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The Worst Person I’ve Ever Met (Part 3) or “The Bachelorette Implosion”

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Need to catch up? Part One, Part Two.

This section will begin to delve into the spiritual abuse I mentioned in the introduction of part one. We here at Trout Nation come from many different backgrounds and belief systems. I have been locked in a spiritual struggle for almost ten years now, but I have returned to practicing witchcraft. If your beliefs don’t match mine, that’s absolutely cool, but it’s a part of this story and the damage this person did to my life. I’m not asking you to believe, but I am asking that everyone is respectful of everyone else in the comments. Which you probably would do anyway, because you’re awesome.

Shortly before they married, Sam and Cathy moved into a new apartment. This required the help of their friends, as the apartment they moved from had been thoroughly trashed. As someone who struggles to keep my house clean due to mental illness and my work schedule, I was sympathetic–to a point. Sam and Cathy’s home was nothing short of disgusting. Sam gets a pass for much of it; when Cathy decided she couldn’t handle working and going to school part-time, Sam was forced to work three jobs while trying to attend college himself. On a few hours of sleep per night with no time to socialize and no days off, he could hardly keep up with things like showering and eating, let alone cleaning the house. So, the task fell to Cathy.

Cathy, thinking herself a great intellectual and serious academic, made no secret of the fact that she believed her education (now in its sixth year at a two-year college, due to the “major course load” of one or two classes every term) was more important than Sam’s. She derided him for needing audiobooks to focus. “Okay, but you’re not really reading,” she would say with an indulgent smile as though she were allowing him to believe he was capable of understanding a book. Once, when I was telling a story to a group of our friends, I said, “but anyway, that doesn’t really matter to [Mr. Jen] and me.”

She gave the same benevolent smile and interrupted me. “[Mr. Jen] and I. Sorry. English major.”

I mocked that smile right back. “Actually, it’s [Mr. Jen] and me. If you removed him from the sentence, ‘that doesn’t matter to I’ is grammatically incorrect. Sorry, published author.”

She pushed back her hair and said, haughtily, “Well, I’ve never heard of that,” and sulked for the rest of the night.

Because of the immense power of Cathy’s staggering brain, she required more sleep than most people. Her I.Q. was so high, she once explained, that it taxed her physical body. “It’s exactly what happened to Stephen Hawkins,” she said, without a note of irony. “But it’s a little worse for me because my I.Q. is actually slightly higher than his.” In order to stave off ALS-by-intelligence, Cathy spent most of her time “resting” by chain-smoking (a habit she couldn’t quit because a doctor allegedly warned her that quitting would instantly kill her), reading, and singing along to Broadway musicals. She simply couldn’t clean their house, because it was too taxing. The four cats they kept shared one tiny litter box in the kitchen, beneath the table where they ate their meals. This went over about as well as one could expect, as the box was rarely if ever changed. Loose litter scattered across the kitchen floor, along with feces. When Cathy made everyone in our circle of friends Christmas cookies, we all made a pact to throw them in the garbage.

When we arrived to help Sam and Cathy move, we found that not only did they expect us to pack their things for them, they also expected us to do all the cleaning so that they could get their deposit back. They’d purchased absolutely no cleaning supplies in the time they had lived there and hadn’t picked up any for the move. Someone went and bought trash bags to clean out the refrigerator full of rotting food. I used their dish sponge to scrub the toilet by hand. As I was on my hands and knees trying to scour a year’s worth of feces, calcified urine, and menstrual blood from the bowl, Sam stepped into the bathroom and pointed to the sink. “It’s only fair that you do this one, too,” he said. “You stained it when you took off your makeup at Halloween.” I’d gone as the Wicked Witch but had a bad reaction to the makeup, so I’d washed it off in their bathroom. Sure enough, the sink was still stained green in March. At first, I was mortified and almost offered to cover the damage if their landlords deducted it from their deposit. Then reason kicked in and I asked, “Wait…did you try to clean it off?” He gave me a blank, horrified stare and said nothing.

The sink wasn’t stained. The year-deep layer of filth on their sink was stained.

A team of six people took ten hours to clean their five-hundred square foot apartment. The Dyson vacuum they’d received as a Christmas gift and which had never been used broke down after sweeping just the living room. They were overwhelmed, I thought to myself. You know what that’s like. And I still sympathize with Sam, though I have never in my life told a friend they were morally obligated to clean my house after a year of not doing it myself. These people were my friends, and you help friends out.

In their new apartment, which was much larger and cleaner than their previous one due to the efforts of a roommate they’d taken on, Cathy took to hosting Sabbats and Esbats for her friends of various Pagan traditions. Like me, she’d turned to Wicca as teen, but unlike me, she’d stuck with it. Wicca had never seemed quite right to me, but Raymond Buckland’s Buckland’s Complete Book of Witchcraft had turned me off from the idea of a coven entirely. I returned to practicing as a solitary witch, incorporating a loose framework of ritual from Wicca, but I didn’t want to worship with other people–especially if they expected me to engage sexually with them, as per Buckland’s writ.

Cathy knew I practiced on my own but she let me know I was always welcome at their rituals. “We don’t do the ‘skyclad’ thing,” she’d said with a roll of her eyes, as we had discussed our mutual reservations about Buckland’s teachings (for the record, my experience with Cathy so warped my own beliefs, I went back and re-read Buckland prior to writing this; I still find much of it a framework for and encouragement of sexual abuse of the spiritually vulnerable, but that’s a post for another time). Aside from her wedding, the things we talked most about were spirituality and magic. We spent so much time talking about our beliefs that I started to feel she was the only person who truly understood my path. Cathy set herself up as an expert, which I accepted because she’d been a practicing witch for longer than I’d been, and offered me guidance and advice in a gentle, nonjudgmental way. Eventually, I did attend one of their Esbats, where she and Sam ‘stood in’ for the Goddess and God. They cast a circle but never invoked or evoked any deity, and those of us in attendance were expected to make our offerings to Cathy and Sam. Instead of worshipping the God and Goddess, we were expected to worship and pray to Sam and Cathy. At the end, Cathy passed around slips of paper for us to write down bad habits or dark secrets that were weighing us down. She cast them into a tiny cauldron to burn them, but not before reading them silently to herself first. When it was time to finish the ritual, there was no cleansing, no banishment of any kind, and she didn’t disperse the circle because she didn’t believe it was necessary. I watched in disbelief as everyone simply broke the circle and wandered off.

I didn’t attend another.

With the date of the wedding growing closer, Cathy’s hunger for bridal adulation grew. When I received a large advance from one of my publishers, her response was not to congratulate me, but to tell me there was a two-thousand dollar bed she’d been eying at a furniture store that would make the perfect wedding gift. She also made it clear that she expected a very large bachelorette party. Though I explained to her that earning an advance didn’t mean money in my pocket immediately and that I would have to live on it for the year, she countered, “Well, I’m on food stamps. We have nothing. I think I deserve to have my dream wedding.” I rallied the other bridesmaids (one of them a total stranger who’d only met Cathy a few months previously, but who had been sucked into the role by virtue of being the fiancé of one of the groomsmen) and we pooled our resources. Cathy wanted a spa day, a trip to Chicago, maybe even Las Vegas. When we approached her before her wedding shower (held at the home of Denise, the innocent bridesmaid who had been inadvertently drawn into Cathy’s orbit) to tell her what we had planned for the bachelorette party, I fully expected a screaming tantrum. That was one of the reasons we chose the venue that we did for the conversation; any scene she might have created would have been subdued by the arrival of guests, and her ego would be soothed by the mounds of gifts she would receive.

“I love it!” she exclaimed, surprising us all. “Honestly, I’m so busy with school and wedding stuff that a big thing would have just stressed me out.” It looked like we had escaped the worst, though she still wanted total control over the items we purchased for the event. She wanted a bridal veil tiara headband and a sash proclaiming her the bride, and she’d seen an idea online for a t-shirt with individually wrapped Lifesavers candies stitched onto it. The idea was to go to various bars and let men bite the candies off. Everything she wanted sounded very far removed from the things she’d said before, but I (foolishly) assumed she’d realized that a small affair that wouldn’t bankrupt her friends would be more fun than a miserable trip with everyone counting their pennies.

The night of the bachelorette party, we met at Denise’s house. I brought a cake I’d made to look like a penis, as per the tacky, ribald theme Cathy had been surprisingly enthusiastic about. We’d all worn casual stuff because the vibe was supposed to have been laid back but Denise showed up in a short, tight leopard-print cocktail dress. We thought it was in the spirit of fun. Instead, Cathy’s plan for the evening had changed. Her new mission was to have a final night as a single woman, her goal to get as much male attention as possible. She just hadn’t bothered to tell any of us. She looked at the bridal veil tiara and sash she’d wanted and said, “I went to a lot of trouble to look good tonight and it is my night. I’m not wearing that.” She took one look at the cake and balked. “No, thank you,” she seethed; I learned later that she’d thought the cake was meant to “sabotage” her pre-wedding diet. “I hope you guys are taking me out to dinner,” she snarled, “because I want to go now!

Completely caught off guard, we explained we were planning to surprise her with dinner at her favorite restaurant. We’d thought that would make her happy but it wasn’t enough to appease her. Instead, she sulked all the way to the restaurant, and when we arrived she bolted down the sidewalk ahead of us, her shoulders hunched. We called out to her to wait for us, but she walked faster. When one of the other bridesmaids jogged to catch up with Cathy and asked her what was wrong, she whirled to face us and shouted, “This was supposed to be about me! This was about what wanted! Nobody has told me how hot I look or made a big deal about me yet tonight!”

We stood there stunned. How could she say no one had made a big deal about her? We’d acquired all the bachelorette trappings on a shopping trip Cathy had supervised and purchased only the items she’d hand selected. One of us had made her a stupid shirt with candies attached to it, as she’d asked. I’d baked a penis cake ejaculating “Congrats, Cathy” in icing semen, for Christ’s sake. What more could she have wanted?

Cathy march into the restaurant. She still expected us to take her out to dinner. We looked at each other in confusion and horror. What had just happened? I seriously considered going to the car and leaving her there. I’m sure the others did as well. But none of us moved. I didn’t want to be the bad friend who walked out, but with a week left before the wedding, Cathy’s entitled, bridezilla behavior had hit its peak. There was a horrible, tangled-up cost looming over all of us. Denise didn’t want to complicate the situation between her husband and Sam by ruining Cathy’s night. One bridesmaid was Cathy and Sam’s roommate and would face homelessness at worse, arctic chill at best. I was the one with the least to lose: my friendship with Cathy, which somehow still felt valuable to me. Then, there was the material cost of everything I’d purchased for the wedding, from the dress and shoes and the matching forty-dollar necklaces she commanded us all to wear, to the money invested in her bridal shower, bachelorette parties and the incidentals that kept stacking up. Cathy’s wedding was starting to eat into the funds for my own, which was barely planned and only two months away. It wasn’t just that all my time and money were tied up in Cathy’s Big Day, but I was so tired of all things matrimony that I couldn’t bring myself to want to moon over dresses and flowers.

I don’t know why I stayed. There must be some toxic friendship equivalent of Stockholm syndrome. But we did all stay. I don’t remember what was said among the rest of the group, but I do know that the night was a joyless, obligatory sort of blur. I supposed we visited some bars. I only remember two. Cathy did apologize to us, citing stress over the wedding and school, an oft-repeated refrain we all knew by heart but accepted out of sheer exhaustion. She did put on her stupid Lifesaver t-shirt and run around every bar we visited, sexually harassing men into biting the candy off. When she started pouting about not being hit on enough, we called it a night. Her bachelorette party was over by eleven P.M. I dropped her off at home with barely a word of goodbye. She asked me if I wanted to take the cake home. “If you don’t, I’m just going to throw it in the trash.”

To my knowledge, she never genuinely apologized to any of the other bridesmaids. She certainly never made amends with me. The cake presumably went into the trash, and the evening was never mentioned again.

Next time: “Cathy’s Special Day”

76 Comments

  1. Siobhan
    Siobhan

    When you realize you are expecting a screaming tantrum as a response to a gift, that’s not a red flag. That’s a “leave town now with no forwarding address” flag.

    I know, when you’re in it, it’s what Captain Awkward calls the missing stair — everyone is so used to walking carefully around it that it seems normal. But OMG the hindsight.

    I’m so glad to be over 40. I’m so incredibly glad that I know this stuff now. But holy crap, you had so much harsher lessoning in this than I did. I’m really sorry.

    December 4, 2017
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  2. Siobhan
    Siobhan

    Comparing yourself to Stephen Hawking, or similar (I once left a blog when the blogger began to compare herself to Shakespeare as an equal) is the worst kind of hubris. Especially here. Stephen Hawking isn’t known as a genius just because his IQ has been published* — he’s known as a genius because he DID something. We’re all smart, and depression keeps lots of us from “reaching our potential,” but genius is in the DOING. Not the dreaming.

    December 4, 2017
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    • Mike
      Mike

      I wasn’t sure whether to be more offended by that or the assertion that Stephen Hawkings ALS was his own fault for not taking care of himself properly. She said it was the IQ that did it, and she was even worse than him, but wasn’t getting ALS because she was getting sufficient sleep. So by her logic it’s his own fault that he’s fully paralyzed.

      December 4, 2017
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      • falalala
        falalala

        I kind of love that inane claim on her part, in a “dear lord, that’s so absurdly and offensively stupid that all I can do is laugh at it” sort of way. I have both fibromyalgia and a high IQ score (which, to be clear, I believe demonstrates absolutely nothing about me other than “I am good at taking tests”). I am now going with the theory that I have fibro because the sheer power of my brain is just too taxing on my poor, weak body. Because that totally makes sense, provided one lives in Ridiculous Narcissist World.

        (And now I want to carry this over to other medical issues… “Oh, I have IBS because my body has to work so hard at processing how incredibly beautiful I am that it doesn’t have any energy left with which to process food properly.” “My arthritis isn’t caused by an autoimmune disorder – my joints are just so overwhelmed by my creative genius that they’re swelling with pride.” “That annoying toenail fungus keeps coming back because it clearly feeds on talent, and so my phenomenal array of talents offer it a perfect growth environment.” “That’s not a zit on my nose – I’m just so full of kindness and compassion that my skin sometimes has to bulge outwards to contain all of it.”)

        December 4, 2017
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        • Mike
          Mike

          I know a lot of high IQ individuals (myself included) and honestly while some of them are ridiculously intelligent, and definitely fit the ‘genius’ label, others (myself included) are really just skilled at pattern recognition and have an above average vocabulary. But yeah, sure, let’s run with it! My high IQ is why I have digestive issues! It’s totally not that I’m mildly lactose intolerant but won’t give up cheese, it’s because my brain is using too much of my energy, taxing my poor digestive system. It all makes sense now! Every single physical or personality flaw is the fault of how amazing we are taking up the energy that would have otherwise made us more beautiful or kind!

          …And now I wanna write a story that takes place in a world where this is actually how things really work and different factions of the world have chosen to either value being physically attractive but stupid, ugly, but incredibly attractive, kind but kinda useless, or lacking people stills but being incredibly productive…

          December 4, 2017
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    • I think the claim’s most ridiculous part is the fact that Professor Stephen Hawking is on record as neither knowing nor caring what his IQ is.

      December 5, 2017
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      • Siobhan
        Siobhan

        I actually had intended to put a footnote to that effect (there’s an asterisk in my comment), but I forgot. Clearly my genius is so great that my brain had already moved on to making my sciatica flare up.

        December 5, 2017
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  3. Nanani
    Nanani

    The part about IQ and whatnot reminds me of a Calvin and Hobbes comic where Calvin proclaims that he must be a genius, on the grounds that Einstein had bad grades in school as a kid, but his (Calvin’s) are even WORSE, take that.

    December 4, 2017
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  4. Anon
    Anon

    “I’m not asking you to believe, but I am asking that everyone is respectful of everyone else …”

    My goodness, what a world this would be if everyone lived by this.

    “These people were my friends, and you help friends out.”

    These people were not your friends and how were they not mortified for people to see that???

    December 4, 2017
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  5. Amy
    Amy

    “I’m an English Major”

    Well, me too, but I also understand that speaking is a totally different way of communication and has the tendency of breaking rules like mad. If you know what the person is talking about, then there’s no need to correct their grammar.

    I’m also a librarian and I will fight anyone who disses audio books or tablets. Reading is very difficult for a lot of people, even those without a reading disability, and if an audio book can give them a chance to catch up on great literature, let them you pretentious hillbilly.

    Who asks for a $2000 bed???? My family is decently well off, but in no way would any of us demand something that would cost $2000.

    December 4, 2017
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    • ViolettaD
      ViolettaD

      Amen. From my dissertation: “Although his translation of Christine’s work seems a clerkly sort of undertaking, Woodville’s chivalrous life involved both actual battlefield experience and a number of ceremonial jousts that drew heavily on Arthurian pageantry.”

      From average South Philly conversation: “I ain’t doin’ nuttin’ wid him, no how, no way. I ain’t never goin’ nowhere wid him no more.”

      Use the second kind of diction at an academic conference, and people will look at you like you’re an idiot.

      Use the first kind of diction in South Philly, there’s a good chance you’ll be mugged. And you will have deserved it.

      It’s in poor taste to correct your friends’ vernacular speech, but “Cathy” was wrong in any case. “to [Mr. Jen] and me” is correct, because it’s an indirect object pronoun. “I” is a subject pronoun.

      December 4, 2017
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      • Zev
        Zev

        In re: ViolettaD and South Philly:
        I wanted to go there as part of a big New England trip I’ve been daydreaming about for a few years. (I am from the Pacific Northwest.) I make fun of myself for “talking like a twenty-seven hundred year old vampire,” as I put it. Seems like I should, uh, revise my trip to not include South Philadelphia. Off to pout.

        December 4, 2017
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        • ViolettaD
          ViolettaD

          Zev:. This was decades ago. It may not be like that anymore.

          December 4, 2017
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      • Artemis
        Artemis

        …that’s the most South Philly thing I’ve read that didn’t involve at least three different usages of the word “fuck.”

        December 4, 2017
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        • ViolettaD
          ViolettaD

          From a comedy routine I saw:.

          South Philly Sesame St:

          “Fuckin’ A!

          “…Fuckin’ B….”

          December 4, 2017
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          • Artemis
            Artemis

            About a year ago, I went to visit a friend at Methodist Hospital, and right inside the door there was a guy on the pay phone in the hospital lobby yelling “you said you’d fuckin’ pick me up, you motherfucker. Where the fuck are you?”

            I will say, the parts of South I’ve spent time in/around are pretty safe, with minimal danger of mugging, though there are some blocks where you don’t want to walk if you don’t easily pass for straight. I got mugged around the corner from my house in West last year, though, so what do I even know?

            December 4, 2017
          • ViolettaD
            ViolettaD

            If you’re just off Penn campus, it can be much worse than South. Of course North just off Temple is still worst of all.

            December 4, 2017
    • cat
      cat

      Can you imagine the audacity of someone asking for a $2000 bed when you know they live like they are blood relatives of the trash pile from Fraggle Rock? Like, OK, sure, let me buy you a really expensive item for you to completely trash. When you move, make sure to let me know that it is my moral obligation to move the bed for you since it’s my fault you own it, what with my giving it to you and all.

      December 4, 2017
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      • Mike
        Mike

        I was thinking the same thing while reading this. Who the hell would get you a 2 grand bed knowing you’re just going to ruin it!? Even if the money wasn’t an issue, I would still never do that for someone like that. Just buy the most basic set from Walmart and learn to take care of your shit.

        December 4, 2017
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        • cat
          cat

          “I know you had your heart set on that $2000 bed but I thought cleaning products might be a better idea”

          December 4, 2017
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          • Mel
            Mel

            GOLD.

            December 7, 2017
      • Bookjunk
        Bookjunk

        Wow, right? A two thousand dollar bed. And that in response to hearing that your friend got an advance for a book. Normal people offer congratulations and joke about you being rich and being able to afford giving away absurdly pricey presents. I would totally make a joke about that. But to skip the congratulations, go straight to demanding a gift and the demand isn’t even a joke? Wow. Just wow.

        December 5, 2017
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    • Laina
      Laina

      I got like 20 bucks from friends who sent me ko-fis to help out towards the 200 dollars mattress I got to replace my 13 year old old one, and that was amazing.

      December 4, 2017
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  6. ViolettaD
    ViolettaD

    I’ve had to leave two apartments because of my packrat syndrome, but I always clean the toilet at least once a week, the same day I change towels and sheets. One friend who helped me move sat down and CRIED in the middle of it, and all I could say was, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Please forgive me.” Another friend suggested to the one crying that he should offer up his sufferings (we’re all Catholic).

    Bridal nerves my left glute, BTW. I’ve seen Opening Nights where everyone in the cast and crew is completely psychotic except the Stage Manager (God bless their fascist little hearts), but no one would DARE say “This is about ME.” Because it isn’t, ever. Even if it’s a one-man show, such as the late Spalding Gray used to do, it better be about the audience. It’s certainly not all about one person in a marriage, which is supposed to be about the COUPLE, not just the bride. You can even say it’s about the couple and the couple’s friends and family, because if it isn’t, you might as well just elope.

    As for why you and the other bridesmaids didn’t just walk away, it wasn’t Stockholm: you knew that YOU would be devastated if people walked out on you, and you didn’t want do that to another person. Which is the kind of empathy of which “Cathy” was incapable.
    (BTW, did you name her after Cathy in East of Eden?)

    December 4, 2017
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    • Indigo
      Indigo

      Friends of mine who are in theatre and have gotten married have been known to complain that the most stressful part of the wedding was the fact that they were expected to direct, star in and stage-manage a production with a cast who’d never been in a show before and had no professionalism.

      December 4, 2017
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      • ViolettaD
        ViolettaD

        You left out deciding on costumes …

        December 4, 2017
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    • I was thinking maybe after Cathy from Wuthering Heights, but that’s another excellent suggestion…

      December 4, 2017
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  7. Maril
    Maril

    The longer this goes on the more it reminds me of a girl I’ll call ‘Amy’. The ex-wife and baby momma to my best friend’s partner. For a while my friend and I wondered if he wasn’t exaggerating the stories of her but she’s been with him for several years now and Amy proved to be far MORE vile than he’d made her out to be. He was actually downplaying everything because, while they were separated, he genuinely believed that she wasn’t that bad and he must have just been antagonizing her without meaning to.

    Your fear Cathy would throw a tantrum that the party you planned wouldn’t be good enough reminded me of one story in particular. ‘Kevin’ had planned a special anniversary for the two of them, all her favourite things and a few things she’d always wanted to do. Super romantic things too, a carriage ride through a park, a wine tasting at a fancy vineyard and capped off by a moonlit picnic in front of a waterfall with her favourite foods. She of course hated the whole thing and spent the whole day telling him how useless he was and how he clearly didn’t think about her at all if he thought she would enjoy these things she’d constantly been telling him she wanted him to do for her! How dare he!

    It took them nearly 4 years to get her out of their life after he got with my friend, and she spent that entire 4 years doing every single thing in her power to break them up, fuck up their kid emotionally (‘daddy hates you! He doesn’t want you anymore!’) and physically (feeding your lactose intolerant son mountains of cheese for ‘strong bones’ does not make you a good parent), REFUSED to get a job, choosing to be ‘forever a student’, and only finally disappeared from their lives this fall when she moved out of the area to go to a new school.

    She couldn’t find any more money to keep going to the one she was currently at (her third college) so she thought she could move on to a new one and scam another 4 years. Of course, first she kidnapped their child believing she could take him out of the jurisdiction without the fathers permission and against the custody agreement and keep getting child support, tax benefits, and deductions to tuition for being a single mother. Thankfully her plans got dashed within a week. She has not so much as called her own child in months. Not since she realized she wouldn’t get any money for having him anymore, and he would in fact actually COST her money now.

    December 4, 2017
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    • cat
      cat

      Please tell me that poor child is living a much better, happier, and healthier life where he is now.

      December 4, 2017
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      • Maril
        Maril

        Muuuuuch better. He now gets to go to school with his step-brother (they’re the same age, best friends, and have wanted to go to the same school since they were old enough to go to school but Amy wouldn’t let him) and while he does definitely need therapy that they unfortunately cannot afford, he’s pretty happy.

        They go out of their way to not say anything bad about her, so explaining why she was suddenly not there anymore was a bit tricky, but he doesn’t seem to miss her so it doesn’t come up often. That’s probably because she would never even play with him but they make time for the kids every chance they get and regularly take them to the park, swimming lessons, gymnastics, to visit doting relatives… So why miss the parent that clearly didn’t want you when you have two parents and a brother who love and support you? Though I definitely hope they can someday afford therapy for him ‘cuz he definitely has some left over issues from being around her as much as he was…

        December 4, 2017
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  8. Jellyfish
    Jellyfish

    So, I was raised Neo-Pagan/Wiccan, and I too have a lot of ambivalence about the Pagan scene, even though I still practice witchcraft. (And seriously, any book or person insisting that sexual initiations are the only way to roll can get punted DIRECTLY into the sun.) I personally vacillate between “magic is real and spells totally work!” and “maybe we live in a scientific universe, but appreciating nature with your friends is pretty awesome, so whatever”.

    But honestly, either way, that “ritual” hurts my brain. It’s SO wrong and I’m offended on your behalf. Worshiping Sam and Cathy instead of the Goddess and God? Casting a circle but not dismissing it again?! READING YOUR SECRETS?!?! Argh argh argh. (For non-Wiccans who may be reading this, these are massive faux pas on the order of a Catholic priest bringing out the Communion wafers at Mass and then just winging them at parishioners’ heads.)

    Toxic people in Wicca/Paganism can do a lot of damage, in my experience, because being a witch is already defined by outsider-ness, and it’s really easy for someone to pretend (or genuinely believe) that they’re estranged from old friends, family and former employers because they’re so *special* and *magical* and the Muggles don’t understaaaaaand them, and if you call them out on anything, you’re just another square keeping them from being their true self. And if you ARE a decent person who has experienced the feeling of being harshly judged for being different, of course you want to sympathize. But then it turns out your “different” is “kids made fun of me for being into vampires and tarot cards” and theirs is “people are setting boundaries with me because I’m mean and I never pay for anything”, and these are not actually equivalent levels of persecution.

    December 4, 2017
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  9. HeidiAphrodite
    HeidiAphrodite

    I just…my heart hurts for Past You. No one should have to go through that. (And one of the reasons I love coming here is how respectful people are about different beliefs, and how well you [Jenny] express your own political and religious/spiritual beliefs. I really appreciate it.)

    December 4, 2017
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  10. Kate
    Kate

    I’d love to hear more about your thoughts on Buckland at some point. It’s been years since I’ve read it myself, and I was very much younger and less aware of the sorts of things that could be used abusively. I should probably re-read it as an adult.

    December 4, 2017
    |Reply
  11. Their living room *broke* a Dyson vacuum? Damn. And I mean DAYUM!

    Also, if you’ve seen Inside Out, picture Disgust, and that was me when you talked about the litter box situation. I have a ton of pets, including four cats. Pets take some level of work to care for. We know that from the outset. That was beyond gross.

    December 4, 2017
    |Reply
    • HeidiAphrodite
      HeidiAphrodite

      We have 6 cats and 5 litter boxes, 3 REALLY BIG ones because half of our cats are half puma or something, and people are surprised to find out we have 6, because you wouldn’t know it. I just can’t even imagine. I can’t.

      December 4, 2017
      |Reply
  12. Sarah
    Sarah

    Cathy infuriates me. I felt a bit sorry for Sam…until he expected you to clean the bathroom. The entitlement of these two is staggering!

    December 4, 2017
    |Reply
    • Ange
      Ange

      Yeah any sympathy I might have had for that dude totally evaporated both at that part and the ceremony where he happily sat in for god. Three jobs and school doesn’t a weenie make, the weenie is WITHIN.

      December 4, 2017
      |Reply
      • Sarah
        Sarah

        Totally. He made his own bed, that one. The god thing made me cringe also – i almost expected there to suddenly be a lightning bolt into the ritual space or something.

        December 5, 2017
        |Reply
  13. Zev
    Zev

    I like reading the posts you put up like these, and I always plan lengthy comments in my head, then never post them because I don’t want to seem like a self-centered jerk, or socially awkward, or such.
    I mean no harm by the following.
    Now, I post a comment. My reactions to this series has so far been, “Bwzuh? Whaaa–? Ugh. Grr. Alaaaarm bells. How–how? Cue tantrum on Jenny’s behalf.” Of the many, many things I want to address, I will sum it up as, “I am on your side. I am so glad you got out.” And then address the following:
    You were worried about Cathy’s roommate being kicked out, or facing an arctic chill at best (paraphrasing here), but didn’t take her in yourself. I am a codependent, and I applaud your boundaries. I have been in a 12-step group for eight years to address it and change my behaviors, but I have a habit of letting friends stay with me when it’s not a good idea. I can’t bear to–not, basically. While it may seem altruistic, for me, this is a bad boundary. So, I admire your concern and boundaries.

    House cleanliness. I was raised to have a work ethic best described as “slow down before you hurt yourself.” “No! My parents go to work even when they have pneumonia!” I copied my parents, and learned real quick that uhm, staying home when that sick is a good idea. This ethic first showed up when I was five, and learned how to run a household, namely through cleaning and organizing…house…duties. Not really sure how to describe it. Moving on. I grew up cleaning, and value clean houses. I am disabled, a chronic pain sufferer, and have mobility issues, but don’t use mobility aids. My 12-step sponsor doesn’t either, but asked if I could help clean her house a few years ago, just once. I was overjoyed to 1. help her clean 2. be of service and 3. help out a fellow spoonie/differently-abled kin. Cleaning was fun, basically. I clean my apartment regularly (duh). So, Cathy’s lack of desire for a clean apartment and -pushing others to do it for her- offends me on a deep level. I said a -lot- of things about her before posting this comment. Definitely said a lot of things about her insensitive views on ALS. I don’t have it; I have other disabilities. I was born three months premature. What would she say about me, hm? I wondered snidely.

    TL;DR: Cathy sucks and seems like a fuckin’ weirdo (in re: all the other shit she pulled). I am deeply unhappy at her actions. Now, I will go clean my bathroom and vacuum my carpet.

    December 4, 2017
    |Reply
  14. Xebi
    Xebi

    Okay, now I feel better about the state my house has been in since I had my second child in two and a half years. A LOT better.

    December 4, 2017
    |Reply
  15. Flynn
    Flynn

    Cathy sounds absolutely horrid and reminds me of my husband’s ex, we’ll call her Tara, who would call and text my now-husband dozens of times each day for attention and validation, under the guise of having him help her with “significant personal crises”. Except, for Tara, every single thing constitutes a “significant personal crisis”.

    Tara is like Cathy, thinking her IQ is just off the charts. Tara once referred to herself as “fantastically smart”. She’s not, but she sure does believe she is. And like Cathy, Tara had not done anything to actually MERIT such a description of herself.

    And one day, Tara had the utter audacity to say to me, when I called her on her lousy behaviour toward me and my now-husband, “not everything is about you”. LOL. Yeah, clearly it was all about her. That was the problem.

    It took three long years for my now-husband and me to extricate ourselves from Tara’s messy, drama-filled need for validation and accolades. Of course, she told all my now-husband’s friends that I was the villain in the story and she was just the poor little victim. She does love to play the victim.

    Ugh. Cathy just brought all those awful Tara memories rushing back. Ick.

    December 4, 2017
    |Reply
    • Maril
      Maril

      I’m noticing a theme with these types of people all thinking (or at least claiming) they have exceptionally high IQ’s. Us plebs just can’t understand them! The woman I talked about in an earlier comment claims to be a genius as well, and that she’s a brilliant writer. I saw some of her writing. The stuff she thought was good enough to publish. NO ONE I showed it to (including people with legitimately genius level IQ’s) could follow it AT ALL. If you stared at it long enough you could figure out bits and pieces of what she was trying to say, but often times she would lose focus and completely change topic literally mid sentence. Very flowery, ‘poetic’ word choices, but completely nonsensical. And no, she wasn’t trying to write stream of consciousness poetry, she wanted to write a YA series.

      December 4, 2017
      |Reply
      • Indigo
        Indigo

        Being intelligent is like being funny: people will know you are without being told, and if they have to be told, then you probably aren’t. 😛

        December 4, 2017
        |Reply
        • Dove
          Dove

          Truth! Also, maybe I’m assuming too much, but it seems like some of this privileged “high IQs” also have no idea how humor works (or maybe Lani Sarem is alone in that regard, I dunno.) They wanna be taken so seriously, except when they go the Cathy route and use “just kidding” to try and mask their insults.

          December 4, 2017
          |Reply
      • Dove
        Dove

        Was it basically Word Salad? Maybe she got really extreme with the thesaurus, to make herself sound better, without any regard for the original meaning! I wouldn’t be surprised. 😛

        Haha, so many people assume YA will be easy to break into and make money off of. I’m surprised she didn’t try to place herself among the classics though, with her great IQ and all.

        December 4, 2017
        |Reply
        • Maril
          Maril

          She was definitely good friends with the thesaurus. But not actually reading the definitions of those words… I desperately wish she hadn’t deleted her blog so I could copy/paste an excerpt. I’m not capable of imitating her ‘style’.

          She would start a post by heavily implying she was like Sisyphus or some tortured literary figure (always a figure that wouldn’t be recognized by someone who knew nothing about the classics), or something about how the world is beautiful and being a mom is the best, most rewarding thing ever that only people on her level can actually handle. Then with more flowery language imply she handles all that better than other people ‘cuz she’s super enlightened, but then half way through that she’d explain how put upon she is with super vague references to whatever she was currently mad at ‘Kevin’ (or whoever had offended her most recently) about, whether it had anything to do with the opening or not. Then shift to talking about peanut butter cups or something equally random and unrelated, then maybe something about how she’s more feminist than you are. And cap it off with some sentence that seems like someone took an entirely unrelated inspirational quote, then ran it through a thesaurus and picked all the biggest words. All in one post.

          It took 4 people all reading it 10 times and working together to piece THAT much together because she would mix metaphors, use really big words that only sort of fit what she was trying to say but not really, use inconsistent references, etc. It just wouldn’t make any sense! But it was too crazy to stop reading! Everyone I showed it to had the same progression, ‘oh this isn’t that b… wait… what was… what does that mean? What the hell? What am I reading?! Is this still English? …This is crazy right? It’s not just me? Is this some next level shit I’m just too stupid to understand? WHAT AM I READING AND WHY CAN’T I STOP?!’

          Her twitter was somehow even more incoherent too. You would think with only 140 characters she’d have to keep on message. You would be wrong.

          December 4, 2017
          |Reply
    • Dove
      Dove

      (Hey, Flynn. I’m really sorry, I don’t know of a way to send a PM or anything. I think your profile should be The Joyful Vegan. Just a heads up because it’s an easy mistake to make and it confused me at first since everything else was so positive. I hovered because the picture of the dog is amazingly cute and I wanted to see it better, that’s how I noticed. ^_^; )

      As for Tara… ugh. I’m sorry reading this stuff reminded you of such a terrible person. Thank goodness she’s out of your lives now. Hopefully, you can forget about her again pretty soon. She isn’t worth remembering, other than as an example of what to avoid. 😛

      December 4, 2017
      |Reply
  16. Cooper
    Cooper

    As entertaining as this story is, and it is entertaining in a car-crash ghoulish kind of way, I find myself SO FRUSTRATED by the time I finish reading that I can hardly sit still at my desk.

    This woman is THE WORST! She is President Trump, in female form, without financial backing.

    As I read each installment, I am banking all my hopes that the final installment will end with you beating the ever loving shit out of her, at the least, or, even better, her having even a single moment of self-awareness so she can live in horror for the rest of her life for how she treats people.

    December 4, 2017
    |Reply
  17. Oatmeals
    Oatmeals

    Jesus. Toxic friendships suck so much. A lot of times your other friends are involved and trying to get out can be almost impossible because it feels like you’re being the bad one. I hope where ever Cathy is now she’s seeking some serious therapy and learning to handle her extremely abusive personality, and I hope that you Jen don’t have any other “friends” in your life who would abuse your kindness in such a way.

    (RIP Penis cake.)

    December 4, 2017
    |Reply
  18. Alison
    Alison

    I have a Cathy in my life and it’s my brother. I haven’t commented until now but the thing about the cats and the apartment, holy shit, that’s him. We let him stay in our spare room in our house but had to make him leave because he wasn’t paying any rent or bills and when his girlfriend moved in as well, they would have screaming arguments daily.

    It took a year to get him out. The state of his room when he left was exactly like Cathy’s apartment. Cat shit everywhere, from his ex’s cat who hadn’t lived there in a year. Rotten food. Dirty laundry. Just layers of filth. Insects everywhere. The worst was the used condoms. Imagine cleaning up your own brother’s used condoms.

    The mess was our fault, though, because we never gave him a chance to clean it up, he said. We waited a month after he moved out for him to come back and clean the room but finally had to clean it ourselves because the stench was spreading to the rest of our house.

    He moves from apartment to apartment, always changing roommates every year or so because that’s how long it takes people to realize what an asshole he is. He makes a very good first impression, he’s funny and charming, and can rewrite any incident to make himself the hero or the victim. He doesn’t work. He’s a musician who managed to charm enough people into being in a band with him that they do all the work and he just shows up and plays. When he was still living with us, his manager would show up to drive him to gigs and I would have to go bang on his door to wake him up because he was rarely ready.

    Anyway, he’s been out of my house now for two years and I rarely speak to him. Unfortunately, he is still very much in my mom’s life. He calls her everyday with some emergency, or to ask for money, or to hint that he might be about to kill himself. I actually got a text from my mom a few months ago saying I should call him and tell him I love him because he might kill himself. I don’t know how to break it to her that I’m not inviting him to Christmas. I’ve told her all I want from him is an apology for trashing my house, since it’s kind of hard to forgive someone who doesn’t actually apologize, but I doubt I will ever get it since I have never heard him apologize for anything in his life (it’s always someone else’s fault.)

    He’s thirty one years old, by the way, so we’ve pretty much given up on him growing out of this behaviour.

    Wow, I wasn’t planning on writing so much. It’s just that this post and other people’s experiences with their own Cathys, reminded me so much of him. It’s funny, my sister and I turned out pretty normal (she’s younger than him and I am older than him.) I don’t know why he is the way he is.

    December 4, 2017
    |Reply
    • Sarah
      Sarah

      Some people are just narcissists. My long term partner is one of five kids, and three of them are just fine, but a brother, and to a much lesser degree one of the sisters, completely act like they are entitled to everything and nothing is their fault. NPD. And the rest of us just have to kind of live with it, unfortunately.

      December 5, 2017
      |Reply
  19. Callie
    Callie

    It’s been fifteen years since I stopped dabbling in witchcraft (I wouldn’t actually call what I did “practising”) and even I know that ritual is so, so wrong. When I got to the part about Cathy reading the secrets (ughhh) I was half convinced she’d turn around and use those secrets against the people who wrote them. Wouldn’t have surprised me in the least.

    Cathy vaguely reminds me of a former friend of mine. Never once missed an opportunity to remind me my grade average was 0.2 points worse than his, made fun of me for using “big” words (one of those words was “protein”. Not really a big word if you ask me), always used that condescending I-understand-the-topic-better-than-you tone even if we were just talking about what to have for dinner…
    On one memorable evening, I told him about my autism diagnosis. He’d never even heard of autism before, and still immediately proceeded to talk down to me about that, too. To this day I kinda wish I’d told him to get out of my car right then and there.
    I recently blocked him on social media. It felt SO good.
    Though granted, he never claimed his intelligence affected him physically. That is offensive on so many levels I don’t even know where to start. I’m so sorry you had to go through that.

    December 4, 2017
    |Reply
    • GoddessJenn
      GoddessJenn

      I’m waiting for those secrets to come back in a later installment, tbh.

      December 6, 2017
      |Reply
      • ViolettaD
        ViolettaD

        Oh yeah. Even the worst priests have the Seal of Confessional, but not these folks.

        December 6, 2017
        |Reply
  20. Vix
    Vix

    There are so many things in this latest installment that make my skin crawl.

    I have a complicated relationship with religion, but I’ve narrowed my belief down to 2 things: try to make the world a more loving and accepting place, and challenge destructive behaviours where you can (and it’s appropriate). I flirted with wicca in college (and was totally squicked by the “nice guys” haunting the scene), and your description of their esbat just feels so very wrong and abusive. I’m so sorry you had to go through that and so glad that you saw it for what it was.

    When I was dealing with postnatal depression, my house wasn’t in the best shape. I used to apologise to visitors that we didn’t normally live that way, but I was struggling. And I NEVER told anyone else that they were obliged to deal with my mess. I’ve also had a massive (rational?) fear of cross contamination as long as I can remember. So POOP in the KITCHEN? NOOOOOOOOO. I CAN’T.

    Lastly, the bachelorette party stuff is making me feel better about my own guilty bridezilla moments. I told my stepmother what she wasn’t allowed to wear to my wedding (her own wedding dress). And I yelled at one of my bridesmaids at my bachelorette party for driving me unwilling to a house party (DURING my bachelorette party, which I felt was rude to the hosts of the party anyway) where I predictably ran into an abusive ex and felt unsafe the entire time we were there. I still feel like I could have handled both of those situations a little better, but I’m feeling little-league next to Cathy.

    December 5, 2017
    |Reply
    • Maril
      Maril

      I don’t think getting upset that your step mother wants to wear her WEDDING DRESS to YOUR wedding or being essentially kidnapped counts as ‘bridezilla’ moments 0-o

      December 5, 2017
      |Reply
      • Siobhan
        Siobhan

        Ugh, see my comment below. I thought I was replying here, and not just in general.

        December 5, 2017
        |Reply
      • Vix
        Vix

        Thanks – my step mom was so angry that I still (over a decade later) wonder if I should have just said “hey, it’s just a dress, go wild.” I legit shouted and snotty cried at the bridesmaid, and I think she really thought the ex was a great guy, so if I had calmed down and explained what was actually going on, I think the message would have got across better. She forgave me, I forgave her, we’re not as close as we were, but that happens.

        December 5, 2017
        |Reply
      • Vix
        Vix

        I also have to put my hand up to say I didn’t really WANT a bachelorette party, so I probably started the night a little sulky, so my objections to going to the party instead of just going to a bar somewhere might have been misunderstood as part of the overall reluctance, and not “holy shit, the hosts are friends with Bob*, and if I never see Bob again, it will be too soon.”

        *not real name…

        December 5, 2017
        |Reply
    • ViolettaD
      ViolettaD

      Did you wear a wedding dress to your step-mother’s wedding? No? Then she has no business wearing a wedding dress to yours, any more than anyone else who’s not getting married at that particular ceremony.

      If she really wants to wear it again, she can wear it at an anniversary party, as they did in Victorian times. Victoria herself had a 10th anniversary photo in her wedding dress taken with Albert (although after all those children, I suspect there was considerable letting out and corseting involved).

      December 5, 2017
      |Reply
      • Vix
        Vix

        Ha – they wanted all their kids in the wedding party and asked us to pick our own dresses in one of their colors – black and ivory. I picked up an LBD because, while I didn’t particularly want to wear either of those colors, looking chic (though potentially funereal) seemed more appropriate than any HINT of looking bridal at MY DAD’S WEDDING.

        I had a corseted wedding dress and now I really want to wear it at our 25th anniversary (when we have already decided that we are having an ENORMOUS party). Who knows how much extra lacing I’ll need?!? XD

        December 5, 2017
        |Reply
        • ViolettaD
          ViolettaD

          They can always add panels to the bodice, and let out the gathering in the skirt to match. They might not even have to add panels to the skirt.

          If your gown looks at all Renaissance-y, you can get side panels in a brocade or jacquard the same color as the rest or a contrasting one if you prefer, and pretend you did it on purpose! Or add a modesty piece– holy moly, I love those things. Can wear 20-year old gowns, as long as I move the tie rings on the modesty piece out far enough.

          December 5, 2017
          |Reply
  21. Siobhan
    Siobhan

    I was typing something to that effect. Those are perfectly reasonable things to object to. Was the bridezilla moment in HOW these was handled, rather than whether they needed objection? (Because they totally needed objection).

    December 5, 2017
    |Reply
    • Vix
      Vix

      Totally understandable with the comments! 🙂

      I thought I was okay with my step mom (I tried to gently tell her I wasn’t really comfortable with her wearing her wedding dress as half my family had watched her marry my dad in it the year before), but she was still super mad.

      I am pretty sure I was OTT with the bridesmaid, but I was completely freaking out about the ex at the party – he was physically violent during our relationship and stalked me for months after we split up. I had moved out of state and he’d lost track of me and I panicked that, by seeing me somehow he’d be able to find me and make my life difficult again, so I did actual shouting at her. 🙁 He had a reputation as a really great guy among our school friends, so I don’t think she really GOT what he had done to me, and I could have exercised more compassion there.

      December 5, 2017
      |Reply
      • Siobhan
        Siobhan

        I asked my mother for one thing: that she not wear red (my wedding dress was half red) Immediately, red became the ONLY COLOR SHE COULD POSSIBLY WEAR, despite her favorite colors being purple & green, and her already having lovely outfits in those colors (she had one in red, as well).

        Wanting to wear your wedding dress at someone else’s wedding is a passive-aggressive action that attempts to refocus the event on you, instead of on the couple. You weren’t saying “it’s all about MEEEEE!!!!”, you were saying “can you please not make our wedding all about you.”

        And fuck your bridesmaid, if she wants you to run out on your own bachelorette party for her other party and refuses to believe you were abused. You can’t be OTT in that situation. If there was another party she wanted to go to, she could have come to yours for a while and left alone. She didn’t need to take you against your will to validate her desire to party with these other people.

        December 5, 2017
        |Reply
      • Maril
        Maril

        Siobhan nailed it with the reasoning about your step-mom. That was a selfish thing for her to do and it’s not at all unreasonable for it to upset you. As for the bridesmaid, again, not at all a bridezilla moment. Your friend may not have known it would upset you so much, and maybe would have understood if you could have explained it calmly, but you need to forgive yourself for that. You were encountering something that had literally traumatized you! You were experiencing an anxiety attack brought on by a form of PTSD regarding your abuser. That’s 100% understandable and you should not at ALL beat yourself up over it.

        I have a few things that trigger minor attacks like that and what I try and do when I can’t control them is when I’ve calmed down I apologize to the person I freaked out at and try and explain the situation so they know for the future. If they did it after knowing though, then they’re a jackass <_<

        You sound like way too nice a person (still feeling guilty all this time later shows a lot of empathy and caring) to beat yourself up. I'll bet you anything says if a friend of yours freaked out the way you did but then explained the situation you would 100% understand and forgive them and even try and make them feel better and apologize for putting them in that situation, so, be that kind to yourself!

        December 5, 2017
        |Reply
        • Vix
          Vix

          Siobhan, that’s really funny about your mother wearing red (and a half red dress sounds stunning). Clearly, having heard you name the color made it a fixation!

          I’ve always tried to give my step-mom the benefit of the doubt. She and my dad have been married for 15 years and I’ve never warmed to her. She is a full-on Trump supporter (as, unfortunately, is my dad), so it’s not gonna happen now, and I guess I can look back on the wedding dress drama as an early indication that we have fundamentally different views on things.

          I’ve never really thought about the bachelorette party in those terms, but both of you make sense (it was shitty that she derailed my bachelorette to attend a house party, and the PTSD angle). It has always been a messy memory that I haven’t examined too closely except to be grateful that I don’t ever have to go through it again. I was just making (what I thought was) a silly comment on Jenny’s story, and I feel like I’ve had a really positive therapy session!

          You guys are stars. Thank you so much for being so kind.

          December 5, 2017
          |Reply
      • Lily
        Lily

        Your step-mom was completely out of line. If she had worn it, I promise you, she would have been the subject of ridicule by all the other guests. You saved her from that.

        Your bm should not have taken you to any party other than the one you were booked at. She was extremely rude.

        December 8, 2017
        |Reply
        • Zzzzen
          Zzzzen

          When you said “bm” I thought for a second that you meant “bowel movement.” XD

          December 11, 2017
          |Reply
          • Lily
            Lily

            That would be an odd party!

            December 13, 2017
  22. Amavra
    Amavra

    I lead (de facto leader, not because I was qualified) an earth based religious group on an air force base when my husband was in the Air Force. I saw a lot of people who went through some kind of spiritual abuse and more than a couple who perpetuated it.

    One guy in particular kept trying the buckland shit and it made all the women leave the group. I couldn’t quite get rid of him but he was only tdy and left after 3 weeks.

    I found out later that I had a huge impact on several members. Because I taught about trusting intuition and a lot of protective magic. We talked about “psychic vampires” (lol) and honestly I didn’t even know it was such a big part of Neopagan cuticles. Learning to trust oneself and be empowered was what made Wicca attractive to me.

    We also talked a lot about moral philosophy which is apparently missing in s lot of these spaces. I haven’t gone back to a group since, but I miss my old one.

    December 5, 2017
    |Reply
    • Amavra
      Amavra

      *circles lol auto correct

      December 5, 2017
      |Reply
  23. Alyssa
    Alyssa

    Omg this lady is AWFUL.

    December 5, 2017
    |Reply
  24. Saint_Sithney
    Saint_Sithney

    I’ll admit, at one point, there was cat poop in my living room. But it was a combination of me suddenly being struck with a mystery illness that kept me from using my limbs as I wanted to (later diagnosed as paroxysmal exertion-induced dyskinesia) and a cat with bowel cancer. He decided that the area by the French door was the only acceptable area to pee and poo, and he ignored freshly clean boxes, or attempts to put boxes by the door. The best solution we found before he passed was puppy training pads.

    Physical and mental illness can make cleaning really difficult, and they can make you incredibly sleepy. But some basic cleanliness is necessary. I will say, if you are an ill person and can afford it, a robo-vacuum is fantastic. Not having to clean the floors has been such a major relief for me.

    December 6, 2017
    |Reply
  25. Jenny (But not Jenny Trout)
    Jenny (But not Jenny Trout)

    I’m so so sorry that happened. What a bitch. When I got married, there were a few things my mom wanted a certain way and husband and/or I wanted a different way. SO FIANCE AND I PAID FOR THE STUFF! Holy shit. Plan a wedding you can afford.

    I also paid for my maid of honor’s dress because she was a broke student teacher at the time. I told the wedding party to wear what ever shoes they wanted. The only person who complained was my sis and she 1) didn’t pay for her dress 2) got pissy when I told her my BFF was going to be the maid of honor and 3) told me she wasn’t she she could go because it would mess up her ride to burning man. When a friend asked what I was going to do if sis bailed, I said that husband’s sis could walk down the aisle with a cute guy on each arm and I didn’t care if there were three people on the groom’s side and two on mine. Sis showed, but fuck that noise.

    And sis had the nerve to say I threw a fit about my veil. No, I said “um, it’s not really me” when my mom pointed out a monstrosity. And then I went and bought exactly what I wanted with my own money. A friend loved my veil so much, she wore it when she got married.

    December 6, 2017
    |Reply
  26. Zzzzen
    Zzzzen

    “Actually, it’s [Mr. Jen] and me. If you removed him from the sentence, ‘that doesn’t matter to I’ is grammatically incorrect. Sorry, published author.”

    I never thought of it that way, but oh! what a perfect burn. XD

    December 11, 2017
    |Reply

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