Ah, True Love or Exactly What We Deserve

Oh my God, the one thing we never thought would happen has happened.

I have defected to The Other Side. That's right, loyal readers, I live in the 'Burg, courtesy of and alongside Mr. Michaels.

Last night, we went to Cafe Alma, because it ain't a real 'Burg night without a kick-off at Alma. We hit the Independent for a minute where Eddie and his Blue Plate Special crew were jamming. Then we hit the Garden, where I danced my ass off with a couple of wannabe boricuas who were very cute and had some very fly moves, but, um, sadly, were not fooling me with their fake Noo Yak accents. No one from New York wears a hat that says, "Brooklyn," unless they're a f*cking assh*le. This is just true.

We went to the sailboat, and I shimmied up the mast like a chittery little monkey. The sail was down, so this required some real strength and agility on my part, but the view was beautiful.

We were very sweet to each other while we were out, and Mark did a great job of setting up quite a debutante evening for me - "St. Petersburg, may I present the Lady Rachel* of Tampa?" - but don't you know it? It has been, for the most part, terrible, absolutely horrific.

We have done nothing but fight like beasts - Mark shouting and me in tears, both of which goes against our grain - over ridiculous misunderstandings, previously resolved insecurities, various infidelities, countless acts of long-ago thoughtlessness, and silly, practical accomodations.

Some of this has become very ugly. Very, very ugly. Like he's a name caller, and I'm a melodramatic sobber. He hits below the belt, and I throw tantrums like a kindergartner. He shuts down, and I cry and cry and cry until I think I will hyperventilate. We fight until we're both purple, and nobody wins. Great.

He has basically decided I'm nuts, completely crazy, what with my careful attempts to readjust and the graceless pitfalls I keep tripping into quite accidentally, again, in a real attempt to transition. I can see where I'm giving him plenty of ammunition.

I have already convicted him of unbearable insensitivity and such maddening self-congratulation that I am convinced he would lick his own assh*le if possible. He is also much more stubborn than I realized and will dig his heels in for the sake of ego over anything else. I am trying to tell myself that he only appears that way because of transitional difficulties of his own, but I'm having a hard time keeping the faith.

All of this is punctuated by our repeated proclamations of undying love, which are somewhat nauseating to the general public, and immediately rejected by the other.

For instance, if I say, "Baby, I'm just tryin' to make this work, OK? I love you like crazy. C'mon, let's just get a little affection going here."

He will respond, "No! I don't even wanna see you right now! You're a f*cking b*tch!"

Or perhaps, he will say, "Rachel*, I love you! I really, really do! I love you, I love you, I love you."

To which I will respond, "How the f*ck am I supposed to believe that? Think about how many times you've pulled that sh*t?"

We are exhausting each other. I have no idea why we can't just be loving, the way we usually are.

And, yeah, it turns out I still think the 'Burg is pretty whack compared to Tampa.

I'm either gonna bounce, like, as soon as I can find something reasonably located and priced in Tampa, or something will eventually give and I'll never leave. I am terrified of either prospect.