Filed under: this and that | Tags: alcohol, ambiguity, anastasia, dating, feelings, friendship, relationships, sex, women
I hate that word. Answers are what I want. Yet, ambiguity is all I seem to get. Many shades of gray; never black or white. Meeting every potentially monumental life decision at a hypothetical fork in the road is frustrating. Downright tiring, even.
So, I seek facts in a vain attempt to piece the puzzle together. This is what I know:
- I want to smoke more than my lungs allow.
- Drinking more than my liver approves of is a nightly routine.
- My feelings have changed, they have gone from lovely, wish-the-best-for-a friend to do I have romantic feelings for said friend?
- I am female.
- Said friend is also female-of the lesbian sort.
The fact that my only desire is to smoke and drink myself into obliteration is a blatant sign that I’m lost right now.
So here I am: confused. I hate the word “confused” as much as I hate the word “ambiguous.”
Yes, I am confused. My relationship with my friend is ambiguous. The sooner I own up to these detestable words the sooner I will sort this out, hypothetically, right?
Here’s the thing: I pride myself on being an open-minded individual. I pride myself on seeking out unique traits and characteristics in friends and adopting them as my own. I would have never discovered martinis and Thai food otherwise. Ask Alexis, I’ve always said I wouldn’t rule out the chance of dating a woman if I thought, genuinely, the relationship would provide a chance for pure happiness. And I don’t understand those who disagree with this mentality.
But it’s so easy to preach accepting words when the prospect isn’t staring you in the face, waiting for you to make a decision one way or the other. I am staring down the barrel of a loaded shotgun, afraid to move in any direction for fear of accidentally setting off the trigger. Have you any idea what this feels like? I doubt it, and if so, offer guidance…please.
More facts are in order:
- I’ve never, ever, been attracted to a female the way I am now.
- And even since this “discovery,” I’ve never noticed a woman walking down the street and thought to myself “Nice titties, girl. Come home with me”
- This, I believe, is exclusively an attraction to the person while ignoring gender.
It’s one thing to be attracted to someone’s personality; to their sense of humor; to the way they handle adverse situations or their taste in music. It’s a completely different ballgame, for me at least, to be attracted to someone’s body; their touch; their sexuality.
I am attracted to her personality and sense of humor. We compliment each other well. While I don’t always agree with the way she handles those bigger-than-thou life situations, I enjoy listening to her and talking through them. Our conversations give me a sense of pride in her decisions while providing valuable learning opportunities. And, honestly, I couldn’t be more grateful. I understand that the last few sentences sound like an ill-thought cover letter, but they are honest.
But that word-confusion-rears it’s ugly little head here. If I’m going to be brutally honest (and I might as well; what better platform than here?) I do like her touch. Her hugs and back rubs improve lousy days and ease my troubled mind. But even in my most drunken state, I’ve never thought it would be mind blowing to sleep with her; or on the other hand, how horrid it would be. Identifying solely as a straight female up until this point has protected me. I’m wrapped tight in a blanket of indifference; of ambiguity.
How can I honestly say to myself that I wouldn’t like something if I’ve never tried it? That would limit life experiences and deny the opportunity of growing as a woman; as a human, even. I pity those who, so rigid in thoughts from either upbringing or ignorance, would begrudge opportunity for personal growth. I don’t want that, at all. I don’t want to ruin an opportunity that could open my eyes to a completely new mentality and view of life.
But, at the same time, I don’t want to involve a friend’s feelings when I’m not certain of the outcome. If my feelings; my thoughts; my emotions were the only thing at stake, I would jump, jump, jump. I would, without a moment’s thought of anyone’s opinion. It’s reckless, yes, but at the very least, this would result in part of me opening and closing quickly. Ambiguity would disappear as fast as my next drink or cigarette. At most, maybe, perhaps, possibly, I would discover a new piece of me that lay dormant for years, for whatever reason, and could adjust accordingly in future endeavors.
The last set of facts:
- She likes me.
- She’s interested in a romantic relationship… if I am.
We’ve had endless conversations that circle about our “situation”, resulting in both of us shaking our heads in our hands while saying with bated breath “I don’t know, I don’t know.” So, how can I honestly take that plunge knowing a friendship that’s important to me and feelings are at risk? How can I look myself in the mirror each morning knowing I’m playing with someone’s heart and emotions so carelessly and…ambiguously.
I’m not sure I can do that. The only thing I’m certain of right now is that I don’t know what to do and I don’t know how to figure it out. No matter how much I write and talk about this, I’ll walk this road alone. And I’m terrified to take a step in the wrong direction. Ambiguity: I really do hate that word.
-Anastasia Beam
Filed under: birds and bees | Tags: alcohol, alexis, bali, bisexual, facebook, gin, husband, indonesia, marriage, men, ring, sex, wedding, wife, women, yoga
Well sort of…
Traveling is always so much fun. Especially when it is international travel. Going abroad to a new country allows for the possibility for the traveler to “let loose.” Well in my case I tend to “let loose” on any given occasion, but apparently found my recent trip to Bali, Indonesia an occasion to REALLY let loose.
I figured since Bali in on the other side of the world the concept of “what happens in [insert vacation destination] stays in [said location,]” to be incredibly true. How would anyone find out about what I did in Bali?
Damn facebook. That’s how.
With the technology revolution, nothing is private anymore. Everyone is bound to find out everything down to the tiniest little mistake you make while on vacation in a foreign country. Nonetheless…..I have an extremely hard time keeping secrets about myself actually secret.
So, of course in light of my new “marriage” I had to tell everyone.
I had a wonderful time in Bali. I was there on a yoga retreat, which was pristine. However, once the three hours of yoga wrapped up for the day… the drinking commenced. Obviously. No better way to regain burned calories than with alcohol.
The biggest drinker of them all? My yoga instructor. Ironic. So, I, of course, happily joined the festivities and purchased a bottle of gin for $2. Anastasia (the biggest gin whore of them all) is so jealous…
Mix my eight months of abstinence (not on purpose,) with a little alcohol, the heat of the equator and a plethora of flexible men doing yoga and you, my friends, have a recipe for fucking disaster. Luckily, all the men I met were gay. Well, at least I thought they were. Until one unfortunate night when I learned of their bisexuality. Queue hormones.
I did not have sex. I wanted to have sex. But no sex happened. So naturally, instead I spiritually married a bisexual man.
It all started when the Balinese thought that my yoga instructor, lets call him Yani, and I were husband and wife. So of course we ran with it and Yani referred to me as his wife for the rest of the trip. I thought it was all fun and games until the concept of “consummating” our marriage came up. I said I wouldn’t put out. (I haven’t quite sorted my feelings on sleeping with a bisexual man yet…) So my “husband” told me he’d be forced to take a second wife who would put out.
I became first wife. It was a fun game. Until I started to realize that he thought of me as actually “spiritually” being his wife.
It wasn’t solidified until he bought me a ring. Yes, a ring. We now have matching wedding rings that have symbols of the earth carved into them. He bought me this ring to symbolize our spiritual union to each other and the earth? Hell if I know, he’s a yoga teacher, it’s all spiritual.
I do not wear the ring on my ring finger, because I would like to get laid sometime, so I wear it on my index finger.
All in all, I did not make too many bad decisions, I only kissed two men, one of which was my husband, and I didn’t fuck any inappropriate people. I only got married, so I’d chock up this trip to a success.
Weddings in Bali are so much better than in Vegas.
-Alexis Patron
Filed under: alcohol | Tags: alcohol, alexis, anastasia, beer, brooklyn, dress, friendship, martini, new york city, tequila, wine, women
Oh how people change. I moved away from Anastasia for a year and she did a 180 on me. Not that it is a bad thing; it’s just entertaining to reminisce about the old days.
I remember the day that she told me that gin martinis were vile and she had no idea how I could drink two of them. Text from last weekend: “I had two martinis and I could drive a car NASCAR style right now.” My, how people change. And only in a year.
I met this girl (Anastasia) who believed that beer was life’s nectar and a pair of clean jeans was acceptable for all occasions, Brooklyn was Timbuktu and going to Manhattan on a Sunday was like giving birth. Soooo painful. Video games were the only acceptable Saturday activity, exploring the wonderfulness of NYC on a weekend was out of the question.
Asking Anastasia to come into the city on a weekend was like asking for her first born. And trust me, she won’t even let me be in her wedding party, so I guarantee she won’t let me meet her first born. Even worse than asking her to come into Manhattan on a weekend was asking her to come visit me in Brooklyn. Queens to Brooklyn was like Germany to Bangladesh. Who would travel that far to visit someplace that wasn’t as cool as Germany and why? Brooklyn to Anastasia was like another world. Brooklyn didn’t exist. Queens was better than Brooklyn, hands down.
One time I went “all the way” from Brooklyn, middle of nowhere to Anastasia, to the Upper East Side-five minutes from her apartment. I asked her to meet me for happy hour. Her response? “Yeah there is no way in hell you are getting me to go to Manhattan on a Saturday.” Wow.
When we did go out, Friday’s only, Anastasia’s drink of choice? Beer. Beer. Beer. Try suggesting a tequila shot and you might get punched. I, of course, was going through my “dark” period, where tequila and gin martinis were necessary for survival, so we had a hard time seeing eye to eye on drinks.
I am not complaining, I loved down to earth Anastasia: the girl who didn’t know what a dress was (even in the brutal heat of a New York summer), thought that a skirt was the Universe’s punishment for women, museums were a waste of a Saturday and drinking wine and hard liquor was for pansies who couldn’t handle beer. I sure do enjoy drinking beer, sitting on the couch in jeans and a hoodie, but I also enjoy a fancy night out sipping wine. So imagine my surprise when I recently started hearing stories about gin martinis, tequila, dresses and Brooklyn. WHAT? Who is this woman?
Anastasia now: wine and gin has replaced beer, an occasional tequila shot isn’t out of the question and Brooklyn not only exists but is even inhabitable occasionally!
A status update about a month ago mentioned Anastasia buying a dress and I almost fell out of my chair. A dress?! One of those things that show legs and boobs? Anastasia? She has legs? Just plain crazy. Anastasia has sported five dresses this year, I’m in shock. Wonderment, if you will. I cannot wait to go sip martinis at a fancy bar with my “new” friend!
Anastasia has ventured to Brooklyn a few times, goes to museums, hangs out in the city no matter what day it is, doesn’t say: “Alexis, you know what day it is,” when I call her on a Saturday. To be blunt: she’s a martini whore now. Love it! I’m sure I have done just as much changing as Anastasia, seeing how we met each other during “dark” phases in our lives, but now that the sky has cleared, we are getting to know new sides of one another. She met me when I was face down in tequila 24/7 and I met her when Brooklyn, to her, was an abomination.
Times, they be a-changin’.
-Alexis Patron
Filed under: douche baggery | Tags: alexis, boyfriends, dating, girlfriend, relationships, sex, sex-ting, tequila, women
I never wanted to become the “other woman.”
It all began very innocently.
Two drunk friends upping the stakes of a regular game of fooseball. If he won, I’d kiss him, if I won… well I don’t think I got anything out of it. Doesn’t matter anyways, I lost and had to kiss him. Innocent turned into PG 13 when one kiss turned into full make-out outside in the freezing Wisconsin winter air.
Ah, but how innocent kissing turned into fucking. At his parent’s house by the way. While his mom was home. It was magical. Especially since she came and watched TV with us later…
The post-sex awkwardness did not exist. I don’t live there, so we remained friends and parted ways. It was one of those post-sex-high-five then peace out situations, very unattached and unemotional. That is my favorite situation. Of course, now every time I go back to visit I have a fuck buddy.
The second time I had a vacation romp with my old friend was during a family wedding that I swung by his work and had a little fun. His work? A funeral home. Enough said.
We didn’t really keep in touch in between our wild sexual encounters, until one day when he out of the blue emailed me. Thus beginning our email/texting long distance sex game.
We were both young, single and bored. Why not send naked pictures and talk dirty?
I had never done the cyber sex thing so I was nervous. The first picture I sent was of my butt. Very PG 13. I kept it this way out of fear that he’d show our mutual friends or he’d send them to my father. All of which would be a bad situation. We continued on the PG 13 track for months, just emailing pictures, nothing too exciting. Plus he would always mention how much “fun” we had during my visits. To be honest, the sex wasn’t great, but I enjoy the concept of having vacation sex.
After a few months of our email affair, the emails ended. I heard through the grapevine he got a girlfriend. I was bored of the cyber sex anyways, so it was good for me. Plus my fear of them ending up on facebook kept me from wanting more.
One night however, after I had stumbled home from the bar at 5am NYC time, I got a text.
“How are you? I miss our fun.”
Huh, maybe he broke up with the chica.
In fact, no he hadn’t. He still wanted to do pictures. Turns out, after two months of dating the girl, he wanted more of my action. Something I wouldn’t have wanted to offer if I was sober. Three shots of tequila and two gin martinis said different. Alcohol = horny. And I was alone.
The filter I had the previous months flew out the window as did my morals. PG 13 turned to R. He could ask me to take a picture of anything and I did it. Of course he reciprocated. Once I sobered up, I freaked out about the girlfriend thing. He said he deleted the pictures and she’d never know. What a classy fella.
In my drunken/depression months of early 2008, this continued often. Sex-ting had become the only relationship that I had. I never wanted to be the other woman and I never actually slept with him again, but I still felt like we were cheating.
Now, more than a year later it hasn’t stopped. And he is now engaged. I’ve gotten him to stop for months by saying I didn’t want to do it anymore, but he is addicted I think. He will ask me if I want a picture, I will say no and he will send one anyways. I have so many penis pictures on my phone, it’s disturbing. I delete them when I remember. He doesn’t even send them at appropriate times, like 3am on a Saturday. Now they come when I’m having dinner with my parents, or eating breakfast on a Tuesday. It’s very strange. He has put me in the category of the “other” woman and I don’t know how to get out of it. And he’s ENGAGED!
He talks about wanting to fuck me when I come visit, I just don’t know how someone can be engaged, yet completely dishonest.
I don’t reciprocate anymore with the pictures or sex conversations, but when I get drunk… well lets just hope I don’t get that drunk again.
I really don’t find looking at penis pictures to be any sort of a turn on, so I am unsure as to why he keeps sending them!
- Alexis Patron
Filed under: this and that | Tags: alexis, boyfriends, dating, men, relationships, sex, sex-ting, women
I admit that I have wondered what it would be like to be the “other woman,” but never have done it, nor do I think I would. Well, I did “accidentally” make-out with my boss who had a girlfriend, but that was just a drunken time. I’ve never dated a married man. I just don’t think I could do that. The problem is, however, I’m pretty damn close to having an affair with a taken man. And I don’t know how I ended up there.
I read the following article yesterday and decided I should write about my “sex-ting” relationship I’ve been in for the last two years. Read this article and look forward to my story about how an innocent boob shot sent to a single man, turned into years of sex-ting with a now engaged man. Oh how does it happen…
- Alexis Patron
CNN – and the lessons they teach…
Thinking about being the ‘other woman?’
Like the David Letterman Debacle wasn’t bad enough, now we have the story of Steve Phillips, the ESPN analyst, who had an affair with a 22-year-old coworker.
Unfortunately for the 46-year-old sports dude and married father of four, his latest dalliance (and apparently there’ve been others before her) turned bunny boiler when he broke it off with her.
Brooke Hundley, the jilted junior, allegedly went ballistic; repeatedly emailing and calling Phillips’ long-suffering wife, tricking their 16-year-old son into an online flirtation, and then finally showing up at the family home, scaring the crap out of everyone.
Lucky for Hundley, the Phillips’s declined to press charges, but her reputation, both professionally and personally, is shot. (His too. He’s since been fired from ESPN and has entered a treatment facility.) Obviously, being some cad’s side action is always a sucker’s game, but if you’re going to do it, do it right.
Choose carefully
It’s bad enough that you’re “dating” a married guy, but when you start sleeping with someone who’s in a position of authority over you, you’re screwing yourself twice. Every good grade will be chalked up to your romance with the professor and every promotion, credited to time served on your back. Don’t kid yourself that nobody in your class or office knows, because people aren’t blind and you’re not that slick.
Don’t go home with him
Maybe he’s too cheap to pay for a hotel room, could be he secretly wants to get caught . . . then again, maybe he’s just a sociopath, but I can’t even tell you how many times I’ve heard about a marriage dude bringing his girlfriend back to the house he shares with his wife and kids — usually when everyone’s out of town, but not always. Letterman even took his mistress on vacation with his family! Whatever his motivation, resist. You’re already hurting this woman by having sex with her husband; at least have the decency to stay out of the bed they share.
Accept that you’re No. 2
Married guys will tell you a lot of things in their quest to bed you. That they haven’t slept with their [insert bitchy descriptor here] wives for [insert insanely long period of time here] and that they’re only staying together for the [kids/finances/etc.].
You need to know going in that you will always come second. (Or third. Or fourth.) Sure, you might get expensive gifts, but you’ll also be spending nearly every holiday by your lonesome, you’ll never meet his friends, and plans will be canceled on a moment’s notice if something more important (i.e., anything) comes up.
You’re not his first . . .
When an acquaintance of mine started an affair with a married coworker, she was furious when I suggested this might not be the first time he’d strayed during his very long marriage. She screamed that I was a cynic and that their love was a special flower they alone shared. (On the conference room floor.) Okay, she didn’t use the term “special flower,” but that was the gist.
A week later I got an embarrassed call back reporting that, contrary to what he’d told her, he’d been straying since his wedding day. A cheat and a liar — who would’ve guessed?!
…And probably won’t be his last
Most guys don’t leave their wives for the women they’re seeing on the side. Yes, I know — your grand passion is “different.” Snort. But what if he actually does splinter the family into bits and make a (semi) honest woman out of you? According to the Web site, “Beyond Affairs,” only 3 percent of men marry their affair partner and out of those, only 3 percent of those marriages last. And why would they? You’re committing to a relationship that was built on lies and deceit.
On second thought, maybe you want to rethink this whole “other woman” thing.
… and didn’t know it. Eyes closed, lips pursed; I was embraced in a very passionate kiss with a woman.
Remember the elementary school game of Heads Up 7-up? A bunch of students stand at the front of the class. The rest of the kids wait at their desk with their heads down, eyes closed and thumbs up. The kids at the front of the class walk around the room and push down thumbs. Finally, the thumbs-down kids have to try and guess who did it. Childish I know, but in second grade it was my favorite game.
Years later we decided to spice up this game a little bit. Drop the thumbs, add lips and alcohol and you have an exotic make out game for adults. At my friend’s birthday party we decided to have a little fun. There were two guys and five girls. Good odds… for the men. It started innocently with a little truth and dare, which lead to some ice and licking and then turned even kinkier when the kissing games started.
Four people would sit with their eyes closed as the other three would come and kiss them on some area of their body or face. Once eyes were open, the four would guess who kissed them. I’m not sure how any one won or if there were any prizes but it was sure a lot of fun in the process.
One of the guys, Ryan, was my ex-boyfriend and we were still very good friends. I had kissed him many times before so I definitely knew how he kissed. When it was my turn to be kissed I sat down with my eyes closed and waited. I was hoping it’d be Ryan.
The familiar soft lips hit mine and I knew who they belonged to. Especially when his mouth began to part, inviting my tongue inside. I knew none of the other girls would go for this, so it had to be him. I gently slipped my tongue into his mouth as he reciprocated. He was such a soft, passionate kisser that my heart began to race. I had forgotten how much fun it was to kiss him. My boyfriend had recently broken up with me so I definitely needed this hook up. We kissed for a good thirty seconds before he returned to the front of the room and the other girls and I opened our eyes.
It was guessing time. I immediately said Ryan. As his head shook no, my face lit up like a Christmas tree. I turned fire-truck red when my friend Janelle said that it was her who I had shared that fiery make out session with.
Been doing it long before Katy came around.
Awkward.
She had kissed Ryan before as well so she knew how he kissed and she thought it would be a very fun game to play on me. It’s not like I haven’t made out with a few girls since her but she was my first and I didn’t even know it when it happened.
Damn she was good.
I ended up sharing a bed with Ryan that night, so I got my hook up.
-Alexis Patron
I woke up Sunday morning on the futon after passing out for a short while in the sexiest way possible: wife beater on, no pants, laptop on my belly, iPod shuffle still playing, and in a state of complete confusion. Most priceless image ever? I think so.
Needless to say, I had an eventful weekend. I really put my liver to the test this time and somehow managed to not experience a hangover. It has taken years of blood, sweat, and borderline alcohol poisoning, but I proudly know that I can drink almost a full bottle of wine, and handfuls of gin and tonics without a hangover. That might not be something to be proud of…but nevertheless…
I went out to watch the Sox/Yankees game on Friday. I actually didn’t expect much out of the night. I couldn’t keep my eyes open at the bar, and was struggling to find conversation with a friend of mine. On any other night, I would have just headed home, but I promised a friend I would stay up til she got off work at 11. The fact that being awake at 11 on a Friday night has recently become a challenge to me is really, really depressing.
After taking about an hour to suck down my first gin of the night, I headed to the corner of the bar for a refill and there he was. I have unoriginally dubbed him the alabama slammer, for obvious reasons. I’ve previously declared on this blog several times that a tall man with a beard really is all I need to be happy. Well, ‘bama was real tall and his friend had a beard, so the two of them combined equaled my perfect man.
I tried to sneak by him to get another gin and tonic, and he commented on my “budging.” I apologized and begged for forgiveness, of which he could not deny coming from such a cute girl with amazing eyes. Cute girl with amazing eyes? I’ll take it. I’ve been in a man drought lately.
I figured it couldn’t hurt to hang around, and pretty soon we were exchanging jokes and personal history. I’ve heard stories about charming southern gentleman, but I always thought it was a myth, like unicorns. How is it possible that just a difference in location can transform men from douchey pervs to suave lovers? This guy was one hundred percent suave and, while skeptical at first, I quickly became putty in his hands. He laid it on thick. I had to start drinking more just to keep up.
We spent the rest of the night building up a good rapport, of which I only remember one specific part. ‘Bama is in law school. He was telling me of his intentions to charge $300 an hour one day. Naturally, I told him he sounded like a man whore but if I ever needed legal advice I knew who to call. It must have been my adorable smile or beautiful eyes, but he promised to give me a discount on his hourly rate.
Recognizing a perfect opportunity to drop my own smooth line while simutaneously coming off like a whore, I grabbed his neck, pulled his ear to my lips and whispered “I promise you I won’t need the full hour,”
Needless to say, he understood the hint I dropped and we made out obnoxiously in the back of the bar for the rest of the night.
It was the perfect way to snap me out of my funk. I needed it bad. I was dangerously close to the point of no return with women. And there’s no better way to break out of a I-might-go-gay-from-lack-of-sexual-contact-with-men-funk than by fooling around with a Southern man who had a nice build. Do you know the last time I touched a man’s stomach and felt distinguishable abdominal muscles? That would be the last time I had a sex dream about Hugh Jackman, and good god even that was years ago.
-Anastasia Beam
Filed under: birds and bees, douche baggery | Tags: alexis, humor, men, relationships, women
I had no boyfriends yesterday morning, but somehow by the end of the night, I had to break up with two guys. I have no fucking idea how that happened. Seriously how many times do I have to break up with these guys? I am getting so damn frustrated. Why the hell won’t they just let go?
First breakup – Earnest. I had to dump Earnest again tonight. One week after our initial break up. I thought the text message break up was sufficient, especially when he called me back and said that he was bummed it didn’t work out and he hoped we would still be friends. I really thought that meant he got the picture.
Well tonight we had to have yet ANOTHER discussion about how I don’t want to date him. I once again had to tell him very crazy things to try to dissuade his interest. I started off the evening by telling him that I might consider dating women since I just hate having sex (Which is untrue, I was just trying to scare the guy off). I went on and on about how I am apathetic towards sex, get no pleasure out of it and I consider it along the same lines as making out with someone.
That didn’t work. Then I just had to be straight up rude.
I was working at my bar during this time so he was just hanging out. After work, he walked me to my car so we could “talk.” Apparently he didn’t believe me before when I told him I’d never want to date him. It was time to be harshly honest. I told him it was never going to happen, even just casually. I was bound to cheat on him. I haven’t had a boyfriend in ages so I’m not used to having to be accountable to anyone, I enjoy being single and I hate rules of dating. For example, if I want to make out with a random stranger, I don’t want to feel bad about it, hence why I enjoy being single. Earnest seemed to be getting the picture after this.
I told him I didn’t want to hurt him so this had to end now before I went and did something crazy like make out with his brother or best friend. I have done it before many-a-time to scare off a man, but Earnest is way too nice for me to be such a bitch like that. I think he was a little shocked at this point, but he understood. It was actually the most honest I had been with a man, just telling him straight up that it just isn’t going to happen. Ever.
Phew, so I think it is FINALLY over. I just don’t understand how many times I need to dump this guy. I think the blunt honesty might have done the trick.
One break up down.
Then driving home, Mistake called me. My coworker, who I dumped once, he forgot, re-dumped me, tried to get back together with me two weeks ago, I turned him down, and now he tried AGAIN. He called to talk about this new guy he is trying to fix me up with (long story, I’ll have to tell you all about that later) and he wound up saying that he wanted to have sex again and make out in public. WHAT?
Ugh, I was so tired from having to break up with Earnest, I just didn’t have the energy to have to do it again, so I listened for a long time to Mistake explaining how he loves our friendship and “in a way I do kinda love you.” Shit.
Mistake didn’t even let me get a word in, he just kept talking and talking about our relationship. He told me he was just dumped by his ex so he thought we should hang out again. Seriously our “relationship” was such a disaster before that the thought of dating him again makes me kind of want to vomit. He invited me to meet his parents, said we should go on a date, have sex from time to time. Is he crazy?
I couldn’t say a word. I had worked for 16 hours, was so exhausted, already got rid of one boyfriend, why the hell was this day never ending?
Finally when I could speak, I said: “Listen, we are friends now, which is nice, I just don’t think we should go down the dating road again. Plus I kind of like this new guy, remember?”
Mistake: “Oh yeah, I was just saying if that doesn’t work out, you know.”
Mother fucker, JUST LET GO.
Finally after an hour and me saying over and over again that we shouldn’t date, Mistake said ok and we will talk about it later. I give up. He just doesn’t get it. Time for drastic measures, I need to meet his best friend.
-Alexis Patron
Filed under: this and that | Tags: alexis, dumped, humor, men, relationships, women
And to be honest, I didn’t even know I was in a relationship. I had broken up with my “boyfriend” or whatever he was like a month earlier, but apparently with all the drugs he was doing, he had forgotten? Did he not realize that we weren’t talking or hanging out for months? So you can imagine my shock when he texted me saying “I need to talk to you about something.” I called him and he pulled the ole “I don’t want to hurt you, I’m so sorry to do this…” blah blah… and I was like… oh wow… hmm. Seriously I’ve been dating other men/making out with everyone in sight for the last month, so either I’m the worst girlfriend on earth or he’s just a giant dumbass. Let’s refer to Mr. Boyfriend as my Mistake from now on.
My Mistake is also a coworker, and I met him at a low point in my life. I had damned near hit rock bottom and along came Mr. Mistake. He was funny, cute with beer goggles and kind of entertaining. He came on strong. He said he loved me the first time we had sex. Yeah, no shit he loved me, who else would have put up with that. If he hadn’t been so bat shit insane, as Anastasia called him, then maybe I’d throw the kid a bone, but come on. He literally suffocated me with the constant texts, calls at 3am, etc. It was like having a tiny man child as a pet.
But… the dumbass grew on me a bit. He was my little pet. I kind of felt bad for him and we had fun. But then the truth about the drugs came out and the whole living with his parents thing started to get to me, and to be honest I didn’t trust a word out of his mouth.
I should have known from the beginning that he was going to be a bad idea. I mean I totaled my car the first night I made out with him, bad karma? Drunken spiral commenced. Since I no longer had a car I felt it appropriate to drink myself to sleep every night for a month straight. Four days after I totaled my car/made out with Mistake, I worked with him. A few make outs in the beer cooler and a few shots later, I let him give me a ride home. He proceeded to tell me he never knew he’d fall for such an intelligent woman, that I am the only woman for him, we should go away together, he wants to meet my best friends… Post-tequila, it didn’t register to me that this kid was off his rocker, I was just happy to have a ride home and get a little tongue in the process.
But with my monthlong-tequila-induced coma, I failed to register these signs. I mean, Mistake even WARNED me that he was bad in bed and had a small penis and that didn’t even faze me, I still slept with him. I never thought anyone would be dumb enough to actually tell a potential lover those horrifying things about themselves, but oh Mr. Mistake was one hell of a dim-wit.
I slept with him a couple of times before I decided it just wasn’t worth it anymore. The constant texting finally got to me and I just couldn’t handle him anymore. One night while working with Mistake, I got very drunk and made out with one of the waiters. Mistake was pissed, but he still gave me a ride home and screamed at me the entire way. Then he apologized profusely. It was very strange, I’m not sure how he turned that around to be his fault, but oh well.
When I came home from Christmas vacation, I decided to test a new move on him. I was bored and needed a little attention. I put whipped cream all over my boobs, took a picture, sent it to him at work and told him to come over. I was a little surprised as to how well that worked; he came over in no time.
After New Years Eve, things started to go down hill. He starting partying more and behaving quite crazy towards me. I finally sobered up and had that personal ”oh, fuck..” moment. What the fuck had I been doing? Mistake confessed to me very private things about his life and his drug problem, so I felt horrible about breaking it off. I couldn’t handle it though, so I backed away slowly. We stopped talking and I thought I had succeeded in getting rid of him. I started dating other people. Hence, I was shocked when he dumped me a month after we stopped talking.
After sobering up, it was like what the fuck was I thinking there?
-Alexis Patron
