I hold a lot to myself at times. I don’t want to disrupt the peace or cause commotion. This is great when whatever is the bother tends to fade away on its own; sort of like heart break over time. This is not great when the bother builds and builds until my response is nothing short of a series bursts and an explosion. That was the last week of the Three Divorcés.
Bang. Bang. Boom.
I find stories simply single are far more enjoyable than those that involve hearts that have been crushed on paper. It took till now to discover that there are a lot of broken bits to those kinds of boys – and they tend to take it out on a kind heart and a lended ear. And for a minute, all of the care-taking overshadows her own needs; the broken bits make the kind heart doubt her hope. While moving through this sea of half broken boys I went from thinking I don’t ever want to marry a divorced guy, to thinking marrying a divorced guy sounds good because they see how bad it can be and will appreciate how wonderful you are. After that final week, my opinion changed to something like: I don’t want to marry a divorced guy because someone disliked him so much that they had to make it official.
The week after Derp left and we began texting and chatting, I had another half marathon that weekend. (I’m in it for the medals and that two week combo gave us four.) The race was Sunday, after a 5k Saturday night. After a 5am wake-up, running 13.1 miles and driving the hour back home, I was out with my Ginger lady pal and GFC for another Sunday Funday, as promised to Ging earlier in the week. (She had a crush on a bartender and ever the consummate wingman, I had no choice but to go again, despite my complete and utter desire to just sleep). The day was uneventful, aside from getting Ging the hook up and some dickhole asking GFC and I if we could “take it all”, referring to an enormous wooden sculpture of a hand flipping the bird. I waited for him to laugh and when he never did, our outright disgust with this man led our new bartender friend - and Ginger’s crush - to kick him out. We would later discover, while getting her the hook-up that her crush has broken up with his girlfriend multiple times and yet she still lives with him. He can't seem to get rid of her. GFC and I tried to help but he eventually got frustrated with us and then we left.
Meanwhile, GFC was trying desperately to keep me away from Potato. She didn’t like him and thought he was dumb. I mean, she wasn’t wrong, but I was using the rental car for one thing and one thing only; from my pathetic attempts of recollection, he was good in bed and that’s really all I needed. So when she dropped me off at 9pm, slightly drunk and half asleep she thought I was safe from the root vegetable. She thought wrong. At about 11pm he asked to come over; texting once and again to check if I was still awake. I knew this all was a horrible idea because I had run 13 miles on two hours of sleep and had just consumed a Lean Pocket after a day of flirting with tequila, but I said “whatever you want” anyway.
Suffice to say all of these items don’t add up to a particularly good romp. And I quickly discovered that I only contacted potato when nearly to total rag-doll drunk because that was the only time it was any good and he seemed sizable. At half asleep and with him pouting that he didn’t come over to sleep, I suggested that we sleep and have a go at 7am. He wasn’t into that. And I wasn’t really into anything. That, compounded with semi-sobriety, allowed me to discover that I have standards and Drunk Me was mistaken about both size and style points, which solidified my disinterest. So, in the morning (when I discovered he had an 8am meeting and left at 7), I was well aware that that was the last time I would see him.
As Potato left, Derp became useful. As we know, I like to have my weekly men to pay me mind. Chat with me; keep me entertained; fluff the ego. Derp was the new Potato. But as the weeks went on, it became more and more obvious to me that Derp was rather deserving of his name because he had no common sense when talking to other people; which I think is telling as to how a person perceives the world: Are you totally unaware of manners and your surroundings? Then you’re probably entirely self-involved. (Turning off his phone mid-text when he was out with a girl “friend” and later lying about for no good reason – aside from perhaps figuring I’d stop talking to him if I knew he was banging chicks or something. And going so far as to sending me a video of a girl he’d once banged and suggesting I see her live when she is on the east coast. Really? That’s your ONS etiquette? Bad form.)
The chatting continued on for a little over a month, because, in the end, what did I care? We’d chat about him flying out here or me flying out there for a bi-coastal booty call and touristy shit. Anything really. When the ego fluffing turned one sided, I became suspect, agitated. That’s not how you have an ego fluffing partnership, sir. Nor a friendship for that matter. I understand that when you get out of a relationship – especially with a fat and unfunny ex-wife – that you may need to have your ego stroked, especially as a guy who has no college degree, a job he bitches about and little to offer in the way of interpersonal common sense. He began to remind me of the Pink Elephant. And the more I felt this sensation – as much as he would make me laugh – the more irritated I became.
Mid-week of the finale of divorces, I wanted to write this blog and was inquiring as to why he had called me a whore in the first place. The discussion led back to how he felt bad when we discussed it, which then led to me feeling bad and then worse that he was making his mistake about him and not about the person he offended. It didn’t feel good at all. So from this, I requested simply: Say something nice. He told me I was smart and intelligent.
He told me I had degrees. Great. I had been befriending this kid for over a month and he told me I had degrees. This catapulted all of the frustrations I’d had with him into overdrive. I told him that it was frustrating and he just said it was time for lunch and left for tacos. In turn, I went to talk to ER and then, without much thinking, send part of the conversation I had with ER about Derp to Derp in time for his return:
I feel you should see this.
and before today it was just a stupid part of a silly story.
Evidently he didn't like that and when he disappeared off my chat list a while later, I knew that we had again reverted to middle school and he had blocked me. No, seriously. People still do that...apparently. I felt a little bad for the snippet and sent him a text later in the evening to explain that I don’t believe in passive aggressiveness; if something is upsetting to me I’m going to let you know what it is so it’s not mystery anger. That it is more about how I believe I should be treated and less about him. I stood up for myself. He never read the texts; which says more about him than not – my intuition was correct: Once I stopped fluffing his ego, he disappeared. Regardless, if someone says something real and you react so childishly, then perhaps you are just admitting guilt and it’s the guilt that someone spoke the truth that offends you and not the person themselves. Either way, he ended up where he needed to be. Granted, being dropped by someone, no matter who it is, always stings a bit, but I didn’t need any more from him - especially considering the weekend that was to come...