Violent Acres

Personally, I think she’s pretty cute.

However, there are a couple of things that I need to address. Firstly,

Why are you hiding behind anonymity? It’s pretty fucking easy to throw giant rocks at Dooce and Mommy Bloggers and anyone else who chooses to blog on the internet under their own names!….. Hey! What’s up.. H-Y-P-0-C-R-I-T-E?

It’s sure is! It’s almost as easy as throwing giant rocks at my husband’s ex-girlfriend under the guise of anonymity! Isn’t that right, Jesse Evans?

We’re all hypocrites, darling. The only difference is that some people have the ability to recognize this about themselves while others remain painfully unaware of their own faults.

Also, I’m very impressed with your ability to spell.

Secondly,

“oh my God, The Girl Who is such a snotty bitch! She thinks her own husband is sexy….Spare time in which you proclaim what twats Caroline (Lola) and I are in a blog….”

Gee, I don’t remember saying any of this!

I simply stated that it’s a sad state of affairs when a person gives a few nameless, faceless, strangers on the Internet the ability to shame, humiliate, and hurt them over something that was not that big of a deal in the first place.

Instead of retaining the slightest bit of grace while also admitting, “OK yeah, I guess that is a little silly,” you choose to get overly defensive to the point where you start fabricating insults that never existed.

Why so stressed, Monica? Would a hug help?

Also,

“Let us all speculate on how much your husband cheats on you. Why don’t you really step into the blogging club instead of hiding on your anonymous hill and throwing rocks at the rest of us all?”

The way I see it, there is nothing stopping you for speculating that my husband cheats on me now. I mean, people speculate plenty about me already. I’ve read very well put together essays that prove that I am actually a man, a team of writers, morbidly obese, living in my mother’s basement, having sex with my brother, and a goddamn movie star. You don’t need my husband’s name to accuse him of adultery, so have at it! I’m not stopping you.

And there’s a blogging club? Ew.

And lastly,

“If you want to prove me wrong then post one of your photoshopped pics of the Mommy Bloggers babies under your real name. BE ACCOUNTABLE FOR WHAT YOU PERPETUATE!”

I’ll do you one better. How about I lick a stamp and send my opinion to you in a letter? Or, perhaps, I can call you up on the telephone and whisper sweet insults into your ear? Just give me your phone number, darling. Or…wait a minute….you live in New York, don’t you? Do you want to meet up in person so I can say it to your face? I’ll be happy to oblige.

Obviously, you didn’t read my article carefully enough. I have nothing to lose by being mean to you, so don’t think for one second a different social setting will silence me.

So let’s make plans, shall we? The next time I’m in town, I’ll shoot you a little email asking you to join me for a cup of coffee. We’ll meet up at a place of your choosing and after a hot cup of brew, I’ll smile at you and tell you that it was really fucking silly to let strangers on the Internet anger you to the point where you felt the need to throw overly dramatic, hysterical, shrill, hissyfits publicly on your website. I’ll say it right to your beautiful face, baby.

By that point, I’m hoping you’ll be feeling a bit more amicable and with an airy wave of your hand, you will finally admit, “OK, I see your point. It was a little silly.”

I will laugh and you will laugh and then I will offer to buy you a real drink. You will agree because everything is going so well. We’ll choose a place that is quiet and classy and we’ll sit close together and enjoy a few glasses of wine. I’ll ask you lots of questions about your past and your present and you’ll marvel to yourself silently because it feels so good to have someone finally paying attention to you for a change. I’ll drop a couple of hints that I would like to be invited back to your place and you will think to yourself, “Oh why not!”

We’ll head back to your apartment, making silly jokes because we’ve both had a bit too much to drink. Your husband will be out of town (yet again) and we’ll shut the dog up in another room so we have the whole place to ourselves. You’ll put on some soft music and I’ll close the blinds. You’ll offer me something more to drink (Please have a bottle of something nice stocked) and at first I’ll refuse and make note of the time of day, but then I’ll let you talk me into it. Then, we’ll snuggle up nice and close on your couch, click our wine glasses together, and continue our conversation from the bar.

Sooner or later, our conversation will become a bit more intimate. This combined with the music and the alcohol will create the slightest bit of sexual tension, so we’ll lower our voices and speak in breathless whispers. You’ll have a few wisps of hair in your eyes and under the pretense of brushing them away; I’ll press my lips firmly against yours. You’ll pull back a little and mumble something about your marriage and the wrongness of it all. I’ll respond by telling you that you’re smart, and beautiful, and sexy. I’ll tell you that your husband is a fool for running off with his silly band when he could be here, all day, every day, cherishing your gorgeous body. You won’t have much to say about that, but I’ll let you mull it over in your head while I casually stroke the side of your neck. Eventually, your eyes will meet mine and I will take this as an invitation for another kiss. This time, your lips will soften against mine and I’ll fuck you right on your living room floor. I’ll bathe away your insecurities with gentle strokes of my moistened tongue.

The very next time I’m in town, ok baby?

But until then? Don’t try to out-bitch the bitch. I may be a hypocrite, but I can identify an exercise in futility when I see one.

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