By Paula Uruburu, author of American Eve.
Forgive me but I couldn’t resist. I borrowed my title from what was apparently a blog belonging to none other than Jody Arias, circa May 2008, written only a few months before she savagely murdered Travis Alexander, the man she continues to claim she loves? Or loved? I’m not sure which is correct, since her story shifts as often as her tenses — and her eyes while being cross-examined about what happened that terrible day five years ago. Even after finally admitting to having stabbed Alexander 29 times, to having slit his throat from ear to ear, to having shot him in the head, the persona that the former provocatively-dressed-bottle-blonde has adopted — a reinvented, buttoned-up, colorless mousy faux-Mormon martyr in ugly glasses, now claims that virtually all of her actions before, during, and after the butchery of Alexander, were done with his best interests at heart. Really? Does that include depicting him as being an abuser and a pedophile? And now, torturing his family with a story the dead man cannot defend himself against?
It took her several years to get to this point – I have lost count of the number of lies she has told, beginning with “I wasn’t
there” to the ludicrous story of two ninjas (has anyone actually ever seen a ninja outside the movies?)– and because I am not
familiar with the specific tenets of Mormonism, I confess that I am speaking from a more catholic point of view. But let me just
say that if the sin of omission counts, she is well on her way to hell.
The order of actions by which she attacked Travis Alexander in gruesome degrees was the subject of a significant portion of her infuriating yet oddly fascinating testimony on the stand over the last two and a half weeks. One of many questions I have is how a bullet casing could have fallen on top of a dried puddle of blood if she shot him before the stabbing and slicing. But I digress.
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