Now that I’ve gotten the annual “bad gift” post out of the way, I can put up my 2007 holiday post. This year, I got together with BJA and decided to make this years’ entry about family...more specifically, uncomfortable holiday experiences with our exes’ families (or our own, whatever). If you have any good stories to add, post in the comments section, or email me.
So, I will kick things off:
RGB
I had just met Fred (we weren’t really even dating at this point) when a hurricane was heading toward the city I went to college in. Class was going to be canceled for several days, giving us plenty of time to leave campus and go wherever for a while. This was about a week after things ended with Shrek, so I was feeling particularly awful and just wanted to go home (I should mention home was 1200 miles away. Clearly this wasn’t one of my most rational decisions). I had planned to take a flight back home, but Fred told me that he was going to drive out of town and was willing to take a 1200 mile detour and he would drive up to his house (another 500 miles) after that.
Somehow during the 18 hour car ride, Fred managed to convince me to spend a day at my house, then ride up to his with him.
By the time we had made it to Fred's house, I was completely drained from my recent break up, a long road trip, and the stress of having to leave school so suddenly. When we got to Fred’s neighborhood, he called his parents to tell them we were close. They were over at Fred’s uncle’s house and told him to just come over there.
When we got to the uncle’s house, there was a full family party going on. Parents, aunts, uncles, cousins, neighbors, friends, EVERYONE was there. So, not only did I have the stress of meeting parents, I had the stress of meeting the whole extended family. Seriously.
Luckily, everyone was really nice, but there were a few VERY awkward moments. The one that sticks out in my mind the most is when Fred’s uncle, after having talked with me for 3 minutes, gave me a very sincere look and asked if I had considered marrying into the family. I was completely caught off guard, and frankly, a little frightened by the question. I responded that it was not something that I had considered. I was then invited to marry into the family. Definitely the most intense meeting of an ex’s family I’ve ever had.
BJA
Holidays are just the time for family, friends, fun, and festivities. Unless you're dating a loser. Then you can toss in a little mortification.
I was dating Neanderthal for... well in hindsight a lot longer than some of the others. He wasn't as bad as many of the guys featured in this blog. In fact, on a whole he was a good boyfriend. But his manners were deplorable. And after his behavior in front of my parents during the holidays... well it didn't last much longer.
Guys, may I stress that you must learn how to hold a fork before you dine outside of your home? You hold it as you would a pencil, or at least that's the closest approximation I can come up with. You do NOT hold it, as Neanderthal did, in a full fisted grip that enables you to shovel food in your mouth. It is gross. And it's ineffective. I can tell because the food is falling off of your fork in different directions. I remember my Granny, who was an impeccably mannered woman, trained by Mrs. Manners, nearly dropped her jaw. Please do NOT mortify me in front of my grandmother.
Food shoveler. Gross.
Tuesday, December 25, 2007
Monday, December 24, 2007
Drink it up
I was in college once -- really. I understand the whole "leave no soldier wounded" mentality regarding alcoholic beverages. In fact, much to my mother's dismay, I still practice this sometimes (I can't even begin to tell you how many times my mom has told me "you've had enough; leave that soldier wounded"). I completely understand if one wants to finish his or her beer before getting up and leaving the table at a restaurant.
But Fred took this to a whole new level. The first time we went out to eat, he got up to go. I followed his lead, stood up and started to walk to the door. I was outside before I turned around and saw Fred's fat ass still standing at the table, chugging every single liquid on the table. Really. His beer, my coke, his water, my water. He drank each beverage as if he were trying to set the world record for speed drinking, resulting in beer, coke and water dribbled on his face and the front of his shirt. I had never seen anything like this before. It was truly a disgusting display.
When he finally made it outside, I had no idea what to make of what I had just seen. "Thirsty?" I asked him, slightly confused. I figured this was a one time deal, so I didn't really press the issue. Boy, was I wrong.
Every single time we went out, he would do this. It's not the fact that he wanted to drink everything on the table that bothered me -- it was the fact that he could not do this while sitting at the table. He would stand up, sometimes put on his coat, then chug everything on the table as if in two seconds, all the glasses would be taken violently away from him and he would never have another drop of liquid again. He did not leave a drop of anything on the table. It was amazing. He even consumed a good amount of the ice in his quest to drink as much as physically possible. Every single fricking time we went out. Even though it was clearly his goal to cram every liquid on the table down this throat as quickly as possible, the entire act usually took around a minute, which usually meant I was well on my way out the door before he started to actually leave.
I asked -- no, begged him to just drink what he wanted to drink while he was still sitting down. Aside from looking like a complete ass, he was blocking traffic for the wait staff trying to do their jobs by standing up in the middle of an aisle.
After a couple of months of this, I would start not getting up when he did because I knew the whole chugging display would take-up a ton of time.
Finally one day, I stopped him before getting up and told him in a very stern voice that I was serious about him not standing up to do the obligatory chug every single time we went out. I asked him to remain seated and drink what he wanted to drink. He seemed to listen and sheepishly finished his water, then said he was ready. I thought I had finally gotten through to him, and happily stood up and made my way to the door.
Half way out, I turned around and saw him standing at the table, chugging my drink. He looked at me as he finished my drink with a big, shit-eating grin on his face. Not only did he look like a complete dumbass, he was doing it just to spite me. At this point, it wasn't the fact that he was completely (for this and other reasons) not restaurant-trained that bothered me, it was the fact that he was determined look like white trash everywhere he went, even when he knew better.
The moment I locked eyes with him as he was putting my empty glass on the table was the exact moment I knew things weren't going to work out.
But Fred took this to a whole new level. The first time we went out to eat, he got up to go. I followed his lead, stood up and started to walk to the door. I was outside before I turned around and saw Fred's fat ass still standing at the table, chugging every single liquid on the table. Really. His beer, my coke, his water, my water. He drank each beverage as if he were trying to set the world record for speed drinking, resulting in beer, coke and water dribbled on his face and the front of his shirt. I had never seen anything like this before. It was truly a disgusting display.
When he finally made it outside, I had no idea what to make of what I had just seen. "Thirsty?" I asked him, slightly confused. I figured this was a one time deal, so I didn't really press the issue. Boy, was I wrong.
Every single time we went out, he would do this. It's not the fact that he wanted to drink everything on the table that bothered me -- it was the fact that he could not do this while sitting at the table. He would stand up, sometimes put on his coat, then chug everything on the table as if in two seconds, all the glasses would be taken violently away from him and he would never have another drop of liquid again. He did not leave a drop of anything on the table. It was amazing. He even consumed a good amount of the ice in his quest to drink as much as physically possible. Every single fricking time we went out. Even though it was clearly his goal to cram every liquid on the table down this throat as quickly as possible, the entire act usually took around a minute, which usually meant I was well on my way out the door before he started to actually leave.
I asked -- no, begged him to just drink what he wanted to drink while he was still sitting down. Aside from looking like a complete ass, he was blocking traffic for the wait staff trying to do their jobs by standing up in the middle of an aisle.
After a couple of months of this, I would start not getting up when he did because I knew the whole chugging display would take-up a ton of time.
Finally one day, I stopped him before getting up and told him in a very stern voice that I was serious about him not standing up to do the obligatory chug every single time we went out. I asked him to remain seated and drink what he wanted to drink. He seemed to listen and sheepishly finished his water, then said he was ready. I thought I had finally gotten through to him, and happily stood up and made my way to the door.
Half way out, I turned around and saw him standing at the table, chugging my drink. He looked at me as he finished my drink with a big, shit-eating grin on his face. Not only did he look like a complete dumbass, he was doing it just to spite me. At this point, it wasn't the fact that he was completely (for this and other reasons) not restaurant-trained that bothered me, it was the fact that he was determined look like white trash everywhere he went, even when he knew better.
The moment I locked eyes with him as he was putting my empty glass on the table was the exact moment I knew things weren't going to work out.
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
Kleptomaniac
I think everyone went through a phase when they were younger where they stole things or didn't tell on a close companion who stole something. I'm not talking clothing or anything of that nature, MOST people realize that's just stupid. (Although to be honest, String Bean was guilty of that, too. I never saw him do it, but I saw his accounts and his new clothes - he didn't have the money.)
Moving on. String Bean must have been a kleptomaniac. What most bugged me about String Bean's stealing habbits is that there was really no use for whatever he managed to yoink. Some examples:
1) The fake metal plates from Qdoba Mexican Grill. - They're actually plastic, but they painted them silver to make them look more classy I guess. There is absolutely no reason to have a pile of these. They sat in his closet for months collecting dust.
2) The ketchup bottle from Dennys. - Newflash, ketchup is not expensive. There is no need to steal this from a cheapo restaurant establishment whose selling point is that they are always open for the drunk and hungry masses who spend more on booze than food.
3) The saltshaker from Denny's. - Seriously. Why in the world would anyone need a random saltshaker? And while we're thinking about it, why not just grab the pepper shaker, too, to round out the pair.
4) A fork from an upscale Denver restaurant. - Just when String Bean gets something right, a nice dinner for two downtown with a carriage ride beforehand... he steals something. No less, a fork. It's a nice restaurant! Why does he feel compelled to steal the fork? Does it make him feel better about the beaucoup bucks he just dropped on dinner? Is it revenge for ostentatiously high prices for minimal food?
This one made me mad. WORSE, String Bean tells me about it afterwards and proceeds to try to break the fork. He bended the thing till it snapped. Why steal something, then break it for good measure?
5) Office supplies from wherever he saw them - String Bean couldn't write, spell, or even add so I don't know why he wanted office supplies. Like an office would ever hire his ass.
6) My magazines - Perhaps there was more trouble in this relationship than I was aware of.
7) Coins from the "extra change" jars at cash registers- Aren't these supposed to be rounding out the purchase? But noooo.
8) Food off my plate - Granted, he was paying for it sometimes (maybe slightly LESS than half the time) but come on. I felt like Joey in friends when he wouldn't share the french fries with his date. "BJA doesn't share food!!"
9) Pennies from fountains - Much like the coins from the checkout, these aren't meant for you, String Bean. Leave them be.
10) CDs. - Ok, some use for these. BUT, though I never saw him do it, he used to go to places like Radio Shack and Best Buy, open the bottom of CDs so as not to break the plastic seal on top. Just sorta popped off the end that holds the CD case together by lifting it out. Made the CD open like a briefcase rather than the book if that helps for the visual. Then he'd simply take the CD. Leave the case. And the poor person going off to buy the case probably ran into the - I bought this CD and there's no CD in it -problem. THAT is just plain stealing. No way around it.
Oh, he'd also take them from his friends. His justification was that they took them from him.
I know I said he always stole pointless things and the CD's don't count, but the idea behind my rant is that String Bean was a raging klepto.
Moving on. String Bean must have been a kleptomaniac. What most bugged me about String Bean's stealing habbits is that there was really no use for whatever he managed to yoink. Some examples:
1) The fake metal plates from Qdoba Mexican Grill. - They're actually plastic, but they painted them silver to make them look more classy I guess. There is absolutely no reason to have a pile of these. They sat in his closet for months collecting dust.
2) The ketchup bottle from Dennys. - Newflash, ketchup is not expensive. There is no need to steal this from a cheapo restaurant establishment whose selling point is that they are always open for the drunk and hungry masses who spend more on booze than food.
3) The saltshaker from Denny's. - Seriously. Why in the world would anyone need a random saltshaker? And while we're thinking about it, why not just grab the pepper shaker, too, to round out the pair.
4) A fork from an upscale Denver restaurant. - Just when String Bean gets something right, a nice dinner for two downtown with a carriage ride beforehand... he steals something. No less, a fork. It's a nice restaurant! Why does he feel compelled to steal the fork? Does it make him feel better about the beaucoup bucks he just dropped on dinner? Is it revenge for ostentatiously high prices for minimal food?
This one made me mad. WORSE, String Bean tells me about it afterwards and proceeds to try to break the fork. He bended the thing till it snapped. Why steal something, then break it for good measure?
5) Office supplies from wherever he saw them - String Bean couldn't write, spell, or even add so I don't know why he wanted office supplies. Like an office would ever hire his ass.
6) My magazines - Perhaps there was more trouble in this relationship than I was aware of.
7) Coins from the "extra change" jars at cash registers- Aren't these supposed to be rounding out the purchase? But noooo.
8) Food off my plate - Granted, he was paying for it sometimes (maybe slightly LESS than half the time) but come on. I felt like Joey in friends when he wouldn't share the french fries with his date. "BJA doesn't share food!!"
9) Pennies from fountains - Much like the coins from the checkout, these aren't meant for you, String Bean. Leave them be.
10) CDs. - Ok, some use for these. BUT, though I never saw him do it, he used to go to places like Radio Shack and Best Buy, open the bottom of CDs so as not to break the plastic seal on top. Just sorta popped off the end that holds the CD case together by lifting it out. Made the CD open like a briefcase rather than the book if that helps for the visual. Then he'd simply take the CD. Leave the case. And the poor person going off to buy the case probably ran into the - I bought this CD and there's no CD in it -problem. THAT is just plain stealing. No way around it.
Oh, he'd also take them from his friends. His justification was that they took them from him.
I know I said he always stole pointless things and the CD's don't count, but the idea behind my rant is that String Bean was a raging klepto.
Friday, December 14, 2007
If He Only Had a Brain...
If you are dating someone whose mind is consistently inside the beltway - you darn well better know your politics or at least SOME degree of history.
Here's one for you:
"Well I don't know much, but at least I know George Washington was our first president and Abraham Lincoln was our second."
Excuse the idiocy here. These two didn't even live in the same century, really. First president was G. Wash, well done, buddy. I might have even been ok if I realized he was just saying the first two that most elementary school children remember. To some extent, that might make sense to me. Though I still don't understand how you can omit John Adams, Thomas Jefferson, Andrew Jackson, or James K. Polk, I could understand not knowing our ninth president, William Henry Harrison. While I may know a thing or two about him, most Americans probably don't.
But really, Abraham Lincoln was decades after George Washington. I can't even fathom how someone could not realize that the Revolutionary War that Washington fought in was no where near the same time frame as the Civil War that Lincoln attempted to end.
This guy was almost as bad as when I dated a guy who didn't pay much attention to politics... at all. As a disclaimer, it's somewhat ok if you don't spend the time agonizing over political implications as I do. It takes a strong stomach in most cases. But really? There's only so much absurdity I can handle when it comes to who you voted for.
"So who did you vote for in the last Presidential election?"
"Wasn't his name Sam or something? I don't know. The one that wasn't Bush."
Now, unless Sam was a write in, you have to be a complete idiot. If you don't know who you're voting for, or don't care enough to find out your options or even remember the damn name, don't freakin vote. Your vote is the kind that makes others who DO care about who wins the next election believe that their vote doesn't count.
And I'm spent. If he only had a brain...
Here's one for you:
"Well I don't know much, but at least I know George Washington was our first president and Abraham Lincoln was our second."
Excuse the idiocy here. These two didn't even live in the same century, really. First president was G. Wash, well done, buddy. I might have even been ok if I realized he was just saying the first two that most elementary school children remember. To some extent, that might make sense to me. Though I still don't understand how you can omit John Adams, Thomas Jefferson, Andrew Jackson, or James K. Polk, I could understand not knowing our ninth president, William Henry Harrison. While I may know a thing or two about him, most Americans probably don't.
But really, Abraham Lincoln was decades after George Washington. I can't even fathom how someone could not realize that the Revolutionary War that Washington fought in was no where near the same time frame as the Civil War that Lincoln attempted to end.
This guy was almost as bad as when I dated a guy who didn't pay much attention to politics... at all. As a disclaimer, it's somewhat ok if you don't spend the time agonizing over political implications as I do. It takes a strong stomach in most cases. But really? There's only so much absurdity I can handle when it comes to who you voted for.
"So who did you vote for in the last Presidential election?"
"Wasn't his name Sam or something? I don't know. The one that wasn't Bush."
Now, unless Sam was a write in, you have to be a complete idiot. If you don't know who you're voting for, or don't care enough to find out your options or even remember the damn name, don't freakin vote. Your vote is the kind that makes others who DO care about who wins the next election believe that their vote doesn't count.
And I'm spent. If he only had a brain...
Thursday, December 13, 2007
Happy 3 Year Anniversary, Losers!
I can’t believe three years went by so quickly! It seems like just yesterday a devastated and bitter RGB started a blog to tell everyone in internet land just how much she hated Shrek. Since then, things have certainly taken off. This blog has seen more exes, more contributors, more posts and more crazy antics than I had ever expected it to.
I’d like to thank all the contributors of Loser-Ex for sharing their sometimes outrageous, sometimes thoughtful, always intriguing stories with the world. I’d write more, but really, who wants to read my reflections on the blog?
To celebrate three years, our brother site, Crazy Ho, is being launched. Crazy Ho will be like Loser-Ex, except it will have a panel of male writers blogging about their female exes. We hope that you will love it (almost) as much as you love Loser-Ex.
I’d like to thank all the contributors of Loser-Ex for sharing their sometimes outrageous, sometimes thoughtful, always intriguing stories with the world. I’d write more, but really, who wants to read my reflections on the blog?
To celebrate three years, our brother site, Crazy Ho, is being launched. Crazy Ho will be like Loser-Ex, except it will have a panel of male writers blogging about their female exes. We hope that you will love it (almost) as much as you love Loser-Ex.
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
You Don't Own Me
String Bean was a control freak. And I don't mean over just anything, mostly over me and any subsequent girl friends he later possessed.
I needed a favor from a close guy friend of mine, Jason, who I had known for years. I pick up my cell phone and begin clicking through my contacts to find his number. Once, twice, three times, I go through the list. His number isn't there! Fortunately, I had my old cell phone and I looked it up and added it back in my phone. I was perplexed as to how the phone had misplaced the number. Did cell phones get bugs? Could it have deleted itself?
The same situation arose a few days later with ANOTHER of my male friends (Ian) and a mutual one of String Bean's. That number too had mysteriously disappeared from my phone.
Honestly, at the time, I had no idea what had happened. Not too much later though, I catch String Bean scrolling through my phone with a little pouty face on. "How did you get Ian's number?"
"I went by his work and got it back. Somehow my phone deleted him out of the system or something. Isn't that weird?"
"Why the hell do you want his number?"
Umm excuse me? This a$$hole went into my phone and deleted the numbers of the guys I knew because he thought I was having an illicit affair with them or something. (In hindsight, I probably should have. This IS the same guy who pulled the stupid stories...) But that's neither here nor there. What kind of person is so insecure about themselves that they have to go through their girlfriend's phone and physically remove all potential challengers?
To top it off, he did it to his next (and now ex) girlfriend. Here's a transcript of what she sent me (slightly cleaned up... she was pretty angry... They live together but she'll be moving out at the end of the month.)
"So, he started pouting again!! (surprise surprise) when I came home from work today with some boxes for when we move and so he starts pouting and then of course we start talking about it and then we talk about why our relationshiop ended, this a$$hole is saying that I "emotionally cheated" on him with other guys.
I asked him how, and he said that I have very close friendships with guys that took intimacy away from him!
I asked him, if he thought it was ok if girls and guys had a purely close friendship? He said, NO. And he says that guys and girls can never be just friends without someone having more feelings. I said bullshit. Cuz I have 3 guy best friends that have never formed any sort of bond other then friendship and I told him if he seriously thought that he should go check the screws in his brain.
I was so livid and still am. I told him that HE can never have a pure friendship with a girl because he'll want to just sleep with her... he didnt like that too much."
Ugh. Possessive boyfriends are nothing more than future loserexes. And seriously, you have to understand that it's perfectly natural for girls to have guy friends outside of her relationship with you. And that doesn't equal with emotionally cheating, nor should you accuse her of such. That's just stupid. Then again, so is String Bean.
You don't own me. Don't say I can't go with other boys!
I needed a favor from a close guy friend of mine, Jason, who I had known for years. I pick up my cell phone and begin clicking through my contacts to find his number. Once, twice, three times, I go through the list. His number isn't there! Fortunately, I had my old cell phone and I looked it up and added it back in my phone. I was perplexed as to how the phone had misplaced the number. Did cell phones get bugs? Could it have deleted itself?
The same situation arose a few days later with ANOTHER of my male friends (Ian) and a mutual one of String Bean's. That number too had mysteriously disappeared from my phone.
Honestly, at the time, I had no idea what had happened. Not too much later though, I catch String Bean scrolling through my phone with a little pouty face on. "How did you get Ian's number?"
"I went by his work and got it back. Somehow my phone deleted him out of the system or something. Isn't that weird?"
"Why the hell do you want his number?"
Umm excuse me? This a$$hole went into my phone and deleted the numbers of the guys I knew because he thought I was having an illicit affair with them or something. (In hindsight, I probably should have. This IS the same guy who pulled the stupid stories...) But that's neither here nor there. What kind of person is so insecure about themselves that they have to go through their girlfriend's phone and physically remove all potential challengers?
To top it off, he did it to his next (and now ex) girlfriend. Here's a transcript of what she sent me (slightly cleaned up... she was pretty angry... They live together but she'll be moving out at the end of the month.)
"So, he started pouting again!! (surprise surprise) when I came home from work today with some boxes for when we move and so he starts pouting and then of course we start talking about it and then we talk about why our relationshiop ended, this a$$hole is saying that I "emotionally cheated" on him with other guys.
I asked him how, and he said that I have very close friendships with guys that took intimacy away from him!
I asked him, if he thought it was ok if girls and guys had a purely close friendship? He said, NO. And he says that guys and girls can never be just friends without someone having more feelings. I said bullshit. Cuz I have 3 guy best friends that have never formed any sort of bond other then friendship and I told him if he seriously thought that he should go check the screws in his brain.
I was so livid and still am. I told him that HE can never have a pure friendship with a girl because he'll want to just sleep with her... he didnt like that too much."
Ugh. Possessive boyfriends are nothing more than future loserexes. And seriously, you have to understand that it's perfectly natural for girls to have guy friends outside of her relationship with you. And that doesn't equal with emotionally cheating, nor should you accuse her of such. That's just stupid. Then again, so is String Bean.
You don't own me. Don't say I can't go with other boys!
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
Every Step You Take
I am creepy. If you’ve ever gone on even one date with me, you can be sure I’ve googled you, looked you up on every social networking site and probably asked several of my friends if they know you. I am horrible about this. But, I can justify my stalking. I don’t want to end up alone with some creep who is going to kill me then throw my body in the Potomac. It may be a stretch to say that I stalk potential dates as a safety measure, but at least (at some very small level) I can say that my stalking is justified and not just creepy.
One of my exes, on the other hand, can not justify his stalking. I have elected not to use even the pseudonym of my ex this time because, this is really screwed-up. This ex openly admitted to checking his ex’s (we’ll call her Bertha) Internet browser history and her email. Furthermore, he didn’t see a problem with this. Granted, he did make some great finds, such as the fact Bertha has quite the fondness of lesbian porn, but I still find this to be a little over the line.
What was even worse was the fact that he continued to check Bertha’s email after they had broken up. Again, he did make some juicy finds, like her correspondence regarding a one night stand with the grossest guy on campus (side note: the one night stand guy totally had the worse acne known to mankind…and an uncanny resemblance to Quasimodo), but really, who does this? The fact that he admitted to finding this email the ‘one time’ he checked makes me think that he was probably really checking her email on a daily basis.
If I hadn’t made a point to change all my passwords, he’d probably be reading my email right now.
One of my exes, on the other hand, can not justify his stalking. I have elected not to use even the pseudonym of my ex this time because, this is really screwed-up. This ex openly admitted to checking his ex’s (we’ll call her Bertha) Internet browser history and her email. Furthermore, he didn’t see a problem with this. Granted, he did make some great finds, such as the fact Bertha has quite the fondness of lesbian porn, but I still find this to be a little over the line.
What was even worse was the fact that he continued to check Bertha’s email after they had broken up. Again, he did make some juicy finds, like her correspondence regarding a one night stand with the grossest guy on campus (side note: the one night stand guy totally had the worse acne known to mankind…and an uncanny resemblance to Quasimodo), but really, who does this? The fact that he admitted to finding this email the ‘one time’ he checked makes me think that he was probably really checking her email on a daily basis.
If I hadn’t made a point to change all my passwords, he’d probably be reading my email right now.
Monday, December 10, 2007
Bad Gifts: Part Trois
It's that time of year again, which means it's time for the annual "Crappy Christmas Gifts my Exes Gave Me" post. This year, I am going to do something a little different. I've already told everyone about the bad gifts I've received (here and here).
I really don't want to beat a dead horse on this one, so I am asking everyone to either e-mail me at loserexrgb@gmail.com or, post in the comments section about a bad gift that your ex has given you.
I probably can think of one or two I haven't mentioned yet that I will be willing to throw in...
BJA
I haven't been a blog member for other Christmas occasions, so I have the exciting privilege of explaining a few bad Christmas gifts I have received over the years.
One year my ex gave me a build-a-bear cat. When you squeezed its arm it would say "Meow, Meow, Meow." Cute. It's a cat.
Side note: The sound button was in the arm because String Bean put it in wrong. Don't ask me how you screw up a process meant for toddlers.
What's the point of a sound-making stuffed animal to a high school senior? I can't wear it and I can't show it off without being laughed at. To top it off, when I roll over in the middle of the night it yells at me and I wake up to the screeching sound of a mechanical mew.
I ended up giving the cat to my cousin the next year. She's five. Loves it.
Another side note: Don't give a girl the same gift you already gave her. String Bean thought this was such a great gift that he reprised the sentiment with a pink bear for the next Christmas. I haven't found a cousin who wants a bear that says, "I love you baby girl" in String Bean's voice. If you know of any takers, leave a comment.
Other gifts that should be avoided:
The sweater your mother gave you last Christmas. - Not appropriate for your girlfriend if you wouldn't wear it.
A book in a language I don't speak. - Self explanatory.You 're either not paying attention or grabbed the first book that's cover looked interesting.
A fake trip to Italy in the same envelope as a cheap gift certificate to Old Navy. - Beyond angry about this one, still. I was all kinds of excited.
RGB
Ok, I told you I had more bad gift stories.
This one is a little different because, it’s not about a bad gift I was given, but it still seems appropriate for the post.
Back in high school, while I was dating Boris, a friend of mine threw a New Year’s Eve party which included a white elephant gift exchange (I’ve recently been told this is not a widely-used term, so I will explain: a white elephant gift is one that is essentially of no use or value – a gag gift of sorts). I was incredibly excited when I heard about the white elephant part and immediately went to my basement to find the biggest piece of crap that I could wrap up.
My finding: an eagle centerpiece made of pinecones (I really don’t know how this crap gets in the basement anyway) that my mother was eager to part with. This stupid pinecone eagle was about 15” tall and TACKY. The eagle looked like he was a little special. Oh, and I threw in a pinecone eaglet as well (yes, someone made more than one of these). It could not possibly fit anyone’s decorating scheme (unless they were into tacky nature paraphernalia). No reasonable person would ever buy this or accept it as a gift.
Unfortunately, Boris was far from reasonable. When he came to pick me up for the party, I was still laughing about the eagle as I carried it out to the car in a box. I explained to him the contents of the box and how ridiculously tacky they were.
When the gift exchange began, the mother of the host stepped in and said she thought this was mean, so she threw in several good gifts that were things people actually wanted. A few of the attendees also seemed to feel bad about the white elephant idea and brought nice gifts. Basically, there were plenty of good options for anyone who wanted. I guess Boris did not want a good gift. When it was his turn, he beelined straight to the gifts and picked-out mine.
I found it to be incredibly weird that he would chose a piece of crap over something nice. But, that was nothing compared to how weird it was that he brought the piece of crap home to his parents who promptly displayed it in a very prominent location in their living room.
I really don't want to beat a dead horse on this one, so I am asking everyone to either e-mail me at loserexrgb@gmail.com or, post in the comments section about a bad gift that your ex has given you.
I probably can think of one or two I haven't mentioned yet that I will be willing to throw in...
BJA
I haven't been a blog member for other Christmas occasions, so I have the exciting privilege of explaining a few bad Christmas gifts I have received over the years.
One year my ex gave me a build-a-bear cat. When you squeezed its arm it would say "Meow, Meow, Meow." Cute. It's a cat.
Side note: The sound button was in the arm because String Bean put it in wrong. Don't ask me how you screw up a process meant for toddlers.
What's the point of a sound-making stuffed animal to a high school senior? I can't wear it and I can't show it off without being laughed at. To top it off, when I roll over in the middle of the night it yells at me and I wake up to the screeching sound of a mechanical mew.
I ended up giving the cat to my cousin the next year. She's five. Loves it.
Another side note: Don't give a girl the same gift you already gave her. String Bean thought this was such a great gift that he reprised the sentiment with a pink bear for the next Christmas. I haven't found a cousin who wants a bear that says, "I love you baby girl" in String Bean's voice. If you know of any takers, leave a comment.
Other gifts that should be avoided:
The sweater your mother gave you last Christmas. - Not appropriate for your girlfriend if you wouldn't wear it.
A book in a language I don't speak. - Self explanatory.You 're either not paying attention or grabbed the first book that's cover looked interesting.
A fake trip to Italy in the same envelope as a cheap gift certificate to Old Navy. - Beyond angry about this one, still. I was all kinds of excited.
RGB
Ok, I told you I had more bad gift stories.
This one is a little different because, it’s not about a bad gift I was given, but it still seems appropriate for the post.
Back in high school, while I was dating Boris, a friend of mine threw a New Year’s Eve party which included a white elephant gift exchange (I’ve recently been told this is not a widely-used term, so I will explain: a white elephant gift is one that is essentially of no use or value – a gag gift of sorts). I was incredibly excited when I heard about the white elephant part and immediately went to my basement to find the biggest piece of crap that I could wrap up.
My finding: an eagle centerpiece made of pinecones (I really don’t know how this crap gets in the basement anyway) that my mother was eager to part with. This stupid pinecone eagle was about 15” tall and TACKY. The eagle looked like he was a little special. Oh, and I threw in a pinecone eaglet as well (yes, someone made more than one of these). It could not possibly fit anyone’s decorating scheme (unless they were into tacky nature paraphernalia). No reasonable person would ever buy this or accept it as a gift.
Unfortunately, Boris was far from reasonable. When he came to pick me up for the party, I was still laughing about the eagle as I carried it out to the car in a box. I explained to him the contents of the box and how ridiculously tacky they were.
When the gift exchange began, the mother of the host stepped in and said she thought this was mean, so she threw in several good gifts that were things people actually wanted. A few of the attendees also seemed to feel bad about the white elephant idea and brought nice gifts. Basically, there were plenty of good options for anyone who wanted. I guess Boris did not want a good gift. When it was his turn, he beelined straight to the gifts and picked-out mine.
I found it to be incredibly weird that he would chose a piece of crap over something nice. But, that was nothing compared to how weird it was that he brought the piece of crap home to his parents who promptly displayed it in a very prominent location in their living room.
Sunday, December 09, 2007
A Little Less Talk...
Sasquatch spoke like Shakespeare. Don't get me wrong, Sasquatch is actually a great guy. But he always spoke as if someone was listening and writing down every word that came from his mouth. Sorry buddy, I don't carry a voice recorder in my pocket. And typically, what he would say has either been said before or is not nearly as deep as he thought. Although, I have to say, sometimes the poetic thought and rituals were endearing... but they simply wore me out. There's only so long you can date someone who reminds you of Edgar Allen Poe or Ernest Hemingway, without the creepster part.
But the high faluten speech wasn't just when we were alone. Sasquatch came to dinner with myself and my parents. When the waiter came by to take our order, I jokingly remarked that both he and my father would want something spicy. Hello, they both like spicy food! I didn't specify a dish, so I knew the waiter wouldn't write the order down, "something spicy." I know he doesn't speak English well, but goodness gracious, I'm sure he's not an idiot.
But the high faluten speech wasn't just when we were alone. Sasquatch came to dinner with myself and my parents. When the waiter came by to take our order, I jokingly remarked that both he and my father would want something spicy. Hello, they both like spicy food! I didn't specify a dish, so I knew the waiter wouldn't write the order down, "something spicy." I know he doesn't speak English well, but goodness gracious, I'm sure he's not an idiot.
Instead of laughing or recognizing it was a joke, Sasquatch turned to me and deadpanned, "Do not speak for me, for I can speak for myself."
Excuse me? At first I was simply stunned. I wasn't sure how to respond. After all, my parents were across the table. To top it off, my father does the typical guy response, "OOOOOOOO!" I think daggers shot from my eyes at this crazy man who I'm apparently related to. I secretly hoped at this moment the milkman was actually my father.
The point of my outrage is that I felt as though Sasquatch was trying to put me in my place. Sasquatch knows what he wants and he's set in his ways. That might make him a spectacular catch for someone someday. But not for me. I'm too opinionated and driven to be spoken to as though I'm a child rather than a girlfriend.
Please know that Sasquatch is a good guy, he's not remotely as retarded as some of the exes highlighted in this blog. Yet some of his mannerisms and comments are most certainly the kind that are detrimental and... well really just awkward... and that makes some of these stories a perfect fit for Loser-ex.
Friday, December 07, 2007
Fuzzy Wuzzy Was a Bear
One thing I cannot stress enough to guys concerned about how they look naked - suck it up and get a wax. I know perhaps guys can't help it when they're hairy, nor do I blame them. But here's the thing, if it bother's you - go all out and get it fixed.
Sasquatch was just generally hairy. Hence, his nickname. Again, I don't fault him for being a hairy guy, it's in his genes. But what made it uber awkward was that he would try to shave his shoulders, which, I guess, was the part he most despised.
The problem with strategically shaving parts of your hairy body comes when you put clothes ON. Sasquatch's t-shirts would catch on his shoulder stubble, and ride up. I was constantly having to fix it so that he didn't look like he was wearing a stupid muscle shirt.
Side note: Muscle shirts are always stupid. No excuse. You look like a fool.
I felt bad for Sasquatch. Half the time I was with him I felt like I was covered in dog hair and I had to remind myself... no you're dating a Yeti. (Don't think I'm being mean, I told him as such, and in turn he called me his Midget. Fair game here, ya'll. I'm not evil.) It's a little gross to get up and wonder where all the random disgusting hair came from.
Another side note: If you're this hairy, clean your damn shower often and consistently. It's friggin gross when it covers you, your bed, AND you bathroom when you don't take the time to wax, change your sheets every night, or clean the damned bathroom.
Back to my main point. Get a wax. Painful as all hell, and you'll be red for a day or two. But ya'll play football and hockey and whatnot. Isn't the motto no pain no gain? Well here's a new one for you to work with.
No pain, no game.
Sasquatch was just generally hairy. Hence, his nickname. Again, I don't fault him for being a hairy guy, it's in his genes. But what made it uber awkward was that he would try to shave his shoulders, which, I guess, was the part he most despised.
The problem with strategically shaving parts of your hairy body comes when you put clothes ON. Sasquatch's t-shirts would catch on his shoulder stubble, and ride up. I was constantly having to fix it so that he didn't look like he was wearing a stupid muscle shirt.
Side note: Muscle shirts are always stupid. No excuse. You look like a fool.
I felt bad for Sasquatch. Half the time I was with him I felt like I was covered in dog hair and I had to remind myself... no you're dating a Yeti. (Don't think I'm being mean, I told him as such, and in turn he called me his Midget. Fair game here, ya'll. I'm not evil.) It's a little gross to get up and wonder where all the random disgusting hair came from.
Another side note: If you're this hairy, clean your damn shower often and consistently. It's friggin gross when it covers you, your bed, AND you bathroom when you don't take the time to wax, change your sheets every night, or clean the damned bathroom.
Back to my main point. Get a wax. Painful as all hell, and you'll be red for a day or two. But ya'll play football and hockey and whatnot. Isn't the motto no pain no gain? Well here's a new one for you to work with.
No pain, no game.
Thursday, December 06, 2007
Parting gifts...
One month after my fiance and I broke things off for good (the second time), I got a funny call from my roommate.
"Did you know that The Cowardly Greek stopped by to drop off some things?"
"Um...no!" I thought to myself, "What on earth could he have dropped off? Last time I was at his place I made sure to get everything, because I figured that ship was sinking."
So I asked my roommate what on earth was so important that he would drive 2 hours in order to drop off (we were slightly long distance).
She told me: A vacuum, a set of hot curlers, and...a box of tampons.
The vacuum was a piece of shit, the curlers I didn't use anymore, and the tampons. Ohmygoodness....I can't get over the tampons. The subext - whether intended or not - was, "you menstrating bitch!"
The bastard drove 2 hours to my house and 2 hours back in order to drop off worthless crap. I just hope dropping off this stuff served some sort of cathartic purpose for him because no matter how much I still hate him to this day I can't get over those damn tampons...
signed,
Madame Jacqueline
Guest Blogger
"Did you know that The Cowardly Greek stopped by to drop off some things?"
"Um...no!" I thought to myself, "What on earth could he have dropped off? Last time I was at his place I made sure to get everything, because I figured that ship was sinking."
So I asked my roommate what on earth was so important that he would drive 2 hours in order to drop off (we were slightly long distance).
She told me: A vacuum, a set of hot curlers, and...a box of tampons.
The vacuum was a piece of shit, the curlers I didn't use anymore, and the tampons. Ohmygoodness....I can't get over the tampons. The subext - whether intended or not - was, "you menstrating bitch!"
The bastard drove 2 hours to my house and 2 hours back in order to drop off worthless crap. I just hope dropping off this stuff served some sort of cathartic purpose for him because no matter how much I still hate him to this day I can't get over those damn tampons...
signed,
Madame Jacqueline
Guest Blogger
Tattoo Tale Part 2
I felt inspired by RGB's tattoo rant and wanted to add a #3 to her tattoo stories. Ok, well it's my tattoo story so... whatever. You get the idea.
I am also not completely anti-tattoo. I can live with them, though I do not intend to ever get one myself. If I want to immortalize something that means something to me, I won't use needles and ink to do so. Some girls may find a large tattoo covering a back or arm to be damn sexy... but those girls typically ride on the backs of motorcycles or wear all black with piercings sticking out of every orifice. (Moment to say eww to that, as well. Gross.) I have yet to meet a girl who finds a guy whose entire body is covered in tattoos a turn on unless they themselves are painted from head to toe.
Here is my tale of tattoo woe. I dated a guy who was altogether a great man and date. Lot of fun, easy to talk to, easy on the eyes...to this day I still think he's stellar. But his tattoo threw me for a loop.
Guys: if you get a tattoo that only remotely looks like you wanted it to, chances are that we women will have no idea what it was supposed to be. Of COURSE I wondered what in the world you had on your arm. Then when I guessed it was a mongoose, of COURSE I was extremely confused as to why in the world you would put a mongoose on your arm. I deduced that it was an educated guess because you had a snake on the other shoulder. Being that you're one of those guys who has multiple tattoos with no corresponding theme, I logically assumed you wanted one to be chasing the other. (Lame thought - perhaps. But not as lame as putting a tattoo that looks like a mongoose on your arm.)
The poor guy looked horrifed when asked me what I thought it was. My response was far from what he wanted to hear. What I had taken for a mongoose was apparently a panther.
Do not get offended if your panther looks nothing like a panther, but rather a mongoose. I didn't take the ink to your arm, the crazy man (or lady) with the tattoos covering him (or her) from head to toe did.
I am also not completely anti-tattoo. I can live with them, though I do not intend to ever get one myself. If I want to immortalize something that means something to me, I won't use needles and ink to do so. Some girls may find a large tattoo covering a back or arm to be damn sexy... but those girls typically ride on the backs of motorcycles or wear all black with piercings sticking out of every orifice. (Moment to say eww to that, as well. Gross.) I have yet to meet a girl who finds a guy whose entire body is covered in tattoos a turn on unless they themselves are painted from head to toe.
Here is my tale of tattoo woe. I dated a guy who was altogether a great man and date. Lot of fun, easy to talk to, easy on the eyes...to this day I still think he's stellar. But his tattoo threw me for a loop.
Guys: if you get a tattoo that only remotely looks like you wanted it to, chances are that we women will have no idea what it was supposed to be. Of COURSE I wondered what in the world you had on your arm. Then when I guessed it was a mongoose, of COURSE I was extremely confused as to why in the world you would put a mongoose on your arm. I deduced that it was an educated guess because you had a snake on the other shoulder. Being that you're one of those guys who has multiple tattoos with no corresponding theme, I logically assumed you wanted one to be chasing the other. (Lame thought - perhaps. But not as lame as putting a tattoo that looks like a mongoose on your arm.)
The poor guy looked horrifed when asked me what I thought it was. My response was far from what he wanted to hear. What I had taken for a mongoose was apparently a panther.
Do not get offended if your panther looks nothing like a panther, but rather a mongoose. I didn't take the ink to your arm, the crazy man (or lady) with the tattoos covering him (or her) from head to toe did.
You Realize Those Don't Wash Off...
First, let me just say that I am not anti-tattoo. I do not have any myself. This is partly due to the fact that I am a huge wuss about any sort of pain, but more due to the fact that I can’t think of anything significant enough to me that I would want it on my body for the rest of my life. Also, thinking about what it would look like when I am 60 is kind of gross. I don’t care if people get tattoos; it’s their right to do as they please with their own bodies.
But, there are a few instances in which they slightly irk me, and those are:
a) When one gets several very large, very visible tattoos (to the point where they cannot be covered-up), then complains that they were discriminated against at a job interview due to the fact they have tattoos.
b) When one gets a tattoo that is a word in a language that he or she does not speak (I don’t think it means what you think it means…).
c) When someone gets a tattoo which has no real significance to them (i.e. a tramp stamp).
With that said, here are two tattoo stories I have (that's right, it's a holiday double-post!):
1) I went on date a a few months ago with a young man who, while not a total loser, was not exactly my penguin. Our conversation somehow turned to the topic of tattoos and he asked if I had any. I told him that I did not and explained why. He agreed with my opinion of getting a tramp stamp, or the male equivalent (which is a tribal armband or Chinese character). He mentioned that he was planning on getting two tattoos. I asked him what he wanted to get and the answer blew my mind.
He wanted to get a picture of each of his parents – one on each arm.
I gave him a look of puzzlement and disgust. He was insistent that this was a good idea. He explained that he was really close with his parents and that he would (obviously) get pictures of them when they were younger. Fine.
I also have a good relationship with my parents, but I do not feel the need to have pictures of them on my body. Furthermore, I don’t know his mother, but something tells me that she probably does not want to be commemorated via his arm tattoo. Just a thought. Also, did it ever occur to him that girls might find it creepy to hook up with a guy and have to look at pictures of his parents the whole time? Creepy.
2) Fred did not have any tattoos, but told me he knew exactly what he would get if he ever got one. It seemed that he had really put a lot of thought into what tattoo he would get, so I asked him what his idea was.
He wanted to get a tattoo of Fred Flintstone with a lawnmower. He would get it close to his nether regions and shave a strip of hair next to it add to the overall effect. This way, he rationalized, if he ever got tired of looking at it, he could just stop shaving and it would be covered-up. Classy.
But, there are a few instances in which they slightly irk me, and those are:
a) When one gets several very large, very visible tattoos (to the point where they cannot be covered-up), then complains that they were discriminated against at a job interview due to the fact they have tattoos.
b) When one gets a tattoo that is a word in a language that he or she does not speak (I don’t think it means what you think it means…).
c) When someone gets a tattoo which has no real significance to them (i.e. a tramp stamp).
With that said, here are two tattoo stories I have (that's right, it's a holiday double-post!):
1) I went on date a a few months ago with a young man who, while not a total loser, was not exactly my penguin. Our conversation somehow turned to the topic of tattoos and he asked if I had any. I told him that I did not and explained why. He agreed with my opinion of getting a tramp stamp, or the male equivalent (which is a tribal armband or Chinese character). He mentioned that he was planning on getting two tattoos. I asked him what he wanted to get and the answer blew my mind.
He wanted to get a picture of each of his parents – one on each arm.
I gave him a look of puzzlement and disgust. He was insistent that this was a good idea. He explained that he was really close with his parents and that he would (obviously) get pictures of them when they were younger. Fine.
I also have a good relationship with my parents, but I do not feel the need to have pictures of them on my body. Furthermore, I don’t know his mother, but something tells me that she probably does not want to be commemorated via his arm tattoo. Just a thought. Also, did it ever occur to him that girls might find it creepy to hook up with a guy and have to look at pictures of his parents the whole time? Creepy.
2) Fred did not have any tattoos, but told me he knew exactly what he would get if he ever got one. It seemed that he had really put a lot of thought into what tattoo he would get, so I asked him what his idea was.
He wanted to get a tattoo of Fred Flintstone with a lawnmower. He would get it close to his nether regions and shave a strip of hair next to it add to the overall effect. This way, he rationalized, if he ever got tired of looking at it, he could just stop shaving and it would be covered-up. Classy.
Wednesday, December 05, 2007
Who's There?
In response to BJA's unwelcome house guest at the wee hours of the morning...
For the most part, my stories are about incidents which took place several months or years ago, after I have detached myself from them enough to share them publicly. But, every now and then, I encounter such epic fail from a former fling, that it instantly earns a spot on Loser Ex. This post is about such epic fail.
The young man in this story is someone I dated casually for a few months, but things quickly died down once I realized I really did not like his personality at all. Having a conversation with this guy was painful. Really. I’ll always think of him as the kid who was popular in high school, but went downhill afterward. He was attractive and from a good family, but had zero ambition. I will refer to him as “The Dud,” because that is the name by which my friends know him. Aside from that, he had a lot of drama that I had no desire to deal with. But, that is neither here nor there. The only important thing to note here is that prior to this incident, we had not spoken in several weeks.
One recent Friday night, I was at WHG’s apartment. Around 2:30am, my phone started to ring. When I saw that it was The Dud, I let it roll to voicemail. The phone rang again. I let it roll to voicemail again. The phone rang a third time. Voicemail again. The phone then rang seven more times before I finally turned it off. At this point it was 2:50am. I should probably mention that I almost never turn my phone off. I am always paranoid that there will be some sort of emergency in the middle of the night and someone will need to get a hold of me.
The next morning, I turned my phone on as soon as I got up. It immediately started beeping like crazy from all the texts and voicemails I had received. First, I flipped through the text messages. They were all from The Dud. The first few were telling me that he was outside my apartment. The next few were telling me to come let him in because it is cold and rainy. The last few were telling me off for not letting him in. The voicemails followed the same pattern.
Now, let me point out a few factors that make this ridiculous. First of all, The Dud does not drive. There was some issue with his license a while ago, that I never really got the full story on (he tends to lie a lot). So, that means that despite not getting any sort of response from me, he decided it was a good idea to take a cab over to my apartment.
I should also note that cabs do not drive by my place. In order to get a cab at my place, one has to call a company. It usually takes at least 10 minutes for one to arrive. So, not only did The Dud come over to my place without having spoken with me, he also put himself in a situation from which it would be very difficult to get home.
Also, it was fricking cold. I really hope he had a nice warm coat and mittens on. It was rainy too. So, to recap, The Dud, not having spoken with me in several weeks, decided to cab it over to my place with no ride home so he could stand in the cold and rain and wait for me to come let him in. Then, he got pissed at me for not answering my phone at some odd hour of the morning.
I honestly expected there to be a brick through my window when I came back home.
Apparently he wasn't too upset though. He played the blow-up my phone game again a few nights later. I really don't know how many calls I have to ignore before he finally takes the hint.
For the most part, my stories are about incidents which took place several months or years ago, after I have detached myself from them enough to share them publicly. But, every now and then, I encounter such epic fail from a former fling, that it instantly earns a spot on Loser Ex. This post is about such epic fail.
The young man in this story is someone I dated casually for a few months, but things quickly died down once I realized I really did not like his personality at all. Having a conversation with this guy was painful. Really. I’ll always think of him as the kid who was popular in high school, but went downhill afterward. He was attractive and from a good family, but had zero ambition. I will refer to him as “The Dud,” because that is the name by which my friends know him. Aside from that, he had a lot of drama that I had no desire to deal with. But, that is neither here nor there. The only important thing to note here is that prior to this incident, we had not spoken in several weeks.
One recent Friday night, I was at WHG’s apartment. Around 2:30am, my phone started to ring. When I saw that it was The Dud, I let it roll to voicemail. The phone rang again. I let it roll to voicemail again. The phone rang a third time. Voicemail again. The phone then rang seven more times before I finally turned it off. At this point it was 2:50am. I should probably mention that I almost never turn my phone off. I am always paranoid that there will be some sort of emergency in the middle of the night and someone will need to get a hold of me.
The next morning, I turned my phone on as soon as I got up. It immediately started beeping like crazy from all the texts and voicemails I had received. First, I flipped through the text messages. They were all from The Dud. The first few were telling me that he was outside my apartment. The next few were telling me to come let him in because it is cold and rainy. The last few were telling me off for not letting him in. The voicemails followed the same pattern.
Now, let me point out a few factors that make this ridiculous. First of all, The Dud does not drive. There was some issue with his license a while ago, that I never really got the full story on (he tends to lie a lot). So, that means that despite not getting any sort of response from me, he decided it was a good idea to take a cab over to my apartment.
I should also note that cabs do not drive by my place. In order to get a cab at my place, one has to call a company. It usually takes at least 10 minutes for one to arrive. So, not only did The Dud come over to my place without having spoken with me, he also put himself in a situation from which it would be very difficult to get home.
Also, it was fricking cold. I really hope he had a nice warm coat and mittens on. It was rainy too. So, to recap, The Dud, not having spoken with me in several weeks, decided to cab it over to my place with no ride home so he could stand in the cold and rain and wait for me to come let him in. Then, he got pissed at me for not answering my phone at some odd hour of the morning.
I honestly expected there to be a brick through my window when I came back home.
Apparently he wasn't too upset though. He played the blow-up my phone game again a few nights later. I really don't know how many calls I have to ignore before he finally takes the hint.
Knock Knock Joke
Normally, I would find knock knock jokes funny. But not when it's real knocking, and not when it's five o'clock in the morning. Actually, it may have been closer to 4:30.
The weekend before this particular incident, I had gone with a girlfriend of mine visiting from back home to a local bar. We met a cute boy in the Marines with muscles that go on for miles and sparkling blue eyes. I should have seen that this situation would be trouble. The guy was sweet, nice, worked a lot, so he didn't have much time to come and hang out with me. Not that I blame him, it's a pretty hectic and demanding job working for the United States Marine Corps.
But G.I. Joe doesn't get a free pass for everything just because he's a military man. I had stayed up late the night before because I had been in class until 10:00pm. The drive home from where I attend school and where I live is at least 30 minutes, so I didn't actually get to bed until 12:30 after making dinner, finishing up some school work, and relaxing for a bit.
Somehow, G.I. Joe thought it would be fun to come over and see me before work... if you know what I mean. My phone rings, but it's 4:30 in the morning and quite frankly I'm sleeping. What kind of psycho calls at that hour?
So anyway, I figured that would be the end of it and I roll back over and continue sleeping. Suddenly, I'm reawakened by a pounding on my door. Literally, a pounding. I was concerned that someone was beating my door down and breaking in. I'm positive that my neighbors had the same concerns. My roomate looked scared out of her mind.
I look through the peep hole, and there's G.I. Joe. All dressed for work and apparently thinking he's going to get a treat for waking me up this early. Yes, boys, cuz waking a girl up is definitely a way to get into her pants.
False.
Like I said, G.I. Joe seemed so normal at first. But don't play the knock knock game before the sun comes up. Not cool.
The weekend before this particular incident, I had gone with a girlfriend of mine visiting from back home to a local bar. We met a cute boy in the Marines with muscles that go on for miles and sparkling blue eyes. I should have seen that this situation would be trouble. The guy was sweet, nice, worked a lot, so he didn't have much time to come and hang out with me. Not that I blame him, it's a pretty hectic and demanding job working for the United States Marine Corps.
But G.I. Joe doesn't get a free pass for everything just because he's a military man. I had stayed up late the night before because I had been in class until 10:00pm. The drive home from where I attend school and where I live is at least 30 minutes, so I didn't actually get to bed until 12:30 after making dinner, finishing up some school work, and relaxing for a bit.
Somehow, G.I. Joe thought it would be fun to come over and see me before work... if you know what I mean. My phone rings, but it's 4:30 in the morning and quite frankly I'm sleeping. What kind of psycho calls at that hour?
So anyway, I figured that would be the end of it and I roll back over and continue sleeping. Suddenly, I'm reawakened by a pounding on my door. Literally, a pounding. I was concerned that someone was beating my door down and breaking in. I'm positive that my neighbors had the same concerns. My roomate looked scared out of her mind.
I look through the peep hole, and there's G.I. Joe. All dressed for work and apparently thinking he's going to get a treat for waking me up this early. Yes, boys, cuz waking a girl up is definitely a way to get into her pants.
False.
Like I said, G.I. Joe seemed so normal at first. But don't play the knock knock game before the sun comes up. Not cool.
Monday, December 03, 2007
When Bad Stories Attack
This is my first post on this blog. Yay! And boy, do I have some great loser-ex stories to share with my fellow bloggers and readers.
For my first post, I'm going to tell you about Ex.1, or "String Bean," a slimey SOB with a propensity to find other girls to play with while I was away at college. He earns the nickname String Bean due to his inability to gain weight. I swear, the boy weighed less than I do, and I'm not a big girl. He was a good ten inches taller than me, too.
I'm prompted to share my story of how I dumped this particular man because his most current ex and I have been exchanging ridiculous stories of him now that she finally clued into to his lack of brain power. It's a little amusing to be able to recall some of the stupid things he did, and to then find out that he continues to pull the same stunts!
What is it that makes boys believe they can get away with cheating by trying to come up with a cover? It doesn't work, and it's especially ridiculous when they think they've pulled the wool over our eyes with some fancy story-telling. They seem to think that if they tell us "what happened" with enough enthusiasm, we'll accept it no matter how unlikely it may sound. Allow me to share the final straw of String Bean and the reason I am thrilled to be able to call him a "Loser-Ex."
I was away at college, and my soon-to-be-ex was moving out of his parents home for the first time. I could call it growing up, but it's too much of a stretch for him, so I won't. He moved in with my best friend, a guy who I had known for nearly six years. My friend and I are close, and very little gets past him that doesn't make it's way to me. This made it even sillier that he actually thought he could get away with what happened.
The fact that he was living with my best friend didn't stop String Bean from taking advantage of his new place and all the freedom and free women surrounding him. Late at night "Friend" came home to discover that String Bean's shower had some strange noises coming out of it. Turns out a lady-neighbor had come over to meet String Bean and Friend, and... well, she got to know her new building mate a little too well. "Friend" opened the door just to be sure, saw what was happening, and immediately made a telephone call.
Now, cheating is horrible, regardless of circumstance. But what truly sets String Bean above and beyond the normal cheating ex was his cover story. When I called, the pathetic excuse of a man wanted to explain himself to me.
"You don't understand baby. [Friend] doesn't know what he saw. [Lady-Neighbor] had come over with a friend of hers, and the two of them got pretty drunk. They wanted to take a bath and I was concerned that they were going to drown, so I joined them in the bathroom. She's a lesbian, and those noises that [Friend] heard weren't me. They were the two girls."
Are you kidding me? Could the story have been any more ridiculous? String Bean was trying to cover his illicit sexual encounter with a neighbor in the shower by trying to tell me that his neighbors were lesbian sluts who go at it in new neighbor's apartments.
Fortunately, I am not the idiot String Bean took me for. I think my exact response was... "In the effing shower? You know what, don't call me anymore. Not only are you a lying, cheating, asshole, but you're a complete imbicile who can't even come up with a plausible cover story. You're more stupid than I ever imagined. Hey, know what else? I faked it. Everytime."
I don't like to think of myself as vengeful, but that felt good. Not to mention I suppose being honest can't count as revenge. String Bean was a compulsive liar. And for not coming up with a better story, he's also a completely incompetent loser.
For my first post, I'm going to tell you about Ex.1, or "String Bean," a slimey SOB with a propensity to find other girls to play with while I was away at college. He earns the nickname String Bean due to his inability to gain weight. I swear, the boy weighed less than I do, and I'm not a big girl. He was a good ten inches taller than me, too.
I'm prompted to share my story of how I dumped this particular man because his most current ex and I have been exchanging ridiculous stories of him now that she finally clued into to his lack of brain power. It's a little amusing to be able to recall some of the stupid things he did, and to then find out that he continues to pull the same stunts!
What is it that makes boys believe they can get away with cheating by trying to come up with a cover? It doesn't work, and it's especially ridiculous when they think they've pulled the wool over our eyes with some fancy story-telling. They seem to think that if they tell us "what happened" with enough enthusiasm, we'll accept it no matter how unlikely it may sound. Allow me to share the final straw of String Bean and the reason I am thrilled to be able to call him a "Loser-Ex."
I was away at college, and my soon-to-be-ex was moving out of his parents home for the first time. I could call it growing up, but it's too much of a stretch for him, so I won't. He moved in with my best friend, a guy who I had known for nearly six years. My friend and I are close, and very little gets past him that doesn't make it's way to me. This made it even sillier that he actually thought he could get away with what happened.
The fact that he was living with my best friend didn't stop String Bean from taking advantage of his new place and all the freedom and free women surrounding him. Late at night "Friend" came home to discover that String Bean's shower had some strange noises coming out of it. Turns out a lady-neighbor had come over to meet String Bean and Friend, and... well, she got to know her new building mate a little too well. "Friend" opened the door just to be sure, saw what was happening, and immediately made a telephone call.
Now, cheating is horrible, regardless of circumstance. But what truly sets String Bean above and beyond the normal cheating ex was his cover story. When I called, the pathetic excuse of a man wanted to explain himself to me.
"You don't understand baby. [Friend] doesn't know what he saw. [Lady-Neighbor] had come over with a friend of hers, and the two of them got pretty drunk. They wanted to take a bath and I was concerned that they were going to drown, so I joined them in the bathroom. She's a lesbian, and those noises that [Friend] heard weren't me. They were the two girls."
Are you kidding me? Could the story have been any more ridiculous? String Bean was trying to cover his illicit sexual encounter with a neighbor in the shower by trying to tell me that his neighbors were lesbian sluts who go at it in new neighbor's apartments.
Fortunately, I am not the idiot String Bean took me for. I think my exact response was... "In the effing shower? You know what, don't call me anymore. Not only are you a lying, cheating, asshole, but you're a complete imbicile who can't even come up with a plausible cover story. You're more stupid than I ever imagined. Hey, know what else? I faked it. Everytime."
I don't like to think of myself as vengeful, but that felt good. Not to mention I suppose being honest can't count as revenge. String Bean was a compulsive liar. And for not coming up with a better story, he's also a completely incompetent loser.
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