What Kind of Crazy Ass Bitch by Jessi Lee Gaylord
Jealousy in love gets exacerbated through social media…
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What Kind of Crazy Ass Bitch Hits on Your Husband on Facebook?
Eight words you never want to hear your husband say are “some chick just hit on me on Facebook.” Especially if you are hungover, unshowered, smelly, Netflixing on the couch, with spaghetti sauce on your nightgown and you haven’t cut your toenails in two weeks. What kind of crazy ass bitch hits on your husband on a Sunday? At like 4pm? Growling sounds. In my mind. Terrible animal growling sounds.
Bitches are crazy. I know this because I am one. Most of the time I am sane. Some of the time I am a functional lunatic. Everyone once in a while = BATSHIT. BATSHIT usually involves jealousy or drunkenness.
The huz tells me what the message says. Steams shoots out of my ears. Jealousy is one of the most annoying, pointless, stupidest sins EVER. But. I. Just. Can’t. Help. It.
“Hit me up sometime“
Like come over and hit my mouth with your dick? Is that what Crazy Bitch is saying? Like come over and hit my vagina with your dick? Cause I like being hits with dicks. Listen Crazy, the only person the huz is hitting with his dick is ME. Double fucking flip off to you.
“What u looking 4 in a girl?”
Grammar? Heard of it?
What kind of girl is he looking for? Bitch, the kind of girl he’s looking for is ME. He’s found it. He married it. He hits it with his dick. Multiple times on any given Sunday–for the Rest of His Life.
“I just added u since I liked ur pic”
Yeah, he’s gorgeous. He’s Michelangelo’s David. But the huz has like 500 hundred pictures of me on his FB page and most of them are the day we got married. Off with your head!
“323-358-2539“
I was eventually informed this message was not a real person, but a robot hooker—probably a number to a sex hotline or some other moneysuck scheme. (Warning: Mattress Man in Punch Drunk Love. Video below.)
The huz has come home with other women’s numbers before. (Redrum, redrum.) But what this whole BS comes down to is my inability to avoid JEALOUSY. In my mind jealousy is different than envy. Envy is something like adorable shoes that should belong to you, but are on some other chick’s feet. It doesn’t mean anything.
Jealousy is a whole other Crazy Town. It’s kind of like syphilis circa 19th century—an incurable disease that slowly drives you mad as a direct result of love or sex or both.
I can hear a few bitches right now saying to themselves: Well, if you’re secure in your relationship and your self-esteem is intact, then you should not be jealous and if you are jealous, then you are not these confident and adult things you are supposed to be.
Oh yeah? Fine. I’m a neurotic a-hole. But being Jealous sucks shit regardless, and I just can’t shake it. And for some of us unlucky batshits, no matter how we try to intellectualize it, there is some hair trigger in our gaylordy batshit minds that goes berserk when we imagine the huz with some Social Disease, even if we know the huz loves us and is abso-fucking-lutely loyal. It’s like you become Ouroboros—you are a fire-breathing serpent-dragon chasing your own tail, until you finally eat it off.
Stay classy, robot hooker.
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Jessi Lee Gaylord writes the blog OnChicagoAvenue.com. Her chapbook Sharked is coming soon from Dancing Girl Press. Her work has appeared in Thought Catalog, Pool, Another Chicago Magazine and more. Her poetry will be included in the Arsenic Lobster Anthology this year. Visit the blog she publishes here.