You are currently browsing the category archive for the 'I blame texting' category.
You’re getting bullets. Deal with it. I’m leaving work in four hours and I don’t have time for B.S.
- After watching a Sex and the City episode involving Samantha, the guy of her dreams, and his tiny penis, I began to worry. Oh God, I thought, What if The Lawyer has a tiny penis?!?!??! because seriously? I can’t be havin’ that. I don’t need a Dirk Diggler or anything, but sex shouldn’t be like throwing a hot dog down a hallway. Not that I have a hallway down there or anything, I mean, oh God. There’s no way I can talk myself out of this one. The hole has been dug. So I will conclude with this: The Lawyer does not have a tiny penis. Praise Allah.
- Earlier in the week, The Lawyer and I were exchanging e-mails, and he mentioned coming over to my house after eating dinner at his grandpa’s house. About 30 minutes before I left work, he mentioned that there might be a slight change of plans. His grandpa wanted to meet me. Immediately. So I did the good girl thing and agreed. It actually wasn’t terrible. The hilarity of it all was the fact that they served boxed red wine, chilled, with hamburgers. There were two awkward moments in the night . . . the first was when The Lawyer’s grandpa said, “Hey we’re selling this house, y’all should get married and buy it” (WHAAAAT????), and the second one came when there was a misunderstanding about my age, and The Lawyer’s uncle thought that he in fact was dating a 19 year old. Okay, I look young, but I don’t look that young.
- New York , in true NY fashion, decided it had been too long since he sent me a random ass text message, so he sent me a message that said only, “corn bread!” I, of course, replied with the obvious response, “turnip greens!” and went back to my NY-free routine. Then, Wednesday night while I was playing bar trivia with The Lawyer (we won first place, by the way, and all our drinks were free), I received yet another text from NY. The gist of it was that his car had died on the way to the airport (which is 2.5 hours away from where he lives) and he had a 10am flight the next morning and no way to get to the airport. He never out-and-out asked me to give him a ride, but honestly? Why the fuck would he be texting me about it if he weren’t trying to hint toward it? So he more or less tells me I’m not important enough to him to make me his girlfriend, goes over a month without seeing me, then all of a sudden wants me to offer to make a 5 hour round trip drive at 10pm on a weeknight so he doesn’t miss his oh-so-important flight to Who The Fuck Knows Where so he can blow his inheritance even more on sushi and promotional materials for his “band”?
No thanks. - I’m pretty sure I heard Murray’s name on the radio this morning for getting arrested for DUI. It may not have been him because his name isn’t terribly unique, but the person in question was arrested on the street right next to a bar where one of Murray’s favorite bands was playing last night. If this was, in fact, Murray, whose money management skills are atrocious, then he may not be able to fund the refinancing of the house after this. Also, if he gets his driver’s license taken away without a permit to drive for work (his job requires him to drive around in a truck and watch other people work), he may lose his job. Balls.
- I got a mani/pedi with Ma yesterday and my toes are all smooth, painted, and ready for the beach! I leave at lunch time to head south with The Lawyer.
We had this e-mail exchange yesterday:
aaand I think that about sums up what we’ll be doing on our trip. Have a fabulous weekend, freaders! Mwah!
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 debated even writing a post on this because, for one thing, it would be short, and I’m not exactly known for my brevity. However, I discussed it with Andy and he said I should write about it because, “people might enjoy a mini post instead of a mini novel.” Thanks, Andy, for suggesting that I’m long-winded.
The other reason I decided to post today is because Andy said these types of things “typify [my] life,” so I figured it was only appropriate with the theme of my blog.
I mentioned weeks ago that a guy friend and I (let’s call him Gonzo—you’ll see why in a minute) had been getting closer due to our respective break-ups, and we’d been leaning on each other for moral support a little bit. You know, texting a couple times a week and the occasional round of Guitar Hero and Miller Lite.
To give a bit of background on Gonzo, he’s a bit of a pothead and he loves taking painkillers. Hey dude, whatever tickles your pickle. Doesn’t mean I have to partake. But over the past few weeks I seem to have gotten better in my emotional state, while he seems to have gotten progressively worse. Also, he is just a strange guy. Very strange. I don’t know how to explain it. Okay, maybe I do. He is obsessed with Hunter S. Thompson, Tool, and getting fucked up. I guess that about sums it up.
But he’s my friend. And he’s good company.
So I was at his house last night, chillin’, and we were just sitting there—him on the couch, me on the futon (30 years old and he has a futon. Laaaaadiiiiieeeees)—having a completely normal conversation, nothing out of the ordinary, with no sexual tension whatsoever, and he decides he’s going to get up and walk over to me.
Oh, shit.
He pressed his hands into the back of the futon on either side of my head, while I simultaneously pressed my head back into it, hoping I wasn’t catching any communicable diseases. He stopped at my face (THANK GOD) and asked, “Can I kiss you?”
My first thought was, “Why?”
But instead I just said, “Um . . . no?”
I was so caught off guard! What the hell? Was he in on some hot moment I was missing? I’d just been talking to him about the dream I’d had about my ex boyfriend.
The moment was so weird that the details after that are fuzzy. He went back and sat on his couch and started flipping through the channels, as if nothing had happened.
The whole thing was awk.
I stayed around for a few more minutes before I left just so it wouldn’t look like “A’IGHT WEIRDO I’M OUT. ENJOY YOUR NIGHT LOOKING UP MAYNARD JAMES KEENAN VIDEOS ON YOUTUBE AND EATING KLONOPIN LIKE CANDY. PEACE.”
But that’s totally what I was thinking.
So, I went home and went to bed, vowing to stay far, far away from Gonzo. Seriously, dudes really are all about the vajay. I thought I could have had another honest-to-God guy friend. I’d even told him earlier in the night that I’d farted and I hoped he hadn’t caught wind of it. Guess I was wrong about this one.
When I woke up this morning, I had no less than six missed calls from around 12:30 a.m.—a number I didn’t recognize. I was a tad confused, so I checked my text messages.
Two new messages from the unidentified number.
From guess who?
Adam.
Woodwork much?
Seriously. Is this my life?
Oh, and did I mention the other day that I got a text from the BROTHER OF ONE OF MY EXES asking if I was dating anyone?
Aaaaaaaand I just checked my Facebook and Gonzo has written on my wall twice today.
FML.
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.
Not even two weeks into the online dating thing, I have concluded that this is the breakdown of types of photos my “matches” choose to post on their profiles:
Also, I have been the recipient of such creative gems in my inbox:
Hey how are you?
Hay how are you?
hi!!!
hello—how r u?
Even on the internet, I am underwhelmed by the effort men put forth.
As mentioned before, I managed to weed out about three prospects. The first one, Really Tall Guy, just wasn’t doing it for me so I stopped responding to his e-mails before he even found out my last name. I haven’t received any hate mail yet, so I suppose there won’t be any decaying animal corpses on my doorstep. Rotting squirrel carcasses rarely bode well for the future.
Except that one time.
But I digress.
The second guy, the Athletic Trainer (whom apparently you all hate based on his profession alone), and I have talked once (on the dating site’s lame IM interface) since I last posted. We really enjoyed our conversation and decided to take the plunge and become Facebook friends. He invited me to go bowling with him and his friends that night (he was supposed to meet them at 9, this was at 8:45. I live about 40 minutes away from this particular bowling alley and I was wearing sweatpants. I declined). He then agreed that yes, that was probably not the best venue for our first meeting as I wouldn’t know any of his friends, and it would be loud, so we wouldn’t really be able to talk much.
Also, it was 9:00 p.m. on a freaking weeknight. Bitch gotta get her beauty rest!
Just sayin’.
We agreed we would plan something for another time, and I urged him to run along and meet his friends and we would be in touch. After looking over his Facebook profile, I’m feeling sort of “meh” about him. I can’t really explain it. He’s nice enough, and if he does contact me I will probably go out with him and at least give him a chance, but I’m not exactly checking my inbox every fifteen seconds.
Which brings me to the third guy, Smartass Engineer (or SaE for short, I suppose)—the gorgeous Asian man who shares my penchant for sarcasm, karaoke, and inappropriateness. We got flirty over e-mail and eventually exchanged phone numbers. He called me Tuesday night during American Idol and I didn’t answer (ALLISON WAS IN THE MIDDLE OF HER SONG, WHAT?), but I texted him to let him know I’d call him back in a bit. When I called, he gave me straight hell (in a joking way) about avoiding him for American Idol, but I was like, “WAIT DUDE, YOU JUST SAID YOU WERE WATCHING DANCING WITH THE STARS. WHO IS LAMER?”
I think we tied.
We talked for several minutes, and laughed the entire time. He wanted to make sure I wasn’t easily offended because he can be a bit crass sometimes.
Me? Easily offended? This dude should read my blog. I talk about eye farts and squirrels with rigor mortis.
He should be OK.
Then he invited me to go out for sushi this Friday (tonight) because I had previously mentioned wanting to eat some.
I have a date tonight! Woot!
Not only is this my first Online Dating Experience, it is also my first Interracial Dating Experience.
Two birds, one stone.
Also, I’m glad he’s not offended I wanted to eat sushi. You know, since he’s Asian and all.
Yellow man, white girl FTW!
If our phone conversation is any indicator, we should get along swimmingly. As long as he doesn’t try to rape me, kill me, or show me his collection of human skin, I will consider the date a success.
I’m going to attempt a lighthearted approach at this post, because 1) it’s FRIDAY! and 2) mi vida es muy loca lately and I need to start turning the negatives into positives. Or something.
Or, after speaking all that Spanish, maybe I just need a margarita.
Whatevs.
So, I effed up. But this time, I don’t think it was so detrimental that I don’t want to show my face in public ever again. I didn’t call my boss drunk or anything. I just gave in to a moment of weakness.
I mentioned that New York wanted to be friends, right? Well, what I did not mention was the manner in which this information was revealed to me.
In response to that well-thought-out, heartfelt, compassionate letter, I received a three-sentence text message.
“I got your letter. Twas very nice. Thanksfriend.”
Huh.
While all the friends I’ve told this to think this is an outrage because, honestly, is that the response I got? After writing perhaps one of the most perfect letters of all time? It’s been hard for me to feel anything but numbness and/or complete depression about it. I haven’t been able to feel anger toward him yet because I’m still so enamored with the kid. I can’t just turn my feelings off like a light switch. It doesn’t work that way. I need time to get over him, and I haven’t allowed myself that time yet.
So we tried the friend thing for about a week. He texted me to make sure my animals were inside when there was a tornado warning. I texted him telling him we should have a moustache growing contest (idea totally stolen from My Boys) with the loser earning a free milkshake and the winner getting a creepy moustache. Insert miscellaneous friend chatter here.
But last night? I got drunk.
Like, Let’s Make Bad Decisions drunk.
So I called NY. And much to my surprise? He answered!
And he was happy to hear from me!
And he wanted me to come over!
Like right now!
EEEEEEEEEEEE!!!, right?
No.
NOT “EEEEEEEEEEEE!!!”.
Bad LRC.
So I went over there, and he eagerly greeted me at the door. We hugged big time because we hadn’t seen each other in about a month. Then we went and plopped down on the couch with his arm around me and my head nuzzled against his neck, like old times.
We started talking for a few minutes. Mostly small talk and chit chat. Catching up and whatnot.
And then we started making out. Big time.
Clothes started coming off.
When things started to progress toward The Sexy Time, I could feel him pulling back. So I asked him a question I had always been too afraid to ask him, for whatever reason.
“Don’t you want to have sex?”
(Note [possibly TMI]: I have already given him a BJ at this point, which was met with great approval.)
“No. [insert random excuse here].”
Pause.
Blink.
“Why not?”
“I don’t like to have sex unless I’m in an intense relationship. With the possibility of my leaving and everything . . .”
And then I just stared at him for a few seconds.
“You’re telling me this . . . after we’ve . . . already had sex?”
(This is about the extent of my ability to take up for myself when I’m drunk. At least, with a guy I’m head over heels for. If I didn’t give a shit about him, I would have let him have it.)
So I just gave up on the conversation at that point. I don’t remember what his response was (I’m HAMMERED, remember?). I just fell back into his arms and he held me close. I cried silently, but I don’t think he noticed.
And then I realized, you know what? I don’t need this shit. I’m just letting him treat me however the fuck he wants. He’s handing out misery, and I’m the first in line.
I wordlessly got up, put my sweatshirt back on, picked up my purse, and walked toward the door. He came after me, but I just kept going. Walked out the door, got in my car, and left.
And cried. And cried. And cried. And cried.
And then. AND THEN? I sent him a drunk text. “I wish I wouldn’t have taken so long to ask you that.”
(Please ignore the bad grammar. Remember, I’m wasted. And yes, I should not have driven. I know this. Save the preachin’ for your Sunday School class.)
I don’t know what I thought that drunk text would solve. Hell, that’s the point of a drunk text. Saying things you probably shouldn’t have but seem like a GREAT idea at the time.
Then I realized, you know what? There I go placing all the blame on myself again. He should have been honest with me from the get-go. If he never saw this going anywhere, he never should have invited me to that James Bond movie. And, at the very least, he never should have made out with me afterward.
So I texted him again.
UGH.
“Then again i dont think it is my fault”
FUHHHHHHHHHH I wish there was a CTRL+Z for text messages. But you know what? He needs to realize what he did was wrong. He led me on, and wasn’t honest with me from the start. And I got all bajiggity about him because he rocks my world. And then he curb stomped my heart.
So yeah.
I guess that settles that. I can’t be makin’ out with boys who are just gonna inevitably hurt me over and over again.
It sucks. But I’ll move on.
Speaking of moving on, I mentioned joining an online dating site in my last post. I was very reluctant at first, but my mom, seeing my unhappy state, basically forced me into it. I think it’s a bit too soon to start dating because I’m still batshit insane enamored with NY even though it’s never going to happen. But I don’t think it will hurt to make some new friends and have a boy take me out on an actual DATE. One in which we go to a restaurant that’s not Quizno’s and doesn’t end with Jager Bomb shots and a massive sense of regret the next morning.
I’ve been in contact with two guys, one of which seems really fun and has a lot in common with me, but, to be brutally honest, he’s not someone I see myself being attracted to. He seems more like the big brother type. He’s not model hot like NY, BE, and Adam (but then again, “model hot” never seemed to work in my favor). However, he has a lot of friends and has a lot of fun things going on in his life, and that could be the breath of fresh air I need. I will probably have to explain to him that if we do date, things have to go reeeeeally slowly. I’m damaged goods here, and I don’t want to play any games.
There’s also another guy I’ve been talking to less frequently, but holy hell is he hot. And he’s an athletic trainer. HOT. BODY. Hold me. I didn’t think he was that into me at first, but after the second time we “talked” (we used the lame IM thing on the dating site), he asked if I wanted to do something next week. I said yes, but I think we’re definitely going to keep it casual. He’s new to the area and is looking for new friends. At the very least, maybe I’ll have a new hang out buddy.
I’ll keep you all posted for sure. I’ve got my sights set on dinner, drinks, and tomfoolery with the girls tonight, and from now on when I’m faced with a tough decision, I’m going to ask myself, “Is this necessary for my happiness?” and if it is, I’ll do it. And if it’s not, vice versa.
Happy weekend, lovelies.
Well, something good did come out of being pursued by BrownEyes’s friend. After he texted me like a billion times the next day, I decided to just be honest with him and tell him I was having trouble getting over a guy who’d, apparently, recently decided that he’d rather not have me in his life. It was then that he admitted to me that he’d been recently dumped, too, and since then we have formed a quasi-friendship in which we cheer the other on in our respective Efforts At Finding Happiness.
So I’d call that a mini-success. It’s nice to be able to text him at a particularly weak moment and have him reply with something encouraging, and vice versa.
BrownEyes apparently didn’t “get” that I was dipping out on his ass again, and has been blowing up my phone. I’ve only answered once (out of the 8 or so times he’s called), yesterday, just to tell him I was still at work and I would call him later, to buy myself some time to figure out how I was going to break the news to him that he was being dismissed. I came home and wrote out some talking points because when I have to confront someone I get flustered and forget what I was going to say.
Also, despite not being the sharpest tool in the shed, BE has a gift of Conversation Manipulation. He could probably talk a telemarketer into buying HIS shit instead.
Come to think of it, that’s probably why I stayed around as long as I did. Because he convinced me I was having a great time when in actuality I was miserable.
Anyhoots, so I called him back once I was ready to have what would ideally become my final conversation with him before I could talk myself out of it, and this time, HE didn’t answer.
So I plugged my phone up into my charger and began writing some more.
Only this time, it was a letter to New York.
Previously that day, I’d drafted an e-mail that I was going to send to him. Remember how I said there’d been some new developments with our situation that was kinda throwing a monkeywrench into the whole thing? Well, I was going to let him know, through this e-mail, how I felt. While NY and I had loads of fun together, we’d never quite gotten to the emotional level that is so vital in successful relationships. I poured my heart into it while making sure not to sound desperate or vulnerable. I let him know that it was not okay that he was avoiding me (save for the occasional “hope you’re doing well”-esque text he’d send me) but told him if he was having personal issues I was there if he needed me, and not there if he didn’t. I attempted to express that I wanted to salvage what we could of a friendship before he just wrote me off altogether.
I didn’t include that sentiment in the letter in false hope that he’d come crawling back to me to say YES OH LET’S HAVE A RELATIONSHIP INSTEAD AND WE CAN NAME OUR FIRST CHILD DEREK BUT ONLY IF IT’S A BOY AND THEN WE CAN BUY A FORD FOCUS AND OPEN A RETIREMENT ACCOUNT. I honestly DO want to remain friends with him. We have way too much fun with each other to waste a perfectly good friendship on account of his commitment-phobia.
So I concluded the letter stating that if I didn’t hear back from him I’d be hurt, but I would get over it eventually. And also that I couldn’t take not knowing if it was [issue NY told me he currently was having] or the fact that he just didn’t ever want to speak to me again that was causing him to avoid me.
I sent it to several friends, detailing the situation and asking their opinion on it (and thank you SO MUCH to those who gave their input. Heart. You.). One person told me it’d be more personal if I hand-wrote it, and I had to agree.
So after my failed attempt at calling BE from home, I printed out the e-mail and began to write it, almost verbatim, on some leftover wide ruled notebook paper from my college days. It ended up being two pages exactly, with ample spacing and non-threatening penmanship. I folded it up and placed it in an envelope with only NY’s first name on the outside of it.
It was a masterpiece.
I constructed the letter so that anyone who did NOT respond to it had to be the biggest asshole jerkface on planet Earth.
I delivered the letter at approximately 7:30 p.m. in NY’s mailbox and sent him a text that I’d left a note for him there.
I still haven’t heard back from him at 4:45 p.m. the following day.
And if he doesn’t respond? Well then.
Good.
Fucking.
Riddance.
Allright people, let’s get this over with.
So remember how BrownEyes wanted to get back together with me?
Well, he called me on Friday and asked if I wanted to come over and see a movie. I said yes. There are various reasons for this. Let me show you dem.
- I’m a fucking idiot.
- I’m a masochist.
- I hoped at the very least I could get some sex out of it.
- Blog fodder!
- I wanted to see if he’d changed for the better. (HILARIOUS, right?)
- I’m a fucking idiot.
Probably not the best reasons, but reasons nonetheless.
I told him I’d call him when I got out of the shower. When I called, instead of him being at home (as he said he’d be), he’d walked to a nearby bar and was having a drink. He invited me to join him. I was not looking my best as I’d slicked my hair back into a bun and was definitely not dressed for a night on the town. But I decided to join him. For ONE drink.
One drink? Always turns into 5 or 6 or 42 drinks with BE. Stupid, stupid LRC.
He was incredibly inattentive to me the whole night, trying to be his usual center-of-attention self. I’m sure the look on my face said it all. To everyone ELSE, that is. Everyone with a fucking CLUE.
(Hint: BE does not belong to this elite club of Those Who Get It.)
Every time he’d ask me to go outside and smoke with him, he’d open the door for me and motion with his hand for me to go ahead. I would walk through, and EVERY. SINGLE. TIME he did this? He would stop and talk to someone else. Leaving me standing there by myself like a jackass.
EVERY.
SINGLE.
TIME.
THAT got annoying really fast. When I insisted that he go first, he’d say, “no you go ahead!” and then he would do the SAME. EXACT. THING.
Do you know how FRUSTRATING that was? It got old reeeeeally fast.
Aaaand the straw that broke the camel’s back? As if I weren’t turned off enough as it were?
While I was talking to one of his female friends (while he was inevitably making his rounds around the bar), she told me that he’d been telling people that HE was the one who broke it off with ME.
[record scratch]
Shut. The. Front. Door.
HELLLLLLLLLLLL NAW.
I was furious. So I did what any normal person would do. I made him buy me Huddle House at 2am and when he fell asleep on his recliner I dipped the fuck out of there and never looked back.
Speaking of BE, a few minutes ago I got a text from one of his friends, who, last time I saw him, I WAS with BE. But this had to be at least five or six months ago.
not going to [name of bar] tonight is ya?
What’s going on at [name of bar]?
well it’s just poker night but thought maybe you and [BE] might wanna go up there for a little while
Forehead? Meet desk.
I don’t date [BE].
oh for some reason i thought yall were. well if you wanna go, no [BE] that’s even betta
Is this my life? Seriously?
Did I just get a random ass text from BE’s friend asking if I wanted to bring BE and join him at the bar? And then when I said I wasn’t dating BE, did I also get HIT ON by BE’s friend?
Is the universe trying to give me the middle finger? Is it because I arranged all the stickers on the Rubik’s cube when I was little and tried to pass myself off as a genius? I APOLOGIZED FOR THAT A FEW YEARS AGO. LET IT GO, UNIVERSE.
And to end on a more somber note, I don’t see myself getting over New York anytime soon. I had (still have) it bad for that boy. New developments have been brought to light about the situation and I feel torn. Every day when I get home, and every morning when I wake up, I feel like I’m being punched in the face and given a wedgie simultaneously. A wedgie of sorrow.
I had to make the melodrama humorous somehow.
