Sunday, March 10, 2013

So, I guess it's over

Kathryn R. Turnbull
A year and a half ago, a co-worker named Kathie threw herself at me. Literally. She had been texting me all day in frantic panic. Having gone out and gotten drunk on her lunch break, a typical lunch for her btw, she was freaking out over having to close out our office for the first time in years.

I told her to be calm, I'd help her out when I got back. When I got back to the office, she jumped on to me. Snaking her right leg around my left, she was practically dry humping my thigh. Her arms up under my shirt front and back, she pressed her face hard into my chest. She was on me like a starfish trying to open a clam.

While I'm trying to pry her off of me, she's going on about how it's always been me, she's always known we would/should be together, she wants to go home with me and never go back to her husband, and so on.

Technically, she was married at the time. To a douchebag named Dale. That she had seduced years ago into dumping his wife for her. Of course, if you ask Kathie about it, they simply just happened to start taking lunches together. You know, like what single women always just happen to do with married guys.

And then, of course, they just happened to fall in love, etc. And Dale, being the douchebag he was, didn't hesitate to throw his wonderful, adorable wife to the curb because he had a right to, in his own words "Go for the gusto" with the office slut.

And yes, he actually said "go for the gusto" in front of me and several other gobsmacked employees.

I wonder if I was the only one who wanted to punch him in his fucking mouth for saying something like that?

Well after 15 years of supposed marital bliss with this jackass, Kathie decided she had had enough. So she began a year long affair with one of our greasy maintenance guys, Ritchie. Ritchie was, of course, married himself (getting a sense of a pattern here?), and Kathie did her best to make sure everyone found out by making a spectacle of herself during their meetings at the bar down the street from our office.

It took a year, as I said, for them to be found out. Dale was humiliated in front of the entire city, and his office in particular since Ritchie was the maintenance guy that worked at his office, and Kathie got the door open to get away.

And that's where my dumb ass came in.

You see, I had known Kathie for nearly 17 years at that point. And for all that time, she had been flirting with me. Hard. Through two marriages and the brief single time between her second husband and her third -- douchbag Dale, she had been coming on to me in subtle and not so subtle ways.

Now I'm a man, and I've got the requisite amount of testosterone and urges and such, so it's nice to have a woman act interested in me . . . you know, in that way. But my own marriage ended because my wife cheated on me, so I'm hyper sensitive to that scenario and being part of it again. Especially from the wrong side.

And that was part of the conundrum I faced with Kathie. She had been coming on to me for years. Then she divorced her second husband after they had had two children together. And then she walked right past me, a single guy she had been flirting hard with, and destroyed another marriage to hook up with this pasty inbred looking fucker, Dale.

I just never understood that. And neither did others in the office, who voiced the exact same confusion to me directly.

But now, all these years later, her latest marriage is in a shambles. I'm still single, and have made my peace with spending the rest of my life alone. And here's this gal I'm attracted to physically, who's been coming on to me for 17 years, hanging all over me, telling me she wants me so badly that she doesn't care if anyone sees her dry humping me in the office. And I'm thinking "Huh, maybe God's throwing me something at the end of my life."

And while I say that I'm physically attracted to Kathie, it's important to understand that she's not really attractive in the conventional sense.

She's not pretty. She has thin lips and no eyebrows, just these tiny tufts of hair where her eyebrows should be. She draws them on with an eyebrow pencil daily. I haven't seen that since my grandmother was alive. She's got sort of a rough complexion, not smooth skin at all. Her teeth are really weird. They look like she bit down on a sanding disk or something. They're perfectly flat across and sort of odd shaped. It may explain why she doesn't smile like a normal person.

Her neck, well, she doesn't have a normal neck, the skin goes in a direct line from the point of her chin to her collarbone. There's no contour back along the jawline and then down along the throat like normal people. It's really quite odd and sometimes makes her look like her face is melting downward.

Sort of flat chested. But a nice ass that looks really good in a pair of tight hip huggers. And she goes out of her way to make sure everyone notices that. To the point that several of the women in the office have commented to me over the years that Kathie was "all about that ass" on multiple occassions.

But her lack of attractiveness partly made me believe my feelings about her were legit. I convinced myself that I was seeing beyond the physical to something deeper. Something true about her. I was sure that made it real.

Man was I wrong. Because there's nothing true about Kathie Turnbull except the bad stuff. Because all she does is lie. About everything. Even the little things like what she likes to sleep in. Everything she had told me about herself for the last 17 years was a lie. She told me whatever she thought I wanted to hear in order to make me like her. And she does that with every guy in the office . . . she's one thing to one guy, something different to another. And she plays a part for the women too. She likes to say that her life is an open book. Yeah, but it's a book full of empty pages, because she's nothing but lies.

We started dating, and right from the get go, the signs were there that things weren't what they appeared. I just refused to see them.

We couldn't tell anyone we were dating. Even after Dale moved out and she stopped wearing her wedding ring (and made sure everyone noticed she wasn't wearing it, btw). We couldn't go anywhere together, especially down at the beach or at any postal functions. We could do stuff up in the north county where I live, but that was it.

I couldn't call her on the phone. Ever. She wouldn't introduce me or even let me speak to her son or daughter. It was one great big secret. When she finally moved to her own apartment, she wouldn't tell me where she lived. Her own boyfriend. She even stopped coming out to my truck when I loaded up in the morning. She'd go out to every other guy's truck and hang around, flirting with them, but me, her actual boyfriend? Nope. "Mary might see me with you." She's say. And I'm thinking Who fucking cares! You're my girlfriend! Why are you so ashamed to admit that?!

Of course it wasn't shame. It just took me way too long to figure out what was really going on.

And then there were the fights. Well, not exactly fights. That implies some back and forth. Basically my phone would start blowing up while I was on the street. She'd be ripping me nine new assholes for . . . something, I never really understood what she was upset about. She was simply creating things to get angry about and then lash out at me over them. I'd get torn to shreds over her imagined outrage and then she'd break up with me.

I had tried to subtly warn her when we began dating that I had already made my peace with living the rest of my life alone, so I wasn't looking for a lot of drama in this or any relationship. I wanted a mature relationship with another mature adult. I had hoped she would get that message. Maybe she did and was just trying to test me.

Every time she broke up with me, I let her go. Then after three or four days of her walking around the office looking like she was going to break into tears each time she saw me, my phone would blow up again.

"Babe..." "Babe I need you" "I'm sorry" "I'm an ass" "Where are you? I want to be with you right now. I don't care who sees us" yada, yada, yada. Then she'd turn up on my route, drunk off her ass and beg me to take her back all the while trying to embarrass me in front of my customers with some sort of scandalous performance.

Wash. Rinse. Repeat.

I once told a friend, that Kathie was a hand grenade rolling around the deck of a ship being tossed around in a storm at sea. The pin is hanging on by the last little burr. It wasn't a question of if she was going to explode, but when, and how much damage she would do when she went off.

And that's how it went for a year and a half.

We did that dance so many times I coined a name for it The Push-Pull. She laughed. Oh my God, she said, that's so perfect, that's exactly what it is. To which I replied that I wasn't trying to be funny, I didn't like what she was doing. She didn't care.

Another time after a break up, she met me out on my route. Dry humping my thigh -- and I mean that, she made a big production of grinding her pussy on my leg so that anyone who saw us knew exactly what she was doing -- she emplored me Don't ever leave me again. I told her "Stop pushing me away." And she just smiled a naughty little smile. And it finally was driven home -- she's just playing a game with me. Dumbass me.

She finally broke it off for good the other day. In the same way she dumped her husband, she simply ignored me until I got the message. She wouldn't reply to text messages (I wasn't allow to call her after all). She would lock herself in the bathroom when I walked over near the hamper area where she was working. Or she'd run, literally, out the side door. Or run up front by the window service.

I managed to corner her where she couldn't run away. I told her I missed her, missed us. She shrugged. I asked if that was it, if we were over. She shrugged again and then laughed in my face. Had she been a man, I would have knocked the fucking teeth out of her mouth. As it was, I gave her what she wanted -- I walked away.

I could fill pages about what a reprehensible person Kathie Turnbull is. The affairs. The drunkeness on the job. Leaving her teenage daughter with a pedophile that had threatened to rape Molly when she was only sixteen simply to get her out of the way. Standing out behind my postal truck with her jeans down around her knees, her bare ass and pussy hanging out for anyone passing by to see and refusing to cover up as I begged her to do so, all in the name of trying to humiliate me in public.

And so on.

The bottom line -- Kathie Turnbull is trailer park white trash. My friends at work all told me I dodged a bullet by getting away from her. They're probably right. I was a fool. I wanted to believe in her. Wanted to believe I had found something at the end of my days. I found something all right -- a sick, shallow, despicable human being.

Good riddance, bitch. I derive some solace in knowing that there's a special place in hell for people like you.


Anonymous said...

Chick sounds like a real piece of work, dude. I'm thinking you escaped just in time.

postaldog said...

Probably right. Plus now I get her giving me the pissy face at work all day.

She f*cking dumps me for purely selfish reasons, screwing me over, and then feels justified giving me attitude about it!