Yeah this is my blog, whatever…

Would a cake by any other name taste as sweet?

Yeah that’s her.
Busted. The jig is up.

Last month when I first saw ‘the comment’ posted on one of my last blog posts, which was sent to my inbox via email notification  – I knew immediately who it was, even before I saw his personal email at the bottom of his WordPress account. (btw, ace job on remaining anonymous.)

Here we go again.

In a state of panic, oddly the chorus to this song started playing in my head…

Why an ex that was content enough to dump me over a year ago would seek me out and go rummaging through my private life via blog posts is beyond me. Too much time on his hands maybe? Morbid curiosity? Regardless, like I always say – if you go digging for shit, you’re more than likely going to eventually find it. In my case an enormous, fossilized, very candid and unmistakable dinosaur shit you’re not going to like.

Guess what?
Break-ups SUCK…
People say shit.

ie. “screw you, jerk.”

Most of my literal recollections of him: ‘The Englishman/English Patient,’ post break-up have been far less than complimentary. However during the early ‘euphoric period’ of our relationship I said plenty of wonderful things, ie:

“I want to buy him house-shoes so he doesn’t get dog hair on his socks when he comes over, and I never want to get angry enough at him to toss them in the bin.

I just want to hear him call me “sweetie” over, and over again, and watch him in my kitchen eat PB, honey, and bananas on toast in my blue bathrobe, and house shoes…

Sublime.”

But of course this and all the rest, never got read.

I had a feeling that something of this sort was going to happen.

So later the same evening I spent a last couple of hours single-handedly and unintentionally fucking up my blog trying to privatize most of my older posts.

Why Cakes?
Do you REALLY care?
Does it really matter now?…
YES, it does matter, and perhaps NOT for obvious reasons.

This led me once again to contemplate the dilemma of telling someone of it’s existence and the sometimes sordid, personal content written within… Because there actually IS someone to tell. My secret being this certain someone with whom I have become very fond of in the last few months during our chronic correspondence and Skype conversations, someone I respect a great deal for many reasons, and a someone whom has never been mentioned in this blog thus far. A mystery man of sorts, and above all someone I don’t wish to risk a shit-storm, over some literary-farts regarding my past, (limited) quasi-graphic sex-life, and intimate (neurotic) thought process. Because as we know…

We humans are curious creatures, and some just can’t handle the truth…
And sometimes my truth hurts.

OOPS!
Sorry! I really didn’t mean to do that.

So I came clean.
(Of course after niking the temptation via privatizing most of the incriminating evidence)

Prior I had successfully avoided and maneuvered around divulging too much info. He had only read some select (less detailed) “articles” (aka. blog material) I voluntarily sent him in PDF format and keeping the dreaded ‘B-word’ out of all conversation. I knew eventually he’d find me out anyways, by some means, come across it somehow, and it wasn’t worth the risk of him reading all of it and running like hell before looking me in the eyes, AND I sure don’t want to know the details of HIS dirty laundry and intimate thought process.

The verdict thus far: He’s worth it. He likes me, he likes my work (very much), and won’t read it’s existing content unless I send him the link. He doesn’t need/want to know of all of Cakes McCain’s train wrecks, fuck-ups, and varied debauchery anyways, he wants to know ME. Case closed…

Like I always say: “If you want to know me, don’t read my blog.

(And just in case, if morbid curiosity were to bring him here…
For you my splendid Mr. G: xxxxxxooxxxxxxxxxxxoo, and many more…)
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About Cakes McCain

Aka. 'Oliver Twist with Furniture and Diamonds' Ex-pat, lunatic, survivor - A Bridget Jones/Shirley Valentine hybrid, epically flawed, neurotic literary ‘dirty apple’ with a penchant for broad shoulders, epic orgasms, & lazy Sunday mornings eating cake in bed. Almost always broken-hearted, forever analysing everything to a bloody pulp and eternally obessing over 'Pasta for One - The Manuscript' a chick-lit memoir about living single in fabulous Italy, while trying not to throw yourself in front of a speeding bus.
This entry was posted in break up, break-up, cake, dating, dating rejects, ex boyfriends, exes, friendship, guilt, humour, internet dating, Lies, lost love, love, online dating, self examination, self loathing, single girl, social misfit, Uncategorized, web dating, writers and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

8 Responses to Yeah this is my blog, whatever…

  1. TheMindOfFreya says:

    It’s all laid out and that’s alright. Oh yeah baby authentic!

  2. He sounds Fab. I find it hard to share my blog with new people too. There is so much there it seems scary to share it!

  3. nikkix2 says:

    Totally here you Cakes, I made the mistake not long ago of including my now ex on my blog and had to rummage thru my blog and delete anything with him named in it. Especially when I ended it, and jumped straight into the threats of suicide,,(can you say whacko?),,now I know he’s probably cyber stalking me, meh,,,oh well!
    He does sound great, does he live on the same continent as you now?

  4. abbynflicker says:

    I’ve always wondered what exactly would be the fallout of someone I wrote intense stuff about, finding my blog… Thing is, I don’t wanna lose the reality of posting shit here so censorship isn’t really an option…. I do sometimes leave things out, but anyone I know who has read my blog and all the insanity therein… has remained friends with me after. It makes me think, this is insanity you don’t necessarily want people close to you to read but it’s also not really insanity, it’s just the same shit everyone is thinking and keeping secret. Don’t let the bastards wear you down, be brave and stuff… And good luck with your mystery man!

  5. The Hook says:

    Don’t ever change or censor yourself. Please!

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