And how you should avoid bringing freakahol to parties I may attend, just out of respect.
OK, so I think it's safe for everyone to agree that I'm not really all that pissed about my divorce anymore. For awhile, I couldn't figure out why The Gays were so dead set on the curse of matrimony, and hinted to my friends in the GLBT community that maybe they should relax and count their blessings, but I'm starting to think that maybe it's NOT so weird to fight for your right to do this to yourself. Thanks to that boy I loved so many years ago, parachuting back into the picture, doing manly fix-it stuff around my house, and walking my dog, I get why people like, wanna be around each other all the time. So now what am I going to do with all these Proposition str8 - Bitter Hetero Divorcees for Protecting Us From Ourselves - Why Should The Gays Get All The Safeguards yard signs?
Which is why I'm a FRICKING trainwreck...someone needs to put a proposition in place to protect me from my own insanity. Wanna hear my most embarrassing insanity story in recent history? Ok. Reboyfriend texts me this suggestive, flirty, little note about something called "Get Some" and do I "remember her," and something about how she had 800 cc's, and how he wanted to Get Some from ME. And I didn't know what the hell he was talking about.
And after about a half hour it started to feel super weird. I read it again, and decided that this text was clearly not meant for me. Motocross hooker, yes. ME? What the hell do I know about cc's, except that it's usually a measurement thrown around when someone's getting boobs done (Also Annie's first assumption when I told her this story, which is awesome in many ways). Either way, neither motocross nor breast augmentation have any place in ReBF's texts to me.
It was so weird. Just the night before, he was being all irresistably sweet. Picture a seven year old boy with his first crush. More sophisticated than, say, fish-hooking her and shoving her face into the concrete, and more sophisticated than crawling under her to get a nice upskirt shot...but slightly less sophisticated than the boy playing Liam Neeson's stepson in Love Actually. I guess, just wholesome and unfamiliar with the emotion, and 100% incapable of game-playing. Now, picture this seven year old trying to explain that he doesn't want to leave for work in LA/Spring Training in Orlando because...well...it makes him happy to be around you.
Now flash back to the last couple of weeks, where he kept mentioning the friends he kept wanting to introduce you to. And not like his dudebro friends, but like, old friends, and people he's professionally associated with (for ReBF, this is highly unusual - the first time around with him, he spent four years managing his work in a separate, airtight world he did not mix girls in with). I started to think he was really warming up to me. Until I got his Stupid! Ass! Text!
I went through about seven stages of sinking-in and indignance over the course of 30 minutes, and wrote back that I think he may have sent that to the wrong person, and followed up with a "Gag...seriously" encore text. Seriously, mister tight-end. That was just way more information than I needed. He didn't write back, so it was obvious that he was in the "oh shit" stage, because he had REVEALED himself as a total JERK who would heartlessly two-time his regirlfriend who had so recently been two-timed by some OTHER COMPLETE JERK, and what asshole cloth are these douchebags all CUT FROM? I mean, we're NOT exclusive, we're not we're NOT...it's just that we're not sending sexts to other people. Or dating them. OR speaking to or acknowledging them. So WTF? My stance went from:
"Gee, that was TMI, what a buttmunch"
to:
"HOW COULD HE? He was throwing the old they're putting a FIVE GUYS in his neighborhood pitch at me to get me to MOVE IN with him!!!" (Is nothing sacred anymore?)
Yeah, I started out all chill and dignified, but then the re-pissed divorcee emerged, all Jerry Springer ish and resolute. Texting Michi things like "EW! Two f***ers down, who's next?" And saying things like, I don't need this. I don't have to deal with this shit.
F*** this. Is what I said.
And a whole lot of Who DOES that? DUH! There may have been references to my appearance and ACT score and the fact that I have published magazine articles (the fact that they were just in U of U publications did not matter to the internal smackdown he was getting in my mind).
At 9:30, poor Reboyfriend, unaware of my plans to never speak to him again, texted back words that humbled and elated me at the same time. Um, so it turns out, the text was meant for me. It was just an inside joke SO OLD that I didn't really remember what it meant, until he reminded me. Now I remember who "getsome" was. That is what happens when you know someone for too long, and/or what happens when a heartless husband screws you up. ReBF had been on a plane throughout my charming meltdown, which is why he didn't get back to me right away.
After that, he somehow, if it is possible, became even cuter to me. He can do no wrong, would NEVER pull something like Starter Husband did, and I pledged to myself to never get mad at him for anything ever again. Pendulum rides are fun! Swing with me! He's PERRRFFFEEECCCT!!!!!!
*Um, do not roast me in comments. I totally dig marriage, and don't actually think it's a blessing not to be allowed to do it. I also understand that it's not that everyone wants to get married so bad, but that they just want to know they could if they wanted to. I get it. Just so you know. I'm not a COMPLETE moron.
Reboyfriend, be a boy and fix electrical things in my house.
Reboyfriend, be a boy and do it while using (and mocking) my pink tools.
This is why we love him.
Which is why I'm a FRICKING trainwreck...someone needs to put a proposition in place to protect me from my own insanity. Wanna hear my most embarrassing insanity story in recent history? Ok. Reboyfriend texts me this suggestive, flirty, little note about something called "Get Some" and do I "remember her," and something about how she had 800 cc's, and how he wanted to Get Some from ME. And I didn't know what the hell he was talking about.
And after about a half hour it started to feel super weird. I read it again, and decided that this text was clearly not meant for me. Motocross hooker, yes. ME? What the hell do I know about cc's, except that it's usually a measurement thrown around when someone's getting boobs done (Also Annie's first assumption when I told her this story, which is awesome in many ways). Either way, neither motocross nor breast augmentation have any place in ReBF's texts to me.
It was so weird. Just the night before, he was being all irresistably sweet. Picture a seven year old boy with his first crush. More sophisticated than, say, fish-hooking her and shoving her face into the concrete, and more sophisticated than crawling under her to get a nice upskirt shot...but slightly less sophisticated than the boy playing Liam Neeson's stepson in Love Actually. I guess, just wholesome and unfamiliar with the emotion, and 100% incapable of game-playing. Now, picture this seven year old trying to explain that he doesn't want to leave for work in LA/Spring Training in Orlando because...well...it makes him happy to be around you.
Now flash back to the last couple of weeks, where he kept mentioning the friends he kept wanting to introduce you to. And not like his dudebro friends, but like, old friends, and people he's professionally associated with (for ReBF, this is highly unusual - the first time around with him, he spent four years managing his work in a separate, airtight world he did not mix girls in with). I started to think he was really warming up to me. Until I got his Stupid! Ass! Text!
I went through about seven stages of sinking-in and indignance over the course of 30 minutes, and wrote back that I think he may have sent that to the wrong person, and followed up with a "Gag...seriously" encore text. Seriously, mister tight-end. That was just way more information than I needed. He didn't write back, so it was obvious that he was in the "oh shit" stage, because he had REVEALED himself as a total JERK who would heartlessly two-time his regirlfriend who had so recently been two-timed by some OTHER COMPLETE JERK, and what asshole cloth are these douchebags all CUT FROM? I mean, we're NOT exclusive, we're not we're NOT...it's just that we're not sending sexts to other people. Or dating them. OR speaking to or acknowledging them. So WTF? My stance went from:
"Gee, that was TMI, what a buttmunch"
to:
"HOW COULD HE? He was throwing the old they're putting a FIVE GUYS in his neighborhood pitch at me to get me to MOVE IN with him!!!" (Is nothing sacred anymore?)
Yeah, I started out all chill and dignified, but then the re-pissed divorcee emerged, all Jerry Springer ish and resolute. Texting Michi things like "EW! Two f***ers down, who's next?" And saying things like, I don't need this. I don't have to deal with this shit.
F*** this. Is what I said.
And a whole lot of Who DOES that? DUH! There may have been references to my appearance and ACT score and the fact that I have published magazine articles (the fact that they were just in U of U publications did not matter to the internal smackdown he was getting in my mind).
At 9:30, poor Reboyfriend, unaware of my plans to never speak to him again, texted back words that humbled and elated me at the same time. Um, so it turns out, the text was meant for me. It was just an inside joke SO OLD that I didn't really remember what it meant, until he reminded me. Now I remember who "getsome" was. That is what happens when you know someone for too long, and/or what happens when a heartless husband screws you up. ReBF had been on a plane throughout my charming meltdown, which is why he didn't get back to me right away.
After that, he somehow, if it is possible, became even cuter to me. He can do no wrong, would NEVER pull something like Starter Husband did, and I pledged to myself to never get mad at him for anything ever again. Pendulum rides are fun! Swing with me! He's PERRRFFFEEECCCT!!!!!!
*Um, do not roast me in comments. I totally dig marriage, and don't actually think it's a blessing not to be allowed to do it. I also understand that it's not that everyone wants to get married so bad, but that they just want to know they could if they wanted to. I get it. Just so you know. I'm not a COMPLETE moron.
Reboyfriend, be a boy and fix electrical things in my house.
Reboyfriend, be a boy and do it while using (and mocking) my pink tools.
This is why we love him.
3 comments:
He IS adorable.
what if I don't want the dog? Does that make me a horrible person?
Is it too soon to want to pick out stuff to wear to your wedding? I know we aren't supposed to be going there, but by "we" I mean you. Cuz all it took was one night of sushi to make me love him all over again.
Love,
No, it doesn't make you horrible. But it does make you up a creek. Does the dog need to come over here and play?
Annie,
All it took was one night of sushi for me, too. It was a different night of sushi, but nevertheless, it was all it took.
Maybe we should stay away from sushi. It's bad for business. Liking a guy is SO inconvenient.
Not that I like him.
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