This is why reading never leads to anything good.


If you know me in real life, you probably remember my ex-girlfriend, Bethany.

Everybody loved Bethany and they were quite shocked when I dumped her. My friends all thought I was crazy. They asked me, over and over, what could have possibly been wrong with her. She was smart and funny and pretty not-bad-looking.

But no matter how drunk they got me, I never told a soul why I did it.

Until now.

I will be expecting some letters of apology.

A few years ago, we were living together. I was “between jobs” and had a lot of free time, so while she was at work, I would go through her shit. Well, one day, I was sneaking around in her underwear/marijuana stash drawer and I hit the goddam jackpot.

That’s right. I found her diary!

So I crack this thing open looking for stuff to humiliate her with and to possibly find out if she cheated on me so that I, in turn, would get a freebie with the LA comedy nerd groupie of my choice. I’m flipping through it and it’s mostly short, boring stuff about some people at work she hates and what she does to their computers when they are at lunch (I told you she was pretty awesome), but towards the beginning, I find some gold.

As I’m reading, one thing I notice is I’m hardly in it!

There was this brief entry:

February 14, 2002. Eric bought me a present.

A present? That wasn’t “a present”, that was a $400 iPod, bitch!

That was the only entry for a whole six month period! One line. 5 words.

So, as I was saying, I had to go back a ways to find anything good. Apparently she’s had the same diary since she was a kid. She’s kinda frugal and I think her brief entries were to maximize its use and prevent her from having to spend a whole six dollars on a new one.

Now, we’ve been dating for over a year at this point and I figured I knew Bethany pretty well, so I was a little taken aback when I came across this one, seemingly out of left field:

January 20, 1990. Dear Diary, words can’t express the anger I feel right now. I went back and removed any prior mention of Tom and my former love for him! I hate that asshole! I hate him! Hate him! Hate him!!!

Tom? Who the fuck is Tom? She never mentioned a Tom to me before. At this point, I’m pretty excited about the prospect of teasing her about her junior high boyfriend who dumped her. So I keep reading.

I hope that him and that fat whore rot in hell! I hope they get in a drunk driving accident and kill a bunch of handicapped kids, but they manage to live so that everybody in the world hates them and they lose all their money!

Whoa! Hell hath no fury, am I right? Right? Right?? Bah, you don’t deserve me!

I can’t believe he actually went and married that stupid c***! [Yes, she censored herself in her own diary.] After all I’ve done for him! All the letters! Not to mention the naked pictures!

Whoa, naked pictures? She was like ten years old when she wrote this! This is getting creepy. She’s sending naked pictures to a guy who was old enough to get married? At this point, I’m contemplating wiping my prints off of it and stuffing it back in the drawer, just so I’m not called up at this dude’s child pornography trial.

Then there was what appeared to be hundreds of little marks that indented into the paper, as if she just repeatedly stabbed the diary with her pen.

So I looked closely at the beginning of the diary and sure enough, there were pages ripped out. I thumbed back past that entry about “Tom” to see if I could find anything else about him, that’s when I stumbled across this:

April 18, 1994. Dear Diary, the nightmare is over. She filed for divorce. It’s over. I’m never going to write him again, but knowing that at least they’re not together brings me some peace. I am genuinely happy for him. I feel I’ve grown that much and matured to the point where I can distance myself from the past to the point where I can allow myself to be happy for him. This thing with Arnold that he’s doing is supposed to be a big hit, so, we’ll see. I think this will be the last time I write about him. I think it’s time to move on and now that I’m in a good place, I think I can. Maybe one day when I’m in Hollywood, too, I’ll be able to meet him at a party or something and talk to him and tell him about my girlhood crush and we can laugh about it. That would be nice. I think part of me will always love him and I’m okay with that now.

Do you get it? Did you connect the dots??

It’s Tom Arnold! Tom Fucking Arnold! My girlfriend was in love with Tom Arnold and sent him naked pictures when she was ten!

I couldn’t keep dating her, could I? I mean, this is too much. It’s too far. Tom Arnold??

I literally felt sick. I think I would feel better if I had found pictures of her making out with my dad or something. I mean, c’mon! Tom Arnold???

I had to do the right thing, so I broke it off that minute, over text message. I changed the locks and put her shit outside the front door. I never saw her again. It’s not easy to sleep with a girl you used to love banging on your door, calling you and leaving sobbing, tear-filled messages begging you to tell her what she did wrong. But I managed, somehow.

So that’s the story. I’ve always assumed a lot of you have really held this against me and I hope that now you understand and feel like shit for saying anything bad about me, because there isn’t a single one of you who can come forward, look me in the face and say you wouldn’t have done the same thing!



  1. So you kept the diary? I assume you did since you are able to quote whole passages from it so freely. That’s kinda creepy. Who’s the sicko now?

    Oh, that’s right. She is. Forgot about the Tom Arnold part.

  2. Geez, I’d give anything to meet Bethany–the girl who did Tom–when she was only ten. I wish I had been ten when I was younger. I would have done Tom all over the place.

  3. Actually, I think I see what’s going on here, Eric. You’re just angry that, while a hack like Tom Arnold inspired pages and pages of venomous and vitriolic response, you receive a mere five word mention, almost an afterthought, even. Well, that’s just nonsense! You have no reason to be jealous of Tom Arnold. Sure, there was his Oscar-worthy turn in the well-received naval drama McHale’s Navy, or who could forget his powerful supporting performance as Mr. Hunkee in Soul Plane, a brilliant and oft-overlooked commentary on the role of minorities in our nation’s air travel industry? But other than that, what has he done? Nothing that could compare to your online videos about suicidal dummies or pooping on yourself. Don’t worry, Eric. You are definitely the winner here.

  4. Ok, so I guess it’s been established that sending naked photo’s to minor celebrities is a bad thing, especially if you yourself are a minor.

    But what about sending celebrities dead birds? Is that wrong too? I’m being totally serious here. Can someone please tell me if sending dead birds, specifically, a seagull, is in bad taste?

    If so, I’ve got to send out an apology letter to W.B. (Wilford Brimley) as soon as possible.

  5. My E.D. is great! My weiner is practically useless. Which is great, because it leaves me so much free time. I went back to school and got my degree! I’m going to be a restaurant management specialist!

  6. I think maybe Mimi was referring to your not-so-discreet-as-you-might-have-thought yet steamy tryst with actress Erica Durance-TV’s Lois Lane and Silver Screen Star of the classic Butterfly Effect 2. Yes, we’ve read YOUR diary, too (and I agree- it was no good). Oh, plus she was in that one episode of Tru Calling- God, I loved that show!

    Or maybe it was your explosive diarrhoea (check your facts before you criticize me on this one-it’s the accepted spelling for weirdos). It is great, too, by the way.

    And, speaking of diarrhoea(r), maybe Meemers can put in a good word for you to the folks over at Jack-In-The-Box(tm). It’s the accepted workplace for worthless weiners(tm).

    Jack-In-The-Box(tm) and “The Box(tm)” are registered trademarks of a dehydrated clown named Harvey Lowenstein (but Harvey-Lowenstein-In-The-Box just did’t have that ring to it, ya know?)

    “worthless weiners” is a registered trademark of Megadik Pharmaceuticals AG, LLC, NAMBLA, ASCAP, BYOPP

  7. That’s really great Eric! Once I get my money from the government, maybe we could open a restaurant together? I could be the Maitre D’! Then, when someone you didn’t like showed up, I could say something like, ” Oh, hello Mr. and Mrs. Pat! How are you doing this evening? Oh, your cat died? That is a real shame! I am so sorry! How would the best table in the house make you feel? Please, follow me”. Then I would lead them to the very back of the restaurant, open the back door, and they would stumble right into a dirty, disgusting alley, complete with scary, downtrodden vagrants and dumpster-diving gypsies! Then, right as they turn around to question what has just happened, I would slam the door right in their face! It would be SO classic and original!

    What do you say? I would even let you name the place! No wait, on second thought, I’ll save you the trouble and we’ll just call it ‘Mimi’s Munchie Cabin’. Let’s do this thing!

  8. It’s one thing to jab back and forth like this, and I don’t mind when you insult me, but please don’t bring my pansexual spokeswife into this. I can’t tell you how many times a lovely night out ended just the way you described, and she/it (heretofore to be referred to using the contraction “sh’it”) just doesn’t deserve it. Sh’it is such a wonderful man/woman/thing, and so innocent and trusting. Sh’it fals for the old “best table” bit every time. I always know it’s coming, but I can’t stand to be the one to tell her/him. So we just end up in the alley, and I just put sh’it’s head on my shoulder and try to comfort her’m, even though I know it’s all my fault. Then I make some inappropriate comment like “Hey, you know what other word sounds a lot like diary? Do ya? Maria Diarrhea? Smell ya before I see ya?”

    Then I leave her’m in the alley and go with Eddie Murphy to pick up hookers and Spice “Girls”.

    God, I’m such a shi’it.

  9. You are 100% correct Pit-Pat. It was wrong of me to pull your pansexual spokeswife into all this. Sh’it deserves better than that. Tell her’m that I wholeheartedly apologize, and that I hope sh’it can end her’m squabble with the Sunnis in a quick and peaceful manner.

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