SSG Mark C. Wells

This kind of hurts.

While digging around for old backup files on various discs, I came across a few shots of Mark and I the weekend we eloped.  Sad, good memories.  I thought I’d gotten rid of all of these, but apparently they still existed in a backup of a backup of a backup.  Glad I have them, now.  06/20/2002

Mark and outside the cheap Tahoe chapel we got married in.  He refused to get engaged to me, saying I’d just run if he did (the topic had come up even long before we ever hooked up in a ‘joking’ sense).  Back in 2002, he’d have been right…I was too young and wild for it.  So one day he said “let’s just go get married” and I said “Sure, fuck it, why not?” and we drove to Tahoe for the weekend, got married in the cheapest little hole we could find, and didn’t tell anyone for weeks.  It was more fun that way. Read the rest of this entry »


ewww, now she’s going through my naked pictures…

 

Chick spends kind of a creepy amount of time googling Mark.  Hilarious that she googled herself to see if she’d end up here.  (she did, can’t help it that my site indexes well).


This chick is involving herself in a brewing flamewar.

This chick, Megan Reising, a 1LT and XO at Fort Carson, who I’ve never met but is friends with Mark’s widow, took it upon herself to start flaming an old post of mine about Mark from 10 months ago after being HORRIFIED (!!!) that she found Google linking to my site while she was searching his name online for whatever creepy reason.  Whatthefuckingballs I didn’t realize that I controlled the Googles, my bad.  Specifically, she got off on telling me that I “forgot” to mention Mark’s wife and kids when talking about my own sense of loss, and that I should delete the post because it makes me look ridiculous to the “people that know the real story”.  That ‘story’ being everything that happened AFTER we divorced, because I do not know this bleached blonde college gangbang skank and she was not around when we were married.

More importantly (and even more obviously) WHAT BUSINESS IS IT OF YOURS ANYWAY?

Megan Reising

That above information is freely and publicly available on her Faceboook page – there is no invasion of privacy in disseminating public information that is freely available to everyone.

 

She deleted her comment, then commented on my facebook (in an unrelated thread) and then blocked me, but I still have this:

You’d kinda think that an officer with a background in mental health would be able to type out a single sentence properly.  But no.

Well, Meg, you went out of your way to get the attention you need over some shit that didn’t concern you simply to be a nosy bitch, and now you’ve got it!

This is MY blog where I write what I want to write.  I have never let anyone censor me, and your pathetic mewlings about how I have no right to grieve are astounding in their audacity, especially for someone in your profession.  What the fuck is wrong with you?  I met him at 18 and we lusted after each other for years.  Got married right after he turned 22.  Had 2 years of marital bliss, and 2 years of bad back n forth breakup, and all told knew each other for about a decade. Where the fuck were you during all this, that you suddenly know so much about it now?  Oh gee, lemme think…you know his intensely threatened widow that sweats his ex even after the guy in common dies, and him personally after an ugly divorce.  Yeah, that’s not biased at all.  There was a lot of bad blood, yes, and a lot of love underneath that, too.  None of that really matters now, but we had a relationship for a very long time.  Cunts like you telling me that I have no right to think about him, or that I MUST mention whatever/whoever insteadproof that you’re a bunch of self-obsessed little twats, in my opinion.

I don’t care what you think of me.  I will not censor myself for you and you sure as fuck have no chance of bullying me into silence.  Nothing I have said is in any way offensive before this post…they were purely about my own feelings and my long history, good and bad, with Mark.  Those are mine and mine alone and they are valid and I have EVERY right to speak of them if I want to.  You trying to keep me from publicly grieving is pathetic in its cruelty and astounding in it’s selfishness.  I am not writing about *you*.  I’m writing about how I felt for him, and our experiences together.  You can’t change the past or make it go away.  And no, I’m not going to feel like I need to write about his sad little martyred widow and their kids – they are not part of my reality and I don’t know them.  I already sent her my condolences months ago, and she attacked me over it…after taking ten months to think about it.  Because she is a sweet, normal and totally understandable person like that.  ”omgholyfuck you sent my husband an email trying to apologize and say you didn’t hold a grudge 2 years ago…AND HOW FUCKING DARE YOU STEAL MY PAIN!”  /eyeroll

Stop making drama – you’re fucking with the wrong girl.  You cannot pressure me into doing anything.  I’ll just make it even louder and more public so everyone else can see what a retard you are being, since my posts were in no was offensive.  Oh yeah, NOW I’m being offensive, because you attacked me out of nowhere and pissed me off, but up until now I’ve kept my own peace in my own space.  At this point though, you can go fuck yourselves.  And by the way, every time you post a comment, your name and occupation shows up and gets indexed by Google, you dumb fuck.  Welcome to the internet, 1LT Megan Reising!


Well, I guess my last post about my ex-husband’s death really pissed off his widow.

I got a gigantic email from Mark’s widow just now.  Odd, since I haven’t said word one to her since the day I found out that he’d died, and what I messaged her then was my heartfelt apology for what she must be going through.  I didn’t want or expect her to like me – I sure as fuck never liked her – but I didn’t think that was particularly important in light of an event as major as that.

Apparently, grieving is now a competitive sport, and I have no right to “her” pain.  Unquote.  How dare I? Read the rest of this entry »