Shrek is an Ass

A few months ago, I found myself thinking about Shrek for the first time in a long time. A few months into our relationship, he told me that his mother had terminal cancer and was not seeking treatment for it. She only had a couple of months to live. When I asked him about it, he wouldn't say anything. He would lash out at me for no reason or tell me that I needed to be more sensitive to what he's going through. I spent the next year walking on eggshells around him for fear that something would upset him.

His mother sent him cards monthly over the next year we were dating, and they were all chipper and mentioned nothing about the cancer. At the time I just thought they all were ignoring it and that was how they dealt with it. After the first month when he brought it up, he never spoke a word about it again. I didn't ask him any questions about it because I didn't want to bring up a sore area. When he wouldn't talk, I just assumed it was too hard, not that he didn't know how to follow through with his story. Despite the overwhelming evidence to the contrary, I accepted that his mother did have cancer. I trusted the person I was dating, so the idea that he would make up an outrageous lie about his mom never even crossed my mind once.

Then a couple of months ago I found myself thinking about it again. So I did what any crazy person would do and Googled his mom. Not only did I not find her obituary, I found plenty of evidence that she was alive and well. Eight years later.

I found myself suddenly remembering the circumstances of when he first told me. It was after we got back together after er had broken up due to the fact he had slept with a girl who lived on my floor. It seems so obvious now. Of course he had done this to manipulate me into putting up with his terrible behavior. He knew were were on thin ice and the only way he could think to keep me around was to make me think his mother was dying.

After my revelation, I spent the next few days beyond angry with myself. I was furious that I had let myself believe such a ridiculous lie. I spent over a year with him after the news because I thought he needed someone. He was consistently horrible to me, but I put up with it because I was convinced that he was going through what I imagined to be the most traumatic thing possible. The whole time, the only one going through something terrible was me. I'd never been so disappointed in myself.

Until I realized that I'm not the loser in this situation. I'm not the one who is so insufferable that the only way I can keep someone with me is to convince them my mom is dying.

Seriously Shrek, you're a fucking tool.

Beefcake

A couple of years ago, I wrote about a date I went on with Beefcake, who was involved in a relationship at the time. Well, guess who's getting married!

This November, Beefcake will walk down the aisle with a nice girl whom he has been dating since 2006. Notice a problem here? Their wedding page has the usual saccharine-sweet stories about the happy couple, details about the event and their registry. Nothing about it really stands out as being particularly interesting.

Except for one little thing -- the part that really breaks my heart is his future wife's happy description of their courtship:

We met June 5, 2006 in "beautiful" [redacted] for [redacted]. A wonderful friendship grew into much more over the next several months and in November during [redacted] weekend we made it official.

For those of you keeping track at home, my date with Beefcake took place in spring of 2007. Several months after they had made it official. The worst part is that his fiancee truly seems like a nice girl. And seems truly oblivious to what an ass Beefcake actually is.

I would never wish for anyone's relationship to fail, so instead I am going to hope that what happened with Beefcake was a one time deal and that he will be a wonderful husband.

Screaming Infidelities

I'll be the first to admit that my moral compass does not always point true north. However, there are things that even I wouldn't do. Being the "other woman" is one of them.

Shrek had an ex. I'm going to call her Vikki. He painted the picture that she was crazy. Maybe she was. He carried Vikki's senior picture around in his wallet. At first I figured that he just never got around to taking it out. Then I realized that she was a senior after he had started college, so he would have gotten it after they had broken up. The whole time we were dating, the picture stayed in his wallet. I should also add that she wasn't really very pretty. Not that it matters to the story. It just matters to me. Grossly enough, a flirty picture of his 12 year-old cousin also maintained residence in his wallet the entire time we were dating.

One day, I finally got a little annoyed with the wallet picture issue and asked him why he still carried it. He told me Vikki would get mad if it wasn't there and she checked every time he was home. Um, why was Vikki even checking his wallet? Why the hell does she care if an ex has her picture or not? Weird.

Anyway, I tried not to think about Vikki, since she was in the boonie town Shrek was from, and we were thousands of miles away from that place. There were times when I suspected he never broke up with Vikki, that she didn't even know about me. But I wanted to trust him, so I would convince myself that was not happening. I convinced myself that she knew I existed and respected that I was dating her ex.

Well, I was half right.

Shrek mentioned a conversation with Vikki that took place online. And from his description, it sounded inappropriate. I pried for more information, but he flipped out and told me it was none of my business.

Well, of course this made me want to know about the conversation that much more. So, when I got to his room, I checked his chat log. In front of him. And wow. I normally do not ever condone spying on your boyfriend, but this time, it was totally warranted.

It started off innocently enough...

Vikki: Hey!!!!
Shrek: Hey
Vikki: How are you?
Shrek: Good, how are you?

Then, it got shady...

Vikki: I'm great. Are you still dating that girl?
Shrek: yeah
Vikki: Are you faithful? ;-)

What. The. Fuck.

His answer was basically a coy "no," but that's not nearly as interesting as the fact she would even ask this. I mean, where the hell is this even acceptable?

To me, this is like asking "Do you still have a dog? Do you still feed it?" In my mind, being faithful to someone is a required and assumed part of dating them.

This girl was desperately trying to steal my boyfriend. Who the hell does that? I mean, really, does she think that some guy who bangs her on the side will eventually start dating her and they will actually have a healthy relationship that does not involve banging other sluts on the side?

That's fucking delusional. Vikki, Shrek, where ever you two are, I hope you end up together. You deserve each other.

Requiem for My Love Life

Fred decided one day that he wanted to watch "Requiem for a Dream." Since no one owned this movie on DVD (it is far too depressing for most people to want to watch more than once), he decided to go rent it from the local Blockbuster. This was located next door to the Circle K, where he went every single day to buy cigarettes, so it seemed like it would be easy to take it back after two days (this was before the whole 'no late fee' thing).

Well, I suppose taking the movie back managed to slip his mind every day for two months. Until one day when I was in his apartment and one of his roommates commented that the movie had been sitting there forever. Another roommate said that Fred didn't really care about bringing it back because it was on RGB's account. Fred laughed at this. The part that pissed me off was the fact that I know he had probably said this to his roommates earlier. He really thought it would be quite funny to stick me with an outrageous bill for his laziness.

But, I was the one who would get the last laugh.

"I don't have a Blockbuster account." I casually said. "So, it must have been on Fred's."

At that point, Fred screamed a word I will not put on here and immediately ran out to take the DVD back.

Funny how it was a game to not take it back when it meant sticking me with the bill. But as soon as it involved him, he was out the door before even bothering to put on clothes he didn't sleep in.

A week later, his parents called regarding the bill and I got to hear him lie to them by saying he returned that movie the day after he got it and it must be a mistake on their end.

Lie to Me

I've often wondered what the world looks like through Fred's eyes. Truly, he must live in some sort of unicorn fantasy land where anything is possible.

Either that, or he thinks the rest of us just fell off the back of the turnip truck.

Fred lied. Often. And poorly. And seldom about things of any consequence. He just really liked to lie. Of course many of the examples I would like to list here are either horribly humiliating, or fall more into the category of "why my ex has earned an especially hot corner in hell" than the category of "why my ex is a loser."

The first time Fred came to visit my parents, he was a two-pack-a-day smoker. No one in my family smokes. So, about every 45 minutes, he stand in my front yard and smoke himself silly. I'm not even going to touch how trashy this must have looked to the neighbors. Toward the end of his visit, my mom pulled me aside and said that while she was walking the dogs, she had encountered several cigarette butts in the yard and to please ask Fred to be more considerate. I could completely understand her annoyance with the situation and agreed to talk to Fred about it.

Later that night, I had the following conversation:

Me: "Hey, my parents have noticed a lot of cigarette butts in the yard. Moving forward, can you be more diligent about putting them in the trash?"

Fred: "They're not mine."

At this point, I was completely caught off guard. Whose did he think they were? None of my family smokes. None of my neighbors smoke. Did he honestly expect me to believe that some rogue smoker had taken-up leaving his trash in our yard several times a day without once being seen...and that this occurrence happened to coincide with Fred's visit? Not wanting to push the issue further, I just told him that I am happy he isn't leaving butts in my yard because my parents are angry with whoever is.

It absolutely blows my mind that he believed he could deny this and everyone would believe him. And that he would waste his efforts lying about something that truly was not a big deal. I should have realized that this was a sign he would only lie about bigger (see also, lesbian shower sluts) and more ambiguous things.

Alcohol, Part 3

After the riverboat episode, Fred was in quite a bit of trouble (well, as much trouble as one ever really gets in during college). Since he had already completed the mandatory on-campus alcohol class and counseling following his experiment in pantslessness, they had to give him something a bit more substantial -- the requirement to attend an off-campus alcohol evaluation. This meant that Fred would have to pony up a few bucks to pay for a psychological evaluation. And paying for anything was not Fred's style. Seriously, he wiped his ass with newspapers he found around campus to save money on toilet paper.

Not wanting to give up his life long streak of being unreasonably cheap, he considered his alternatives. His conclusion: find a professor licensed to practice psychology and get him to sign off on the forms. Of course, Fred didn't actually know any professors who fit the bill, so he "asked" that I have my advisor sign off on his papers.

I was appalled that he saw no problem with making me ask my advisor to do something illegal, and unethical for my alcoholic boyfriend (seriously no judgment -- he had a problem). He didn't even want to go talk to the guy, he just wanted to give me the papers and have them get signed.

Obviously, this was a no go. There was no way I was going to ask a professor to put his job on the line because my boyfriend is a cheapskate alcoholic. Fred eventually came up with the money to get the evaluation -- and held it against me for the rest of the time we dated.

Why The Dud Cannot be Left Unattended, Part I

I absolutely hate babysitting. I used to watch two of the most unruly children imaginable. If I turned my back for one second to put in a movie, by the time I turned back around, they would have broken something. In addition, one had bladder control issues and once peed every single pair of pants he owned. Basically, I was scared out of ever wanting to have or be around kids at a very early age.

But as much as I hated babysitting two children under the age of 8, it was nowhere near as bad as having to babysit a 25 year old. In a lot of ways, the Dud was worse than the unruly children.

Once, his fumbling around in my kitchen woke me up around 4 in the morning (on a Tuesday), so I went to go see what he was up to. He was standing by the refrigerator with a large drink in his hand and some of it spilled on the floor. With a stupid grin on his face, he told me he just wanted an orange juice. I knew better. I took a sip of his drink and found that it was mostly vodka. Not only was I annoyed that he seemed to think it was acceptable to drink a ton of my vodka (I do not drink cheap alcohol), it was fricking 4 in the morning and I was sleeping. Why on Earth did he need a stiff drink at 4 in the fricking morning?

Not to mention, his late night shenanigans made him not want to get up when I was getting ready for work. I sure as hell wasn't going to let him stay in my apartment unattended after the fiasco from the night before, so i ended up practically dragging him to my porch and calling a cab to come get him.

Sadly, this is only one of several stories about why The Dud cannot be left unattended.

Da Da Dadadadada Da Da Dadadadada (The Chicken Dance)

The thing I hated most about Fred was the fact that he was completely incapable of not making a total ass of himself. I truly dreaded introducing him to anyone I knew, and hated going anywhere in public with him.

He had a way of embarrassing the hell out of me anywhere we went. I truly mean anywhere. The sorority formal where he decided to loudly announce that another girl looked like a man; the brunch where he was too stupid to figure out a prix fixe menu; my coworker's party where he decided it was appropriate walk around with his pants around his ankles because he was proud of his Nintendo boxers; the release party of a documentary where he decided to pick a fight with some reporters from a national news magazine and the infamous jorts incident are just a few of the times I found myself thoroughly humiliated because of him.

One of the more embarrassing incidents was the first time I introduced Fred to CCG and Dum Dum. Now, Dum Dum was a little special himself, so I figured that nothing Fred could do would be any worse than whatever tricks Dum Dum had up his sleeve that day. I really expected Dum Dum's shenanigans to outshine Fred's. But, I was in for a surprise.

The first time I took Fred to meet CCG and Dum Dum, we went to a local bar for happy hour. In addition to a few beers, we ordered some hummus, potato skins and buffalo wings. As soon as the snacks arrived, Fred wasted no time diving into the buffalo wings. He quickly devoured a couple of them and then...put his chewed-on chicken bones back on the plate with the rest of the wings. Disgusting!

Now, before I say anything else about this, I would like to mention that Fred insists there were no extra plates to put food on. All other people involved remember there being plates (perhaps Fred was too busy stuffing his face to notice). Even if this had been the case, Fred could have either asked for a plate (the bar was not busy), or put the bones on his napkin.

Plates or no plates, it was disgusting. CCG and Dum Dum were both totally grossed-out by this display. Yes, Dum Dum, the loser who had been traipsing around the city all day in high top black sneakers, shorts and no socks was disgusted by something my boyfriend did. That's damning. I was absolutely mortified by this experience.

But, the worst part was the fact that Fred was oblivious to their reactions just as he was oblivious to the fact that no one else touched the buffalo wings.

Since this was early on in the relationship and I hadn’t given up hope that I could mold him into someone who didn’t humiliate me, I mentioned the incident to him a few weeks later. Rather than consider my comment, he immediately got defensive and insisted that there were no plates and that CCG and Dum Dum had no grounds to think he behavior was inappropriate. I told him in the future to just use a plate and let the issue go.

Fred did not, however, let it go. It apparently bothered him enough that he brought this story up to all of his friends until he finally got some girl* to agree with him that he behaved appropriately in this situation. This really pisses me off.

I know this girl knew better than that. I don’t even know this girl, but hell, Dum Dum knew better! Look, I know that people often choose being nice over being honest, but seriously, there is a point where being nice does more harm than good. Fred did something inappropriate and by telling him it was acceptable, this chick is contributing to his behavior. Women like her are the reason there are so many men so set in their inappropriate ways.

* My note to this girl: I sincerely hope that your future husband gets belligerently drunk at your wedding and decides it is appropriate (because some girl told him so) to start stripping while you’re dancing with your father.

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.

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!

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.

The Tiki God(father)*

Anyone who knows me knows I love costume parties. Unfortunately, the only time I have the opportunity to go to one anymore is on Halloween. But, back in college, there were always sorority and fraternity theme parties going on so I got to put together a costume about twice a month.

Shrek was not a fan of costume parties and would often bail out of going to mine at the last minute. Several times, he would listen to me all week carry on about how excited I was for the party, nod and smile, then wait until an hour before the buses left the night of the event to tell me he was too tired/busy/sick/whatever to accompany me. This would piss the hell out of me and I would go to the parties anyway and spend the night macking on his friends (you’ve got to appreciate the mature, healthy relationship we had).

Then the day I never expected arrived: the day of a party rolled around and Shrek had not bailed on me yet. The theme: Mafia Madness. Shrek and I spent the afternoon at the costume store to find accessories and such to wear to the party. I was stoked when I found some cute mid-sized squirt guns that I would later fill with a bottle of vodka. I also found a hobby horse for pretty cheap that I could cut the head off of and carry around.

Shrek was not impressed with my awesome finds. He told me the squirt guns were a dumb idea and wouldn’t work. Apparently no one would get the horse head either (because, you know, Godfather movies are obscure). In addition to not liking the items I had picked for myself, he did not like the ones I picked for him—a gangster hat, suspenders, a water gun. He spent a very long time milling around the store, ignoring any suggestions I made.

At last, he found something that caught his interests: a bamboo walking cane. No, really. I explained that this really didn’t fit in with the theme. And he insisted it was a good idea. He proceeded to buy an entire luau get-up. The explanation he offered was that he was a retired mafia boss living in Florida. Huh?

I consider myself an expert in costume parties and as such, I feel that my advice is superior to anyone else's on the matter. One thing that I always think about when I put together a costume is “Will people look at this and instantly know what it is?” A costume should not need a story to go with it. It should be obvious what the wearer is trying to be. If someone asks you what your costume is, that means you failed at dressing yourself.

When we arrived at the party, everyone loved my horse head and totally coveted my vodka guns, especially when the lame-ass bar decided to crack-down on the underage drinking at the party (which is unheard of in New Orleans).

People at the party looked at him like he was retarded. I drank myself into oblivion via my vodka guns (which I refused to share with Shrek because he told me it was a dumb idea). Very few people even bothered to ask about his costume. The ones who did asked if he was told the wrong theme.

By the end of the night, Shrek was running around telling people that the reason he was in a Hawaiian get-up was because I am a bitch and thought it would be funny to get him to come to the party in an inappropriate costume, so I told him it was a luau-themed party. Right. Because I totally wanted people to think I am dating a retard.

Someone went home very sober and very alone that night.

* We had some fun naming this entry. CCG was the creator of the title used, but a close second was one I came up with: "Say 'Hello' to my (retarded) little friend." Clearly, this is the inferior of the two titles, but it merits a mention anyway.

Say my name

I’m not going to lie – it kind of pisses me off when a guy I am dating cannot pronounce and spell my name correctly. I understand that I do not have the most common last name, but after 3 months of going out with me, he should really figure it out!

All it takes is paying attention to my outgoing voicemail message, calling me at work, looking at my e-mail address, reading my business card or JUST ASKING! Not that hard.

Even worse than someone not knowing how to spell my name is someone not knowing how to spell his own. I briefly dated a guy (same one who lied about where he went to school) whose middle name was Michael. He was born with this name, so the argument that it was new cannot be made. He was also in his 20s and not (to the best of my knowledge) retarded.

One day, he saw the name "Michael" written out somewhere and asked "oh, is that really how you spell it?" Um, yeah Dude.

I asked what other way he thought it was spelled. Apparently he got the "e" and the "a" mixed-up. At first I gave him the benefit of the doubt and thought maybe his parents are bad spellers and named him "***** Micheal", so I had him check his license. Sure enough, "***** Michael."

I honestly don’t know how he had gotten through life that long without knowing how to spell his own name. I mean, isn’t this something everyone knows how to do by kindergarten? Furthermore, you'd think he would have seen it SOMEWHERE before he reached his twenties.

It still blows my mind that he managed to not know how to spell "Michael" despite it being on his driver’s license, birth certificate, high school diploma, tax forms, voter registration, bank account and basically EVERYWHERE else. Dumbass.

The War on Tourism

I hate tourists. I hated tourists in college and I hate them even more now. They walk slow, stand on the left side of the escalator, ask me for directions to the Washington Monument despite the fact it is visible from where they are standing, and generally piss me off.

There is only one thing I like about tourists and that is their willingness to buy me a ton of drinks. I found out very quickly in college that I can get a group of three men in town for a business conference to buy my entire sorority drinks all night if I just flirt a little.

Stupid men always try to tag a local on their business trips. Haven't they figured out that we're on to them? I can't even begin to tell you how many times I have gotten tanked on top-shelf alcohol on some out-of-towner's tab, only to sneak out of the bar while he was in the bathroom.

It's a game (and a fun one at that). But, one thing that really pisses me off is when married men think that a business trip is their time to go cheat on their wives. In my last entry, I bitched about Beefcake's infidelity, but at least Beefcake wasn't married and pulling crap like this.

Last week I was at a bar with my sister and we had multiple married tourists hit on us. A few of them at least had the foresight to take off their wedding bands before coming to the bar (although when they kept touching their ring fingers, and had a tan line from where their rings were, it was kind of a giveaway), but one didn't even bother to do that.

With his damn wedding band on, he had the audacity to ask me "where are we going after this?" Of course, I told him "seeing as you're married, we're not going anywhere together." To which he responded something crass about a two-state rule. I looked him dead in the eye and told him he disgusted me.

I hope these wives wise-up to their husbands and divorce their asses and take all their money.

This is why I plan to have a fidelity clause in my pre-nup.

Somebody told me

I've said this a thousand times before, but it bears repeating: Washington men are douche bags. Let's call this week's offender "Beefcake."

I met Beefcake through some mutual friends at a bar one night. We ended up exchanging cards and he called me within two days to ask me on a date. We went out to dinner and then to a bar and things went pretty well. I even ignored my easy-out call (Confession: every time I go on a date I am unsure about, I have a friend of mine call me an hour in. If things aren't going well, I pretend that I need to leave immediately to attend to an emergency. If things are going well, I either let the call roll to voicemail, or answer and tell the caller that everything is OK.).

We went on a second date, and that's when I started to get annoyed. I felt like he was completely insincere and that everything he said to me was a line he had delivered to many dates before me. I was slightly skeezed-out by the whole situation. A few days later, I said something in passing about Beefcake to one of his friends.

The friend then mentioned something about Beefcake's girlfriend. My jaw hit the floor. I asked if he was absolutely sure that Beefcake had a girlfriend. He was. They had been dating for 8 months and the friend had seen them together the night before. I explained that I had gone out with him twice and definitly not as friends.

I couldn't believe what a fricking skeeze-ball Beefcake was.The next day, Beefcake called and asked if I wanted to go to dinner later in the week. I told him I would call him back, but never did. I didn't even want to ask about his girlfriend because I was so put-off by the whole situation. I refuse to be a part of Beefcake's harem. I just wonder how many other women he is dating on the side.

I hope they all meet and kick his ass.

That's what friends are for

I mentioned previously that Shrek was an RA in college. Before the start of the academic year, this meant he went through 3 weeks of training. Three weeks seems superfluous, but I assure you if you saw the winners who were RAs, you'd understand why they needed a whole three weeks to teach them a few menial tasks.

Part of this training included B.S. team building activities such as scavenger hunts and craft time (seriously). Basically any cliche leadership retreat activity you can think of, they did. Meyers-Briggs test? Check. Moon survival activity? Check. Desert island? Check. Shrek didn't mind all the training though because he was really good friends with all the RAs. He would always go on about how close they all were. I wouldn't understand the training because I am not in a group of close friends like he was with his coworkers.

It always seemed like the other RAs did not like Shrek much. They would go out and often not tell him. Or all plan to go out on the night he had to patrol. I had a sorority sister who was an RA in the same building and she barely knew him even though he would talk about her all the time. Weird.

The climatic end to their three week training bonanza involved each person writing something nice about everyone else. The lists were then typed-up by their boss who gave each RA a list of anonymous nice things that everyone else had written about them. This simultaneously warms my heart and triggers my gag reflex.

Shrek spent all night working on his list, eagerly awaiting the next day when he would get a list of compliments (he was always fishing for them). The next afternoon, he came to my dorm with the list of compliments. If I hadn't known about this beforehand, I would have thought the assignment was to write a back-handed compliment about the entire staff in as little time as possible.

The compliments on Shrek's paper were things like "Shrek would probably be a good boxer (aside: Shrek had never boxed in his life)," another gem was "Shrek has a unique personality." There were a few variations of "If I were to get in a bar fight, I would want Shrek to be on my side (Shrek was a big guy)." But, the best one of all was "Shrek has a pretty girlfriend."

I think a few people didn't even bother to write something for him (or if they did, it got edited out) because his list had about 10 fewer comments than there were people on the staff.

But the weird thing is, Shrek didn't take the hint and still went on believing that he was the best of friends with every member of the staff. I could not believe how dense he was. I didn't realize it entirely at the time, but I later discovered that nearly everyone he had called his friend really thought he was a huge jerk. After the break-up, I had his RA "friends" and fraternity brothers telling me that he was such a dick and everyone wondered why the hell I put up with him.

Shrek made a point of saving the list. I guess he didn't realize that no one on there said anything that would suggest they even remotely liked him.

If my good friends (or hell, even my acquaintances) had to write nice things about me, I would hope they could come up with something a little better than commenting on how my physical attributes may be advantageous in a very specific situation.

He works hard for the money

Shrek was the worst resident advisor my college had ever known. This didn't stop him from thinking he was really something special. He harbored these delusions that he was bringing order to the chaotic system. Like most RAs, he had the typical power-trip problem. But he took that to extremes. He even went on a 45 minute rant one day about how RAs should get special parking spaces next to the dorms (instead of having to park int he garage like everyone else). This drove me nuts because I could see no reason why an RA would need to park closer to a dorm than anyone else. But I digress.

Shrek really thought being an RA was the pinnacle of prestige at college. He assumed that everyone else coveted his lame-ass job. It's funny that he thought anyone else on campus actually wanted a job. I feel sorry for people who had to work through college.

He only really had three responsibilities: 1) go on patrols of the building; 2) respond to residents' concerns; and 3) make bulletin boards. He sucked at all three. But, his failure at the first two tasks were not nearly as ridiculous as his inability to make bulletin boards.

Every month, he would scramble to put-up some piece of crap. He was often asked to redo his board because it was so bad. One month, he did a bulletin for Hispanic Awareness Month which had a 3-D sombrero made from stuffing crumbled paper under another sheet of paper and drawing a circle around it with a marker. It looked like a lumpy purple tit. He must have realized it looked more like a purple boob than a Mexican hat because he took a marker and wrote "sombrarro [sic] " with an arrow pointing to it.

There was never any real information on his bulletin boards. Just a boatload of speculations which he had made regarding the topic. For example, the Purple Boob board had little blurbs which he had scribbled on with a green marker that said things like "there are a lot of Hispanics in the US today." I am not exaggerating this one. His comments were either obvious or incorrect since he couldn't be bothered to spend 5 minutes looking up anything. Also, despite the fact he had atrocious handwriting, he couldn't be bothered to type a single part of his bulletin boards.

As a result of the crappy bulletin boards and his crappy attitude, the residents decided to draw over his work or rip it down. It was quite an improvement. The first one that got destroyed was about treating women with respect (I find it rather funny that Shrek, of all people, had anything to say about this). Shrek went apeshit. He demanded to his higher-ups that the whole floor be punished for their sexist behavior. His boss, of course, realized that it wasn't a matter of sexism, it was a matter of crappy bulletin boards and told Shrek to fix his board and get over it.

The next several months, Shrek would leave his door cracked open and sit by it, waiting for someone to start tearing down the bulletin board. When he heard them, he'd swing open the door and start screaming at whoever was near the board at the time. This was really quite a sight to see.

I was only there for him catching someone once. He totally chewed the poor guy out. Then, rather than write him up on the spot, he wrote a note on his door board that said "Memo to self: write-up Manny." What a dick. Then, for the next two weeks, every time he saw him in the hall he would make some snarky comment like "I need to write you up still." Really, what a dick.

Of course, this just made it all the more fun for the residents to mess with him. They would wait until he went to class, then destroy the board, fill his door lock with glue and put a condom on his doorknob. This continued for the rest of the year.

Every month, the board was torn down within a matter of hours. Every month, he would go ballistic. I started looking forward to his board getting torn down so I could laugh about how much it pissed him off. Even years after the fact, I still find myself laughing uncontrollably when I think about the temper tantrum he threw over his destroyed purple boob.

The only time the board was not destroyed was when I put it up. This was also the only time the board looked even remotely decent. The guys must have known that someone else did it and decided not to mess with it.

I found it amusing that Shrek put so little effort into a job that he seemed to value so much. Too bad he got fired from it and then failed out of school (for the record, that was all my doing).

I hope Shrek invests more in his beer sales career than he did in the RA gig. Otherwise, I fear he may never get to be the skanky twins' escort at bar promotions.

He's just one more

This has been sitting in my draft folder for weeks now. It's time to get it out.

I'm not the most morally sound person. I often knowingly try to do the wrong thing. Sometimes for personal gain, but usually just for my own amusement. Sure, I feel guilty about some of things I do. I mean, after I can stop laughing about them. But, it's only just a matter of time before I come up with some other ridiculous plan to do something vindictive, or just plain mean.

Obviously, my exes are often the victims of all this. I dated Shrek's fraternity brother; I stole Shrek's TV remote (the TV wouldn't turn on by pushing the button on the unit itself); I signed Fruit Fly up for about 20 free bibles to be delivered by Mormons; I prank called a guy I briefly dated in high school about 50 times (all collect calls that he actually accepted, resulting in an extra $95 on his phone bill); I projectile vomited guacamole in Boris's bathroom (OK, that wasn't intentional); I signed Fruit Fly up for a gay porn magazine; I made Shrek fail out of college (at least he said so, and I am sticking with that). There are probably even more things I could add to this list, but it's been so long I don't remember anymore.

I am good at this type of thing. It takes real talent to come up with this kind of stuff. Luckily, my exes are not nearly as good at this as I am. My most recent ex (yeah, I'm up to 4 now) is perhaps the worst. For the sake of clarity, I will refer to Ex 4 as 'Fred,' because he had the same physique as Fred Flinstone.

I had decided that I was not going to do anything vindictive this time. Partially out of respect for Fred, and partially out of a feeling that I need to handle these things in a more adult way. However, he chose not to take the high road. I can't fault him for this because I've done it so many times myself. In fact, I'm doing it right now by sharing that he did.

Fred and I dated for 2 and a half years, so obviously during this time, he had accumulated a large amount of my stuff. Well, when he bagged-up all my stuff, he decided to throw in a little surprise for me: some other girl's underwear. He might try to play the "they must have gotten mixed-in with my laundry" card, but I'm not buying it. After two and a half years, I would think he would know what kind of panties I wear. Honestly though, I found this hilarious. I mean, the idea was a good one, but the execution was awful. The underpants he chose to include were size 7 (for you guys out there, that means HUGE) and they were the kind that one purchases in packs of 10 at the grocery store. Obviously not the kind of underwear I have and obviously not quite the type of underwear that would make me jealous. I am going to refrain from writing out my judgments about the owner of these underpants. You all know what I'm thinking.

So, Fred, I am not going to even ask where you met the owner of the underpants (honestly, I don't want to know). But really, I have a bit of advice on how to pull this off better for your next ex. Go to Nordstrom and throw down the plastic for some saucy little red g-string, size small (part of me thinks you're bluffing with this one anyway). Then she'll be jealous, not humored.

He don't see ugly through bloodshot eyes

A certain ex liked to tell me that he only dated the fittest, most attractive women. For example, after we had been dating for awhile, I teasingly asked him if a year ago he would have ever thought he'd be driving a hot sports car with an attractive blonde next to him and he soberly replied: "of course, I knew I was going to buy a [hot sports car] and I only date attractive blondes." I knew one of his exes and she was pretty plain-looking and a friend of mine knew a different ex and she apparently wasn't a looker either. But there was a certain ex that he kept on a pedestal. I had never met this girl and she didn't live anywhere near us so I couldn't stalk her or anything so I trusted that she was truly far prettier than I could ever be.

Until I found an old picture of them while snooping through his photos*. She looked like her face had been bashed in with a shovel. As in it was so bad, I spent about fifteen minutes consulting with my sister about how I could casually ask if she had been in a horrible accident and her insurance wouldn't pay for a good reconstructive surgeon. (We concluded there was no graceful way to ask that.)

I am not the prettiest girl in the world. Riding the metro on any given morning, you are bound to see at least five girls who are prettier--DC is full of them. My college was full of them too (I am pretty sure my college has one of the most attractive student bodies in the country). I do not expect to be the prettiest girl my boyfriend has ever dated--in fact, I don't really want to be the prettiest, I just need him to think I am. But for some reason, I consistently date men with heinously deformed ex-girlfriends.

I would say that maybe these men are really great guys who truly go for great personalities except I have a tendency to date superficial jackasses and I am a complete bitch and so I know they are not dating me for my stellar personality. But the really weird thing is, for the most part I don't date duds. Okay--I have kissed my fair share of frogs, but the past few have been attractive, athletic, intelligent and had good jobs. These men are good catches, but why haven't they found a pretty girl in a city which we've established is full of beautiful women?

And why are they dating me?


*It wasn't really snooping, they were in a box on his nightstand, that makes it fair game.

How was I supposed to know?

During the first month of my freshman year of college, a guy approached me at a bar and asked if I was in his psychology class. It ended up that I was. He then asked how I did on the last test and I told what my score was and his jaw dropped. I had gotten the highest grade in the class, and therefore had set the curve for everyone else. He had gotten a D-. He explained that there was just a lot that he didn't get. I asked if there was anything in particular that came to mind, and he said he didn't understand what "cognitive" meant. Oh boy. I apologized and told him if he ever needed any help, he could borrow my notes.

The next week in class, he asked if I wanted to get together to help him study. Not wanting to be a bitch, I agreed. We decided to meet later that week in front of the library.

When the time rolled around for our study date, I threw my text book and notes into my backpack and made my way to the library. He was already there (probably because I was 5 minutes late), and asked if I wanted to go grab something to eat first. It seemed reasonable since it was about 5 in the afternoon. So, I agreed, and we walked up the street to a local diner. We both got hamburgers, and paid for our own meals. As we walked back to campus, he suggested we go to his dorm instead of to the library. This should have sent up a red flag, but I just assumed that he didn't like the uncomfortable library chairs.

We got back to his room, and I sat down and started to pull out my books. He looked at me, and raised a quizzical eyebrow. "You actually brought your books?" he asked.

Apparently, he didn't really want to study, which I found ridiculous. Everyone else I tell this to laughs at me because, apparently "study" is a euphemism for "come over and screw." Damn, I wish that had been in my freshman handbook.

But, it isn't the whole studying facade that annoys me most about this; it's the fact that he was trying to get in my pants and didn't even pay for my dinner! Cheapskate.