I could feel bad.

But I could feel bad about a lot of things.

Like how I didn’t back up not one, but two lost computers.

Bad that I have weight issues.

Bad that I stood someone up for prom and don’t even remember doing it.

Bad that sometimes I say things abruptly and hurt people’s feelings.

Bad that I always get my feelings hurt.

But this time, I don’t entirely feel bad.

There were a few moments after I first Sunshine Man that lie in the back of my mind and would pop up occasionally and eventually slap me in the face.

One particular moment was during a car ride to Monterey.

“Lets listen to some music,” I asked him for his iPhone as mine had a whole lot of nothing on it.

“Anything you want babe.”

I heard this way too fucking much.

I heard it all the time in fact.

“Just play something,” I was sick and tired of making decisions.

“No, babe, you really can pick, I want you to pick,” I said in my pretend non-bitchy voice.

“Honestly, I am sick of playing DJ (and vibrator, and cook, and tax expert, and Zagat guide) just surprise me.”

And then that is when he did it.

He played Eminem.

And rapped the entire song, with enthusiasm.

I won’t lie. I think I bought that second album, the one where he was about to kill himself for the 10^th time, but I was also a freshman in high school, snorting blow and smoking blunts everyday. And I wore MAC frost lipstick.

So I believe I am forgiven.

He, at 32 years old, in 2010, is absolutely not.

There are other moments were I knew I was on the fast track to disaster, but on paper, or out loud, Sunshine Man seemed like a sure bet.

Anglo.

Chiseled Chest.

Educated.

Had a job.

Liked parents.

Liked animals.

Did whatever I said.

Let me use vibrators in bed.

Wait, that WAS the issue, I had to use those damn things.

Every- fucking- time.

After the first time we had sex he had a bizarre emotional moment.

He literally said he “regretted it,” and wished it had been more “special.”

What’s not special about being blackout drunk off Jameson and getting freaky in the hot tub?

Apparently nothing to him and I was A-Okay with that shit.

Oh, and then there was when we actually were having sex and he wouldn’t shut the hell up.

Every other word was, “ you are my baby,” “you are my girl.”

The first time he did it I was so uncomfortable I wanted to sing a Lil’ Wayne song in my head the rest of the time we banged to block it out.

“Put your hands on your knees and do the rump… Meatball Lamborghini, top spaghetti, seats ragu…”

The second time I just pretended it wasn’t happening.

I felt, in some way, that this is what should happen.

A man falls deeply in love with every little thing about you and does whatever the hell you tell him to.

But it didn’t feel right.

It felt, well, it felt lame.

Really, really lame.

And I wonder if it is me?

I am programed to find something wrong with someone that appears to be nice.  Lifetime has told me that unless he is a reformed convict working as a construction worker he is probably going to murder me on our first weekend getaway.

But luckily, for this trip, we were just driving to Monterey for lunch and secretly Sunshine Man was growing pot in the garage.

So take that Lifetime.

Liz Culley

Remember the craziest night of your life? That's my Tuesday.

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