Smart Bitches Trashy Books | All of the romance, none of the bullshit.

I am going to like reading these. I used to regularly read “The Dick List” feature on the Disgruntled Housewives Web site, for some of the same reasons. (It’s not out of schadenfreude, really, it’s more like intense sympathy and identification.)

Now I feel like a real dork ‘cause I married the first guy I dated seriously.  I don’t have any good break-up stories!

I have some decent “I came this close to walking out on you and filing for divorce” stories, but who doesn’t after three decades of marriage?

I’m like Darlene.  No breakup stories here. Married the first guy I dated seriously.

I feel completely inadequate when my friends ask me dating advice.  I send them all the Nick, instead.

Yeah, I’m with Darlene and Nicole.  It’s completely embarrassing, but now I get to feel discriminated against!  ;) And exactly how does one NOT end that sentence with a preposition, I ask you.

*sniff* I feel so left out. I never had a relationship and now I can’t join the contest. ;-)

well Sarah, if you come to the Upper Midwest, ending a sentence with a preposition is perfectly acceptable.  :-)

Maybe the next SB contest has to be wacky ways one has lost their virginity.  Now that one I can enter.

Well, I’ll put in my horribly pathetic break up story but I don’t have anything on you guys.  There’s a reason you guys are the reigning bitches after all!

Off to google the ex’s name.  Never thought to do that.  Maybe he is doing hard time for fraud or something minor but is being held in maximum security prison where the murderers are using him as their bitch.  Yeah, that’s exactly what happened.  I just know it.

CindyS

Damn.  I googled mine and the bastard is living in Highland Park, in Dallas.  You gotta be pretty close to stinkin’ rich to live in HP.

No doubt, he married money and is now the henpecked, p-whipped slave-dog he deserved to be.  No way he made enough to live in such glory.  Last I heard from him, he wanted me to help him sell insurance to my tax clients.  As if.

I’m going to pass on entering, however.  Not that I’d win - it’s the same old story of he done me wrong and WHAT the hell was I thinking - but just thinking about it long enough to write it would give me hives.  I will say, there was hardware involved.  Do y’all know how easy it is to rip a towel rack out of the wall if you live in a cheap-ass apartment?

Yep - I was destined to write Bombshells.

Okay, guess I’ll put up the first story. If anything, at least it’ll give ya’ll some entertainment. ;)

The first guy I dated seriously was an important member of my band’s frat during my freshman year of college. So when we broke up, the entire band was in an uproar. The worst part? His best friend was my best friend. And she helped to spread some really nasty (and false) rumors about me. So the ENTIRE organization pretty much wanted nothing to do with me after that. Every single friend I had made HATED me. I had to eventually transfer to a different school because I couldn’t walk to any of my classes without some kind of insult flying my way.

Very depressing year. If anything, though, I learned an important lesson: make a life for yourself outside of your boyfriend. Even if your significant other has really nice friends, get your own! Trust me, it’s worth it!

oops. Just realized that I was supposed to EMAIL it. D’oh.

I guess that’s what happens when you try to do read this site at the same time as doing homework.

Ah, don’t worry about entering me. Just use my previous post as an entertainment factor.

Emailed mine. Don’t feel bad...I had to go back to my teens to find the bad story. Almost all of mine ended quite neatly. I’m still friends with the guy I lost my virginity to. Number two was a stripper. Number three lives around here somewhere. Number four, works for the same airline I do. Five, living in Kansas City. I married number six.

I know exactly where the dick in my story is. A trailer in Pennsylvania with his skank and four kids.

Heh. Heh. Heh.

Just emailed my story. Thanks for allowing me to resurrect all the shame, embarrassment & feelings of worthlessness from such a *painful* period in my life. Bitches.

Best part of my story ... many many years later the Dick sat in front of me with his wife & ugly offspring, and until that point in the service when everyone is supposed to turn around & shake hands, I didn’t even recognize him. Not only did the little chickie he cheated on me with lose *her* figure after 3 pregnancies, so did he ... Mmmm-wah-hah-hah-hah. Dude’s bloated like a whale on the beach, and just as hairless. [clapping childishly with glee]

— Bonz

My breakups are fairly lame and typical, but being a lesbian, we usually get to at least be AROUND dyke drama...my “favorite” involved the roommate who broke up with her girlfriend (who called up a few days later and required us calling the cops to break down her door to stop her from harming herself...) and started dating our OTHER roommate (of course, that had its own fun...nothing like breakup drama happening in your own house and being unable to avoid the ex! And watching it is “fun” too!)

I sent in my thing.  Hey, if I can’t get a title the smart way I could win for being such a wuss!

I only ever had one break-up so that’s the one I used.  Keeping the pain to 400 words was brutal but good call by the bitches.  Could you imagine no word limit!?

CindyS

Hmm?  a stripperfucker, Candy?  I once dated a watermelonfucker.  seriously, he actually fucked a watermelon once.  and it wasn’t even his.  it was his roommate’s. Can you imagine walking into your apartment, and being like, “Hey dude, where’s my watermelon?” And having your roommate say, “Actually it’s in the trash, because drilled a hole in it and fucked it.” If you can believe it, this relationship ended rather amicably. Maybe because I let him have custody of all the produce…

As for my breakup story… I’m debating whether to enter, because my best (worst?) breakup happened with my now husband and father of my son.  But it was pretty good, and the upshot is that he dumped that skinny blonde six pack abs sporting psycho for a busty big nosed brunette like myself.

Entries will be posted anonymously, y’all, so feel free to submit without fear.

Oh, Lord. I will never look at a watermelon the same way again.

Had it been on ice? Would that not rather dampen a man’s, uh, ardor?

What was the attraction, I wonder?
I’ve heard of melon-like breasts, but ... Jesus.

Sherry to your point:
“What was the attraction, I wonder?
I’ve heard of melon-like breast” - funny you should mention this, because he did have an extensive collection of magazines like “Juggs” and “Busty.” I never made the connection until just now. And I know what you mean - it took me years to enjoy a watermelon again.  as for the temperature, i think he actually heated it in the microwave a little bit to warm and soften it up.  And I have a friend whose ex wedged an eggplant between the cushions of a couch and then fucked that, so apparently this whole produce humping thing is not *that* uncommon.
The scary thing is that I stayed with the watermelon fucker for another 2 1/2 years after that.  What can I say - young, dumb, and in the throes of first love.  And I suppose at the time I was happy he was humping a fruit and not another woman.

I want to read Meara’s and Jami best break ups so enter!!

CindyS

Well, there’s a memorable passage in “Portnoy’s Complaint” in which the hero engages in an unnatural act with a raw piece of meat. (Which his family later eats for dinner. I think. It’s been a while since I read it.) So I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised by men getting it on with somewhat hollowed-out vegetables.

If ladies can make use of phallic cukes, carrots and zucchinis, then I suppose we must allow males full access to the salad bar as well.

My next question is also logistical: How the hell did he fit a watermelon into a microwave? Now, a cantaloupe or a honeydew, I could understand ...

Damn it, Jami, we want you to submit a detailed story. Stop teasing us!

Dammit Sherry, now I’m confused too!  Maybe it was only a half watermelon (thankfully I wasn’t there to witness the act).  I may be misremembering - Maybe it was the aforementioned eggplant fucker who microwaved his lovah to get her all hot and juicy before pounding her into the couch.  That meat story is gross - I never read Portnoy’s Complaint.  But I’m convinced that, if they think it might feel remotely like a vagina, men will stick their penises anywhere.  If it’s Wednesday, it must rubber vaginas!

Okay, I’ve given some thought to this. Your ex may have displayed some fine discrimination in his choice of fruit. Getting it on with a perfectly spherical cantaloupe or a honeydew might have felt too much akin to doing a bowling ball. (This image might remind a man of certain sitcom episodes in which someone gets a digit stuck in the bowling ball & has to be surgically extracted. Not a good association: Surgery = affecting fate of one’s male member.)

A watermelon, on the other hand, is more ovoid, more solid, offers a better handhold, a great deep “thunk” sound when you knock on it, and would be pink & juicy inside. (On further consideration, I suspect the latter characteristics may have been the attraction, as well as the ... well ... melon-ness, since you said your ex really got into Jugs & Busty. But I still can’t shake the thought of how chilly they are.)

Also, perhaps the relatively firm, dark-colored watermelon seeds & the extra friction they afforded would lead to enhanced pleasure.

It’s definitely a male thing, though. I once heard someone say that having a baby was like trying to pass a watermelon. (SB Sarah may have some thoughts on this.) That alone would make most ladies disinclined to seek out its companionship.

No, let’s leave the watermelon to Jami’s ex.

A very lonely, desperate guy, for sure.

But a watermelon...wouldn’t that be awfully COLD?

“wouldn’t it be awfully COLD”?

Perhaps it was a poetically sun-warmed melon? Moving away from the produce section, but keeping the theme of extremes of temperature and food abuse, what about the whole Pot Noodle thing? They’ve always been nasty, but since I heard about this particular self-loving contrivance I have carefully avoided the instant noodle aisle at all costs. Ick ick ick.

Sadly, none of my break-ups, fizzling outs and blink-and-you-missed-its have been really bad. Just your usual run-of-the-mill pphhhlllfffttt, really. Except the last one (ain’t it always the truth?) largely due to copious amounts of self-delusion and idiocy on my part. But because the end came on with the speed and force of a brick wall meeting a motorbike at 80 mph, it’s not really story material. More of a haiku.

But I’ve been around others involved in their own real life soap operas, including a friend who has finally (thank you, Lord) dumped her moron husband, although she had to move to another country and get him stopped at immigration to succeed. And my brother went through a major bunny boiler phase which made his break-ups rather exciting for a period of time (although since his dream woman then was Alanis Morissette, he must bear some of the blame).

EAP:  Adoring Bitch INSISTS on the haiku!

CindyS

Bunny boiler phase. Giggle.

Wow - thank you kindly for your requests, but must confess am also rather daunted at the prospect of an adoring public. Concerned that it might cause me to cease listening to criticism, convince myself the sun shines out of my sensitive artiste-ic nether regions and retire to write self-indulgent rubbish about alien civilizations. Perhaps part-time adoring will work.

Anyhow, the muse is being rather elusive this morning (or at least quite whiny and stroppy-adolescent on the topic of my break-up). I’ll attempt to beat it into submission, but in the meantime, here’s my humble effort at a haiku dedicated to Jami.

For forbidden fruit
He stalks the fresh produce aisle
The melon-f*cker

EAP - I’m so *sniff* touched.  I don’t think I’ve ever had a haiku dedicated to me.  Just for that I may have to share my “he dumped me on my birthday” break up story.  But he married me 2 1/2 years later, so I can’t complain too much.