Woman near the office coffee: "Oh, I like your sweater, it's so pretty!"
Me: "Aw, thank you!"
She leaves the room.
Man near the office coffee: "I can't say anything about your sweater because that would be creepy."
Me: "Thank you, I appreciate that."
Though, um...if you didn't want to be creepy, maybe don't bring it up at all? What with the wedding ring and all...maybe just shut up?
Also, I am apparently an asshole before I've had coffee.
Honestly, how did people ever end doomed online dating "relationships" without the iPhone's number-block feature?
What? Is that NOT how I'm supposed to do it?
I'm not an asshole, he is, and a creeper to boot. Trust, this was merited, and sanctioned by a panel of experts.
During the most intense of the phone flirting, you said you wanted to "impale"* me with your dick, and later told me you like your ladies in white cotton underthings, considered aloud that it made you sound a little pedo, but said it anyway? *deep breath* I'm out.
There was more, if that's not enough.
It's my fault, really. I should've known when I saw his name was "Phyl." You know, like "Phil," except you're an asshole. Goddamn hipsters.
* That's not just me, right? I realize I'm not exactly after "sweet, gentle, love-making" here -- I definitely need to be banged the hell out of. Probably twice, just to make sure we unclench all the Crazy. But isn't "impale" a tad aggressive? I'd really like to live through this transaction, sir.
I had scheduled a date. I was going to meet an OkCupid person. We were going to go to a Philly taproom I've wanted to go to for years but never had time/company. They have fried PB&J, and I KNOW y'all don't think I'm above eating the HELL out of that on a first date.
Yeah... I can't. I started thinking about our conversations, the number of red flags I'd been letting pass because they were "just little things" that made me go "Hmm..." But when considered together, they make me really uncomfortable. I have a bad vibe I didn't get from the initial OkC messaging, but have had for the past few days of texting. I told friends about less than half of those "little things," and they told me to cancel, and cancel NOW.
But something in my brain felt guilty, like I should meet him because I said I would, because I said we'd at least be friends, because I flirted, because I took the flirting further than I should have, because I am a sexually frustrated attention whore, and because what did I expect would happen when I behaved that way?
Sound advice from a friend: "Don't help them think only with their dicks until you've at least seen their face."
On occasion it seems a self-proclaimed male "feminist" bloviating that, "Women should be able to express their sexuality without fear of being judged!" translates to, "I'm going to make demands on your time and behavior, and treat you like you owe me something, even when you're sick, or busy, or clearly don't want to." I guess I'm only free to express it when the whoring works in your favor?
But I am legitimately concerned, all bad Spidey Sense, and fuck that. I'm not gonna get axe murdered just so everyone at my funeral can remember me as NICE. (My friends wouldn't -- they'd be like, "GAWD, how was she such an accommodating asshole when her asshole never actually accommodated anyone?!" My mom would probably be proud I died polite, though... [Ahem. Too dark?])
Anyway. I should've known when I found myself telling him we had to go out Monday because I was "busy" on Thursday -- busy watching Scandal, but busy nonetheless.
It's possible I have more feelings than one normal person should, like maybe I evolved wrong, or missed a meeting. Because I shouldn't be blaming myself for being "slutty" here. ("Well, yeah, I feel like he's overstepping my boundaries, but how would he know I even HAD boundaries?") And if I'm actually worried about my safety (not a TON, but...a little), I REALLY shouldn't feel bad about either just saying "no" or blocking his number.
I guess once you've told someone, "You're a coward, a liar, and an asshole, and I'm sorry I ever met you"...That's probably closure, right?
I couldn't even cry, I was just so tired. I sent the email and then sat there like, "Huh. OK, so that's that, then." (I mean, I'm not thrilled, but...)
He responded implying I'm being petty, like, "I'll refrain from name calling, but that's wonderful, thanks" was part of it.
Umm...you're welcome. And I dare you to call me any name I haven't already called myself.
Crazy slut? Pfft. I have that shit engraved in one of those nameplate necklaces. It's on my resumé.
Clingy, desperate? I'll own that. It wasn't my finest behavior, but I learned from it.
Resentful? Bitter? Probably. But part of re-gutting myself was to get past this permanently. Plus it's been so long that it's hard to really resent some...ghost of a person you never really knew, who exists only in some hazy online ether now. It'd be like hating that money-grubbing Nigerian prince.
During our...whatever, I asked numerous times if he had the same feelings for me. I probably would've been able to infer he didn't if he and I had a standard romantic relationship. But we'd started as friends and always agreed we wanted to stay friends. So my brain went blurry, because a friend would never knowingly let things happen the way they did -- they would've leveled with me. (I've done it before. It sucked, but the friendship survived.)
But I had to give up knowing; it was hurting me too much. So I went about assuming it was over, accepting that, and letting him be.
But then his blog likes, Facebook friend request, and LinkedIn profile checkup started grating on me, like, "OK, what are you doing?" Then came his invitation to discuss things he'd seen me writing about him here. So we discussed -- argued, really, via email. But I got my answer: He never felt the same way, and finally told me directly.
SO. Not the answer I wanted, but an answer, one I knew was possible. It's what I'd guessed, but was never 100% sure. I always told him I'd feel better if he just said it (he never would, either out of kindness or desire to keep me hooked), and I do feel better. Part of my mental reaction was, "THANK YOU. Christ, was that so hard?!" But it would've been easier, and we'd still be friends, if he'd said it sooner.
I can't know how the discussion affected him (I'd guess just relief I finally stopped talking). I'm...partly bummed I was so spectacularly wrong about truly knowing him, and honestly, that I'll never get to have sex with him. (Don't judge me -- I REALLY wanted to. It would've been great, to the point that I probably still would if he tried, which is pretty fucked up so I'm happy it's not an option.) But I'm also relieved I have my answer, and that I got to say what I needed to. (Sad truth? I still don't entirely believe him. But I'll get there.)
It sucks we imploded a friendship, because I really valued him that way more than romantically, but he acknowledged the friendship wasn't much reciprocated, either. And the longer I was left wondering, realizing I'd started being hurt by our conversations more than I was enjoying them, that I'd ended up feeling dirty and used, and that he didn't miss me even as a friend, the easier it was to let go of that as well.
I emailed him back, because I am an idiot. He'd clarified some things, so I wanted to do the same.
Aaand it turned out exactly as I thought it would.
One day I will learn to listen to my friends and just be an asshole when the situation calls for it, which is what I think he wanted -- for me to keep quiet and stay away.
But there it is. "The cold never bothered me, anyway."
P.S. Fun fact: Gmail's "block" feature is apparently about as useless as Facebook's. Technology can kiss my dick.
P.P.S. Sorry, I'll take the weekend off and stop buzzkilling your news feeds.
Quick acknowledgment: I am not a complete asshole. I'm aware of the fucked-up shit happening in the world right now. I am not trying to be insensitive. Quite the opposite, actually -- I am so OVER-sensitive that if I tune into the news too much, I will end up on my living room floor in a ball, weeping for humanity.
It happened after 9/11. It happened after Newtown. It happened after the Boston Marathon. It's why I've had bitchface all day today and am currently hiding from the world with spiked cider and a book.
For the most part, my goal here is to make you guys laugh if I can. So that's what I'm going to keep trying to do. You have enough anger and sadness on your social media -- I have nothing to contribute you haven't already heard a million times. And my thoughts on world events are more than likely not why you're here reading the po' folks' Carrie Bradshaw.
So. I'm gonna go on making my little jokes and trying not to end up in The Weepy Floor Ball, which is the world's shittiest yoga pose.
I love y'all.
As you were.
OK, so remember yesterday's "asshole" warning? Let's start easing into some of that...
I know this is partly my fault for letting so many "little things" go and stifling my feelings and then exploding (go Irish!), but I wish people who claim to know me understood how far they had to push me and how much they had to hurt me for me to NOT talk to them.
I WILL talk, eventually, because I'm generally too lazy and forgetful to hold a proper grudge -- I have better uses for brain space. But for the moment, something you've done has shut me down, and I Basic Bitch "just can't" with you. You broke me; I need to "breathe and reboot," to think things through before I blow up on you. And that's always the time people are in my ass, setting up tent cities and trying to talk like we're just cool now.
No. You should've talked before. Right now, fuck you. You're picking a scab, making the wound worse, and giving me, like, emotional MRSA. I just need a minute.
(Or, OK, in extreme cases I've needed...10 months and [not-that-I'm-]counting, but A. That person should've known better, and nudity/trust were in play, and B. Right now it's just my family I'm having issues with.)
Normally with people I like/love/respect, I'm very, "I'm not gonna diss you on the Internet, 'cause my mama taught me better than that." It's part of why I don't talk much about my ex, because he's still one of my best friends and I don't need to air those issues publicly. My close friends and my therapist have heard it, and that's enough. (Plus, if I ever said anything here that got back to him and hurt him, I'd jump out a window. [I know. Hence the therapist.])
But OTHER than him, we're all OK with me being kind of an asshole on my own site on occasion, right? We know I'm a little insane but generally a nice human, except when I get pushed too far? Because tempers are gettin' a little Jersey up in here at Smug HQ -- people are stepping to my backyard swagger. So, um...fair warning, sometimes I'm an asshole, but generally only in writing. (And in my defense, it really does take a lot. I mean...they had it comin'...)
(I love that I'm clarifying as if any of you gives a dick if I'm not Gandhi.)
I don't get into politics here, or anywhere, really, because political discourse makes me anxious, even when I agree. But I saw this earlier on a truck in front of me at a red light, and I need to swear about it, and it's not actually about POLITICS, per se -- it's about misrepresented patriotism, and I think my bewildered inquiries are funny. So...disclaimed enough?
Right then. 
In case the photo is too blurry, it reads: "In Loving Memory of USA, July 4, 1776 - Nov. 4, 2008. R.I.P."
I have questions.
So, if your candidate of choice gets elected next year, does America get resurrected? Are we a zombie? Are we Jesus? OMFG, are we Zombie Jesus?
Once Obama is out, do we start all over with calendars, like a BC/AD changeover? BO/AO?
Why and how did the country die, EXACTLY? Pull over, let's chat. I really want to hear you to articulate it.
And if we ARE dead, how are YOU still here? Reverse rapture? Shouldn't you be in a Kimmy-Schmidt-style bunker somewhere, eating freeze-dried jerky and waiting out this supposed apocalypse?
If you really think the election of some dude you don't agree with is reason to MOURN AMERICA, then you clearly don't think as much of your country as you're purporting to. There's not one of these fuckers who could get elected that would compel me to put that dumbass shit on my car.
See also: go fuck yourself, and the depreciated resale value of your stupid car. Which, by the way, was a fucking CHEVY, which, according to your theory, as an American-made car, would've died in '08 as well (ahem, especially without an auto bailout...) so maybe go get a Hyundai if you're gonna weep for America, shitdick. (Or, hell, at least a Ford.)
From my personal journal:
"I've noticed it, because I'm anal, but never pointed it out, because I'm not AN ASSHOLE -- critical distinction, ass-wise."
I amuse myself.
Every time I hold a baby around my relatives, someone invariably says something to the effect of, "You're a natural." So I can only assume a woman's default demeanor when holding an infant is, "Scared shitless she'll drop it, or that its head will fall off."
It's a baby, not a fucking shark. I'm cuddling a tiny, wriggly human who smells like toast and isn't an asshole yet. Her default state is "snuggle." It's not difficult.
Besides, she has you people for family, so what sounds like me whispering soothing nothings into her ear is actually me singing her my therapist's phone number like it's a Sesame Street song, hoping that, similar to the alphabet, it'll be on her mental auto-dial as she gets older.
