
I found myself in the middle of a Dolly Parton song, about a year ago.
God, I hate to even reminisce about it, it was such a silly sort of juvenile position to put myself in… I mean, seriously, when a girl begins to date a guy she ought to prep herself for the worst, right? Yeah, well, I was “in love” and when you’re young and “in love” your vision of True and False becomes distorted.
It began towards the end I suppose. We’d be dating for an awfully long time, me and this fellow, and we acted as if we had been married for a good ten-fifteen years: dinner, sitcom, bed.
Yeah, it was as bad as it sounds. We had no common interests anymore, but out of curtesy we didn’t want to bring the issues to the forefront. No one wanted to be the bad guy in this sort of situation…yet…
Count on the idiot bozo to go and fuck it up even more, eh?
Well, I knew that my boyfriend at the time (we’ll call him “Athol”) had waning affections. Yes, his affections were waning quite quickly, and I found myself pulling back with force. I felt like I loved him, sure, and I didn’t want to lose him.
Well, Athol had other plans.
In fact, I discovered he didn’t even care about how I felt as all of this unfolded.
While we were still in a committed relationship, he was introduced to a little girl (and little is true, she was a good deal younger than him) that he began to regularly correspond with over the computer, phone, and the like.
I didn’t really like it, but there was nothing I could do about it without going psycho.
Then came the fateful day when he proposed that we “take an undisclosed break”.
Fine.
Athol and I parted ways, and made a “vow” to get back together in good time, once we had reasoned things out a bit for ourselves.
Hmph. Sure.
I’m a little antsy, because I know that they’re talking to each other. And this little girl looked like she could hold her own around a guy. I’m not saying I’m ugly, but out of my own general spite I began to refer to her as the “belle petite fille”.
I was bitter.
I wanted to know what was going on, because by his short telephone calls and inattentiveness to me in the days that followed, I knew he was becoming less interested in getting back together with me- and more interested in this little harlot who had just paraded onto the scene and busted my nice little domestic bubble.
Well, about a week later, I’m still optimistic about seeing Athol at a concert that we were supposed to go to. We were going separately, but meeting amongst a group of mutual friends.
The day rolls around, and I’m excited.
So I show up, and he’s not there yet, I’m hanging out with a group of friends.
And then, as if it was the most natural thing in the world… In swaggers Athol with the little girl on his arm… They’re clinging to each other as if it’s Armageddon and they’ve got .9 seconds to live…
My stomach grows sick, but out of courtesy, I decide to approach them both and be as unassuming as I can manage.
I start by greeting him with a hug, and then turning my attentions to the little auburn-headed, eyeliner-clad youngster at his side.
I say
“Hi, I’m Ash! I’m so ready for tonight, they have amazing bands playing.”
I proceed to list the bands, while she stands there looking at me with glazed eyes as if she’s bored out of her mind.
I’m finished talking, and I’m waiting for her to say something.
So that little hot mess looks at me, and rolls her eyes, and says in a staunch, haughty tone-
“Oh… well I don’t know any of the bands playing here.”
I smile as cheekily as I can manage through clenched teeth and reply
“Yes, well, they were popular before you were old enough to get in here.”
I turn, as my friends come up to me, in a desperate attempt to get me away from the scene. But before I do, I glance back, and reassure her with a last line:
“You should really take a look in the mirror after playing in your crayon box all day.”
I added a nice hair flip, for measure.
Then I went home and drank my weight in vodka.
Jolene, Jolene, Jolene, Jolene… I’m begging of you-
TAKE MY LEFTOVERS, YOU DESERVE THE CHEATING BASTARD!
I ought to know.
We will kill for love, among other things.
But what happens when you’re a gung-ho southern woman who can’t hold onto her man?
I found myself in the middle of a Dolly Parton song, about a year ago.
God, I hate to even reminisce about it, it was such a silly sort of juvenile position to put myself in… I mean, seriously, when a girl begins to date a guy she ought to prep herself for the worst, right? Yeah, well, I was “in love” and when you’re young and “in love” your vision of True and False becomes distorted.
It began towards the end I suppose. We’d be dating for an awfully long time, me and this fellow, and we acted as if we had been married for a good ten-fifteen years: dinner, sitcom, bed.
Yeah, it was as bad as it sounds. We had no common interests anymore, but out of curtesy we didn’t want to bring the issues to the forefront. No one wanted to be the bad guy in this sort of situation…yet…
Count on the idiot bozo to go and fuck it up even more, eh?
Well, I knew that my boyfriend at the time (we’ll call him “Athol”) had waning affections. Yes, his affections were waning quite quickly, and I found myself pulling back with force. I felt like I loved him, sure, and I didn’t want to lose him.
Well, Athol had other plans.
In fact, I discovered he didn’t even care about how I felt as all of this unfolded.
While we were still in a committed relationship, he was introduced to a little girl (and little is true, she was a good deal younger than him) that he began to regularly correspond with over the computer, phone, and the like.
I didn’t really like it, but there was nothing I could do about it without going psycho.
Then came the fateful day when he proposed that we “take an undisclosed break”.
Fine.
Athol and I parted ways, and made a “vow” to get back together in good time, once we had reasoned things out a bit for ourselves.
Hmph. Sure.
I’m a little antsy, because I know that they’re talking to each other. And this little girl looked like she could hold her own around a guy. I’m not saying I’m ugly, but out of my own general spite I began to refer to her as the “belle petite fille”.
I was bitter.
I wanted to know what was going on, because by his short telephone calls and inattentiveness to me in the days that followed, I knew he was becoming less interested in getting back together with me- and more interested in this little harlot who had just paraded onto the scene and busted my nice little domestic bubble.
Well, about a week later, I’m still optimistic about seeing Athol at a concert that we were supposed to go to. We were going separately, but meeting amongst a group of mutual friends.
The day rolls around, and I’m excited.
So I show up, and he’s not there yet, I’m hanging out with a group of friends.
And then, as if it was the most natural thing in the world… In swaggers Athol with the little girl on his arm… They’re clinging to each other as if it’s Armageddon and they’ve got .9 seconds to live…
My stomach grows sick, but out of courtesy, I decide to approach them both and be as unassuming as I can manage.
I start by greeting him with a hug, and then turning my attentions to the little auburn-headed, eyeliner-clad youngster at his side.
I say
“Hi, I’m Ash! I’m so ready for tonight, they have amazing bands playing.”
I proceed to list the bands, while she stands there looking at me with glazed eyes as if she’s bored out of her mind.
I’m finished talking, and I’m waiting for her to say something.
So that little hot mess looks at me, and rolls her eyes, and says in a staunch, haughty tone-
“Oh… well I don’t know any of the bands playing here.”
I smile as cheekily as I can manage through clenched teeth and reply
“Yes, well, they were popular before you were old enough to get in here.”
I turn, as my friends come up to me, in a desperate attempt to get me away from the scene. But before I do, I glance back, and reassure her with a last line:
“You should really take a look in the mirror after playing in your crayon box all day.”
I added a nice hair flip, for measure.
Then I went home and drank my weight in vodka.
Jolene, Jolene, Jolene, Jolene… I’m begging of you-
TAKE MY LEFTOVERS, YOU DESERVE THE CHEATING BASTARD!
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