He Who Must Not Be Named On The Internet

This was supposed to be a happy/funny post. However, I am so angry that I must vent before my tiny body explodes into a giant pile of steaming coffee beans.

My roommate has been telling people that we're married. Yes, you heard me.

MARRIED.

He also has been telling the people who don't know my background story that Ev is his daughter. That's a double mothafuckin' no.  I am so sick of him claiming me as his territory or acting as if I am a piece of meat that he can just stab his fork into.  And when I say fork, I obviously mean penis. I don't want his penis. I'd rather suck a complete stranger's penis than be intimate with my roommate.

So to properly release what's been swirling around my mind, here's an open letter to my roommate:

He Who Must Not Be Named On The Internet,

First off, fuck you.  I am not your wife.  I am not your girlfriend.  I am not your fellow porno actriz.  You live in la-la-land and it's time to come back to planet Earth. You don't respect me as a mother. You don't respect me as a woman.  You don't respect me as an artist. 

Everly is not your daughter.  I made the mistake once of letting her call someone dad who isn't Jason and she was the one who ended up with a broken heart. Shit is not happening ever again. Not on my watch.  Also, by telling her and the people around you that she is yours, you are robbing her of her own identity. Her last name is Tedrow. Not Wilson. Not your last name. Let her be my daughter.  Secondly, the more you continue to tell people that she's yours, the harder you're making it on yourself. 

Lastly, you have poor hygiene. Yes, this is immature and totally not part of the theme of this letter.  I had to say something though.  Your room is smelly and your dirty laundry makes me gag whenever I am forced to pick it up off of the floor.

That is all...


-Heather mothafuckin' Wilson

P.S.
You wear socks with sandals and it freaks me out.

And now, my friends, I am ready to sleep. Amen.