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I would make this a bullet point post, but knowing me, the bullets would probably end up really long, and well, what’s the fucking point of a bullet post if each bullet is several (fun-filled!) paragraphs long? There’s no point, that’s what.
Just like those last two sentences.
Remember a couple weeks ago I got that text from Glen that said “I want to lick u from head to toe“?
Well, I neglected to mention my response to said text. I didn’t recognize the number, so I responded:
Who dis?
I like to get ghetto from time to time. I’m so ‘hood it hurts.
After his text confirming his identity, I responded with this:
You better be glad my baby daddy dint see dis
You know, to keep the ghetto vibe going. And also to ease the tension of the fact that, hello, you have a girlfriend and you texted me at 9:30 on a Sunday morning that you want to drag your tongue all over my body. And also because, hell to the no.
He sent about two apology texts, and that was the end of that.
Until yesterday.
When Glen called me at work.
He told me that he’d been driving and when he passed my neck of the woods, he decided to call me.
To ask me if I was pregnant.
Because I’d said something about a “baby daddy” in that last text.
These are the kind of people that roam the streets of my hometown. The people that vote in elections, bear children, and run for local office.
They’re all fucking idiots.
I assured him that no, there would be no mini LRC coming into the world anytime soon, and that’s when Glen told me that—WHAT DO YOU KNOW!— he, in fact, WAS expecting a mini-Glen in the future. He’d knocked up Amy and they were now engaged.
THEY’RE REPRODUCING!
She of I Like To Scream At Other Women In Bars And Snort Coke Off The Back Of The Toilet In The Ladies Room fame, and he of I Like To Text Women Other Than My Girlfriend At Strange Hours And Tell Them That I Want My Saliva All Over Them fame.
If you’ll excuse me, I have to go cry in a corner now, because the apocalypse is near. It’s only a matter of time before my town is overrun by worthless parasites, suckling at the teat of society. Snorting my tax dollars up their noses and puking all over the sidewalks.
In less depressing news, I really am warming up to The Lawyer. In an e-mail exchange with Narm last month, I even used this sentence to describe what I want out of a potential suitor:
Right now, I kinda just want someone who will play Mario Kart with me, rub my bum shoulder, and tell me how awesome I am.
- I have already played Mario Kart with The Lawyer, and I kicked his ass. Then he kicked mine right back.
- He has not given me a shoulder massage yet, but has alluded to it.
- This is part of our conversation last night:
The Lawyer: “Have I told you how awesome you were today?”
LRC: “No.”
The Lawyer: “You’re awesome. *smooch*”
FYI — he didn’t say smooch. He, uh, smooched me.
I’d say that’s pretty effin close right there.
You know what else I’ve discovered?
There are men out there who like to make plans.
Sometimes days in advance!
Holy fucking shit!
Also? I’ve learned that it’s okay to leave my phone in the other room and not check it every five seconds because OMG What if he texts? WHAT IF HE CALLS? WHAT IF IT CAN’T WAIT? because you know what? It is possible to know someone is into you. Without wondering. Without worrying. Without fear.
And that is a pretty great feeling.
Also, phone calls > texting. And he agrees with me on this:
“I mostly only text when I’m drunk. Which is why I usually text you from work.”
(He’s funny.)
I accepted his invitation to the beach. And I’m really, really looking forward to it.
I told him last night, “I guess there really are men out there who give a shit.”
I found one!
Happy weekend, y’all.
I’ve had so many dating fiascos, it should be illegal. With numerous relationships gone awry, I have even contemplated giving up The Dating and joining a convent. Then I remember that the whole “religion” thing would get in the way.
Also, no more drunken mistakes sex.
I digress.
However, despite being unlucky in love, and at the risk of sounding arrogant, this does not mean I am not a desired woman. I’ve had several men pursue me recently, and it has reached levels of effing retardedness I can’t even track.
First of all, I have a sort of, Mini-Stalker, if you will.
Saying “if you will” makes me feel smart.
I say “mini” because he’s not to the level of saving my bubblegum wrappers and making a shrine to me out of strands of my hair. He’s only marginally creepy.
A student at the college at which I work, he habitually drops by my office to chat, and I habitually stare straight ahead at my laptop, typing away while giving “yes” or “no” answers to his queries, and hoping he will take the hint and go away.
Okay, that makes me sound like a turbo-bitch. But this guy just won’t get it. I’ve tried being nice, but that just fuels his desire to follow me around. While I can’t be straight up rude to him, because that’s just not something I am capable of doing to someone who hasn’t been rude to me first, I can’t lead him on. He seems a little slow in the head and honestly, he won’t get it unless I act like he’s not there.
If he sees me at a bar, which has happened a couple times, he practically surgically attaches himself to my hip and follows me around. Meh. Such is the stigma of being seven different kinds of awesome. What can you do?
Incidentally, on one of these bar nights, I managed to duck outside for a smoke (I’m trying to quit . . . yay?) and escape the little bugger for long enough to strike up a conversation with a (male) friend of Claire’s. Our paths cross sometimes but for some reason I have never really been as close to him as I am with some of his friends. I was talking to him and his bandmate about one of their upcoming gigs (these two are in a popular local band) and all of a sudden he was asking me when we were going to go on a date, and his bandmate was totally going along with it.
I wasn’t really sure how to react to the situation, so I just kind of laughed it off, but I thought, “Would it really be so bad to date him? He’s funny and cute, but I just don’t know . . .”
So I asked Claire what his deal was, and she admitted that he’d asked her before to hook us up, but she, too, just laughed it off. I think maybe that was his way of putting himself out there, asking me when we were going to go out, and effectively putting the ball in my court.
Whatevs. It is what it is.
My third pursuer, whom I will call The Lawyer because The Guy Who Has Already Passed The Bar In Another State But Had To Take It Again In Our State Because I Guess That’s How Lawyers Do It Even Though He’s Not Technically A Lawyer But He Will Find Out In May If He Passed The Bar Then I Guess He Will Be A Lawyer is a bit cumbersome. Sandra (again, of having a brother who shat on the porch because he got so drunk at her wedding reception fame) is trying to set us up because she works with him, and he seems to be a very nice, funny guy. He also lives on the water, which, OMGBONUS (am I a terrible person for possibly exploiting him for his waterfront property and boat access?) Sandra, her husband, and I went to his house Saturday night for us to “get to know each other” and I had some of the best ribs I have ever tasted. The man can cook.
He’s supposed to call me tomorrow and we’re going to go to trivia night at a local bar. I hope it’s with a group of people though, because 1) trivia’s always better with a group and 2) PRESSURE!!!!!!!! NO PRESSURE PLEASE! I always feel “forced” to like someone if I’m being “set up,” and well, I just don’t like feeling that way. I like to ease into things.
Except when I’m falling head over heels for someone who will inevitably hurt me.
But again, I digress.
And last but not least, I got a text message from Glen. Oh, how we love Glen. First, his crazy girlfriend called me a skank in a bar, then shortly afterward I received a Hea-VY text from him about how he wanted to be with me instead of her. So imagine my surprise when I received a text from him at NINE FREAKING THIRTY IN THE MORNING on Sunday with this gem of a pickup line:
I want to lick u from head to toe
Lord, have mercy.
When I told Claire about this unfortunate beginning to my Sunday, she painted me a hilarious mental picture.
Glen’s girlfriend, Amy, lives in a semi-heavily trafficked part of town. So as Claire was driving by Amy’s apartment the other day, she saw Amy standing on the porch, arms flailing about and screaming at Glen, who was playing with a golf club in the yard, paying her abso-fucking-lutely NO attention.
God, sometimes I love this town.
So this leads me to believe that Glen is having “girl trouble” and wants to rekindle an old flame in a weak moment.
NOT MY PROBLEM.
I realize this post is getting extremely lengthy, and for that, I apologize. But stay tuned for some vom-worthy Murray news in the upcoming week.
I’ve been going back and forth between two very intense emotions in the past week. Anger and confusion.
These emotions are related to two separate, very different things, but I’ve found myself, in both situations, dealing with BOTH emotions.
Anger because I’ve lost a friend. A co-worker, former landlord, and most importantly—a friend. Last Friday, he was killed in a car accident. His two sons are good friends of mine. One of them is Glen, and the other is the male half of the married couple who introduced me to SoccerBoy.
I’m angry because the sixteen year-old kid who hit him passed on a double yellow line. I’m angry because that kid is still alive and my friend is not. I’m angry because this little prick made a stupid decision and now there are three more fatherless children in the world.
I’m confused because, well, isn’t death always confusing? When you find out someone close to you has died, this surreal moment occurs. It feels as if you’re not inside your own body. You’re just a spectator in your own life. Then reality sets in. But it still never feels real.
On a less significant note, I’m also confused about BE.
AGAIN.
Shocking, I know.
Well, after we had our “talk,” things took a much needed turn for the better. The next day, he told me, “I’m so glad we talked about the situation. We were both doing the same thing (trying to get the upper hand), and I’m glad we’re not doing it anymore.”
He spent the next few days telling me how beautiful I was, holding my hand, being protective of me. He was starting to act like a real, actual, BOYFRIEND.
(Although we’re still not using that word.)
I can tell in all the little things he does that he cares about me. The way he gets jealous when I talk to other guys. The way he plays with my hair. The way he opens the car door for me EVERY. TIME. The way he looks at me.
Then why is it so hard for him to understand basic relationship concepts like, oh, I don’t know, BEING THERE for someone when times are hard?
I left his house yesterday morning to go home and do some laundry before I started getting ready for visitation. The day before, he’d mentioned going with me. In the back of my mind, though? I kinda knew he was going to let me down.
When I was leaving he was still in bed. He sleeps late on the weekends because he has to get up super early on the weekdays.
“I’m going. Are you coming with me to visitation later?”
“Probably.”
“You don’t have to go, but it would just be nice to have someone there with me.”
For the record, I probably shouldn’t have said that. Most men need things spelled out to them, and it probably should have gone more like this:
“I’m going. Are you coming with me to visitation later?”
“Probably.”
“You’re damn right you are. I’m not going to be able to handle it alone.”
So then I get angry because I’m going through all this emotion—the anger and confusion about the death of a friend, the fact that my friends will never be able to speak to their father again. They’ll never be able to touch him, to hug him. He’ll never be able to be a grandfather and hold their children. They’ll never be able to share a laugh together again.
And BE can’t even roll his ass out of bed to make it to visitation by THREE O’CLOCK.
Andy told me to wait a little while before I mention it to BE. I was confused about the reasoning behind this, so Andy explained it to me over gchat.
(Hope you don’t mind me using this, Andy. I guess I’ll ask for forgiveness rather than permission.)
9:07 PMme: i am just having a hard time understanding how it will be any different if i talk to him tomorrow, versus, two weeks from now Andy: Different people handle death differently. You’ll be less emotional in 2 weeks I think.9:08 PM I’d much rather hear “Hey, you remember when you did so and so… that was pretty shitty of you.” Instead of someone bringing it up right as it happened. me: i kinda see that it just irritates me that he wouldn’t go out of his way to be there for me i am fragile in times like this even if he doesn’t know that about me yet he should err on the side of caution Andy: I’m NOT saying you shouldn’t be upset with him.9:09 PM I’m NOT saying you shouldn’t bring this up. me: iknow Andy: If people in my family didn’t guilt me into going, I wouldn’t go to funerals. me: it goes back to the whole HE JUST DOESN’T GET IT thing
then later . . .
9:15 PM me: THIS IS WHY I AM SO CONFUSED
BUT [ANDY]
WHEN IT IS GOOD
IT IS DAMNED GOOD
Andy: Obviously or you wouldn’t be sticking around.
me: when it’s bad, it’s just irritating
i prefer irritating over abusive
or unstable
So I guess that’s my excuse for sticking around. When it’s bad, it’s just irritating. I could see us being together, FOR REAL. I could see us loving each other. But certain social/emotional situations?
HE JUST DOESN’T HAVE A DAMNED CLUE.
And that can be pretty frustrating.
To me, something is more forgivable when the person just doesn’t understand. He’s not intentionally trying to hurt me. So that’s the frustrating part. I feel like I’m being a pushover, when it’s really just due to the fact that he is A MAN that he is so clueless.
But for now, I’m going to place my problems on a shelf. I’m going to put my own feelings aside and be there for my friends. They’re going to need their friends and family right now, and I’m prepared to help them through this.
WE HAVE A BREAKTHROUGH PEOPLE.
I GOT BE TO TALK.
Yes, it’s a small breakthrough, but a breakthrough nonetheless.
Let’s back up for a minute here.
Yesterday my mom called me and asked me to meet her for drinks at our favorite bar after work. We had beer (she had Miller Lite, I had Coors Light) and shared a margarita, fried green tomatoes, and curly fries. My dad came and met us when he got out of his Important Meeting.
I heard my phone as it was alerting me of a new voice mail. The “new voicemail” sound is like, tons louder than my actual ringtone, which is utterly useless. But I digress. I checked my inbox, and lo and behold, it was BE.
“Hey (somethingsomething) over here at your parents’ house (somethingsomething) (dogsbarking) Bye.”
I laughed and called him back.
He answered. “Yeah I was over here at [irrelevant to this post person]’s house and decided to stop by your parents’ house because I was in the neighborhood, but no one’s here.”
“Yeah, they’re with me.”
“Oh.”
“At [name of bar]. Why don’t you come up here?”
“OK, give me 45 minutes.”
So, again, I found myself in the situation where I was with BE and my parents. Which is always enjoyable, but again. WE ARE NEVER ALONE. We made plans to eat dinner at their house Friday night (tonight). After an hour or so my parents left, and BE and I went to another bar across the street to meet his friends.
Glen showed up.
Remember Glen? Of Professing His Love For Me Via Text Message fame?
Glen is a friend of mine, as well as BE’s. We both talked to him briefly, and then BE and his friends went and sat down. Glen was still talking to me about something, so I stayed put. After a couple minutes, BE said, “Hey, [LRC], come over here and sit next to me.”
HAH. BE WAS JEALOUS OF GLEN.
And when Glen left? He walked up behind me, whispered in my ear and said, “If it doesn’t work out between you two, give me a call.”
Um, no.
Anyway.
While I was sitting next to BE, I turned around and was looking out the big window behind us. I saw a guy I knew walk by. I was talking to BE but I waved at the person, and then I realized, SoccerBoy was with the guy. BLEH. SoccerBoy didn’t wave. He looked kinda pissed.
Oh well!
Don’t fuck up and you won’t have to worry about such things!
So, BE and I leave the bar. We are FINALLY. ALONE.
FINALLY.
We’re making small talk . . . he’s talking about his cats (his cat had kittens and they’re old enough to be given away now). He told me I should take one of his kittens. I’ve gotten kinda attached to them, so I said sure, I’ll take one of your kittens on Sunday, after I get home from camping.
Then he says, “One day it’ll probably end up back with me again anyway.”
“Excuse me?”
“Well if we end up together we’ll be living together, and so you’ll bring the cat with you . . .”
“OK. Wait a minute.”
(This is where I finally grow a pair.)
“You say things like that, and then other times you make it abundantly clear that we are NOT together. You confuse the HELL out of me. I need you to be straight up with me. Am I wasting my time? Am I wasting YOUR time?”
I could tell he was blindsided a bit. But, you know? I deserve some answers. Once and for all.
Here’s what he said.
“[LRC], I think you’re very beautiful. I like spending time with you, and I like you a lot. I can see me and you ending up together and having a future. I just got out of a two and a half year relationship, and that’s why I am acting this way, because I don’t want the same thing to happen again. No, you are not wasting my time, and I am not wasting yours. I like being with you.”
So, this is a LOT more than I have EVER gotten out of him. It’s not poetic. It’s not life-changing. But it’s the answer to my question, and that is what I’ve been wanting.
He thinks it’s cute when I take up for myself and, while he doesn’t like being the bad guy, he knows it’s necessary for us to have mini-arguments to figure out what we really want and what the HELL we are doing with each other. When we “argue,” we don’t really “fight.” We can get kinda heated sometimes but, truthfully? I like it. Murray never put up much of a fight. I kinda thought it was pussy-ish of him, if I’m being honest. And we don’t get angry with each other, we just challenge each other to really think about what the other is saying.
Couples that don’t fight? I honestly don’t think those kind of couples are passionate about their relationship. My parents have had some of the worst knock-down drag-outs you could ever witness, but they LOVE each other. Unconditionally. They have that can’t-live-without-each-other type of love and they’re willing to FIGHT for it.
My mom says she still gets butterflies sometimes when she sees my dad. Twenty-five years later.
I want that.
No relationship is perfect. There are compromises. That doesn’t mean I want to “settle.” No. I think the concept of “soul mates” is complete and utter bull. Only one person out there for you? Really?
How . . . overwhelmingly sad.
Relationships are flawed. Beautifully, complicatedly, flawed.
. . . and after the revelation? We had mind-blowing, wall-shaking, LOUD SEX.
SHAZAM.
Happy Friday!
Still haven’t heard from Glen, so, crisis averted — for now. I know I’m eventually going to have to face it and just tell him it ain’t gonna happen. I just can’t bring myself to inform him via text. I HATE TEXT MESSAGING.
Well, actually, I have a love/hate relationship with texting. With my friends, it’s great. I almost PREFER it. But when you’re trying to date me? CALL ME. I’m sure I’ve bitched about this on the ole blog before, but I’m just reiterating my point to explain why I haven’t told Glen yet that I am not going to be his next conquest.
I once received a text message in error that said something to the effect of
I’m sorry I just don’t think it’s going to work, [blah blah blah Dear Jane crap]
—[Some really awesome gangsta nickname I'm sure he made up for himself]
and I was so furious at this asshole that I called his phone and left a voicemail telling him what a bastard he was for breaking up with his girlfriend VIA TEXT MESSAGE, that he should be ashamed of himself, and that he should check to make sure he has the right number before he sends such an asshole-ish text message.
So yeah. I’m pretty adamant on this issue.
I am fully aware that my blog has become a whiny bitchfest centered around men and dating. Yeah, I’m tired of it, too. I just wish men would stop coming into my life to FUCK WITH ME. I haven’t pursued ANY of these guys I’ve mentioned lately. I mean, I feel like I have a big sign around my neck that says, “I don’t have ENOUGH problems in my life, please come create drama and/or cause me to have low self-esteem by acting interested and then COMPLETELY FLAKING OUT FOR NO REASON.”
Case in point: last Thursday, the last time I saw BrownEyes, we had sex (duh) and afterward he made a request that I, uh, DO SOMETHING to a certain BODY PART. Something that requires MAINTENANCE.
(I hope you can figure that out because I am to embarassed to type it out.)
So, if a person asked you to do something like that, wouldn’t you assume he or she, you know, wanted to SEE YOU AGAIN?
Yeah, me too.
That night is the last time I’ve laid eyes on him.
I know it’s only been a week, but our pattern has been 2-3 times per week since he moved back home. We have spoken only briefly on the phone.
OH YEAH, and did I mention? That night he also asked me if I wanted to invite my parents over to eat supper. MY PARENTS.
WHAT THE FUCK PEOPLE. SERIOUSLY.
I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. I. Do. Not. Understand. Men.
I can live without BrownEyes. I can live without a man, period. This is not the point. But guys? Please don’t call me if you’re not interested. Just, don’t call. It’s that simple!
AND ESPECIALLY DON’T ASK ME TO MAKE A MAJOR (well it’s major to me) CHANGE TO MY BODY AND PLAN TO INVITE MY PARENTS OVER FOR DINNER AND THEN GO AWOL ON ME.
I have to go back to the lady doctor in a couple weeks to make sure everything is OK with my IUD, i.e. it is not uncomfortable during sex. I am not going to be very happy if I have to make a trip only to tell her, “Well, I haven’t had sex, so I really couldn’t tell ya! Here’s my co-pay, see you in a year! Maybe by then I’ll have gotten some action! Fingers crossed!”
SO HERE’S MY PLAN.
- Don’t call BrownEyes. Don’t even THINK about him. Just. Don’t. Do. It.
- Focus on ME, ME, ME and what I want to do.
OK I thought I was going to have more things on that list, but you get the point.
AIN’T NO ONE GONNA RAIN ON MY PARADE TODAY. I am all kinds of awesome, and if someone doesn’t want to be with me, it’s his loss. Just because someone is not interested in me, it does not mean I am not still the Amazing Lady I’ve always been.
FUCK YEAH!
SERIOUSLY, PEOPLE. WHAT THE FUCK.
The craziness continues.
Surprised?
I’ll bet you aren’t.
I don’t understand why these things happen to me.
Remember the Glen and Amy debacle? Supposedly, Glen broke up with Amy after that. Or so he says. Well, I got this lovely text message from Glen this past Saturday:
Will u be my main squeeze ive been thinking about you alot now that u r single i am very unhappy with her
can we get together soon
private
God. Damnit.
Why does this shit keep happening to me? I mean, it’s nice to know someone is thinking about you. But not when you’re sorta kinda not really in a relationship with someone but you WOULD like it to progress further eventually and dating other guys would PROBABLY ruin it. AND ALSO, not when the girl he JUST BROKE UP WITH is EFFING INSANE and will have my head on a stick if she even so much as SUSPECTS anything is going on between Glen and me.
I texted him back something to the effect of:
I don’t really know what to say. That was kind of unexpected.
He said he understood and he didn’t really expect an answer, but he DID still want to talk to me about it.
Great.
Also, if he ALLEGEDLY broke up with her, then why did he say I AM unhappy with her? Wouldn’t he say I WAS unhappy with her?
(And, also, too [to be redundantly repetitive], who says “main squeeze” anymore?)
If we do end up meeting in person to talk about it, I am going to bring up these points:
(Don’t you love how I make lists for EVERYTHING, including clandestine discussions with an old flame in which I have to let him down gently?)
- I am dating BrownEyes. And while we have not discussed exclusivity, I’m quite certain that BrownEyes would be none too thrilled if I were to start seeing Glen, especially considering the fact that BrownEyes once asked me if I used to date Glen. Also? If forced to choose between the two, I don’t see myself picking Glen. Ever. So why even go there? I mean, I know I’m single and I have the right to date multiple guys, but that doesn’t mean I WANT to.
- We have barely spoken in the 3+ years Glen has been dating Amy. A lot has changed in those three years. I am probably not the person he remembers from three years ago. He, on the same note, is probably not the same as I remember him, either.
- He JUST broke up with Amy (again, or so he says. He could be lying to find out what his options are). And she would FLIP. HER. SHIT if she found out. I don’t have the energy nor emotional fortitude to handle that right now.
- I really wonder if it’s ME he really wants, or if he just wants an easy way out of his crappy relationship. He probably just saw me the other night, remembered the fun times we used to have together, and mistook that as some sort of sign that he needed to be with me and not her.
HOPEFULLY, he will just take the hint and leave me alone, and I won’t even have to worry about all that.
Something tells me, though, given the crazy rollercoaster my life has been these past few months? He will not.
Sigh.
Y’all, my life is CRAZIFIED.
FOR REALSKI.
The bitchiness continues, but that’s not the half of it.
SO.
Remember how I took off early on Friday? I went to my parents’ house to lie in the sun and read my Donna Martin Tori Spelling book, and I invited Claire to join me. My parents were gone to the beach with my aunt and uncle, and I was taking care of their four dogs. In addition to their dogs, I also had my two dogs, MamaDog and BabyDog. If you’re keeping score, you know that that is six dogs I was responsible for.
SIX. DOGS.
Anyhoodle, I suggested to Claire that we should go to my aunt’s pool the next day (Saturday) since they were out of town and we could have it to ourselves (they knew ahead of time we might do that, so don’t go thinking we are rudeness personified!). We spoke casually about it, it’s not like we tattooed GOING TO [LRC]‘S AUNT’S POOL ON SATURDAY 8.16.08 BEST FRIENDS FO EVA on our arms or anything.
WELL.
Saturday morning afternoon when I woke up and went home (BTW, BrownEyes and I slept on THE. MOST. UNCOMFORTABLE. BED. EVER. the night before, at his friend’s house. It literally felt like a wooden crate with a fitted sheet pulled over it), I instinctively called Lisa, just to see what she was doing. She said she was at HER pool, and invited me to come over. Right as I was pulling into the driveway, Claire texted me. I informed her that I was at Lisa’s pool instead of my aunt’s, and for her to come by.
She texted back, “No thanks. I’ll just go to [Scott]’s. Forget about the plans we made.”
EXCUSE ME?
Ummmmm . . .
Didn’t really know what to say to that. So I said nothing. She was obviously mad at me, but this is a pattern of Claire’s. She is jealous of mine and Lisa’s friendship. It’s ridiculous. You’d think we were in grade school, not wanting to “share” friends. Whatevs.
So she texts me, of course, on Sunday, “What’s up?” like NOTHING is wrong. Claire is always picking fights and then the next day she acts like nothing had ever happened.
Well I’m not letting her do it this time. I’m ignoring her. She needs to find out the hard way that she can’t just throw a little temper tantrum, say rude things to me, and then things just go back to normal. Ain’t happenin’. She needs to grow up, and I haven’t been doing any favors by placating her and “fixing things” for her.
ANYHOODLE. That, however, is not the cherry on top of my fan-fucking-tabulous week.
—BACKSTORY ALERT—
There is this couple I have been friends with for a while. Let’s call them Glen and Amy. Sure, why not? WELL. Glen and I used to, sorta kinda, hook up back in the day. No big deal. It was before he and Amy ever dated. Amy and I were friends, too. Well, when they started dating several months after our meaningless “fling,” I was happy for them. But Amy turned into a raging lunatic, going off on Glen and any woman he talked to if he veered out of her sight for even a moment. You can imagine this reaction was intensified when he spoke with a girl he’d gotten busy with in the past.
So ever since then we have been “frenemies,” sort of. We have had a few “heart to hearts” after copious amounts of beer, and until recently our status was “friends.”
OR SO I THOUGHT.
—END BACKSTORY—
The other night, I saw Glen and Amy out at a bar. Well, first I saw Glen. His face immediately lit up when he saw me. He kept complimenting how great I looked (when we last hung out on a regular basis, I weighed about 30 pounds more than I do now). He also remarked, “I heard you were single. I wish I was!”
Um, awkward?
I don’t remember his exact wording, but he more or less told me he wished he was with me instead of Amy. This was not the first time he has made a comment like this, and, while flattering, it makes me extremely uncomfortable. How do you respond to that, exactly? Also, I was nervous Amy would see us talking and lose. her. shit.
So, throughout the night I tried to forget what was said. We all laughed and joked, fun was had by all.
AGAIN, OR SO I THOUGHT.
Apparently, when it was time for me to leave, I said bye to Glen and forgot to tell Amy goodbye before I left.
BIG MISTAKE.
I didn’t mean anything by it. I really didn’t. I am SO not that type of person. I do not WANT Glen. The ironic thing is, back when we hooked up, I was the one crushing hard on him and he only wanted me on his own time. Now, he is interested in ME and I want nothing to do with him. Four years ago when it was going on, I was 20 and still in college, and he was 24. I didn’t care about what he did for a living. Now, though, he is 28 and has no ambition whatsoever. That is a total turnoff for me. I don’t want an overachiever, but I don’t want to be with someone who doesn’t give a damn about ANYTHING.
Oh yeah, I also don’t want SOME OTHER CHICK’S BOYFRIEND, either.
So, I’m leaving with Adam (HOLY SHIT I KNOW–I’ll get to that in a minute), and Amy comes running after me. And proceeds to cuss me out. Yeah, classy. I don’t remember exactly what was said because it all happened so fast, but I do remember her saying I was immature, because I said, “No, YOU are the immature one because you are getting all worked up over some petty bullshit!”, but what I did not hear while I was walking off, which Adam told me later, was that she called me a skank.
A SKANK.
WHO STILL CALLS PEOPLE SKANKS?
And then Adam gave her a little piece of his mind, which I thought was nice of him to do on my behalf.
So, since I don’t have her phone number, I e-mailed her. I told her how bitchy it was and how I would never do something like that to her, especially in a crowded bar in front of lots of people. I also explained to her that she had the wrong impression of me, that I was not that girl that she thought I was. That I also must have had the wrong impression of her, because I thought she was a friend.
Well, she e-mailed me back, apologizing profusely, and we both agreed to just let bygones be bygones and forget the whole thing ever happened. Yeah, I’m nice like that. And also? It’s just ridic. I honestly do not even have the energy to hate on the girl.
So anyway. Back to the Adam thing. We’ve been hanging out casually as friends lately, and it really isn’t weird at all. We just get along so effortlessly, and it’s easier to do that without that whole relationship layer added in there.
HOWEVER.
We did have sex again, once. And it was FUCKING WONDERFUL. God, I wish he wasn’t so damned gorgeous and good in bed.
I told you. My life is crazified.
