Last week I was in LA. Did you guys know I was in LA?
The day before I left, I saw my ex boyfriend on a street. We haven’t spoken in a while and the last time we did he basically told me we couldn’t be friends because he needed a clear definition between our relationship and his current relationship (??? i don’t know, it was something. he said something). I’d screenshot the email but in that email he also asked me not to blog about him or think about him or speak his name out loud or something like that - definitely the blog thing was mentioned, though, so I will refrain.
I was doing an excellent job of not talking about him for the longest time because outside of our relationship, he’s a pretty boring person (outside of any personal relationship I have, everyone is boring). But then, as I just said, I saw him on a street in LA a few days ago, and while it may seem difficult to fathom, I sometimes have rational, adult thoughts and when I saw him, I thought to myself, “We are both adult people and we are both in LA and in very close proximity, I think it doesn’t seem crazy to send a text asking if i just saw him.”
So I did that. I sent him a text referencing the randomness of the situation, the possible weirdness of the text because we aren’t speaking and asked if I had just seen him on Cahuenga.
ONE DAY later he responded:
Btw I love my girlfriend please leave us alone.
Like? LOL4DAYZ rite?
Apparently (I did not know this and you may not have, either) my ex boyfriend is
a fucking megalomaniac the king of the United States! He needs to be “left alone.” He and the first lady - his anonymous girlfriend/almost wife person - need to be left alone.
Both of them.
WHO SAYSSSSS THAT? The last time I can remember someone earnestly using the phrase “leave us alone,” I was watching a Lifetime movie and a woman was yelling and cradling her child in defense from an absuive husband.
And then there was this guy.
This is a person I used to live with, a person I used to be in love with and who I used to love. This is a person who I broke up with a year and a half ago who told three of the closest people to me (including the only person I believe has ever really loved me - my dad) that I was bipolar, without consulting me, a medical professional or even WEBMD.com! Typical leaving alone behavior, I’d say. If you asked me about it.
This is a person I haven’t seen in over a year. This is a person I haven’t spoken to in more than six months. This is a person who asked me to leave him and his girlfriend alone.
I don’t know exactly what constitutes not leaving someone alone, but I feel that a period of silence that spans almost two seasons is as close as one can get without being strangers. He’s acting like I’ve had hits put out on him.
I texted you ONCE in six months because I saw you on a street. I’m not outside your presumably shitty house in the gauche LA neighborhood you live in trying to win you back. Get a fucking grip.
Anyway, all that being said, he pretty much nailed it. We’ve been battling it out for a while for the upper hand and he was holding it together, but he just lifted himself up and is high-fiving God right now from his new position.
“Leave us alone.”
It’s the new “calm down.”
There’s no way to come back. I tried. I wrote:
wow. you are gross if you think that’s how you need to respond to me. grow up.
It is gross. That’s the only way to explain that behavior, but even though I’m a better person, I’ve still completely lost the upper hand.
It’s debilitating and there’s really nothing you can do to regain power. I mean, I guess you could look fly as hell and write a blog about how over it you are, and pretend like your life is going well…
I guess? I’m not really sure. RAY CHARLES TO DA BULLSHIT, Y’ALL.
consequently, i just smoked a cigarette, ate three cupcakes and cried into a plate of risotto in a packed restaurant (a restaurant that used to be my favorite restaurant (but is now just the worst place on the planet)) while my friend patted my back and our waiter toddled awkwardly around us trying to discern if i was, in fact, weeping or if the liquid gushing from my face was… something else.
GAME. FUCKING. OVER.
so, real talk - and stop me if this is just the early onset depression (oh, anon, you were so right: “Treatment is often prompted by depression associated with dissolved romantic relationships”) talking and i’m wrong here, but - it seems to me the only logical next step is to trick someone into marrying me?
because, in addition to having histrionic personality disorder (self diagnosed, and anon diagnosed), i also suffer from delusions of reference, so i’m certain their engagement is directly related to me and further confirms my suspicions that i am both undesirable and unlovable and that they got engaged deliberately to ruin my life.
SOMEONE SHAKE ME, JESUS CHRIST.
and therefore, i must retaliate and find a husband immediately.
i’m still fleshing out the logistics of the get married plan (serious okcupid profile? sleeping around? sugar daddy?), but stay tuned… i’m bound to do something hugely destructive!
Someone unfollowed me on Instagram (Instafuckyou, am i right??) a few weeks ago and while I would like to believe I am above talking about it at all because of the amount of time that has passed, I am not.
I am above nothing.
I don’t have that many followers (though! follow me, my thing is superbinx!!!), so it was pretty easy to figure it out.
I swear I’m not even mad - I mean, when I first figured it out, I went ballistic and broke everything in my apartment.
But five minutes later, when I came down, I was fine. Come on, I do not care if you think the bullshit photos I post on a social media app are cool or lame or if you’re interested in them. I just expect you to follow me on it because we both have it and are, you know…
What I DO, however, care about is that the person DID this. Like, actually pressed a button to unfollow me. Made a conscious decision to no longer have my photos come up in his feed. Like, DUDE?!
Oh, excuse me for disrupting your cool and obviously very busy life with my banal (they’re not banal at all. they’re excellent. i am wonderful at instagram…) posts. So sorry about that. Suuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuckkkkk my diiiiiiccckkkkkk.
I’m really not mad (Am I doing a good job at acting not mad? Do you guys believe me?) but since I follow him I can see that he follows new people and I’m just… I want to break more things.
No, no. I am kidding. I don’t. I’m not mad, but I’m just a basic ass bitch and my feelings are hurt… but I’m working thru it.
And this has been a year 2012 white person problem.
Last night I went out to dinner with my friend and in yet another glaring demonstration of how little he knows me, he had a friend of his (who he thought I would like/who he thought would like me?) come meet us.
The first thing this person did when he arrived was to spill that entire carafe of water all over my body. The WHOLE carafe. All of it. When it was full. Impromptu baptism! I will say that I actually thought that was hilarious and I didn’t even get up because I didn’t care and I was laughing so hard.
The fact that this person knocked half a gallon of water onto my lap was the BEST thing that happened to me last night.
Then there were the requisite jokes about being “wet,” which he, obviously, exhausted much too quickly with his overeagerness. I mean, I was literally wading in a puddle of tap water. Yes, funny guy with the jokes, I am wet. I’m drenched. Because you dipped me in a lake.
When things settled down, I was all on board with this guy. He was really good looking - which I’m not super into - but he was also really tall and therefore physically capable of picking me up, which I am very into and is
essentially the only thing that matters to me. (Actually, I should clarify. He was beyond good looking, so much so, in fact, that when he knocked that water over I was like Oh maybe we’re at a photo shoot (???) and I should just sit here laughing and pretending like this is funny. Not really, but he looked like a model or a mannequin. Or Adonis…)
Then my food came (don’t have a pic, I’m not a douche bag) and from the mouth of this person - after he interrupted some interminable story he was telling about how he had lost his coat? or found a coat? or made a coat? - comes, “Oh, you’re on a pretty high carb diet?”
TALK ABOUT THE UPPER HAND. He had the upper hand from jump street. He floated into this restaurant, doused me with water and (in)directly called me fat all within eight minutes of meeting me.
The fact that I did not burst into tears as soon as the word “diet” landed is a testament to… how much I wanted to vomit because of how fat I felt. COOL UPBRINGING, ASSHOLE. Honestly. Fuck. I ordered risotto, not the unlimited breadstick and pasta special at Olive Garden (side note: can someone take me to Olive Garden? I’ll pay. LOL OBVIOUSLY).
So, I ate maybe a third of it because I honestly felt sick to my stomach because of his comment and also because I knew he’d say something if I finished it.
Well, he still had something to say. And it was this:
I love a girl who doesn’t finish her food. That makes you so much more attractive.
You know when a guy knows he’s really good looking and feels like he can just say whatever the fuck he wants because of it?
Well, I didn’t. Until last night.
Also, at some (very random) point, he asked me if I knew who Ataturk was? SMH.
And, I sometimes pretend not to know things to let people feel cool and interesting about dropping some knowledge on me. But I was doing it here because I legitimately wanted to see how much one person could look down on another.
So I said, “No.”
No. No, I don’t know who the “Father of Modern Turkey” / first president of Turkey is… Never heard of him. What are you saying, “a Turk?” Yeah. No… tell me all about it at this casual dinner we are having on a Saturday night that you are so recklessly determined to ruin, you fucking pedant.
Then of course he asked me where I went to college and when I said Columbia and when he picked his jaw up from off the floor and popped his eyes back in their sockets, he asked if I was serious.
“Really?” he asked.
“No, I’m lying.” I said.
“Columbia State?” he said.
“YUP. Columbia State. In Florida. Mmhm.” I said.
And that was that.
Later he asked me what type of guys I was into and it became clear to me that my friend had given each of us very different expectations of this evening: I, on one hand, was under the impression that I was going to meet a cool person of the opposite sex who I might like and who might like me. I’m guessing this wasn’t presented to our guest in the same way. In other words: this person probably didn’t even know I was going to be there.
I told him I like “tall, old guys” and those were my only requirements but they were non negotiable and he tried to engage me in some sort of cursory conversation about this but he was also involved in a seemingly arduous text conversation with someone he was actually interested in, so I just stopped talking after I mumbled “aaand no one is listening to me,” because I am petulant and need a lot of attention.
Anyway, besides me blatantly requesting that people treat me poorly, I have no idea why people treat me poorly. But, I should probably stop being so picky because people aren’t knocking down my door tryna get at this, so that all being said…
I’m incredibly insecure and love being treated poorly. I thought that was so fun. If ur rding, plz call me. xxxxoxxox
Generally speaking I’m a pretty awful person to people i don’t know if they give me even the slightest reason to be awful to them (reasons include, but are not limited to, looking at me wrong, for too long, laughing at me, near me, touching me inappropriately, bumping into me accidentally, cutting me in line, raising their voice to me, being a taxi driver…).
A few weeks ago, I ordered something from drugstore.com. One thing. One single thing: THIS (Amazing). It was supposed to be delivered in, whatever, two days, maybe three - some appropriate amount of time.
After waiting for this stupid hand soap for five or six days, I called the people at drugstore.com to see what was good, where my shit was and mainly to fulfill my inane complaint quota for the hour.
I proceeded to have a grueling fifteen minute conversation with some cowboy named Jett, during which I completely obliterated this person by accusing him of being a misogynist and cursing at him for being a poor representation of the company he worked for (…idk. i.d.n.k) because he clearly was “not interested in the satisfaction of its loyal customers.” (I’ve ordered from drugstore.com once before. I purchased: a tube of toothpaste, that meyers hand soap, a bottle of Vitamin D gummies and a sleeve of hair ties. If that doesn’t scream loyal customer, I don’t know what does.)
Anyway, hung up on that dude feeling like a fuckin’ boss… who would have dirty hands for anywhere between another week and indefinitely.
A few days later, I find a box outside my door and open it to find not only what was expected, but also…
THIS. THIS!!!!! THEY SENT ME THIS!!!!
This box of MONISTAT 3 was in my box.
Now, obviously I didn’t order this (I’ve never had a yeast infection in my entire life. Ok? Ever. Never. Gross. NEVER. OK???) and I assume they don’t typically send out a free box of yeast infection cream to all of their loyal customers. But, at the same time (sorry I’ve really thought this out) I know that my friend Jett has a specific job and that job has to do with phones, so he’s not packing my order…
But, yeah… something happened here. I don’t know if my friend Jett placed a call, sent out a memo… maybe he has a friend? I don’t know. But I know that motherfucker had something to do with this.
And I want to marry him. Jett, you are a prince.
A cool thing you guys may not know about me (if you believe there’s stuff you may NOT know about me) is that i turn everything i touch (i really want to write fuck, but it’s so inappropriate - and also, not entirely true. only true for three people in dis life and two people i’m about to talk about - so, touch… with my lips (there are eight of you)) into famous (well, to some degree… at least momentarily).
My first boyfriend was an actor and for the entire year and a half I was with that man, loving him up, he was bartending and auditioning and generally broke as a joke. One day he shoots a pilot (The only audition I ever helped him prepare for bytheway. I’m such a doll/gem), a few weeks later, he
destroys my life breaks up with me, a few weeks after that the pilot gets picked up, he moves to LA… and he’s a secondary star on a hit tv show for three fuckin years.
The dude I dated briefly between my first ex boyfriend and my second ex boyfriend was an aspiring writer-director. Dude “breaks up” (We weren’t really a thing. Yes, obviously, I was very much operating under the assumption that we were a thing but, objectively speaking, we were definitely not a thing) with me via text, saying he “can see [me] getting attached and it will only hurt [me].” (Smart guy. Astute!) Maybe six months later, I’m reading about this guy’s film in Variety and my friends are going to see it at the IFC center.
And now THIS.
That is my ex boyfriend’s new tee shirt line. He also just wrote and directed a film. He ALSO turned into a babe. So, somewhere between THE BREAKUP and THE THIS, a lot of things happened for him. Clearly he’s been doing a lot of things in the way of moving on and up and living his life, which is great and should be celebrated.
So, buy some tee shirts (My faves are The Worker and The Seekers.) Celebrate the impending relevance; Get in on it before everyone else is. They’ll turn you into a model and tennis player… or just look cute on ya.
This has been a sincere post. I’m sorry.
About my 44 year old friend I hung out with in LA.
First of all, when I got to LA, this dude sent me a text asking me if I wanted to go for a hike up Runyon Canyon which was “right near [his] house” and when I told him I’d just gone on a hike, he sent another text telling me he literally lives right there or something. And I was like, cool, can you tell me some more about how you live in the Hollywood Hills??! (VOMIT.)
Obviously, for the entire drive to his place, I was so excited to ball out/make out in this dude’s huge crib and then laugh about it for days. But, when I got there, an even FUNNIER thing - that I’ve been laughing for weeks about - happened: we walked riiiight past a huge Hollywood Hills crib and into a
literal crib cottage! A Hollywood Hills cottage!
I can’t really even make fun of this because it was so cute and cozy and totally cool and had he not so strangely been trying to fool me into believing he was a baller, it would have been right up my alley. I can and will, however, make fun of his infinite stunting… but we’ll get to that.
So, there we were: in this cottage, sitting on his couch in front of … a wood burning stove? And, because he had no interest whatsoever in talking to me or hearing what I had to say (I mean, I had just driven cross country and he didn’t ask me about it…) we sat there in silence for a few painful seconds and then he looked at me, smiled this weird - half lecherous, half uneasy - smile and said, “You’re tanner than I remember.”
So, those words came outta this dude’s mouth. And, I just lost it. I started LOLing and moving my eyes rapidly, gesturing wildly and whipping my head around to express what I was feeling: EVERYTHING. A sense of complete and utter shock that this person was a real person. A sense of amazement at the level of inanity. So many things, guys. Everything.
I mean, my man. what kind of thing is that to say? I really wanted to say “You’re older than I remember,” but I couldn’t bring myself to fuck up this fuq opp just yet. So I just laughed and laughed until I realized he’d been blankly staring at me for the entire time I’d been laughing and laughing.
Then I stopped laughing and we went back to sitting in silence.
And then we went on that horrible, awful, humiliating (expensive!) date I wrote about here. But I forgot to mention that during the entire time we were there, he only looked at me ONCE - after he asked me what I thought about LA and I ripped into “all the sad people past their prime who are just reaching so hard for anything they can grab to stay relevant and “in”” (which is quite literally exactly who he is. (ugh I am almost to the point where I feel badly about writing so many horrible things about this person. ALMOST!)) and he looked at me STRAIGHT in the eyes and said:
Yeah. Well the difference between NY and LA is everyone in LA is so homogenous [it’s hard to confirm complete accuracy of the following because after I heard “homogenous” come out his mouth, I had a small stroke]. All the women are tall and blonde and beautiful, but they’re all the same. In NY [STARING AT ME. DEAD IN THE EYES], like, you can see someone who’s not. that. pretty but you know, they’ll wear their hair a cool way or have a really good sense of style and, you know, you’re sort of attracted to them for that.
So. Fucking. THAT.
I can’t imagine how long he’d been waiting to say that since it had nothing to do with what we were talking about at all. But I was so glad he got it off his chest, and so excited to go back to his place and hook up with him so I could feel validated!!!!
Anyyyyyway. At this point I was pretty confused about why he even wanted to hang out with me, since I was now able to discern that not only did he not think I was interesting, he also didn’t find me attractive, and he couldn’t have gotten enough of an idea of what my body was like to just want to get physical - so I can only assume he was fetishizing my age? IDK. I. DO NOT. KNOW. (But we’ll go with that because I was sort of doing the same and this puts us on a level playing ground.)
After this, when I saw him the next/last time, there was a dog at his house. I’m not sure if I’ve made this clear, but I FUCKING HATE DOGS. I hate dogs SO MUCH. I hate dogs as much as someone can hate something. And, I am simply too selfish to pretend to like anyone’s dog. So, I see this dog and I just say, “Oh you have a dog? I hate dogs.” (DGAF) and he tries to say to me that his dog is great or sweet or whatever, whatever he was saying, I was like, I DONT CARE WHAT YOU THINK YOUR DOG IS. I HATE THE SPECIES. Of course you like your dog, of course you think your dog is sweet and great; it’s your fucking dog.
If your praising your dog could successfully change my very firm disdain for dogs, then I wouldn’t hate dogs. NO ONE would!
But that doesn’t even matter. What matters is, the next morning when we were leaving his house (… yeah), he was holding his dog in his arms - and this dog was a medium sized dog. It wasn’t a teacup fucking dog - and I looked at him and asked why in God’s name he was carrying his able bodied dog out of his house. And he said this. He said:
Yeah. I left the leash at my other house and -
And, this. THIS, MY FRIENDS. I could not sum this person up more completely. I just thought….
HOW YOU HAVE *TWO* HOUSES… AND *ONE* LEASH????
That shit doesn’t make any sense. This man is the KING of stunts.
I mean, a leash costs $6.
I. MEAN…. so many things. Everything.
God, I will never be so embarrassed by anything in my entire life.
(photo unrelated to post…)
A few weeks ago when i was doing what i thought was dating - but what actually turned out to be casually hooking up with (much to my surprise and chagrin… because I am completely unaware of life and things and feelings) - with this guy, we decided we were going to get liquored up and play scrabble at his house after we went out.
Because, naturally, two grown people cannot play board games without somehow involving or alluding to sex (? I mean, apparently. I’M completely able to play board games without involving or alluding to sex) we bet that if he won, we would have sex.
Well, to be fair, he bet that and then I said, “Uh… if we’re having sex because you won scrabble that’s going to be awkward… and probably bad… OK.” (it’s been a year; des times, guys. But, also, I knew he wasn’t going to win.)
*Anyway, he had to take a detour to get condoms… which is something I don’t really want to get into, but if you’re a grown ass man and you don’t have condoms, it can only mean one of two things: you’re not having sex. or you ran out. Both of these are awful.*
We started playing and within minutes it became very clear that this person hadn’t played scrabble in years (if ever), that he had a very vague grasp of the English language and that he might not even be a native English speaker. It was bad.
Like, unabashedly putting down two and three letter words BAD. I was like, WHAT GAME ARE YOU PLAYING??? THIS IS SCRABBLE. I swear to god this guy thought we were playing tic tac toe… or darts. Who knows. He might as well have been eating the tiles.
Sooooo… anyyyyway. To state the obvious: He didn’t win.
But this is not what’s important, what is important is that this happened after THIS:
We went to a fancy bar in LA and when the bill came, I peeeeled the last dollars I had
to my name in my bag out and handed them to him ($30) to pay towards our bill ($40 something) and he took them. HE TOOK MY DOLLARS!!!!
And, anyone who knows me knows I’m not into cash money - I love a broke dude - but this guy is twice my age (and fronts like the cash is flowing freely) and he was taking me out on a date and we were in LA, which is where he lives and is from and is where I drove for eight days to get to in a car I rented that cost me $1,600 plus eight days of hotels and eight days of gas.
So, yeah. What is important is that I still went back to his place, and entertained the idea of sleeping with him.
What is important is that I hung out with him again.
What is important is that, then, he ignored me and for the entire time he was ignoring me I kept thinking “hmm… yeah, I’m not totttallly opposed to seeing that person again” and it wasn’t until he sent that text that I was like, “oh… yeah. no. no no no more of this.” A MONTH LATER.
So, whatever. It took me forever to wise up, but I did it… And now I’m writing about it here
and am horrible to let you guys know something so important: if he’s not taking you out, if he’s ignoring you, he’s NOT (that) into you.
Difficult concept to grasp, I know.
it’s giving me a sick amount of pleasure imagining the amount of time and effort it took my ex boyfriend to come up with the sentence “I’ll dig it up and throw it in the package.”
It’s so beautifully apathetic and disdainful, i can’t handle it.
Like he’s a dog and my jacket is some filthy toy he’s misplaced. He’ll dig it up for me. He’ll dig it up and throw it into the package. Throw.
I just imagine him like, Hmmm… what’s the least amount of effort I can put into an action? Digging and Tossing? Is that it? “I’ll dig it up and toss it in the package.” No no, not quite. Digging and Throwing? “I’ll dig it up and throw it in the package”. That’s it.
I can’t stop thinking about this, I really can’t.
And I am 100% aware of the fact that this makes me a complete psychopath and I do not give one shit. And I will continue to not give one shit until I am no longer able to convince myself that this sentence was manufactured to make me go insane and not, simply, an unintentionally callous stringing together of words.
………..Ok. Done. I am a psychopath.
He just hates me, so these things come naturally.
I just recently made the decision to freeze both of my ex boyfriends out of my life, because I can’t deal with their bullshit.
And by “their bullshit” I mean “their girlfriends”.
I mean, I don’t really mean that, I mean “their bullshit.” But, I’m going to pretend like I mean “their girlfriends” so if anyone gets mad, we can all act like I’m just a crazy ex girlfriend.
I saw ex boyfriend 1 when I ended my cross country roadtrip last week and we had a pretty painful lunch, but as far as casual meet ups between the two of us go, I suppose it was standard. I don’t know, I really love him in a way I don’t think he understands or cares to understand but it has a lot to do with the fact that he was my first boyfriend and my entire life for about two years and a little to do with the fact that I don’t think he ever loved me, so part of me is always subconsciously trying to prove that I’m worth loving.
This always happens; Everything starts off fine, but then, inevitably, he does something to upset me, I react and he doesn’t realize (or pretends not to) and things get awkward and I usually end up apologizing for no reason or storming off or giving him some version of the silent treatment and then we get over it and then we don’t see each other for another very long period of time, we forget that this always happens and … repeat.
When we had lunch last week he basically told me he thought he was going to die and that if he found that to be true, he was just going to kill himself. He wasn’t kidding. And I was crying. And he did not stop saying this. He claimed not to have noticed the tears welling up and shooting out of their ducts.
It’s been a little over a week since I saw him. Today I decided I am no longer going to be friends with this person. Because that is the bullshit.
Ex boyfriend 2 is different because he’s always been pretty great and we’ve gotten along well since we broke up, post him
calling me batshit fucking crazy diagnosing me with manic depression and alerting my friends and father without consulting me… (or, incidentally, a doctor!) and pre right fucking now.
I know he has a girlfriend he met at a point when, I don’t know, I sort of thought we were getting back into a casual sort of thing. I also know that that’s fucked up. On top of this, I know that I dealt with it in a surprisingly rational manner, realizing that we were over and that I was over him and that we were going to go on with our lives being cordial and maybe even friendly, since for a very long time, we were very much in love and as far as I was concerned, certain that we were each other’s THE ONE.
The last thing I know about this sitch is that when you gain the upper hand (so important), you can do whatever the fuck you want. That’s the whole point. And this person has gained the upper hand - he has a girlfriend now; he’s moved on in a real and tangible way - and now he doin’ what errr the fuck he wants.
The other day I texted him to check in to make sure he hadn’t drowned in the flood that was apparently going on in his city. It’s been two days and still no response. It’s like, dude, suck my dick. I know you have a girlfriend and you can’t be bothered to respond to text messages and it takes you days to even process anything I have to say and weeks to respond to emails and probably a month to come to terms with the fact that I still exist, but give me a damn break.
You have a girlfriend- you’re not president of the Unites States. You’re not the first person to have a girlfriend. You’re not the first person to have a girlfriend and an ex girlfriend who is trying to remain friends. You’re just a person, living your trifling life.
I honestly think the whole i have a new significant other so i can’t talk to my ex is total fucking bullshit. You shared months/years of your lives together, you lived together, you met each other’s families, you slept togehter and then one day you fall out of love and spend some time being sad about all of those things you did together and you meet someone new and you fall in love and you just forget about the person you did all of those things with? And now you only want to do those things with the new person you’re kissing and fucking and loving, right. That makes sense. But now all of a sudden you cut the other person out of your life?
TO THE DAY I DIE I WILL NEVER UNDERSTAND THIS.
And this is not how I live my life, so this person has also been deaded.
Sucks that this will have literally zero effect on both of these people because they’ve already done this. I may be late to the party, but I got here and it was boring so I left.
i was so depressed earlier this week cuz i was feeling sorry for myself since no one likes me and i keep gettin’ rejected but then on tuesday i went to this bar i used to go to a lot and found out that this guy - (who i had a crush on and who i guess i sort of hooked up with a few times and who used to work at this bar and then stopped because he was “going to india for a few months” to do god only fucking knows what (something asinine, surely) and then who started … teaching yoga and telling me about it when i was trying to make out with him and who then started working at another bar (or something)) - WORKS AT THIS BAR AGAIN.
and then i was like, ohhhhhh… look at you; look at you working at this bar again. and i felt SO much better about myself. because i’m horrible.
and because he had rejected me and he had tried to be so cool and awesome and maintain the upper hand he had in our fake totally non existent relationship by telling me how he was doing bigger and better things (like: teaching yoga! and working at a different bar! and being 28!) and i was sitting there, drunk, tryna get him to pay attention to me (IN. MY. BED!!!!!) and losing any chance of having the upper hand so rapidly by, for example, asking him if he’d like to read a blog i wrote about him (in which i detailed a highly embarrassing situation that involved me lying to him and telling him he smelled like cream cheese in an attempt to… regain the upper hand). NORMAL.
so, yeah. i felt great about myself. it felt great to look adorable (or whatever this is)
and to be completely surprised to see this guy behind this bar and to be so on the verge of… you know.
so, i threw him a $10 after my first drink even though it was an open bar and i have virtually zero dollars and it was busy so i didn’t interact with him at all until it stopped being open bar and i had ordered a drink and was ready to leave and was signing my check.
and i was pretending to be really cool and casual and calm and not des and i was like “cool. great to see you” and he sort of nodded and i was like “yeah…” and then i left him like a 300% tip or something and i looked up at him and he wasn’t saying anything - and, to be honest, in hindsight, i’m not even sure he was standing there because of me anymore at this point - and i just go, “what?”
…. and he hadn’t said anything. and i knew that. and i said “what?” and looked up at him- at his blank, expressionless face. and he looked down at me and just goes “nothin’” (NOTHIN’! no “G”) and shook his head slowly.
and, sure, he was shaking his head slowly saying nothin (!!!!) but he was also SHDH and thinking yeah i work at this bar again but you were just looking at my face, recognizing that my lips were not moving and you asked me “what?” so, i’m also shaking my head at YOU. and looking down at and on YOU. and it feels great up here. and excuse me, while my hand joins us UP. here.
and then i had a stroke. and then i went back to feeling depressed again
la. de. fuckin’. da.
i have to admit something:
i am TERRIBLE at being normal. like, the worst. im incapable of doing things in a normal way without acting like a dumbass, saying something mildly to severely indicative of having tourette’s or reacting totally inappropriately to something.
so it’s no surprise that last week, when a boy i’ve liked for MONTHS came over to my apartment, i did absolutely everything in my power to act like an idiot (AGAIN; same guy), starting with me asking him if he was “an asshole now?” to which he replied “yeah maybe” (something like that; not exactly sure, i was pretty drunk. fantastic) to which I responded “come home with me.” LIKE, WHAT?! i have a huge problem.
(it should also be noted that i lack any sort of self confidence or, for that matter, self respect. which is why i let this happen, despite the fact that this person had not spoken to me in MONTHS (no, not great, not a great move) and, yeah, also because he did not deny that he may be an asshole).
so i stumble into my apartment (he walked normally) and all this asshole can ask me is how i got this place. i was LITERALLY speechless. as in, i was completely unable to answer that question. how. did. i. get. this. apartment? uh… i mean, i still have no answer. he was acting like we were standing in fucking eaton square for god’s sake. this is stuy town, not the plaza, man. i’m not eloise (!), i’m mercedes and i’m standing here in a mini skirt. now PAY ATTENTION. and take my clothes off.
a while ago, when i was kind of lazily trying to get back together with my ex boyfriend (like, why not?), he told me he wasn’t in the place to have a girlfriend and that he was busy and working on stuff (or something, i don’t know. i NEVER listen to him) and you know, all those other bullshit things you tell people when you just aren’t interested or want to have the upper hand. (in this case: upper hand. trying to get it. reaching hard.)
so, obviously, all of a sudden i wasn’t in the place to have a boyfriend, i was busy and also i was working on stuff (lots of stuff, but mainly this blog and crying). i mean, duh. i broke up with him, i couldn’t just come crawling back. #notwinning, guys.
so we were friends. and we were talking. and then being friends got weird. and then we weren’t really friends and we weren’t really talking. and then, i break the silence and send a ‘hey let’s catch up’ email. to which i get a ‘hey what’s up, we’re so casual and friendly but we’re exes too, so that’s cool and mature of us but let’s keep it short’ response and amidst all of that nonsense bullshit chit chat, he’s all like aaaaaaand “i’m seeing someone.”
(aaaaaaaaaand i just killed myself. what??)