Baby, I love you. But if you do that one more goddamn time, I’m going to scratch you with my toenails.

The other day, The Lawyer and I were watching Jersey Girl.

(What? Jersey Girl was a GOOD MOVIE. Why did everyone hate on that movie so hard? On that note, why does everyone hate on Ben Affleck so hard? HE CO-WROTE GOOD WILL HUNTING, DAMN IT. AND KEVIN SMITH LIKES HIM, SO YOU SHOULD, TOO.)

Sorry, I’ll stop yelling now.

Anyhooter, we were watching the part where B. Aff’s character, Ollie, and his fatass pregnant wife Gertrude (played by J.Lo) are getting ready for an important something-or-other for Ollie’s job. Ollie is trying to get the two of them out the door in a timely manner and Gertie is just not having that shit. No ma’am. She’s pregnant. She’s enormous. She can’t poop. She has a motherfucking PERSON practicing kickboxing in her uterus. She wants. To. Cry. And do anything but leave the house, but she has to support her husband.

Ollie consoles her, while gently reminding her that they need to go. Like, now. Gertie, through tears, complies and says, “Just one more minute,” and runs to the bathroom to fix her makeup.

It’s at this moment that Ollie does that thing that, apparently, all men do behind their girlfriends’/wives’/hos’/boyfriends’/trannys’ backs: the “boyfriend cringe,” as Lawyerman called it. They do some kind of thing with their clenched fists in the air while looking extraordinarily annoyed. The kind of thing one reserves for times of great disdain. Sadly, I can’t illustrate this because, apparently, Googling “Jersey Girl movie boyfriend cringe gif” does not yield desirable results for this blog post.

Who knew?

But you know what I’m talking about, anyway.

Since The Lawyer mentioned it, I asked.

“Do you do that behind my back often?”

“Define . . . often . . .”

I thought about all the times in which I could have annoyed The Lawyer to the point of gesturing violently and wanting to silently throttle me as I slept.

“Once a week?”

“Well, if once a week is often, then yeah. Pretty often.”

-Record scratch-

“Wait, WHAT?”

I couldn’t imagine that I could ever be that annoying. Surely, I’m not! I thought. He annoys me way, way more than I annoy him! He’s perpetually annoying!!! HOW DARE HE!!!!

“What do I do that’s so annoying?” I implored.

“Well, I can’t really think of anything in particular right now.”

WRONG ANSWER.

Dudes. Don’t tell us we annoy you often and then not be able to back it up with examples. That’s just bad form.

Finally, after much prodding from yours truly, he came up with ONE thing he could think of that annoyed him on the reg.

You know those salt and pepper grinders you buy from the grocery sto’ . . . the ones that have lids on them . . . kinda like this?

The Lawyer and I use these to season our food. When we cook dinner at home, I usually serve myself first because 1) WOMEN AND CHILDREN FIRST, BITCHES, AND I’M BOTH and 2) I’m always hawngriest because I heart food and NOMNOMNOM and 3) he is extremely slow in putting his food on the damned plate already.

So what annoys Lawyerman about LRC?

It annoys him that I leave the lids off the salt and pepper grinders.

I LEAVE.

THE LIDS OFF.

FOR HIM.

SO HE CAN USE THEM.

ON HIS FOOD.

WITHOUT BEING BOTHERED TO TAKE THE CAP OFF AGAIN.

I can’t think of a more ridiculous thing to be annoyed by.

And now, you ask, what annoys ME about The Lawyer?

He corrects me. On everything. Even when he’s wrong.

Except I do the cringe/arms flailing/IMMA MURDER YO ASS face right in front of him, instead of behind his back.

Because I want him to be prepared for the middle-of-the-night throttling.

So tell me, bloglings (no, really, tell me. I’m curious). What is it that your current or former significant other does/did that makes/made you go ABSOLUTELY INSANE?

What do/did you do to a current/former significant other that causes/caused grave annoyance?

I’ll write a more clever title once someone brings me a Diet Coke

I got a text from Murray yesterday regarding our home loan. The loan for the house I currently inhabit where he hasn’t lived or made a payment on in over a year.

If I was able to cover closing cost, would you consider refinancing? I need to get out from under that loan.

A few things:

1. Yes, holy hell, if you cover closing costs let’s go ahead and get that fucker DONE. I don’t know if I’ve mentioned it here, but I’ve decided to hold off on selling the house for the time being. I’m actually miraculously able to make the payments despite this recession, and I rather enjoy living there.
2. What big purchase is Murray planning to make that he otherwise wouldn’t be able to make with his name already under a large home loan? Perhaps, another home? For himself, Mama Bear, and Baby Bear?
3. If Murray is indeed planning on purchasing a home for himself and his recently acquired family AFTER THREE MONTHS OF DATING THIS CHICK, I am going to  LOSE. MY. SHIT.
4. Seriously, someone is going to get hurt.

Okay, I may be jumping to conclusions here, but why else would he all of a sudden need this done “quickly,” as he said in a later text? Of course, I would never actually physically harm someone, but if I do find out that he’s buying a house with Mushroom Head McTrampStamp +1, I am going to be so furious. Like, red-in-the-face-and-vibrating-out-the-door-to-throw-a-wine-bottle-in-the-driveway-to-hear-the-satisfying-sound-of-glass-breaking mad.

Not that I’ve ever done that before.

Not with a bottle that wasn’t already empty, of course.

Of course, it’s really none of my business, but that doesn’t mean I won’t be thoroughly pissed off.

Also, I unfriended Mushroom Head McTrampStamp on Facebook (I added her before I realized she and Murray were dating) so I didn’t have to look at pictures of the happy couple that she posts oh, every 3.9 seconds or so. Because it’s just another reminder that he took her canoeing. And he always refused to take me canoeing because it was “a guy thing.”

Paddling is for losers anyway.

—

In other news, Gonzo has sent apology text after apology text, written on my Facebook wall multiple times, and invited me back to his apartment (with the futon!) almost every day since the incident. I have only responded to let him know that I wasn’t angry with him, and left it at that.

He is obviously having some personal problems I can’t fix, and I just don’t have room in my life for that right now.

—

And last but not least, I received a beach invite from The Lawyer for next weekend. I’m pretty sure hotel expenses will be covered, as well as some other expenses as he likes to spoil me, so that’s not an issue (I AM A TERRIBLE PERSON), but it’s with his family. His mom and younger brother (who’s my age, incidentally, and because of this fact The Lawyer had jokingly said that he wasn’t planning on introducing us) are going. It’s one thing to have dinner with them, but it’s quite another to spend an entire weekend with them. What if they don’t like me? What if I don’t like them?

If I hadn’t been having some recent doubts about The Lawyer, I wouldn’t be quite as apprehensive. I mean, I’ve been dying for a beach vacation. Any other time I would jump at the chance. But I’m feeling sorta lukewarm for him still. It’s only been a couple weeks, so it’s still a bit early to tell. But he’s like this perfect combination of nice guy and asshole. He’s very considerate (something I am NOT used to) yet he’s not afraid of ribbing me. Plus, I’m pretty sure he adores the shit out of me.

I still haven’t given him an answer about the beach trip. I’ll probably do that this weekend so as not to leave him hanging.

—

In summary:

Murray is causing me heart trouble for unknown reasons because seriously, wasn’t I the one who broke up with him? I don’t harbor any feelings for him whatsoever. So why is this pissing me off so much? Oh yeah, because he and I were together for two years before we bought a house together. And we were pretty sure we were getting married.

Gonzo is being irritating as fuck, and as I type this entry, he just texted me again. Desperation is not becoming on him.

The Lawyer is a perfect gentleman and pretty much everything I have been missing in all my previous relationships, and I still can’t get it up for him. And I am considering turning down a beach invitation because of it. WAH, LRC. YOUR LIFE IS SO DIFFICULT.  DID A $1,000 BILL HIT YOU IN THE FACE WHILE YOU RODE YOUR UNICORN TO WORK THIS MORNING?

Look, I know I’m awesome. But please, leave me the eff alone.

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 love it when you call me Big Papa. Except, not.

I mentioned I had some vom-worthy Murray news, so here it is.

For those of you who are new readers, Murray was my boyfriend for three years. We broke up last May, but not before buying a house together, which I currently still inhabit and cannot sell. Murray lives in apartment that costs him less than half the house payment I have to dig up each month, so there’s already a leeeeeeetle bit of bitterness there.

A few months ago, Murray and his new girlfriend became Facebook official after about thirteen seconds of dating, which was like a 4″ heel kick in the boob to me because ever since the breakup, I’d tried to keep anything dating-related far, far away from The ‘Book. I posted no pictures and made no mention of any of the men I was dating, deleted any comments from friends that might have alluded to the fact I was seeing anyone, and I took my relationship status off completely (while Murray was, up until this point, still proudly declaring himself “Single”).

Fine. Whatever.

Then, a couple weeks ago, I was talking to a mutual friend of ours. This friend told me that Murray had turned down a great job offer in another city because he said things were “getting pretty serious” with his girlfriend. After TWO MONTHS of dating.

Chalk it up to the bitter, cynical bitch in me, but I knew that this was exactly what Murray was going to do. Settle for the next live woman who still had most of her teeth and showed any remote interest in him. Now, I’m not saying that this girl I haven’t spoken to in years may not have turned out to be a Saint of a woman with an ass you could bounce quarters off of who also makes a chocolate-covered dessert every night and gives 5-star BJ’s, but I know Murray. He’s a settler.

Also, this chick is 25, lives at home with her parents, and is a mother to a toddler.

(NOT THAT THERE’S ANYTHING WRONG WITH THAT)

Part of the reason Murray and I broke up was because of his laissez-faire (let’s be lazy and see how we fare!) attitude. About EVERYTHING. It’s one thing to be laid-back, but it’s a completely different thing to just not Give. A. Fuck. Murray was prepared to just take whatever life gave him (provided it wasn’t hard and didn’t take any effort).

Everything except me, it seemed.

If I’d never brought up the fact that I was unhappy, however, we would have continued living our sad, boring lives until one or both of us died. So he did want to keep me around . . . he just didn’t want to work for it. And he didn’t want to get married anytime soon, either.

This caused me more pain than I should have allowed. I will admit that.

So our relationship ended, I dated several selfish assholes, and now here I sit, as far from marriage as one could possibly be.  I’m totally fine with that.

And then I hear something that makes my blood boil.

Another mutual friend told me something that was overheard between Murray, his girlfriend, and her little girl recently.

The little girl called him “Daddy.”

DADDY.

Hear that sound? That’s the sound of me punching a kitten.

(Just kidding, OMG I would NEEEEEEEEVER do that . . . just thinking about that makes me want to punch anyone who would punch a kitten.)

I dated Murray for THREE YEARS and the word “marriage” made his skin crawl (WE ALREADY OWNED A HOME TOGETHER, REMEMBER?), and now some random chick is dating him for THREE MONTHS and he’s DADDY??!?!!!??!?!?

If you’ll excuse me, I have to go vom. Repeatedly.

Ultimately, though? I win. Because I don’t have to wipe snot off the face of someone else’s child. Ever.

Also I am way hotter than Murray’s girlfriend. Who has had the same haircut since birth.

WIN.

The Four Horsemen of the Dating Apocalypse

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.

TMI Thursday: The Boil

I have decided to participate in my very first TMI Thursday post! This is a re-post from my old blog, but it was posted on February 6, 2008 so some of my newer readers probably haven’t read it . I think this is a story that bears repeating.

It’s a brief one, but not without its share of grossness. Let’s get crackin’, shall we?

—

Before Murray, I dated a guy I’ll call Tom. He was eight years older than me, and he was a total ass. He blamed me for all his problems as if they were somehow my fault, and was basically just a terrible boyfriend. I don’t know why we stayed together for the year or so that we did, but I think lots of people have one or two relationships that are unjustifiable (at least in retrospect).

About the time Tom and I started dating, Tom got into a rut. He wasn’t taking care of himself very well—not taking daily showers, wearing dirty clothes to work, overeating, etc. Now that I think of it, I’m not sure if he started doing that after we started dating, or if he was already like that and only took care of himself in the early stages of our relationship so I’d stick around.

Anyhoo.

So Tom was nasty, if you want to know the truth. He disgusted me. One day, he showed me a boil that had erupted on his back. This was the hugest, nastiest boil I’d ever seen. Well, it was incidentally the first (and last, hopefully) boil I’d ever seen, but trust me. Even if I had seen 6,392 boils in my life, this one would’ve taken the cake. It was about the diameter of a half dollar and it protruded about 1/2 inch. MONSTER boil.

At the time, I was “living” with Tom for the most part, debating on whether or not to take the plunge and move completely out of my apartment (I never did, thank God). He had to be at work at 8:00 and I didn’t have to be at work until 9:00, so I usually stayed in bed until about the time he left for work.

One morning, I woke up to the sunshine and the sound of the water running in the bathroom. He was showering! Rejoice! A rare occurrence!

It was then that I realized I had been sleeping in a wet spot. And no, we had not had sex the night before.

His boil had burst.

I WAS SLEEPING IN A FUCKING PUDDLE OF PUS THAT HAD OOZED FROM HIS DISGUSTING, HAIRY BACK.

I jumped up from the bed, screaming, and ran into the bathroom. I flung the shower curtain back and said, “WHY would you not TELL ME that your BOIL had BURST?” I don’t remember exactly what he said in defense, probably because I was too horrified to pay attention to whatever response he may have had.

I shudder now just thinking about it.

Things I did this weekend

• Found out that NY wants to be friends.
• Cried a lot.
• Became semi-okay with that after I stopped crying.
• Finally got BE to quit calling me by being honest with him and telling him it wasn’t going to happen.
• Joined an online dating site.

Whew. That took a lot out of me. I’m exhausted.

The letter

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.

Trying isn’t always enough

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.

1. I’m a fucking idiot.
2. I’m a masochist.
3. I hoped at the very least I could get some sex out of it.
4. Blog fodder!
5. I wanted to see if he’d changed for the better. (HILARIOUS, right?)
6. 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.

ARGH

Folks, I honestly don’t think I like the way my blog is becoming only about my love life lately (oh, who am I kidding, it’s been like that since I started Long Red Cape last year). I’d love to write about things unrelated to relationships and heartbreak, but in order for that to happen? Men and their penises need to leave me the fuck alone.

Scenario.

I’ve mentioned before that I work at a college. Our basketball team recently won the state tournament (WOOT!), and now they’re in the national tournament. It’s kinda a big deal around town because we’ve never gotten this far before. A group of co-workers, myself included, arranged to go to a local bar last night and listen to the game over the radio.

BrownEyes was there.

I could see him eyeing me in my peripheral vision. I ignored his glaring as long as I could, greeting my co-workers and a few other people I know. As I was chatting up a friend (who had just finished asking me if I was still dating New York, ughsauce), I waved to BE and his friend. They waved back, smiling. I went and sat back down with my co-workers.

I could tell BE wanted to talk to me by the look on his face. So, in an effort to not be Ms. Bitchface Turdpants, I stopped by his table on the way to the restroom. He, his friend, and I ended up talking for a few minutes about our respective St. Patty’s Days and what we’d been up to lately.

It was at this point that BE asked me to go outside and smoke with him. I said sure.

BIG MISTAKE, LRC.

So, basically, BE wants to get back together with me. He explained how he’d had so much fun with me when we were together (this is true, minus the asshattery) and he hasn’t been having much fun lately. He thought it was nonsense that we quit talking. I told him, “Well, you acted like you didn’t give a shit!” He told me I “think too much.”

ARE YOU HEARING THIS PEOPLE?

ONE DAY after chucking NY’s shit back to him and, yes, lots of crying, BE explains to me that he wants to get back together.

FUCK. ME.

And this morning? At 7:30 a.m.? I got a “Gnite”* text from Guess Who????????

Again.

FUCK. ME.

Is he DENSE?

Does he NOT understand that the act of my putting his shit in his mailbox and texting him “You’ve got mail” is my way of saying “FUCK OFF WITH YOUR FLAKINESS, YOU CUNT WAFFLE”?

I should seriously fucking move to Egypt.

*This is NY’s way of being “funny” or “cute” by sending me a “Gnite” text BEFORE 8AM.