Snow Patrol

A few years ago there was this insanely crazy blizzard in my hometown. Worse, it happened over the first spring break in my life that my parents hadn't planned a getaway vacation. I was looking forward to hanging out with my friends, enjoying some time outside, and spending some quality time with String Bean without worrying about getting to school or practice on time.

Well, the snow ruined all that. It began snowing on Monday. Four feet later, I was snowed in and playing Life with my younger brother and parents by candlelight. You don't know real pain until you have one of those little cars stuffed with pink and blue "people" and your father says, "I hope this isn't what I really can expect from your life."

I couldn't wait to escape. On Wednesday, we finally figured out how to get out of our house and to my friend Becky-lou's. (Obviously a made-up name, get over it.) We spent the day watching movies, acknowledging the fact that all other options were buried under four feet of snow.

Meanwhile, String Bean had escaped from his house and headed to a friend's home, who apparently was having some sort of blizzard related drinking party. That night, they proceeded to get wasted. String Bean calls me, drunk, and screaming. Turns out a fellow partyier thought it would be hilarious to draw a... specific body part.. on String Bean's face when he passed out. Needless to really say, String Bean was peeved.

Instead of being an adult, String Bean abandoned ship. He careened (without a coat) into the snow towards his own home. Remember - he's drunk, he has a phalic symbol on his face, and he's increasingly growing closer to frostbite and/or freezing to death. Logically, he calls me.

My young and naive head could not wrap around the idiocy String Bean was engaging in. But, "savior" I felt I was, I begged Becky-lou and her father to let us drive his SUV through the snow and out of the neighborhood into the main town where StringBean was apparently wandering. Mind you, it was now icy, and the plows hadn't come through, so it was only what had melted down or been shoveled by hand that we could travel over.

The 10 minute trip took much longer than it should have because of the snow and the inability of the SUV to operate as a snowplow. We spun a few times, but fortunately got out in one piece and without having slid into a pole or curb. But the situation wasn't getting any better. StringBean wouldn't answer his phone. He was lost in the snow drifts.

After driving almost aimlessly through the deserted snowy streets of my home town, I spotted a lone figure stumbling through the piled-up snow. Sure enough, it was String Bean, who proceeded to beligerently tell me off for "following him". Like I really wanted to be trudging through ice and snow to save his ass.

We left after about 20 minutes of unyielding insults and anger, when I finally realized what a douche I was dating. If he refused to get in the car and was going to be a drunken ass, there was no use fighting with him.

Come to find out the next day that String Bean had been approached by another vehicle shortly thereafter. This one had flashing red and blue lights and a couple of cold and bitter men with flashlights who were justifiably a little peeved at this drunken idiot wandering around without a coat with a p*nis on his face. Fortunately, the officers decided to give String Bean a ride home, but not before giving him a breathalizer and a ticket for being drunk in public.

The next day, when we all could finally get cleanly out of the neighborhoods and the snow plows had done their part to clear the roads, I talked to String Bean about his frozen escapade. He defended his actions by claiming he was, ahem, NOT drunk. Didn't seem to register that he had a ticket indicating otherwise. And to top it all off, somehow it was my fault that he had been out in the cold.

Yes, String Bean. And I drew the p*nis on your face, too. I got crazy skills.

I'm a Loser Baby (Part 2)

Stringbean and I had been on our last leg when the flying squirrel incident happened, but I finally found the strength and/or balls to dump him for good a few months later. (Remember - we were long distance, so it took longer than it EVER would have had I been continually submitted in person to the loserness that was Stringbean.)

Once again, Stringbean neglected to call me the night before. At this point, however, I had grown accustomed to his flakiness and didn't think much of it. I was in class, trying to focus on what my professor was telling me about the phonetic alphabet and the french language, when my phone buzzed. The number came up as "Unknown," and I let it roll to voicemail. I imagined it was Stringbean, and thought it was appropriate to make the jerk wait. He knew I was in class, and, quite frankly, I didn't care what he had to say at the moment.

When class ended, I checked my voicemail.

"Hey baby girl it's me... (automated voice jumps in) is trying to call you from Jefferson County Detention Center. This call is collect and cannot be returned."

Needless to say I was not amused. My boyfriend was in friggin JAIL.

I called his Dad to find out what happened. He was a little sketchy on the details, but Stringbean had been arrested the night before for assault, and his Dad made the executive decision to leave his ass in the slammer for a day or two. I fully supported his decision.

Meanwhile, I called his buddy Bovi to find out the "real" story. Stringbean and some chick had been arguing inside the house. Bovi had young kids who were sleeping and decided that the two of them could take their dispute outside and leave the kids in their peaceful slumber.

Yet, once outside, it seems the argument esclated. Suffice it to say that the neighbors called the cops when they saw a young man and a young woman turning to blows to solve their argument. When the police arrived, they found Stringbean on top of said young woman, appearing, apparently, to be strangling her.

When Stringbean finally called at a time I could answer, I had very little to say. No amount of crying, "you're supposed to support me," "I called you because I thought you'd be the only person who would be on my side," or any other various blubbering statements could sway me.

Stringbean and I were finally over. It saddens me to this day that it took a jailhouse phone call for me to walk away from this loserex.

I'm a Loser Baby, So Why Don't You....

When to Stop Supporting Your Boyfriend's Antics - Part 1.

In a relationship, it is critical, and even necessary, to support your partner when they fall into hardship or difficult circumstances. However, in certain situations, this particular caveat is null and void.

Stringbean had a knack for "forgetting" to call when he got home after the bar or other activities, even after confirming that he would. We were in a long distance relationship, which made it all the more difficult to maintain trust and closeness that thousands of miles can obviously sabatoge. I'm not one to get upset about not calling per se - I am one to get upset about not calling if you said you would. It's a follow-through thing, nothing more. But that wasn't necessarily the issue during this particular event.

It was October, and I was upset that I hadn't been called the night before, but I continued about my business that day without pause. I was campaigning for a congressional candidate and couldn't have been happier waving signs and getting honked at out in the middle of the road. Then my cell phone rings. Rather than Stringbean calling me, it was a friend of his, whose name I will also protect by referring to him as Squatty.

Squatty: "Hey BJA, just wanted to give you an update on Stringbean's condition."

Why do girls get upset when you don't call when you say you will? Cuz if you get hurt or something else happens, we are left completely out of the loop, and distance only exacerbates the fear and worry.

Me: "What do you mean? What happened"

Squatty: "You mean you don't know???"

Uh... no.

Turns out brilliant Mr. Stringbean had gotten beyond wasted at a party the night before at a friend's apartment. Someone had made a comment that apparently made him angry, and he decided he wanted to leave. His friends, not wanting to support his death wish, told him no. They hid his keys and locked the door, while one of the bigger guys (lest we forget why Stringbean received the nickname...) stood in between him and the exit.

Stringbean was not about to be stopped however. Without thinking (obviously) he decided another exit was preferable. He jumped off the balcony.

It was a third story apartment.

Needless to say, Stringbean wound up in the hospital with broken bones and an alcohol violation. The ticket came from the fall, which I know may sound awkward, but follow me on this one. Stringbean didn't just yell out a carnal yell as he leapt from the balcony, but proceeded to justify his actions at the top of his lungs, disturbing the neighbors, by claiming he was, in fact, a "flying squirrel."

Sometimes I don't even know how to end these stories. And it's ridiculously pathetic this is only Part 1 of "When to Stop Supporting Your Boyfriend's Antics."

High School Never Ends

I don't know about you, but when high school ended, I was relieved. No more pencils, no more books, etc. kind of relieved. I had college to look forward to! String Bean, on the other hand, wasn't going to college. He had actually graduated the year before me and hadn't managed to find a way to get into a decent community college, let alone a four year institution and a far cry from the ivy league.

Here's the brutal truth about those who don't go to college. For a large portion of them (but by no means all, there are many brilliant non-college grads who do very well for themselves), high school was IT. The highlight of their lives! It was all downhill from there, right? But for those of us who either went to school or at least matured in some manner (although many who even went to college never saw the light of maturity...), we never wanted to revisit our high school years.

So when String Bean said a friend of his was throwing a house party the summer after my freshman year of college, I was perfectly content with going. I'd just come home from college, where house parties meant kegs, having fun, letting loose, and generally having a fantastic time because the cops weren't coming by. I wasn't 21 yet, but who cares? We were blocks from campus and had plenty of friends to make sure everyone could walk at the end of the night, or at least one person could be the one we leaned on. (Very little "law enforcement" in the Big Easy...)

Much to my surprise, String Bean drives us to this hole in the wall house in the middle of lower suburbia on the outskirts of my home town. This isn't a college level party... its not even in an area where college kids live... let alone where cops won't dare travel. Worse - it was some high schooler's house.

She was 14. Not completely unfortunate looking, but certainly not the queen bee of anything, and definitely barely out of diapers. Have you ever noticed how those younger than us think that the more the show the hotter they look? Let's remember that this mindset is only expected from strippers or for costume parties. If your midriff is showing and you're jailbait - you darn well better put some clothing on. This concept apparently escaped these young high school bimbos.

We arrive, I disdainfully examine the "party." Guess what we're here for. We're the alcohol buyers. The high schoolers fish through their pockets for the twenties they stole from their parents' wallets. Needless to say, I wasn't pleased. But I used their money to get some fine liquors I wanted, so I felt at least some sense of revenge.

When we returned, the drinking began. That part was expected. What wasn't on my list of things to do was run from the cops. But that is exactly what happened.

Let's be clear - I had high school parties in high school. But we weren't retarded enough to let the drunk guys go out back and have wrestling contests while blasting music at 1am. And never, EVER did I have to deal with diving over a fence to escape cops who actually care about noise and underage drinking violations.

Since when is it ok to take your girlfriend to a party thrown by 14 year old skanks? Thank goodness that ends after college. Or at least I really really hope I don't run into any losers who think that's ok at forty.

Seriously. Why were we there?

I do not miss high school.

Somebody Save Me

Yay for a joint post!

BJA

Disclaimer: This isn't the happiest post.

I had a horrible habit while dating String Bean that I'm disappointed to look back on now. I let him get away with most of the ways he treated me because I thought I needed to save him. My mom called it "broken-wing syndrome." My brother did it with one of his girlfriends, so this isn't simply a habit of women to pick up a partner who has the best of times just as often as the worst of times.

Let me actually explain a few things. String Bean was messed up in the head. He claimed it had to do with where he went to high school and a certain incident that happened on April 20, 1999... most of you should know what that was. He was injured. Plus his parents were divorced, he lived in a volatile family life with no one to look up to (including one uncle who had a restraining order from the rest of the family). He used his past as an excuse to treat me badly. Or maybe I simply used it as an excuse. He was hurtful, violent, judgemental, and possessive. He cheated, lied, yelled, drank, and mentally abused me in ways that today I know I would never accept.

I wish someone had shook me when I dated him and told me how many better guys are out there. Even then, I look back and people I knew did try to help me see it. My parents, his parents, his brother, his friends, my friends... they all told me that he wouldn't change. But I wanted so badly to believe that this man I had fallen in love with, the man I had watched myself grow and change along with and who I had seen what I thought was progress in... I couldn't believe he wasn't the man I "knew" he could be. I was so caught up with the fact that he just had to be the person I thought he was when I first met him - funny, creative, liked going on walks, made me laugh, gave me gorgeous jewelry, danced with me - that I was willing to wait through it all to be the one there for him when he finally acheived it.

I didn't realize that I was trying to be his savior. And the real kicker? I lost friends over it. I lost friends who couldn't bear to see how he treated me and how I treated myself with him. They told me time and time again and I came up with excuses. I thought they were reasons at the time, but they were nothing but excuses.

He cheated because his last girlfriend cheated and he can't open up to women. - No, he cheated because he had no respect for our relationship.

He lied because he had taught himself to cover up his true feelings and didn't want to hurt me. - Nope, he was a compulsive liar who had been lying so long he couldn't stop. And he just didn't want me to know.

He was abusive because he harbored pain and aggression from the shooting. - False. He was abusive because I took it. Because I stood up to him and was in his way.

He drank because he hid his pain through alcohol and hadn't learned to control it. - Wrong again. I even had the stupidity to tell him that song line, "whenever you need something strong, baby, just let me know." If I knew then what I know now...

To any girls who have gone through this - you can't change him. You can't save him. He has to save himself. You can believe all you want that you are the one who will give him the opportunity, the reason, the motivation to change. But you'll be wrong. When he wants to change, he will. But until then you will be hit, abused, cheated on, and otherwise treated as less than the woman you are.

To guys - most of you will never be like this. And I thank God for that. Yeesh, even the guys featured on this blog for the most part will never reach this level of loserex. I mean abusive guys are scraping the barrell!

I don't know what made me write this today. I started talking to an ex of mine and we talked about what we learned from each other and whether or not we learned the MOST from each other. And I have to say, the one who taught me the most about life and love, relationships and myself, was String Bean.

The benefits of this type of blog is we women can vent about things that drove us crazy in our previous relationships. (See CrazyHo for the newly birthed guy version.) Some are the quirky habits that guys can change of course, some are ones that are specific to certain dead beats who most would not imitate, and some are things that perhaps we couldn't deal with, but another girl might. (Think fajitas, early morning booty calls, and tattoos.)

A real man would never do the things String Bean did. No excuses, no reasons, no meds. And I am so happy I figured that out before my boobs started to sag.




RGB

It would be very easy for me to write my horror story of dating Shrek. He was not a good person. There are very few people I honestly feel this way about. In fact, other than Shrek, there is only one person I know personally who I would say is not a good person. While I was dating him, I didn't believe this. I honestly thought that his behavior was a result of his less than ideal upbringing, but that it wasn't ingrained in him -- it wasn't an unchangeable part of his character. I thought he was just waiting for someone to come along and help him. I thought I was going to be the person to do that. By dating him and by tolerating his completely unacceptable behavior, I thought I was saving him. I was really just enabling him.

But, as it has been said before, this is "LoserEx," not "Why My Ex is Going to Rot in Hell." I'm not going to talk about him. The point of my blurb is not to tell the world that Shrek is a horrible person -- everyone else seemed to pick up on that pretty quickly. My point is that you cannot change someone.

On a less serious note: when I met Fred, I saw a lot of things a couldn't stand, but I thought I saw potential to mold him in to the person I wanted to date. Fred was unattractive, slightly overweight, dressed like a retarded child and had absolutely no clue how to behave himself in public.

I thought I would start by pressing the clothing issue. I gave several gentle hints that I did not like the way he dressed. In fact, look back a couple of years on the blog and take note of how many "what not to wear" entries there are. When the gentle hints didn't work, I tried buying him clothes I liked. He would wear them and claimed to like them, yet he never bought similar clothes when left to do his own shopping. I finally banned certain articles of clothing. Specifically the Hawaiian shirts and jorts. He stopped wearing them for a few weeks, then picked right back up again. My grade for changing his fashion sense: F

While this was going on, I decided to work on the area of his appearance as well. Granted, what Fred really needs is a chin implant, but I would never tell someone to get cosmetic surgery. His jaw line was weak and feminine. A chin implant would have given him a better profile and balanced out his other features. Anyway, since I couldn't really bring this up, I tried to suggest other things: a better haircut, bleaching his teeth (they were the nastiest shade of yellow you can imagine), clipping his nails, not washing his face with old spice body wash. He listened to none of my suggestions. My grade for changing his appearance: F

After dating for several months, Fred really started to pack on the pounds. Granted, he was never thin, but HOLY CRAP did he get big. I suggested we do several activities together such as, rock climbing, hiking, joining the new (and really nice) gym next to his apartment and running. He shot down all of my ideas. I would even go to the gym in his apartment building, thinking he would feel motivated to come along. Instead, he spent this time playing on his computer. My grade for changing his weight: F

The worst of all was his inability to behave in any social situation. He was loud, make inappropriate comments and basically was unaware of what everyone else was doing. There is not enough room on the internet for me to mention all the times he proved this. Basically, every time I thought I had him trained enough for a certain social situation, I ended up being wrong. I'll write an entry about this soon, but really, there are too many to mention now. My grade for changing his ability to behave in public: F

Yes, these examples are trivial compared to my problems with Shrek. But, seriously, if stupid trivial behaviors like these can't be changed, it is foolish to think that major character flaws can be.

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.

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!

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.

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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.

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.